Rice Wine - Blowing Through my Mind

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Rice Wine - Blowing Through my Mind

Thurs 27/03 - 29/03/08

*Authors note - I´d like to extend thanks to all my jungle buddies, without whose contributions this blog would not have been possible, due to the booze sodden state of my poor, forgetful and badly damaged brain. Oooo-haaaa.

We set off in the afternoon for our second trek. A short journey down the river takes us to the start of the trail; a steep climb up through the jungle. The clouds above speak of rain, and soon the droplets filter down through the trees. We walk for around half an hour. Although somehow I survived last night´s drinking without serious injury or morning hangover, I wasn´t able to stomach much breakfast, so I utilise my newly learned jungle skills, bending down to pick up green fruit off the ground, and cutting them open with my knife.

Things start to get heavy weather wise. Francis and Angune stop and consult for a minute, then Francis announces that we will turn back - it´s too dangerous walking in such wet conditions. Thunder rolls high above us, and as we about turn, the rain pounds down in thick sheets, drenching us all. I struggle to pull my raincoat from my bag, but it´s already too late. We slip and slide back down the track, having made it less than halfway through the trek. Several people take a tumble, including myself, and I get up off my backside cursing, my 100% record dashed to pieces. Toby laughs, having managed to stay upright. You´re time will come, fucker, your time will come.

We clamber back into boats and high tail it to the guest house. Everyone strips off and hangs out their wet clothes to dry. Trouble is, we all know there is little chance of that happening. With only a few hours of sun each day, and humidity hanging on the surface of everything like a wet kiss, it will take days, if not weeks, for our shit to dry out. I´m not so worried about my clothes - I have one or two clean-ish items left that I can stretch out until the end of the week. The problem is my boots, which are soaked. I leave them somewhere warm and comfortable, and hope.

The evening swims to shore. Once again, the Iban join us around the table, this time with one more of their number, a guy named Jem (or Jame, I was never sure). Like all of the Iban men he looks like a mean bastard (with the exception of Raymond, who looks like the soft one out of boy band) - covered in big tattoo´s, and packed tight with well defined arms. And also like all the others, he´s nothing like he appears. They all just wanna get loaded and have a good time, and our reputation to do just that must be growing because he´s come to check out what´s happening.

I like Jem. He says he´s going to go and work on an oil rig in Dubai, hoping to earn good money for a few years and then return to his family in the jungle. This seems to be the way of things for the Iban men. They leave for a while and then fly back to the nest to be with their family. You have to respect that attitude and envy the way of life. Spend a few years lining your pockets, then return to the river and the trees. Angune took a shot at life away from the longhouse. He married a girl, but apparently things didn´t work out so he came back. Ever since he placed a hat on my head and hugged me, I´ve had a great deal of manly affection for Angune. He seems like a decent, honest and simple man. There´s a hint of sadness behind his eyes, and I doubt the outside world held too much kindness for him.

The Lankow (Iban name for moonshine/rice wine) is brought to the table in big 1.5 litre bottles. We begin to play a spoon game, the rules of which escape me. Essentially, a bunch of spoons are placed in the middle of the table. We are dealt cards, and have to make a winning hand, similar to those in rummy. When someone completes their hand, they dive forward for a spoon, and anyone left without one has to down a shot. I´d rather take the bad guts than the glory, so I make little effort to find a spoon, and drink with pleasing regularity.

It seems really easy to get a winning hand, and someone usually has it after the first deal. Jem and Mail are conspiring to cheat, which helps things along, and before long, the number of shots I´ve drunk are well into double figures. We finish the spoon game, and cut loose. I walk back from the toilet, where the girls are giving themselves weird, spiky hairstyles for some reason, to find Wilson doing acrobatics. He encourages me to do a handstand/front flip type move. I explain as best I can (it should be noted that the Iban speak virtually no English, and me only a couple of words of Malay) that such a feat is impossible for me, even if I wasn´t drunk. He insists, and I give it a go, pathetically executing some kind of mincing cartwheel like an arch duke of gay.

Soon, I´m at it again, getting up onto the table to dance to "Sweet Child of Mine". Toby and I cut this tune to pieces in Penang, unleashing a dance floor tour de force like a mighty blow from Thor´s hammer - a moment of staggering, thunderous greatness that will have no doubt gone down in local lore as the pinnacle of move-busting. All those who bore witness that day with have left with splintered egos and singed retinas.

I share the platform with several of the others and we give the jungle a gift of earth-shattering air guitar. I have no idea what the time is at this point. Jem is telling us that we should all come back with them to the longhouse to sleep. I´m down near the water´s edge, and suddenly, Jenny and Lisa jump in for a midnight swim.

The hour is getting late. Almost all of us have agreed to go to the longhouse, and only Anita and Mandy remain behind. The boats are loaded up. I get in the front of one next to Jenny and mumble something incoherent. The darkness opens my eyes to how drunk I am. As we arrive at the river bank, the task of getting safely out of the boat proves a difficult puzzle. I stagger and sway, threatening to send us all plunging in the black inky waters. I try hard to concentrate. All I have to do is walk, one foot after the other, in a relatively straight line. It´s something I´ve done time and time again, with an excellent success rate. I try to pierce the shields of my booze-sodden brain - just stay on target, Luke - use the motherfucking force.

I make it onto dry land, but this don´t get any easier. Not being able to see where I´m going has left me hopelessly hobbled, and I fall onto my hands a multitude of times. Raymond comes to assist me, and virtually drags me up the steep path, and up the wooden steps of the longhouse. Inside, it is just as dark. The young and old have all gone to bed. Jem, Mail and the others loudly "Ssssshhh" us, bursting into fits of giggles. A row of beds are produced. I lay myself down between Charlotte and Jenny, and listen to the hushed laughter from all around. Before too long, I close my eyes and sleep.

I wake. I have no idea what time it is, or where the hell I am. I roll over to the right, and drive my knee forcefully into Charlotte´s lower spine. She shunts forward limply. "Sorry" I say. "Isss okay", she replies. Alcohol is a wonderful anaesthetic. I wouldn´t be surprised if Charlotte awakes a paraplegic in the morning, but for now she´ll just sleep it off. If she´s unable to move from the neck down, I´ll just plead ignorance and slowly tiptoe away.

Morning in the longhouse. I open blurry eyes and see most of the non-drinking Iban are up and about. They bring us coffee, and do doubt ask what the hell we´re all doing in their home. We decide it would be best if we leave, and say our farewells.

In the afternoon, we all return to the longhouse. The girls weave baskets and once again, the guys just kinda laze around. I play chess with Raymond, though it´s not chess as I know it. The rules are very different, the aim seeming to be to take every piece, none of which move as I remember. I have Raymond in check mate for at least half a dozen moves, but this concept is obsolete in Iban chess.

Later, a few of the others go back to the waterfall, and construct some sort of flag. I go back to the guesthouse, and go through the usual routine of cards and journal writing. That evening, Francis cooks us a massive amount of food. Toby and Max feel compelled to eat all of it, and put away plate after plate, puffing and panting, on the verge of regurgitation.

(Ooooo-Hahhh) Higher, baby
(Oooooo-Hahhh) Get higher, baby!
(Oooooo Haahhh) Get higher, baby!
And don't ever come down!

The moonshine is back, along with Angune, Jem and the three brothers. We get out one of the gifts that we brought along for the Iban, a game of table football. Raymond and Wilson seem to love it, despite the fact the little pieces keep falling over. Mail, on the other hand, is a drunken wreck. He apparently downed a whole bottle of moonshine earlier in the afternoon, mistaking it for water somehow. He staggers about with a vacant look on his face.

Toby also has a strange reaction to the booze. His face, and most of his body, goes a deep shade of red, which causes me much amusement. I´m don´t end up as drunk as the previous night, though there is still room for table dancing when the evening ends. The Zoo Negara crew somehow stumbled upon a tradition where there would dance around with their toothbrushes to the Verve come bed time. Max, at the iPod controls, sets them off again, and I join in. Then, we sing a rousing rendition of "Hey Jude", complete with Sandra´s high pitched screams of "Judie, Judie!"

At the end of the night, Toby, Tom and Amy all go over to the longhouse again, while the rest of us choose to sleep in our own beds.


Saturday 29th is the day of our third trek. Once more we plunge through the rough jungle, battling giant ants and swarms of angry, buzzing insects. Francis points out several nests, including several "love nests", where the Orangutan get down and dirty on the forest floor. It is hard to tell exactly what it is we´re looking at - these nests just look like a random pile of leaves. I´d think that a couple of Orang going at it would create a bit of a disturbance - perhaps some deep, buttock-shaped craters in the ground, or some tufts of orange fur, torn off in the heat of passion. Instead, they seem rather tidy and gentle lovers. There´s no empty tubes of KY or mucky monkey mags, used for stimulation. Disappointing.

We also come across a wild boar den, a message passed back through the ranks in hushed whispers, causing much laugher. The trek ends up back at the waterfall, where we have our lunch. After a brief spell at home, we´re invited to join the drunken Iban fishing. Half of us accept, and speed off up river in the boat. Jem, who is pretty pissed, demonstrates how to throw the net. It´s a lot harder than it looks, and we mostly balls it up. Jem catches two tiny fish, which I pick up and place in the boat. We then continue up the river, and go for a swim near the rapids. Toby, Lisa and I follow Wilson´s example, swinging off a vine high up the bank and landing in the water. I miss the rocks by a few inches.

That evening, things get weird. A number of the crew have been feeling under the weather, and both Tom and Amy stayed behind when we trekked earlier in the day. Now, both they and Toby are getting worse. Toby is gripped by some hot fever, and Amy is vomiting at a constant rate. Francis inspects them, and decides they should be taken to the clinic, a few miles back down the river. Everyone starts whispering about Malaria, but I feel it´s more likely the early stages of some other jungle disease, perhaps even HIV. We will await the results of the tests.

Those of us that are still in reasonable shape are gagging to begin drinking. Max and I pace about, doing our best to show proper concern for our friends. The truth is, Francis does not seem overly worried, which means at worst the guys have picked up a bug or are having a reaction to the rice wine. As they drive off in their boats, we begin doing shots. Suddenly, about half of the tribe turn up - there are three or four guys that we haven´t met before, and clearly our fame has spread far.

Immediately, I get challenged to an arm wrestle by one of the bigger Iban, named David. The others nickname him Beckham. Beckham is a strong guy, and beats me on my right side. However, I show him who´s boss when we switch to the left, and he gets up with a look of surprise. Having seen I´m clearly a man of iron, all of the other Iban want to take me on. I manage to beat most of them on at least one side, but pay a high cost. My arms have been pushed to breaking point, and my muscles ache unbelievably. I can barely lift my arms to take a drink. Somehow, though, I still manage to soldier on.

A few hours go by. Some of the Iban, including David, are passed out at the table, head in hands. We´re told they have to be up at 4am to go to the fish market. I don´t envy them that early morning rise - hungover after a few hours sleep, faced with the overpowering stench of fish guts. We hear the hum of engines, and the boats return with Toby and Amy. They have high temperatures (Toby´s is highest, perhaps explaining the redness last night), and have been given some medicines. They go off to bed, and we carry on partying for a while, before finally drawing the night to a close.

Tomorrow will be our last trek. The jungle is taking its toll on the group, and we are slowly dropping like flies. It could be the heat, the water or the toxic contents of the Lankow. Whatever it is, people are pissing out of their assholes, and bringing up spools of filthy bile. Max and I are suffering the opposite reaction - try as we might (and I do try) we are unable to pass a thing. Soon, our bellies will inflate and we will stagger about, pregnant and bloated. Rice wine has the same effect in Vietnam. It really is not good to down dozens of shots night after night, and my inability to shit is proof.

Still, tomorrow is a new day. Maybe we will all be fighting fit, or maybe we'll all be dead. Maybe we'll see Orangutan, or maybe we'll just see another wild boar den. Maybe I'll shit, and maybe I won't.
Speculation, speculation. One thing I know for certain - when the sun rises and when the sun sets, I'll have vision dreams of passion, a very strange reaction, and rice wine going through my mind.

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Comments

[James]

Amazing Time
Loved your little blog here some hysterical points in it. Sounded like a blast. Im trying to get to Borneo in like October November of this year. Any advice?