After a very strange dream involving my boss at a McDonald’s party, I woke slightly disorientated—where was I again?—and realised it was almost breakfast (I have only set my alarm once on this trip, but I always seem to wake in time for breakfast). We went on another jungle hike—more plants, more mud, no fire ants— and returned to de-mud our shoes and relax by the lake for a few hours before our return to the MASCOT centre.
Some of the group placed their feet in the water for a ‘fish pedicure’, where the tiny fish bit the dead skin off their feet, but after they had pulled their feet out, our guide mumbled something about buffalo leeches and crocodiles in the river, so I’m glad my feet stayed on dry land.
Back at the MASCOT centre, some of the local men and women showed us how to prepare some local cuisine, so we chopped and stirred and pounded and ended up with a beautiful lunch of green beans with garlic, tomato, chilli and carrot, fried eggplant with soy sauce, fried chicken with tumeric and for dessert little pastry puffs with peanut, hazlenut and brown sugar filling. It was delicious, and we all felt proud of our achievements in the kitchen, though in truth the locals managed all the chefs in the kitchen quite admirably.
After lunch, the local kids gave us a cultural performance of some local dances in traditional dress, and two little ones gave us a tai-kwon-do style performance (so cute!). We then scoffed out desserts and enjoyed Sabah tea and sweet coffee before loading ourselves into cars to visit the local bat caves down the road, which had burial coffins that are said to be between 500 and 900 years old. They were, however, in caves located 70 metres above the ground, which meant our poor aching legs had more stairs to contend with. The coffins were worth seeing though—carved of iron wood in two halves with crocodile and buffalo heads carved out of each end. They were incredibly heavy, and we could not imagine how they lifted them up a mountain without stairs. We kept climbing to the top of the mountains for the amazing views, but by this time I was dripping with sweat, and so hot I was giving lethargic nods at the stories our guide was telling.
There were a few hours free before we left for our overnight homestay, located down the road. This would give us the opportunity to spend time with a local family, and I know I’ve always enjoyed these kind of visits on other tours. The house my roommate and I were allocated was run by a lovely woman called Arabaya. She was 59-years-old and looked after her nephews, gradchildren, daughters-in-law and assorted other people (I lost track as they came and went). A young boy of 14 called Miro was tasked with hosting us, so we watched the National Geographic channel with him for a while and had more Sabah tea with cakes before dinner, which we ate with our right hand rather awkwardly, gathering the food together with our fingers, spooning the food into our mouths with our thumb like a shovel. Miro worked for the Sabah Forestry Department, as did his Aunty Anna, who’s husband worked far away (doing what, I’m not sure). We chatted for a while in broken English, learning about their family before an early night. It was about 40 degrees and the trucks on the highway were roaring past outside. To add insult to injury, the fan Anna had kindly set up for us (along with mosquito nets and bottled water) was so loud it sounded like an aircraft taking off. Even with earplugs I found it impossible to sleep, and it was a very long night.
-Sarah
Sarah