World Travel Guide Online

With this article I will take you on a trip to the confusing world of public transport in Peninsular Malaysia.

It’s an overview of the different ways to travel from one place to another and how we managed to (eventually) always get where we wanted to be.

There are plenty of different public transportation options from which to choose, and each of them has its own challenges, which sometimes have to be learned the hard way.

Skybus

On a sunny Sunday afternoon, after more than 30 hours of spending time in airports and airplanes, we finally arrived in Kuala Lumpur, the capital of Malaysia. Our hostel owner had been so kind to provide us some directions and this started with taking the “Skybus” to get from the airport to the center of the city.

As this is the most common way of airport transport, we figured that there would be at least some signs pointing to the right bus terminal…not. No problem, they can’t put a sign for every single bus company, we will certainly find the bus at the general bus terminal…wrong again.

Luckily there was this very nice taxi driver who could point us at least the direction of the Skybus terminal. At that time we probably already looked very lost, so thanks to mister cab driver to not trick us into his taxi! After having to ask for directions another couple of times, we finally managed to find the Skybus terminal at the other side of the airport.

We easily found the ticket office and soon we were on our way to Puduraya bus station.
Puduraya is the main bus station of central Kuala Lumpur and from there (according to my directions) it was only a couple of minutes walk to the hostel. Too bad the bus didn’t stop in the station, which made us lost again. After another round of asking directions, we found out that we were only one street away from the station, so soon we were on our way to the hostel.

At that time we called it bad luck, but it wouldn’t take long for us to experience the complexities of public transport in what I like to call a “semi-developed country”.

Metrobus

The first trip we wanted to make around KL was to the famous Batu Caves. We asked the guy from the reception of the hostel how we should get there and in broken English he told us something about the metro and the bus. Now you have to know that in Dutch, and probably in some other languages too, “metro” is the name we give to the subway.
As we didn’t really have a clue what the guy was talking about, I asked him to write it down. So he wrote the word “mertubus” and told us to go to central market.

Over there we started showing our piece of paper to everyone around, but nobody knew what the “mertubus” was. So we tried asking for some variations: “mertubus”, “merubus”, “metrubus”, “metrobus”… That last one rang a bell in the head of some friendly policemen who pointed us the way to a Metrobus bus stop. Indeed, I wrote “a” metrobus bus stop.

When the bus finally came we tried to wave him down but the driver waved back at us that this wasn’t the place where that bus stopped, so we had to run to a couple of streets further where the bus finally stopped at another bus stop.

Apart from a couple of liters of sweat nothing was lost and after half an hour we were dropped off at the Batu Caves. Some hours later we wanted to catch the bus back to KL city, but there didn’t seem to be any bus stops. At arrival we hadn’t really noticed that the bus dropped us off at the side of the road and that there wasn’t really a sign or anything.
So we guessed we should try to stand on the place where the bus dropped us off and sooner or later another bus would stop there and take us back to the city. Another bus stopped there, only to tell us that we were on the wrong side of the road (okay, we could have figured that out ourselves).

So we crossed the road and waited for another half hour until we finally noticed our bus in yet another road… Again some running brought us to the right imaginary bus stop and soon we were on our way back to the center.

Subway

To get to the KLCC PETRONAS towers, someone advised us to take the subway. No, actually that’s not true, someone really advised us to take the train. But luck was on our side and we figured out in time that in Malaysia people call the subway also a train. Otherwise we might still be waiting at the KL train station.

Unlike subway stations all over the world, in KL there’s a different ticket counter for each line. So you first have to find the right line, and then buy a ticket at the counter that sells ticket for that certain line.

After that, the “train” is piece of cake. It works similar to all other subways I’ve ever taken, and it soon became our favorite way of travelling.

Long distance buses

Too bad the subway only runs within a city, so whenever we needed to get from on the move we were dependent on other ways of transport. When we wanted to get from KL to Cameron highlands for example, we asked the guy from the hostel to arrange the bus. He did some phone calls, asked some money and wrote us a pre-printed paper which mentioned our names, the time of departure and the platform where the bus would leave.

By that time we were already a bit suspicious about public transport, so we arrived half an hour in advance at Puduraya bus station. Soon someone asked us where we wanted to go and showed us the way to platform 18. There was already a bus waiting but when we asked the driver if that was the bus to Cameron Highlands the answer was “No”. Nothing lost, we still had 20 minutes, so we waited…

After another 10 minutes the bus still hadn’t arrived and there also were no other passengers. So we started asking around. Nobody seemed to know about that bus, some even told us that what we had wasn’t a real ticket, but a friendly security guy took the time to run all over the station with us only to find out that the bus we needed didn’t exist.

By that time we were already more than half an hour late, so the only thing we could do was go back to the hostel and ask what was going on. The person at the reception did another couple of phone calls and found out that we had a wrong ticket. The bus didn’t leave at Puduraya, but across the street in front of the DiGi (a Malaysian telephone company) shop.

We received a new ticket and one hour later we were at the shop. There were already some other people waiting over there so our confidence came back and half an hour later we were on the bus to Cameron Highlands. I have to mention that we never made the same mistake again. From then on we always bought our tickets directly at the bus station and we haven’t had problems like this again.

Minivan

Between every tourist highlight there are at least a couple of minivan services. They are usually more expensive than long distance buses, but they pick you up and drop you off wherever you want. Another advantage is that these vans are usually scheduled to arrive at location around checkout time (11 – 12 am), which means you have more chance on finding accommodation.

But every coin has two sides, and so does this one. It seems like the drivers really feel like it’s their van and they are doing you a favor by bringing you to your next location (although you’ve paid for it) and thus you have no reason to complain about whatever they decide. So they decide on the music, both style and volume, on the temperature of the air condition, on the speed (wannabe rally drivers are no exception) and so on.

They also decide whether they stop or not along the way and if they do, where they stop and for how long. Of course, it is kind of funny to see a bunch of people sprinting to the toilets after a six-hour non-stop drive. Just make sure you’ve went before you leave and don’t drink too much along the way. And if you ate something funny the day before, you might want to consider not taking a van.

Taxi

This is the kind of transportation we had the least problems with, I think. But of course you pay the price and we tend only to take taxis if there’s no other public transport available or if we have no clue where we are and where we need to be.

We experienced the taxi drivers as friendly and helpful persons. Because they know the area very well, most of the time they’re also able to give advice about good accommodation and sights.

Although most guidebooks will advise you never to take a taxi which doesn’t have a meter, I’ve always seen this as an advantage. You just need to make sure that you agree on the price before you leave, and it helps to look like you know the distance and about how much you should have to pay. When the price seems a little too much, it might also help to make a “hmmm-face” or to start talking to your companion in another language. This sometimes makes the drivers to reconsider their price.

When you’re at the coast or on an island, there are often boat taxis available. They normally go only to certain locations and they have fixed prices.

Boat

As mentioned before, there are the boat taxis, which are used for short distances, mostly to dive sites, other coasts or close islands. Next to that, there are the ferries. Different ferries exist towards the islands of Penang, Lankawi and Perhentian. But also to other countries like Indonesia.

The only experience we had with ferries was the one between Kuala Besul and Perhentian Kecil. It might take some time to figure out where the ferry specifically leaves. For example, when you want to leave Long Beach on Kecil by ferry, you first need to take a boat taxi to somewhere in the middle of the sea where the ferry then picks you up… You just need to know.

Train

Malaysia has two main train routes: one between Thailand and Singapore which passes by Penang and KL and close to Melaka, and another one between Kota Bahru and Gemas, which drives through Taman Negara.

The latter is also known as the “Jungle train”. In Gemas it switches tracks to either KL or Singapore, which provides a good connection between the city and the Jungle. The trains are old, and you should only take them for the experience, as the bus is cheaper, faster, more comfortably and they have and hourly schedule.

Adventurers as we are, it should be a shame not to give the jungle train a try. So in Taman Negara we went to the tourist info service to find out that the train to KL leaves Jerantut at 12:45, so at noon we were at the train station and found out that the train leaves 45 minutes past midnight… Living in a country where we use the 24 hour system instead of AM and PM, I know that I need to look out for this mistake, and honestly, I can’t remember if the timetable said “12:45 AM” or just “12:45”.

As there’s nothing to do in Jerantut which can keep you busy for more than 12 hours, and as there’s also a bus service every hour, we let go of the plan to take the jungle train and decided to take a bus instead.

Some extra notes about local buses:

Like the Metrobus in KL, every city has its own local bus service, but there are some things they have in common.

None of the local buses have a time table, but they drive quite often and you just need to appear on the right place and wait for a bus to pass by. Normally they have fixed hours when they start in the morning and stop in the evening, but we experienced that either this is a lie, or the people we asked just didn’t have a clue and made a guess.

Outside of the big cities, bus stops are not very common. Buses do stop, but don’t expect a sign or anything, so when you get off, always take a good look at the environment to be able to get back on again later.

Buses don’t always drive the same route. The advantage is that the driver might also bring you to a place where the bus normally shouldn’t pass by. The disadvantage is that it’s possible that the bus doesn’t pass by the place you expected, because it took a detour to drop someone else off. Make sure that whenever you get in, you tell the driver exactly where you want to get off.

Something else we’ve experienced is that people (even bus drivers) often don’t have a clue which bus goes where to. The tactic we’ve used is to ask at least five persons and take the bus which number has been answered most. But feel free to invent your own tactics.

You might have figured out by now that public transport in Malaysia is not that easy as it is in the western world. But luckily, it seems that the Malaysian government knows about this. One of our last days on the peninsula, I mentioned the problems we had to a Malaysian guy and he answered that their minister of transport has been to Europe to see how we handle these things over here.

So there’s hope!

“Jonker” Street, the heart of the Chinatown in seaside Malacca, Malaysia, means “Second-class Gentlemen” Street, referring to how the prewar road was the home of the servants who once worked for the rich owners of better homes along nearby Hereen Street. But of the 12 Chinatowns I have been to, this one is second to none.

The Chinese were one of the most important trading communities in Malacca in the 1400s and 1500s, when the city was the biggest trading post in Southeast Asia.

With great walkability in the relatively compact old town, a reasonable amount of people milling about in the streets that are not too crowded yet not too empty, authenticity, and ideal balance of shops, shrines, restaurants and associations making homes in a funky variety of colonial-Chinese-style two-storey buildings, this Chinatown aims to thrill visitors while not shirking its ability to cater to local Chinese-Malaysian needs.

Indicative of how smoothly these Chinese establishments blend into one another, the convenience-store Choice Shop at 100 Junker St is often mistaken for a shrine. The same can be said to a somewhat lesser degree to the shops selling statues of Buddhist and Taoist deities along this charming, richly cultural street. An Islamic sultanate before the arrival of Portuguese and Dutch colonisers, Malacca, has the most international and unique history of any other city in Malaysia. As with most towns in Malaysia, there is also a small Indian community, and of course many Malays.

As with any Chinatown worth its noodles, the various Chinese curios stores on Junker Street here make good places to get gifts such as jade or gold pendants with Chinese characters that mean “long life” or “prosperity”. They also have all manner of old coins and lamps, paintings and an array of Chinese trinkets.

Other Chinatowns in Malaysia have similar old Sino-Portuguese shophouses, such as in Kuala Lumpur, Penang and Kuching, but they lack the charm and better preserved architectural beauty—colourfully decorated tiles, curling gables—of Malacca’s Chinatown and are not as physically well maintained. Meanwhile, Singapore’s old Chinatown, which may have been over-prettified and gentrified, may look too good, and does not have as many original buildings—especially shrines—intact, while its restaurants are mostly upmarket and touristy.

And the wearying Yaowarat (Chinatown) of Bangkok is too geared towards basic shops needed for locals, without enough to interest visitors, and have a glut of copycat red-and-yellow-theme gold shops. It is also dissected by the major thoroughfare Yaowarat Road, which increases the pollution and decreases the livability of this Chinatown.

Meanwhile, London’s Chinatown is too focused on restaurants, and the same can be said for those across the Atlantic in Washington and Boston, which have seen much of their earlier Chinese settlers move to the suburbs. Also, even the bustling, fun Chinatowns in New York and San Francisco seem to too much take on the traits of their US capitalist home, and are centred on the money to be made in restaurants and curios shops, with less of a soul, though at least the scenes here are lively.

Built by Teochiew, Hacca and Pernakan (Straits Chinese) and other Chinese peoples who immigrated to west-central Malaysia in past centuries, Malacca’s Chinatown keeps its roots alive and celebrates its ancestors, in accordance with Confucian tradition. The oldest and most important temple here is the Buddhist Cheng Hoon Temple.

Older Sino rhythms are felt along Tun Tak Cheng Lock, formerly Heeren Street, where affluent Baba Nyonya Chinese—Chinese who became assimilated by marrying locally and becoming Muslim—built their mansions with wealth from trading rubber and other goods. The Baba Nyonya heritage, in decor and food, is celebrated at the hip Geographer Cafe, at 81 and 83 Jonker Street. The hungry also regularly savour the chicken rice of Nasi Ayam Hoe Kee restaurant at 8 to 4 Jonker Street, or the local, widely available staple laksa, a spicy Malaysian noodle dish made here with coconut. Nearby are shops specialising in local desserts and catering both to local Chinese and Malays, as well as visitors from around the world. At 165 Jonker Street, the Teo Chew Huay Kuan centre offers tai-chi, aerobics and more opportunities to get in shape after enjoying so much of the filling local cuisine.

For half a millennium, Malacca has been home to a mix of cultural traditions thanks to the visitors it attracts to its deep harbour and favourable location along the path of trades winds. The Dutch Heritage Trail takes visitors to the other side of town across the Malacca River to visit-worthy sites including the sturdy Dutch structure 17th-century Stadthuys town hall—which is now home to the informative History Museum Ethnographic Museum—and St Francis Xavier’s Church and Christ Church, which was built with red bricks from Holland and now houses the Melaka Art Gallery.

A grand view of this coastal town, the Straits of Malacca and the large Chinese cemetery on China Hill is granted from the Menara Taming Sari, a 360-degree viewing tower with a sky-high viewing platform. Malacca is about one hour by vehicle from the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur.

Old Malacca’s plazas, government buildings, temples, churches and mosques have Unesco World Heritage status for their cultural and historic worth. Such structures ring the excellently situated ruins of St Paul Church—a Dutch church built atop a Portuguese one—with its Dutch tombstones on St Paul Hill. Children holding the hands of their parents are led down the hill to Porta de Santiago, the one remaining section of the Portuguese fortress A’Famosa (The Famous); less well-preserved Portuguese-built structures can be found in the Portuguese Settlement & Museum.

My most important stop in town was a cool jewellery and Chinese knickknacks store on Jonker Street, where I bought my Chinese-Thai wife Mai a jade and silver pendant with the Chinese character for “longevity”. It is great knowing that as long as we are together, I will feel right at home in Asia.

It’s 2:00 am, summit day and I am exhausted and exhilarated at the
same time. I am going to climb my first mountain this morning. Mount
Kinabalu in Sabah, Borneo. At 4095 meters it is South East Asia’s
highest peak.

Mount Kinabalu is a 2-hour bus ride from Kota Kinabalu, the capital
of Malaysian Borneo’s northern province. My husband Dave and I have
come to this island to experience adventure. We have already spent time
in the Jungle at Uncle Tan’s Safari Lodge watching the proboscis
monkey, monitor lizards, civet cats and many other creatures exist by
the river in their natural habitat. We have witnessed human nature at
its greatest, helping orphaned and injured Orangutans at the Sepilok
Rehabilitation Centre and we have relaxed on the beach by the Sulu Sea.
It is now time to see what we are made of at our final stop in this
exotic destination.

As we ride along the winding mountain road, Mount Kinabalu comes
into view and it is an intimidating sight. Its impressive granite peak
juts out of the jungle casting a shadow over the land. My heart races
just a bit faster and a fear creeps into my mind as we are let off at
the parks entrance.

We haul our packs onto our backs and walk towards the headquarters
where a guard meets us and we pay our RM15 ($5 CAD) park entrance fee
and book a room for the night. We are climbing tomorrow and within
minutes, we secure our permit, guide and accommodations on the mountain
for RM300 ($100 CAD) each. Excited and relieved to be able to climb so
quickly, we head to our dorm room where we begin to organize ourselves.
Deciding to pack light for this 2-day expedition, we leave behind our
large rucksacks and fill a day-pack with only the essentials. Chocolate
bars, cookies, cheese and water for energy, layers of warm clothing,
camera,video, journal and hiking shoes is all we need. While buying a
few toiletries at the canteen, we even manage to snag some warm hats
and mittens from other travelers who have just returned from their
climb. By the time we settle in for the evening, we have scaled down
our loads and we feel well prepared for task ahead.

The first day of our climb starts at 7:00 am where we hop into a
mini van for the 5km shuttle to the start of the trail. After signing
in, our guide Japly sets a strong pace and for the next 5-hours it is a
steep and grueling climb. At first the trail has steps and handrails
built into it, but as we gain altitude, it becomes rocky and turns into
a narrow, nearly vertical path. Porters put us to shame walking briskly in their flip flops
carrying large barrels, loads of wood and even piles of steal strapped
to their backs and balanced on their heads.

After struggling for hours and wondering if the pain will ever end,
we finally reach our camp by early afternoon. At 3263 metres, Laban
Rata has our dorm rooms and hot showers. The sun is shining brightly
above the clouds and we lay our sweat soaked clothing on the rock to
dry as we munch on our snacks and bask in the warmth.

Dinner at sunset is breathtaking. A blazing light show fills the sky
with fiery colours, above the pink clouds pillowed below. The
celebration doesn’t last long however, as we must turn in early for our
2:00 am wake-up call.

The night passes slowly and my sleep is fitful. Having to brave the
cold a couple of times for a visit to the toilet, it seems that I will
never rest. I am too nervous with anticipation for our summit push.
2:00 am comes all to quickly though and just as it seems that I am
finally falling asleep, it is time to awake. Quickly dressing in our
layers, we head up to meet Japly, who will guide us through the
darkness.

The air is thin and it is difficult to catch my breath. The pace
seems fast and I wonder if I will make it. Luckily, we come to a
bottleneck of other climbers and our pace slows and my heart has a
chance to relax. Soon I feel in the zone and keep a steady pace along
with our group. We climb for 2 1/ 2 hours walking on steep sheer
granite keeping our balance while holding on to rope bolted into the
rock. I cannot not see the sheer drops below or the daunting summit
above. I am simply forced to focus on my climb putting one foot in
front of another following the line of people up to the summit.

By 5:15 am we have made it safely. The excitement and emotion is
overwhelming and we joyously celebrate, until we realize that we have
to wait in the freezing cold for another hour until sunrise. It is the
longest 60 minutes of my life. I am wet, cold and soon my fingers and
toes go numb. I want to sleep, and I want to be down the mountain,
relaxing in a comfortable bed.

Instead, we perch ourselves on the edge of a rock facing the
sunrise where we wait. And wait. The first few rays finally burst into
the sky and as it rises, our bodies warm and we take in the magnificent
view. The sight is worth the wait as we overlook the vast jungle and
into the surrounding mountains feeling emotional and proud of our
accomplishment.

It is the middle of the night, the heat is overwhelming inside the
squeeze of a million people and we have come to a terrifying stop. I
look to my husband Dave for reassurance but he cannot help me. Panic
has set in and I cannot move, escape, or breathe.

In the past, masses of people have been trampled to death in this
exact situation. 244 people were killed during the 2004 Hajj in Mecca,
and I can’t help but think about that now. Could it possibly happen to
me as well? A flash enters my brain, and I envision the headlines back
home in Toronto. "Two Canadians Crushed to Death in South East Asia."

I am at the Batu Caves just outside of Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia.
Thaipusam, the astonishing Hindu Festival is taking place and according
to the papers, 1.5 million people will be attending this year. For
three days, worshippers pay tribute to the Lord Murugan by, having
spike’s driven through their cheeks and tongues, inserting hooks into
their flesh and carrying offerings up 272 steps to the Cave’s massive
chamber. Some people carry Kevadi’s, giant cages made of steal.
Decorated with vibrant ribbons and peacock feathers, it takes four men
to lift it onto the shoulders of the brave soul who dares to take on
such a feat. Others have large hooks stuck into their backs attached to
a chariot that they drag along or have a person pulling on the reigns
to add to the burden. The greater the pain, the better chance of having
their prayers answered.

People take part in Thaipusam for different reasons. To give thanks
for a miracle that has happened in their lives, to ask for a wish to be
granted or to seek penance for past sins. Worshippers prepare for their
ordeal by fasting, meditating and abstaining from worldly pleasures.

As we sway in the wave of bodies, the people around me seem
oblivious to the danger. Drums are beating, people are chanting in the
dark and a young boy is quickly becoming wedged between me, and the
wall of people that is holding us in place. A woman is laughing madly
and I wonder Is this the last thing I will see before my death?
Suddenly a calm passes over me, and I give into the rhythm. Just then,
Dave takes my hand and pulls me through a small opening where we
finally push our way to the edge of the crowd.

Looking on from the safety of a drainage pipe spanning a small
river, I am relieved to simply watch the never-ending stream of people
pass by.

We began our evening in Chinatown in the heart of Kuala Lumpur. Starting at the Sri Mahamariamman Temple, we looked on as thousands of worshipers began
their procession at midnight. The long snake of people would walk for
15 km behind the Silver Chariot carrying the idol of Lord Murugan
before their arrival at the base of the Batu Caves.

We arrive at the Batu Caves by local bus late in the night. It is a
spectacular sight. A neon lit midway and Ferris wheel are set up at the
base of the high cliffs. Vendors line the path of the procession as
thousands of people make their way to the steps of the Batu Cave. The
modern lights are a strange contrast to the ancient ceremony.

The rhythm of the drums is intoxicating and people are chanting Vel
Vel as worshippers continuously walk by. Sometimes devotees will break
into a wild dance or let out a primal scream. Their wide eyes see
through me as I snap my camera and I am amazed at how easily they float
through the thick crowd.

The celebration continues though to the next day and worshippers are
committed as ever, but the intense sun makes the task seem more
impossible. One-man begins to foam at the mouth before collapsing under
the weight of his Kevadi and another sways and tries to soothe his
pierced cheeks while others pour water over his head. Miraculously
however, very few people seem to be in pain or discomfort.

We join the procession feeling braver under the bright sky and make
our way up the steep flight of stairs with thousands of other people.
It is a relief to reach the cool darkness of the caves. Monkeys fight
for bananas overhead, as people have their hooks removed one by one.
Priests stuff hot ash into their wounds and not a drop of blood spills
from the body.

In a roped off area, each person awakes from their trance. Some
people faint, some people wail and scream, while others remain silent
and still. Their ordeal is over and burdens are lifted. The cave is now
quiet and calm, a contrast to the enormous energy and excitement of
outside. It seems odd to watch people talking casually and laughing
with each other after witnessing such a shocking event. The festival
has come to an end and the only thing left is the long procession back
to Kuala Lumpur where the Silver Chariot will return to it’s home until
next years ceremony.

People will resume their lives as bankers or students, fathers and
sisters feeling cleansed of their sins, released of their burdens and
grateful for the opportunity to thank their Lord for a wish that he has
granted.

When travelling to Malaysia, one normally doesn’t think of tea
plantations and mountain chalets. But when visiting the Cameron
Highlands in the country’s interior, that is exactly what you will find.

A former hill station for English settlers to escape the unbearable
heat of Kuala Lumpur, this charming area is a must stop on anyone’s
list when visiting Malaysia. Rich with lush jungle, rolling mountains,
waterfalls and agriculture, one can lose themselves for days hiking its
many trails and relaxing for afternoon tea and scones on a veranda
overlooking breathtaking scenery.

The Cameron Highlands are a three-hour bus ride from Kuala Lumpur on
a harrowing winding road. The trip can have hair-raising accidents happen
though local people seem to be unfazed by the unpredictable driving.
Sheer drops, narrow roads and a winding route will get your heart
pumping. But you can take comfort in the fact that you are riding in
luxury.

The buses are pure decadence in Malaysia. Super VIP buses for a
mere US$10 buys you an over-sized fully reclining seat, English movies
and western bathroom on board. The roads are in good condition and the
drivers are quite skilled. Once you become used to the dizzying speed
of driving in Asia, it becomes more bearable.

The views en-route are breathtaking. You are reminded of the rice
terraces in Vietnam’s Sapa. Only instead of rice terraces, it is tea
plantations. Mountainous terrain filled with trees full of vibrant
green leaves blending together. Planted in neat rows, it is as if a
giant knife has sliced lines through the solid canopy creating winding
patterns in the rolling landscape.

Upon arrival in the main town of Tana Rata, several touts from
surrounding guest-houses are there to greet you vying for your
business. It can be a daunting task choosing the right accommodation,
but there are plenty of places to stay and it is easy to get around. Kang Travellers Lodge is a great choice and once settled in, one has
to check out the towns many cafes and restaurants. Sitting down with a
book and drinking tea and dipping scones are a welcome change from the
hustle and bustle of most of Malaysia.

Dinner offers plenty of opportunities, but make sure not to miss out
on the Steamboat dinners at one of the many restaurants offering them.
The thinly sliced meat with vegetables and noodles cooked in a
simmering pot at your table gives a welcome warmth to the cool highland
evening.

It is the hiking and the jungle that brings one to the Cameron
Highlands however, so make sure to grab a map and set out for one of
the many trails in the area. A must do trail is Gunung Brinchang. It is
the highest peak in Malaysia and starts from Sungai Palas. The 1-hour
hike through the jungle trail takes you to a summit that offers
spectacular panoramic views. Clouds sweep in and out over the mountains
changing the scenery with each passing second.

Once you have soaked in the sights, a gentle walk down the road
takes you past the Sungai Palas tea estate, offering beautiful photo
opportunities. Deep green lines are etched into the mountains where
millions of tea plants neatly planted in rows and patterns. Catching a
ride back to town is easy. Friendly people will offer a seat in the
back of their truck and you can stop for fresh fruit en route.

Several other trails can be explored as well, there are 14 in all.
They take you to the beautiful Robinson Falls, Parit Falls, to a
Buddhist Temple and around the Cameron Highlands Golf course. It is
truly getting back to nature when one visits The Cameron Highlands in
Malaysia.

KL in Two Days – Selamat Datang. That's the first sign that greets you when you step into Kuala Lumpur. KL, known as the federal capital of Malaysia, is a bustling metropolis, a city that blends the old and the new, the principal centre of commerce, politics and entertainment. A conspicuous mix of culture, religion and architectural styles, fused together in an extremely well-laid out city.

The Twin Towers and the KL Tower are two of the most notable and well-known landmarks of the city. KLCC is the shopping complex located in the area, a variety of branded stores where you can buy almost everything! The commercial nature of the city gets further reiterated in the form of interesting markets like Chinatown and the Central market. Consisting of a large number of little shops that sell mostly indigenous handicrafts made by Malaysian artists, their sheer diversity simply surprise you. A nice way to soak in a feel of the old city is by driving past historic buildings like the Independence Square, House of Parliament, National Monument, old Railway Station and the National Mosque. A drive slightly out of the main city takes you to the Batu caves. Here, there is an ancient south Indian temple with a towering statue of the idol at the entrance. On climbing about 272 stairs, one reaches a fascinating temple built completely inside the caves.

One of the prettiest visits in KL is the beautiful Bird Park and the Butterfly Park. Here, you get to see some of the rarest and loveliest species of domesticated birds and butterflies. The creatures seem completely unafraid of outsiders; some have even been trained to sit still on a single spot the entire day! Feeding emus and ostriches out of your hands is an extraordinary experience that will stay with you for a long time!

About an hour's drive away from KL, lie the picturesque Genting Highlands. These hills are about 600 feet above sea level; one immediately feels the temperature becoming cooler. Fresh, crisp mountain air envelops you in this enchanting little village, full of cosy little resorts and inns. Incidentally, you can also visit the Genting Highlands – largest inn in the world. If amusement parks and joy rides are what you're into, then Genting is a must. Ripley's Believe It Or Not and the Haunted House are two of the best rides that will intrigue not just the children, but grown-ups too! There is also a huge complex full of shops, restaurants and casinos housed, where you can spend a lot of money, if you're not careful. We were lucky to watch a spectacular show called Fly, a complete dance-drama, similar to a circus. The two-hour production was the result of the combined effort of French, Malay and Chinese talent; its enchanting display of moves, music, magic and stunts, left the audience gasping for more!

After two relaxing days in Genting, we headed off to our next Malaysian adventure – Langkawi. Nicknamed the "Caribbean of the East", Langkawi literally means a reddish-brown eagle. A cluster of isles, filled with myths and marvels, basking languidly in glistening waters, Langkawi comprises a group of 99 tropical islands lying off the north-western coast of peninsular Malaysia. The region boasts of exotic beauty as seen through its enchanting white stretch of palm-fringed beaches. It's the perfect retreat for anyone – a romantic escapade for the honeymooning couple, a haven for the water sports enthusiast, or the reclusive getaway for the weary executive.

The island is home to warm and friendly inhabitants, who smile gently at each other and who are hospitable to tourists. We had the chance to stay at an impressive property known as the Sheraton Langkawi. It is huge and has rooms resembling mini cottages. It has multiple facilities: its own private beach, swimming pool, fitness centre, tennis court, even a giant chess set. A great option, especially if you are short on time, is to head straight to the town of Kuah on your first day. Located at the southeastern tip of Langkawi, Kuah is the island's main town. From here, the best thing to do is to hop onto a jetty via a speedboat or catamaran, and go all the way to Pulau Payar Marine Park. The park is situated 19 nautical miles south of Langkawi, and teems with a fascinating diversity of marine life and vegetation. It was here that we snorkelled, and saw some of the most outstanding fishes and corals within arm's length distance!

Langkawi resorts are a delight to walk around and explore on a rainy day. Idling by a beach, after a leisurely game of giant chess, I thought nostalgically, that it was time to bid farewell to Malaysia..

After a 12-hour flight, 8 time zones away, all any traveller wants is a refreshing drink, a cold towel, and the knowledge that the journey has been worth it. We got all of those things as soon as we arrived from a direct flight from London to Langkawi.

The island is simply beautiful, ideal for upscale tourists in the sense that there is an abundance of luxury restaurants and hotels to choose from, while the place is still pristine in a way that inspires seasoned travellers to say things like, "Oh, this is just like Thailand, 15 years ago." and "Well, the new direct flights will soon kill the place, of course".

Upon landing from dreary old England, our first priority was to lay our eyes on a beach. We were not disappointed. Long, white and rather empty on one side, after crossing some boulders, Cenang Beach transformes into an intimate party place, decorated with scattered shells, funky bars, and an international beach crowd. Everyone from semi-naked Europeans to burqa-clad Saudi tourists shares space, quite merrily.

Langkawi natives are some of the nicest people you’ll ever meet, their kindness is infectious. It is rare for passers by not to greet each other with a smile and a hello. Parents often encourage their children to wave hello or even blow affectionate kisses to tourists. Although Malaysia is officially a Muslim country, it is very cosmopolitan, with citizens of Indian, Sri Lankan, Indonesian and Chinese ancestry. The result is a varied cuisine, and a surprising tolerance of all religious and cultural practices.

After a few days spent on the beach recovering from jetlag, it was time to see more of the island. There is a cable car that transforms the rainforest into a broccoli jungle, with fantastic views to Thailand at the top (not for anyone with vertigo!). Duty free shopping is found at both Kuah Town and Langkawi fair. The latter has an aquarium beside it, the largest in Asia, apparently. The best shopping, in my opinion, is at Sun Village, where you can find the most gorgeous homeware from Bali for extremely reasonable prices. There is also a traditional Malay restaurant, in the midst of a stunning tropical garden, complete with goldfish-filled pools, wooden bridges, and orchids scattered around the low tables and decorative cushions.

Night markets sell mainly local food, at about 25 pence per plate. There is no excuse not to try a bit of everything. There are many nature tours on offer, from jungle treks to boat tours of the many surrounding islands. No matter which you choose, you will see hundreds of macaques and their less cheeky cousins, dusk monkeys, eagles, iguanas, and if you are lucky, some hornbills and baby sharks. There is also a large variety of flora on the islands. The Datai offers a fascinating tour with an expert who explains the medicinal properties of various plants.

We took a boat tour that ended at the Lake of the Pregnant Maiden, so called because legend has it that by merely swimming here, women become more fertile (makes you wonder what’s in the water!). As we floated on our backs in the warm pool, we were entertained by dusk monkey acrobatics and macaques leisurely grooming each other. Blue and yellow butterflies flitted about. I thought this was the most relaxed I could ever be, until I discovered the massages, that is.

If you do only one thing in Langkawi, you must get a massage! Reflexology, shiatsu, traditional Malay, hot oil – the choices are endless. These masseuses certainly know what they are doing too. The surroundings are heavenly – usually on a beach, in the rainforest, or in a luxury hotel, like the bijou Casa del Mar. This was the first place we stayed. The rooms are airy and light (for an upstairs room), the beach is across from the large pool and outdoors dining area. There is a fantastic spa upstairs, and the staff are not only friendly, they make you feel truly welcome and pampered.

After a casual chat, they remembered I speak English, Spanish and Italian. News in all three languages was provided each morning. At noon, iced-peppermint infused towels were handed to us with silver tongs, with slices of cold watermelon. At tea time, we were given a basket of fruit, a bucket of ice, nuts and beverages, and to end the day, the bedclothes were always turned down, with mints and the next day’s weather report placed on the night table. A nice touch.

Two of the world’s best luxury resorts, the Atman and the Datai, are a 15-minute drive from the Casa del Mar, located directly in the rainforest. We could not resist staying in the Datai for a few nights. To this day, I insist that it is one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen: designed in local wood and marble, so close to nature that the sound of insects is almost deafening at night – with modern, award-winning interiors that make even a Schrager Hotel seem dusty, dated and frumpy.

Our superior villa room with 37’’ flat screen TV, DVD player, Bose stereo, his and her dressing areas, Lavazza coffee maker was even more comfortable than our own flat in London, but the beauty of the tranquil private beach and its untouched natural surroundings, along with the decadence of what the spa and gourmet kitchens had to offer us daily, made me cry when it was time to go home. The only way my husband could stop my tears was to promise to take me again next year. I’ll hold him to it.

Nowadays you don’t have to be an anthropologist, intrepid explorer or a government official for indigenous peoples to sample life in the bosom of a tribe. All you need is an adventurous spirit, the organisational skills to mount a small expedition and a good, open sense of humour.

However, there are some things that Western etiquette cannot teach and only through trial and error can you avoid offending, being made to feel uncomfortable, or indeed ending up in the ‘pot.’

Here are ten light-hearted rules of engagement. Just add a pinch of salt!

1. Don’t Resist a Marriage Proposal (Huaorani Tribe, Ecuador)

Most tribes take their ceremonies extremely seriously and if you get an offer to take part, in no way should you decline. Besides, it is a sign of acceptance and an invaluable insight into a local tribal custom.

However, when approached by Guinto – the smiliest of an already smiley tribe – to take a bride, a nervous twitch suddenly materialised just below my left eye. Charming they certainly were, but none of them were what we might call pretty in the conventional sense – or any sense for that matter!

Guinto could read my alarm and broke into a wide grin. This turned into trembling laughter which quickly crescendoed until I could see the tattooed depiction of a scarlet macaw flapping its wings at me from the centre of his bare chest.

No, he knew I was already married to Julia (at my side as he joked), but as a sign of goodwill toward us he wanted to conduct a traditional Huaorani marriage chant which involved lots of trance-inducing rhythmic movements and repetitive vocalising. My visions of a lifetime’s marriage to the chief’s daughter thankfully dissipated.

2. To Break the Ice, Convert the Children (Betek Tribe, Malaysia)

Some tribes are friendlier than others, but if you ever stumble across the Negrito Beteks of Taman Nagara in central Peninsular Malaysia no amount of smiley-faced ingratiation or gifts of cigarettes or biros will move this rather surly down-trodden group.

Turn your attentions and charm on to the kids, however, and the shy smiles and delighted squeals will soon warm their parents’ hearts. Before long you’ll be slapping the hunters on the back, joking with the elders and swapping e-mail addresses as you make your tearful departure (OK, only joking about that last bit).

3. Avoid Fits of Uncontrolled Laughter (Kejaman Tribe, Sarawak)

Unlike the more accessible (and hence more visited) Ibans lower down the river, this Orang Ulu group of indigenous people are not so acquainted with pale-faced Westerners and their strange ways. So, when asked by the chief to get up on stage to sing to the children during a charming end-of-term prize-giving ceremony, we could not decline. As honoured guests it was expected we play our part, and as they’d just taken delivery of their first generator they were keen to plug in the recently donated PA system.

Fortified with one too many cups of arak, we took to the stage amid conservative applause and turned to face our audience. It was a rare day in the calender with all the tribal finery on display instead of the usual shorts and t-shirts of everyday usage. The large open-sided ‘nippa’ hut was packed to the rafters. With over a hundred children at the front and their proud parents bedecked in their feathered heirlooms at the back, all eyes were centred on us.

The three of us huddled together and decided there were only two song lyrics with which we were vaguely acquainted. “Bohemian Rhapsody” was quickly dismissed as inappropriate, so we were left with “Two Little Boys” by Rolf Harris. After repeating for the forth time the only verse we actually knew, I stole furtive glances at my companions (both respected BBC wildlife film producers) before we all crumbled into completely uncontrollable laughter.

Tears were rolling down our cheeks with the words half-swallowed by our painful, wretched merriment. The only problem was that nobody else in the audience shared in the joke.

The chief (our host) and his trusted warriors stared blankly back at us and even the children had stopped fidgeting. The awful realisation dawned on us that everyone in this proud tribe (the elders had taken Japanese heads in WWII!) misinterpreted our laughter for ridicule. They thought we were laughing at them.

It was only later, well after the ceremony had ended (and we had avoided the pot I was sure was being prepared just out of sight), that we managed to convey through an English-speaking teacher that it was embarrassment at our inadequate singing abilities and not ridicule that had caused such mirth.

4. Be Careful How You Wield the Camera (Akha Tribe, Northern Thailand)

Some animist tribes believe you take away a part of their soul when you photograph them. And yet, as much as you want to respect their beliefs, the temptation to sneak a few shots can sometimes be overwhelming. So the trick is if you want to avoid offence is to resort to espionage.

I’ve hidden in stilted huts with the lens poking through a missing knot, snapped away from between the legs of a startled pig (these are mostly blurred), and once from the safe confines of a tin shower cubicle – though God knows what one inquisitive old woman thought I was doing as I walked nonchalantly into the outside wash facility with my towel around my waist, a bar of soap in one hand and the camera clenched in the other.

5. Leave the Washing to the Womenfolk (Huaorani Tribe, Ecuador)

Men hunt and women wash and cook – period. So when I was spotted with my wife and two travelling companions (a man and a woman) beating my mud-encrusted clothes against the smooth rocks by the banks of the river, the local menfolk were dumbfounded and the women almost apologetic – but also just a little bit delighted.

Let them think I’m a metrosexual namby-pamby, I thought, just let me work up this ancient slab of rather gritty rock-hard soap into a lather. It turned out that this was the ‘tribal bar’ shared amongst the 80 or so women, so you can imagine my frustration when the damned thing slipped through my hands only to disappear forever onto the depths of the Cononaco.

Help was at hand in the shape of Liz (our sophisticated New Yorker) who produced a replacement bar from her backpack: Victoria’s Secret coconut and essence of vanilla moulded onto a plaited rope, just so. For the remaining three days of our stay we noticed the males of the tribe paying rather more attention to their unusually fragrant women – and I did catch one teenage boy taking a bite out of the sweet-smelling soap before spitting it out in disgust, his mouth a froth of bubbles.

6. Don’t Enter a Hut Uninvited (Masai Tribe, Tanzania)

Finding a camera-wielding tourist poking about in the garden of your London semi would offend (and startle) most people, and so it is with the Masai who take understandable exception to strangers entering the circular fence of thorny branches that make up the ‘boma.’

If you are lucky enough to be invited into one of the dark little huts within the circle, try to avoid gagging on the smell (the livestock live with them below the beds) or choking on the smoke, as there is no flue between the open fire on the mud floor and the small hole at the top of the hut.

7. Do Not Feel Offended by Inappropriate Breast-Fondling (Huaorani Tribe, Ecuador)

Ladies, your plump, milky mammories – even when respectfully trussed within the confines of a bra and tight t-shirt – are globes of endless fascination to the saggy-breasted topless old crones of this delightful tribe.

Expect your breasts to be cupped, prodded, kneaded, and tweaked amid unabashed laughter – just don’t try to fight them off. They’re only being curious.

8. Acquire Your Mementos Carefully if You’re a Long Way From Home (Betek Tribe, Malaysia)

It seemed like the perfect souvenir of our intrepid stay with this nomadic negrito tribe. Whilst my wife was careful to barter for just a few exquisitely-engraved bamboo combs directly from the fuzzy-haired heads of the women I, of course, wanted a quiver full of poisonous arrows and a three metre blowpipe to accompany it.

All this without so much as a passing thought as to how, exactly, I was to get it down the mountain, through the rain forest, into the boat, down the river, into the bus, onto the plane, and from thence back to Heathrow.

Customs hated it, the airliner wanted to charge me extra, and passport control joked that my photo was missing the bone through my nose. How we laughed! It is currently collecting dust in the attic and the quiver of poisonous arrows lies locked in a trunk in the cellar avoiding the proddings of inquisitive little fingers. Was it worth it?

9. Always Carry Loo Paper – Especially if Crapping in the Chief’s Long-Drop (Kejaman Tribe, Sarawak)

Having bribed and harassed our way up the Rajang river to our final destination on the muddy banks of a small tributary three days from Kuching, we were ushered unannounced to the chief’s stilted longhouse to bed down as his guests. At some point during the evening, nature called and the only polite place to evacuate was over a hole in a small room next to the chief’s private quarters – his en-suite, if you like.

Travellers tummy and lack of any visible loo paper is one of the most unwelcome combinations any backpacker can endure. With only a small plastic bowl of murky river water to hand, this tribe’s ‘bidet’ sanitation left much to be desired.

However, entertainment is available in situations like this, for after the squat and push bares its fruit there is the tantalising wait for the sonic splat to reach the dusty ground thirty feet below – followed by the frantic grunts and excited yelps of the pigs and hunting dogs kept below to hoover up the tasty morsels.

Which brings me neatly on to…

10. When Offered Dog, Eat Dog (Kejaman Tribe, Sarawak)

Dispel all thoughts of your dinner’s diet. Think more in terms of recycling and doing your bit for the green movement.

Old hunting dogs no longer good for the chase are routinely butchered and served up for supper. Even when seasoned with all available herbs and spices and marinaded in arak for a week, it’s still chewier than a piece of old shoe leather – but you must eat a good few cubes of this delicacy as it will be perceived as extreme rudeness and ingratitude if you don’t.

If you’re lucky, you’ll be spared the dog and served the pig which, dietary habits aside, is a good deal tastier and left me asking for more. That evening I spent another sorry hour squatting over the chief’s long-drop – and so the story comes full circle!

We first heard about Malaysia’s Perhentian Islands during a sailing trip off the west coast of Australia. A soft-spoken Swedish couple reminisced about white sand, fresh seafood and cheap beach huts on Perhentian Kecil, the small island. “Go right after monsoon season while it’s still quiet,” they told us. “It’s a backpacker’s paradise.”

For the next three months my husband Andy and I traveled around Australia, Bali, Singapore and Thailand. In February we crossed the Thai border into Malaysia, and headed to Penang. After four days of sightseeing and sipping mango lassis in Georgetown, we were ready to head east to the Perhentian Islands. According to the travel blogs, Perhentian Kecil was open for business.

When we went to the bus station in the center of Georgetown to book tickets, the place was swarming with smooth-talking touts. “Where do you want to go?” each one asked as we walked by. We finally approached an unassuming man reading the paper. Andy told him about our plans to visit Perhentian Kecil. “Nice place,” he said. “I can get you a good deal on a bus-boat combo.”

The offer sounded sketchy but cheap. After ten months on the road, cut-rate travel had become a necessary evil. The agent read the slight hesitation on my face and quickly continued with his pitch. “You leave tonight at nine. Arrive in Kuala Besut in the morning and get on the boat right away. Such a good deal!”

“But what time will the bus get to Kuala Besut in the morning?” we asked. After a slight pause the agent smiled and replied, “At a good time. Yes. Maybe… seven o’clock.”

Throwing caution to the wind we paid for the tickets and headed to our guesthouse to grab our packs. We were the only western travelers on board the bus that night. About an hour into the journey, I walked up to the front of the bus to settle the matter of our vague arrival time. “What time will we arrive in Kuala Besut?” I asked the driver. He shook his head and said “no English,” so a man behind us, who introduced himself as Mr. Chen, aided in the translation process.

With a troubled look on his face, Mr. Chen relayed grim news. The bus would not be stopping in Kuala Besut at all, but rather 12 miles away in a town called Jertah. The estimated time of arrival in Jertah was 4:00 a.m. “The driver says you can wait at the station and take the first bus to Besut at 8:00 a.m.” My mind was racing. I was hoping that this was just a misunderstanding. I asked him to check again, but the answer was the same. “But we’ll be sitting in the dark in this Jertah place for four hours,” I said in disbelief. “Yes, yes but I’m sure there will be many other people waiting too,” Mr. Chen said optimistically.

The rest of the bus trip was a blur. I tried to get some sleep, but the butterflies in my stomach kept me from getting any real rest. Andy, on the other hand, was out like a light. Like clockwork we pulled into Jerteh at 4:00 a.m. Sleepy and anxious, we shuffled off the bus and into what can only be described as the twilight zone! After almost a year on the road, I thought I had seen all shades of strange – this was something else. A dozen or so wide-eyed, zombie-like men were draped over the benches in the bus station, glaring at us, sizing us up.

“Andy, everyone is staring at us,” I hissed as we sat down. “I seriously think we’re about to get robbed,” I added, for dramatic measure. Andy remained calm while I tried to avoid hyperventilating. Within minutes a dodgy, but sober man slithered over to peddle his services. “I can drive you right now to the travel agency in Kuala Besut for 15 Ringgit,” he said. “Or you can stay here for many hours in the dark and wait for the bussssssss.”

We weighed our options: take a taxi ride with this snake or wait it out at the bus station with the other creatures of the night. I don’t remember how we reached a decision, but we ended up in the back seat of the taxi driver’s dilapidated car. He spoke with a local man and made arrangements to take him home on the way to Kuala Besut. We were on a highway for a few minutes, then detoured onto a dark narrow road, presumably heading toward the other passenger’s house. In the dark I fumbled for the credit card in my money belt, shoved it in my bra and tried to keep calm. I whispered to Andy that he should stash some cash in his socks, just in case.

We arrived at a dark house surrounded by trees and fields at about 4:30 a.m. The other passenger got out, paid the driver and walked to his house. The driver turned the car around and headed back toward the highway. Andy and I both breathed a small sigh of relief. As we inched closer to Kuala Besut, the driver told us about the travel agency that he was planning to take us to. “It’s open now so you can stay there until the boat leaves in the morning,” he said.

“So your telling me that the travel agency is seriously open in the middle of the night?” I probed. “Oh yes,” he said. “I know the owner. He will help you.” We pulled into Kuala Besut a few minutes later. The sleepy little town had one main street leading to the jetty. We stopped at the end of the dark road in front of a small storefront with a metal rolling shutter. The driver jumped out and rapped on the door with a great deal of gusto.

A sleepy and stunned man pulled up the shutter. He stared at the driver in what appeared to be disbelief. They conversed for ages before they motioned to us to get out of the car. “Pay me, then go inside and wait until morning,” said the taxi driver. We paid him then crept into the tiny and dark travel agency. The man in the blanket motioned for us to sit on a small sofa. He left the shutter partially open, then disappeared behind the counter.

When my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, I noticed that there were men sleeping on chairs beside us. I heard distinct snoring sounds coming from behind the counter area as well. And zombie men, like the ones in Jertah, stumbled around outside. They peaked under the shutter door every once in awhile, but thankfully, didn’t try to come inside. Unable to speak, for fear of waking the chair and floor dwellers, Andy and I sat in silence and stared at the digital alarm clock on the counter. It felt like I watched every minute pass in slow motion for more than an hour.

Just before 6:00 a.m., we heard a car. Then we saw headlights. As the car stopped outside the travel agency, I held my breath. The sounds of laughter and Scottish accents drifted in. I couldn’t stop myself. I leapt off the sofa, hurled the shutter open. I startled the couple and the taxi driver outside with my outburst. Verbal diarrhea ensued. “Ohmigod, I am sooooooo happy to see you!” I gushed. “We’ve been sitting here hoping that other travelers would arrive, and here you are! I am so happy!”

The Scottish couple laughed and brought their bags into the travel agency. By this time, the bodies on various chairs, sofas and mats began to stir. Within minutes the lights went on, revealing the sleepy faces of four harmless looking Malaysian men. They weren’t exactly thrilled to be awake so early, but they didn’t seem overly annoyed either.

The long night finally came to an end. But the boat that was promised first thing in the morning wasn’t part of the deal, after all. We had to wait until 10:00 a.m. for a boat. To be honest, I was past caring at that point. I was just happy to be in one piece with luggage, passport and credit cards in tact. So we dozed in the travel agency until our tugboat departed.

The rest of the trip was a breeze. I was a bit worried at times that the fishing boat wouldn’t make it all the way to Perhentian Kecil. But the sea was kind and the wind was light. By noon we were standing on glistening white sand. We felt tired and a bit rattled, but we couldn’t stop smiling. It was just as beautiful as the Swedish couple had promised. The perfect place to recover from our misadventure. We spent four days on the island: swimming, snorkeling, eating fresh seafood and lounging under the umbrellas on the beach.

Looking back, our time on Perhentian Kecil was the highlight of our year abroad. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t let the bus station frustration ruin a great vacation.

Kinabalu Park is Malaysia's first World Heritage site designated by UNESCO in 2000. It covers a staggering area of 300 square miles, bigger than the entire nation of Singapore. The park is dominated by Mt. Kinabalu which stands at 4,095 meters or 14,435 feet, a botanical paradise blessed with an astonishing variety of flora and fauna.

Only four of the eight in our group were going to the park, so we asked the concierge to book us a car and driver for the two-hour trip. We had no delusions of grandeur trekking up to the summit, normally takes two to three days for climbers to acclimatize. We wanted to see this majestic mountain and do the canopy walk we read about in the brochure. After a heavy buffet breakfast, off we went.

Up
As we gained altitude, the temperature dropped, until we were engulfed in a chilly blanket of fog. Our wise and thoughtful driver suggested we visit Poring Hot Springs first, do the canopy walk and hope that by the time we got back to park headquarters, the fog would have cleared allowing us a good view of the mountain's peak.

We paid a minimal conservation fee of 15 rm to enter the park at the Poring Hot Springs where the path to the canopy walk begins. We followed the signs over a running stream, past pools of hot springs to the start of the course. I had no idea what the trail was like. The brochure mentioned nothing about having to climb a steep mountainside (didn't we decide there were no mountain climbing expeditions for us?), to reach the suspension bridges that connected the treetops 200 feet above the forest floor.

Twenty minutes into the trail, I was still clueless as to what I was getting myself into. I'm not fit for climbing. I can walk for hours on end, I am notorious for taking my London visitors on personalized walking tours of the city that last eight hours with an hour or so for lunch.

On the Trail
There I was, huffing and puffing, telling myself we were almost there, when my friend saw a sign indicating we were only halfway up. Only halfway? But we've been at this for 30 minutes! I felt deflated, almost gave up. I seriously contemplated turning back.

I thought about the canopy walk that awaited us, how great it would be among the treetops, something I had wanted to do in Cagayan for so long. I imagined how I would regret turning back and hate myself for it, reminded myself how much sweeter the victory is when you push yourself to the limit.

In a sudden burst of self-motivation, I looked at the glass half-full and told myself, "Self, we're already halfway up! You can do it!". With that and the rest of my "Team Sabah" encouraging me, I pushed myself, one step at a time. I made it. I felt as though I could conquer the world! In retrospect, I think it was due to the combination of vertigo and fatigue.

Canopy Walk
When I saw the first bridge, I forgot the pain of the climb. In its place was a thrill, a rush, the feeling one gets when you're about to do something so wild and crazy that it involves the possibility of putting your life at risk. I couldn't wait to get on it. I let everyone go ahead so I could take their photos.

There are three bridges that run a total length of 158 meters. It's a wooden plank less than a foot across supported by a steel ladder, suspended by sturdy ropes. Netting is woven into the ropes on each side, creating a safety net in case you slip from the plank. (It failed to give me any peace of mind, though). Each bridge is connected by a circular observation deck where you can stop and smell the tree tops. Looking down, all you can see are more trees, the forest floor is nowhere in sight.

Every so often we would catch a glimpse of some spectacular scenery through the branches and the mist. I loved being here, surrounded by nature, an exhilarating experience. Being high up in the forest is one thing, walking from tree top to tree top is totally different.

Down
The trek down was easier, took us about half an hour. The unpaved trail was muddy, we had to go slowly. By the time we reached the base, the heavens opened, it started to pour, as if to cleanse us of the sweat and grime we had accumulated during our adventure. We stopped at the restaurant lodge for a quick drink before we hopped back in the car and made our way to the Kinabalu Park headquarters. By the time we got there, it was 3:00 p.m. We were starving. The fog was still thick, we couldn't see Mt. Kinabalu in the background. We freshened up and ate tom yam soup, satay, roti and teh tarik. The food couldn't have tasted better. It was the perfect reward for tired folks!

Peekaboo with the Fog
We needed to be in the city by 6:00, so we started heading home. Mt. Kinabalu seemed to be eluding us, we kept an eye out, anyway, in case it came out of hiding. The fog was playing peekaboo with us. Each time we saw through it, we screamed at the driver (who was only too willing to try out his Evil Knievel moves) to stop so we could take pictures. It was definitely a spectacular sight. I wish the rest of the gang could have been there to see it too.

Malaysia

A “Medical Vacation” is a fantastic way to renew oneself in mind and body. When the body is relaxed and the mind is at ease, the quality of healing can be phenomenal. If you are one of those contemplating surgery in the near future, or know of someone who is at the crossroads of a medical decision, then you may want to investigate a “Medical Vacation.” The advantages outweigh the disadvantages when you consider the cost, the service and the location.

Ten years ago, according to the authors of a new book, Hospitality 2010: The Future of Hospitality and Travel by DeMicco, Cetron and Davies, medical tourism was barely noticeable. This changed in 1997 when Thailand started its medical tourism business as a way of bolstering a sagging economy. The Bumrungrad Medical Center in Bangkok, for example, sees 850,000 overseas patients annually and is at the cutting edge of medical tourism. Bumunrungrad comes complete with Starbucks, McDonald’s and twenty-four hour personal service. Additionally, more than 250,000 patients a year visit Singapore – nearly half of them from the Middle East. This number dramatically increases when you add in the high quality medical services available just to the north in Malaysia.

In 2006, it is estimated that nearly a half million patients will visit India for medical care. The authors indicate that India expects medical tourism will bring in approximately $2.2 billion per year by 2012. For those of you shuddering at the thought of undergoing an advanced medical procedure in a foreign country, DeMicco, Cetron and Davies note that India’s death rate among patients undergoing surgery is only half that of most major hospitals in the United States. Additionally, many foreign hospitals provide hotel-like amenities, include personal assistants for post-hospital recovery and sometimes add airfare incentives.

Medical costs for surgery in the United States are clearly beginning to drive the business of surgery overseas. Cost savings range from twenty five to eighty percent less for many procedures. When you take into account that there are approximately 43 million people without health coverage and 120 million without dental coverage in the United States alone, then the economic pull of obtaining low cost medical service with a vacation thrown in becomes obvious. The long waiting periods for surgery in countries that practice socialized medicine such as Canada and England also add to the momentum of a burgeoning world wide medical business.

If you were to price a range of surgeries here in the United States, you might suddenly have the urge to call your insurance agent to go over your policy. Some patients have even resorted to living with their conditions rather than depleting family savings or dragging themselves through bankruptcy court. The stress of contemplating the devastatingly high cost of heart surgery, for example, which may run as high as several hundred thousand dollars, can be overwhelming for the uninsured or the underinsured. On the other hand, if you are someone who wants to look and feel your best and opt for elective surgery, then there is also the overseas option to consider. For considerably less than the amount that is spent on cosmetic or remedial surgery in the U.S., the venturesome patient can enjoy a renewed body and have a great vacation at the same time in Argentina, Dubai, Costa Rica, Cuba, Hungary, India, Malaysia, Mexico, South Africa or Thailand.

The latest entrant to the list of countries providing medical alternatives, Malaysia is focused on providing a good value for the patient who comes prepared to take advantage of the high quality and reasonable price of health care. Elective surgeries like rhinoplasty (a nose job) and liposuction cost about twenty five percent less in Malaysia than in the U.S. Heart surgery for the uninsured or underinsured who might otherwise have to dip into life savings costs only a fraction of what it costs in the U.S. Some heart procedures are as low as $7,000 as opposed to $50,000 to $125,000. Those savings can easily translate, during a surgical recovery period, into airfare, gourmet meals and a nice hotel at the beach for a month with a lot of spending money left over for those willing to step outside of their comfort zones.

As with all medical issues, you should talk to your personal physician before engaging medical services abroad. But with a little research and care, you will more than likely thank yourself for taking your medical concerns overseas. Many of the doctors performing these surgeries have been trained in the U.S., Europe, Australia, Singapore and Malaysia. Local hospitals are conversant with the latest techniques and state-of-the-art medical technology.

Let’s take Malaysia as an example. According to Malaysian Tourism, “Medical expertise in Malaysia ranks among the best in the world and most private hospitals in the country have internationally-recognized quality standards. These include the MS ISO9002 or accreditation by the Malaysian Medical Society for Quality of Health (MSQH). All private medical centers must be approved and licensed by the Ministry of Health.”

The Malaysian economy is one of the strongest in Southeast Asia with growth rates in the range of ten percent a year. Due to twenty-two years of visionary leadership under former Prime Minister Mahathir bin Mohammed, Malaysia has been able to take advantage of its strategic position in the heart of the Southeast Asia Triangle. Under the new leadership of Prime Minister Abdullah Badawi, Malaysia’s economic goal to become a fully developed country by 2020 is being realized. If the pace of present development continues, they will achieve their goal well in advance of that date.

Malaysia is also a melting pot of races and religions where Malays, Indians, Chinese and many other people of differing backgrounds and religious viewpoints live together in peace and relative harmony. A progressive Muslim country, Malaysia is tolerant of other religions. You will encounter very little of the sort of religious truculence that one associates with some Islamic nations. Everyone is too busy earning a living to be engaged in social mischief. Many Malaysians have a terrific sense of humor and are not above mocking their own politicians and other national figures. They also have a fascination with establishing whacky world records, such as the world’s largest pizza, most days spent in a box with 6,069 scorpions and the singular achievement of building one of the world’s tallest twin towers (the Petronas Twin Towers). All of this translates into a culture that is both sure of itself and gracious.

Here comes the best part: Malaysia is blessed with an abundance of good beaches. Hotels and resorts can be found up and down the coastline in frequently visited areas or secluded lagoons. Most of them boast luxurious spas and rejuvenating massages. What a wonderful way to ease your mind and relax your body. The climate in Malaysia is warm year-round and so are its people, who will go out of their way to make sure your experience in Malaysia is unforgettable. With excellent hotels, a superb highway system and streets that are safe and well-policed, a Medical Vacation can be just what the doctor ordered. What are you waiting for? Let the healing begin.

Kampung Kuantan, Kuala Selangor, Malaysia

The river at dusk in Kuala Selangor

Even from a short distance the lights appeared eerie. Or was there even any light in the darkness. Perhaps the senses were just playing games in this sensory-deprived environment.

We had left the city of Kuala Lumpur earlier in the day and had headed northwest some 75 kilometers along the shores of the Malacca Straits, the world’s busiest shipping lane. We’d seen the delightful monkeys at Kuala Selangor at the mouth of the Selangor river (kuala in the Bahasa language means river mouth; the name of Malaysia’s capital, Kuala Lumpur, thus, translates into muddy river mouth – hardly what the clean and modern metropolis looks like today), and had fabulous seafood right by the river where our meal had been caught. As the night started to fall, we drove to Kampung Kuantan not far from the town to experience the “miracle and mystery of firefly” promised by the tourist advisory. A miracle and mystery it was.

The occasion was amazing, as all conditions had aligned to make the night perfect. There had been a heavy thunderstorm earlier in the evening that had washed the dust off the air. But now it was clear. Most uniquely, the night was totally dark as the result of a rare lunar eclipse. This small trip could turn into a once-in-a-lifetime experience!

The tide was exceptionally high as we approached the pier. In fact, it was so high that we had to remove our shoes and roll up our jeans 30 metres from the jetty. For the rest of the way, we waded through the solid ochre of the river water until we reached the small wooden boat waiting on the dark water. The oarsman, a wiry local with looks that would not reveal his age, stood at the end of the small barge. It would float just centimetres above the river level once the three of us boarded.

On the river peacefulness reigned. The surface was still; not even a hint of a breeze. The yellowish brown of the water appearedfertile and welcoming rather than muddy and uninviting. On both sides, thick mangrove vegetation stood in the flooded landscape. The stillness was something we urbanites are not used to. The only sounds were produced by living beings other than humans. To the east, there was the deep chorus of frogs that croaked at a low, soothing frequency. At a much higher pitch, crickets and other critters provided their own constant background sound. Physiologically, it has been proven that nature sounds – even when they can be measured to be as loud as any produced by human systems – are not stressful to people; rather they provide rest to the senses.

The most amazing sound came from the direction of the youngest mangrove trees. The fireflies were dancing to the beat only known to them, producing a rhythmic whistling sound. The entire riverside was lit with pulsating lights, the bushes over the flat surface of the river appearing like Christmas-lit garden reindeer standing on the lawn of suburban homes in Virginia or Oregon. There were literally millions of the infinitesimal beetles. Lights shone like small but bright beacons guiding a wayward seafarer towards the shore. The tiny lights shining from their equally tiny butts reflected brightly from the river’s brown surface.

The boat and the oarsman

Fireflies are sensitive creatures dependent on a stable environment. They are thus vulnerable to any changes in the conditions under which they live. Their lifecycle from the time they emerge as eggs through the larvae stage until their mature state is completely harmonized with the natural habitat in which they spend their lives. They are an integral part of the river ecosystem that nurtures them. They are hatched further away from the river, and then they migrate closer to the water. This night’s illumination represented the culmination of the bugs’ lives: mating. For this purpose, they choose only young Berembang trees; hence their massive concentrations in these select bushes arising from the muddy bottom of the tidal river.

Gliding silently next to the mangroves, we tried to catch the tiny insects in the palms of our hands. They were small indeed, and we could see the light throbbing in their little bodies. We did not hold them long, so as not to reduce their chances of finding a desirable partner to produce the next generation. The pair we had captured eagerly flew back to the bushes.

The night on the river was amazing in its quiet – made loud by the sounds of the myriad inhabitants of the rich and still unspoiled ecosystem, lit up by the ghostly lights of the fireflies and the distant flashes of the retreating thunder. We were alone, except for our fellow species whose kingdom this was. Hopefully, the modest income to the communities generated by the small-scale ecotourism would be enough to keep the developers from encroaching on this lovely piece of real estate. Its value cannot be measured in monetary terms. The inner peace we felt as we emerged from the canoe is beyond measurement.