tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69812895972709089142024-03-21T09:57:23.237-07:00Borneo adventuresMike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-50243740903077538692013-02-21T09:16:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:31:20.477-07:00(xx) winds of change.A Westerly wind blows to take me home. 5 airports, 4 planes, one taxi, one coach and a bus. Reality sinking in with each transfer. Island life left behind. Friendships reduced to social networks and fading memories.
The happiness of children playing in Mabul's shantytown plays in my mind. Young girls set a tin can on the floor and retreat 10 yards. They each throw a flip flop. Closest to the canMike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-19325865738526997052013-02-20T01:14:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:35:34.983-07:00(xix) a book with a passportI began the trip reading a book from a charity shop in Yeadon, England. Angela's Ashes, beautiful depiction of a difficult childhood in Ireland. I then bought 'Land below the wind' which tells of Sandakan, Borneo before the war, through the eyes of an intrepid American resident and her English husband.
Both books consume the reader directly in locality. The sights, smells, laughter and pungent Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-13608220064585675102013-02-20T00:53:00.001-08:002013-02-20T01:06:28.099-08:00(xviii) diving Sipadan.There are no words. Sipadan has been a dream since visiting the Philippines 2 years ago. The whispers of her underwater beauty grew as I travelled nearby islands. That holiday she remained a secret, a promise, a dream.
I am sceptical when I hear somewhere is THE Place to go. I tend to avoid such destinations for fear they are tourist traps. My expectation was that I would find nearby islands Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-67801552100440309652013-02-20T00:06:00.001-08:002013-02-20T00:19:55.802-08:00(xvii) My ocean valentine
My Valentine is late, but I forgive. I fear she sought love much longer than just one day.
Her beauty calls out; poised vulnerable and innocent on the bed before me. I draw close, tracing her body, echoing her gentle curves. Abandoned, forlorn; savaged by recent tides and reckless lovers.
I learn her name; Sipadan Mermaid. Tattooed to her side like a branding, an ownership. She rests helpless,Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-17169938302639926132013-02-19T23:34:00.001-08:002013-02-19T23:34:12.676-08:00(xvi) chasing the dragonSemporna. A city whose sole purpose is access to world class dive sites. But really, it could make some effort. Dirty streets, market stalls and shops stack every inch of the harbour. There is no beach, no seafront nor destination to speak of. Finally though, a traveller vibe, and divers flush with natural wonder.
*****
Peanut allergy strikes. The 'restaurant' has no toilet. I withdraw to Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-66794120820688185582013-02-13T14:20:00.001-08:002013-02-13T14:20:11.112-08:00(xv) jungle wildlife
The Rain Forest. It's aptly named.
I see little wildlife as I head towards Uncle Tan's campsite. Lone passenger on motor boat, torrential rain pounding into my face. I arrive at camp feeling like the new Castaway in an ill-thought Mancunian version of the show. Only wetter.
Accommodation comprises wooden open fronted huts, no doors, 3 double mattresses separated by mosquito nets. I am unsure Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-14481563244065138242013-02-12T06:07:00.001-08:002013-02-12T06:08:17.582-08:00(xiv) Orangutan sanctuary, SepilokOrangutan sanctuary, Sepilok.
Opened in 1964 to rehabilitate orphaned Orangutans. Importance increasing as the rainforest is destroyed to facilitate Palm Oil plantations.
96.4% human. Orang-utan's feed, hug, play like humans. Move with languid ease through the trees, peeling fruit with feet, gripping branches with each available limb. My only question is which is more developed? Us or the ApesMike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-48741820981271745792013-02-08T19:36:00.001-08:002013-02-08T19:37:02.425-08:00(xiii) Chinese Temple, Sandakan Memorial parkEarly morning trip to Puu Jih Shih Temple.
'no bus sir, no bus. taxi, taxi 50 Ringgit.'
Eventually I find the bus and pay the 1 Ringgit fare. Number 34 if you ever need to know. Beautiful Chinese temple set on the hillside above Sandakan, 'the place beneath the wind'. I guess that makes the Temple 'The view of the place beneath the wind'.
I enjoy the ornate dragons, Chinese lanterns and golden Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-49572363423913461152013-02-07T02:05:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:40:39.122-07:00(xii) Heritage trail, massages and ***the twitch***I wake with aching calves. Climbing down Kinabalu is having an effect. I'm walking like I've experimented.
Today I shall mooch. The occasional meander, and certainly a wander, but mainly mooching. I take on the Heritage Trail walk, the 'stairs with 100 steps' is just cruel. Calves on fire, right thigh spasming like an affectation. Massage needed.
I settle in an English tea-room with croquet Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-44537422025672917112013-02-07T01:15:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:43:24.009-07:00(xi) mineral baths & canopy tourFor me, planning and holiday making don't often combine. This time, I'm glad they did. Aching from Mountain descent I grab fresh footwear and reclaim baggage. I pass the bandits stalking soft tourist fodder for the trip to sulphuric hot springs. Natural remedy for aching limbs.
I flag a local people carrier and barter a fare. Squeezed into backseat centre, cuddled up to baggage, I make the Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-11363158841489109222013-02-06T05:12:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:46:43.708-07:00(x) A conversation with vertigo2.15am alarm call. I'm a late riser, others already moving. Shower in icy mountain water. Invigorates, empowers, enlivens. Clearly not every part of me agrees.
Kitted in fetching red / purple reversible balaclava (perfect for the friendly bank robber) and stripy red and white gardening gloves. A head torch to guide the way. 2.8 km to scramble and 1000 metres to climb before sunrise. Welcome Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-49430379347898379552013-02-05T18:46:00.001-08:002013-02-06T04:58:53.436-08:00(ix) Heavenly views of Mt Kinabalu
Just met a girl who is scared of butterflies. Fingers crossed she never meets a shark.
*****
I arrive at mountain base-camp expecting a group to climb with. 'No sir, no sir, single person guide only.' There are groups all around me, small groups of Europeans, larger groups of locals. However, limiting numbers give employment to more guides. If I join another group, my guide would not be paid Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-50022278569507114502013-02-03T07:48:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:50:26.566-07:00(viii) Ain't no scuba low enough, ain't no mountain high enoughOk, so no sharks yesterday; a little poetic licence whilst waiting for the dive boat. Good to get back in the water though. Hoping for some amazing diving in Sipadan next week.
Diving yesterday was limited, as was visibility. My right knacker couldn't see the left on the final dive. Some good company on the boat though. A lovely couple who live out here now, half French, half English; like a Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-55871594963048487582013-02-02T05:29:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:53:49.878-07:00(viii) It's all about big and deepI don't want to sound shallow, but it's all about big and deep for me. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy the foreplay; the titivating view from above, tantalising shapes and depths to be explored for the first time.
The anticipation, the expectation, framed with a little performance anxiety. It has been a while, more through opportunity than choice. I just hope I remember how the equipment works - Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-51865648078449626052013-02-01T04:23:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:54:51.293-07:00(vii) Brunei reflectionsMy thoughts on leaving Brunei. A Sultan state, alcohol free. Death penalty for drug importation. Iced coffees drunk in cafes in the early hours. Gentle patter of conversation. Unsurprisingly a lack of Aussie, Brit and Irish travellers drinking their body weight of chilled cappuccino.
Brunesians are the friendliest people. Warm greetings offered on the street. Not once did I feel uncertain or Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-59348795362294029292013-01-31T08:41:00.001-08:002013-01-31T08:49:18.856-08:00(vi) Repurposed water villagesThat first tickle of sunshine on a Winter's skin.
It just teases happiness to the surface.
*****
Kampung Ayer. 'Water Village' cast in the river ways of Brunei bay. Actually 28 villages. The wooden Venice. A shantytown on stilts.
The very fabric of Kampung is repurposed. Each wooden panel speaks of different intention. A life changed. Adapted. Cycled anew. Shabby, not chic; yet beautiful, Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-67373882622112695242013-01-30T22:27:00.001-08:002013-01-31T08:19:49.809-08:00(v) Aerobics Brunesians and proboscis monkeysIn every city exists a path. A road above. A road beyond. This city's path is steep and littered with aerobic Brunesians. Two elderly gents pass wearing towels in tribute to Rocky. My mind fights with images of a Miyagi / Stallone hybrid. Perhaps a comeback is on the cards.
The morning light makes photography compelling. Probosci monkeying around above me. Camera lens moist with humidity. WipedMike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-11348791786252186322013-01-30T09:23:00.001-08:002013-03-26T14:58:50.436-07:00(iv) purple buses and food markets
I land in Brunei with relief I'm not the girls in the row behind. 16 hours done, hour's respite before boarding for Melbourne. Ouch. Headed home. 2 months travelling round Europe, met on flight back. Love travel.
I asked Halifax for small notes. I hold 2 x 100 Brunei dollar notes (~£50 ea). Thanks Halifax. Need to break a note. Where to become unpopular? Kiosk, ice coffee. $1 please...hmmm I'll Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-33611889443264588002013-01-29T09:29:00.004-08:002013-03-26T15:00:13.815-07:00(iii) Terminal airports
The airport terminal is just that in the early hours. Little interest. No distraction. I settle in a worn leather chair and write my fortnightly task. Numbers this time; the number 14. Unusual for a writer's group. The thoughts have been ruminating for a few days. The piece writes itself. Will have to post it on my normal blog.* May pass it to the group to chew over in my absence. Sentimental. Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-42958409187679110902013-01-29T09:27:00.001-08:002013-03-26T15:01:24.501-07:00(ii) Whitesnake...
iPod shuffle...
Songs trip by as I slip into sleep and back, head rocking with numerous gear changes. Jack Johnson, Razorlight, Whitesnake.
There's always a song. Funeral, Wedding, Car trip, Holiday. Always a song, but not normally this soon...
'I don't know where I'm going...but I sure know where I've been'
I've travelled plenty. So fortunate. Every year I escape. From what? I Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6981289597270908914.post-43601868971222958812013-01-29T09:18:00.002-08:002013-03-26T14:26:33.064-07:00(i) Flip flop freedom
Such relief to discard work boots for a few weeks of flip flop freedom. One, rigid and restrained. Practical. Necessary. Occasionally smart. The other carefree, well travelled, allowing air to the bones and breathing space to the sole.
The boots left in the junk room where flip flops hibernate through winter months. Poor boots, they deserve a holiday too.
The trip starts in fine fettle. A few Mike Bonnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02985779831115308855noreply@blogger.com0