Rainforest for Beginners
(long entry warning)
When I woke up this morning, I got a surprise. Not that this is unusual when travelling—in fact it had happened to me most mornings on this trip—but this was not just the familiar ‘where am I’-feeling. It was an unexpected emotional awareness of…something.
The sounds of the forest surrounded me: a chorus of birds with harmonies of bugs. The atmosphere was strangely serene and peaceful. The trunks of the giant Dipterocarps on the opposite bank looked like pillars in a cathedral.
I’ve been to the rainforest before, but perhaps I had been too deeply within to appreciate it. Kuala Tahan hovers on the boundary of the national park across the river. There was a sense of being in the presence of something primordial—which of course this forest is.
***
The weather was holding. Part of me was still undecided about going on a trek, so meanwhile I had booked a short excursion while making up my mind: an walk through the canopy.
The canopy walk in Tamara Negara is the longest rainforest canopy walk in the world. Originally built in 1992 for research purposes, it has since been expanded and opened up to visitors. Seeing the hordes of people waiting at the checkpoint, I did not expect to see many rare species of birds or monkeys, but the texture of the forest can only really be appreciated from high up in the trees—walking upright in a swinging hammock 45m above the ground.
—Rainforest for beginners.
Afterwards our guide suggested a stroll, about 1.5h back to the resort. As we had arrived by boat, that made sense and it looked as if I would go on a mini-trek after all, see what it was like. He pointed up a steep incline, tree roots serving as stairs where the original wooden steps had been washed away by the rains: “It’s up a bit, but there’s a Mac Donald’s at the top!”
Apparently, the others believed him as they stormed up the slope. I’m not so good with climbs and I was getting hot in my jeans, boots and long-sleeved cotton shirt—being the only one to wear proper trekking-gear. Faced with another slope, twice as steep, I slowed my pace; contentrating on a regular rhythm of breathing. In this heat, it is not advisable to try gasping for air.
“Come on!”
The guide beckoned from the summit where our little group had made themselves comfortable on assorted rocks and tree roots: a Dutch couple, two Canadians just up from the high Arctic and the guide’s ex-girlfriend who had bounded ahead despite looking innocuous with her white head scarf. I have not seen any female guides, but she would be a hell of a trekker.
Being last up meant no rest. At least, I thought: we are on top. Then I turned around and saw the next slope, up another increment in steepness. From where we stood it looked almost vertical.
This time I meant it about keeping a steady pace. I tried to explain this to the guide who had held back, but barely could through my panting. I was gasping for air.
After a bit of taunting, the guide fell in behind me, well-trained as he is. To my surprise, he was joined by another guide—the group behind had caught up with us. All the same, I was forced to slow right down, disregarding the others’ impatience. It had been Imodium time again on the canopy—having the runs is not a good thing in a swinging hammock 45m above the ground—and I felt less than 100%. In fact, I was in trouble.
The guides kept pushing. If I had breath to spare, I would have reprimanded them that there was absolutely no point; but then I suddely felt dizzy and there was a weakness in my legs. A shudder, as if from a sudden chill, clinched it. If I did not get to sit down on the next tree trunk and try to drink the contents of my water bottle, the group might be in for a lot more delay than they had bargained for. So I did, and after that everybody was a bit more considerate. We all slowed down and reached our goal eventually: Teresek hill, 347m high with spectacular views over the park.
I had already decided I was excused from trekking, even before we proceeded to the second peak.
Our little group with local scouts at the canopy walk check-in
On the way back downhill, I kept up with the best of them, but walking up the sunny street to the guesthouse, I felt peculiar and weak and congratulated myself for not passing out before reaching my room. Then again, what was wrong with a little sleep? I undressed and showered reluctantly, then stood for a long time under the cool stream of water, practically feeling the steam coming off my skull.
Sleep did not come easily, just vague dreams which were interrupted when one of my dorm mates came in looking for her sunglasses. Getting out of bed to help her search, I felt oddly giddy. It took a long time for her to get ready and finally leave.
Sleep would not come at all.
I knew I was in trouble when I started tossing. My face was still hot. A mild panic grabbed me, but I curbed it—help was just down the road. Unhurridly, I started to pack my things, hesitating when I got to my jeans and shirt: yuck!
Time to take stock. What could possibly be the matter? It could not be malaria—I had not been in the malaria zone long enough to catch it and I take my Doxycycline religiously. It wasn’t any of the other tropical diseases I am aware of. If anything, it might be connected to the club-foot I caught in Bangkok, but if that was a bacterial infection, the Doxy would have taken care of it. Even if it wasn’t, what could the guys at the clinic possibly do for me?
I walked out of the dorm and sat in a chair outside. The afternoon had taken on a dream-like quality. The wide-bladed grass in the lawn shimmered like silver. And, sitting totally still for a while, the birds started to come out: a flash of yellow here, a streak of black-and-white there. Sounds infiltrated my skull.
Absent-indedly, I mopped my face with the wet, freshly-washed underpants on the back of my chair and began to feel a little better. What else?
I had kept the waterbottle filled and purified, but oddly did not feel like drinking. And then there was the slight confusion while I was packing up my stuff. The penny dropped.
I went back inside, opened one of my packets of Maggi noodles and started licking up the salt, interspersed with deep swigs of water.
The colours looked a little brighter.
I kept mopping—my face was no longer burning.
After a while, just a bit of tiredness remained. Thus inspired, I took an evening stroll to the Tahan salt Lick, which was only a short walk over a wooden plankway behind the resort. I figured if I needed salt so badly, so the local fauna would come out at dusk to replenish its mineral requirements. I joined a couple of silent observers in the hide overlooking the lick in a lush sea of pea-green grass, watching families of wild boar and Sambar deer leap in the distance.
Tags: SE Asia, Tag Index
Denni