kk & the camera war

Putting all of my worldly belongings on my back, i staggered out of my bungalow suffering from a lack of sleep, it was quiet and still dark with the sun just starting to creep over the horizon. The early morning start suited my mood, there was no one around, i was alone, the island was dark and this part of the journey was dead, in the distance the emerging sun was giving life to further adventures and urged me not to miss the people i had lost. I remembered fondly the friends i had made, and of the fantastic send off the night before, and looked forward with excitement and fear of the road ahead.
I turned up at the jetty to catch the boat back to the main land without a ticket, any firm idea about how to get to the airport or really where i was going to head once i had caught the plane to borneo. Luckily everyone buys a return ticket so they don’t check, i think this may have been the first free thing i have had since being in south east asia. Once on the mainland i realised that although lonely planet says that the bus station is only a short walk from the boat harbour i didn’t really know in which direction and the building that i thought was the bus station on the way out was not. I followed the drift of westerners down the main road and past the KFC that i had bought breakfast in what seemed like a lifetime ago until i arrived at the bus station. The station was reasonably civilised with number of counters selling tickets the only real hassle coming from the taxi drivers who are only really interested in people who have missed their bus. They ask in hope more than anything else when i tell them that im going to the airport at JB, and some of them raise a smile when i say ‘Boreo’. To my relief the bus turms up on time, the cool air conditioning helping me escape the heat of the mid day sun which always seems to add an extra couple of kilos to my ruck sack. I took a seat, and looked around, i was the only westerner on the bus, there were over 100 people on the boat, surley i was not the only one going to the airport at JB? I guess so.

As i have island hopped down the east coast of Malaysia JB bus station is my first real taste of the hustle and bustle of mainland Malaysia. Its an eclectic mix of east/ west, china meets india meets islam. From children in their school uniforms and teenagers straight out of a nivarna video walking along with there mother in a traditional head scarf with a designer handbag, while dad carry two dead chickens. I have to change here and get a bus to the airport, I head to where all the busses congregate around the numerous ticket offices. The pavement is teaming with would be commuters and ticket touts who shout and screech the offerings of their respective companies, im expecting to be pulled all over the place as the hawks view me as an easy hunt, but as i navigate through the cat calls i am largely ignored there is enough food for the predators without them having to engage in a different language. Its humid, sweat runs from my forehead into my eyes as i struggle to make out the Malaysian signs above the ticket offices. My head spins, through the haze of the throbbing crowd, the reverberating yells of the touts and the chocking exhaust fumes i see an old friend. One who at home i ignore, and say disparaging things about to my friends despite the guilty nights of please we have at the end of a drunken night out. The ones where i tear off the layers to grab at the babs and taste the forbidden flesh. I never thought i would be so happy to see those golden arches... “Big Mac Meal Please”, “go large” “absolutely”. I sit outside, sucking down a Marlborough menthal and survey the scene trying to evaluate which bus goes to the airport, there is no obvious choice. I also have the internal monologue about how i should not travel around the world to eat Big Macs and that i should be eating Malaysian food, which i am countering in my head with an article i read somewhere about the phenomenal amount of Mcd’s that the Malaysians eat, hence i am doing as the Malaysians do. My thoughts are interrupted by someone stood at my table, “can i have a cigarette”, a young Malaysian girls asks “yes sure”. I hand over a cigarette, she scampers giggling back over to her friends, im not sure she even smoked. The table of older and unusually fat Malaysian women (maybe they lunch there every day?) break into furious debate about the transaction, i can t help but feel that i have been part of some bet.
I decide to face the gauntlet of the promenade again, but this time with a different plan. I usually walk swiftly eyes front with these with the complete pretence that i know where i am going this time im going to go for a more honest expression of complete bewilderment, looking everywhere with a questioning face and looking confused as often as possible. Within seconds i am approached, “can i Help you”, yeah” i say cooly, “i need to get to the airport” “Bay number 9 pay the driver”, “thanks”.
I board the ramshackle bus, which has only a handful of other passengers, including two teenage girls sat opposite me in leggings brightly coloured t shirts and head scarfs who despite there best efforts to be discrete talk and giggle about me as we pass through one residential area after another until i reach the airport. I wonder around for a while and have some food before going through to the departure lounge with all the usual security checks and passport control. Once on the other side i decide to use the internet however to do this i need to buy a voucher from the first part of the airport, and as such need to go back through security the wrong way, on the other side i purchase the voucher and head back towards the security again, this time they just wave me through, if i ever become an international drug smuggler this would be easy.
According to the lonely planet you can catch a minibus from the airport to the Kota Kinablu, and charge 2RM, in reality no such transport system exists. I wonder around for a while before giving up and deciding to take a Taxi. While trying to figure how the taxi system works i meet to Danish guys who are in the same boat as me, so we split the taxi and head to KK. The taxi driver drops us in the main backpacker area and tells us its very busy at the moment, dotted in the Malaysian crowds you can see frustrated westerners with back packs frantically trying to find somewhere to stay. I have heard of a hostel called summer lodge, which apparently has many rooms, All they have available is a dorm room although not ideal the first priority is somewhere to sleep, the Danish guys decide to look elsewhere, i don’t think this a great plan, buts its their choice. The dorm room is small and cramped with 3 bunkbeds and just enough room to walk between them.

I drop of my stuff, and venture to the square adjoining the hostel, its an inside outside affair, as the area is covered, with bars and eateries dotted around, lit up by neon lights, westerners are sat around eating, drinking while being entertained, in the loose sense of the word by two Malaysian gils who sing along the western songs. Its late, im tired, the previous night i had a few hours sleep before catching the 8am boat. i order some food and some beers all of which is extortionate and go to bed, im exhausted, i think im asleep before my head hits the pillow. As if in a dream i can hear someone call out to me “dude”, “dude” “are you asleep” still not fully conscious i become away that im being called, “dude”, “dude”, my brain wants to turn off and for the American accent go away, my body eases into a deeper unconsciousness, “dude”, “dude”, im being tapped on my shoulder, i wake, “dude, is this your t-shirt”, i become aware that two Americans have just checked into the dorm, “yes”, “can i move it”, “Yes”. I slip back to sleep with the Americans noisily wine on about how late it is and how early they have to be up. Then a few hours later i am awoken by the same American accents complaining that they are now up and that they have not had much sleep. Give me strength, i am seriously happy that i don’t have to share with these guys for another minute; i just wish that they would fuck off, quietly.

Kota Kinabalu or KK as its almost universally known, is the capital of Sabah and is sandwiched between the green peaks of Crocker Range and the waves on the South China Sea. The cities bustles with market stalls and booms with the eclectic mix of ethnicity with Chinese, Malays, Filipinos. The city is famous for its remarkable sun sets, the city faces west across the sea where each night the low clouds of the tropics come alive with brilliant reds oranges and purples.


With this in mind i set of to purchase a camera, and then sort out my onward journey, other than wanting to see some Orangutans im not really sure where or how. I set off through the oppressive heat wandering around market stalls that sell everything and anything. After a while i find what resembles a high street and a Shopping Maul. I walk through the doors into the welcoming air conditioned bizarre. As i walk through they is a crowd of Malaysians watching a video of a Michael Jackson concert, i stop and watch for a second, and realise that i am still there half an hour later, i eventually drag myself away and wonder around until i find a shop that sells cameras. I eventually haggle down the price, to which she agrees to do an extended warranty to 18 months, we both know this is worthless to me as i cant really pop over to borneo from London when it breaks, and i buy the camera. i then go outside and take some shots, although i know that it is not as good as the one i have broken (this is camera number 5 since i have been on my travels) its not quite good enough, but it was the best that they had in the price range that i wanted to pay.

I decide to take a scenic walk back along the harbour soaking soaking up the contrast of the fish markets along the shore line and the white 1980’s style building on the other side of the street. In one of the new style buildings i noticed another shopping maul, and desperate for some air conditioning and a cold drink i popped in. I wondered around for a while, noticing that one of the shops had a massive sign ‘we price all of our goods’, ie no haggling, keen to see how a shop would function with western style this is the price pay it or don’t. I wondered in out of curiosity, i was looking at some stuff i really didn’t want, when a sales assistant walked over, ‘ah sir, i do special price you, and knocked a bit of’, so much for that. I walked out of the shop and noticed another camera shop, against my better judgement i walked over and took a look, predictably they had a wider selection of cameras including one that had a much better zoom, if im off to the jungle to see wildlife, i am going to need this. I head back to the first shop unsurprisingly they wouldnt refund the purchase, i suggest that they buy it back at a reduced price, but still no joy. Despondent i headed back to the second camera shop, knowing that i was going to buy the second camera, and trying desperately to reason with myself why buying two cameras in one day is not a waste of money, ‘photos are memories and they are priceless’, ‘i can always give the first one away as a present that i would have bought anyway’ and other such nonsense that you convince your self is true when you have just made a mistake. When i get back to the second shop, i haggle hard, i normally just give after a few minutes and either pay or leave, but this time i want the camera, i want a good price, and this is a big sale for him. I get him down quite abit, and im impressed with my skills, i wonder if they do part exchange and if he will give me some off for the camera i have just bought, he is up for this, we haggle again, do you want the accessories’? commence the new blockbuster epic ‘haggle 3 - this time its personal’. We are struggling to agree a price, when he says, ‘even with the accessories, the most important thing for us to sell this again is the docket and the guarantee, with that i would give you ...(sorry i forget the price) ....’, i smile, you mean this, and pull out the paperwork, he looks down realising that he has been undone, when a light, a fire, a glint of inspiration crosses his sales money grabbing mind ‘but without a full year on the warranty, its worth less’, ‘it has 18 months on it’. I walk out with a new camera and a triumphant smile, only to realise that my triumph is some what tainted by the fact that i am still down on the whole deal if i had just bought the camera in my possession first. Honestly, whenever you take part in a money transaction in asia, you have just lost.

I Ambled back to the hostel, stopping at a local eatery, where the teenage girl and her mother serve me in fits of giggles as i look over the food on display with obviously no idea what i am putting on to my plate, they then sit stare at me as i shovel got knows what tasty goodness into my mouth. As i get back to the canapé over the square the most almighty storm kicks in ripping a sign from its hinges, the bustling streets clear in a second. I wonder into the hostel, in the reception there was a woman selling trips to another couple, picked up her broachers and sat on the internet, seeing what she had to offer and checking up the details on line. She had what seemed like the perfect trip, 3 days stating in a lodge in the borneo rain forest on the banks of the sungai Kinabatangan river, where i could explore by boat trip and short, after the gibbonless experience i want short, treks. I talk to the lady and she knows her stuff, im seriously impressed sometimes you are just told any old shit to get you to hand over your hard earned cash, she arranges everything, pick up from the hotel, bus tickets to the pick up point and the trip its self. She also gives me advice about which airport is the best one to fly to kuala lumpur. I book my flight there, then from there to Bali, and from Bali to Bangkok. The rest of my time in South east asia now feels organised, which is a shame as i have enjoyed the drifting i have been doing, but now i have dates times and places. i pop over the road buy some jungle essentials, small ruck sack, torch, snacks, fags and alcohol. Then Food, beer, bed, beautiful

As you would have gathered from the blog, no camera = no photos.

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