CYCLE TOURING MALAYSIAN BORNEO

Malaysian Borneo
1 794 Kilometres – 57 Days
10 July – 4 September 2013

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SARAWAK, BORNEO

10 July 2013 - Cape Town, South Africa - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

Leaving the Americas wasn’t my first choice, but I returned to South Africa for various personal reasons. The bank cards were finally delivered (following a long wait), and I was excited to continue my journey. Erika, my sister, kindly drove me to the airport. Unfortunately, the mere five-kilo overweight came at a massive expense. I was, understandably, miffed as many passengers carried at least 5kg of body fat more than me.

Airport staff informed me the luggage could only be booked to Kuala Lumpur, as a different airline operated between Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia and Kuching, Borneo. I felt ripped off, even though one could understand their reasoning.

Finally, all were on board, and we were off to Dubai. Surprisingly, I saw Mark and cousin Marida on the same flight en route to Phuket. I imagined we'd meet at Dubai airport, but the Dubai airport was such a vast and busy one I never even caught a glimpse of them. I made my way towards Terminal 2, at the opposite end of the airport. So far was it, one needed the airport train. Soon enough, though, we were Kuala Lumpur bound.

 

11 July - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia – Kuching, Sarawak, Borneo

Once in Kuala Lumpur, I dutifully went to the baggage claim area as told but could find no sign of the luggage. Finally, the lost luggage staff confirmed the baggage was indeed sent onward to Kuching. What a bummer as, by then, I had missed the flight to Kuching and had no option but to buy a new ticket. The trip was expensive, but I was still relieved to arrive in Kuching, Sarawak, Borneo.

Borneo is the third largest island in the world and the largest in Asia, and it held a huge fascination for me.

Politically, the island is shared among three countries: Malaysia, Brunei and Indonesia, with approximately 30% of the island being Malaysian territory. The island straddles the equator, and the best part of the Malaysian side is in the northern hemisphere.

A taxi into town made locating a hostel effortless, and even though dead-tired, I couldn’t sleep as the six-hour time difference made my days and nights all wrong.

 

12 July - Kuching

Beds Guesthouse, situated in China Town, was conveniently located and close to a bike shop. The shop kindly offered to collect my bicycle from the guesthouse as carrying a bike in a box is somewhat tricky. I also located a cup water-heater (to make a quick cup of coffee) and a pair of sandals. Removing shoes in nearly all Southeast Asian places makes flip-flops or sandals the most suitable footwear. I, subsequently, discovered my laptop charger was left behind, but that had to wait 'till the following morning.

Kuching turned out fascinating, and China Town was a convenient place to stay and a short distance from the waterfront with its boardwalk and food stalls.

It further turned out to be the first day of the annual food fair. Smoke hung heavily over the area as more than two hundred stall owners fried, grilled and steamed their particular delicacies. Choices were endless, from strange fried balls, items on sticks, dumplings, and food wrapped in leaves; all were delicious. From Chinese and Malay to Indian – the market had something for even the pickiest eater. And, if you really couldn't make up your mind, it offered a wide array of international delicacies – even hamburgers were on offer.

 

13 July - Kuching

My lack of sleep finally caught up with me and I only emerged at 11h00—time to explore the pedestrian lanes of China Town. My meander took me past rows and rows of Chinese shophouses, primarily built in the 1920s and '30s. From there, I made my way through the Indian quarters, where alleys were lined with textiles, jewellery and food.

How can I not mention the cats of Kuching? The town had at least four cat-adorned roundabouts and even a cat museum.

In my walkabout, a laptop charger, a USB modem, and a SIM card were all uncovered. A successful day, all in all. I returned to the food fair at sunset to sample more of their exotic cuisine.

 

14 June - Kuching

The plan was to leave but plenty remained to be seen. A bus took me to Bako National Park, and once at the park, a boat ferried visitors to the park headquarters. I teamed up with a couple on their way to the island as the charge was per boat, not per person, and thus cheaper to share and lovely to have company.

The boat took us past the legendary Cobra, a rock sticking out of the ocean resembling said snake and dropped us at an idyllic beach. From the beach, a path meandered to the park entrance. The scenery was spectacular, and we also encountered strange-looking monkeys and even a few bush pigs. The boat picked us up at 16h00; all in all, a fantastic day. Starving, the easiest was returning to the food fair to grab a bite.

 

15 June - Kuching

Realising one needed a visa to Brunei, I popped into the Brunei Consulate. The consulate informed a visa took three days but travellers could obtain a transit visa at the border. Armed with this information, I hopped on a bus to Semenggoh Nature Reserve, approximately a forty-five-minute bus ride out of town.

The park was home to orangutans. Twenty years ago, eleven orangutans were rescued after being orphaned or held in captivity. The programme was hugely successful, and the surrounding forest now has a thriving population of healthy adolescents and young adults, breeding in the wild. Watching these immensely human-like creatures was highly intriguing and I could watch them for hours on end.

At the hostel, typical hostel life prevailed – some watched TV, and others prepared food or lazed about. I chatted with fellow travellers before retreating to my tiny abode. (At least the aircon was icy cold).

 

16 July - Kuching - Serian Ranchan pools - 70km

I was excited as this was the day I was to start my journey through Borneo. Unfortunately, the weather was (as can be expected) sweltering, precisely the type of hothouse effect one could expect from one of the world's last wildernesses. A sole paved coastal road led to Sabah, but the genuinely interesting places were inland along waterways. Still, I ambled past numerous rural settlements.

With traffic driving on the left-hand side, I stopped at a motorcycle repair shop to change the mirror to the bicycle's opposite side. People were incredibly friendly, and the guy at the shop was eager to help.

The second stop was at a store to get a drink of water. Again, the lady (who spoke English) was interested in my travels and we chatted for a while. Upon departing, she hurried out of the shop with a packet of biscuits - how sweet of her. Shortly past the village of Serian a convenient recreational area with a great swimming hole appeared. Camping wasn’t allowed, but bungalows were available and I was happy for the relative luxury.

At around 20h00, I strolled the short distance to the restaurant and sat chatting with the owners. The temperature was a wonderfully comfortable 28°C and perfect to sit outside (albeit with a few nasty flying insects). Supper was nasi goreng (spicy fried rice) and tea.

Soon, thunder and lightning started, and rain came pelting down. Luckily, the restaurant had Wi-Fi, and I sat surfing the net until the storm subsided, allowing getting to my chalet without getting soaked.

 

17 July - Serian Ranchan pools – Selepong - 100km

Breakfast was coffee and cereal mixed with Milo due to a lack of milk. By the time the bike was loaded, the time was past 9h30 and an additional day was spent biking in oppressing heat, with the sun beating down mercilessly. The route came with a few sharp inclines, which required walking the bicycle up one (which shows how unfit I had become). Every little shop was frequented to top up with water.

Afraid it wouldn't be possible to make it to Sri Aman before sunset, I quit upon spotting a school with significant grounds. Once the tent was pitched, I discovered I had no food besides the biscuits the lady had given me the previous day. With no shop nearby, the cookies became supper.

Mercifully, there remained water in my water bottle, as the taps were dry and, all stinky and sweaty, I crawled in. Unfortunately, no sooner had I zipped up the tent than rain started bucketing down, a rain which continued throughout the night; at least the tent was waterproof. I was thankful for small mercies.

 

18 July - Selepong – Sri Aman - 30km

Waking up was early - as soon as cars started arriving, dropping kids off. Packing up the still-wet tent was in view of the usual spectators, to whom I waved goodbye and biked the short distance to Sri Aman. Of course, there was no reason to go to Sri Aman, but I weakened at the thought of a shower, and a plate of mee goreng (fried noodles).

Sri Aman was situated upon the Batang Upar River and was famous for the benak, or tidal bore. The tidal bore came in from the river mouth, filling the river in almost ten minutes. It's said the wave crest at Sri Aman could get up to two or three meters high and surfers usually wait along the riverbank to catch a wave.

At around six o'clock, the heavens opened, and I was happy in my abode from where to watch the rain through the window. As soon as the storm subsided, I returned to the riverfront where stalls served nasi goreng kampung (village-style fried rice). The portion was a considerable one and came topped with an egg, a piece of chicken, and tiny dried fish (approximately five centimetres long and less than a centimetre wide), accompanied by a small bowl of soup.

 

19 July - Sri Aman – Betong - 81km

Though two more mountains remained, the way was far more level than the previous days. Adding the luxury of a cloud cover, going was a great deal easier, making it relaxed cycling. At first, the plan wasn't to turn into Betong. Still, ten kilometres beyond the turn-off, another signboard pointed to Betong, and my curiosity got the better of me.

Surprisingly, Betong was more substantial than anticipated, with at least three hotels, various shops, as well as a vast and modern sports field. Exploring the area, which came with a few stares, gave the impression that few foreigners ever visited Betong.

It seemed Betong had more Muslim residents than Chinese, judging by the food available. However, being the month of Ramadan, virtually all the restaurants were closed during the day. Still, the food market opened after sunset, selling all kinds of lovely, sweet stuff as well as curry chicken and curry fish – all typically Malay.

 

20 July - Betong – Serikei - 128km

Early morning, I resumed my ride, with trucks carting loads to the palm oil mills. The forest was slowly making way for more palm oil plantations. Riding, one could hear monkeys in the dense forest, but they seldom showed themselves.

The weather was boiling, and Borneo wasn’t for those afraid of heat or humidity. The road became hillier as the day progressed, with an option to turn off to Saratok (which I should've taken). The map, nevertheless, indicated a nature park a little further, which looked more appealing. Unfortunately, the Sebangkoi Nature Park and Resort turned out disappointing and neglected. I, therefore, merely filled the water bottle and proceeded toward Sarikei.

The day was marred by oppressive heat, which made it exhausting riding. As a result, Sarikei lured me in as it sported various places to overnight and had plenty of food.

Even by Malaysian standards, Sarawak has an extraordinary mix of people: the largest ethnic group was neither Chinese (26%) nor Malay (21%), but the Iban (29%), known as the fiercest head-hunters in Borneo. The food was equally varied - in nearly all towns, one could find Malay, Chinese and Indian food and a wide selection of ethnic dishes. However, Sarikei appeared more Chinese, as most of the stalls sold Chinese food and supper was a substantial plate of Chinese noodles and a bowl of soup. Just what the doctor ordered.

 

21 June – Sarikei

I felt tired and stayed in Sarikei as I thought I could do with a day of lazing around. Sarikei didn’t offer much of interest, but it remained an intriguing and typical Sarawakian town, sporting many old Chinese shophouses from the 1930s. The area was famous for growing pineapples and pepper, and the city (not surprisingly) boasted a gigantic pineapple statue.

Located beside the Rajang River, where the river emptied into the South China Sea, boats operated between Sarikei, Kuching, and Sibu. The riverfront was the breeziest place and practically all gathered there to chat and have a snack. So naturally, I followed suit and grabbed a bite to eat while watching the sunset. Ships moving upstream were surprisingly substantial as I didn’t think the river was that deep.

 

22 July - Sarikei – Sibu - 70km

A second look at the map revealed a shortcut to Sibu. Instead of 100-odd kilometres, the distance turned out around 65 or 70 kilometres. Moreover, the road was surprisingly flat, making for an early arrival in Sibu, a remarkably modern city alongside the mighty Rajang River.

From Sibu, the Rajang River ran almost 560 kilometres into the heart of Sarawak. The river was busy, with heaps of cargo ships loading and offloading containers. Passenger boats lay three deep at the passenger terminal, waiting to ferry villagers upriver.

In addition, Sibu sported the impressive Tua Pek Kong Chinese temple. This dragon-adorned temple consisted of a seven-story pagoda with murals depicting the Chinese zodiac signs. A huge, golden bowl was filled with incense sticks, and outside smoke of massive joss sticks filled the air. Devotees lit candles and incense and placed fruits and flowers – providing a pleasant atmosphere of peace and calm.

That evening, the convenient night market provided roti and curry sauce.

 

23 June - Sibu

From Sibu, the plan was to take a trip upriver to Kapit, a three-hour boat ride away and the day, thus, spent in Sibi to plan the trip. The bank was, sadly, off-line and the day came and went with me going nowhere.

Nevertheless, there were many exciting sights in town. Much time was spent trundling through its considerable covered market, where virtually anything was for sale. All kinds of fish, from catfish to shrimps, were displayed in orderly piles, and in-between flowers and spices, strange-looking shellfish and crab could be bought by the kilo. Live chickens were neatly wrapped in newspapers (poor things). Slaughtered ducks lay ungracefully next to the food area, which made me lose my appetite. Instead of having a bite to eat, I continued.

From there, the narrow lanes of Chinatown zig-zagged past many a hardware and motorcycle store but no bicycle shop. Now and again, a sidewalk café provided a cup of green tea, out of the fierce sun. Since leaving Kuching, I hadn't seen any Westerners. I, hence, stuck out like a sore thumb, being considerably taller and with lighter skin. Add curly hair and there was no hiding. People never took their eyes off me and my every move was watched with intense interest. Though I could understand their behaviour, I found the constant attention exhausting.

Strolling along backstreets en route to the night market, shop owners curiously peeped out of doors to see what stranger was lurking in their midst. In addition, one could hear kids call, "Hello, how are you?" followed by endless giggles.

 

24 July - Sibu - Selangau - 80km

Cycling out of Sibu, the river was already a hive of activity; barges headed downstream with enormous logs, and longboats ferried people to and from remote riverside villages. My path took me past colourful Chinese temples and indigenous settlements, where people still lived in longhouses.

Traditionally, most were built using timber, but nowadays wood and bricks are used. Generally, these longhouses were raised off the ground on stilts and divided into more or less a public area in front (resembling a communal veranda) and a row of private, single-room living quarters along the other side—each room with a single door per family. The cooking area was often away from the main building. These villages made convenient places to fill water bottles or have a glass of the immensely popular iced Milo.

A relatively short day’s ride led to Selangau, a village alongside the Pan Borneo Highway. The original settlement was situated near the estuary of Sungai Selangau. However, upon completion of the road in the 1960s, people moved and set up a new town next to the highway. As a result, Selangau had a few shops, a gas station and a market.

Similar to other occasions, the village's remoteness made me feel like I was the circus that had landed in town. Still, people were polite and helpful and eagerly pointed me to the inn. After a bite to eat, the remainder of the afternoon was spent in the comfort of my air-conditioned digs. In the heat, I was immensely pleased about this luxury.

At sunset, villagers congregated at the river; kids swam and grown-ups fished. While snatching a few pics, I met the English teacher – we had a chat, and he informed me of a similar village, barely eighty kilometres away. This was valuable information as the next town, Bintulu, looked one hundred and forty-five kilometres from Selangau, a tad far to cycle in the heat.

The evening meal consisted of a local dish from a sidewalk eatery, washed down with sweet tea. Then, finally, I returned to my abode at the City Inn, which turned out to be a kind of brothel, complete with sound effects and all.

 

25 July - Selangau – Tatau - 85km

The following day turned out an equally exciting ride. Some relief from the sun's fierce rays prevailed, thanks to a thin cloud cover. Past enormous logging farms and teeny settlements, I pedalled while villagers went about their daily chores in a slow and relaxed manner. Even the village dogs appeared too lethargic to give chase.

Sadly, a fair amount of air pollution was visible. Oil palm companies and logging farms have long used fire to clear the forest and other lands ahead of cultivation. For the most part, these fires were from oil palm plantations. Unfortunately, that year's fires were worse due to the dry conditions. Albeit illegal to start forest or land fires, several companies still use this method.

I dragged my heels, as Tatau was barely eighty-five kilometres away, and when a storm came in, a bus stop made a convenient shelter. Luckily, rain in the tropics never lasted long, and soon I could proceed to Tatau, which appeared to simply be a few houses on stilts. Mercifully, there was more to the village slightly beyond the river.

As one moved away from cities, less English was spoken. As the primary spoken language in the villages was Iban, locating food and lodging became somewhat tricky.

 

26 July - Tatau - Bintulu - 60km

Following a slow start, breakfast was at the downstairs restaurant, which consisted of eggs and toast, but it wasn't your ordinary eggs and toast as the bread was green and came with jam. The coffee was overly sweet as the tendency was to add condensed milk in tea and coffee—no complaints, as one can always do with extra energy when biking.

The road remained hilly, with tons of trucks hauling logs to Bintulu’s harbour. I even saw a man in a loincloth, not something seen nowadays. The day's ride finished in Bintulu, where it took time to locate suitable accommodation. The prices appeared a tad higher in Bintulu than elsewhere. Still, the Queen's Inn came at a reasonable price. Not merely was the establishment close to the night market, but right on the riverfront. Once the bicycle and bags were carried up the near-vertical stairs, I could settle in. However, the heat made me feel nauseous, and I felt it best to stay indoors until sunset.

Not feeling hungry, the time was past eight before I strolled to the night market. The promenade was the place to watch ships and barges carrying logs downriver. Logging was a big business in Borneo. Only once seeing the millions of logs stacked by the side of the river, ready for collection and shipping elsewhere, does one genuinely realise the scale of it all.

 

27 July - Bintulu

Having coffee (kopi, as it’s called) and watching life go by, I decided to stay an extra day. The day was spent doing the usual rest day chores, exploring the markets, and searching for a few needed things. The market sold all kinds of intriguing items, including a small pot that could be plugged into a wall plug to cook small amounts of food. The price was low, and the pot light. Being flimsy, I wasn't sure it would last awfully long but I was keen to try it. The market further had a colourful display of exotic tropical produce and beautiful tribal clothing.

What a fascinating world - Sarawak was home to approximately forty ethnicities, each with its own language and customs. Hence, the markets were intriguing, with various products, including Malay, Chinese, Indian and ethnic specialities. Though, I was wondering if I could eat sago worms (the giant Capricorn beetle's larvae), which are high in protein and considered a delicacy.

The traditional costume of the Iban women was especially impressive. The traditional clothes of the Iban are called "ngepan Iban". It included colourfully decorated, silver headgear, vibrant collars - made of beads and threads - woven skirts, belts, corsets, and bangles/bracelets known as "tampa", pronounced as tempo (of which a whole set was purchased), anklets and silver purses.

As the mullah called the people to prayer, the heathen set off in the direction of the night market in search of a bite to eat. I made my way through a residential area with the kids' familiar chanting, "What's your name, what's your name?" from dimly lit entrances. Cheating a bit, I replied with any uncomplicated name which came to mind and could hear them repeating it amongst themselves. Too sweet.

 

28 July - Bintulu - Similajau National Park - 30km

It turned out one more memorable day. Instead of following the highway, a smaller path veered off in the direction of a coastal road. Men exposing themselves always came as a total shock as it’s the last thing one expects ambling along a country lane. This only happens when on my own; not once has it happened when biking with someone, be it a man or woman. This behaviour mainly occurred in regions with unhealthy (according to me) conservative relationships between men and women.

A sign pointed to the Similajau National Park barely ten kilometres away. In the process, I almost rode over a snake, sunning itself upon the tarmac. But mercifully, it saw me first and quickly slithered into the bushes, and I missed it with centimetres to spare.

The park was surprisingly comfortable, offering chalets and two hostel buildings at reasonable prices. Hardly any people were around, and I had an entire four-bed dorm to myself. Then, off to swim in the South China Sea's lukewarm waters before a stroll took me along a trail leading through the forest. The walk was marvellous without a soul in sight, simply the occasional chirping of a bird or something stirring in the dense undergrowth. There are few things more enjoyable than a hike in a forest. On a thick bed of leaves and with the smell of the soil in my nose, I ambled until hunger pangs made me retrace my steps. The canteen served delicious noodle soup, which I devoured in record time.

At the hostel, I teamed up with three other ladies and rented a boat to take us upriver, searching for crocodiles. We didn't find any, but we spent a magical time on the river, which was dead quiet and pitch dark with only the fireflies as light. Life doesn’t get much better than that!

 

29 July - Similajau National Park - Niah National Park - 130km

I was umming and ahhing whether to stay in the park an additional day, and waking to a half-overcast sky, the decision was made easily. The map indicated Niah quite a distance away, with no kampungs (villages) in between, and I thus loaded with ample water. Breakfast was at the canteen with the other ladies. As a result, the time was 09h30 before getting underway.

As indicated on the map, not a significant amount was happening apart from vast areas of oil plantations. Almost halfway were a few food stalls and not significantly beyond that one more set of kiosks, convenient for filling water bottles. The kilometre boards miraculously vanished, and without an odometer, it was hard to guess the remaining distance. I refrained from asking, as the islanders usually had little idea of kilometres and only knew the distance measured in time by moto or bus.

Like the day before, I very nearly went over a snake. I only spotted it when it raised its head in anger for coming between it and its destination. With legs lifted as high as it could go, I let out a loud shriek, at which the snake made a U-turn and slithered in the opposite direction. I further encountered a monitor lizard, feasting on roadkill. Sadly, it got run over by a truck. So interested in the easy meal, he never saw the truck coming and, too late, ran in the wrong direction—poor thing.

Towards the end of the day, the road dragged on a bit. I was happy to slink into Niah, only to discover the park wasn't where indicated on the map but an additional fifteen kilometres via a rural path. There was nothing I could do but put my head down and get the ride over and done with. The park looked lovely but, too late to look around, I ambled to the canteen to get a well-earned meal of the usual fried rice.

 

30 July - Niah National Park

The previous day's distance was still in my legs, making for a leisurely start to the morning. After breakfast, I set out across the river on foot, from where I made my way to the Niah cave. The route to the complex (consisting of an enormous set of caves) was along a pleasant four-kilometre trundle through the forest. At these caves the 'Deep Skull' was unearthed, a human skull dating back approximately 42,000 years, making it the oldest modern human outside of Africa.

First was Traders Cave, where nest collectors gathered to sell their harvest. The caves are still used by nest collectors (used for bird's nest soup). Thin poles snaked up from the cave floor to the ceiling. But, unfortunately, they weren't collecting during my visit.

Next was the aptly named Great Cave. This cave measured two hundred and fifty metres across the mouth and sixty metres at its greatest height. The trail disappeared into the bottom of the cave in pitch darkness. However, dramatic light beams could be seen when the sun hid certain overhead vents. For thousands of years, the caves were used as burial grounds, and I understand that bodies were buried in boat-shaped coffins.

Strategically positioned bamboo poles and ladders made from ironwood were evidence of bird's nest collectors. People have been practising this dangerous occupation for generations. The half-a-million swiftlets living in the cave make their nests purely from their salivary secretions. When the nests are cleaned and cooked, they produce the famous bird's nest soup, which is as highly regarded in Chinese cuisine as caviar is in the West.

Collecting the nests from the cave ceiling is a dangerous job. Fatalities are not uncommon, but the price of raw bird's nests is so high (over US$1000 per kilo for the best quality) that the risks seem worthwhile. Unfortunately, such a valuable commodity is a magnet for poachers, and over-harvesting is a constant worry. Therefore, park management monitors the caves continuously to deter illegal collectors.

 

31 July - Naih Nas Park

First thing in the morning was laundry time and, while doing so, the camp lost power, resulting in no water. But, thank goodness, an outside tap still spewed water. So, I rinsed the clothes and set off along the Bukit Kasut Trail.

At first, the going was pleasurable. The trail stuck relatively close to the river and through a peat swamp forest, making the walk soggy but easy-going. I encountered plenty of wild orchids and bizarre mushrooms. Upon reaching the foot of Bukit Kasur, a long wooden staircase led up the mountain. Afterwards came a steep scramble to the top.

The rain started bucketing down, and it took swinging like a monkey, from branch to branch in the slippery and wet conditions, not to tumble down the mountain. Unfortunately, in trying to find a secure handhold to pull myself up and over the slippery rocks, I, not once but twice, got bitten by a spider. (At least they weren't poisonous, as you can tell by this report.)

Close to the top were more ladders making the going slightly more manageable and the last stretch to the top came with a rope to which one could cling. The top was rumoured to come with beautiful vistas. Still, with the rain, one couldn't see a thing. I quickly but carefully returned via the slippery path (mainly on my ass) as it could be weeks or months before someone visited the area.

 

1 August - Niah National Park - Miri - 85km

With nearly all activities in the park done and dusted, I proceeded towards Miri. The day started promising, but soon the relentless heat returned. Mercifully, a slight tailwind assisted me in the last section of the route which ran flush along the coast.

Upon reaching the oil-rich city of Miri, I was surprised and even a bit taken aback by how modern the city was. The colossal mansions and modern high-rise buildings were in stark contrast to the rest of Sarawak. I headed straight to the old part, where it felt more authentic.

 

2 August - Miri

The following morning was spent wandering the streets of Miri, keeping an eye out for a bicycle computer and a lightweight tripod or gorilla pod. At the end of the day, I came home with all sorts of things, apart from the necessary items. I was umming and ahhing about whether to go to Mulu or not. The boat which sailed upriver was far more costly than a flight.

I bumped into Monica and Silvia (not difficult, as we stood head and shoulders above the rest). They invited me to supper at one of the seafood restaurants, where we consumed more beer than food. Again, a great evening was spent in the company of two wonderfully eccentric ladies.

 

3 August - Miri

My indecision about whether to go to Mulu made staying an additional day. Eventually, I bought a bicycle computer, had my bag sewn at the market, and checked the internet to find flights to Mulu. Finally, fate seemingly decided on my behalf, as the first available flight was in a week, and I wasn't going to hang around Miri that long.

I set out to find a gorilla pod as I had convinced myself it would be the best. Shops sold excellent, lightweight tripods, but the biggest concern wasn't the weight, but whether I would take the trouble to take it out, unfold it, mount the camera and eventually take the shot. So instead, the evening was spent at one of the pavement cafes, enjoying a beer and food, peacefully listening to mosques calling people to prayer. Nearing the end of Ramadan people were feverously shopping. Once the sun had set, fireworks lit the sky and restaurants filled to the brim.

I, once again, experienced someone enquiring about my trip. After roughly explaining the where, when, and how, he looked me in the eye and said: "I don't believe you." Quite frankly, I couldn't care whether he believed me or not. Hahaha. This wasn't the first time I had such a response– how weird, I clearly, didn’t look the part.

 

4 August - Miri - Brunei border - Miri – Kuching - 60km

Departing Miri was at 08h00, and I wasn’t sure whether to expect a long day of cycling or not. However, it turned out to be an effortless thirty kilometres to the Brunei border, passing sizable and busy rivers and people working the fields under conical hats.

Border officials explained they couldn't issue transit visas. One had to return to Kuching to obtain a visa at the consulate. This wasn’t the information given by the embassy, but there is no arguing with immigration officials. Tail between my legs, I returned to Miri to locate a place to leave the bike and panniers and took a night bus to Kuching.

A long fourteen-hour bus trip and not the most comfortable of journeys took me to Kuching. The seats were comfy but the way was potholed, and from time to time I believed it possible one could bounce right out of the seat.

 

5 August - Kuching

I must’ve lapsed into a slumber as I woke and found myself in Kuching, where a taxi took me to the Brunei Consulate. I completed the forms, paid the required fee and was told to collect the visa in two days. So, at least that part went smoothly.

Beds Guesthouse made a comfortable home for the next two nights. The evening was spent enjoying a sunset boat ride along the Sarawak River, which turned out pleasant. En route to my abode, food was from one of the many Chinese restaurants and, as anticipated, excellent.

 

6 August - Kuching

By then, I had done and seen practically all the attractions Kuching had to offer. The one thing left to do was to investigate the cultural village, approximately a forty-five-minute drive by shuttle. These villages were usually fake, but this one was quite a surprise, and the dance show was thoroughly enjoyable. Scattered about were a few show longhouses with nothing happening, except inside; they were surprisingly cool.

Upon returning to town, the markets were hectic as the following day was a public holiday, marking the end of Ramadan. As a result, the bazaars were buzzing with people shopping for food, clothes and gifts. Mobile carts sold the immensely popular lemang (glutinous rice cooked with coconut milk in bamboo over an open fire), a favourite at that time of year.

 

7 August - Kuching

I collected the passport in the morning and hopped on the night bus to Miri.

The day turned out to be Hari Raya Aidilfitri, which marked the end of Ramadan and is considered one of the two most important celebrations for Muslims. Many Muslims (and non-Muslims) return to their family homes (Balik Kampung) a couple of days during Ramadan, and the bus, understandably, was crammed. We shook, rattled and rolled through the night, only arriving in Miri at 09h30 the following day.

 

8 August - Miri

I headed straight to the inn where the bicycle was stowed, and was relieved to see everything still in place. Already late, one more night was spent at the inn. Outside the weather was boiling, and an air-con room was the best place to hide. At the end of the day, a meander via the backstreets revealed a still open eatery largely frequented by villagers, a fascinating experience.

 

BRUNEI

 

9 August - Miri, Sarawak – Tutong, Brunei - 121km

Venturing further east soon brought me to the border and into tiny Brunei. I say TINY as the distance from the border to where one could get the ferry to Sabah was at most one hundred and fifty kilometres.

Brunei was quite remarkable. Firstly, the country is a Sultanate and an incredibly conservative one. Secondly, Brunei is a wealthy country and home to one of the richest men in the world. The Sultan of Brunei is worth a cool US$22 billion, all thanks to the discovery of oil. Education and Healthcare were free, houses, cars and even pilgrimages to Mecca were subsidised, and taxation on personal income was unheard of.

This all meant plenty of fancy and fast cars. The problem was that only some owners of fast cars were good drivers. Add alcohol to the equation, and cycling could become downright dangerous. Brunei was a dry country but not all adhered to this rule, judging by the number of empty beer cans next to the tarmac.

A threatening storm loomed all day, but nothing came of it besides a few drops. Seria, the first town, was a convenient place to draw a few Brunei dollars, which I considered artificially low to the US dollar. So back on my mobile home I meandered along, reaching Tulong around 16h00 and deemed it an excellent place to overnight. The single hotel in town was hellishly expensive, but this was Brunei.

The second day of Hari Raya Aidilfitri caused all businesses to shut, apart from a tiny supermarket. I therefore had to dig into my emergency food stockpile. It does come in handy from time to time.

 

10 August - Tutong – Bandar Seri Begawan - 55km

As said before, Brunei wasn't a big country, and my path soon spat me out in Bandar Seri Begawan (or simply Bandar), the capital of Brunei. En route, I stopped to buy a cold drink and wanted to pay, but the owner informed me the drink was already paid for. It isn't every day a stranger pays for your purchase, and it's something that only happens in Muslim countries. Bless them!

In Bandar, I hopped on a water taxi to Kampong Ayer, situated across the river from the city. Boats, known as coffins due to their shape and speed, operate to and from the city. Not long ago, Kampong Ayer was all there was to Bandar. The entire village consists of houses on stilts and stretches almost eight kilometres along the Brunei River. This floating village is considered the most substantial of its kind in the world, with approximately 30,000 residents. Self-contained, the village is equipped with schools, police stations, clinics, a fire brigade and mosques. Houses are connected by a complex web of walkways and bridges, and walking around was fun.

On returning to the mainland, a short amble took me to the Sultan Omar Ali Saifuddin Mosque. I understood that the mosque was built in 1958 and featured a golden dome, an interior of Italian marble walls and an elevator. It, apparently, has tunnels, which the Sultan uses on journeys through the town. The forty-four-metre minaret makes the mosque the tallest building in the city, and it’s better not to try and outdo it. The Islamic Bank of Brunei's building initially exceeded this height and consequently had to remove its top storey.

By evening, I again used a coffin to glance at the Sultan's residence. I envisioned snapping a few pics, but it wasn't possible on a boat in darkness. The building was substantial with one thousand seven hundred and eighty-eight rooms, and bigger than either Buckingham Palace or the Vatican! In addition, the Sultan owns two Boeings and five thousand cars. (It's not a typing error, it was five thousand cars.)

 

SABAH, BORNEO

 

11 August - Bandar – Muara, Brunei – ferry to Pulau Labuan – Kuala Penyu, Sabah - 75km

A short cycle led to Muara, where ferries were expected to run to Lawas. Once there, I learned ferries only ran to a single destination, Pulau Labuan, but understood that from Pulau Labuan ferries and motorboats operated to various other locations.

As the ferry departed at 13h00, the wait was a short one. Once inside the ferry, it reminded me of a submarine. As soon as we were underway, I hoped it could provide the same functions, as the seas were rough, and the boat rolled violently from side to side. In addition, the ferry was a tad claustrophobic in being a tubular, fully enclosed, cigar-shaped contraption. Nevertheless, it must’ve been a fast ferry, as we docked at Pulau Labuan an hour later.

From Labuan, one could see the mainland, and I decided to take a motorboat to the tiny village of Menumbok. With the bike strapped to the roof, the boat sped across the open seas at breakneck speed. Clawing on for dear life, I hoped I wouldn't see the bicycle float in the ocean.

Surprisingly, the boat made it to Menumbok with me and my bike still intact. From Menumbok, Kuala Penyu was barely forty kilometres away and reached via a remote part of the country. Few ever ventured there as the road was a dead-end. So remote was it that I stumbled upon where the first Survivor series was made.

 

12 August - Kuala Penyu

I emerged to pouring rain, and nothing came of the plans to explore Tiger Island or the wetland reserve. Instead, it became a laundry day and a day of hanging around the community of Kuala Penyu.

A stroll to the river revealed a few restaurants serving noodle soup and sweet tea. My presence practically caused a riot as people crowded to catch a glimpse of the foreign woman in their midst. I kid you not! Needless to say, it felt uncomfortable eating my noodle soup, with what felt like the entire town watching.

 

13 August - Kuala Penyu – Beaufort – 40km

I soon came upon Beaufort. With such an English-sounding name and a need to find an ATM, I pulled in. The village was a typical jungle settlement, except it had a railway station. The town was notorious for its annual flooding and stilted shops and homes. The rows of blue, two-storey, wooden shophouses gave Beaufort a rustic feel.

Finding accommodation was uncomplicated and I lazed around the rest of the day. Unfortunately, plans to go to the wetland reserve proved problematic, and nothing came of it. The railway line intrigued me, and it would’ve been nice to take the train to the end of the line, if merely to see what it was like, but no trains were running at the time.

 

14 August - Beaufort – Kota Kinabalu – 98km

None of my plans came to anything, and upon making inquiries, I received a different answer each time. I, therefore, resumed my journey and discovered the way busy and narrow.

Halfway to Kota Kinabalu, a high mountain range loomed ahead and I realised never to become too blasé. Luckily, nothing came of the mountains as the road followed a valley, a beautiful ride past lush green farmlands, interesting people, hamlets and riverside settlements. Finally, I got into a sort of rhythm: the wheels spun smoothly, making a soft, whirring sound on the tarmac and the kilometres flew by. I pedalled past women carrying baskets strapped to their backs, past Durian stalls and scrawny-looking dogs, too timid to give chase.

Intriguingly, the route went past custom-built concrete bird's nest factories. I read somewhere that "edible bird's nests are among the priciest animal products consumed by humans." The nests are used in Chinese cooking, primarily to make bird's nest soup. Made of interwoven strands of solidified saliva they are high in calcium, iron, potassium and magnesium.

Finally, I slinked into the big and modern city of Kota Kinabalu, or just KK.

 

15 August - Kota Kinabalu

I had a slow start to the day as the room was windowless (one of my pet hates), but one couldn't argue about the price. I had no plans and ambled around to see what Kota Kinabalu had to offer. The town didn’t arouse a great deal of interest except for the waterfront with its fishing boats, markets and food stalls. Blazing hot, there wasn't much in the way of walking about. Also, the bank couldn’t dispense any money as it was offline, argh!

I didn't visit the night market by evening, as was my habit. Instead, I sought out the tourist lane where restaurants played Western music, had a massive TV screen, and sold beer and pizzas. Strangely enough, for the most part, the patrons were from KK. How ironic: the foreigners were at the night market, and those who resided in KK were at the tourist spot. I got my share of ear-splitting music, overpriced beers and lousy food, and then returned to my digs, having had my fill of Western culture.

 

16 - 17 August - Kota Kinabalu

In the morning, I jumped on a boat to the nearby islands. Tunku Abdul Rahman National Park consists of five islands off the coast of downtown Kota Kinabalu. The day was barely long enough to explore three of the islands, and what a blast! I snorkelled until my fingers and toes were wrinkled - such a pleasure. The water was lukewarm and crystal clear, the fish colourful and plentiful. There are times I genuinely think I'm happiest when in the water. But, unfortunately, the time came too soon to return, and if I knew one could camp on the islands, I sure would’ve taken the tent along.

An additional day was spent in Kota Kinabalu. Sadly, World War II bombs destroyed nearly all of KK. Apart from the waterfront markets, there were only the islands of any interest.

 

18 August - Kota Kinabalu – Kota Belud – 75km

I picked up the laundry, had a Chinese bun and coffee, and pedalled out of town. Outside Tuaran was an upside-down house which made a fun stop to look at this bizarre building. The whole shebang was upside down: tables, chairs, beds, everything was hanging from the ceiling. The designer remembered the outside as even the car was hanging from the carport roof.

En route to Kota Belud, the way became extremely mountainous. The weather was intensely hot and drenched in sweat I moved at a snail's pace up the mountain.

Seeing a stall selling ice-cold sugarcane juice brightened my day, especially since I had travelled under the blistering sun for a few hours. Approaching, the stall owner waved frantically, and I discovered a drink waiting for me at the counter. An anonymous traveller bought me a drink and the stall owner was told to flag me down. How awesome is that? I gulped the drink down and fuelled by the sugar and grinning from ear to ear, was ready to tackle a few more hills.

 

19 August - Kota Belud – Poropok View – 45km

Overnight I had a change of heart and decided to cycle over the mountains past Mt. Kinabalu National Park. As, by then, already past the main turn-off to Mt. Kinabalu, the secondary route came with a few nasty hills, but I wrestled the bike up the steep gradient. The uphill went on and on, kilometre after kilometre and drenched in perspiration I gasped my way up the near-vertical incline.

Eventually, a kind man stopped, offered me water and informed me seven kilometres remained to the top. Soon afterwards, another good Samaritan stopped to offer me a ride. I seriously considered his offer but, in the end, proceeded up the mountain, huffing and puffing.

"To the top of the hill" meant the junction of the main road from KK. From there the going was considerably more manageable and, while still uphill and slow going, biking was more doable. As I felt I could go no further, a settlement selling handicrafts and snacks came into view. My request to pitch my tent didn't surprise them, and people pointed me to a covered area with electricity, a tap, and nearby toilets. I was happy under a covered area, as it rained throughout the night. It was further understood I wasn't the first to camp there and learned three other cyclists had overnighted there on previous occasions.

 

20 - 21 August - Poropok View – Mt. Kinabalu Nas Park – 16km

Local knowledge told me a seven-kilometre climb remained before the road levelled out. How wrong they were. I almost felt a sense of humour failure, as the road kept climbing skyward.

Sadly, the park's accommodation had been handed over to a resort company which had jacked the prices up dramatically. However, staying outside the park gate at one of the homestays was far less expensive. A place outside the entrance was perfect, and I was happy the hills were done.

Enquiring about the hike up Mt. Kinabalu revealed the trek was far too complicated. Instead, I rinsed my sweaty clothes and had a bite to eat at the adjacent restaurant. The weather took a turn for the worse, and I was happy that I was in my digs and not busy hiking up the mountain.

The storm dissipated during the night, and I woke to clear skies and a view of Mt. Kinabalu dominating the skyline, rising 4,101m AMSL. Following the usual noodle soup breakfast, I set out into the park along one of the many trails. I soon met up with Lucia (from Spain but living in Mozambique) and we continued together. The route was a pleasant one with unusual plants. Afterwards, there remained barely enough time to have lunch before Lucia had to catch the bus for her return trip to KK.

 

22 August - Mt. Kinabalu Nas Park – Telupid – 115km

I flew the twenty kilometres downhill to Ranau. All I needed was a red cape and I could've been Superwoman, an image that kept me giggling the rest of the way. I swept past settlements, clinging precariously to the mountainside; each house with its piece of land, forming a pretty patchwork of lines and colours. The jagged peaks of Mt. Kinabalu slowly faded in the distance.

Soon, the road started snaking up yet one more mountain, and it proceeded in that vein for the rest of the day. There isn’t a great deal one could do but put your head down and get the ride over and done with. The weather was sweltering and water was the biggest problem - I stopped at every conceivable watering hole to fill the bottles and rehydrate myself.

In the meantime, and for no apparent reason, I had my eye set on Telupid, almost one hundred and twenty kilometres from Mt. Kinabalu. Determined, I tackled hill upon hill, and the kilometres to Telupid became fewer and fewer. Finally, my mood lifted when a signboard announced four kilometres to Telupid. I was nearly there. At the same time, a significant climb came into sight - bloody hell! Thank goodness, so did a sign to the Golden Star Hotel. There and then I decided to tackle the remaining distance in the morning.

The hotel was unusual, as it looked relatively new and practically everything worked. The air-con was icy cold, the shower nice and warm, and the bed firm. Heaven. The downstairs restaurant was popular, taking its remote location.

By evening, I sat on the veranda, beer in hand, watching the large trucks battle up the hill in the dreadful weather. I had a distinct feeling staff had to draw straws to see who would serve the foreigner. A fair amount of giggling could be heard before one shyly emerged, asking what I would like to eat by pointing her fingers to her mouth. I was quite content sitting there enjoying a massive plate of fried rice. Later, I giggled as I crawled into bed listening to the rain pouring down as it can only do in the tropics.

 

23 August - Telupid - JC resort – 80km

I couldn't say I was refreshed and well-rested as the route climbed the first hill of the day. Instead, I felt lethargic and my legs tired. No sooner did the path clear the mountains than it headed over more hills. Up and down the hills the route went, past oil palm plantation upon oil palm plantation, all in the day’s scorching heat.

The day was exhausting as the road was hilly, and I had to keep my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror to spot trucks coming up behind me. Often, I had to shoot off the tarmac as there wasn't enough space for me and two trucks. The kilometres passed incredibly slowly and somehow, each time I passed a signboard, the phrase "another one down, another one down" popped into my head. It drove me bonkers: no matter how I tried, I couldn't get rid of it. "Another one down, another one down."

Then came the biggest surprise of the day. Into sight came a line of traffic disappearing over the hill and into the distance, and they weren't moving at all. At first, I thought it was due to the maintenance work, which seemed like a never-ending project. I tried my best to weave through the traffic, but truly little space was available. Trenches were dug alongside the road, leaving little room to accommodate two cars, let alone two trucks and me.

I pulled off at a stall and was informed of an accident ahead and a guesthouse and restaurant five hundred metres on. How lucky can one be? "Another one down, another one down."

 

24-25 August - JC Resort – Sepilok Orang-Utan Centre - 30km

The traffic was no better than the previous day, and the ride was physically and mentally tiring - I was off the tarmac more than on it. Trucks kept flying by in both directions, making cycling downright dangerous. Thirty kilometres further I encountered the turn-off to the Sepilok Orang-Utan Centre and was relieved to get off the main road.

There were various accommodation types beyond the turn-off, one being the popular Uncle Tan's. I needed no second invitation and off-loaded the bicycle and was soon swinging in a hammock in the shade of a colossal mango tree - I was exhausted. The bungalow was quite costly, but the price included three meals; a good thing too as there were no shops nearby.

The following day, I visited the orangutan centre and spent the remainder of the day at leisure. Again, Uncle Tan's was the perfect place to unwind as it came with a beautiful jungle setting and plenty of open space to roam or swing in a hammock.

 

26 - 28 August - The Kinabatangan River Trip

A boat trip up the Kinabatangan River was a novel way to see the famous rainforest. The Kinabatangan River was the longest in Sabah, starting high up in the Crocker Range and flowing five hundred and sixty kilometres to the Sulu Sea, along the east coast of Sabah. First, the trip involved a mini-bus ride to the river, and then an hour by boat to our jungle camp.

By late afternoon, a boat outing took us in search of wildlife and we saw plenty of monkeys as they settled upon treetops for the night. Crocodiles and monitor lizards were plentiful. The area was teeming with birdlife, including eagles, owls, hornbills, kingfishers, and many others I didn't know the names of.

The jungle camp was different in that it consisted of half-open structures with mattresses on the floor and much-needed mosquito nets. The night was noisy with monkeys, frogs and stacks of other unidentifiable sounds. Toilets were miles away and not a place I wanted to visit in the dark.

Early morning, we were at it again, searching for the elusive orangutans. Still, we didn't find any but saw numerous birds, a few crocodiles and plenty of monkeys. Upon returning to camp, breakfast was ready, followed by a hike in the jungle. Again, we located teeny insects and unusual plants. By evening, we returned to the river in search of wildlife. Even though not a significant amount was spotted, it remained a pleasant trip. Later, all donned wellies, and we set off into the swampy wetlands and uncovered many intriguing insects and birds (the birds were primarily fast asleep).

Our final day came with one more boat trip and this time we spotted the orangutans calmly going about their business while we stared in awe. Then, sadly, the time came to return to civilisation.

I stayed one more night at Uncle Tan's, as the place was highly convenient and very much a swing-another-day-in-a-hammock kind of place.

 

29 August-2 September - Uncle Tan's – Sandakan - 35km

The busy main road took me towards Sandakan and past the water village of Kampung Buli Sim-Sim. Buli Sim-Sim is the water village around which Sandakan expanded in the nineteenth century. The village was a fascinating world where villagers found me as curious as I found them. "Farang, farang!" the little ones called and ran for their lives. (Farang being the Thai word for someone of European ancestry, no matter where they come from.)

Once in Sandakan, I inquired about the ferry to Zamboanga City on Mindanao Island, the southernmost island in the Philippines. Still, no one could tell when and from where it sailed.

I suspected the lack of knowledge stemmed from rumours that Mindanao was one of the Philippines' most dangerous islands and, therefore, seldom visited. The island had a reputation for kidnappings, as several foreigners had been captured in Zamboanga City. This was one part of the world where you didn't want to be mistaken for a journalist. The reason being, through the years the island’s Muslims (Moros) have launched repeated attempts to establish autonomy on the island. Since the Maguindanao massacre in 2009, when fifty-seven civilians were killed, among them four journalists, Mindanao ranked only second to Iraq as the deadliest country for journalists. In fact, an attack took place during my visit, leaving many dead and resulting in a tense hostage crisis—more about that in the next post.

In the end, I cycled to the ferry port and, once there, learned the ferry only sailed on Tuesdays. I wished it would be the next day, but there was nothing one could do but wait the five days. I uncovered a bed at Sandakan Backpackers and had no idea how one would pass the time.

"Merdeka, Merdeka, Merdeka." The following day was Hari Kemerdekaan, a national holiday commemorating Malaysia's independence from British colonial rule in 1957. The day was busy and colourful; food stalls, balloons, jumping castles and parades were at the order of the day. People were out enjoying the festivities, and getting anywhere was impossible. The waterfront area was crowded with people sipping noodle soup and drinking tea. I didn’t feel uncomfortable taking photos of people as a thousand pictures must’ve been taken of me.

The next day the Independence Day celebrations were still in full swing. Having had enough of the crowds, I proceeded to Kampung Buli Sim-Sim. The water village was well organised, and it was fun meandering the wooden walkways between the houses. Kids came running, wanting their pictures taken. Every so often I could hear: "Welcome to Sim-Sim," coming from inside the wooden houses. I quite liked it and felt at home, despite being obviously foreign. The Sunday market was fascinating, selling anything from clothing to food and pets.

The next day, I bought my ferry ticket and had to buy a return ticket as the Philippines required an onward ticket, whether by boat or plane. It turned out a costly affair, but less troublesome and expensive than a flight.

 

3 September - Sandakan, Sabah, Malaysia - Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines - By ferry

At last, the third arrived, and even though the ticket stated the departure time would be 16h00, we were told to board at 18h00. Unfortunately, shortly before getting going, the rain started bucketing down. The last thing in the world I felt like was riding the short eight kilometres to the ferry in pouring rain. Luckily, as rain goes in the tropics, it came in hard and quick, and the weather soon cleared.

The port was a madhouse of people, trucks, buses and minivans picking passengers up or dropping them off. Once on the ferry, my investigation revealed double bunk beds on the deck (better than sleeping on the floor). My bed was No. 317, and that was only on Deck 1. People kept pouring onto the ferry, and it was common for two or more people to have the same bunk number.

The time was past 22h00 before finally departing. The tiny canteen was jam-packed, and hardly worth the wait. The bunks were awfully close together, and a noisy night was spent under blazing, fluorescent lights. Eventually, I fell asleep to the snoring, phlegm-coughing, burping and farting of other passengers.

 

4 September - Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines

I was woken by more chattering, coughing, farting, burping and radios playing. Our vessel was moving at a snail's pace, and I understood the reduced speed was due to engine problems.

Being the sole foreigner aboard, I had my fair share of attention and felt positively alien. Fellow passengers had no shame looking and gathered at the end of my bunk, staring motionlessly. Still, it remained social, and the ladies on either side took it upon themselves to take care of me and told onlookers when they thought it was time to go. This was perfect, as someone was always available to watch your stuff when not there.

The hours came and went and, in the end, the sun started sinking below the horizon, and still, no land in sight. I sat on the deck, watching Muslims perform their evening prayers to the soothing sounds of the (impromptu?) mullah—a ritual calming and peaceful against the vibrant colours of the setting sun.

The boat docked at the port city of Zamboanga at around nine p.m., but it wasn’t until after eleven that we got off the ferry. The going was particularly slow, as one and all wanted to get off first. Passengers further had to wait for transportation to the immigration office. Waiting to get off, one had to be vigilant as kids hopped onboard, scavenging for whatever was going - might it be unattended luggage or leftover food. They were like monkeys, scaling up and down the side of the ferry, and it was astonishing to watch them operate - they were as quick as lightning, and onboard security had no chance of catching them. They were under and over the sleeping bunks without the guards seeing them.

Eventually, all were off the boat and at immigration, where the queue snaked from one end of the building to the other. People were pushing and shoving (not sure where they wanted to go, as no pushing or shoving was going to get them to the front any sooner). The building was stuffy and hot, and sweat poured down our faces. People were fanning themselves with passports (not that it helped at all).

It was late to search for accommodation by the time all was done, especially in the dark and in light of the rumoured safety issues. Still, I followed deserted streets in the light of my headlamp, with only a few homeless people as company. The first two hotels were full, and the third was too pricy. The fourth was more my style, and it was 1h30 a.m. by the time I closed the bedroom door.