Can orangutans tell the time?

My final destination on this trip was Kota Kinabalu, Borneo. Despite its tropical island location, it is really just another city and for that reason didn’t hold much appeal for me. So, in my search for something a little different (and some much needed time on my own) I boarded a bus to Sepilok, located approximately six hours east of Kota Kinabalu. It was an interesting and beautiful journey through winding jungle-covered mountains and narrow gullies – it was made all the more colorful by the stunning digestive pyrotechnics on display right throughout the bus. I was lucky enough to be seated in the immediate vicinity of no less than four travel-sick passengers (one behind, one in front and two beside) and at times found it difficult to keep my own breakfast down due to the loud retching and heaving emanating from the seats around me. Looking on the bright side (and armed with decent set of earplugs and an impaired sense of smell), for MYR$40 I got transport and entertainment.

Sepilok itself is a tiny place, and has very little to offer in the way of shopping, restaurants, nightlife or culture. In fact, at first glance it has very little to offer apart from a remote jungle location and a large roundabout. Whoopee! – I hear you say. Screw Paris and New York, let’s go where the action is! But really - what draws visitors to this tiny one-horse town? It is in fact the Sepilok orangutan sanctuary. Established in 1964, the sanctuary runs a world-renowned orangutan rehabilitation program which attracts thousands of visitors each year.

Set up on 43 square kilometers of land on the edge of Kabili Sepilok forest reserve, the sanctuary caters for orphaned and confiscated orangutans together with dozens of other wildlife species. Each orangutan takes over ten years to be fully rehabilitated – this may sound like a long time in human terms but in fact is only a relatively small chunk of an orangutan’s 60-year life expectancy. The baby orangutans are nursed and nurtured much like any human baby – fun times, jungle gym games and other activities designed to help them develop the necessary upper body strength required to function in the wild. They then move on to ‘infant school’ where they learn to interact and establish bonds with other young orangutans. Once they ‘graduate’ (usually around five years old) they move on to ‘outward bound school’ where they are introduced to life as a forest-dwelling orangutan and human contact is significantly reduced and restricted. Once they find their feet they are left to their own devices, rarely returning to the sanctuary for a free meal and a bit of company. The sanctuary has an incredible setup in the jungle and it was truly a rare pleasure to see the orangutans roaming freely in their own territory.

The public are allowed in to witness the twice-daily feeding at 10am and 3pm – how the orangutans know exactly when lunch time is baffles me, but at every feed without fail, there they were, ready to go. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’ve got stolen Casio digital watches hidden under all that fur – they are rather partial to ‘borrowing’ the odd item from tourists.

The area is also inhabited by a huge number of other species, most notably the macaque monkey. Cute but feisty, the macaques in these parts are a dime a dozen and by all appearances (and in stark contrast to the low reproduction rate of the orangutans) breed like rabbits. Upon entering the sanctuary early this morning I came face to face with a large, mature short-tailed male macaque which terrified me no end. I was alone and heading toward the feeding area when he climbed up on the narrow walkway railing and headed straight towards me. He eventually stopped right opposite me and sat and stared. I took a couple of pictures and realized that I could do one of two things: run like hell, or talk calmly and quietly to him as I walked away. The former option would almost certainly result in a chase and possibly even a few bites and scratches – the latter carried the same risk but was infinitely preferable so I decided on that. He wasn’t terribly interested in me, and after cocking his head at me as I spoke softly to him (“I’m going to go this way, it’s ok, please don’t bite me as I’m too young to die of rabies and I don’t want to look like Sharon from Kath and Kim”) he looked fairly non-plussed and wandered off into the jungle. All I can say is that I’m glad he was alone – on the return journey we (being a group of around 30 people) encountered a ‘gang’ of macaques blocking our exit from the sanctuary. Attempts to get past them were met with teeth baring, snarling and lunges in our general direction which had us retreating at roughly the speed of sound. We ended up having to wait for the ranger to come along and scare them off so we could get through. Life’s tough in the jungle!

In short, my visit to Sepilok and the sanctuary was a truly magical and unforgettable experience. In the absence of words to do it justice (and the presence of some rather strong local beer) I will instead leave the pictures to do the talking. Enjoy!

Lunacy on the Nam Song

It has been described as both a traveler’s paradise and a sullied Eden: whichever way you look at it, Vang Vieng is an almost obligatory stop on any travel route through Laos. The mountains surrounding the town are breathtaking – the limestone cliffs jut out of the Nam Song river and tower above the town’s 25,000 residents and hordes of tourists. The area is steeped in natural beauty and offers a wide range of activities including rafting, mountain climbing, caving, kayaking and trekking. With all this on offer however, tourists flock to the muddy banks of the sometimes lethal Nam Song river for one purpose – tubing.

After hiring a large rubber inner tube, we traveled around three kilometres upstream where we were deposited unceremoniously at the first stop on the tubing trail – the ingeniously named ‘Bar Number 1’. Sitting rather precariously on the river bank, this small wooden shack reverberates with dance music and offers the cheapest drinks on the river. Tube-goers can sit on the decks and smoke shisha, play some table tennis, get themselves painted up by the ever-obliging bartenders or take a seat on a cushion, soak up some sun and watch kayakers capsize on the nearby rapids. A rustic ‘Engrish’ sign outside advertises ‘free shorts’: you’d be forgiven for thinking they went so far as to provide free clothing for unprepared tourists. Instead, on arrival you will be offered a free shot of a particularly vile unidentified alcohol containing wasps. Yes, wasps.

As with many south east Asian countries, health and safety isn’t a consideration in most aspects of daily life. Poverty is rife in Laos, and with a large percentage of the population living under the poverty line it isn’t what you’d call a litigious society. So, health and safety aside, a number of enterprising locals have capitalized on the hedonistic tendencies of tourists and lined the banks of the Nam Song river with wooden shacks, enormous rope swings, zip lines, water slides and bars selling cheap alcohol. A recipe for disaster? Absolutely. This recipe, however, contains one more key ingredient – a river. In the rainy season, the river levels rise to the point where they virtually engulf some of the river bars and the murky brown water moves with frightening speed.  A fair number of tourists have lost their lives to this river and, from what I understand, are often not able recovered from its waters. There are days (particularly after heavy rain) where the river is ‘closed’ to tourists, however the bars are still open and tubes can still be hired for those brave or stupid enough to take it on.

We spent some time at Bar Number One having a drink, soaking up the sun and chatting to fellow travelers. When we were ready to move on, we plunged into the river via the small slide attached to the bar. As we discovered, this slide doesn’t claim lives but it does claim sunglasses – two pairs from our group. Billy was unable to find his, but was offered a new pair for free by a woman toting a large bag of lost and as-yet-unclaimed sunglasses. He promptly lost these at the next bar and spent the rest of the day blinded by the bright sun.

The second bar we stopped at (imaginatively named Bar Number Two) offers an incredibly precarious and highly dangerous rope swing. Even at low river levels, there is insufficient clearance to let your legs dangle down as you swing. The first day we went tubing, the river was swollen from the previous day’s rain and most people were unable to clear the water at all and instead hit it with great force, wrenching their shoulders and forcing them to let go. I’m surprised there were not more dislocations and injuries although in saying that alcohol is a great anesthetic – I’ve no doubt that sobriety later that evening would have been accompanied by a great deal of pain. I was also greatly amused by the strategies of a good number of men who tried to avoid hitting the river on the downswing by lifting their legs up either side of their body, exposing their nether regions. Of course when they don’t achieve sufficient clearance, you can imagine exactly which part of the body connects with the water first. At high speed. If I had a dollar for every man I saw emerging from the waters breathless, pained and holding themselves I could have purchased the entire bar.

Bar Number Three offers a far safer alternative – a swing with a far greater level of clearance, even in the rainy season. It looked like great fun and I eventually worked up the courage to climb the slippery wooden ladder and have a go. My legs were shaking as I climbed and I couldn’t look down as that would have been the end of me. I realized upon reaching the top that there was nowhere to go but down via the swing, as the ladder would have been infinitely more dangerous to descend. So, grabbing the swing I set off and discovered that, like a lot of things, it wasn’t anywhere near as scary as what it looks like. No sooner had I been fished out of the river at the bottom I was back up the ladder for a second go.

We finally left this bar and, jumping in our tubes we floated down river headed for a bar on the opposite river bank. We bypassed a number of other bars including one offering mud wrestling and mud volleyball. We declined to stop as we have it on good authority that these mud pits were in fact pink-eye central – the scourge of the Nam Song affecting a huge number of travelers. The bar we arrived at boasted three attractions – a zip line, an incredibly high rope swing and an enormous waterslide. It was also what appeared to be ‘self service’ – you relied on whoever happened to be standing on the dock to toss you a rubber ring and fish you out of the river otherwise you’d just whizz on by.

Lip service was paid to health and safety, with signs everywhere proclaiming you would be refused admittance to the swings and slides if you had imbibed any alcohol that day. The bar is conveniently situated at the base of the slide and zip line entrance and the women behind the bar were dishing out alcohol with great gusto and watching as people downed their drinks and headed straight for the slides. The madness doesn’t stop there, however. No attempt is made at coordination of those on the zip line, rope swing OR slide, so your chances of a mid-air collision at any given time are pretty high. Billy quite literally came within centimeters of colliding with a guy who had just come down the zip line. Just to add a bit of extra danger to the mix, there was also an approaching kayaker AND someone tubing down the river at the same time so upon landing all four of them were dangerously close together. I can’t imagine what landing on a kayak would feel like, and I’ve no doubt that a mid-air clash of heads could quite easily result in death from drowning. Very scary stuff.

Tubing is dangerous, but with a bit of common sense and an appreciation for the dangers of the river it can be a lot of fun. Every tourist-filled bar pumps out music and offers incredibly cheap alcohol (bucket of whisky and coke for $2, anyone?). The atmosphere is fantastic, the weather is hot and it’s a great way to meet fellow travelers and take a break from reality. I’ve done it for two days running and will take a break today ready for one final day on the river tomorrow. After that, the next stop will be Vientiane and then on to Malaysia, Brunei and Borneo. Sabaai dee!

Relaxing in Luang Prabang

Last Friday we said goodbye to Cambodia and hopped on a plane to Luang Prabang, Laos. It was one of the most expensive legs of our entire journey (around $200 for a one hour flight!) but well worth it considering the bus journey can take anything up to 24 hours from Siem Reap.

We touched down on time at a tiny little airport on the outskirts of Luang Prabang. Upon obtaining our visas Billy was horrified to find out that Canadians are charged considerably more than any other nationality in the entire world - US$42 to be exact. Even Bin Laden would get a cheaper visa than him. I paid my US$30 and skipped on through – I love being a New Zealander!

We had pre-arranged accommodation and were picked up promptly by a rep from our hostel. Our transport turned out to be a flatbed truck with two sets of three seats on the back of it. The seats had clearly been liberated from a van at some point and were literally thrown in the back of the truck – they were not bolted down in any way. I was amused to see that these same seats now form an impromptu ‘waiting room’ outside the hostel bathrooms.

Luang Prabang is a beautiful little city and has provided welcome respite from the craziness and the begging which was so rife in Cambodia. Situated 425 kilometres north of the capital Vientiane, the city is a UNESCO world heritage site and is home to a little over 100,000 people. There is a huge number of restaurants and cafes here – overall there’s a strong Thai influence, with a little bit of French thrown in for good measure. Not a bad combination if I do say so myself!

We initially planned to stay four nights but have ended up extending that a little as (a) we’ve heard some rather dubious things about our next destination, and (b) it’s such a lovely relaxing place we don’t want to leave! I’ve largely spent my days cycling around the town taking in the views along the river, dining in cafes and visiting local sights and attractions.

On Sunday we planned to go to Tat Kuang Si Park, located about 30 kilometres out of town. During breakfast we met a couple of other travelers who ended up coming along and it turned out to be a great day. On arrival at the park we paid our $2 entry fee and made our first stop at the ‘Free the Bears Rescue Centre’. Unfortunately it appeared to be cleaning time and all we got to see was a few Laotian cleaners – not quite what we were hoping for! We moved on through the park and within a few minutes arrived at the waterfall which was absolutely gorgeous. After a good walk around we found a good swimming hole and settled down for a while. Unfortunately Jacques re-injured his already injured foot while entering the water so was unable to swim – the rest of us braved the climb up a large tree to make use of a rope swing above the falls which was great fun! One of the Laotian guys with us managed to snap some hilarious mid-air shots of me, so they will be duly posted once he emails them through! Apparently he showed his friends and they call me the ‘flying foreigner’.

That night we met up with some other travelers from the hostel and hit the night markets for some dinner and drinks. After much consumption of Lao Lao we decided that given it was a Sunday night, what better to do than go to a Lao nightclub! It was an interesting place – it was surprisingly busy for a Sunday night and we had a good dance and a few drinks. One of the English guys with us began chatting with an attractive Laotian girl and came back very quickly to report that many of the ‘girls’ around us weren’t actually girls. A lot of them had done a great job at presenting themselves but there were one or two sporting rather large man hands, shoulders and jaws – something no amount of makeup can cover unfortunately. I tried to study some of them discreetly and figure out who was who - it was a bit like playing ‘Where’s Wally’, but with an adam’s apple.

I have also spent some time at a little place called ‘Big Brother Mouse’ which is located in the central part of Luang Prabang. BBM is a Laos-owned and based project which promotes literacy and English to rural and urban Laotians through the publishing and provision of books. They also run a daily English practice program, whereby foreigners can drop in to the centre between 9am and 11am each day to help locals improve their English. Today I spent two hours teaching English to a sixteen year old Laotian girl who has minimal English skills – it was tough, but I really hope she got something out of it. I spent a lot of time on the alphabet and phonics as it seemed she hadn’t even really grasped the basics yet. She was very sweet and very diligent – fortunately I was aided by a man who was there for conversation practice who was able to speak Lao and a bit of English, so he provided translation for me when needed. She doesn’t own any textbooks – just a notebook full of phrases written by foreigners who have visited the shop. I am going back to teach again tomorrow and have bought her a small Lao-English picture dictionary to help her along. BBM publishes one which isn’t particularly comprehensive, but is more than ample for beginners and costs less than $2. The centre is doing some great work and is a cause well worth supporting – . I was interested to note that in the three times I’ve been in, the only volunteers I have come across have been New Zealanders. There will be a future generation of Laotians with Kiwi accents – watch this space!

Tomorrow we head to Vang Vieng to go tubing. Given the amount of rain we’ve had recently I suspect the river will be rather high and potentially quite dangerous so I haven’t made up my mind yet as to whether I will go tubing or not. The other consideration of course is the current outbreak of pink-eye which travelers are picking up from the river – the thought of tubing down a river full of poo really doesn’t excite me, so I think I will find something else to do with my time!

More from pink-eye central soon.
 

Cambodia, you're so good to me.

We arrived in Phnom Penh by bus, a mere six hour drive (including customs and visa formalities at the border) from Saigon. We travelled by ‘luxury’ tourist bus and found ourselves once again considerably disappointed at what we received for our $12. Much like my experience on Aeroflot Russian Airlines, it was nothing like what the brochures and posters promised. I sat squished into my uncomfortable, non-reclining seat and was forced to listen to a hideous Vietnamese karaoke DVD on repeat. I passed the time by counting the bugs scuttling past, willing myself not to need the on-board bathroom (revolting beyond belief) and glaring daggers at the poster stuck to the window proudly proclaiming the company’s ownership modern fleet of top-class red luxury tourist buses. Ours wasn’t red, nor did it boast any of the other features proclaimed on the poster. However, one can’t be too choosy I suppose – considering we made it in one piece I should be thanking my lucky stars it didn’t fall apart entirely en route.

It is hard to believe that two of the most popular tourist attractions in Phnom Penh are an old school and a bit of farmland on the outskirts of the city. Although seemingly insignificant, these two places have in fact been the sites of some of Cambodia's most horrific war crimes. We spent a full day exploring the S-21 Genocide Museum and killing fields – a sobering experience but one I would recommend to any visitor to the city.

Cambodia's history has been a long and fairly bloody one - in 1975 the Khmer Rouge took power under the leadership of Pol Pot and began a backwards social revolution of sorts. His goal: re-starting civilization from ‘Year Zero’ through a form of agrarian socialism. He drove city dwellers out into the countryside where they were forced to work – those who didn’t or couldn’t were shot dead on the spot. Those in the upper classes were shot, as were the educated or those holding any power in government. Many Cambodians were captured and tortured in S-21 until they confessed to working as spies for the US government – even where this was not the case ‘confessions’ were given simply to put an end to the torture which in some cases went on for months. In total, over 17,000 Cambodians were sent to S-21 – ultimately only seven survived. That’s a 0.04% survival rate – not good odds, really.

Fortunately, Pol Pot did not succeed in his mission to revolutionise Democratic Kampuchea and despite estimates of up to three million lives lost to the Khmer Rouge regime, today the country is slowly rebuilding itself. Poverty is still rife – you can see it in the living conditions, the begging and the horrific levels of child prostitution that still exist today. Modern-day Phnom Penh was no exception – every night that we ate dinner in the city we were approached by no less than four or five children selling books, bracelets or other worthless trinkets. They are proficient in English, masters of manipulation and, as we discovered upon refusing to buy their products, have a wide and rather colourful vocabulary which may either be presented in full word form or spelled out and accompanied by a middle finger.

A couple of days in the city proved to be enough for the three of us. Kristin moved on to Battembang and Billy accompanied me to Sihanoukville, a coastal town 5 hours away on the Gulf of Thailand. There we spent two nights staying in a small bungalow near the beach, relaxing on the sand, exploring the peninsula by bike and soaking up the lively nightlife. The last morning we were there, I was both horrified and delighted to find that my pre-purchased snacks for the long bus trip back to Phnom Penh had been mauled by rats. I had woken up the previous night convinced I could hear packets rustling and in my sleepy state assumed it was Billy with a case of the munchies. When I couldn’t see him, I then decided it was the rain outside and promptly fell back to sleep. Come morning, there was not one individually-wrapped packet left untouched and it was clear the local rat population had dined like kings whilst I slumbered. I mentioned earlier that this also delighted me – primarily because upon inspection of the bungalow, the only possible entrance point we could find was situated in the wall right above Billy’s bed. I was tickled to think that in his alcoholic, absinthe-induced catatonic state he inadvertently provided a small tribe of rats with a human obstacle course.

We returned to Phnom Penh to collect our bags and stay one more night before heading north to Siem Reap. As it turned out we were sharing a dorm room with two other EPIK teachers from South Korea who, as it transpired, I had met at orientation a year ago and Billy had met in downtown Daegu. Small world! They ended up getting the same bus as us to Siem Reap and we’re currently staying at the same hotel here.
This week we spent two days exploring the temples of Angkor. I won’t bore you with the details, but needless to say it has been incredible – the temples are absolutely mind-blowing. Unfortunately I wasn’t allowed up the main tower of Angkor Wat as I wasn’t suitably clothed (you could see my knees – hussy!). I did however climb one temple called Pre Rup which was spectacular. On reaching the top, I was struck by the number of people who were just sitting there, enjoying the view and contemplating life. After a few minutes of doing the same, I began to wonder whether they were actually still contemplating life, or whether their thoughts had moved on to more pertinent matters such as “how the hell am I going to get back down those f*cking stairs”. There’s only so long I can pretend to enjoy something, so eventually I was forced to hand my bag over to Billy “They Named A Goat After Me” Stevenson and began my slow and clumsy descent. Let it be said, I have not had an aversion to heights or stairs since I bungy jumped and threw myself head first down a flight of stairs in London, breaking my femur. Clearly those two events were not simultaneous, but both have left me very nervous of heights and precipitous staircases! I noticed several people bounding past me down the temple face like mountain goats, but I would venture to say my movements were more sloth-like. Anyhow, I made it to the bottom safely and in one piece, so I guess that’s the main thing.

My two favourite temples so far have been Ta Prohm (the temple in which parts of Tomb Raider were filmed) and Kbal Spean – a river and waterfall located deep in the jungle around 45 kilometres north east of Ta Prohm. It isn’t strictly a ‘temple’, but rather a series of carvings in and around the river dating back to as early as the 11th century. It pre-dates Angkor Wat by almost 200 years, making it one of the most ancient sites in the entire region.

Right now I’m kicking back in my hotel room relaxing – it’s 33 degrees outside and 70 percent humidity which doesn’t make for ideal daytime exploring conditions. I’ve also managed to pick up some sort of cold or flu virus and eye infection so am trying to get a bit of rest before we head into Laos on Friday. Siem Reap is a hedonists paradise – a good meal out will set you back around $3, cocktails $1 each and a one-hour full body massage anywhere from $3. Our hotel is situated less than five minutes walk from the central district (ingeniously named ‘Pub Street’) and the night markets – my bag is quite literally bulging with dresses right now. I think I need to book myself into Dressaholics Anonymous after the purchase of my tenth and eleventh dresses last night. Although to be fair they aren’t all for me… (well, 2 aren’t).

More from Laos soon!