A Malaysian Adventure: Part II

(Have you read Part I of this story? If not, scroll down and read it first.)

The next morning was clear and warm. Being at the top of the mountain, and with the rain gone, the only thing anyone worried about was leaches. Leaches present a different kind of enemy than mosquitoes: they’re slower (obviously), but more careful. The longest leach I saw on someone was probably 3 ½ inches long and looked like a thin earthworm, but they all could easily change shape and length. The only way to notice a leach was to see it crawling on your leg, or sucking your blood. And once the leach had started drinking, it didn’t like to let go – causing many gross tug-a-wars. The best (or worst) part was that after the leach left, the wound bled a lot, so many people had bloodstains on their arms or legs.

I’m proud to announce that I was one of only two people never bitten by a leach.

We left camp at 9 am. The first part of the hike down was 20m down a series of ledges that required the use of ropes and hands.

I stayed at the back and it took about an hour for the slow group to get down. But we were rewarded by our efforts at the bottom (of the ledges, top of the mountain) with a 7 inch millipede/centipede. Very cool.






When we left the bottom of the rock ledges, we also left the part of our camping trip that anyone would consider “normal.” We thought we were on the easy downhill; that the rest of the day would be a hike out, a trip to a waterfall, and back to Singapore. But before we could realize the trouble we were in, we had to hike out.

The clear weather let me observe the forest better than I was able to on the way in. Unfortunately, the amount of litter ("rubbish" if you're from Europe) grabbed my attention most forcefully. Empty water bottles were everywhere, along with food wrapper, plastic bags, and a surprising number of shoe soles. I couldn't help but think of Chris Fischborn, and so I did his part and filled up two plastic grocery bags with trash - I even inspired someone else to help me. I found some treasure, too. When I was grabbing a plastic bottle that was a couple of steps off the trail, I spotted this:

There was nothing in it but mud. Too bad.

After an hour or so of hiking, the few people I was hiking with caught up with the main group: they were stopped at a fork in the trail. No one remembered which way we'd come; the only information we had was two spray paint arrows on trees, each pointing a different way, and a note from 6 people that were ahead, saying that they'd gone right "we hope to see you at the bottom." The fifteen of us decided to wait (theme 1) for Yew Sim, who was bring up the rear.

We waited a long time.

The other two people walking with Yew Sim arrived first. This was the amusing dialogue that followed:
"Where's Yew Sim?" we asked.
"He decided to chart this unknown wilderness and jumped off the trail."
"Ha ha. Where's Yew Sim?"
"No seriously, he jumped off the trail 30 minutes ago. We have no idea where he is."

This news was astonishing. Our guide, not content with merely getting us lost on the way in, abandons us completely on the way out. Ostensibly he left the trail to find the way out and then guide us. But his plan clearly didn't work. Now we did not know which way to go, we did not know the particulars of the scheduled van pickup, and we did not know where Yew Sim was.

An organic leadership developed that turned out to work better than Yew Sim's (mis)management. We decided to follow the other part of our group down the right fork. That was the correct the decision. (Later, we learned that two members of our party just completely didn't see the fork and walking left. Once they got out, it took a half hour taxi ride and another hour of walking for them to meet up with us.)

Without further problems, everyone except Yew Sim united at the bottom with the waiting vans. This is where the two themes of the story come ironically together: we are waiting at the bottom because our "leader" had gotten himself completely lost. A few people were sympathetic and wanted to wait; most were not. The vans had another appointment later that day, so the decision was made: we would leave. A note was written, and the van drivers said they'd sent a buddy of theirs to wait for him at the bottom. We vamosed.

But the best was still to come. Driving back through Kota Tingii the decision was made (I don't know who - leadership was quite fluid at this point) to stop at the local police station and file a missing person report.

The police station from the vans.

Unsurprisingly, we had to wait. Our boredom was cut short when it was announced that we all had to go in the police station because they wanted to keep us here. Twenty American, Europeans, and Canadians, muddy and tired, tromped into the police station. The officer on duty did not speak English, but we learned that the law required us to obtain permits and hire a local guide before hiking on Mt. Panti. We had obviously not done this, and now that we were at the police station, complaining that someone was lost there, we were in trouble. Rumors flew: we would be fined $50 each, we would have to stay overnight, they'll just let us go, we can talk our way out of it, the fine is $500, and so on. Across this background, the officer's demand to collect all our passports did not go well. Suddenly, everyone began studying intently the first few pages of information in each passport. Different governments gave different instruction: the American passport said I should demand to see a US Consul if arrested; the people from the UK could appeal to the "grace of her majesty the Queen to pass unhindered"; and the Canadians could choose to contact the British, Canadian, or Australian embassy. But without any working phone numbers or any number to call, there was not much we could do. So we took pictures:

"Royal Police station, Kota Tinggi, (state of) Johor)"

One of the Canadian girls escalated the situation when she refused to give up her passport. She did not trust the police officer, she said, and would not let him touch her passport. He jabbered at her in Malay; she jabbered at him in English. When Simon translated the officer's threat to put her in jail if she did not cooperate, she gave in. So did the rest of us.

At this point, Yew Sim showed up. He'd gotten bad cramps and hurt his ankle, but had made it off the mountain and been picked up by a friendly stranger. We didn't greet him too cordially, and sent him in to do battle with the Malaysian police. Somewhat miraculously, he did very well and within ten minutes our passports were returned and we were on our way. The police even let us use their bathroom:

See the hose? That's the toilet paper.

That is, we were all on our way except Yew Sim and two other unlucky souls. He'd been carrying his own pack and some else's (who'd been going slowly) when he got lost. When he hurt his ankle, he left them behind, passports and all. A friendly German student and the stranger who picked up Yew Sim hiked all the way back up the mountain and recovered the packs that night.

So, three people short, we drove back to the boarder and walked into Singapore. This is what the Singapore checkpoint looks like from the Malaysia side of the causeway.


Except for the two people detained at customs for bringing Malaysian alcohol into Singapore, the trip ended without trouble. I had a fantastic time in Malaysian and am very glad that I went. It so inspired me to get lost in foreign places that when I got home I bought plane tickets to Bangkok, Thailand for next weekend. I fly out Thursday, September sixth and come back on the ninth. You'll be hearing more about that later.


Thanks to Lisa for letting me use her photos.

Sorry

Internet on the NUS campus has been down for the past day, so I've
been unable to put up the next post in my Malaysian adventure. I'm
attempting this post by email, something I haven't tried before.

A Malaysian Adventure: Part I

It started early enough on Saturday morning that it couldn't have been anything other than a camping trip. At 7:00 am, Matt and I had no trouble catching Bus 183 to the Clementi Fair Price market, where we easily met up with the other 18 members of our weekend expedition. That planned 7:30 meeting was the only part of the trip itinerary that didn't explode in our faces.

After buying food for the trip (lunch, dinner, and the next day's breakfast), we trekked across the highway to where our hired vans were supposed to pick us up and take us north. Instead, we were introduced to a major theme of the weekend: waiting. Our leader, a man named Yew Sim, assured us that the vans would be 30 minutes late. An hour and a half later the vans arrived and a second theme became clear: Yew Sim's unique measurements of time and distance.


Other than being late, the vans worked out very well. They weren't big chevys, but they each had 10 captain's seats, working air conditioning (apparently required by law in Singapore) and the drivers were very friendly. The vans gave everyone a chance to meet each other. All but three of us were exchange students. The other exchange students came from Germany, the UK, Switzerland, Lithuania, Canada, and Poland. Matt and I were probably the youngest as Europeans start college later and most of them were graduate students (getting a masters degree is more common there than it is here - the systems are set up differently). Like always talking with students from all over the world (or Europe, at least) was a lot of fun. Everyone is always friendly and gracious, and the hardest and most awkward part is trying to remember names.

We got to the boarder quickly and the passage through was smooth except when the Malaysian immigration officer thought I was a Singaporean employee lacking the proper paperwork. For what was not to be the last time, Simon (the swiss)'s conversational Malay came in handy (he also speaks French, German, Indonesian, and English. Wow, I feel inadequate). Exciting, I got another passport stamp.

It was about a two hour drive to Mt. Pinti. The view from the van showed Malaysia that was noticably less developed than Singapore, but not extrememly so. The roads were smooth, the buildings ranging from shabby to nice. Passing through a rural area, we saw some Palm oil plantations:



Lunch in Johor Tinggi was fish noodle soup for the equivalent of 75 US cents. It wasn't very good - how does "you get what you pay for" work with exchange rates? We picked up 4.5 liters of water each, noted the ominous rainclouds, and piled back in the vans for the final 15 minutes to the trailhead.

At the trailhead, the ominous rain clouds turned into thick ominous raindrops, the type that either go away after a bit, or turn into a downpour. The few of use with ponchos or raincoats congratulated each other and everyone else huddled humorously under umbrellas. Yew Sim made fun of us all, claiming that by the time we all got our our rain gear, it would stop raining.

The hike was through a thick forest - I don't know if "jungle" or "rainforest" is the right term, I'm guessing it had been logged sometime in the past 40 years and and there wasn't super thick undergrowth, but there was an incredible variety of flora: palm trees, spikes on the bark trees, buttressed roots, climbing vines, hanging vines, big leaves. At the end of the trip we'd learn that when we crossed this:

we got on the wrong trail when we climbed up the other bank. At the time we didn't know of course, and kept up the wrong trail, climbing pretty steeply for half an hour while the rain turned from gently pitter patter to full on pouring cats and dogs. Thunder became constant background noise, and the forest turned dark. The poncho that I wore had cost only $2 the day before, but I wouldn't have sold it for $50. I wish I'd bought more.

Although it was 3 in the afternoon, it was as dark as if the sun were setting. It rained harder and we stopped. Time for pictures:

This is with the flash. That's Simon on the right.
Matt and I were having a great time. Being in a rainforest when it's raining is like being at the beach when it's sunny. It's the proper weather for the environment. We were grinning from ear to ear:

Remember the themes of this trip? This is where they come together. We were waiting in the rain (1) because Yew Sim had no idea where we were (2). So we began to climb straight up the hill in the pouring rain, hoping to intersect the trail. It was fun.

But it was also at this point that I got irritated. Several people on this trip were not even marginally prepared: no rain gear, no umbrella, only some soaking wet clothes in a soaking wet backpack. Yew Sim had no map and had been here last a year and a half ago. I expected more leadership from him; I suppose he suspected more independence from us. (I should note that this is not a university sanctioned trip - Yew Sim is an employee of NUS, but arranges these trips independently, because he likes taking exchange students on outings.) But being part of such a poorly run camping trip was very difficult for my be-prepared Boy Scout mentality and expectations. I was worried about the people who literally had nothing dry - how would the night go?

We did find the trail. It wasn't hard to identify, because it had turned into quite the raging creek. Apparently proper water-erosion control techniques hadn't been a concern of the builders of the trail.

The rain did let up settle into an on-off pattern that temped dryness but never delivered. The hike continued to climb up slipperly yellow mud. I stayed at the back with some slower hikers. The promise from Yew Sim that the top was "just around the corner" provided us with two hours of wry laughter as we kept going.

We did make it to the top about 45 minutes before sunset (sunrise and sunset are both ~7:00). The view looking out over Malaysian rain forest made the trip worth it for me (as it always does):

(morning)

(night)

(morning)
Matt might have some pictures of me on his camera - if I get them, I'll post them in an update.

As the rain dripped to an end, we huddled under a tarp, making dinner and friends. We had gotten lost and gotten found, survived a rain storm and climbed a mountain - the communal sense of accomplishment we felt went very well with dinner.


I slept very well.

Part II of this story includes the ironic thematic finish, large bugs, and men in uniform.

(By the way Michael - I need a picture of you in the shirt.)

"What's Your Sentosa?" -> lame brochure tagline

The island of Sentosa is quite close to mainland Singapore - you can see it in the background of some of my earlier pictures. You can get there by taxi, monorail, boat, cable car, or walking. Filled with tourist attractions and restaurants, it's a big cash cow for Singapore. But somehow when we went last Wednesday, it was deserted. Again, pictures tell the story:

I went with Yong Su (another student from U of O; we met in the dorms two years ago), Heikki (the other exchange student on my floor; he's from Finland), and Justin (also in the U of O dorms two years ago). All of Singapore has a feeling like the entire island was bulldozed about twenty years ago and built entirely from the ground up, and even with all the sand and greenspaces, Sentosa feels just as artificial. It's not a misleading feeling: the beaches are made with imported Malaysian sand, the palm trees are strategically planted to look tropical, and small offshore islands are built to hide the fleet of container ships that occupy the horizon. Nevertheless, it's a beach:

You'll notice I'm the only one wearing pants and shoes. That is reflective of years of being hauled off to the Oregon "beach" on similarly grey and overcast days. It is, of course a mistake; I was sweating immediately and had to find a place to change. The shoes were a problem too, but for a different reason. I couldn't be putting them on and taking them off all day, so I opted to go barefoot. It was fine, except in Singapore, they have these:

I'm not wearing that shoe - it's there for perspective. But that means I was barefoot - a close call with the unthinkable.

The next stop is self-explanatory:

It seemed an odd claim, though, because it looked like there was an island in every direction.... Oh well, I got the picture.

We eventually did make it in the water. It was bath tub warm and much more salty than I expected. A two hour lunch on the beach followed. We were the only patrons at the place, it was warm, humid, and felt just like I was on a white-sand beach resort in the South Pacific. Which I was. The perfect Wednesday.

I could get used to this

It's been a fun week, and this weekend isn't looking too bad either.

Tuesday night the four of us from U of O decided we'd had enough of $3.00 chinese dinners and decided to go out. We went to Boat Quay (pronounced "key"), which is a string of restaurants just across the Singapore River from the Asian Civilizations Museum of last weekend. It was early, and a week night, so the place was pretty empty. We were targets. Wait staff accosted us, demanding we read menus, admire fish tanks, and look at shiny food pictures while promising free drinks and steep discounts. I would have crumbled immediately and followed the first shouting man, but thankfully I wasn't in charge. When a place was chosen, a careful game began in which we tried not to get ripped off by the very polite waiter. This was the playing field:


Round 0: Drinks on the house - points for everyone.
Round 1: Appetizers
Our team was handicapped: we hadn't practiced together, we didn't all know we were playing, and we were hungry. Yong Su scored a point for us with an order of 6 grilled prawns, in butter. They were delicious, little legs and all.


Round 2: Main dishes
All dishes came in sizes small through large. Individual or family style? Let's share. How many? What size? Do you like fish? Who wants what? I don't care. You decide. I want vegetables. No spicy. What? We were swimming in unanswered questions. The waiter sensed his advantage and struck. This was the resulting meal:

Broccoli in butter: $22. Point for the waiter.



Grilled Grouper fish, in butter and garlic: $48.

We also wanted rice. Seafood fried rice?, suggested the helpful waiter. I said yes; Justin asked how much. Twenty-two dollars? We'll have white. Point for us.

White rice: priceless.


It was time to calculate the bill:
$2.50 x 6 = $15 for prawns
$22 for broccoli
$48 for fish
10% tip
=$93.50
-30% discount
Divide 4 ways
Convert to USD

The final cost was US$10 a person. It felt like we were getting ripped off, and we probably were, but by those standards eating in the US is a terrible deal, all the time. A couple hundred meals like this and I'll pay for my plane ticket.

The next day a slightly modified group of us had no class, so we went to Sentosa, the island beach resort located 200 m into the South China Sea from Singapore. It was probably the best Wednesday during the school year I've ever had. Pictures and story to come, but here's a hint: really big spider.

Coming up, this weekend Matt H. and myself will join 20 other exchange students and a brave NUS staff person to go camping in Malaysia, at Mt. Panti. Here's a satellite picture of roughly where we'll be:

View Larger Map
That's the island of Singapore at the bottom of the map. Use the "+" and "-" buttons to zoom in and out. You can click and drag on the map to pan around.

It's forecasted to be rainy, humid, and hot. I'm going to walk around in a rain forest! I'm so excited!

How hard is it?

I don't know how to explain the absence of comfortable chairs in this country. But it's very annoying.

In lecture this afternoon the plastic desks had sculpted seats - I suppose in an attempt to be ergonomic - that made me regret any change in position. The desks attached to the chairs would collaps to the side if pressure was put on them past the halfway mark. Every time this happens, everything on desk goes to the floor. I performed multiple tests.

The reading room in USP is equipped with chairs apparently designed for legless individuals (to their credit, the desks are flat). The chairs are light grey, matching the desks. The floor is white tile, the walls are flat white, the ceiling is thousands of fluorescent lights, the air is freezing cold, dry and sterile. The room feels like the inside of a brand new fridge, with a couple of books at the fringe and a large box of Arm and Hammer.

The chair I'm sitting in now is about a half inch of foam over flat wood. A large "U" shaped piece forms the top of the back and the arms. As a result, the arm rests are too low and the back is far too low. My rear hurts. This must end.

Here are pictures from a Hindu temple I visited a while back. Click on them to see a better view - the statues are amazing.

Professor Daly and Professor Mutalib

I'm sorry my last post was boring. I suppose writing about how little there is to do isn't a good subject. I guess it was just a product of the Sunday blues - you know, work to do, school tomorrow, don't stay up late, that sort of thing. Monday has come, and I have a lot to do. You know how that is too.

I'm currently registered for three classes: Politics of Heritage, Eastern Political Thought, and Complexity. The problems are that the Complexity class is only offered second term (why did they enroll me in it then??) and that my request for four economics courses is still "pending." I submitted the request last Tuesday. I just talked to the department and they don't seem too concerned - and if they're not, then I suppose I have no reason to be. NUS has more leeway to get students registered for classes than U of O because they have an 18 week term instead of a 10 week term. Already I like the 18 week term more.

My class "Politics of Heritage" is taught by a research anthropologist/archeologist who was just converted this term to teaching. So he knows even less than I do. The lecture for that class is Monday at 10am - he emailed out the reading assignment the same Monday at 1am. He's from New York, and has an annoying habit of referring to "us Americans" and "the American students." He also uses America a lot in his lectures. Today we talked about how landscapes can have functional, symbolic, and evocative roles, after which he showed several example landscapes - we looked at small town America, the American west, and the LA freeway - diversity came from the shots of Western Europe. In his class, it's difficult to escape America. But he's a very smart guy with a lot of field experience, and he wants to take the class on a department-subsidized trip to Cambodia, so I can forgive the American twist.

On the other hand, the professor of my Eastern Political Thought class is very qualified. He is the department head and has been teaching for 30 years at many distinguished universities. The first half of the class looks at Islamic political thought, then later we look at Hindu political thought. Because the term is so long here, the time we spend on each is about equivalent to one U of O term. I think I can learn a lot from this class, even thought it will be less exciting than the Heritage class.

It's rained here every day for the past week. It rains in the morning - sometime before noon - and then clears up for the afternoon. The weather is very manageable because the rain cools everything down and drops the humidity. Today it was probably only 70 in the shade. Many of the rooms are so air conditioned ("air-con'd") that I get cold in jeans and a t-shirt.

Here's the picture for the day:

I found this in a junk/antique shop in Chinatown. It's a light and generator for an old bike - I think it's the same one that came with the Jaguar. The light had the two bulbs that we couldn't figure out how they worked and it looked all wired together. I didn't buy it though...I needed money to spend on the shirt.