Teman Negara - oldest jungle on the planet

Teman Negara is reported to be the oldest jungle on the planet . . . I'm not sure how they figured that out exactly or even what that means entirely but it's a very cool national park which we had the chance to see only a little corner of.
Upon our arrival into the dry (no, still quite humid and a bit rainy - I'm talking beer-free!) town of Kuala Tehan, we found most accommodations full but eventually set ourselves up in the one Motel. The town is on a river and has very little to it other than a few simple accommodations and a half dozen floating restaurants on the river which have nearly identical menus full of tasty and cheap food.
A quick 15 meter boat ferry to the other side of the river places you on the edge of the national park. Signs remind you to carry your park pass at all times or you could be thrown in JAIL for up to 3 years!! Whoa there Malaysia, take it easy. The park pass costs 1 ringett - about 30 cents. We spent our first morning, hiking through a light cooling rain to the canopy walk. The walk is a loop of suspended wooden planks linking ancient trees high above the jungle floor. Yes, it was legitimate, involved tickets and completely safe. Yes, it was wobbly, made of old ladders and scrap wood and awesomely frightening. That evening we took a slightly less harrowing night walk with a guide to show us some night creatures of the jungle. Mmm - one tiny key chain flashlight between the two of us. Luckily we saw only deer and some sizable spiders.
We also took a day hike to The Bat Cave. Not Bruce Wayne but a stench you wouldn't believe and a whole slew of sleeping bats. Which, I will tell you are mammals. Kyle and I have worked out a fairly successful system where I deal with the frightening mammals (barking dogs, friendly and not so friendly monkeys etc.) and Kyle deals with the bugs (massive roaches and spiders etc.) Our system does fall down at reptiles so the jungles full of large Monitor lizards, we take on together. This system did come back to bite Kyle in the rear (thankfully not literally) when we checked out of our room early on the morning to catch our bus to Kuala Lumpor.
Here is the scene: 7am, rundown motel with an open air hallway. Packs on, we step out of our room. I stop in horror, Kyle collides face first with my pack behind me.

KATE: "Whoa"
KYLE: "It's just a cicada Kate - let's go"
KATE: "No, that one - over there"
KYLE: "Whoa"
KATE: "Yeah, it could be considered a mammal by virtue of size alone but this one's in your department I think"

Blocking our exit, was the largest bug I have ever seen. The body, was the size of my fist with wings the size of . . . absurdly large bug wings. Kyle, forced into heroic action by our animal/bug contract, took a trash can and threw it over the dinosaurian-beast while I fled to safety down the hall.
I am ashamed to say that some unsuspecting custodial technician at Jungle View Motel must have had quite a surprise when they went to put that waste basket back. For that, I am deeply apologetic but it was out of my jurisdiction and we had a bus to catch.

Palau Perhentian = Paradise?

We spent one uneventful night in Kuala Terengganu before embarking for the Perhentian Islands, off the North East shore of Malaysia. After a 3 hour bus ride, we got on a speed boat for the extra bumpy 20 kilometer ride out to the islands. Approaching the two islands of the Perhentians made us laugh because everything looks like a beach scene movie set - white beach inlets surrounded by thick jungle on one side and ridiculously blue water on the other. We opted for the smaller island, Kecil, getting of the boat in Coral Bay, a perfect beach with a couple of small hotels, cafes, and dive shops down the 200 meter beach. The beach faces west for those perfect island sunsets. What more could you want?

Nothing except cheap beer, which simply does not exist. Nor do bars. The east coast of Malaysia is much more homogeneously Malay Muslim than the more mixed west coast, and drinking as not at the top of their list of activities. Not one of the restaurants has alcohol on the menu, which is shocking. There is, however, a dude with a cooler of crappy but expensive beer cans -- we laughed pretty hard when he called out "Last call!" around 11 pm. All of the white tourists (mostly European) are as perplexed as we are, and its funny to watch people discover the island's teetotalling ways.

Yesterday we went on the long snorkeling trip, stopping at 5 spots around the two islands, in addition to a little place for lunch. Our boat driver/guide was great, hopping in the water with us at every spot to point out different corals and fish. We saw reef sharks, sea turtles, spotted rays, a whole bunch of different corals, and thousands of amazingly colorful fish. The three other girls on our boat were from Norway and actually had the names Helga, Uda, and unprouncable combination of vowel sounds. Whenever they saw something exciting or potentially scary, they would squeal loudly through their snorkels - it was hilarious. They were not fans of the sharks.

Today we played a little frisbee on the beach and walked through the jungle to the Long Beach on the other side of the island to internet and look around. We're trying to avoid the intense tropical sun after yesterday's boat trip and will be hiding in the shade, reading and relaxing. Tomorrow we head to Taman Negara, the jungley national park in the interior of the country.

Chatting about Cherating

East Coast Malaysian Peninsula is supposedly in monsoon season (or the wet part of the monsoon climate system, thank you Mr. Nagle), but Cherating has refused to comply, brazenly sporting blue skies and hot, hot sun. Cherating is a beachside town made popular by the first Club Med in Asia - which appears to have skipped town along with most of the tourists. There are a slew of beach bungalows and very few restaurants along the pristine stretch of sand we've been calling home for the last 3 days. Our days have been filled with beach strolls, swims in the South China Sea (words I never thought I would be writing), and sarong fort building on our porch to avoid the scorching late-afternoon sun.

We have also been spending a lot of time trying to avoid our friendly and talkative neighbor. His name is Joel (aka Joel the Creeper, Joel the guy with Aspergers, Joel the Conspiracy Theorist), he is about 60, from Massachusetts, and won't stop talking...about how the American navy is causing the 5 year drought in Australia; Ralph Nader is not an environmentalist because he condones native american whaling; while traveling in India, he carried and regularly used an electric stun gun to keep away beggars and generally get himself some much needed space (he went through 9 batteries in 3 months); Thai farmers should be shot to make enough room for the thai elephants to be freed from their slavery in the tourist industry and returned to the wild; every 6th grader should know how a nuclear bomb is put together; and finally, how he was sitting with this American girl in a bar in Bangkok and she was being heckled by this street seller guy (which is common enough) and she had just had enough so she whipped out a bottle of hairspray and a lighter, using them as a make shift flamethrower and LIT THE HECKLER ON FIRE. Most people where then looking at the man on fire, Joel reported, and they were able to skulk away.

We tried to do some horseback riding on the beach in honor of Kate's 26th Birthday (huzzah) but either the horses were sick or the instructors were too hungover - we don't speak Bahasa Malay. Instead, we played frisbee on the beach and immortalized our travels in snackfood diarama on our porch. Tomorrow we head to Kuala Terengannu for a night before a few days in the Perhentian Islands.

Malaysia

So, we're in Malaysia. We flew here on Friday the 13th, which freaked out fear-of-flying Kate but turned out to be just fine. Landing in Kuala Lumpur, we took the bus into KL Sentral Station and the light rail to our hostel in Chinatown. Oh, the wonders of a modern city with so much public transportation - subway, light rail, monorail, etc. Kind of overwhelming after so many backwater towns. After checking in, we wandered and stumbled and monorailed and sprinted to make it to the Vietnamese embassy before close on Friday, in order to get our visas for Vietnam (which are pricey!). We made it, and rewarded ourselves with a movie at the mall at the foot of the Petronas Towers.

You may not be aware of the melting pot that is Malaysia. It is a mix of Malay people (as in, people who are ethnically from the area), Chinese (who've been here for a couple hundred years), Indian (same story), and a sprinkling of Europeans over the centuries (Dutch, Portugese, British) - plus you have Singapore within spitting distance, with its eclectic mix. Oh, and its mostly muslim. And they speak what is basically Bahasa Indonesian (except its called Bahasa Malay) - in addition to all the other languages floating around. Even with all these different cultures, we still get a lot of stares (although it should be noted that people frequently think we're dutch or finish - and on one memorable occassion, asked Kyle if she was some kind of Asian. Uhhh...caucasian?).

So we left KL on Saturday morning for Melaka, as in the Straights of Melaka and all of the fun European pillaging of the spice trade in the Indies. Melakka is a microcosm of Malaysia's cultural mutt-ness; we are again staying in Chinatown, but also next to a masque and around the corner from a Hindu temple. The center of Melaka is an old dutch fort and several old churches. Weekenders from all over the peninsula seem to come here with their families to stroll along the river or the night market of Jonker street. The city has been working very hard to earn World Heritage status, and is clean and proud of its 500 years of battling colonial history. Its lovely though has little in the way of banging night life (NB: Malaysia, being Muslim, has little booze and that it does have is super expensive. Not scoring points here, Malaysia...). Also, the pedicab drivers are the most enthusiastic we've seen, decorating their two-person side cars with fake flowers and christmas lights and extremely loud pop music. The Chinese settlers here are known as Baba Nonya or Straits Born Chinese and have their own unique food style that combines some of the spicy indian/indonesian flavors with Chinese noodles and tofu. Yum.

Tomorrow we head across the peninsula and into the monsoon wet season for the beaches of Cherating.

An island in a lake on an island in an archepelago

Oh, Lake Toba. A mere 4 hour hop and skip from (supercrappy) Medan and you get to this giant freshwater lake in northern Sumatra - the largest lake in SE Asia. In the middle of the lake is lovely Samosir Island, which is lush and steep and has traditional Batak culture (which we learned about!). The main town on Samosir (at least as far as we can tell) is Tuktuk, on a little peninsula on the Eastern shore of the island. We arrived via ferry, which drops you at your desired lake front hotel in Tuktuk. Most hotels have swimming sections and black, white, and red Batak carvings around the fronts of the traditional buildings with thatch, saddle shaped roofs.

According to locals, tourism all over Sumatra has been down since the late nineties - and we were persistently questioned about why westerners we're coming there anymore. We maintain that it is simply far, far away from the U.S., but the truth is also that no one thinks of going to Sumatra on vacation. But you should! Its fantastic. There were very few tourists around, and we basically biked around the edge of the island, swam in the perfectly clear fresh water, read our books, and ate tasty food. We guess you can go to a waterfall or some hotsprings or something, but we didn't bother. It was awesome. Also, as a young man we met pointed out, the sleeping is excellent in Tuktuk because "Tuktuk no Wahwah" - meaning that there is no 5am call to prayer to wake you up. They are mostly Christian in fact.

The local people were also having a 4 day long wedding while we were there. There were giant woks full of food, dancing late into the night, flower arrangements, and fancily dressed people coming from both directions via motorbike (there's only one road around the island). The party straddled the main road, so you had no choice but to walk through it and soak up some of the party atmosphere and interesting traditions going on. After a couple of days, we were waiting to get our laundry from a spot near the festivities, watching a strange dance involving baskets balanced on people's heads and lots of hand waving. A young reveller from the village leaned over and asked if this was what funerals were like where we come from. "Oh, you mean weddings?" Kate responded. No, he said, this was a funeral. The woman had been 94 years old, so they were celebrating - with more than 150 family members in attendance. If it were a young person, it would not be so happy, but she was old so they have a four day long party. "So...this is a funeral?" We still could not believe it, but it did explain why we hadn't spotted the bride and groom yet.

Anyway, if you're anywhere close, go to Lake Toba. Its in the top 10. However, do your damnedest to avoid Medan, where we had to spend a night on either end of our Toba trip and generally wanted to kill ourselves. And there is much Wahwah when you stay between the giant masque and the karaoke bar in Medan.

Wild Orangutans!

We saw orangutans in the wild! Let me explain: We flew from Yogyakarta to Jakarta, then to Medan (in northern Sumatra), from where we took a bus to Bukit Lewang, a small mountain town on the edge of a national park. On the bus, we met a friendly guide named Eddie, who told us about trekking options in Bukit Lewang. Since Eddie was surprisingly unsketchy and unpushy, we decided to go on a two day, one night trek into the jungle, in hopes of seeing some orangutans.

Bukit Lewang had been a thriving tourist town on the edge of a lovely river, surrounded by jungles where wild orangutans and other amazing animals roam. In November, 2003, a huge flood basically wiped out the town, killing a third of its residents and closing many hotels, restuarants, etc. Since then, its been slowly rebuilding, at about a quarter of its original capacity now 5 years later. However, its an exceedingly charming town, with thin suspension bridges spanning the river and connecting the two halves of the town. Small shops line the now-reinforced banks, looking down on the clear water running below. It was the perfect place to land in after a long day of travel and a long week of Javan cities.

We set off early the next morning for the national park, with our two guides and two german girls rounding out the trekking group. After about an hour of trekking, we saw our first orangutan, munching leaves in a tree about 20 feet over our heads. Unlike their monkey cousins, orangutans (who are apes, not monkeys - we're learning so much!) live and travel alone, only getting together to mate. This orangutan was a huge adult male, probably about 25 years old, and as we watched he looked down on us with strangely human eyes. He swung around, crossing to different trees, hanging from one foot, entertaining us for the better part of an hour. We hiked on and came across 7 more orangutans that afternoon, including 2 pairs of mothers and babies. Orangutan moms care for their children for 5 years, until they are ready to venture out on their own, and much of this time the little apes cling on to their mothers as they swing through the trees. It was incredible. We also saw gibons, macacks, and a giant monitor lizard (which was about 4 1/2 feet long and looked totally prehistoric). Eddie teased us by offering us "jungle ice cream" - which turned out to be terrible tasting bark from the quinine tree. I'll take malaria over that disgusting bark any day.

We got into camp in the late afternoon, and after the hot and humid jungle, were rewarded with a swim in the river. The porters had set up camp for us and had tea ready (which really is a nice way to camp!) and we spent the evening listening to the guides tell jokes and do card tricks. The porter/chef made a delicious dinner of chicken and curry (and not so delicious fishy tempe), which we happily ate before retiring to the tent. In the morning, we all awoke to a troop of monkeys drinking in the river, numbering about 15 in total. Kate went down to the river to brush her teeth, thinking the monkeys would run away, but one bared its teeth and growled at her instead, which was hilarious to everyone except Kate. We hung around and had a lazy breakfast before hiking down to the bigger river for a swim. Finally, we loaded onto an innertube raft type thing with all our gear and rafted back to town through the rapids. We spent the rest of the afternoon watching the Sumatrans playing in the river, since it was Saturday and everyone was enjoying the day. Astonishingly, our two days in the jungle in the middle of the rainy season was rain free and full of sunshine!

This morning we got up and took a hot little bus to Medan, where we're spending the night before heading to Lake Toba in the morning. From the balcony of our hostel, you can see the city's beautiful central masque and the mall across the street with its giant MacDonald's golden arches. That and the becak drivers (motorcycle with sidecar used like a taxi - the Sumatran tuktuk) constantly asking if you want a ride pretty much sum up Medan.

Joe-gjah AKA Yogyajakarta

We left the flooded and soggy Solo by a quick and easy train ride to Yogya (pronounced Joe-gjah). Upon our arrival into this bustling art and culture metropolis we walked around and saw the big sites first. We visited the Kraton, the Sultans palace and walled city compound, which was largely like the Kings palace in Solo but a bit grander - 'same same but different' as they say. Both the sultans and the kings of these provinces are just figureheads; icons of a past era but with no political power. After the Kraton we headed for the nearby Bird Market which is exactly what it sounds like: hundreds of small birds for sale in beautiful bamboo and wooden cages for sale. Indonesians love having birds around their homes, restaurants and guesthouses as decoration and good luck. Exhausted from a morning of wandering, we took a Becek (small pedi-cab, very cheap and everyone uses 'em) back for beers and cards. The rain and heat here are a deadly duo that really zap your energy in the late afternoon but make a perfect excuse for and early and leisurely cocktail hour. I'll remind you that 'cocktail' is somewhat of a misnomer here - liquor is rarely on menus and is VERY expensive i.e. we saw a bottle of Carlo Rossi wine for 40 USD in solo.
For our cultural evening, we went to an traditional Javanese puppet show, the kind behind a screen with a full gamelon orchestra and a single puppeteer who does the voices and characters. We arrived early and had a tour of the puppets with the artist - an enthusiastic guy in sweatpants and a few dreadlocks and a similar number of teeth. The puppets are quite beautiful and amazingly ornate.
We sat down, the only audience members, and waited for the show to begin. The music was warming up, the puppets leaned against the screen and the sound system was being tweaked. Twenty minutes later we realized that the show indeed had begun on time and we were watching it already. A Japanese tour group came in and were actually more entertaining I'm afraid to say. We left after giving it a good 45 minutes. The city of Yogya could do with a reassessment of it's only museum's representation of this traditional Javanese art. I'd like to give a shout-out to my dad right here; Dad, your shadow puppets really trump those shown at the museum in Yogya, Java. Thought you should know that.
After leaving the show, we strolled through the annual carnival going on outside the nearby Kraton. Ah carnivals are oh so universal: fried food, popcorn, awkward teenagers on dates and glowing ferris wheels, there was even cotton candy.

The following day was our journey to Borobodor which is a giant Buddhist stone temple just outside town. We savvy travelers decided to take the public bus as it's so much cheaper. With only one bus change, we figured no problem. And really, it wasn't too much of a problem because the pick-pocket dropped my wallet when he was grabbing it out of Kyle's fanny pack (yes - we purchased a fanny pack, no we have no shame at all). Kyle grabbed the wallet and we deboarded at a strange station in order to catch our second bus. Both of us clearly shaken but thanking our stars he didn't succeed, we got on the next bus where we were likely charged at least 3 times the usual cost of the bus because we are tourists - or maybe just because we are tourists who carry fanny packs. Arriving a Borobodor we just decided to take a deep breath and enjoy the rare rainy-season sunshine we were being blessed with for our temple viewing day. Borobodor was indeed an incredible sight and the grounds were beautifully green and well maintained.

I'd like to take a minute now to discuss being American in Indonesia. Here is a conversation that takes place nearly hourly here:
"Where you from?"
"America"
"Ah OBAMA!!"
"Yeah - Yay Obama!!"
"Obama - he's my friend" (or some other reference to the fact that our president spent a number of years on Java as a kid.)

It's also not uncommon for people to start talking to us to practice English. In fact many teenagers proclaim this when stopping us on the street "I am going to talk to you to practice my English. What is your name? Where are you from? Do you like Yogya?". Most often, it's really endearing and brave so we try to be as encouraging as possible.

Prambaramayanarama

Not to be confused with the awesome band from the 1980s, our day yesterday was a Pramba-ramayana-rama. Actually, it started with a trip down Malioboro Road to the local market, where we were seeking out some batik creations. Somehow, in the course of our browsing, we became accompanied by a small mustachiod Yogyakartan who proceeded to "assist" us as we searched through literally hundreds of batik stands. This little man took it upon himself to show us through the entire market, hijacking our shopping trip in the process and pointing out everything from spices to sponges. He was also learning new english words like green bean and place mat. Totally unsuccessful on the batik front, although now aware that the moomoo is alive and well, we bid our little friend farewell and headed back to our neighborhood, stopping for a little advice at the tourist office.

We soon learned that the best performances of traditional javanese dance are held at Prambanan, a 9th century Hindu temple about 15 kilometers outside of town. Since we were going to check it out anyway, we hopped on the bus (which had a station and punch cards and was very unlike the bus to Borobodor - we were impressed) and went for the temple-ballet twofer. We managed to convince the ticket lady that at least one of us was a student, and got that person into the temple for half price (take that, UNESCO!). As you may recall, Yogyakarta had a pretty serious earthquake in 2006, which toppled some of the temples of Prambanan. The temple overseers seem oddly proud of this, and there are extensive signs explaining what happened and the subsequent response by archiologists and preservationists. They did a fairly great job of repairing the ruins, although you aren't allowed inside or next to all of them. Still, points to Prambanan for both recovery and cool temples -- we're getting a little hard to impress after the zillions of wats we've visited, but we oohed, ahhed, and snapped pictures at this one.

We then walked through the rain to the theater, where the Ramayana is performed twice a week for enthusiastic crowds. In the dry season, they perform it outside with Prambanan in the background, but these days its next door at an indoor theater. After the rather disappointing "puppetry" of the previous night, we were cautiously optimistic about the ballet, which turned out to be spectacular. The monkey army and evil gods were certainly the highlight, and though we missed the extreme eye movement of the Balinese style, we couldn't help but admire the poppin'-n-lockin' of the dance fighting scenes. Good conquered evil, and it was kind of like "Java Romeo and Juliet, but with happy end," as everyone keeps telling us. Except that it is totally not like Romeo and Juliet at all, but more like a complicated ancient Hindu epic.

Today, we thought about renting bikes and hitting the back alleys of Yogya, but found there to be no bikes available, and so tramped around the back alleys and down to another neighborhood, where we got the greatest cup of coffee possible. A long becak (pedicab) ride home showed us some more of the main streets of Yogya, and we rounded out the day selling books and buying postcards (and a new deck of cards!) in our neighborhood. Tomorrow we head via plane to Medan, in northern Sumatra, for some rural excursions.

By the way, Kate and I have played so many hands of cards that we finally had to invent our own game. It kicks ass and mystifies waiters, who peer questioningly over our shoulders and shake their heads in wonder. Its alternatively called "Take Five" and "Kate Can't Speak Spanish." Be excited.

Solo Bike Trip

Our bike adventure in the outskirts of Solo was incredible. It started with our fantastic guide, Ajip, taking us through the somewhat flooded streets of the city. After torrential rain the night before, there was about 2 feet of water on some streets, which we biked through along with the rest of the Saturday morning traffic. People were rather non-shalant about the American-emergency-level flooding, although a somewhat toothless gentleman did take it upon himself to wade waist deep and haphazardly direct traffic. Although they usually cross the river on a bamboo raft with the bikes, we had to take the bridge out of town because the river was dangerously high. We first stopped at a tofu making house, where soybeans were heated and pressed and heated and made into tofu in old window frames.

Next we went to the gamelan making house, which was absolutely amazing. A team of 8 guys takes a sheet of bronze about the size of your arms spread all the way apart (in the "the fish was this big" way) and turn it into a musical instrument by doing the following: the plate is set on a pile of burning coals (which is kept burning with a leaf blower in an adjacent hole feeding it fresh oxygen) and heated to glowing red, with one guy handling the super hot plate. Another guy then grabs the giant smoldering plate and hauls it over to a makeshift platform of fresh mud, where 4 guys with 20+ pound metal hammers are waiting to pound the edges out in a terrifying 1-2-3-4 swinging movement. Yet another guy continually turns the plate while the hammering guys hammer away for about a minute, until the plate cools too much and it is yet again thrown into the pile of charcoal. Process repeats until the bronze plate has become the right shape for the gamelan - it takes about a day for each gong to be completed. All of these guys are barefoot and most also have a cigarette dangling from their mouths the whole time. This unbelievable process happens in a very hot, very sooty room with a charcoal floor.

The gamelan is then given to another guy who is the tuner - he hammers out the inside of the instrument until it reaches the perfect pitch, which he recognizes by ear, even though his job is incredibly loud and must damage his hearing. Yet another guy then polishes the top of the gong until its beautiful and shiny and ready to sell. A full gamelan orchestra requires 98 gamelans, each of which is made in this traditional way. Craziness. All of the guys that worked at this production house were from the same family, a family that had been making gamelans this way for generations.

We then biked along through the rice fields to a place where they make arak (cane liquor), tempe, and rice crackers. Along the way, innumerable children chased us and shouted "Hello!", giggling with each other when we said hello back. We stopped for lunch at a little roadside restaurant where Ajip explained some of the more intricate Javanese dishes and Kate had the best strawberry juice in the world. We finished our trip at a batik workshop and saw all of the traditional ways to make batik (bark for dye, hand painted wax) and the ridiculously intricate patterns they create. Fantastically educational day in Solo!

Later that night, we went to the recommended "dance performance" at a nearby theater. The javanese, like the balinese, are all about their traditional arts, especially dance and shadow puppets. It being Saturday night, the place was packed with local teens talking and texting on their cell phones. The performance was largely unintelligible and once of the strangest demonstrations of dance imaginable - overweight men in weird masks pointing and stomping their feet to intermittent musical accompaniment. Cultural, certainly, and still worth the 30 cents apiece, but we hope the Yogyakarta performances with me a little more...magestic. We left the next morning for the hour train ride to Yogyakarta.