Up Mt. Kinabalu- Part 2

We passed through the park entrance gate and walked down a long stretch of steeply laid stairs, which seemed a strange way to start the climb up to the highest peak in Southeast Asia. In less than five minutes, we passed a good sized waterfall poorly hidden behind sparse vines. We stopped for a minute and I took a quick picture. The picture didn't do the waterfall justice, but I was unbothered, figuring there would be many aesthetic treasures in need of documenting higher up. In hindsight, I wish I would have spent more time at the waterfall because there really isn't much to see on the hike up to the lodge- which rests at 6 kilometers, two thirds of the way up.

Nice little waterfall near the entrance (or exit I suppose)

I am sure that if you took great care and wondered outside of the worn path into uncharted terrain, the land around and underneath your feet would be enough to occupy and fascinate the minds of geologists, biologists and botanists for decades. The high altitude and proximity to the equator are prime conditions for a number of plants, insects and birds. I have read that many of the rhododendrons and ferns on Kinabalu can be found in only a few places in the world, and the mountain itself contains no less than eighteen species of rats (I fact I was made all too aware of later on).

On the trail, however, the scenery was limited to the orange rock stairs laid out ahead and the occasional wooden railing. The unique ferns and rhododendrons walled our view like a blurred and freely dabbed impressionistic painting. We were walking through the clouds on an overcast day and gray mist swallowed all that was not green. There were a few viewpoints along the trail, but peering out was like staring into a blank movie screen.

The trail is in very good shape. Anyone can do it, but you will be sore

Pretty gray view, but it would clear up for a little bit that evening

Can't remember if this was the trail or a side path I took a picture of. I think it is the trail.

I used our stop at the waterfall to get to know our guide a bit better. He said that he mikes the climb up to the top one or two times a week. On our way down the next day, we saw many guides hoofing food and supplies up to the lodge. Many guides even carried their passengers overstuffed bags for them- no doubt for a price. Our guide was thin and I looked older, but it is impossible to tell exactly how old. I have heard it said that people in Southeast Asia either look very young or very old, and this I cannot dispute. Despite this, and our guide's overall fitness, we would be carrying our own bags.

At about every half of a kilometer, there is a rest area with either benches or a wooden floored pagoda. There is also a unisex toilet at each stop. Each bathroom is dirty, and I was glad for it. I would have felt it unauthentic had they been sparkly clean with a urinal cake and powdered soap smell. It was bad enough that there were stairs, formed either from rock, wood or (gasp!) cement aiding us along for the majority of the climb. (Let me digress here and explain that I do not particularly enjoy hiking. Sure it is ok if you have time to kill and there is no tv or internet around, but it just isn't something I seek out. Sami wanted to hike Kinabalu because the view from the top at sunrise is spectacular and also because reaching the top would create a sense of accomplishment- nevermind that our guide hoofs it up twice a week, most people never get the opportunity. I embrace the challenge of climbing, but I tend to attack it like a sport- let me get to the top as fast as possible, not only so I can win, but also because then I will no longer have to climb. However, when I do decide to partake in an activity, regardless of the amount of disdain I hold in my soul, I don't like to cut corners. Maybe it is the Catholic in me that feels like I am being judged every second of the day, or maybe I just want to be able to tell the best possible story. Therefore, I was unhappy about the act of hiking, happy about the pain, unhappy about the presence of bathrooms, happy about their ghastly appearance, unhappy about sleeping in a bed at the lodge, happy that the bed was hard. Make sense?)

At the three kilometer mark, we met our first descender. He was a German fellow about our age. He sat down and fed the fat and brown, brave squirrels that picked at his shoe. We asked him how the view was this morning. He gave us the answer we already knew, but submitted a warning- don't summit too early or you will be waiting around for over an hour in the cold. Of course, you do want to get up to the top early enough to get a view, but he was far too early and paid for it.

I wasn't hungry, but I can't resist a drumstick

Further up, I (and yes I am changing "we" to "I" right now because at this point I had intentionally pulled far ahead of Sami and the guide) hiked into the majority of the descending party above. Each one commented that I was the first climber they had seen and asked what time it was that I began in the morning. I began to wonder, "Did we leave too soon?"

Earlier in the summer, Sami and I had hiked a few trails in Korea at Seoraksan National Park. There were a couple of stretches that tested our endurance, and I think it was decent training for Kinabalu. One problem I had was I began to get paranoid about which leg I kept pushing off of. It seemed like I was always using my right leg to make a power push and then lazily following with the left. As a result, I climbed most of the way with my head down and was somewhat surprised when I came upon the yellow lodge.

My first glimpse of the lodge- very happy to be done hiking for the day

 The lodge consisted of a large dining area, kitchen, supply desk and wooden patio on the other side of giant windows. Every now and then the clouds would part and present a spectacular view. I was dead tired and drank a cup of instant coffee we had brought from Korea. The dining room was filled with Chinese climbers in no hurry to get down. Many of them drank Tiger beer from Singapore, but I held back partly because of the price and partly out of fear of altitude sickness. I already felt severely constipated, which I later read is a common occurrence at high altitudes. My belly felt like an overfilled balloon, tightly wrapped in my Lycra undershirt. This didn't stop me from overindulging in mini chicken burgers and fried banana fritters later on at dinner.

Very sleepy

 Dinner later on. I honestly thought I was holding back.

In the meantime, Sami and I went upstairs to nap in our bunk beds. The lodge contained around twenty or so dorms, each with three sets of bunk beds. There was a smaller loge a little further up the trail. All together there were about 100 climbers who would rise at 2:00am the next morning to reach the summit before sunrise. Two hours later, when Sami and I woke, yesterday's Chinese climbers had left and the new crew began to take their place.

Our room. I was on the top bunk pictured.

 After dinner we were treated to a spectacular sunset. Sami and I met a young Irish lad and chatted with him about all types of subjects including the wealth of Malaysia and Brunei and it's natural reserves of aiyle. Upon later inspection, it turns out that "aiyle" is Irish for oil.

View from the balcony.

Most people were back in bed by 7 o'clock in preparation for the early morning. I put in earplugs, slipped my sleep mask over my eyes and braced myself for what I had hoped would be, an easy rest.

Up Mt. Kinabalu- Part 1

We were the only two on a spaciously cramped cargo van bound for Mt. Kinabalu. Three rows of bench seats in the back left zero room for lounging and I sat with knees tucked to chest as our driver, an Indian-Malaysian mustachioed man rattled off rapid fire climb details in a brilliant accent. He gave us the rundown of what to expect: what time meals were (seemingly every half hour), the quality of the water (not good), what altitude sickness feels like (mostly just a headache), where we should meet our guide, what our guide's name was, where we could leave our bags etc. etc. etc.

Outside of Kota Kinabalu, we were let out to walk over a suspension bridge covering a green river lined with vegetation. I am sure the driver explained the importance of the bridge and its relevance to the nearby village, but I had given up listening and just enjoyed the stroll. The jungle lined river reminded me of something out of Conrad's "Heart of Darkness," but this is probably only because I haven't seen too many jungle lined rivers.

During the remainder of the drive up to higher altitude, I was careful to take in the views of the jungle forest. Green as far as I could see with a smattering of beaten up, stilted houses, dogs and chickens in gravel driveways. I wanted to keep those images with me, and be able to recall them years from now driving across a barren desert or walking amongst towering high rise apartments. The sky was gray and still before the rain started to fall. Just spit at first and then a violent downpour. Somehow, the driver was able to navigate through the wet, gray curtain of rain. I took a video of the rain while inside the van. I am sure I will never watch it, but I must have felt moved enough to document the experience.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started and we were let out to browse an outdoor market near the entrance of the state park. I wanted to find dragon fruit, but there was none. Sami wanted me to a buy a hat. I don't really wear hats because I feel like my head is too small, but I bought it anyway as another piece of armor in a potential rain battle.

We got to the complex and received our meal tickets and room key. Our lodge was located about a half mile from the main office, restaurant and souvenir shop. The restaurant wasn't open yet so we walked the wood planked walkway down to the lodge to drop off our bags. Our room featured two sets of metal railed bunk beds. We were pleasantly surprised to find that we had the room to ourselves.

We were the first ones to enter the restaurant when it opened at six. We had our run of the buffet and went directly to work removing lids and scooping heaps of salty carbs like fried rice. chow mein noodles and pasta along with fruit and lots of meat. They even had shrimp with the heads on the way I like them. I felt like a pig, but soon the rest of the climbers- mostly Chinese and Euros dug in just as heartily.

The dining room. As you can see, we were the first to arrive.

No, this wasn't the only plate I ran through. I am a pig when it comes to buffets.

On the walk back the moon shone over the forming rainclouds, illuminating plants and flowers that appeared to come from FernGully. A full moon was scheduled for the early morning of our summit.

The rain came down hard and furious one more time that night as I lay in top bunk reading David McCullough's biography of Harry Truman. The war raged on in a Korea very unlike the one I reside in today and the general was pushing for increased aggression into China. I fell asleep to the sound of rainfall against the window pane and dreamt of a sloppy and soaked battlefield. Our march up the mountain would start early.

In the morning we packed our big bags and left them at the front desk for a small price. We would only be taking small backpacks up to the top. Breakfast was at the same restaurant and consisted mainly of leftovers from the night before. I couldn't resist the fried rice again and also found some baked beans which I put on burnt toast. I scraped most of the black off of it before applying the beans. These food items would contribute heavily to the subsequent constipation and general fartyness I would experience later on up the mountain. For now though, I was content to ascend with a happy mouth.

After breakfast we had a little scare. We thought our driver from the day before had told us to meet our guide, a petite but mountain strong woman, out in front of the main lodge at 7:15. By 7:30 no one was there. Eventually, we found another guide a quiet older gentleman who said that he climbs up to the top once or twice a week. Hearing him say that took the wind out of my sails a bit, but we pressed on anyway. We were ushered into an empty school bus and purchased walking sticks for the equivalent of about a buck. It wasn't very far to the main entrance. We took one last look behind us and then the gate to the park swung open. The day of our climb had finally come.

Borneo: Transition Day

We are going to look back at our time in Malaysian Borneo as an adventure trip. During our too brief, one week excursion, we had the opportunity to explore three of Earth's most diverse habitats- oceans, mountains and caves. I understand that this isn't exactly a major feat in and of itself. I am sure there are places all over the Oregon coast where you can visit, the Pacific, the Cascade range and caves all in a day, and each are probably spectacular in their own way. But where we chose to vacation the clear ocean was densely populated with marine life, the mountain featured the most spectacular view in Southeast Asia, and the caves were some of the biggest and most famous in the world.

I didn't go searching for adventure. Truth be told, I would love to spend the majority of my holiday lounging by the pool with a good book much in the same way I whittled away the hours in Fiji. Sami, however, got some wild hair about climbing Mt. Kinabalu, the highest peak in Southeast Asia. I reluctantly agreed not knowing that I would be admonished for even cracking open my paperback companion. (Note: This is a lie. I actually finished up David McCullough's biography of Harry S. Truman and read "The Sleeping Father"- a random airport find by Matthew Sharpe).

The one day where we were afforded a modicum of relaxation was Monday, the 20th. We had flown in Saturday night, the 18th and spent all of the next day out snorkeling off the coast of an island not far from our base of Kota Kinabalu. On Monday our schedule was free until the late afternoon when a van would pick us up from the hotel and drive us to the jump-off point of Mt. Kinabalu.  For the day, we decided to check out the beach to the south of town for most of the day, have lunch and maybe even a beer.

I woke up before 6:00 a.m. and turned on the laptop wirelessly connected to the internet to check out the scores of the NFL games presently taking place half a world away. I did not plan on rising so early, but since I moved to Asia over a year ago I have developed a separate internal alarm clock. This device only operates during the football season and seldom lets me down.

Can't nobody keep me away!

After an hour and a half of highlights, scores and stats, I ventured out of the room to pick up breakfast. Our modest accommodations provided coffee and toast, but I wanted something a little more substantial on this gloriously laid-back morning. I walked outside and next door to a Chinese-Malaysian restaurant and ordered two steamed buns that reminded me of the happy fare we had consumed on a rainy Shanghai morning not too long ago. The sticky, Wonderbread-like bun was filled with pork, a piece of boiled egg and sweet onions engulfed in a peppery gelatinous liquid. It reminded me of french onion soup which I love.

Doesn't look too appetizing but it's good!

Outside the wife and I had one of those arguments that tend to arise every time we find ourselves in a foreign country without a plan. As much as I romanticize freely trekking an unfamiliar land, I do admit that they can lead to stressful circumstances- especially with an empty stomach and low blood sugar. Our bellies were full on this occasion so maybe it was the strong Malaysian coffee (puts weak Korean kuh-pee water to shame) that sparked our tempers.

The problem was that we could not find a taxi and we felt like idiots walking around the same block time and time again getting stared at by locals pretending not to stare. I stepped into one taxi only to be informed by frantic hand gestures that it was being saved for someone else.

Finally we corraled a ride and by 10:30 found ourselves at the deserted beach south of town. The only other inhabitants were the employees of scattered bars and cafes preparing for opening. As they wiped down tables and dragged metal chairs along the concrete patio, Sami and I took turns surveying the sky for incoming planes and parasailers.

While Sami stayed and read, I walked across the parking lot to a public park. As I passed I took mental note of three men setting up a durian stand. I tried durian for the first time earlier in the year in Cambodia. At the time I wasn't able to decide if I enjoyed the "king of the fruits" or not, and thought that I may give it a second shot. Since Sami is the holder of the money I pressed on.

Durian stand

The baking hot pathway of the park meandered over a cloudy brown and lilly pad carpeted pond. I lazily walked along and peered into the murk. Schools of quick goldfish darted about. I soaked in the scene. The quiet, the bright blue sky and tall palms were so different from my everyday Korean life. The morning sun was hot, at least 90 degrees or whatever that is in degrees centigrade. I stood in the shade of a gazebo and spotted a small, orange streaked turtle swimming amongst the leaves. I reached for the camera and, noticing it was gone, sprinted back toward Sami. When I told her I saw a turtle and needed to take a picture she hardly seemed moved. Still, I convinced her that the park was worth trading for a few minutes with the last of the Steig Larsson novels. She placed the bookmark and dutifully followed.

The park

The pond.

The turtle.

Back at the pond the turtle was naturally gone. Sami beckoned. She was hungry, but I was determined to reunite with my amphibious friend. Amazingly, it made another appearance. I snapped picture after picture of the little guy as he hungrily swam closer. Sami grew impatient and took the camera away thinking that I would follow. She walked ahead a few yards as I stumbled behind. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a giant rock that didn't quite look like a rock. I looked at the rock and the rock slid into the water. Holy shit it was a giant turtle! I silently squealed and motioned for Sami to bring me the camera but it was gone, lost in the green and the brown of the constructed pond. I spent the next 15 to 20 minutes waiting for the turtle to re-emerge, but my efforts only resulted in an increasingly perturbed wife. After giving up my last scrap of hope, I jogged to her and toward the restaurant.

We sat in the empty restaurant overlooking the sea. I ordered a caiparina even though I wanted a chocolate milkshake because I like the sound of the word caiparina, Sami ordered a chocolate milkshake and didn't share. For lunch I had Nasi Lemak which I have read is the national dish of Malaysia. It featured beef, salted and dried anchovies, chicken and potatoes, cucumber, roasted peanuts, coconut rice and a boiled egg. It cost the equivalent of $1.50 USD.

My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

Nasi Lemak

After, while Sami was distracted, I wandered back toward the durian stand. I purchased one small fruit for 2 ringet, or the equivalent of about 66 cents- downright cheap compared to the outrageous price I paid the first time in Cambodia (in my mind I am thinking it was $15, but that can't be right). I sat down and ate it. I had always said that you need to eat durian on an empty stomach and yet here I was, sucking it down while full of at four different proteins. I will never forget that taste of warm, cream corn and onion custard. I think I like it even more now and can't wait to get more.

Afterward, our plan was to catch a taxi back to the hotel in time to rest for an hour or two before the van came to pick us up for Mt. Kinabalu. The problem, once again, was that we couldn't find a taxi. We waited and waited outside a roped off area labeled "TAXI," but none came. Eventually, someone pointed us in the right direction up the road. Three quarters of a mile later we found ourselves across the intersection from the airport when a ride finally yielded. We happily got inside and unburdened our backpacks from us. Our driver was a thin man with a tiny mustache and funny voice. The nails on his pinkie fingers were ridiculously long. I decided I liked him and took pictures of the quirky trinkets on the dashboard- a plastic frog on a swing, a Japanese cartoon toy with a maniacal grin and a meditating Hindu god.

These trinkets nearly caused a tragedy!

Our driver didn't speak much English. He handed me a cell phone and had me talk to his supervisor who spoke even less. Somehow I was able to communicate that our hotel was near the "Asian City" part of downtown and he drove us through crowded back alleys to a lot near our hotel. As I got out the driver asked for 25 ringet. I told him that it had only cost me 15 ringet to get from the hotel to the beach but, remembering his English, he explained that since it was near the airport it was airport rates. By this time Sami had exited the taxi and I was left aggravated and willing to settle for 20 ringet. I walked across the lot and one way street to the median and met my wife. I expressed my frustration with having to haggle and then a stinging realization pierced inside of my chest.

"Do you have the camera?" I asked.

"No."

"I left it in the cab."

For a millisecond I chastised myself for being so careless and then, out of sheer adrenaline, I began running. The camera was lost, this I already knew. I was only going to get a slight workout sprinting and dodging through traffic the way I was. In a place so densely populated with cars, there was no way I would find it. I ran in and around parked and idled vehicles and at the end of the parking lot, waiting for an opening in traffic, I saw the taxi. I looked in and recognized a hint of a mustache, a sliver of a fingernail. There the weaselly little bastard was. I knocked twice on the rear passenger side door quickly and confidently, opened it and grabbed the camera. I smiled and gave a wink while he cackled and gave me the thumbs up.

I turned and walked back to Sami. For the first time all trip, I could sense that she was proud of me. She was happy that we would be able to document our time hiking the biggest mountain and largest caves of Southeast Asia. I was just happy to have saved the pictures of the turtle.

Field Day

Today was Field Day at my school. Since we have been back from Summer Vacation, an average of one class per day has been canceled due to Field Day practice.

I wrote about Field Day in a previous post back in May, but this is the bigger of the two events. Next week is Chuseok, akin to Korean Thanksgiving, and the students are eager for their week-long holiday. Field Day is a perfect release for their excitement. Here are a few highlights:

Not everyone loves Field Day. This student is faking a stomach illness.

I know this kid, and he doesn't strike me as one who would want to sit out of an athletic event. However, he is kind of a punk in class, so maybe this is a form of punishment. Anyway, he looks content to just play with caterpillars.

Here is one of the caterpillars up close.

A pop of streamers highlights the pre-event festivities.

As well as the pre-requisite (and environmentally unfriendly) releasing of the balloons.

After the national anthem, the new science teacher (and only other male teacher besides me) leads the group in some warm-up stretches. The stretches are set to music and are performed very quickly. I am not sure how everyone (that is my principal with outstretched arms) knew what to do. They must have been practicing while I have been secluded in my classroom blogging. Anyway, the stretches are hilarious and if I can get it to work, I will post some videos.

Only about a thousand more kids than the elementary school I attended...

In between races, an event company staged games for each grade. This is a tug of war game where the grade is split into two teams. When the cap gun goes off, the students run to the rope and pull.

Chaos ensues.

In addition to the games, each grade has been practicing a choreographed dance. The 5th graders used flags in theirs.

For this game, a set of mom's ran the rope underneath the jumping students and then back over the top. They had to race a team that is not pictured.

It seemed like every student's mom (and some dads) were there lined up along the side of the playground. Many brought their cameras and stationed themselves so close to the performers that it took away from the overall effect of unity.

For this relay game with one of the younger grades (maybe 1st or 2nd), the moms held onto a sheet which the student ran down over the top of, and back underneath.

Vendors were there capitalizing on the event. An ice-cream cone was 1000 wan which right now is about 85 cents.

My favorite event of the day. The parents raced to win a spectacular prize of a box of kleenex. Second place was a tube of toothpaste. Wouldn't you rather come in second? Anyway, on three separate occasions a runner tripped and face planted. Here is one such occasion.

The fifth graders blew up balloons and stuffed them into a long plastic condom bag. Then they formed a line and had to hit the bag filled with balloons to the students at the at the end of the line (not as easy as it looks). The end students then grab the condom bag and run it to the front. The team that gets there first wins.

One grade dressed in Hanbok- traditional Korean garb. You couldn't even see them perform because there were more parents than students crouching down in front of their son or daughter and snapping photos.

The 3rd graders incorporated umbrellas into their dance.

In this game, a group of parents and administrators competed by kicking this peanut looking thing filled with air down around a cone and back. The peanut was really difficult to control. One guy figured out how to just roll the thing by using the top of his foot. The guy in the picture is my principal who is already limber and ready to go after some intense stretching earlier.

Not sure why the boys have to wear the bare-midrift tops...

The 4th grade incorporated colored hoops into their dance. It's strange- everyone in Korean is an expert hula-hooper. I see them doing it in the gym all the time. I think that I can only do one or maybe two revelations, just long enough for gravity to do its thing.

For this relay, the students each had a basket. One at a time, they run and attempt to build a pyramid.

The red team barely won.

The day culminated in a huge relay race.

The problem with the race is that the track has an abrupt edge at the corners. Kids always end up slowing down by taking short choppy steps, or way too wide of a turn. Also, on more than one occasion a parent got in the way and totally wiped out a runner. Baton exchanges are also always a nightmare and inevitably lead to the trailing team catching up. When the race is over, the anchor from the losing team always cries. They forget about it though after their mom buys them an 85 cent ice-cream cone.