Sand, Surf, Sun and Sausages

Fast forward through a night of vomiting and rickety train rides to arrival at a jetty in central east Malaysia, and you'll find our heroes excited to. relax on a beach after a harrowing trek through the jungle and a horridly cold and uncomfortable night.

Once some of the remnants of the jungle had been left behind and the sordid condition of our clothing and selves had been slightly altered for the positive, a bus to Jerantut was a necessity. The night train was to leave from there later this evening, and though much time was to elapse before it's 2 am departure, food and relaxation were priorities. Arriving well in advance of the next departure is a good idea because it allows time for two ol' fashion favourites: food and drink. Teaming with a few fine folks who were also ambitious enough to grab the night train, the local Chinese bars got a touch of what Canadians can accomplish in a few short hours. Chinese bars are a necessity in Malaysia, due to the penchant of everyone else to be Muslim and therefore not serve alcohol or pork. This is not nearly as troublesome as the price of alcohol, which is exorbitant, therefore we were quite pleasantly surprised when our somewhat dubious company produced a bottle of Thai whisky, seemingly from nowhere. After some food at a local Malay restaurant, quite delicious spicy beef with black pepper and garlic, rice, bok choy, ginger, scallions and spicy fish sauce, it was time to slink to a bar to drink some Jaz(horrible) and Royal Stout(passable).

On time for the trains, split with companions headed divergently to Singapore. Train rumbles into the station, headed directly north into the thicket we just spent a day struggling to escape. After gleaning our lives and limbs in suitable condition for happy existence, it feels almost ironic to board a train headed directly back into it's depths. Alas, thus is life, and happily no derailments take place, though one would have been welcome reprieve from the torturous existence that constituted a night on that train. CIA cold cell treatment is one thing, but when it trundles along awkwardly on rails apparently built to smash passengers up out of their seats at precisely the moment when they are most likely to be asleep, pain takes on new meaning. This was a six and a half hour horror show of wind and misery which due to hearty constitutions and drive to live, we both survived. Trouble fared less well than myself, probably due to the thick fur sweater grafter permanently to my exterior. Upon exiting the train cab, Trouble left his lunch in the local station bathroom and we mounted an illegal cab to the jetty. Much more expensive than expected, always get clarification on prices here, due to the penchant for locals to swiftly change numbers with similar sounds(15 and 50, 18 and 80) into each other. Arrival at the jetty precipitates more projectile from my travelling partner, but a German girl and her Scottish travelling mate are a welcome sight and a spot of conversation ensues, leading to a hostel together after the ferry crossing.

First, a word about the ferry crossing. It could be something to do with the trauma of the train ride the evening previous, or my generally well publicized land blubbery, but this experience is likely one shared by the ill fated passengers of that Italian ferry, albeit on a much smaller scale. Our driver seemed determined to shatter his boat upon the waves, as if the higher he could smash down on them from, the less they would slow him down. He was mistaken.The boat, however, proved heartier than his efforts could dispel, and though Trouble certainly didn't enjoy his ferry experience, all was well upon landing.

As stated before, a hostel is procured with a four person air con room, in which the sick member of our troupe promptly crawls into bed fully clothed and stops motion for a full 8 hours midday. The rest frolic lightly in the warm ocean waves and generally relax. Night leads to more frivolous activity at the one open bar on the entire Island. A small mickey of something called "monkey juice" is bought. People on the island insist it's laced with something, due to it's 25% markings compared to how much it feels like a wet hammer to the brain. Sleep comes almost as swiftly and comfortably as it refused to come the night before, and a second day on the island is under planification by nightfall. Snorkelling it is. Oh yeah, There is also garbage everywhere, adding a sour taste to this otherwise fruity tropical paradise.

Snorkelling, as you might imagine, was amazing, sea turtles, massive fish, a shark, all the cool corals. Not many picutres, however, so I won't bore you with elaborate descriptions of the amazing blue hues of the water, the feel of ocean spray on the boat, or the salt water rushing up your nose when you accidentally breathe incorrectly and you convulsively vomit in the water. The islands were ridiculously nice relaxing places, full of the usual sunburns, overpriced food, attractive women, and general stuff I don't give a shit about. They have been left behind now, and Penang (best food in Malaysia? is the current destination). Look forward to some straight food porn, folks.