Flying in Circles
Time for another rant. I’m beginning to think I’m not very good at this travelling lark.
Despite the late night, I snapped awake 30 seconds before the Palm started bleeping. When I got out of the bathroom, the main lights in the corridor came on. I had settled the bill, but one of the girls from reception had gotten up all the same: “Want Taxi?”
“Thank you, but it is all arranged. Taxi comes at 6:30.”
She got on the phone anyway. The service at ‘Highlanders’ is superb. It was just as well.
“No taxi—come at 6:45 perhaps?”
“No taxi?”
“Is busy.”
Too busy to do their jobs? The airport was too far to walk, there were no buses at this hour of the day and the road was too far away to get there in time to hitchike, even if there was traffic. Of course I had allowed some contingency, but 6:45 was cutting it mighty fine. Nightmare visions of being stuck in Miri sprang to mind.
The poor girl called her mother, who had arranged for the taxi and was apologetic even though it was definitely not her fault; the taxi company had messed up. She got on the phone and assured me that it would be here by 6:45. I walked downstairs and surveyed the empty streets. Then I stormed back upstairs, got on the phone myself and gave the guy grief until he hung up in terrified confusion. I think he got the message about ‘police’ and ‘ticket refund’. I was fuming, which was tough on the poor receptionists who had only tried to be helpful.
The taxi did arrive at just after a quarter to seven. I could tell that the driver was scared of me; he gunned the car over the potholes so fast that he nearly broke the suspension. We got to the airport at the stroke of seven. The driver wasn’t too afraid to ask for the early-morning fare of 18RM, exactly what I had left in my wallet. Fumbling out the moneybelt would definitely have cost face.
My destination was Pulao Labuan because all the flights to Lawas, let alone Kuala Kinabalu, were full. But no matter, I thought: Lonely Planet makes it sound as if Pulao Labuan is connected to Kuala Kinabalu via an umbilical chord of regular ferry services. Not so. In fact, only 2 small boats a day were leaving from this wretched port, and I had just missed the first one. The ticket counter at the shabby little terminal was closed—the next ferry was not due to leave until 1 pm.
Perhaps I would have to pay a little more for one of the express boats which, according to LP, also plough these waters. Next to the run-down terminal was a brand-new blue and white buiding which smelled of fresh paint and was still partly under construction. The writing above the entrance proudly proclaimed it ‘Labuan Jetty Terminal’. I stepped into the deserted hall and spotted a sign for the ‘Ticket Office’ above a set of glass doors, behind which a row of ladies sat at their desks in air-conditioned silence. When I walked in they looked up as one, amazement painted on their faces.
“Tickets for the ferry to KK?”
Realisation dawned.
“Not here,” one of them said with a stifled giggle, as if the idea that a ticket office should sell tickets was somewhat absurd. She pointed across the street: “Other building, over there.”
Perhaps this was just the check-in facility. Across the steet there was another sign on one of the doors, advertising frequent departures to Brunei and a 15:00 express service to KK. It was a possibility, but I didn’t want to wait so long in seedy Labuan.
Whatever happened to the hourly speedboats advertised in LP?
I decided to check back at the terminal. Hidden among the duty-free shops there was a counter which was occupied.
“KK? No boat today.”
‘Fuuul’ again. Even though it was 4h until departure and the last ferry had arrived an hour ago, just as I got there, the building was already mobbed by people. I was getting fed up with ‘fuuul’. It’d have to be the 15:00 express boat, then.
Stepping into the office with the sign at the door drew another look of amazement, once the lady at the counter had stopped chatting into her pink mobile phone. Apparently in Labuan, a sign on the door does not mean that the corresponding service is actually being provided on the premises. I was sent two buildings further down—into a coffee shop. It was the same story. No boat today.
I had a choice. I could stay the night and spend it in the company of people like the drunk who had leered at me from the terminal entrance. Labuan is lined with duty-free shops. Now I know where Brunei expats came to booze—not Miri, but here. At least it meant that I could stock up on cheap cigarettes and vodka.
My other choice was to take a taxi back to the airport. The fare was 8RM. I jumped in.
Incredibly, this was the first time in my life that I have ever tried to fly on stand-by. At the airport, there was a row of check-in counters and an ‘Air Malaysia’ office. Not sure how to go about it, I stepped into the office and joined the queue. I don’t know whether I should consider myself lucky when I secured a seat for the 21:50 flight. The matron at the counter had been curt: “Last seat!”, so I took it.
Unsure what to do next, I sat down in one of the chairs until the crowd dissipated. This was not good enough. When the matron had her back turned, I caught the eyes of another employee.
“Can you help me out here? This fight is very late at night. There are no boats today. Can I go earlier, perhaps on stand-by?”
“No boats?” the man gave me a sympathetic look. He knew all about being stuck on Labuan, unless he commuted to work by plane. It was a possibility.
“I have a seat for you. 3:40 flight, OK? You can also try stand-by on the 12 o’clock flight. Just register at the check-in counters. Show them this ticket.”
He placed a sticker on it, confirming the 15:40 departure, signed it with a flourish and handed it back to me. There is still kindness in this world.
I didn’t get a seat on the 12 o’ clock flight but it didn’t matter. The airport was cool and there was a restaurant which provided surprisingly good food: Nasi Lemak steamed in banana leaves to give it a subtle flavour and little rolls of treats—like fat banana-leaf-cigars—each containing a new surprise. I had maniok jelly with banana and coconut, panadus pancake with sweet coconut filling, more banana jelly and rice with salty anchovies. Not knowing what was in each of the 50 Sen rolls, savoury or sweet, was a delight.
Every time I approached the check-in counters to enquire about stand-by, I had to put my bags through an X-ray machine. The little red ‘checked baggage’ stickers kept coming off and stuck to my skin and clothes. Just before I put my bags through the machine one last time, for the 15:40 flight, I discovered that during all this time I had left my pocket knife in my daypack.
The flight to KK was smooth, but I was not completely mollified. I considered getting straight onto a night bus to Tawau, then hesitated. I hate the fuss and expense of airport transfers, so why leave the airport at all? Why not just try that stand-by thing again?
Because all the flights were ‘fuuul’, of course. I walked out of the terminal and kept on walking and there was a bus stop by the road. Before I had shrugged off the backpack, a minivan screeched to a halt and deposited me at the city centre coach terminal, 200 yards from a backpacker lodge. And I got change on 2RM.
Although the area around KK has much to offer, even for those not willing to climb a 4000m mountain in two days flat, I booked that night bus to Tawau after all. The boat to Indonesia doesn’t leave every day and I want to book my passage as soon as possible. If I then have to spend a few days waiting, I can use the time to go on a short excursion back up to Sandakan and up the mighty Kinabatangan river, and still be in Indonesia by Christmas. But Christmas is drawing close and may force me to change my plans once again.
Tags: SE Asia, Tag Index
Denni