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.