Kicking my Feet up and Chillin’

Goodbye study, hello free time. It sure feels good to have the exam over and done with. If there is one pledge, which I always seem to make and break after exams, it is to make the most of my free time; to live life. The great thing about finishing an exam is that you suddenly find a lot of time that wasn’t there before and that jolt to your system can be enough to help you emerge from the murky depths of self imposed hermit-dom into the light to be a normal member of society again.

A few days before the exam I got so frustrated with study, I took a walk. I meandered along random alleyways until I found myself at St Kilda beach. I sat down on a stone wall looking out to sea and just contemplated the surrounds. The masts of several sail boats stood tall and mighty; they were fragmented silhouettes against an amber sun ready to set. I stared longingly; how I wanted to stay to watch the sunset. After a few minutes though, I had to turn around and get back to study, vowing silently to come back after the exam. So, this is my pledge: To read more, to write more, to go out more, to contemplate more, to visit my parents more, to see my friends more, to walk more, to bike more, relax more, watch more sunsets, stare at the stars and last but not least, spend more time with my girlfriend. Now that it is written down I might guilt myself into doing it all.

I can say I’m already off to a fairly decent start. On Cup Day I took Sherly away for a spontaneous holiday to Mornington Peninsula for a day of relaxation and indulgence. We had lunch at a winery, where we enjoyed the local produce and impressive gardens. Sherly and I were both inspired to start a garden of our own and grow fresh herbs and vegetables, heck I’ve even planted some zucchini in a pot on my balcony. After lunch we made our way to Melbourne’s very own attempt at a hot spring. The surrounding foliage, abundance of flies and lingering Strine accents gave it a very Australian tinge to a very Japanese concept. I think at some points, Sherly was more focused on killing flies than on relaxing, but we both enjoyed ourselves. It was a much needed break and I think both Sherly and I are much happier for it.

Sherly at Montalto Winery and Olive Grove

Anyway, back to the Malaysia trip…

You Can Stay Under my Umbrella…ella…ella…a…a…a…(2)

A few hours of poolside revelry and we started to burn. Well, I should say Harry and I started to burn, while Irz just got more tanned. Considering the fact that we were getting burnt coupled with the fact that our hunger was growing, we decided to head into town to see what was on offer.

While waiting for the free shuttle bus, we loitered in the lobby, observing the coming and going of hotel guests. Given that it was a luxury resort, which we were only at due to good fortune of being hooked up with a good deal through Irz’ aunty, there were very few patrons that fitted into our demographic. Most guests fell into the category of Malaysia’s well to do salary men on a family vacation with their wife and boisterous kids. In fact I don’t recall seeing anyone our age at the resort. It was as if there were a demographic warp that sucked out a whole chunk of ages, leaving only the old and the very young.

Soon after observing this, the metallic clinging sound of a bell bounced around the expansive plush lobby, prompting us to trudge out into the humid air. Our bus, or rather, our ‘Bas’ was lacking a degree of manliness. I could imagine it rolling into a parking lot at the end of the day and having all the other buses snickering at it in mechanic roars: “Vrroooomm… Look here comes Barry, isn’t he looking dainty… Vrrroom Vrooom.” It was painted in bright green and purple, had decorative curtains with tassels… yes tassels and had seats with doilies. I can’t recall, but I’m pretty sure Chris would have commented how unmanly the bus was.

We found some shops after a few minutes and hit a bakery. Our eyes lit with glee at the low low prices as we greedily stocked up our trays with baked goods. This was all well and good until we actually went to eat our goodies and realised that they’d all been injected with copious amounts of sugar – brown, caster, white, saccharine, anything sweet was in there – causing us to wonder what the Malaysians were playing at. It really spoils the party when you gear up for a nice chomp on a savoury piece of garlic bread or a cheese twist, only to find that you’re eating a piece of cake instead… a garlicy piece of cake. Disappointed we headed to the supermarket.

Knowing full well the enormity of the task ahead of us the next day, we stocked up on supplies. Water, chips, chocolate and Twisties were all chucked in the basket, along with a pair of thongs for me, as I forgot to bring a pair and refuse to shower in a hotel without them. More or less satisfied with our student-like grocery shop, we headed back home in a beaten up Proton taxi painted in the colours of the Malaysian flag.

Irz's photo: Chris and I lazing around

After unloading our supplies, our thoughts turned to the sunset. “I’m going to get some good shots, it’ll be sweet.” Irz eluded with a mouthful of ‘Chicken-ator’ Twisties, “Yup, I’m going to try some light painting.” As for me, I was looking forward to a good hour of lazing around watching the world slip into twilight.

Sunsets can be a bit of a cliché, a bit hackneyed, but there’s just something about them that never gets tiring. I guess nothing helps you contemplate life more than taking the time out to watch and truly appreciate something that happens every single day; the mystical limbo between day and night.

Irwin's Sunset Pic

Irz was pretty content with the shots he took, but was a little less satisfied at the portrait shots he took of Chris and me. His idea was to take a photo of each of us that captured the essence of our lives and personalities. He was struggling. “Chris, how would you take a definitive Trav picture?” Chris, who was growing a little tired of Irwin’s musings on photography, began to suggest farcical ideas, which didn’t please Irwin very much. Nevertheless, Irwin tried various gadgets and lenses but still couldn’t quite manage it. I guess it would be hard to capture my character when I myself struggle to define who I am and where I am heading. Maybe a definitive photo of me would be a slightly blurred and moving body on a sharp clear background; a transient character trying to find a place and meaning in the world. I never suggested that to Irz, but I’m no photographer or artist so I don’t really think I was in the right place to be giving tips.

After no decision on a definitive Trav photo, we decided to get some dinner at the resort. We sat on tacky chairs – that were dressed in tuxedos – and ordered expensive Malaysian style Western food. The mood was relaxed and the soothing breeze blew through the open air dining area. After downing some food and drinks we chatted about the adventures Irz and Chris had been on so far. Interestingly enough we avoided the issue of the mountain climb. Sure it was all at the forefront of our minds, but I guess we were all contemplating it silently and inwardly. Personally I was anxious and bewildered; I had no idea what it would be like or whether I would be able to manage the climb.

There was no drinking or going out that night; we hit the hay early in preparation for the early wakeup call and long day ahead. It was just as well, as I was utterly exhausted. I think I slept the most soundly that night out of all three of us, despite being on the fold out bed.

The incessant whine of a telephone rudely disturbed the blissful silence of early morning. Irwin cursed, picked up the phone, mumbled and went back to sleep, mumbling some more. Soon after, a mobile phone alarm began to sound, followed by another and another. It was a regular early-morning mobile phone orchestra in our room – totally intolerable. We brushed ourselves up, packed our bags and made out way down to the lobby.

A mini-van arrived for us, which we staggered into and collapsed on the seats. Our Malaysian guides tried to break the ice by telling us that our driver was Nicholas Cage. Chris and I managed a polite but forced chuckle, while Irz, the man of no false pretences, lent his head up against the window in a quest to catch up on some sleep.

We were taken along bumpy neglected highways further and further away from Kota Kinabalu. It was far too early to talk, so we simply communicated only when absolutely necessary by means of hand gestures and grunting, usually only to ask for a biscuit or a bread roll.

After an hour or so on the road, we took a refresher break at a petrol station. I found the contrast in employment levels at petrol stations in Malaysia bewildering compared to petrol stations in Australia. Usually, an entire busy petrol station will be manned by one gawky awkward teenager on award (minimum) rates who does all tasks required. In contrast, this petrol station looked as though it was part of a ‘reducing unemployment’ strategy. There must have been a staff of at least 10 floating about, some who’s only job, it seemed, was to scrub the petrol pump, which seemed rather pointless.

The road began to get steeper as we crossed the neighbouring mountains. Regular (albeit immature) conversation started again, kicked off by an odd looking road sign we spotted. Mount Kinabalu was in sight, and gee it looked daunting; it reared its head high above the clouds; the king of all mountains in South-East Asia.

Eventually we reached the park headquarters, which were a short distance from the official starting point of the climb. We examined the map of the summit trail, which happened to be carved onto a large wooden information board including the rules of world heritage sites and the carefully constructed motto: “Take nothing but photographs, leave nothing but footprints.” Given the petrol station experience, I wouldn’t be surprised if the information board alone employed 100 people in its construction and a further 5 full-time for its maintenance.

Mt. Kinabalu information board – employing hundreds since 1950

“Looks high,” one of us pointed out, to which the others agreed, “Yup.”

After some administration work was completed, we met our mountain guide, a man who shares the same name as a carriage on ‘Thomas the Tank Engine’; Clarence. He was a cool, down to earth and fit man who has probably climbed the mountain more times than most people have walked to their local shops.

Chris offered Clarence his bananas from his packed lunch (Chris hates bananas) and we were driven to the entrance gate of the summit trail, also known fondly as the ‘power station’.

We stopped at the kiosk for some last minute supplies before stepping through the prison-like gates to the trail. As soon as we stepped through, the gate was shut behind us, as if to say “Now don’t return until you prove yourselves as men.” And so the arduous climb to the peak began with a deceptively easy descent…