Starving in Kuching

Kuching, Malaysia; an old colonial city which is named after the Malay word for cat.  Not sure why.  Situated on Kuching River it has a gorgeous promenade with views of the architecturally interesting (is it a hat?! is it an umbrella?!) New Sarawak State Legislative Building.

State Assembly

You’re in the mood for a bit of old school architecture.  You’ve been longing for a nice breezy walk along the riverbank, making stops for ice cream and beer and trying out new foods, after all that’s what Kuching is known for; the food.  Getting here from Brunei was easy too, a bit of a drive drive, short flight and shorter taxi ride.  So the Hotel (Grand Margherita) isn’t anything to shout about but it’s close to the City Centre and breakfast is included.

Never, ever have you had such terrible luck with breakfasting at an hotel.  On your first morning you arrive to breakfast at 9ish and the hostess (generously) offers you a ‘shared table’ with a family of 3.  One quick look at the mid-tantrum-snot-covered-toddler throwing chicken sausages on the floor and you graciously decline.  So maybe not that graciously but she got the message.  10 minutes later you manage to find your own table.  It’s littered with dirty plates, more chicken sausage and covered in omelette, which you get cleared away.  You delicately place your cardigan over the back of a chair and leave your room key on the table- an international sign to show that the table is taken, or so you thought, When you return with a cup of weak tea, dry toast (having been informed that the butter supply has finished) and a couple of the ubiquitous chicken sausages you find a cheeky old man has commandeered your table.  Unbelievable.  You make it clear that this is your table, that’s your cardigan and your room key and that you’re not looking to share.  The waitress sees the commotion and takes him away.  So then you and Hubs play tag team at keeping the table occupied in case any other usurpers are lurking in the midst.

One bite of the chicken sausage and you understand that wretched toddler’s plight.  A waiter appears with what must be the last mini-butter in the establishment that was obviously tucked away in some deep corner of the fridge, judging by the temperature.  Hubs queued for an omelette; took 20 minutes.  A few mouthfuls later you’ve both had enough and decide that it just isn’t working.  So you leave with an empty stomachs.

You decide to head for the nearest, biggest mall.  There must be food to be eaten there and you’re in luck.  There’s a Starbucks.  Hello, civilisation!

starbucks

After your second (but really your first) breakfast of the day you venture round the small city.  there are some pretty sights including an old Courthouse; being a bit of an expert on British Courts you can say with some certainty that it is finer than any County Court in England and Wales.

Law Building

You take a little cruise along the river and pass the State Assembly and an old dockyard left behind by the old white rajahs, in ruins, which somehow makes it more beautiful.

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The next day you get to breakfast just as it’s opening up.  Smartest thing you’ve ever done- not a single person queuing for omelettes.  You embark on a trip to Indiatown.  It’s pretty much boarded up because of Ramadan. So much for buying your mum some pretty silk.  Also means that you’re stuck for lunch and dinner as it seems everyone is celebrating with their loved ones.  Turn out all those lovely food stalls along the promenade are shut too.  Having walked round the city three times and not found a single place open for lunch you and Hubs are getting pretty hangry.  You’re ready to settle for a KFC but even that’s shut.  Unprecedented.  So you walk up to the nearby Chinatown and thank God for the Chinese.

china town

Water Fools

Who doesn’t love a national holiday?! Certainly not the good people of Brunei who seem to have them every other week.  You’ve also got to love the Sultan for spreading about the birthday cheer as a good many days off have been held in that very honour.  Altogether now; “for he’s a jolly good fellow…”

With another long weekend on the horizon you and Hubs decide to head to Miri, a small town in Sarawak, Malaysia. It’s a 2 – 4 hour drive (depending on the queue at the border), close to plenty of attractions and most importantly of all; there are numerous restaurants and bars where they serve liquor.

Regrettably (for us) it seems a few others had the same idea and so as Hubs drives up to the crossing you find yourself at the wrong end of a 3.5 km long queue.  It’s a tad tedious but you’ve done this before and this time you pee’d before you left (unlike some of the men at the roadside) and you brought snacks.  The absolute worst thing about queuing is having to endure queue-jumpers and there are plenty of them about.  They brazenly drive up the wrong side of the road and squeeze their monstrous pick-up trucks into a gap some too-slow driver has unwittingly left between bumpers  A few come close to driving into the roadside trenches when avoiding oncoming vehicles but, alas, none come close enough.  You and Hubs, well mostly you, take to honking the horn every time one of these hateful drivers passes but that’s no deterrent. Next time, you’re taking a paintball gun.

Once in Miri you check into the tired looking hotel, leaving the road rage behind.  You’re planning on spending the weekend eating and drinking but Hubs, as usual, has more active plans.  He’s been going through that Lonely Planet guide again (must put an end to that) and he’s found a nearby National Park, Lambir Hills.  “OH but I haven’t got my trekking boots! WHAT A SHAME!” you say.  That doesn’t put him off,  “We’ll do the short 1K trek- it leads to a waterfall where you can swim!”.  Admittedly the thought of swimming in a natural pool does have some appeal but you try getting out of it anyway “BUT it hasn’t RAINED so the waterfall will be DRY!” Obviously, he didn’t fall for that.

Thankfully the car park is pretty empty so at least you won’t have to endure too many tourists.  Aren’t tourists just the worst? You pick up a map, find out where to start and head off.    wooden bridge

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You pass a small waterfall, definitely not deep enough for swimming and you almost feel smug. But that turns out not to be ‘the one’.

Small waterfall

Annoyingly the mosquitoes in Miri seem to have developed resistance to your bug spray which means several pit stops to add another coat much to the amusement of the locals. Eventually you make it to ‘the one’, Latak Waterfall.  And admittedly it is glorious.  You make Hubs go in first to check how deep the water is.  It’s deeper than it looks.

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 H waving

It’s (yet another) hot day and so you decide to join him, even though you’re not very good at treading water and you didn’t pack the lilo. You take a step into the water.  It’s freezing.  Another step, still freezing.  Hubs comes over and takes you into the deep end.  The water is ice cold.  The current is surprisingly strong.  Despite your hardest efforts to stay in one spot somehow your legs keep getting dragged across the no-swim line. “This is it” you think “This is how it ends for me”.  Admittedly, as ways to die go, you couldn’t ask for a more picturesque spot for the job but you cling on- to Hubs; and somehow you both manage to stay afloat.  You even secretly enjoy it.  Despite what you told him.

Big waterfall

Monkey Business

You’ve got this travelling thing down.  A two hour car journey? Only a few weeks ago you and Hubs drove eight hours to experience the pleasure of being thrown about on a boat (read about that here).  A forty-five minute flight in cramped conditions? Please, you’ve done thirteen hours (in pleb class) sitting next to a guy with snot dribbling down his nose.  A 6K trek through the jungle? OK, so you haven’t quite mastered that but nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Or so you thought.  And the gains? Well you’re off to catch a glimpse of a strong contender for the world’s ugliest monkey competition. You know, if there was such a competition.  The Proboscis Monkey.  Just look at the nose on this guy!

DSC04754At least one thing you’ve got sorted is your kit.  You’ve poached one of Hubs’s old rucksacks, it’s filled with water, bug spray and a Snickers bar (you figure you’ll burn that off, easy). A little trip to TK Maxx was productive: you’ve got dry-fast sportswear and new boots, they’re made for walking.

You register at Reception on arrival to Bako National Park. “Need a Guide?” we are asked.  You think probably, yes but Hubs isn’t having any of it. “Who needs a Guide?” he asks.  “We can follow a map no problem.”  You smile and agree that even you can probably follow a colour coded nature trail although Hubs seems to have (conveniently) forgotten about the disaster that was your 30th birthday where a “light, pleasant walk in the forest” ended in almost-near-death with heavy rains, tears and a lot of shouting.  Oh and those Topshop boots you loved so much; ruined.

It seems sensible to start the trek with the Snickers bar for a bit of energy and off you go!  You circle round Reception (a large-ish wooden hut) a few times.  No signs, colour coded or otherwise, to show you where to start. Hmm.  Ten minutes later you’re sufficiently hot and bothered to put pride to the side and head back towards the lady at Reception to ask where the trails start.  Directions given.  Off you go (again).

You make a pretty solid effort at keeping spirits high despite being almost halfway through the trek and not having spotted a single living thing other than the odd sweaty tourist panting through the jungle, obviously intent on scaring anything away. Hubs suddenly pauses and looks up at the trees.  “What is it? Can you see something?” you eagerly ask, searching the tree tops.  Hubs’s response is a lot of annoyed shushing (of the silent type) and flapping his hands at you like a madman.  “Oh, actually I think it’s just a tree branch”.  He eventually says.  So, no monkey.

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At least you make it to the clifftops and marvel at the views. Also a good spot for some sandwiches.  You could do without the noisy teenagers but there seems to be no escape in life from noisy teenagers.

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Having refuelled you venture back.  You both agree that you’re going to see some monkeys on the return leg.  You’re absolutely sure of it.   You briefly consider leaving out a banana as a honey trap of sorts but that seems a tad desperate not to mention dangerous.  Several false alarms later (more flapping) you do make it back to camp, in one piece, hungry and tired but still having not seen a single Monkey.  There are only two possible conclusions you can draw: either you’ve just been made a victim of a huge con and there are no Monkeys in the forest or, word obviously got round the Monkeys that you were in town and they decided to not show up.  For now, you’ll have to live with Hubs’s poor attempt at imitation.
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