The Great Esc-Ape

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Leaving Burma proved to be more of a headache than I had hoped for. It was as if the government themselves were clawing at the straps of my backpack at every step of the way. I had checked-in online to save time at the airport. On arrival, I sailed, rather smugly it must be said, past the long line of people waiting to check-in. The long queue appeared to be going nowhere as every person seemed to want to negotiate the size, shape and weight of each bag they owned with meticulous detail.

With my little rucksack, a little heavier from the odd souvenir, I glided past and upstairs to immigration. I handed over my passport, departure form and printed boarding pass for inspection. After a brief flick through my passport the immigration official barked for my boarding pass. Confused I told her it was within the passport and showed it again. Again she snapped, slightly more venomously this time, for the boarding pass and waved a red slip in front of me wildly as if she was a backbencher at the House of Commons.

It seems that because my boarding pass did not resemble a little red slip then it was invalid. What’s the point of online check-in if it is rendered useless by immigration? I therefore stomped off, back down to the still long line of people and got to the very back of the queue – in a really rather perturbed disposition.

After a 5 minute wait in which I had shuffled forward no more than a few inches I simply barged to the front of the queue and demanded another print out. I felt quite awful for doing this, but in a peculiar way, entitled to do so. I got my precious red slip and returned to immigration where I was stamped out – not before a short rant at the official in question. She didn’t really understand but it made me feel better.

When through I needed to have my bag scanned, this is never usually a problem. On this occasion though, the official analysing the TV screen told me that I was harbouring a pair of scissors inside my bag. I’m quite careful about this and always have liquids below 100ml and no sharp items at all. I insisted that I didn’t, he insisted that I did – and this went on for some minutes. I had to turf out the contents of my bag eventually to prove my point. Finally, he reluctantly agreed, I had no scissors.

My Air Asia flight took off on schedule and touched down in KL similarly so. It was about 10.30 in the evening and my connecting flight to Sumatra in Indonesia was not leaving until 7am the following day. The bus into town takes over an hour, which meant just a few measly hours of sleep before I had to come back so I decided to sleep at the airport. Starbucks was open 24/7 and proved a rather comfortable place to situate myself. After about 5 large mugs of coffee though, sleep was unsurprisingly illusive and so I stayed awake all night. A couple, whose lip-smacking (they were from Europe) reverberated around every coffee cup kept me irritated for some hours as well which was not helpful.

I was quite the zombie when I landed finally at Medan – the largest city in Sumatra. My body was awake but my brain was mush as I clambered into a becak which motored to a hotel I had selected. It was cloudy, hot and humid in Medan. The oppressive heat was suffocating after the crisp dryness of Burma and quickly wrapped itself around me like a hot, damp blanket.

Medan was not a particularly endearing place on first impressions. The traffic laden streets throbbed with a variety of vehicles that danced like a disturbed school of fish around itself. Horns honked and scooters buzzed around sharp bends as the local mosque let out its rhythmic morning wail.

I arrived at the hotel and crashed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly. With just a few days left of my trip I didn’t really have much time to do some of the wonderful sights Sumatra has to offer justice. My single goal for the next couple of days was to make it to Bukit Lawang and Gunung Leuser National Park to delve into the rain forest and see some Orang-utans in their natural habitat.

I caught the bus the following day. It took forever to worm its way through the heavy traffic and the vast urban sprawl that is Medan. The city fans out and swallows numerous villages in its jaws ensuring the relentless chorus of scooters, cars, bikes and trucks repeatedly blaring their horns takes time to dissipate.

Once we had finally emerged on more scenic roads the main feature evident were the enormous amounts of palm tree plantations that line the roads. Indonesia is currently in a race with Malaysia to become the world’s largest supplier of palm oil with hundreds of hectares of rain forest being cleared each year to make way for them. This represents an ecological disaster in the making.

The palm trees stretch off on either side of the road in vast rows. They are perfectly aligned and their numbers are incredible. Row after row of them block out the sunlight entirely to create a dark and altogether very different world beneath the large leaves of their tall canopies.

Bukit Lawang is a pretty little village. It is a tourist town situated next to a beautifully fresh and clear babbling river that flows from within the rain forest. Market stalls line its metre-wide streets that follow the river up towards the main entrance of the National Park. Towards the entrance, steep hills rise with thick rain forest trees and dense foliage clinging perilously to the slopes. It is a beautiful location complete with long, rickety bridges spanning the river in various locations providing numerous bouncy crossings.

With my time here limited I had to be quick to see some Orang-utans. I therefore went immediately after lunch to the National Park. Gunung Leuser is an enormous patch of rain forest in northern Sumatra. Its eco-system is rich, wild and varied. Its inhabitants are incredibly numerous but its main attraction is the hairy orange monkeys that live in the high tree canopies. Our furry ape cousins only number around 6,000 in this part of the world and are considered an endangered species.

Sadly, their numbers are dwindling fast to coincide with the rapid expansion of palm oil plantations and the development of S.E Asia, particularly Indonesia and Malaysia. Between them, these two countries contain the only places left in the world in which it is possible to watch this magnificent creature in the wild - Sumatra and Borneo. These rich, dense rain forests provide the perfect climate and environment to sustain the food needed for Orang-utans.

Twice a day, semi-independent Orang-utans are fed by a couple of Park Rangers. Usually they are ones that are either pregnant and need supplementary nutrients or have been newly introduced from captivity. This represents the best opportunity to see these great apes in action, and in their natural environment. I trekked with a Ranger up into the hillside, following a path through thick shrubs and tall trees. Once at the correct feeding area, the Rangers sat on a small wooden platform built between two trees and proceeded to thump a stick on the surface, signalling the arrival of food.

Within a few moments the upper levels of some of the distant trees began to shake violently. A large creature was certainly swinging through the dense entanglement of vines in the tall canopy and towards the sound. I caught a glimpse of the majestic monkey, effortlessly clambering through the trees above. From the other side, another was also approaching.

The Orang-utan had a little baby attached as she climbed down a thick tree, using her powerful dexterous hands and feet – which looked very similar – to muscle down to the platform. I had seen Orang-utans in zoo’s before, but seeing them here, free, was an altogether more wonderful experience. I was in awe of their power, grace and elegance in the air followed by their human-like expressions and actions whilst eating and drinking. They are cunning animals with DNA that is only marginally different to that of human beings. A fierce intelligence sits behind their eyes when you gaze upon them.

After a few flew in from all directions, drinking and eating bananas they effortlessly took to the trees again and disappeared into the thick canopy of the rain forest. The whole feeding time lasted about 45 minutes but it was awesome to see these great apes living free in an environment that is perfect for them. I only hope it remains so for the long-term future as to consider that one day they could well be an extinct species doesn’t bear thinking about.

I spent one night in Bukit Lawang, under the protection of a mosquito net. The jungle hummed around me, sounding very much like a building site with its variety of noises. Every so often a mango from a tree high above my small room would fall loose and smash loudly on the metal roof, waking me up in the middle of the night. This proved a regular source of irritation throughout the entire night, the sound of which resembled a cymbal being clashed next to my ear. I pictured an army of monkeys bombarding my roof with them, although I am sure they just fell off on their own accord.

I caught the bus back to Medan the following morning and then left the next day to arrive right back where I started, at Jakarta’s International Airport. After many nights of simple, basic (sometimes quite decrepit), and often mosquito infested rooms with no air conditioning and highly questionable toilet facilities I had decided that on my last night of travel to treat myself.

I booked a night in the 5 star luxury of the Manhattan Hotel in South Jakarta. I say 5 star but the price was a steal at about £30 for the night. A combination of room discount and Agoda rewards (I knew there was a reason I kept using that website) giving me a wonderful room for a fabulous rate.

Getting to the hotel was quite a journey in itself. I caught the bus into Jakarta from the airport and this time got the chance to take in some of the scenery. Last time I fell asleep. It is an impressive sprawling city with tolled roads flowing into a congested centre. High rises litter the horizon, criss-crossing canals and shanty houses. The traffic pulsed with the din of an array of traffic – scooters, taxis, buses, trucks – all crazily flowing amongst each other as if it were a coordinated dance.

I reached Gambir Station and from here I had to charter my own transport to the hotel. The taxi drivers wanted to negotiate a fixed fare, and quite conveniently, all of their meters were broken. I waved them away to find a little ojek (motorbike taxi) and it wasn’t long before I had sorted one to slice me through the late afternoon rush hour traffic for less than half the cost (and probably time) of a taxi.

The ojek was most certainly the quickest and the fastest option – but it was not the safest. Valentino Rossi – my driver, I decided within moments – squirmed through the traffic in quite a terrifying way. He accelerated into narrow gaps between great hulking buses and lorries and came very close to grazing my knees as we rounded corners. With my hands clenched rather tightly on the back of the bike we wormed around cars stuck in traffic, clipping wing mirrors and pedestrians as we went. It was fun in its own way and a good way to experience the energy of the city.

In the race to Manhattan Hotel we undoubtedly came first. I dismounted from the scooter and entered the hotel with an aching waddle after 20 minutes on the bike. Most other guests were arriving by luxurious black taxis sporting the Mercedes-Benz badge – I felt quite self-conscious all of a sudden!

The hotel was a large skyscraper in what appeared to be the business district of town. Large, glassy towers soar upwards across this area with the names of banks plastered across both ends. Inside, the hotel was wonderfully decorated and emitted an old world charm with its distinctly art-deco design. The lobby itself is grand, with high vaulted ceilings and polished black granite mixed with a smooth dark mahogany finish crowned by an epic chandelier centrepiece which glittered like Shwedagon’s hti. Feeling rather under-dressed for the plush surroundings of the hotel lobby I swiftly checked-in, requesting a high floor – for the views of course – and screamed up to the 29th.

It was now dark and I peeled back the curtains of my exceedingly comfortable room to enjoy the sweeping views. Lights of the traffic far below danced regimentally up and down the streets like luminous plankton on a night dive. Large skyscrapers reflected the surrounding lights, absorbing them within their enormous dark, glassy panels. A cluster of them stood off to one side like large silent sentinels in the still night. I sat down in the leather chair by the writing desk (to write this blog) and felt like some kind of Lord, watching over his minions from an unrivalled vantage point. Feeling tall and powerful are a combination of emotions that I am not familiar with experiencing all too often so please forgive the ego-trip!!

Tyler Durden once philosophised – ‘How much do you really know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?’ – A fantastic line that rings true with regards to travel also. How much can we know about ourselves unless we are placed in extreme situations that only travel can devise? Like staring down the barrel of incredible, wondrous sight, hanging on for dear life whilst screaming round busy street corners on a motorbike, experiencing the heart-wrenching effects of extreme poverty or haggling like your life depended on it at a local market.

Travelling is much a journey inwards as a physical one. I’m not talking about new-age spiritual crap but learning, very intimately, about who you are and what you stand for. Being blown away on a daily basis is par for the course when backpacking. Every day represents both an epic struggle coupled with mind-boggling delights. This yo-yo diet of true experience has a profound effect on oneself that is truly life-altering and enlightening.

The truly difficult experiences are always the ones we remember more fondly, the ones we cherish and reflect upon regularly and will do for all eternity. Life is, essentially, all about experience, a long line of them. Be that watching a football match, getting your nails done at a salon or having a picnic in a pretty park. It is all done to add a little enjoyment, a little spice to the railroad of life. What are our lives at the end if not a series of experiences – ones that make us wiser the more we accumulate?

Travel is the ultimate in experience with a sensory bombardment of Battle of Britain proportions on a daily basis. Each sense-string is plucked violently by the strum of travel as a new country seeks to assimilate new arrivals on every physical and emotional level. This could be a savage battle with an army of touts, haranguing you on arrival whilst you sweat from every pore imaginable to the sweet calls of ‘hello’ from a small child, followed by an immensely disarming smile that makes you melt where you stand. This is why I love it so much – there are no bad travel experiences – it is all broadly educational and, in hindsight, affectionately remembered.

I hope the odd sentence in my closing waffle will make sense to some – others I am sure will think its complete bollocks!

Tomorrow I will make the reverse journey back to the airport and the 19 hour trip home, hopefully in time for Christmas – weather permitting. All that remains is for me to thank you for reading and sharing my journey – and finally - Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!

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Photos

Hanging Out
Gunung Leuser National Park

Orang-utan Male
Gunung Leuser National Park

Happy Chap
Gunung Leuser National Park

Feeding Time
Gunung Leuser National Park

Female with Baby
Gunung Leuser National Park

In the Jungle...
Orang-utan in Gunung Leuser National Park

5 Star Views
Hotel in Jakarta

Comments

[D MJ Binkley]

Sumatra
Very nice photo.