I enjoyed helping out at the Turtle Project and felt I could have stayed. There were big plans to build extensions, new cottages and a bigger enclosure for Jo, the resident blind leatherback turtle. Sure there was lots to be done, but the work and daily chores became an absolute pleasure. The locals were friendly, the town quiet and the location exotic. Waking up to the morning sun rising over the calm ocean, living surrounded by golden beaches and tropical rainforest under the clear blue skies, breathing in the fresh salty sea air as we worked and drinking fresh coconut juice every day made it very intoxicating. We lived each day without concern for the next. Perhaps it was the blissful idea of ‘working’ on a tropical island, or the beautiful nearby waterfalls, or finding myself lounging in a hammock napping in the afternoon breeze that made it appealing. Of course, we were also ’saving’ turtles in the process.
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| From Malaysia |
‘Saving’ the turtles became a hot topic of discussion while we were there and it felt as though I was sometimes playing devil’s advocate. I suggested that perhaps just by being there we were actually placing stress on the environment, which was the ultimate reason why the turtles were going extinct in the first place. The people who set up the project had the noblest of intentions but were they misplaced? Effectively they were taking the eggs, hatching them in a safe place then releasing them back onto the beach were they were laid. Keeping the turtles (even those born deformed that wouldn’t have survived in the wild) was a sticking point as they were adamant that this project was not a zoo! It all took a lot of effort, checking the beaches each day, monitoring the eggs, recording results, releasing the turtles, running the project, cleaning pens, feeding the resident turtle, gardening and building facilities to help educate the public in between. It was a very contentious debate, one where each question led to a new set of philosophical questions – often frustrating but also thought provoking. Perhaps the turtles were better if we left them alone? Even though I appreciated what they were trying to do, I still had some feelings (which I’ve since learned to trust) which questioned the ‘logic’ of it all. There were a number of reasons why the turtles were struggling to survive but it seemed plainly obvious that the buck always stops with us. Interfering in dynamic natural systems that we, as humans, don’t fully comprehend, understand and seemingly always fail to appreciate was the very reason why the turtles were in this predicament. Changing our behaviour and our relationship to the environment was where I (as someone who knew very little about turtles, nothing about how to run a conservation project, who showed up off the beach one day and only volunteered for a week) thought the effort could be better focused. Perhaps that’s exactly where it was focused? They were after all collecting data, learning about the turtles and informing visitors in the process and, as much as I enjoyed our debates, I came to the conclusion that it would take decades for human behaviours to change. If we were serious about saving the turtles, it would involve a huge effort across whole migration routes bridging cultural divides and diplomatic borders while, in the meantime, the turtle population would continue to decline. Concise, logical and easy answers were in short supply. But does that mean that we shouldn’t try?
With reluctance to leave this peaceful place, I reminded myself where existing experiences end, new experiences begin. I’d planned to meet a friend on the north west coast of Malaysia and I was a thousand or so kilometres away on the south east coast. There was a lot of riding to do as well as tackling the Cameron Highlands – the spine of Malaysia.
I joined the main highway between Kuala Lumpur and the east coast. The traffic appeared endless and I was glad to turn off the main road at the first opportunity and headed north. The route had me cycling through thick low lying Malaysian jungle following the route of the Jungle Railway. But the roads were tarred, I could find food by the side of the road with relative ease and I regularly clocked over 100 kilometres each day.
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| From Malaysia |
As I rode into the mountains, the afternoon clouds became thick and dark grey. While it rarely rained during the day, if I didn’t find shelter by 3pm I was usually in for a soaking. One such afternoon I managed to avoid getting drenched by seeking refuge in an abandoned council worker’s hut. Roughly the size of a shipping container, the hut looked like it needed to be torn down, but it was habitable. A tin shed had been erected over the top and, as I pushed the bike from the main road around the back, I discovered two doors falling off their hinges. Someone had kicked a hole in one door, while the other failed to shut by about an inch before the frame. The doors faced the jungle and it looked secluded enough. Inside, the two small rooms were separated by a flimsy divider in the middle. A prayer mat and some clothes were left in the room, but otherwise it looked abandoned. A small broom lay in the corner and I used this to sweep the floor before pushing my bike inside, setting up my mosquito net and blowing up my mattress. As the dark grey clouds passed above a burst of wind brought with it thick rain and a steady flow of water from the heavens. Having ridden the last 20 kilometres through a construction site and with white salt caked on my shirt, I stripped off and showered under the rain.
Up early the next day, I found my way about the moonlit shadows until the sun began to rise from it’s slumber. I was hungry and pulled in at the first place to eat a few kilometres up the road. For the most part, the day was like any other – get up early, stretch, ride until I found breakfast, cycle 30km, have second breakfast, cycle another 30 km for lunch while I waited for the midday heat to subside. Most afternoons were spent riding a leisurely 20-30 km before finding second lunch and a good place to camp for the night. Dinner was usually light, comprising of anything I’d picked up during the day that I hadn’t eaten yet. I spent a lot of time thinking about food while watching the jungle pass by.
The hills gradually got bigger and I left the Jungle Railway to begin the long ascent over the Cameron Highlands. At 2000 metres the grind over the pass was tough. It was made easier by a recently completed highway over the mountains, but I still had to ride it. As I began to climb, I realised that the new highway didn’t pass through any villages. At first this seemed great – just me, the open road, and the jungle – but as the day went on and I became tired, I realised that there was no food to be found. I tried to ignore the hunger pain but knew that with each small section I climbed I became even hungrier. Whilst in Singapore I’d been meaning to replenish the ‘emergency’ supply of food I kept on my bike, but hadn’t got around to it. I usually kept some two-minute noodles, chocolate or biscuits on hand for this very purpose. But that day I went hungry. In the late afternoon, I couldn’t believe my luck when I found some half rotten tomatoes by the side of the road. I presumed they must have fallen off the back of a truck a day earlier. Some were rotten but some still looked good even though they’d been baking in the midday sun. I came across a small stream, filled up my water bottle, washing anything that looked like it could be eaten. The tomatoes were hot and soft, but I didn’t care. I was hungry and I still had a long push up the mountain before I would find food at the day’s end.
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| From Malaysia |
As I rode further over the highlands I noticed that the river was flowing orange brown like a liquid soil. The small tributaries by the side of the mountain were running clear, yet the main river beside the road was a dark colour. As I climbed I soon realised why. The Cameron Highlands is an incredibly fertile place. The trees grow tall and thick and the vegetation is dense and a lush green. I learned (later in my travels) that the Malay government recently gave huge incentives to develop the highland area. With this development came the destruction of the forests, clearing of timber to make way for agricultural produce and tonnes and tonnes of soil was being washed down the river everyday as they tried to terrace the hills. I wondered if any fish could survive in such turbid water and what the locals living downstream of the development thought.
I was exhausted from the day’s uphill climb, but I still wasn’t anywhere near the top. The higher I rode the cooler it became which was some consolation. Eventually I found a small house by the road that doubled as a cafe. I must have looked very odd dumping my bike by the side of the road, jumping over the concrete barrier, stumbling into the cafe and slumping down in the chair. I ordered three square meals and sugary drinks one after another. I was so tired I could barely make conversation with the locals who were curious to find out what I was doing. That night I found camp under a concrete bridge. I devoured a packet of biscuits just as the sun set and the rain started to patter. The area was dry and the concrete dampened the noise of cars passing overhead. I could have slept on the road in between the traffic that night, I was so tired.
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| From Malaysia |
The next day started with a hefty morning climb. By lunch I figured I must be somewhere near the top as the mountains in the distance looked about the same size. I can’t remember how many times through Indonesia I wished that the top of the hill was over the next rise only to be disappointed when it rose further still. When I saw the small tributaries start to flow in the direction I was travelling I knew I was over the worst. I found myself in the clouds surrounded by a light mist. The air was cool and refreshing. Small markets, flower and vegetable farms were everywhere. Old Land-Rover jeeps seemed to be the vehicle of choice, busily ferrying people and goods over the highlands (a legacy, no doubt from the English tea empires that once had a monopoly over the region). Farming space seemed to be at a premium as farms were nestled up against other farms. New areas were being carved out of the steep hills that made the land fertile in the first place, while other hills were being bulldozed to replenish the soil that was being washed away.
But the tea, the tea was sensational! At the summit I stopped at a small roadhouse. There I found all sorts of herbal teas, green teas and my favourite, English Breakfast. I spent an hour sitting with a small Chinese man sampling the fine tea. In the mist of the cool mountains it went down a treat. I also found a can of ‘Kickapoo Joy Juice’ that I had to try. It didn’t have the kick I was after, nor was it any more joyful than a can of lemonade, but it did have plenty of sugar.
The ride down the side of the Cameron Highlands was nothing short of awesome. I had an indescribably sweet feeling knowing how much effort it took to get up the other side just a day earlier. Passing the dense farming area, I emerged from the mist into the national park. It took an hour and a half to ride downhill at 50km an hour. And as the road wound it’s way down the valley I stopped to appreciate the engineering marvel which carved this highway into the side of such a steep incline. I glided downhill with a grace and effortlessness that felt like total freedom. The adrenalin was pumping as I approached each corner with cautious optimism and total faith that the bike would hold together. One bolt breaking, the brakes failing or something getting caught in the wheel at this speed would have thrown me violently onto the road, into a passing car or, even worse, over the cliff. It felt good to be alive.
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