Trip to Cameron Highlands
Hello All,
I’m going to try to catch up on my writing. I’ve made several trips and have others planned and I’m way behind. At some point, I’ll bring you up to date on my trip to Laos, Cambodia, Hong Kong, Macao, and China. Now I want to write about a trip to Cameron Highlands.
Our group of eight teachers, (the usual suspects: Marlene, Joe, Colleen, Renee, Julie, Mike, Sarah and me) left school on a Friday and headed for Putaraya, the bus station in Kuala Lumpur. We had the usual hassle with the overcharging cabbies but arrived in time to catch the bus which was actually about two blocks down the street from the terminal. Don’t know how their system works but it seems to just not very efficiently. The ticket seller told us to cross the street and turn right. We did and kept walking til we found a line of buses and then had to find the right one. Bus drivers kept looking at our tickets and telling us to keep going. We got to the bus and it shortly took off, which was better than waiting for it to get into the station.
The ride was bumpy but uneventful til we started up the mountain. Cameron Highlands is a mountainous area in central Malaysia, a rocky spine that dives the country in two. It was dark when we went up and we couldn’t see the spectacular views but it wasn’t so dark that we couldn’t see how steep the mountainsides were or how far the bus would roll if it slipped off the road. We arrived in the small town of Tanah Rata and got a taxi to our hotel. We walk into our room to find a man watching TV and two little girls playing on the floor. We had private rooms as advertised but shared a common kitchen and living area with people who were already there.
The next morning we headed to the tourist office to find out where we could go hiking. We chose Hike number 1 which started from the next town up the road and went to the top of a mountain where we were promised wonderful views. The taxi driver dropped us off and pointed to a gravel road and said, “Go that way.” Luckily, most people in Malaysia can speak English, probably more so than any non-native English speaking country I’ve been in. We set off down the road which had no signs indicating that this was the way to go. We called to a man working in a field and he just pointed on down the road. Pretty soon we came to a sign reading Trail 1 and we left the road in favor of a path leading into dense foliage. We took pictures to record our merry band adventuring into the wild, figuring that this would make a good “before” for a “before and after”. Very quickly, the path turned upward and very quickly I was sweating and breathing very hard. We made our way up the mountain, and believe me it was a mountain, with frequent stops along the way to let the “old folks” rest and catch their breath. (No names will be mentioned). Parts of the hike included literally grabbing a limb or root above and pulling yourself upward. Many time the next step was so high that I had to use my arms more than my legs. This was not a hike, it was a climb. Luckily, along the trail there were many exposed roots. They served two purposes. In some cases they served as aids because the earth had been trapped behind them and they formed a natural step and good footing to send us on our way. In other cases, where the earth had been washed away by rainfall and the roots were out of the ground, they served as traps to grab our feet. We crawled over logs and under logs and pulled and tugged and helped each other. It was work but it was fun but in our quest to reach the summit and not knowing where that would be or how long it would take, we failed to stop and smell the roses. We should have made a few more stops to enjoy the scenery and try to observe any wild life. A few times we thought we had reached the summit but when we got there the trail sloped down for a short time and then up again. We got to the top, tired and sweaty. We climbed a tower along with hordes of others who had ridden to the top on the rode on the other side of the mountain. The stairs were narrow and you had to wait til someone came down before you could go up. It was worth it, however. We did get our spectacular views of the surrounding countryside. (One of our group later read in the Lonely Planet guide that Trail 1 is very difficult and prone to mudslides and should only be attempted from the top down). It wasn’t that bad.
After resting for a while, we started down, down the paved road that lead back to town. This turned out to be longer than the trip up. As we walked, everyone said hello to us. It seems that Malaysians are pleased to Westerners in their country and like to practice their English. There were groups of teenagers (the girls wearing head scarves) making the journey downward and they smiled and called out as they passed us. When we came upon a group of them at their gathering spot, we took pictures and then they were very excited to pose for us and then see themselves in the pictures we had made. The whole group waved and shouted goodbye when we proceeded onward.
Cameron Highlands is the tea growing region of Malaysia and we soon came upon broad expanses of tea bushes covering the mountainside. Mountains weren’t terraced as we had seen in so many other countries where rice was grown but the tea bushes were simply planted on the mountainsides no matter how steep the slope. We watched workers harvesting the tea leaves. It was very similar to the way we trim our hedges. Large clippers were used, only these had round, plastic attachments so that when the clippers were closed they formed a round container to catch the tea leaves trimmed from the tops of the bushes. The worker would make several cuts the container would hold no more and then he would flip the leaves over his shoulder into the large woven basket strapped to his back. Occasionally, he would stop, take the basket off his back, mash the leaves down toward the bottom so he would have more room in the basket, put it back on his back and continue. It was a fascinating process and we spent quite some time just standing on the roadside watching the workmen and enjoying the view of vast acreages of green tea bushes on the steep, rolling mountainside.
Soon we came to the headquarters of the tea plantation, which consisted of a restaurant on the mountainside, a gift shop where you could buy samples of their produce and the factory where the tea was processed. Being tired and hungry, we opted for the restaurant. The choice wasn’t great but we were hungry. The place was crowded, mostly, as you would expect, with Malaysians. Malaysia, as you know, is predominately a Muslim country. The woman keep their heads covered in public. They wear long dresses that touch the ground and head scarves. Some outfits are brightly colored floral designs, some are simple and plain, and some are all black. Some of those in black were covered from head to toe with only their face and hands showing. (We have some of these in our classes at school). Others, and we saw several in the restaurant, are covered from head to toe in black with gloves and veils leaving only their eyes in view. What was so interesting was that some of the black outfits were very fancy with embroidered designs and flashes of silk or beads or some shiny stone. And many of the woman were wearing expensive jewelry. When they sat down we sometimes got glimpses of what they wore underneath, anything from jeans and tennis shoes on up. (I once asked a teacher at school what the women in black at our school thought of the Koreans in their mini-skirts and she told me that the women in black might be wearing the same thing underneath. The black outfits are only worn in public.) I wondered how the ladies with veils would manage to eat. They simply lift the veil ever so slightly, just enough to get the food or their coffee cups to their mouths but without exposing their faces. Several men were taking pictures of their wives in their total black out fits, which seemed to me an oxymoron. You couldn’t see anything but their eyes. Can you imagine him showing the picture to his friends? “This is my wife, Stella.” (Many Malaysians actually have western names. Stella is the name of one of our teachers).
I’m somewhat put off by the women who reveal only their eyes. They seem unapproachable. Of course, that’s only my perception. They are following the traditions of their religion that the MEN have set for them. I have yet to find out who decides if a Muslim woman wears a head scarf and anything else she desires or a full coverage colorful dress or a black outfit revealing the face or one which reveals only the eyes. Is it her decision? I don’t know. I’m sure the ladies in black are very pleasant, happy, outgoing people but I have trouble walking up and saying hello to anyone wearing a mask. Can you imagine the reaction if I walked around Kuala Lumpur wearing a ski mask?
The Plantation Headquarters is on a hillside with a single road leading to it. The road was congested with tour buses trying to drop off and pick up people and tractors pulling trailers laden with huge bags of tea leaves. It was almost impossible to turn around and yet, through trial and error, they succeeded.
By this time we were exhausted, knackered, as the Brits would say, and, unable to face the prospect of walking any more, we called cabs to pick us up. By this time it was late in the day.
Back in town we went out to eat. Tanah Rata is a mountain resort town and reminded me a little bit of Gatlinburg, Tennessee in the fifties. The architecture is varied and there is even what seemed to be a Catholic convent. The streets (and there aren’t many) are lined with gift shops and restaurants. Men stand out in front and urge you to come in and try their cuisine. In Malaysia, you can find almost anything you want with a heavy emphasis on Indian, which is usually very hot, and Chinese. With eight people it is always difficult to come to a consensus but we finally decided on a German restaurant. A big mistake. Some of the food was OK but some was not. However, the service was atrocious! They brought out the food as it was prepared which is not unusual in Southeast Asia but that means that some are waiting for their food while others are eating. But this place screwed up our orders completely, totally failed to deliver some of the orders and served an appetizer as the last thing that came out of the kitchen. The beer cost three times the price in the mini-mart on the corner and the worst thing was that the waitress, left the restaurant and returned with our beer order in a plastic bag from the mini-mart. Bummer! After dinner, we walked around for a little while and then crashed.
The next morning, the weather was overcast and part of our group headed back to KL. Four of us decided to stay on and look around. We rode about two or three kilometers up the mountain to what had been described as a native village. It consisted of wooden houses with tin roofs spaced out evenly on the hillside. No bamboo huts. No thatched roofs. We immediately decided that there was no reason to stay but our taxi was gone. We understood that we could visit a waterfall nearby and asked an eight year old boy how to get there. He indicated that we should follow him and he began to climb the hill between the houses. We stopped to take pictures and several people on their porches said, “No pictures”. We followed the little boy and his brother, maybe four years old, as they scampered up the hill. We were huffing and puffing as they lead up ever upward into the forest. After a fifteen or twenty minute climb we topped the ridge and headed down. We came to a road and he said, “Waterfall” as he pointed to the paved road. Then he said, “Ten Ringgits” (about three dollars). We gave him less than that and started down the road just as it began to rain. Not terribly hard but enough to get us wet. We walked and walked and walked and finally came to civilization, Tanah Rata, where we had begun our adventure several hours earlier. The waterfall was about fifteen minutes from town, not anywhere near the village. After lunch, we went there and were very disappointed. It wasn’t worth the effort, not even the effort of walking from the town. It wasn’t a real waterfall, just a series of rapids extending about one hundred feet or so down the side of the mountain. And no spot from which you could see it all at the same time, just glimpses of each little drop.
We caught the afternoon bus and were rewarded were wonderful views of the mountains as we made our way down to the flatlands. Cameron Highlands is beautiful country, not unlike the Smokies. I would like to go back and spend more time hiking in the mountains. All in all, it was a very good trip.
More to follow. Love to all,
Tom
Tags: Travel, Tag Index
higgiro39