Reggie Thomson’s Diary

Would you believe it - there’s a mosque just beside the hotel?! I continued with the diary for most of the day. The Milo is great in the morning, and in the afternoon I drink the orange juice. The washing had mostly dried in the morning sun.

I went down to the bank to change some travellers’ cheques. It was very easy, and soon I had 1.5 million rupiah stuffed into my wallet and the small bag I tuck into my shirt pocket. If I am careful, I can live at nearly half the normal rate. I set my budget at around 50,000 rupiah per day.

Signs of the impending elections are everywhere. There are lots of flags flying. Each has a number on it, the highest at about 45, I think. Trucks full of flag waves drove past, escorted by hundreds of revving motorcyclists. I wonder if such methods work in converting people, or whether they are just the ways that everyone else here uses. I tended to ignore them, even walking right through the middle of the motorcade when it was clear I would otherwise have to wait a long time for it to pass.

For lunch, I went to Kentucky Fried Chicken. I feel that I ought to eat and drink well, given the probability of catching a bug here, and the cheapness of food. I had to ask for a spoon to eat the rice, but was quite content to eat the chicken with my fingers. They must think I am very strange.

I typed more on the computer in the afternoon and evening. There was a heavy shower about 2.30, but the sun was still shining. I rushed out to look for a rainbow, but there was none. Of course, the sun is too high in the sky. Maybe rainbows can only be seen in the early mornings or late evenings in equatorial places.

I went back to the supermarket to get some more supplies - I’m out of juice crystals. I bought a large chocolate and condensed milk pancake from a street stall. It was very sweet, and in the end I couldn’t manage all of it. When I got home, I asked what the time was. Sure enough, my watches are all out by one hour. I have to change the computer, the camera and my wristwatch.

By the time I retired, I had only a few days of diary to catch up on. I also browsed through some of the downloaded internet files on Indonesia. I think I will make my way down to Lombok, the island just east of Bali.

I didn’t check for mosques near my bed, and sure enough I was woken at around five by the croaking singing of the call to prayer. I didn’t get up until nearer seven, when two gentlemen approached. One went into the toilet and began washing himself. I think they lived in the house behind.

It was a long walk all the way back into town centre. Only one of the moneychangers was open, but at least I could get 75000 for my ten dollars. The first thing I bought was a can of Coke. Then I headed to the Pelni office, to find out about the ferries. One gentleman spoke enough English to help me. I could wait until election day, the seventh, and take a ferry to Surabaya, or until Tuesday and go to Jakarta. That seemed the best. I found out about the time and cost.

Round the corner from the ferry was the guesthouse recommended in the lonely planet. I paid 22,000 for a room for the night, and was shown to a spacious room with its own bathroom and a fan. It has windows on three sides, allowing a nice breeze to blow through, and faces north, so catches the sun all day. Around the outside is a small balcony. Just as the receptionist left, I noticed that the fan had stopped. I was worried that he had switched off the power for the day. It turned out to be a brief power cut. I had a shower, and took a brief nap.

Now that I am in the money again, I can buy food and supplies. I got some orange juice crystals with vitamin supplements, and some milk for my breakfast tomorrow. I also treated myself to an ice cream. I bought some apples and pineapple juice for lunch. In a drug store I got some more mosquito repellant. Then I walked back to the hotel, saying hello dozens of times. I ate my sardines with the bread, until I could manage no more. There were hundreds of tiny ants crawling over the desk, and no matter where I put or hung the food, they always found it.

There was a round pin socket in the room, and my adapters coped. I set up the computer and started typing. As it was quite hot, I opened the shutter-type windows to let a breeze in, and put the fan on full. I also stripped to my underwear. Unfortunately, it let the mosquitoes in. I got bitten.

In the evening I could see a nice sunset forming, so picked up the camera and set off for the crowded area by the riverbank. I said hello only a little as I was trying to take photos. However, there was little to photograph, and though the sunset was beautiful, I could find no suitable foreground or silhouette.

I went for a meal. The American Fried Chicken restaurant seemed too expensive, with prices going from 10,000 to 20,000. I walked out and went to a place round the corner, near the supermarket. I ordered the Mee Goreng, which I had had in Malaysia - a fried noodle dish. The tomato juice was pink, not red as I was expecting, but was quite delicious.

Back at the hotel, I took a second shower, and then continued typing. I set up the Indonesia files in preparation. My provider lets me log on in Jakarta, Surabaya and Denpasar in Bali, only. I also did my washing and hung it up on my string outside.

Breakfast was the usual toast and jam. I chatted with some other folks for a while, then decided to head out of town. I had to walk quite a way before the first car stopped. He wanted to take me back into town to the bus station. No. I would continue walking. A couple eventually picked me up, and could take me all the way to Serian. The lady spoke a little English, and pointed out things along the road. It took about an hour to the junction to Tebedu.

I was soon walking up the road. A man on a motorbike drew up. He wanted to take me all the way to Tebedu, to help me on my trip. He was a Christian, he explained. He gave me a spare helmet and I packed the sign and my camera into my rucksack. I had to hold a bag of Milo that he was taking to his mother. It wouldn’t fit in my rucksack.

We were soon zooming along the road. I could see we were doing about 100kph, at times touching 110. I hung on, watching the milestones every kilometer, to calculate how many more minutes I would have to hang on for. From 38 down to the twenties, then tens and soon we were parking at the border. He asked if I had time for something to drink. I was treated to some cold Milo, with noodles. I asked a few questions about his church. A Scotsman also goes there - maybe even the pastor. I was keen to keep moving, not knowing whether or not it would be possible to hitchhike to Pontianak in Indonesia.

First, I changed my 10 M$ into 20,000 rupiah. That gave me just 1.45 ringgit to spend - on a Coke that would normally cost 1.50 - they gave me a reduction. I got my visa cancelled and filled in a questionnaire for the tourist office. I didn’t write any comments or complaints, but thought I could have written about the boatman charging seven times the correct fare. The Indonesian visa was granted without fuss. I can now stay until the end of July. I’m only planning on staying for a month. This is country number six.

Crowds of moneychangers surged forth the moment I was inside the border. I didn’t wish to change any of my precious remaining dollar notes. Only one person quoted me for yen - at 500 rupiah for 100 yen. It was too low a rate for me. I stood by the road towards Pontianak, holding out my sign. Various people tried to talk to me in Indonesian, pointing to the rickety bus opposite. I just replied that I would take the bus if I couldn’t get a hitch. There were very few cars passing by, and a number of quite full minibuses. When the bus started up, I jumped on board. It was only 12,000 rupiah to my destination - 6 ringgit. According to the guidebook, it would have cost me 38 ringgit to go all the way from Kuching to Pontianak. I saved quite a bit by hitching to the border and paying Indonesian rates.

I had a seat to myself and could open the windows to let in some welcome breeze. It was a six-hour ride, so we occasionally pulled into a restaurant area. I asked how much the meal would cost. I don’t think the lady even understood the words: “How much?” but eventually she wrote down 4000. It was half of what I had left. I regretted that I hadn’t changed just 10 US$ back at the border. I ate a few slices of my loaf of bread and drank water - the Coca-Cola was 2250 rupiah.

Indonesia strikes me as being similar to the Philippines but a little better off. The roads were good, though we did briefly go over dirt track through one village. Many of the houses have huge satellite dishes pointing directly upwards. I assume this is the sign of affluence here. There weren’t crowds of children trying to sell peanuts at every bus stop.

On the way, we passed many cars and trucks with punctures. Then it was our turn - one tyre just popped. It didn’t take long to change.

We arrived in Pontianak at eight, by my watch. I checked on my map, and was able to recognise when we went over one large bridge. Now I am in the southern hemisphere (just) for the first time in my life. I followed the route to the city centre. I walked round, finding some m oney changers that were closed. Tomorrow I will come ba ck to change those 10 US$ - I hope.

Lots of people said, “Hello Mister.” I usually replied, but when it got to two or three per minute, I changed to just waving. Sometimes people on motorcycles shouted or peeped as they went by. I think I prefer the quieter societies. Most heads turned when they saw me.

I found a supermarket where I bought some sardines to go on my bread, and a bottle of water. That cost 3000 rupiah. I again regretted that I hadn’t changed my money by the border. The city is dirty, with piles of rotting rubbish in places by the roads. I think Indonesians tend to burn their own rubbish - which is one reason why the sunsets are so orange. If I do take a photo of a beautiful sunset, it will hide the cause.

I found myself in a huge crowd of people and motorbikes, with most people saying hello. I sat down to rearrange my rucksack - it was hurting a little. One guy waved me over to sit with them. He suggested I order some drink, but I just said, “No money.” I have to keep the 5000 just in case I can’t change anything tomorrow. They couldn’t speak much English, so I wasn’t able to communicate much. I showed my photos, but I’m not sure they were so interested. Eventually, I moved on.

I needed to find a place to sleep for the night, but everywhere I went there were people. Near the passenger ferry was a Chinese (or perhaps Buddhist) temple. I took lots of photos of the people by the candles, but none turned out to be right. There was just enough light, and the worshippers were standing quite still, lighting their joss sticks.

I had to walk a very long way out of town. Near the bridge there wasn’t a suitable place to sleep out. Everywhere there seems to be dirty, still water. It may be the drainage system. I continued walking out of town. Finally, I came to a sign that said “University Campus.” I went in, and even there people were waving and saying hello. I found one quieter looking building, and managed to get to the other side without being accosted. There were several rooms at the back, with a walkway. I went to the end and decided to sleep there. The toilet was next door. I used my torch to find a relatively clean patch of wooden flooring on the walkway. Even so, I still put down my black plastic bags.

The best photos would have been taken at sunrise, had I bothered to get out of bed for it. Instead, I got up lazily at 7.30 and went for my breakfast. It turned out to be a loaf of bread, a tin of margarine, and a tin of runny jam of unknown variety. I toasted a few pieces of bread and made myself several cups of Milo.

I walked to the waterfront. A man in a boat asked if I wanted to cross the river. I checked on the fare first - two dollars, I was told. It seemed reasonable to me, so I jumped in. It had a small motor and two poles at the back as rudders. On the other side, I handed over my two-dollar bill.

The police museum in Fort Margherita was closed until ten. I tried taking some snaps, but there was little to do other than wait. Some young girls were also waiting. The sun was behind the fort, and I couldn’t find any good angles. I figured it would make a good photo when the sun went down in the west.

I wandered round the exhibits inside for a while. There were lots of guns, some information about the police force through the ages, some of the history of the Brooke family (the Englishman who was given the land by the Sultan of Brunei for squashing a rebellion), a bit about the communist insurgencies, and some items from opium dens.

On the top level I met the four girls again. They wanted to go right up the turret, but the hatch was closed. They asked me to open it for them. It wasn’t heavy, and soon we were all in the sunshine on the tiny top. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. They were Chinese, and school holidays had just begun. I took a photo for them, then used my own camera. There’s so much I have to think about when taking people photos. Composition is only one aspect. I also have to worry about the sun. If it is in their eyes, they will squint. If it isn’t, then it will cause large shadows on their faces, or their faces will be dark. Then I have to ensure that their expressions are welcoming, that they aren’t worrying about the things I worry about. All this has to happen in the few seconds as I decide how to take the photo.

There wasn’t much more to see. I went out to the small courtyard, trying to think what made this fort special, and for that matter, what would make my photo special. I couldn’t find anything. Perhaps lighting counts for 80 percent of it. Almost half of my best photos are taken either at dawn or at dusk. Lately I haven’t been getting up early enough to catch the rising sun. Maybe I should go back to sleeping outside again.

I walked to the quay at Istana, the governor’s residence. There were some strange wooden carvings nearby, but I couldn’t capture their essence. Dark wood is very hard to photograph. From the top of a nearby tower, I got a nice view across the river to the mosque in the distance. I waited until two ferry boats crossed to take a snap.

There was a sign by the quayside, stating that the correct, approved fares for crossing the river were just 30 cents. For a long time I felt annoyed that I had been lied to by the other boatman, and cheated out of almost seven times the correct fare. Liars should have their tongues cut out, and thieves their hands chopped off, according to Muslim laws. Of course, this is a bargaining society, where the price of something can drop by negotiation. Would I be angry if the price didn’t drop for me to the same as it dropped for someone else?

I crossed back for the correct fare, and tried taking some photos of the little square tower. There was an ugly red Coca-Cola skateboard slope in front. Round the side, I tried the black marble reflection photo. I have to make my photos stand out. This wasn’t really the way.

After a meal of pizza at the Green Hill centre, I went back to the Sarawak museum. Entry was free. Maybe that is also a cultural hangover from the years of British occupation. Inside were many stuffed animals and birds. It was quite impressive. One section was devoted to the story of the Shell Oil company in Malaysia. Upstai rs was an example part of a tribal (may be Dayak) longhouse, together with their crafts. It is only a small museum, but packed quite a lot in. The guide book recommends it, and so do I.

Across the road was the tourist office. I was interested to find out about the possibility of visiting a longhouse, particularly since next Tuesday is the Iban Gawai, a tribal festival. However, I’m down to 40 M$ and would need to cash a traveller’s cheque if I wanted to stay longer. I was given a list of possible tour agencies, several of which were near my accommodation.

One of them said they could offer a trip leaving on Sunday and returning on Tuesday, for 400 M$. It was quite expensive - a week’s “salary,” but I am under-budget for my time in Malaysia, thanks mostly to the hitchhikes. I dithered. The brochure mentioned that one of the treats would be watching a cockfight in the morning. I have no desire to see such barbarism, and don’t believe I should ever take pleasure in causing pain to other animals, including humans. Other tour agents could only offer a Saturday to Monday trip, which would miss the best of the festival. I dithered long enough that a decision wasn’t necessary - the banks close at four.

I wanted to take a sunset photo of Fort Margherita, but was surprised that the sun didn’t set where I was expecting. Of course, although I am still in the northern hemisphere, the sun rises in the east and travels north to the west. This has probably been the case since somewhere in the Philippines. I wonder where I was when the sun was directly overhead.

Back in the hostel, I did some more work on the computer, and cooked my beans on toast. There is an internet cafe just round the corner, with a good printer. I can use up some of my remaining 25 M$ printing out some namecards, and one or two of the photos. I plugged into the socket in the kitchen. Of course, I had to chat to some other residents, and give quick previews. I made up a new namecard with a selection of ten of the photos from my current trip. The file came to some 4 Mbytes - too large to transfer by floppy. I had to put all the photos into a separate directory, so that I could copy them a few at a time.

It had rained quite heavily earlier in the evening, so I packed up the computer very carefully, and walked over to the internet cafe. They suggested it would be best just to use my computer and plug it into the printer directly. That way I wouldn’t have to transfer any files. I only had to use the floppy to set up the printer driver, a fairly painless operation. The first set of namecards, on plain paper, came out OK. I made two more copies on better quality paper, and then set the printer to give me a top quality copy of my photo of the mosque in Bandar. That really impressed everyone.

I was surprised at the cost - just 17 ringgit. Because I had used my own computer, I hadn’t been charged the six dollars for internet use. I could afford one more top quality photo - and chose the fan-shaped leaf from Lambir Hills. It came out well. I like the picture very much, but can see that I should have taken more photos - to be absolutely sure that the photo was the best I could possibly achieve. There are one or two spots of light that distract, and could have been removed from the original. Touching up a photo afterwards is always possible, but time-consuming. It must be better to get the photo right in its original. I have to learn to dedicate myself to catching the best possible images. It would also be good to have a camera that gave me the time to review each photo in minute detail before I declare it to be perfect. The Canon Powershot 70 tries to give me a quick turnaround so that I can take my next photo quickly. I still haven’t written my email to them.

Examining the photos, I noticed that one of the better quality pages had been printed on the reverse side. Since he had put the paper in the hopper, I thought he should offer some compensation - but he didn’t.

I was home after 11.30 and my mind was still buzzing with thoughts, so took some time to get to sleep.

I was quite annoyed with myself because I thought I had lost my watch. So I didn’t know what time it was when I stumbled out of bed. Sadly the sun was hidden behind clouds. For the past few days, it had rained in the afternoons and evenings, and cleared up by the morning, so I was a little disappointed. Still, I headed out to the nearby Paku beach.

There was little that I could photograph on the way. I thought I heard the rummaging of a proboscis monkey, but couldn’t see anything. A snake slithered away under a rock long before I could get my camera out. The beach itself was unspectacular. I tried taking photos of the little mudskippers, but they all spotted me as I crept up and ran away. I need to be within 20 centimeters if I want a suitable photo.

So I went back to the hostel. There was a monkey way up in the trees, but far too small to figure out if it was the famous Proboscis variety. I decided that it would be better to catch up on the diary. It began raining again. Even when the bristly boar returned, I couldn’t take a photo because it quickly ran away when it saw me.

I ate lunch at the restaurant again. Erik had agreed that I could share his boat at 3 p.m. to return to Kuching. Eyal, the American, was returning with him, too. The boat had already been paid for, and he didn’t mind if others joined him. After lunch I went back to the mangrove area, spotting a monitor lizard on the way. I didn’t see any of the monkeys that others were raving about. Maybe I should have stayed behind, as the Dutchman was planning to do. There was plenty of space to kip out.

Instead, I rode back to on the boat with Erik and Eyal. We were even able to sit in the back of his arranged car all the way back to Kuching. That meant they could write their names in the famous black book.

I was dropped right outside B and B, the cheapest place in town. There is a large lock on the door downstairs. I paid for one night. Then I went out to see round and get some food. It seems like a pleasant town, with a developed waterfront to stroll along. I ate in the food hall in Green Hill corner, just round from the hostel.

There isn’t a socket in the room, so I didn’t use the computer in the evening. I had the room to myself, once one of the ringed Australians had left for the night bus to Sibu.

I ate dry bran for breakfast and had a cup of hot Milo. This is definitely better than coffee - sweeter and more nutritious. I was picked up from near the church at eight as arranged. The couple took me across the ferry to a restaurant area where many people going to Kuching stop.

I only had to wait about half an hour for a truck to stop. The driver was Indian, though brought up in Malaysia. His father was a policeman here, and when he retired, was offered a plot of land. He turned it down because it was only jungle. Now, the land has been developed, and it could have been quite an asset.

We stopped on the way at a Malaysian cafe, where again I was treated to a meal. I noticed my host had a slight limp. I gather he drives meat around the country.

I was dropped about fifteen kilometers outside Kuching at about half-past three. It’s easy to know the distances, because there are “milestones” every kilometer. It had just begun to rain. I had to button up completely before I jumped down from the truck.

I hadn’t walked far when a car pulled over. The lady in the front moved into the back seat with several children so that I could fit in. We drove first to a house, and everyone in the back piled out. When I said that I was going to Bako, Mr. Alexson said that if I didn’t mind waiting, he could drive me there in about half an hour. Of course I don’t mind waiting. When I hitch I always have to wait.

I was treated to a Milo and some noodles. I presume we were waiting for his daughter to finish work. I showed him some of my photos on the camera. It’s really useful to have some of the best ones on the backup memory module. I also read an English paper, and noted an interesting article about a prisoner of war. He recalled a Mr. Bell who had started a university in the POW camp to keep the men’s minds active. He later went on to found the Bell School of Languages, where I was trained as a teacher.

We drove the 40 km or so to the Bako ferry. There I discovered that I am supposed to get a permit and arrange accommodation in town before taking the ferry. This I knew from the book, but at Mt. Kinabalu it had been possible to do everything in the park itself, in spite of what the book said. I decided to go back to town and wait one night. Mr. Alexson then offered to put me up for the evening, and take me into town tomorrow. I was grateful to accept.

So, we drove all the way back. On one of the bridges we stopped, so that I could take a photo of the sunset. The scene wasn’t so good, but I took the snap anyway. We dropped his daughter off at one house, and then picked up his wife and younger children from another. There, I was treated to yet more food. Finally we returned, past the place where we originally met, to their house in the country.

It was quite a large house. We sat in the living room watching T.V. I showed the children some of the photos on the computer. I don’t have any games on this, but thought I could let them use paint to draw pictures. The problem was that the mouse pointer is in the middle of the keyboard, and should only be pressed lightly to the sides. They seemed to want to push it, and I could see it was straining the board.

I wrote some things in Chinese characters, such as my name and age, and then thought about using the computer. However, the Japanese character set doesn’t even have the Chinese character for “you.” I was quite surprised. I wasn’t able to type my diary, and the house didn’t have a telephone line, so I couldn’t update my homepage.

Late in the evening there was yet another meal. This time I was stuffed. I accepted a little, but was unable to finish my plate. They prepared the bed and room I was to sleep in. The toilet was in a small hut outside.

Breakfast at the small restaurant was great, as usual - eggs, beans, sausage and toast, served with coffee. I also had a glass of hot Milo.

I didn’t leave until after 10.30. I walked along the path to Batu Niah, hoping I might find a jungle snap. Then I started hitching along the road. I’m not sure I had the correct sign. Many cars went straight past. I had to walk for about an hour before a truck driver let me ride on the back. That blew away all the sweat! I was soon at the junction with the main Miri-Kuching road.

It wasn’t too long before a Chinese couple, Jimmy and Amy, stopped for me. They were going eventually to Kuching, but would be stopping with relatives in Sibu on the way. It was just the lift I needed. They treated me to coffee, and bought me a meal on the way. He told me that western people often cut of the head of fish before eating, but Chinese consider the head to be a delicacy. So, I tasted a little of the meat from the head. I offered to contribute, but they wouldn’t hear of it.

Jimmy has several businesses in different parts of the country. Most Malaysians want to work in one place, he says, but he doesn’t mind travelling. He once owned a guesthouse, but one of the Malaysian workers wasn’t doing his job properly. Not long after he was sacked, the guesthouse was burnt down.

Jimmy also warned me about going to Indonesia during election time. Many of his friends there are leaving for the election period. He told me how he was robbed at knifepoint when he went as a tourist once. Chinese people aren’t able to go out on their own.

Amy grew up in Sibu, and was most surprised that I would stay for only about 10 M$. They took me to the Methodist church, and arranged to pick me up next morning at eight from the same spot. Hoover House, the Methodist hostel, only had a single room at 25 M$ available. I didn’t take it. Instead I wandered round town. A gentleman asked if I was looking for somewhere to stay. “I need somewhere cheap,” I replied. Asked what price range I was expecting, I said: “I usually pay ten or twelve dollars.” He offered me fifteen with air-conditioning, but I said I didn’t need that. We settled for twelve with a fan, and he took me to a nearby hotel. Actually, the room had its own tiny toilet, a fan, and a socket for my computer.

I went out to find some food, and also managed to buy some more lens tissues and a lens cloth. That’s another item that I lost somewhere on the way.

I worked out how to switch on the shower heater in the morning, and had a hot shower for the first time in ages! It was luxury. The two Germans went their separate ways. I donated my coffee to Uli, since I haven’t made any for a long time. I think I will buy Milo instead. I decided to stay put and catch up on my diary for the day.

I took all my meals at the small restaurant just outside the complex, returning my key faithfully each time. The first time I ate there, I forgot to take off my shoes - since no one else was eating there were no shoes outside to remind me. The food was good, and the service pleasant.

I spent nearly all the day on the computer. At first I wrote some more of the diary, but then I started to spell-check some of my earlier episodes. I load the file into Word, but actually change the entries using Wordpad because Word tends to put billions of spurious spaces or formatting into the html documents. It takes an age, and there were lots of spelling mistakes. In a way, it wasn’t really a good use of time. That was all I managed to achieve during the day. Recalling the events of a week ago to write up my diary is always precarious - I’m sure I miss many things that I thought at the time would be relevant.

My only exercise for the day was a brief walk towards the village of Batu Niah around dusk. I didn’t go all the way, and returned to the small restaurant for my evening meal. I was entirely alone in my hostel - in spite of my diligence in returning the key regularly.

I knew it was time to get up when the pig arrived - chopped up into little bits, with the face still intact! It was placed in bits on the tiled counter near me. They didn’t even wipe the tiles beforehand. I had almost packed, but was still a little sleepy. One gentleman offered me some coffee - hot, from a bottle. It was quite sweet. When I had packed, I bade farewell and set off up the road for the Niah Caves National Park. I should have gone by the side of the river, because it was closer. Still, halfway there, I was offered a lift.

The good thing about sleeping outside is that I still manage my daily shower, just that it comes a little later in the day. I booked into the dormitory accommodation at ten, and was given a room to myself. There were three other beds in the room, so I was under instructions to return the key every time I went into the park or to the restaurant. It was good to have a shower.

Outside, I met two German guys and chatted for a while. One is on a short holiday, but the other has been travelling for several years. He reckons I won’t be able to get through Myanmar and will have to go by China and either Tibet, Nepal and India, or direct into Pakistan. He tells the tale of how he met one lady in Thailand, who had forgotten to return her hotel key from Batad, in the Philippines. Since he was heading that way, he took the key back, much to the amusement of the hotel staff.

They invited me to join them, so I did. “Aren’t we supposed to return our keys?” I asked. Well, the story goes, that one lady who did so, found herself sharing the room next evening. I didn’t return my key, but later felt that I should have done so, keeping my promise. It’s funny how promises can be so easily broken.

The ferry across the river was only 50 cents. There was a long wooden walkway all the way to the caves. On the way, I took some snaps of the amazing buttress roots. One tree looked like a spacecraft. At another point a bright red and yellow insect flew by. Out came the binoculars. Apparently, it was a flying spider, but I’ve never heard of such a thing.

At the crossroads, two ladies were selling their wares. One had food and drink, and the other had some woven bags. I don’t collect anything as I travel, so only bought a Pepsi and some bananas for breakfast. One of the Germans could speak Malay fairly well. I’ve picked up nothing but “awas” which means danger, “jalan” - road, and “selamat” which is welcome, but also forms part of the good morning/day/evening, I think.

Along the walkway to the longhouse, I spotted a bright red caterpillar, about three inches long. I took lots of photos, since it wouldn’t stay still. I think one needs a lot of patience to be a nature photographer. On top of which, I have to have my lens within 20 cm of the beasts, which probably frightens them, and means I can’t use flash.

The two Germans went on. I had to walk quickly to catch up, and the wooden boards of the walkway were somewhat wobbly. The longhouse is a village under one roof. In this case, each house had a separate stairway, though usually they have a communal walkway in the front of the houses. The two Germans wanted to find a house where one could have a drink, but apparently there was no one in. So we returned.

I don’t know why I chose to go back with them. I only had time to take one photo, and probably could have taken many more in my quest for Beauty. The Borneo jungle was the focus of my time in Sarawak, yet this was an opportunity to take some photos of a tribal community.

By the time I got to the cave, after another can of Pepsi at the crossroads, I had decided to go it alone. Real photographers will probably always have to work on their own. It’s too much to ask others to wait, and anyway, doing so would only cause me to hurry.

The cave is quite gigantic - a massive opening and very tall inside. Strung from the roof are many bamboo sticks used by the birds’ nest collectors. They don’t look particularly easy to climb. Deep inside the cave o ne caught flashes of light coming from the ceiling some fifty metres up - the collectors at work. The most impressive was one who was dangling from the roof on ropes, with his torch shining upwards, making his body silhouetted.

The cave itself, besides its hugeness, was nothing special. At least, I assume so. I had only the tiniest of torches and tended to want to let my eyes adjust to the ambient light. This was difficult, because every once in a while, someone would decide that I needed to be investigated further, and would shine a bright torch directly in my face. I usually shielded my eyes, but that makes me look unfriendly.

To see what the cave looked like, in the darkest areas, I sometimes attached my flash to the camera and took a blind photograph. The screen showed only black, but with the flash, I could see beyond the darkness - though none of the snaps turned out interesting.

Through the other end of the cave I made my way to the next, with its wall paintings. On the way I found the trailing root to swing from. I had to run to the cave to get out of the downpour. The wall paintings weren’t really visible. They are all fenced off, so it is impossible to get up near to them. The pamphlet recommends waiting to see them when one’s eyes have grown accustomed to the dark. I tried taking photos, but it’s still hard to see anything but a faint squiggle.

Back in the main cave, I wasn’t able to take a photo of the shafts of light streaming down from some of the holes in the roof, nor of the drops of water. I walked through to the front of the cave, and since I had time, decided to walk back to the ferry for a bite to eat. It seemed to take longer than the half-hour I was expecting for 3km. Perhaps I stopped to take photos, since I often loose track of time when I’m composing or searching for snaps.

There wasn’t a restaurant at the pier, just a shop where I got another Pepsi. I wandered round the museum, reading a bit about the bird’s nests and the local tribes. Then I walked and half ran back to the cave entrance to see the “millions of bats flying out, and millions of swiftlets flying home.” I was expecting great flocks of birds. There weren’t. Perhaps the lack of nests has reduced the population. The bats were impressive, though, flying close to the roof, and all leaving by the same place.

I left as it was getting dark, and made my way back to the ferry. On the way, I noticed some of the tiny luminous mushrooms, but of course, couldn’t photograph them. There was also a strange hammer-headed worm-like animal on the path.

This time the ferry cost 1 M$, but I didn’t complain. I ate in the restaurant, but they could only offer vegetables with rice, and it wasn’t so tasty. In the evening, I showed my homepage to the two German guys. Uli commented that he had been to the mosque in Bandar, but he had thought it looked plain. It’s nice to be able to impress people. We went for a beer in the restaurant. It cost 5 M$!