AIRPLANE!

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Right then cowboys and cowgirls it has been a long time since we last spoke. How are you’ all doing? Well, considering that we have not kept you in touch with our travel progress I must first apologise.

“Sorry.”

Secondly I will inform you of the reason why - we have been rushed off our feet recently, meetings (Getting to know all about the wonderful animals out there in this world), deadlines (Catching international flights from tropical destination to beach paradise) and of course presentations for the boss (Well we can’t divulge that information - top secret). I am confident that all of you out there in the powerful world of business, with the ever pressured turmoil of juggling your busy career, can empathise with us.

So with out further a do, or a don’t, lets get blogging, how gay does that sound?

Both Emma and I class ourselves as being reasonably bright, well the truth is that Emma classes herself around about a 90% on the scale and me about a 20% but together we are a force to be reckoned with. However, we have acquired a habit of turning up to the wrong airport, it is a lot easier than you think. We realised that we had repeated our mistake when the departures board did not have our flight number on it, so a mad dash across town and into the old airport for the check in.
So our flight out of Thailand and into the Malaysian part of Borneo was through Air Asia (cheap fare’s and just like Ryan Air but sometimes without the plane - Fly Icarus fly). We had flown Air Asia before and except for running for the plane it was fine, we checked in the baggage and made enough time for a cup of tea. Well we are British you know, this was our Empire, where is my copy of the Daily Mail?

We had loads of hopes for Borneo and as we boarded the plane our hopes for the next three weeks were high. With the traditional sitting position of a six foot plus person on a cheap flight adopted (Something where the knees are firmly placed around the chin - Frank said it was in the Karma but that is enough of that) we were up, up and away.

Now across the twelve months of travelling both me and Stones would have to take about 15 flights of varying style and distance. I felt good about that, I trust that the pilot was properly trained and there is more chance of the falling coconut death than the air crash, no Denis Bergkamp here!

However the brewing storm clouds and odd noises coming from the engines while we were taking off did make me second glance as I was tucking into the complimentary nut selection. As it was a cheap flight the only entertainment provided was the obligatory crying baby sat directly behind you and the air steward whose false eyelashes had the misfortune of dropping into a cup of Chinese tea. It would have been much funnier but as the flight continued the weather began to take a turn for the worse and the rain started, then the thunder and finally we were blessed with the big flashes. No, Dunc’s not up to his old tricks again, the court order still applies.

Our flight, that was now being referred to as KK197 by the lop sided stewardess, was now in the thick of a tropical storm. The noise in the cabin was still at a mild hum and no real panic had entered into the psyche. Remember we are flying on a low cost airplane into Borneo, not Zurich but jungle territory where they only started using knives and forks a couple of years ago.

The moment where the tables turned was the landing. As it has been said to me previously by Barney’s brother - it is the second most dangerous part of flying after a takeoff (Due you really think so Toby, I thought it was the drinks cart bit?). Our wondrous pilot had informed us over the tannoy that we were experiencing large storms over the airport of Kota Kinabalu shortly after take off but we had not heard anything from Captain Over since then or even from Co pilot Under. Now in a perfect world it would have been jolly nice of him to keep in touch and after a short delay deliver our little DVT tootsies onto dry land and without too much bother. Someone shout “fool”.

“Thank you”

Our descent into the runway was steep and hard due to rain that had increased, which was now turning into hail stones, don’t you love when it does that?. The seatbelt light was clearly fastened and after a three hour flight all passengers on board were looking forward to touchdown - “Go on the Cowboys”. As we lowered the landing gear and they crunched into a locked position a massive flash of light appeared on the left wing of the plane, this silenced the passengers with one fell swoop. So the worry started, it was a weird feeling, the kind of sensation you get when you have dropped a “little Tommy squeaker” and you don’t now whether it will smell or not. Perhaps you don’t know that feeling so I will explain, nerves rush threw your body making your skin itch and your body temperature rise to the point that an egg could be fried onto your face. Then Emma asks me “Are you OK? You can let go of my hand if you like, let the blood flow.” Testosterone has never been my strong point.

The plane extended it flaps and honed in on the runway, as we descended every 100 meters the plane rocked from side to side rushing through clouds, marring your visibility. Then you got you first glimpse of it, the tarmac, the strip of heaven no more than 50 meters down and fast approaching. Safety is almost in our grasp. Then the roar of the engines returned and the nose of the plane started to rise again. What was going on? The turbulence struck the fuselage and tipped the plane from side to side. What had started as nervous panic now turned into what can only be described as a “change your shorts” moment. Em looked at me and I smiled nervously, I’ll refer back to the Little Tommy squeaker quote earlier.

The plane pulled the landing gear back and released the flaps until it had swung around into another pattern to attack the runway from a different angle. Now the situation in the cockpit I am sure was cool and calm but in my head it was like in Airplane when they get the blow up doll to be the autopilot. Second time around and the Rosemary beads were out, from both left and right of us people were looking longingly at their love ones and some were even looking towards the sky praying for a positive result. The plane repeated the process and the result was the same, you could hear the groan of disapproval from everyone when the engines started roaring again. It was now that our Captain decided to steady the boat and provide us with words of encouragement. Well perhaps that was a bit strong, he came on the tannoy and informed us that we would try a third time to land and if we were not successful then we would go to another airport to refuel as we were running low. Seriously, thanks for those words of hope. Third time lucky I thought, it happened with Dunc’s driving test, Franks hair transplant and Marcos height refusal on the corkscrew at Alton Towers. But it was to be a complete failure, obviously we didn’t crash but we were diverted about 200 miles away to Sarawak and after we landed there I was sure that I would never get on a plane again.

After an hour’s delay we were back in the air and trundling back to KK, the storm had passed and the turbulence was much reduced. The pilot brought it down on the runway, ‘like a mother’, we left rubber on the tarmac but he made sure that we were down. The next couple of hours were a complete haze of thoughts, just glad that we were safe. Quick Taxi to hostel, “The Hamin Lodge” and then out for a bite to eat.

Borneo is a strange place, the towns are quite well advanced, there are more fast food places then anywhere else but it is still very backward, a bit like the “Port”. We grabbed some rice and un pronounced meat, a coke and we were back to bed. On the way back to the hostel we were heckled by some ladies of the night, well they were stood outside our room trying to tout for business. Gives you an idea of the neighbourhood.

The morning brought new hope, no more planes for a while, a brand new environment but still a lingering stomach complaint. With the Imodium out of the system, I found myself sitting on the porcelain pushchair of love for quite some time, old habits die hard.

We had some organisation over the next couple of days, we had to book our trip to climb Mt Kinabalu, get some time on some offshore islands and take in the vibe of the city. Well the vibe of the city as you walk around it is not hard to take in, sometimes you even wear it. We ate at mainly western places, I must own up at this point, Emma was very much in favour of trying all local delicacies but the delicate Smith digestive system was still playing up so West was best.

We soon realised that independent travel in Borneo was not going to be easy, unless you want to book yourself onto an organised tour with other tourists. We decided that we wanted to ring true and try to hunt down our perfect trip up the mountain and onto the islands. Well over the next few days we did the island booking, the difficulty was that the land is owned by one part of the government and then the booking procedure is privately controlled. Anyway the island was sorted but the mountain was turning out to be an absolute pain in the rear. I will make it brief but it turns out that to get up the mountain you have to book accommodation at base camp, halfway up, but there is only one company that owns this and they have hiked the prices and were trying to make us go up and down the mountain in one day.

There are three offshore islands that have some aspects of accommodation on them. We selected Island Sapi, it has a small camp ground and we could hire tents. Well after an extremely heated barter with the ferry crew to get us over there we landed on the island and were met by a five foot long monitor lizard and a German couple. Not to get confused I may add, the lizard did not put its towel on the sun loungers. It was a great place, the marine life was wonderful and with magnificent views, however, this time it was the pending storm that was brewing out to sea. We hired our tent and realised that it was two tents that had been hashed together; I was trying to keep the spirits high so my Ray Mears head was on. As soon as the last peg went in, the heavens started to open and the first drip from the middle of the tent appeared. Well soon it turned into a slightly turned tap, all I could think is what would Ray do. Yes the only conclusion was to get right back on the boat and book into the Hamin Lodge for another night. Nice place, even nicer if the sun was out.

It turned out after pulling more strings than the London Olympic bid that we were going to get up the mountain and with our own initiative. So we awoke the next day and decided to make our way up to the mountain. With our stuff packed and the hopes of Sir Edmund resting on our shoulders we ventured off into an altitude filled unknown. Ok we went to the bus stop first.

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Photos

Argghhh
Getting off the plane in Miri - diversion.