Malaysia & Borneo: Part One

Kuala Lumpur

We were both excited about arriving in Kuala Lumpur, for the first time since Chiang Mai or even Hong Kong we were going to be somewhere developed, somewhere with decent infrastructure, somewhere with money. All these things, and more meant we could get a little bit of home, away from home.

Departing Kuala Lumpur airport we boarded a bus that worked and was on time. We used trains and the monorail, again these worked, were clean, efficient and even air conditioned. We walked down streets which had pavements for pedestrians and roads for vehicles, vehicles that were recognisable as cars and buses not tuk-tuks or songthaews or any other type of motorbike-trailer hybrid. Traffic lights changed red and cars stopped. As we continued our journey to the hostel we read street signs in an alphabet we could understand, some were even in English. I could go on, the point is Kuala Lumpur was a modern city and as such should have made us feel at home. For me, however there was something missing.

I enjoyed every monorail, train and bus journey I made, in terms of comfort, convenience and in most cases even price Kuala Lumpur trumped everywhere we’ve been. Walking the well signposted streets made navigating the city a breeze. Exploring the endless, towering malls, looking at clothes, watches, shoes made by designers whose names I can’t pronounce, taking in the futuristic architecture, wandering the winding market streets, breathing in the aromas of street foods from every corner of the globe. Seeing so many cultures all bundled together, there is a lot to say for Kuala Lumpur but still I felt like something was missing.

The city centres around Taman Negara, a 130 million year old rainforest which is home to loads of animal species, including a very rare breed of monkey. There is a sky canopy that takes you through the middle of the forest and high up in the trees. On one side you can see the tips of the buildings and on the other natures own skyscrapers. The duet of cars and people vs wildlife, birds, monkeys, insects is something of a surreal experience, I thought I had landed myself in a game of Jamanji.  This was further heightened by the fact we were the only people in the rainforest, we didn’t see a soul, all the seating areas were covered in leaves, the kiosk at the entrance to the bridge was empty. The place looked like it had been abandoned. We started to wonder whether we should actually be here and thought about making our way back into the urban jungle, humidity and mosquitoes soon made this decision very easy.

The three main cultures in Kuala Lumpur are, Malayan, Indian and Chinese which puts you in good stead for finding some decent grub. From hawker stalls to food halls you are never far from food. My brother had been quite vocal in the fact that I needed to try Roti Canai so I made it my mission to find some. It wasn’t long before we walked past a bustling Indian joint whose menu boasted every type of Roti, including the prestigious Canai.

We ordered two and waited like kids at Christmas, they arrived and we were right to be excited. Two large Roti, a traditional Indian bread which closely resembles layers of puff pastry but with a more pancake type texture arrived. Next came the Canai, a chickpea dahl and a dark curry sauce which in this case was similar to a Madras. There was so much sauce and bread that we were both stuffed, I  paid the bill of £0.50 and from that moment on knew I’d found something good. Tom, my brother also informed me that they sell a sweet version, stuffed with banana, Nutella or both without the curry sides. In fact Roti (insert side name here) comes in so many forms it would be impossible to get bored and with them being so cheap it would be impossible to go hungry. These would quickly become a staple of our trip through Malaysia.

For a spot of culture we visited the Batu caves, seconds after leaving our hostel the skies opened and we got drenched. We sat waiting for the train which ran a very generous service of one train an hour, naturally we had just missed one so stood at the station while the weather did all it could to make the experience as uncomfortable as possible. The rains cleared but the muggy, humidity lingered, as the temperatures rose the water began to evaporate from my clothes. I was literally steaming.

The Batu caves, for all the epic statues of Hanuman and Lord Murugan, brightly coloured staircases, clans of monkeys and of course the caves is a total anti-climax. It looks so impressive and grand on the outside but inside it is dirty and uncared for. Broken plastic chairs, litter and excrement make it neither a sight of natural or manmade beauty, we spent a total of 15 minutes there, 10 of those were spent climbing up and back down the stairs.

Having shopped and eaten our way around Kuala Lumpur we were looking at our options, the humidity here is on par with Bangkok so a sea breeze was a priority. We had two options, follow the majority of tourists along the West coast working our way up to Langkawi or the East cost to the Perhentian islands. Our only issue was that we were going to Langkawi in the middle of May via a flight from Singapore, this narrowed our decision down to taking on the East coast. That was until I spoke to Tom who urged us to visit Borneo. He tempted me with his photos of places like Mabul island, turquoise waters, swimming with turtles, staying in accommodation set on stilts over the water. It looked out of this world and I wanted to see it with my own eyes.

We quickly dismissed the rest of Peninsula Malaysia and took the cheapest flight to Malaysian Borneo. We landed in a small town called Sandakan and if there ever was a place to destroy an image and give a worst first impression it was Sandakan.

Sandakan

Sandakan is like Harwich, or any other port town, unless you are looking to buy or sell fish there isn’t much here for you. It was all the worst parts of all the countries we’d been to- humid, poor travel connections, no beaches and not much of a town either. We were however in a good enough location to get ourselves to Mabul island and so started looking at how to get there and where to stay. (Perhaps) stupidly we didn’t do this before leaving Kuala Lumpur and given the short notice we of course had no success in finding a place to stay, Mabul is geared up for the diving crowd and as I don’t have a PADI and so wouldn’t be diving my accommodation costs were £20+ more expensive than those who would be. Besides this, most places required booking up to 3 months in advance, this shattered our hopes of getting there. We had ended up in a shit hole and had no idea what to do or where to go.

We used up a day trying to get a good deal to head out of Sandakan and go to either the Proboscis monkey, Sun bear or Orang-utan sanctuaries as these are sold as the main attractions of Sandakan. The only catch is they are only accessible by taxi and are, in the case of the monkeys more than two hours drive. The best deal we could get would see us almost £100 out of pocket which is more than two days of our budget. I’d like to see the Proboscis monkeys but didn’t fancy sleeping on the streets and not eating for two days. We managed, after more than two hours of asking about, to find a bus that takes you to the Orang-utan sanctuary for a much more reasonable £2 so that’s what we did.

We timed it perfectly to witness feeding time which was an amazing experience, it was the first time I’d seen these playful creatures outside of a glass cage. They had a gigantic expanse of forest to roam and as we walked around we could hear them calling out to each other, their bark echoed all around us which was awesome and terrifying in equal measures. We later went to the Orang-utan nursery where we sat for almost an hour watching the young ones who were going through the rehabilitation process, it was entertaining to say the least. It was fast approaching 4pm which meant the park was closing and the last bus to city was planning to depart.

When we got outside we discovered that the bear sanctuary was on the otherside of the road, it too was shutting its doors and we kicked ourselves for not getting here sooner. 4pm came and went as did 4.30pm but still no bus, then like sharks to blood, moths to the flame, taxi drivers started gathering around the small group of tourists waiting for the imaginary bus. We held them off for a while longer but we soon realised our fate and nervously asked a price. Despite our situation the driver was fair and we filled the car up and headed back to the town.

That evening we put in some serious hours to work out a plan of action as our Malaysia/Borneo experience was quickly turning into a series of closed doors and wasted days. That’s when I stumbled across a photo of a group of people having a beer sat on a decking above the clouds. The photo fascinated and excited me, I was desperate to find this place. My research uncovered Mount Kinabalu, the tallest mountain in South East Asia standing at 4,095.02m. I learnt that you can climb the mountain with little experience, all you’d need is a level of fitness, determination and some cold weather gear.

I hunted for prices and received quotes which were perhaps reasonable but still out of our budget. Then I found Jungle Jacks. The reviews were 5 star across the board and his prices were a fraction of what other places were quoting, better still he offered a one day climb. The only way I could contact Jack was via Facebook, so I sent him a message with my dates and asked if he had any availability. We made our way to Kota Kinabalu, the nearest place we could fly to from Sandakan where we became sitting ducks.

Kota Kinabalu

KK had a bit more going on that Sandakan, aside from things like a cinema and a slightly more vibrant town centre there were a series of paradise style islands only 20 minutes boat ride away. Our hostel was in a decent location and so as far as holding pens go this one wasn’t too bad. I kept pushing for a reply from Jack but remained in the dark. Online views about Jungle Jacks had one common theme, his booking methods are archaic but take a leap of faith and you won’t regret it.

That night Hatty spoke to her dad who pointed out how close we were to the Philippines, he had first come here in the 70’s as a VSO and had made many return visits, I had had countless conversations with him about it and never spoken to someone who expressed such a passion and love for a place. Hatty herself had been about seven years ago and we had vowed that one day we would go, it seems stupid that we had wanted to go but now we were only a few hours away hadn’t considered it. It was a proper case of having our blinkers on.

Rob had planted a seed so just out of curiosity we looked up flights and to our amazement found they were affordable. Rob had friends who own a holiday resort in Camiguin, an island off of Cebu so everything looked like it was fitting into place. My wanderlust levels went off the scale, I hadn’t been this excited about seeing somewhere since before we left England. We knew we could get to Cebu and from there we had two options, fly to Camiguin or travel by bus, boat and jeepny. The flight (one a day departing at 6.10am) with Cebu Pacific was a fairly new and the only flight to Camiguin, the 50 minute flight came in at £100pp return. The overland option had a lot of steps, timetables for which matched up in such a way that it would take almost an entire day to complete. We worked out the price and it came in only slightly under the flights.

Although the flights were expensive it made the most sense and so we got in contact with Robs friends, Phil and Sue and secured a place to stay then proceeded to book the flights. Just as I was entering the payment details the Cebu Pacific website crashed, when I reloaded it to flights had doubled in price. There was no way we could afford that so we killed that idea and went to bed.

The following morning I checked the website in the hope, by some miracle that the glitch had cleared and the original price had returned, to our utter surprise the price had dropped to £70pp, the website worked and we were going to the Philippines. It was a morning of good luck as Jungle Jack replied and said I could climb the following morning as long as I could get to him by this afternoon. We checked out and jumped on the first bus to the mountain, day 100 was shaping up to be a fine day.

Mount Kinabalu

The two hour journey to Jack’s was breathtakingly beautiful, we left the towns and began climbing through the mountains it was seriously epic and knowing that in less than 24 hours I’d hopefully be at the top of one of them was making me very excited.

Jungle Jacks is a set of containers turned into dorms set on a stunning piece of land facing Mount Kinabalu. Between us and it was an expanse of jungle and offered views like nothing I’ve ever seen before. The air was fresh and cool and with nothing but nature around us I instantly fell in love with the place.

Things only got better when we found out that our accommodation cost included all our meals, which were provided by near by restaurants. Jack would ask, do you fancy Malay or Indian then drive us all to foodie hotspots in the surrounding area. There were nine even of us staying at Jacks, me and Hatty, two Norwegians, a German, a Canadian chap, a Czech couple and a Dutch girl. The set-up at Jacks and the fact everyone went out to dinner together made for a really sociable time.

Meal times were insane, our first lunch saw us working our way through at least ten different dishes, BBQ pork, fish stew, noodles, grilled vegetables, the food just kept on coming. I hadn’t eaten so well all trip. Dinner that first night was the same story, grilled ostrich, fish steaks, chicken curries, “magic” mushrooms, Jack wouldn’t let anyone go hungry and just kept on ordering dish after dish.

That evening people found out that I was doing the one day climb and told me I was mad, everyone else at the table was doing the two day climb, Teneka the Dutch girl had just come down from the two day climb, her face painted a picture of how challenging the climb was, she put the fear of god into me and that night I went to bed feeling very nervous.

At 6am I woke up and stocked up on breakfast, prepared a pack lunch and sat outside looking up at the mountain. My mood yo-yo’d from excitement to complete fear, my stomach was churning and I really started to understand what I was doing. I think I should disclose that I had never climbed a mountain before, I had never experienced altitude. I had been snowboarding a few times but taking the ski-lift to the top is hardly the same thing… I believed myself to be in an ok physical condition, despite having done little more than drink beer and lay on a beach for the last three and bit months.

Despite these factors I have two personality traits which I hoped would help me more than any amount of experience or fitness level ever could. I am stubborn and determined, a little self destructive and a little bit stupid. These traits seemed perfect for taking on a physically and mentally enduring challenge without any real preparation.

I was doing the climb with the Czechs who do Climbathons (that’s where you run up and down the mountain). I’ll put this into perspective, most people take 2 to 3 days to complete the climb, the record time for the Kinabalu Climbathon is under 2.5 hours. To reach the 4,095m peak you have to trek 9km and the same to get back to base camp, 18km of mismatched stairs and slopes, the final few km are scaled using a rope and a lot of upper body strength.

I stayed with the Czechs for the first three km which we smashed in under one hour, my breathing was heavy and my legs began to throb as they filled with blood. Over the next km I started to fall behind them and by body remembered what exercise felt like, it wasted no time in reminding me that it didn’t like endurance activities. Fast twitch, explosive, weightlifting style exercise are fun, I could spend all day everyday in a gym lifting weights but put me on a treadmill and I’d wish you dead.

My mind started to plant seeds of doubt, I was telling myself to give up, to turn around my legs agreed but still I pushed on. At the five km point I stopped to look around, we were high above the clouds and visability was low, I was drained and couldn’t see the point in this. I sat on the ground with my head in my hands, I was dizzy, I was arguing with myself. I set myself a goal- reach that rock and then take a rest, the distances between these goals got smaller and by steps smaller still.

When I reached the 6km mark I was barely able to place the heel of one foot further than the toes of the other. My thighs, calves and glutes were shaking as the lactic acid pumped around them, my eyes began to close for extended periods and my breathing was shallow. The 6km mark is where the two day climbers stop, they have dinner, sleep and then continue in the morning. I didn’t have the same luck, in order to be allowed to reach the top I needed to be there by 1pm to ensure I would be down before the park closes at 5pm. I was on target but with my speed rapidly dropping I could afford to stop. The Czechs had made such good time they had stopped off for breakfast, I met them outside the restaurant, they were fresh faced and full of energy, I was on my hands and knees with a look that said “kill me” written across my face.

We marched on and before the 7km checkpoint they were nothing by a tiny dot to me. I was stopping every 10m by this point and had started to become delirious, I had long since moved on from thoughts of self-doubt, instead I had nursery rhymes going around and around in my head. Each time I picked myself up off the ground I was full of determination and vigour, I was a war machine and nothing was going to stop me from reaching the top, I charged on, I felt like Terminator, I used everything in me to get moving, I was like a freight train ploughing along at high speed. At least that’s how I felt, the reality was that I could only muster a handful of baby steps before I had to slump on the ground, I actually started to nod off at one point and regularly dreamt about having the ability to fly. My brain was fuzzy, I felt as if I hadn’t slept for a week, every stone looked like a boulder, every boulder like a mountain. I hated being here and hated even more than I would have to go back down at some point.

We reached the 8km checkpoint and I thought I could see the peak, I turned up a gear and got a real move on, I was smashing 100m at a time, I picked up my pace, almost reaching a slow jog. I grabbed the rope and pulled my lagging body up the mountain, for all I know I was dragging my legs as I could no longer feel them. Every 100m I reached a new state of euphoria, I was having an out of body experience and was screaming at my pathetic body to keep working. Whenever I stopped I crashed out big time, I hadn’t had a thought in about an hour and the only thing I wanted to do was cry but I couldn’t even the muster the energy to do that.

I reached what I thought was the base of the summit and sat for a moment, ate a chocolate bar and drank some water. I calmed myself and reflected on what I had achieved. I took a deep breath and prepared for the final stint of this hellish experience. The fog cleared and I learnt the hard way that I was nowhere near the top.

The final 500m climb to the top was the most challenging thing I have done in my life, every step took ten times longer than the previous one, as I reached the final 100m I could hear the Czech couple cheering me on, I am now thankful for their encouragement but at the time it was seriously degrading. I literally dragged myself on my hands and knees to the top and slumped myself against the sign at the top. I was too fucked to take it all in, I went into auto pilot and took some photos then just sat there looking completely lost. I am being 100% honest when I say I don’t remember taking the photos.

I had a total of 15 minutes at the top before I had to start the arduous descent. I felt sick as the reality dawned on me that I had another 9km of rocks and stairs to navigate. Being so high was also taking its toll, my head was pounding, my calves were so tight I was walking with straight legs which almost instantly caused my knees to turn to dust.

Within the first km of the descent I had alrady fallen over, I slid down a portion of the mountain on my hands, the cuts gave me an endorphin rush which woke me up nicely but the fall seriously knocked my confidence. The Czechs vanished and I hobbled down the mountain at a snails pace.

I bumped into the Canadian and German at the 6km checkpoint but we didn’t exchange many words. My body language told them everything they needed to know.

As each km passed I began to curse the mountain, first in my head but later out loud, I kept saying “how the fuck am I still above the clouds” over and over. I cursed stairs, rocks, mud, trees, roots, clouds and people. At the 5km checkpoint I slipped on some wet rocks and missed a row of steps which didn’t do my ankle any favours. I hated this experience and wasn’t prepared to let it put me in a hospital, I took each step with more caution than humanly possible, gripping onto anything I could, lifting one foot shyly off the ground and placing it forward such a minute amount I barely moved at all.

I had moments of overriding determination where I pushed passed all fatigue and flew down large sections of the mountain, I picked up pace and moved into a jog and at some points even a run. I utilised these bursts of energy but they ran out I was more sluggish than before. With 2km left I had only one thing on my mind, reaching the 1km mark and downing the bottle of water I had stashed on the way up. I felt every single step of those 1,000m but every time I fell down I jumped back up knowing I was closer to the water and even closer to the end.

I caught site of the 1km mark and carried on to the spot where my water was, only to discover that it had been stolen. My world had been shattered, it was like watching everything you own, everything you love bursting into flames in front of you, I was mad, upset, confused but more determined than ever. I gave up caring that my knees were bust, my ankle was useless, my brain was fried I just marched on at a slow but aggressive pace. It took me almost an hour to do the last km but as I climbed the final step I forgot about it all. In total, from bottom to top and back down it took me 9.5 hours. As ungraceful as my climb was I still did it and in a bloody good time. The Czechs (taking out their breakfast pit stop and the hour at the top) completed it in around 7 hours, considering they do this for fun and on a fairly regular basis I felt proud of my achievement. A lot of the 2 day climbers I had spoken to took 8 hours to reach the 6km checkpoint and a further 8 hours to reach the top and get back down. I was drained both physically and mentally, I had nothing positive to say but I knew in my heart that when my body calmed down I would look back on the experience with positivity and pride.

That night I didn’t go for dinner instead I propped myself up in the shower then collapsed in my bed. Jack bought me back a doggy bag of Malayan delights which I wolfed down then returned back to my slumber. In the morning I woke up sore and tight, my knees were jarred and I had developed a hobble, I felt hungover, my throat was bone dry, my face and neck were sunburnt and had about as much energy as a sloth on sleeping meds.

Jack loaded me (and Hatty) into his car and drove us to the hot springs, I alternated between the piping hot baths and icy mountain water baths which cured my aching body, reenergised my mind and set me right for the rest of the day. After the baths we went for lunch and Jack ordered me a plate of BBQ’d pork chops which were out of this world, my muscles were bathed and my stomach was full and I was quickly on track for being myself again.

When we got back to Jungle Jacks all of the two day climbers that I’d met the other night had returned. They all turned in to get some kip then as night fell we jumped in the car and went out for a curry. As was routine Jack just kept ordering things, plates of roti, curries, rice, noodles, more roti more curry it just kept coming. We ate like champions and all shared our experiences of the climb. Everyone decided what I had achieved was heroic and despite me telling them how challenging I found it they wouldn’t hear it. We left the restaurant and went back to JJ’s where we sank some beers and carried on our conversations until one by one we dropped off.

The following day we travelled back to Kota Kinabalu and went our separate ways, some back home others to new lands and new experiences. Our time at Jungle Jacks was the friendliest, most social, enjoyable, peaceful, happy time of the trip. We landed a great bunch of people to spend those few days with and Jack’s hospitality is superior to any 5 star £200 a night resort. Not including my climbing and park entrance fees I paid £4 a night (including meals) to stay at Jacks, Hatty paid £10 as a non-climber. We had a decent bed, woke up each morning to the beautiful sight of the mountain and the sound of the jungle, we ate and drank until we couldn’t move and were entertained by Jack and 8 adorable puppies. If you ever find yourself wanting to Climb Mount Kinabalu, do it with Jungle Jack.

We had five days to kill in KK until our flight to the Philippines and so made the most of good weather by visiting some of the near by islands. We sunbathed, snorkelled and trekked over Sapi and Manukan island, ate fresh fish and even saw two wild Monitor Lizards, one in the water and one around the back of the restaurant. In the evenings we went to the cinema where we watched the latest Avengers movie and Fast & Furious 7 (these were the only two options). We exhausted KK for all its entertainment and as our final day approached there was only one thing on my mind. Where to watch the Mayweather vs Pacquiao fight. I searched online for places that might be showing it but my results yielding one answer- the chief of Malaysian TV didn’t realise the fight was happening and so it wont be shown anywhere in the country. I kicked myself, if we only booked the flights a day earlier I would be in Pacquiao’s homeland and would be guaranteed a memorial screening of the fight. I’m by no means a big boxing fan but I enjoy watching the occasional match and this was clearly one not to be missed. I went to bed a little disheartened.

The following morning we went to make ourselves some breakfast and was greeted by a bizarre scene. Normally the common room was empty, silent but this morning it was full of people and the telly was on really high. It sounded like wrestling commentary but as the clogs turned in my head I realised it was boxing, not any boxing it was the fight. I took my toast up the stairs and into the common room where I was met by more than 20 Filipinos all drinking beer, eating nuts, crab and kinilaw (a dish of raw fish marinated in vinegar, chili, onion and garlic- not dissimilar from rollmops).

It wasn’t long before they asked me to join them, offering me beers, food and cigarettes. I declined the latter but worked my way through the other two. We “cheersed” each other, a lot and as the main event of the evening (afternoon local time) began the atmosphere in the room went wild. The men were all Filipino, here in KK for a three year construction job, every ten or so minutes more bodies piled into the room and the beers kept flowing.

The fight finished and I was feeling pretty pissed, with only a few hours until my flight Hatty planted me in Burger King, filled me with grease, stodge and water. We grabbed our bags, I had my photo taken about fifty times, high fived everyone ten times then ran for the bus.

We return to Malaysian Borneo in about ten days but before that I’m off to Camiguin in the Philippines, white sandy beaches, crystal clear waters, delicious food and I’m sure Pinoy hospitality.

As always thanks for reading.