The 5000 Project

I Just updated the expenses page, its a button at the top. Ill get it properly uptodate soon but it would seem I slacked off a bit with my accounting log in my notepad after taman nagara – ill try and remember ;)

This should give you all some idea of how cheap south east Asia is if you spend some time to look for the cheap spots.

I know the journey tracker is very outdated, I can’t update the maps on my phone, ill sort it when I find a cheap netcafe. Same goes for uploading photos.

Heading to Vietnam in a couple of days, ill post phnom pehn then.

That is all. As you were.

It rained for 3 days.

I stayed in, yet again, the cheapest place I could find – $4/night with onsuite and satellite TV – everything in the room was broken though, except for the TV, which is handy because on the second day the rain was so heavy that I just bunkered in for most of it.

On the third day the rain was light enough to go for a decent walk. Sihanoukville has a beach with bars lining the whole bay, considering the quite evident low season, the hawkers were relentless. It was quite sad to see the vast poverty between flash new buildings, that with the rain, I felt a little depressed and began smoking gudang gurams again after noticing them being sold in shops.

I decided to walk about 4ks to a marker on Google maps, titled: “new bus station”. Determined to not be ripped off by third parties, I headed to what I hoped would be a walkable central bus terminal. Just 30min into the walk and I was already outside the tourist area and onto local village suburbia. Just one street off the main road where a large western nightclub has been built; there was a large suburb of wooden houses on stilts with bundles of firewood collected to the side, ox and geese roaming the roads and swamp fishermen showing off their bucket filled with snails which they have harvested to eat. There were a group of middle aged ladies playing cards and gambling their money, they invited me to play with them but the game was a bit tricky to understand – and they will most likely win all my money. One thing that cheered me up were the smiles in the village, compared to the hawkers, bar staff and beggars on the beach – however it’s the relentless workers that are providing money for their village families, for survival. Cambodia is one of the most poorest counties in south east Asia with a terrible past and a current highly corrupt government, which I will go into more detail with the next post.

gambling ladies with a lot of character. I was not willing to take the risk of playing.

I cant imagine many tourists would ever see the real sihanoukville, the beach attracts mainly party going travellers as most beach side bars serve happy shakes (magic mushroom) and happy pizza (marijuana) on request, it reminded me of Vang vieng in Laos. They will all be oblivious to the mass poverty just a few km away.

few lads showing off their snails and a couple of small crabs

I digress, so, back to the walk. I arrive at what should have been a bus terminal, it ended up being a huge local market with all kinds of interesting stuff. On the way back to the beach, I spotted a private bus terminal, as it turns out there is no local bus just a few private companies. I bought a ticket to phnom pehn for $5.

The rest of the day, night and following morning was once again invaded by heavy rain. I watched the Dockers get slaughtered by Melbourne to wrap up this rather miserable and unexpected stay and hopped on the good old bus back to phnom pehn. This time, however, I managed to get a couchhost to accept my request.

The border crossing was quite dodgy, first off, there are guys standing just outside the immigration booth who take your passport then fill in the visa application for you, then demand cash in order to get your passport back. Thankfully I was warned of this by the Expats in trat and was quite happy to fill in the paperwork myself, they asked for my passport but I declined. Another dodgy thing is that most border crossings for Cambodia cost $20 for the visa, the visa itself has $20 printed on it, this crossing only allows payment in baht, 1000 baht, which is around $30.

The third dodgy was a big one. There were a bunch of foreigners with a ticket already booked for sihanoukville, their lift to the bus station had arrived, I asked if I too can get a ticket. It would cost 650b ($20). I was reluctant at first as I knew the distance to the southern beach is short, the American tourists convinced me that transport in Cambodia is expensive, and I felt a little isolated on the border – so I paid it out.

Considering I didn’t book, I was thrown on a different bus to the others as their bus was full. The ticket guy pointed out the bus and I hopped on, the name of the destination on the bus was in Cambodian, I trusted it was heading in the right direction.

4hrs later, after seeing large markets and thick population for a beach town, the bus stops. Time to get off. I was a little puzzled, it surely didn’t look like a coastal town. I inquired as to where I was – the reply was quite a shock.

“Phnom penh”

I asked again incase I didn’t pick up the accent

“Phnom penh”

A view from the bus, sure doesnt look like a coastal town...

I spoke with the closest bus agency employee that I could find and raised my ticket that clearly showed Koh Kong to sihanoukville. After a bit of quiet spoken diplomatic ranting I convinced the guy to give me a free ticket to sihanoukville, the next available was the next morning at 7:30. What grinded my gears a little more was the fact that the bus tickets normally cost $8 – same price for both destinations. The locals had a good chuckle when I told them how much I paid. I put on a smile to stay diplomatic.

They offered me a tuktuk ride to the hostel suburb for $2, which was apparently very far from here. They offered a ride for the morning too, and mentioned that it would be difficult to direct a normal tuktuk driver as the bus station was privately owned and they had many in the city with the same name. I asked for the name of the street so that i can use it as an identifier; and the direction in which to walk to the hostel suburb, once pointed I walked with fair haste as it was fairly late in the day.

Along the way I constantly declined tuktuk and motorbike drivers, there was one tuktuk driver who knew a bit of english; when he asked if I wanted to stay in a hotel, I asked him if I could stay at his place in a semijoking way. We both had a chuckle when he declined and I assumed that would be that, unfortunately he followed me for the next two hours. He even sat with me while i was eating some noodles at a street kitchen – this would have been an awesome experience dining with a local, if he said anything other than:

“hotel?”
“girls?”
*quietly* “… want some weed? Its ok to do in cambodia”

He repeated these words frequently,  this is when I noticed his English wasn’t as good as I previously assumed. I politely declined and tried to let him know that he has picked the wrong foreigner and that he would make much more money if he wasn’t where I was at all times. Unfortunately he didn’t understand, and there were no other foreigners to lure him away.

I asked locals where a netcafe is so that I can try a last minute couchsurf, one guy was about to point me in the right direction before he had a chat with my tuktuk buddy in Cambodian. Feeling a little annoyed I kept heading in the same direction as was pointed out initially and eventually found a hostel… for $14/night… it was starting to get dark, the tuktuk guy was still following me I asked him to go home and have dinner… he told me that he has no money for dinner. I felt sad but wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth, if he can waste fuel following me around on a tuktuk for 2hrs, he should have enough for food… or perhaps this is his last desperate attempt.

I decided to take a few different turns in busy streets to lose the guy, my mind was conflicted but I know that I didn’t trust him after my day of being conned I wasn’t in a trusting mood. I eventually came across the hostel suburb and after asking around and bartering for the cheapest room, I got one for $5.

I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes for a second. I immediately opened them when I realised that I had completely forgotten the name of the street that the bus terminal is on, also I had no idea how to walk back. I logged into the hostel wifi and Google mapsed the shit out of it. There was only a main office address listed for the bus company, I was sure that wasn’t the location, I tried to trace my path back on the map and was 50% sure I knew how to get back.

I had an early night and woke up early. My memory served me well, I found the way back very early, bought a baguette for breakfast and waited for the bus. The bus, thankfully, took me to the sunny beaches of sihanoukville… only without the sun. It was raining heavily… and it didn’t seem to stop. I guess its the wrong season for this part of the world.

I took a minivan to the harbour and caught the last ferry, at 7:30, to Koh Chang island. I followed the directions and met with the Russian couchhost.

He runs a Russian tour agency on the island, the office is located out the front of a cheap collection of bungalow style huts, he lives in a dodgiest one out the back, with an outside kitchen pantry comprising of a bench for his cutlery and essential non-perishable/difficult for animals to get to, food, like oats and tea. That night we cooked sausages (Frankfurts) on his coal campfire just outside the hut, he does this often to save on money. It’s currently the off-season, business has been slow due to the lack of Russian tourists. After two years of running the place the russian has adapted to a very simple way of life.

snaggas and toast with the russian

In the same neighborhood there are hugely expensive resorts which seem so surreal after spending a night sharing a dodgy old bed (in a heterosexual, definitely using my sleeping bag, way) in a tiny hut that only has water for the shower, sometimes.

After going for a few walks, I decided that this place is not for me, there were no real backpackers, the locals were eager to take my money, the wealthy travelers just stuck to their resorts and the weather was bad at the time; resulting in very murkey beach water. The next morning I woke up early, noticed that the water wasnt working in the hut, so I found the most expensive resort with the most impressive pool and had a nice long swim before hopping on the ferry back to the mainland and a songthaew (modified ute for personnel transportation) to trat.

Trat is a nice old town with really awesome markets. I observed  some strange sea creatures at the fishmonger that look a bit like a crayfish and a lot like a cockroach. For dinner I had a generous serving of a mix of fried potato with mussels for ~60c. For desert I consumed the best deep fried icecream I have ever tasted for ~40c. Trat is a great place for food.

I think someone should comment on this post letting us all know wtf these things are

I stayed in a cheap Guesthouse that seemed to be host to a whole bunch of old Expats, over a few beers I heard some incredible stories which will no doubt be shared again, but not here.

There was a huge storm that night, I was very hesitant to leave for Cambodia the next morning – although I was fairly certain it was more the hangover than the weather. I tied my jacket over my bag to protect it from the rain and hopped on the back of a motorbike for the bus station, enroute to the border.

I have been to Bangkok twice before both times I stayed in khao San rd, being the cheapest accommodation for backpackers in the city, it also hosts a lot of bars with western food and little culture (great place to purchase a cheap fitted suit, though)

This time around I ensured that I had Couchsurfer hosts so that I can get a more accurate opinion of what Bangkok is. My first host was an Aussie guy who lives in a nice apartment complex close to were the president lives, he mentioned that due to the political situation, he’s going to be quite worried and cautious within the next month. Election time is coming soon, there are about 20 candidates, but according to the yellow shirts, it doesn’t matter who you vote for; they are promoting a ‘dont vote’ campaign.

To try and understand the political situation, we have to look back at the troubles from last election; a man of great wealth was elected possibly by the people, the yellow shirts didn’t like this, there were a whole bunch of violent riots and the president elect was sent to exile. 4yrs later noone is sure what will happen, noone knows for sure if the elections are rigged or if the red or yellow shirts will return if its a decision they don’t like. The main advice I was given is to never talk about politics in public, there is a good chance it will offend someone in a big way. If you are offended while reading this, please direct your anger into a comment and bare in mind I have probably only heard one side of the story.

We went out on the town that night, there were two Portuguese couchsurfers also being hosted by the Aussie who joined us, as well as a local Thai girl and her French friend. We had a few beers out the back of a mobile bar, which is a customized combivan; known as a combibar. There were a group of prostitutes on that street, incredible bodies – I was told by my host that every single one of them is male, the news came as a shock, especially considering I was just groped by one on the way to the toilet.

I had a good conversation with the local Thai girl in our group, she has been highly frustrated with the current social situation in Thailand, according to her 80% of males are gay, she has a few female friends who are prostitutes and there is an approaching trend of lesbianism due to sexual frustration.

I began to wonder who started this, was it the farangs (foreigners) who stole all the ladies to cause the men to turn gay. This can’t be as there is a prostitution culture even in the remote villages (I blogged about this during my last trip). Or perhaps there’s just something in the food?

After the interesting night and drinking till 5am and then swimming in the host’s pool before passing out, I endured my hangover and took a skytrain to my next couchhost, a local girl who doesn’t normally let guys stay at her apartment but she read my blog and figured I wasn’t some dodgy farang.

We went out for dinner, awesome street restaurant that serves north eastern Thai food, very similar to the Laos omelet I had when I was in Laos last. It involved grabbing some sticky rice and dipping it in this awesome sauce, with a bit of beef, quite a lot hot. She too agreed that 80% of guys are gay, she provided a bit of info on the political situation – however her English was a little poor so the conversations were difficult.

After a decent night’s sleep, I hiked to the bus eastern bus terminal. I mentioned to the host that I might be staying another night if I couldn’t get a ticket to trat in time; I bought the ticket at the bus terminal at 12:20, the bus was leaving at 12:30… perfect timing.

During the bus tip, there was a guy who walked up the isle asking if anyone is going to Koh Chang, I said I was only going to trat. Moments later I checked couchsurfing (3g on the Thai sim) to find that there were no hosts available for trat, but there was one for Koh Chang. I changed my mind and hopped off at the interchange to Koh Chang island instead of trat, the couchhost confirmed and gave instructions. Little did I know that the island is very touristy and well known by wealthy scandanavians, thankfully I had a free place to stay and cheap local food to eat, surrounded by fancy resorts. This is turning out to be a rather  unexpected journey.

We took the last leg of the jungle train to a train station a few clicks off kota baru, the last town on the border of Malaysia. At first we were told we could walk to kota, 15min in we were told that we should have taken motorbike taxis from the train station, we decided to hitchhike the rest of the way… shortly after we hopped in a car, we saw the city. It looked massive. No way could we possibly walk to a backpackers from where we were, the driver dropped us off right in the centre of the hostel area.

The next day we woke up early and headed for the bus station, to Thailand!

The Malaysian side of the border was very flash and professional, the Thai side was a very busy and chaotic small hut on the side of the road – no police to be seen. We could have easily walked past, performed some crimes, then just stroll back the same way. Not that I recommend any of you people do this.

We walked to the train station, it was more heavily guarded than the border, army soldiers roamed the complex armed with M14 assault rifles, one guy had a large fully automatic. Feeling a Tad nervous, we purchased our tickets for hat yai and hopped on the train. The area to the north east of this border is renowned for Muslim extremist activity and apparently sometimes they target the trains.

We arrived in the safety of hat yai unharmed, this large city had markets on most of the central streets, fresh fruit and deep fried pasteries was my food of choice at the time (having a bit of a weak stomach from either the durian I ate days earlier, or some bad noodles). Feeling a lot better after 2 days rest, we took a local minivan to trang, enroute to ko muk, a semi-untouched (but a lot touched) island.

After extensive searching, accommodation seemed quite expensive, even though its the off season, there were only flash resorts to choose from – I really wanted to stay with some locals in their wooden shacks :(

Eventually, after walking a third of the island, a resort gave us a good deal ~$12 for a bungalow with a double bed, fan, fridge, TV, onsuite. Nothing that we needed but a lot more than we were used to. Being the only one with a sleeping bag, I was happy to volunteer to sleep on the floor, last thing I wanted to do was remember how nice it is to sleep on a really comfortable bed; conditioning is a bitch.

That night all the restaurants were closed, locals kept pointing is in the same direction, to the school where there seemed to be some kind of festival – it was to introduce 25 exchange students from Malaysia – there was much food, singing and dancing. We felt it rude to eat the food, thankfully we bumped into the owner of the hilltop cafe, she took us up to her shop on a motorbike with a side cart, over some really bad roads.

The next day we decided to hike through the island to a secluded beach on the other side, although some parts were thick, nothing compared to taman nagara – we were there before we knew it. Unfortunately the beach was full of rubbish, the weather started to get rough and we headed back quickly.

We took a ferry back to trang the next morning, having felt that there was nothing left to see on ko muk, only one nice beach and a whole bunch of resorts, the locals were great but none of them seemed to host simple accommodation.

I took a sleeper train to Bangkok while the other guys took my advice and headed for tonsai, on the coast near krabi (I was there last trip, great cheap Backpacker place, awesome for rockclimbing, good beaches).

I was on my own again, I felt the comforting breeze of independent travel. I sent out some couch requests for Bangkok.

The last night in taman nagara was something to note. At 2am a blade on the ceiling fan became loose, which caused the fan to come off balance and make a thunderous racket. I woke up and starred at the guy in the other bunk, who was starring at me – eyes fixed in terror, we were both certain that we were in an earthquake – this is when the heavy plastic fan covering fell from the ceiling, shaterring in many pieces.
** Note: could have added this bit to the end of last post but forgot at the time

Soo in the morning, it was me and the lads from Singapore, hoppin’ on the local bus for jerantut, the town with the train.

Unfortunately for us, school holidays had started, the jungle train was fully booked – up until a town called kuala lipus, a few stops in. We walked back to the bus station to get ourselves out of town.

Lipus is a vibrant hub of local trade, although the trade was limited in selection but abundant in numbers. Every second shop was a chemist/Chinese herbalist/fruit store and every other shop sold shoes and bike parts. The buildings were unchanged since colonial days, the signs were dusty with old fashion font, a bit like an old western.

Old building in kuala lipus

After a meal and supplies, we hopped on the jungle train towards gua musang. Gua’s main landmark is a giant limestone hill with a verticle cliff-face, right at the location of the train stop (the image when Googling is what lured me to this small town).

The limestone hill in Gua Musang

We found accommodation at a hostel owner’s house and prepared for the steep hike up the hill the next day.

It took us half the day to find the entrance to the hill path (through semi-slums and villages, dodging goats and angry geese). After 15min of climbing, we came to an apparent dead end, until my singaporean buddy noticed a gap between the rocks, just large enough to fit through, for him; just large enough to fit through if I breath out, for my bulky European body.

Within the gap was an epic large cave, we could see faint light coming from the other side, so we carefully trekked through aided by the torch on my phone.

Now would be a bad time for a land shift

After climbing through to the other side of the cave, the rest of the hike was reasonably easy. The top had a decent view, although trees clouded what would have been the most scenic spans.

All the meals in the town were Chinese, infact most of the people were Chinese-Malay, with my friends being Chinese-singapore it was a good opportunity to try some unique Chinese food and practice/learn some more mandarin.

The next day we hopped back on the trusty jungle train towards  dabong, a town that is host to what it boasts as the largest waterfall in south east Asia, about 15km from the stop.

Before heading to the fall, I went to the only ATM in the town to extract some well needed currency.  I inserted the card, the on-screen display mentioned that the card was being verified, a consistant beeping sound came from the machine, then it sucked my card in and printed large text on the screen ‘System malfunction – Card withheld’. From walking to the ATM until the current stage of the ATM user input, I had pressed nothing at all other than put my card in the slot (It wasn’t a scanner, I checked the slot beforehand).

I called the bank number. Thankfully they had English service reps. I Thanked too soon.

‘No I will not call my bank, your ATM has my card’

‘No I will not put my card on hold with my bank, it is nice and secure; within your heavily fortified ATM safe with alarm’.

After mentioning the ATM location three times and passing the phone to a Malay guy, who also mentioned it three times; it was evident that either the ATM wasn’t listed with the bank, or the customer service guy isnt brightest guy in the office. He told me he has put through an escalation and that I will be contacted in three days, hopefully, when the card is out of the machine.

Generally I look for the cirrus sticker before I try to use ATMs, I was annoyed with myself that I didn’t, more annoyed that it ate the card instead of just politely letting me know it wont work. The bank that owns this ATM is “The Bank of Islam” – I wondered if all their ATMs swollow cards from other banks as a purist religious statement, I quickly abandoned this theory as fundamentalists are generally against corporate influence.

The rest of the day I tried to enjoy the waterfall, but my mind was on the thought that without money, life can get a little tricky.

largest waterfall in south east asia, apparently

I got back to the base of the waterfall before the others, to collect my thoughts. I was shortly approached by a local holding a phone.
“ATM – you talk”
I was a little stunned, I slowly took the phone to my ear.
“Hello ATM man coming”
It was the local guy near the ATM who helped me communicate with the dimwitted bank guy
“Hello, ATM maintenance man coming, 5pm”

I was still a little stunned how he knew this information, also stunned how all the locals know each other, least surprising was everyone knowing I’m the ghost white foreigner of the ATM. If the bank called, they would have called my phone. I was cautious with this news as the guy near the ATM wanted us to stay at his Guesthouse earlier, weird thoughts of a possible elaborate con sent warnings. A good distriction was hitchhiking back to town on the back of a Ute as it poured down with rain.

We got back to the ATM at 4:30 – noone was around. 10min later an unmarked white dirty old sedan drove up to the ATM, a guy in a clean white shirt stepped out. He had a lanyard around his neck with a security card attached, he immediately approached me and asked me to photocopy my main passport page while he fetches the card from the machine. I found a print shop and did as he asked. I signed a page in his documents and he gave me my card back.

I know that most of this text is just for getting a card from an ATM, but for me it was a pretty eventful day.

In the end the local guy who was near the ATM never returned, perhaps he is somewhere else in the world, in another time maybe – helping other travelers with their resource trade units withheld within evil devices. He could be out in the vast cosmos right now, perhaps one day you too will meet the man near the ATM.

A terrifying reenactment

We took a ride in about 5 cars, never waiting more than 10min for each one, driving through the unknown (to our maps) country roads and finally arrived at kuala tahan – the tourist town overlooking taman nagara national park, over a wide river crossing.

Before entering the jungle, I purchased a mosquito net and a sleeping bag for $10 each – starting to find that the problem with buying things only when I need it is that they’re generally a lot more expensive in the needed locations. Together we stacked provisions of tuna, bread and noodles. We had enough water to get to the first camp, the plan was to yet again boil river water that night, or hopefully find rumoured fresh rainwater streams to fill the bottles.

For the next 3 days we were in the depths of a very large and humbling jungle:

– Day 1

We treked for 8.5km, exhausted and full of leeches, we arrived above a river bank with no noticeable path down, we decided to bush bash through the thick terrain. Some thin long vines were some of the hazards, they were covered in sticky sharp spikes that would wrap around the shirt and hair, its a matter of very slowly spinning back around to unravel them, lest feel the pain of the spikes and ripped clothing.

a river crossing

We arrived at a river bank, but the river was far too deep to cross, we waited for a boat that decided to give us a lift over (there were many boats, so this didn’t take long). A half hr trek on the other side and we were in camp Lata beckoh, an abandoned camp, the termites had destroyed most of the shelters and plants were growing in the toilets – it looked like the camp hadn’t been used in months. We spent most of the night boiling water; without the aid of rum it was an exhausting routine:

1. Keep the fire maintained hot enough to boil water

2. walk to the river, fill the 500ml pot with river water, walk back to camp, put pot on fire

3. wait for water to boil, fill Thermos with boiled water

4. Take Thermos and pot to river, wedge Thermos in rocks to cool down, fill pot with river water, walk back to camp

5. Put pot on fire, fetch cooled Thermos from river, empty cooled Thermos water to non-contaminated plastic bottle

6. Repeat from step 3 until 7 litres of smoked barely-drinkable drinking water is bottled ready for tomorrow’s hiking

That night I setup my mosquito net with sticks to prop it up, a little worried about the leeches, I made sure the net hooked under to prevent anything from crawling through. I slept well, until the early morning when it rained very heavily. Thankfully there was a small shelter in the middle of the camp which the termites had not yet raised, suitable for resting before the others woke. The ground around the shelter was now pure mud.

– Day 2

We packed up as early as we could, after the heavy rain subsided, we met a German guy and Turkish lady who had been using the 2min noodles MSG flavouring on the leeches to great success, we still found it easier to just pull them off then try and flick them away when they try to attach themselves to the flicking fingers – due to the mass quantity of leeches this was still the quickest option, regardless of the battle wounds the day after.

taking the shoe off after a day of treking

After a grueling 8km hike, we arrived at the location of the night’s rest. Bumbun Kumbang, a nature hide, 2 story stairs to a set of 6 wooden bunk beds. There was a wide viewing area cut out of the wooden-box-on-stilts hide complex, which is used to view the jungle wildlife from afar. This was all great, except that there was a giant swarm of wasps near the stairs on the ground entrance, all attracted to the litres of sweat which we were wearing on our clothes.

We noticed a pipe with flowing water and decided that we should shower and wash our clothes, in turn, before heading upto the hide. We were warned about this hazard by some hikers coming from the hide, their advice proved worthy, although there was a lesser swarm still active within the doors of the hide, the wasps vanished as night arrived.

view from inside the hide

More hikers arrived later to fill the beds, we saw many fireflys and glowing red eyes when looking from the viewing  window, but most of the wildlife was within the hide itself. Almost as soon as we all got into our beds and turned off the torches/candles – a bunch of bats flew into the hide, one directly over my head. Later in the night we were awoken by a scream, one of the girls had a rat in her bed trying to get to the bread that she had in her bag, in the end she was forced to throw the loaf out as a lure away from her bed.

The next morning we woke and left as early as possible, before the wasps flooded the area.

– Day 3

This was the epic 11km trek back to kuala tahan and the hardest of them all, it hugged the river for most of it, going up and  down ravines; what made it frustrating and challenging is that the up was always very steep and the down was gradual. Our water supplies were getting dangerously low, we decided to trust some of the many fresh free flowing streams coming from the hills of the jungle to the river, it was crystal clear rainwater which provided much nourishment for the last tiring leg of the journey.

the longest bridge in the jungle

We spent one night at the backpackers on the other side of the river once we arrived back to civilization, then the french decided to hitchhike all the way to KL. I decided to spend another night without moving my legs, and to spend some time to heal the many leech wounds which looked a bit nasty due to the pulling from the skin instead of burning them off with salt/fire. We shared internet contact details and parted ways.

The next day I met two Singaporean guys who happened to be heading to the same town I was planning on rocking up to myself, the jungle train north to Gua Musang, a few stops before thailand. We decided to travel together, a bus to jerantut was the first step.

Edit: also something I forgot to add, both straps on my bag snapped,10min between each other, I tied them up and the bag is still fine, with knots on both sides. Dodgy cheap Chinese made bag I bought in China last trip :p

Late Edit: Last night in the backpackers, the fan fell down in a loud crash – thankfully not on a bed

So, there I was with this french couple on the docks of mersing, just hopped off the ferry. We took the earliest ferry from the island at 9am, it was 11:30am by the time we arrived on the mainland – which was quite late for hitchhiking to taman nagara in a day, according to my well experienced traveling companions. We scoffed down some chinese food and I quickly bought the cheapest and dodgiest shoes I could find (I was told that I need shoes for the jungle, which makes sense). We tried to get out of the main town area as quickly as possible, as the outer areas are much easier to get lifts.

After 2min with the thumbs up, we were picked up by a horticulturalist for a few dozen kms before he turned to go fishing. 5min wait for the next, a motorbike mechanic from Kuala Rompin, heading back to the bike shop; we decided at this pace and the late stage of the day that we will get dropped off at the turnoff for the 2nd national park in malaysia, Endua Rompin, just before our transportation host headed to town. Our last car was a 15min wait and happened to be one of the main tour guides for the park, off we went to the jungle! with completely free and happy transportation!

At this stage my main worry was that I didnt have a tent or covering, I tried to find a mosquito net in mersing but we didnt have any time – there was none to be bought on tioman. Thankfully there were tents for hire at the basecamp, equipt with my trusty towel for the base and serong for the top sheet, it was adequate for sleeping. We made a fire (which took a good hr to light, thanks to everything being wet in a rainforest), boiled many litres of water from the river and cooled each for drinking the next day, cooked and ate some noodles, finished off the last of the rum from tioman, shared philosophy; then retired to sleep.

long shutter shot of the campfire

The next day we set forth on a 2hr trek to an impressive waterfall, nearing the waterfall we noticed small worms which seemed to move scary fast in the direction of our feet… at closer inspection (once we got a few sucking at our ankles) we discovered that they were infact leeches, and there were, infact, shitloads of them; We decided to trek with haste on the way back to camp, resting only in the areas of sunlight (yup, leeches dont like the sun, I can totally see them being the inspiration for vampire folktales). upon returning, I counted 5 on one foot and 3 on the other, squirming around trying to get through the socks, they were in my shoes the entire time. A couple were still sucking on the back of my legs, hidden from sight and somehow I couldnt feel them earlier, after the decent trek they were rather fat; however they were easier to rip off when bloated and lazy. The annoying ones are the tiny ones that slip through the socks, then get much bigger once they stick to the foot for a while.

macro shot of a bloodsucker

The same day we met with a guy from the Czech Republic who hitchhiked through Kuala Rompin and was adopted by a muslim family, not unlike my own experiences in indonesia. The difference being, he actually converted to muslim and to our bewilderment; he was given 1000riggit ($333) for completing the induction ceremony, reciting some lines and becoming to a new faith. Before deciding on making this bold decision, he mentioned to the family that he is christian, he asked if it was ok to become muslim as well; his answer was yes and thus he became a man of two religions. He was leaving the next day so we asked if we can get a lift with him back to kuala rompin, he contacted the family and the news was positive, we were to meet at the base camp at 4pm to await pickup.

The Czech guy camped with us that night and performed the night and morning prayer rituals, then headed off on his own very early in the morning as we were just waking. We headed down a different path this time, on a journey less leechy but more adventurous, a bit thicker and some fairly tricky river crossings over slippery logs and rotting wooden bridges. We arrived back at the basecamp at 4pm, but the czech guy was nowhere to be found, the lift arrived and we waited ’till 5pm, yet still no sign. It was decided that we will ask park management to call us as soon as he was spotted. We headed to the family’s place to await a response.

Many hours past and the family recieved a text, our friend was lost in the jungle. We couldnt call the number after reading the text and everyone was deeply worried, the family wanted us to stay the night then together lodge a police report the next morning, preparations were being made for several search groups. We woke the next morning bright and early, preped for another trek through the jungle; my phone was charged and ready for some serious GPS navigation. In a car convoy we headed out of town, when we got a call from the czech guy! he arrived at a village on the way to johor (the provence south) they fed him and supplied a guide for the trek back to basecamp. With this terrific news we decided to use the early morning wake to continue the hitchhiking to taman nagara, we thanked our hosts for their hospitality and shared phone numbers, I asked to be informed of any news regarding the czech.

We were dropped off just out of town, it took 2min of thumbs up to tag a car…

I waved goodbye to the eccentric Chinese backpacker manager after he dropped me off at a local bus stop in the middle of nowhere. I waited a good hr for a bus and was tempted to hitchhike thinking that the bus may not actually arrive, unfortunately it did so I hopped on and paid the 3 riggit ($1) for the 1.5hr bus ride to kota tinggi (Malaysian public transport is very cheap, in price and comfort). I took another bus to mersing then a ferry ticket to tioman.

I arrived in tioman as the sun was setting, all the single and double rooms were full in all the accommodation provider’s abodes – I met with a French couple (for reasons unknown, most of the tourists on the island were French or from french-speaking countries; odd considering the English initially colonized it) that were in the same situation as me and together we decided to try sleeping on the beach after asking locals if it was ok to do so. To prepare for this bold act, we decided to bunker in at the bar and consume a decent quantity of tax free (no crazy Malaysian alcohol tax on the island) beer – due to the investment towards the bar’s services, the owners allowed us to sleep under the pagola with a fan, they also offered the hammocks in the surrounding area. The sleep was ok in the hammock regardless of the mosquitos.

Perfect blue water

The next day we managed to find a cheap ($6/night each) 2 bedroom chalet (1 double, 1 single). The tioman adventure began with a 4hr trek through the jungle to a nice beach on the other side, amazing scenery, fresh waterfall in the middle to cool off.

Tioman used to be a small fishing island, they used to use traditional methods of net fishing – when the Malaysian government decided to turn it into a tourist haven, they actually built tourist lodgings for the locals to own, on the condition that they stop net fishing within a certain radius.

swimming waterfall halfway through the jungle trek to the other side of the island

During the next few days I asked a few locals if it was ok to fish, they all said it was fine as long as I don’t use a net. So, I decided to purchase a retractable compact fishing rod for $8, with the ultimate goal to catch, fillet, cook and eat self sufficient food during my travels. This is exactly what happened, with the help of my French friend, although the main fish had poisonous spines which made it difficult to cut out large fillets.

The Fish :D

All was fantastic on this island, it was all reasonably cheap; the beaches were nice, the water was crystal clear, the snorkeling was scenic, the jungles were vibrant and immense, the fish were biting, and fishing from the shore was highly illegal for tourists but legal for locals… as we found out while performing the act on the 4th day.

We were fishing from some hard to get to rocks when a guy in an official blue shirt started running towards us yelling that we will get a fine and that we had to stop, he used the hand signal for lock-up, we assumed we were busted but the guy didn’t want to walk out to the rocks to get us, so we decided to go around the other side, climb the rocks and sneak out into the jungle. We took our shirts off and hid the fishing bag under steps on the main jungle path. On the other side of the jungle path, my friend decided to snorkle around the point to possible freedom, while I put on my sunglasses and waited for some backpackers to walk with to somehow camouflage myself amongst the generic western whiteness. The plan worked, we met back at the chalet and I changed my clothes completely (contemplated wearing a hat, but all we had was a cold weather Beanie), emptied my main backpack; and headed to the path to retrieve the fishing bag within my pack. Mission successful.

Later we found out from the Frenchman’s girlfriend (who during this time was on the beach wondering what we were doing) spoke to the guy in blue and it turns out he was just warning us of a possible fine if we continued to fish. The adventure, nonetheless, was most excellent fun.

We decided to leave the next day anyway, to be on the safe side. Once we got the ferry back to mersing, we decided to travel together; little did I know that these guys are pretty adventurous hippies.