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| this image: even primates like to get some beach time |
| All my efforts to be on the platform just after five am, and the friendly ticket man informed me that because of the Malaysia 2007 50th anniversary celebrations, there was an extra special train laid on an hour later. This one, he tells me, is more comfortable and will deliver me to my destination several hours ahead of the rusty old local. I now have an early morning dilemma. My personal travel philosophy dictates that I should shun such comfort and speed. No local train trip is complete without having to wrestle a goat for your seat, and last time a Palm Oil farmer even offered me his daughter’s hand in marriage. My point is, you never know what will happen on these trains. Incidentally, I politely declined his offer on the grounds that you should always look at the parents for an indication of how your potential wife will turn out, and he did not own the palm oil plantation either. Last time I had subjected myself to fifteen hours on a sweaty plastic seat, riding the local all the way through to Gemas. It had been a great experience, if a little taxing on my behind. I have done this trip the adventurous way, earned my stripes, and so I decided to take the special train this morning. It cost only an extra two ringgit, bringing the total to fifteen ringgit. The greatest drawback, apart from an over-active air-conditioning system that very nearly put me into suspended animation, was that I could not hang out of the sealed windows on this special train. The seats were sumptuous, and I could pick any one, as there was absolutely nobody in the carriage. Evidently, the extra cost would keep the locals away, with hindsight that is probably the aim; this train is supposed to take all the extra tourists expected to inundate Malaysia during 2007. The last thing any government tourism guru wants is for the tourist to come into direct contact with a local. Especially if they go offering their daughters to complete strangers. The train was cold and boring, so I amused myself by riding in between the carriages, enjoying the noise and rush of warm air. The jungle train journey does not really rate up there with the Trans Canadian or Trans Siberian in terms of fame, and is positively a lightweight where distance is concerned, but nonetheless it has its followers. I suppose I must now be counted among them, following this route for the second time in three years. There is an awful lot of jungle to see, it is right there in your face, quite literally. And there lies the photographer’s greatest problem; each time I poke my head through the door to get a picture, I am walloped by a great banana leaf or something similar. This has to be the cleanest train I have ever seen – the undergrowth grows right up to the track edge and brushes the side, keeping it shiny and quite possibly claiming the odd tourist too. This is a pleasant little journey, and I would still recommend riding the day/local train to anyone. The scenery is definitely at its best from Wakaf Bharu to Jerantut, from there on the jungle is replaced by a monoculture of palm oil plantations. Around seven hours later, I was just about half way across Peninsular Malaysia and at my planned destination – Jerantut. I wanted to try a jungle trek in nearby Taman Negara National Park, and this I had heard was the place to fix that up. You really do not need a guidebook in this country, as English is widely spoken, Malay is easy to pick up, and everyone wants to help anyway. Well, that is, everyone except the owner of the guesthouse I had just walked into, in my search for a bed. I had to give him a gentle poke to wake him, and he seemed unhappy about this. “What you want?” he exclaimed. “Um, Salamat Tengahari, do you have any cheap beds for tonight?” hoping this may cheer him up. There is lots of Chinese Malay in this country, and I never know whether to impress them with my Malaysian skills, or make them laugh with the few words of Mandarin I remember. “You wan jungle trek?” he barked. “Um, Mungkin, maybe, just the room for now”. The conversation was not flowing and I considered walking out and coming back in again. “You pay twenty”. I went in for the kill, “how about fifteen and I’ll think about the trek”. He did not answer, but moved behind the desk and rummaged for a key, which he then presented to me and pointed up the stairwell. That was the last conversation I ever had with him. Chinese New Year is looming and everyone is loosing their mind. |
| 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? |
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| Salamat Datang! |
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| At night, I found a great little hostel that operates trips into the jungle, and more importantly, the staff was happy to answer my barrage of questions. Decisions taken, a sporadic night’s sleep back at my trashy guesthouse, and by nine the following morning I was a lone passenger on a dugout canoe going up the Tembeling River. The three-hour trip allowed time to catch a few zees, marvel at the passing jungle and chat with skipper Bano, whom I noticed also occasionally nodded off. We passed a few locals setting their nets from tiny dugout canoes, monkeys strutting around on the shore and even a huge snake swimming across the water. The river forms the boundary with Taman Negara National Park, and Kuala Tahan village on the southern bank. Building is allowed in few other places, so this is where the wannabe jungle trekker should aim to stay. Allowing for the fast flowing river, Bano skillfully brought the canoe alongside a floating bamboo structure. There are several of these along the shore, and I would learn later that these are the social G-spot of the village. They serve as restaurant, transport hub and HQ’s for the trekking operators. I wobbled along a plank to shore, and then climbed a muddy slope among a higgledy-piggledy collection of houses. The village is a ramshackle affair, with houses of timber or concrete clinging to the steep riverbank. The small community exists on tourism and seems to be mostly peopled by folk from deeper in the jungle. There is a busy school, a range of accommodation and a few stores selling everything from food to shoes (but strangely hardly any useful trekking/camping supplies – gap in the market there for sure). Over dinner, I met Wolfgang and Polly from Cairns, Australia. We discussed sharing the cost of a guide, which would be significantly reduced if we all pitched in. There are few other travellers around now, being tail end of the monsoon, so I keep them close by, not wanting to lose them while I make up my mind. It is well known I have a slight phobia of guided trips, and my success rate at picking suitable guides is pitiable. I had plenty of reason to reach a speedy decision; why go to all the effort in getting here, if you do not experience a jungle trek, and more to the point, I did not have time to waste. At this very moment, close to fifty shipping lines would be in receipt of my emails and letters, and I needed to be on hand in case one replied in the positive. I would never forgive myself if I missed a ship because I was stuck twelve hours away from port in the jungle. With that in mind, I signed up for two days and one night, and parted with RM230, quite a significant amount of money in this country. |
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| Move out! The following morning I was at the rendezvous with plenty of time for eating Roti, washed down with awful Nescafe instant. I am becoming an old cynic, I decide, as I watch my guide preparing the gear. I observe him closely, wondering just what I am going to get for my Ringgit. He seems alright on first impression, busying himself laying out three lots of gear, for us to load into our own packs. He is a pleasant man who goes by the name of Dije, pronounced DJ for ease. Using excellent English, he gave us a run down of the next two days, before we loaded up the dugout and pushed off into the flow. First stop for us, and indeed all trekkers, was the National Park HQ on the opposite bank. Here we could safely store our valuables, then sign the park rules to check in. I was especially impressed with this, in a part of the world where natural habitats are often under- protected or downright abused. We even had to individually list the entire contents of our packs; all man-made items, the number of plastic bags, food, clothing – everything. This would be checked upon our departure, to ensure everything is brought out of the area. The system exists not only to control the tourists, but equally to ensure the guides follow best practice. Back into the canoe, we now faced a two to three hour run up river to our start point. Our skipper skilfully steered us through many sets of rapids, and I was thankful that I had chosen to sit fully forward – Wolf and Poly got constantly soaked behind, while I remained in the dry and happy. |
| We settled into a comfortable pace, with only around 10km to cover before nightfall. I had managed to relax, getting over the shock of parting with the relatively large amount of money and determined to enjoy the experience. This was made a whole lot easier by DJ, who was proving both informative and fun to be around. I should also add that both Wolf and Polly also made good company. They are both avid hikers/trampers at home, often running guided trips in the north Australian rainforest, and it had crossed my mind that I could get very seriously out of pace with these guys. An important skill of any guide is to gauge the level of the participants and adjust accordingly. It turned out, despite my indulgent lifestyle lately, I remain as fit as ever and could go on indefinitely. We followed a narrow track, made muddy by the rains, which is also used by animals and Orangasi (meaning People of the Forest), the aboriginal people. We were lucky to pass a small group, on their way back from a trading trip to the village – a journey they cover in a day and that will take us two. Their fuzzy hair set them apart from other Malay people, and they had friendly faces, though they are very shy. For the majority who do not get involved with tourism, contact with the outside world is still minimal. DJ explained that they still follow the traditional nomadic hunter tradition. Most of their food is derived from the forest; meat and fish by hunting and several types of native vegetable, including the wild sweet potato. They move on to another area only when food becomes harder to find, or when a member of the tribe dies, the belief being that their spirit should be left to occupy that area. They are free to hunt all species of animal, but only for consumption and not for sale. The forest provides for all their needs, and they trade products such as Sandal Wood in the village. In exchange, they typically take cigarettes, rice or clothing. The weather was definitely on our side today, for it was unusually cool (though still hot and humid by our standards) and the rain had so far held off. It is nearing the end of the monsoon, and so things are changeable with precipitation possible at any time. Taman Negara National Park is South East Asia’s last remaining true virgin rainforest. By this, I mean it has never been felled or changed in any way. The beautiful trees that now tower above me are the direct descendants of those before them that stretch back an estimated one hundred and thirty million years. You get a lot of statistics when visiting attractions, some interesting, some not. This felt exciting to me, knowing that the dense foliage all around me was part of a pure eco-system that goes back so far. What a privilege to be here. The ever-present cacophony of bird and insect life confirmed to me that this is indeed a healthy environment. As if to confirm my feelings, several times we came across fresh sign of Asian Elephants. It is, as you would imagine, quite easy to notice. For one, the dung could not really belong to anything else. In addition, their feeding sites looked like they have been created by a bulldozer. I had not expected to see such things, and was even more surprised when we found a fresh Tiger print. I had expected to be assaulted by endless mosquito attacks, but they were largely absent. In their place, however, were persistent leaches. They lay in wait on the track, hoping for a passing animal or, bonus of all bonuses, a succulent westerner. Detecting the vibrations, the little bloodsucking gymnasts spring their bodies up to knee height, and latch on for a feed. It takes only a few minutes to fill up, first by injecting you with anti-coagulant to keep the blood flowing, before they drop off and slink away rubbing their little bellies with satisfaction. Apparently, they will not feed again for up to six months. The good news is, for those of you with a dislike of such critters, they are not nearly as ‘orrible as they sound. This type of leach does not carry any disease, and their bites are painless, in fact, you would not even know you have been had until after the event. You have to admire their patience, and they do not leave you with an itchy bite as a mozzi does. I found that keeping my socks pulled up, apart from making me look rather cool, largely kept them at bay. It pays to wear shorts, so you can easily get a regular visual at your legs; if you do wear pants, tuck them into your socks or they will sneak up inside unnoticed. They can be difficult to remove, but I developed a technique of flicking, which worked well. |
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| Bat Man If you didn’t like that, you’ll like this even less. Approaching a large limestone cliff, DJ invited us to explore a cave that was home to millions of bats. It took a precarious climb up a slippery slope to reach the tiny entrance, at this point the ammonia smell was already overpowering. Inside, the cave opened up to became cathedral like in size, and the whiff nearly knocked me out altogether. Above were countless bats flying or hanging from the roof, as they are inclined to do. I acclimatised to the noise and smell quickly enough, but it was the ground that was concerning me the most. It took a little while for me to compute that it does not tend to rain inside most caves, and that the ‘rain’ was indeed produced by the bats. All this has to go somewhere, and I was standing on it. Obviously, millions of bats pooing every single day for thousands of years is going to eventually fill up the cave, making it difficult for tourists like me. Nature comes to the rescue, as she indeed always does, with very many cockroaches. They are a specialised bunch, their prime task being to process the vast quantities of guano on the ground. Walking gingerly, my feet sunk three inches or more, and each time I panicked that I would go under and become food for the cockies. Other nastiness included several large spiders, pure white in testament to their darkened existence. Snakes are also known to be regular visitors, in their search for a tasty bat-snack. Even Indiana Jones would have shit himself. |
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| Sleeps Shortly before dusk, we reached our hotel for the night. There was no charge for staying here, and as hotels go, I have definitely stayed in worse on this trip. There was only one room, a very large one, two huge entrances and an Elephant had thoughtfully poo’d in the lobby. Tonight, we would sleep in a cave, thankfully one that only a few bats call home. By definition, the rainforest is a wet place, and if we were to get any sleep at all, the cave would provide the only dry place to bed down. We washed off in a nearby stream, where the leaches could not believe their luck at finding so much flesh. Now comes the single most important part of an overnight jungle trek: the opening of the backpack. It has rained for the last couple of hours, and I was praying my dry night clothes had held out. Thanks to the useful Lowe Alpine rain cover as the first line of defence, then by packing everything into plastic bags, my stuff was dry. There is no better feeling than slipping into dry cloths and clean socks. Well, maybe there is, but I am not likely to find that here tonight, so the socks it is. The guides spend a few weekends each year, together stocking the cave with wood for the campfire, as there is nothing outside that will burn at this time. Being the end of the rainy season, there was none left, but we managed to gather a few old embers together, which produced little heat but plenty of satisfying smoke. DJ had been foraging around the cave for a while, and he didn’t look happy about something. I caught up with him to find out what was wrong. “I not like Elephants, they use this cave much lately” he said, kicking a fresh pile of dung. He went on, “my friend trampled in middle of night here a few months ago, by young animal, he very badly damaged, tourists carry him out to river”. This was not exactly the right thing to be telling me at this time. However, he explained “should be ok here tonight, dung is fresh, they move around different caves to lick the minerals off the walls”. If the dung is old with fungus growing on it, you can bank on a nocturnal visit from a large animal with a long trunk at any moment. We could sleep easy, he said, they will not come back here for a while. Nonetheless, I planned to be ready; I would sleep with my Swiss Army knife at the ready. We ate a surprisingly tasty meal given the basic equipment, expertly cooked by DJ. Poly produced a little bottle of whisky she had smuggled in from Singapore, and we sat around a candle and talked. DJ told us that he was born here in the jungle, where he had spent his entire life. He did not want to be anywhere else, and even resented the annual trip to Kuala Lumpur to renew his guiding license. He explained that tourism had actually brought many benefits to the area, under careful management by the authorities. What a breath of fresh air, I thought. When asked what did threaten the forest, it was those same old problems that appear the world over – “loggers and poachers, usually from Thailand” he said. “The loggers can only penetrate so far, but we have caught poachers many times in the interior”. Sleep did not come to me very easily; I don’t know why I bothered to carry that foam roll-up bed, because they never work. Never have done, and for me, never will. During the early hours, we actually heard Elephants and even a Tiger, but they were some way off, amplified by the huge cave. The others had gone back to sleep, which I brought to a very abrupt end with a loud sneeze. The sudden noise was amplified many times over, bouncing off the limestone walls. I then had a fit of the giggles at the funniness of it all, which I am sure was not appreciated at that time. Bats came and went, drops of water falling from the heights sounded more like Elephant footsteps, and any number of unexplained noises ensured that, along with my very stiff neck, I did not sleep a whole lot. In my peripheral vision I caught something large and fury making for our bag of leftover food. When I moved, it scarpered. In the morning, DJ thought it had been a rat – but I have never seen a rat that large or with a bushy tail – I am sure it was a Civet Cat, quite common out here. Despite Wolfgang’s record breaking snoring, I drifted off about 4AM. |
| Next day... After breakfast, it was on with the wet boots and back to the trail for the 10km hike to our pick up. Along the way, DJ showed us many plants that are used by the Orangunasi, including the Sandalwood tree. From this, they can produce the oil that makes the popular incense. It is graded into different qualities, A to D, and they cut into the trunk to determine this. The ones that are black inside are rare grade A, and finding one of these is something like winning the lotto. The oil will sell for around RM10,000 per kg, just under three thousand USD. But what do the aborigines do with the money? “They give up hunting and sit around, until the money runs out”! Further on, we found a different species of tree with more cuts in the stem. I cannot remember the name, but these were used to produce the poison tips for their darts, used through blowpipes when hunting. After a basic lunch by a river tributary, in which we swam with lots of tame fish, we covered the final leg all the way back to the Tembeling River. The weather was again kind to us, the birds were singing for all their worth, and I was rather sad about leaving the jungle. We caught a fleeting glimpse of a Mouse Deer, and heard the wing beats of the huge Hornbill flying over the canopy. |
| It is always the case that if your expectations are low, when things work out it feels all the sweeter. That just about sums me up as I ate dinner with Wolf, Poly and DJ back at the floating restaurant. We were all tired, looking forward to our beds, but content at a genuinely interesting experience. We had been lucky in many ways, but it was DJ that really brought things together. Wolf & Poly were so impressed, they offered to get him a guiding job out in Australia – but of course, he had no intention of leaving his home. I even clubbed in with a sizeable tip, a rarity for me, assuming that he actually got to see all too little of that RM230 charge. I will remember DJ for his knowledge and enthusiasm for this wonderful part of the world, his efforts at ensuring we understood it, and his shoes. For all our high-tech gear, he wore a simple pair of rubber ‘pumps’ (haven’t heard that term for a while, have ye?), which dried quickly and cost virtually nothing. Sometimes, simple really is best. I have read plenty of bad reports on Taman Negara from other travellers. They say there is no wildlife and that the tracks are badly damaged from mass tourism. I can only imagine that they walked the free short walks around the village, where many tourists go for their “jungle experience”. Having spent most of my life working outdoors, I do not expect Elephants or anything else to hang around waiting to have their photo taken. If you appreciate that fact, and strike out a little further, I guarantee a great experience. Taman Negara is buzzing with life if you listen and look for the signs. And that was all I needed, the critters going about their business, and to be a guest in such a beautiful place. |
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| New Stuff - The Wander Years continues to evolve. Just so you know, all the small images can still be clicked on to enlarge. You will also note there is now a video clip included on this journal - simply click play to watch it. If you follow the link below, you can watch more video relative to this journal. I will soon be making a video library page, where you will be able to view vids from earlier and future parts of the trip. Any questions? Just email me.... |
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