The Journal
July 8, 2008
Tuesday Afternoon, July 1st, 2008
I arrived at Woodlands Sheng Siong supermarket sightly later than most. We were supposed to meet at 4pm, but I was over 30 minutes late. Munir our trip leader was just leading the group to go groceries shopping, leaving his other ODAC committee, Wei Song, outside to safeguard the backpacks. The gameplan was to buy the foodstuff that we need up in the mountain, have the girls pack it into their backpacks, and then cross the Woodlands checkpoint into Malaysia to catch the 12-hour overnight train.
Even though the train tracks reach right into the center of Singapore island, the whole Malayan train system is owned by a Malaysian company, KTM. Maybe they figured that passengers from Singapore were much richer. Maybe they suck at doing currency conversion. If you wanted to board the train in Singapore, the train ticket would cost, say, SGD50. However if you boarded from right across the border, for the same seat on the same train, it would cost MYR50. That’s a discount of more than half price! Naturally ODAC chose to make us cross the border to catch the train. Crossing the border to reach the Malaysian Johor Bahru train station took probably 30min, but crossing the immigration checkpoints took slightly more. Karel, being the only non-Singaporean participant (he’s Dutch), had to get in line with all the other Malaysians trying to return home after another work day. The rest of us waited on as he progressed through the sea of foreign workers.
After boarding the train, each of us was assigned a sleeper bed. Aligned along both walls of the train cabin were bunk beds, one on top of the other. Curtains provided a certain level of privacy and shade from the well-lit cabin corridors. Beds were clean, but blankets were in the form of thin white hospital bedsheets, which failed to keep the cold out for many us. After settling in, we started to organize ourselves for various card games. Those who did not know how to play bridge were taught, and the game of bridge proved to be a lifesaver later on in the trip.
Wednesday Morning, July 2nd, 2008
At around 6am we arrived in Dabong, on the northern part of Malaysia’s state of Kelantan. Upon alighting the train, I was careful so as to land on the train tracks. Hong Yue on the other hand took a grand leap of fate right into a deep puddle of mud. Getting herself out of that sticky situation cost her one sandal. That leap off the train, coupled with the heavy backpack, probably ensured that the sandal never got to see the light of day anytime soon.
Breakfast was nasi lemak from the station’s nearest food store. We ate to the sound of roosters crowing, and the sight of children, in their school uniforms, rushing off to school. Over breakfast Melissa tried to justify launching a rescue squad for Hong Yue’s sandal, saying “it’s a new 40-dollar Havaianas sandal!” The town was slowly coming to life as the sun peeped over the jungle canopy, revealing a quiet kampung (Malay for village) of brown wooden walls and rusty zinc roofs, backed by thick wild jungle vegetation. Folks here probably don’t know the existence of subprime crisis, or how much a barrel of crude oil costs—a lot like a page out of Singapore’s history textbook, pretty much lost in time.
Those who know my traveling habits know of my phobia of dirty toilets. When I travel to less developed areas, I uphold a policy of ”minimal toilet exposure”. Hence it was a surprise when Ziwei mentioned how surprisingly clean the train station’s new toilet was. You would think that for a place like this, the toilets would be wet and slimy, reeking of ammonia as the toilets are left desecrated for weeks. Wonder who’s urine you’re inhaling, stained on the dirty floor as you sit onto the seat, bringing your face closer to the micro-organisms lurking in dark, moist corners … OK enough. The new toilet bowl (and not a squatting pan, may I add) was as he said, usable. I made a point to take two dumps that morning, ensuring my survival for the rest of the week.
After we touched base with the local guides’ office, we prepared ourselves for some caving activities. Dumping our backpacks in the office and arming ourselves with torches and cameras, we boarded two chartered minibuses, with no knowledge of what to expect. Upon arrival in the middle of nowhere, our local guides introduced themselves, and soon got us following them down a barely beatened track off the tarred road. The trail was wet, with grass and shrubs occasionally reaching knee-height, the dark green wilderness engulfing us as we advanced single-file into the unknown. Would there be a huge, dark semi-circle of a cave opening at the end of the trail? Maybe a lost temple at the edge of a mountain? Or maybe, just maybe, a 20-foot sculpture of a seated Buddha carved into the side of the cliff?
We arrived at a dark opening at the foot of a mountain, the ceiling roughly 5 feet high and the walls barely accommodating the width of our shoulders–Gua Gelap (the Dark Cave, named because it’s very dark and you need headlamps). Water was flowing ankle-deep out of the cave over our feet, washing away some of the mud we had accumulated. But that did nothing for some of the girls who had leeches crawling up their legs. To tell you the truth, I’m both hemophobic and entomophobic, so leeches super-duper-disgusts me. I was, however, fairly glad that the leeches were on everyone else but me (I can be so selfishly mean). Good job, definitely an improvement compared to all my previous tropical trekking experiences. Leeches were not the only creatures we might encounter, as the guide advised us not to disturb any bats or snakes or spiders the size of tarantulas that do inhabit in these caves. Talk about facing your fears.
A portion of the dark, unlit “underground” trail required us to get on our fours and crawl through a hole, and that meant getting totally drenched from the shoulders down. They were not kidding when they said you should waterproof everything. The crawl wasn’t for too long, probably having the thickness of a normal brick wall. At the end were fresh air and light, marking the end of the first of three caves we’d be exploring. This would be the smallest of the caves, and we would not be expecting any similar experiences during the next two. Unlike the first cave, the other caves were much larger, with some locations having enough interior space to contain a jumbo jet.
Of all the three limestone caves that we were introduced to, Gua Kris (the Kris Cave, Kris is a Malay sword) was most memorable, not only because it had a huge rock pillar the shape of a Kris, but also near this pillar was a circle, the edges clearly marked with fist-size stones, and within this circle is nothing. Absolutely nothing. Totally clean. As the story goes, during a caving trip a woman had ventured through this demarcated area, and when she got home, she kept hearing this voice calling her to go back to Gua Kris, back to that patch of nothing. All you see is a smooth sandy surface, and our trek guides would ask why it was always so clean when there are dead leaves scattered everywhere else in the cave.
Other than that, there were limestones, limestones, and limestones. I was never fond of rock history.
Wednesday Afternoon, July 2nd, 2008
After washing up at the stream on the foot of the mountain, we bus’d back to the town of Dabong for our coffeeshop lunch, before gearing up for our summit climb to Baha Camp. Water bottles were refilled and backpacks were given a final inspection before we all loaded up the mini-buses and made our way to the entrance of Gunung Stong State Park, which was supposed to be developed into a tourist resort, but I guess maybe someone from the park management decided to embezzle the funds. Seems like a popular hobby these days among senior executives, aside from golf.
Soon our trek began, leading us first to the base of the Stong waterfalls. We took a break on the massive flat rocks, staring up at what’s acclaimed to be the tallest falls in South-east Asia. Fresh water streamed down the face of the huge boulder, a gentle giant towering before us, standing at attention and ignoring the colorful little ants lying around on his boots staring straight up at the top. For a moment I wondered how the journey would be like ahead of us, surely one that was winding and narrow before we finally reach our base camp. This waterfall may not roar like thunder, but it definitely commands respect.
We edged along the boulders leading into the dense vegetation, progressively increasing our altitude as we tread along the 45-degree inclined dirt path. The tall canopy kept things cool as we ventured deep into the world of tropical rainforest. Zero civilization, pure wilderness, not even a trace of Tarzan and his treehouse. Hours went by and while the trees gave way to shrubs and bushes, the end was still no where in sight. I guess this was partly why this trek was considered challenging. You would walk and walk and with each turn you’d silently hope that a small bridge would appear that signified the entrance to Baha Camp.
And there it was, primitive civilization. Wooden huts and outhouses and a souvenir shop. Being one of the earliest to arrive, I dropped my backpack and took the liberty to take a dive into the clear, cold comfort of the fresh water river. Upstream two native ladies washed their hair by one of the larger wooden huts before the backdrop of a waterfall. Turning around, the rocky edge marked the top of South-east Asia’s tallest waterfall, with an unofficial height of 270m. All the water flowing around the rocks and boulders and through the ponds would eventually free-falling off the far corner of the rock edge. If my description doesn’t satisfy your curiosity, you could venture beyond a chain marker hovering across the river, beyond which is a remarkable waterfall experience, and death.
Our campsite was an open space further up into Baha Camp, closer to the backdrop waterfall. After all the chores of tent-pitching and equipment consolidation, all of us were eager to jump into the lagoon at the bottom of the backdrop waterfall.
