All creatures great and small

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Having left our lazy selves on the beach it has been a rather healthy and naturalistic month (No Laura, we have not spent the last 30 days naked).

The temperate Cameron Highlands have long functioned as a getaway from the heat of the lowlands. Like other hill stations in Asia they have a perfect climate for growing tea and green patchwork plantations are numerous, although still outnumbered by strawberry farms and market gardens. The strawberries were actually both unimpressive and expensive and were duly ignored; but, to Ali’s delight, the tomatoes – which she eats like the fruit they are – were delicious and cheap and were quaffed by the handful.

Rainy season has certainly arrived in the central Highlands and hot dry mornings would become increasingly sticky and grey until the heavens opened in mid-afternoon. There are numerous jungle trails that in April are still largely mosquito- and leech-free leading to waterfalls and peaks. These sweaty four hour hikes are little used with most tourists sticking to various organized tours. It’s their loss as there is plenty to see with lizards, snakes, orchids and pitchers in the steamy encompassing vegetation and lemurs and hornbills in the high canopy above. Plus, after a few hours spent slogging it up a mountain (we climbed Gunung Beremban, 1812m) you feel entitled to treat yourself to a cold can of Chang. There is however one tour that has to be taken as you cannot do it unescorted and that is to see rafflesia, the largest flower on planet earth (ok, it is actually a fungus). The rafflesia here, they are also found in Borneo and Sumatra where they are seasonal, flower year round. An individual “flower” takes seven years to mature but remains in bloom for just seven days and in its white-spotted prime for just three of these. The one we saw was past its best but still impressive at almost four feet across and weighing it at something like 20kg.

One afternoon I was lying on the bed whilst Ali showered post-walk when I became aware that the bed was shaking. Was a large lorry passing? No. Was someone stomping along the corridor outside? No. It felt like an earthquake, but Malaysia doesn’t get earthquakes. Still the shaking continued. I called Ali, who being vertical was oblivious to anything untoward occurring, hauled her out of the shower and got her to lie on the bed to confirm that it really was moving. Other things in the room were now swaying. Ali is contemplating throwing some clothes on and getting outside, but it was pretty gentle (nothing compared to some we’ve experienced in Japan or India) and after a further five minutes it stopped. The next day we’d forgotten about the moving bed incident until we read the news of another massive quake off Banda Aceh, almost as powerful as that of 2004. Thankfully this time there was no tsunami but it did cause some disquiet as we fly into Banda Aceh at the end of April.

Temporarily hiked-out we headed across country to the now – apparently – monsoon-free East coast and Cherating. In the 70s and 80s this was a popular beachside hangout for backpackers but is now largely bypassed, except when the surf’s up, as they head straight to the Parhentian islands further up the coast. Cherating doesn’t even merit the title of a village, consisting solely of a string of guesthouses and eateries. Even the nearest supermarket is a bus ride away. It certainly has a quiet sleepy feel but also exudes a certain neglected, or at least forgotten, air.

One morning, sarong-clad, I was stumbling half-asleep from our hut to the communal kitchen for some coffee only to be stopped in my tracks by a loud wolf-whistle; my first ever that I can remember. Sadly it hadn’t come from a young beauty or even a woman for that matter: it was Richard. We’d met Glaswegian Richard whilst waiting for the bus in unremarkable Kuantan and hung out with him over the next few days. He had rather a nice camera and it seemed I was to be his muse as he was often caught in the act of surreptitiously snapping me, usually accompanied by some excuse about the light being just perfect where I was sitting/standing; bless.

It was Richard who persuaded us to accompany him on a turtle-viewing trip and very pleased we were that he did. At approaching midnight a call came through that several green turtles had come ashore and each was busy digging a hole in which to lay her eggs (up to 140). The beach in question is protected by rangers whose wages are subsidized by the tourism element (this discourages them poaching eggs to eat/sell themselves) and after the turtle has buried them and returned to the sea the eggs are lifted to be reared in a hatchery (part of a research facility) safe from predation by monitors and small mammals. On hatching the baby turtles are returned to the beach and released ten metres from the surf to enable them to imprint and return to the very spot to lay their own eggs (if they’re female and lucky enough to survive) when sexually mature some 25 years later. These are not small turtles, their gun-metal shells (why green turtles?) being some five feet in length and their heads beaked melons. Laying the golf ball-sized eggs appears much easier than the excavating/burying and the whole process takes between 1-2 hours before she drags herself back to the ocean leaving tractor tyre-like tracks in her wake. It was all rather emotional, not least because whilst digging she exudes a protective sticky mucus from her eyes that appears like tears.

Whilst I am aware of the negative impact turtle tourism can have, the operation here - tied to a research program – is very small scale (just the three of us that night) and considerately run with flash photography strictly prohibited: the turtles’ complete and successful lays and the future release of the babies is paramount. A single torch light from the rear once laying has started apparently goes un-noticed or is, at worst, tolerated (it doesn’t affect egg lay). If she is disturbed in some way, and a light from the front at this point would do precisely that, she will simply bury those already laid and return on a subsequent night to lay the remainder. Indeed it is not rare for a turtle to land and turn back before laying, only to have to return again; the most common causes of this being lights in front of her (light pollution) or the selection of a digging site that is unsuitable due to roots or rocks (site selection: temperature directly affects the future sex of the young, with males resulting from elevated temperatures during incubation). Regardless of your views on intruding on this rather private reptilian function you can’t argue with its effects in terms of conservation as the numbers of eggs laid are up 300% since the research/tourism program began and this beach is now the primary green turtle site in Peninsula Malaysia.

The haunting scales calling the faithful to prayer drift through our open window in the pre-dawn-dark; it is 5.30 a.m. in Melaka. Both of us lie, half-awake, listening as the early morning adhãn, especially that of this muezzin, is particularly beautiful. Melaka is a steamy melting pot of cultures on the west coast of Malaysia, another world heritage site and another culinary heaven. Here it feels (and it certainly is at a weekend) rather more touristy than Georgetown, Penang, but the old colonial architecture is better preserved and the white facades of Chinatown’s backstreets are cast in a dreamy pink hue at night.

We arrived in Melaka at almost midnight after a day of cancelled and delayed buses. A friendly Brazilian couple pointed us in the right direction as we piled off the last bus from Sentral to the old town. Wandering the deserted lanes of Chinatown we happened upon a group sitting drinking around a table outside a bar. A ponytailed old Chinese named Soon (who, it later materialized, is a local legend) took us in hand and directed us to Bala’s guesthouse; run by a genteel Indian couple it is invitingly homely and the haunt of frequent returnees. Packs jettisoned we joined the drinkers for a beer and enquired about late night eating options. From a line of curbside establishments we settled on a place specializing in teochew-style fish balls; here we tried a delicious clear soup with said fish balls as well as bowls of white rice noodles with succulent pork and melty crackling croutons, delicately flavoured with sambal. We had just ordered seconds – these really are special noodles – when the bubbly young proprietor plonked himself at our table, began plying us with free beers and chatting away as if we were old friends. Amidst the football, spread-betting tactics (always bet low on the England football team), plans for his forthcoming wedding to a Vietnamese, Chinese work ethics, and information on must-visit restaurants he provided us with his mother’s recipe for the sambal that we were gushing about (and the details of which we needed for our promise to Rahel to source the ultimate Nasi Lemak recipe – still working on the coconut-infused rice).

There is little to do here other than stroll the atmospheric streets and the promenades of the Sungai Melaka River taking in the odd museum, antiques shop or gallery whilst expectantly deliberating your next meal. We managed to chalk-up various foody firsts such as the satay celup – fondue satay-style, but missed out on several Nonya (Malay/Chinese fusion) specialties like chicken candle nut and pineapple tarts which simply means we’ll have to return. We did discover a dusty Chinese liquor store where a motley crew of old locals sit chatting at the rear of the shop and downing their chosen dubious spirit. Bought a mighty bottle of arak to take with us to Mark’s in KL and a smaller one with which to join the throng. Survived alcohol poisoning only to discover later that night that all was not as it should be with our kettle back at Bala’s… For once I actually removed the kettle’s lid to re-fill it (not simply filling it through the spout) and what greeted me was not pleasant. It looked like a floating tail so I swirled what water still remained around the filament and discovered the remnants of the tail-less carcass. The flavor of Gecko soup is obviously masked by strong coffee.

From Melaka we headed to our current destination which is at chez Freeman in Kuala Lumpur. Here we are mixing up the cuisine with Mark’s excellent home cooking (roasts, pan-fried halibut, cuttlefish yellow curry) and visits to local cheap eateries for rotis and Malay buffets. We’ve got Mark into Chinese whist, but have yet to convert him to Scrabble in which Ali continues to go from strength to strength (see recent game shot). So, here we sit with Ali on diary duty and me tapping away as Mark polishes off a grant proposal.

We’re both excited at the prospect of flying into Sumatra on Monday and are hoping to make it to Pulau Weh on the same day and find somewhere showing the City/United match in the early hours of Tuesday. With its abundance of volcanos and ginger giants, Sumatra should see a resurgence in decent photos ……

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Photos

Petronas towers, KL
Photo by Richard Crampton

Cherating beach
Photo by Richard Crampton

Comments

[elaine]

adventures
Hey guys you sound well. Lovin the every day life stories of your travelling. Take Care Ex

[Laura]

How many days did you spend naked then?
Haha! Sounds amazing....I love the turtle pic :-D