Trust Your Gut

Our morning began as follows: 

Zach: (in his 7:30 sleepy voice) I would like two tickets to Mersing please.
Girl: Full
Zach: (shocked) So 8 AM is full?
Girl: Full
Zach: (bewildered) Everything is full?
Girl: 6:30, have
Zach: (disbelief) That's no good.
Amanda: Crap we should have bought the tickets two days ago when we were here.
Zach: But the locals said it wouldn't be a problem...
Girl: Kluang, have.
Zach: (confused) What?
Girl: Kluang.
Zach: (even more confused) What about Kluang?
Girl: Have, 4:30
Zach: We can take a bus from Kluang to Mersing at 4:30?
Girl: Can (then silence)
Zach: Do you have an 8 AM bus to Kluang?
Girl: Have, 28 ringgets.
 
Zach handed her a 50, and she gives the tickets and starts looking for change. Zach looked at the tickets and noticed that she is only selling us tickets to Kluang.
 
Zach: These only go to Kluang?
Girl gives a Joel To nod
Zach: But I need tickets to Mersing. Can you sell us the 4:30 tickets from Kluang to Mersing?
Girl: Can.
Zach: (sarcastically with quotes from Tommy Boy running through his head) Please sell us those too. (face-palm)

Kluang is a middle of nowhere town which does not see many foreigners. After arriving at 10am, we spent hours in a coffee shop until we returned to the bus terminal at 3:30pm, only to find out that our 4:30pm bus was nonexistent. The legitimate bus ticket seller had sold us bogus tickets and we were pissed. Our money was refunded and we were told that a local bus would leave soon. 

We joined the throng of people vying for a spot on what seemed to be the last bus of the day. Pushing, shoving, and snide remarks were part of the jostle, which did not deter us for it is the typical way to board a bus in China. However, once we got on the bus, things changed. All seats were taken so we muscled our way to the back. As we staked our standing room, one boy lit a cigarette while sitting underneath the no smoking sign. Zach pointed at the sign and quietly asked him to stop. He took a puff and blew it directly into Zach's face. Zach grimaced, turned to me and rolled his eyes. The boy then proceeded to turn in his seat so he was directly facing Zach.

By this time, the bus was crammed and the bus driver had left the terminal, driving a block and stopping again. He left, we think, to pray. As we stood, waiting, the boy kept staring at Zach and the pack of boys who filled  the surrounding seats, kept jeering and making snide remarks. I switched places with Zach, for at times when men try to play alpha male with Zach, me being in the middle diffuses the situation. Soon after this switch, a fully garbed Muslim girl walked by the bus to which the pack of boys started cat-calling and whistling.

It was not an immediate gut reaction, but had rather been building and once I saw those boys degrade a fully garbed woman, my gut instinct screamed that we needed to get off the bus. I looked at Zach and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Terrified," he replied.

"Let's get off," I responded.

We picked up our packs and pushed our way to the front of the bus, to much taunting from the back of the bus. The driver had not returned so we had to stand a few more minutes, but once he came back and opened the door, we got off and walked away.

Immediately, we felt a sense of relief and peace about the decision.

We walked into the bus terminal, bought a ticket for the earliest bus the next morning, booked a room in the nicest hotel in the city and spent an evening enjoying the charms of a small town.

We lost about ten dollars by getting off the bus, but the longer we live overseas and the more we travel, we have come to better understand and trust our gut instinct more times than not. Nothing may have happened on the bus, but we were sure that once we reached Mersing, our lives would have been jeopardized. I would rather lost ten dollars.

Oh, Melaka

Over and over and over we were told by expats and locals, "You must go to Melaka!"

So, we went to Melaka.

We left Melaka four days later with many stories, good and bizarre.

The good was that Melaka was an incredibly interesting town. Immediately, I felt and saw the similarities to San Antonio, Texas with the river walk, old yet beautiful architectural gems and its own version of the Alamo named A Formosa or St. Paul's Hill. The history of the area centers around the occupation of the Portuguese, how they turned the area into a major port for regional trade and the incredible buildings left standing from their time. However, the city boasts a blend of cultures with a thriving Chinatown and Little India. It really is a city for cultural and historical lovers and I understand why Malays and expats boast of it. 

As for the bizarre, it actually had nothing to do with Melaka but rather our experience with a couchsurfing host. We pulled into Melaka late in the evening and he was very gracious to pick us up from the curbside when our cab could not find his location. He and his wife greeted us and took us to a house, where we were met with a drunk, old Dutch man and a young Finnish guy. Our host bid us farewell and left. We were shocked for the usual point of couchsurfing is to stay with someone and get to know them; he was running a hostel. We greeted our fellow couchsurfers and rolled with the unusual circumstances. However, once we saw our room and the rest of the house, we were thoroughly disgusted. There was blood on the sheets, hair all over the floor, the bathroom was nauseating, our room did not have a doorknob nor lock and, in general, we could not tell the last time the place had been clean. These observations were taking place as the drunk guy was ranting about drugs and governments and the look in the Finnish guy's eyes was mirror of our own bewilderment. Ensconced within our filthy room, we decided to not stress and just accept the situation for we were only planning on being there three nights.

The next day we, including Thom, stopped by our host's tea shop, where he invited us to have dinner and drinks with him that evening. We agreed and met at the appointed time. He took us to a restaurant, drunk guy in tow. At the end of the meal, we were a bit suspicious for the price as the guy spoke the total in Chinese but it did not match what our host told us. We shook it off thinking we had misunderstood.

After leaving the restaurant, we walked in and around Chinatown with our host as he told us we were meeting fellow couchsurfers. We do not usually do the couchsurfing meet ups, but being nice we followed him though we really wanted to break free and enjoy the festive atmosphere of Jonker Street. Our host kept saying that we needed to go to a bar, but we kept saying that we did not drink and a coffee shop would suffice, which is where we stopped.

We did enjoy the evening chatting with other couchsurfers, but became even more leery of our host when he and the drunk guy left and announced they would come back for us. We waited an hour, in which time I spoke to one of the girls in the group who happened to be another CS ambassador. I asked her what we should do in regards to our current situation and she replied, "Come stay with me; I am always rescuing his guests. Plus, you should know he usually leaves the meeting early, does not come back and does not pay his drink tab."

We were shocked by the admission that the community knew this was a problem and did nothing, but we seized the moment to relocate and it was a wise decision. Supposedly, he had left money to cover his bill but we are suspicious that someone in the group covered his bad habit and did not tell us.

The next day the keys were returned to our first host. Zach and Thom spoke with him and told him that neither would be leaving a positive review and the reasons why. He laughed and waved our concerns off. It was upsetting, especially since he is a couchsurfing ambassador.

The accommodation saga was not the focal point of our time in Melaka, nor did it mar our opinion of the city. Thanks to it, we learned a lot about Finland (which we really want to visit now) from Thom, enjoyed a sunset and sunrise from a penthouse balcony at our second host home and our one night in the hostel became the "filthy" standard to which we compared all accommodation afterwards. The good definitely outweighed the bizarre in this city.

Taman Negara

It was the easiest hike I have ever taken, which was surprising because so many tour groups offered costly packages to take tourists to the canopy walk, claiming it was strenuous. We walked a kilometer and a half on a fabricated walkway directly to the base of the canopy walkway entrance, maybe walking on actual dirt for twenty steps. We met a nice, elderly Dutch couple during our stroll who shared with us their secret for continued travel well into old age: Just go slower. Their next comment was to complain about how carrying winter clothes in a pack is cumbersome, for their next stop was to trek in Nepal.

As for the canopy walk, it was not a disappointment, though I am not sure their advertising tag line of "longest in the world" currently applies since, towards the end of the loop, a few extra routes are in disrepair and roped off. Nonetheless, it was exhilarating to see the jungle in a new perspective while precariously swinging 40 meters above the ground.

On our return to the river, we took a detour to a nearby salt lick. We spent one hour watching, silently and vigilantly in hopes of seeing wildlife. We ended up spending the next five hours chatting with another couple (who are traveling for a year) who were sitting in the hut with us, as we came to the mutual agreement that wildlife was not abundant in this area. Even they joked that they had seen more animals within the resort area than in the actual jungle.

Hours later, when they ran to catch their evening bus and we made our way to the river crossing, we walked through the resort and saw a pair of beautiful birds, loads of monkeys and stood face to face with a wild boar. It was true; the resort was the place to see the animals.

The next day as we took a boat ride out of the jungle, we spoke with another (much younger) Dutch couple who had spent a couple of days deep within the jungle and had not seen an exuberant amount of wildlife. Overheard remarks from the locals seemed to continually bode true in that the creatures have migrated and they fear tourism will leave with them.

Terrible, No Good, Very Bad....Oooooo Elephants!

By the end of the day, I had left my glasses in KL, Zach had misplaced his travel French press and our beloved G10 camera had ceased to function. As we settled into our guesthouse on the outskirts of Taman Negara, we were troubled that so much could have gone wrong in one day; which only reminded us that travel is not always rainbows and unicorns (especially when you do not have a camera to capture mythical creatures.) Our long faces would have not been so dramatic if we had known three days from this low point, all would be restored except for the camera recovery. To this day, it continues to grind and flash lens error messaging on the screen, but I did acquire a rebound camera to see us through.

Yet, all was not a bust on our trek to the Malaysian jungle. 

ELEPHANTS! 

I gazed at, touched and even fed the beautiful pachyderms; I basically turning into a giddy five year old child at the elephant sanctuary. Dolphins and elephants are my favorite animals, and the mere thought of a sighting of either will make me simultaneously hyper and near swooning. 

After Zach turned off the lights for the night, the adult side of my brain was still clamoring to be despondent over our losses, but my inner child won the battle to be heard, for my last thought of the day was, "I TOUCHED AN ELEPHANT!!!" 

Malaysia: What Now?

We landed in Kuala Lumpur with the only plan to get to our couchsurfing host's home and nothing more. We literally faced each other in the airport, shrugged our shoulders and said, "What now?" Our pre-trip planning focus had been directed solely towards Myanmar with a touch of Indonesia that everything else was an added bonus to us and our passports. Within the first twenty four hours, aided by our CS host, Carolin, a KL strategy came together, along with an idea of what else there was to do in the country.

Immediately, KL was a shock to my expectations. Ever heralded as the Pearl of the Orient and the country's tourism tagline is "Truly Asia," I was anticipating a city of Bangkok or Hong Kong calibre, but within our first day it was apparent it was neither. My puzzlement began after departing an up to date metro, only to get on a bus that seemed directly from our Chinese village--filthy and belching noxious fumes. I experienced many moments of bewilderment alongside moments of awe throughout our four days within the city limits. 

Outside the city centre is one of the most revered Hindu temples--Batu Caves. It is a good way to start a day of exploration for the 272 steps ensure one is awake and the tons of monkeys make for great entertainment. We learned on our way into the cave that we were a week away from the Thaipusam Festival, which is the largest festival held at the caves. After the explanation that worshipers would be piercing their bodies in sacrifice and that nearly three million people would swarm the place, we were happy to be visiting pre-festival. However, after surviving the sprint to the top, we stood in the caves, dismayed. From waist height and up, it was majestic and beautiful. Open ceilings gave allowance for the sunshine, flourishing lush foliage and an entry point for the monkeys. From the waist down, it was filthy. Heaps of trash, rancid and oozing. Piles of broken pipe and metal bits were strewn around the perimeters. For a revered site, it did not look (nor smell) so loved.

The monkeys were a fantastic diversion. For at least an half an hour, Zach and I stood, mesmerized, by the antics of such nimble creatures. We especially loved the faux hawks of the babies.

They numbered in the hundreds and were a force to be reckoned with should one be carrying any type of fruit. We saw one clamor up a man's body to steal a banana, while another accosted a woman for a mere apple. Her screams did not deter it.

As for the rest of KL, we enjoyed walking the streets to admire architecture and art along the river, we learned that anything and everything that anyone wants will be found in Chinatown and the National Textile Museum was a fantastic way to spend an afternoon in air conditioning while learning about the regional fabrics and their method of creation.

Late one afternoon, we made sure to stop by the iconic Petronas Towers. They are tall, they are clean and they sit on top of a crazy shopping mall filled with western food delights.We made sure to eat an Auntie Anne's pretzel.

Our evenings in KL were spent with our gracious couchsurfing host, Carolin. She was delightful, funny and so interesting in that she is a German (who lived in East Germany when the wall came down) who lived in England long enough to pick up the accent, who is a teacher at an international school in KL but is studying and training for a pilot's license, yet loves all things girly such as dresses, matching purses and shoes. Our evenings of enjoying different cuisine from around the world were never dull in conversation.

Though KL was not what I had expected nor hoped for, it was a good jumping point to see the rest of the country and we were able to take care of travelkeeping issues (laundry, tickets, etc.) during our time in the city.

Big Things

Kyauk Daw Kyi is off the beaten track, which became obvious after a taxi driver drove us to the government ran restaurant in Kandawgyi Nature Park which resembled neither a Buddha or an elephant. After an impromptu taxi driver conference, one driver finally said he knew the way. We bartered, haggled and eventually had a driver for a chunk of the afternoon.

The centerpiece of Kyauk Daw Kyi is a corpulent Buddha carved from a single piece of white marble. Ensconsed within a glass case, worshippers sit before the beautiful monstrosity.

From the surrounding murals, the story of Kyauk Daw Kyi is that it was found in northern Myanmar, filthy and with a broken hand (which has since been reattached) and was brought to Yangon in a labor intenstive transportation situation—special roads, barges, etc., where it was met with great pomp and circumstance. It was a sight worth seeing and since it is outside the city limits there are some definite perks. First, foreigners are rare and second is it is a haven away from the dirt and pollution of downtown. The breeze alone was worth the trip. 

Across the street is Hsin Hpyu Daw, home of white elephants. Once again, found in the north, they were brought to Yangon by the government for these pachedyrms were seen as an auspicious sign for peace. After visiting the pavilion, if this is how auspicious creatures are treated, I would hate to see those who are considered unlucky. Chained, with visible bruising, our excitement for seeing the white elephants was quickly replaced with disgust.

On our return trip to downtown, our taxi driver became very animated and excited about Obama. We realized fairly fast that we were taking a roundabout route, yet before we could complain he proudly pointed at a building and started saying "university" and "Obama." When Obama visited Myanmar in November, he spoke at Yangon University and our taxi driver had taken the time to show us where the historic speech was held. He had watched it on television.

After our slight detour, he dropped us off at the Shwedagon Pagoda, the Eiffel Tower/Statue of Liberty/Great Wall/Great Pyramid of Myanmar. Rudyard Kipling wrote this in regards to the monstrosity:

Then, a golden mystery upheaved itself on the horizon, a beautiful winking wonder that blazed in the sun, of a shape that was neither Muslim dome nor Hindu temple-spire. It stood upon a green knoll, and below it were lines of warehouses, sheds, and mills. Under what new god, thought I, are we irrepressible English sitting now?

Sitting at 99 meters, the stupa alone is extravagant, but then I took a moment to read aloud Lonely Planet's blurb about the golden tower and learned that the weather vane alone is "gold- and silver-plated and studded with 1100 diamonds totaling 278 carats - not to mention 1383 other stones. Finally at the very top rests the diamond orb - a hollow golden sphere studded with 4351 diamonds, weighing 1800 carats. The very top of the orb is tipped with a sing 76-carat diamond."

After tearing our gaze away from the bejewled top, we began to weave in and around the surrounding shrines that numbered in the hundreds and Buddhas that were beyond count.

The diversity in shape, size, color and layout was astonishing. My personal favorite I dubbed 'under the sea' for its aqua color and tiles that mimicked a mermaid fin.

After our fill of Shwedagon, we exited into the bustling street market and took time to enjoy some street food and sugar cane juice.

I had read a traveler's account of how much he loved the jingling bells of the sugar cane juicers and I can agree that the constant tinkling sound permeating the shouts and harks of the street is a beautiful sound. The juice is yummy as well.

 

We worked our way downtown for the evening. We stopped at the Jewish synagogue, then finished our night by eating yummy hand salad and enjoying a cup of tea at one of the many sidewalk tea shops.

Yangon is not a city we plan to return to any time soon for it is dusty, dirty, nearly impossible to navigate, overpriced and quite crowded. Yet, for all the unpleasantness there were moments that we thoroughly enjoyed the hidden charms.

The Maybe-Kind-of-Sorta Walking Tour

The previous night as we settled into a dive of a hotel room, we decided to be daring and follow the Lonely Planet Yangon walking tour, with a few caveats. Our designated downtown hotel was not downtown so we were to start not at the Sula Pagoda but at the Japanese Embassy. Plus a chunk of the tour went by buildings we had already seen, so we decided to bypass them as well.

The plan was to pick up the trail at Bogyoke Aung San Market, but I had read a blurb about how the last Muhgal was buried in Yangon due to his exile, and it was on the way to the market. Unfortunately, the blurb neglected to mention that his mausoleum was attached to a mosque, so our to-be visit turned into a glimpse as we showed up just in time for morning prayer.

We made it to the market, but were quickly diverted towards an attic knock off operation upon being told no football jerseys were in the tourist market. Yet, on our walk towards the attic operation, we were diverted by an Anglican church, which we learned was a brewery for the Japanese during WWII.

We did make it to the football market and it was a successful venture with Zach acquiring two new jerseys. Attic operation became Chinese supermarket which led us to a DVD shop which was next to a Catholic church. The deviations continued and after a couple of hours we were so far off the official trail we forwent the initial plan and spent the evening pursuing a food path, hopping food hawker to food hawker. Pancakes (known as bein moun), strawberry lassis, Thai tea, a sweet cake here and there and fried noodles comprised our progressive dinner, which was the most successful venture of the day. 

  

Bye, Bagan

While most tourist fly through the Myanmar loop—Bagan, Mandaly and Inle Lake—we chose to focus on the one area that had captured our interest, Bagan. As the sun rose on our seventh day, hot air balloons filled the air above and mist swirled between the thousands of historical shrines of a past age and we sat in the back of a truck on our way to the bus depot.

Of course it was not the direct path, detouring here and there to pick up other passengers. Though we did not speak the language it was apparent at one stop that a mother was leaving her daughter and new grandchild behind after a lengthy visit. Red rimmed eyes and lasting hugs were the precursor to an elderly woman sitting beside me in the bed of the truck, crying as we drove away. It was heartbreaking and all I could do was put a hand on her shoulder to give a little comfort as the pain of good byes surpasses language barriers.

Mere minutes after checking in at the bus station, a line of monks appeared to collect morning alms. Barefoot, beneath the towering trees and among fog, the silent line of red robed men shuffled along the street. Photo snapping seemed to interrupt a precious ritual, yet, thus far, it is one of my favorite photos. 

After a night journey to Bagan, we had decided that a return day journey would be in order to see the countryside. For eleven hours, we watched the landscape morph from desert scraggle to luscious river valley green to towering boulders to cityscape. As the sun set, we set sight on Yangon.