As mentioned, we arrived in Kuala Besut, the debarkation point for the Perhentians, early Tuesday morning. Our intention was to catch a bus to the nearby city of Kota Bharu, our jumping on point for the "Jungle Railway" that would take us into the heart of the Malaysian rainforest. Once we got off the boat, we made our way to the bus depot in hopes that we would be able to find out some information regarding the departure times for busses heading to Kota Bharu. As luck would have it, a bus had just arrived that was on its way to the city, but would not be leaving for another half hour. We asked the bus driver if we had enough time to grab a quick breakfast at the cafe down the street, to which he replied that there would be no problem. We quickly inhaled our meals, but as fortune would have it, by the time we arrived back at the depot (exactly half an hour later) the bus had left. As a result, we were to find ourselves at the mercy of the inept transportation authority and price-gauging cabbies whose stock and trade is the financial eploitation of rich, decadent Westerners such as ourselves.
As there was a taxi stand at the bus depot itself, we plopped our bags and carcasses on the bench of the bus shelter surrounded by a horde of taxis and taxi drivers intent on getting our business. We weren't particularly interested since we knew the cost of taking a taxi would be substantially higher than taking a bus. Considering Kota Bharu was roughly less than an hour away, we figured it was worth the wait for the next one. The problem was, and as the general conspiracy became more apparent, was that no one in the vicinity actually knew when the next bus was coming; even the person selling the tickets. The story seemed to change from person to person. Some said the bus was coming, others said it wasn't. One shopkeeper even said that I would have to take a more indirect route if I wanted to get to Kota Bharu by way of a city further inland. There would be no more busses today for Kota Bharu, he explained. A major reason for this, he went on to say, was that the following day was Hari Raya, the Muslim New Year that marked the end of the season of Ramadan. Since most of the Malaysians in the region were Muslim, businesses and transport services were getting ready to close up shop for the next couple of days, creating disruptions in the services available to the general public. In desperation, Laura and I found ourselves turning to the taxi drivers who were more than eager to give us a lift: at a price. From the time we arrived to the moment we began to inquire, the fare to Kota Bharu had doubled. Since there is no regulation in terms of metered fare, we were forced to negotiate a price that we knew was outrageously inflated. We ultimately shelled out RM50 for the ride, after an entire hour of refusing to pay the RM60 that they argued was the common fare.
After listening to our cabbie complain for much of the ride about how we were getting off cheap by paying 50 Ringgit, we arrived in Kota Bahru, one of the filthiest shitholes I have been privy to visit. We met up with a German tourist who we had shared our boat to the Perhentians a few days before and agreed to share a taxi to the nearby train station to check out the scheduled departure times. He was intent on moving on to Singapore that day, and with the knowledge that because of Hari Raya that most transportation services would be delayed and/or stopped altogether, we were eager to get on our way to Jerantut, a small town just south of Taman Negara National Park. After paying RM25 for the 8 minutes ride to the train station (after negotiating down from RM30), we bought our tickets for the next train, which wouldn't be leaving for another 5 hours or so. Since it was still Ramadan, the month in the Muslim calendar that is marked by fasting during the daylight hours, all of the cafes and restaurants in the area (which were few to non-existent) were closed, and since we didn't feel as if sitting on a bench in an isolated train station in the outskirts of a similarly isolated city in northern Malaysia was the best use of our time, the three of us decided to share another taxi back into the city itself and have a look around. This actually worked out well, as the return taxi fare cost us the miniscule sum of RM8, which seemed an altogether fair price for a distance of 5 km. I guess the fact that the old man who drove the taxi (which had about as much power and mechanical integrity of a Trabant), didn't speak English and actually didn't know where we wanted to go. He just drove. When he stopped at his taxi stand to get one of his colleagues to translate and find out where we did want to go, we discovered that we had ended up at the destination we had set out for anyway. After paying the fare, we split up with the German, but agreed to meet back at the same stand a few hours later in order to share the fare back to the train station. Ultimately, our main objective at this point was to find something to eat, a theme that would carry through over the next few days as a result of Hari Raya. Since it was midday during the month of Ramadan, this was near to impossible. We had to settle for some ice-cream from 7-11 to quell the hunger pains as we walked around the center of the city looking for something that might help us pass the time. We never quite found it. Instead, we kept on eye on the clock, anxiously waiting for the posted time that the fast-food restaurants claimed they would be open. As a result, the only real cultural experience to be had in Kota Bharu was a Mozza Burger and Root Beer at an A&W, the first of its kind that I've seen anywhere outside of North America.
Meeting back at the taxi stand earlier than we had originally arranged, we inquired about the cost of fare back to the train station. We had assumed that since it had cost us RM8 to get here, it must likewise cost the same to return. Apparently that kind of logic doesn't work in Kota Bharu. In trying to understand the rationale for the drastic price increase, we asked the cabbies who were on-call why this was. Incapable of giving us a straight answer (they mentioned in so many words and hand gestures that there were other cars on the road and there would be a lot of traffic - well yeah, there's going to be traffic when you have people living in a city owning cars and driving them on roads), I asked them to at least give me a good story. Make up a creative, imaginative story about why it was going to cost us three times as much to go back in the direction we had just come from so I at least feel as if I've gotten my money's worth out of the entire experience. As we all laughed aloud in full realization that we were all in agreement that they were blatantly ripping us off and that we had no choice but to bend over and smile, I stated in a hearty, laughing tone that they were "all real assholes." And once more, we all laughed.
Next: "Okay, so I admit I didn't explain who to fend off a scorpion with nothing more than a pot to wash your ass with, but this time I mean it."
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