The Joy and the Scourge of Travel

Courtesy of Google Images

So you want to travel?  The world is your oyster, so go forth and explore as they say, but is it as simple as that?

The appealing romantic notion of life on the road, without a care, pervades many of our daydreams.  Travel is the circuit breaker to life's daily monotonous grind, good or bad experiences, it matters little as long as it's not at home.  It's the adventure of it all, the adrenaline rush of uncertainty, anything but boring. 

I've spent the latter part of my life thinking this way.  Due to circumstances, I have ended up living in South East Asia for the best part of 10 years and have been lucky enough to have the opportunity to expand my cultural and spacial awareness.  

We should all travel if we can.  Travel brings ideas and refreshes the mind to new and exciting possibilities and it makes us re-examine the way we look at the world.  Home is never the same again; the last missing piece completes the puzzle and illustrates with brilliant clarity; we are all but a product of our own upbringing and environment.

To travel is what every human should do some stage during their life, but of course it's impossible for most; not everyone has the means or the desire.

Any downside to this quest to explore?  Yes, I fear so.

Is it better to seek security or live life to its fullest? A question that truly polarises. 

With all that travel brings into our life also comes some unwanted baggage - discontentment. 

The more you travel the more you want.  I am sure you know or have seen the addicted 20 somethings that spend all their time on the road living out of a backpack, darting from one exotic location to another. The gypsy within, makes us quietly envious of these drifters even if we think it's a touch irresponsible for them not to settle down sooner. 

Of course the elephant in the room is truly money or the lack of it.  I have spent tens of thousands on travel over the years but not for one moment regretted the expense. Others will disagree.  I, for one, won't be dying with a bucket full of money in the bank.  Many could not bear that thought. 

Travel creates the need to travel more.  There is always one more road to find and one more beach to wander on. 

So what should we do, stay at home and end our wanderlust? Personally, I think the benefits far outweigh the downside as long as all of us realize there is more to life than wanting to be elsewhere. 

On a Wing And A Prayer - Kota Kinabalu Airport

Wing Over Sabah

A bleak afternoon, thunderstorms and driving winds. I arrived at Kota Kinabalu International Airport 4 hours early for my flight back to Sandakan. Very early I know, but being the conservative person I am and the water rising in the street, persuaded me to err on the side of caution.

This airport is only 6 years old and I must say usually a pleasure to arrive or depart from compared with most. It's medium sized as airports go, the third biggest in Malaysia after KL, catering for about 12 million passengers a year who visit Sabah. It's modern, metallic and has 12 air bridges, never feels busy and you can easily find a place to sit away from others. 

After disembarking from the taxi drenched, I sloshed towards the check-in counter and waddled through the x-ray past immigration that appeared to make only a cursory glance at the screen whilst continuing their more important discussion on the day’s current gossip. Maybe I don't look like a terrorist. 

I arrived before my wife and her conference colleagues, waited  in a state of misery, some what exacerbated by the building's cold air-conditioning. 

Being a creature of habit I had immediately gone straight to my flight's departure gate, indicated by the electronic board as A8.

My wife and her friends duly arrived and as per usual discussed work, ignoring me. Feeling neglected, I got up and wandered around the terminal which is mostly empty of things to do. 

The major shortcoming in the departure hall is that most of the allocated shop spaces are empty. There are dozens and dozens of empty 'shop fronts, in a myriad of short passages coming off the main thoroughfare. It's possible to go into the bowels of the retail area and be completely alone. 

Interestingly there are two terminals at this airport which are diagonal across the runway from each other. The low cost terminal which is smaller is always very busy. It seems odd to me that they don't incorporate both under the same roof; more efficient way of using space and I suspect a way to enliven the retail areas. Anyway, the authorities must have their reasons, I suppose.

I happened to glance up at the departure board to discover, to my surprise, that the gate had changed to A6. I duly informed the others, so we gathered our belongings and moved to the new allocated gate. 

Upon arrival, only a small group of tourists  were milling around, we sat ourselves close to the front counter. The electronic board flashed up Sandakan and the flight number. A man sat there doing his paper shuffling and all seemed well. Except…

The gate next to us was experiencing some sort of commotion with a group  of about 10 passengers milling around an official all looking very animated. I had no idea what it was about, but can only assume it was something to do with a communication breakdown. ( maybe the infamous departure board) I couldn't hear anything from where we were, but it was highly entertaining and helped while away the remaining 45 minutes. 

Being the observant creature I am , I noticed as the departure time approached, a distinct lack of passengers and no aircraft in the bay. Besides that, the little man at the front counter had suddenly disappeared and the electronic sign board had stopped flashing Sandakan. I walked to the departure board and as I am sure you have already guessed, discovered we were now back at A8. !!!

A mad dash to the new gate ensured where we joined the throngs who were about to board the aircraft. ( How did they know and not us?) Throughout all of this there were no announcements on the intercom that things had changed.

Lesson to be learned.  Mistake on my part - If I hadn't constantly been checking the departure board we would have been blissfully ignorant of the transitory change.  Don't assume officialdom will tell you everything you need to know in this part of the world. Most information seems to be gained by the mysterious process of mental osmosis, you are just expected to know. For some reason, the authorities don't like giving out info unless it's deemed unequivocally necessary (to them). Who decides this is anyone's guess, so be prepared to expect the unexpected. 

One little side issue to finish, Just before take off, after the safety video, a short prayer was offered for the safe passage of the flight. 

Now that really does instil confidence! 

KK Airport

First Impressions of KLIA 2

After our pleasant few days in Malacca, we journeyed down by bus to the new KLIA 2 low cost terminal.  I looked forward to exploring the new buildings as I frequently fly Air Asia. They have an enormous presence there,  utilising  over 80% of the allocated space for airlines.  The old LCCT “tin shed" was not a particularly pleasant place to spend time between connecting planes. I was not to be disappointed.

The new terminal is situated less than 2 kilometres from KLIA. This is far closer than the old LCCT terminal that took up to 40 minutes by road to get to.  The Express train now joins both in less than 3 minutes.  This should facilitate the movement between two terminals to a mild inconvenience. 

First impressions as you enter the new terminal is that it doesn't feel much like an airport terminal, but more like a shopping mall. In fact it's called Gateway@KLIA2 and locals are being encouraged to use it as such. 

The building is in 3 parts, the drop-off and pick-up - private and public transport hub where you walk into the Gateway shopping area then finally through to the main terminal building itself. The entire three areas have extensive shopping, 330 retail shops in total, I believe.  At this stage only a little over a half are open.  This, at first glance, is no low cost shopping experience.  In fact, it's the complete opposite, with brand name boutiques and chic restaurants throughout. There is even an upmarket extensive supermarket.  The first one I have seen at an international airport.

The airfare may be low cost but the shopping experience will make up for it.  Spend a few hours shopping here and you'll need to be paying for excess luggage. 

The building is designed for shopping through and through. No direct walk to the departures. The pathways bow left and right from the central line in a semi circle much like a peeled onion to make sure you have to walk passed most of the retail area.  There is very little seating, a clever ploy I think, so if you want to rest your weary feet it must be in a coffee shop or such.

I joked with my wife that next time we can fly in from Sandakan, do the shopping, then return the same day without leaving the building.

In all seriousness, I'm no great spender so this is mostly wasted on me and maybe for the majority. It will be interesting to see how well businesses prosper in the future especially the non-food outlets that are not on the main thoroughfare. 

The KLIA express (train) comes right into the centre of the buildings. It’s only a 30 minute trip into Sentral (main station) Kuala Lumpur.  It’s quick and very convenient, though a little expensive at 35 Ringgit one way.  The buses are slower but a lot cheaper at about 10 Ringgit . 

As I didn't arrive at the new terminal, I can only comment on departures.  The experience was seamless.  Efficient baggage drop off with minimal wait and plenty of operational x-ray machines.  

The departure / arrival departure gates number 5 on 4 piers. The outer pier requires a long walk over a skybridge to get to and takes a good 10 to 20 minute.  No issues with seating here, plenty with food outlets aplenty. 

So, there you have it.  A very pleasant experience even though my aircraft ran 90 minutes late. 

Time will tell if the retail outlet functions the way it's designed to.  I certainly like the light airy interesting building which, in my humble opinion, will give KLIA 1 a run for its money.

KLIA 2

A Few Days In Malacca

The morning after the wedding's reception, the alarm decided to relieve me from my sleep.  The head was heavy, the half dozen glasses of red wine had seen to that, but I quickly remembered the task at hand for the early morn - find our way to TBS, the relatively new bus station in KL for our trip to Malacca. 

  

Always worried about being on time, my phobia forced us to leave our hotel at 6.30 for an 8 am departure.  The trip there involved changing from the LRT to another line, but with no hassles.  KL's underground rail system works very well apart from the ticket vending machines that more often than not, don't work.  The authorities recently have made an effort to make it easier to transfer from one line to another by improving the walking assess and multi-trip ticketing, far better than the somewhat disjointed arrangement a few years back. 

We arrived with plenty of time to spare and waited for our host and daughter.  This station, I must say, is nothing like your average bus station. It's large, very modern and most importantly for me, clean.  Only a few years old, it mostly replaces a facility in Chinatown for those travelling south in the country. 

The Transnational bus arrived on time.  I sat with Lili and Poh with her daughter Karin across the aisle. Word of warning here.  Never sit between good friends as you spend the time being talked across, it feels a lot like playing piggy in the middle.  I jest, of course, it was not really a problem and made the 2.5 hour trip fly by, even if both ears are still ringing.  

LiLi and Poh

Malacca lies on the West coast of Peninsular Malaysia roughly half way between KL and Singapore.  It has a long, interesting and varied history.  This is not immediately apparent, as you bus in; the outer areas have a lot of modern construction, housing as well as business.  This leaves an impression of an economically growing vibrant city. 

I have previously been here a number of years before, but recognised very little at first.  I was told a lot of people investing here are from Singapore and Kuala Lumpur. Tourists abound, so there is a very significant major hotel presence, very grand for a city of this size. 

We arrived at 1030 and were picked up by Poh's niece, Joyce and taken to a small Chinese restaurant on the side of the road near the coast.  The very congenial owner greeted us with a broad smile and after much chatter in Chinese, a course of food was decided on.  I'll admit now on most occasions I allow my wife to decide what to eat.  If it was left up to me, I'd eat the same old boring stuff every day.  I am not that adventurous when it comes to trying new food, but when forced to, I usually enjoy the experience.  This was no exception.  The food, apart from being inexpensive was  of high quality.  The ambiance of the surroundings and the owner's ancestry's looking forlornly down upon the diners  added to the culinary experience.

Our hosts live about 10 kilometres north of the city centre along a road full of old abandoned mansions and multi-storey high rise.  I fear the old buildings with their large grounds will in time, create a great wall of towering condominiums. They are too much to maintain for the average private owner and are only saved from demolition, if  business is interested in utilising the size for commerce.   Some of the local banks have done just that in the centre of the city, but unfortunately there are more mansions than interested parties.

Poh and her families' houses are just a street back from the sea.  The ambiance of the area is one of peace and quiet; only the occasional dog barking intruded, no cacophony here. 

After meeting the family and a quick shower, we ventured first to a coffee shop to try the local brew and watch 'kaya' being made. ( a coconut, sugar and egg yolk spread ) The golden brown treacly substance is smeared onto a piece of toasted bread or bun and served with local black coffee.  We watched it being made in a back room.  Two ladies sitting over a metal stewing pot, the ingredients heated over a low gas flame and stirred for 3 hours to get the right consistency. It is very sweet, fattening but scrumptious.  After a short walk to view the straits and its shipping, we ventured back into town.

Half way there, the traffic started to grind to a halt and it soon became apparent this was no ordinary jam.  As we crawled along at walking pace a long line of parked and par king cars snaked for a hundred metres or more in front of us.  The reason, you ask?  The world famous ( for this place at least ) Klebang coconut milk shake.  Yes, the world here was grinding to a stand still for a milkshake.  I don't know about you, but for me to line up dozens deep, it would have to be something very special.  I was to learn later that Malacca inhabitants won't give another thought to waiting in a long queue for  an indeterminate amount of time to get into their favourite chicken and rice ball or satay celup restaurant. Nothing like good food to create your routine and habits.  We did some general sightseeing and shopping, then returned for the evening Mother's Day dinner.

Malacca is steeped in history.  Going back 500 years, it was a strategic outpost, one of three ( the others being Singapore and Penang) due to its location on the Straits of Malacca.  It controlled trade that passed through the very narrow waters between Malaya and Sumatra.  This all changed in 1511 when the Portuguese arrived and overthrew the local Sultan.  The European presence in the region was increasing due to the spice trade which led to increased colonisation of the region. 
The Portuguese built A Famosa ( fort,  only the front gate exists today ) and remained for about 130 years with limited success as traders until the Dutch in cahoots with the Sultan of Johore  replaced them, though even today there is still an enclave of Portuguese descendants.

"Red" centre of town

The Dutch for their part built the " Red Stadthuys"  administration  centre of town that can be still be seen today though these days, it consists of museums and various churches.

Wikipedia History of Malacca 

The Portuguese Fort Gate today

Eventually 180 years later, the British replaced the Dutch, who had agreed to accept some land in Java in exchange. There they remained until independence in 1957. 

The eclectic blend of European and Asian buildings makes Malacca the interesting place it is.  The old part of town has very narrow honeycomb streets that were never designed to cater for motor vehicles.  Most are one way and frequent traffic jams are common.  There is a mixture of trendy modern business with traditional Chinese family homes.  The old buildings are generally narrow, deep terraces with roofs made of rows of unique corrugated clay red tiles.  In the oldest buildings, the original plain dutch facades are hard to find being replaced later by Classical, Chinese and Malay additions. 

Narrow winding oneway streets

Unique designed Mosque

The town has many churches, temples and mosques - all interesting in their own way and its diverse inhabitants complement the feeling of something unique.

The old Portuguese Fort encompassing St Paul's church - Wikipedia 

The evenings meal was in part prepared by the adult children of the family to show appreciation for their mothers' efforts. Most of the children live and work in other parts of the country or overseas and made the effort to be there for their mothers as well as for the Vesak day celebrations, the Buddha’s birthday.   

We were asked if we would like to walk in their annual parade the next evening and accepted the invitation without question. 

The proud Mothers

The following morning saw us exploring the old St Paul’s Church on top of a small steep hill in the historical centre. Upon ascent, you are greeted by St Francis Xavier himself in all his marble glory. ( he was interned here for a short period of time after his death).  Built by the Portuguese early on in its occupation for its Catholic population, only the outer walls and Apse of the church are now intact.  The interior walls support many tomb stones of the local Dutch and Portuguese dating from the 16th century, but unfortunately for me, not in English.  The Dutch converted it to Dutch Reformed where it remained as a place of worship until Christ Church was completed in 1753 in the Stadthuys. 

After investigating the tombstones behind the church from the English period, we ventured down to the remains of the Old Portuguese fort.  Not a lot to see but interesting all the same.  My attention was distracted by a group of people using what I could only describe as a golf shaft-cum-telescopic rod with a frame to hold a telephone on, so one could, by stretching the arm and rod away from the body, take the perfect self-indulging selfie.  Really, I could think of better ways of taking photos without looking ridiculous.  Anyway each to their own. 

The old fort that was unceremoniously blown up by the British is continuously being rediscovered, the foundations at least,  each time they excavate old car parks and building lots. Some of these areas are quite a distance from the remaining gate meaning this must have been an impressive structure in its time; at one stage it housed the entire Portuguese population in Malacca. 

That afternoon we prepared for the Vesak precession.  The participants wear all white, so that proved a challenge to find a clothing combination that came close.  My wife and I had a slightly offbeat look, but came close to looking the part.

We drove to Poh's uncle's place to collect a bus with 40 other devotees that took us to the site to assemble.  Due to anticipated traffic issues, we left early and arrived with plenty of time to spare.  In fact, time to try out the famous local celup satays.

The dining tables are round with a circular metal container sunk into the centre.  This pot contains a mixture of what looks like peanut sauce and oil.  Underneath the table is a gas flame to keep the contents simmering.   The idea is to go to a large bank of refrigerators and choose from an assortment of skewers with either chicken, pork products, seafood or various vegetables.  The food is then placed into the boiling sauce and cooked.  Occasionally, the staff add more sauce into the mixture and gives it a stir.  The smell of peanuts permeates through out the premises.  Simple, effective and delicious and when finished, the waiting staff just tallies up the empty skewers left and you pay for what you eat. 

After dinner, we all looked forward to our impending walk. With 42 floats in the parade, we were assigned to number 19. I assumed for some unknown reason this was just going to be a jaunt around the block.  How wrong I was. 

Beginning of the Vesak Parade

The night was hot and sultry.  I was sweating profusely before we even began.  The start was slow due to the sheer number of people involved.  I won't attempt to estimate the numbers, but it would have been in the thousands.  This stop start affair meandered through the older sectors of town with large numbers of people lining both sides of the streets to pay their respects to the Buddha.  Small gifts were handed out to the crowd with children being the main beneficiaries.  Almost all were of Chinese descent apart from a small sprinkling of overseas tourists. 

The walk lasted two and a half hours and all of us were foot weary by the end, the atmosphere - the sounds and sights and the sense of community made it a fulfilling and tranquil experience. 

One of the numerous floats

The last full day in Malacca was spend eating and talking with  our new found friends.  One last surprise awaited me though. An evening meal was arranged in a popular open air restaurant.  Our group who had been doing a little last minute window shopping were the last to arrive.  And there on the table in front of me was, to my utter surprise, a Klebang coconut milkshake. 

Everyone, by this stage, had heard I would not get into a line up for a milkshake, but someone made the effort for me. 

This simple gesture typifies the great hospitality and generosity shown to us for the few days we were in Malacca.  I extent my deep gratitude to Poh and her family members who went out of their way to make our experience an exceptional one. 

The next morning we bused it to the new KLIA2 terminal (another post) and returned to Sandakan. 

Is that milkshake worth lining up for, you ask?  

All I'll say is go to Malacca to find out.

The famous milkshake 

Mid Flight Blues

Travelling again! Flying to Kl for a wedding, an Indian at that. The flights only a tad less than three hours but boredom has set in one hour in. Eaten, the lights have been dimmed the plane 45 minutes late.  I find these days in this sort of aircraft I just want to get there. My wife has the right idea. She is asleep with her head leaning up against the bulk head. I find sleeping in a plane a pain in the neck literally. I can't get comfortable even though this time the seat next to us is empty. The light meal devoured in my usual last meal manner, even gives me indigestion. I am becoming an old crock, set in my way, legs in harding concrete boots. The flame of adventure is barely a flicker these days.  A comfortable hotel with good bed and air conditioning will suffice.  I study my wife's face looking angelic, had a very busy week with a conference and has died in her seat. Metaphorically of course, as if death was so peaceful looking. ( I know, I used to work in the dying business) 

The plane rocks a little to remind us we are still 30,000 feet up. 

I have noticed something a little different this flight - no screaming kids. What a joy to behold, a quiet aircraft. I like when I can organise a seat near the exit or bulkhead for extra leg room. The only disadvantage, you're on to it, crying babies. As they say beggars can't be choosers and they're right. It's swings and roundabouts really, you win some you lose some. ( I'm only writing like this because my wife is always asking me to recite idioms and I can never remember any at the time.) 

Looked out the window, sun about to disappear, lots of fluffy cotton balls as far as the eyes can see. Looks good enough to step out on, but I'm not going to this flight. 

Opps the silence has been broken by a rather large man snoring. Always a problem when you sleep with 140 others.

This little writing exercise is doing its job. Just wasted 20 minutes thinking about rubbish to write about. Talking about rubbish I am told by those close to me I use that term far too often. Everything I see or do is rubbish. I personally only use it if it is, well.... rubbish. I don't like the alternative, garbage because it's just too American. Give me good old English rubbish any day.

That was a load of rubbish, wasn't it. I can be more creative than that but unfortunately I don't have the ability to turn it on like a tap of water. It's more like the rain, it comes and goes. Here today, gone tomorrow. There I go again. 

The plane has decided to decelerate and drop its nose. Must be getting close to where ever I'm going. So there you have it 500 words of pure nonsense. Goodnight. ( 501) 

    

The Twin Otter and Me

Organising a trip at short notice can sometimes create unexpected outcomes. This week I found out I was travelling to Kota Kinabalu again, so as usual I book myself a flight online with MAS wings, the local subsidiary of Malaysian airlines.

Because it was so late, I found that the only available flight departed at 11.40 am from Sandakan and it was rather inexpensive. "Hmmm why so," I thought to myself. I noticed almost immediately the flight took over 2 hours.  Usually it varies between 45 and 50 minutes depending on the aircraft type.  Obviously a stop along the way, though it wasn't indicated on the booking page.  I was not in a hurry, the extra hours flight time didn't concern me,  so proceeded to book. Seat 4C came up upon completion. (I had not bothered to preselect my own seat.) I assumed I was on the aisle. 

Being the curious beast I am, I searched for the aircraft type expecting it to be the usual ATR 72 500, a twin turbo prop French/Italian built plane that carries 68 passengers.  I have flown on this aircraft numerous times and found it comfortable enough though a little noisy.

To my surprise, it wasn't. This flight was going via Kudat on the northern most point of Borneo in a much smaller, Twin Otter DHC-6  400 series.

Really flying I thought to myself.  These aircraft have a fixed undercarriage and are unpressurised.  Meaning to say they can't fly very high, so in theory lots more to see.  The downside, of course, is that they must fly through more weather.  They can fly around, not over the numerous thunderstorms in this region.  Since the plane can only accommodate 3 seats across, my 4C was in actual fact a window seat.  "Great!" I thought.  I used to fly small aircraft myself ( Cessna 172 and Grumman Cheetah ) in what seems another lifetime ago and consequently started to really look forward to this trip.

Twin Otter 400

Further investigation dampened my enthusiasm somewhat.

Mas Wings has had 4 accidents since 2008, all  involving the Twin Otter (previous series) with the last one at Kudat air-field killing 2 including the co- pilot.  It appeared from the reports I read all involved pilot error and occurred during landing.  My wife immediately told me not to go.  "Lightning couldn't possibly strike twice, could it?" flashed through my head.  Anyway, it guaranteed this flight wasn't going to be boring. And it wasn't.

The flight was scheduled to depart during the quiet part of the day.  Sandakan airport is no KLIA, so after the early morning flights, there is virtually no one around. 

I had checked in online but was concerned about whether I could take my backpack on board.  I went to the checking counter and to my surprise, they wanted to weigh me!   I had to stand up onto where they weigh the bags on the conveyor belt,  much to the amusement of a group of Australians and British. They too went through the process and started to chatter to each other, a little nervously after being told the plane was small and that weight was critical. 

Through customs and into departure hall, empty apart from the 19 passengers for flight MH3005. 

Time for departure arrived, on schedule and proceeded to march over the tarmac to the aircraft.  It looked very new which was comforting, the refurbishment programme between the 300 series and the newer 400 was obviously well underway.  Maybe because of the previous years' mishaps, they were running out of aircraft.  Anyway, any doubts about the viability of the aircraft were now dispelled in my mind. 

For those who haven't flown in smaller prop aircraft, there are a number of differences immediately apparent.  The Twin Otter carries its own set of stairs forming part of the fuselage which are lowered by two cables at the rear of the aircraft.  I painfully discovered the door well is not very high.  My head came in contact with the top of the door frame even though I'm not a tall man. The interior is less than 5 feet in height, so you have to bend down appreciably as you walk along the short aisle. 

Though I had a designated seat number I was told by one of the ground crew to sit anywhere I felt.  First come, first serve.  How refreshing!  No such luxury of air hotties on this flight.  As it turned out, I chose the same seat next to the window under the wing.  The seats themselves a very rudimentary, light frame with minimal padding.  Only just ok for a short flight with a bad back and arthritic knees.

The small interior brings you close to all the occupants, therefore the plane was full of banter, nervous  laughter and we quickly introduced each other. Most were holiday travellers with I think one local who was flying home. Almost all the occupants had never flown in such a small plane before and were looking forward to the adventure, some with more than a little 

apprehension on their faces.

 Cockpit door wide open to let in some air 

The first thing you notice when the engines are turned on is the level of interior sound. It's noisy, still possible to talk, but with my hearing, I find it difficult.  

The runway in Sandakan is over 2000 metres, so the 'Otter' had little difficulty in getting airborne in well less than half the length.  The throttle is above the pilots head like sea planes and for some reason required the use of both pilots' hands. There was no door separating the pilots from the passengers and I had an excellent view of the GPS map in the centre of the cockpit showing our route.

The sudden lifting into the air and the rapid rate of ascend surprise most on board. I think it was more perceived than real, being a small plane. 

It's worth noting that most people have never flown in small aircraft, so the sensation of flying is very different than in a larger heavier plane. Weather affects smaller aircraft a lot more.  They move around more in the air currents and tend to give the feeling of floating and drifting along. The best way I can describe it is that feeling you get on a large Ferris wheel just before and after reaching the highest point except you have to add the lateral movement.  It's all a bit dreamy, like floating on cloud, or after having a few vodka and tonics, if you enjoy that sort of thing. 

The flight turned left after a few minutes and travelled north west along the east coast. The weather was clear and because of the lower altitude, you could see a lot more detail.  To the east many small islands dotted the sea, some in Malaysia, those further out the Philippines.  Rivers large and small, fill the land like a meandering network of roads which of course they are to the local Sungai.  The banks are predominately mangrove until they give away to firmer ground inland, then the manmade transformation of the land becomes evident.  Oil Palm dominates all that is not mangrove nor mountain and what jungle left is mainly secondary growth from the logging days. 

Midway through the flight to Kudat, the passengers had relaxed and everyone on the plane was enjoying conversing to each other by yelling above the engine din. 

I found myself constantly looking at the pilots doing their thing.  The captain in particular was a little fidgety, unable to keep his hands of the throttle as if it wasn't set right. 

As we approached Kudat, everyone peered out looking for the runway.  It was spotted early but disregarded for being too short. It wasn't until final approach that it became obvious that we were going to land on what looked every bit a paved footpath.  I'm sure there're shorter runways in the world but from the air, this one looked woefully inadequate.  Images of the previous years' fatal accident did cross my mind, but after all this was a short takeoff and landing aircraft.  Two or three of the other passengers were not quite so reassured.  The descend was steep and because we couldn't see out the front at this stage, one of the women screamed out,  "We're going to land in the swamp," at the top of her voice. 

Needless to say, we didn't.  It wasn't a copybook landing though.  We did bounce and float down the runway a tad. The roar of the engines peaked as the props were put into negative pitch to pull us up. 

Smiles returned to all and 17 of the 19 passengers disembarked. 

Myself and one other were going onto KK. 

Me trying to look intelligent. Notice the stairs.

It wasn't long before we were left to our own devices.  The plane got very hot on the tarmac, so we jumped out and wandered around the aircraft taking photos of each other.  No one seem to care, in fact there was no one there to care except us.  Everyone else had disappeared into the green nondescript terminal building.

The Green House. Notice Air traffic Control Tower

This wouldn't happen in too many airports around the world.

Twenty minutes passed and the flight crew returned to the aircraft.

This runway is only 700 metres long less than a third of Sandakan's.

The aircraft taxied to the end of the runway, lined up and gunned the engines with the brakes on.  After what seemed an eternity they were released and we screamed down the tarmac and was airborne in no time.  The lack of passengers helped whereas a full plane must use every last inche.

The 40 minute flight flew south along Sabah's west coast. I couldn't help but feel a little privileged having the aircraft to myself bar one. 

The flight was enjoyable and I looked out the window for most of it.  This part of the west coast is much more built up with numerous small and medium towns to observe along the way.  We did encounter a few thunderstorm cells but easily flew around them.  The site of Kota Kinabalu's long runway was very reassuring. 

The total travel time was a touch over two hours. 

Would I do it again?  The short answer is yes if time is not an issue. 

I have flown a lot over the past decade and have to a certain extent become jaded with air travel.  The little Twin Otter brought back memories of the first time I flew all those years ago.  Not quite flying by the seat of your pants, but close.  

Trek To Fraser's Hill By Planes,Trains, Automobiles and Buses

I always look forward to getting away, so when the opportunity came to disappear for a few days to West Malaysia I jumped at it.  My wife was asked to speak at a conference on the environment at Fraser's Hill, so I would tag along to do some much needed walking. 

Leaving Sandakan at 9.40 a.m.  for the 2 hour 45 minute' flight with the aircraft on time was a good start.  I tend to fly Air Asia these days as they are at times half the cost of MAS and apart from their lousy terminal in KL, fine to fly with. 

After an uneventful flight, we looked for a bus to take us to the KL Sentral station - the main meeting of all rail lines for West Malaysia.  So far so good; about an hour later, we're on the KTM Komuter platform bound for Kuala Kubu Bharu, a small town North of KL.  This place as the crow flies or by private car is only  a journey of some 60 kilometres but due to the state of the line, a 2-hour trip and not only that a two-train trip.  Four stations before our destination we had to change trains in Rawang.  Sounds simple but, with my ever suspicious mind I noticed the station markers above the door that flashed red when you have passed a station and green for the ones not reached, showed KKB on the same line.  

"Hmm..."  I thought out aloud.  "Does this mean this train does go all the way to KKB?"   

The last thing I wanted was to get off to discover we could have stayed on the train and saved a half an hour.  My wife had been told by one of the participants of the conference that you needed to change trains, but I wasn't convinced.  I pestered her to ask some intelligent looking commuter whether this was so.  Reluctantly, she did and to my relief, he said the train would continue on to our destination without the need to change.  I had a self-assured smirk on my face. We proceed until just before arrival at Rawang, the train auto voice announced those who wanted to continue to KKB needed to alight and transfer to Platform 2.  Wife 1 me 0.  Of course the train didn’t arrive on the said platform 2 but platform 3; despite that we managed to catch it.

About 4 p.m., we arrived at the KKB station which was nowhere near the town centre.  We had been told there would be taxis here to take us the final 30 odd kilometres up into the mountains, but all we found was a driver with his privately owned car who was willing to do so. 

The final leg up is extremely windy and not for those with a weak stomach.  Along the way, you will see the occasional Pigtailed Macaque scavenging at the side of the road from rubbish disposed by passing vehicles.

Now you might be wondering why this place is called Fraser's Hill.  No doubt you have worked out somebody called Fraser founded it and you will be right. 

Centre of Fraser's Hill

In the late 1800's Louis James Fraser a Scotsman came across the region looking for gold. He didn't find any but did discover rich tin deposits.  With the aid of Chinese miners, he established a series of mines on the top of the hill as well as an opium and gambling den to extract back the wages he payed the workers.  Obviously, he became too successful, for he went missing a number of years later and was never seen again.  

By the 1920's, the hill was established as a summer retreat for the wealthy colonials who revelled in its cool misty climate.

The last 8 kilometres is a one way twisting track that lifts itself from the bottom of the valley onto the top of the thick jungle-laden range.

The town itself is underwhelming, a central clock tower marking the centre with some original colonial buildings, a few ordinary looking hotels / resorts and a nine-hole golf course. 

The real highlight here is not the manmade structures, but the intact natural forest and wildlife.

After checking into the hotel and seeing about the program for the next day's conference, we settled in for a quiet night.  Well, almost quiet if it wasn’t for the room full of men next door who wanted to scream at each other for no apparent reason other than to be noisy and the family with 2 inconsolable children that didn’t seem to appreciate the ambiance of the place. 

After breakfast, my wife went off to her meeting whilst I decided to go bush walking.  Before  she left, I received a stern warning that the jungle was a dangerous place to get lost in, especially this place as it has a history of people getting lost.  Of course, I scoffed at the suggestion this could possibly became my fate as I was a bush walker of some 40 years experience and besides the paths would be well maintained and easy to use as they were open to the general public.

Little did I know... 

To placate my wife, I said I would text her my intended route which in hindsight was an excellent move. 

The first walk I decided on was Hemmant trail just behind the golf course and a short 500 metres long.  The path was relatively flat and wide at first that crossed a number of small streams.  There had been guide ropes in place at some stage but most of these were no longer attached to the post that held them.  Needless to say, the crossing would have been easier with them although not impossible for an able bodied 57 year old to transverse. Feeling confident I pressed on.  I passed an old Japanese communication centre from the last war and saw numerous small birds of various species darting through the dense undergrowth.  The occasional glimpse of the golf course let me know exactly where I was.  In a very short while, I was at the end of the trail so proceeded to find the entrance for my second sojourn.  Starting at the forest, 200 metres up the road from the end of the Hemmant trail was Bishops trail.  It was well signposted giving plenty of information about the area.  A little way in, I caught sight of some leaf monkeys feeding on ( I think) leaves at the top of ginormous tree.  There were other numerous rustling sounds coming from the surrounding jungle although I could not see anything because of the density.  The macaque called constantly to each other in the valley, so it gave me a sense of the primitive.  I was alone in fact during the duration of the walks, I saw no other person.  Man Vs Wild… well not quite but you get the picture. 

Spider hunter

The track after the first half kilometre deteriorated markedly and I found myself climbing over or going under fallen trees and bamboo and it had become a lot more slippery due to some light morning rain.

At this stage, if my wife was with me, I would have had to turn back.  Where I am a little too gung-ho at times, she is much more cautious.  The track was passible but the going was not that pleasant.  Anyway to cut a long story short, I ploughed on and in due course managed to reach the end intact.  

This is where I should have stopped but…

The end of Bishop’s Trail (can’t imagine too many Bishops walking it) was the start of Maxwells.  The small map I had with me was little more than a diagram with little detail.  It told me this walk was about 2 kilometres long and ended at the local Tamil school at the base of the hill I was on.  

“No problems,” I said to myself.  I was a little dirty by now, scummed my knee on a branch of a fallen tree, but most importantly kept the camera intact.

I pressed on like an explorer awaiting his fate.

The track was level and wide at first and except for the occasional fallen tree trunk and bamboo thicket, it was ok.

About the half way mark, things changed.  

Sunlight streaming through the treetop canopy

The track started to descend to the valley floor and narrowed appreciably.  It was very slow going and I found holding my SLR camera annoying as it prevented me from using one of my hands to steady.  The path did have guide ropes on the steeper sections, though almost of all them were not anchored to their original positions. 

At one stage a massive tree blocked the route; too big to climb over and with the gap underneath too small for me to fit, I had to dig a bigger hole under to scamper through.  I was now hot and thirsty having broken rule number one when walking in the wilderness - bring water. 

The track became quite steep with the edges collapsing if my foot got too close. 

You may well ask why I kept going.  A very good question indeed.  I have been known to be a little pigheaded at times and this was one such occasion.  Pride got in the way of common sense and I was determined to finish.

Onwards I pressed until the unthinkable occurred, the path seemed to vanish. I turned around but couldn’t make out any discernible markers.  I ventured another 10 metres hoping to reestablish the route when disaster occurred.

You know the moment when you're on your feet walking forward and without warning, find yourself face down on the earth.  I slid maybe only a few metres down a slope until a tree impeded my decent.  I remember hearing a cracking sound coming from my left ankle and feeling a sharp hot stabbing pain like being struck by a poker that had just come out of the fire.  

Stunned for a second or two, I attempted getting to my feet, but found it impossible.  Panic? Not quite, but a feeling of great unease came over me. 

My wife was having her big day and I was lost and injured in the jungle.  Ohhhh.  What a fool!

Fortunately I could hear cars passing that seemed not too far away and that spurred me on.  I sat for a few minutes and looked at my ankle.  It was swollen especially on the outer aspect, but appeared to be inline with the other one.  I found a vine nearby and used it to pull myself up but as soon as I attempted to walk, I fell down again.  The third attempt, I managed to stay on my feet and discovered I could weight bear a little and with the aid of a small branch I found myself scrambling down the slope looking for a way out.  It became quickly apparent that approach wasn’t going to work.The jungle was closing in the further I went. 

I climbed again with some difficulty and decided to move parallel with the slop in what I thought might be the direction of the descending path.  After traversing a small knoll, there it was.  My heart missed a beat and a sense of relief descended over me.  Five minutes later I hobbled onto the road and slowly dragged my left foot the 2.5 kilometres back to my hotel. 

Wife 2 Me 0.

Fungi growing on a dead log

The remainder of the day, I lay in bed after seeing the local first-aid man who filled me up with medication and bandaged my ankle. 

My wife’s meeting went very well, so I was very thankful I didn’t spoil it for her.  If I had been further up the track or had severely sprained or broken my ankle, then things might have turned out a lot worse.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful and we had a pleasant though short stay in Fraser’s Hill.

I will recommend the place to anyone, but with one proviso - stay well clear of Maxwell's trail.

PS. Just this morning, I read how Maxwell's trail is infestered with leeches, so not too many  people bother to walk it.  Ohhhh if only I had known.