Another cute and dumpy aircraft deposited us back in Kota Kinabalu where I looked forward to sampling all of the delights of that bustling urban masterpiece on the north coast of Borneo. Amanda and Dan had waxed lyrical about the food, the foot massages, the markets and so on. First we repaired to our respective hotels for essential showers and the peeling off and beating to death of the clothes we were currently wearing. After that I intended to join my pair of Virgils for a quick tour of Kota Kinabalu.
It rained. It didn't rain in the sense that I'm familiar with. This was the sort of rain that Noah would be familiar with. I set out to meet Amanda and Dan at their hotel. Within five minutes I was drenched to the skin and was wading through streets under several inches of water. It was only a ten to fifteen minute walk to their hotel but by the time I arrived I could have been mistaken for a Titanic survivor. I dribbled across to the concierge to inform Amanda and Dan of my arrival and then settled down to catch pneumonia while I waited.
Piling into a convenient amphibious vehicle we headed off to the night market. It was raining there too and after a certain amount of huddling under tarpaulins and staring at fish who looked as though they might revive and swim away any moment we decided to eschew the entire browsing for food in the picturesque market and find a restaurant instead.
Depending on your point of view the restaurant visit was either a great success or an unmitigated disaster. We couldn't speak Malay and they were disinclined to speak English, fair enough it's their country. With a certain amount of effort we (and by we I mean Amanda) ordered what turned out to be two plates of pyramid shaped roti drizzled with condensed milk and some chicken in pastry with dipping sauces sort of thing. We also managed to order something else by pointing at a neighbour's plate as a waiter walked past. This was so good we decided we wanted more. Since Amanda had done the initial ordering and Dan had done the waiter grabbing I decided to try my luck, I also wanted a cup of tea. At first I was directed to the bathroom but I eventually managed to make clear(ish) my desire for more food. It wasn't quite a success, what we got was another pyramid of roti and condensed milk and another of the chicken pastry things we had ordered originally. Also since there was only one fork and spoon between the three of us to cut up and distribute the above.
On the other hand the food was delicious and when the time came to reckon up the bill with the assistance of sign language all of the above plus soft drinks came to a grand total of 26 ringgit which is less than ten dollars. At some point while we were doing our part for misunderstandings between nations the rain had stopped and it had turned into a very pleasant night. So we went for foot massages which made up for a lot.
On the way back to my hotel I saw a rat and a cat within a few feet of each other. I tried to catch the attention of the cat and pointed to the rat in anticipation. Isn't this why we have cats in coastal cities? Apparently not, the cat did deign to glance in the direction of the rat when I pointed at it but obviously decided that moving wasn't worth the effort. It has to be said that the rat didn't seem at all bothered by the presence of its feline enemy and I strongly suspect the pair of them new each other.
The next day I flew out to Brunei to catch my plane home. Actually I caught a plane from Brunei to Malaysia from where I would catch a plane home. Brunei airport continued it's personal vendetta against me. Not only did I slip on the floor and hurt my knee but my flight was delayed (again) fortunately I had a few hours before my connection in Kuala Lumpur. Simply getting to the plane was a chore, we passed through the gate, circumnavigated about 60% of the airport and were then loaded onto a bus.
The bus took us around the rest of the airport, past all of the other terminals, past the maintenance area, past the leper colony until finally, standing in an isolation I would hardly describe as splendid, was our aircraft. Having boarded in bus loads we staggered into the air where our pilot cheerfully informed us that the cause of the delay was because there had been a "technical difficulty" (remember them) and that while it was absolutely no cause for alarm on balance they had decided that the plane flew better with both wings attached to the fuselage.
My flight from Kuala Lumpur turned up in Sydney half an hour early which seemed to please the first officer when he announced it. It would have pleased me too if he hadn't added that as a consequence we were going to have to sit on the tarmac for half an hour before we could get to a terminal. Home sweet home.
Wednesday, June 28, 2017
Tuesday, June 27, 2017
Travelling Hopefully - Malodorous Cavern Edition
After taking so many monkey and orangutan pictures that we were heartily sick of them and having witnessed the laying of turtle eggs and the utterly adorable sight of scores of baby turtles charging towards the sea and almost certain doom there really was nothing left to do in this part of Sabah except wade ankle deep through bird and cockroach shit while bats pissed on us from above. The venue for this act of bestial coprophilia was the Gomantong Cave which is surrounded by its own patch of virgin jungle. Surrounding the virgin jungle are palm oil plantations that are distinctly slutty at best.
The first thing that hits you as you approach the cave is the smell. It's also the second, third and fourth thing to hit you as well. And by "hits you" I mean "beats you half to death and leaves you bleeding in the gutter". Inside the cave are innumerable bats, cockroaches and small birds. Outside the cave are a large number of eagles for reasons not entirely unconnected with the previous sentence.
The bats, it is fair to say, serve no other purpose except to feed the eagles and the cockroaches are there because there just isn't enough Mortein in the world to deal with the issue. The birds however happen to be the type of birds that paste their nests together with their own saliva. As such they provide a vital ingredient in birds nest soup or, more accurately, bird spit soup. Yum yum.
Bizarrely birdsnest soup isn't considered to be an aphrodisiac which is odd as it certainly ticks the "inaccessible and birdspit crazy" criteria normally applied to such things. However the soup is supposed to be very good for your health and particularly helpful for smooth skin and generally warding off the ageing process. Which goes to show that Chinese traditional medicine is rather like traditional medicine everywhere; a couple of lucky guesses cemented together with an unholy collection of demented rubbish.
The nests are gathered twice a year and the pricier nests (because of course there is a grading system for swallowing birdspit) can fetch up to several thousand dollars per kilogram. During the gathering the workers actually live in little huts in the cave which I wouldn't do for the salvation of mankind.
Having appreciated (for want of a better word) the atmosphere (for want of a better word) of the cave (nope we're good with the word "cave") we left for somewhere our nasal passages could recuperate. On the way back through the jungle there were about half a dozen orangutans frolicking in the trees because of course there were. The damn things are everywhere.
With the collected excrement of three different species washed from our shoes (but never from our brains) there was nothing left to do except catch the last minibus out of Dodge. While waiting for our flight at Sandakan airport we noticed a man wandering around. He was wearing what might be termed a uniform (if you wanted to stretch the definition to its very limit) and was carrying a pump action shotgun. He wasn't screaming demands and people weren't fleeing in panic so I'm going to go right ahead and assume he was airport security.
The first thing that hits you as you approach the cave is the smell. It's also the second, third and fourth thing to hit you as well. And by "hits you" I mean "beats you half to death and leaves you bleeding in the gutter". Inside the cave are innumerable bats, cockroaches and small birds. Outside the cave are a large number of eagles for reasons not entirely unconnected with the previous sentence.
The bats, it is fair to say, serve no other purpose except to feed the eagles and the cockroaches are there because there just isn't enough Mortein in the world to deal with the issue. The birds however happen to be the type of birds that paste their nests together with their own saliva. As such they provide a vital ingredient in birds nest soup or, more accurately, bird spit soup. Yum yum.
Bizarrely birdsnest soup isn't considered to be an aphrodisiac which is odd as it certainly ticks the "inaccessible and birdspit crazy" criteria normally applied to such things. However the soup is supposed to be very good for your health and particularly helpful for smooth skin and generally warding off the ageing process. Which goes to show that Chinese traditional medicine is rather like traditional medicine everywhere; a couple of lucky guesses cemented together with an unholy collection of demented rubbish.
The nests are gathered twice a year and the pricier nests (because of course there is a grading system for swallowing birdspit) can fetch up to several thousand dollars per kilogram. During the gathering the workers actually live in little huts in the cave which I wouldn't do for the salvation of mankind.
Having appreciated (for want of a better word) the atmosphere (for want of a better word) of the cave (nope we're good with the word "cave") we left for somewhere our nasal passages could recuperate. On the way back through the jungle there were about half a dozen orangutans frolicking in the trees because of course there were. The damn things are everywhere.
With the collected excrement of three different species washed from our shoes (but never from our brains) there was nothing left to do except catch the last minibus out of Dodge. While waiting for our flight at Sandakan airport we noticed a man wandering around. He was wearing what might be termed a uniform (if you wanted to stretch the definition to its very limit) and was carrying a pump action shotgun. He wasn't screaming demands and people weren't fleeing in panic so I'm going to go right ahead and assume he was airport security.
Sunday, June 25, 2017
Travelling Hopefully - Mud, Blood & Leech Socks
Of course there was more to the nature lodge than just orangutans. What jungle adventure would be complete without leeches? On the evening we arrived we were given the option of going on a nighttime jungle walk. Heady with the success of our first river cruise where we had seen monkeys of various stripes, a water monitor and a mother orangutan nursing its young we agreed without hesitation. I'm not saying we expected to see a clouded leopard but after the river cruise we wouldn't have been surprised.
To avoid unnecessary suspense let me state right now that we did not see a clouded leopard. Our guide has done this work for sixteen years and is a local lad into the bargain. He has seen clouded leopards on precisely four occasions in that time. We had signed up drunk with optimism but were quickly sobered when we were asked if we'd like to hire gumboots. Dan mentioned that he had purchased a pair of spanking new hiking boots for just such an occasion. Wordlessly Amanda and I pointed to the mud level on the gumboots for hire. We hired the gumboots.
Now that we were reeling the nature lodge went in for the kill, "Would we like to purchase leech socks?" At this point we would probably have purchased chainmail if they had it. Suddenly the jungle seemed a scary place comprising 40% mud and 60% leeches (a description that is only inaccurate in the percentages). We were advised to wear long sleeves, Amanda didn't have any long sleeves. Dan and I privately wrote her off as dead at that point. A random American joined briefly. In fact he joined us for just long enough for him to regale us with stories of how his brother had done the walk yesterday and had staggered out of the jungle more leech than man. After that the American wandered away possibly in response to the intense "fuck off" vibe he was getting from all three of us.
So what was the night jungle walk like? Imagine a sauna, fill it to a depth of twelve to eighteen inches of mud, throw in far too many plants, scatter leeches to taste and turn off the lights. Also for the full experience you would have to source civet cats, a slow loris and a tiny but incredibly cute (and apparently quite rare) ghost monkey. Also on the way back we encountered wild pigs. His hunting instincts aroused Dan plunged after them and Amanda had to yank very hard on his chain to keep him on the path. Also nobody got any leeches.
Despite this introduction to the jungle we agreed to go on a longer walk the next day. The jungle during the day is rather like the jungle at night only better lit. Again we pulled on our doughty leech socks and I traded my gumboots for a pair that didn't have a huge crack in them then we set off through the jungle. Pretty soon sweat was pouring off me in such quantities that any leech trying its luck was in danger of drowning.
We were told we were unlikely to see any animals during the day and this turned out to be correct. I did see a leech though, it was in the process of wrapping itself around my finger. I shook it off however a closer look determined that the "off" component of that statement had failed to occur. I shook my hand more violently and the leech went flying into the mud. At least I presume it was the mud, Dan was standing quite close to me and had no idea why I was jerking my hand about so violently. Not wanting to concern him I just let him think I had a nervous twitch.
Our guide attempted to take our minds off our imminent death from heat exhaustion but pointing out the medicinal qualities of various plants, most of them seemed to be gynaecological in nature. Eastern Sabah must have the lowest infant mortality rate in the world.
We collapsed gasping at our destination, a beautiful oxbow lake currently connected to the river thanks to recent rains. Our guide gazed at our recumbent forms; "would we like him to call a boat to pick us up?"
Our reaction was pitiful, we threw ourselves at his feet pleading nay, weeping for the boat. The boat could only reach us because the water was so high and we eased and bumped our way along a narrow waterway with overhanging branches and semi submerged logs until we made it bank to the river.
Once back at the lodge I removed my gumboots and discovered a leech industriously but unsuccessfully trying to burrow its way through my leech sock. I took a photo then Dan hit it with insect repellent and I applied a cigarette lighter and we wound up with the world's deadest leech. Incidentally has anyone else noticed that the human love of animals is highly conditional? Substitute the phrase "baby panda" for leech in the preceding and I'm sure everyone would be appalled.
To avoid unnecessary suspense let me state right now that we did not see a clouded leopard. Our guide has done this work for sixteen years and is a local lad into the bargain. He has seen clouded leopards on precisely four occasions in that time. We had signed up drunk with optimism but were quickly sobered when we were asked if we'd like to hire gumboots. Dan mentioned that he had purchased a pair of spanking new hiking boots for just such an occasion. Wordlessly Amanda and I pointed to the mud level on the gumboots for hire. We hired the gumboots.
Now that we were reeling the nature lodge went in for the kill, "Would we like to purchase leech socks?" At this point we would probably have purchased chainmail if they had it. Suddenly the jungle seemed a scary place comprising 40% mud and 60% leeches (a description that is only inaccurate in the percentages). We were advised to wear long sleeves, Amanda didn't have any long sleeves. Dan and I privately wrote her off as dead at that point. A random American joined briefly. In fact he joined us for just long enough for him to regale us with stories of how his brother had done the walk yesterday and had staggered out of the jungle more leech than man. After that the American wandered away possibly in response to the intense "fuck off" vibe he was getting from all three of us.
So what was the night jungle walk like? Imagine a sauna, fill it to a depth of twelve to eighteen inches of mud, throw in far too many plants, scatter leeches to taste and turn off the lights. Also for the full experience you would have to source civet cats, a slow loris and a tiny but incredibly cute (and apparently quite rare) ghost monkey. Also on the way back we encountered wild pigs. His hunting instincts aroused Dan plunged after them and Amanda had to yank very hard on his chain to keep him on the path. Also nobody got any leeches.
Despite this introduction to the jungle we agreed to go on a longer walk the next day. The jungle during the day is rather like the jungle at night only better lit. Again we pulled on our doughty leech socks and I traded my gumboots for a pair that didn't have a huge crack in them then we set off through the jungle. Pretty soon sweat was pouring off me in such quantities that any leech trying its luck was in danger of drowning.
We were told we were unlikely to see any animals during the day and this turned out to be correct. I did see a leech though, it was in the process of wrapping itself around my finger. I shook it off however a closer look determined that the "off" component of that statement had failed to occur. I shook my hand more violently and the leech went flying into the mud. At least I presume it was the mud, Dan was standing quite close to me and had no idea why I was jerking my hand about so violently. Not wanting to concern him I just let him think I had a nervous twitch.
Our guide attempted to take our minds off our imminent death from heat exhaustion but pointing out the medicinal qualities of various plants, most of them seemed to be gynaecological in nature. Eastern Sabah must have the lowest infant mortality rate in the world.
We collapsed gasping at our destination, a beautiful oxbow lake currently connected to the river thanks to recent rains. Our guide gazed at our recumbent forms; "would we like him to call a boat to pick us up?"
Our reaction was pitiful, we threw ourselves at his feet pleading nay, weeping for the boat. The boat could only reach us because the water was so high and we eased and bumped our way along a narrow waterway with overhanging branches and semi submerged logs until we made it bank to the river.
Once back at the lodge I removed my gumboots and discovered a leech industriously but unsuccessfully trying to burrow its way through my leech sock. I took a photo then Dan hit it with insect repellent and I applied a cigarette lighter and we wound up with the world's deadest leech. Incidentally has anyone else noticed that the human love of animals is highly conditional? Substitute the phrase "baby panda" for leech in the preceding and I'm sure everyone would be appalled.
Saturday, June 24, 2017
Travelling Hopefully - And Now the One You've All Been Waiting For
Sea turtles and tropical islands are all very well but one doesn't travel to Borneo for that. Nor is it for the Malay culture and friendly locals that one risks malaria, dengue fever and exsanguination by leech. After eleven blog entries at least notionally about Borneo my readership (both of them) rises in it's wrath and screams,
"Where are the sodding orangutans?"
Well fear not gentle reader for this blog entry has more orangutans than a Terry Pratchett convention. There are so many orangutans that by the end you won't believe they're endangered in fact you'll probably support a cull.
We travel deep into the jungle (it's on the right in between the oil palm plantations) a little later but first we visited Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre where a bunch of orangutans have been collected together for our viewing pleasure. That's not the intention of course, the centre, which has its own bit of jungle attached (about ten thousand hectares) was set up in the 1960s to rehabilitate baby orangutans which have been orphaned by hunting, logging or road accidents (orangutans are terrible drivers) so they can be released into the wild. I can't help thinking they would do better to train the orangutans to survive in palm oil plantations but their hearts are in the right place.
Amanda, Dan (remember them?) and I turned up, not coincidentally, in time to see the orangutans being fed on platforms in the forest. Feeding the orangutans consists of dumping a bunch of fruit on a platform and waiting for the orangutans to turn up. An orangutans method of eating by the way is to pick up a piece of fruit, rub it on it's chin and then drop it before repeating the process. I'm not surprised they're endangered, I'm amazed they haven't all starved to death.
There was also an area set up as a children's playground/learning centre where incredibly photogenic orangutans learned important life skills such as a dislike of other orangutans. Orangutans are completely solitary (they even reproduce by text message) and the five or six years the mother spends teaching it's child (and there will only be one) about all things orangutan is the most interaction either of them will have with their own species.
It has to be admitted that orangutans are awesome and the babies are the very definition of cute and cuddly. I wish them well on their journey back to the wild and I hope there's still some wild left when they turn up. There was also a sun bear sanctuary next door to the rehab centre but this is an entry about orangutans so who cares. Dan and Amanda claim to have seen a pygmy elephant, well you can believe that if you're so inclined.
After whetting our orangutan appetites with some easy kills (figuratively speaking) we headed up the Kinabatang River where a fair chunk of jungle can be found wedged between the palm oil plantations. From our base at Kinabatang Nature Lodge we cruised the river in the hopes of catching a glimpse of this rare and shy great ape in the wild.
The damn things were everywhere! We couldn't get near the river without tripping over orangutans. It got to the point where we expected them to be at the airport to wish us goodbye. In the course of three days we saw thirteen separate orangutans.
We were, in fact, unbelievably lucky. Some people come and see none. I can't help thinking we must have used up our nature lodge's orangutan allotment for the next eighteen months.
"Where are the sodding orangutans?"
Well fear not gentle reader for this blog entry has more orangutans than a Terry Pratchett convention. There are so many orangutans that by the end you won't believe they're endangered in fact you'll probably support a cull.
We travel deep into the jungle (it's on the right in between the oil palm plantations) a little later but first we visited Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre where a bunch of orangutans have been collected together for our viewing pleasure. That's not the intention of course, the centre, which has its own bit of jungle attached (about ten thousand hectares) was set up in the 1960s to rehabilitate baby orangutans which have been orphaned by hunting, logging or road accidents (orangutans are terrible drivers) so they can be released into the wild. I can't help thinking they would do better to train the orangutans to survive in palm oil plantations but their hearts are in the right place.
Amanda, Dan (remember them?) and I turned up, not coincidentally, in time to see the orangutans being fed on platforms in the forest. Feeding the orangutans consists of dumping a bunch of fruit on a platform and waiting for the orangutans to turn up. An orangutans method of eating by the way is to pick up a piece of fruit, rub it on it's chin and then drop it before repeating the process. I'm not surprised they're endangered, I'm amazed they haven't all starved to death.
There was also an area set up as a children's playground/learning centre where incredibly photogenic orangutans learned important life skills such as a dislike of other orangutans. Orangutans are completely solitary (they even reproduce by text message) and the five or six years the mother spends teaching it's child (and there will only be one) about all things orangutan is the most interaction either of them will have with their own species.
It has to be admitted that orangutans are awesome and the babies are the very definition of cute and cuddly. I wish them well on their journey back to the wild and I hope there's still some wild left when they turn up. There was also a sun bear sanctuary next door to the rehab centre but this is an entry about orangutans so who cares. Dan and Amanda claim to have seen a pygmy elephant, well you can believe that if you're so inclined.
After whetting our orangutan appetites with some easy kills (figuratively speaking) we headed up the Kinabatang River where a fair chunk of jungle can be found wedged between the palm oil plantations. From our base at Kinabatang Nature Lodge we cruised the river in the hopes of catching a glimpse of this rare and shy great ape in the wild.
The damn things were everywhere! We couldn't get near the river without tripping over orangutans. It got to the point where we expected them to be at the airport to wish us goodbye. In the course of three days we saw thirteen separate orangutans.
We were, in fact, unbelievably lucky. Some people come and see none. I can't help thinking we must have used up our nature lodge's orangutan allotment for the next eighteen months.
Travelling Hopefully - The Neglectful Parent Edition
We were met at Sandakan airport by our guide who was charged with getting us within camera range of sea turtles without too much psychological damage on either side. This would entail a journey to a small island off the coast as apparently the turtles don't make house calls.
First though we stopped at the Sandakan Four Seasons to pick up a pair of New Zealanders (who like most New Zealanders live in Sydney) and then we stopped around the corner to pick up the New Zealander's washing. With both the New Zealanders and their washing secured we transferred to what seemed like a rather small boat for a sea cruise and headed across the azure water to Turtle Island.
Malaysia seems to be taking its anti-piracy duties seriously, the harbour at Sandakan was full of enough coast guard vessels to have their own war and a seriously heavy duty military helicopter roamed the skies. There were also police armed with automatic rifles on the island itself although whether they were there to protect us from pirates or the turtles from us was left open. One thing I do know, the rule about being off the beach by 6pm so the turtles could come ashore unmolested was scrupulously obeyed.
The turtles are under threat not just because they insist on eating plastic and getting caught in fishing nets (stupid bastards) but also because turtle eggs are apparently delicious and are incredibly nutritious. Also, like most exotic, difficult to source foodstuffs they're supposed to be an aphrodisiac. If chickens were discovered to be an aphrodisiac then within a month there would only be nine left and they'd live on a mountain top in Bolivia. The island is an attempt to bolster sea turtle numbers. It has been a laying spot since time immemorial, now it is an official turtle hatchery. The female turtles come ashore, lay their eggs and, literally immediately, a ranger scoops them up and transplants them to a hatchery where they can hatch without interference from predators. This guarantees the maximum number of incredibly cute baby turtles which are then released into the sea where most of them die almost immediately.
I suspect that much of the reason for the turtles endangerment comes down to bad parenting. The father loses interest immediately after conception (I know, big surprise) and the mother considers her parenting role complete if she dumps her eggs into the nearest convenient hole in the ground and then leaves. If that was the human method of child rearing we'd be endangered too.
In their defence the sea turtles have chosen a spectacular venue to be neglectful parents in. A forty minute boat ride out of Sandakan into the Sulu Sea brought us to an island of almost stereotypical tropical island beauty. Coral, white sand, translucent water, abundant fish and palm trees; it's all there. And somewhere in the midst of all this beauty a bunch of armoured dinosaur contemporaries are tossing eggs into holes in the sand under the impression that this is all they need to do to propagate their species. After which a group of unreasonably concerned humans run around trying to prove them right. Talk about rewarding bad behaviour.
First though we stopped at the Sandakan Four Seasons to pick up a pair of New Zealanders (who like most New Zealanders live in Sydney) and then we stopped around the corner to pick up the New Zealander's washing. With both the New Zealanders and their washing secured we transferred to what seemed like a rather small boat for a sea cruise and headed across the azure water to Turtle Island.
Malaysia seems to be taking its anti-piracy duties seriously, the harbour at Sandakan was full of enough coast guard vessels to have their own war and a seriously heavy duty military helicopter roamed the skies. There were also police armed with automatic rifles on the island itself although whether they were there to protect us from pirates or the turtles from us was left open. One thing I do know, the rule about being off the beach by 6pm so the turtles could come ashore unmolested was scrupulously obeyed.
The turtles are under threat not just because they insist on eating plastic and getting caught in fishing nets (stupid bastards) but also because turtle eggs are apparently delicious and are incredibly nutritious. Also, like most exotic, difficult to source foodstuffs they're supposed to be an aphrodisiac. If chickens were discovered to be an aphrodisiac then within a month there would only be nine left and they'd live on a mountain top in Bolivia. The island is an attempt to bolster sea turtle numbers. It has been a laying spot since time immemorial, now it is an official turtle hatchery. The female turtles come ashore, lay their eggs and, literally immediately, a ranger scoops them up and transplants them to a hatchery where they can hatch without interference from predators. This guarantees the maximum number of incredibly cute baby turtles which are then released into the sea where most of them die almost immediately.
I suspect that much of the reason for the turtles endangerment comes down to bad parenting. The father loses interest immediately after conception (I know, big surprise) and the mother considers her parenting role complete if she dumps her eggs into the nearest convenient hole in the ground and then leaves. If that was the human method of child rearing we'd be endangered too.
In their defence the sea turtles have chosen a spectacular venue to be neglectful parents in. A forty minute boat ride out of Sandakan into the Sulu Sea brought us to an island of almost stereotypical tropical island beauty. Coral, white sand, translucent water, abundant fish and palm trees; it's all there. And somewhere in the midst of all this beauty a bunch of armoured dinosaur contemporaries are tossing eggs into holes in the sand under the impression that this is all they need to do to propagate their species. After which a group of unreasonably concerned humans run around trying to prove them right. Talk about rewarding bad behaviour.
Travelling Wearily
The Horizon Hotel in Kota Kinabalu has lovely rooms. I must try sleeping in one at some point. After a five hour delay reaching Kota Kinabalu and an hour and a half getting through customs I didn't reach my room until 2.30am which left me just enough time to shower and change before I had to meet my friends in the lobby at 4 for the taxi ride back to the airport to catch a plane to Sandakan.
My friends had, in my view unwisely, invited me to join them on an animal pestering expedition to Borneo. If, over the course of the next four days, an animal somewhere in Borneo didn't get its privacy invaded it was no fault of ours.
I mentioned friends, there were two of these; Amanda who I have worked with on and off for years and her Italian body servant Daniel. Greetings were low key as they had just got up and I hadn't slept in nearly twenty four hours but each of us managed to convey an absence of disappointment that the other had actually turned up and we bundled ourselves into a short, rather fat aeroplane that took us to Sandakan.
According to the Australian government's travel website Sandakan isn't somewhere you should be going right now. There's a bit of a pirate situation right now. The pirates come from (and presumably return to) the Philippines. The sea border with the Philippines is quite close to Sandakan and a damn sight closer to the island we would be staying on to watch the sea turtles.
Of course the possibility of pirate generated unpleasantness would have caused my parents to have some concern about my well being, so I didn't tell them. I've also delayed posting this blog entry until four days later when I'm safely back in Kota Kinabalu. So if this entry actually reaches my blog you know I survived. Unless the Malaysian navy retrieved my notepad from my bullet riddled body and decided to publish it as a cautionary tale.
My friends had, in my view unwisely, invited me to join them on an animal pestering expedition to Borneo. If, over the course of the next four days, an animal somewhere in Borneo didn't get its privacy invaded it was no fault of ours.
I mentioned friends, there were two of these; Amanda who I have worked with on and off for years and her Italian body servant Daniel. Greetings were low key as they had just got up and I hadn't slept in nearly twenty four hours but each of us managed to convey an absence of disappointment that the other had actually turned up and we bundled ourselves into a short, rather fat aeroplane that took us to Sandakan.
According to the Australian government's travel website Sandakan isn't somewhere you should be going right now. There's a bit of a pirate situation right now. The pirates come from (and presumably return to) the Philippines. The sea border with the Philippines is quite close to Sandakan and a damn sight closer to the island we would be staying on to watch the sea turtles.
Of course the possibility of pirate generated unpleasantness would have caused my parents to have some concern about my well being, so I didn't tell them. I've also delayed posting this blog entry until four days later when I'm safely back in Kota Kinabalu. So if this entry actually reaches my blog you know I survived. Unless the Malaysian navy retrieved my notepad from my bullet riddled body and decided to publish it as a cautionary tale.
Travelling Eventually
I should have taken the bus. AirAsia managed to get me from Sydney to Brunei as close to on time as makes no difference. Royal Brunei on the other hand can't even shift me the forty odd minutes to Kota Kinabalu without a five hour delay. The cause of the delay was apparently "technical issues" a delightfully broad term that can mean anything from "we don't actually own any aircraft but we're negotiating to hire a local crop duster's Cessna" all the way to "the pilot has locked himself in the cabin with a shotgun and is demanding we bring him a bottle of vodka and a shaved orangutan in a bikini."
To make matters worse I had swapped my last cigarette for a lift to the airport in what seemed like a good deal at the time. It really wasn't, cigarettes are another thing you can't buy in Brunei at least, not legally. Smoking isn't illegal, just selling cigarettes. If you somehow manage to source cigarettes then feel free to smoke them. As long as it's not in daytime hours during Ramadan of course.
People say the Sultan of Brunei is a very pious man and I'm sure that's true but I wonder if religion is the only reason for these laws. Back when it was discovered that Brunei was sitting on an ocean of oil bigger than it was the Sultan instituted a number of social welfare initiatives including free (or at least heavily subsidised) healthcare. At some point an advisor may well have whispered in the Sultan's ear that three of the largest drains on the public health purse come from drinking, smoking and illegal drugs.
"No problem," replied the Sultan. "We'll kill the junkies, ban alcohol and stop people buying cigarettes."
"How are you going to justify all that?"
"Religion," a quick sideways glance at the Minister for Religious Affairs who hastily thumbs through a Quran before nodding.
"Actually I think we can make that fly your majesty."
"Excellent, now get your arse down to the airport and see if you can do the same for Royal Brunei.
To make matters worse I had swapped my last cigarette for a lift to the airport in what seemed like a good deal at the time. It really wasn't, cigarettes are another thing you can't buy in Brunei at least, not legally. Smoking isn't illegal, just selling cigarettes. If you somehow manage to source cigarettes then feel free to smoke them. As long as it's not in daytime hours during Ramadan of course.
People say the Sultan of Brunei is a very pious man and I'm sure that's true but I wonder if religion is the only reason for these laws. Back when it was discovered that Brunei was sitting on an ocean of oil bigger than it was the Sultan instituted a number of social welfare initiatives including free (or at least heavily subsidised) healthcare. At some point an advisor may well have whispered in the Sultan's ear that three of the largest drains on the public health purse come from drinking, smoking and illegal drugs.
"No problem," replied the Sultan. "We'll kill the junkies, ban alcohol and stop people buying cigarettes."
"How are you going to justify all that?"
"Religion," a quick sideways glance at the Minister for Religious Affairs who hastily thumbs through a Quran before nodding.
"Actually I think we can make that fly your majesty."
"Excellent, now get your arse down to the airport and see if you can do the same for Royal Brunei.
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