Malaysia All Over

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Don’t know why but I had a bad feeling about this trip. My fears were partially vindicated when Air Asia check in gave me the third degree. The woman behind the counter wanted to know my itinerary, when I was leaving Malaysia by plane. Showed her my sixty day tourist visa to Thailand as proof I wasn’t going to be a burden on her country like all us third world Aussies. Her blood pressure finally fell when I told her I had a credit card. Like that means a lot. The joke is she didn’t ask me to produce it. It could well have been maxed out in any case. A futile exercise in screening a passenger all round.

Had to fill out a health declaration form as well as the usual immigration entry card on the flight. The form asked if I had been to any of the countries declared swine flu infection zones as cited by the World Health Organistation. It wasn’t a multiple choice question either so those who were ignorant of the spread of the disease just entered Malaysia oblivious. Another example of brilliant screening.

Got the bus to KL Sentral station without much drama. Had a hard time finding the monorail station taking me to Traveller’s Palm guesthouse though. Was given dodgy directions by the bus driver. Backtracked to Sentral bus station. Asked train ticket seller upstairs where the monorail was located. Given more vague directions. Asked a guy walking along the street if he knew where the monorail was. Told me he was going that way so I tagged along. I discovered that the station was located at the rear of a huge building site cutting off Sentral from the other transport node. Of course there was no signage to indicate where the monorail was located. I felt like I was back in Melbourne struggling with Connex.

I crammed into a crowded carriage with a bunch of humourless Malaysians. Had to fight my way out to exit onto the platform of my destination. I walked up several roads following the guest house’s online directions. Was doing well. I knew I was in spitting distance of Traveller’s Palm but just couldn’t locate the sucker. I asked a guy at the end of a dingy street who looked back and pointed to a large sign at right angles ‘Traveller’s Palm’ I must have looked like a total dickhead but there you are. How I missed that sign is beyond me. All I can say in my defense is that there was a derelict house at the top and bottom of this short street making it an unlikely locale for a guesthouse in my myopic eyes.

So there was Traveller’s Palm standing before me. I headed toward the door and found that access was blocked by a locked iron gate. I called out to see if I could get someone to open it for me. A smart arsed New York backpacker obliged. I asked if he worked there and said yes but wasn’t being paid. Not exactly Seinfeld wit I thought. A Malaysian staff member wandered toward the reception desk shortly after. I told him my name and then he proceeded to shuffle through page after page of bookings. No L Smith to be found and I began to worry. He then resorted to ringing his boss. Now I was convinced I was screwed. No prizes for guessing what the boss said. The joys of making bookings by email. I prepared to be given my marching orders. Instead he apoligised for the mix up and gave me a double room at the single room rate. That was a huge weight off my mind.

As I waited for my room to be cleaned I sat in the lounge area where other travellers were relaxing. It seemed like a pretty friendly place as I proceeded to strike up conversations with several people staying there. There was an English guy from Leeds who had travelled extensively throughout South America and a French girl from Brittany who had spent a year working in my home town of Melbourne. She loved the place so much that she wanted to move to Australia permanently. The three of us had lunch together up the road. They both had Malaysian hawker food. I opted for a liquid lunch – a small bottle of Tiger beer. As soon as the South East Asian heat hit me my appetite died. We wandered around a cavernous shopping mall off the main street. The air con was heaven. Hidden  down the end of a corridor was a supermarket. I would never have found it by myself. I picked up life’s essentials such as cheap Chinese beer.

Later that day the lad from Leeds showed me a hand made guitar he’d bought in Colombia. It was an impressive buy for thirty pounds but paled into insignificance compared to the guitar case. It was like nothing I’d ever set eyes on before. Made of brightly coloured fabric it screamed South America. He told me how he really enjoyed travelling to Colombia and said it had undeserved bad press. The one place he hated in South America was Venezuela which he thought was much more dangerous and unfriendly. He began strumming on said guitar for the next half hour repeating his vast repertoire of three songs. As much as I enjoyed listening to him practice I opted instead to head off to my room and catch some sleep.

When I returned to the lounge area an hour or so later he was still strumming. A couple of his friends turned up soon after and they headed off to dinner. The French chick was doing her own thing schmoozing with other guests there while waiting to go to the airport. Think I may have bugged her earlier by asking too many questions about her time in Melbourne. There was quite a generation gap happening there with me being decades older than any other guest. The place had a nice feel about it but I can understand why they had an upper age limit. A limit I would exceed in little more than twelve months.

I headed off to the main road to grab a meal. Went there via the back alleys. Think I saw a rat scurry past me near the gutter. May have a been a relative of the dead rat we spotted earlier that day. There’s quite a few border line slums interspersed with the flashy hotels and other high rises in this district.

I wandered along the main strip where many locals and tourists were eating. Nothing looked overly inspiring but I chose a place that looked reasonably popular. Scanned the glossy menu before committing to a seat. Ordered some squid concoction with noodles. There weren’t any prices on the menu. If there were they were in Chinese. Set me back thirteen RM for the food and seven-fifty for a small bottle of Tiger. Cheap by Western standards but probably not so cheap compared to the local going rate. Waitress warned me that the meal was hot. She need not have bothered. The spiciness wasn’t too high overall. I was looking forward to tasting Malaysian food similar to what I love in Australia. The manager of the guest house told me that the type of food I’ve eaten back home wasn’t available here. That was a blow. I got back to the guest house as the French chick was about to head off to get her flight. She enthusiastically said goodbyes to everyone there except me. Maybe she didn’t see or maybe I had offended her? Guess that will remain a mystery.

Returned to my room and switched the ceiling fan on to maximum. It was like an oven inside. There was an air conditioner there but I didn’t have the remote. If I was in a proper single room I would only have had a fan in any case. As I sat n the bed I heard a ripping sound. I examined the black shorts I’d bought less than a year ago in Chiang Mai. They were shredded beyond repair. Strange as the material they were made from felt quite durable. I relaxed there for a while and then headed out into the lounge again. This time the place was totally deserted. I checked out the pay TV channels. Nothing much to watch there so I headed off to bed. One of the staff asked if it was okay for them to do another load in the washing machine near by my room. The reason being that the appliance made an absolute racket. I said no problem, my ceiling fan drowned out the sound any way. Had a pretty good night’s sleep. Must have been more tired than I thought. Wasn’t sure how many hours sleep I got on the plane. Woke refreshed the next morning at around 7:00 and had a shower. Was feeling quite sticky before my dousing. Grabbed a cup of coffee or two and waited for the manager to wake. Both he and his assistant were sleeping in the lounge area.

I decided that I didn’t want to spend another night in that hot room so I packed up my things and checked out. Got a taxi to the Purduaya bus station. It was such a short trip it only cost me three RM. I joked with the taxi driver that he wouldn’t retire on my fare. He dropped me off outside the bus depot which was surrounded by railing. I and several other people had to walk back along the road to find a gap in the railing to access the bus depot entrance. Great design. Once inside the bus station it was utter chaos. Just as I remembered it. Sprukers everywhere. I headed to the Trans national office to enquire about buses heading to Mersing, a fishing village where ferries leave for the Tiamon Islands. The guide book said there were buses heading there at nine, eleven o’clock etc during the day. Not so. The diffident clerk behind the counter said there was only buses in the evening at six o’clock and eleven o’clock. Useless to me. I then turned to one of the touts who took me a to a ticket counter selling tickets to a place called Kluang. The lady there said I could get a bus to Mersing from there. I had no idea whether this was true but I took the plunge.

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I handed over the twenty-five RM for a 19.30 value bus ticket. The tout kindly took a 30% surcharge for directing me to the right counter. Nice work if you can get it. I was told that the bus was leaving in ten minutes which could mean anything in Asia. I descended the stairs to the smog filled confines of the bus depot below. I had no idea where my bus was as there were three or four vehicles parked in a haphazard manner in the number seven bus bay. Someone beckoned me to come their way. Thank god because I didn’t even see their vehicle waiting off to the side. As it turned out it was quite a comfortable bus that departed only ten minutes after 10:00. Unfortunately I was in the first seat which only had a small rectangular window for me to peer out through at the countryside. More unfortunate still was the fact that a mother and her two kids were seated just behind me. One of her children had no concept of personal space and periodically poked his hands through the middle gap in the bus seats. Really pissed me off . The mother didn’t seem to care less. Glad it was only a three and a half hour bus trip. Along the way we did a toilet stop. I got out and nearly fell down a deep open concrete drain that surrounded the toilet block.

Later the bus pulled up at a petrol station half hour before our arrival time at Kluang. I wondered why the bus driver stopped when we were so close to our destination. Did we need fuel? Was it a toilet break. Were we a lot further from Khuang than I thought? After approximately seven minutes he got back behind the wheel. We arrived at Kluang twenty minutes later. Bus driver told me which counter to go to get the Mersing bus. Said it would take two hours to get there. Found the ticket counter at the bus depot and was told that the bus to Mersing would leave at two-thirty. I thought that wasn’t so bad having to wait an hour for my connection. After I handed over my eight-ninety RM I discovered that the departure time written on the ticket was 15:30. Two and three must sound the same to me when spoken by Malaysians Not happy but what could I do? I examined my bus ticket several times. An attractive Malaysian lady offered to explain it on my behalf. I didn’t really need her help but I appreciated the gesture. I found it amusing that the bus company was called S&S International Transport but only listed domestic destinations on the ticket.

Looked as though I had plenty of time to explore the sights of this not so bustling town. Trouble is after a five minute exploration I discovered there were no sights. No sights in my field of vision anyway which aint saying much. There was a large building next to the bus station housing a number of retail outlets none of which appealed to me. Looked like they appealed to no one else either as I didn’t spot many shoppers. Above the bus terminal was a food hall of sorts. Only half the area was accessible as the other half was being renovated. I wasn’t hungry and I had plenty of mineral water to quench my thirst. At least the elevated position gave me an opportunity to take some panoramic photos of the place. Anything to kill time at this stage. I walked back down to the bus depot waiting area and savoured the diesel fumes. A guy sitting behind me looked at my ticket as I examined it once more. He asked, ‘Going to Mersing?” I answered “yes.” I’ll always cherish that conversation.

I waited and waited and waited until finally it was ten past three. Thought it was worth moving position to where I envisaged the bus would pull up. One thing struck me. In the hours I’d spent waiting there I hadn’t seen one other Westerner. Shows how much off the tourist track I was.  A helpful employee of the bus company directed me to my bus which was parked out in the street. Why don’t any of the buses I use park in the designated bus parking bays? We got off to Mersing about ten minutes late which appears to be the norm. We drove through pretty countryside. The guy sitting next to me asked me where I was from. It was a bit difficult to understand him with the accent. Fifty minutes or so into the bus ride a woman got off. The guy next to me motioned that there were two spare seats. By the time I worked out what he had meant a lady had worked her way up from the back of the bus and seated herself.

I was a bit concerned that I wouldn’t make it to Messing before night. I hadn’t booked a room and didn’t relish searching for one in the dark. A little over an hour into our journey we pulled up in the centre of a modern looking town. A woman hopped on board the bus. She said something to me. I thought she was saying she had reserved the spare seat that I was sitting in. What she was actually telling me was that we had arrived in Mersing. That was a shock to me on three grounds. One. I was told it would take two hours to get there not one. Secondly it didn’t look like a quaint fishing village as described in the travel guide. Thirdly none of the other passengers had got off which was surprising for a bus bound for Mersing. None of this seemed to matter to the woman who ushered me into a travel agency around the corner. She said she would give me a map of the town. All I wanted was to locate the hotel I wished to stay at. A number of other travellers filed into her office. After ten minutes I got my map which was basic in the extreme.

I would have walked if she hadn’t handed it to me a second sooner. She directed me to my hotel and told me that I could come back before 19:00 and organise tours with her. Like that was going to happen. She said there was nothing to see in Mersing and advised that I get on a ferry to the island ASAP to secure accommodation there. School holidays means it will booked out. I had a feeling I was being thrown a line by a not so disinterested party. A very confusing introduction to Mersing but things sorted themselves out as I found the Hotel Golden City without much trouble. I walked up a flight of stairs and asked to see a single room. Woman at reception gave me a key and I checked it out. One of the online travel guides said that the rooms were small there. Not from what I could see. They were basic but included an ensuite. I paid the thirty RM. The woman gave me soap and toilet paper and I moved my gear in. The only major downside to the room was that there was no power plugs available, making it hard to charge my PC and other gadgets. I was probably only there for one night so it wasn’t a biggy. The ceiling fan there seemed more effective than the one in Traveller’s Palm which was a relief.

I headed out to see what delights were on offer in Mersing. There was plenty of shops selling a variety of goods. I’d just noticed that my Brooks runners were starting to fall apart so it was time to buy some additional footwear. I wanted sandals but most that was on offer was cheap slip ons with no strap at the rear. Passed by an internet joint that advertised one hour for just 1.5 RM, a real bargain. There were cafes, ATMs, everything you need in a relatively confined space. I wondered why Mersing got such bad press. Bought a beer at a café. Found out they only sell large bottles of Tiger there. Guess every town has its quirks. Got back to my hotel room and worked on my travel blog. Midway through writing a sentence the screen went blank. Looked as though my PC had finally bitten the dust. Something I’d been expecting for some time. I tried resurrecting the contraption but after three or four attempts at revival I officially pronounced the laptop  dead. Great start to the trip I thought. Shorts, shoes and computer all consigned to the scrap heap within forty-eight hours of arrival in Malaysia. Not bad going.

Mersing didn’t exactly seem to be rocking on at night so I went back to my room after eating a local version of fried rice. Hit the sack early and got a good night’s sleep. When I woke in the early morning I realised the boxer shorts I was wearing had also given up the ghost. This was getting ridiculous. Would I have any clothing left by the end of the week? I had a shower which felt great even though it was cold. Found it totally refreshing. Thought I’d have another go at coaxing life out of the computer even though I realised it was a forlorn hope. Amazingly there was signs of life appearing. One reboot later and the pc was back in working order. I was so grateful to have some good news at that stage. I walked off down to the jetty to see when the ferries left for Tioman Island. A guy there told me that there was one leaving at 09:00. I paid thirty-five RM for the fare and got a ticket which appeared to say 09:30. Got some more cash out back in the centre of town and then headed off back toward the jetty. I thought it was best I got there early. Even though the ticket said 09:30 I wasn’t going to take the risk. I arrived back there just before 09:00 and waited in a long queue waiting to board. I was called over to a smaller queue and found my ferry was almost fully boarded. So much for 09:30.

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I was disappointed to find that there was no way to catch the sea breeze on the ferry. It was sealed air con accommodation down below. The other problem was that there was a large contingent of Malaysian kids on board who took great joy in delivering high pitched spontaneous screams several times during the voyage. The good news was that the trip only took one and a half hours, not the three hours that I’d read about. Why is information in Malaysia so inaccurate? Surprisingly nearly all the passengers got out at the first jetty. It was a beautiful sunny day and the beach really looked spectacular. Maybe Tiamon Island wouldn’t be such a bad place to stay? Ten minutes later we dropped off passengers at the second jetty and last of all at Tekek, my final destination. There seemed to be only three Westerners on board the ferry I took which seemed a little surprising. Saw a lot more backpackers waiting to board back at the Mersing jetty.

I headed down the jetty to the centre of Tekek. The way the guide books described it I was expecting a huge crass metropolis totally overwhelming the natural beauty of the island. Nothing could be further from the truth. It seemed reasonably tasteful overall. I found myself on the main road with two other backpacking couples looking for a four wheel drive lift to Juara on the other side of the island. There were a number of guys cruising in their vehicles looking for tourists to rip off. The first guy wanted thirty-five RM per person but we refused knowing that the going rate was twenty-five RM. There was bartering two and fro between us and various drivers. One said they’d do it for twenty and then jacked up the price another ten a moment later. Very frustrating. We eventually settled on twenty-six RM with a guy who had a pick up truck. One of the backpackers sat in the rear and took photos as we drove through the jungle. It was once a dirt track but now is a completed concrete road. Even at twenty-six RM I thought it was a bit of a rip-off as the trip only took half an hour at the most.

We went our separate ways after we reached Juara. The two couples consulted their travel guides while I asked a couple of old guys which way it was to Paradise Point. I walked and walked and walked but there were no signs indicating Paradise Point. I began traversing a sand bar with my full backpack on. I wasn’t sure if it was round the other side of the inlet but I sure wasn’t going walk over the rocks etc to find out. I backtracked and asked a woman running a chalet how much her rooms were. She said one hundred RM. I nearly fainted. The travel guide said the prices should be twenty to thirty range per night. I was thinking I might have to just head straight back. Before taking such drastic action I checked out another place. They were all booked out but the guy there referred me to the chalet next door. This place did have a room spare which was thirty RM. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. As it happened it was non other than Paradise Point. I’d walked straight past it first time round. Signage isn’t big over here. The room was basic with fan and ensuite but looked clean so I took it.

I sat at one of the tables in front of the Paradise Point restaurant. My first impression, wow what a view and secondly what a breeze. Comfort level here was much greater than that on the mainland. There were several other people there socialising. Struck up a conversation with Nick, an English guy who worked for Save The Children Fund. He had just finished a stint in Rwanda and needed some beach side R&R.  Told me that he had trekked across the Island and back. I told him I thought he was crazy. He didn’t take offence. Nice to meet someone with a sense of humour. There were two other English guys drinking at his table. Peter had been there for four months and Michael was there for just thirty days. They offered to buy me a Hoegaaden Dutch beer. Who was I to say no? I discovered that Peter had once been a headmaster at a school for abandoned kids in the UK. He had to get out of the profession due to stress which forced a career change. He became a computer tech for the British defense department. At the interview he told them he was a pacifist and wanted nothing to do with nuclear research.. They said fine then placed him in a high security nuclear weapons research facility. That’s the sensitivity of government bureaucracy for you.

I drank a round with the lads while I recovered from stress of hauling my backpack across the sand dunes. It was bliss. The beach had a nice laid back feel about it and even boasted a volleyball net only meters away from the bar. Couldn’t have planned it better myself. One of the guidebooks bemoaned the jetty in the centre of the beach destroying the beauty of the place. It looked fine to me. It wasn’t as if jet skis were racing back and fourth in the water. The place had a much more sedate ambience about it. Michael ordered a Roti Chanai from the restaurant. He offered some to the English aid worker.  He had never tried it before but liked what he tasted  After my third Hoegaarden beer I retired to my chalet to grab some sleep. The bed was comfortable and the fan was cooling enough, even on low setting. It wasn’t exactly hard to relax in such an environment.

I went for a walk after my nap along the long winding concrete path that skirted the rear of the chalets and shops fronting the beach.. It seemed to go on forever. The further down the track I went the friendly the people seemed to be. Everyone would say hello. It reminded me of Ella in Sri Lanka. The scenery was stunning. Jungle covered hills in the background with a heat mist. The sound of birds and other wildlife occasionally interrupted by locals on motorbikes who were no doubt blasé about the stunning vistas on all sides. It was nice being in a place where kids weren’t glued to their mobile phones, hypnotised by the glow of their text messaging screens like a race of high tech zombies. Of course I’m writing this critique of modern society using my laptop. Hypocrisy reigns supreme in chalet four at Paradise Point.

I was beginning to get a bit peckish on return from my orientation stroll. Grabbed a table at the open air restaurant  and ordered potatoes with peanut sauce. Then I decided I’d switch to Roti Channai instead. When the food came I noticed that I had both the Roti and the potatoes. Obviously my attempt at cancelling my first order wasn’t understood. This is to be expected in a place where English isn’t the first language. It was bit more food than I really wanted but I was able to polish it off. After all I hadn’t eaten anything else that day. The potatoes were pretty much self explanatory but the roti was a little different to what I’ve had back home. The bread was delicious but the accompanying sauce had no chunks of meat in it as is the custom in Australia. That’s not to say it wasn’t tasty. I couldn’t expect more for the price anyway. At 1.5 RM it was damn good value. People here don’t seem to be as mercenary as in some tourist spots. They don’t appear to use their isolation to rip guests off. The lack of gaudy spruking signs along the main pathway would indicate that they aren’t chasing the holy $$$ too hard here.

I left my table as a French couple and their two kids sitting opposite began to eat. Went to the Chinese restaurant next door to enquire about internet access over here. I discovered that it is very limited. Only a couple of places on the whole strip have dial up connections, let alone broadband.  They told me that if I came back at around nine at night I may be able to check my email. Apparently the connection is quite slow at times. They told me that a hotmail page can take an hour to load. Not exactly an optimum service. I looked around for Peter and Michael but they had gone. Peter vaguely mentioned something about me coming over to his place for a beer and or dinner but nothing eventuated. I decided to head back to my chalet seeing there was nothing else on offer. Decided against checking out the net preferring to leave it to the following night. Brushed the pervasive sand off my feet and turned in early. There was quite a bit of traffic outside. I guessed that things didn’t calm down until about midnight. Trouble is once everyone had gone to sleep the resident cat started meowing its guts out. I’ve never heard a cat like it. It would wander around the vicinity of my chalet and make a mournful meow at the top of its lungs for several minutes and then go quiet. Then several minutes later it would start up again. A pattern it repeated all night long. It was literally the cat from hell. I don’t know where it got the energy from but I was seriously contemplating checking out of Paradise Point in the morning.

After I got dressed I bumped into Nick, the aid worker next door. Of course he didn’t hear a peep out of the cat. Could I have imagined the whole thing? I don’t think so. That cat was making the same plaintive sounds during the day. Michael who was staying in the chalet a couple of meters to the left also heard nothing. Grabbed a couple of cups of coffee at the restaurant to get me started for the day. It was Malay coffee and tasted wonderful. It was served in a large glass with a handle. What I really liked was the fact that it was served with condensed cream which formed a layer at the bottom of the glass. This is exactly the way I make it at home although the coffee here has more of kick. No complaints and of course it was ridiculously inexpensive but I imagine you already guessed that. An hour or so later I took a dip in the ocean. The water was warm and inviting. Had to be, I was at Paradise Point. There are strict penalties for false advertising in Malaysia.

When I got back to the chalet I could see no sign of Michael or Peter. There was just a Malaysian family nearby with raucous kids who had just moved into Paradise Point. The place seemed decidedly dead compared to the previous day when the restaurant was populated by a number of people. Guess that ‘s the ebb and flow that’s part and parcel of a resort such as this. At least there was a number of English language novels available for guests to read. Not that I was short of things to do. I always have plenty of writing to tackle. This appears to be an ideal spot to do it from as well. Benign weather coupled with cheap food and drink plus an endless supply of anecdotes from fellow world travellers.

I was hanging out for another taste of roti. A sat at a table at the restaurant for a while with no response from the staff. A little later I was told that the restaurant wouldn’t be serving food that night. There was a wedding taking place somewhere on the island and as a consequence the kitchen shut down. I remember Michael saying to me earlier that day that he had to alter his dinner plans because the place he was going to eat at was shut. Luckily the Chinese restaurant was open that night so I wouldn’t starve. Mind you I had to wait until 19:30 to have a feed. They had to serve the guests they had staying there first. That normally wouldn’t be a problem but I hadn’t eaten all day and I was really famished. The solution, order a beer in the hope that that would take my mind off food.

The logic here may be flawed but the cold amber liquid did quell the pangs for a short while.

When I returned to the restaurant I found Peter and a French girl named Alice sitting at a table on the balcony out front. Several other English backpackers were dining nearby. All the Chinese guests were gathered inside which was good as there weren’t enough tables for everyone outside. It was a beautiful night and made more beautiful still when my spicy noodles arrived. I only ordered a small serving but it was more than enough for me. I could only guess what size medium and large must have been. It was the closest thing to what I’d call Malaysian back home. Very tasty with a real spicy bite. Just how I liked it. A bottle of cold Hoegaarden beer perfectly complemented the cuisine. I initially thought that Alice from Lyon was a little aloof but I was mistaken. First impressions can be deceiving. Chatted with both her and Peter for several hours. Alice was at the end of her monthly stay here and was heading off to Sarawak. They were both  leaving the island on Friday and heading off their separate ways.

They’d ordered far too much food for the two of them. Asked me if I wanted any of their’s. I honestly couldn’t have fitted anymore in. Then the conversation moved on to the dangers of island life. Number one on the agenda was hook worn. A charming little parasite that breeds in dog or cat droppings. It can transmit to humans via cuts in the foot contracted while walking on the beach. It works its way under the skin. The first signs of infestation is itching of the feet. A condition both Peter and Alice were suffering from. Hopefully it was just psychosomatic in their cases. The thing is you need to treat for ring worm in Malaysia because they are the ones who have ample supplies of medication. Peter’s son only discovered he had ring worm after returning to the UK. He was told he’d have to wait two weeks for the medication to arrive in England. Apparently they have no stocks of it over there.

They also told me about more benign creatures such as the pigmy deer that live on the island. They are only about of a third of a meter high and are hunted for food. But they aren’t only hunted by humans; pythons find them tasty as well. Some local kayakers were nearly capsized by a giant python emerging from a river only last week. There was lots of blood so it may well have been feeding on deer or some other hapless game. Peter then informed me how he’d once found a king cobra washed ashore near the jetty after a large down pour of rain. It had been swept away from the river where it usually resides and washed up on the beach. Peter grabbed a piece of wood and pinned down the back of the  neck of the exhausted reptile. He then picked it up from near where I’m sleeping and carried it all the way to the jungle. He was surprised how heavy it was. A tourist shot the whole thing on their video camera and passed it onto a local news agency who syndicated it. Peter was amazed to hear that he had featured on National Malaysian television. But of course it’s not just cobras you have to look out for. There’s sea snakes, coral snakes and of course spiders. I wish I hadn’t brought up the subject of venomous creatures. Before this I was totally oblivious to the dangers that lurked in the water. Now I’ll swim more warily.

Asked the owner of the restaurant if I could check my email. He let me use his laptop so I logged onto my hotmail. It wasn’t exactly fast but at least I could check to see whether there was any news from the real estate agent re tenanting my flat. It was really nice of them to allow me to use there computer. At least I’m a good customer buying a lot of beer from them. I hit the sack anticipating a chorus of meows from the cat from hell. There was no audible feline wailing just the soothing sound of the waves crashing against the sand. Paradise Point was beginning to live up to its name.

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The next day I followed the usual routine. Two coffees in the morning and a quick dip in the ocean. This time however I kept a keen eye out for sea creatures with poisonous fangs. A little later I was approached by an English couple who were staying in a chalet nearby. They told me that Peter had invited me over to his place. They were having  farewell drinks and food. It was the best and only offer I’d had that day so I eagerly accepted. I would have liked to have gone for a long walk down the main pathway but my feet were still sore. Wearing thongs had given me cuts that made it painful to walk and my new slip ons had rubbed against my big toe. Frustrating as the pathway seemed quite picturesque. I took the poor man’s alternative trek and walked along the full length of the beach in my bare feet. Came across derelict chalets up on the hill side where the beach ran out. There were plans to resurrect them by so far there had been no visible signs of progress. People aren’t exactly rushed around here.

Took a nap, did some writing. The clock soon rolled round to 18:30, the time I was meant to meet up with Peter and his entourage. I walked past the jetty where I thought Peter’s place was located. I couldn’t find it at first. Asked directions which weren’t that helpful. Kept walking toward the end of the beach and entered a bar. There was an Asian lady standing there waiting to get served. She seemed concerned that the beach wasn’t sunny at that very moment. I told her it had been sunny earlier in the day. Strange attitude she had. Didn’t she realise weather is changeable? Not like there’s a switch to turn on the sun at Juara. Finally found someone who knew the bar I was looking for. As I approached I could hear Peter’s voice beckoning me. Not that I could see him at that early stage. It can be awkward at times being a blind tourist. Thirty seconds later I was there seated with Peter and the English couple. I apoligised for being a little late. We chatted and drank wine and beer and ate french fries, chicken wings and fish.

Surprisingly Alice wasn’t there. Peter thought that she may have been preoccupied with one of the local lads on her last night on the island. As it turned out he was wrong. She turned up ten minutes or so after me. I felt a bit guilty eating and drinking at Peter’s expense but he insisted it was on the house. He stayed at the bar for free. He is a good friend of the owner, Raman who cooked the food for us. Raman  is a local who was in the Malaysian military. Being a Muslim he can’t buy alcohol so Peter gets around this dilemma by purchasing it for him. If the whisky is there his friend is more than happy to drink it. Work out the logic of that. It’s an arrangement that seems to work for both parties. Peter buys him a present at the end of his stay in lieu of paying rent.

After dinner we retired to the Coconut Bar down the opposite end of the beach. We stopped off at Alice’s chalet on the way. She kindly gave me her copy of a Thai language for beginners book. The Coconut Bar is an elevated structure of sorts on the beach. It’s a bit like climbing a cubby house to get to the bar at the top. Has a nice intimate atmosphere. I doubt it could hold more than twenty or so people at any given time. Alice still found enough room to practice with a pair of nun chuckers she acquired from the barman. Peter proceeded to down whisky and sours like they were going out of fashion. He allowed me to shout him one round. Not the easiest person to buy drinks for. I also bought Alice one of two cans of Tiger beer. We exchanged email addresses so at least I could keep in contact with both of them. Alice told me that she loved Juara Beach but felt she may have worn out her welcome there. Had a dalliance with one of the locals which may have put a few noses out of joint. Guess that’s possible in any small community especially one where they are predominantly Muslim.

Next morning I bumped into Mick who had been keeping a low profile in his chalet the previous day. I told him that Peter and Alice were having breakfast at 09:00. We both headed off down the beach and sat down at a café near the jetty. Half hour later Peter and Alice arrived. They’d both had later nights than me. Peter said he felt like he was still pissed. The chain smoking Alice ordered a double helping of roti. I normally don’t eat breakfast but decided to make an exception as I was a little on the seedy side. Ordered a vegetable roti that kinda hit the spot. We bid our farewells to Peter and Alice.

Alice looked out at the sunny picture perfect beach front before us and agonised over whether or not she should leave that day. The last I heard she was seeing Peter off at the airport but by then she may have changed plans again. A few years back Peter had had to make a dash back to the UK to attend his mother’s funeral. He said the locals provided him with an honour guard at the Tiamon airport to see him off. They actually saluted him as he hopped aboard the twin prop plane. He hastened to add that his subsequent departures from the Tiamon island weren’t treated with such deference. Peter seemed to know a lot of locals and had personally attended one of the many weddings that take place here. It’s quite an honour for an outsider to be invited. The only downside of the local wedding rotation is that most cafes tend to close on the days the nuptials are taking place. And they seem to take place every second day. Luckily the Chinese chalet and restaurant always stays open so you are assured of getting a feed there at night. In any case the supply of cafes seems to far out weight the demand here. This is the peak holiday season and it’s hardly boom town here.

I returned to my chalet and changed into my bathers. Took a midday dip in the ocean. I had the whole beach front myself. Not another person in sight. There were a few small boats anchored a little further out but no sign of any activity. Juara is the perfect chill out zone where no one seems to bust a gut doing whatever they do. Mick was doing his usual trick and hibernating during the day. I really wanted to stretch my legs and go for a walk. Slipped on my thongs which felt comfortable enough. Maybe my feet had healed sufficiently for me to wear them again? I packed my other shoes in a carry bag just in case the thongs began cutting into my feet.

I walked along the concrete path in my wet, squishy thongs. Five to ten minutes later I was down the other end of the beach . I could see the abandoned chalets through the jungle. I kept pressing on for another ten minutes and came across another beach with a small assortment of shacks. Spotted a sign ‘SURF CITY’ Guess there was no doubt why this place was on the map.  Checked out the beach itself which was no where near as nice as the one where I was staying. Got sand all over my thongs and feet. Felt like coarse sand paper. I was able to scrape most of it off. My feet seemed to be holding up better than I expected so I pressed on. I passed over several foot bridges and by houses that were over run by roosters and chickens. Bucolic bliss at its best. A little further on I spotted a large blue and white official government sign. It was basically warning people not to hang around the Turtle Rescue Project. I wandered over to a building to the side. A friendly Brit wearing a grotty Tee Shirt greeted me. He didn’t seem too fussed to have me hanging about there. He showed me two turtles wading in a holding pool. One was three years old and blind. Hence they had to keep it in captivity. The other was a new hatchling that they would release into the sea when the next batch of eggs hatch. Apparently there’s a guy on the island who digs up all the eggs and sells them. Stuffs up the chances of the turtle propagating. The project is privately funded after initially being set up by the government. Not surprisingly I was informed that donations are more than welcome.

Got back and tried to nap but kids staying here insisted on parking their motorbikes right next to my chalet. What made it worse was the way they kept going on short rides meaning that they were always coming and going, revving their bikes outside my door. Sure killed the laid back tropical island atmosphere. Guess this is one of the hazards of vacationing during Malaysian school holidays. Another personal peeve is the way the short term visitors leave litter on the beach. Every ten meters of so you come across a plastic drink bottle, can or plastic or paper wrap. It’s no where as bad as what I encountered on the western beaches of Sri Lanka but it does distract from the pristine nature of Juara. Lastly, it’s a little disappointing that I may have to miss out on taking a boat trip to see the local sights. Generally there needs to be at least four people signed up for a boat tour. Tough on the independent traveller.

The following day I bumped into Michael again. He’s been feeling a little poorly but was now on the improve. He looked at me with envy as I drank a can of Tiger beer. I’d offered to buy him one but he’d declined. Now he wasn’t so sure he’s made the right decision. I’d acquired a taste for Hoegaaden but alas the restaurant was out of stock. ‘Will be here in an hour.” Famous last words uttered three hours previously., Michael’s resolve to stay off the booze evaporated as we commenced two shouts of Tiger beer. It went down wonderfully. Golden, sunny beach framed by coconut palms. A clichéd scene I could live with. The cooling ocean breeze made this the place to be. Michael told me to look around. I turned and saw a small monitor lizard swagger across the bar area. Like most of the inhabitants here it was in no time to get from point A to point B.

I bid Michael farewell as the five cans of beer began to take their toll. I assumed the horizontal position on my bed and snoozed for a couple of hours. I wandered over the nearby restaurant and took a seat at a table on the balcony. I couldn’t eat at Paradise Point as the owner’s wife was too tired to cook. How Juaraian is that? I waited for someone to hand me a menu but none was forthcoming. I gave up and headed toward restaurants at the other end of the beach. I was confronted by Michael who said he was waiting for me at the other restaurant. I was unaware that was the arrangement. I thought he was going to meet me at Paradise Point. Not a great idea to make dinner plans on a few beers.

I resumed my seat at the restaurant I’d just left and looked over the menu I’d picked up from their front desk. This time A waiter came by and took my order. We had a Hoegaarden each as well. Michael turned around and began chatting with a couple at the next table. I thought he must have been shitty with me as I was being completely ignored. I was about to leave when Michael introduced me to them. The guy was a New Zealander from Christchurch who had worked in Australia for the past four years. His girlfriend was from Minnesota but now worked in Singapore. She seemed a bit high maintenance but quite nice nevertheless. She was wary about swimming in the water as she had a phobia of sea horses of all things. She wanted to see monkeys in the wild but not too up close and personal. The New Zealander was a lot more laid back and seemed to go with the flow. He said he supported my AFL team after knocking around with some female backpackers in Queensland who were Richmond supporters. Michael left around 22:00 and the three of us talked until 23:30.

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Awoke around 08:00 after another restful night in Paradise Point. Had my morning cup of coffee with Michael who told me he had organised a ferry ride to Salang later that morning. He said I should consider going with him as it might be hard getting a cheap ride on a four wheel drive across the island. Sounded tempting until he pointed out that I’d have to trek one and a half hours over rocks to get to Tekek where the ferries leave. One of the hardest things to come by here is travel information. Each guest house has their own system of booking car and ferry rides. You have to be in the know to find an option that suits. I did some final washing of tee shirts and underwear before meeting up with Alice for breakfast. We discussed our upcoming travel plans. She told me about a really cheap place to stay in Melaka recommended by a girl from Taiwan she bumped into. I made note of it and headed back to my room. Alice said she would see what she could find out about getting a car to take us back across the island. Less than an hour later she returned to my chalet and told me that we could get a ferry from Juara jetty leaving between 09-10:00 the following morning.

That was the best news I’d heard all day. Save us the cost and  hassle of changing from car to ferry. It also meant that I’d get to see a bit more of the island. I headed straight for Alice’s guest house to put my name down for the ferry. I didn’t want to delay just in case it got booked out. There was no need to worry as the woman in charge was heading off to a wedding and wouldn’t be back until 18:30. Well if you want to be disrupted by weddings the school holidays is the best time for it. We wandered back to the jetty where Michael was about to leave with a number of locals attending the wedding. The sky was looking overcast and ominous as thunder claps reverberated across the bay. Flashes of light lit up the jungle as lightening struck nearby. The rain began falling and I began running. Alice just kept meandering along the beach like the monitor lizard from yesterday, oblivious to the thunder, lightening and rain enveloping us. She’d gone totally native whereas I ran for cover like a frightened schoolgirl.

I looked back at her traipsing across the sand, undaunted by the nasty turn in climatic conditions. She survived intact and made it under cover within a minute. We walked to the end of the jetty where the ferry was preparing to leave.  Michael wasn’t sure he was going to make it as the ferry appeared to be full. Locals and family first for the wedding express. He wasn’t overly fussed in any case. Speculated that he’d down a few Hoegaadens if he missed the boat. Not a bad consolation prize. I thought better you than me going out into this sea as sheets of rain swept across the water. Dark clouds hung over the verdant hills to the rear. A foreboding beauty. I wished that I’d grabbed my camera to snap a few shots. This place looks heavenly even during a storm.

At the last moment Michael was given the okay to board. All thoughts of Hoegaaden  seemed to wash from his mind. He wasn’t put off by the inclement conditions. He’d worked on diving ships and oil rigs for years so had no fear of the sea. His main occupational concern was having to live on a diet of herring and Norwegian TV on drill ships in Nordic waters. I did learn one interesting fact from him. A jetty is a structure constructed of concrete whereas a peer is made wholly of wood. And this land lubber thought they were interchangeable? You learn something new everyday. The ferry’s three massive outboard engines throttled to full power belching plumes of blue fumes into the air. Soon the craft was drifting out of sight. Alice began a conversation with a twenty something couple sitting on the jetty. She enquired Espanola? No, they were French. No big surprise there. The conversation flowed freely between them from then on.

I left shortly after. Alice was surprised that I didn’t stay longer. Told her I had writing to do. For some reason she regarded that as work and taboo on the island. I took my last dip in the ocean around midday. As usual there was no one else swimming. I decided to have a final wander around the area and found the mosque that had waked me up every second day at the crack of dawn. I also walked along the road to Tekek. Took a side path into the jungle but turned back after I walked into a cobweb. Didn’t really want to meet the spider responsible for spinning it. Even the cockroaches are huge here with a bright orange body. Found one in my bathroom the second day. I headed further inland along the road hoping to find an elevated vantage point to take a panoramic snap shot. I was surrounded by lush jungle on either side that reminded me of the island from Jurassic Park. It was a bit of a time travel for me as the world was much warmer and greener millions of years ago. Like the true wuss I am I gave up on navigating the road when things got tough. My leisurely stroll transformed into the kukoda trail as the road did a mountain climb, snaking its way through the thick foliage. I was wearing thongs, not exactly the right footwear to get a good grip. The other thing is that the four wheel drives tend to speed along the road not looking out for pedestrians. Didn’t want to become road kill.

When I got back to my chalet I found that the place had been invaded by Canadians. They were lying aboot in the hammocks swapping Maple Leaf anecdotes. I tried chatting to them but my knowledge of the much vaunted leaf was rudimentary at best. I did however gleam from them that they had a nasty shock when the first moved in., A dead Gecko was lying on their bed covered in millions of ants. I thought I’d finally broken through with them but the topic then reverted to the mighty maple once more. I drowned my sorrows with another Hoegaaden and mused about what it would be like to be a lumberjack. One Hoegaaden lead to two and two lead to three. Soon it was night so I headed off to Alice’s guesthouse to get a ticket for the ferry the next day.

As usual most of the restaurants on the beach were closed. Retreated to the refuge of the Chinese place to fill the pit in my stomach. Took a while to get served and even longer to get the meal. The New Zealander and the Minnesota girl were engrossed in conversation at the table next to me. Thought I’d better not disturb them and read a few more pages of a novel I knew I’d never finish. As I was about to leave the kiwi asked if I’d take a photo of him and his girl. They did the usual lovey ducky pose and I snapped the shot. But this one wasn’t good enough so I took another. Then the gal from Minnesota wanted me to take a shot of them with her camera as well. She also wasn’t happy with the first pic and asked me to take another. All I wanted was an early night. The second pic still wasn’t to her satisfaction so I took another. What was she going to ask for next, makeup and costuming? As it turned out that was the end of that photo shoot so I could return to my chalet. Phew!

I hopped onto my bed for the last time. Brushed off grains of sand deposited on the sheet. That’s one thing I won’t miss about Juara. Turned out the lights and the listened to the sound of the waves washing along the shore. Trouble is that the sound of Canadians yakking could also be heard from the chalet next door. I have no idea what they were talking about – the role of the royal mountie as a catalyst to the development the modern Canadian judicial system? Who knows. All I do know is that this discourse took place all night long. Finally they ran out of things mountie to discuss. Cue the mosquitoes. Hadn’t seen one in the past five nights but they were there now. After sustaining several bites I lowered the mosquito net and had a relatively restful snooze. That is until the Canadians made an early morning dash in what sounded like a Humbie. When I got up I discovered that their chalets were left wide open with the lights still on.

Walked up to the end of the Juara jetty at around 09:20. There was a ferry berthed there but it wasn’t mine. Waited and waited and waited as other groups left on their own boats. It was close to the departure time of 10:00 and my ferry wasn’t even there. Alice finally turned up and wasn’t too fussed. She’d adjusted to everything running chronically late there. A large group from her guest house arrived and began to board the boat around 10:30. We got off around ten minutes later after Alice made an emotional farewell to a couple of the locals waiting on the jetty. We sat upstairs in the open. Much better than the aircon cocoon I travelled in on my journey to Tekek. We were racing at a rate of a millimeter per hour before we navigated out of the bay. We could have drifted faster. Finally we picked up real speed as we skirted the island’s east coast. Alice pointed out a dramatic out crop of two thin rocks known as the Dragon’s teeth or something like that. Was used as a location when filming South Pacific.

Everyone on the top deck of the ferry was either asleep or contemplating shut eye. Tiamon Island faded into the distance and the coastline drew closer. We arrived at Mersing jetty after three hours on the sea. Alice wasn’t exactly thrilled to be surrounded by so many people again. We each got a room at the Golden City Hotel and grabbed a bite to eat. After that we bought 07:15 bus tickets to Melaka the next morning. We then went our separate ways with a vague plan to have dinner together between 19:00 and 20:00. I went to the internet café and checked my email. After five minutes the network went down and left without having a chance to do my banking. Looked around for a pair of shorts but couldn’t find anything in my size in the local vicinity. Went back to the internet café after consuming a Tiger. The network was still down. I then headed off to a large chain store near the bus station. They had shorts in my size plus a lot of cheap food and drink. They also had plenty of staff available to serve me unlike K Mart et al back home. Mineral water was only .90 RM there, around thirty-three cents.

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Waited back in my room until 19:15. No sign of Alice so I popped back down to the internet joint. Same story; network down. A minute later was back in my room. No sign of Alice at around 19:55 so I headed off on my own to grab a bite. Had a great chicken curry at a place called Song Leong. (think that was the name) The place was a big open air restaurant frequented by Chinese. I wanted a chicken satay but they had none. Chose a curry dish. Worked out well as the meal I ended up ordering was yummy. Just the right amount of spiciness. I complimented the owner who was pretty pleased I liked it. Shame I didn’t have time to eat there again. I hit the sack around 22:30. Didn’t hear from Alice. Got up around 06:30 after getting very little sleep. Never sleep well when I have an early start. Handed in my keys at reception at 06:45 and tried to rouse Alice with a knock on her door. Reception guy freaked out as I headed to her room. Tried twice but he was insistent. I thought maybe she’d checked out and gone back to the island. Headed to the bus station five minutes away and got on board around 07:05. No sign of Alice. 07:15 and the driver was about to pull out and guess who rushes up carrying her backpack. Alice got on board and said with anoyance she was looking everywhere for me. She’d also popped up to me room at 19:15 the previous night. The only time I wasn’t there. A classic comedy of errors. Fifteen minutes into the trip she moved to the back of the bus. I figured she was pissed off with me.

I looked outside and was surprised to see fog. As we kept going it got thicker and thicker until it was a real pea souper. Didn’t expect that in Malaysia. An hour or so later the bus arrived at a bus station. Took we a minute or so to realise that we were back in Kluang. We stopped there for about twenty minutes or so. Alice must have been asleep in the back. She wouldn’t have let an opportunity to have a cigarette slip by so easily. A lot of people got on board. A lady in traditional Muslim garb sat next to me. We finally left the bus station and headed up the main street of Kluang. It was a lot bigger than I’d thought. Then we did something completely unexpected. The bus navigated its way into a narrow suburban street. After a couple of blocks the driver pulled up and headed into a house. The penny dropped that this must have been where he lived. He was inside for at least quarter of an hour. Maybe his wife had breakfast waiting for him? Sure is different from any other bus ride I’ve ever taken. Once we got back on the road we made up time on the toll way. A few hours later and were approaching Melaka. One final stop at a road side fruit stall where the seller maniacally spruked for business. Alice raced up from the rear of the bus and bought some bananas from the fruiterer. As she walked back she avoided eye contact with me. Not a good sign I thought.

Quarter of an hour later we arrived at the Melaken bus station. Got my back pack from under the bus and waited for Alice to get off. We headed into the bus station to see what long distance fares were available. Then we searched for the local bus that would take us into the centre of town. The bus soon filled to standing room only. Alice got up and gave up her seat to a man having difficulty walking. She bemoaned how all the young commuters on board ‘couldn’t give a shit’ about such people. We soon arrived at the town square. The driver announced the stop to everyone on board. Obviously we’d reached central. We got out and traipsed along the streets for five minutes looking for a school near where there was cheap back packer accommodation. It wasn’t as close as Alice’s friend on Juara had said. We walked a goof kilometer before finding the place. Worst part of travel hauling a heavy backpack on a hot Asian day. A friendly guy named Sam came out of a backpacker hostel and extolled the virtues of his place. Alice wasn’t impressed with the look of the area. However she said I should take a look at the place if I was at the least bit interested. I hesitated then thought about the unpalatable prospect of carrying the back pack back the way we came. I walked up the steps of the backpacker joint as Alice waited outside. It looked fine with decent beds and clean bathrooms. I came downstairs and told Alice it was okay. She reconsidered her objection to the street and decided to stay there after all. Said she trusted my judgment on it.

Alice opted for a dorm bed whereas I chose a single room. I had to wait to rest my head as my room was occupied. While I was waiting Howard, the manager went out of his way to make us feel welcome. He introduced us to other people staying there. They seemed like a really good bunch of people. I grabbed myself a free cup of coffee and jumped onto the net. Finally I was able to do my banking online. I read several brochures as Howard web surfed. Alice didn’t waste any time accessing the wi fi on her laptop. The place had a nice friendly laid back feel to it. I had a feeling we’d fallen on our feet here. Howard then invited us to dinner that night. Had to do a bit of a double take on that. Never been to a backpacker joint where you ate out with the manager. As I found out a little after 18:45 it wasn’t a dream. We all headed off to an Indian outdoor restaurant just down the road. It was terrific food and an excellent way to get to know other people staying at the hostel. It was a real United Nations job with backpackers from the US, Italy, Ireland, UK, Taiwan, France and last but not least Oz. It was superb, dining on good quality Indian tucker while watching a sports summary broadcast on a large screen in the background. The conversation wasn’t too bad either. Swapping anecdotes about far flung places.

We headed off to the canal straight after the meal. There’s a tourist magnet waterway not far from where we are staying. At night it is illuminated in a variety of gaudy colours as tourist boats ply the smelly waterway. There are pseudo Venetian bridges built over the canal at regular intervals. We stopped by a multi coloured fountain that spouted to the sound of pop music and. It was kitsch and tacky but the tourists seemed to love it. I chose to tolerate it in the name of group harmony. We walked all along the pongy water way. Over all it was pretty quiet. China town is supposed to be the major draw card there on the weekends. Melaka has a cheesiness that I never encountered on Juara. I’m enjoying my stay there not because of it but in spite of it. The people at the hostel make up for any of the short comings of the town.

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The next morning headed for the shower to remove the stickiness. Miss those cool mornings on the beach. But on the positive side the cold showers at Ringo’s Foyer aren’t as bracing as on Juara. They feel just right as a matter of fact. Searched for some milk to go with my coffee. The local Seven-Eleven stocked cartons of milk but didn’t hold exotic items such as sugar. I had a bite to eat with Alice and her new bosom buddy Pamela from Milan. They chose a reasonably up market place. I only ordered lime and grape juice. Started to get hunger pangs when their spread of food arrived. Could they pack it away, especially Alice. Pamela works in the beauty industry and the conversation turned to a discussion of the best methods of removing body hair. Not exactly up there with my favourite  topics. An insight into secret women’s business. It was like being imprisoned in a chick flick marathon. Call me sexist but I think girl talk is best left to girls.

After that I headed off to the Mega Mall on my lonesome. It was a sprawling shopping arcade much like every other arcade I’ve seen. The air con was appreciated but I find those places plastic and confusing in lay out. All I wanted was a teller machine and a supermarket. Not asking much I would have thought but no, neither seemed readily available. After twenty minutes of wandering I got the good oil from the information desk. Found a teller machine for AM Bank and inserted in my Visa card. I waited for the screens to change but instead they began repeating themselves. This didn’t look right I thought. Where’s the one prompting me for my pin number? After a couple of minutes of this I began to worry. My fears escalated as the slot for the card kept flashing off and on and making a sick sound. People kept approaching the ATM wanting to withdraw cash. I had to tell the steady stream of people my card was jammed inside. A total nightmare. A stall holder nearby came to my aid and called the bank on my behalf. I told them which card I had and gave them details plus my passport number. The store owner interpreted for me and said my card would be waiting at the branch a kilometer down the road tomorrow. He then placed an out of order note on the machine. I asked him if the ATM had ever eaten a card before. Predictably, no was his answer. Just my luck.

That night we ate at a very popular satay restaurant. There was a line of people waiting outside to be served. Two Swiss girls who were new comers to the hostel took a quick look and decided they’d rather eat elsewhere. Ten minutes later we were given the okay to enter. Seemed as if we’d jumped the queue to me. The first order of business was to choose which satay to cook. I filled my metal tray with a selection of different meats. The staff fired up the pot in the centre of the round metal table. A bubbling satay brew soon appeared as they poured in scoops of additional seasoning. We dipped our sticks into the not sauce and waited until they cooked. It soon became impossible to tell who owned which satay stick. Cooking times were thrown to the wind and the whole thing became a free for all. Personally I prefer having a chef control such things, not the patrons. I was soon full and spent the rest of time watching ravenous backpackers feed their faces. The other problem was that there was a noisy exhaust fan nearby making it hard for me to follow conversations. I wouldn’t bother going there again. Mainly a novelty experience in my eyes.

After the meal we headed up the road to a trendy bar where the Swiss girls were drinking. A waiter came out and only took an order from David from the UK. We were all pretty surprised at that. Made jokes about how much influence he had. Finally the waiter decided to take the rest of our orders. I looked at the overpriced drinks menu and settled for a fruit punch which was seven-fifty RM. It wasn’t particularly large but a lot cheaper than alcoholic drinks there. A Hoegaarden would set you back 18.5 RM. More than three times the cost on the beach. The Swiss girls seemed to lighten up a bit and smiled and shared a few jokes. Alice and the others bought quite a few beers and were still going strong when I left about 23:30. Funny thing about backpackers – they’ll skimp on accommodation whenever they can but pay big money for drinks in a trendy bar. The price of ambience I guess.

The next day I trotted off to the bank branch to pick up my Visa card. Got there just before 11:00 and was told they knew nothing about it. What was worse was that they said it can take up to a week to get a card back. I’m thinking why so long? What’s so hard about taking the card down to the local branch. They had already fixed the machine the previous night so why the delay? I guess banks just like treating people like you know what. It’s in their DNA. I walked back toward the hostel less than happy with the situation. My trip to the Cameron Highlands was now seeming shaky. I wasn’t looking forward to spending a week in Melaka. The only good thing that came out of the walk was the discovery of a supermarket. FINALLY! It was called Giant and wasn’t exactly bustling. Made me wonder where people shop for food over here. Must be traditional markets. Told the other people staying at the hostile the BS I just got from the bank. They said I should make a noise about it but how I wondered. It’s not like it’s my own bank back home.

Went out to dinner with the other four people still staying at the hostel. The Swiss girls did their own thing. I felt like a bit of a fifth wheel at the table. Sensed that maybe I had outstayed my welcome there. Then again it could’ve been just my usual paranoia. I felt bad that I maybe cramping younger guest’s style. The next morning I found the door to the first level locked for the first time. Took it as a sign of my exclusion. Don’t ask me why. Questioned Alice and Pamela about it as they were leaving. Not a good look from me especially since it was pointed out quite rightly by Pamela that I had  access downstairs via the other stair well. In summary I made a total idiot of myself. Maybe being imprisoned in Melaka was getting to me? The only positive news I got that morning was that I had a tenant in the flat. For me Melaka has become a waiting game. I have no confidence in the bank forwarding my visa card in the near future. They’ve already lied to me once so why should I believe anything they say? This is travel at it’s most vulnerable.

A new day at Ringo’s Foyer and new group of backpackers. English, Austrian, Bosnian Singaporean and even Malaysians filled the void. What were these strangers doing in my hostel I thought? Of course we wouldn’t be strangers for long thanks to Howard, social secretary extraordinaire. They were a disparate but affable bunch. It didn’t take long for each of their travel life stories to unfold. At a party people ask what do you do. At a hostel they ask where have you been. Your occupation takes second place to your exposure to other lands and cultures. As usual the English contingent was the most upfront as spilling their guts as it were. Two twenty somethings, one male one female from nearby Bristol if I recall. The girl hated England and was looking forward to working in Australia. Her only tie to mother England was her car which I felt she had an unnaturally intense affection toward.. The lad was also a bit of an extrovert. He didn’t have a care in the world as his parents were happy to subsidise his trip. The Austrian was just completing a three year trip and going home in a week of two. His uber attractive Bosnian partner was just beginning her trip. If I had a girlfriend like that I wouldn’t be heading back home.

We went off to dinner that Friday night. China town had been blocked off to traffic and various stalls lined the street. After twenty minutes or so of strolling we chose a spot to eat. It was in viewing distance of a stage where the locals were doing country and western dancing to a PA blasting out pop songs. A bizarre scene to be sure. The others grabbed their food within minutes of sitting. Even the Swiss chicks ate with us. I wasn’t super hungry and unsure what I should order. The myriad of food stalls confused me. I did have a can of coke which was served in a plastic tumbler packed with ice. Took the edge off the heat. We discovered that the three Malaysian girls were sociology students from a KL university. They were studying the lifestyles of backpackers and had to return to uni with a report. So it appeared we were all guinea pigs. They were very nice and ever paid for everyone’s food. Everyone except me. I ordered so late I paid separately. A cool breeze arrived and turned a muggy night in to a comfortably balmy evening. I also discovered that the girl from Bristol was a Neigbours and Home and Away fan and idolised Britney Spears. Of course I couldn’t resist berating her for her bad taste. She took my comments with good grace after kicking me in the shins several times. We all retreated to a bar nearby the dancing area to watch this extravaganza of kitsch take place before our eyes.

Normally I’d keep a wide berth from such an exhibition but the company was so good and the beer so cold that I stifled my usual prejudices. It was a full on dag fest in my eyes but everyone was having fun and it’s good to do something you’d normally shy away from. I expected Britney (as I now referred to my soap opera loving friend) to jump straight onto the dance area and shake her whatever. She certainly looked keen as she gyrated on her bar stool. Eventually the local dancers coaxed two female members of our party into the spotlight. They only lasted one dance but seemed to enjoy themselves. They tried getting us guys to out there as well. None of us seemed too thrilled at the prospect. We left the bar after finishing a couple of buckets of beer. The Swiss chicks took the lead so I assumed they were headed back to the rip-off bar. Took this as my opportunity to return to the hostel.

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Found out the following morning that they didn’t go back to the rip-off bar after all. Pity I bailed out so soon. The Malaysian students started chatting to me. I talked about my backpacking experiences. They were hanging on my every word. That’s a rarity for me in this world. They asked so ever politely if I would answer a short questionnaire for them. Of course I had no problem with that. Caught up with Britney downstairs who was also catching the city loop bus to the bus station. We headed off to stop four just around the corner where she had been initially dropped off when first arriving in Melaka. We waited, waited and waited. A double decker bus totally ignored us and just sped past. Finally a bus stopped but the driver was totally uncommunicative. He said his bus didn’t go to the bus depot even though the map says they all go there. We were left totally dumbfounded. Britney was confused and bemused. Well at least she didn’t sing and act the skank like her infamous namesake. The Austrian and Bosnian prepared to walk it. Common sense prevailed and we piled into a taxi. It was only three RM each and worth the marginal increase in cost to save the hassle. I shopped at Tescos and then headed back from the bus depot. I asked the bus driver to stop at stop four.  We drove near Ringo’s Foyer but not past the mosque where stop four was located. We did a cooks tour of the whole town travelling to darkest suburbia. Half an hour later we were back in the central city. I was waiting to reach my stop but to my horror we bypassed it. I assumed that we were going to back track. I assumed wrong as the bus headed straight back to the bus terminal where I’d started. I couldn’t believe it! I went up to the driver and pointed at stop four on the map. His glib reply. ‘I don’t stop there.’ Thanks a lot for the heads up sunshine. Why in god’s name print tourist maps of bus routes with stops they don’t stop at?

When I finally got back to the hostel I found Britney engrossed in an Ugly Betty marathon on DVD. Even watching B grade soap operas was preferable to sitting on the bus from hell for almost an hour. I decided then and there that it was time to get out of Melaka for a few days. Time to check out the Cameron Highlands where the temperature was quite a bit lower. Needed to cool my body and my mind. I placed my booty of two  Tiger beer cans in the ice encrusted freezer compartment of the seventies vintage bar fridge  It chilled the Singaporean beer remarkably well. Wasn’t too long before 19:00 came around and we headed off to eat. Went back to the same Chinese place I’d eaten at two night’s before. The ten of us congregated around a smallish round plastic table. Moments later the restaurant staff magically transformed the Lilliputian table into a huge dining surface. They placed a circular hinged wooden top over the original table and unfolded it. The result an almost doubling of dining real estate.

The Swiss girls and Britney decided to order separately. Us remaining seven plebs  decided to share. Took ages to come to a consensus but it worked out well in the end. I like the Malaysian girls didn’t have a huge appetite so the five or so course we shared between ourselves was more than enough. After dinner we retired back to the hostel. Couple of us had an early day ahead of us. I went down stairs to check  the net. Returned to discover that the Malaysian students had turned the lounge into a mini interviewing set. They wanted to interview and video three of us. It was a different experience but we were happy to help them out with their assignment. After that I paid Howard for the room. On one hand he didn’t charge me the twenty-five RM weekend rate for my room. Great. However he did bill me for a night I hadn’t stayed there. Not happy. He then gave me a wad of flyers for Ringo’s Foyer to distribute at the Cameron Highlands. I felt inclined to bin them.

Had a lousy night’s sleep as I always do before having an early start. Britney ordered a taxi for 07:00. Thought I’d tag along and cut the fare. Got up a little after 06:00. Went upstairs on the roof top to shave and saw a figure in the shadows. It was the Bosnian spunk doing her hair just before day break. Apart from being a knockout she seemed a really nice person as well. Bumped into her again a little later as I was looking for the bus ticket to Melaka I’d binned. Would prove to Howard the dates that I’d actually stayed there. Pocketed the evidence for when I returned on the seventeenth. Taxi arrived as Britney informed me that another girl was also coming along. Even lower combined taxi fare. It was pissing down as we arrived at the bus terminal. I got a 07:30 ticket to KL and hopped on the bus. Was back in the big city about twenty to ten. The buses seemed to be lined up for a kilometer ahead of us at Puduraya bus station. Everyone jumped out of the bus and walked the last twenty or so meters to the station.

Found the Transnasinal bus company ticket office. Lady there said they didn’t go to Cameron Highlands. Told me to go to counter eighty-seven. Found it fairly easily while ignoring the touts who were salivating at the prospect of taking a 30% cut for directing me to the counter. Bought a ticket and was told to come back at 10:00. When I returned the ticket lady escorted me and another guy over to a foot bridge and pointed across the road. I let the other guy lead as I had no idea where our bus was. I discovered we had to exchange our slip of paper for a ticket at a bus counter at the rear of a news agency across the road. Talk about convoluted. We walked up to the waiting bus ten meters away and waited. The other guy introduced himself as Aki, a Japanese tourist. Soon a dozen of more backpackers joined us as we waited to board. Aki and I sat together on the bus. Found it a little hard to understand his accent but he seemed friendly enough. We chatted for a while and then snoozed during the four hour trip. Didn’t think the bus was going to make it up one long hill as it spattered and lurched forward. Took over three hours before the scenery got better. I thought we’d arrived a little early but it was just the driver pulling into a petrol station for some unknown reason. Thought it strange as we’d almost arrived at our destination.

 

Ten minutes later Aki informed me that we had indeed arrived. Got out of the bus station and went our separate  ways with vague plans to meet up. There was a min van from The Cameronian Inn waiting so I jumped in. I was dog tired. Got to reception and was told the only room available was forty-five RM. I hesitated at the price. The guy there dropped it to forty RM and said I could have a cheaper room tomorrow if someone moved out. I wasn’t going to argue. I just wanted to get settled. Dropped off my gear and headed up the street in search of coffee. It was a reasonably large shopping strip. Bigger than I expected. Bumped in Aki who showed me his twenty-five RM room . Looked good but didn’t have a western toilet. He had a bite to eat and a Tiger beer while I had a coffee. He grabbed two small plates so I could try what he was eating. We made plans to meet for dinner at 18:00.

 

I rejoined him outside a tandori place after I rested on the bed for an hour or so.  We ended up eating there after checking out all the other places in the strip. We each had the seven RM tandori chicken special. It was delicious washed down with a couple of small bottles of Tiger. Aki had an infectious laugh. Good to be around someone with such a positive attitude to life. He insisted on shouting for the beers which was a bit rough as he was on a limited budget. I insisted I pay for the Tigers tomorrow when we agreed to meet at 19:00. I returned to my room and prepared for bed at the ridiculously early hour of 21:00. The Euro backpackers outside were being noisy but I didn’t care I was so buggered. Eventually went to sleep in spite of the noise. I woke around 07:00 and headed off to get coffee. On my return was approached by a backpacker who was yelling from across the street. I didn’t recognise her at first with her glasses on but then realised it was Pamela from Milan. I was so glad to see her as it gave me a chance to apoligise for my bad behavior the other morning. She wasn’t fussed about it at all which surprised me. I walked with her to her bus which was about to leave. I gave her most of the food the Malaysian students had given me. She then gave me her email and said we might catch up in Langkawi or Penang where she was headed. It was great to see her and find out I wasn’t in her bad books.                           

         

Pamela advised me than Twin Pines was a good budget place to stay. She showed me where it was and I made a mental note. Aki popped into the bus station as I waved goodbye to Pamela. Confirmed with Aki we were meeting at 19:00 and parted our ways.     Checked out Twin Pines which was on the way to Cameronian Inn. They had tiny attic type rooms for only twelve RM. Just enough room for a bed and little else. Reminded me of capsule hotels in Japan. Paid for a night’s accommodation and took the keys. Went back to Cameronian Inn. Updated my travel diary while I still had possession of my forty RM room. Had to check out by 12:00 so made the most of it. Moved into Twin Pines and began chatting with a couple of twenty something Aussie guys (Josh and Joe) from Canberra. As it turned out they had been trekking with Pamela and a Swiss girl the last two days. Small world. They were also planning to catch up with Pamela in Penang. We chatted about many things including relationships and politics. Joe was a fan of Joe Hockey who he said was very down to earth person to talk to. Seemed to eschew bullshit which appealed to me. God knows we could do with a straight talking poli in Canberra.

 

The lads bought another couple of cans of Tiger. I’d resolved to do a bit of serious walking during the day. However my resolve evaporated in the face of good conversation and cold beer. We chatted and drank for another couple of hours. A pattern I’ve found far too easy to fall into while in Malaysia. Soon I was feeling a bit drowsy and retired to my shoe box of a room. When I opened the vintage plastic door I was swept by a rush of hot air. Solar energy was doing its trick heating the roof of the hostel and my room mere millimeters below. I still got some shut eye and woke a bit more rested after 17:00. Josh and Joe were still drinking and playing scrabble with an elderly woman. We chatted a little more until I headed off to meet Aki for dinner at 19:00. Would have liked to have had a bite to eat with Josh and Joe as well but couldn’t bail out on Aki. Aki and I ate at the Hong Kong Chinese restaurant. Not my number one choice but life’s full of compromises. Aki immediately ordered two large Tigers. He was really primed for a big night as he out paced me in the beer swilling stakes. He had finished his second large Tiger before I’d drunk my first. Then he tells me through his pocket translator that he has a heart condition. Glad to see he was looking after himself. He ordered a third and final large Tiger which I drank half of. Didn’t want him drinking it all himself. I was up for twenty-five RM. God knows how much his bill was. Not cheap. Still had one more chance to shout him back my last night there.

 

I invited Aki to come back to Twin Pines to meet the others. Not sure if he understood me but he declined my offer and headed up to his hotel room. When I got back to TP Josh and Joe and an English couple were sitting around a bon fire drinking beer. As usual the conversation flowed freely as we discussed such things as Josh’s ex, border crossings into Malaysia and numerous other topics I can’t recall. Later a Singaporean guy joined us. He worked as an architect and was partial to mixing his own drinks. He offered the last of his gin which a few of us sampled. The stars were out and the fire was hypnotic. We acquired our fuel from the abandoned building site next door. It was like camping out without all the drawbacks of full on camping. I had anticipated that I may not drink a drop of grog while being in the cooler climes of the Cameron Highlands. Shows what awesome powers of prediction I possess. I hit the sack in a dehydrated state at around 12:30.

 

The sun woke me at around 06:30-07:00. I felt very dry after my big night. I was a little queasy in the stomach and headachy as I had my morning shave. I didn’t think I’d drunk that much and wondered if it might also be my cold progressing to the next stage. Began chatting with a Canadian girl who was trying to watch the American version of the office on the DVD player in the lounge area. It was one of the those stop start type DVDs that froze every fourth frame. Unwatchable. Conversation between us flowed freely as we chatted for half and hour or so. She had been in Japan and South Korea for the past two years teaching English. This was the end of her stay in Asia as she was headed home in a few weeks. Worked as a elementary French teacher back home. Said there were plenty of jobs for her in Canada. Advantage of being in a bilingual country I guess. I was debating whether I should order the American breakfast. I was definitely seedy and took the plunge. The food was no where near as good as the breakfasts at the UN Irish pub. Still the juice, coffee, eggs, sausage and toast hit the spot. I was feeling a little more human as I chatted a bit more with the Canadian girl.                                   

 

Checked my email. Good to see that Howard had replied to my message even though there was no word from the bank re my visa card. Fingers crossed that the branch would have my card soon so that the I could travel to the Old Penang hotel on the eighteenth of June. Didn’t like my chances though. Headed off for the walk I’d postponed yesterday. Walked up a long road toward a hospital in the hills. I was searching a waterfall I’d heard about. Came across a Spanish guy from Barcelona heading back the opposite direction. Asked him if he’d fond the waterfall. He said, no he’d been given dodgy directions. Big surprise over here. We chatted as we walked back. He pointed out a foot bridge off a side road that he said lead to the falls. For some reason he headed back into town. I crossed the foot bridge and found the trail. Walked a hundred meters or more along the path skirting the river below. The multi coloured path sloped toward the river for a far portion of its length. It was very peaceful but I gave up pushing further on when I came across a large muddy section. Was worried my thongs wouldn’t provide sufficient footing on the slippery surface. Last thing I needed was a broken leg. Wussed out again and returned to the town centre. The other factor was that I was feeling a bit breathy. First signs of the onset of a cold? Popped into the tourist information centre. Asked for a map and was told they have none. Wouldn’t want people locating the local sights now would we.

 

Returned to Twin Pines which was virtually deserted. The elderly woman who had been playing scrabble with the Aussies the day before struck up a conversation with me.  She had left England in 1957 and travelled the world ever since. And I thought three years on the road was a long time. She had worked as a social worker and interpreter in various countries. Had spent a lot of time in Australia and had even purchased land in the Daylesford shire in Victoria. Told me that she spoke five languages which is impressive to someone like me who struggles with one tongue. Also said I was lucky I got here after the end of the Malaysian school holidays. Told me that the place was packed out with six kids sleeping in rooms designed for two. Said the toilet and shower facilities were stretched to the limit. She also shared my disdain for the Melakan town bus system. Mentioned that I’d abandoned the water fall walk. She was unimpressed with me for not seeing it through but added a trekking guide had broken his leg the previous week. Retired for a nap after jaw boning with her. Was I fatigued due to lack of sleep or the cold or a combination? What ever it was I felt better after getting an hour or so of shut eye. That’s about all the time I could handle in my oven of a room.

 

Sat myself down on a chair in the lounge and prepared to watch some satellite TV. As I pushed a button on the remote my chair collapsed beneath me. I fell flat on my arse. What I thought was a solid piece of furniture only a moments before was now nothing more than kindling. Informed the woman in the adjoining office about the chair malfunction. She casually replied, ‘no worries’. Channel surfed to the BBC and caught up on the news. Been a while since I’d checked out what’s going on globally. Rigged elections, rising unemployment. Same old same old. Need not have bothered. Did a bit of writing and then took a shower. Couldn’t quite work out how to get consistent water temperature. There was a normal tap and a lever to manipulate. After five minutes of trial and error I decided there was no way to accurately control the heat. Would have been easier flying a helicopter. Soon it was time for Aki and I to meet up for dinner. We ate Indian and Aki confessed to having a hangover after the previous night’s effort. Didn’t stop him ordering another Tiger though. Briefly chatted to another Aussie at the next table and paid for Aki’s meal and drink.

 

This time he did join me on a walk back to Twin Pines. I ordered another couple of small Tiger’s and we settled down to what I thought would be a quiet drink. You know what they say about those who assume. A Korean guy I’d met earlier sat at our table. It didn’t take long to determine that he was very much his own man. He had long, dark hair and a tendency to go off on tangents. He was drinking a bottle of Vodka and I suspected that he was less than 100% sober. Aki and him seemed to get on fairly well. He wasn’t so taken with me. Then a young girl sat herself down at the end the next table and began smoking a cigarette. The Korean guy immediately swung into pick up mode employing his unique form of charm on this poor unsuspecting woman. He shoved a can of Tiger in front of her and implored her to accept this gift from an admirer of hers. She refused, he insisted. This tug of war continued for some time. It appeared that the Korean’s amorous advances were going to fall flat. Then the girl relented and decided to take a sip.

 

This seemed to signal in his mind that there was now some bound between them. I sensed that the young Irish backpacker didn’t share his interpretation of these events. She did however loosen up a bit and even allow us to take photos of her with the Korean who exploited the opportunity for a sneak kiss. As it turned out he got nowhere with Kellie from Belfast who headed off to bed shortly after with her fellow travelling companion. The Korean didn’t like the way I was laughing at the previous events and came on all serious. He seemed to worship the ground that Aki walked on though. As we parted company Aki and the Korean shared a warm embrace. Interesting considering the strained history between both their countries. I headed off to bed thinking I’ve just encountered one more bizarre event on the twisting travel road.                                           

 

As per usual had a crappy night’s sleep prior to catching the bus back to KL the next day. The chorus of barking dogs in the local neighbourhood didn’t help. Woke marginally more refreshed than when I left Melaka for KL. Bought a ticket from the tiny bus office which incorporated an en suite Indian temple. A temple that burnt so much incense it competed with the bus exhaust for pollutant supremacy. The army surplus bus limped out of the Tamar Rata bus station at 08:00. The local guy sitting next to me said hi and shook my hand. With a thick accented voice he asked me a question. I wasn’t quite sure what it was. I came back with one of my stock answers hoping that might placate him. He shut up after that so I guess I sated his curiosity. We pulled up at the petrol station no more than twenty minutes later. Minutes were wasted on ???? I can’t be more precise than that. I just don’t know why we stopped there for ten minutes. Then we limped one hundred meters down the road and stopped again. It’s the Malaysian busman’s code. Why move forward when you can just as easily stay stationary? A man with a clipboard ushered more passengers onto the bus. He checked, doubled checked and then rechecked in the finest tradition of mind numbing Indian bureaucracy. Ten minutes later we were moving again but for how long?

 

As it turned out we were moving for some time. Malaysian bus companies haven’t quite mastered the art of staggering journey breaks at regular intervals. It is quite a complex formula I must admit. My travelling companion sitting next to me kept leaning forward from time to time and resting his forehead on the head rest in front of him. Was he merely trying to rest or praying to Allah? The jury was out on that one but he appeared to be dressed in traditional Muslim garb to my untrained eye. Half way into the journey we parked in a non descript truck stop. A guy stood at a table in front of the men’s and ladies loos. I walked up with the intention of relieving my slight bladder pressure when the guy put the bite on me for twenty Malaysian cents. I walked back and considered the pros and cons of paying. If this was a market he would have rushed up to me and negotiated the price down. I did the sums. Eight cents to ensure I wasn’t squirming in my seat one and a half hours later was a small price to pay. I entered the pay as you pee loo. The floor was covered in moisture. At least it didn’t pong. Entered a cubicle to find a squat toilet. Not a biggie given that it was my bladder that needed relief. Went to wash my hands and found an open  container full of hand washing liquid next to each basin. Never seen that before. Hung around outside the bus. Wanted to stretch my legs as long as I could. Young backpackers were buying copious amounts of food. Where the hell do they pack all that grub. Must have tardis’ for bellys. A bantam chook was running about searching for scraps. Surprised one of the backpackers didn’t try eating it.

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