Bat Shit, Breaking and Entering, and Alcohol with Semen? (Malaysia)

12:47 PM Thursday September 13th, 2012 Nyaungshwe, Myanmar
Before I had even arrived at Taman Negara National Park I had booked a 3 day/2 night trek in the jungle during a transfer in transportation from the Cameron Highlands to the national park.  Since I happened to be in Malaysia, an Islamic nation, during Ramadan most of the restaurants that were run by Muslim people were closed or extremely slow around sundown when they were able to eat and drink again after their day’s fasting.  So when a group of people from the hostel I was staying at that first night wanted to snag some food, the couple restaurants that were open were packed to the brim, and were moving painfully slowly such that prospects of food seemed at least a couple hours out.  When most of the group gave up on food to make it to their night safari on time, I snagged a seat by myself at the only open small table at one of the couple operations without closed doors that evening.  Random people ended up joining me as I neared the end of my meal just to find a place where they could get served within the next hour.  The next day my trekking began with a fun ride upstream in the long, skinny wooden speed boats, passing up the river through rapids to the start of my hike.  I quickly determined that while I was surrounded by people who could speak English none of them spoke it as their first language, and most spoke German, French, or Dutch.  As groups were shaped by language I quickly felt exiled, and also extremely pissed at the shitty language education we get in the U.S.  I will grant that English may be the world’s language so other nationalities sort of have to learn it to travel.  It’s nonetheless limiting being monolingual while most other people are bilingual and even trilingual in many cases.  What I mean to say though is that I felt lonely.  In all actuality I felt really lonely.  This seemed to be a continuation of the loneliness I’d felt throughout all of Malaysia up until that point.  The trekking itself was interesting and enjoyable with many tricky stream crossings to avoid slipping and getting wet.  When we finally arrived, after 8 km of hiking, at the cave we’d be spending the night in it was nearing dusk, and most people were ready to call it a day.  On top of this many people had gotten leeches, and I had gotten one as well.  They were surprisingly hard to avoid and impossible to feel as they sucked away.  Around dinner the other tour members, about 25 of them, continued to interact within their own groups leaving me isolated.  

Our setup in the cave in Taman Negara National Park.

Cave in Taman Negara National Park

That night we didn’t recognize what sleeping in a cave of this kind meant.  As I awoke the next morning around 8 I noticed a slightly audible pitter patter as something fell from the ceiling of the cave onto the tarp we were sleeping on, onto my sleeping bag, onto my face.  It wasn’t until it annoyed me enough to actually arise, earlier than most everyone, that I realized what was falling from the ceiling.  I had assumed it was water, but as I looked around I saw a LOT of bat shit.  Little pellets covered the tarp, our sleeping bags, and everything else.  I looked up to see the little bastards hanging right above us.  Their shit and piss had been landing on our heads and faces, and even onto our lips (mine included) as we’d tried to sleep in that morning.  I moved out of the area, clearing my things from the splash zone, letting all the other pour souls continue to sleep.  Although it wasn’t extremely noticeable, not enough to wake most people, I didn’t want to be shit on any more so I evacuated the area to take some pictures.  That day we trekked to the exit point, during which time I managed to get some time to swim/float in a stream as lunch was prepared and many of us got soaked shoes and clothing as the weather turned the rainforest into an actual ‘rain’ forest.  At the jetty I met up with some acquaintances I’d met earlier at the hostel and they had managed to get at least seven or eight leeches in their two day trek.  After most of the people were transported back to the hostels three Swiss guys and myself went to spend a night at a local village.  Our guide sped along in the river speed boat without a light, a thrilling and exciting prospect for me, though a slightly sketchy experience.  That next morning was spent trying to get a feel for the local, tribal people.  Our guide fetched us some sugar cane to chew on, and we got to try our hand with a blow gun, and trying to make fire without a lighter or match.  They used an interesting method with a vine that was surprisingly easy, and I was very close to getting it after about five minutes of trying.  

Blow gun from the tribal village.

Fresh sugar cane

That afternoon after I had checked back into my hostel I decided to go to the rainforest canopy walkway, suspended about 100 feet or more over the jungle floor.  I crossed the river to get to the national park, and was told that the canopy walkway was closed at 3:30.  It was already 4, but I figured I’d give it a try anyway.  Thoughts started to creep into my mind, mischievous, clandestine, sneaky thoughts.  As I approached the start of the walkway I noticed some other people at the entranceway complaining about it being closed.  I searched around the platform; there had to be a way to climb up the 15 feet to the beginning.  Indeed someone had done this before, that or they were covering their bases, because the tree nearby the platform had barbed wire wrapped around it.  I managed to snake my way up a sign and the tree getting myself onto the platform.  Applause from the on-looking people only served to fan the raging flames of vanity inside me and reassure my foolishness.  Once up there on my own I got an intense burst of that forbidden sensation, that feeling that pulses strongly as you go somewhere you’re not supposed to.  It always makes me feel extremely alive, and this breaking and entering was special compared to other times I’d entered forbidden areas.  I had the whole lengths of the creaking walkways, rope bridges, all to myself.  I was at first very tense, and I worried about the sounds of the walkway under my feet alerting someone to my presence though I quickly became comfortable and trudged along without a care in the world.  The rainforest canopy was breathtaking in the late afternoon sunlight, and I had all the time I wanted to linger on the bridges and meander as I pleased.  I got to explore a roped off section of walkways.  No one there to tell me NO was to me an open invitation to explore.  I jumped over the red, plastic tape and continued on my way.  Although the bridges were littered with leaves and small branches, indicating how long it had been since they’d been last used, they seemed structurally sound.  I went along to the end of the walkways, then instead of exiting out the door at the end of the last platform I decided to go back and climb back down the way I’d come.  After spending some beautiful moments on one of the last bridges at the beginning of the walkways I sidled my way down the wavering sign and tree, extremely content with myself and my forbidden act.  After a quick trip up the slope I determined that the reason for the sectioned off bridges was a pathway to the final platform that was under renovation.  

The sign post and tree I used to climb up.

Canopy walkway in Taman Negara park

Blocked off walkway

Unused walkway

The next day was spent getting from the national park to Jerantut and riding the ‘Jungle Train’ to Kota Bahru.  This happened to be my first train trip on this journey, getting me to ponder all the modes of transport I’d utilized already on my trip: planes, cars, tuk tuks, boats, buses, and motorbikes.  Kota Bahru turned out to be nothing special, except a taste of true Malay culture.  Almost all of the people were Muslim, making the Ramadan market a must see.  Ramadan markets are food markets that provide food for Islamic people to eat when the call to evening prayer rings out and they can finally eat and drink.  The cheap, delicious dishes were a treat, though the two girls, who I went with, and I were too hungry to wait until dusk like the rest of the people.  One lady very kindly explained the reasons for fasting every day for a month, and was very open with her religion.  As the call to evening prayer rang out all of the people around us began sipping their drinks seemingly in a perfectly synchronized act.

Market in Kota Bahru

The kind lady that persuaded me to buy a sarong.

Ramadan market selection.

The next destination on my journey came from a spontaneous decision to head off to the Perhentian Islands.  Once I had made up my mind and booked my ticket I realized that alcohol would likely be expensive on the islands as it tends to be on most islands, plus the conservative nature of the Malaysian people could only drive up the cost, or so I thought.  In an attempt to alleviate some of the financial strain I expected from alcohol purchases I began a quick search around Kota Bahru for alcohol.  Finding alcohol in an Islamic community I quickly realized is a tricky and almost impossible task.  I couldn’t find it in any large grocery shops or 7 Eleven’s, which highly surprised me.  I asked around, but to no avail, everyone seemed to say there was no alcohol in town, but that just couldn’t be true.  I was on a mission, and I wouldn’t stop until I had found what I was looking for.  Suddenly out of the corner of my eye I saw Chinese characters on the front of a building.  I knew the Chinese had to have alcohol of some sort.  They may not drink much, but surely they’d have something for me.  As it turned out I found some in a Chinese trading post.  The whiskey they had earlier was gone, but they did still have some Chinese alcohol.  This was some Chinese ‘medicine.’  The shop owner said it was sweet, but couldn’t compare it to anything, so I did what any man with a need and very little discerning tastes would do and bought some Chinese medicinal alcohol.  I had stooped to the lowest of lows.  Chinese alcohol, especially used for medicine would without a doubt be terrible.  As I would find out later on the Perhentian Islands it was extremely sweet with a flavor all its own and contained 35 different ingredients including of all things ANIMAL PARTS.  My mind couldn’t wrap around it, but it had listed in the ingredients gecko, ginseng, semen (still not certain about this one, but it was on there), etc.  Even this revelation couldn’t stop me from wasting this bottle.  I shared it with other brave souls willing to try it and finished most of it myself.  I made possibly the worst mixed drink ever apart from the tequila and grenadine I had a couple years ago, a Chinese medicinal alcohol and coke drink.  Sadly I probably stuck close to the recommended dosage of about 6 drinks a day.

The box that contained the terrible, terrible alcohol.