For those who are concerned about my depression and state of hunger, I have recovered and am now in a happy blogging mood. The mood swing that is my life, and the wonders of mediocre hawker food.
Different aspects of my life have also improved for the better - for instance, I'm going home today, woohoo!! This is totally unplanned, and I'm only going home because Tan Kuan Sheng was selling his bus ticket off, so I thought what the heck and took it. So I'm going to be home for the long Raya weekend =D
Put me and Asa together in a chatroom and we'll be up to no good - we decided yesterday that we will go for a roadtrip to the east coast this weekend, and do some camping along the beach! We are going to find some random nice beach, set up my four season tent, barbecue vegetables and burn marshmallows. It's going to be great.
And with regards to homelessness, I have found two housemates to share a house, so the remaining problem is just to get a place. It is rather cool to be able to rent a whole place and not having to take any shit from existing people who live there. I'm already fantasizing about the freedom that I will be able to have. *stares dreamily into space*
Also, I had the most invigorating discussion with my supervisor yesterday. He knows where I'm coming from, what motivates me and what my research needs - and he's prepared to support me in the mad schemes that I am already starting to devise. He even encourages the mad schemes. Quote from him: "we wouldn't want that to get in the way of your travelling", and I assure you that he meant no sarcasm at all. At some point I was so overwhelmed by his coolness that I blurted out, "you're the coolest supervisor, ever!" and I meant every syllable of it.
So yeah, life has been great, and the emails this morning from Robert and a Singaporean girl that I met in the Burning Man are cherries on top. Hugs to Val whom I miss, to LL whose email I have yet to reply, and to the peeps in KL I AM REACHING TONIGHT, and to all the wonderful people I met in the States and are actually taking the trouble to read my blog - I love and miss all of you.
*hops away in hyper happy mode*
Showing posts with label camping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label camping. Show all posts
I am back
but not for long.
It's been such a crazy ten days. I am back at the Green Tortoise Hostel now but I will be moving to Micah's, one of my travel buddies on the Canyons of the West tour, for tonight. Yay to saving money on accommodation!
Tomorrow the bus for the Burning Man leaves at 10am, and to tell the truth, I am quite knackered and not really in the frame of mind to go. We just arrived back from the trip yesterday, reluctant goodbyes and all, and I'm really not in the mood to get used to a new set of travel buddies so quickly.
Let's see. What we did this past week. I'm just going to list stuff that I remember, things were happening so quickly that I find my short term memory being overwritten to make room for new stuff. This computer that I'm using does not have a memory card reader so I shall just steal pictures from all over to illustrate the scenery that I'm talking about.
It's been such a crazy ten days. I am back at the Green Tortoise Hostel now but I will be moving to Micah's, one of my travel buddies on the Canyons of the West tour, for tonight. Yay to saving money on accommodation!
Tomorrow the bus for the Burning Man leaves at 10am, and to tell the truth, I am quite knackered and not really in the frame of mind to go. We just arrived back from the trip yesterday, reluctant goodbyes and all, and I'm really not in the mood to get used to a new set of travel buddies so quickly.
Let's see. What we did this past week. I'm just going to list stuff that I remember, things were happening so quickly that I find my short term memory being overwritten to make room for new stuff. This computer that I'm using does not have a memory card reader so I shall just steal pictures from all over to illustrate the scenery that I'm talking about.
- In the span of ten days I took a grand total of two showers and swam twice in lakes. Baby wipes did wonders for the rest.
- I hiked this really steep and nerve-wracking trail at Zion National Park called the Angel's Landing (see the peak of this orange black mountain thing, photo credit to David Pettit), at the beginning of the trip, and was really proud of myself.
- I owned a horse called Harry Killer for two hours. The guide told me that his name was Killer at first, for whatever reason he had in mind, and later decided to tell me that it was Harry instead =_=. Since I had been going "Good boy, Killer, good Killer" for most of the trip, and I named him Harry Killer instead. He was gentle and patient, but fast. We galloped and I bruised my butt and thighs. It was painful but fun. This was where I went horseback riding at, at Monument Valley. Photo credits go here.
- I contemplated about the insignificance of my existence at the Gooseneck State Park, overlooking the Horseshoe Bend, right at the U-shape that you see in this following picture (photo credit). I don't know why this site had this effect on me, when Bryce National Park was much more impressive looking (see next picture, I couldn't find a good photo that would illustrate the sheer beauty of what I saw, but photo credit anyway), but I guess you can't really explain stuff like that.
- I was bathing in the hot springs while looking at a night sky full of stars.
- We were camping at Gold Bar Campsite, next to the Colorado river, and I woke up to scenery similar to this, but imagine the mountains being a terracota orange, the sky being blue, cloudless and clear, the fence being behind me and me holding a mug of hot chocolate + coffee with my feet tucked into my sleeping bag. (photo credit)
- Me and four other buddies (Polish Kasia, American Micah, Italian Michael and Spanish Vanessa) spent the night at the Bright Angel Campground, which is at the base of the Grand Canyon. We reached there past sundown, so we didn't really get to see much of the Bright Angel Campground nor the Phantom Ranch where I sent a postcard home to (the mail is delivered up by mules). What we did see were wee scorpions scuttling on the ground, a family of deer and the ringtailed cat, shown in the picture below (photo credit).
To give you an idea, the Grand Canyon is about a mile deep, i.e. 1.6km vertical distance. The guide, Lucas, said that we were doing 8 miles per vertical mile, if you understand what that means. The heat is intense when you hike down the Grand Canyon, and mostly rangers advise people not to hike between 10am and 3pm, because that is when the sun is the deadliest. The day when we were hiking up, the max temperature was at 105F (i.e. 40.5 deg C). Thing is, early in the morning, the temperature drops to about 16C, and because we didn't bring anything down besides sleeping pads, we ended up huddling together because of the cold.
The interesting thing about hiking the Grand Canyon is that the first half is going down, not up. So you do one vertical mile down, feeling proud of your accomplishment of being at the base of the Grand Canyon, and the second day you are faced with the spirit-breaking prospect of having to hike up, the way you came down, one vertical mile. In total I think we accomplished around 20 miles (plus side trails) in two days, half of it being downhill and half of it being up. When me and Kasia made it to the top, we were so happy that we were just hugging each other with huge smiles on our faces! - Right after the Grand Canyon, our last night was spent at Las Vegas. It was the most mindfucking thing ever. To build things up a little bit we had alcohol in the bus, so when we got off the bus I was slightly tipsy and laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of everything that was in Las Vegas, such as Disney castles and Egyptian buildings and pimps handing out calling cards on the streets, but then the novelty wore out and the heat set in, Vegas being in the middle of the desert and all, and I started to be really glum.
It's a little like eating a really great meal with a wonderful aftertaste, and suddenly someone forces coriander into your mouth and ruins the whole moment. I mean, after about 9 days of nature and breathtaking views of nature's works of art, you get doused with a ridiculously concentrated dose of city. It's not one city. It's one city that has the Eiffel Tower, a pyramid, Statue of Liberty, a replica of Venice by day in the Venetian... and so on and so forth... all rolled into one. God that was dispiriting. I wish we didn't have to end the trip that way.
Yes, it is I, the misplacer of debit cards!
Aha, didn't expect to see this post did you? I am such a bag of surprises.
My bus does not leave till 7pm, and in the meanwhile I have rode on a cable car, checked out the Musee Mechanique, laughed at people who got scared by the Bush Man, got waylaid by a gay marriage rights canvasser (which was where I couldn't find my debit visa card and luckily it was in my bag) and walked through Chinatown. All in all, not a bad day. Except when I was tracking down the percussion of a lion dance in Chinatown, and it turned out to be a soundtrack. Lion dance soundtracks? Who does that to people??
So I'm just waiting around the hostel until it is time to leave. I am a teeny bit apprehensive, like I always am before the unknown, but in no time at all I'm sure I'll adapt and grow to like the people that I'll be travelling with at close proximity. A busload of people with stinky feet is the only thing I can think of now though. I say that because I'm pretty sure my feet stink after the long walk in my hiking shoes just now. San Francisco is pretty warm today.
"Just remember, not all who wander are lost," says a quaint little pendant that I passed by today. I find that quite energizing. Next time when someone tells me to quit my PhD, instead of saying "well fuck you" under my breath I shall say this in a sagely manner instead. Makes me sound philosophical and if you look between the lines it doesn't say anything about me not being lost at all, so I wouldn't be lying.
I'm sure at this point you would've discovered that I'm just rambling here. Please keep me company until my time is up, or when I muster enough of momentum to actually go pee instead of just pondering about it. (Should I go pee? Maybe I can hold it out longer. What about now? It's just been three seconds you ninny. I'll tell you when we're there.)
Oh also I have this instant tomyam rice thing that I bought some days ago, being absolutely sure that I would need it at some point - and I haven't eaten it till now. It has become somewhat of a liability to my luggage space. I need to eat it before I leave the hostel. Luggage space is at an absolute premium here. Right now I have three bags - a backpack that holds all my worldly belongings, a sling bag that holds my essentials (like my passport and the gold coin Peter gave me this morning before I left) and a bag that holds my tent and my sleeping bag.
I feel like a snail.
Do snails pee? Anyway I have to, so I shall close this post. Goodbye for real for at least 10 days. Be good and eat your vegetables!
My bus does not leave till 7pm, and in the meanwhile I have rode on a cable car, checked out the Musee Mechanique, laughed at people who got scared by the Bush Man, got waylaid by a gay marriage rights canvasser (which was where I couldn't find my debit visa card and luckily it was in my bag) and walked through Chinatown. All in all, not a bad day. Except when I was tracking down the percussion of a lion dance in Chinatown, and it turned out to be a soundtrack. Lion dance soundtracks? Who does that to people??
So I'm just waiting around the hostel until it is time to leave. I am a teeny bit apprehensive, like I always am before the unknown, but in no time at all I'm sure I'll adapt and grow to like the people that I'll be travelling with at close proximity. A busload of people with stinky feet is the only thing I can think of now though. I say that because I'm pretty sure my feet stink after the long walk in my hiking shoes just now. San Francisco is pretty warm today.
"Just remember, not all who wander are lost," says a quaint little pendant that I passed by today. I find that quite energizing. Next time when someone tells me to quit my PhD, instead of saying "well fuck you" under my breath I shall say this in a sagely manner instead. Makes me sound philosophical and if you look between the lines it doesn't say anything about me not being lost at all, so I wouldn't be lying.
I'm sure at this point you would've discovered that I'm just rambling here. Please keep me company until my time is up, or when I muster enough of momentum to actually go pee instead of just pondering about it. (Should I go pee? Maybe I can hold it out longer. What about now? It's just been three seconds you ninny. I'll tell you when we're there.)
Oh also I have this instant tomyam rice thing that I bought some days ago, being absolutely sure that I would need it at some point - and I haven't eaten it till now. It has become somewhat of a liability to my luggage space. I need to eat it before I leave the hostel. Luggage space is at an absolute premium here. Right now I have three bags - a backpack that holds all my worldly belongings, a sling bag that holds my essentials (like my passport and the gold coin Peter gave me this morning before I left) and a bag that holds my tent and my sleeping bag.
I feel like a snail.
Do snails pee? Anyway I have to, so I shall close this post. Goodbye for real for at least 10 days. Be good and eat your vegetables!
Meltdown sikit
OK We're finally in July. I'm finally in the battle zone that I've been looking at afar from June, speculating about the craziness but never actually registering that with every passing day, the dates come closer. I am at the point where I finally see, that I am going to be the person carrying out my haphazardly engineered back-to-back schedule for the following three months - and it is not going to be pretty.
Right now you're looking at a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming truck named Self-Inflicted Stress.
There's so many thoughts in my head, all not related to each other, some research, some travel, some homelessness, a fair bit of homelessness actually, and all the hell that is spawned from these sources. OK to put it in perspective:
July
7/7
Leave Singapore for KL after putting my whole room into boxes. Which is something that I should do from right now.
8/7 - 11/7
In KL. Running errands (India visa, ISIC card, shopping for formal wear, somehow fix my hair), multiple gatherings (Asa, LL, XiaoCi, my NZ Aunt).
12/7
Return to Singapore with my World's Greatest Parents and move everything to Jia Ling's place.
13/7 - 17/7
Some graduate forum. Whole-day affairs. I'm presenting a paper. Which means that I need to prepare for my paper as well.
17/7 - 25/7
India. Haven't got CSers for Bangalore yet. I am nervous. Also I think India's going to be really intense, and at this point it looks intimidating. Thanks to my mum who was collecting horror stories in attempt to dissuade me from going. We'll be covering Bangalore, Mysore, Chennai and Pondicherry.
27/7 - 31/7
Some course for graduate students. Also whole-day affairs. Right after India. Have to adjust my mind straight after I come back.
August
1/8 - 3/8
Prep for US
4/8
Flight to Boston. Reach Boston at 10:30pm.
5/8 - 8/8
Conference. Presenting paper on the 6th. Need to prepare some kind of poster session. Have no idea how it's going to be like.
9/8 - 13/8
Bus to New York from Boston. Bunk at Kingston's, meet up with XC and Jian Hui. Probably the only relaxed part of my trip to the US.
13/8 - 20/8
Research week at San Francisco where I try to talk to people. I haven't planned it yet. My theoretical framework, my interview questions, my EVERYTHING. Kill me now please.
21/8 - 30/8
Camping Part 1 - Going with the Green Tortoise for its Canyons of the West trip, covering Las Vegas, Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon NP, Arches NP, Monument Valley, Lake Powell, Grand Canyon NP.
September
1/9 - 7/9
Camping Part 2 - Burning Man. Also going with Green Tortoise. Intense desert camping, but at least I'll have someone to take care of my food and water and transport. Highlight of my trip. And I am still bloody scared.
9/9
Arrive in Singapore. Back. Finally. Start to look for a new room. Move house from Jia Ling's, as soon as possible. This will take me at least 2 weeks. At least. But can't mooch off Jia Ling's hospitality too much.
OK Siao onot. Two months, four countries. (And check all that KL-Singapore-India-Singapore action.) The panic has kicked in, and according to past experience, action will kick in soon after, but I'm at that paralyzed stage where I need extra push from panic to get away from the inertia, and then the two months will fly by. The details of the plans still have to be executed, and I have to come up with some extensive to-do list, extensive packing list, extensive people-to-bother list.
I like lists. I now have a list of lists. This should be heaven for me. AAAARrrrggggh the truck's gonna hit me!!!!
Adrenaline rush, danger danger danger. Then after moving have to get my confirmation report ready, as my goal is to complete it by the end of this year. October, November, December. 2009 will then be gone, we'll be one decade into the 2000's, and climate change effects are going to happen even more frequently, and we're all going to die!!!!!!!
Shhhhh. Everything's going to be ok. Shhhhhh.
Right now you're looking at a deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming truck named Self-Inflicted Stress.
There's so many thoughts in my head, all not related to each other, some research, some travel, some homelessness, a fair bit of homelessness actually, and all the hell that is spawned from these sources. OK to put it in perspective:
July
7/7
Leave Singapore for KL after putting my whole room into boxes. Which is something that I should do from right now.
8/7 - 11/7
In KL. Running errands (India visa, ISIC card, shopping for formal wear, somehow fix my hair), multiple gatherings (Asa, LL, XiaoCi, my NZ Aunt).
12/7
Return to Singapore with my World's Greatest Parents and move everything to Jia Ling's place.
13/7 - 17/7
Some graduate forum. Whole-day affairs. I'm presenting a paper. Which means that I need to prepare for my paper as well.
17/7 - 25/7
India. Haven't got CSers for Bangalore yet. I am nervous. Also I think India's going to be really intense, and at this point it looks intimidating. Thanks to my mum who was collecting horror stories in attempt to dissuade me from going. We'll be covering Bangalore, Mysore, Chennai and Pondicherry.
27/7 - 31/7
Some course for graduate students. Also whole-day affairs. Right after India. Have to adjust my mind straight after I come back.
August
1/8 - 3/8
Prep for US
4/8
Flight to Boston. Reach Boston at 10:30pm.
5/8 - 8/8
Conference. Presenting paper on the 6th. Need to prepare some kind of poster session. Have no idea how it's going to be like.
9/8 - 13/8
Bus to New York from Boston. Bunk at Kingston's, meet up with XC and Jian Hui. Probably the only relaxed part of my trip to the US.
13/8 - 20/8
Research week at San Francisco where I try to talk to people. I haven't planned it yet. My theoretical framework, my interview questions, my EVERYTHING. Kill me now please.
21/8 - 30/8
Camping Part 1 - Going with the Green Tortoise for its Canyons of the West trip, covering Las Vegas, Zion National Park, Bryce Canyon NP, Arches NP, Monument Valley, Lake Powell, Grand Canyon NP.
September
1/9 - 7/9
Camping Part 2 - Burning Man. Also going with Green Tortoise. Intense desert camping, but at least I'll have someone to take care of my food and water and transport. Highlight of my trip. And I am still bloody scared.
9/9
Arrive in Singapore. Back. Finally. Start to look for a new room. Move house from Jia Ling's, as soon as possible. This will take me at least 2 weeks. At least. But can't mooch off Jia Ling's hospitality too much.
OK Siao onot. Two months, four countries. (And check all that KL-Singapore-India-Singapore action.) The panic has kicked in, and according to past experience, action will kick in soon after, but I'm at that paralyzed stage where I need extra push from panic to get away from the inertia, and then the two months will fly by. The details of the plans still have to be executed, and I have to come up with some extensive to-do list, extensive packing list, extensive people-to-bother list.
I like lists. I now have a list of lists. This should be heaven for me. AAAARrrrggggh the truck's gonna hit me!!!!
Adrenaline rush, danger danger danger. Then after moving have to get my confirmation report ready, as my goal is to complete it by the end of this year. October, November, December. 2009 will then be gone, we'll be one decade into the 2000's, and climate change effects are going to happen even more frequently, and we're all going to die!!!!!!!
Shhhhh. Everything's going to be ok. Shhhhhh.
I am surrounded by wise (and crazy) people.
Sometimes I get too wrapped up, too lost in my little world, too engrossed in the mess of things. These are the times when I pull my hair, with the tangled web of pros and cons in my perplexed face. The mix and match of solutions, weighing the probability of me dying a slow and thirsty (but frugal) death.... the usual stuff.
Then I seek out LL and Asa because they are my mind-clones, minus the clutter, and they are able to tell me what I want. You want to go to the Burning Man, says LL. I go, really? You think so? Everyone else thinks it's a crazy idea! Follow your heart, she says. Thus a light shines through the dark clouds and I realize that it is the only thing that will make me happy - a week-long camping trip in a desert in Nevada, in a temporary city constructed by 50,000 people (of questionable sanity).
Then I realize that logistically, it is quite impossible for me to just buy a ticket and show up there. For one, I have never pitched a tent, in my life. I have yet to buy a tent, actually. Secondly, I don't think 35 litres of water will fall from the sky, unless it's one helluva climate change that we're talking about, and I have no feasible means to transport food and water (5l per day) into the desert. Unless I enrol myself into a tour group, and they will take care of food, water and transport. And presumably help me with my tent. Which will take USD520 out of my Miniscule Student Budget (MSB), sans tent expenses.
I sink into deep and dark depression again.
Thus I knock on Asa's MSN door. Asaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, I go. Yo! she answers. Tell me to spend USD520 on the desert trip! I implore her. After running through some details, with me pulling anguished faces at my laptop, she calmly asks me, In your lifetime, how often will you get to camp in the desert for a week? I reflect for a second and decide, not often i guess. Then she says, how many USD350 (difference between taking a tour and not taking a tour) can you earn in your lifetime?"
I am struck by a bolt of simple logic and wonder how much permanent damage the PhD has done to my head. Damn you, institutions of higher learning!
So after sending an email to the tour agency, I cross my fingers that they still have availability, and regain my peace of mind, somewhat. A call from my mum comes in. We talk about mundane stuff (swine flu and random mother-daughter gossip) and I bring up my decision to take a tour to the desert. A little pensively. I agree fully with Xin Fu (she calls Asa that)! She goes. This is a good chance for you! Don't worry about the money, just go!
Sometimes I do think my mum is the coolest mum on earth.
Also, that I am surrounded by wise (and crazy) people.
---
Another random snippet of conversation
ling says:
ahahha like popeye
ahaha
the sailor man
pi pi!!
*Jun-E says:
ei is pi pi meh
not pu pu?
ling says:
ahaha
i thought is pi pi mar
*Jun-E says:
ahaahahahahha
ling says:
ahaha is pu pu arr~~??
ahaha paiseh paiseh
*Jun-E says:
our conversation damn funny lah hahahaha
i have to blog about this
---
Was it "pi pi" or "pu pu"?
Then I seek out LL and Asa because they are my mind-clones, minus the clutter, and they are able to tell me what I want. You want to go to the Burning Man, says LL. I go, really? You think so? Everyone else thinks it's a crazy idea! Follow your heart, she says. Thus a light shines through the dark clouds and I realize that it is the only thing that will make me happy - a week-long camping trip in a desert in Nevada, in a temporary city constructed by 50,000 people (of questionable sanity).
Then I realize that logistically, it is quite impossible for me to just buy a ticket and show up there. For one, I have never pitched a tent, in my life. I have yet to buy a tent, actually. Secondly, I don't think 35 litres of water will fall from the sky, unless it's one helluva climate change that we're talking about, and I have no feasible means to transport food and water (5l per day) into the desert. Unless I enrol myself into a tour group, and they will take care of food, water and transport. And presumably help me with my tent. Which will take USD520 out of my Miniscule Student Budget (MSB), sans tent expenses.
I sink into deep and dark depression again.
Thus I knock on Asa's MSN door. Asaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, I go. Yo! she answers. Tell me to spend USD520 on the desert trip! I implore her. After running through some details, with me pulling anguished faces at my laptop, she calmly asks me, In your lifetime, how often will you get to camp in the desert for a week? I reflect for a second and decide, not often i guess. Then she says, how many USD350 (difference between taking a tour and not taking a tour) can you earn in your lifetime?"
I am struck by a bolt of simple logic and wonder how much permanent damage the PhD has done to my head. Damn you, institutions of higher learning!
So after sending an email to the tour agency, I cross my fingers that they still have availability, and regain my peace of mind, somewhat. A call from my mum comes in. We talk about mundane stuff (swine flu and random mother-daughter gossip) and I bring up my decision to take a tour to the desert. A little pensively. I agree fully with Xin Fu (she calls Asa that)! She goes. This is a good chance for you! Don't worry about the money, just go!
Sometimes I do think my mum is the coolest mum on earth.
Also, that I am surrounded by wise (and crazy) people.
---
Another random snippet of conversation
ling says:
ahahha like popeye
ahaha
the sailor man
pi pi!!
*Jun-E says:
ei is pi pi meh
not pu pu?
ling says:
ahaha
i thought is pi pi mar
*Jun-E says:
ahaahahahahha
ling says:
ahaha is pu pu arr~~??
ahaha paiseh paiseh
*Jun-E says:
our conversation damn funny lah hahahaha
i have to blog about this
---
Was it "pi pi" or "pu pu"?
Camping at Ulu Terong #3
*this was written about a week ago. I realized that if I didn't post it now I'd never post it, which would result in a hanging travel post even though I had completed the three-part series! So post it I will. This post involves some rewrite though, because I pulled some pictures out to pad up Part 2 - effectively digging one hole to fill up another. Anyway, here goes.
---
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 ;)
---
*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.
---
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 ;)
---
*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.
Camping at Ulu Terong #2
Taking into account reader feedback (DRY DRY DRY - by anon) I shall slot in some photos. I actually didn't take many pictures, and most of them are pretty half-hearted, so just bear with me.
Morning
What I saw when I first opened my eyes
I woke up at 7am, three hours later. It was already light, and the jungle was awake with activity, marked by a certain noisy something screeching on my left. "Stupid white-handed gibbons!" I murmured, from a flash of memory of the description of the trip in the CS KL forum.
I lay in my sleeping bag, undecided of what to do. The Italians were still asleep, but the guides were up and I could hear their conversation punctuated by chuckles and rustling of equipment. I could continue to lie there pretending to be asleep or get up and be collectively ignored by another bunch of people. With a sigh, I chose to get up, since I didn't pay RM300 to pretend to sleep in the jungle. (Neither did I to be collectively ignored by a bunch of people, come to think about it.)
Grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste, I made my way to the stream one minute away, smiling at the guides and "selamat pagi-ing" as I passed them by. With the toothbrush stuck in my mouth, I followed Fadhil to a better part of the stream and brushed my teeth there as I watched the clear river water flow downstream where the fishes did their circles. The morning was looking up already.
Upon return to the campsite, Razali hailed to me and planted me in the guides' tent. "Bagi Jun kerja lah (give her work)," he said to Pak Man who was stirring the pot of Milo boiling on a camper gas. I was assigned a papaya and a knife and the task to peel it. Around me sat a wild assortment of men, including two bankers, an Art teacher in a secondary school, an ex-police warden, a couple of ex-Special Forces, two IT guys, a 13-year old puffing away on a cigarette and some guides. Most were just trekking kakis and not guiding.
Of course I didn't know all that when I was shyly sitting there, clumsily shaving too much flesh off the papaya, just soaking in the conversation around me. I also didn't know that the papaya was a prank, and after a laborious ten minutes which saw only half the papaya peeled, someone took over and coolly split the papaya into six pieces without peeling the skin off the remaining half. Pwned.
The Canadians and the Italians woke up eventually and crowded around for breakfast, i.e. kaya with bread, Milo and papaya. After that, we set off, with parangs attached in a purposeful fashion to our belts (or in my case, a vine that was tied around my waist) towards the direction of Upper Trong Falls.
To the Waterfall, Pelanduk and Leeches
I was in the first group, walking after Uncle Guide, whom I attempted to talk to while trekking. He was a man of few words, and I didn't get much out of him at first. I'm really sorry I didn't get his name though, because after I got past his cool and reserved exterior, he was one of the guys who really took care of me during the trip.
"Tengok tu (look at that)!" He stopped in his tracks and beckoned to me.
"Apa? Apa? (what? what?)"
"Pelanduk (a mousedeer)!" He pointed with the tip of his parang.
I squinted through my misted glasses and stared beyond the tip of his parang. "Mana? Mana? (where? where?)"
"Tu (that)!"
I squinted some more and saw a flash of movement. "Ah!"
Later he told some others that I saw a pelanduk and I was very "ong" (lucky). I didn't have the heart to tell him I only saw the rustling of the leaves as the pelanduk fled, no doubt scared away by my vigorous squinting.
The trek to the waterfall was not too difficult (or maybe I've grown in fitness - who knows) and marred by only the pesky little bloodsuckers. There are two types of leeches in this jungle. One is small, brown and stealthy; and the other type is bigger, greenish with stripes (giving them their name "tiger leech") and their bites hurt. Previously irked by the tiny brown ones found in FRIM, I found the tiger leeches overwhelmingly scary, especially when they move up your pants.
To describe how they move - there are suckers on both ends of the leech's body. One end has teeth, the other does not. How it moves is it stretches the front sucker (with teeth) to its body length, sticks it on the surface, and then moves the back sucker beside the front sucker (folding its body), and the front sucker goes again. I haven't found the word to use for leeches moving yet. But you get the idea.
Tiger leech that hitchhiked in my pocket for godknowshowlong sticking on my hand phone
Along the jungle floors you'll see leeches moving in this alien fashion, and when it finds a good position it will stick one sucker on the surface and the other sucker will be waving around the air, hoping to latch onto the human or wild boar or any other animal lumbering by. They are remarkably quick. On the way to the waterfall I had to pluck off a number, and it is indescribably gross to have to do this with your bare fingers on a squirming, slimy bloodsucker, which would invariably clam onto your thumb, after which I would inevitably squeal and thrash my wrist up and down to get rid of it.
Banker Lee, who had cut my position as the second in line, would object to my violent thrashing because he said that the flung leech might land on him. In order to dispose of a leech, you're supposed to roll it with your thumb and index finger so it is unable to bite on you, then you throw it away. I know this in theory. In practice, it would take all of the three days for me to learn the trick. On the last day as I was walking down from the camping spot chatting with Uncle Guide, I was notified of a leech climbing up my thigh. I plucked it off, rolled it for two seconds and flicked it nonchalantly into the bushes, all with my left hand (I had got two splinters on my right thumb hence it was unfit for any leech-rolling activity). Talk about personal growth.
At the Waterfall
In the meanwhile though, the leeches were coming on fast and thick. Banker Lee had plucked 62 leeches off himself before he lost count when we reached the waterfall. When I took off my hiking shoes at the waterfall, to my utmost horror, there was a host of four or five leeches stuck at the sole of my right sock, seemingly united to chew a hole and get to me. AAarrrrrggghh I rolled the sock off me in record speed, and ended up with an overturned sock full of leeches. And then utilized my limited stock of femininity to get Banker Lee to de-leech the sock for me.
Obligatory waterfall picture
When the others had tired of the waterfall I slid down the natural rock slide three times into the pool and laughed at the two bankers' confinement to the baby pool area. Being the noob in the group I had to fully utilize any opportunity to laugh in the expense of others because they didn't come easy. Hahahaha so big already also don't know how to swim hahahaha.
After that I sat with the guides and other trekkers and cooked instant beehoon with them. Albert, another Chinese guide, made chopsticks out of young bamboo shoots. Cikgu Halim the art teacher, myself and the 13-year old Kid opened up packets of Thai-brand beehoon and dumped them into the boiling pot of water. Razali amused himself by popping by and casually slipping a leech or two into the soup as I stirred it. I made sure my batch of beehoon was leech-free. And this is why you should always help in the kitchen.
By the waterfall I got my first leech bite on my wrist. As I type this I am also suppressing the mad urge to scratch it. Bloody leeches. The lazy afternoon flew by as I sat around chatting idly with the guys, and soaking my feet in the cool running water. When we were about to leave, we felled two palm trees (didn't get the name) for ingredients of the soup we were going to cook for the night. That was the only time that I used the parang, to help fell the tree, and although I had an ungodly fear that the parang would slip, be flung backwards and chop off someone's limb and boomerang back into my face, I think I did pretty well at chopping the tree. 45 degrees. Brute force. Hell yeah.
Cooking Lemang and Campfire Fun
Lemang is not difficult to cook, but it takes hell lot of patience. You fill the bamboo shoots - lemang - (bought from some kedai) three quarters full with glutinous rice, then fill it up with coconut milk. A makeshift rack is built from tree branches, on which the filled lemang lean, near a blazing fire. Then you periodically turn the lemang judging from the burnt extent of the exterior. I didn't quite keep track of the time used, but it must have been at least two hours and more.
Halfway through it started pouring, so a makeshift tent had to be built over the fire. Now adopted by the guides' side, I stood by the fire and made easy conversation with them, along with the Italian girls, while the Canadians huddled miserably in the cold, leaking guides' tent. Tracking mud all over the tent, I tutted along with the guides. Tsk tsk.
It was apparent that the camaraderie among the guides and trekking kakis were built on years of good-natured teasing. Everybody had something, anything, that could be poked fun at. With my half-past six command of the Malay language I understood about half of the jokes, but that was enough to keep me in constant chortles of mirth. For instance, when I mentioned that I stay near Sri Sinar, Razali told me in a deadpan face to never mention "sinar" in Pak Man's face. "Dia sensitif," he said. The second morning he beckoned to me mysteriously, I assumed, to show me some spectacular natural phenomenon. There stood Pak Man, beanie off, with his head gleaming merrily under a ray of sunlight that bounced off the shiny bald surface. I laughed till my sides hurt.
My guilelessness and general ignorance also made me the butt of many jokes (such as not recognizing that Iran was not beside Bolivia; and not comprehending what Mat Telanjang meant - 'Naked Mat'), and when I finally spilt that I was doing my PhD, my Permanent Head Damage gave me my defining bull's eye. I didn't mind though. If anything, I was glad that they liked me enough to kacau me.
The lemang cooked, everybody crowded around to eat it with the chicken dry curry and the soup made out of the palm tree amidst the subsiding rain. It was good. After dinner, the Canadians and Italians retired to their campsite respectively, and the Malaysians went to bathe in the river. I was contented to continue stinking in my clothes and stayed by the riverside and poked the campfire.
Watched as a tiger head in the fire spurted flames from its roaring mouth. Stirred up the embers among the ashes and observed their glowing edges. Attempted to spread the fire to other unlit parts of the firewood. It had been a long time since I've been so at peace, thinking of nothing at all. Lately even the KTM commutes from KL to Singapore have started to become infested with worries and work-related stress, and I was contented to toast my face, play with the fire and think of nothing more important than balancing the peanut shells on my wooden staff and sending them into the furnace. To their fiery deaths.
While deep in thought of nothingness and fiery kacang deaths, I was interrupted by one of the guides spreading his wet socks to dry by the fire, who pointed behind me. I turned and found myself face to face with a red checkered object with two eyes and two chunky arms spread out in an imposing and menacing manner.
"Wooo!" Red Checkered Object went.
"What the?" I exclaimed, and burst into peals of unstoppable laughter. Simply priceless. A full-grown man with a sarong over his head, pretending to be a scary ghost. Tak tahanlah hahahaha Razali the joker. Managed to wreck my zen-like mental state just like that. With that, my night ended on a cheery note, went to bed around 10pm. Also snored like an entire zoo, as I was teased mercilessly the second morning, but that's for the next post.
Previous post here. Next post there.
Morning
What I saw when I first opened my eyesI woke up at 7am, three hours later. It was already light, and the jungle was awake with activity, marked by a certain noisy something screeching on my left. "Stupid white-handed gibbons!" I murmured, from a flash of memory of the description of the trip in the CS KL forum.
I lay in my sleeping bag, undecided of what to do. The Italians were still asleep, but the guides were up and I could hear their conversation punctuated by chuckles and rustling of equipment. I could continue to lie there pretending to be asleep or get up and be collectively ignored by another bunch of people. With a sigh, I chose to get up, since I didn't pay RM300 to pretend to sleep in the jungle. (Neither did I to be collectively ignored by a bunch of people, come to think about it.)
Grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste, I made my way to the stream one minute away, smiling at the guides and "selamat pagi-ing" as I passed them by. With the toothbrush stuck in my mouth, I followed Fadhil to a better part of the stream and brushed my teeth there as I watched the clear river water flow downstream where the fishes did their circles. The morning was looking up already.
Upon return to the campsite, Razali hailed to me and planted me in the guides' tent. "Bagi Jun kerja lah (give her work)," he said to Pak Man who was stirring the pot of Milo boiling on a camper gas. I was assigned a papaya and a knife and the task to peel it. Around me sat a wild assortment of men, including two bankers, an Art teacher in a secondary school, an ex-police warden, a couple of ex-Special Forces, two IT guys, a 13-year old puffing away on a cigarette and some guides. Most were just trekking kakis and not guiding.
Of course I didn't know all that when I was shyly sitting there, clumsily shaving too much flesh off the papaya, just soaking in the conversation around me. I also didn't know that the papaya was a prank, and after a laborious ten minutes which saw only half the papaya peeled, someone took over and coolly split the papaya into six pieces without peeling the skin off the remaining half. Pwned.
The Canadians and the Italians woke up eventually and crowded around for breakfast, i.e. kaya with bread, Milo and papaya. After that, we set off, with parangs attached in a purposeful fashion to our belts (or in my case, a vine that was tied around my waist) towards the direction of Upper Trong Falls.
To the Waterfall, Pelanduk and Leeches
I was in the first group, walking after Uncle Guide, whom I attempted to talk to while trekking. He was a man of few words, and I didn't get much out of him at first. I'm really sorry I didn't get his name though, because after I got past his cool and reserved exterior, he was one of the guys who really took care of me during the trip.
"Tengok tu (look at that)!" He stopped in his tracks and beckoned to me.
"Apa? Apa? (what? what?)"
"Pelanduk (a mousedeer)!" He pointed with the tip of his parang.
I squinted through my misted glasses and stared beyond the tip of his parang. "Mana? Mana? (where? where?)"
"Tu (that)!"
I squinted some more and saw a flash of movement. "Ah!"
Later he told some others that I saw a pelanduk and I was very "ong" (lucky). I didn't have the heart to tell him I only saw the rustling of the leaves as the pelanduk fled, no doubt scared away by my vigorous squinting.
The trek to the waterfall was not too difficult (or maybe I've grown in fitness - who knows) and marred by only the pesky little bloodsuckers. There are two types of leeches in this jungle. One is small, brown and stealthy; and the other type is bigger, greenish with stripes (giving them their name "tiger leech") and their bites hurt. Previously irked by the tiny brown ones found in FRIM, I found the tiger leeches overwhelmingly scary, especially when they move up your pants.
To describe how they move - there are suckers on both ends of the leech's body. One end has teeth, the other does not. How it moves is it stretches the front sucker (with teeth) to its body length, sticks it on the surface, and then moves the back sucker beside the front sucker (folding its body), and the front sucker goes again. I haven't found the word to use for leeches moving yet. But you get the idea.
Tiger leech that hitchhiked in my pocket for godknowshowlong sticking on my hand phoneBanker Lee, who had cut my position as the second in line, would object to my violent thrashing because he said that the flung leech might land on him. In order to dispose of a leech, you're supposed to roll it with your thumb and index finger so it is unable to bite on you, then you throw it away. I know this in theory. In practice, it would take all of the three days for me to learn the trick. On the last day as I was walking down from the camping spot chatting with Uncle Guide, I was notified of a leech climbing up my thigh. I plucked it off, rolled it for two seconds and flicked it nonchalantly into the bushes, all with my left hand (I had got two splinters on my right thumb hence it was unfit for any leech-rolling activity). Talk about personal growth.
At the Waterfall
In the meanwhile though, the leeches were coming on fast and thick. Banker Lee had plucked 62 leeches off himself before he lost count when we reached the waterfall. When I took off my hiking shoes at the waterfall, to my utmost horror, there was a host of four or five leeches stuck at the sole of my right sock, seemingly united to chew a hole and get to me. AAarrrrrggghh I rolled the sock off me in record speed, and ended up with an overturned sock full of leeches. And then utilized my limited stock of femininity to get Banker Lee to de-leech the sock for me.
Obligatory waterfall pictureWhen the others had tired of the waterfall I slid down the natural rock slide three times into the pool and laughed at the two bankers' confinement to the baby pool area. Being the noob in the group I had to fully utilize any opportunity to laugh in the expense of others because they didn't come easy. Hahahaha so big already also don't know how to swim hahahaha.
After that I sat with the guides and other trekkers and cooked instant beehoon with them. Albert, another Chinese guide, made chopsticks out of young bamboo shoots. Cikgu Halim the art teacher, myself and the 13-year old Kid opened up packets of Thai-brand beehoon and dumped them into the boiling pot of water. Razali amused himself by popping by and casually slipping a leech or two into the soup as I stirred it. I made sure my batch of beehoon was leech-free. And this is why you should always help in the kitchen.
By the waterfall I got my first leech bite on my wrist. As I type this I am also suppressing the mad urge to scratch it. Bloody leeches. The lazy afternoon flew by as I sat around chatting idly with the guys, and soaking my feet in the cool running water. When we were about to leave, we felled two palm trees (didn't get the name) for ingredients of the soup we were going to cook for the night. That was the only time that I used the parang, to help fell the tree, and although I had an ungodly fear that the parang would slip, be flung backwards and chop off someone's limb and boomerang back into my face, I think I did pretty well at chopping the tree. 45 degrees. Brute force. Hell yeah.
[i took a video of the tree-felling but it's 50mb so you'll have to imagine it]
Then we trekked back to the campsite to gather firewood for cooking lemang (bamboo rice). In the evening, the two bankers left along with two Canadians who were too terrorized by the jungle the previous night and had to leave.Cooking Lemang and Campfire Fun
Lemang is not difficult to cook, but it takes hell lot of patience. You fill the bamboo shoots - lemang - (bought from some kedai) three quarters full with glutinous rice, then fill it up with coconut milk. A makeshift rack is built from tree branches, on which the filled lemang lean, near a blazing fire. Then you periodically turn the lemang judging from the burnt extent of the exterior. I didn't quite keep track of the time used, but it must have been at least two hours and more.
Halfway through it started pouring, so a makeshift tent had to be built over the fire. Now adopted by the guides' side, I stood by the fire and made easy conversation with them, along with the Italian girls, while the Canadians huddled miserably in the cold, leaking guides' tent. Tracking mud all over the tent, I tutted along with the guides. Tsk tsk.
It was apparent that the camaraderie among the guides and trekking kakis were built on years of good-natured teasing. Everybody had something, anything, that could be poked fun at. With my half-past six command of the Malay language I understood about half of the jokes, but that was enough to keep me in constant chortles of mirth. For instance, when I mentioned that I stay near Sri Sinar, Razali told me in a deadpan face to never mention "sinar" in Pak Man's face. "Dia sensitif," he said. The second morning he beckoned to me mysteriously, I assumed, to show me some spectacular natural phenomenon. There stood Pak Man, beanie off, with his head gleaming merrily under a ray of sunlight that bounced off the shiny bald surface. I laughed till my sides hurt.
My guilelessness and general ignorance also made me the butt of many jokes (such as not recognizing that Iran was not beside Bolivia; and not comprehending what Mat Telanjang meant - 'Naked Mat'), and when I finally spilt that I was doing my PhD, my Permanent Head Damage gave me my defining bull's eye. I didn't mind though. If anything, I was glad that they liked me enough to kacau me.
The lemang cooked, everybody crowded around to eat it with the chicken dry curry and the soup made out of the palm tree amidst the subsiding rain. It was good. After dinner, the Canadians and Italians retired to their campsite respectively, and the Malaysians went to bathe in the river. I was contented to continue stinking in my clothes and stayed by the riverside and poked the campfire.
Watched as a tiger head in the fire spurted flames from its roaring mouth. Stirred up the embers among the ashes and observed their glowing edges. Attempted to spread the fire to other unlit parts of the firewood. It had been a long time since I've been so at peace, thinking of nothing at all. Lately even the KTM commutes from KL to Singapore have started to become infested with worries and work-related stress, and I was contented to toast my face, play with the fire and think of nothing more important than balancing the peanut shells on my wooden staff and sending them into the furnace. To their fiery deaths.
While deep in thought of nothingness and fiery kacang deaths, I was interrupted by one of the guides spreading his wet socks to dry by the fire, who pointed behind me. I turned and found myself face to face with a red checkered object with two eyes and two chunky arms spread out in an imposing and menacing manner.
"Wooo!" Red Checkered Object went.
"What the?" I exclaimed, and burst into peals of unstoppable laughter. Simply priceless. A full-grown man with a sarong over his head, pretending to be a scary ghost. Tak tahanlah hahahaha Razali the joker. Managed to wreck my zen-like mental state just like that. With that, my night ended on a cheery note, went to bed around 10pm. Also snored like an entire zoo, as I was teased mercilessly the second morning, but that's for the next post.
Previous post here. Next post there.
Camping at Ulu Terong #1
I'm back from the camping trip, in one piece with battle scars and sore spots all over, so I shall put up a some blog posts to do some subliminal bragging about my hardiness and mad survival skills. To keep myself from doing hanging travel posts, like many times in the past, I've actually written all the three posts on Camping at Ulu Terong, and will release them one by one because all of them are pretty long, and will probably be really boring if you read them all at one go.
The Decision
I suppose I should start with how I decided to go on this trip. On one fine day last week I was bored and browsed through the Couchsurfing KL Forum, to see what was up, and saw this post by a man called Razali asking if people wanted to join in on a camping trip he was organizing for some Canadian students. I juggled with the idea for two seconds and decided that I could do with some camping in my mundane life. Pranced around the house, got my parents' approval ('coz I'm filial like that and 'coz I know they're cool enough to give the nod), gave Razali a call the second morning and transferred the money.
In short I decided within 2 seconds to transfer RM150 (Trip cost RM300, discounted from RM380 only for CS members =D) to a complete stranger and to go into the jungle with a bunch of complete strangers. And this is why I am studying this amazing essence called trust and how it works within CS.
Here's Razali's CS profile under the username BANDITLEADER. Tell me if you would make the same decision as I did.
Initiation
On Friday, at 8:40pm I reached Hentian Duta and met up with Fadhil, one of the guides, and the Canadians. There was going to be about 11 Canadians, two Italian girls and me as guests. The reception from Fadhil and the other guides was as warm as that from the Canadians was cold. After trying some furtive smiles at my Canadian trekking counterparts and not getting invited into the group, I settled in for the bus ride to Taiping and we stopped at Bukit Gantang at about 12am. There, we met up with a larger group of guides and trekking kakis, all sipping coffee at the rest stop for the trek ahead.
The tourist us split into two groups and were transferred to a closed Malay restaurant nearby via van. The Italian girls came from Penang and joined us. There, we were instructed to extract unnecessary stuff from our backpacks and deposit them into plastic bags. Previously instructed to bring a 50litre backpack, I expected the others to have backpacks that dwarfed my 32litre, but turned out that mine was the biggest among all the tourists. Most of them brought light day packs. I took out my jacket and extra khakis and a bunch of keys, and decided that the rest were not dispensable.
Then they handed each of us a sleeping mat and a parang (machete). The combination of the wooden handle, the polished wooden sheath and the dull glimmer of the blade of the parang gave an air of solid purposefulness. Do not mess with the parang, it seemed to say. With the blade safely tucked in its sheath, in turn safely stowed in my backpack, I was whisked into the jungle by a four-wheel drive, finally initiating some polite and boring conversation with some of the Canadians.
At this point I have to clarify that calling them Canadians or Mat Sallehs or whatever is not of racist intent - but I simply have no other handle to refer to them collectively. Moving on.
Reaching The Campsite
As we reached the starting point, all pretense of conversation and niceties lapsed with the regrouping of the Mat Sallehs, so with anticipation bubbling silently within, I stood in line while the guides sprayed our shoes with repellent that was supposed to keep the leeches at bay.
The repellent did not work very well. As we started trekking, some of the Mat Sallehs started crying out in alarm when leeches started to latch on them. My facade of being the tough and unperturbed Malaysian used to the perils of the jungle was quickly blown when I found a long one on my sock, trying to suck my blood through it. It was three times the size of the puny ones found at FRIM. In panic, I flicked it away. It worked, but then I saw another one coolly making its way up my shoe.
I hate leeches. I hate the way they move - I maintain that if they moved like worms or snakes I would be much less afraid of them. If there's anything more than my fear of leeches, it would be the fear of leeches in the dark of the night. And these were leeches in the dark of the night. I was very, very perturbed.
We reached the campsite in about half an hour, all sweaty and freaked out from the leeches, and by the time we set up camp it was 3:30am. "Camp" was tarpaulin sheets tied up as shelter and tarpaulin sheets on the ground to put our gear and weary selves on - "no walls", described Federica, one of the Italians. The Italian girls and I had a small camp to ourselves some metres away from the guides' camp, while the Canadians were positioned in another camp a short trek away.
As I lay on my sleeping mat, staring at the clusters of stars through the leaves and listening to the jungle surrounding me (one, two three crickets by the right and a laughing cicada somewhere above, with a background music of tiny strings playing), I pondered. About life in general, about how I'm going to need loads more social skills to do my research, about how Italian actually sounds a bit like Malay. Not about the non-existent walls and the ineffective repellent and the prowling leeches outside the camp.
You know, 'coz I'm a tough and unperturbed Malaysian used to the perils of the jungle like that.
Part 2 here.
Part 3 here.
The Decision
I suppose I should start with how I decided to go on this trip. On one fine day last week I was bored and browsed through the Couchsurfing KL Forum, to see what was up, and saw this post by a man called Razali asking if people wanted to join in on a camping trip he was organizing for some Canadian students. I juggled with the idea for two seconds and decided that I could do with some camping in my mundane life. Pranced around the house, got my parents' approval ('coz I'm filial like that and 'coz I know they're cool enough to give the nod), gave Razali a call the second morning and transferred the money.
In short I decided within 2 seconds to transfer RM150 (Trip cost RM300, discounted from RM380 only for CS members =D) to a complete stranger and to go into the jungle with a bunch of complete strangers. And this is why I am studying this amazing essence called trust and how it works within CS.
Here's Razali's CS profile under the username BANDITLEADER. Tell me if you would make the same decision as I did.
Initiation
On Friday, at 8:40pm I reached Hentian Duta and met up with Fadhil, one of the guides, and the Canadians. There was going to be about 11 Canadians, two Italian girls and me as guests. The reception from Fadhil and the other guides was as warm as that from the Canadians was cold. After trying some furtive smiles at my Canadian trekking counterparts and not getting invited into the group, I settled in for the bus ride to Taiping and we stopped at Bukit Gantang at about 12am. There, we met up with a larger group of guides and trekking kakis, all sipping coffee at the rest stop for the trek ahead.
The tourist us split into two groups and were transferred to a closed Malay restaurant nearby via van. The Italian girls came from Penang and joined us. There, we were instructed to extract unnecessary stuff from our backpacks and deposit them into plastic bags. Previously instructed to bring a 50litre backpack, I expected the others to have backpacks that dwarfed my 32litre, but turned out that mine was the biggest among all the tourists. Most of them brought light day packs. I took out my jacket and extra khakis and a bunch of keys, and decided that the rest were not dispensable.
Then they handed each of us a sleeping mat and a parang (machete). The combination of the wooden handle, the polished wooden sheath and the dull glimmer of the blade of the parang gave an air of solid purposefulness. Do not mess with the parang, it seemed to say. With the blade safely tucked in its sheath, in turn safely stowed in my backpack, I was whisked into the jungle by a four-wheel drive, finally initiating some polite and boring conversation with some of the Canadians.
At this point I have to clarify that calling them Canadians or Mat Sallehs or whatever is not of racist intent - but I simply have no other handle to refer to them collectively. Moving on.
Reaching The Campsite
As we reached the starting point, all pretense of conversation and niceties lapsed with the regrouping of the Mat Sallehs, so with anticipation bubbling silently within, I stood in line while the guides sprayed our shoes with repellent that was supposed to keep the leeches at bay.
The repellent did not work very well. As we started trekking, some of the Mat Sallehs started crying out in alarm when leeches started to latch on them. My facade of being the tough and unperturbed Malaysian used to the perils of the jungle was quickly blown when I found a long one on my sock, trying to suck my blood through it. It was three times the size of the puny ones found at FRIM. In panic, I flicked it away. It worked, but then I saw another one coolly making its way up my shoe.
I hate leeches. I hate the way they move - I maintain that if they moved like worms or snakes I would be much less afraid of them. If there's anything more than my fear of leeches, it would be the fear of leeches in the dark of the night. And these were leeches in the dark of the night. I was very, very perturbed.
We reached the campsite in about half an hour, all sweaty and freaked out from the leeches, and by the time we set up camp it was 3:30am. "Camp" was tarpaulin sheets tied up as shelter and tarpaulin sheets on the ground to put our gear and weary selves on - "no walls", described Federica, one of the Italians. The Italian girls and I had a small camp to ourselves some metres away from the guides' camp, while the Canadians were positioned in another camp a short trek away.
As I lay on my sleeping mat, staring at the clusters of stars through the leaves and listening to the jungle surrounding me (one, two three crickets by the right and a laughing cicada somewhere above, with a background music of tiny strings playing), I pondered. About life in general, about how I'm going to need loads more social skills to do my research, about how Italian actually sounds a bit like Malay. Not about the non-existent walls and the ineffective repellent and the prowling leeches outside the camp.
You know, 'coz I'm a tough and unperturbed Malaysian used to the perils of the jungle like that.
Part 2 here.
Part 3 here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
