(xi) mineral baths & canopy tour

For 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 springs in half the time and a fraction of the price. Locals benefitting rather than national business.

Planning extended to booking lodgings outside the hot spring national park. It comprises a room in the rear of a Chinese Wash house. How convenient; 'Mountain-fresh' aroma is not all it's cracked up to be.

I walk over river misted with mineral content. Beauty in prime condition. I find a ceramic complex of baths, pools and foot troughs. I expect many a wearied tourist, seeped in sweat and stories from SE Asia's highest peak. Yet what I find is altogether nicer. Local Chinese population meeting for chat and soak after daily grind. A walk in the park and rest in the pools. Social meeting place. Like the Romans. Like Victoria Baths.

Victoria Baths is my Dad's pet restoration project. Swimming pool, wash-house and meeting place rooted firmly in his childhood. Tiled building of beauty. His favoured story is the water cycle through the three pools.

First class male...
Second class male...
Female.

Here there are 8 pools. Red hot jacuzzi. Icy rock pool. Six deep oblong holes between; each a progression from hot to cold. I study the groups. Teenaged boys sharing rugby-esque ritual. Families, groups of girls covered in full Islamic dress. I'm not sure there's class progression in force, nor where I might fit within. I alternate hot Jacuzzi with cool rock pool and cover both ends of the spectrum.

*****

Sulphur induced sleep captures me from early evening until the morning after. I wake refreshed, and check my emails for news from home. Grandad still in hospital, more tests on back and shoulder pain. An email about diving - Sipadan may be fully booked. An email from home - the Westerly wind blowing through my life again. Imminent change. Welcome change.

National Park Canopy Tour. 150 metres long walkways through Menggaris trees; perfect accompaniment to elevated mindset. Planning, preparing, readying myself for fresh challenges. I've missed the excitement. I've missed the responsibility. Oh, the trees were quite pretty too.

Another dip in sulphuric pools, easing mountain-tired muscles, loosening the brain. Perhaps I need a hot-tub back home...

(x) A conversation with vertigo

2.15am 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 breakfast of porridge and eggy bread. Avoided the urge to dip.

Conversation limited as endless steps appear. Sweat from exertion hangs wet inside raincoat, cold against the skin. Mist condensates outside.

Steps are gone, now sheer rock faces me. Steep shards descend toward darkness. I hope I never see where they end.

*****

Hello vertigo, meet altitude sickness. Please, have a party in my head...

'Look down'
'Why'
'Just look down, you'll see'
'What, what will I see'
'Nothing'

'What do you mean, 'nothing?''
'Just...nothing'

'Why are you lying on the rock?'
'It's comfortable.'
'Comfortable rock?!? You looked down didn't you?'
'Maybe...'
'Yes! What did you see?!'
'Nothing. Just nothing.'
'Look again, look again!!'
'FUCK OFF Vertigo'
***hugs rock***

*****

The landscape opens to moonscape. Layered rock climbs toward destination. Harsh wind blows in the darkness. My legs gather momentum, using each group ahead to fuel my rise. I pause. Behind, headlights progress through the night. Left, right, left, right. Martian Miners parading silently for the bewitching hour.

The final rock-face. A steep but simple scramble. Every few feet altitude steals my breath. I collapse above, nestled in against fierce west wind. The cold forming a blanket around me, wrapping it's way into my skin digit by digit.

*****

First light brings clouded sky. Sun visible through shadow.
What a shadow.

Shepherd's warning lights the candy-floss sea. Cloud sedimented in altitudinal layers; some chased across the horizon, others static as the rock itself. Peaks of granite resolute against the weather, peeking out to enjoy the view. Can't blame them.

My mind full of images cameras cannot capture, I descend. Curious to see the route already trodden. Stark beauty in nature's first light.

(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 today. I approve, though it is a shame not to have more company.

Whitesnake sings in my ears as I climb (see ii). However I am not alone. Maikin Sikon has been a guide since 2003. He has a wife and a child of 8 years. 'At twelve, he can climb the mountain.' I will walk 6 km today and climb 1000 feet. The air is thinner but quite manageable.

I pass members of the matching cagoule brigade; each equipped with professional walking sticks. I feel inadequate in trainers, with a scuba dry bag strapped across my back. When they catch up I will find out what gear I need to take walking seriously.

Religion is on my mind today as I climb Mount Kinabalu. There are many paths to climb a mountain. Each path here is guided by a local. It prevents Europeans straying. One European who did stray was Brother Benedict, a Dutch Missionary who came to kg bundu tuhan village in 1968. He built St Pius church and now Maikin Sikon, his family and village are all Christian. Perhaps 50% of Borneo are. 40% Muslim, 10% the rest. All climb the mountain paths in harmony.

*****

The view takes my breath, as does the altitude. Balcony perched 3000 metres above the sea. Above the clouds. Above comprehension. I am surrounded by crisp greenery and vibrant red flowers. Simple yet defined colour palate framed against blue skies and whipped white clouds. Tomorrow's foreboding grey stands above me.

*****

Perhaps the Greeks got it right. I sit at 3000 feet and there is no doubt there is a God. He is the clouds beneath me. She is the sunset before me. It is the summit ahead. I don't know whose God I view, but I know she is beautiful.

*****

God is in Good. The concept is described many ways. For me, at the positive heart of each religion lies strong moral teaching. A child with religion is a child with something to believe in, to aspire to. The realisation of this belief is in the good done for others.

I walked some of the mountain today with an English girl who has taught in China for 7 years. Last week she shaved her shoulder length hair to the scalp in a school assembly. She raised £5000 for cancer research.

A friend is a qualified football coach. He has worked with high level football teams but has now established his own charity for less advantaged males. The charity is driven by his goodwill and commitment, fundraising and positive influence. It is based in his Christian faith. The impact crosses faith boundaries. It is delving into humanity and having a positive influence. It is what life is about. Sometimes he 'persuades' me into foolish endurance football events to raise funds. I forgive him, his heart is in the right place.

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