You know how a heavily pregnant woman bears her full bloom at the world? That is how Miri was, not in sense of her size but the humidity holding up above us. Being the first stop of our leg around the world (phase II) we disembarked from the small Fokker plane onto blistering tarmac grounds.
And what a welcome it was. The heat smoked us to get out of the airport quickly to find respite in our guesthouse. This was an upstairs shoplot, clean and crisp plus we found out we got the “honeymoon suite”. Super.
Mrs. Lee was the co-owner and she proudly declared that she hand-sewed the bed cover for our room. I was beginning to think of my mum… anyway, we found much to our delight that time did pass slowly in the local fashion and when in Rome, we roamed around the local style. Slapping on our slippers we wandered down the main road named South Road. Albeit a quiet town, it didn’t have the kind of laziness akin to dead towns. Miri was moving at a good groove but it had a way to add the beauty of subtlety into its pace. We went about drinking the local herbal tea with ice, which was immensely cooling, except that my loving half decided to venture into a path infrequently trodden, that was to add an ice block into his glass of beer. You got to love the local kopitiam culture! We saw a master of the greasy kitchen whipping up tasty morsels from his seasoned wok. A few men taking a lunch break and discussing the daily news interspersed with hello to a fellow passer-by of a friend.
It wasn’t that difficult to check out the town on foot. But I would strongly suggest putting on some heavy duty sunblock. The very night, I found out our love suite was nestled in the heart of the karaoke-pub culture of Miri. Some Michael-learns-to-rock was belting out knife on glass oldies that extended past 2am. I was very keen on our trip the morning to the Mulu Caves.
The following morning shone bright and ready for us. After taking a quick fly into the interiors and witnessing thick luscious spread of rainforests, we were beginning to appreciate how raw and random something could be, yet mesmerizing. We reached the park’s headquarters which were literally a great location by the Paku River. We strongly recommend staying here as we found out, it became a great place to meet other fellow travellers and formed adventure teams! Our accommodation took the name of “Leopard Cave” although we were hard-pressed to spot any. There were plenty of geckos, bugs of all assortments, stunning kingfishers and bats. The latter, I would have easily and readily adopt as a pet. They were the very reason that I, being the feeding totem for mosquitoes, was cleared and protected – read : unbitten during our 5-day stay in rainforest surroundings.
The day began with our checking into our rooms and signing up for the 2pm walk towards the first two caves to be explored. The trek took a 3.6km stretch into the open clearing that led to these caves. What fascinated me was how varied the flora was – it’s not your usual well-trimmed garden, there wasn’t any worker arranging the lawn. Everything was completely there because it became there, and only in time it will be dispersed by another plant or leaf. Its fauna exited harmoniously to help it flourished and grew, seeds and spuds were spread far and wide, and the orchestrated sounds flew loud and strong in one of nature’s biggest sound studio. The air, needless to mention, was fresh and cooling. Yes, I was sweating because of the humidity but the walk towards the caves was well sheltered by Mesozoic era plants of height and coverage. At the end of the clearing that we were to rest, stood in front of us were Gua Lang and Gua Rusa, local term for the Lang Cave (discovered by a local tribe man going by the name, Lang) and Deer Cave (used to be frequented by deers but sadly not anymore – just humans).
Both caves were relatively easy to explore. I found Lang Cave virginally beautiful. Being a cave novice (and still am!) I was delighted to expand my repertoire beyond take nothing but photographs and leave nothing but footprints. These formations that evolved by millions of years’ wind and water corrosion left behind fans and draping curtains of patterns – walking through very well-tiled walkway was an enjoyable experience to sink your eyes on the myriad of curves and shadows formed by not only stalagmites and stalactites, but round mounds and flowing riverbeds of pebbles and shimmering pastes. We learned that swallows never venture into caves but its Real McCoy, the swiftlet will even nest in these caves. The cave was filled with their chatter and these lovely mummies do take their jobs seriously. There were amongst us who shone the torch directly at them, something I would advice to not to do, but these mummies just stayed put. One of nature’s simple captures that penetrated the complexity of modern sophistication. It was a little nest, a pair of beady eyes, and I was moved. Perhaps I was just soppy?
Deer cave was a completely different story. The smell overpowered my enthusiasm but soldiered on we did. If Lang Cave was intimate, then Deer Cave was Goliath. It reminded me of a massive cathedral ceiling only that the deafening sound from the colonies of bats was a poignant reminded to not gape at its marvelous display. Guano galore. Even in the dark I could figure out some moving insects that I suspect were the hardworking fellows that I should be thanking for clearing off the droppings. I know that I should be appreciative but those creepy crawlies were mean looking bugs that just kept on churning those numbers! There were a few bats that came all the way down to hang by the viewing platform only to be served a spa-like service by these winged groomers. Lovely to see them on the bats, not my legs though. At one point, I convinced myself that it was the wind caressing my calf.
Given it was a hot day, our chances of spotting these flying marvels (the 3 million bats) were high. And sure it was – although I got a cranking bad neck ache, it was one of the most spectacular sights I have ever seen in my life. They were like giant swirling snakes pouring out of the cave’s mouth to shoot for the skies at dusk. Amazingly, they almost never hunt together, only alone. A few even came to visit our porch at night as we sat by the verandah.
Strongly again I would suggest bringing your running shoes if you love trying out the path back to the headquarters. Easy enough but simply stunning at night. It poured heavily that night too. Sometimes I wish I have a hammock with me. We made coffee and sat outside while I played a bit of my erhu. Life was simple and you fall in love again.
The next morning was a canopy walk and a walk towards Camp 1,where the Paku waterfall resided. A light day, take some lunch with you and chill by the cool waters in the river. It’s just you and the entire forest. The river held plenty of fish but they were healthily curious to check you out but never enough for you to touch them. On the trek back we came upon, or shall I say, smelt upon something akin to rotten garbage. It was a shoot, or a flower hybrid that bloomed into a really pungent smelling stem that attracted heaps of insects. One of nature’s marvelous creations to proliferate but what a waste to not have a local guide to educate! Our earlier guide was one of the local Penan tribe men and we benefited from his teaching regarding the strangling fig tree, and how it will overtake other trees to form an exoskeleton casing once it had devoured its host. Sounds pretty hostile but vital to the preservation of the forest’s floor and its available nutrient as the dying tree returned back to the soil. We saw also the “Ipoh” tree which the local used to make their poison darts. I was about to try kissing its bark to experiment. We passed through some caves as well to learn that previous practice from the Penan tribe was to bury their dead here. They don’t like to mention their names thereafter only referring to them via the location.
And yes we were back for another night of downpour. And at Mulu, it never drizzles.
The next morning we formed a team to head upriver and conquer the Clearwater Cave, Wind Cave, and Moonmilk Cave, including the adrenaline-fused Racer Cave. I’m going to share about the latter as you’ll easily get heaps of information on the other caves. So there we were – a team of eight and another local Penan guide by the name Ismail. This cave was named after the type of snakes that coiled and sprung at any flying object detected under the category of food. Hence Racer Snake. But we found a small one, beautiful fellow, almost looking like a moonlit silver coil at the corner above a cave walkway. There were also tones of crickets (fat and juicy) and big pompous spiders. I almost lost my cool when I found that one as big as my palm was resting just inches away from behind the rock that I grasped for support as I hauled myself up from one of the underpasses. This was a two-hour journey and one of the evaluation caves (being intermediate) for more advanced caving adventures such as the Sarawak Chamber and the Clearwater Connection. I learned on this day, how leaning back (kind of going against your grain) will help you better in rock climbing and group camaraderie.
The last activity was a night walk. Ours began in earnest at 7:30pm. The one-hour walk ended in just shy of 30 minutes as another downpour came. It isn’t named a rainforest for nothing.
But we took the opportunity to stay on the shed while the others in the team scurried off to the comfort of their hot showers. Ismail, again was our local guide and he, besides possessing in-depth knowledge of the plants and their usages, I found, was also a passionate professor of Christian faith, a man who loves his wife and one who is at an interesting junction of his cultural and heritage changes with time. He was also heavily involved with the Mulu Park’s conservation and eco-friendly promotion effort to integrate tourism and education for both the tourists and the locals.
“We moved every time a person in our village passed on. And the Penan tribe had co-existed with the Berawan tribe here for centuries, although not short of territorial confrontations. We adopted dissimilar ways of surviving from the forests. Many of us had converted to Christianity but we still kept to our “adat” or the traditional ways of lives with the land. But in our hearts, there is God. My grandfather had the ability to convey with the spirits of the jungle and had performed miraculous feats. But it was also he who began the conversion to the new faith and so followed our whole family. As for the family that lived down by the Paku River, their grandfather decided to break away from one of the old adat and asked to be carried to near the Clearwater Cave, at a chosen resting place for himself. He wanted to die there so that his grandchildren won’t have to move again. There is no need to uproot. It’s time to plant.”
So said Ismail.
Sometimes in travel, you have to learn to see the opportunity. Sometimes you create them. I got myself a very good tattoo (one of those stick-ons) in the form of a black dragon that I have seen a while back but I thought just in case it may strike up a conversation. Now, not that I am encouraging you to go tattoo sticker happy, but hey, in my case, it did work for us. We have triggered enough interest from the local Penan guides to talk to us beyond the formal “hello, my name is Johnny and I am your guide today”. I discovered their sense of humour, I learned about not all Orang Asli chose to have tattoos, I was told that in these villages here at Mulu that some still adopted the old way of tattooing, and most of all, they were all very polite and appreciative, nonjudgmental of my having a tattoo on my arm. They did all think it was real and when I teased them a little citing that it cost only RM1.90, many were in for the joke as well. I personally found it, surpassing the tattoo, an interesting way to just get a glimpse of the true owners of the land here, how they have grown and how they hung on to their traditions and make do with new ways of understanding our world. In a sense, I feel that I have so much to learn about them. And in that way, that is very humbling and exciting at the same time.
The Penan people don’t even have a word for “thief” in their native language. Goes to show how much we have lost in our skyscraper worlds.
We left Mulu with a vow to return. There is the majestic Mulu Summit, or named Puncak Mulu to climb, and return we shall. I can’t imagine or fathom that this will be the last time.
The beauty of Borneo is that flying from Mulu via Miri en route to Kota Kinabalu is a piece of airborne slingshot cake. That’s how quick it was. Within the same day, it was sipping my first Pina Colada in a long time since Samui by the beach of Tanjung Aru. Didn’t hurt that the wind was playing Bollywood effect on my hair, I felt like a superstar with my shades on.
We’re sort of in between a chill-out phase after the initial energy driven rush at Mulu. The KK stop saw us driving about 400km through Penampang, a gateway to the Kadazan-Dusun domain and we cut through towns of green, lush welcoming villages, made even more appealing after last night’s downpour. The rivers were swelling, the road signs read another completely different language – it was almost like Sulu dialects. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly (and how close we are) to a breath away from cement existence. The homes here are modest built-ups from wood and their inhabitants still rely affectionately to the land. The air became cooler as we drove higher into the inner heart of the Tambunan area. It had certainly been a long time since I bought something for 10 cents. Those fried slices of banana never tasted as coyly sweet as we washed them down with our drinks. Life was slow here but again, what’s the rush? Everyone came out in their local “tamu” which loosely translated to a make-shift market where you sell your wares. Anything can be sold. I saw an old woman just asking another younger comrade with a stall if she could “tumpang” or hitch a spot on the ground next to her to sell her mangoes. Four big ones, for RM2. I was dumbfounded. These are really simple people and I felt again, inspired by just their tenacity to turn away from excess.
After a good tucker we headed towards the Mahua Falls. Along the way, there was the odd avoiding a herd of cows, some local Bajau horses, the kids going home from school and lots of waves and smiles. A short de tour took us to Mat Salleh’s memorial, which was hidden in a padi village. You could still catch a glimpse of the local women returning from the tamu with their wicker baskets hung over their foreheads through a strap. Mind you, they were carrying loads of vegetables and they grow big here. I need to make a reminder the next time I head to the gym…
Anyway, what looked to be a quiet village save the few rowdy young lads running around us out of curiosity, we saw up close a lot of mummy buffalos with their calves. I didn’t know that the young have very visible long wiry hair on their body but the adults seem to lose them after. There were the local heron-type of birds known as “Bangau” here, and dogs. It was dog haven. They sleep nonchalantly on the road, even one-month old puppies just stayed put. You have to have a heart of stone to not get out of the car to shoo them gently on their way. However we did meet some older dogs that did the Akimbo at us – loads of eye balling as we drove towards them. Not our fault, just us on the road and they seem to think that we need to pay a toll fee! They were all right as we avoided them along the way. But at one point, I got off a side stop to get into position to photograph some “kerbau” walking home with their old man of an owner and two dogs escorting them. These weren’t sheep dogs or Border Collies. Just moggies and one even looked like a cross between a Collie and a Dachshund. Short legs didn’t stop it from appearing to be “what’re you doing here!” stance. We moved on across miles of rivers and padi fields and terraces. It felt like we were worlds away from our worries.
Once we reached the Mahua Falls, the sky was gently cloudy. You get a feeling of exhilaration when you hear the steady roar of a swollen river coursing down the forest once you get out of your car. It was a short 500m trek into the forest path to get to the falls. This was an Indiana Jones inspired cave that served as a backdrop for the waterfall. We could have gone camping here and swimming in the pond but our gears were a little underprepared – oh well, we just have to come back again! But the falls were captivating. There was a main stream with a supporting cast of tiny veins of water seeping out from the cracks of the stony walls. The uneven surface brought on this cascading effect only to be perfected to a luminous effect as tiny droplets of water bounced off into the air. Looked long enough you may actually think the waterfall was a long draping curtain that some fairy had let loose from the cliff above.
So far, I felt really proud of how educated and protective the locals are of both the Sarawak and Sabah natural conservation sites. Facilities, albeit simple were effective and sturdy. The place is kept clean and holds important value in providing vital information about our past and treasures, so that we can be more informed about our future. I guess everyone has a role to play and I hope that we all keep our parts with dedication. It needn’t be complicated. Just treat it with respect and keep it clean.
Our drive back took a turn up to the Ranau highlands. By the time we passed by the memorial commemorating the Ranau Death March, lest we forget, dusk had settled. I had never seen a sunset beamed out from the darken silhouette of the Crocker Ranges, in an array of fuchsia, pink, orange and red. The imposing Mount Kinabalu was on our left. The villages all hovered under the protection of the night as life took on a different beat with their respective evening activities. Dinner and washing up, only little lights emanating from the odd opened window from a wooden house indicated to us that here, life took on in their own pace too.
A long time ago, I remembered someone telling me that try as we may, the Borneo Island remained as one of Earth’s mysteries. Man has tried and is still trying to study her, but much is left to be discovered.
I find that today, as I sit here to ponder my thoughts on writing, which is so true. Only in time, it will be revealed. Discover, that is all that we can coax her.
