| . |
 |
 |
| . |
 |
| . |
 |
 |
| related links |
| related links |
| The Wanderyears.net is proud to be supported by Lowe Alpine - makers of high quality outdoor equipment. Click logo to visit their site |
 |
|
| this image: the road to the station |
| Kota Bharu (KB) is the first and most convenient stop the traveller will come across after the long day or night of travelling across Thailand’s southern border. It is always a long trip, because few people, myself included, choose not to linger in any of Thailand’s southern provincial towns, due to ongoing and escalating violence; so my journey began way up at Surrathani, and did not end until I had crossed no-mans land into Malaysia. I do not fully understand the cause of the troubles, though I know in part it is about friction between the south’s majority Muslim population and central government. Violence has been directed at Buddhists and government officials, with bombings, shootings and even a few beheadings. Thailand does it’s best to keep it out of the international media to protect the lucrative tourism industry. As far as I know, foreigners have not to date been involved in any of this, but shootings happen daily and there is always the chance of being caught in the crossfire. And after last month, the last thing I feel like right now is a bullet in the head. Other than as a rest stop, the list of reasons to visit KB is short, unless you intend to make a trip to the Perhentian Islands, ride the Jungle Train west or want to immerse yourself in Muslim culture – for KB is the provincial capital of Kelantan, Malaysia’s most Islamic state. Most travellers stay a day or two before moving on. I, however, was in need of a good base from which to catch up with website work and begin my campaign to get home by sea. I also had an old friend to surprise, in a nearby village. I already know the small town quite well, for it is the third time I find myself here, and chose to stay in KB Backpackers – it is a relaxed, friendly place, and a bed is yours for only RMB 9 – US$2.40. With such cheap accommodation and eating local, I could get by nicely on RMB 40 each day (US$ 10). The next thing was to get myself set up with good internet access, and I eventually established a few places around town where I could plumb my laptop in. I ought to apologies now for badmouthing Yahoo so much, my hosts, for I could not get access to the servers for over a week. I sent them a barrage of abrupt emails – and then read in the news that the reason was the damaged undersea cable after the Taiwan earthquake at Christmas. It wasn’t really their fault. Initially I parted with RM 28 (US$ 8) for four weeks of unlimited internet access at TM Net hot spots all around Malaysia – a great deal, if they ever actually worked. I seriously doubt whether I have managed two hours of decent service out of all the times I have tried – anyone thinking of using them, consider carefully! In the end, as usual, I found strategic café’s near large hotels, and managed to tap in to their network. I was hanging out with Doug the eco-warrior from England, and John (forgotten real name) an Islamic convert from Sweden. Our nightly routine involved a meal at the night market, and endless cups of hot chocolate. There are no bars here, and the only beer, available in Chinese restaurants, cost’s way above my budget. I am actually enjoying the break from the stuff, cleansing my system as it were. Instead, I drink copious amounts of Milo and wake each morning with a massive coco hangover. We sit up late every night, as the rest of the market packs up around us, discussing a wide range of subjects, which often break out into full on debate, bordering on argument. There could not be three men with more opposing views on the world, but interestingly, we all get along ok. We have all lead very different lives, and our opinions have been shaped as such. |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
| KB is a pleasant town to walk around. Once you have been there more than a couple of days, you start to recognise people and before long, you cannot walk down the street without stopping to chat to a local. It is that easy, and something many ever-moving travellers miss out on. Simple interactions with folk who do not want to hurt you or sell anything, just interested in where you are from and what you think of their country. A few days on, I loaded myself onto a local rust-bucket bus for the short trip out to Wakaf Bharu. KB itself does not have a rail station, thus anyone wanting to ride the rails west usually goes to this little village, which sits almost at the eastern end of the line. It was here three years ago that I met Mr Yan Eng, and had one of my best travelling experiences. Coincidently, I wrote about that stay when practising with this website; about his brother the witchdoctor and getting rather drunk while visiting all his friends - you can read that old story by clicking this. The jungle train, a popular daylong journey that some choose to take to get from east to west, always departs very early in the morning. People usually stay in KB then catch an early taxi over in the morning, simply because they do not know that Mr Yan Eng and his little guesthouse exist at all. Back then, I had heard about it by word-of-mouth, and decided it made good logic to stay opposite the rail platform, ready for the early start. My one night stay turned into three, Mr Yan Eng and me became good mates and I promised I’d be back in about two years (was already planning this trip then). When I approached his door recently, I worried that maybe he had forgotten me. After all, word of this place has spread and there must have been more guests since me. I remembered he liked to take a snooze mid afternoon, so wrapped on his door to wake him up. The door gently opened. “Dimo! I’ve been waiting for you – you are one year late”! I was pleased that he had indeed remembered me. I introduced him to Doug, who had come along with me, and soon after we were sat next door at his brother’s place drinking strong coffee. Nothing had changed. |
| In addition, there I pretty much stayed for the next eleven days, just coming short of the long-stay record, set by a French woman last year. Apart from a few trips into KB to use the internet, my days were spent around the village. Routine is determined by prayer time at the mosque (not for me though) or coffee and snacks at 3pm. Breakfast, usually chicken & rice or Roti Chani (a kind of pancake with curry sauce) was either brought by Mr Yan Eng, or taken in a local café. The best times were always sitting at brother Mr Yan Giap’s house, where assorted people would arrive for coffee or to be treated, to purchase exorcised water or just to take a look at the foreigners. The closest friends drop by everyday, and someone always brings snacks. My favourite is Roti Goreng, a kind of deep fried doughnut with a sweet bean paste in the middle. Some evenings, we would all pile into Mr Johnny Cool’s car and take off to a restaurant. Each time, someone would foot the bill, Doug and I always had to force them to let us pay our way. A weekly tradition is to visit a nearby Buddha, where rituals are used to provide lucky lotto numbers. Offerings include hand rolled smokes, Betel Nut wrapped in banana leaf and sweats, always seven of each for the days of the week. These are left at a shrine under the monk’s house (I am sure he does ok out of this, but is probably addicted to the fags and Betel Nut). Some incense sticks are fired up, and each lotto player kneels for a prayer. Then a complex and time-consuming routine takes place to select the lucky numbers – I never really worked out how it works – but evidently, it doesn’t really, because nobody won during my stay. |
| Friday is the official day of rest in Kelantan state, and the highlight of the week in this small village is undoubtedly the Thursday night market/Friday morning market. It is bursting with colour and activity, interesting food and people - the entire village comes to shop and to socialise. It was difficult to get very far as I browsed for food and shopped for a cheap remote controlled helicopter - foreigners rarely appear and everyone wants to chat. Luckily, I like all the attention. During the previous week, I had begun efforts to research the next leg of this journey, in particular crossing to Australia and then New Zealand. Mostly, it was bad news. It was likely that I would arrive in eastern Indonesia too early to catch the sailing season to Australia. This year the cyclones have been particularly bad, and few boats are crossing now. The one's that are would most likely be skippered by a crazy Dutchman, and may not be the best way to proceed. It would be May before there were sufficient boats in the area, and I was not sure I wanted to hang around that long. Instead, I directed my efforts into using cargo ship to cross the region, either to Australia or even direct to NZ - from any port around South East Asia. This, I can tell you now, is a different kettle of fish altogether. |
| Initially I made contact with several well-known shipping lines, to test the water as it were. Most replied promptly and courteously, but could not help me on my challenge. However, I am in debt to Maersk Sealand, a huge global company, for giving me my first decent lead - a comprehensive list of shipping lines with offices in Singapore. It was the best news to date. This was only the start; there was much work to do. From the list of roughly three hundred, I had to visit each and every website. This was the sorting stage, as many were just logistics or agents - I needed ship owner/operators. This is a huge industry, with a language of its own, finding out who did what was time consuming, to say the least. I had to read every “about us” page, then look at routes and remove the ones not going my way. Confusingly, many lines are owned by one larger parent company, and this was so hard to distinguish I decided upon a policy of contacting every one individually. From there I had to dig deeper, my ultimate goal being to find one or more actual email address's - most of the larger guys do all they can to reduce their mail and lay many obstacles in the way. I ended up with about thirty lines that either had no website or could not find a reliable contact for, to those and the ones I felt offered the best chance, I sent a printed letter at great cost and effort. I even had Mr Yan Giap exorcise the letters before posting. I had assumed he could do the whole pile in one go; embarrassingly, he had to deal with each individually and it took some time. |
| This was the start of my campaign; it would be an attack on three fronts - the email, the letters and finally a visit to their office. Wherever possible I emailed as many relevant people from each line as possible, going on the theory that most will go straight in the recycle bin. However, if one, just one person actually read my pitch, or even checked out this website, or perhaps had travelled themselves and got interested in this challenge, then maybe, just maybe, I could do this. I warned myself not to expect great results from the emails; no company is ever going to give in that easily, but I had to try, and I had better things to come anyway. In a matter of days, I was beginning to receive replies. Almost all were complimentary of the journey, but apologetic that they could not help, and wished me luck. However, two people from different lines had been grabbed by my story, and were trying hard to help. They suggested I leave it with them a while, and standby for further news. Despite being early days, and having only received about 30% of replies, I decided it would be prudent to move closer to the ports. Besides, I knew it was time to leave Wakaf Bharu. Locals had started nodding at me on my walks through the village, I could real off every time each train was expected to pass my window, twenty-four hours each day, and in the time that I had been here, a new rail platform had been very nearly completed! Being here was just what I needed after last month. Mr Yan Eng and everyone else have once again given me a warm welcome. I have had time to write, to think, to experience life as a local, and to forget the eighteen-year-old backpackers laying in their own vomit in Thailand. I have made good friends, and know I will be calling in again in the coming years. With some regret, I said my g'byes, and got up early for a ride on the train westwards, through the primary rain forest of peninsular Malaysia. |
| Mr Yan Eng |
| Mr Yan Giap |
| Mr Johnny Cool |
| Mr Chung |
| Mr Cheng |
| Fresh fruit and weird seeds with mystical powers |
| There are many reasons to travel to Asia - TV is not one of them |
| Barbi & Ken look on as Mr Yan Giap exorcises my letters! |
| The Ringgit, currency code MYR, unofficially the Malay Dollar and locally RM - is divided into 100 Sen. 1 USD – 3.5 RM 1 NZD – 2.5 RM 1 GBP - 6.8 RM Satay meal - 3 RM Restaurant meal with coffee - 6 RM Bus around town - 1RM 8hr train ride - +/- 12 RM 8hr bus ride - +/- 10RM Hostel bed - 8 to 20RM Hotel - 50RM upward Beer large - 12 to 20 RM Thai Song Whisky (small bottle) - 10 RM |
| What does it cost? |
| What does it cost? |
| click any thumb to view |
| Salamat Datang! |