The Wobble

I predicted a pretty unremarkable couple of days for the malaysian capital, do some shopping, catch up on whats new in the cinemas, sort out the visa and board the plane. Sounds pretty simple! Oh how I wish I could sever this post just there. The shopping and the cinema going went rather well, I filled up the bag to the 15 kg limit with pairs of jeans, socks, underwear, jumpers and shoes – basically all the stuff I was getting by without for the last 5 months. I have travelling through the last bit of india and all of south east asia on 4 t-shirts,  1 pair of normal shorts and 2 board shorts, a blankett and a hammock. That just wasn’t going to cut it in the low temps of south australia. I got to catch the new hulk movie and a rather silly movie called wanted. I also got to gorge myself on lots of magnificent malaysian and indian food for which the Malaysian capital is world famous for, though having chicken tikka masalla for breakfast on the second day was probably pushing it a little.

Trouble reared its ugly head when on the day of my flight I turned up at the aussie high commission to get my visa number switched to my temp passport so I could travel to the land down under. You see I purchased my visa way back when I was but an innocent cub trambling along the streets of dublin, the visa is electronic and is attached to my old passport. At the airport they just scan your airport which accesses the aussie immigration database, ticks all the boxes and hey presto you are free to wreak havoc for 365 days. The computer system they have for completing this task though had just crashed, for the first time in 3 years apparently. Again, my flight was that night…. Shiiiiiiiiit!!!! I didn’t know what to do, I thought bugger I am going to be in south east asia for ever. I gave them my malay number before heading off to the airport in an effort to get the check in crew to ring ahead to the aussie help line to get the details switched there. Much to my relief I got a call from them an hour later to state that the system was back up, someone plugged it back in I guess. My visa was okay so I could head to the airport with a clear mind.

Back to the hostel where I grabbed my bag in storage and off to the airport. The airport is about 70km outside of the city, most of it is motorway as KL is pretty small, well the centre of the city is anyways. About 10 km out the motorway I found myself staring at my watch, something wasn’t right. It wasn’t the time as I had just checked the time of the flight and I still had loads to spare, the bloody date! It was the 8th of july, a tuesday. The flight was the 9th. God I felt like a right numptie, to make matters worse I couldn’t just get off the bus and flag the next one back into KL as it was a bloody motorway all the way in, so I had to go the full way out to the airport and jump straight onto the bus just leaving, I debated whether or not to go back to the same hostel as I didn’t fancy having to explain a story that made me out to be more than a little dim, but in the end I decided what the hell. I walked right up, demanded a room as if I was never there before. The poor clerk thought he was seeing a ghost. A few beers were called for and sunk before my second, last day in KL.

I was hungover and it was hot so I just hung out and ate everything off the menu in the local food market til it was time to head for the airport again, this time for real!! Checked in, got through security and customs all in record time. Even had time to pick up some duty free and a cup of much needed coffee. For some reason they have an additional security check just before you leave the departure lounge at the air asia airport. The guy who checked me was a proper numptie. He kept me there for 10 minutes, looking at my passport picture then looking at me. Sure my hair is longer than back then but fer fecks sake its still pretty obvious that the pretty mug in the photo is yours truly, yet on he went – he even consulted some of the other security guys about the passport, my palms were just about getting sweaty when he offered me a smile and told me to enjoy my trip. Asshole… Anyways, adios Malaysia, adios Asia. It has been 7 and a half months but more importantly it has been a blast…

I’m off to get the dingo that stole my baby now!!

Phil  

Aceh is a name that should be familiar to every person on the planet. Ground zero for the 2004 tsunami, even before that it was notorious for a 30 year civil war that left 30,000 people dead in various clashes between local rebels disgruntled at jakartas exploitation of their natural resources and its total lack of any kind of reciprocal investment. The achenese see themselves as different from the rest of indonesia. Its ironic that it took the tsunami to make both sides see the err of their ways, the state is now at peace.

Given its turbulent history I was a little apprehensive visiting the place, though I was never not going to go given that I was so close. The bus trip from medan was 13 hours, another over nighter but this one wasn’t too bad. The road followed the coast mostly so was flat and straight. After the stop for morning prayers, I sat up and with interest looked out to see the damage that the tsunami wreaked. The wave that struck Bande Aceh was 35 metres in height when it hit land. 35 metres!!! Try and get your head around that, thats bigger than the gpo in dublin, hitting land at high speed. Its no wonder the place got wrecked, there is maybe one or two buildings here and there thats over 4 years old. There are ships abandoned miles in land, carried in by the wave. To give you some idea of the toll this city, roughly the size of cork, took there are 2 mass graves in the city with over 30,000 bodies in each. I spoke to one guy at the bus stop who said 44 members of his family perished that morning, Indonesians tend to exaggerate their family sizes to include friends and neighbours but even that taken into account leaves you with a phenomenal number of people that you know, just gone!! Those numbers are phenomenal, not since the US dropped the atom bomb have so many people died instantaneously. Rightfully it moved the world so much that the fund raising efforts to help these people rebuild their lives was unprecedented. Individual and collective empathy raised more cash that the governments of the world were willing to contribute. I was very interested to see how this money was being spent, I recently read naomi kleins book on disaster economics and she highlighted the corruption of government officials in tsunami hit zones – pocketing alot of the money intended for poor fisher men or orphaned children. I have to say that I was impressed by what I saw, it really is a town getting on its feet. Its lively and the people are as nice as anywhere I’ve been. There are some buildings or institutions (Mcdonalds, burger king, pizza hut) which are unnecessary, surely the money would be better spent building more houses, more schools, cleaning up the mess thats left behind. I only passed through the town twice, not staying over night so my impressions are pretty limited.

My main destination for the week was the island of Pulau Weh, an island famed for its coral gardens and its relaxed lifestyle. Not a bad place to spend my last week in asia I reckoned. The boat over takes a little over an hour, I chose the little fishing village of ibioah to stay, recommended by an indonesian lady on the boat. A taxi to the village is expensive but because there are so few tourists here I had to foot the bill or face being stranded at the port. The island is mountainous and surprisingly big. The trip to ibioah took the guts of an hour over a fairly comical excuse for a road inhabitated by the strangest looking monkeys I have seen yet. I got out of the taxi in the village and stood around looking like a plum when someone asked me if I wanted a place to stay. That someone stood in a small fishing boat, I nodded and before I knew it I was in the boat coasting around the bay trying to keep my bags from getting wet.

The trip was short enough,I was welcomed at the pier by the lady I had met on the boat. Some questions immediately sprung to mind – what the hell was she doing there and how the hell did she get here so quick. Now the first one is easily answered, she owned the place. The second one I am still scratching my head about, answers on a postcard please. She showed me to the rooms. Now when I say rooms, these things are individual wooden bungalows on stilts standing on the sea, the water was pure turquoise. The stuff you see in travel agent brochures. Not a beach to speak off but it will do nonetheless. Up with the hammock and out with the snorkel.

I must have swam 40 miles in the 6 days I spent there. The underwater action was superb, on my last day I happened upon a turtle out for his lunch. Swam with him for an hour, allowing the currents to take us all over the place. The sea is peculiar in these parts, the currents always seem to land you in the same spot, they will take you off for a mile or so and then it turns and land you back where you started.

Now I have a little something I need to get off my chest. I hate divers!! There bam I said it. And not just cristiano ronaldo or pippo inzagi either. I mean the people who dive in the deep sea. They are fascist arseholes, I hate to use the word hate but I hate them. They are so cliquey, ignorant and full of their own self importance. Pulaw Weh is full of them. One guy in particular got up my nose, from the second I stepped into the communal area he made up his mind not to like me, he kept his back turned to me and wouldn’t reply to a single thing I said. It was actually funny to be honest. I was happy enough to have my time to myself, swinging on the hammock over the gorgeous bay or swimming with my new turtle friends. I flew through a couple of books, with my 15kg check in limit date looming it was a necessary exercise!!

One more thing that annoyed me about this place was the locals ignorance for the rarest of jewels they had right on their door step,  the tsunami cleared away absolutely everything on the coast including rubbish – it gave the survivors a clean slate with regards to a new environment. The coral garden underwater for some reason survived the onslaught, others in the province were destroyed, but the locals just throw away their rubbish into the sea, they have no problem sinking concrete wells into the coral garden so that they can build an ugly concrete and steel structure in the beautiful bay. So many times myself or the nice italian guy who was there chastised the workers in our resort after they flicked another cigarette out in the sea or when they threw a plastic bottle out the front window just because it was empty. I think its a lack of education that has them this way but if they keep going the way they are going it will only be a matter of time before the place is abandoned by the fish aswell as the tourists. Its a pity as its picture perfect from afar, with a little planning and some counter refuse system it would stay that way.

I had to be out of the country by sunday because my visa was up and they don’t take too kindly to people overstaying their welcome here, so I headed off the island early friday morning. Back to Banda Aceh where I had hoped to grab a direct flight to KL but the bleeding thing was sold out and the next flight was tuesday, I had only heard off the flight during the week otherwise I would have booked it at the start of the month. So I was left with two ways to get back to medan, 1 hour flight or 14 hour bus. Sounds like a no brainer right? Wrong, the airline running the route were called SMAC airlines, now I am not a superstitious guy but I am not stupid either. The bus it was. In medan I spent a thoroughly unremarkable 2 days before I grabbed my flight – there are some beautiful mosques in the town but little else other than loud non moving traffic and pollution to see in the place. Off to KL on the sunday where I had a couple of days to shop for cold weather clothes and oooh sort out the tiny problem that is that my Australian work visa is no longer valid….

ciao ciao

Phil

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