We arrived in the town of Jerantut around one in the morning, where we were met by the owner of the guest house we'd booked a room at. By the looks of his rusted shell and gutted interior of his motor vehicle (whose engine had been replaced with the motor of a lawnmower by the sounds of it), I was certain that our accomodations for the evening would prove to be a fruitful experience. I wasn't disappointed. Our single room (with fan) was big enough to fit a mattress (no frame), a small table/mirror, and a lamp with no lightbulb. The ceiling exhibited severe signs of water damage and the lime green paint of the walls was slowly chipping off. It was a good thing we'd both brought our sleeping bags, for even if there were sheets, I don't think I would have had the courage to sleep in them.
The next morning, as I was packing up my bag and Laura was taking a shower down the hall, this young Eastern European guy wearing nothing but underwear and carrying a towel, poked his head in my room, looked around, and said: "This place is real shit." I couldn't agree more. But what character! This is what we were paying for after all.
We'd made arrangements with the owner of the guest house to drive us to the Jerantut jetty, which was the debarkation point for the riverboat that would take us upriver to Taman Negara. We'd agreed to pay him RM20 for the lift, but as soon as we loaded our bags and got into the car, he turned around with a large grin and said: "30 Ringgit today. I forget it is Hari Raya!," at which point I just couldn't control myself from laughing. There was no way, by Allah, was I going to pay RM30 for a five minute ride in a car that was incapable of shifting past first gear. I thought I'd made my point clear, but after we got out of the car and I slipped him the RM20 that we'd agreed upon in the first place, he sauntered around the outside of the ticket office with an expectant look on his face half-expecting that I'd come out with the remainder of the "fare." That wasn't going to happen.
We had a quick breakfast (thankfully), and after a few delays we boarded the long, wooden riverboat that was to ferry us into the heart of the world's oldest rainforest. Lacking any seats to speak of, we attempted to make ourselves comfortable on the hard floor of the boat, something that always seemed out of reach. That being said, it was quite the experience to be surrounded by rainforest on either sides of us as our driver navigated through the twists and turns of the murky river. I was on constant lookout for some sign of wildlife, but unlike Disneyland's "Jungle Cruise Adventure," the animals here were neither timed to spring out at scheduled times, nor were they animatronic. The cruise also lacked any ethnically insensitive depictions of natives committing atrocious acts of savagery and canibalism, which was another letdown.
The boat docked in Kuala Tahan, a small village directly across the river from Taman Negara National Park (the entrance to the park, and to the resort situated there, can only be reached by taking one of the river-taxis that shuttles guests back and forth throughout the day). Our most pressing concern once we arrived was to find a room and get something to eat. After looking at a few places we weren't incredibly impressed with, we happened to bump into an older gentleman who owned a guesthouse and just happened to have a room free. We followed him through a maze of delapitated homes and chalets belonging to other guesthouses in the area, where he led us to his house and the adjacent rooms that he had just recently finished building. The place was remarkably clean and well kept, and our host turned out to be quite an interesting and well-versed old man, sharing with us his interest in the work of David Suzuki, Margaret Atwood and Naomi Klein once we'd told him that we were Canadian. He also had en extensive collection of pirate DVDs that seemed to keep him occupied when he wasn't chatting with guests. The entire set-up was a bit strange, actually, as there seemed to be a number of men living in the actual house itself, each having separate rooms that were stuffed with books, computers and piles of documents and folders. There was even this old white guy who lived in the place who sat in a wheelchair all day long staring at the TV (which wasn't always on). Another interesting fact was that most of the people we met at the guesthouse weren't actually guests there, but just happened to stumble along, either on their own or with people who knew the guy who ran the place, who were offered to sit, have tea and eat Hari Raya goodies.
Once we'd settled in, we went off in search of lunch. This proved to be a considerable problem. All of the restaurants in town, which were actually small floating barges along the river, were closed due to Hari Raya, and most likely would remain closed for the rest of the week. The fact that we had so much difficulty finding any food was ironic, considering that this was the time of year when most Muslims were eating more food than they ever would during the rest of the year. We decided to check out the other resorts that were a little further inland on our side of the river to see what they had to offer, which was limited at best. We had a choice of a chicken burger or a beef burger at the first resort, and the second wasn't serving altogether. This seemed a bit strange, considering the fact that these were large four star hotels that presumably had guests staying there, who I gather, despite shelling out hundreds of ringgit to stay there, were going to be surprised when they came down for dinner to find out that the chef was on holidays. That evening, the same resort had no dinner option, so we had to walk further down the road to a second resort where we caught the tail-end of their dinner buffet (which ran out of food before even all of the hotel's guests had had a chance to eat). The search for food, then, became a constant theme during our stay, as we resorted to scavenging for what food we could at the one mini-mart in town that was open, and at the tourist office where the lady working there was selling fruit. Of course, due to the fact that the area itself was fairly isolated, most of the products on the shelves were close to being expired or long past their expiration date. One memorable experience involved the woman who ran the store, who spent the entire time we were there staring intently at a television screen, who looked at the items that we were purchasing and pointed out to Laura that the bag of buns we were buying was expired. Since she didn't make a move to place the buns behind the counter where they could be disposed of properly, Laura asked her what she wanted her to do with them. Put them back? To which the woman said "yes," all the while her eyes glued to the screen.
Despite this considerable setback (it isn't such a good idea to trek through the jungle on an empty stomach) we were convinced that we would make the best of our situation. Then it rained. By late morning the skies had cleared up slightly, but we had already missed out on half a day of exploring what we wanted to see. We decided to stop in at the restaurant at the actual Taman Negara resort once we'd crossed the river, since our initial plan was to hike to the park's canopy walk and back on what food we had, and then have lunch. Since it was nearly noon already, we'd decided to just have lunch then, giving us more time to do more trekking. This would have worked had the restaurant been serving food at the moment. We settled for coffees instead and then went on our way. After trudging through dense jungle for nearly an hour, we arrived at the tourist-friendly canopy walk, a series of rickety rope bridges that were suspended high above the jungle floor and provided guests with an opportunity to see the jungle from above the tops of the trees. This would have proven to be a real highlight had we not arrived at the same time as the 100 or so Chinese tourists who had been bussed in from Kuala Lumpur and ferried to a nearby jetty that circumvented the need to hike to the location yourself. What could have been an awe-inspiring tree-top adventure amidst the beauty of nature turned into a zoo comprised of cat-calling, flip-flop wearing, obnoxious Malaysian tourists who had no real appreciation for their surroundings.
After we completed our canopy adventure, Laura was feeling considerably dehydrated and hungry. We trekked back to the resort where we ordered a real meal (!) and played Chinese checkers. We decided that it would probably be in Laura's best interests if we just called it a day. So we spent the remainder of the afternoon back at the guesthouse and hung out with our host who discussed with us at length about the corruption of the Malaysian government and where to buy the best pirated DVDs in Kuala Lumpur.
Sometime after we'd gone to bed, I'd gotten up to use the toilet. As I opened the door to the bathroom, my heart jumped to my throat and my body seized with fear. A mere few feet away, crouched against the wall, was a scorpion. Black, and roughly the size of my hand, the scorpion scurried a few feet along the base of the wall when I turned on the light, stopping to assess the situation and gauge what I was about to do next. I found myself in a bit of a quandary: not only was there a venomous arachnid with really big claws and a stinger in my bathroom, but I really, really needed to go pee. If I was going to be able to do anything about the situation, I was going to need to think with a clear head rather than a full bladder. I lifted the toilet seat and positioned myself so that if the scorpion did decide to go on the offensive, I'd be poised to clear out of the room on a second's notice.
While it never came to that, I still had to contend with the issue of capturing the scorpion after I had finished my business. The main problem I faced was the fact that I didn't quite know what to expect from a scorpion. Spiders are pretty straightforward: while I don't like encountering a spider in my bathroom, I know enough that if I get a large enough wad of tissue paper or a large blunt object that I can smash the thing to bits in a blind rage of fury with very little opposition (this applies to most house spiders found in North America, except for Black Widows or anything in Australia). The other problem was that I was armed only with a small, plastic pot used for washing your ass with and he was armed with a deadly, poisonous stinger that could potentially kill me (as the only doctor in town was away for Hari Raya). As I made my move to trap it under the pot, the scorpion went into battle mode, curving it's tail upwards, it's claws open and ready to do battle. There we stood in mortal silence, both waiting for the other to make a move, both unwilling to make the first strike. After a few tense minutes, the scorpion relaxed. I noticed that each time I moved, it in turned moved to ensure that the distance between us always remained the same. I began to corral the scorpion behind the toilet and to the left, where I managed to corner him against the wall using a small, plastic garbage pail. After a few seconds, I saw a claw poke out behind the pail, causing it to shift slightly. I figured that the odds of this meager trap actually containing the scorpion for long was slim to none, so it was at this point that I decided that if anyone was going to be stung by a scorpion, it best be the owner of the guesthouse, who was still up chatting with a couple of the other guests. I put my shirt on and informed the half-asleep Laura that we would be having a few visitors, and went outside to inform our host of the situation. The other guests were extremely excited at the prospect of seeing some real wildlife, thus an entire parade of people marched through our bedroom to deal with the threat of a three-and-a-half-inch scorpion. With a slight hesitation, our host lifted the garbage pail away and trapped the scorpion in the bucket that he'd brought with him. With a sigh of relief from all parties, we bid each other goodnight, and attempted, with some degree of success, to sleep.
Next: BOH! TEA! ESTATE!
No comments:
Post a Comment