057 Malaysian Borneo
1 794 Kilometres – 57 Days
10 July – 4 September 2013
MAP
PHOTOS
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, and I was excited to
continue my journey. Erika, my sister, kindly drove me to the airport.
Unfortunately, my luggage was slightly overweight by five kilos, which ended up
costing me a significant amount. I was understandably frustrated, especially
since many other passengers seemed to be carrying at least 5kg more in body
weight than my luggage.
The
airport staff informed me that my luggage could only be booked to Kuala Lumpur,
as a different airline operated between Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and Kuching,
Borneo. While I could understand their reasoning, I felt like I had been
overcharged.
Once
all passengers were on board, we took off for Dubai. To my surprise, I saw Mark
and my cousin Marida on the same flight, heading to Phuket. I had hoped to meet
them at Dubai airport, but the airport was so vast and busy that I never even
caught a glimpse of them. I had to make my way towards Terminal 2, at the
opposite end of the airport, and it was so far that I had to take the airport
train. Finally, I was on my way to Kuala Lumpur.
11
July - Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia – Kuching, Sarawak, Borneo
Once
in Kuala Lumpur, I dutifully went to the baggage claim area as instructed but could
find no sign of the luggage. After speaking to the lost luggage staff, I found
that my baggage had indeed been 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. Even though I was 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 Chinatown, 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 that I left my laptop charger behind, but that had to
wait 'till the following morning.
Kuching
turned out fascinating, and Chinatown was a convenient place to stay and it was
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. There were endless choices, from strange fried
balls, items on sticks, dumplings, and food wrapped in leaves; all of them were
delicious. The market had something for even the pickiest eater, offering
options from Chinese and Malay to Indian cuisine. And if you really couldn't
make up your mind, it also 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 to explore
the pedestrian lanes of Chinatown. 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.
During
my walkabout, I uncovered a laptop charger, a USB modem, and a SIM card—a
successful day overall. I returned to the food fair at sunset to sample more of
the exotic cuisine on offer.
14
June - Kuching
The
plan was to leave but there was still plenty left to see. A bus ride took me to
Bako National Park, where boats ferried visitors to the park headquarters. I
joined forces with a couple who were also headed to the island and since the
boat fee was per boat and, not per person, it was cheaper to share and more
enjoyable with 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 encountered
strange-looking monkeys and even a few bush pigs. The boat collected us at
16h00; all in all, a fantastic day. Starving, the easiest was returning to the
food fair to grab a bite to eat.
15
June - Kuching
Realising
one needed a visa to Brunei, I popped into the Brunei Consulate. The consulate
informed me that a visa takes 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. Eleven orangutans were rescued twenty years ago
after being orphaned or held captive. 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; I could watch them for hours.
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 air conditioning 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, here 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
after passing the village of Serian, a convenient recreational area with a
great swimming hole came into view. Camping wasn’t permitted, but bungalows
were available, and I was pleased with the relative luxury.
At
around 20h00, I strolled the short distance to the restaurant, where I chatted
with the owners. The temperature was a wonderfully comfortable 28°C (albeit
with a few nasty flying insects). For supper, I had nasi goreng (spicy fried
rice) and tea.
Soon,
thunder and lightning started, and rain came pelting down. Luckily, the
restaurant had Wi-Fi, so I surfed the internet until the storm subsided,
allowing me to reach my chalet without getting soaked.
17
July - Serian Ranchan pools – Selepong - 100km
Due
to a lack of milk, breakfast was coffee and cereal mixed with Milo. By the time
the bike was loaded, it was past 9h30, and an additional day was spent biking
in oppressing heat, with the sun beating down mercilessly. The route featured a
few steep inclines, forcing me to walk the bicycle up one (highlighting my lack
of fitness), and I stopped at every small shop to refill my water supply.
Afraid
it would be impossible to reach 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, I was thankful for the cookies.
Mercifully,
water remained in my water bottle, as the taps were dry, and I crawled in, all
stinky and sweaty. Unfortunately, no sooner had I zipped up the tent than rain
started bucketing down, a rain that continued throughout the night; at least
the tent was waterproof. At that stage, I was thankful for small mercies.
18
July - Selepong – Sri Aman - 30km
Waking
up was early - as soon as cars started arriving and 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, watching
the rain through the window. When the storm subsided, I returned to the
riverfront, where stalls served nasi goreng kampung (village-style fried rice).
The portion was considerable 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, and a vast and modern sports field. Exploring the area, which
brought a few stares, gave the impression that few foreigners visited Betong.
Judging
by the food available, Betong seemed to have more Muslim residents than
Chinese. However, during 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, in the company of trucks carting loads to the palm
oil mills. Sadly, it appeared that 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 was certainly not 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 my water bottle and proceeded toward Sarikei.
Again
the day was marred by oppressive heat, which made riding exhausting. As a
result, Sarikei lured me in as it had many places to overnight and 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 it emptied into the South China Sea, boats
operated between Sarikei, Kuching, and Sibu. The riverfront was the breeziest
place, and practically everyone gathered 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 along the narrow lanes
of Chinatown. These lanes 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 sun. Since leaving Kuching, I hadn't seen any Westerners and stuck
out like a sore thumb. Being considerably taller and with lighter skin and
curly hair there was no hiding. People never took their eyes off me; my every
move was watched intensely. 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.
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, I spent the afternoon 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 chatted, 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. Finally, I returned to my abode at the City Inn, which turned out to be a
kind of brothel, complete with sound effects.
25
July - Selangau – Tatau - 85km
The
following day turned out to be an equally exciting ride. Thanks to a thin cloud
cover, some relief from the sun's fierce rays prevailed. 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. 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 nauseous, and best to stay
indoors until sunset.
Not
feeling hungry, it 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. However, I wondered
if I could eat sago worms (the giant Capricorn beetle's larvae), which are high
in protein and considered a delicacy.
The
traditional costumes of the Iban women were 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 toward 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, I replied with any uncomplicated name that
came to mind and could hear them repeating it. Too sweet.
28
July - Bintulu - Similajau National Park - 30km
It
turned out to be one more memorable day. Instead of following the highway, a
smaller path veered off toward a coastal road. Men exposing themselves always
came as a total shock, as it’s the last thing one expects cycling 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. 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 along a forest trail. 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 they could go, I let out a loud shriek, at which time 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 for 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. 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. The 'Deep Skull'
was unearthed at these caves. It is 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 (for bird's nest soup). Thin poles
snaked up from the cave floor to the ceiling. 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. The caves were used as
burial grounds for thousands of years, 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 common, 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 - Niah Nas Park
First
thing in the morning was laundry time. 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, I wandered the streets of Miri, looking 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. The boat that 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 going to Mulu made me stay another 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 didn'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. It was Hari
Raya Aidilfitri, which marked the end of Ramadan and which 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, I spent one more night at the inn. The
weather was boiling outside, and an air-conditioned room was the best place to hide.
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 isn't a big country, and my path soon led me to 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 had already
been paid for. It isn't every day that 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 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.
The
wait was short as the ferry departed at 13h00. Once inside, the ferry 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 for 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 I should
never 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!
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 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
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 the car hung
from the carport roof.
En
route to Kota Belud, the road became extremely mountainous. The weather was
intensely hot, and drenched in sweat, I moved at a snail's pace up the
mountain.
Seeing
a vendor selling ice-cold sugarcane juice brightened my day, especially since I
had travelled under the blistering sun for a few hours. Approaching, the vendor
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 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. As the road kept climbing skyward, I almost felt a sense
of humor failure.
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 formed a pretty patchwork of lines and colours. The
jagged peaks of Mt. Kinabalu slowly faded in the distance.
Soon,
the road started snaking up one more mountain, which proceeded in that vein for
the rest of the day. There wasn’t a great deal one could do but put one's 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 that the 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 street trader 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.
Beyond
the turn-off, various accommodation types, including the popular Uncle Tan's,
were available. I needed no second invitation, so I offloaded the bicycle and
soon swung 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,
which was 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. 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 we 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, with food stalls, balloons, jumping
castles, and parades. 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
to be 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 you were not there.
The
hours came and went, and, in the end, the sun started sinking below the
horizon, and still, there was no land in sight. I sat on the deck, watching Muslims
perform their evening prayers to the soothing sounds of the (impromptu?) mullah—a
calming and peaceful ritual against the setting sun's vibrant colours.
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
everyone 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,
we all got off the boat and were at immigration, where the queue snaked from
one end of the building to the other. People were pushing and shoving (unsure
where they wanted to go, as no pushing or shoving would 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.
