After much ado I finally got my Bali and Vietnam entries up here. Blogger takes a maddeningly long time to load photos, which partly accounts for the delay. But it was really because of me being preoccupied.
Yes, more updates will come - Macau, Hong Kong, and of course, an inventory of the crazy foods I ate. But for now, a request. Come July The Boy and I will be embarking on another adventure - this time together, finally. We're roadtripping to various locations in the northeastern US. Washington DC is definitely on the list. The rest is negotiable, although I certainly think Manhattan is in order. I'd also like to make a small beach getaway happen. I have in my mind the image of a small rented cottage in Massachusetts where we can spend a few days alone, riding bikes and having picnics and being the kind of cute couple that makes single people vomit in their mouths.
We're talking a very small budget here - most of the trip will involve couchsurfing and Amtrak, with a rental car here and there. If anybody knows of a good place to stay that isn't a 4-bedroom house costing $2000/week, I would love you forever. It doesn't have to be in Massachusetts, although I'm pretty stuck on the beach idea. There's just something so romantic and idyllic about shorebirds and sea breezes. It doesn't even have to be a building. Campgrounds will do the trick, too. I haven't discussed this with him, but any man of mine must be willing to sleep in a tent.
Any other recommendations are, of course, very welcome. The best entries win a postcard.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Good Morning, Vietnam!
I began my 3-week epic in the (horrible) Pham Ngu Lau area of Saigon, then escaped the next day to Can Tho in the Mekong Delta. There I joined a fabulous French lady on an early morning boat tour. It included two of the area's famous floating markets, pho on the river, a rustic rice noodle-making operation, a pomelo-peel fight with another boat driver and getting stuck in the aquatic plants that clogged our route. Kids on the riverbank (like kids everywhere in the Delta***) would wave frantically and shout "hello hello hello hello!". Our guide was a tiny, charismatic fellow who knew absolutely no English except "tip want."
Having seen everything I came to Can Tho to see, I fought through a downpour to get to the bus station. The only option to get where I wanted to go was with a very aggressive tout in a cramped van. Nothing like the Mai Linh bus I had taken from HCMC, which was a frilly, perfumed deal and included a free water bottle and some Vietnamese pop concert blaring on the big-screen tv up front. I arrived in My Tho cold, exhausted and cranky and checked myself into a Lonely Planet - recommended hotel (displaying a true lack of creativity) where I took a lukewarm shower, cried and wished I was at home. A bowl of hu tieu chay (the veg version of the local noodle soup) and 10 hours of sleep made me feel better.
I woke up in the morning and found a lovely cyclo driver named Nip who let me rent his (very decent) bike and even gave me a complimentary cyclo ride to go pick it up. I took a ferry across the river and biked through country roads (and then a highway, and then some less-country-like but still out-of-the-way roads) in Ben Tre province. Feasted on rambutans, chatted with some locals and remembered why I had come in the first place. When I returned the bike, my friend asked with concern how much I had paid for the ferry ride, the fruit, and nodded in approval when I told him - I'd been charged the local price, not the ludicrous tourist price.
I could have stayed, but I was on a schedule - I had to make my way up to Hoi An for when my travel buddies arrived from Singapore. So Mr. Nip arranged for his cyclo-driver friend Mr. Kha to drive me to the bus station and I moved on, heading back to Saigon to catch a northbound train.
Next stop was Quy Nhon, a beachy town that doesn't get many foreign tourists. At the train station I met a British investment banker-turned-organic farmer and together we navigated the sea of xe om (motorcycle taxi) drivers to get to town. We rented bikes and spent a couple of days alternately trying to interpret baffling Lonely Planet maps and quaffing cheap beer.
From there I headed to Hoi An, town of the 500 tailors. The bus ride was interesting - the "restroom break" was on the side of the road, where myself and the only other woman on board had to find a semi-private place to do our business. Nothing bridges a language barrier better than squatting together in a ditch. Nearby, an old lady tended to her water buffalo.
Hoi An is cute, with great accommodations and lots to do. It's also full of foreigners and, yes, tailors. I got a custom suit and winter jacket but wasn't in much of a shopping mood. I think it had something to do with the the desperation-tinged approach of many of the shopkeepers - "You buy something now?" - that made me feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed. But the Boy connected me with a friend in town, the lovely and hilarious Kim. We went out for coffee and talked about life, family and men. She took me to the local places and stuffed me full of fabulous Vietnamese food. Sea food hot pot. Rice paper rolls. Spicy snails. Pho from a fly-by-night stall in the cloth market parking lot. Two of my friends from Singapore arrived and we did the tourist thing.
Eventually we moved on to Hue, an area that bore much of the damage from what the Vietnamese call "the American War." The Forbidden Purple City is spectacular despite having suffered massive damage. We went on a tour of the Demilitarized Zone, something I really felt the need to do. My grandfather was in the US Army and served in Vietnam. I stood in a rebuilt bunker at Khe Sang base, the scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the war and a turning point in the USA deciding to get out of the country, and cried. Now, I'm a leftist and not a big fan of war, and I'm skeptical (to say the least) of the US mission in Vietnam to begin with. The damage done to that country was massive and heartbreaking. But what ultimately had the most profound effect on me was the thought of these young American men, sent far away from home to a hot, unfamiliar country to fight an enemy they couldn't see. I thought of the seige, the air thick with artillery smoke and noise, and soldiers - my Grampy among them - watching their friends fall. And I just broke down.
We didn't head any further north - it was December, 4 degrees in Hanoi, and we never would have survived in the scanty clothing we'd brought from Singapore. Plus, our time was limited. The Germans wanted to see the Delta so we headed back towards the south and into Ben Tre, the province beside My Tho and one I really wanted to see. Despite the promises in the Lonely Planet it proved nearly impossible to charter a slowboat there but the hilariously nervous and smiley dude running our hotel had a fledgling tour operation and took us out. The best thing about that part of the country is the slow pace - just Vietnamese people living their lives. We drank beer by the manmade lake and watched an ancient woman make waffles on the sidewalk, so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn't notice us trying to buy some. It cost 1000 dong for two - about 5 cents - and when we misunderstood and overpaid her, she handed us back the extra. How refreshing! We also had the most incredible, big bowls of seafood Hu tieu for a dollar each. Honestly, I could live there.
Kim and her sister met us back in Saigon for the end of our trip. We went to a theme park outside of the city, where they took us into the temple (yes, a temple in a theme park) and taught us a bit about Vietnamese culture and spirituality. Kim came on the Viking ship ride and screamed until they let her off...so we stuck to tamer activities like the paddleboats. At every opportunity they tried to stuff me full of food ("Alex! Bigger!") and Kim repeatedly punched me in the arm and called me "Alex khung" ("crazy") right up until it was time to leave. Man, I miss that girl.
*** At one point I sent The Boy a text message saying "omfg. let's have babies." I hope that didn't freak him out. They're just so obscenely cute.
Having seen everything I came to Can Tho to see, I fought through a downpour to get to the bus station. The only option to get where I wanted to go was with a very aggressive tout in a cramped van. Nothing like the Mai Linh bus I had taken from HCMC, which was a frilly, perfumed deal and included a free water bottle and some Vietnamese pop concert blaring on the big-screen tv up front. I arrived in My Tho cold, exhausted and cranky and checked myself into a Lonely Planet - recommended hotel (displaying a true lack of creativity) where I took a lukewarm shower, cried and wished I was at home. A bowl of hu tieu chay (the veg version of the local noodle soup) and 10 hours of sleep made me feel better.
I woke up in the morning and found a lovely cyclo driver named Nip who let me rent his (very decent) bike and even gave me a complimentary cyclo ride to go pick it up. I took a ferry across the river and biked through country roads (and then a highway, and then some less-country-like but still out-of-the-way roads) in Ben Tre province. Feasted on rambutans, chatted with some locals and remembered why I had come in the first place. When I returned the bike, my friend asked with concern how much I had paid for the ferry ride, the fruit, and nodded in approval when I told him - I'd been charged the local price, not the ludicrous tourist price.
I could have stayed, but I was on a schedule - I had to make my way up to Hoi An for when my travel buddies arrived from Singapore. So Mr. Nip arranged for his cyclo-driver friend Mr. Kha to drive me to the bus station and I moved on, heading back to Saigon to catch a northbound train.
Next stop was Quy Nhon, a beachy town that doesn't get many foreign tourists. At the train station I met a British investment banker-turned-organic farmer and together we navigated the sea of xe om (motorcycle taxi) drivers to get to town. We rented bikes and spent a couple of days alternately trying to interpret baffling Lonely Planet maps and quaffing cheap beer.
From there I headed to Hoi An, town of the 500 tailors. The bus ride was interesting - the "restroom break" was on the side of the road, where myself and the only other woman on board had to find a semi-private place to do our business. Nothing bridges a language barrier better than squatting together in a ditch. Nearby, an old lady tended to her water buffalo.
Hoi An is cute, with great accommodations and lots to do. It's also full of foreigners and, yes, tailors. I got a custom suit and winter jacket but wasn't in much of a shopping mood. I think it had something to do with the the desperation-tinged approach of many of the shopkeepers - "You buy something now?" - that made me feel uncomfortable and overwhelmed. But the Boy connected me with a friend in town, the lovely and hilarious Kim. We went out for coffee and talked about life, family and men. She took me to the local places and stuffed me full of fabulous Vietnamese food. Sea food hot pot. Rice paper rolls. Spicy snails. Pho from a fly-by-night stall in the cloth market parking lot. Two of my friends from Singapore arrived and we did the tourist thing.
Eventually we moved on to Hue, an area that bore much of the damage from what the Vietnamese call "the American War." The Forbidden Purple City is spectacular despite having suffered massive damage. We went on a tour of the Demilitarized Zone, something I really felt the need to do. My grandfather was in the US Army and served in Vietnam. I stood in a rebuilt bunker at Khe Sang base, the scene of one of the bloodiest battles of the war and a turning point in the USA deciding to get out of the country, and cried. Now, I'm a leftist and not a big fan of war, and I'm skeptical (to say the least) of the US mission in Vietnam to begin with. The damage done to that country was massive and heartbreaking. But what ultimately had the most profound effect on me was the thought of these young American men, sent far away from home to a hot, unfamiliar country to fight an enemy they couldn't see. I thought of the seige, the air thick with artillery smoke and noise, and soldiers - my Grampy among them - watching their friends fall. And I just broke down.
We didn't head any further north - it was December, 4 degrees in Hanoi, and we never would have survived in the scanty clothing we'd brought from Singapore. Plus, our time was limited. The Germans wanted to see the Delta so we headed back towards the south and into Ben Tre, the province beside My Tho and one I really wanted to see. Despite the promises in the Lonely Planet it proved nearly impossible to charter a slowboat there but the hilariously nervous and smiley dude running our hotel had a fledgling tour operation and took us out. The best thing about that part of the country is the slow pace - just Vietnamese people living their lives. We drank beer by the manmade lake and watched an ancient woman make waffles on the sidewalk, so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn't notice us trying to buy some. It cost 1000 dong for two - about 5 cents - and when we misunderstood and overpaid her, she handed us back the extra. How refreshing! We also had the most incredible, big bowls of seafood Hu tieu for a dollar each. Honestly, I could live there.
Kim and her sister met us back in Saigon for the end of our trip. We went to a theme park outside of the city, where they took us into the temple (yes, a temple in a theme park) and taught us a bit about Vietnamese culture and spirituality. Kim came on the Viking ship ride and screamed until they let her off...so we stuck to tamer activities like the paddleboats. At every opportunity they tried to stuff me full of food ("Alex! Bigger!") and Kim repeatedly punched me in the arm and called me "Alex khung" ("crazy") right up until it was time to leave. Man, I miss that girl.
*** At one point I sent The Boy a text message saying "omfg. let's have babies." I hope that didn't freak him out. They're just so obscenely cute.
For Your Good Luck: A Guide to Bali
Early in the semester I contemplated a trip to Bali - after all, I was in that part of the world, and it's such an iconic destination, and I didn't want my Indonesia experience to be defined by Batam Island. But my favourite Australian, disenchanted with the idea of a bunch of her drunken 21-year-old compatriots, convinced me otherwise. Then one day she messaged me in excitement, describing a place where we could witness whimsical ceremonies (and you all know I'm a sucker for whimsy) and bike through strawberry fields. Where could we find such a place? "Bali!"
This being Southeast Asia, we found some S$70 round-trip tickets for the week between class and exams and headed out of the city.
The Balinese practice a fascinating version of Hinduism and the island is full of symbols of their faith. Small offerings are placed outside of businesses throughout the day, full of flowers and food - everything from rice to Mentos to goldfish crackers. This is apparently to get tourists to buy souvenirs at or near the asking price - which, depending on the seller, can be anywhere from eminently reasonable to ten times the price they're willing to accept.
Ubud - our temporary refuge from the drunk tourists who have stripped every shred of beauty from the town of Kuta - is a yuppie Western treehugger's paradise: organic restaurants, yoga, a new-agey feel-good vibe. I ate life-altering raw vegan food and got a sandalwood oil massage. We stayed in an adorable guesthouse with a garden and full breakfast for an embarrassingly low price. That said, it's still a major tourist destination, complete with all the trappings that come with that. One woman proudly assured me that her brother had made the (clearly mass-produced and cheap) earrings in her shop. "Oh," I replied, "so how comes these ones say "made in Korea?" Without missing a beat, she beamed at me and said "oh, that's just the packaging!" Indeed.
We finally discovered the more Indonesia-like part of town - just outside of the yuppie area, where locals set up candle-lit stalls and sell home-cooked food wrapped in banana leaves - the day before we left.
Nonetheless, it was an amazing week. Bali is home to a number of volcanoes and you can arrange early-morning tours to catch sunset from the peak of several of them. We went to Gunung Batur, the second-largest. Our guide was a young local guy who works as a guide on weekends to pay the school fees for himself and his brother. The fees are 60 000 rupiah per month for each of them - about $6US, but a hefty sum for the locals. We stopped at a shrine halfway up the mountain so our guide could make offerings. Later, one of the girls in our group expressed concern that her chucks weren't the safest things to be climbing in. Our guide earnestly assured her that she would be okay, since he had prayed for our safety and the gods would protect us all. That didn't seem to be comforting to her, but strangely enough, in some small way, it was to me.
We also discovered, in Ubud, a gift shop run by an organization called Senang Hati, which provides housing, support and job skills training for people with disabilities. We arranged for a driver to their headquarters and met the residents, hung out with them for an afternoon. They're obviously badly in need of funding but they invited us to lunch and the students in the esthetician course practicised their skills on us. They lent us sarongs and took us to the Holy Springs Temple, where tourists milled around but only Balinese were actually bathing. They invited us to get in, the only limitation being that we weren't to use two certain spouts - they were for dead bodies. The prayer I said at the first spout was one of thanks - thanks that the pools had good drainage. Honestly, it was amazing. To share in these people's lives, in the practice of their faith and their struggle for acceptance in their society. Also: they have a great handicrafts store on-site, with amazing prices (about half of what they charge at the Ubud shop), no haggling and purchases help support the Foundation. After days of relentless touting and being quoted ludicrous prices for cheap tourist swag, it was so refreshing.
For our finale we went back to the Kuta area, only because we had to catch our plane from there. We actually ventured into the famous "Poppies" area, known as backpacker central. It was dirty, disgusting and overpriced. We hightailed it back to the place we had stayed the first night - in Legian, nearby, but quieter, cleaner, cheaper, less obnoxious. We wandered the beach, used our dwindling supply of rupiah to buy a lunch of avocado and corn chips and to rent a couple of surf boards, and got a complimentary mini-lesson from the surfboard dude, Edi, who apparently had taken a fancy to my fair travel companion.
We ran into him later and ended up spending a few hours with him and his buddy before we left for the airport. They told us about coming from Java in search of work; about learning to surf and speak English on the beach; about how it's boring to look at the same stretch of beach every day but at least they get to make a decent living doing something they enjoy. His friend had previously worked in Malaysia without a passport, swimming ashore from the boat and living in secret to avoid deportation. It drove a lot of things home - these guys were our age but so many of the things we take for granted - mobility, literacy, opportunity - are unimaginable luxuries. We were able to connect over a couple of drinks and some bad salsa dancing, and I guess that's the magic of travel.
Conclusion: Do not go to Kuta. Skip directly over Kuta. If you must stay there, at least get a decent place in Legian. Soak up some arts in Ubud and eat at a couple of swish restaurants because they're so ridiculously cheap. But see the real thing, too. Find the banana-leaf stalls that open by candlelight after dark and get out of the touristed areas. Be careful who you ask about public transport - just about everyone has a vested interest in making you think that the only way around is by private driver. Visit Senang Hati. Most importantly, have faith in people - even the most relentless touts are just trying to make a living, and there are lots of really amazing people who just want to interact with you, the way that you want to interact with them.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Time warp
Okay, I am home. My beloved Macbook died when I got back from Bali (just in time to NOT be fixed for my final exam) and promptly broke again in Vietnam. So yes, I am hopelessly behind here. But fear not, I will treat you to an extravagant buffet of Asian destinations and food porn as soon as I get my baby fixed. Again.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Manic update
It's weird keeping a travel blog when you get to the point where you're not traveling so much as living your life somewhere else. That said, much has happened. Here's a run-down:
1) Theemidhi - a Hindu festival in which devotees walk over hot coals.
2) Homesickness - the three-month mark is infamous as the typical onset of this phenomenon. My family got together for Thanksgiving. Mom posted the pictures on Facebook. School ramped up, and Singapore suddenly got less fun. The The Vinyl Cafe did an episode from Via Rail's cross-country train "The Canadian". Same route I took last summer, same sights, same observations about the people you meet and the experience of witnessing the truly spectacular country we call home.
3) Penang - Alisaur and I went to this crazy little island in Malaysia where we helped the locals (including a bunch of dudes with spears stuck through their faces) pull the 9 Emperor Gods float to the water and send off the gods for another year. We rode really terrible 10-ringgit bikes, saw way too many temples, ate some really spectacular asam laksa, used the pool and sauna at a posh hotel (shhh! don't tell anyone!) and went parasailing on a very touristy beach.
4) Kuala Lumpur - I took the train with two of the ladies from home (I do love me some trains). We went to the Skybar in the Traders Hotel for some great views of the Petronas Towers but split up for most of the weekend while they shopped and I...didn't shop. I visited the Batu caves (a Hindu temple inside a gorgeous natural cave) and tried my hand at batik painting. At the Kompleks Kraf, the government-sponsored art centre, I got caught in the rain and spent half an hour chatting with a lovely couple who raise "the world's smallest chickens", a Malaysian variety. They run a shop selling watercolour and pewter representations of their chickens. They gave me a glossy brochure...about their chickens. Then we had a great conversation about law and religion in Malaysia. After I left their shop I met a woodcarver who is passionate about noses - the great diversity of noses around the world. He pointed out his different carvings - that's an Irish nose, that's an Acehan nose, that's a Malay nose. I happen to like noses myself, so I was a fan.
5) I am currently back in Singapore, teaching myself about world trade law for the purposes of writing a research paper on it. Life is less fun, but within a week I will be done both of my research papers and chilling in Bali. That's what's getting me through.
6) Photos to come - they're up on Facebook but it's a bit more labout-intensive to get them onto Blogger and put them in the right places. I can't justify spending any more time on this right now, not when I have 3000 words to write and buckets of edits and citations to complete. But soon!
1) Theemidhi - a Hindu festival in which devotees walk over hot coals.
2) Homesickness - the three-month mark is infamous as the typical onset of this phenomenon. My family got together for Thanksgiving. Mom posted the pictures on Facebook. School ramped up, and Singapore suddenly got less fun. The The Vinyl Cafe did an episode from Via Rail's cross-country train "The Canadian". Same route I took last summer, same sights, same observations about the people you meet and the experience of witnessing the truly spectacular country we call home.
3) Penang - Alisaur and I went to this crazy little island in Malaysia where we helped the locals (including a bunch of dudes with spears stuck through their faces) pull the 9 Emperor Gods float to the water and send off the gods for another year. We rode really terrible 10-ringgit bikes, saw way too many temples, ate some really spectacular asam laksa, used the pool and sauna at a posh hotel (shhh! don't tell anyone!) and went parasailing on a very touristy beach.
4) Kuala Lumpur - I took the train with two of the ladies from home (I do love me some trains). We went to the Skybar in the Traders Hotel for some great views of the Petronas Towers but split up for most of the weekend while they shopped and I...didn't shop. I visited the Batu caves (a Hindu temple inside a gorgeous natural cave) and tried my hand at batik painting. At the Kompleks Kraf, the government-sponsored art centre, I got caught in the rain and spent half an hour chatting with a lovely couple who raise "the world's smallest chickens", a Malaysian variety. They run a shop selling watercolour and pewter representations of their chickens. They gave me a glossy brochure...about their chickens. Then we had a great conversation about law and religion in Malaysia. After I left their shop I met a woodcarver who is passionate about noses - the great diversity of noses around the world. He pointed out his different carvings - that's an Irish nose, that's an Acehan nose, that's a Malay nose. I happen to like noses myself, so I was a fan.
5) I am currently back in Singapore, teaching myself about world trade law for the purposes of writing a research paper on it. Life is less fun, but within a week I will be done both of my research papers and chilling in Bali. That's what's getting me through.
6) Photos to come - they're up on Facebook but it's a bit more labout-intensive to get them onto Blogger and put them in the right places. I can't justify spending any more time on this right now, not when I have 3000 words to write and buckets of edits and citations to complete. But soon!
Monday, October 5, 2009
Festivus
Image from http://www.duke.edu/web/chinacare/midautumn.jpg
It's festival time in Singapore.
Last night a few of us went to a local family's house to celebrate the Mid-Autumn Festival. Traditionally this means lots of colourful paper lanterns, celebrating the harvest and telling stories about the lady on the moon. In its modern incarnation, one of the students in my residence - a true Singaporean - assures me that "it's all about the food." That means mooncakes, seriously rich pastries filled with lotus seed paste and salted duck egg. Sounds weird (from a Canadian standpoint) but they're tasty.
For the Hindu population October is the month of Diwali, the fesival of lights. Little India is decked out with light displays every night - think that hardcore neighbour's house in December, but substitute elephants for the reindeer.
Coinciding with Diwali but not (to my knowledge) connected with it is Theemidhi, where devotees walk (or, well, run) across a bed of hot coals. Of course, I had to see this, so at midnight on Monday I was at the Sri Mariamman temple along with an enormous crowd of the supportive and the merely curious.
Even more numerous than the spectators were the participants. I had somehow expected there to be an elite group of holy men solemnly walking across the coals. In fact, for several blocks from the temple there were barricades set up to control the throngs of yellow-clad men who had walked from Little India to the temple in Chinatown* to take part. They then lined up to walk (or run) across the coals.
The promo literature makes much of the fact that none of the devotees get burns on their feet. I wouldn't go that far - I saw a fair few men hopping around afterwards - but for the most part they did seem pretty unfazed by it. Mark tells me this is in fact a "phyisically trivial" feat that takes place at a lot of self-esteem workshops or something. Still. It's not for the wimpy.
*Apparently the walk to the temple takes about an hour. In their bare feet. Keep in mind that that this is a modern city...one where you're fined for spitting or littering, and executed for trafficking in drugs, but still a modern city. I don't know, I just have some psychological aversion to walking barefoot on pavement. Just ew.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Borne-O!
Frequency of blogging is inversely correlated to intensity of living. Sorry for the dry spell on your end - I was just never moved to interrupt the flow with a blog post, which on a travel blog is almost necessarily restrospective. NUS has a week's break in the middle of 1st semester (Canadian universities, take note!) so a few of us rocked over to Kuching, in the province of Sarawak (Malaysian Borneo).
Our arrival coincided with Hari Raya, the end of Ramadhan. The owner of the hostel suggested we take a boat over to the nearby _kampongs_ (villages) and wander around until somebody invited us in. So we did, and they did. We were served lunch and cake by a lovely Malay family. We sat around making awkward conversation with the limited language that we shared, and laughed at the antics of their little grandson who clearly believed that clothing is the tool of the oppressor. Got a little sick that night - as far as we could tell it was the _rice_, of all things - but the experience was totally worth it.
Being in Borneo, of course we had to check out some apes and longhouses. Semenggoh Wildlife centre is a rehabilitation centre for orangutans and they're building a pretty substantial little family there. We headed over for the morning feeding time. Despite the staff's dire warnings about how dangerous the orangutans could be, they seemed pretty indifferent to the horde of people gawking at them and taking pictures.
Further down the road was the only longhouse we could access without spending a few precious days traveling further east. My doubts about the authenticity of the experience were confirmed when we pulled up to the village's own tourist registration centre and received stickers to wear on our clothes - as if we wouldn't be recognized as tourists. There was a "headhouse" so that us crazy Westerners could pretend that the long-dead headhunting ways were still alive, and the locals were clearly instructed to maintain a "traditional" veneer. A few satellite dishes betrayed the modernity that other travelers said was much more evident in the "real" longhouses they had visited.
At Bako National Park, home of the rare proboscis monkey, we hiked for six hours without seeing any wildlife except a bunch of crabs and unnervingly large ants. It's not that we were especially noisy, just that our timing was off and we ended up hiking during the hotter parts of the day. We camped by a small waterfall for the night and ate little boxes of cereal in the morning. Apparently the whole bowl-in-a-box thing is not a universal phenomenon - at least, the mini granolas I bought didn't open that way, and my Australian travel buddy was amazed at the concept. I may have recruited a tourist for Canada. One who's intrigued by the idea of things like bowl-in-a-box mini cereals, s'mores and pie.
The hike back out was lovely but similarly un-wildlife-y. I finally saw some fauna at the canteen, where local boys are hired to weild sling-shots at the macaque monkeys that try to steal people's food (and often suceed). I had a few hours to play with after lunch so I headed to the mangrove where the proboscis occasionally congregate. A few members of our group came with me but left to catch an earlier boat back to town. Minutes (_minutes_!) after they left a whole family of proboscis showed up. I watched them bouncing around in the trees about 20 metres away for about an hour. When it started to rain they scaled some trees a little closer and waited out the storm. Amazing. They look so awkward with their pot bellies and gangly limbs, jumping noisily from branch to branch, but they seemed completely at ease, playing and eating and completely unfazed by the human presence.
For our last full day in Kuching a couple of they guys rented motorbikes and we visited Wind Cave, which was underwhelming but cool in the unnerving way that you could hear but not see the bats and had to home you'd walk out without guano in your hair. Okay, maybe that isn't everybody's idea of a good time. But it was an experience. Worried about the weather, we headed back to town and had dinner at a steamboat barbecue that was really pricey but allowed me to eat substantial amounts of vegetables for the first time all week. Hawker centres in Kuching are cheap and delightful, but even the "vegetable rice" I ordered in one place contained more meat than vegetables. I'm now bingeing on salad.
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