September 11, 2010
As we landed in East Malaysia, to a coastal town called Miri, threatened Koran burning was happening in the U.S. The Muslim world was offended, and Malaysia wasn’t to be left out of the protesting Muslim states. The Prime Minister of Malaysia chimed in, asking President Obama to stop the book burning. No one in Miri mentioned it to us. But, we carried the knowledge of how events in the U.S. impact us here, as we thought of 9/11 while hiking.
Miri is famous for oil – Shell is the only act in town. It’s not famous for much else other than being driving distance from caves. We weren’t sure if it was worth the trip there. The hotel was on the beach but you couldn’t get to the beach because they had covered it with huge rocks, smacking of a desperate attempt to keep climate change at bay. The town had no charm. It was only famous for smuggling alcohol and more, from the neighboring country of Brunei. But, Hari Raya holiday weekend tickets had sold like hotcakes, and we were too late to get affordable flights to more spectacular places. The only cheap-ish tickets were for Miri since no one else wanted to go there.
So, we gave Miri a chance. We started with the crocodile farm. Note the word “farm” rather than “Crocodile Sanctuary.” First sign you see when you enter the “farm” is that BBQ crocodile is for sale. Crocodile belts are for sale. We saw enough crocodiles piled around, alive, but often on top of each other, to last us a lifetime.
Just as Ken and I were starting to get depressed, after seeing a cute but highly stressed, pacing sun bear on a short leash being fed bananas by tourists, the crocodile feeding was announced. You must see the video, is all I can say. We’ve never seen anything like it in our lives. It was the most animated and buzzed I’ve seen Kenny on this trip. A feeder came out to a very high platform, and he first blew a whistle. All the frozen crocodiles moved for the first time since we’d been there, strategically positioning themselves, slowly. Then, the feeder threw a whole, dead, unplucked chicken far into the air. It just flew, and the crocodiles’ eyes followed it as it flew. The first chicken landed next to a small crocodile, and its neighbor promptly bit the winning croc’s leg, prompting a roar of outrage from the crowd. The small, winning croc plowed his way through the bigger, blocking crocs, to a safe chicken-eating haven. Another chicken flew in the air, landing in the water. There an immediate snap came from out of nowhere, from the depths of the pool, and a wild wrestle ensued under water. We only saw bubbles and rushing waves, to show that one croc won. More dead chickens flew. The crocs ate them in one gulp. It looked like they barely chewed. The other crocs looked on, completely still, eyeing the winners, looking ready to get revenge later.
Finally, the feeder blew a whistle and walked away. Kenny leapt up and gave the feeder the first standing ovation he’d received in his life. He yelled praises for his chicken-throwing skill and clutch performance. The feeder looked surprised then quietly smiled and walked away.
The next day we dedicated to the Niah caves. We hired a driver for the day, and Ken warned him in advance that, given the 4.5 kilometer walk to the caves, the driver would have to carry Boom back from the caves when he collapsed. In Greece, we’d had Nate and Zander’s wiry, eager-to-prove-themselves muscles to carry Boom back from long hikes. In Malaysia, Ken seemed to think we had to hire someone to carry him. Turns out our driver was actually a body guard for a politician for his day job (only admitted to me later when I plied him with Tiger beer). He just smiled confidently when Ken continually teased him about carrying Boom.
We hiked to the caves, caves that had only been discovered by Western archeologists in 1960. We figured out why it took so long for the west to discover it – it’s surrounded by swamp. You can’t drive or fly there. You can’t even land a helicopter there. The only way there is to slog through kilometers of buggy, fauna-filled swamp. That’s a nice way of saying, croc-filled swamp. How did we get there? A raised 5K walkway over the swamp, hugging the outside of the huge cave, dodging stray rocky outcroppings thrust out of the swamp. The closer we got to the cave, the more dodging the walkway did because there were more rocky protrusions coming out of the swamp than there was swamp water.
Well, it was worth the archeologists’ slog. They discovered caves filled with life from the prehistoric era, 40,000 years ago. They first dug and found pottery and jade earrings traded from Indonesia. Then they hiked deeper into the completely dark cave, filled with bats and bat “black gold” – bat poop is worth gold to some. They emerged on the other side to discover a smaller cave, filled with 1200 year old paintings, perfectly preserved. And, we could actually see some of them too, still, although they had faded. The paintings were inspiring for us to see. We couldn’t believe it. They perfectly depicted their dead ancestors floating on a boat down the river to the underworld. They added some curly cues and other geometric designs for spiritual spice. And, in front of the paintings were real skeletons left in man-made boats. That’s how they buried their dead, curled up in fetal positions in wooden boats…hoping that the boats would help shepherd them to the other world.
We actually saw some dead bones and boats remaining from 3000 years ago. Then we turned around and walked back from whence we came, “torches” in hand (aka flashlights), the kids squealed with delight as they walked through the caves in the absolute dark, shining a spotlight on the bats overhead.
We also walked past bamboo poles stuck in the ground, extended all the way up almost 30 stories to the top of the Great Cave. Nest gatherers somehow, impossibly, shimmy up the smooth bamboo all the way to the top of the ceiling to scrape swiftlet (swallows?) nests off the ceiling, because they are worth thousands of dollars, often used for Chinese Birds Nest soup, believed to have healing properties, sold all over Asia.
Then, we walked the 4.5 K back, thinking we’d have a similar slog to the archeologists’, trying to coax tired Boom all the way back. We prepared our “bodyguard” to carry Boom, especially when Boom made us carry him down some stairs. We watched Griffin tire himself out, slipping off the side of the walkway, hanging on for dear life, but with only a 2 foot drop to the muddy cave floor below. Alice went piggy back on Kenny most of the way home. I had to rest repeatedly. Ken complained, making it an art form. And, Boom, ran ahead, with the bodyguard chasing after him. We lost sight of him. The bodyguard told us Boom would keep on looking back at him saying, “I’m first!” “You can’t catch me!” all the 4.5K back to the car.
We rested the next morning. Then our new best friend, our bodyguard, picked us up to take us to the Latak Waterfall. It’s a popular local jungle swimming hole. When we arrived there, it was raining, and hard. Then, we heard thunder. But, we looked around and saw no lightning. Repeatedly, which was strange. Is a lightning-less thunder unique to the rainforest? We plunged into the jungle, despite the thunder and a tepid, polite warning from the forest ranger who sold us our tickets -- mentioning to look out for slippery paths and thunder. Turns out we barely touched the jungle floor, again, hiking along a raised walkway most of the way, and by way I mean only 25 minutes of hiking.
We took a Pringles break under shelter from the rain, listening to Ken explain “evolution” to the kids, in one seating. Then, we reached the Latak Waterfall, with the kids relieved it wasn’t like the rapids from Taman Negara (see previous blog posting about near-death rapids ride for Griffin). It was just a single, long line of water dropping from a couple stories above. And, unlike the rapids, there was a rope blocking us from swimming under the waterfall. On top of that, a forest ranger or “guard” sat in a guard house to make sure we didn’t swim too close. Ken complained that our waterfall swimming leash was so short – “Why come to a waterfall if not to swim to the waterfall?” Then, Griffin made the same complaint, then Alice, then Boom -- it was a contagious complaint.
My bridled explorers moped their way to the water then immediately started splashing, wrestling, and throwing with delight. The local Malays stopped their chicken bbq-ing to come over and stand in the water with us, largely unable to speak English. One explained to me that they can’t swim. But, their kids got wet anyway, fully-clothed and they took pictures of their kids with each of mine. As usual, Boom was the star of the paparazzi, but Griffin was shocked and quietly pleased to finally be asked to be in a photo with the large family.
Soon, more than just Muslim Malays arrived. Some Indian Malaysians arrived, but only a group of men came. As the rain slowed to a drizzle, the men started playing a drum, clapping, pounding Coca-Cola, and singing traditional, foot-stomping songs in some Indian dialect, I think. Then, one leading singing man jumped up and started dancing, and each would take turns joining him, with shoulder shimmies, kicks, jumps, whirring around, mirroring each other as they danced and sang with all their hearts.
I watched from the water, laughing with Ken, as I dunked myself, feeling renewed and a bit less stressed from my Kuala Lumpur life. We went back to the hotel where the kids begged us not to make them go to a local restaurant, as we usually insist (hotel food = bad and expensive; local food = cheap, fresh seafood and delicious). We relented, or really I relented. They knew I was really the one who pushed us further, that way, often too far. So, I gave in, knowing that a night of horrible food lay ahead of us, but my parents, Courtney, and Tamara would be pleased that I was “taking it slower.”
So, we spent our last nite, watching the sun set over the oil tankers on the horizon, with an awful Robert DeNiro “family” movie (“Everybody is fine”) playing on the grass for a buffet dinner/movie night at the hotel.
PS Our camera is broken. :( We have to send it to the US for repair. In the meantime, you'll get many blogs filled with crappy pictures from us.
