I arrived in Kuala Lumpur, capital of Malaysia, save and soundly the morning of November 9 and made my way to one of the hostels that striked me as a good pick in a dated Lonely Planet. No couchsurfing here since I felt more like live action travel talk and fellow likeminded souls.
After weeks of hectic chaos, traffic jams and noise of all kinds in India, KL (as it's usually called) is bliss. Modern, clean, almost enchantingly orderly bliss. However, one can doubtlessly tell we're still in Asia here: The city features three different and independent train/metro/subway lines that are interconnected only partly and hence will leave you quite puzzled if it wouldn't be for a readily helping hand from a smiling station officer near-by.
This has been my second time in Malaysia (my good friend cK and I found ourselves on precious Pulau Penang in spring 2013 after some months journeying through Thailand, Laos and Cambodia), hence I gleefully recalled the extraordinary food variety that striked us then and was also hitting me now. What the LP states about the city of Melaka (see below) is undoubtedly at least as true for KL: its "food mirrors the city's eclectic, multicultural DNA". I didn't miss India too much from the start - riding up the road from the airport to a country's capital and largest metropolis without a single honk clearly has its charms.
Still - after enjoying a yummie Masala dosa plus samosas for breakfast I opted for the Reggae Mansion (near Masjid Jamek) as my hostel of choice - even though it's shamelessly expensive and I wouldn't actually recommend it. In the 12-bed dorm soon after check-in I made the acquaintance of two Dutch travelers: Kiran, who was just about to leave town (but we made plans for exploring Sumatra together) and Selena, still having a full day in KL ahead of her before catching a plane to New Zealand. So we started off together and soon found ourselves on the Sky Bar Kiran mentioned earlier, overlooking the truly magnificent Petronas Towers (with some 452m the highest buildings in the world between 1998 and 2003). I didn't even bother paying the ridicilous amount of 80 Ringgit (1€=4.7R) to simply get on the Towers' Sky Bridge when the Sky Bar we were on came for free with (and high speed wi-fi).
Next on our sightseeing tour were the food stalls and markets of Chinatown, the Islamic Arts Museum (which was closed, but hey, we tried) and the Masjid Negara mosque.
I could clearly impress Selena and various stunned locals alike with my crossing-crowded-streets skills, something I learned and breathlessly practised in India: Move your hands as in using the force, direct the palms towards approaching cars, look confident - they will always slow down for you (and you can cross the road like Obi-Wan Kenobi).
After sharing some excellent hours debating religion and world politics we said farewell and I kept on socializing on the hostel's rooftop where I encountered the 2nd Gordon in my life (he was British; the story of my 1st is worth telling, too, but this blog is likely not the place).
Next on the list (after long yearned-for hours of profound sleep) were the rather surreal Batu Caves, a limestone outcrop discovered some 130 years ago, meanwhile turned into a complete tourist craze atop 272 steps which allow for quite a view. One really has to experience it, I dare-say, but it's best enjoyed with headphones playing soothing music - Indian and Malay chit-chat will otherwise eat up your nerves. And obviously someone will ask for a photograph (or 10).
Among the sights in the city centre I can highly recommend hanging out at Merdeka (Independence) Square, visiting the National Museum, getting lost in one of those crazy malls and observe dozens of cheerful, cheeky monkeys in the 92-hectare Lake Gardens - just south-west of Chinatown - even though mosquitos and bugs of all sorts make reading books on the lawns no fun. Little India was rather disappointing, at least if you're not into silk saris and rainbow coloured textiles of every imaginable kind.
I spent three full days in the capital before leaving by overnight bus to Malaysia's northernmost province, Perlis - right at Thailand's Southern boarder. Just off the coast is the 2nd largest island (after Pulau Penang), Pulau Langkawi; I mostly came for some proper beach life including klischee palm trees, yummie lassis, comfy hammocks and possibly snorkeling, too. I knew it to be touristic hence I originally planned to skip the West coast alltogether, but Pulau Tioman and all the other East coast jewels (as recommended by friends) were already closed due to heavy monsoon rain. (Well, one good reason to return some time in the future).
Being dropped at 05:30 in the morning at Kuala Perlis - the port town connecting the island - I was eagerly awaiting other backpackers and finally found myself enjoying the sunrise with a French couple and a young backpacking local who just returned from a long trip through Europe. After some time chatting he decided to take his own car, once on Langkawi, and drive me all the way to Cenang Beach in the far West, straight to my hostel of choice. Good man. The beaches were sublime, indeed, the sunsets spectacular and the hostel fairly cheap (snorkeling sucked). I quickly connected to fellow (mostly German and Suisse travelers, rented a bicycle and discovered the island's Northwest as well (even though I missed out on the waterfall - too bad). On my second morning on the island I woke up around 6am, checked on my iPod lying right next to me and spotted the news. Paris. Again.
After following the events for some three hours I started talking to my 2 dorm neighbours who, according to their accent, came from France (even living in Paris as it turned out) and we listened to the news together for a while, connected in worrying pain. I never felt more European.
Offshot: About Paris.
Due to these exchanges I decided to accept facebook's offer to colour one's profile picture - it's obviously a mere symbolic act, but this is how humans work; it's all about psychology. Empathy, compassion, condolence - especially in times of crisis. The French tricolore (and also the European flag) to me - more than much else - symbolizes democracy plus universal values as much as human rights. "Liberté, égalité, fraternité" are under attack and if there's anything I do not want to see collapse, it is this.
Thursday, a fellow likeminded traveler in our 10-bed dorm, actually came from Malaysia (just having found a job at some local boat repair, hoping to earn enough cash on Langkawi to keep on going all the way to Europe or even set sails on his very own vehicle) and we spent a good amount of time discussing the terror attacks, religion in general and possible alternative views on ethical living. He outlined quite some interesting points of view such as the West's colonial attitudes - many of the ISIS-embracing comments from his Muslim facebook friends left both of us speechless, however. I said it before and I repeat myself with rigid gravity: The vast majority of left-liberal thinkers in Europe are dangerously blinded in their naïve attitude towards Islam and religious framework and thinking. We don't need more religion or tolerance of the intolerant. We need quite the opposite: reason - accompanied by logic, science, spirituality without religion.
However, I will likely continue exploring these views in a later non-travel-related post.
From Pulau Langkawi in the country's North-West I took another nightbus South, all the way to the enchanting city of Melaka (also known as Malacca) in the equally named province. Once the greatest trading port in South-East Asia (quite perfectly located right at the sea strait between the great empires of India and China) by the 15th century and "attracting waves of conquering Europeans, each adding their own cultural overlay": first the Portuguese, then the Dutch (who later focused on Jawa) and finally the English who soon controlled most of what today is Peninsula Malaysia (the 2 other parts of British settlements one should keep in mind were Georgetown on Penang and Singapore).
The Strait of Melaka remains to stir up old imaginations of glory, sea trade and piracy, but the city itself really is little more than a tourist gem today: a gentle, medium-sized backwater with friendly locals, lots of historical treasures, multicultural traditions and supercheap hostels, comfy and modern. As a vegetarian I need to mention a place you really shouldn't miss out, cleverly named "Vegetarian" and located on the Northern part of Fourth Cross Street. Excellent, very affordable culinary delights.
Just when arriving at the bus station I met yet another French traveler (named Cyril) eagerly awaiting his friend who was supposed to follow up with a later bus. We waited for two hours, exchanged a bunch of stories about backpacking and working in Australia and then headed off to the city together only to learn that his friend was already here (exactly how he managed it remained a mystery to us); we ended up at the Jalan-Jalan Guesthouse for 16 Ringgit a night in just another 12-bed dorm. "Jalan-jalan", by the way, is Bahasa Malay (or Indonesia - it's essentially the same language with few artificial exceptions, quite like Serbian and Croatian) for Traveling.
The guesthouse also rented out bikes, so I made use of that and cruised along the streets that are very European in parts, certainly nothing remotely reminding of India (or possibly China).
Cyril and I headed off by foot at first, though, and when it suddenly started raining we got trapped in some kitschy market area that I remember best for its collection of T-shirts with anti-Israel/pro-Gaza slogans supporting violence of all kinds, including granade-throwing terrorists. Neither have I seen so many folks running around with Nazi emblems on their red-white-black shirts, likely not having the slightest clue what it could possibly represent. Well, at least we're having a pattern here: political religion and ideological extremism go once again hand in hand; add a lack of education to it - et voilà! - a lethal mixture. (If one wants to witness a 21st century fascist state in action one merely needs to look at Saudi-Arabia, but I'm drifting again.)
I later discovered a giant movie theatre and enjoyed watching the latest James Bond - Spectre - once again featuring a fabulous Daniel Craig (imho likely the best Bond of all times).
Sightseeing is pretty straightforward in Melaka - one cannot but marvel at enchanting Town Square and St. Paul's Church atop the hill, but I also recommend seeing one or two of the surrounding museums to get a better grasp of Malaysian history, their melting pot society and those endless links with European colonial powers until independence came after all (in 1957).
In the morning of November 18 I boarded the ferry from Melaka to the Indonesian port down of Dumai, crossing the Strait of Malacca. Once arrived on the other side I found myself in Sumatra and another adventure was bound to begin, even if only a short one. The last time I set foot on one of the 17,504 Indonesian islands is more than 8 years away by now and I feel old and full of wrinkles only by writing this down right now. Eight years. My good friend Donnie and I were spending four whole weeks in what was to become one of my favorite countries of all time, thereby journeying through the islands of Bali, Lombok (and the Gilis), Nusa Tenggara (including Komodo and Rinca), Flores and even Jawa (with Yogyakarta, Borobudur and Prambanan), the crystal-clear waters and the mindblowing snorkelling never ceased to amazed me, even in retrospect. That was in August 2007.
Now I'm back and I basically continued where we left off last time - ever since pondering about a way to finally experience the mysterious and spellbound remains of the volcanic explosion that formed what is now the largest lake in South-East Asia (and the largest volcanic lake on the planet), occupying the caldera of a supervolcano that slowly filled with fresh water and is now 100km long, 30km wide and down to 500m deep.
Danau (or Lake) Toba is still ages away from Dumai, this little and utterly uninteresting place the ferry from Melaka ships one to. The overnight bus trip took an unnerving 19 hours before finally arriving in Parapat - which is the mainland departure town to the lake - and it cost me some 230,000 Indonesian Rupiah (1€=14,700Rp).
I can only advise everyone to skip on the whole ferry idea (between Melaka and Dumai) which is not at all as romantic (as I have imagined it?) and take a plane directly to Medan instead which not only saves time but also lots of cash since corrupt customs officials (well, immigration 'authorities' in Asia are corrupt by definition as the experienced backpacker will know) will fish away €32 for a visa-on-arrival by ferry (that you won't have to pay when entering the country by plane, e.g. in Medan).
However, you don't actually want to stay in Parapat (but it still is a fairly decent place), but rather hop on a 20min ferry to the village of Tuk Tuk, situated on a small peninsula snd itself part of a huge island in the middle of the lake. Confused yet? Only a map can help out here and I'm trying to provide one. Nevertheless, the island is called Samosir and basically made to be discovered by bicycle; the surroundings are stunning and feature waterfalls, rice paddies, friendly villagers and a unique architecture that reminds of a boat hull (see pictures below).
The culture is known as Batak and the people bearing this name are described as being from Proto-Malay descendence, originating from Northern Thailand and Myanmar, driven out by migrating Mongolian and Siamese tribes who - once arrived in Sumatra - lived and thrived in virtual isolation for centuries before finally being converted to Protestant Christianity through Dutch and British missionaries (despite their still widespread animalistic beliefs: the banyan, e.g. is thought of as the tree of life; they tell a legend of their omnipotent god Ompung, who created all living creatures by dislodging decayed branches of a huge banyan into the sea). However, the Batak are believed to have been practised cannibalistic rituals until the early 19th century, but that is many generations ago and today they're known as skilled musicians, always keen on playing the guitar or some "cloth-covered copper gongs in varying sizes struck with wooden hammers; a small two-stringed violin, which makes a pure but harsh sound; and a kind of reedy clarinet".
Today there are more than six million Bataks, divided into six main linguistic groups, and their lands extend 200km north and 300km south of Danau Toba.
As much as I enjoyed learning about this very pleasant cultural entity I've been ever since, in fact, more fascinated with the geological backgrounds of the area and its possible biological consequences.
If you google Toba (which you should actually do, or simply keep on reading) you'll inevitably end up at what Wikipedia describes as the Toba catastrophe hypothesis.
What does it mean? Well, in short: the explosion that has been triggered by volcanic activity some 74,000 years ago is not only thought to have been one of the loudest in the last 25 million years, but it might have also caused "a global volcanic winter of 6–10 years and possibly a 1,000-year-long cooling episode".
The erupted mass is furthermore said to be about a 100 times greater than that of the largest volcanic eruption in recent history, the 1815 eruption of Mount Tambora in Indonesia, which caused the 1816 'year without a summer' in the northern hemisphere. Toba's erupted mass deposited an ash layer approximately 15cm thick over the whole of South Asia with a blanket of volcanic ash being deposited over the Indian Ocean, the Arabian and the South China Sea.
Most interesting, though, is the 1993 theory from science journalist Ann Gibbons who suggested a link between the eruption and a so-called population bottleneck in human evolution which basically means that every single human being today descends from a few ten thousand survivors some 74,000-75,000 years ago. I think that's a pretty sweet imagination.
But back to the present and the village of Tuk Tuk; I happen to be traveling in low season which means: less travelers in general (I only met some 4 other Europeans while cycling around the village), but it also guarantees low prices: for a night in a huge room incl. kamar kecil (toilet), double bed, balcony and inspiring lake views I merely had to pay some 30,000Rp (a bit more than €2). In case you're reading this while actually being in the village: Keep your eyes open for a restaurant named Orari in the Northwestern corner (fast wi-fi, hyperdelicious Nasi goreng and a wonderful, ever-smiling owner).
I could have easily stayed at Toba for a week, even though the lake isn't exactly clean or even translucent (like, say, Lago Atitlán in Guatemala, itself of volcanic origin and an absolut highlight on every trip to Central America), but there is much more to discover in Northern Sumatra, hence I was out and about soon again, heading to the jungle village of Bukit Lawang, some 10 hours from Toba.
You probably know that everything in Asia (and especially transport) takes longer than one would expect or hope for; never rely on schedules, promises or even rough estimations (e.g. from your driver), but always add an additional 3-6 hours to whatever time they say you would arrive - this appears especially true for Sumatra (it must be either the road condition or Medan's tricky traffic jams or both). Just to be sure, and you won't be disappointed (when e.g. trying to catch a connecting flight, you will likely miss it).
That said, at one point you will arrive and in the case of Bukit Lawang it's been a somewhat magical experience. I got dropped at the famous and well-known Yusri Café and soon made my way across a savage looking river on a hanging bridge of the kind you wouldn't usually trust even if encountered at daylight. Again, it's off season so I got an enchanting room for myself for some 50,000Rp (even though the bathroom was a catastrophe this time).
Most people come to Bukit Lawang (which literally means "gate to the hills") for jungle trekking and orang-utan spotting, but the lack of company (and cash at this point) made me think otherwise and I used my time for long and profound talks with locals (among them a group of kids that interviewed me on all sorts of funny to rigid questions from travels to languages, religion to ethics and ecology) and I also did some minor hikes myself (where I didn't need a guide for, even though I chatted with those, too). At one point I ended up in the so-called "Bat Cave" watching bats flying around like on acid while getting caught up for some 3 hours because of a massive rain shower (luckily I always have a Poirot novel in my bag these days).
If there is one thing Sumatra has plenty of it's clearly not (anymore) endemic fauna, vegetarian food options or an understanding of waste disposal and ecological responsiveness. Nah, it's a history of tragic events - and we don't talk Toba here (there were enough more recent earthquakes due to its unfortunate location along tectonic plates).
In November 2003 - some 12 years ago now - the village of Bukit Lawang was hit by a flash flood described by witnesses as a tidal wave, the water approximately "being 20 metres high, as it came crashing down the hills, wiping out everything in its path", as described by Wiki Travel (and confirmed by the locals I talked to).
The disaster is said to have been "the result of illegal logging - it destroyed the local tourist resorts and had a devastating impact to the tourism industry. Around 400 houses, 3 mosques, 8 bridges, 280 kiosks and food stalls, 35 inns and guest houses were destroyed by the flood, and 239 people (5 of them tourists) were killed and around 1,400 locals lost their homes. After eight months of rebuilding, Bukit Lawang was re-opened again in July 2004".
It seems like the locals have learned from that catastrophe, though - virtually everyone I have spoken to seemed convinced that illegal logging would be a thing of the past. Among them was the owner of the Yusri Café where I arrived at on my first night - I learned with pleasure that she bears the same name as one of the most beautiful human I ever had the pleasure to count as my friend. YusRi, in fact, is an abbreviation for "Yussuf" and "Rita" - however, the two of them, really a lovely couple, have named the café/restaurant after their first child. If you ever happen to visit this place, make sure you drop by and order a nasi goreng which will be served in the shape a heart and tastes accordingly (hearty?).
If the tragic of the 2003 Bukit Lawang flood was a highly tragic and catastrophic event, it's nevertheless possible to track it down to human failure (in the case of illegal logging) which can, one sincerely wishes and hopes for at least, be avoided in the future. All attempts to rationalize what occured in the Indian Ocean the following winter are doomed to fail, however.
The 2004 Boxing Day earthquake and the resulting tsunami (also known as the Sumatra-Andaman earthquake) will as clearly be remembered by everyone as the 9/11 terror attacks. The main quake's hypocentre was approximately 160 km off the western coast of northern Sumatra, resulting in waves of tsunamis killing 230,000 people in 14 countries and inundating coastal communities with waves up to 30m high. The first and worst hit region was the North Sumatran province Aceh with its capital Banda Aceh with some 180,000 casualties and many more losing everything but their own life. While it's certainly hard to imagine the incredible forces of the planet on completely helpless human beings in developing countries there is enough video material out there to at least get an idea of one's own impotence.
Having many of the images in mind I did feel slightly nervous when approaching Banda Aceh's newly built ferry terminal in the darkness of the night, freezing as the winds is brushing in the open tuk tuk that was about to drop me just somewhere near the coast. Once having securely pulled out my backpack, watching the driver disappear with some 30,000Rp that I just squeezed into his hands I swayed, still in darkness, anxiously listening to the eerie sonic sounds of pre-sunrise prayers from a thousane megaphones attached to some dozen mosques from all over the place filled by deeply superstitious people. Pretty damn exciting in a way. Suddenly thoughts of a tsunami seemed a thousand miles away and I focused on where I was that moment: another magical place at the northernmost tip of mainland Sumatra. Now, where exactly is the ticket office? Where do I get... food? Di mana kamar kecil? Is there anyone out there - out here? Am I alone? Is really everyone praying? When will they open up the shops? God, I'm starving. Screw the bathroom. Samosas, please. Sarapan, silakan. Saya kelaparan!
Some two hours later I found myself talking in Spanish to two guys who showed up rather suddenly from nowhere - and who turned out to accompany me all the way to Iboih on Pulau Weh, a famous island some 45-120 minutes by either slow or fast ferry from Banda Aceh. The Spanish guys - Markos and Gerard, both in their early 30s - really only speak Spanish (pues, and Catalan), so I turned out to be the translator and negotiator when it came to buying tickets plus haggling over taxi and beach hut prices. Qué diversión! One moment alone in the dark, the other in curious company and brain cells steadily switching from one language to another and ending up speaking Bahasa Indonesia to just another French couple, English to Gerard, Spanish to a waiter asking for mie goreng. Duapuluh? Pff. Y cuanto costa, erm, berapa, el agua - water? Berapa harganya? ¡Qué, en serio! Terlalu mahal, buddy. Boleh kurang?
Pulau Weh, better known as Sabang by the locals, marks kilometer zero on the Sumatran highway network and is best known for its spectacular fauna while diving and snorkelling - the latter, however, turned out to be quite impossible due to a ridicilous amount of fat pink and smaller translucent jelly fish - "las putas medusas" as Gerard coined it, repeatedly. Quite an adventure for me still - sharing one's underwater discoveries in Spanish. Ah, chico, ten cuidado - un estrello del mar! Ya, lo sé - ah, qué es el nombre de los peces largos y platos de nuevo? Ah, claro. Argh, ya nueva medusa, qué pena - joder! Necesitamos trajes de neopren, yo temo.
Among backpackers the Aceh region (and sadly also the rest of Northern Sumatra) is infamous for its conservative inhabitants and it's still hard to judge since it's clearly easier for a male traveler in Muslim societies than for a female Westerner. I heard stories of two European girls being arrested in the area while giving each other a goodbye-hug, being accused of being lesbians (what the fuck?). However, at least to me it actually felt safer in the North of Sumatra than anywhere, but perhaps that is rather connected to a general sensation of gratitude after years of NGO help and reconstruction. One clearly should be careful when it comes to drugs, but that is hardly news. Also, people in Aceh are obviously more religious than around Danau Toba (Christians outside Africa and Latin America just turned into limp biscuits). The north is clearly mosque country and they come in all shapes, sizes and colours.
Despite many klischees among Western travelers on one hand and very awkward concerns from Muslim locals on the other (who is anyone to tell anyone else how to dress at the beach?): This is Indonesia after all and most people will make a huge effort to communicate with you, even if their English is only very basic. Plus they're much more relaxed than in, well, India - but you still have your photograph taken six times a day.
I'm writing all this sitting at the airport in Medan, waiting for my first connection flight to Kuala Lumpur (and then having another shortly after that to Kuching in the state of Sarawak on Borneo, I'm excited!) at 8am on November 27.
Some 24 hours ago I was still lying in my little wooden hut, facing crystal-clear waters, enjoying the sounds of stones and twigs being thrown on the tin roof by playful monkeys.
Before catching my flight from Banda Aceh, Gerard and I were visiting the Tsunami museum and it left me thinking... Why just do people in, say, the Middle East would want to create hell for others and themselves? What does it take for them to realize the imbecility of their actions? The 2004 tsunami did have its advantages; it brought long-yearned-for peace to the region.
And still... 'Saudi cleric Muhammad Al-Munajjid attributed it to divine retribution against non-Muslim vacationers "who used to sprawl all over the beaches and in pubs overflowing with wine" during Christmas Break.' Well. Not everyone uses their "little grey cells" in an equally gifted manner, Christie's Poirot would remark beyond doubt.
Four more hours to go. Sleepdrunk as can be. Off towards Borneo!
With Selena in Kuala Lumpur.
Cenang Beach on Pulau Langkawi.
Batak architecture at Danau Toba.
Bukit Lawang.
