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As I survey my battered body now, I see numerous welts from various bug bites, some (unbearably) itchier than the others, with a couple of ugly swells on my right ankle from an angry ant that gave me a big stinging bite. There are two huge bruises on my left knee, along with smaller ones along the shin and a large green one on my right thigh. Funny thing is I do not remember getting any of them. I've got a leech bite on my left wrist and another one on the right side of my waist. Somewhere along the way two splinters got stuck in my right thumb, but my dad has removed them expertly with a pin and tweezers. Right arm's a little sore from my tree-felling career, but otherwise overall I'm feeling fine.
I'm tired of going chronologically so I'll just round up the last day with random observations with random pictures. In the morning the guides told me that my tent was like a roaring zoo, because of my snoring. Before the end of my profuse apology they'd already launched another tirade laughing at Albert the Chinese guide who supposedly snored like an old motorcycle ("vrrooom vrrooom kakakakaka"). Then they turned on the radio to a Tamil channel to wake up Money (a verbatim excerpt from his long name) the lone Indian in the group haha.
The last day I became more loquacious and talked more to the Italian girls who are CSers as well, and they might come to Singapore next week so we can meet up and I can bring them out for Ladies' Night and get drunk. They've promised to host me in Italy if they're there when I go.
This trip was very interesting, especially after I have been through my co-supervisor's "Sociology of Tourism" module last semester. Because of my inability to integrate into the rest of the tourists and my ability to speak the lingo (well sorta), I was absorbed into the backstage of what they call "staged authenticity", a concept that means tourists look for "authenticity" when they travel, i.e. they want to experience the "real" culture and activities, but in actual fact they cannot, because the local hosts will invariably put up a stage of what they want the tourists to see and experience.
Equally interesting was this Pacman shaped rock that I picked up by the river.I wouldn't say I was totally in the backstage, but I was definitely let much more into the insiders' circle of jokes and gossip (sometimes about the tourists themselves), got called "Amoi" or "Nyonya" in the All-Malaysian group (of men), helped out with stuff like cooking and at the end, I sat in the cars of the trekkers instead of the tourist van, and sat at the guides' table for lunch *proud*. Then I got the number of this guy who apparently owns a durian orchard and I am to call him in July and invite myself to his dusun nyehehe.
Here's a group picture of most of us before leaving the Kamunting bus station. That's Uncle Guide (His name is Adi, I found out from Razali later) behind me giving me the chilli horns, haha wtf. He was also responsible for pouring Coke on my head in attempt (and success) to get me to bathe before I left the river. I miss him already. Razali's the standing man with the mint green t-shirt, who does not look like the mischievous monkey he is in this picture.
Wow I've written three lonnnnnnnnng posts about the trip - this has got to be the first time that I've ever managed to chronicle an entire trip, from all my past trips. I know how to do it now - I should write the entire series before releasing them, because publishing by parts just make me lazy to continue writing. The steam has to be conserved until I finish everything - and finally, here we have it. Also part of the reason I'm taking the trouble to take down my travels this time is because I anticipate a lot of writing for my research and they will take the form of journals like this. Practise dulu. Note also how I slipped in a bit of theory as well ;)
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*back to present
After coming back I have also had tea with Razali, Cikgu Halim, Fadhil and Cik once; and played volleyball with Razali and some others as well. As a result my forearms have joined the array of bruised limbs. I swear they will form a hate club against me soon.
Also - I found out something shocking! Recall the 13-year-old puffing on a cigarette that I mentioned in Part 1? He (Cik) is thirty years old! I thought he was a little too young for the hairs on his chin. I'm still overcome with embarrassment for the mistake. I sense that my embarrassment was so painful that even Razali refrained from teasing me on the subject. But seriously he looks really young. And "thirty" sounds so much like "thirteen", I maintain that it's the fault of the English language. Kononnya international language. Now "tiga puluh" and "tiga belas" is so markedly different that all miscommunication would be eliminated.
*knocks head repeatedly on nightstand*
Click for Part 1 and Part 2.
