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Chasing Waterfalls

Monday, February 20th, 2006

“A fool wishes to know no more about what drives him than simply that it does. A judicious man will seek his motivations, but in the end, find himself merely a more worthy fool.” -Max Berlin

Soo, a bit has happened since the last entry. The majority of it took place more recently, but I would like to share a particular irrelevant story with you from earlier before getting into it. I took a bus from K.L. to Singapore, slated to arrive around 12:30 at night. I get to customs around midnight, and go through the motions-bag on the belt, smile at the guards, hope they don’t want me to open it; they do. Now, what, in this situation-a security check at a country border, surrounded by armed men, at a particularly strained time for large backpacks in our world’s history- could be the worst conceivable move on my part? If I had to venture a guess, I’d say it’s something like occured. On the way there, I saw a couple of small roaches on the bus, which is nasty, but they were small. I go to open my bag, and sitting there is the mother of all roaches, looking right at me. So, naturally, I scream like a girl and stumble wildly backwards, causing the 6 men with guns surrounding me to jump and scream like girls too. In hindsight, it would make for a funny scene in a movie, but in reality, it’s probably not one of the best reactions I could have had. Then, to top it off, the bus left me! There was one older man behind me in the customs line, who said he’d go tell them to wait, while I and six grown men went “Ew! Ew!” and picked items one at a time out of my bag, looking for one giant, crafty roach. After a short period, I was forced to concede that the bug had eluded us at present, and I had better get going or I wouldn’t have a ride. When I arrived outside, the old man was there, but he said, “They left us. I tried to run after them and I waved at them, but he just left.” Luckily, Singapore is small, and we were only about 20 km out of the city center, so (as ours was the last bus of the evening), two nice gentlemen gave us a ride to the nearest taxi stand, and from there, we split a taxi into town. I never did learn his name, but he was very friendly. He spent the ride telling me about Singapore and how clean and safe it was (and he was absolutely correct in this). When the cab dropped him off first, he bid me a good journey, and pointing at me like a caring old relative said, “buckle up and then you’ll really be safe in Singapore.”

Other than that, Singapore passed without much incident. Once again, I stumbled onto a parade and fireworks display for the end of the Chinese New Year celebrations. Otherwise, I sort of felt like I was back in Europe and was much spoiled by Starbucks, a large flat screen tv in the hostel, and the LOTR trilogy. Once I left there, I just sort of haphazardly threw myself onto a multitude of buses for the next three days with the vague idea of going back to Thailand…but in the end, I met an English girl just come from Indonesia, who, after some persuasive stories, convinced me I should go there while I’m “in the area” as it were. I took a five hour ferry from Malaysia to Medan, the capitol city of the largest of the Indonesian islands, Sumatra. Medan doesn’t do much for me. I’m actually there right now. It’s crowded, home to a good 10 million people, and it’s polluted and noisy. My initial intentions were to head to a little place in north Sumatra called Pulau Weh, where there is supposed to be an excellent beach and snorkeling. But then I get to talking to the travel agent, and decide instead upon a 2 day trek through the Indonesian rain forest in search of orangutans. I take a bus from the city to a village about 3 hours away called Bukit Lawang, accompanied by my guide, Udin, who introduces himself first and foremost as “Jungle Boy”.

By the time we reach the village, there’s a pretty violent storm going on. I ask idiotically if it rains like this often, to which Udin replies, “it is the rainforest.” It’s a short drive via motorbike from bus station to guesthouse, which we make, bags and all, in the pouring rain. When we arrive, I am immediately faced with the narrowest, ricketiest bridge I have ever seen. Add this to the fact that it runs over very troubled water, it’s completely dark (minus the occasional lightening menacing overhead), it’s pouring, I have an unevenly distributed 60 lbs on my back and am wearing an ankle length skirt, sopping wet. The best advice I attain from my Indonesian escort? “Don’t worry. Chicken curry.”

I stay the first night in the village, intending to leave for the trek the next morning, but decide to just hang out for a day first, on the word that there might be a few more tourists wanting to go the next day. In the meantime, Udin takes me to the weekly market and to his house to meet his wife and two adorable children and I get a chance to familiarize myself with a few of the locals. Next morning, Udin and I head into the jungle with another group of two Dutch girls doing a one day trek. Pretty early on, we see a bunch of Thomas Monkeys, and then shortly after, a breed of Long-Tailed something or other. Then, about 45 minutes in, we spot an orangutan. All in all, we saw 4 orangutans, one with a baby, and one, sadly, with a dead baby. Udin is impressed with my agility in trekking over rocks and roots, and I am forced to “open my secret”-as they say in Russia-and am obliged to tell him that I am not truly an authentic city girl, but in fact grew up in the backwoods of Texas. Aside from the monkeys, the jungle itself was a pretty amazing place. We came in and out of contact with the river, which unfortunately was all cloudy due to a landslide upstream the day I arrived. (I have that effect on terrain) We have to cross it on one occasion, and in doing so, Udin takes my hand. I’m not especially keen on the whole “you’re a girl; you need my help” sort of thing, but I underestimated this particular river. I counted 3 times that, had he not had hold of me, I would likely have been swept away, much to the detriment of my digital camera.

We reach the campsite to find our cook, Ling, already there-cooking-and the tent set up. Ling makes wonderful wonderful food and that night he plays a bunch of matchstick tricks on me, while everyone has a good laugh at my ineptitudes in spacial reasoning. Next morning, I am treated to banana pancakes before heading back. There are several gentlemen from Holland at the campsite next door who invite me to go back to the village by way of rafting with them-but they are all in their underwear-and thanks but no thanks.

So Ling and Udin and I head back for some distance before encountering (unexpectedly, I’m sure) Udin’s brother, who has brought with him about 20 of his students from an all-girls English school in Medan on a field trip. Udin suggests we stop for a bit, so I take up a place on a rock, but am soon surrounded by the girls, and I begin to feel a bit like an exhibit…not that I didn’t enjoy it. We talk for a while, me answering questions, and them testing their English on a live specimen. They too are rafting back, all 20 of them, and as they have an extra seat on one of their rafts, they invite me to join them. I feel a little better about this group, so I take them up on it, and we have a grand ole time screeching our way down the rapids. Then we take pictures….a LOT of pictures, and I pass out for several hours before Udin comes by to take me up a hill on his motorbike for a better view of the village.

The whole couple of days in Bukit Lawang was really amazing, but I am also looking forward to my next destination in western Sumatra, Lake Toba. It’s supposed to be very peaceful there, and I think I’ll enjoy a bit of time to myself just relaxing.

…Then it’s volcano time.

Surprise Parties

Saturday, February 11th, 2006

“She always returned to her theory that a young woman whom after all every one thought clever should begin by getting a general impression of life.  This impression was necessary to prevent mistakes, and after it should be secured she might make the unfortunate condition of others a subject of special attention.”   -Henry James, Portrait of a Lady

2am, somewhere outside Kuala Lumpur, a bus pulls over at a service station, and an American girl bounds out, exclaiming, “Ay, que frio!” before running around to the side of the bus to retrieve a sweater.  Why is an American speaking Spanish in Malaysia?  Or better yet, why the following night did she find herself in a cave at 4:30 in the morning?  Read on to find out.

I left Thailand without too much trouble.  The bus sector of the tourism industry is remarkably well connected, but this is not to say it is without aggravation.  All bus companies apparently being in collaboration, there is always someone pulling you one way or another; onto a boat to the mainland, onto the back of a truck with 6 other people, from bus company to bus company to mini-bus to big bus.  Although it seems confusing for the traveler, the people who work from the companies know exactly what’s going on at all times….or so you tell yourself as you board yet another form of transportation at yet another unknown transit stop at ungodly hours in the morning.  I prefer trains because there is none of this changing business, you just get into your sleeper car, and when you wake up, you’re there-even if it is 4 hours later than you expected.  For whatever reason, I decided to head to Kuala Lumpur via bus.  I was lucky in that from the beginning, there were 3 other guys in my mini-van who were going there too.  They were from Ecuador, Mexico and Spain, but were studying together in China, and now taking a vacation (hence my usage of Spanish, scant though it may be).  The final big bus they load us onto is quite miserable.  My last overnight bus seemed luxurious with wide, reclining chairs, blankets and pillows, and a bathroom.  This one had chairs.  Malaysia is hot and humid, really humid. But I don’t mind the temperatures, as I like wearing lighter clothes.  Unfortunately, my skirt and tank top did not work well with the arctic temperatures on board this particular bus.  So after being unable to sleep on “overnight” bus, we are dropped off in Kuala Lumpur five hours ahead of schedule, at 4 in the morning.  After being turned away from two full hostels, we opt for a budget hotel instead.  It now being 4:30am, the guy at the desk doesn’t want to give us a room yet, so we pass out all over his lobby until he wakes us around 6 with a room.  Then we crash till noon, at which point, I get my own room (With a TV.  Classy). 

 On the way here, I spoke a while with an older British couple who were headed to Penang, and said that this weekend is a big Hindu festival called Thaipusam.  Looking online, I find out that the biggest celebration is right here in K.L.  I think it’s interesting how often I just run into various holidays and celebrations.  It makes me wonder if it is more a thing of good fortune, or perhaps that there are more things in this world worth running into than I thought.  Or maybe people just like throwing parties.  This particular party consists of a hike from central K.L. to the Batu Caves…approximately 15 km south of K.L.  It was my understanding that the walking commenced the next afternoon, so I turned in early to take advantage of my HBO.  Well, as I’m watching Steven Segal in The Glimmer Man (It was all that was on!  You would have done the same thing!!), I hear something outside.  I walked up two flights of stairs to get to my room, so I assume it is ok to take a quick peek out on my balcony sans pants.  Quickly discovering that my room is still somehow mysteriously on the ground level, I retreat and put some clothes on before going back out.  Apparently the walking starts this night. There were tons of people walking through the streets.  I think I am tired, and that I should sleep, but then I think, oh why not, and grab my camera, a little money, a plastic bag (for my camera because it is raining) and head to the streets, knowing full well that I was embarking at 11:30 at night for a 15km no turning back walkathon.  The walking wasn’t bad at all.  For one thing, it was made much nicer by free handouts every hundred meters or so.  People giving you water, food, juice, candy, more, more, more.  Nobody goes hungry at Hindu parties, gotta love it.  In this case, my face did me a favor, as everybody seemed happy that the strange little white girl was willing to go out into the rain and march all the way with them, so I was a constant target for people trying to give me delicious halava.  Poor me.  I saw many women carrying these little metallic canisters on their heads; apparently, part of the custom is that they carry these things (I think they were full of coconut milk) all the way to the caves, on their heads.  Moreover, probably at least half of the people were not wearing shoes-a gutsy move in a big city.  I want you to get a good idea of how absolutely massive this procession was.  I’ve just checked on-line for stats, and there are over a million people who gather for this thing every year in K.L. alone.  That’s a big ole parade.  It’s not Macy’s, but it’s nothing to sniff at, either. 

 There were a couple of things I saw along the way that I won’t expand upon here, but you can see pictures up on webshots with explanations if you click the link over on the right side of the page.  I walk quickly, though I never come to the front of the line, and arrive around 4:30am.  Then I climb stairs upon stairs to get to the temple itself, where I just sit and watch the crowd for a while.  I ask someone something along the lines of, “what now”, and they tell me that now we wait for the chariot to come in.  I think this sounds like a plan, and that although I passed the chariot at walking speed some 4 hours ago, it is motorized, so surely will be there before too long.  6am rolls around and I’m manic with exhaustion, and decide to go back to the hotel to sleep for a few hours before returning.  6:30, I realize there are a good deal of other people who would like to do the same, but no one knows how to get back to town short of walking.  7:00 I resign myself to the long walk back.  7:30, I run into a packed bus-like New Years packed-but manage to squeeze on and head back to my room.

The next day is when the real celebration starts, all this other was just preliminaries.  Today was hot, but at least it wasn’t raining.  There were a multitude of people already there when I arrived this morning, so the streets in front of the cave were ringing with music and jammed with people sweating all over each other.  They stood along the sides of the street watching the line of party people go by.  And just how do they party?  By sticking hooks and pins through their skin, of course.  Duh.  I’m standing on the outside, with my camera held over my head to get a better shot when a guy grabs my arm (nicely) and leads me through the masses and into the line of the parade where I am able to get a picture close up.  It was really amazing stuff.  Apparently, they enter into a trance, or rather, their bodies play temporary host to a god, so they don’t feel pain, nor do they bleed, nor do they seem to be completely aware of their surroundings or situation.  They are photogenic, however.  Some people had spears through their cheeks or foreheads, some had hooks in their backs or stomachs supporting either flowers, assorted fruits, or large floats which they wore on their shoulders.  Then there were others who’s hooks attached to lines attached to another person or floats on wheels which they pulled.  Pretty hardcore.  So I wandered around for a while taking pictures and then sat down for lunch, where I was befriended by an early 30s couple, Angel and Ben.  They are both Malaysian, but Angel speaks Chinese while Ben speaks Hindi, so they converse in English, which is to my advantage as I also converse in English.  They invite me to walk around with them, which I do, and we go into the caves and around to the various stands selling music or carpets or sweets or anything else.  Then I take off to come here, because I knew downloading those pictures was going to take a considerable amount of time.  I took a couple of videos as well, but I’m not sure how or where to put those up.  If anyone has any pointers on this, please share.  I’ve got a bus to Singapore tonight, which, my father tells me is to immaculately clean, one is not allowed to chew gum.  Wonder if that’s a hangin offense.

Zoom Zoom

Tuesday, February 7th, 2006
"And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack And you may find yourself in another part of the world And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with ... [Continue reading this entry]

Men in White

Wednesday, February 1st, 2006
I've got my feet on the ground and I don't go to sleep to dream." -Fiona Apple, Sleep to Dream Greetings! I have had a very interesting 10 days. I've never known a time to pass so slowly, but ... [Continue reading this entry]