The Kinabalu Kronicles - Hari Enam

One week after returning from the northern tip of Borneo that is Sabah, I write these memoirs, of the trip to reach its peak...

The final day of our sojourn in Sabah came quickly.

And like all activity-packed holidays, time flies when you're having fun. Well at least we could look back at the hike up the Gunung and say we had fun. Not when we were actually in the midst of huffing and puffing up the mountain with the rain and all.

Hari Enam was planned to be a day of Sun, Sea and Sand before catching the flight back to Senai later in the evening. We practically had the whole day to snorkel and frolick on the various islands lying within the Tunku Abdul Rahman Marine Park, a surprisingly short 15min boat ride away from Jesselton Jetty. Jesselton itself was a easy 10min stroll by foot from our hotel but we got there an hour late because we all woke up at nine.

No matter, our boat was already moored at the pontoon and after the guys and girls picked up their snorkeling equiptment, we were off. I had brought along my own set of fins, mask and snorkel so I didn't have to use the horribly cartoonish Donald Duck flippers the boat company had on offer.



Our 350 Ringgit package included having the exclusive use of the boat from nine to five and doing a 2-island hop. And we arrived speedily at our first stop of the day, Pulau Manukan. Manukan seemed to be the most developed of the 5-island, mini archipelego within the Park, which includes Gaya, Sapi, Mamuntik and Sulug. The relatively clean beach was dotted with day-trippers from the mainland, and just alittle inland, there were a host of resort-styled chalets and beach-front cafes where copious amounts of alcohol were being consumed by thirsty travellers in the heat of the mid-morning sun.

We stripped down, put on our fins and jumped into the reasonably clear waters almost immediately on touchdown. The scorching sun was a welcomed fiery ball, since it had remained hidden behind clouds for most of the previous 2 days. I snorkeled for about 45mins, 50m from shore, then decided to spend the rest of the time tanning and catching up on all my SMS-es, lying on the beach, i-Pod in tow. The rest of them humored themselves by jumping off Manukan's jetty into the sea and swimming nearly the whole length of the island.



At 2pm, we made our way to Pulau Mamuntik where the visibity under-water exceeded a very impressive 10m (so close to shore). Coral cover, however, was pretty pathetic. There were none of the gorgeous Gorgonian Fans I had seen on a recent diving trip in the Andaman Sea and most of the calcified rocks were bleached. Nevertheless, we did see our fair share of Wrasses, Parrotfishes and Fusiliers. We enjoyed our time in the waters off Mamuntik, where I taught the group how to snorkel properly and skin-dive.

By 5pm, the boat was waiting to take us back to the mainland and we met up with the boatman promptly because we knew it would be quite of a rush to get back, shower, have dinner and then do souvenir shopping for the people back home. All this before catching our Air Asia flight to Johor Bahru at 2100hrs and then making the transfer by private taxi to Singapore.



Once back on KK, it was a mad scramble to have one last Sunset dinner at the pier, buy some Sabah tea from the hypermart and then get back to the Holiday to shower and pack. How the 2 guys managed to find time for some durians beats me.

On the flight, we swopped cameras and looked at each others' pictures, attempting to delete the photos of ourselves we thought were unflattering. At least the girls were.

Before long, Senai loomed as a collection of tiny bright lights below. And by a little past midnight, we were all home, safe and sound, in our own Garden City.

The Kinabalu Kronicles - Hari Lima, Part 2

One week after returning from the northern tip of Borneo that is Sabah, I write these memoirs, of the trip to reach its peak...

When we got back to Laban Rata, most of the angmos had already left.

Save for one or two that were sunning themselves on the hostel's wooden deck, the others had begun to make the 3 hour descent to Park HQ. We, on the other hand, decided to have breakfast first. I mean, the both of us had just come down from the summit and the last thing we wanted to do was to give our knees such immediate punishment.



So I joined Darren, Mitch and KZ for Milo (again) and some noodles. While Rick lay concussed on his bed. The poor fella finally succumed to the fever that had infected the rest and lay near comatose while I described our adventure up to Low's to a rapt 3-man audience. We were only going to begin our own descent at 10am so I had some time to prop my aching feet up and have a little snooze in the cafeteria as well.

At 10, Jo came by to see if we were ready to move. Rick had recovered somewhat after popping 2 Panadols and the rest were all raring to go after having slept soundly till eight. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and there was a cool mountain breeze (yes a real gentle one no kidding) that made conditions just right for the trip down. When we got out, the thermometer showed a temperature of about 11 degrees celsius. And the 2 digits were a welcomed sight.



We found the going so much easier on the way down and we made good progress, passing by pondok after pondok in quick succession. I was tired but I still had a spring in my step because there was a sense of achievement after having conquered the summit. You tend to forget about the pain when you're satisfied. The route down looked so different from yesterday when we had made the climb up. And we found ourselves asking if we had been here before. Things don't look the same, you know, in the glorious sunshine and the full extent of Kinabalu's beautiful greenery became immediately apparent as we trudged by.



Many climbers were on their way up. And today, we were the ones dishing out the words of encouragement. C'mon! not far now, You can do it!, The pondok's just 100m ahead. Lucky for them, there were no warnings about mini waterfalls or the soggy inclement weather we had to tell them about.

On the way up also were numerous porters, lugging up a variety of neccessities like food rations, gas tanks and mattresses for the dormitories upstairs. A couple of them were also carrying furniture and, get this, doors. Yes, unwieldy chunks of wood strapped together and carried on the backs of some poor, bent men. How these porters do it with nary a grunt or groan, negotiating the rocks on a steep incline is anybody's guess. Plus they do it handsfree mind you. No grappling of branches or the like. The first porter I saw had a load the size of a baby elephant on his back and from a distance, I thought that Sabah Parks allowed 4WDs up the mountain. Respect.



At alittle after 1pm, we reached Timpohon Gate, the start point where barely the day before, we had begun this alpine odyssey. Bernard, our driver was already waiting at the gate and we all tumbled into his taxi for the ride down to the Park HQ where Jo would certify our climb to the summit and give us our certificates. Rick and me got the colored certificates for completing the Peak while the rest had similar designs, only in Black and White, for their efforts to Laban Rata.



We told Bernard to take us for lunch and then to Poring Hot Springs which was about 40km away but still within the confines of Kinabalu National Park. Our mountain passes got us free entry at the Springs and it was really shiork to dip your feet in the sulphorous, mineral-rich, hot water. I am not a firm believer in the medicinal/therapeutic properties of Hot Springs but I swear alot of my leg-ache was dissolved in the warm comfort of the hot-pool. A fitting end really, to a fitting climb.

On the way back to KK town in the evening, there was hardly any banter in the taxi because we were all asleep. Bernard woke us up when we got to the Hotel Holiday.

And when Lawrence greeted us with a Ahh you made it back alive!, I had a smirk on my face that said Yah, No Big Deal.

The Kinabalu Kronicles - Hari Lima, Part 1

One week after returning from the northern tip of Borneo that is Sabah, I write these memoirs, of the trip to reach its peak...

I woke up sweating at midnight.

We were crammed into a small 6-man bunk in Laban Rata and the heater was already on at full-blast since eight in the evening. We had a lone female Japanese climber with us in the room and together, the combined bodyheat of six with the very effective radiator made for something of a suana.

Darren and the 2 girls sat talking in whispers on his bed. They had already decided not to do the final push for the summit and were still nursing serious bouts of Mountain Sickness and fevers all round. I got up, went to pee and checked again that my alarm was set for 2am. The corridor outside was cold, and so was the toilet, which was thankfully only a few paces away. Rick stirred, muttered to me if it was time to wake up and promptly went back to Zzz-land when I replied that we had another 2 hours to an icy hell.

When my handphone beeped at two, there was a strong force that kept me bolted to my bed. It was dark and freezing outside, everybody was nicely snuggled under the sheets and my feet were aching badly. Plus it was bloody two in the morning. What was I thinking!

I dragged myself up nonetheless and noticed that Rick was already in the shower. Obviously the Cleanliness Freak wanted to be hygenic for this ungodly-hour climb. I brushed my teeth and the both of us then got dressed in the dark, trying our best not to make too much noise as the others were deep in blissful slumber. And yes, we tried our darnest not to look at them all nice and comfy under their blankets, quickly making our way down to the hall downstairs for a quick breakfast before meeting up with Jo again.

Jo wasn't too dissappointed that only the two of us turned up. Perhaps he had seen this situation many times before, people deciding that the 3/4 trip up to Laban Rata was as much as they could take. We then joined the rest of the sleepy climbers in forming a long and silent convoy out of the guesthouse onto the moon-lit trail leading up to Kinabalu's peak. Like a long line of crippled fire-flies, our head-torches flickering in the dark, cold night.

At heights above 3500m, forest cover becomes scarce and we were approaching alot of rock and granite. For about a kilometre or so after leaving Laban Rata, we were faced with an enormous amount of steps carved from pure granite. And you could tell that the gradient of the climb had increased quite significantly from the day before. At some parts even ladder-like. Thankfully, it had stopped raining. That made a big difference. It was cold yes, but at least we were dry. If it had been wet and slippery, surely it would have made the dark and steep ascent that much harder.

Everybody was targetting for a 3 hour climb to complete the final 2.2km to Low's Peak. That would bring us up to the summit at 6am. Just in time to catch the sunrise. Once the steps portion of the climb was over in an hour and a half, the terrain then switched drastically to bare-faced, sloping granite and we had to use ropes for support. There were absolutely no trees surrounding us now and we knew that this barreness could only mean one thing. We were near the top.



Without the 2 girls with us, Rick and me had no difficulty keeping up with the United Nations of Canadians, Kiwis, Swiss, Norwegians, Brits and Americans in the human convoy. We trudged slowly but surely, making sure that we followed the rope and kept pace with the person infront of us. A strong wind was howling across the face of the mountain and because of the lack of tree cover, we took the bare brunt of the high-altitude 'breeze'.

At a quarter to six, I caught sight of Low's Peak. And suddenly, my weary legs grew stronger. Some of the angmos that were way infront of us had already reached the summit, took their pictures, and were making their way down quickly. They didn't want to linger around too much because it was really cold, zero degrees I reckon.



Ricky and me stood on top of Mount Kinabalu at 0558hrs. From 4095.2 metres, it was really a celestial experience with the swirling clouds all around us and the eerie but beautiful landscape of granite before us as far as our eyes could see. Low's Peak is the highest point on Kinabalu's summit plateau, with a host of other secondary peaks like St John's, Ugly Sisters, Donkey Ears and the very picturesque South Peak completing the 'Stegosaurus Back', as the alpine plateau has sometimes been called.

Unlike the angmos before us, we lingered on Low's for abit. And I lit a celebratory cigarette. Pity I didn't have a Cohiba Robustos with me in my pocket or a bottle of Scotch for the cold. It sounds cliched but standing on the summit more than made up for the wet and miserable day before and the almost zombiefied climb up in the wee hours of the morning. The rest of our group should have been up here with us. It was a real big pity they were not.



After the mandatory photos and poses next to the sign that marked the highest point on the mountain, we began our descent. And it was always going to be a killer on the knees and ankles getting down. In 1.5 hours, we were back in Laban Rata at about eight in the morning.

The rest of the party had just awoken from sleep. But the both of us were ready to plonk ourselves down and make up for our severe lack of shut-eye.

The Kinabalu Kronicles - Hari Empat

One week after returning from the northern tip of Borneo that is Sabah, I write these memoirs, of the trip to reach its peak...

We looked at the tins of canned food and cups of instant noodles before us. We looked at each other. And then we decided that we would all have breakfast in bed.

Yes we cooked the stuff in the dorm, with boiled water from a kettle, and then proceeded to slip under the sheets again, slurping away at the curly coils of carbohydrate and preserved meat protein we had lugged along for the climb. Finishing with a hot cup of Milo each, we packed up our things, and then took a walk in the drizzle, arriving at the Park Operations Centre at nine where we met our guide Jo.

Jo couldn't speak much Inggreesh. And we suspected that the Rangers were trying to be funny with us for lying the day before. Well we were supposed to understand Jo's brand of Malay, Borneo twang and all, if we were really Malaysians. As it turned out, I had to play interpreter and give him the sorry excuse that we were all schooled in Singapore from young and so sucked big-time in the Bahasa department. The diminutive, weathered, Dusun tribesman in yellow fishmonger work-boots gave me a conspiratorial grin, and then herded all 5 of us into a mini-van bound for Timpohon Gate, one of 2 gateways (the easier one) up the mighty Gunung.

At the gate, we flashed our climbing permits, hanging by lanyards on our necks, to the ranger who dutifully marked our attendance on the namelist for the day. And then we were off, into the misty, white yonder. By now, the drizzle had increased in its intensity but under the cover of the lush forest canopy, we still remained relatively dry. But only just. The time, 10am.



It was a 6.5km hike up to the 3/4 mark that is Laban Rata. There, we would spend the night and begin our assault on the summit at 3am the next morning. But before we could even think about the peak, we had to actually get to the warm comfort of the hostel first in one piece. On paper, it didn't look that difficult. With a pondok (rest-hut) at every 1km or so during the ascend, we used those as markers and milestones to track our progress. There were 7 pondoks in all before Laban Rata and the first 3 were easy enough. But by the time we reached the 4th, the heavy drizzle had turned into a full-fledged downpour. And with the thinning foliage of wind-bent shrubs as we climbed higher and higher, we found ourselves more and more exposed to the wind and rain.



Yesterday's climbers were on their way down from the summit. And we met many of them who told us to be prepared for the tougher conditions as we moved higher. Some of the long flights of steps, it seems, made up of tree roots and rock, had been turned into mini waterfalls in view of the incessant rain, making climbing difficult and slippery. They were right. Sometimes, it seemed as though we were trying to negotiate a Kota Tinggi on the way up, and the fast-moving streams of water made getting a proper foothold tough. Many of the returning climbers also told us that they never made it to the summit from Laban Rata in the morning. Infact only 20 out of the 100 or so climbers from yesterday's batch actually reached the peak. The conditions up there were just too bad and the guides had advised against being too foolhardy to even attempt a climb.

By the time we arrived at Pondok 6, we were drenched from head to toe. And coupled with the howling winds at about 3100m elevation, freezing our butts off as well. Ironically, we didn't want to sit around at the Pondoks too much although we were tired because you started shivering once you stopped walking. The girls were starting to look alittle pale and I knew the onset of mild hypothermia had set in. Their thin ponchos were no match for these gusty, wet conditions. My teeth were chattering but I had to control the involuntary jaw spasms and urge everyone to push on. It wasn't easy because at this height, the thin mountain air also made breathing slightly difficult. We were panting.



The flights of steps were also just endless. And everytime you reached a sort of plateau in the terrain, another evil flight awaited around the corner that would run up and dissappear into the misty distance. But we were thankful Kinabalu at least had steps and there were no need for ropes and carabinas. Plus the Summit Trail was well trodden and clearly marked. Clear enough for Jo to keep a very respectful distance behind us all the time. In fact for most of the climb, he was nowhere to be seen and only when we reached the Pondoks would he suddenly appear from the bushes like an Orang Asli hunter back from a day's kill.



At about 2pm in the afternoon, the final stretch of a rocky ascent brought us to within view of Laban Rata. We took off our wet hoods, did a little dance swimming in our boots, and said a soft ThankYou prayer to the Mountain God (if there was one) for having reached warmth and dryness. The temperature gauge outside the Guesthouse read 6.6 degrees. But with the wind and wet, I think the thermometer should have read more like 4.





No matter, we stripped out of our wet clothes, poured the water out of our boots, wringed our socks and enjoyed 8 pots of hot Milo between the 5 of us. Under those chilly circumstances, the Chocolatey Malt never tasted so good.

By 6pm, sunset was upon us. We were all shoo-ed to bed by 8pm as Jo wanted to set off at 3am the next morning. Darren, KZ and Mitch all came down with fever. And it seemed that only Ricky and me were going to drag ourselves out of bed for the final peak assault in the ungodly morning.

The Kinabalu Kronicles - Hari Tiga

One week after returning from the northern tip of Borneo that is Sabah, I write these memoirs, of the trip to reach its peak...

At 10am on the morning of my birthday, Ah Gong, the taxi-driver we hired to take us to Kinabalu Park HQ, was already waiting patiently on the sidewalk downstairs from the Hotel Holiday. Toothy grin, cigarette, and all strapping 1.89 metres of him.

We piled into his 6-seater Toyota MPV, taking with us only the stuff we needed for the climb and leaving about half of our luggage with the Front Desk. The thought of spending the last night, when we returned, at the Hyatt, still played in my mind. But when Lawrence, Holiday's Concierge-cum-Receptionist-cum-Bellhop-cum-Housekeeper bade us a warm good luck with the ascend and I'm sure you guys will come back alive, we felt we had to return to his shithole and prove a point.

Kinabalu Park HQ is located about 90km from KK town and at an elevation of 1560m. A journey that would normally take about 1.5hrs by car and perhaps 2.5hrs if you plant yourself on one of the shuttle buses that leaves from the main terminal every 2 hours. The Park HQ is a mandatory visit for all climbers because it is where you get your permits and guide arrangements done and also where accomodations are available to spend the night if one does not want to climb immediately on the day of arrival.

Along the way, Ah Gong stopped at a little village for us to take a pee-break and also for us to buy some 'I Conquered Kinabalu' T-shirts (rather prematurely) and perhaps a hiking staff or two. We got some sturdy, evenly-cut branches, an old Kadazan lady was selling for 2 Ringgit each, as our walking aids. And as it turned out, it was to be one of the more intelligent buys of the trip.



We also noticed, along the way up, the many 'Katholic' Churches at every town and almost at every turn. I mean you didn't actually get to see a majestic steeple or a bell tower but at least there were countless signages pointing towards a Church of Saint Gregory, or a Saint Augustine, or a Saint Ignatius or a Saint Peter, or a Saint...errr..Dorcas? Ah Gong said the indigeneous Dusun ethnic group that populated these parts were mostly converted Catholics, thanks in large part, to the Angmo Missionaries from a long time ago. It was rather bizarre actually and we really felt we were going up some Holy Mountain.



Fifteen minutes before reaching the entrance of the Park, we were already plotting how we could circumvent paying the 100 Ringgit Climbing Permit fee Sabah Parks charges for non-Malaysians. And since I was the only person capable of some decent Pasar Malay, I became the obvious choice to converse with the Rangers, telling them that Michelle and me were from Kuala Lumpur and the other 3 Orang Cheenas were from Penang.

And it worked. We succeeded in paying the Malaysian rate of 30 Ringgit each. Yippity-do-dah-day! I would also have you know that the Entrance Fee to the park itself costs 15 Ringgit each for non-Malaysians. We paid 3.



We chose to spend a relaxing day at the Park HQ before the climb the next day. And taking into consideration the exertions of white-water rafting the day before, the decision was a good one. I mean there are some climbers who arrive early at the Park HQ and start their assault on the mountain straightaway. These are mainly the crazy angmos who either want to save on 1 night's accomodation or can't wait to get their pasty hairy feet on the Gunung pronto.

Grace Hostel, our home away from home for the night, was a surprise. Much cleaner and better equipped than a so-called 'hotel' named Holiday. The only drawback, for the girls that is, was bunking in with us guys inside a 3 double-decker bed dormitory room and being subjected to the loud cacophony of snores from a V8, V10 and V12 'engine' respectively. Yes they felt like smothering us guys in the middle of the night.



The Park HQ takes up a small percentage of the 754 Square Kilometres that is Kinabalu National Park. And is really just a collection of Hostels, Chalets and Cabins spread across an area of about 15 football fields run and monopolised by one private company, Sutera Sanctuary Lodges. There are some trails into the surrounding mountain forest that the more intrepid can explore, a Botanical Garden and a Park Visitors' Centre those inclined to facts and figures can spend some time in. But other than these, the HQ is a quiet and welcomed tranquil respite, when the day-trippers not attempting the mountain, have returned home.

We chose to do one of the easier trails looping around the Park as a warm-up just in time for dinner at one of only two restaurants on the property.



It started raining heavily after makan. And thinking the downpour would stop in time for our climb the next day, we dozed off into a warm and peaceful slumber after a lovely hot shower in Grace's impeccable communal toilets.

As it turned out, it rained the whole night. And when we awoke to the pitter-patter of raindrops the next morning, we knew the road ahead would be tough...and wet.

The Kinabalu Kronicles - Hari Dua

One week after returning from the northern tip of Borneo that is Sabah, I write these memoirs, of the trip to reach its peak...

Monday was train-rafting day.

Well we had a choice. Either navigate the white-water rapids on the Padas River (which came highly reccomended by the way) or the 4 of them could take a 1-day SCUBA-experience course while I tagged along on 2 fun dives since I was the only one certified. We let the girls decide and they chose the former.

Lucky for us because it was an experience to remember.

We realized that the Padas River was not just around the corner. Infact, the early 7am bus pick-up took us on a 1.5hr journey to the quaint town of Beaufort down south before we had to catch a rickety 2hr train ride through lush rainforest to the startpoint at Kg Panggi along the river.



Sabah State Railways (SSR) runs the only line in Borneo. Formerly known as the North Borneo Line, the SSR runs thrice-a-day services from KK to Tenom on old, 1970's, single-class diesel locomotives that are so bone-shaking and uncomfortable, you'll be happy to settle for the lousy trains that its counterpart Keratapi Tanah Melayu (KTM) offers on the Peninsula.



But stangely, aching backside aside, the train ride was a nice way to spend the morning. As well as travel the way the locals do, with the locomotive meandering its way through the jungle and the kampongs at every stop. For a while, I felt abit like Paul Theroux, who likes to write about his travels from a train perspective (Riding the Iron Rooster, The Old Pentagonian Express, The Great Railway Bazaar) and I could tell why the romantism of such a languid old-school journey can be so appealing. A few people get to see this side of Sabah, very much the 'other' hinterland apart from the famous Gunung that is Kinabalu. And at every stop, I scrutinized the people that got on and off the train like ants breaking a long convoy in a temporary diversion to a food source.



I mentioned earlier that these SSR trains have a single, uncomfortable, non-airconditioned class. And its very much a free-for-all at the boarding station where you have to push and shove your way for seats. Unless of course you prefer going al fresco, there are open-air freight carriages available where a tete-a-tete next to sacks of potatoes under the blazing sun for 2hours awaits. That was what happened to a group of 40 Koreans on the way to Padas who insisted on sitting together. But they seemed to enjoy the ride and I would have joined them just for the heck of it.



Finally, 28 butt-soring stops later, we reached Rayoh where we had to get off the train for awhile to off-load our stuff and change into rafting attire. Rayoh was going to be the end-point for the river journey later so it made sense to leave our dry clothes at the communal hut before proceeding with the train again to Panggi.

At Panggi, we had a crash course on rafting dynamics. The key, it seems, is to continue rowing even if you hit the rapids in order to stabalise the raft and not let the wavey currents toss you like a rag doll. The Padas River and Gorge consists of Grade 4 rapids (world-wide rapids are graded on a scale of 1-6 with 6 reserved for the pros) so it was not entirely a walk in the park. And with names like Headhunter and Washing Machine on certain fast-flowing, boulder-strewn stretches, you sort of get the idea of what to expect.



Well the 5 of us gave a good account of ourselves as far as rowing was concerned, if our rafting guide Jerman is to be believed that is. Not a single one of us got thrown into the water. And thankfully, our dinghy didn't get flipped over like 2 other boats, sending the single-man rescue Kayaks tailing the Rubber Armada scuttling to rescue the shell-shocked 'swimmers'. In fact, after Scooby Doo (see T-shirt map), we actually became quite proficient in the art of group paddling and crashing head-on into 4 foot waves.



And so, 2hours and 11km later, we survived Padas well enough to have a hearty BBQ lunch at the Rayoh hut where we changed out of our Teh-susu clothes. It was then back on the old 'Express', which by the way, finally broke down 40mins from Beaufort, after we had remarked, rather ominously actually, how surprised we were it didn't give up the ghost much earlier.

But it didn't matter because by then, we were much too pooped and snoring in our hard seats to worry about the 30min sojourn in the middle of nowhere.

In our hearts, the Gunung awaited tommorrow.

The Kinabalu Kronicles - Hari Satu

One week after returning from the northern tip of Borneo that is Sabah, I write these memoirs, of the trip to reach its peak...

It's not easy.

Waking up at four in the morning. And having the Malaysian minibus we hired pick you up from downstairs for the airport in Johor Bahru. Infact, I didn't dare to sleep after drinks with a friend the night before. Not that I could afford to anyway since I hadn't finished packing and I got home at a very responsible hour of two-thirty.

I slept on the bus though. Waking up twice for Immigration and thrice to adjust the vents of the air-conditioning that was blasting cold air on my face. I was soon to find out that on the mountain, my nose would take a similar beating from the gusty winds. So this was perhaps a good warm up, or cool down, whatever the case.

Senai Airport, for all the horror stories I heard, was a reasonably well-appointed hub. I dare say even better than Singapore's own Budget Terminal, which really doesn't surprise any traveller with a name like that. I suppose when they say the government is transparent, it really is. No bluffing. The Air Asia flight was to depart at 0730hrs and 10mins before boarding, we were frantically chomping into our Mary Brown breakfast chicken burgers purchased in a mad frenzy from the departure lounge.



Needless to say, I slept somemore on the flight. And I think so did the other four. Although I cannot really be sure because I thought I heard them shout UNO! from 2 rows down. But no matter, I had another 2 hours (so I thought) of blissful slumber and no interruptions from the less than desirable stewardesses and their DimSum trollies.

I awoke, bleary eyed, to find that we had already touched down in Kota Kinabalu (KK). The pilot having announced that we had landed 30mins ahead of schedule. Did the dear Kapitan turn on his rocket boosters or something. I was so comfortably ensconced in my Economy chair, I swore repeatedly as I got up. Could we turn around and fly again?

From the window of the 6-seater taxi out of relatively modern KK Airport, the city looked clean. Of course in our benchmarked Singaporean hearts, it would never, never be as clean as our beloved island city-state where you could roll a fishball down Orchard Road and still feel confident enough to eat it. Yes, hyperbole. But its true you know. We compare, whether consciously or sub-consciously and sometimes, we forget and verbalise our comparisons much to the chagrin of our neighbours.



KK Airport must be one of the few airports in the world to be located so close to the city centre because within 15mins, we were at the Hotel Holiday. Yes 15mins. And I thought I could snooze somemore. Drats! You know in a little map we picked up from the airport, a list of hotels with their assigned star-ratings sat tucked beneath the grid lines of the city. 1-star, 2-star, 3-star, topped off with the 5-Star Hyatt Regency Kota Kinabalu. Hotel Holiday, to our utter dismay, had no stars and sat nestled above a row of dirty shop-houses in an old, decrepit part of town. Whilst lugging my bags up to the room, I felt like a Narcotics officer on a drug raid, half expecting to find a used syringe on the stairway. Yes there were no lifts. No star you still want lift?

Ironically, The Hyatt was just one block away, by the waterfront. And as we passed the not-so grand lady on our way to lunch, I contemplated leaving the young 'uns to their own devices in the fantastic holiday hotel and checking myself into some 5-starred bliss. Oh how I looked at The Hyatt longingly. But this was a group trip. All for one, one for all! Espirit de Corps! Camaraderie! Bullshit! I was counting the seconds before we got into each others' hair. You know what they say about your friends as travel companions. You start the trip off as bosom buddies, and end the trip being investigated for Culpable Homicide. Fingers crossed though. Patience.

On closer inspection, the city was not so clean afterall. For this, we heaved a collective secret sigh of relief. I mean its cleaner than KL or Bangkok or Jakarta but it certainly does not rank up there with our beloved Singapore. A fishball rolling down its main thoroughfare will, I say will, give you KK's version of Delhi Belly.

The city is small by any standards and immensely walkable. And like all colonial waterfront real-estate, it has nice parallel roads and intersections leading from the main Jetty and the typical bank or two near the boats that used to bring the merchants from faraway. Shopping, for the most parts of town, is a throw-back to the early eighties. Save for maybe Warisan Square down on the water's edge where at least the familiar ring of Quiksilver, Timberland, Espirit and Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf tell you that all is not lost. We are in 2007 and yes there is a shopping god we can thank.

One of the few places we enjoyed was Jesselton Jetty. Jesselton, we found out, was the old colonial name for KK. A row of quaint eateries and restaurants lined the boulevard boardwalk where the motorised boats took day-trippers out to the islands in Tuanku Abdul Rahman Marine Park.



We quickly decided that we wanted to do Whitewater Rafting the next day since we were only going to climb Gunung Kinabalu on Tuesday. On the Padas River no less, reputed to be world-famous by an obese lady at the Sabah Divers shop we went to. She looked like she herself could occupy one large dinghy on her own. OK, infact, she looked like a small boat or some other large flotation device. I asked her sheepishly, So you won't be on the boat with us right? She said she couldn't swim. And here she was, Manager-ess of a Dive Shop, with PADI and SSI accreditation. But the Rotund One was a nice, schweet lady, and she got us on the morning bus and train out to Rayoh the next day. Jessie was her name.

And so we ended Day 1 at one of the waterfront restaurants. Watching the sunset and fishing boats return from a day out at sea. Dinner was crap. So we were soon to find out that East Malaysians can't cook to save their lives. But we were thankful. Thankful for the beer on our table and the breeze in our hair. Thankful that we were finally on vacation.

Although the River and Mountain beckoned in the days to come....

The Glad-Liver

When one starts to do whisky reviews, in addition to wine critiques, you know its the alcohol talking =))



I just opened my 2nd bottle of Single Malt scotch in a month, a Glenlivet 12. After having finished the Macallan 10 just 2 nights ago. And thanks to Sam who got it for me, duty free, I don't have to continue with the 2 bottles of crappy Jack Daniels and Chivas I have lying on my shelf. We'll save those for the Coke ya? =))

My mum will be heartbroken to know that I have fallen into the footsteps of my late father. A Whisky a day, keeps your Demons at bay =P

Anyway, some comments from Martine and Dave from Whisky Magazine (online)...

Martine Nouet

Nose : Floral and malty. Ivy. Sweet cereals. Fresh paint. Cedar. Polished floors. A touch of marzipan. Apples in puff pastry. Buttery.
Palate : Fresh and minty. Quite chewy. Spices emerge but not excessively so. A splash of water brings out flavours.
Finish : Satisfying, warm and spicy.
Comment : A pleasant any-time dram. Very refreshing.

Dave Broom

Nose : Lifted. Apple wood, heather, baked soft fruits mixed with cereal, citrus and pear. In time there’s notes of freshly-sawn wood, freesia and dried orange peel. Complex but light as well.
Palate : Light and fragrant. All the notes on the nose come through. Medium-bodied and gentle.
Finish : Dry and clean.
Comment : Right back on form. Is some more mature stock being blended in?

And I agree with Martine. A splash of mountain fresh Evian on the rocks to tickle the Hic-buds is mighty fine...=)

The Milo Man Godzilla

You know there are about a dozen ways you can partake of this very versatile beverage of chocolate and malt.

Dipping your spoon into a whole tin of the good brown stuff is one of them. We used to do that as kids.



Anyway our recent trip up to KK proved to be a little Milo adventure of sorts. We had Milo almost everyday, in all its various forms, even pouring it down our throats from sachets. And this coming from a couple of addicted caffiene-maniacs, was surprising. It is no wonder then that Malaysia consumes 90% of the world's Milo production. Staggering!

Well in some whisky-induced, semi-drunken stupor just the other day, the topic of what kind of Milo Man a girl would want, cropped up. Yes don't ask me wadafark. I told you it was whisky-induced no? =)) That is, if you could compare your man/boy to a cuppa of the drink (in all its incarnations), which would it be? A nice steaming hot cup to keep you all warm and fuzzy? Perhaps with chunky icecubes, cool and collected, to quench your deepest desires. Maybe you want your man raw and naked (read open), granulated powder form and all? Or really strong and full of character, like how they pile on more undissolved stuff in a Dinosaur. Someone volunteered that he tried breaking an egg into his Milo once and that got the girls giggling about his virility.

And then this charbor who was keeping strangely quiet throughout the entire bawdy discourse dropped a sobering bombshell. When I order a Godzilla, what I really want is the Vanilla ice-cream inside.

Someone make sense of that very deep remark for me please =))

My Mountain

The proverbial deed is done.



A mighty mountain scaled, scampered and subdued. With the battle scars to show for it ; bleeding blisters, wonky feet and a sunburn the deep orange-cinnamon of Kinabalu's ultramafic soil ubiquitous above 8, 865ft.

As far as Mother Earth's peaks go, Borneo's Pride and Joy is Mountaineering 101. An inclined walk in the park with no need for fancy ropes and restraints, canisters or carabinas. Its 13, 465ft is less than half of Everest's 29, 029, with none of the grisly finds of icy corpses left in a Hades of Bitter Cold.

Still, Gunung Kinabalu was mine to climb. A little test as it were, of my somewhat petulant resolve to meet obstacles head-on from now on. Everyone faces a mountain at some point of their lives. And for me, that mountain is now.

We reached Kinabalu Park HQ on my Birthday. Timed such that we would have enough rest and acclimatisation for the 8.7km trudge up the gnarled tree roots and rock-steps the next day, crawling the bare-faced granite leading up to the summit the day after. And it was perhaps a trifle symbolic that on the 1st day of my 34th year of existence, I prepared to meet a new challenge.

It was a quiet Sep 11 for me, and so my young, 20-something companions would tell you. A day spent in abstract deliberation and reflection, gradually pervaded by a personal ethos of embracing change. Change, you see, is my Mountain. And Change never did come easy for someone involved in too much silly sentimentality.

One step forward, two steps back. You know how it goes. Plagued by memories, feelings, places. Even tastes and odors.

So when I finally stood up on the summit that is Low's Peak, head and shoulders truly above the clouds, gazing upon the surreal barren plateau before me.

I said a silent goodbye...again..

Chasing Cars in My Head

The fact that I am thinking about changing cars aside, I have been doing a different kind of car chasing - daydreaming in my head, about stuff. I often joke that I am approaching my midlife crisis, but I wonder if its already here!

Why are we never satisfied with their current condition? Maybe I am generalizing here but most people I know always talk about upgrading - new phone, bigger car, sell the flat buy a condo, dumb the bitch get a slut (i mean french bitch car to get a japanese slut car) so on and so forth.

Don't get me wrong. I am not chastising or putting them down. I am one of them. I believe my standard of living is above average by Singaporean standards and I am grateful for what I have. But nothing I have now is manna from heaven. Everything I have I have achieved through my own hard work, sweating blood and breathing crap all these years. No one gave me anything - I had to go out and take it. Yet, I am not 'rich' or 'well to do'. Life every month is a struggle. Yes high costs are due to our choices - renting a condo instead of a flat for example. But it is because we want a better life that we work and work and work isn't it? It would be kind of a weird idea to work hard and put everything away and life like a pauper...

So I want more? More time, more money, better car etc etc etc. Is it greed? Because 80% of the population probably have a harder time to make ends meet every month despite their choices (compared to my situation where its because of my choices).

Shouldn't I be happy with what I have instead of chasing cars in my head?





Song: Chasing Cars

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Sometimes You Want To Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name....

One of Boston's famous landmarks is the Pub called Cheers. Cheers was also the name of a successful and long-lasting TV comedy series. The show is set in the Cheers bar (itself named for the toast "Cheers") in Boston, Massachusetts, where a group of locals meet to drink and generally have fun. The show's theme song was written by Judy Hart Angelo and Gary Portnoy, and performed by Portnoy with its famous refrain, "where everybody knows your name", that also became the show's tagline.

Our group has a regular Wednesday night teh tarik and roti prata session. These session we have here are kind of like Cheers I guess. A great way to chill out and unwind while chatting away with friends about anything and everything.

Sometimes, when i want to go where everybody knows my nick, i turn up at the Weds night prata meet!

Cheers!


Song: Boston - Augustana

Can't Fight The Feeling

That famous saying, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all keeps banging around in my head as i struggle to deal with certain feelings rising to the surface, brought about by a brief chat with a very good friend i used to go to university with.

She will be moving to Australia shortly, with her husband and 2 children. While packing for her trip she came across a gift i had given her - a book of poems by Wordsworth. She said finding that brought back lots of memories of the good old days; and hearing her relate this to me brought on a rush of old memories, emotions and feelings of all sorts. (no guys, she wasn't a fling I had, although i think FM might fancy her, based on her bone structure!)

Anyway, I can't fight the feeling. Sometimes I hold on to the past too much I think. Here's a little tune that is one of my favourites. I could listen to this over and over and over again.

A Toast to the past that makes us who we are today so we can make it through the future.

Song: I Can't Fight This Feeling - REO Speedwagon

Selamat Jalan

The feeling is familiar.

You plan and prepare, read up and re-pack, fret over what to bring and what to wear. And when the day finally comes, you don't feel like going. There are like a gazillion people back home that you think you will miss.

Wierd =))

Well I'm off in an hour's time to catch the early 0730hrs flight from Senai to Kota Kinabalu. So this silly little blog won't be updated for a week. Maybe I'll see you from the other side, if Mountain Sickness doesn't get to me.

Meanwhile Barry White will be on repeat mode (I am sorry =P). Let him serenade you with some Love which I know I won't be getting any of at 4000m.

ByeBye! =)

The Climb 2

I started packing for the 'expedition' today.

I really mean I started dumping all the stuff I want to bring up to Kinabalu onto the centre of my living room carpet =))



Dive gear in one bag, climbing gear in the other. If I don't start organising my stuff slowly, there is going to be something(s) I will forget to put in.

And I hope by packing early, I can dash out to buy stuff I can't source for at home. Speaking of which, Muesli bars, Nuts and Chocolate come to mind! =))

The Miracle Of Love

The miracle of love
Will take away your pain
When the miracle of love
Comes your way again.

If Annie Lennox and Dave Stewart are to be believed from way back in '86, then one can only wait. Lying in patient anticipation until that single most mixed-up and misunderstood Emotion decides its time to make a heady comeback.

And perhaps like all Miracles, it would be unexpected.

Or perhaps like some Miracles, it would seem glorious at first, and then wilt under the searing truth of the selfish magic involved.

But some Miracles, it seems, are undoable.

Perhaps never to be performed again...