Malaysia (Parts 3 and 4)

October/November 2000

Back into Malaysia again. I forgot to mention that the island of Borneo lies 600km across the South China Sea from Peninsula Malaysia. The two East Malaysian states of Sarawak and Sabah occupy the Northern coast with Brunei squeezed in-between. The rest of the island belongs to Indonesia. Most tourists arrive in Kuching, the major city of Sarawak in the far west, but I was doing it backwards and would fly out from there.

After clearing Brunei and Malaysian immigration, I boarded another bus and read the 'Borneo Post'. The front page had a gruesome picture of a Philippine man hacked to death in Sarawak by machete - blood and limbs everywhere. Nice to see that while eating your Cornflakes. There was also an article about two martial arts masters in South Korea who had managed to pull an 11 ton truck with their penises. They practised by hanging 200kg objects from their awesome organs. They must have a lot of time on their hands. Another report said that there had been a 24% increase in road traffic deaths this year. Welcome to Sarawak.

Another car ferry crossing and onto Miri, one of Sarawak's booming oil towns with 400,000 people. Chinese populations dominated all the cities. No signs saying "Ho Lee Fook" anywhere. At the hamlet of Batu Niah, the English couple and I got a taxi to my first destination -Niah Caves National Park. A beautiful location with plush ensuite 4 bed dorm rooms and hot showers for less than £2. The best accommodation I had seen in ages.

The park covers 31 sq. km of lowland forest and limestone massifs. In less than a day, you can see one of the largest caves in the world, prehistoric rock graffiti (human remains dating back 40,000 years were discovered here, the oldest anywhere in SE Asia) and hike along primary forest trails. It was a superb place to visit and a 'must do' on any itinerary to Borneo.

One of the park's most famous sights is the Great Cave at dusk, where 200,000 swiftlets fly into the cave and as many bats leave the cave. Shortly after arrival, I crossed the narrow river by boat and walked along wet, slippery wooden walkboards through the jungle up to the Great Cave about 3km away. There were strange sounds emanating from the jungle provided by a never-ending frog orchestra. They sounded like a cross between a dog and a monkey. They were so close, but I never saw one.

The wooden boards built above the swampy ground were treacherous (there was no chicken wire over them) and I really had to watch my footing. But it was a pleasant walk through lush rainforest with giant Padang trees and their massive fan-like roots stretched 10ft in every direction to stabilise the tall straight trunks.

I reached the Great Cave to see the mesmerising sight of the birds arriving in huge flocks at one side of the cave and the bats dribbling out at the other end. Screeching bats swooped low and shrill birds soared overhead. The noise was deafening. There were only another 10 tourists in attendance and I left them as darkness fell, not happy about the state of the walkways. With my torch, I made my way back, as a storm thundered overhead and lashed down soaking me. I was right. Descending some steps, I went arse over tit and landed painfully on my back. It nearly did me in. I had a sore aching lower back for the next two weeks and it hurt to climb steps, get out of bed etc. But I would have to live with the injury (what a hero!).

My idea to get up at dawn for an early morning trek was thwarted by a never-ending downpour. You might be complaining of flooding in England, but until you spend a 'rainy season' in SE Asia, you haven’t seen floods like it. By the time I left this park, everything I owned was soaked. One of the nice things about the park was that there was a cheap local cafe to eat/drink at normal prices. None of the Kota Kinabulu hostage type situation where you pay a lot more because there is no alternative.

So after breakfast, when the rain had eased, I returned to the even more slippery wooden walkways, nursing my back. I took a side turning to see a local village. Big mistake. To get there, I had to walk along a mile long platform of springy, deteriorating pairs of planks, about two-foot wide and a few handrails. I couldn't keep my footing. In the end I took off my sneakers and walked bare foot like the locals. I had come to see the community 'long house'. But when I arrived, there was just a collection of motley wooden shacks. I discovered later, that this is what a long house looks like. I thought these famous Borneo dwellings would have looked more impressive than a line of British seaside chalets strung together in a long line.

I passed through Trader's Cave back into the Great Cave with its mind blowing 250m by 60m entrance. The swiftlets and bats provide a thriving local economy based on bird's nests and guano. The swiftlets make their nests from their own salivary secretions which the Chinese regard as a delicacy like caviar and they are used to make 'bird's nest soup'. Inside the cave, strategically placed bamboo poles descended from the roof. Locals would climb these to retrieve the nests, but noone could explain to me how these poles were erected in the first place. They hung down from over 200ft. No ladders were in evidence. It is a perilous job, handed down from generation to generation, but they can make a stack of money and consequently, the nests have been over-harvested.

A newspaper report indicated that the production of bird's nests at Niah had dropped drastically from 3 tonnes per seasonal harvest 10 years ago to 200kg now, blamed on over-harvesting and environmental changes. It still, however, generated £18m in revenue. White nests were the most valuable - about £15-20,000 per kilo while black nests only fetched about £400 per kilo.

The other industry was guano collection. What's the worst job you've ever had? These poor sods live and root around the caves with headlamp torches collecting large sacks of shit which are carried on their backs down the wooden walkways to be sold as fertiliser. The Traders' cave next door is where all the selling goes on. I'm not sure how much a bag of shit was worth!

Last night, I hadn't appreciated just how big Great Cave was. I had only stood at the entrance. Today, I climbed up steps to the back, where steps descended even further into the draughty darkness and onto another cave. It was colossal. It stunk of bat and bird shit. No lighting, so the torch was necessary. I spotted a few tents where guano collectors lived, saw torches shining and heard disembodied voices and bat screeches and swiftlets chattering everywhere. An eerie wall of sound.

As I made my way along wooden walkways to Burnt Cave and Moon Cave, there were holes in the roof where sunlight and water cascaded down, soaking me. Pitch black except for my feeble torch. I finally emerged back into daylight and made my way to Painted Cave to the famous prehistoric remains. The locals used to bury their dead and treasures in wooden coffins which were shaped like boats, for the afterlife. The rock graffiti dating from 1-800AD supposedly told of the boat journey into the afterlife, but it was caged off and pretty unrecognisable. The tourist office had obviously redrawn the paintings for publicity, because all I saw was a set of stains which could have been caused by men using it as a urinal for thousands of years. A little disappointing.

As I set off for home, you guessed it, a downpour commenced. All the way home. Thank you god. I almost laughed when I saw another tourist crash down the same stairs where I had and did his back a cropper. I would have laughed, except I slipped at a later point. I could barely walk by now for the pain.

After a final hot shower, I abandoned the park at midday. No point trekking anymore in this climate. There was a pleasant but rain-swept 3-mile riverside walk back into Batu Niah where a bus took me to Bintulu, the next major city 2 hours down the coast. On board, were a couple of English social workers that raved on about the park, and how crappy their jobs were in Cheshire. They had worked as voluntary social workers in Malaysia back in 1989 and had come to re-visit the country where they spent 2 years. They couldn't believe Kuala Lumpur's astounding development or "Gotham City" as I called it.

Dropped in the centre of Bintulu, I searched in vain for the main bus station. It had disappeared. The Malaysians can be strange sometimes. When you approached them for directions, they would laugh to each other (another dumb tourist) because they couldn't understand you. Then someone would run off and find someone with a smattering of English to help. They would laugh some more and you'd be none the wiser. I was too lazy to learn Malaysian. I thought that "Bus Station" was universal language.

Finally, I discovered that the bus station had been relocated 5 miles out of town. Ironic, because their grass covered airport runway was slap-bang in the centre of town. Fortunately, by the time I had waited an hour for a local bus to take me there, there was a bus headed for Sibu within minutes of arrival at 6pm. I was the only passenger and the bus driver really gunned it all the way. He didn't even worry about slowing up for the stray dogs that ambled across the road. Another torrential rainstorm thundered down. You're starting to get the picture about Malaysia. Constant rain. If you ever read about Borneo suffering from a drought, they are lying!

200km, a few dead dogs and floods later, I arrived in Sibu at 9pm. It is the state's second largest city and was deserted and closed. I checked into a cheap Chinese hotel and walked to the nearest cafe for dinner. Friendly Chinese youths offered me their fried chicken. "This tastes like shit, but help yourself" one said. As I was about to order another Tiger beer and write the diary, the owner closed up. "early closing, business is lousy" he proclaimed. Back in my room, I tried to dry out my clothes under the fan. A laundrette in Kuching seemed the most wonderful thing in the world.

The noisy cleaners made sure that I was up early the next morning. My passport, money, clothes etc had dried out. I walked the short distance to the harbour and boarded an 8am Express boat up the Rajang River into the heart of Sarawak to Kapit.

It was a smooth 3-hour ride up river, but a bit disconcerting to fly across the river with water flying past the windows, while a kid mopped down the sideflaps outside. The whole outside of the boat was covered in boxes and luggage. This is timber country and the river was full of boats hauling logs downriver. The sides of the hills were absent of trees - all cut down. The famous 'longhouse' culture consisted of isolated settlements and the 'head-hunter' villages beckoned me. In days long past, well up to about 1979, the ferocious locals cut off the heads of enemies as trophies and stored them in "Skull houses".

As we cruised up river, various longhouses came into view. I expected to see ancient huge buildings of darkwood, covered in carvings - but they all looked like modern ramshackle, lightweight buildings on stilts with corrugated roofs - like garden sheds joined together to form a building 200ft in length. Very under-whelming. For centuries, the Rajang was rife with tribal conflict and it took the British ages to take control. But inevitably we finally did it. Stiff upper lip and all that.

Even the boat trip was a sterilised affair with crappy videos to watch en route. I disembarked at the 'frontier town' of Kapit, a riverside settlement in the heart of the jungle. Upon entering a cafe at 10am, I was told "No food, only beer". Everyone was drinking so I forced myself (as you do). When in Rome...

It was a quiet sunny (surely not) day in Borneo. The 'Borneo Times' ran a story on Page 2 "Night out turns sour for teenager". In Kuching, a teenager who went for a night out on the town was said to have ended up in a hotel with a youth "she hardly knew". I expected to read about rape, murder, and decapitation. But that was it. She had missed her last bus and a young man "kindly offered to put her up in a hotel as it was too late to send her home". I almost wept tears.

My cheap hotel room overlooked the empty timber barges on the river. The room was grubby, spacious and breezy and covered with mouse droppings. There wasn't much to Kapit. About two dozen streets of shops, cafes and stalls. I found a cafe and ordered what the locals were eating - battered fish, curried deer meat, veg and rice. A mouse scuttled beneath my feet, having followed me from the hotel room. Cockroaches were also flavour of the week.

At the Civic Centre, there was a small, and I mean small (4 rooms) dedicated to longhouse culture. A life that has disappeared. Not even a skull present. Noone approached me in Kapit (the sole tourist) to venture into uncharted waters to see the culture.

Various tour companies in Sarawak offered excursions into remote areas to see 'longhouse culture' but it didn't seem worth &~163;100. I met some tourists later who did the trip. They said they turned up, to a welcome of locals in traditional dress, singing and dancing, offering local brew. As soon as they left, the locals changed back into their T-shirts and shorts and went back to watching Malaysian soap operas on TV. I think I could pass on that experience. Borneo sells itself on the romantic, gritty past, but there isn't anything left. There are superstores and ATMs everywhere.

Right after lunch, it was 'raincall' and the afternoon downpour commenced. I retreated to my room for a nap - a rare experience. I was feeling pretty exhausted with the non-stop travel and the back pains. I was able to dry my clothes again, but everything was filthy. When you travel with only 3 sets of clothes, there are different grades of filth. My clothes hadn't been properly washed in 3 weeks since Sumatra, but I didn't look any worse than the locals. Just never wear white T-shirts. When I reappeared around 7.30pm, most of the town was shut.

I had been travelling on my own for a week and was getting used to my own company. Borneo was very laid back and noone bothered me. I rarely had an excuse to talk unless I needed food, a bus or a hotel or acknowledging a "Hello Sir' from a schoolkid or local. It was a merciful rest from the incessant Indonesian chattering that I would soon return to.

The only problem with travelling alone is that you rarely have an excuse to hang around. There is no companion to exchange views or experiences. You tend to arrive, do the place and get out. At the same time, I could forge ahead on an unmerciless itinerary of sights. But it wasn't until this afternoon that I realised I was "dog-tired" from the fast pace. I sank myself into an interesting book called "For Love and a Beetle", by Ivan Hodge, about a Kiwi couple who had driven from London to Calcutta in their VW Beetle in 1961 and then repeated the same journey in 1986 in the same car to witness the changes. They pretty much covered the first part of my trip and it was interesting to read his comments which were identical to mine about the experience. The sights all seemed familiar but a lifetime away. I had seen them all less than a year ago.

As I read, a huge insect flew in. Like a massive cockroach with wings with a loud whirling noise at high decibels. I managed to catch it in a plastic bag and release it. I thought of Paul, now back in his local pub at Aberdare, Wales, apologising for his lack of suntan, his bleeding ear (which took weeks to heal) and his probable comments over another beer "Borneo, man. It was the other side of the world. Just you, the head-hunters and jungle. Good job the supermarkets sold beer". Here I was in my room, still out on the edge dealing with B-52 sized insects. I had a sleepless night while insects chewed at my ankles. Up at 6am and off to the jetty to get the hell out of Kapit.

Apart from a formidable Chinese pagoda, there is nothing in Sibu, so don't rush to get there. I know, because I spent 90 minutes walking around the place. The bus company ran a free taxi to the bus station on the outskirts. The 12.30pm bus left on time. Lots of leg room, reclining seats and darkened windows. Eight hours later we arrived at the Kuching bus station outside town. It took me 45 minutes to find a main road and a bus headed downtown. On a Saturday night, cars rushed around and noone wanted to know a lonely tourist. Around 11pm, I found the 'B+B Inn' expecting it to be full of tourists but ended up with a dorm room to myself.

"Despite modernisation, Kuching, the capital of Sarawak is a highly attractive place, its elegant colonial buildings decaying under the fierce equatorial sun and lashing rains" (Rough Guide). Kuching means 'cat', the reason lost in time. Supposedly, an English explorer James Brooke turned up (and ended up developing the island for British trade), and asked what the place was called, while pointing at a cat. The locals naturally looked and said 'cat'. It reminds me of the old Red Indian joke where the little boy asks his father "why is my brother called 'Half Moon?'. "Because he was born on a night with a half moon". "So why is my sister called 'Tumbling River?". "Because she was born next to a river. Why do you ask these questions 'Dog pissing into the wind?". Kuching wasn't bad, apart from the incessant traffic. A pleasant riverside walk and an interesting museum. Er.. that's it. Apart from welcome laundrettes, supermarkets and Internet cafes.

I arose early on a Sunday morning to walk along the riverside and watch a group of Chinese locals doing their daily 'tai chi' routines. Nothing that a bottle of Danish Stout wouldn't cure. Chinatown dominated the whole riverfront. When I say Chinatown, the whole place was Chinatown except for the Hilton and Holiday Inn hotels. Fish, fruit and veg markets were a hive of activity. I found a laundry to dump my clothes. The woman smelt them and commented "been travelling long?' The vivid green coloured Masjid Negara mosque built in the 1960s, stuck out like a sore thumb, as did the endless naff statues of cats everywhere. Kuching even proclaims the "only cat museum in the world', which I didn't visit. It was just a portfolio of photos of cats from around the world. Like anyone cares?

I caught a local bus to Santubong, about 30km away and walked the last 4km along a deserted but densely forested road to the Dubai Holiday Resort, as Sunday day-trippers passed me in cars, probably uttering "Is he crazy? In this heat?". I had come to visit 'Sarawak Cultural Village". The 'Rough Guide' describes it as "its a kind of theme park for the state's varied communities, where seven authentically built ethnic dwellings stand in a dramatic setting, the sea to one side, a lake in the middle of the site, and Gunung Santubong looming behind". It had won various tourist industry awards, and it would provide the best longhouses I would see (ok so they were completely false).

As well as Iban, Orang Ulu and Bidayuh longhouses, there is a Malay townhouse, a Chinese farmhouse, a Melanau 'tallhouse' and Perian jungle settlement. I was given a passport and got a stamp at every place (which was nice). There are supposedly demonstrations of traditional crafts of weaving, cooking, instrument playing and processing sago, but it was a slow day.

There was a lively dance show at midday which the tour groups enjoyed. Half a dozen different dances performed by locals in colourful traditional costume. Dances for the forthcoming harvest, post harvest, impressing the ladies (where a man lifted a 20kg block of wood in his teeth and pranced around) and traditional hunting, whereby a skinny guy blew his blowpipe at balloons around the theatre. The backing band was great. Hypnotic music, I wish you could buy it on CD. Yes, it was touristy, but it was the closest I'd ever come to Borneo’s traditions. Recommended. At the Chinese farmhouse, an attractive 40 year old chatty tribal woman looking for a foreign husband ("I'm only Chinese during the day") showed me how to make bird's nest soup. ("tastes like shit, but the Chinese love it'). I averted the "will you marry me and take me away from this" suggestions.

The 2.20pm bus never showed, and I ended up jogging in my flip-flops 4 km back to the road junction, where the 3pm bus never showed either. A downpour commenced. I looked like a drowned rat trying to hitch. Sunday drivers passed ("what is he crazy? In this weather?") and was saved by a young couple with a baby who took me back to Kuching and dumped me back at the Sarawak Museum.

I had read glorious reports about "one of the best museums in SE Asia", but apart from the formidable 1890's colonial building, it was nothing special. Yes, there was lots of traditional 'longhouse culture' stuff all housed in a well-laid out museum. But not a skull to be seen, apart from one which demonstrated the 'flattening of the skull' technique which females were forced to undergo to make them 'beautiful'. Lots of stuffed animals, musical instruments etc. The most interesting exhibit was a massive 'hairball', the size of a football, extracted from a crocodile with a set of false teeth attached (someone was taking the piss). To be fair, the new wing across the road was closed so I didn't see inside. But it’s not one of the most impressive museums I've ever seen. It took ages to find an Internet cafe, but when I did, I stayed all night.

Over breakfast, I re-met Don and Susan, the Canadian couple I had met at Uncle Tan's in Sabah - still going strong. 'k-rist" Don said, "we've only got 3 months left. How the hell are we going to fit in Cambodia, Vietnam and China?". I also met Cath, an English woman en route to Oz. She was headed for Baku National Park where I was also going. We agreed to meet on the bus. Meanwhile, I took off for the laundrette and picked up my washing and then did a 'Levi's ad' strip of what I was wearing and said wash these too. A naked Englishman in Kuching? With my reputation?

On the bus, I met Kath and a friendly Dutchman called Marshall who remarked "I envy you bloody Englishmen. You just quit and go travelling. We poor sods get 6 weeks a year. How I wish". We ended up making a great team for 2 days.

The bus dropped us at a jetty where we rented a boat take us along the coast to the national park. Baku is Sarawak's oldest national park (1957), covering 3000 hectares at the tip of a peninsula just 35km from Kuching. It contains almost every vegetation found in Borneo (beach vegetation, cliff vegetation, heath forest, mangrove forest, mixed dipterocarp forest, grassland vegetation and peat-swamp forest) and a well maintained trails. We held on for dear life as we pummelled the choppy waves and were dropped offshore.

The tide was out and we were forced to clamber out of the boat and walk half a mile over the sandy beach while hermit crabs and mudskippers scuttled about. A warden led us to our rooms, pointing out a sleeping coiled green 'Pit Viper' snake in the branches overhead. It had been asleep for 3 days and was very poisonous. Near our hostel lay a sleeping 'flying lemur' on the side of a tree. It was like a large sack attached to the tree truck with its head, and baby, buried under it's wings.

The complex was a mass of long-tailed macaque and silver leafed monkeys. Absolutely fearless. I laughed when a Malaysian woman said that all of her food had been stolen by monkeys from the kitchen, until, while writing my diary on the patio, I was shocked by the thump of a monkey who grabbed my polo mints and took off into the trees. I'll have you, you little bastard I thought, as it sat in a tree trying to unwrap the mints. At dusk, the largest mammal found at Baku appeared - the Borneo Bearded Pig. It had a horse sized nose, covered in bristles on either side of its snout. Wonderful animals who seemed to look at you and say 'what are you looking at, small nose?'.

As soon as we had dumped our gear, we took off along the trails. My back was killing me. We climbed up through the forests and along sandy paths crossed by streams. An afternoon downpour commenced that absolutely soaked us. I was unable to hold my footing on the wet sandy trail and in my flip-flops, buggered over half a dozen times, much to the amusement of Cath and Marshall. My back was strained even more. We reached the small but picturesque Tajor Waterfall (hardly a waterfall), but I could take a dip in a cool brackish water and calm my back. We finally reached a beach at Telok Sibur, took in the wonderful seaviews with jungle perched on top of the eroded sandstone coastline and made our way back. We ate at local cafe, where a rainstorm swept in so abruptly, we were forced inside. The patio was just a pool of water.

We had intended to get up at dawn for an early trek. A screaming Kath, who awoke with a rat running over her face, awaked us even earlier. It had also eaten most of a packet of 'Cream Crackers'. It was a good alarm clock. Bleary-eyed, the three of us took off along the 'Paku Trail' to spot the infamous "Proboscis monkey". We saw plenty of silver leafed monkeys, but no sign of our quest. We doubled back and heard monkey yells. Sure enough, we finally caught sight of them. There was a male, a couple of females and a couple young males tumbling through the trees. Through my binoculars (they inhabit very tall trees), I caught sight of the reddish-brown furred male with his huge drooping nose. He yawned and scratched himself and looked like an old man (rather similar to that old 1980s condom cartoon character - Nobby?). I stood and watched them for 30 minutes until sandflies chewing at my legs forced me on. A memorable sight. The only animal I wanted to see in Borneo.

After breakfast with a 67-year-old British merchant seaman and his attractive 25-year-old Thai wife (you dirty old man!), we set off on another hike to another beach. Just as we arrived at a shelter, another shitstorm hit us. The coastline disappeared under a haze. Marshall and I bade farewell to Kath here. We wanted to get back to Kuching, tonight if possible.

The biggest problem is that the sea is so rough in the afternoon, that few boats venture out for pickups. We waited an age on the beach as the tide hurtled towards us, but finally, someone with boat and enough guts came to pick us up. Riding over the very rough waves, we held on and made the last bus to Kuching.

I awoke the next morning at 8am and had a crisis. My watch said November 2. I had a plane to catch. Wrong! My watch had jumped a day. Over breakfast, I met up it Don and Susan, still holed up. They were on the same flight tomorrow morning. We agreed to meet up at 7am for the bus to the airport.

I had a spare day and armed with a few Danish Stouts headed for the Internet cafe for a massive catch up session. I was there for 12 hours and finishing the beers have little recollection of getting home.

I slept through my alarm (as you do) and awoke the next morning at 7.45am. Oh shit! 90 minutes until takeoff. The Canadians has long gone ("well, we didn't like to wake you in case you had changed your plans" Thanks Don). I walked downtown. The 8.30am bus never appeared. I had 45 minutes until takeoff. I threw myself on the mercy of a minibus driver and got to the airport within 20 mins of takeoff. The female check-in staff tut-tutted. but checked me on. When I found Don and Susan at the departure gate I got an 'in your own time' welcome. But I made the flight. Newspapers, a decent omelette breakfast. No beer. Not that I needed it after last night.

We touched down at Johor Bahru airport on the Malaysian mainland peninsula before noon and caught a bus to the main bus station in the centre of town. Don and Susan headed for Bangkok, I headed for Singapore.

Returning to Malaysia (again!), it all seemed so familiar. I couldn't remember when I wasn't in Malaysia, but I had 2 more sights to visit before I could consider the country finished.

From Johor Bahru, I caught a bus up to Mersing on the south east coast. This bustling fishing port is the main gateway to the Tioman Islands, about 30km off the coast. I climbed aboard a ferry and sat on deck, under overcast skies, for the smooth two and a half-hour ride, nursing a bottle of beer. The Islands are Muslim and dry (well, officially, but you can get it at a price).

The main island (38km x 19km) is one of Malaysia's most popular holiday islands and the small off shore islands are protected as a 'Marine Life Park'. Originally, a volcanic island, it is covered in lush tropical jungle with a few villages strung along its coast. Since it became known as the location for the Hollywood musical "South Pacific' and 'Time' Magazine proclaimed it as one of the most beautiful spots in the world in the 1970s, and it has been flooded by tourists. But not today. It was the rainy season and the island was due to shut down in a week. There were 2 other tourists on board who had, like me, come to dive. I only counted 2 dozen tourists during my stay.

As we approached, I could see two jungle covered pinnacles shrouded in mist (the 'Dragon's horns). The boat drops you at your requested village. I had chosen 'Air Batang' - a sleepy hamlet with a few basic chalet resorts and (mostly closed) restaurants. No tourist had stayed at my 'resort' in a week. I snorkelled off the coral beach, ate local fish and chips and generally relaxed. Well, I had to. It poured with rain and incessant electric thunderstorms lit the night. There is a sandfly problem here, but not as bad as at Baku National Park in Sarawak. The weather put me off trying to walk across the rain sodden island.

While I ate at a local cafe at sunset, there was an almighty screeching noise. Hundreds of large fruit bats launched themselves into the tall palm trees outside to roost. There were dozens of cats and kittens around (all had flees and worms I was told, and the Malaysian characteristic of lopped off tails). A large ignuna lizard swam in a pond. It was all very small scale, but a functioning Muslim village. Litter was starting to appear in small piles. One old American tourist liked it so much, he had been here two months! At least it had mainland prices for everything.

The coral off the main island seemed mostly dead - and ironically, I saw more fish from the pier (barracuda, blue fins) where locals fed them. The only way to see some decent sea life was to scuba dive so I booked onto a couple of dives.

When I turned up at the Dive Shop the next morning (in lashing rain), they showed me a sleeping viper snake that had crawled into one of their desk draws because it was cold. We took off on a boat to Penuba Bay and Salang Bay to pick up other tourists. Ironically, the guidebooks all proclaimed Salang Bay to be the least developed so all travellers headed here. It is now the most modern, developed village on the island - just tourists. I enjoyed having normal village life around me. But you could buy beer in Salang.

The skies cleared for a perfect sunny day of diving. We motored to the offshore island of Chebah - the tiny and most northerly island. I had trouble remembering how to assemble my gear (well it had been a month). The waves were very choppy. Four of us descended to 23m for a 50-minute dive. While the coral was very colourful - tabletop, brain, branching and elephant ear soft coral, the marine life was sparse. I saw a long narrow yellow 'cigar fish', a small turtle and a lionfish. The rough seas blew up the seabed, we had to battle against the current and visibility was very reduced. I had been too spoilt with the marine life at Sipidan.

While we waited for the boat to pick us up, I kept my head underwater with my remaining air and saw a huge turtle swimming along with a massive jellyfish in its mouth. The colourful jellyfish were enormous and I was able to descend and swim around them as they wafted slowly through the water. A unique experience.

We rested up at the picturesque Coral Bay at the island of Tulai, where I did some snorkelling. Then we headed for Batu Malang for a 2nd dive of 55 minutes descending to 14m. This was much better. More varieties and even more colourful coral. I saw a 'scorpion fish', boray eel, blue spotted stingray, a huge triggerfish and colourful orange/white striped 'clown fish' darting in amongst the soft coral. Our divemaster took us through a narrow cave under a large mass of coral. It was a great day, but I opted out of further dives. Indonesia had to have something better. Tioman was a lovely island to visit. Recommended.

Early the next morning, in the pouring rain, I caught a ferry back to Mersing. It was virtually empty. A bus took me up the coast to Kuantan - the start of a tedious journey to Teman Negara National Park. In true Malaysian style, buses are timed, deliberately, it seemed, not to connect with each other. I was forced to hole up here for a night. At least they had Internet. The next day, I got as far as Jerantut. The bus arrived, too late to catch the bus to the Park. At least they had Internet. Two days of travel, mostly sitting around waiting.

The bus to Temberling Jetty failed to show at 8.15am. It had broken down. There are only two boats into the National Park - 9am and 2pm. The next bus was at 11am. Rather than sit around all day, I got a taxi to the jetty 16km north. The old man in charge of the taxi drove like an old man. We'd never make it on time. En route, I passed my first monkey 'road kill'. A large, but dead black monkey lay sprawling on the road, with an expression on its face that said "what hit me?".

We made it. The ferry finally left at 9.30. On board the long narrow 'sampan' (a motorised, covered canoe which holds 10 people) were a Belgium couple and Billy from Cork, Ireland and Jana from Prague, Chech Republic. Billy had worked in Cork with mentally handicapped people, had been travelling for 6 months (3 in India) and like me, raved on about Lakdah in the far north of India. He had teamed up with Jana in Malaysia. She was a stunning, tiny (dyed) blonde 25 year old beauty who had worked in movie productions in Prague, had thrown in her job and decided to, naively (it turned out), visit Thailand through to Australia. Wherever she went, men's jaws dropped. Together we made up a team. (I kept my jaw intact because as you all know, I am equally as stunning, cough). The 3-hour boat ride up the river was beautiful. No settlements. Just jungle and very reminiscent of the Mekong River in Laos (but much smaller in scale).

Teman Negara is Malaysia's oldest (1925), largest and most famous National Park. Spread over 4343 sq. km, it dominates the north-eastern section of mainland Malaysia. It comprises of dense lowland forest, higher altitude cloud forest enveloping peaks and a modern jungle retreat at western prices. I splashed out to stay at the resort hostel while the others stayed at the grubby village across the river at half the price. But I had an a/c dorm room, with mosquito net, in a beautiful location set next to some of the oldest rainforest in the world. At 130 million years in age, it is older than the Congo or Amazon jungles. The place teems with incessant jungle noise, but you don't see much wildlife.

We set off to explore and headed along dry sandy trails towards the peak of Bukit Teresek (342m) a mere 3km from the resort. It was tranquil and deserted (off-season again), but hot and humid in the midday heat. Splendid primary jungle with the occasional rustle of a wild boar in the undergrowth, or monkey or squirrel in the trees. We passed the famous 'canopy walkway' - a swaying 450m bridge around the trees, which inevitably was 'closed'. This is publicised everywhere in Malaysia and when you get here, its only open from 9-12am. No matter, the walk was stunning.

Later on, we did another 3km walk to Gua Telinga cave. En route, we saw two huge monitor lizards basking in the sun. The undulating trail was muddier - and required much more grappling with tree roots to ascend. The cave was more like a hole in a rock. Apparently you can clamber in to see bats, but I couldn't even squeeze through the entrance. No matter, the walk was stunning. After dusk, I headed for one of the 'hides' near my hostel to observe the nightlife. Er, there was none. Nor was there any when I got up before sunrise to return there.

Any more trekking in the Park takes days and requires guides, camping gear etc. We felt as if we had seen enough and met up to catch the morning boat back to Temberling Jetty and onto Jerantut in lovely sunshine. It would be a long day of travelling. Jerantut had no travel agency. I couldn't believe it. I asked a local "What do you do when you want to go on holiday?" "We catch a bus to Thailand". It was a Saturday afternoon. The bus to Melacca was fully booked, so we caught one to Kuala Lumpur. Here I hoped to check out flights to Jakarta.

Some hope. KL shuts down at midday on Saturday. We arrived at 4pm in torrential rain and found the city closed. So we caught a bus to Melacca through dense traffic jams and rain and holed up there for the night. At the Chinese nightmarket, we enjoyed excellent Chinese soup, while a cage of live frogs sat near us. Whenever a local requested 'frog porridge', a large green frog would be selected. Then the 'chef' would glance around to see if there were any westerners and then discreetly hit the frog over the head with a large iron bar and plop it onto the griddle.

Under our hostel, two Chinese wedding receptions were in progress in the restaurants. Dozens of drunken Chinese men staggered around hugging each other. They left enough food to even feed me (but noone offered a doggy bag).

Billy and Jana hadn't visited Melacca so I gave them the guided tour on Sunday (see Malaysia Part 1). I had been hoping that the "Mr Universe" competition would have started, but we were a week too early. Melacca was full of tourists. On my last visit, there were hardly any.

We weren't sure about Jana getting into Indonesia. As UK citizens, we knew we had free visa entry. We asked around. No problem they said. Big problem it turned out. The ferries had a 50% discount price going on and the boats were packed. We caught an extra ferry mid morning and headed for Dumai, Sumatra, Indonesia.

When we arrived, there was the usual saga of Indonesian immigration coming aboard to check everyone's passport to get a visa. Everyone had to be processed before anyone was allowed to leave the boat. Billy and I got our passports back. Jana's was confiscated. As a Chech citizen, she needed an advance visa from an Indonesian Embassy because the Chech Republic had no diplomatic relations with Indonesia. Everyone left the boat. Jana was not allowed to leave. Now what do we do? We went to the top dog at the Indonesian immigration to plead, but he refused to budge. He even refused a bribe! A first for Indonesia. It wasn't as if their system was computerised. It was just a stamp in your passport.

The empty ferry was returning to Melacca right away. Are you staying or coming back? We were a team. We couldn't leave a stranded girl on her own. She could barely speak English. We decided to return with Jana and try and sort something out in KL. It was strange to motor back on a deserted boat. At least the ride was free. The Malaysian crew were very sympathetic, giving us dinner and telling us that Indonesians were "assholes".

They had to keep Malaysian immigration open for us when we returned around 10pm. Hey, why not visit Malaysia for a 5th time! Jana got another grilling ("How much money have you got?"). I learnt what it was like to travel as an Eastern European. They treat you like shit. Our hostel owner was most surprised to see us back. Thanks for your advice mate. Back to the frogs at frog nightmarket.

We were on the first bus to KL the next morning and headed straight for the Indonesian Embassy. To get a visa, Jana had to have inward and outward tickets for Indonesia. "But we're sailing from Melacca to Dumai". "Then you have to go to Melacca, get a ticket and bring it back". You're shitting me! It would take 4 days to get the visa even with the tickets.

We checked out flights to Jakarta and onward. But Malaysian airfares were extortionate (probably to pay off their new airport in KL that noone wants to use) and also booked up for days.

I had an idea. Fly to the Philippines and enter Indonesia from there. When we visited the Philippine Embassy, they wouldn't let us in because we were wearing shorts ("So what do you wear in Manila pal? Thermal underwear?"). From security's phone, I got told that you could enter for 21 days without a visa. Bingo.

Back at the travel agent, we were sabotaged. "If you fly from Malaysia, you have to have an inward-outward bound flight" (at our hefty prices). "It’s the rule just for Malaysia". Well you know where you can shove your rule. We double checked at two other agencies.

At this point, I gracefully bowed out. We had run up against brick walls all along. Embassies live in their own world. No wonder Indonesia currently has no tourists. And I wasn't prepared to hang around for days for a visa. Let alone the fact she couldn't afford the Malaysian flights. Hell, I couldn't afford them. I recommended that she head for Bangkok to sort it out. Its more civilised up there and the airfares are a damn sight more cheaper. Billy was in no hurry, and said he'd go back to Bangkok with her.

Licking our wounds, we headed for the Petronas Twin Towers Building in late afternoon (as you do). "Miss World" was going on somewhere around here. The beauties were dotted around the Maldives and Malaysia (because they heard I was in town). As we walked around outside (because, naturally, being Malaysia, the Skyway was closed), a dozen babes paraded for the cameras including Miss Chech Republic. These girls looked absolutely stunning. Even my jaw dropped. Photos are available from me at a price.

That night, I bade farewell to Billy and Jana who were booked on the 10pm night bus to Thailand. They would reach Bangkok at 6pm the following evening. It had been an adventure and an experience. But it also supported my ground rule that to travel you have to research well and plan ahead. Its difficult to turn up to countries on a whim unless you know you can get in.

I was on the 7am bus back to Melacca. This was becoming a 2-hour commuter run for me. Back to the endless lines to get back onto another ferry. The 10.30am ferry left after midday. I was the only westerner aboard. It was the same ferry as before and the crew recognised me ("so where's the Chech babe?"). By the time we were dealt with by immigration it was 5pm. Welcome back to Dumai, Sumatra, Indonesia. If the place was on fire, you wouldn't piss on it.

Malaysia? Mixed feelings. Maybe the fact that it was broken up into 4 visits dragged it out too long. The National Parks are the things to visit. All different. All brilliant. I found the general bureaucracy frustrating (all these rules pertaining just to Malaysia). If you visit, make sure you have flights in and out. It is westernised enough to expect everything you are used to, and at the same time, it is often impossible to get anything done that we take for granted. The country seems to shut down at the weekend. It’s a beautiful country to visit, but during the wet season, it rains non-stop. I'm talking 'wrath of god' rain. The people are polite, friendly, laid back and it is definitely hassle free. Its was the most expensive country to date (except Singapore/Brunei) but still cheap against European prices. Except the beer which had English prices. Maybe that was what was wrong. It definitely has its own character, different to Thailand and I'd still recommend it for a holiday. Unless you come from the Chech Republic.

Costs in Malaysia for 25 days (Parts 2,3,4)(in British Pounds Sterling)

Travel - £118.85 (inc .347 2nd/3rd ferry trips to Sumatra
Accommodation - £86.97
Food - £143.61
Other - £258.20 (inc £84.40 scuba diving at Sipidan and £29.35 scuba diving at Tioman Is)
Total - £607.63
Grand Total - £5929.59