Our leech experience the other day inspired me to hunt out my diary record of the first time we encountered these ghastly creatures -- which was during our first trip to Borneo.

Actually, for me, this wasn't the first trip, because at the end of 2006 I'd had a two-night stopover in Kuching en route from India to New Zealand. But this was the first opportunity for more than a cursory glance.

We landed in Brunei at the very end of 2008. Our time there passed in a bit of a haze; we were jet-lagged, and Nigel wasn't that well.

But we found Bandar Seri Begawan very pleasant. There were interesting museums. The main mosque was beautiful: plain and elegant, white and gold. A boat trip to see the Sultan's Palace in the fading light is a popular trip for good reason. And ordering (non-alcoholic) cocktails and dinner on the terrace of the River View was an excellent way to enjoy more watery scenes, as evening boatmen buzzed about with various cargoes, the lights came on in the water village opposite, and lightning crackled in the thick black banks of cloud.


The Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque






Watery views in Bandar Seri Begawan





A highlight of our brief Brunei interlude was the trip to Temburong. First up, we took the public ferry to Bangar (down the Sungai Brunei and up the Sungai Temburong). You don't get a brilliant view from these boats, but by twisting and craning, we could appreciate the water village, the mangroves and other types of vegetation, the network of watery channels, small and large, and the zigzagging course the boatman has to take to avoid sand banks and so on.

We were met in Bangar, and driven to an "eco-village" for morning coffee (I remember the fried bananas and karipap). And from there we set off up the Temburong in a long boat. It had rained yesterday, so the river was higher and faster than usual. We certainly had to negotiate lots of rapids. It's a wonderful way to travel.

Our objective was the canopy walkway, which we reached after a prodigious amount of stairways and ladders, sweat, steepness, and slipperiness. From here you can stare out over a vast expanse of misty, forest-covered hills.

On the way back on the boat, we did a little waterfall stop.







The flight to Kota Kinabalu was absurdly short. I'm not sure why we didn't go overland. Lack of time, I guess.

In KK, we visited the museum, whose picturesque grounds display various types of traditional houses. And the following day we joined our little tour.



We started at Kinabalu Park. No, we didn't climb the mountain. But we enjoyed walking the trails in the park, which are full of tiny orchids, pitcher plants, and mosses. We checked out the Kinabalu Gallery. And we did lots of relaxing. It was actually cold that first evening. The altitude of our accommodation was about 1,500 metres, and we really noticed.









Poring Hot Springs was the destination for the next day, and I'll let my diary take over for the next little while:

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5 January 2009

The springs are set in a very attractive park. We descended quite a bit to get here, so it was much warmer, and the vegetation was very different. Dipterocarp forest, as we now know to call it. Poring means bamboo, and the bamboo was indeed enormous.

We first walked up to another canopy walkway. Nothing like as arduous a climb as the one in Borneo, but still enough to make you very hot. You zigzag about, landing every now and again at platforms attached to huge trees apparently called king trees. Once down again, we headed for the waterfall. On the way we saw a snake. Right on the path. I thought it was a belt at first -- it looked totally unnatural, with its stripe and its red head and tail. Quite scary to realize it was real.













Back at the Springs, we ate our packed lunches, and took to the waters. This was very faffy, involving lots of fiddling around changing, and leaving us with the tough problem of getting wet clothes dry in a very humid environment. But it was worth it. Basically, the public area is a collection of deep, vat-like baths, which fill (pretty slowly) from two taps, hot and cold. It takes a while to get enough to bathe in, but once you do, it's very nice. Only faintly sulphur-smelling, and you can moderate the (pretty hot) temperature with blasts from the cold tap.

Once dressed, we headed off to see a rafflesia, which some enterprising farmer is growing, and allows you to visit on payment of 20 ringgit. That was worth it too, despite the muddy walk (I really am getting to the point where I'm distinctly over mud). It wasn't a huge one -- 66 centimetres across. But there it was in all its full, slightly grotesque glory, clearly a magnet to passing carrion flies. Around it were the slightly surreal shapes of rafflesias-to-be -- an ensemble of seven of them in one place.





6 January 2009

Our whole world was still inside a cloud when we left this morning, and there was no view other than mist and rain for quite a while. As the weather eased a little, we became ultra-aware of vegetation. Its lush wetness, and its dense greenness, almost started to feel oppressive. Vegetation EVERYWHERE -- beanstalking up electricity poles and (later) oil palms, and covering every inch of ground. The sheer exuberance of it all was somehow exhausting. And it's SO wet. How do people ever dry their washing? We now have, in addition to a clean bag and a dirty bag, a wet bag and a damp bag.

The changeover point was Telupid, which brought a coffee opportunity, and a new guide, driver, and van.

The countryside changed from here, as we went through mile after mile of oil palm plantation and its accoutrements -- oil mills, trucks bearing the fruit, tankers carrying the oil. We also started to get more mosques again, many very dinky, with little onion domes perched atop their roofs.

We ate our packed lunches bowling along the now much improved roads.

Our major stop was at Gomantong Caves. There's a little walk to reach the Black Nest Cave (so called because of the colour of the swiftlets' nests, which are only 90% saliva and 10% feathers, as opposed to the white ones, which are 100% saliva). A little way along the path, we heard the uh-uh-uh of orang utan, and saw several of their abandoned nests. But sadly no orang utans hove into view.

Outside the cave there is a little settlement occupied by the people who have won the contract to harvest the nests. Their equipment -- including hair-raising ladders, reminiscent of an old siege machine -- is also stored there.

The cave is very beautiful. Two light sources break the darkness, and illuminate towering walls, dripping water, fluttering and nesting bats, and the remains of the swiftlets' nests (most of which have been already harvested). It's also REALLY gross. There is a boardwalk, but it's quite slippery, and the handrail is coated in guano and occupied by squadrons of cockroaches. Indeed, the cockroaches are legion and ubiquitous. It also smells, from afar, of ammonia. There are centipedes and spiders, including the bird-eating spider. In all, in fact, it's like something out of Lord of the Rings. You're just waiting for Shelob to appear. Complementing the teeming cockroaches on land, scurrying continually around your feet, are the scuttling little crabs in the stream. Definitely the stuff of which nightmares are made. But very interesting.







We are staying at the Sukau River Lodge, which is situated on a broad yellow river that immediately reminded us of the rivers of Africa. We have a nice detached hut, which is very spacious, and has a fantastic ceiling fan that is doing a great job of drying the washing.

An afternoon boat trip took us down a fairly narrow tributary of the main river. Rather than yellow, the water here is brown, and the colours mingle at the mouth like the swirling of milk into coffee.

We saw two small monitor lizards, two different snakes (a pit viper, and a yellow-ringed cat snake), macaques, and proboscis monkeys.

It came on to rain quite heavily, and wrapped up in our brightly coloured ponchos, we must have looked like a boatful of exotic flowers.









7 January 2009

Quelle day. Quite horrendous. As a friend used to say, every trip has its low point, so let's hope this is it.

We started with a boat ride. Up the main river this time. Several sightings of hornbills, with good views of those very distinctive beaks. We also saw egrets, with their strange flight positions, the neck tucked in, the tail narrow, so they look like they're flying backwards. But best of all, we saw wild orang utan. Pretty difficult to distinguish -- just round brown balls, basically -- but never mind. We have sighted wild orang utan.





Then we turned off the main river onto a narrow channel leading to an oxbow lake. And here we did a most miserable walk through the jungle. I suppose it's good to get off the road, off the boat, etc, to see what lies beyond, but believe me, what lies beyond is horrendous.

The worst are the leeches. We'd purchased "leech socks", but they are far from adequate to keep the brutes at bay. First, there are MILLIONS of them; and second, they are ridiculously mobile, hanging off leaves or lurking on the ground, ready to cling on to you, and caterpillar their way up your clothing, incredibly quickly, in search of the nearest bit of flesh.

Just standing on the shore before moving off, I was grossed out, and as you make your way through the undergrowth, inevitably you pick them up. So we spent the entire time spotting them, and getting other people to get rid of them. I just freaked out whenever the little beasts started racing up my trousers. I'm sorry, but I now well and truly have a leech phobia...

Then there's the mud. Shluppy, shlippery, revolting mud, that rapidly cakes your shoes and most of your person. I'm not good with slippery at the best of times, but here you can't even apply the usual strategies -- if you grab hold of something, it's liable to be spiky, or leechy, or bring some snake tumbling down on top of you.

Was there anything good? Well, it's very interesting to know what's out there, and to see the tracks of wild pig and elephant -- elephant! -- and know that at least you're in the zone. And some of the vine-covered trees are very beautiful, in the very filtered, dim light at the bottom of the forest. But I missed most of the guide's explanations because I was too busy looking for leeches, and wondering what was crawling up the hidden parts of my person.


What you actually need is not leech-socks but leech-onesies

So, all in all, a very unenjoyable experience. But it got worse. About to get back on the boat, we found a leech inside my clothing. Great. From now on, every little bodily sensation felt like a leech... So, on the way back, although we saw the orang utan again, and clearer this time, and more hornbills, I was just thinking, I want to take all my clothes off (it was raining by now, and I'd already found another inside my rain cape), and check that there are no more of these freak-shows lurking in other places.

Well, we eventually did get back, and indeed there was one lurking. I felt something rolling revoltingly down the bottom of my back, and sure enough, it was a leech. The peeling off of further layers led to the discovery of a large blood stain on my shirt, and a still-bleeding leech bite. Total yuck. Words fail me.

It bled for quite a while. Obviously the anti-coagulant these little menaces use is pretty powerful.

Anyway, eventually it stopped bleeding sufficiently to let me cover it with tissue paper, which I stuck on with a plaster. After which horrors, I was well ready for a restorative lunch.

We did another boat trip at 3.30. Much more decorous, this one, with no walks, but there was yet another leech scare when we found a further ghastly specimen lurking inside my rain poncho, which we were convinced we'd checked already. So I now have paranoid visions of them gathering inside the hut waiting to get me.

The boat trip was actually awesome. Lots more macaque, and adorable proboscis monkeys. Bats inside a little cave under the limestone cliff. A little niche with swiftlet nests; egrets; various herons.

And great views of hornbills. I couldn't describe them in detail, but apparently we have seen six varieties. Most impressive have got to be the rhinoceros hornbill, with the huge upturned projection on the top of the beak. But also very distinctive are the white-crested hornbill, which have rock-star Mohican-type hairdos.






Rhinoceros hornbill


White-crested hornbill

One of the nicest parts of the trip was just drifting downstream, with the sun getting lower, and all the sounds of the jungle -- birds, insects, frogs -- coming out to us across the water. As the sun sank, the mist started to rise faintly from the river, and the colours and silhouetted jungle fringes were beautiful.





8 January 2009

We took a boat to the bus, and the bus back along the road to the main highway. Another bus took us to the jetty near Sandakan, and another boat out through the mangrove- and palm-lined waterways to the open sea and to Libaran Island.

Another world. Sea. Glorious sun. Blue, blue, blue.

Once landed at Libaran, we had a little walk to the local fishermen's village. Trim little houses, many adorned, as so often, with rows of little plant pots. Fruit trees -- breadfruit, mango, guava. Lovely open spaces with shady trees and grazing cattle. Fish drying on a rack. A lady mending nets. A trim, breezy little school with some very friendly six-year-olds. All very peaceful and delightful.

After lunch we took the speedboat to Turtle Island. We went down to the beach, and did some snorkelling. It was not epic, with very cloudy water making you feel as though you were hanging over an aquarium where someone's not cleaned the glass too well. But it's always nice to see fish. They weren't dense, but there were lots of pretty ones.

We met our guide at 6 pm down by the restaurant. While we watched the evening fall, with lovely towers of cumulus cloud forming on the horizon, he told us a bit more about green turtles.



It's an amazing story. They're survivors from the dinosaur era. They live to 100 or so, if not unluckily trapped by a fishing net or lured by a plastic bag. They mate at about 30. The female is sometimes drowned by the attentions of too many males. They spend their lives at sea, only coming to land to lay. The little turtles have a minuscule chance of survival.

We then had a look at the exhibition, and watched the video. The aim of the turtle programme is to release as many small turtles as possible. This can best be done by protecting the eggs. The vast majority will still die, but at least in absolute terms the number that survive will be greater.

The little turtles are pretty unco when they're first in the water. The adults are wonderfully graceful, using just the front flippers, it seems. But on land their progress is very effortful.

After dinner, we waited. No-one ever knows what time the first turtle (the only one tourists are allowed to view) will come. We were actually pretty lucky. The cry of "turtle time" went up at about 9.20.

This was the biggest group we'd been with all holiday, and some of our 30-odd companions were pretty annoying. When people are asked to turn off the flash on their cameras, why don't they? When they're asked not to use torches, why do they?

Anyway, frustrations or no, I saw a green turtle laying eggs. Once she's finished, the ranger tags her, and measures her. The eggs have already been collected.

What's astonishing is the size of the hole she has dug. Basically, the whole turtle sits in a large hole, within which she makes another hole for the eggs. Once she's laid, she has the task of filling the entire pit back up with sand.

We left her doing that, and went to the hatchery to see the eggs being buried in holes within predator-proof fencing. Two months from now, they will hatch. "Our" turtle had laid 72.

The final bit of the process was to watch a bucket of hatchlings -- ones they'd made earlier -- being released into the sea. They're all scrambling to get out of the bucket, but once released, they don't automatically turn to the sea, even with the ranger standing there with a torch to attract them. Even once they'd all managed to make it to the sea, it was clear that their swimming abilities were limited, and the slight current was bearing them rightwards.

All quite moving. You know most of those little creatures won't last long, but you sincerely wish them well, especially after their mother's heroic efforts.

9 January 2009

A turtle had become stuck -- or rather lost -- during the night, and was under one of the chalets.

After being guided in the right direction, she was finally transported by wheelbarrow back to the sea. Of course, lots of people gathered to watch, so she must have been pretty terrified. I kept my distance, but it was interesting to watch her rescue. On land, everything is a real struggle for them, so getting lost is really unfortunate.

There were four layings in total last night.


The green turtle who got lost after laying her eggs

After breakfast we took the boat back to Libaran Island.

From there, a further boat trip took us out to Bakungan Kecil. There's a lot of military presence here. The Malaysians are obviously keen to address issues of trafficking, smuggling, illegal immigration, illegal fishing activities, and threats from Philippine rebels. It's kind of odd that conserving turtles should share space with conserving Malaysian territorial integrity. Before we returned, Nigel accidentally stumbled across a guard post, complete with submachine gun. The guy called him across, and they had the sort of conversation people have when they don't speak each other's language. Then he got his comrade to take a photo of him and Nigel, putting on his hat to look more official.

Anyway, once arrived at Bakungan Kecil, we boarded a glass-bottomed boat, and set out looking for a good area to snorkel, which was what we did next. The water was clearer here, and we saw a reasonable number of fish.

Then we spent an hour on the beach, just drying off and relaxing.



The trip back was beautiful. The water was blue, and incredibly glossy, like a slightly undulating sheet of glass. Cumulus clouds piled futuristic shapes on the horizon. And little islands, green and gold, flecked the water. Some of them are Philippine. The border is incredibly close to the Malaysian shoreline, for some reason. In fact, we were probably snorkelling in Philippine waters.

The afternoon brought another short boat trip, across to the mainland. We went up one of the rivers, lined with a broad band of mangroves, and past a fishing village, where our guide bought a bag of mud crabs at 5 ringgit a kilo. The grown-ups were sorting out fishy bits of equipment, while lots of jolly children frolicked in and around the river.






Yellow-ringed cat snake

Later, as we waited for dinner, we heard the strange call of the nightjar, which sounds for all the world like someone knocking on wood.

After dinner, at which -- with great and messy difficulty -- we ate the crabs the guide had bought, we went for a little wander along the jetty. The moon was nearly full, and the tide was extremely high. There were flocks of little twittery sandpipers, who would gather on the jetty, and then disperse as we approached.

We had already heard a tokay -- a gecko with a curious, croaky-cuckoo call. We heard another back at the chalet. We also took a look at the water levels at the little beach to our right. The water had completely covered the beach, and was lapping at the top of the bank. Not much room for extra water.

10 January 2009

This morning was cool, with a nice breeze.

After breakfast we headed back to the mainland jetty from which we had started. The bay was full of fishing boats, of all sizes. The tide was really low, necessitating quite a feat of navigation when we got to the narrow, mangrove-studded bit. Very beautiful, though. The exposed roots of the mangroves reflected prettily in the water, and the equivalent bits of the nipa palms, coated with mud, looked like ridged brown heating ducts. We saw a few macaques, and some lovely kingfishers, as well as crabs and mudskippers.



A minivan picked us up at the jetty, in time to get us to Sepilok Orang Utan Centre for the feeding at 10 am.

This was spectacular. Four orang utans, plus a totally adorable three-month-old baby. We had great views. These apes have huge hands and feet, and gorgeous faces. They're also very gentle. They could have knocked the pig-tailed macaques for six when they swarmed around trying to steal food, but they put up with them patiently.



We watched the video after the feeding. This was a rather moving account of the rehabilitation work that the Centre is carrying out. Some of the rehabilitees never quite wean themselves off human support, whereas others adapt quite readily to living freely in the reserve. It ended with a rehabilitated male being transported to another protected forest area. To everyone's delight, after 10 years at the Centre, he was straight out of the transport box, up a tree, and finding fruit.

After lunch we boarded the 2 pm flight to KK. The adventurous bit of the holiday is now over -- just when you start to feel that, if only you could get your washing done, you'd be up for travelling a good few months more.

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We spent the last few days of our Borneo stay at the Tuaran Beach Resort.

Chiefly notable were the really high tides, which had quite dramatic consequences here. The sea would do its best to flood the garden. And when the waves crashed against the sea wall, the whole hotel building shuddered.

It was nice to be back in "civilization". No more mud. No more sweatiness. No more creeping dampness. But in such circumstances we did also miss the roughness, the genuineness, the proximity to nature. We missed the monkeys and the turtles and the hornbills.

The weather was quite rainy, so our resort routine consisted, pleasantly enough, of eating, sleeping, strolling, and reading.







Very early on the 13th, we headed once more for the airport. The first part of the journey was still in the dark, but as the light came back, we had our last glimpses of the bemisted Crocker Range, the big ships in the bay, the outlying islands, and several impressive mosques.

The flight to Kuching and onwards to Singapore was uneventful. But through the newspapers they were handing out, we gathered that the high waves and heavy rain had done considerable damage in Sandakan, and had flooded some chalets on Turtle Island. No mention of the eggs. We hoped the hatchery hadn't been flooded. It would be horribly sad to think that all that effort on the part of the turtles had been in vain.

What a rewarding trip this was, way up there with our most impressive.