Off the Couch and On the Road

It was an early start to the day, as we grabbed a morning coffee and egg roti at a nearby restaurant before walking to the jetty around the corner. Our speedboat took an hour to get to Tutrtle Island, and it was a rough ride. The back of me was completely soaked by the end of the trip, and I was incredibly glad I wore my travel sickness wristbands so I didn’t end up like some in our group who were queasily hanging over the edge of the boat.

The further we drove out, the more clear and aquamarine the water became, until we pulled up at what was most definitely tropical island paradise. We checked into our rooms which looked quite new, all set within a one level unit-block accommodation setting. We immediately changed and walked down a sandy path to the beach, which had white sand and clear, warm water, and it was just perfect. We swam and sunbathed (not too close to the coconut trees, whose coconuts we had seen drop occasionally, and man you would not want to be beneath a falling coconut. Those things would hurt) and listened to the waves and bird sounds and generally relaxed all day.

The water was like warm bath, and we didn’t see any jellyfish, despite the sign the ‘lifeguard’ put up as we were in the water, before returning to his hammock. There was only about 25 people on the island on the day we were there, so apart from passing a few other guests every now and again, it felt like we had the whole island to ourselves.

We met a six o’clock to watch the sunset, which wasn’t very spectacular due to a few clouds that made an appearance, with drinks before dinner and a movie in the exhibition hall about turtles and the conservation work they do on the island. It was then time to wait for the turtles to land on the island and make their nest. It didn’t take too long, and at about 8.30pm we had the call from the ranger to come down to the beach with our torches switched off, to silently surround the enormous turtle who was laying her eggs in a wide hole in the sand. She laid 57 eggs, and the ranger carefully transferred them into a bucket before measuring her and noting her tag number for their research records.

We left her to rest and dig herself out of the deep sand hole to head back into the ocean (how, I have no idea) and followed the rangers to the turtle hatchery. They dug a deep hole in the sand and placed the eggs inside, noting the date and other information on a stick planted next to the hole, before covering the eggs and protecting them from local wildlife by a mesh fence around the hole. The hatchery held hundreds of similar fences, all lined up like a factory protecting the eggs for the next 50-60 days before they hatched.

We walked around to another part of the beach with a red plastic basket of hatchlings that just hatched (they usually dig their way out of the sand hole after sunset) and we watched as dozens and dozens of tiny turtles, no bigger than the size of a child’s hand, flipped and climbed all over each other in the basket. Then onto the sand they went, scampering towards the water where they would swim for the next three days, chill out for the next 15 years, before mating with a random turtle and travelling across the seas to lay her eggs in this very place. It was utterly amazing to imagine.

-Sarah

The following morning we enjoyed a lovely breakfast of noodles and donuts (I asked how to say donut in Malay—it’s just ‘donut’ apparently), before saying goodbye to my host family and taking a private bus to the city of Sandakan two-hours away. It was a very bumpy ride, and we arrived at our hotel (the Hung Wing hotel, which was opposite a phone shop called Capital Cum. Seriously.) gratefully, with a few hours to walk around before doing the sightseeing thing that afternoon.

Sandakan seemed to be busier than KK, buildings pushed together like crowded teeth, horns blaring and people everywhere. I browsed the markets before a lunch of steamed buns and small yum-cha style dishes by the waterfront, which was only two streets away but seemed to be a lot more chilled out than the main thoroughfare.

A few others hunted down an internet cafe while I had a nap (I was so tired  from all those sleepless nights) and we all met at 2pm to see the highlights of Sandakan. I travelled with Mr Lai, who learnt English from his tourist customers and had his car dashboard covered in a row of small stuffed toys given to him by a lot of Australians, it seemed, given the assortment of koalas and kangaroos he had aquired. True, he wasn’t a fantastic driver (there was a moment around a bend where we all sat in silence holding our breath) but he was hilarious and very knowledgable about the local area.

Our first stage was the English Tea House and Restaurant, where we sat in a pagola overlooking the city, surrounded by a lovely English garden and it’s resident peacock. We enjoyed Pimms with scones and Jam (it was far too hot for tea) and watched others play croquet on the lawn.

It was so lovely, I could have stayed there all afternoon, but soon enough we piled back into our taxi with Mr Lai (you like Beatles?) and travelled to the nearby Sandakan War Memorial, erected in conjunction with the Australian Government to honour the thousands of Australian, English and allied POW’s that died under awful conditions during the Second World War. Only six survived out of 2500, and only because they had escaped.

It was beautifully done, with quotes from the surviving six a reminder of the troops’ bravery and lucky we were to live in such peaceful times. One quick visit to a Buddhist temple later and we were back in time for a shower and repacking our small daypack for Turtle Island the next day. We were all a bit giddy at the thought of a relaxing day at the beach, so had a few beers at dinner by the waterfront, listening to dance music so loud it felt like midnight. Instead, we stumbled home at nine o’clock, exhausted after such a relaxing day.

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

The next day we woke at a reasonable hour and left on a public coach for our 5-hour drive to a village in one of the districts near Sandakan. A 20-minute longboat ride later, we arrived at our jungle eco-lodge, in the middle of…ah the jungle, I guess (I wasn’t exactly sure where we were, to be honest).

The river was beautiful, birds and monkeys singing and swinging above us, the muggy hot air finishing off the tropical vibe. My lodge was a tiny wooden room with a sharply slanted roof, set on stilts with a large verandah, set adjacent to a gravel path that led to and from the dining room and toilet block. It was all quite luxurious, really, but we were warned that if we heard scratching underneath our cabins, it was just wild boar, which was strangely concerning yet fascinating, and I immediately felt as though I was on Lost.

We saw monkeys looking down on us, playing in the trees as we walked (read: hobbled) back to the dock for our afternoon river cruise. We set out slowly on the longboat, spotting proboscis and long-tailed monkeys and hornbills, and other random birds that I don’t know the name of. After about an hour I got sleepy, and kind of sat there relaxing in the afternoon sun. There were little men up the back of the boat who simultaneously steered while throwing buckets of water out, which was concerning to say the least, so I was glad when we arrived back to the eco-lodge safe and dry without seeing any crocodiles.

Dinner was chicken curry and rice with green beans, and we left soon after for a jungle night walk. The vague path we were following was so muddy I was concentrating more on where I was stepping rather than the wildlife, but we did see frogs, insects and sleeping birds (no boars though, thank goodness). We also saw fire ants and had to quick-step army-style, then jump into a run, everytime someone saw the biting ants. I couldn’t hear what was going on up ahead, but as soon as everyone started running then checking their shoes, I did the same. Except I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking for. I couldn’t see anything but mud, in any case. I’m sure Jack and Kate never had this much mud on their shoes in Lost, and they hiked through the jungle everyday.

When I was very sick of trekking through the jungle and tired of being paranoid about being bitten by something, our trail suddenly turned and we arrived at our cabins. Outside of my cabin there was a tiny woodpecker, patiently looking out of the little hole it had dug into the bark, slightly above head height. Definitely the highlight of the evening, and it was right outside my bedroom, with no mud involved. Isn’t that always the way.

-Sarah

The next morning I woke early so refreshed but in so much pain that I lazed in bed for another hour or so (classic avoidance behaviour) before heading downstairs for breakfast. It was funny to watch, I’ll admit, but not funny to experience hobbling down the stairs like an old lady, our faces expressing the extent of our pain.

After a huge breakfast, we sauntered across the road to the resort-style complex, with outdoor and indoor pools that fed off the nearby hot springs (Poring, incidentally, was Malay for Bamboo, a description of the local Bamboo forests in the surrounding jungle, not the pouring of the hot water from the springs).

The water out of the tap was 50-degrees celsius – boiling to the touch – and the size of a small tiled Jacuzzi with a plug at the bottom. The baths were filled by a hot and cold tap (which was sorely needed with such hot water) and took forever to fill. It was relaxing, kind of like a pool party with eight individual mini-pools, although I did get a bit bored just sitting there doing nothing. Maybe because I had been walking for two days, perhaps. The complex was a hotspot (geddit? Hotspot? Hmm, ok) of activity for both locals and tourists, and we were glad we had snagged our spots as early as we had. Feeling very warm and relaxed after our sulphuric baths, I had an ice-cream to cool down naturally, and wandered back to the motel for a clean shower and some lunch.

After lunch we walked to the end of the street to see the Rafflesia flower, an enormous flower that can grow to the size of a car tyre and only grows in the wild as a fungus from a tree root. They only flower once a year for seven days, so the small town of Poring had all the signage and stalls ready to go when the flower came into bloom. Luckily it was day one of the flower blooming while we were there, so we paid our 10 ringgits and walked into someone’s rainforest jungle of a garden to see it. It was strange, like something out of Willy Wonka’s factory, and we marveled at it for a few minutes before heading back to our motel in the rain. I picked up my drycleaning at a roadside stall before checking my emails and facebook at the local internet café.

The boys in the internet café, who we assumed were actually working there, were using almost every computer and playing various dungeons and dragons-style games. It seemed we were interrupting their fun just by being there, and when I tried to pay, they glanced at me and nodded impatiently when I offered them some ringgits. The town was small and quiet, but it didn’t stop the boys playing hip-hop loudly as soon as they opened the shop from 9am, and I wondered whether they were somehow managing some online games empire from a tiny town in Borneo. It wouldn’t have surprised me.

We tasted the local rice wine at dinner, made by a crazy woman who stood over us until we tasted her creation. She’d clearly had a few already, and got her phone out to play Lily Allen and Guns’n’Roses at full volume, bopping along to inappropriate songs that clearly were above her vocabulary level. It was hilarious. It had been a lovely day altogether, perfect for chilling out and recovering from our trek, and we were looking forward to our jungle adventure.

-Sarah