I never fail to marvel at the advancement of modern travel. 24 hours ago, I was dipping myself in the Kiulu River off Ranau with hubby, lost in a world purely ours alone save the water buffaloes, egrets, the jungle and a river snail. There seemed to be something of a magic akin to listening to a really good gypsy jazz performance live (I know, weird analogy but stay with me, ok?) but only this, you know what you get on the day will never be ever repeated in the exact same motion. The river was wide, some parts deep even. However it had a certain kind of temperament that welcomed us. So you see, two very tired and river-crazy travellers in search for that elusive river - getting all ready to gingerly dip ourselves nuts in nature's flowing basin.
And here I am, lounging on my bed at our latest "home away from home" in a cute L-shaped room with dubious pasted wall painted in a kind of rusty red that no woman would ever think of wearing on her lips. But I got to say, once you've reached your comfort zone in long term travel, you get pretty accepting of the kind of creature comfort that may have been deemed a bit off the edge back home. I just need to remember to not put too many things on the rack nailed onto the bathroom wall - it may just collapsed any minute! Our bed is clean, a bit springy for my liking but we are situated so close to the jetty that I am not complaining. Although it would be nice if the workers take an early day off from renovating the room next door... think heavy hammering, every whack determined to cut through the brick walls, thud-thudding away in a count of four I reckon, maybe I can even hum a tune along the way!
We got picked up after making an easy journey from KK to Tawau, and caught a bus from the town centre en route to Semporna, where the main jumping off point resided. Now for what I can say about getting on a bus downtown, which was roughly nothing eventful, I could reverse for the trip backtracking and beyond past the airport on to Semporna. Firstly, we hung around the bus station looking for a van making its way to this part of the world and boy, it was such a sight! The Tawau town is crap. There is nothing here that I can honestly shout on top of the hill to ask of you "hey buddy, throw away your desk job and join me here!" but chatting with the "locals" whom were Filipino and Indonesian migrants that had settled long before comfortably here, you won't have to sell your parents to get someone to talk to you. Different Indonesian and Tagalog accents flow out as freely as their smiles although I get suspicious that the children don't smile much. Everywhere, things were in shambles, the streets were dirty but you see many moved quickly in their bid about their daily business. We finally found our way to a van that could sit seven passengers but in reality, turned into a sardine can of eleven by the time we left. The driver was not going to move out unless he was happy that he had packed his van snug enough that any one more passenger, I would have to stick my head out of the window. And then we were out of there... hooray, hands in the air!
One hour later, I thought my left butt cheek had given up on me. I was also trying to maintain a clear air space above my full bladder and though perhaps that lulling myself to sleep will make arriving at Semporna sooner. We passed by fields of oil palms, and more palms, and just more, more palms. Our driver roared through the highway like he was on a speed drip. Either that or I thought someone had been watching too much F1 action of late. Another hour later, I didn't think I could wiggle anything from my toes, but you kept smiling, that's the whole point! At one part of the journey, I thought I should suggest to The Lonely Planet to ask of their readers to think about wearing a girdle, if they ever attempt this route and mode of transport - Mr. Driver slammed across a piece of the road that was absolutely not tarred at all - result? Shit suspensions groaning underneath my seat, teeth barring passengers, and me trying my best to not spit out a chunk of my liver. The fields turned slowly to old villages, something like going up to your mum's old attic and finding a dusty shoe box filled with old stories. That was the kind of feeling I got here.
We were unceremoniously dropped off by a tree that we both thought would serve as a nice chendol stall, but I digressed... desperate to draw some sanity back to our minds by relieving our bladders, now the size of a grapefruit, we darted across the burning road into KFC. How about some snack plates, why not?
Heart wrenchingly, we saw kids pressing their faces from the glass windows outside. It's one of those moments you just acted out of pure instinct - I am not saint, but something flicked in me and before you start to get into the "to give or not to" debate pertaining begging, I handed my box of freshly made fries to one of the girls outside. Her brother and younger sister came soon after. We only had a glass of soda but I gave them each RM1. The little girl's palms were spotted, I couldn't be sure if she was having some skin problem but I sure knew that these kids were malnourished, and worse, they could not speak a word of Malay (which pretty much was the lingua franca amongst the migrant communities). My suspicion ranged from lack of schooling to just alienation from the other communities. But then again, I could only guess.
Moving on we headed towards the fish market. Nothing spectacular, just full frontal dirt, lack of hygiene and lots of people bargaining and purchasing their daily seafood ratio. All eyes were on us and retrospectively, I could understand. Here you were, pushing through a plastic bag of sardines while two ogle-eyed travellers, one with a Mr. Bean's Teddy tied to the side of her backpack (it's a love gift from my hubby while we were on the road... so yeah, you can laugh and bug off!) and the other looking like he was badly in need for a shave. Anyway, we found our base and scouted around for some dive bookings. Then it rained. Like someone turned up the faucet and the skies bawled like crazy. Much of the heat dissipated but the humidity just stayed.
We hung about a bit more at our place, the Scuba Junkie. Nothing to do here except to wait for dusk to fall, and that's when I suspect the small town springs to life. Who knows? Part of the game is to find out. And yes, we are in business - hubby just got back with ten dives booked, and we secured a Sipadan 3-dive day. Now we just need to kick back and chill before heading out again tonight.
Life can be so good, and again, just so darn good.
