notreallytravelling

Raja Ampat.

Posted on May 13, 2015 | 18 comments

Timing is everything and if the trip from Ambon on the plane to Sorong, a small port on the coast of Papua, and then to Waisai in the Raja Ampat Islands by ferry was to be achieved then I would have thirty minutes to collect my bag from the carousel and ride a taxi to the port. At Ambon airport I tried the old trick of asking for a Fragile sticker on my bag, well it would either be first, or last. As it turned out it was first even though the sticker had fallen off and then it was a dive into the first taxi and rush, rush, rush to the jetty. I need not have worried, it was inevitably delayed, my bags were portered aboard for about a dollar, I found a seat and exhaled. We sped across the Dampier Strait, a thrill in itself, and arrived successfully at Waisai where my carefully laid planning collapsed somewhat. I find it hard to remember where I am supposed to be going and I make a list, so this one was quite easy, Ambon to Sorong, except of course it wasn’t Sorong it was Pelabuhan, the name of Sorong’s port, and then Waisai. I called my homestay from the ferry to tell them I had made the scheduled departure successfully and expected the usual ‘Mr Tim’ sign on my arrival, but no sign and I hadn’t written down the name of the homestay. There was the usual posse of agents, touts and hustlers vying for my business all of whom I thank you’d away except for one guy who seemed particularly insistent. It turned out he was the Waisai agent for the homestay, Yankoranu, and had been dispatched to meet the ferry and point the only westerner aboard in the right direction. He lowered my bags into an open boat filled with large bottles of drinking water and we went off to purchase the required license for Raja Ampat National Park. Mission accomplished, at a not inconsiderable fee, we returned to the boat and due to the cargo perched on the edge, the gunwale, and with the twin outboards roaring raced away to Yankoranu on Pulau Kri.

The tide was in, disembarking was achieved with ease, I found my hut some ten feet from the high tide mark, dithered around in the usual arriving fashion and headed for the communal dining, rec’ area. Oh dear, six guys, each sitting at different tables all showing a distinct lack of camaraderie for each other and more especially for me, the newb’ on the block. I made a few attempts at conversation that fell on deaf ears so I had my solitary beer and went to bed wondering if I should move on the next day. Happily though as dawn broke the six solitary ones loaded themselves into a boat and thankfully went on their way. I had the place to myself. Bliss. I was ushered to the end of the jetty with the children from the local village and witnessed the morning shark feeding. Only reef sharks, harmless (perhaps!), but still quite large, maybe five feet or longer and all looking distinctly shark like, there were maybe thirty of them, maybe more, I took pictures from above which actually came out surprisingly well. People arrived on the jetty throughout the day and all seemed to want to chat before heading off down the beach to other homestays. I was intrigued, what were they doing here, how had they even heard of Raja Ampat. There was a couple from Chile who had come non stop, as it were, from Santiago it took them four days, a couple from Sao Paulo who were similarly well traveled. Why here I asked, I mean I had only first heard of the place two days ago and these guys had been planning their trip for months. It seems that the Raja Ampat Islands are at the center of the coral triangle, there are over one thousand eight hundred varieties of fish and over eighty percent of the world’s different corals are found here. Plus the microclimate makes for extremely clear water and so the divers come, from all over the World. The wealthier ones take to what are known as liveaboards, large yachts fitted out for diving, luxury accommodations, gourmet food, wine, gin, brandy, the usual stuff while the rest of us stay at homestays and experience the islands for a fraction of the price. These then were, I suppose, my kind of people, even though I don’t dive, heck, I can barely swim! The day meandered along and by day’s end my homestay was full. I could tell things were improving because everyone, upon arriving, rushed around introducing themselves. Ok, then, this is better. Beer time came and we all gathered, at the same table, and told stories, where we were from, what we did, had done, a joke or two, nice people, not at all pretentious. Eventually there were four Brits, one living in Ottawa, one Melbourne, one Frankfurt, by way of Edinburgh, and me, SF. Two French guys from Versailles, a great Indonesian guy who worked for Toyota who had the best gadgets I ever did see (!). A really good guy I christened ‘nice Mike’ to myself who turned out to be a Doctor from Colorado. Then there was the couple from Slovakia. “Where is that?” I said, my brain fixated on Slovenia, I just couldn’t place Slovakia. My brain had stopped but I eventually got it and publicly apologized for my temporary ignorance. One of the French guys piped up “that’s ok, now we know you are from America”, it was that sort of crowd, very good natured and humorous.

Janixko Hlixka, aka Jan, and Tatiana Hlxnkova from Bratislava were quite the stars of the show, Jan being the tall guy, totally fearless and Tatiana, his wife of twelve years, the not so expert in the water person, just like me. As always their English was superb but I have this minor ‘thing’, and at the risk of offending the entire planet I have to confess. Whenever I hear ladies with that particular Slavic accent I go into this “I want to be a classic Russian novelist” dream. Its not going to happen for many reasons, the prime one of course, I can’t speak Russian. (Away with the fairies, Tim.) It happened on a tour bus in Istanbul with Ms Vxka Zolxt, despite her being from New York, again in Uzbekistan with Katya Andrxshxna, although Katya did do four years at Stanford, and here was Tatiana sounding like someone out of Pushkin’s Eugene Onegin. There, I got that out of the way. We really did have some interesting conversations though and I don’t think she will mind if I mention that her Father fought with the Russian Partisans during WW2, that’s some gene pool. There was the infamous occasion when I misheard her pronunciation of ‘fruit’, hearing it as ‘Freud”, as in Sigmund, her face after a few sentences from me was, well, startling! Startled?

(An aside here, I am on a train heading north in Malaysia, it is sunset and the crew have just all come to the back of my carriage for evening prayers. How excellent)

I snorkeled, lots more than I have ever snorkeled before, I had too really with all the divers around. I have become quite familiar with dive speak, I even know what a nudibranch is! It’s a tiny multi colored snail that lives on the bottom, with horns. I jumped, well slid, off the side of the boat a couple of times and swam about seeing things I had never seen before but it was when Jan and Tatiana gently persuaded me to go with them out onto the reef that I really got enthused. It was as if I was observing another civilization, something from Science Fiction, so many fish, of every color, thousands and thousands of them, swimming about among the absolutely remarkable coral, each species having its own role. I just wish that I owned an underwater camera so I could share, but you will just have to believe me. It was absolutely stunning.

Yankoranu and its staff were above and beyond what one would expect from an isolated homestay. The food was basic, mostly fish and rice but plentiful, the huts were, again, basic, and interestingly perhaps, to some, featured proper loos, but they didn’t flush. I don’t think I have met that before. Every evening there was a communal pow pow when the staff laid out the options for the following day and after a debate some signed up to go off and, for instance, dive with the mantas or chain themselves to the reef at the turn of the tide to observe the big fish. I did join an early morning expedition (4.30am) to go observe the courting dance of the bird of paradise. Apart from becoming lost in the jungle for a while this was quite special except I had this concept that the dance took place on the ground rather like peacocks. Oh no, it takes place high up at the top of the canopy, maybe one hundred feet up. This of course makes for a difficult photo opportunity and I ended up with many photos of branches and leaves, and a stiff neck.

Raja Ampat then. Quite a special place.

Here is a fish photo with credit due to Tom in Melbourne.

This could be a Tiger fish. Again credit to Tom.

The dive shack and jetty at Yenkoranu.

A bird of paradise, with branches and leaves.

Sharks.

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Tagged Raja Ampat, Slovakia, Sorong

A failed trip to the Banda Islands. Then Raja Ampat.

Posted on May 10, 2015 | 8 comments

Such a low tide today, the reef is exposed, the lagoon is nearly dry and the little boats are having trouble reaching the jetty. The high tide too was extreme, the sound of the waves at 4.30am woke me up and fearing that my cabin/hut/shack might be swamped I set off down the beach to watch the sunrise. All this because the moon is almost full and that means that it has been a month since I was on Maratua which in turn means I haven’t put pen to paper or even fingers to keyboard for far too long, sorry about that, lets see what’s been happening. There have been the usual ups and downs, a definite low was being presented with a stale sandwich for breakfast one morning that contained nothing but chocolate sprinkles, though a high was drinking tea on a cliff top one afternoon with half a dozen volcanoes to gaze upon. People too, I’ve met Slovakians, Italians, Chileans, the occasional (quiet) American, French, Dutch, Germans (of course) and a whole BnB full of English, really! Right now I am on the Raja Ampat Islands off the west coast of Papua, New Guinea is right next door so that is the second and third largest islands in the world on my list of places visited lately. I am quite geographically pleased. Greenland next?

My last jottings were sent from Balikpapan in East Kalimantan, Borneo where I was on a mission, an over night mission, from Manado, North Sulawesi, to stay one night and pick up a replacement credit card. Yes, I finally managed to loose mine. Stupid I know, but fortunately my bank had sent a new one to the house some time ago and Julia was kind enough to Fedex it over, sent on Friday I picked it up on Wednesday, not bad from Fairfax to Balikpapan, Borneo. But while waiting for the mailman what was I going to do, carry on with the plan seemed best so a very quick flight to Manado in Northern Sulawesi (was the Celebes) where I was picked up and taken to an English run BnB called Bahowo Lodge. Built from scratch by Phil Boast and Paula Larcher it is possibly a perfect example of the way such places should be run. They sponsor the local village school and all the village kids receive a free, primary education, there are six classrooms with a teacher for each one. They bought a bus so the older kids can get to town for secondary school and a number have moved on to university, again sponsored by Phil, Paula and guests of the BnB. Imagine then, the jungles of Sulawesi, in the middle of a village, pigs roaming the streets, happy children singing the alphabet song and eight Brits plus an American girl from Baton Rouge. It was worthy of a screen play, a tv series, a movie. There was Marmite on toast, gin and tonics, affordable wine, egg and bacon, I mean, really, you can’t make this stuff up! No names, but there was a Chief Inspector from the Terrorist Squad and MI6 there, with his wife, who could be persuaded to tell some tales including how he was flown, by the “cousins”, from Tallahassee, Florida to Medellin, Colombia in the back of a Phantom, for coffee. You might like to do a search for Phil as not only has he written a book about building the BnB but he has also written a series of books on life in an English village.

It was time to leave and another short flight across the Celebes Sea to Ternate. A tiny dot on the Planet but it looked interesting being volcanic and was on my planned route. It was billed in my book as being the perfect tropical paradise. Opinions differ! There were some interesting 17^th Century Dutch Forts with old canons lying about and a most spectacular Mosque. But I think it is on the verge of converting to Sharia law and I really have no time for that.

On then to Ambon, the Capital of the Mulukas, and the heart of the Spice Islands of old. A certain sense of triumph because this was perhaps the end of my Silk Road quest, for it was here that the Chinese came to find cloves, nutmeg, mace. Returning with them to the mainland they were loaded on to camels with the silks and off to Rome, Egypt and other western destinations. I sat amongst the trees inhaling the fragrances and dreamt of Samarkand, Khiva, Turpan, Tash Rabat and other Silk Road stopovers. I likedAmbon. Definitely in ‘Hello Mister” country, this being the cry of the locals as I passed by, from both the kids and the adults. I don’t think I saw another westerner the entire time I was there so there was a sense of surprise as I came in sight. There is a mode of transport perhaps unique to the island, the becak. A small carriage for two, attached to the front of a bicycle and pushed along by pedal power. At first glance I dismissed this as perhaps a little Rajish, elitist, just a gimmick for tourists. But, as I said, there were no tourists, the locals, young and old used them. There were ranks of becaks everywhere and after careful observation I deemed them safe and took a ride. My plan was to head on to the Banda Islands, I had heard a rumor of a boat so becaked it to the port where I was deposited outside the office of the Port Authority. After much gesticulation, pointing at maps etc I determined that the boat had sailed at midnight the night before. Back to the becak and a ride to a travel agent where a delightful Indian lady did her due diligence and determined that the only airline that flies to Banda, Susie Air on a six seater, was sold out for a week. There was a possibility she said of getting a boat to the Kei Islands, about 500 hundred miles past Banda, then another boat back to my destination, though there was no guarantee that I could leave Banda in a timely fashion. If I had not lost my credit card this might have been just about possible but my mistake caught up with me, I couldn’t go to Banda and leave the country before my visa, expired. Therefore I lost the opportunity to expand on the tale of a battle between the Brits and the Dutch over a small and unproductive Banda island that the British were occupying. The story goes that they paused the battle to have tea together, had a bit of a negotiation and the Dutch decided to swap the unproductive rock for another desolate island they ‘owned’. And that is how the Brits gained Manhattan. Good story.

There I was then, in Ambon, without a plan. I took a tour to ponder, high up into the hills to see spice plantations. The spice trade is not what it was and though spices are grown all over there seemed to be no actual ‘farms”. Here was a nutmeg tree, there a clove, here a rambutan fruit tree and there a betel nut tree amongst the many durian trees. Although not exactly what my western organized eyes had expected it was gloriously haphazard, chaotic and I guess to some extent it worked. Cloves dried on cloths on the road surface, rambutan and durian stalls abounded and everyone seemed very happy and content. Me and my preconceptions, ha, wrong again Tim. Did you know btw that nutmeg and mace come from the same nut? Nutmeg on the outside, mace in the middle. I didn’t.

On a slightly negative note there has been trouble in Ambon recently between the Christians and the Muslims. I passed through areas that had been closed to traffic for months but saw little sign of destruction. The result of the disturbances is that the island is now heavily segregated with the Christians predominating in the city and the Muslims relegated to the area around the airport. Sad I find.

However, I couldn’t see out my visa on Ambon although the becaks were charming, the Ojeks (sitting on the back of a motor bike) slightly alarming and the Ojeks (mini buses playing very loud music) plentiful and cheap it wasn’t exactly a place to spend too much time. Research, research. I half wanted to go see the Dragons on Komodo, or hang out in the Gillis or go stay with a tribe in Papua. My eye landed on Raja Ampat off the west coast of Papua. A National Park dedicated to wildlife, fish and coral it sounded interesting. The Diving Tribe considers it some of the best diving in the world due to its location at the center of the coral triangle. I couldn’t find any suggestion of a hotel on the islands so called a homestay to check availability. Sure, said the guy, fly from Ambon to Sarong, pick up the once a day ferry to Waihai and we will pick you up at the jetty in the speedboat for the ride to Kri.

Its not easy these days escaping far the maddening crowd.

A classroom in Bahowo village. Sulawesi.

Catching the school bus.

Volcano and local outrigger.

Canons on Ternate.

Dutch fort on Ternate.

A big volcano and a small one.

Market place in Ambon.

Patriotic durian sellers!

Allied World War 2 Cemetery.

The old Palace.

Nutmeg.

Ambon becak.

Ambon taxi rank.

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Tagged Ambon, Bahawo Lodge, Manado, Raja Ampat, Sulawesi, Ternate

Maratua.

Posted on April 23, 2015 | 14 comments

Looking at a clean page and wondering how to explain Maratua and I have no idea where to begin. How about the beginning? I was in Samarinda after the river trip and at dinner there was a young woman on the next table with multiple phones, gabbing away in foreign on one, then in highly accented English English on another, intrigued I struck up a conversation over the rice and chicken. Seems she was the sustainability manager for a palm oil company (huh, good luck with that I didn’t say) and out of the blue she starts showing me photos on her computer of a small coconut treed beach with the whitest sand. “You must go to Maratua” she said and went on her way. Back then to Balikpapan on the Kangaroo Bus, yes really, and to the hotel where, next morning at breakfast was a Swiss family. Mom, Dad, eleven year old girl, boy seven and we got to chatting. They had arrived in the middle of the night from Zurich, bright and sparkling, no grizzly jet lag, with just layovers here and there on the way. I complimented them on their sparkliness. “Oh thanks says the Dad, we are leaving in two hours for Maratua”, as if that explained everything.

You can imagine, all my antennas went onto ‘receive’ and I heard the story. First you must get a ninety minute flight to Berau, then find a car and driver for the two hour plus ride to Tanjung Batu, and after that you must find a speedboat and captain for the two hour plus trip out to the island. They left and out came the computer. A couple of expensive diving resorts on Booking.com, nothing on Agoda but then Trip Advisor had these reviews of a guesthouse, all five stars but no way to book. Checked the guest house web site and the only way to book was through a random lady called Amelia who was somewhere, New Zealand as it turned out. Back and forth with the emails, pages and pages of instructions and guidance, helpful hints and guidance, all this for a guest house (?), and pay upfront with PayPal. I took the leap, paid, booked the flight and next morning, early, I was on my way.

The flight was typically uneventful, Berau airport equally unremarkable, found a car and driver who straight away started asking me questions, the indication was that he wanted to stop off somewhere for something, well sure I shrugged. We stopped outside a house, he beeped and three teenage girls fell, giggling into the back, and off we went. Terrible road, full of holes, half washed away in places with no signage of imminent catastrophe, the occasional stop for yet more bananas, some nice Rain Forest bits, other bits devastated by slash and burn, heartbreaking charred remains. The jetty at Tanjung Batu all of a sudden, fishing boats, yachts yachting in the bay, some very expensive looking speed boats, some others, not so much. The car was approached by a team of rum looking coves and negotiations began, fortunately the aforementioned Amelia had given guidance on how much to pay and when I got a few dollars under her suggested price the deal was clinched. I bid farewell to my fellow passengers who all did the hand shake and touch the clasped hands to their forehead thing. All the young people do that, it’s most delightful. Embarked into one of the less expensive looking boats, bags followed, I sat in the back and we rocketed off, straight out to sea.

I felt bad for the next couple of hours because for the first time on my trip I was almost glad that certain family members were not present. It wasn’t really a rough sea but every time we hit a wave we basically took off, me two feet up in the air landing heavily back down again. I tried moving into the front seat behind the miniscule windshield, it didn’t help much. Out of sight of land for a while there was eventually a dot then a blob and Maratua loomed. (Finally Tim, finally!) and we approached the beach with the small blue roofed guest house beckoning. A large gentleman, Jun, took my bags off down a boardwalk into the jungle to my little hut with an outside bathroom, a big water tank collecting rainwater for showers etc. A bed and mozzie net, open around the top of the walls which let in the bugs and beasties, some quite large. The blue roofed large hut was the restaurant/bar, I use bar loosely, beer only. There was a kitchen that after a few days I felt comfortable helping myself from, tea, Sprite etc. There were omelets or scrambled eggs for breakfast, toast even, rice and fish or chicken for dinner, curried, spiced or not. Very good considering how far we were from anywhere. There were some others around, not many and they all left until it was just me, a guy from Minnesota, Thano, on his way to his job in McMurdo Sound Antarctica and Meredith from South Dakota on her way home from two years of Peace Corps teaching in Thailand. We were soon joined by Ola and Mattius from Poland who added a little continental je ne sais quoi to our small American enclave. Conversations, meals, beers and good company made our little bit of Paradise even better. It was almost Robinson Crusoe land, a coral island, an atoll in fact, complete with reef and lagoon.

There was a surfeit of divers around, scuba types, I couldn’t keep up with their special language which consisted of discussions based around PADIs, BCDs and REGs, I had no idea, but did enjoy the forays into the encyclopedia of local fish. There are a lot of fish in the book. I did tag along on one excursion to a Dive Resort, Nabucco, set on its own tiny island, no more than ten chalets, a private beach and scrambled egg with bacon for breakfast. It looked very, very pleasant, a little expensive perhaps and absolutely nothing to do except for the diving. That’s why people go there. Oh, and I missed the Swiss family by two hours.

There was another outing one evening to the nearest village for a wedding. The whole population was there on the dusty main street, under a large canopy, sitting on chairs or on the verandas of the adjoining houses. There was a band on stage at one end with the happy couple sitting on thrones beside the speakers and they looked absolutely miserable. They must have been there all day, all dressed up in their finery, but to my eye the bride’s dress bore every resemblance to a multi colored meringue. I sat myself down at the back, as you do, and thought I would just stay incognito but oh no, the Headman of the village comes along, grabs my hand a marched me right to the front where I was placed on a junior throne. Not quite what I had in mind, nor I think what Ola and Meredith had in mind either when they were hauled up on stage and encouraged to dance. They did very well. I was not invited to participate!

I’m probably not doing Maratua the justice it deserves because the atmosphere of the place is just about impossible to describe in words. The little restaurant overlooked the sea and every morning we would see turtles feeding right below us. There were Marlins out at sea doing that strange walk on the surface they do on their tales, Trumpet fish swam lazily by, there were barracudas, sharks and Napoleon fish, a whole encyclopedia full of fish in fact. And I did swim and snorkel with the turtles so that’s another thing knocked off the bucket list. The days absolutely flew by but all I did all day was sit on the restaurant edge and scan the one hundred and eighty degree sea view back and forth, back and forth to see what could be seen, read my book, point something out to the others or follow their pointed fingers and watch the tide go in and out. It was all just delicious. The owner, Jun, was a big local type, his wife Anna was quite wonderful and their four month old baby cried once, once! As it happens Jun lived in Edinburgh (Stockbridge) for three and a half years and has a kilt. We talked about the weather there. He didn’t wear his kilt. But on a similar subject I was thumbing through the magazines and came across a Nat’ Geo’ from last year with a big feature on the stone circles etc of Orkney. The Standing Stones of Stenness on the cover. All that way to Maratua to find an article about Orkney, who’d have thought?

There were many ‘moments’, one of the better ones was when I dropped my wallet in the sea. I quickly grabbed it and laid out my notes on a towel to dry. The sight of me chasing five dollar bills down the beach went, sadly, unrecorded. Or trying to Skype back home which involved a scooter ride to the village and connecting under the only cell tower on the island, much to the amusement of the population. etc etc.

Then it was time to leave, how sad. If you think you might go, go soon, they are building an airport.

Turtle.

Again.

Too many turtles?

Part of the beach.

Always lots to see.

The cats caught a snake.

A boat.

That golden moment, with Mattius and parts of Ola.

Anna and the delightful baby.

This post may need a bit of editing, apologies, but thought I would upload it as the connection in North Sulawesi is spotty at best.

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Posted in Kalimantan, Maratua

Tagged Maratua

The Mahakam River.

Posted on April 16, 2015 | 18 comments

The challenge for river enthusiasts in Borneo, after experimentally testing themselves on the minor rivers, is the Mahakam, the country’s longest river. Rising some one thousand kms in the central mountains it wanders down to the coast near Samarinda where it empties its self into the the Makassar Straights by way of a large delta. The immediate problem is finding a way onto it as the first two hundred kms are heavily trafficked with vast mineral barges and coastal craft while the banks are crowded with stilted villages, shacks, shops, restaurants, cafes and of course mines. Not too edifying. Coal is loaded onto barges from huge conveyor belts crossing high above the dwellings and poured down into the waiting barges, with of course, the resulting dust and stink. There are bottlenecks on the road along this part of the river where a bridge crossing has been built, unfortunately said bridges tend to collapse periodically leading to sad loss of life. To avoid this hive of activity requires either a car rental or a bus ride, I chose the latter and up ready and waiting at 5am my guide, the excellent Abdullah, showed up and immediately hailed a passing scooter coaxing me onto the back for the ride to the bus terminal. I got the idea early on that this was not going to be any type of luxury cruise! The bus turned out to be a short, thirty seater, raggedy seats, cargo down the center aisle, doors and windows open for ventilation, every seat taken, crowded with Moms and children, farmers, miners and me. Sure got some interested looks. Off we wheezed casting clouds of fumes through the aforementioned hive of activity. Two hours and we were through and into the countryside, the hills loomed, no jungle, just palm oil plantations, the road twisted and turned, rose and fell, and the passengers started throwing up. Like I said, no luxury cruise this one.

Five hours of that and we reached the river, broad and brown, wide and lazy, and there was my boat. A ces, a glorified canoe with a lawn mower engine, the propellor attached to a long pole sticking out the back. The propellor sits quite high in the water and throws up a spectacular curved wash high in the air as we race along, it’s pretty impressive. In some parts of Asia this is known as a ‘long tail’. Settled into the one seat and roared off upstream where we promptly stopped. Propellor jammed. This has happened before here and there so I wasn’t really perturbed, just take it as it comes. We slowly made our way to the first village, tied up, unjammed the prop’ and set off again, noisily. Many, many villages along the river and judging by the number of satellite dishes these fisherfolk were doing just fine. Floating shops, floating gas (petrol) stations, floating houses, stilted walkways, tons to see. Different too, a Muslim majority village, a Dayak majority village, a Catholic majority village, a village of immigrants from Sulawesi, another with people from Banjarmasin in South Kalimantan, totally fascinating, each with different languages but they all speak Dayak as well.

We crossed some big lakes, negotiated reed beds and huge banks of weed, almost impenetrable and of course we got stuck periodically. Harry, the driver, didn’t seem too concerned and bashed the cloying weeds with his paddle, freeing us. The problem was that as soon as we stopped clouds of mosquitos descended on us, out with the bug spray which helped a little. Eventually to our village for the night and the accommodation turned out to be a Dayak communal tribal longhouse. We wandered around the lanes and paths, watched the children fishing off a bridge, tried to find a replacement charger for Abdullah’s phone and ate some very good food for dinner.Then it was time to attend a Dayak Tribal Ritual featuring five drummers, a very large Shaman (medicine man?), wearing bells on his feet and a long skirt who danced and chanted, many female attendants and two chickens. There were maybe fifty people gathered in the big hut, mainly women with some sleeping children plus a smattering of men, everyone was Dayak, and me. People have written books about what I observed, suffice it to say I accepted that I was no longer in Hertford, Hereford or Hampshire any more, not even in Marin. It was all very strange and got stranger when two chickens became part of the Ritual. Oh no, I thought, but no, it was ok, they lived another day. I would love to have the words to describe it, the Ritual, but I don’t, probably because I had no idea what was going on, everyone seemed very happy though, much smiling. I think Abdullah told me we were communing with the ancestors, certainly offerings were made to someone/something, stuff was set alight and burned smokily, fruits were placed around in bowls and on plates clearly not to be eaten by me. I took some video on my tiny ipod, maybe it will make it home and I can find someone to shed some light on it. Again, it was all very strange.

Next morning it was back out onto the lakes and rivers, more getting stuck in the reed and weed beds, more mosquitos, lots of bug spray. We traversed big lakes, made our way down narrow waterways, enjoyed the wildlife, failed to take photos of kingfishers, again, and passed by many, many more floating villages. There were more Bird Hotels. Did I mention these before? Can’t remember. All the villages had their bird hotels, big concrete or wooden structures, quite ugly with small holes in the walls and amplified bird song emanating from speakers on the roof. The birdsong attracts the swiftlets who build their nests within using their saliva, thousands and thousands of them. Their situation, beside the river, provides an abundance of food, mozzies etc. The nests are then harvested with the price at source being $100 per kilo, the nests are then exported to China where they are the basis for Bird Nest Soup, at vast expense. I became quite obsessed with Bird Hotels, eagerly pointing them out to the long suffering Abdullah who would smile, indulgently.

All day on the river, thundering along on the wide open parts, creeping along to observe the banks, more getting stuck in the reeds, it was a fabulous day, exhausting but far, far away from the humdrum. We eventually tied up in a village for the night, a village with no dogs. No dogs? No, no dogs. This I noticed quite soon as it is the sign of a 100% Muslim village. Apparently The Prophet, when on the run from the authorities had his hiding place betrayed by dogs, so no dogs in Muslim villages. Also, no beer. We passed the evening pleasantly enough at the house of one of his friends, the wife made local delicacies, the kids watched cartoons on tv, the menfolk chatted away while I rested on the sofa wondering what to do. It wasn’t as if I could read a book or play music on the headphones, that would be impolite just about anywhere. But I drank lots of tea, enjoyed the delicacies except perhaps the stewed bananas in, I think, rancid condensed milk, whatever it was it was horrid, truly awful. After a couple of hours it was time to go, back on the scooter, back to my concrete box to sleep. Ten o’clock came and there was a great wailing, up and down the street wailing. That’s new thinks I, turned over and tried to sleep again, my concrete box was very hot on account of no window or a fan.

Dawn came, eventually and peering over the edge of the upper floor there was a huge canvas covering the street outside the accommodation, chairs everywhere, people gathering, food being prepared and much sawing of wood and hammering. Odd, it wasn’t there when I went to bed. Abdullah appeared, what is happening says I. “oh didn’t you hear the Morning Prayers, the owner died last night”. Of course I had heard the Morning Prayers but as for understanding them, not a chance. The hammering and sawing came from the local carpenters, building the elderly Gent’s coffin, right there, on the street, he was quite elderly and his demise was not unexpected, but still!

I’m going on a bit sorry, lets wind it up.

Off back downstream in the ces to the jetty, found the car to take us back to Samarinda with a young woman already in the back. Turned out she was the one and only local midwife who delivers babies up and down the river and we were giving her a ride to town. Very charming, no English, but wherever we stopped she would find children she had brought into the world and chat chat chat. Nice. Abdullah insisted that I go to his home and meet his family, oh no, not another social situation where I do not understand a word spoken, all I wanted to do was take a nap. It seemed churlish to refuse so we arrive at his house, slip and slide up the steep path with no steps, fall in through the door and collapse on the sofa. I heard singing and from the back of the house comes Mrs Abdullah, Diana, bearing a cake, with candles all lit followed by many children of all ages singing Happy Birthday, in English. Oh my goodness. I had to blink seriously. It was quite lovely. There were presents. More tea. We always had Birthday Tea back in Marin but I didn’t make a big deal out of my birthday, I just mentioned it when Abdullah, at some point, asked me how old I was. There I was in far away Samarinda, having Birthday Tea, it was all a bit much and I was quite overcome. What could I do in return, fix the family computer of course, hahaha, they were all thrilled.

I have been off the Internet for over ten days hence the lack of communication. I was a plane, car and boat ride away on a coral island, an atoll, complete with reef and lagoon and little to no connectivity. It was a miracle to find in these days of mass tourism, only a handful of other wanderers were there, less actually.

It was called Maratua.

Floating village shop.

Child fishing for dinner.

Statues outside Tribal Longhouse.

Very bad lighting but this is the Shaman.

Stuck in the reeds.

Coffin making.

Fishing on the river.

Clouds and river.

Bird Hotels.

More Bird Hotels.

Mending nets.

A very peculiar looking bird.

It is a Marabou stork and seemed to be almost domesticated, in a way.

Happy people.

Fishing.

Eagle.

A rare black long tailed monkey.

I seem to have mislaid the Birthday photos. I will upload a couple when I find them.

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Tagged ces, Dayaks, Mahakam River., Samarinda, Shaman

Camp Leakey and The Tanjung Puting National Park.

Posted on March 20, 2015 | 8 comments

Chug chug chug, I’m on a very, very slow boat, or klotok, on a very muddy river (the Kumai) in Central Kalimantan, Borneo and you know, it’s just about perfect. We headed out of the port at Kumai and even after a few chugs we saw Fresh Water dolphins and a couple of Monitor Lizards. A little bit further and we turned off into a tributary, slow moving and very muddy, the entrance to the Tanjung Puting National Park. The mud is caused by illegal mining, mining for coal, zircon, gold and the rainforest is completely decimated. There is nothing left after the illegal logging was done and its now all palm oil and rubber plantations. No jungle sounds, no, birds, no butterflies, none of the usual whistling and hooting, no odd screeches. Even so it is still rather exotic, river, Borneo, klotok, I’m excited.

Two hours of slow progress into the interior there was evidence perhaps that the illegal logging had been stopped or at least paused, there are trees, tall trees, stretching way, way away. Straight away there were two bands of Proboscis monkeys swinging along the riverbank, two large males, both with multiple wives. Finally I snapped a photo of a male, longer nose than the females, bigger too, plus I learned something new, with so many wives they are always erm ‘ready’! I laughed again and again, they leapt from branch to branch, high up and sometimes fell, plummeting down only to reach out casually with a hairy arm to save themselves. Why did I laugh? Just pure joy I suppose. On up the river and the sounds are back, whistles, hoots and that high pitched buzzing that you only hear here, in the jungle.

We stopped at a Ranger Station to watch the Orangutans be given their evening feed. Just a short fifteen minute treck through the trees and to a roped off area where there were, people. A number of people deep in the forest but where had they come from. Seems they had a big, group klotok, twelve I think, all Aussies, with an Orangutan expert in tow . The lenses on the cameras were something to behold, carried by youths who handed them over with the click of the fingers, the noise of the high speed shutters, irritating. Yes we saw Orangutans, quite a few in fact and it was fantastic. Before this chapter closes here is something. I casually mentioned to the guide that I wondered why they were called Orangutans, I got the look, the stupid tourist look. Orang in Malay means people, Utan means forest, therefore ‘people of the forest’ or Orangutan. That ends the four different spelling options. It’s a Malay word that we have somehow kept. Good for the Malays, good for us.

We have parked for the night, beside the river, tied to a fallen tree. It’s pitch dark and I can’t see a thing. My bed is a mattress on the deck with a mozzie net. I’ll sleep well.

Well I didn’t, not really. Too many crashes, growls, grunts and splashes kept waking me up but finally it was dawn at around five so I got up. We spent the day on the river, heading down another tributary where the water changed color dramatically, from the muddy brown of the mining detritus to the almost black of forest vegetation. Tall trees either side and us, puttering along on the klotok which is basically a small houseboat, primitive but utilitarian. There was a stop at a feeding station and like yesterday there where suddenly people where there had been none before. I met a Scottish couple, from Och on the Black Isle. No, I didn’t mention how appropriate was its name. He was from Lewis with the broad lilt of the Western Isles, she, Michelle was from Inverness but had been in Edinburgh for years and years. We had a nice chat, trashing the new tram (actually now its open it is quite good) and lamenting that Central Kalimantan is dry etc etc. A couple from Denver and another from LA, plus miscellaneous Spaniards. It seems that during the High Season here, June and July, the majority of the 60 or so klotoks available for rent in Kumai are taken by the Spanish and no one can tell me why. Anyone? (L?) Bit of a long way from Spain I’d have thought. Oops, I’ve wandered off, sorry. There were no Orangutans to be seen at the feeding station and we all trudged back to the river through an area reduced by slash and burn, just ferns grew. At the jetty on the river and at the Ranger station, two guys and a desk outside a hut, there were clouds of black butterflies, nowhere else, just where there were humans. Odd.

To Camp Leakey then and when we pulled into the shore there was a Mom and baby just sitting on the fence, all nonchalant, as if greeting us. An unrelated male was fast asleep in the gazebo on the jetty. It was quite a miracle, but I think I have said enough about the Orangs though haven’t I? The river though, and the rainforest where, for me, the stars of the day. At one point I tried reading a book but couldn’t, I kept looking up and out, seeing the legend that is this green and verdant living thing. It can’t last, it really can’t and what kind of a tragedy that is and will be. One of the crew on the boat used to be an illegal logger and I got a few stories, via translation, that I found depressing. One cubic measure (20 centimeters) of the Iron Wood tree sells for $75.00, an Iron Wood sapling grows one foot every ten years, the loggers bribe the authorities so well that they build railways in the forest to ship the logs out. The local farmers are similarly destructive, slashing and burning vast areas for just one season’s crop, then they move on. I don’t have Internet access here but isn’t it well known that an area of the forest the size of a football field is destroyed every second? I told the guys on the boat, ‘enjoy it while its here’.

Ok, rant over, no more tree hugging tonight, Birkenstocks back in the closet, pinko liberal flag furled, I’m going to have a beer and celebrate night number two on the edge of the Heart of Borneo.

Sometimes the trees seemed full of wildlife.

The muddy river and the Rainforest.

The black river and the rainforest.

The black river meets the muddy river.

Not sure how this one got uploaded! I hope its ok.

A male. What a handsome fella.

She is kind of cute too.

A closer look.

Grubs up!

Around the dinner table.

Adoring and adorable.

Even more adoring and adorable.

I don’t know what to say.

This is one of the dozens of bird hotels (swifts) in Kumai where the birds build their nests for Bird Nest Soup. Interesting I thought.

I resolved before leaving that not only would I ‘live blog’ my trip but I would also take lots of photos. I did, but I have so many pictures that sorting the highlights has been difficult. I may do some more sorting and post more. I haven’t even looked at my phone yet! The photos on it I mean.

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Tagged Bird nest soup, Borneo, Camp Leakey, Kumai, Orangutans, Rainforest, Tanjun Puting National Park

Pontianak and the Equator.

Posted on March 16, 2015 | 10 comments

I’m not sure what it is but I have a problem remembering where I am. Today I am in Pangkalanbun, yesterday I was in Pontianak and its not as if these names spring to mind upon waking in the morning. Certainly there is that moment every morning when I pinch myself and think, I’m in Borneo, but pinpointing exactly where can be challenging, even pronouncing it is difficult. But, Pangkalanbun is where I am right now and I had better get used to it. I arrived today as I mentioned, from Pontianak, in Eastern Kalimantan where I spent a few days absorbing the fact that everything is quite different here. I wondered why all the flights left so early in the morning until I worked it out, of course they leave early to avoid the regular afternoon thunderstorms and torrential rain. Up then at 5.00am, a six thirty ride to the airport and an 8am flight. No disrespect intended but why is there always a Prayer Room adjacent to the gate? The Trigana Air prop’ plane didn’t exactly inspire confidence but we made it here after a couple of stops at what appeared to be no more than jungle airstrips. The aircrew must have thought me slightly odd as I kept asking, on landing ‘Pangkalanbun?’. No, Sir, sit. OK. Eventually we were in the right place and I was ushered off the plane and arrived in Pankalanbun.

Pontianak was interesting, a big city with terrible traffic and more scooters than even Saigon, yes, really. As in Sabah everyone goes out to eat in the evening so the perpetual scooter madness never lets up, the evening rush hour turns into the dinner rush and everyone wears a helmet, even over their hijabs and the ladies sit side saddle when riding pillion. Curiously people wear their jackets reversed, ie in front, with their arms down the sleeves. I don’t remember seeing that anywhere else. Looking at the guidebook it seems there is one thing, and one thing only to do in Pontianak and that is to visit the Equator Monument. The city sits on the line and is one of the few cities in the World that does that, so, first port of call, The Equator. My hotel allocated me a taxi driver cum guide who turned out to be the genial Baim (Baeem) and he was very attentive and spoke some English.

The Monument was quite interesting, old photos of scientists celebrating the Monument’s creation, hard boiled eggs in bowls that could be stood up on their ends on the marble floor, a large monument capped by a large arrow pointing in the direction of the line. Unfortunately there was nowhere nearby to prove that in a flushing loo the water goes straight down rather than spin clockwise as it does in the Northern Hemisphere. This because the only conveniences present featured what my niece, Ms Sophie, euphemistically and charmingly calls ‘long drops’. The big disappointment was that actually this was not the Equator at all, it’s moved. Its gone one hundred meters south for reasons I could not fathom, it was all explained on a leaflet but I came away a little disillusioned. It was everything a geography nerd could hope for, almost. One thing that does catch the eye in Pontianak is the position of the satellite dishes, they all point straight up, as in vertical. Of course, the satellites are all in position over the Equator. But there is a problem, the dishes fill up with water when it rains so there is a frequent message on the tv to the effect that normal service will resume when it stops raining. I thought that was lovely.

The serious Baim struggled a bit to find other interesting things to do. We went looking for black orchids at an Aloe Vera farm but came away empty handed. We went shopping but that was very tiresome. We did drink tea on a somewhat dubious looking river craft. There were no tables or chairs so we sat on the deck as the boat puttered along the riverbank. At dusk we puttered which was the time the local residents came down to the river to bathe, sure, very interesting, but I felt a little like an intruder. Another similarity to India, kites, thousands of them bouncing and gliding about in the fading light, flown not only by the kids but also the adults, whole boatloads of kite flyers on the river. Following that expedition we went around the town visiting Baim’s family. First to see his wife and children in their house beside a busy street, twelve year old daughter, eight year old son and very shy wife. Yes, it was suitably….what? oh I don’t know, but it was worth it to raise a smile from both the wide eyed young ones. Then to a house by the river, reached by making our way across narrow planks above the water (vertigo again) where his parents lived with his sister and her four kids. All the neighbors came out and visited for one reason or another but mostly to stare at this Anglo in their midst. Tea was made and passed round. Lots of mirth, hilarity and fun, shouts from nearby houses, people came back from the river after their baths in various stages of their toilet, washing was done and hung out for the following day. All this took place in what I will call ‘local houses’, raised on stilts above the river, each reached by a maze of planks across which people rode their scooters, bicycles, carried groceries, carried on with life. Evening Prayers started from all the neighboring Mosques, chanted by children, and everyone around me joined in. It struck me that I was a long way from home.

Today I booked a klotok, a boat, that will take me up the nearby river Arut to Camp Leakey, two days away. The camp in the Tanjung Puting Reserve, is run by a lady called Birute Galdikas who is one of the three Leakey Angels, the other two being Jane Goodall and Dian Fossy. Ringing any bells? DR Galdikas runs the biggest Orangutan rehabilitation center in the world and I am on my way.

I’ll let you know how it goes in a few days. There will be no Internet access, obviously.

School’s out in Pontianak.

Top of the Equator Monument.

Inside the Monument.

Outside the Monument at zero degrees.

Tea on the boat.

The walkway maze.

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Cats and Cakes in Kuching, Sarawak.

Posted on March 8, 2015 | 13 comments

What’s it like in Borneo you might ask? First let me say I’m amazed that two friends have been here, Judy, Susie, and I never knew. It’s so far away from everything, there’s this little brain cell constantly saying ‘when are we going back?’ I’m further from the great Eurasian/Americas landmasses than I have ever been and its both liberating and just a bit unsettling. ( Ok, forget Hawaii) The people too, perhaps sensing their remoteness, are very different, good natured, interested in why I’m here, and proudly individualistic. There are sights on the street that stop me in my tracks, long haired youths with the crown dyed blond, young women wearing their colorful hijabs with black patent leather stilettos and was that really an ankle tattoo? Every other door on the street is a cafe or restaurant and they all appear to be packed all day and late into the evening. I’m sure it, like many other places, could be described as a Foodie Heaven, but lets just say these people sure do enjoy their food.

Big, did I mention its big, it’s one third bigger than France, it’s about the same size as Texas and you know what they say about Texas. Borneo is third biggest island in the world after Greenland and New Guinea. Getting about is challenging because they have this rainforest, the oldest in the world, not to mention impenetrable mountains and vast rivers. In the south in Kalimantan there are no roads through the interior and most of the getting about is got about on rivers, something to look forward to.

There are many endearing features:

They use British power plugs, you know, those big ones with three prongs. Always a bit of a mystery to those coming from far away but, God bless her, Julia gave me a compatible adaptor for Christmas and I delight in it every day, it just works, plus it is small and light.

Again, the car registration plates start with SAB, well of course, it’s Sabah.

Markets and more markets, a Sunday market right outside my hotel, a nightly one outside the Le Meridian hotel, malls but not your usual glitzy nightmares, no, these are full of booths selling everything you can imagine, and, the young Muslim women who staff many of them shut up shop regularly and head off to pray. Quite enchanting.

Talking of young Muslim women there was a bit of a sensation in the local press over the Chinese New Year Holiday. It seems that supermarket managers scheduled aforementioned young women to work on the booze counters. A complete no, no, so they complained to the local paper and a mild uproar ensued. Of course they had the backing of the local populace and won their point. No more working on the booze counters. Good for them.

Banks, did I say banks, they are as prevalent as coffee shops in Seattle. Some intersections have four, one on each corner and there are queues outside them all. Why? I don’t know, it’s not a tax free haven though I think it might be a cash economy, maybe it’s all the restaurants and cafes. To accentuate that I just read in today’s Borneo Express that the average Sabah native eats six large meals every day. Six! They all appear Sylph like, it must be the climate.

Part 2.

I have moved on, from Sabah to Sarawak another of the Malaysian States on the Island of Borneo and time has passed, sorry about that. But really there is not a lot to comment on about Sarawak. I’m sure it is probably rude and offensive but it is surely one of the World’s greatest backwaters. Absolutely nothing happens here and it is a fabulous place to visit if that is what you like. Here in the capital, Kuching, there is a wonderful river, the Sarawak, threading its way through the center of town crossed by sampan passenger ferries, a one way trip costs a dime (7P). It’s wonderful to sit on the riverbank for hours and watch them colorfully crisscrossing back and forth, like I said, not much happens here. I did take myself off to the coast for a few days hoping to see the World’s largest flower, the Rafflesia, but alas, none were flowering. Again not much happened out near Lundu (I liked the name), there was a huge beach with barely a soul on it, fishing boats out on the South China Sea, King tides due to the full moon, it rained, but all in all, there was nothing to do. I caught the bus back here to Kuching.

Before you think badly of me, and of Sarawak, I will tell you this. Such as it is known at all, anywhere, it is known for its cats and its cakes. Yes, really! Kuching’s nickname is City of Cats derived from the Malay word for cats, kucing. There is a tall cat obelisk just up the street from my hotel surrounded by large white cats. In the middle of a traffic island in the city center is a huge statue featuring many cats and outside China Town, another, huge solitary cat. People have cat sounds as their cell phone ring tone. There are smaller cat effigies in the public parks for kids to play on and around and of course real cats abound though what is done to their tails I don’t know, they all seem to have a small knot instead. It’s not all boring then! Then there are the cakes or Kek Lapis. A specialty of Sarawak this type of layer cake appears everywhere and people buy it by the crate load. Very colorful, each layer different, they take up to six hours to bake mostly in people’s homes. So many different flavors in one bite and the stall holders proudly give away free samples. Visitors from the mainland buy it in bulk to take home.

Sarawak has its appeal and while writing this I have decided to stay an extra few days and go look for that elusive flower.

Street scene. Kuching.

On the Sarawak River. Kuching.

City Hall. Kuching.

River scene.

The famous cake.

The famous cats.

The cat obelisk.

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On the River at Kinabatangan. Sabah. Borneo.

Posted on February 21, 2015 | 11 comments

It was a bit of a shock arriving at the bus stop by the river in Kota Kinabatangan as there was no sign of habitation let alone some sort of hotel. We all peered around, the bus left, and we seven shouldered our bags, shrugged and made as if to move off. But where? There was a shout from the river and we all stepped carefully down the ramp to the dock to embark in a boat which then shot off into the stream. An unconventional start to the adventure. Up the ramp on the other side and we had arrived at the Nature Lodge Kinabatangan, beside the river with the same name. Oh my oh my, this was Borneo as one would imagine it, ha, there wasn’t even Internet access so it was digital detox time, even for a few days.

After the sunset river cruise on the second day our guide, Aljun, came running down the boardwalk outside the huts crying ‘Guys, guys, come and see this’, so we did and high in the canopy right over my hut there was an orang utang nest. We had spent two days looking along the river bank for orangs and although we saw more wonders than I could have imagined, there were no orangs. There it was right above us, we gaggled around staring up and could see movement, hairy movement and it was all quite thrilling. Dinner and the others went off on a night hike, I had a couple of beers, read my book and went to bed in readiness for the 5.00am start on the boat. 4.00am – Bang Bang Bang on my door, Bang Bang Bang on my roof, the hut shook as something made its way along the boardwalk. Shall we say I was anxious, I mean these animals are taller than I am, they have seven times the strength of the average human, they are huge and hairy, it wasn’t as if I was going to invite him in for tea! What to do, what to do? I quaked somewhat, nervously peered out of the window, saw my neighbors door open a fraction and saw them peer out flashlights in hand, then it closed again. I kept thinking of that scene in Close Encounters. The banging stopped, ok, good, he’s gone back up to his nest to sleep but the night was shot, no more sleeping for me, so got ready for the day and crept out half an hour later looking around in the dark thinking am I doing the right thing. All was well however and I made it unscathed to the coffee/tea area soon to be joined by the others. It was a great relief to hear that Louise and Rooney, my neighbors, were as anxious as I, downright terrified might be more apt. Out onto the river for the sunrise, back for breakfast, sat down and Aljun comes racing in ‘Guys, guys, Orang Utang!”. Plates and tea abandoned we all ran along the boardwalk and there he was, high in the canopy, swinging along from branch to branch, brachiationing (?), making the most tremendous noise and he was huge, gargantuan, enormous and extremely hairy. So glad I didn’t invite him in for tea.

After returning to the breakfast table, throwing things into our bags and gathering on the dock our jungle trip ended, but what an end, what an end.

The Nature Lodge is a quite well organized operation, they have a bus which picks people up every day at the airport at about noon and then goes around the adjoining town, Sandakan, then Sepilok and anywhere else nearby arriving at the Lodge at about three thirty. Guests are then there, as a group for three days and two nights. The group before us was larger, fourteen I think, the group after us was twelve maybe, we were only seven. A lovely Chinese couple, I asked the wife her name “call me Flower, my husband is Mountain”, ok, easy. There were Rooney and Louise who both live and work in Shanghai, a Swiss doctor, and Julia, yes, another one, who was actually Yulia, from Poland and is a lecturer at a Chinese University. So actually everyone lived in China except two of us. Odd that. By the end we had bonded rather well, much ribaldry, teasing and laughs.

The day started at 5.00am with the sunrise boat ride and our guide, the eagle eyed Aljun, would help us into the boat, well, mostly me, and we would streak off either up or down stream until he spotted something, throttle back the powerful outboard motor and either point, or shout excitedly. The sights we saw were worthy of a BBC documentary. A fish eagle catching a fish, Kingfishers which were extremely shy, big lizards from the Komodo Dragon family, Probiscus and many other species of monkey, Crocodiles, extraordinary Hornbills, snake birds. To say that the riverbanks teemed with life would be an understatement, in fact we all got a bit blasé about monkeys, there were just so many of them playing in the trees that we all stopped taking photos of them. Photos were in fact a bit of a challenge, I was tempted just to sit back and enjoy the spectacle but sometimes it was just too special and the memory had to be captured but either I’m not quick enough or the wildlife was too quick and of course, the leaves were a problem!

Concluding, let me say this, if you know me at all the experience of high speed motor boats, on a muddy river in Borneo, at sunrise, the jungle on the banks shrouded with early morning fog, the bow wave occasionally spraying me, pink scarf streaming behind was beyond happiness.

It was truly, truly amazing .

Thank you.

A Probiscus monkey.

Another one.

Quite a nice nose.

Big Lizard.

Hunting.

Scary monsters.

Shudder!

“welcome to my world”

Outrage!

Snake bird. So called due to its shape.

A Hornbill.

Crocodile. A big one.

Shudder. Again.

Just too cute.

A very colorful Hornbill.

Those ears!

Indulge me please. That is a Kingfisher.

Snake bird drying its wings. Yes, it is a member of the Cormorant family.

There he is, up in the trees. An Orangutang.

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First Introduction to the Rainforest.

Posted on February 20, 2015 | 10 comments

Borneo lives up to its reputation. It is truly remarkable. I’m staying in a somewhat primitive eco type resort, basic huts, a couple of hammocks, no AC, beside the muddy river Kinabatangan Wildlife abounds, there are birds everywhere, mostly totally unfamiliar, the jungle reaches the river edge and the night noises, loud. But I’m ahead of myself. Backup.

It was on Monday that I caught a bus from Kota Kinabalu (KK) over the mountains to Sandakan. A great trip despite being six hours, I gazed out of the window the whole way. We inched up the big mountain, Kinabalu, and the view as we passed over the top back down to the Sea below was breathtaking. From then on it was mountains, mountains, mountains, all jungle covered, I was transfixed. There were tea plantations at the summit producing the famous Sabah tea. Resorts and country retreats for the locals, expensive looking restaurants, Range Rovers beside the road. On we went to the first pit stop where my Swiss traveling companion and I ordered a plate of what everyone else was eating, and good it was, though what it was I have no idea. As we continued I began to get nervous as people all around were throwing up and praise be, someone told the bus crew to turn off the ghastly movie we were being shown on the big screen at full volume. Then we were dropped off, at a cross roads, basically nowhere, but I had been advised that there would be taxi pirates nearby and sure enough, over the other side, there they were, all waving. The two-mile ride to the hotel at Sepilok was about a dollar, checked in and went out in search of wildlife. Sandikan is a world famous wildlife-viewing destination so hopes were high but everything appeared to be closed for the evening, I did however see a chicken.

Undeterred, the next morning I was up and ready early, breakfast and off, to the Sandikan Orang-Utan Rehabilitation Center. Arrived far too early, of course, but eventually bought a ticket, put all my stuff in a locker, provided free for visitors so the orangs don’t take it off you, and headed on down the path. There was a nursery area for very young oranges where they played and learned basic orang behaviour, climbing, swinging about in trees, ( New word: brachiation. To travel from branch to branch), eating and the like and then on to the main event, feeding time in the rainforest. A bigger viewing area than at the Shangri La, there were about one hundred a fifty present, three orangs came and ate and it was all very true to form until……everybody left. There were about ten of us left and the orangs decided to turn the tables and come on down to the viewing area. No one seemed quite sure what to do, there were ‘do not touch’ signs everywhere, so we were kind of herded around the area by a couple of Rangers, keeping our distance but at the same time not wanting to miss anything. Up and down the roof supports, over the roof, posing on top of signs, they really seemed to be enjoying themselves until of course the inevitable happened, one of them pee’d, all over the Irish girl who was telling us about the leeches that landed on her from the top of a tree. Just the luck of the Irish I guess.

I saw Sun Bears, tiny little things that I never knew existed. They are on the endangered list mainly due to the horrid things that the Chinese do to their bile. Quite disgusting. From there it was a short ride to the Discovery Center, which I had read about and had almost to myself. There was much in the way of flora and fauna, elegant exhibits, an arboretum, a lake with boats but I had come for the star attraction, the aerial walkway in the canopy of the rainforest. Confession time, I have a fear of heights, I suffer from vertigo, so yes, I was a tad nervous. Up the ramp, and up and up until there I was, level with the tops of the trees, the view was astounding. I felt like a jungle animal high in the treetops, I could see for miles and miles (Sal!), and there was nobody else around, not a soul. The walkway was not long, less than a half mile but it was so not human that I was inclined to tiptoe so I didn’t disturb anything. There were benches every hundred yards or so and I sat on many, just looking out over the forest and marveling. I discovered that if I sat long enough I could detect movement, quite what I have no idea, but there were hairy things, things with long tails, big eyes, colorful things, screechy things, and all around was every shade of green you could possibly imagine and then more on top of that. Absolutely fabulous.

Off back after that to my hotel, dinner, more curry and rice, a couple of beers and bed. Before I leave this scene just one more thing. Both mornings I was woken by a sort of cooing sound from outside my door which turned out to be made by three of the ladies who worked at the hotel. They would arrive early and set out their food and drinks for the day in the shade of my hut and, sitting in a circle on the ground would gossip and pass the time of day, quietly, and in Malay. I was charmed by the whole thing, it was quite lovely.

From Sepilok it was off to the River at Kota Kinabatangan, boat rides at dawn and dusk, some very unique experiences, some great people and more than enough for the next blog post and maybe the one after that……

The road over the mountains.

In the nursery.

Food time.

More please?

Thank you.

Mmm, digesting.

I’ve got a good idea.
Lets go scare the tourists!

‘That blond one over there looks a bit frightened”

‘I’m really going to scare him now”

‘Ha Ha, he’s really scared now”

“Just look at him, he’s terrified”

“That’s ok, I really quite like you”

Out over the canopy.

With apologies to FaceBookers and Instagramers.

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Tagged Mount Kilabalu, Orang Utangs, Rainforest, Sepilok

First Borneo Days.

Posted on February 15, 2015 | 13 comments

All Sunday afternoon activities have come to a sudden halt, the heavens have opened, its pouring with rain and everyone has either gone home or is sheltering in a restaurant. That’s the problem here in Kota Kinabalu, there is constantly so much to do, and everyone is out doing it, whether it be eating or snacking at the endless cafes and restaurants, shopping at the many, many markets, admiring the view over the South China Sea or just hanging out, the choices are endless. Hence, a rather long interval since the last blog entry, sorry.

I have done some of the required touristy things, which as a newcomer I suppose I must do and the first was a ride on the North Borneo Railway. Left behind by the British it runs down the coast for about thirty miles and is powered by a steam locomotive built in England in the 1950s. Breakfast was provided on arrival in one of the original refurbished railway carriages and was served by people in contemporary dress, sure a bit corny, but not too tacky. Chuffing through the jungle was a good introduction to Borneo, the World’s third largest island, and only motivated me to go explore some more. I got to ride in the cab for a little while, no nanny state here! We reached the end of the line, the locomotive spun round on a turntable, re connected, and off we went again. Lunch, served in Tiffin cans, again a bit corny but wildly practical. A Tiffin can is a kind of lunch box, but much more exotic and in widespread use, here, there and all over India, especially. Other passengers included Brits, obviously, Germans, French, a Hungarian lady and two Americans, one from Detroit even and that was just my carriage. OK it was a train ride and I really like trains but it was just a little bit over the top, just a little, though you would have to be an arch cynic to decry it.

There is a splendid lady, Nora, who runs the reception desk at my hotel, always full of ideas and places to go. Next then was an Orangutan rehabilitation center. (note: orang-utan, orangutang or orang-utang) Set in the grounds of the very, very up market Shangri La Hotel about forty five minutes out of town it was a bit of an expensive taxi ride there and back and as an introduction to the wildlife wonders of Borneo it worked. Of course I got totally lost amongst the lavishness of the hotel, gazing around rather overwhelmed at the opulence and had to return to reception for a map, no, there were no signposts. There was a patriotic video to start things off, highlights included the fact that ten percent of the world’s orchids are to be found on the local mountain ( Mt Kinabalu) and that there is more bio diversity to be found in one square mile of the Borneo rain forest than in all of North America and Europe combined. All right then. Off on a steep path into the rain forest until we came to a wooden deck, three levels, with a small platform about twenty feet away. The excitement built as we observed branches moving high in the canopy and then, there they were, two young male Orangs not twenty feet away. Cameras whirred and clicked, iPads blocked the view (again), children cried, not sure why, some just stood and gazed, I know I did because, not being a pushy kind, I was relegated to the back. The Orangs ate and interest dwindled, people sauntered away and I could finally take a photo or two.

It wasn’t the greatest experience but a great intro and tomorrow I am off to a wildlife reserve about six hours on the bus away. I’ll let you know how it goes.

You are never far from the sea in KK and wandering around it flashes into view at the end of the street from time to time. Next then was to get out on to the water. I took a boat ride to one of the many islands lying off shore. You know me, on a speed boat bouncing over the waves, the light shimmering on the water, the view changing constantly, the colors, the wind, yep, heaven. It was just the six of us on the island, there was diving, canoeing, snorkeling etc available but I was content just to sit on the sand and look around. It was fairly hot but interestingly because of the position, five degrees north of the equator I could feel myself burning after a few minutes despite a liberal slathering of sunscreen and spent considerable time in the shade.

Talking of geography, I watched the sunset one evening and realized after it had set that forty-five minutes later that same sun rose, in Seattle. Mind boggling.