Hot and sticky in Malaysia until we get to the hills
20th October 2005

The hills are are alive
Cooler weather = less lethargy
Eighth wonder of the world

When the going gets hot, head for the hills!

We had intended to set of for Kuala Selangor on the coast, but changed our plans and headed out of the heat and into the countryside of Malaysia. We’d got off to a stressful start to the day. As we have to (obviously) pack everything and leave ourselves standing around in ridiculously hot but awfully protective bike gear, we swelter and get ratty. We’d obviously been in the heat for too long and a much needed break in the coolth of the highlands seemed an option not to miss.

As is the way with most developing countries, people would rather give you false information than admit they don’t know. It’s a saving face, politeness kind of thing that can prove frustrating. In this way we ended up going on a more rambling route to Bukit Fraser (Fraser’s hill) than was strictly necessary, and so came upon the road to the town from geographically the opposite direction to the way we should have. The road has a rather sensible arrangement that as it has only one road up which is only just over a car wide, it has a time schedule for going up and down. We luckily arrived at up-time.

Orchids and tree ferns edged the road. The humidity of the forest feed the clouds so the views were ethereal and misty. The temperature although mid afternoon was warm but pleasant, it was a relief to be out of the lowlands.

Bukit Fraser, was reputedly named after a rather eccentric English guy who fostered a rather decadent image. Depending on whose version you believe he was a gambler, a drug taker and a womaniser. The town has retained it’s gentle colonial feel. Generally the bungalow stone cottages erected by the British are still dotted around the town all with uncompromising breathtaking views over the highlands of Malaysia.

That first afternoon as we strolled around the snaking roads that connect the single cottages that form this hamlet, we were tempted by the ruins of ‘Victory House’. It occupies a prime location overlooking the town with vista in 4 directions. For whatever reason, maybe legal disputes or neglect, the site stands itching for development. This is the spot to live, you can grow anything here, mangoes to apples and cauliflower to okra. Yeh, it rains, but it’s warm rain, the days are warm and the nights are cool. We even had blankets on the beds in the room, joy of joys.

Malaysia, is the first country I’ve seen so many tree ferns. They are remarkable plants, the gigantic leaves unfurl in the same gentle and appealing way of ferns back home. They are so big that I kind of feel all out of proportion, I’m used to looking down at ferns, not looking at an infant coiled leaf that is the height of me. Some rose above us at the edge of the road the fronds becoming translucent by the overhead sun. I had only seen tree ferns, in those garden makeover programmes the swell the TV channels in England. But the dull light and tiny urban gardens do not do these plants justice. They are beautiful plants, that are incongruous in a British garden, of smallities. Here, in the Malysian forest their size, is in proportion, it is in the forest of giants. It’s odd to think that we haven’t noticed these before in the tropics of Africa or the Americas. Are we just blind, or are they unique to Asia?

The low rise stone bungalows accepted their position of inferiority to the glory of the forest, and the forest seemed to tolerate the intrusion. But, from every angle around the hillside can be seen a holiday resort complex that had not just broken but demolished the latent harmony between man and nature. It was a huge, white monstrosity of multi-storey holiday apartments looming over the hamlet. Did no-one in the planning department see the offensive nature of this eyesore? If Malaysia is to reach it’s goal by 2020, I hope that in it’s rush to be ‘developed’ it stops occasionally to learn from the follies of the countries it seeks to emulate. Seems that huge planning mistakes are the benchmark by which developed countries are judged. Monstrous carbuncles, what?

Bukit Fraser has a few quaintnesses that give it a rather enduring demeanour. The golf course over the remains of the tin mining, the stone clock tower, the olde smokehouse (that provides colonial accommodation) and of course, cream teas. One the corner of the town square was the Tavern, that was so pub-like in it’s ambience that it was a league ahead of all those ‘theme’ English and Irish pubs in the USA even though, ironically, it is run by a rather nice Muslim family. The room in our hotel was clean and functional, but hardly inspiring and we whiled away the evenings in the ‘pub’ playing scrabble. Scrabble is a long game and would require a large amount of lager if played at lower elevations. Here though, ones beer stays cold and a game can be complete in two halves - rather like football.

Outdoor pursuits

There are two things to do in BF apart from going to the pub or playing golf, and that’s walking and bird watching. It is meant to be ‘the’ place to bird watch in Malaysia. Even we, in our own clumsy ignorant way, had notice some pretty coloured ones and some with bird of paradisey long tails. Once a year it is the venue for the ‘bird race’. This is not as you may think a race between birds, but a competition between twitchers to spot the largest number of birds in a specified time. Groups of three twitchers form the teams, and if all 3 agree on a sighting they tick it off. Apparently, which I find a wee bit dodgy, 3 agreed identifications of a bird call counts as a sighting. The system I feel is open to abuse, but there is a lot of gentlemanly honour amongst twitchers of the world. The birds not only attracts bird watchers but also, photographers. We spied one clambering over the rubbish tip with a 1m long lens and a full height tripod to get that special shot. Clearly the tip creates an ecosystem that attracts particular varieties.

An American English teacher who is working in Penang that we met walking was knowledgeable enough about birds to name some that we saw. He’d met and professed to be a little disappointed with the photographer chap. He literally takes photos of birds, but has no idea what they are and then sells on his prints to bird book manufactures. How does he market these images? ‘I’ve got some hawky birds and some nice shots of purple ones’ But thanks to Travis the twitcher we know we saw a bee-eater and a few silver cheeked mesui, jolly fellas red and green with silvery bits.

Our wildlife spotting was not limited to mesui by any means, we encountered an entertaining ‘2-inch’ worm that waved around drunkenly on the footpath in front of us, a boar ran across the road on our way up the hill and a fuzzy tarantula petulantly misunderstood our attempts to save it from being run over, and instead of scurrying off into the undergrowth out of harms way when we tried to encourage it off the road it stood defiantly where it was and had a tantrum (Is that a tarantula tantrum, then? And if it kept it up for hours would that be a tantric tarantula tantrum?), raising it’s hairy legs at us and sneering with it’s fangs. We gave up and left the mardy thing to be run over. There is no helping some tarantulas, they have brought up with this ‘human’s hate us’ chip on their thorax. Poor Travis had a complete nightmare while stooping to look at our hairy arachnid pal; his camera slipped off his shoulder and crashed to the floor. He seemed unconcerned and happily pointed out the repair to the battery door that he’d effected previously. This time, though, it was rather terminal. Fair play to the lad, he took it in his stride and happily ventured that he was going to get a new one anyway. Very cool.

Travis would be pleased that we classify him as an atypical American. He studied politics at school and actually learned something about the outside world. He’s kept his finger on the political pulse during his time in Malaysia and is fascinated by the way that the peolpe here actually have faith that their elected representatives are working to better the country for everyone. A pretty unique opinion to hold.

Now he is well travelled but temporarily resident in Penang while working. His parents are proving a little unenthusiastic about coming out to visit him. They’ve been farming in Oklahoma all their lives and feel little need to step outside the comfort zone. They’ve now agreed to go but are being predictably lethargic about acquiring passports. The only facts about Oklahoma that our man vouchedsafe to us were that there is a musical of the same name from which the state anthem is drawn and that the state drink is milk. I think he was trying to tell us something.

We did the walking thing too. Depending on which map you read, or guide you read, there are a set of falls 3 to 6 km away from the village. We needed exercise and this seemed like a sensible destination. What none to the information told you was that it was all down hill, which is OK on the way there, but a complete drag on the way back. It was one of those situations where, when you are half way there, you wish you hadn’t started. But you’re half way now, so to go back now is a complete waste of energy. So you continue and continue, down and down.

The falls were pretty, but not spectacular. At some point in the past money had been invested at the falls, toilets built, and picnic tables and the like but there had been no follow up. The concrete construction in the humidity looked shabby and unkempt.

On the long haul back up to BF I was motivated by the rumbling of thunder, that threatened us all the way back. As we rounded the last corner to where there was shelter the rain begin. We made it just in time.

We nipped into a strawberry farm-cum-satay BBQ place to avoid a drenching. Strawberry cultivation is something of highland speciality further north, and BF was clearly trying to cash in on their success, but these specimens seemed to be feeble producers and only a handful of fruits on about 200 plants. Now the satay was a different story, a winner, quarter of marinated chicken pinned between two prongs of bamboo and secured with a rubber band. Constant basting with the marinade made the chicken worth the wait and the succulent morsel was marvellous, unlike the tea. Developing countries around the world abuse sugar, and in a way that can only be topped by the American food manufacturers. You ask for a no sugar and sugary sludge sits in the bottom of the glass. The carnation milk makes a layer on top of the sludge and the tea above, looking like one of those snazzy multicoloured tequila rise thingies, in a mixture of shades of mud. The art then comes to try a drink the beverage with minimal disturbance of the glucose cocktail.

Fire-flies

We left on a Sunday morning to go to Kuala Selangor. (Refreshed and ready to brave the coastal heat again) Our favourite little caff was shut, and we turned our attentions to a lady doing something culinary at the side of the square. With the relaxed skill of the experienced she casually made superfine crepes, we added a medley of dhall, curry and pickle and we were set for the day. When we paid our dues, she received our money and issued our change with Malay politeness, touching her left hand to her right forearm, before handing over with her right. We had last seen this is Melaka, and it was nice to see the nicety again. Where the custom arises from, we don’t know. Is it a by-products of the left hand hygiene, or a corruption of the Japanese type thing of receiving with both hands to show full acceptance. We remain ignorant.

Kuala Selangor, is down in the lowlands again; the hot sticky lowlands. We got the usual hotchpotch of dreadful directions. “Go straight on to Rawang, turn left at the police station and then straight on.” It would have been less reassuring but more accurate to give the favourite African direction of, “Just follow the road straight”. The only deviation was to go round a one way system in Rawang and so I was desperate to make a left turn as we left town as I’d been instructed without realising that I’d already done it. Minor detour, no harm done.

The coastal strip was not completely flat and so there was a bit of riding to do to keep me from nodding off in the increasing mugginess. Why were we going to Kuala Selangor anyway? Well, there is the eighth wonder of the world, of course. Had I known a little more about the world before I set off, I could have set myself the challenge of finding an ‘eighth wonder of the world’ in every country that we visit. There must be a dozen in the States alone. This eighth wonder is a bunch of firefly colonies on a series of bushes along the Selangor river. So long as there is no rain and the moon is not full, the little critters light up with gay abandon and flash in perfect synchronisation. This was a sight we could not possibly miss.

We had the bonus of being able to take our time over visiting the old fort and lighthouse that reside on a little bukit above the town. Being a tourist stopover means that scores of monkeys have made the place their home and they sit around scratching their genitalia and eating random baked goods offered by the trippers. Some were carrying small orange telly tubbies or so it seemed. Just as most caucasian babies are often born with blond hair, these fellows all seem to be born bright ginger and turn towards the more familiar monkey colour in their first few weeks. Guess it makes them easy to spot should they fall out of the tree. When changing from orange to grey they seem to go through a phase of being grey-headed and orange bodied which somehow gave them the appearance of a little old white guy.

Monkeys should be considered a rather more serious pest than pigeons. Around town they could be seen ascending buildings using television cables or pipe work to facilitate their climbing. As a result there were obvious signs of service damage to pretty much all the buildings and folks were banging on things and hollering to try and get rid of the simian interlopers.

Most folk make the visit to see the fireflies on an evening bus trip from KL at a cost of 150 Ringgit per person. Even taking a taxi from the local town and then a boat trip would cost 50 Ringgit. Being in the fortunate position of having our own transport meant that we could ride over, stay the night and take the boat trip for the exorbitant sum of 40 Ringgit each, including transport from KL, local transport and accommodation. We did miss out on the seafood dinner at the Deluxe Firefly Resort Seafood Restaurant though.

And so to the fireflies. Although I’m sure there are other parts of the river where they hang out and simultaneously flash, there’s one place which is really geared up to entertain tourists. There are chalets for rent, a bit of a park, and the boat jetty along with that restaurant. It all seemed to have seen better days but was just about hanging together having been set up in a frenzy of excitement over the tourism potential. We waited around a bit as the performance is reputed to be more spectacular as the evening wears on. Then we got to worrying - if we waited ‘til too late, would we end up being the only ones there and having to pay for the whole boat? Once it had got pretty much dark we decided to venture in, only to discover when we bought the ticket that it would be valid for any ride on the boat before 10 o’ clock. We were assured that the flies would be just fine and dandy right then and so we joined the queue. I’m always reassured when lifejackets are handed out. Usually I try to find one with a complete set of straps but here I was satisfied with a half convincing option as the boats ripped off into the distance at a knee-tremble inducing 2 knots.

It was truly a rather splendid evening. The fireflies were gathered in their favourite trees and throbbed with gay abandon. There were, I’m afraid one or two dissenters who flashed out of time with the others, but we’ll not let them spoil the moment. The joy of it all was that you really had to immerse yourself in it and carry it away as a memory as taking a picture was beyond the capabilities of amateur photography - particularly with a digital camera. Our little electric boat fluttered around with a group of whispering grockles and, just as around the water holes in Namibia, I’m sure the near silence was insisted upon for the benefit of a magical experience for the punters that there being any worry that the fireflies wouldn’t like it.

Certainly a chittery bunch of loud Chinese tourists, did not disturb the light show. But the quietness did make the scene more mesmerising. For me, I will remember it as a special night where the night shadows of the illuminated shrubs reflected in the still water - doubling the magic of the twinkling lights. It was better than garish Christmas lights, more ubiquitous than stars and more serene than watching a sunset. As the boat rounded each corner there was more twinkling, the power of the lights was so subtle the some bushes hid their treasures behind leaves until you were up close and then you could see into their sparkling world.

We broke our golden rule on the way back and rode in the dark. I worked on the basis that this was forgivable as I’d seen the road earlier during the daylight. All went safely but we had a bit of a moment when we passed a couple of near invisible bikes in convoy in the gutter; one towing the other. It was sufficient reminder for us not to ride in the evening if possible.