IN WHICH WE GET BETTER, SAMPLE THE DELIGHTS OF KRABI, STEP OUT ON MY OWN IN PENANG, CHECK OUT THE PERHENTIAN ISLANDS, THE CAMERON HIGHLANDS AND FINISH OFF IN THE HEAT AND HUMIDITY OF KUALA LUMPUR
1-9-93 | Wednesday | Day 16
2-9-93 | Thursday | Day 17
3-9-93 | Friday | Day 18
Three days which just drifted by with me lying in bed, drifting in and out of consciousness, i.e. sleeping a lot, at times feeling a bit better and at others at death’s door, and still unable to eat anything. I felt starving hungry but could not actually get anything down, let alone bring it back up. And having popped some rehydration salts into a bottle of water, it became so salty it made me sick, and then every bottle of water tasted the same – salts or no salts. Which obviously didn’t help when I was still sweating like a bastard day and night.
The reason we came to Pha Ngan, the Full Moon Party, came and went without me, and although it was a bit disappointing to miss it, the desire to be well again is much stronger than the desire to go to a party. Apparently Will and Mel came over for the night – despite Will walking with a stick as a result of having aggravated a recurring knee problem – and then went straight back to Samui. And apparently I didn’t miss much.
Convinced of feeling better on Friday, the evening was spent on the beach with Terry and some other chap – Rachel and Jo having moved on to Penang in Malaysia. Still took the sensible option of retiring early and, buoyed by feeling somewhat better, thoroughly looking forward to the prospect of something substantial to eat. Ordered a chicken roll, then had to run off to be violently sick before it was even served. The old dear on the chicken stall probably thought I was just another pissed idiot.
Despite the Doc’s denial, I’m pretty convinced that my body has been playing host to a bout of dengue fever. Despite specifically asking “Is it dengue fever?”, I was assured that it wasn’t, it was something far more unpronounceable. “No, not dengue. Flibbertyjibbit.” The symptoms are as the books describe dengue, and we’ve been told by several people that doctors on Pha Ngan always deny cases of dengue because they don’t want to admit that it is prevalent there. Which could be a load of old backpackers-bollocks but it sounds good enough for me. One needs to legitimise one’s exotic diseases after all.
4-9-93 | Saturday | Day 19
Terry was keen not to fall too far behind Rachel, and I reckoned I was fit to travel so we got up early to catch a boat back to Samui, back to Chaweng, and back to Charlie’s Huts, although this time to the slightly better Viking Huts (I think – I never quite did understand the difference, if indeed there was one). We found Will and Mel staying at Cheap Charlie’s and then, later in the day, Scott (Pickering, another Ealing College old-boy) and Vanessa arrived as well. Spent the evening in Charlie’s watching Will and Scott getting adequately slaughtered on Mekong, and completely abstaining myself.
5-9-93 | Sunday |Day 20
Poor old Will’s been in a spot of bother with his dodgy leg. He’s walking with a stick and has to keep his leg straight, which under normal circumstances may be no bother, except when you consider that we’re still in the land of squat toilets. His explanations of what he gets up to in there are highly entertaining – and he’s not shy to share them.
We’ve already reasoned that the most effective way to use such (in)conveniences, is to get completely naked. Not trusting our own sense of balance, and not confident in the quality of our diet, it’s a risky, if not impossible, operation trying to keep your shorts dry. Better take ‘em off. T-shirts need to be bundled up around your head, so they might as well come off as well.
The difficulty that Will has keeping his leg straight, whilst squatting on his haunches in a confined space, has made a trip to the toilet such a laborious and uncomfortable experience that he has resolved to minimise the frequency and maximise the efficiency of such trips. The unfortunate consequence of which is a painful bout of haemorrhoids. No fun for him but it’s keeping the rest of us amused.
We’ve slipped easily back into the Samui routine, i.e. doing nothing. A day on the beach with a bit of swimming and a bit of frisbee. I went for an early evening nap and zonked out until 10.30pm. Made a brief sojourn to the Green Mango and the Reggae Pub, but it was all pretty quiet. Scott had a go on the Catapult Bungy – a kind of reverse-bungy that fires you up into the air rather than the other way round. Looks shite to me but you still wouldn’t get me doing it.
6-9-93 | Monday | Day 21
It’s Big Chief Willy’s birthday today. Terry bowed out of whatever we may get up to suffering from sunstroke. The rest of us took a stroll along the beach before finding a café where we allowed ourselves to be coerced into eating mushroom omelettes by the ever-enthusiastic Will – although I suspect it was only me that needed some coercion. We then sat watching each other and waiting for something remarkable to happen – which of course it didn’t. No Naked Lunch-style metamorphosis into lizards and monsters.
By the time the mushrooms did take effect we’d migrated to the water’s edge and were sitting in the shallows like stuck hippos, where we stayed for the rest of the afternoon, as everything under the sun just got funnier and funnier. I don’t think any of us realised how stoned we were until some feller Will had met the day before, and who clearly wasn’t under the influence of any narcotics, stopped to talk to us. Then we knew we were mashed. And that only made things even funnier. Myself and Scotty managed to convince ourselves that the beach was being invaded by a group of Japanese swimmers in matching caps and goggles who emerged simultaneously from the sea. “Where the fuck did they come from?” “Dunno. Tokyo?” Well, it was funny at the time.
Being the novice narco that I am, it was undoubtedly one of the best trips I’d experienced, although I was still kind of relieved when it all wore off and normal service was resumed. At one stage I thought I was never going to stop laughing and remain a grinning idiot forever.
The evening that had then promised so much then unfortunately failed to deliver as lethargy kicked in. We spent the night sat outside Cheap Charlie’s just chatting and not drinking much. I still wasn’t eating properly, and although I’d been looking forward to a plate of fried rice, once it arrived I couldn’t touch it. I’d been trying to coax my guts into accepting decent amounts of food again but it wasn’t working too well thus far. And with not eating well, I felt exhausted most of the time and very apprehensive about drinking. Bah humbug.
7-9-93 | Tuesday | Day 22
Having moped around like a wet fart since Rachel left, Terry moved on this morning to catch up with her in Penang. It was like he was here under duress so it was good for him to move on. And to be fair, like the good mate he is, he’d probably only hung around long enough to ensure that I’d recovered sufficiently. Which meant that yours truly was once again thrown into the jaws of dilemma. Should I take the plunge and go on somewhere alone, see a wee bit more of Thailand and not fall too far behind Terry? Or should I just stay here and travel around with Will and Mel for a while? I was more inclined to the latter although it probably risked getting too far behind Terry to ever catch up. Decisions, decisions.
Consequently spent the day sitting around reading and making no decisions whatsoever, while the others were off doing the jeep-thing.
But something remarkable did happen today. This was the day when everything fell into place; when this whole travelling malarkey became okay. I’m not entirely sure if I had realised it but, until today, I’d actually been pretty homesick for the best part of the last three weeks. Obviously the dengue didn’t help, but every thought of writing home gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. It became a wrench just to put pen to paper and I had to virtually force myself to do it. Again, I remember thinking that I’d told folk I’d be away until Christmas next year, but for the past two weeks I’d been thinking I’d be lucky to get to Christmas this year.
But today, as I say, it all felt right. No particular reason. Nothing anybody said. No grand solution to set my mind at rest. No epiphany. I just woke up and knew that it was all okay.
Which I must say I was quite relieved about. I wouldn’t have fancied travelling around the world for a year in a bad mood – under my own private black cloud as someone had once been heard to say. I’d had visions of me sneaking back home with my tail between my legs saying I didn’t like paradise and can I come home now please?
8-9-93 | Wednesday | Day 23
And in that new-found spirit of positivity, I decided today to go on to Krabi on Friday regardless of what anyone else was doing. Of three weeks in Thailand, the vast majority of the time has been spent on Samui and Pha Ngan, both of which are truly beautiful places but do have their shelf-life. It is definitely time to move on elsewhere and see some new places. Thankfully, the determined stance brought Will and Mel on board as well.
But the best laid plans of mice and men… Darryl Flint, another ex-Ealing College type, who is now resident in Hong Kong, and his girlfriend Angela, suddenly popped up unannounced with the news that it’s Darryl’s birthday on Friday. So Krabi will have to wait. We can’t let the trip of a lifetime get in the way of a piss-up, can we? It’s only one day I suppose, but it seems so easy to get stuck in these places.
Vanessa’s brother, Richard, and his girlfriend Pippa, joined us for dinner having bumped into the others in Lamai yesterday. They’d spent some time in Australia with (more ex-Ealing types) Eliot Singfield, Mark Stringer and Paul Woodman so there were plenty of tales to share. And we had no problem in finding a telly on which to watch England comfortably beat in Poland 3-0 at Wembley – stretched out in front of a big screen on the grass outside the Reggae Pub.
And as were walking down the road towards the Reggae Pub, Will and I stumbled across a tiny wee bar with a large Toon poster on the wall. I’m not quite sure if the wee girlie behind the bar had any idea of its significance nor even who the team were, because she seemed completely bewildered and even a tad frightened to have some grinning idiot draping himself around her shoulders for a photo. Had to be done though.
9-9-93 | Thursday | Day 24
A fairly nondescript day – nothing of any significance occurred at all. Is this what travelling is all about? I’m sure Alan Whicker never sits around doing fuck all cos he can’t be arsed.
Went out to a Chinese restaurant in the evening and got through three large bottles of Sang Thip whisky between seven of us over the course of an excellent meal. I didn’t even think of it until Scott pointed out that it was the first thing he’d seen me eat for days. For indeed, the meal and the booze were my first substantial indulgence of either kind for ten days – and came not a moment too soon in my opinion.
By the time we moved on to the Green Mango we were all not surprisingly rather under the influence. The Thai whisky we’re consuming regularly at the moment is supposedly so full of additives and other strange substances that other countries will not import it. Fuck knows if this is true or just more backpacker-bollocks but tonight saw myself and Scott, no John Travolta’s at the best of times, dancing wildly on top of the speaker stacks in the Green Mango. And on the stage in the Reggae Pub. I’m usually the sort who stands in the corner pouring scorn and disdain on those who think they’re so hip as to turn themselves into exhibits. And tonight, it was me. Lordy.
And it has to be said, that it was a truly excellent night.
10-9-93 | Friday | Day 25
Lazed about on the beach for most of the day conducting a post mortem of the previous night. Everyone, not least myself, was amazed at myself and Ploddy. Good shit, that Sang Thip.
Darryl’s birthday today so it was back to the Green Mango to do it all again, although not in the same style as last night. Lots of drinking games involving Mekong and the merciless slaughter of Darryl, saw him face down on the table before too long. Despite Will’s attempts to revive him with a bucket of ice – much to the staff’s amusement – we had to carry him outside so that he could vomit in peace. And while we were expecting Angela to go ballistic, she was dead cool about it and joined us back in the pub leaving Darryl to sleep it off for a while. When we went back to find him he was snuggled up with a mangy old dog – although I’m not sure which one was in a worse state. We moved on to the Reggae Bar but only to chill out on the grass outside – no raving tonight.
11-9-93 | Saturday | Day 26
After only two hours kip, and one of those bizarre moments when you can spontaneously wake yourself at an allotted time without the use of an alarm, we were up and on the way to Krabi, via the ferry to Surat Thani and a three-hour rickety coach journey (230 baht all in). We’d opted to go to Krabi entirely on the advice of others, without actually knowing much about the place, and were a bit shocked when we got there. There was fuck all there. The town is a bit of a dump on a grotty river delta. Everything – beaches, islands, caves, whatever – is two hours this way or three hours that. The area does appear to be rich in activity, but you have to travel further afield to find it. I’d like to say it wasn’t like that in the brochure, except that we didn’t have one.
Found some good accommodation in the Grand Tower Guest House – yes, a hotel! – for only 60 baht a night, although we were on the sixth floor and lifts are obviously something of the future as far as Krabi is concerned. But the rooms were clean, the fans and lights worked, and they have proper sitty-down flushing toilets – luxury!
Snoozed through the afternoon then went out to sample Krabi by night, which was about as exciting as Krabi by day. Ate street-food from a dodgy quayside stall at the night market – which was actually very good – then went back to the hotel to watch The Naked Gun.
12-9-93 | Sunday | Day 27
Took a wander around town for a while having a browse and doing a spot of shopping, developing photos, that sort of thing. Watched Point Break in the evening, before leaving Mel at the hotel, while myself and Will spent a few hours at the quayside enjoying a protracted meal, a bottle of Mekong, and a lengthy dialogue largely about families and backgrounds. Will professed to being somewhat surprised to hear that my Dad was once an architect, and that the Olds live in a five-bedroom farmhouse, having apparently pictured terraced houses, tin bath-tubs, dirty miners and whippets. It’s a good job Robert’s flat-cap and donkey-jacket were kept out of the conversation. It was rather odd learning that someone you thought you knew quite well could have a perception of you which is anything other than the real thing.
13-9-93 | Monday | Day 28
Attempted to change our flights this morning. A very helpful young Thai girl phoned Bangkok and made the necessary arrangements but it was a bit disconcerting hearing someone rearrange your flights in a foreign language, and not knowing what was going on. You couldn’t help wondering if it was all going as smoothly as she made out.
But then, why would it not be? What reason could this friendly wee lass have for doing anything other than what I’d asked of her. Sometimes it seems that all the advice you hear and read about travelling overseas makes you unnecessarily wary. Will had all sorts of problems with his ticket, having to send a fax of his ticket to Bangkok, and making numerous phone calls, all of which he had to pay for, and at the end of the day it was due to matey in London screwing up rather than any of the locals.
We got ourselves sorted out and were just about to move over to Railey Beach when Scott and Vanessa pitched up. They barely had time to sit down before we got them tickets, shoved them on a boat, and left. It was a fairly rough crossing in a hollowed out log, with no protective canopy throughout which we inevitably got rather damp to say the least. We arrived at Railey to be instantly dismayed at the manky mangrove swamp at which we were deposited. What the hell is this?
But this was just where the boats landed. We were then led through the trees to a slice of heaven on the other side. We emerged from the palms onto a beach of pristine white sand, dreamy azure sea and a dazzling blue sky. The crescent-shaped sweep of the bay was given perfect symmetry by dramatic limestone karsts framing either end. Further isolated karsts dotted the horizon like ships waiting to be admitted to port. And it was so quiet. There were only a few guest houses, each with a relatively small number of bungalows, and most of which were set slightly back from the beach. This was without doubt the closest to heaven that I’d ever seen.
Mind you, there was evidence of future construction so Lord knows what it will look like in a few years from now. Not that we can complain. By coming here ourselves we are fuelling the growth of tourism. I find it rather hypocritical of those backpackers who bemoan the spread of tourism and all the accompanying development, when we are the very ones who perpetuate and spread such development. Fair enough, your backpackers are not your mass-market tourists, but every backpacker needs somewhere to stay and something to eat. And the word will spread. If the backpackers who take this stance are so concerned about maintaining the locals natural way of life, they should stay at home. Travel, and be damned.
We went for a long walk along the beach, had a swim, and settled into the bar for a game of backgammon – which I won thanks to Vanessa’s help – before getting exceedingly drunk. Well, why not? Met a couple, Matt and Tricia, who are from the same part of the world as Will and Mel so Will was happy to talk Keyworth all night. Played various card games with various alcoholic penalties. At some stage it was determined that whoever was ‘arsehole’ (i.e. loser) on the stroke of midnight must take a fully clothed swim. When Mel lost and I dumped her unceremoniously in the sea Will showed some chivalry and dumped me in as well. And having got wet, myself and Mel then took a long swim in a sea that was as smooth as glass. We swam quite far out in the total darkness, with no artificial lights visible whatsoever, and unerring silence. There is something about swimming in the sea at night. Peaceful is an understatement. (Being pissed as a newt might add to the aura, but there you go.)
I got back to my hut, pissed and soaking wet, to find that my key had jumped ship and thus rendered me locked out. After an hour or so wandering around trying to find somewhere to sleep, I got pissed off and opted to take the glass slats out of the window of my hut and squeezed myself between bars that were designed to keep out wee Thai fellers. Which, if nothing else, demonstrated how desperately skinny my post-dengue body was.
14-9-93 | Tuesday | Day 29
Had considerably more difficulty getting back out of the hut the same way I got in, and had to pay 100 baht for a new key. I had to tell the guys at reception that I slept outside rather than tell them I broke in (or admit that I could squeeze through such a tiny gap). Will and Mel were amazed I didn’t just jump in with them.
Another long walk along the beach, around a headland and onto another beach. Peered into a couple of caves, froze half to death in a freshwater stream running out of the cliffs, chased crabs, squirmed in the presence of sea slugs, and took lots of photos.
Joined a game of footy on the beach with a few thousand energetic and enthusiastic Thais who were quite skilful although they didn’t seem to quite grasp the idea of passing the ball. They made the beautiful game very difficult, which wasn’t helped by having a vastly overcrowded pitch and goals about three feet wide. I think our team won but I couldn’t swear to it.
Another session on the Mekong this time playing Spoof which I seemed to be incredibly shite at, and got suitably slaughtered as a result.
15-9-93 | Wednesday | Day 30
Up relatively early – around 10am – to charter a long-tail boat and a boat-man to take us around some of the other islands and do some snorkelling. Have no idea what any of the islands are called but there were some good beaches, good swimming, good snorkelling, lots of photo ops, and no food. At one spot we walked alone along a sand-bank as it emerged from the sea forming a bridge between two islands; we sailed around Chicken Island (so named as it’s promontory supposedly resembles a chicken’s head – if you’ve dropped acid and have a vivid imagination); and saw lots of weird and wonderful fish whose names remain known only to Jacques Cousteau. According to Scott we’d seen a Lion-fish and a sea-cucumber, and I’m happy to take his word for that, and loads of evil looking sea urchins. An excellent day out.
Now this sea-cucumber thing…I once saw a tv documentary which showed how some sea creatures rely on others for protection, including one wee fish who, when threatened, hides up the sea cucumber’s arse. No kidding. The benefit of the rather dubious hiding place for the wee fish is obvious, if questionable. Quite what the sea-cucumber gets out of it is less fathomable.
Back at Railey and even Will got excited about the beauty of the sunset over the bay as it hurled an astonishing range of colours over its palette. Spent another very enjoyable night in the bar playing yet more drinking games and getting hammered yet again. Tonight’s game seemed to have a different name but the same rules as the previous night’s game. It’s no wonder I lost so comprehensively when I didn’t even know what I was playing. Heigh-ho.
16-3-93 | Thursday | Day 31
Up very early to catch a boat back to Krabi; say goodbye to Matt and Tricia and, rather apprehensively, to Will, Mel, Scott and Vanessa. They are going to Kota Bahru and I’m going to Penang. By myself.
The boat journey back incidentally was rough as buggery and consequently very wet. A German couple who were sharing the boat got arsey with the boatmen because they and their bags got wet. Now what’s the point of that? It ain’t the boatman’s fault the weather is kicking up a bit today, and it ain’t the boatman’s fault they ain’t crewing an ocean liner. If you don’t like the transport available and moan about the consequences of your own decisions, fuck off home.
The journey to Penang, in a minibus, was largely uneventful, save for an incredible sunset although obviously it was impossible to photograph. The length of the journey also allowed me to finish reading Oliver Twist which was an achievement and a half (and far, far, darker than Lionel Bart’s Oliver with which I was so familiar). We arrived at the border at some strange hour in the night to find the ‘closed’ signs up, although our driver said that for a small fee he could get us all through. That’s a nice little earner for all concerned. No westerner travelling through is going to object to paying a little extra to smooth the passage, and I’ll bet no one ever bothers to write or go back to the travel company to complain about the scheduling. Come to think of it, we didn’t even question what exactly he meant by ‘closed’. Surely if an international border is closed, it’s closed? Can it really be opened up with a few pennies?
Sometimes when you look back at events like that, you wonder if it really happened as you remember it?
Arrived in Penang okay, collected a letter from Terry informing me of his plans and ailments, and found a guest house about which judgement would remain reserved until a night had been survived. Hooked up with Dutch guy Nick, and a couple of Aussies, for a few beers, and from my vast experience of travelling alone (i.e. one day) would agree with what folk say that when travelling alone you meet people you probably wouldn’t otherwise. Normally we relied on Will’s gregarious ability to strike up conversation with absolutely anyone.
Georgetown was not as expected. I think I was expecting old colonial charm and splendour but it was more like Bangkok than anything. Dirty, smelly, rat-infested, lively, chaotic, and with the deliciously smoky smell of street food everywhere. And it all seemed to come to halt and get packed away by 1am. We actually had to be back in the hostel by 1am otherwise we got locked out for the night.
17-9-93 | Friday | Day 32
Quite a busy day. Having survived the night without being attacked by anything, rose about 10am, had some breakfast, picked up some books, including a Lonely Planet South East Asia on a Shoestring, which I’d finally realised may be an essential accoutrement to this travelling malarkey, and Clive James’ Brilliant Creatures, and some writing paper (no excuses for not writing home more often), then go to the Poste Restante at the GPO only to be disappointed as there was no mail for me. Which sounds daft but after such a while since the last Poste Restante, was quite a crushing blow. Does nobody care?
Visited Fort Cornwallis which was a bit boring, and the Eastern and Oriental Hotel which was an oasis of luxury, and had a good, but too-expensive, bookshop. Chatted to a Malay guy of Indian descent who told me that has five kids by four wives, and pedals a trishaw for a living, which means cycling 13km in the morning to get him and his trishaw in to Georgetown and then cycling 13km back home in the evening. He must be fit as fuck, although he certainly didn’t look it.
Visit a Museum and Art Gallery which was fairly average but had an interesting natural history section displaying creatures which it proudly claimed to have all been found on Penang; cockroaches about four inches long, snakes, lizards, bats, flying foxes, and a deformed piglet with four pairs of legs and two heads; all pickled or stuffed fortunately.
Took a trishaw back to the GPO although I think it would have been quicker to walk. The old feller doing the work looked so old and frail I was almost tempted to tell him to sit down and I’d do the pedalling. Almost. Phoned home from the GPO and spoke to me Ma. It was good to hear her voice for the first time in five weeks although she sounded like she was about to burst into tears at any second. She assured me that a load of mail had been sent to Penang so Lord knows where it has got to. Arranged to have it forwarded to Singapore which probably means that it will never be seen again. (And indeed it never was.)
Also visited, entirely accidentally, Kuan Yin Teng Temple, a 200 year-old Chinese fertility shrine where the smell of burning incense was enough to smoke a kipper.
Went out in the evening for a wander around with Nick, the Dutch feller, and found somewhere to eat something unidentifiable – ordered by pointing and nodding. Ended up in some bar to have a few beers, and watch the largest rats I’d ever seen scurrying around in an adjacent alley. Even the cats were shitting themselves at the size of these buggers.
Conversation was wearing a bit thin, verging on uncomfortable, until he said, almost casually, “Do you like soccer?” Do I like…?! Halle-fucking-lujah. Promptly launch into a two-hour conversation about the state of world football and whether Ajax are bigger than Man Utd, which of course they aren’t (?!) but I couldn’t convince him of that. It must be the first time I have ever argued in favour of Man Utd – strange what patriotism can do.
18-9-93 | Saturday | Day 33
Another long and busy day. Up at 10am to arrange a bus ticket over to Kota Bahru, and then hire a motorbike (M$15 between two of us for the whole day) which Nick would thankfully (and rather obviously given that I’d never ridden a motorbike in my life) be driving all day.
First stop was Wat Chayamangkalarem, another reclining Buddha, not as impressive as the one in Bangkok, but interesting nonetheless. The walls of the temple were full of small glass-fronted boxes, each containing an urn of ashes, a photo of the deceased and a dedication from the family – like a space-saving graveyard. Drove through Georgetown (hairy to say the least), visited the airport (wrong turning), and ended up at the Snake Temple (disappointing). There were precious few snakes, and the ones that were there were so drugged that they could barely move. I may have picked one up for the obligatory photo. (I could have sworn I didn’t – but me Ma also swears she saw said photo.)
We carried on wandering almost aimlessly, driving past Kek Lok Si Temple and found ourselves at the foot of the Penang Hill Railway. M$4 return for an incredibly steep railway ascent, which rises slowly to the top of the hill at a height of 1,250 feet above sea level, the views from which are spectacular, looking out over Georgetown, Butterworth and the Penang Bridge which, at 13.5 km, is apparently the longest bridge in Asia (a bit of a con though – most of it is on land).
Struck up conversation on the way back down with an Anglo/Aussie couple, one of whom had emigrated to Australia thirty years ago…from Morpeth. He couldn’t remember much about it but he was the first person I’d encountered for ages who had even heard of it.
The last stop for us was Khoo Kongsi, a Chinese clan house, which looked pretty interesting, but was closed. Had a bevvie with the Aussies, Ian and Janet, then boarded the bus for KB somewhat ruefully as the last couple of days in Penang had been really enjoyable. Travel off the island via the bridge which is good except that when you’re on it…you can’t really see it. Still…been there, seen it, ridden across it, and bought the postcard.
19-9-93 | Sunday | Day 34
Arrived Kota Bahru at 5.30am in the morning, after a hairy journey along what could only loosely be described as roads, and which certainly didn’t permit any sleep. And everything was shut. Hung out for a while in the night market waiting for the Yee Guest House to open which is where Will and Mel are staying.
When it finally does open, they are not there, having moved two doors up the road to another place on account of the bed bugs in the first place. The guy at Yee Guest House let me in and even gave me a bed for a couple of hours free of charge while I waited for the others to get up. As soon as they do we were immediately on the move by taxi to Kuala Besut, and then a boat to the Perhentian Islands.
We’d been warned beforehand that food on the islands can become scarce and expensive and that it was better to take your own. And because the east coast is largely Muslim, you also needed to take your own booze. Upon arrival at the Coco Huts however we were advised that the food would attract rats in abundance. So we resolved to eat as much as we could of our three day supplies on the first night. We managed not only to eat everything but also to drink everything – 5 half-bottles of vodka, which resulted in a rather spectacular barf from Scotty.
The food we couldn’t eat we tied up in bags and tied to the washing line; a hugely sensible thing to do because of course rats can’t run across washing lines, can they? However the vodka had the desired effect of anaesthetising us and we all slept well despite the omnipresent paranoia of rat attack.
20-9-93 | Monday | Day 35
Survived the night intact, only to hear that some lass in one of the huts awoke with a rat next to her on the pillow. She had resolved to sleep on the beach for the rest of her stay (which is another hugely sensible thing to do because of course you won’t find a rat on a beach will you?).
Set off on a wander to discover what there is to do here. According to the Lonely Planet there is a walk across the island, but after over an hour’s search for the supposed beginning, we had drawn a complete blank. Scott and myself headed off in the opposite direction towards the resort and discovered that there is a walk, where the respective ends are and that it is best done first thing in the morning. We also found one of the most perfect beaches imaginable; a strip of clean white sand, fringed by a line of palm trees, beautifully clear and warm turquoise water, and it was virtually empty. Apparently there was a large and modern resort behind the tree-line but it had been so tastefully done that from the beach you’d hardly know it was there. Promptly enjoyed a long, luxurious dip.
Back to our own stretch of beach (which was not quite so lovely but was significantly cheaper) to have dinner in the restaurant. Being the impatient children that we are and drinking all the vodka the night before we were forced to have an alcohol-free night. Which I’m sure would do us no harm but, apart from not being as much fun, it meant we had to cope with rat-phobia whilst sober.
I walked into the hut at one stage of the evening armed with a kerosene lamp, to find a large rat sitting on the bed. The old phrase ‘they are more scared of you than you are of them’ came to mind, but how do they know? How do you measure how scared a rat is? If it was based on reaction time, then it was hats off to the rat ‘cos I was out of that hut a lot faster than him. He was still on the bed polishing his flick knife while I was off to raise the cavalry.
Once inside the hut with candles ablaze (and therefore worried about starting a fire), Will was reluctant to step outside so resorted to relieving himself in an empty water bottle. We lay there running through almost every possible scenario of what could happen, with the slightest sound causing mild hysteria. And thus kept each other awake most of the night. It was a relief when the sun came up and it was deemed safe to go to sleep because the rats would have buggered off home, wherever that may be.
21-9-93 | Tuesday | Day 36
Scott wasn’t feeling too well this morning so today’s attempt at the jungle walk was cancelled. He and Vanessa were travelling down to Kuala Lumpur this afternoon to meet Plod’s father who was there on business, which means that jungle walk will never happen.
Will, Mel and myself spent the day on the gorgeous beach; a bit of swimming, a bit of reading, a bit of snoozing, and a lengthy spell of snorkelling. Saw a stingray, and lots of other fish of varying degrees of size and beauty, and loads of amazing coral. The best yet.
But then isn’t everything ‘the best yet’? Such is the nature of backpacking in new places that I’m running out of superlatives to describe the sheer novelty of everything we see and do. Everything is the ‘best’, the ‘biggest’, the ‘most beautiful’, the ‘first’. We received an awful lot of travel advice, but no one told us to pack a bloody thesaurus.
Today we also saw a sea-eagle swoop down and pluck a fish from the sea; lizards and squirrels running up and down trees; and two long-nosed tams chase each other onto the beach before realising what they had done, that they are fish and should stay in the water, and frantically struggle to get back into it. And all that was just sitting outside the hut, whilst having a breakfast of fresh coconut which had fallen from the trees overnight.
Sitting around the cafe we started talking to an English guy, Nick, and an Aussie, Jason, who work in Kuala Lipis, and a Kiwi couple Fraser and Fran, through whom we established that it is possible to get hold of some alcohol on the island, and promptly decided to stay another day.
22-9-93 | Wednesday | Day 37
Another night of difficult and interrupted sleep which thus stretched well into the following day. Lazed on the beach in the afternoon without too much activity.
Returned to the huts to meet our local boatman Danny, who had been to the mainland today and acquired some booze on our behalf. Except that today was pay day for our local boatman Danny who has subsequently got himself as drunk as a lord, largely on the booze that was supposed to be for us. Whatever we’d ordered, he managed to drink half of it on the way back. So we got the remaining half and half of our money back. Thankfully we could all see the funny side, and liking a drink as we do, admired the feller’s thirst – not to mention his barefaced cheek.
It was still enough Orang Hutan, whatever kind of kerosene that may be, for us to have a good laugh sitting around setting the world to rights and trying to figure out how we could get to the Cameron Highlands by Saturday. And Nick and Jason revealed the novel way in which they had countered the problem of squat toilets in their flat – by cutting a hole in the seat of a plastic chair and placing it over said hole in the ground. Now there’s engineers for you.
23-9-93 | Thursday | Day 38
Crawled out of the hut in time for the first good breakfast for a while. It seems that every day we are on this island we discover something that makes it seem even more attractive; if we could stay long enough it would become paradise in the end. But we have to move on, so after another round of farewells we were on the 2pm boat, the islands’ equivalent of a slow boat to China, although our destination was slightly less glamorous – Kuala Besut. Then on to KB and back to saintly Nasron’s.
Whilst this guy’s hospitality seems to know no bounds, the adoration and praise heaped upon him became positively nauseating, and he did all he can to encourage it; a legend in his own guest house. (That’s a bit ungrateful seeing as he gave me a free bed for a few hours the other day.) We ate in the night market which was weird and wonderful (blue rice?!) but KB seemed to have little else to offer so the rest of the night was spent sitting around Snazzy’s chatting to an Austrian ex-pat who worked in Malaysia and was full of tales of tigers and elephants and things that he has seen while mining in the jungle. It sounded exciting but at the same time he seemed like a rather sad figure. Conrad’s Colonel Kurtz.
24-9-93 | Friday | Day 39
A shockingly early start to find the train station and catch the 8.15am jungle train to Kuala Lipis, for the princely sum of M$15. The third class carriage was much better than the carriage-from-hell that we had expected, and fairly empty. No signs of any live produce or entire household removals as we had been warned.
The train takes about four hours and although the scenery was quite interesting it was not as spectacular as we’d hoped. I’d had visions of us embarking on one of the great train journeys of the world, meeting exciting and mystifying characters, and having an unforgettable experience. Or something like that. But it was either one of those things that you somehow don’t appreciate at the time, or it was just, well, crap.
Kuala Lipis appeared to be pretty boring – not a lot to do for backpackery-types like us. Did a spot of shopping and wrote some letters, trying (ultimately unsuccessfully) to talk the bad influences of Sian and Clare into meeting me in Australia.
Upon Nick’s recommendation we were staying at a guest house belonging to a Mr. Harry Tan. It was pretty good, clean, reasonably priced, and the Tans were really friendly, speaking very good English, which was just as well for us. The only Malay I’ve picked up so far is thank you – terima kasih, I think.
Throughout the evening we had various discussions with them which Harry invariably steered towards politics and his ancestors’ China, with the odd bit of religion thrown in. Which completely blew out of the water our tour rule never to talk religion or politics. And how Will and I managed to sustain a conversation about religion, politics and history for several hours was a complete mystery.
An incredibly knowledgeable bloke, old Harry told us all about the history of Malaysia, the influences of the various occupants, the British, and the despised Japanese. In the course of the conversation it became apparent that Harry hated the Yanks and seemed to blame the rest of the world, except Malaysia, for the continued suppression of China, seemingly without considering that their own adherence to an out-dated and oppressive ideology may be at least partly responsible. Quite an amazing, philosophical, ideologically-blinkered chap, old Red Harry. His missus, Janet, remained diplomatically silent throughout and just poured the tea; probably the result of years of not being able to get a word in edgeways.
25-9-93 | Saturday | Day 40
Another early start to catch the 8.30am bus to Kuala Kubu Bahru and off in the direction of the Cameron Highlands. We’d opted to run the gauntlet of local transport and were armed with a list of bus numbers, times and routes that Janet had written down for us.
The first leg was Lipis to KKB (M$5) which took two hours longer than we were told, but there were no complaints about that as the scenery was amazing. It was everything we had expected from the jungle train. The way the drivers handled those big buses around hairpin bends on narrow roads at high speeds had to be seen to be believed.
Leg 2 was KKB to Tanjong Malim (M$1.45) on a rickety old bus crowded with locals, where we were the subject of much scrutiny from the small children – they’d probably never seen anyone as good looking before, eh? Leg 3 was Tanjong Malim to Tapah (M$5.90) in a slightly more luxurious air-con coach. And the final leg, Tapah to Tanah Rata (M$3.50) was the best of them all. The scenery became ever more spectacular as we climbed higher and higher into the mountains, and the air became cooler and cooler. The roads were nothing more than ledges carved into the mountain side with a sheer wall rising up on one side, and…well, nothing on the other. The driver appeared to have a death wish. Either that or his judgement of these roads was superb. But none of the locals appear concerned, so why should we? Bollocks to that…I was terrified.
Total cost of M$15.85 for nine hours virtually uninterrupted travelling.
Checked in to Father’s Guest House, and a dorm bed for 5 ringitt in what turned out to be an old army barracks. There was free tea and coffee, videos, book exchange, and…wait for it…HOT showers. The first for forty days. Wasn’t there something biblical about being denied something for forty days and forty nights? God, it was heavenly.
Everything in Tanah Rata seemed like heaven to us. The locals spoke very good English, including Gerald, from the hostel, who claimed to be entirely self-taught, having learnt solely from tv, which possibly explained why he spoke like someone from a US cop show. There were steak houses, fish ‘n chips, and shops that stocked western foods. I know it’s not much in the spirit of travelling, but it put a smile on our faces.
We had a fish ‘n chip supper, before joining a party at Father’s; “It’s been raining for a while and everyone is unhappy so we have a party to cheer them up”. Which is as good a reason as any, I suppose. Drank lots of cheap Thai Song whisky and met some very friendly locals. Chai offered us a free consultation on travel around Malaysia and a reduction on his Highlands tour; Will was ecstatic at arranging a game of golf for the following day; and a guy whose name escapes me knew more about English football than myself and Will put together. Will introduced himself by saying “I’m from Nottingham. Robin Hood?” To which this guy replied “Fuck Robin Hood. What about Brian Clough?”, and that was us off for a good three hours.
A tremendous day. A sense of achievement for having got as far as we did, a little disappointment that Scott and Vanessa hadn’t arrived yet, a hot shower, and a thoroughly hospitable welcome.
26-9-93 | Sunday | Day 41
The calm after the storm. It seems odd to be able to have a day as intense and packed as yesterday and follow it up with the complete opposite. The highlight of the day, apart from the arrival of Scott and Vanessa, consisted of the first laundry for forty-one days, and very satisfactory it was too. Although it does the beg the question of how on earth I managed to go for a month-and-a-half without washing clothes? It is not as if I’m carrying a vast wardrobe. Dirty git.
27-9-93 | Monday | Day 42
Another rather uneventful day. Scotty and myself went for a walk to the Parit Falls and beyond. The falls were very poor largely due to the disgusting state of the river. Apart from being muddied with the run-off from the building sites, it was full of rubbish. Continued walking to a watchtower (okay), the golf course (average), and ‘Ye Olde Smokehouse’ (shite). The latter had a red telephone box outside but, despite being in the Lonely Planet as a tourist attraction, is was open to non-patrons. The Smokehouse that is, not the telephone box. That was open to anybody. I’m not quite sure what constituted a ‘patron’ but it certainly wasn’t us.
Watch 9½ Weeks in the evening which, despite being quite smutty, has to be one of the worst and most pointless films ever made.
28-9-93 | Tuesday | Day 43
More walking, this time through the jungle, which was pretty good. Went up to Robinson Falls which were pretty spectacular and spread out over a considerable distance, unfortunately much of which was out of sight in the dense jungle. You could hear them though.
Then on to a mini dairy farm which gave accurate definition of the word ‘mini’ and sold produce not even made there. Scott and I made the long walk up to the Boh Tea Plantation while the others hitched a lift. Any sense of achievement was quickly diminished as the bastards didn’t believe we’d walked. In all, I think we covered about 15km today on foot. Mind you, we got a bus back.
The Boh Tea Plantation is, well, a tea plantation. Terrace upon terrace upon terrace of tea. And at the centre of it all, a tea factory or plant or whatever you call it. There is a limit…
Went out in the evening for a Chinese steamboat and inadvertently got absolutely bollocksed. The Thai Song really did the trick this time – so much so that I reverted to the old pastime of disappearing suddenly, unannounced, to go to bed. Probably the most pissed yet. I say probably because I can’t remember a damn thing.
29-9-93 | Wednesday | Day 44
Hangover.
Today’s conversation revolved mainly around last night with Will having to apologise to several people for shooting his mouth off. Scott had an embarrassing encounter with a guy at the golf club who had complained about the noise we were making in the restaurant last night. His impolite complaint was countered with an equally impolite “Piss off, Fatty.” from Will. Everyone was pissed off with Will cos he was so argumentative but talking bollocks. Mel even made him kip in the dorm instead of their room. Good job I cut out when I did.
Finished reading the wonderful To Kill a Mocking Bird for the nth time and exchanged it for Dracula, and dispatched a few letters and postcards.
30-9-93 | Thursday | Day 45
Time to move on again; Scott and Vanessa up to Penang then in to Thailand; Will and Mel up to Penang then over to Sumatra; and I’m heading south to Kuala Lumpur. As usual, it’s a shame to leave a place where we’ve been so warmly received; the locals in Tanah Rata being among the most accommodating we’ve met. It’s a nice place to chill out as the weather is comfortably cool, but there isn’t much to do. Once you’ve walked here and there, it’s all done. No wonder Jim Thompson wandered off.
Made arrangements to meet up with Will and Mel again somewhere along the way, but I’ve no idea when I’ll see Scott and Vanessa again. There’s talk of them being in Sydney for Christmas but whether or not that ever becomes anything more than talk will remain to be seen.
The bus journey down to KL was uneventful with an unscheduled stop so that the driver could go to the bookies. Checked in to the Backpackers Travellers Inn as recommended by somebody (?) and the first thing I noticed about KL is the stifling heat, such a marked difference from the highlands. Took a wander around Chinatown and the markets in search of something to eat. Ended up ordering the smallest and cheapest dish I could find, which turned out to be enormous – I couldn’t eat even half of it. Apart from that, and with no knowledge of where to go or what to do, there was little else to do, and with no one to do it, there was even less.
Go to October 1993 – Southern Malaysia, Singapore and Java