Mangrove swamps and our "neighbours from the south"
Where we say good-bye to millions of invisible birds and hope our neighbours to the south refrain from declaring war
This is a travel journal of our adventures in South East Asia. Trust a bunch of Newfoundlanders to find trouble no matter where they go! You can read the entries as we climb Mt. Kinabalu and explore some parts of Thailand. A month after we left, this entire region was devastated by the Indian Ocean Tsunami of 2004. We were very lucky to have witnessed life and adventure before that and our hearts go out to everyone in this journal who might have been affected. A gallery of photos from this trip is available on my photos site.
10 pm November 26, 2004 AirAsia Flight to Bangkok
o begin this entry, I wish to regale you with a headline worthy of St. John’s own vaunted Telegram newspaper, which appeared in today’s Sabah Daily Express:
"Courses Planned to Cut Jobless Youths"
As I write this on the plane, I feel like I’ve left an old friend behind by leaving Kota Kinabalu. It has been a great week of laughter and fun. We've had some trying times, to be sure, but they have only added to the mosaic of adventure and ribald humor that surrounded the sometimes Monty Python-esque situations we kept discovering.
Our last day in Sabah was meant to be a rest day. The morning was spent sleeping in at the City Park Inn. I will likely never forget Mike’s look of utter shock and the trembling in his legs as he tried to descend from his top bunk. While we all howled with laughter, none of us were exempt from the effects of incredibly tightened muscles.
Sigh!
Today's "simple" plan: Coffee, explore the city, supper, and then board our flight to Bangkok, where we would be joined by another of the Kilimanjaro crew: Keli Ryan.
Andrew decided his lot in life lay in freeing up some space on his digital camera, so Mike, Chris, and I set out to explore. Our plan was to find a cab and go to theSignal Hill Observatory.
Here’s where things started to go awry.
We quickly learned that, despite almost every taxi (Teksi) in Kota Kinabalu being outfitted with meters (and advertised as such), no taxi driver actually used them.
The first taxi refused to turn its meter on and then got too greedy—trying to charge 10 RM for a five-minute journey. We promptly got out—in the middle of traffic—and caught another. This driver was more reasonable, charging 5 RM.
Kota Kinabalu is a small city. Signal Hill Observatory turned out to be a small platform bearing the name and looking out over the city.
Very exciting.
We spent five minutes there.
Our next stop (mostly due to my insistence) was the Kota Kinabalu City Bird Sanctuary—which we quickly renamed the Bird Concentration Camp.
When we arrived, there were no other visitors. With the oppressive humidity bearing down upon us, we proceeded to explore the mangrove swamp. The most exciting animals? Millions of fiddler crabs.
The birds were around—we could hear them—but they didn’t like us. Actually, I blame Chris.
The bastards.
To stay in keeping with our fascination for steps, we decided to climb a four-story bird-watching tower in the middle of the swamp.
There were no birds.
Yeah.
Great idea. Thanks, Chris. Bastard.
To beat the oncoming rain (and bored with an abundance of invisible birds), we ran to the entrance and asked the guards to call a taxi.
Given that we already knew taxis here didn’t use meters, we should have quickly realized that they probably didn’t turn on their dispatch radios either. After 15 minutes of waiting in an empty, desolate sanctuary, we were getting a bit desperate.
The thought of spending my dying days in a mangrove swamp in the heart of Kota Kinabalu, with nothing to do but watch fiddler crabs hide from egrets and mudskippers? Wow. Hell?
Thankfully, disaster was averted. The downpour ended, and a taxi finally arrived—after 30 minutes at least.
Off we went to another mall to pick up some Borneo handicrafts.
My selection of purchases included "Headhunter's" rice wine, which supposedly ages into sherry. I suspect I will be poisoned or go blind drinking this stuff, but it fits well in my collection of weird alcohols.
Mike and I also purchased Mt Kinabalu shirts. Our bargaining skills bought the price down from 29 RM to 24RM. I’m sure if my mom were here, not only would we have gotten the shirts cheaper, she would have had their firstborn thrown in.
“You look good in Blue, You no need black, very fetching”
We bought our shirts and went to find Andrew before heading to supper at the Indian Curry House (Jothy’s), which our Indian friend had recommended the night before.
On meeting Andrew he dropped a bombshell. Apparently Phuket and Krabi (our next destinations after Bangkok) were experiencing their first tropical storm since 1962. Islands have been evacuated.
Despite this, we agreed, we had to continue the trip. Somewhere in St. John’s, our old friend Craig Welsh was probably doing a typhoon dance. He was not going to succeed.
We tried Craig as a bastard in absentia.
Anyway—what could go wrong?
Our supper at Jothy’s was incredibly good. We can heartily recommend it—great dosais, fantastic prawn, and chicken curries. After supper we sent a quick e-mail explaining our decision to continue into the heart of Thailand—regardless of storm surge or other diversions (apparently something about terrorists). We then headed to City Park Inn and wait for our flight time.
Apparently some USA guests had arrived. Our “neighbours from the south”—as the receptionist kept saying—were causing a bit of a ruckus. They were upset—“a disaster, this place is a disaster”—at not having been given towels by the Inn staff. Go figure. No towels in a backpacker’s inn. How surprising.
Wait till they get to Sabah Park and attempt to get a cash advance on a Visa. Maybe they’ll declare war.
By the way we all highly recommend the City Park Inn—Lovely staff, great place and fantastic price. Bring your own towels though.
Off to the airport. And AirAsia.
Terminal 2 in Kota Kinabalu is lacking most things—including an air-conditioned restaurant.
“But I swear there was a restaurant here last year when I was here—I swear!”
– Chris Myrick, talking about his previously delusional trip to Sabah, which had apparently also included working Visa machines.
My crowning moment: watching the check-in girl running into the baggage room on the conveyor belt after its security tag came off in my hand.
Oh well.
AirAsia — yes what can I say about AirAsia where I sit and write this? Well this time is completely different. It is relatively “non-retarded”. The seats are leather-backed and comfy. There is leg room. Oh and pieces of the plane aren’t falling off.
Maybe the curse of Sabah is gone as we fly to Bangkok to meet Keli.
To be sure — a great week, a fantastic place. Borneo, I tip my hat to you and now look forward to our (mis)adventures in Thailand.