Not Quite Paradise

The time had come in our travels for a vacation. For me this meant sitting on a beach somewhere, reading a book, sipping on a mango shake while being as lazy as humanly possible. I didn't want anything remotely cultural or physically demanding. I wanted salt water to lick my wounds clean.

In a country surrounded on three sides by beaches, we chose the Perhentians. These are two islands to the northeast side of mainland Malaysia. Lonely Planet described them as being veritable spots of paradise on earth, complete with white sand beaches and leafy jungle treks. Sounded good to us. We loaded our bags onto our backs and made off to the bus station in Kuala Lumpur where we were to catch our overnight bus for the eight-hour journey.

This was the first stretch we had done by ourselves in awhile. Most places in Asia you can get from point A to point B with the help of a travel agent. Their method is to have a mini-bus to pick you up from the lobby of the guesthouse, where all you really have to do is produce a ticket and shift your body and bag to a big bus somewhere down the road. Travel is usually so simple, it doesn't take much brain power at all, which can make a tourist quite lazy. We had gotten lazy. To find ourselves in a bus station with locals, all sweating and choking on diesel fumes, not having any help at all in locating our bus—this was a shock to our systems. Buses were parked in a line alongside the road. Their engines gave a collective roar and we had to shout in order to hear each other as we passed from one bus to another, enduring blasts of fumes to the face, as we tried to locate the number we were given. New buses were arriving every minute, and we'd shuffle through the crowd to see if it was ours. This went on for some time, and it was getting closer to the supposed departure time. Chris and I were sweating and getting quite perturbed by the whole scene. Finally with the help of some higher power (or that of a nearby bus driver) we saw our bus come steering into port. We tossed our bags into the hold and climbed aboard the beast. The AC was on full blast, both a good and bad thing (good in contrast to the oppressive heat outside in the station, but bad once the novelty of it had worn off). With my travel pillow and my scarf, I reclined the seat and tried to ignore the musty smell. We settled into our accommodation for the night.

Our bus pulled away, just ten minutes behind schedule. It's always a good moment when your mode of trasportation gets moving. It gives you license to lean back and relax; the journey now underway. I felt that way upon leaving Kuala Lumpur. However just a few blocks down from the station our bus came to a complete standstill beside a highway. For no apparent reason. Chris used this opportunity to dart off to a gas station where he made use of the facilities. He must have known that the bus wouldn't be making a pit stop for another five hours. Sleep came as soon as the bus got rolling again. There's something nice about the hushed, dark interior of a bus at night. As long as the bus keeps up a nice, stable cruise speed, the gentle rocking can be very nice indeed.

The pit stop came in the early hours of the morning. Facing a squat toilet while balancing my bag on my lap—well to be honest I had become quite used to it by then. A real pro. I stumbled back onto the bus and resumed my sleep. I woke up periodically after that, as the bus began to make stops. It can be quite ennerving at the end part of a journey, when you know you're in the vicinity of your destination, but you don't know just how far away you are. None of the stops had any visible signs. Communication wasn't very forthcoming from the driver. Some of the passengers would alight and we'd be left sitting there, craning our necks to see if our bags were being dumped by the roadside. Usually on these kinds of journeys we relied on other Westerners that were aboard, but there was one other foreigner on this trip, and he looked just as confused as us. Finally the air turned gray with the early dawn's light and the expectancy was thicker in the air as everyone watched the bus turn corners. We were all fully awake when we pulled around the last corner. This was the end of the road. As we grabbed our bags we were pointed in the direction of a kiosk. The first boat was to leave at 6:00. We bought return tickets, then also purchased a bus ticket back to KL, six days away. That gave us five nights in the Perhentians.

As the light became stronger along the horizon, speedboats started humming to life in the water. We were divided up into two groups—one for the big island, and one for the small. We had opted for the small, having read that accommodation was cheaper on the smaller island. There was some time spent getting settled in these boats. Chris and I were put with two of the ugliest Russian girls I've ever seen (and I love Russian girls). One of them had a mustache. Then came the Germans, and the Dutch. We were made to put on life jackets, and then the boats roared to life. We sped through the water, kicking up spray as we raced the boat bound for the big island. Somewhere along the way we had to stop and swap a couple. The pair that left our boat, they had left their luggage behind. The exchange had gone so quickly that no one even noticed. I wonder what ever happened with that situation.

The wind was exhilarating. The speedboat slapped the water, sometimes coming down so hard it actually hurt. We were jostled about, but it was enjoyable. With the salt spray and the wind, we were fully awake, watching as the islands grew bigger. We rounded what looked like the smaller of the islands, carving a line through a cluster of locals out with their boats.  We approached a bay surrounded by fuzzy green hills. The strip of white sand in the distance was Long Beach, our destination. The engine lowered to a dull roar as moved deeper into the bay. The water was extraordinary. It was the clearest I've ever seen. The saline density was lower than we had encountered in Thailand. Between it's greenish-blue clarity and the smooth white sand underneath, this was looking like the paradise we had expected.

The speedboat stopped dead in the water. A mere rowboat took us the rest of the way, though we had to pay for this unexpected transport. Once we arrived on the beach, we could see what our little Perhentian island consisted of. A row of resorts, restaurants and shops. That was it. There were no streets, not even any sidewalks. It was a beach and then jungle. This wasn't civilization. This was Robinson and Crusoe.

We had to walk through the sand to get anywhere. This was quite difficult with our heavy rucksacks and flipflops. We approached the closest resort. We were hoping for something ridiculously cheap. I thought with the heap of garbage and the chicken-coup appearance of the place, we would be guaranteed a good price for a bungalow. Nope. There wasn't even any haggling. Rather we were pointed in the direction of Happy Hippie Resort, or something close to that, just down the beach. We trudged through the sand. Thinking we had come to the Happy Hippie place, we made the aquaintance of Habiba.

Habiba's

It was the arsehole of Asia. At least it felt that way. The room was within budget, I'll give it that, but it was shocking. Chris and I have stayed in some pretty dire places on this trip. But this was beyond the limit of bad. It looked as if we'd be staying in a refugee camp. We told Habiba, “Er, thanks but we'll keep looking.” As we made our way down the path, he opened the door to another bungalow, this one just a bed and a mosquito net. We thought the bathroom was through that door on the other side of the bed. I opened the door to find a malarial swamp filled with garbage. However, the bungalow was dirt cheap. And with its low chalet-style roof, I tried to convince myself it was rustic, thus charming. We could do this for a couple of nights, then move on. Right? While Chris went to check in, Habiba came down the path and took my hand. Yes, this middle-aged man just grabbed me by the hand and walked me like a child into the trees. I thought maybe he had seen the cloudy aberration on my eye and deemed me half-blind, I have no idea. What he was in fact doing was showing me the outdoor bathroom. Out past the plastic water bottle heap were the toilets. These were the facilites for the refugee camp. Hurricane Katrina refugees had better facilities. Corrugated iron and chicken wire. I ran back to Chris. “We'll take the room with the bathroom,” I firmly told him. Actually I didn't like either of the rooms and I didn't know what I was thinking, but we had told Habiba we were staying. Now we'd just have to deal with our decision.

Chris was not well. Ever since the heat and dirt of the bus station in KL he had been feeling feverish. He was rendered inactive, lying in sweat under the mosquito net. There was no electricity at Habiba's. We were told the power only came on at seven at night. This meant no fan in the tropical heat of our room. I don't know how Chris could lie there like that. I ate breakfast on my own and then went to sit on the beach. There were a few interchanges with Habiba as I came and went. I smiled at him, as he seemed like a nice guy. I felt bad that his place was shit. I felt bad because I think he felt bad, and he was trying to make up for it with smiles and friendliness. He gave me a mat to sit on the beach. I was conscious of his eyes upon me as I swam and sunned myself, but he was stationed at the entrance to his resort and didn't think he was particularly watching me. There were other women out on the beach, and they were younger and cuter than my 35-year old ass. I was slightly middle-aged and obviously married. Sure, my husband was laying near-death in one of the shacks out back, but I wasn't giving anyone a show on the beach. If anything, I took a nap.

Back in the room, Chris was out of it. Why he preferred to lie under a mosquito net in a squalid tin shack instead of out on the beach, only he could tell you. I read a bit, but left the door to the room open for fresh air. I hitched my skirt way up and hoped not to draw an audience while I dozed off. Well, Habiba must have come along while I was asleep. The chair outside had moved into the doorway. Maybe he sat down and watched us. Or maybe he was just blocking the doorway to keep intruders out. Who knows. I remember telling Chris after my nap, “When I woke up and realized that I was still here, I thought 'Oh crap.'”  Oh crap, indeed. And things were only going to get worse.

It began to get dark. Chris was starting to feel marginally better. I just wanted to get the hell out of Hippie Haven or whatever. We made our way down the beach where we passed by several much better-looking resorts. Dinner was eaten out on a terrace. We were served by a very fine-looking Scandinavian hippie. We asked him how much the rooms were at the resort. He didn't know, but he guessed a price. The food was terrific, Western-style. I figured if the food was this good, the rooms had to be on par. I told Sven that we might be back later.

The beach was quiet at night. There weren't any lights to light the way. We looked for the darkest square in the darkness and found Habiba's. It was now well after seven, and the power should now be on. When we flipped the switches in our shack, only the lights came on. The fan was kaput. At least I could see with the light the bathroom, which I hadn't gotten a good look at before. There was no toilet seat. The back of the toilet had no top. The ballcock was exposed, amongst the other inner things of the toilet. There was no sink in the room. Rather there was a tap. Chicken wire was over the window. Why? The point I was at, I was like “Why not?” There was a showerhead, but when I turned the handle, no water came out. Really? How many other things were broken in this place? It was actually quite funny. Chris couldn't see the joke though. The fan was not working. He looked ready to cry so I gathered up my skirt and went to go see Habiba. He was all smiles. He came to our room and pounded on the outlet for awhile. The fan came on and we felt we were saved.

We fell into bed, pulling the mosquito net around. The mosquito net was not only useless (it had rips and holes that even a bat could fly through) but didn't even fit the bed. We tried moving the bed over, but the fan was blowing the net right into Chris' face. Chris was ready to throw a fit. I tried to console him by saying, “At least it's better than camping.”

I sought out Habiba again. I wanted to ask him what time the power went out (it hadn't been made clear to us then). Using a lot of sign langauge and near-shouting, Habiba still couldn't understand my question. He thought it had something to do with our shower (I had told him about the shower not working, and in turn he had turned on some water thing). He laid his hand on my arm, I thought this was because he was trying to reassure me that everything would be fine. I didn't think much of it, other than Habiba was a friendly guy. He tried getting someone on the phone to answer my question. It was just awkward. Finally I guessed that the electric would come on at seven. He seemed to imply that it would. I patted his arm, to reassure him that he wasn't stupid, and retreated back to our little hell on earth shack. As Chris and I lay there, far from sleep, a loud rushing sound came from our bathroom. “What now?” I thought. Even before I checked, Chris was adamant, “I can't stay here. I can't stay here.” I swung open the bathroom door to find a waterfall coming through the chicken wire on the window. Should I let it go? I wondered. Oh for Pete's sake. For the third time that night I had to seek Habiba out.

He was standing on the path in the dark, as if he were expecting me to return. I kind of laughed when I saw him. “You won't believe it, but...” 'Yes,' he said, smiling, putting his arm around my shoulder. “It's the bathroom,” I began, leading him towards our shack. And then Habiba did a very inappropriate thing. The arm around the shoulder, I didn't mind. Our room was crap, I needed some consoling. However, in the dark, Habiba moved his hand down to my left boob and gave it a squeeze. This totally came from left field, and it blinded me for a second. I then grabbed Habiba's hand and threw it down. “Don't do that,” I scolded him. “Don't ever do that.” We were now at the door of our shack, and it was awkward indeed as I went inside to see Chris. I gestured towards the bathroom and Habiba went inside. I grabbed up Chris and hissed, “We're not staying here. He just grabbed my boob.” I don't think Chris had time to process this. I was out of there. I heard Habiba call after me as I stalked my way down the path to the beach, “You not staying then?” “Looks that way!” I called back to him.

The hour was late and the beach was very dark. I walked as fast as I could in the sand, hoping I wouldn't fall into any pools of water. I sought out the resort we had eaten dinner at, however everyone, according to the lone gentlemen at the restaurant, had gone off drinking. There was nobody at the reception desk. Just lovely. I walked back down the beach, frantically trying to find a place to take us in. I knew this wouldn't be an easy task. The last boat in was at 5:00. After that nobody can leave the island. There are only a handful of places to stay. The next resort I tried was fully booked. I thought it would be this way up and down the beach. It was almost 11:00. Anyone who had arrived had already checked in. It didn't look good for us.

As I flung myself through the sand, I saw a lone figure on the beach. Thankfully that figure called out my name. “He fixed the water in the bathroom,” Chris told me. “I don't care,” I said. “I'm not staying there. The guy groped me.” I'd sleep out on the beach before I stayed at Habiba's. There was some kerfuffle as we tried to locate Habiba to ask for our money back. Habiba seemed to have disappeared. We couldn't find him anywhere. We decided to try another resort, the one not far down in the other direction. Miraculously they had a bungalow for us, twice the price of the one at Habiba's, but a million times better. More than that, dinner was free. The kitchen was closing, but they could make a pizza for us. It was like salve for a wound. Paradise had arrived in the form of Panoramic Resort.

Aren't You Here to Dive?

Our bungalow was set back in the jungle. We could sit on the porch and watch monitor lizards scurry past. There was a used book room at the resort and we checked out quite a number of books while there. It was ideal. All except for the mosquitoes and the fact that Habiba was never too far away.

It was an awkward situation with Habiba. We had to seek him out the next morning, as we had paid for two nights. I was thinking we should get a full refund, but seen as how we had stayed the whole day before, we would settle for one night in return. Chris was nervous. After all this was a small island and everybody knew each other. It was my word against Habiba's. He might argue that he never touched me and refuse to give our money back. More than that, he might be so defensive that it would cause problems getting off the island. I was in attack mode. I wasn't going to back down from that creep. We were getting our money back—period. It turns out that any worry was in vain. Habiba knew that he had done wrong. He was very sheepish when we went to see him. He invited us to sit down and went to go get us some Cokes. “We don't want those,” we told him. “We just want our money back.” He handed the money back with no arguement. He was very apologetic, we just couldn't tell what for. He kept going on about the water in the bathroom. “You groped my wife,” Chris said, looking to defend my honor. “I think you owe her an apology.” Habiba gestured that he couldn't understand and kept saying, “Sorry, sorry, no English.” It was enough. I almost felt bad for the guy. Perhaps I had led him on? Then again, come on. Would I really go for Habiba? No wonder women had their own carriages on trains in this country, if the men really are this skeevy.

Chris and I went swimming later on that day. We laid our towels outside our resort. We could see Habiba down from us, stationed at his usual place. However he was helping some girl out with her mat, watching the girl bend over in her bikini. “Looks like he's moved on,” Chris told me. Though I was relieved, I felt sorry for that girl.

Other than Habiba, I didn't mind our time in the Perhentians. Sure, there wasn't much to do. But it was relaxing. All day long we would read or nap. The electricity went off for a few hours (this seemed standard for every resort on the island). At night we'd go to the restaurant and have our buy-one-get-one-free dinner and watch a movie. One night we even drunk beer at the bar. Each can of beer was insanely expensive. Malaysia is not a drinking country. We realized that there wasn't much of a party going on. Not here.

We soon discovered that most people come to the Perhentians to dive. That's all there really is to do. Young people descend on Long Beach every day and sign up for diving classes. Chris and I must have looked like fuddy duddies, sitting on our porch all day long like old people. We're not divers. I'm afraid of the water, I really am. I can't have something strapped on to my face, and something heavy attached to my back. I don't care much for fish, other than those that turn up on my plate with rice or noodles. I like the ocean from a sitting position on the beach. I came to the Perhentians to heal. I know the benefits of salt water, and I figured a little salt would benefit my eye. In fact, my eye had improved greatly. I could actually see the improvement. For that, I'm grateful to the Perhentians. Still, it wasn't all good healthwise.

Sickness Descends

After five days of extreme laziness, it was time to leave the island. I didn't mind. I had slapped more than my fair share of mosquitoes and had dealt enough with the locals to be glad to be rid of the place (the shopowners seemed to have a real distaste for us, yawning or ignoring us whenever we entered their businesses). We had booked our return to KL that Friday, another overnight trip. We had one last dinner with one last movie under the stars. I had a whole margharita pizza to myself. It was so good I wouldn't share with Chris. Not this time around. We turned the fan on at full speed and settled in beneath the mosquito net. Chris flopped his pillow around, once again complaining how dirty it was. We had sweated five nights in this bed. Yeah, it was getting pretty gross.

At some ungodly hour I woke in utter dread. It's hard to explain. I just felt this horrible feeling, like something bad was going to happen. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. Instead I ran to the bathroom. Several times.

Well, this was it. I had finally gotten sick. I was surprised it had taken this long. I tried to get as much of it out of my system in the early hours. After all, we had a boat to catch that afternoon.

It soon became apparent that we weren't going anywhere. I was shooting fluid from both ends, often at the same time. After soiling two pairs of panties in less than an hour, Chris informed me that the best method was to sit on the toilet and puke on the floor. Seen as how our bathroom was a wet room, this was a good solution. I don't want to get too graphic, but I had so much fluid flowing for me projectily, I could have been used as a Roman fountain. In between bathroom rounds, I laid listlessly on the bed. I couldn't raise my head most of the time. Chris stomped off to buy me water and pop (he wasn't happy when I told him we'd have to stay another night). I couldn't believe how much fluid I was losing. With every bout of sickness I lost an astonishing amount of liquid. Two sips of water left me vomiting a lagoon onto the bathroom floor. I was losing so much water that my watch had become loose on my wrist. Chris helped me mix a sachet of rehydration formula to a bottle of water. Nope. More dehydration as I heaved everywhere. I've never been so sick that I've had to worry about dehydration. It felt like I was leaking. With body chills and aches, I worried that I might have something serious. After all, who gets sick from eating margharita pizza? We had received a fair bit of mosquito bites. The Perhentians border malaria territory. It was possible that something serious was afoot. There was a bit of concern, as the only medical facility on the island was on another beach, and only so many boats leave each day. After a certain time, no boats leave for the mainland. We could very well be trapped.

Chris was feeling trapped in his own way. I didn't realize he had felt so passionate about leaving. He was obviously holding it against me that I was delaying his departure to the mainland. There was no way I could have gotten on a boat that day. I had to put up with Chris' bad mood along with everything else. I realized that we were losing money by my sickness. Chris called someone and asked if we could get our bus tickets refunded. The answer was a resounding “No.” We'd have to buy new tickets once we got to the mainland, and we didn't even know if tickets were available. In the throes of sickness, though, you just don't care. I knew I couldn't endure a boat trip or bus trip (with bathroom breaks every five hours). Wasn't happening. I told Chris to deal with it.

I felt a smidgeon better by evening. Remarkably I was hungry. Really hungry. I was dreaming of mashed potatoes. It sounded bland enough. I decided to give it a go. A few bites in I knew it wasn't happening. I semi-ran back to the bunglow to unload my dinner onto the bathroom floor. The mashed potatoes weren't as neutral as I thought they'd be. I sprayed the vile green liquid down the shower drain (which, to be noted, was just a hole in the floor leading down to the ground under our bungalow). My stomach allowed me to drink water at this point, so I desperately tried to hydrate myself. My fever had abatted, and I knew that whatever I had it was on the way out. It came on strong, but it was receeding. We planned for an early boat trip in the morning.

Sometime in the middle of the night, a row broke out next door to us. Posh British girls. Chris and I both found it amusing. It's been awhile since I've heard a good drunken British fight. Done in a posh manner was even funnier. Oh well, the girls had to listen to me being violently sick all day. It only seemed fair to let them air their business, even though it was two in the morning.

We rose at six. I popped Immodium and prayed that my sphincter would hold out for the eight-hour journey. We were taken in the reverse order we had arrived: first a rowboat, then a speedboat. The speedboats were scattered across the water, each waiting for specific customers. Agencies must use particular boats. It seemed ridiculous, as we sat around forever. Some boats took off with just one or two passengers. If they had consolidated and gone with first come first serve, the whole process would be so much smoother. But what did I know? After about half an hour of floating about, we got a few more passengers and we were on our way. I was so happy that I had stuck to my guns and hadn't done this the day before. I would have been shooting liquid everywhere in that boat.

When we got to the mainland, we were in a mad dash to find a bus. Sure enough our tickets from the night before were rendered useless. The good news is that the cost was less than we thought. We made it to the bus in seconds flat. Finally we were heading back to Kuala Lumpur and to civilization. I give my body immense respect. After a serious bout of stomach sickness, it held out for me on that bus trip. Just like before, the bus only stopped once mid-trip. This meant four/five-hour increments where no bathroom was in sight. Nobody ever praises their spincter, it usually goes unnoticed and unappreciated. I salute mine. It had been put through the ringer and then some. But it come through for me in the end. Hallalujah. And hallalujah to getting off the Perhentians. Paradise for some. Not so much for this traveler and her companion.

 

KL Forever

We were back in Kuala Lumpur, not as much as a choice as it was for obligation. I was due to see the eye doctor for a check up. It had been a week since I had been given the all-clear for a mini-holiday. Now it was business again, traversing the fume-filled streets to the RTS, then traveling by monorail to the hospital. This was not a happy time for me. I had felt that my eye had gotten worse over the week. The pain had returned somewhat, and from what I could tell, the ulcer had grown thicker. I still couldn't look directly into daylight, and for this I kept my head down most of the time. I was disappointed not being able to bathe the elephant at the sanctuary and felt as if everyone was having a party around me, while I watched on helplessly from my blurred bubble. I tried to put a smile on my face, but really I was anything but happy.

Expecting the worst at the eye doctor, I was surprised to hear that my eye had improved. Not only had the ulcer shrunk in size, but the infection was under control. There was little chance of the infection coming back. The doctor impressed on me once again how long it could take for the ulcer to heal. He mentioned the option of getting the ulcer scraped off, but it would be a painful process, and to be honest that didn't sound too appealing to me. I felt that I should let it heal in its own time in its own way. As long as I didn't need any more shots to the eye, I was good to go. Dr. Ahzer still gave my eye a good cleaning before sending me off. This meant some numbing drops, then some eyeball probing with a Q-tip like device. I hated these cleanings. He explained to me he was getting the slough off (indeed there was a lot of slough) but it was uncomfortable to keep my eye open and unblinking for long lengths of time. At the end of the cleaning, he'd dip the stick deep inside my lower lid and remove the slough that had come off. Yeouch. I couldn't wait to be done with all this eye stuff. I still had drops to put in, but I could now alternate them every two hours. This was a little bit of a relief. I was ready to focus more on my travels now that I was out of the danger zone.

It was a weird experience walking out of that eye hospital. I felt liberated but grateful at the same time. This was the place where my eye was saved. These were the people who forcibly held me down and pumped antibiotics into an eye that very much could have been lost. It still gets me, how close I was to losing my sight for good. Looking back at the photos that were taken, I have a hard time believing that I suffered from something that bad. The infection had spread in such a short time. In another day's time, who knows where I'd be. Only a few cells had to spread, literally one or two, beneath the cornea, and my eye could have been lost. I'm incredibly lucky. I'm left with a milky white blob on my iris, whether this is the scar, or the ulcer still healing, I don't know, but my eyesight has almost completely returned. Two months on and I'm almost fully recovered. I will always hold Kuala Lumpur as special, for this was the place I experienced the first real emergency in my life, and the place where I was rescued. I will always remember KL for this.

Scary Monkeys and a Long Flight of Steps

To celebrate our triumph at the eye hospital, Chris and I spent the afternoon at the Batu Caves, on the outskirts of town. To get there we had to catch a train from Central Station. We noticed, for the first time, that trains within Malaysia have seperate cars for women. There are even waiting rooms for women. I find this odd, like it's some form of segregation. Is it because women menstruate and are dirty, or maybe they turn whorish in the presence of men? Or is it the other way around, like reverse-segregation? Perhaps it's the men who can't control themselves, those lustful, leering, hand-wandering creatures. Whichever the case, it's weird to me.  By putting such an emphasis on avoiding sex, it brings sex very much to the forefront. Situations that should be no big deal at all, such as a man and woman alone sharing an elevator, turns into an opportunity for debauchery. The suggestion is definitely there. Women wearing the hijab, it makes you wonder what's going on under there. It increases the mystery of women; it doesn't take it away. That's my take on the whole separating-women issue.

We had experienced many religions on our journey thus far: the Christian religions of Europe, the Islam of Turkey, Arabia and Malaysia, and the Buddhism of Thailand and Hong Kong. Now we were stepping into a completely different world, even if that world was situated in some caves on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur. Stepping off the train we immediately saw a giant blue monkey god statue. It was gaudy and impressive at the same time. It was my first step into the world of Hinduism.

There were a few temples on the base of the cliffs, but the main draw was a set of steps leading upward, next to an enormous golden statue. Pilgrims and tourists alike were climbing these stairs. I could only assume that they led up to the Batu Caves, so despite the scary monkeys eyeing us from railings and landings above, we began to work our way up.

After our monkey experience in Koh Phi Phi, where Chris had come under attack by a monkey village, I was nervous around monkeys. They can move lightening-quick. They've got horrid sharp teeth and claws. Plus they're crawling with lice and who knows what else. I may not have seen any of them throw feces yet, but I got the impression that they weren't above doing so. They eyed us like something out of a Hitchcock film, ready to pounce with their long, outstretched fingers. Yelps and screams were heard all around as monkeys jumped on people, grabbing things from their bags or directly from their hands. A monkey jumped at Chris, trying to get at a little plastic bag he was carrying (I believe it was my eye medication) and Chris had to swing the monkey away. We watched as other monkeys snatched bottles of water right out of peoples' hands. They were adept at opening any kind of bottle or package. Greedy little bastards. I held my bag close to me and kicked at any monkey that came within the periphery of my personal space.

At the top of the stairs we entered into the front section of the caves. Some horrific-sounding music played while we moved past a souvenir stand. Pictures of Hindu goddesses flashed in psychadelic colours. Had we dropped acid somewhere unknowingly? It was like moving through a dream, or a nightmare, these multi-limbed goddesses moving their arms around like hands on a clock, the same high-pitched voice playing from a boombox propelling us through the cave, as infectious as “It's a Small World” at Disneyworld. Whichever religion I had come into contact before, nothing come close to this. This was religion on hallucigens.

Monkeys were present just ahead, and we nearly had to bolt through a gate in fear of them dropping onto us. There was a temple at the end of the cave; the devoted knelt there in worship. The decoration was colorful and busy, with faces of gods, demons and cows layered ontop of each other, some with their tongues out, some with serene smiles. Flowers and incense and the crazy echo of music—it was really something to behold. However the monkeys were the real attraction. It was feeding time; some guy threw a barrelful of bananas at them. And the monkeys went ape shit. Such spoiled creatures, no doubt they had been given handouts as long as the caves had been a religious site. They fought like children amongst themselves, some of them quite nasty. There was a particularly bad monkey fight that broke out that got the tourists moving backward in fright. Monkeys out of control is as dangerous as watching, say, Northern English girls fighting over a bloke. You just don't want to be in their fight path. We fled from the monkeys and the whining drone of music (really, that song must have gone on forever) and caught the segregated train back to Kuala Lumpur.

Weird Noises in the Night

Fernloft Guesthouse was our base in KL. It had treated us well with its clean beds and free wifi. At first, before my hospital stay, we had stayed in a private room. Then, after my hospital stay, we had been put into a 6-bed dorm. This time around we had been put into the 24-bed dorm. I actually enjoyed the big room. I felt sort of anonymous in the enormity of the room, and the light went out every night at 11 sharp, thus taking the pressure off me to ask, “Is it okay to turn the light off?” I always hated that. The hostel was fully booked. The guy at reception had told us a group of American musicians were staying. We could hear guitars being strummed in the stairwell, and I have to say, I was intrigued. Finally some Americans. And musicians at that. Perhaps we'd have something good to listen to.

As we settled into our beds, I was aware of voices overhead. The terrace was on the floor above us, so I could only assume that these musicians had congregated there. The voices raised together as one. There were guitars being strummed and tamborines being thumped. It sounded a bit hippyish. I stood in the stairwell, and sure enough, a party was going on. I persuaded Chris to come with me to check out the show. After all, it's not every day that we get seranaded by American hippies.

The music had stopped by the time we reached the terrace. We walked into a very weird scenario. There was a group of young people gathered, I would say about twenty in all.  They were all eerily silent, as though the party had come to an abrupt stop. Chris and I grabbed some seats and sat on the other edge of the group, curious to see what would transpire. A girl sat on a counter with a guitar. She wasn't playing, rather she sat there with a shining smile on her face. Really, her whole face was glowing. It appeared to be wet with tears. She started talking, saying something like, “You know, when you're on a plane and you look down on the clouds, and you see the sun rising—I don't know—I just think of Jesus, and, you know, how much love he has. I don't know how to say it. It's like when you watch a bird in flight. You feel so full of love. Watching it—I don't know—it's like Jesus watching over us. He's so full of love. You know. It makes me think of, when you're in a car, and you're driving...” and on and on she went. Chris and I looked sideways at each other. Meanwhile, her words must have made some impact on the others. Quite a few of them were crying. There was a girl infront of us, her shoulders were shaking. Several girls came up to her and laid their hands on her. Not, the “oh there there” kind of touching, but an actual laying of hands while they moved their mouths, in what I assumed, was prayer. Yup, it turns out that Chris and I had turned up at some kind of revival. We felt incredibly uncomfortable, especially because everyone was crying. Chris was the first to get up, and though I was curious (afterall, this whole experience was supposed to be about taking in others' cultures), I followed. They burst into another song as we reached the stairwell. It was a well-rehearsed song, they all sung it together in harmony. I had never heard singing like that. It wasn't hymns. I don't know how to describe it. It was very hippyish, yet not hippy at all. It was a love/joy song to Jesus. They were so in love, the tears were running. It was very strange. Especially since they had chosen to do their thing on the roof of a hostel.

I tried an experiment that night. All this love about Jesus. Having been a die-hard skeptic for about seven years, I considered, okay, well here's the chance to find out for sure. I've tried the whole “Jesus Be My Savior” prayer before, and got tumbleweeds in way of response. Now with my eye in pain (it always hurt more at night) and running a river down my temple (so much so I was surprised I didn't have my own version of the Grand Canyon on the side of my head), I was looking for a miracle. The doctor said my eye wouldn't heal for months. I was going to ask for a miracle, in the humblest way possible. “Jesus, if you're real, I'd really like to know it. If my eye is healed by morning, I'll know it's a miracle. I'm not testing you, but this would be the best way for me to know. If you make yourself known through this miracle I swear to you I will follow you to the end of my life. You yourself said that whatever we ask for in your name you will give. Well this here will save me—right? If you could just let me know. That's all I'm asking for. After this I won't ask anymore” This was my “prayer,” even though it's hard for a skeptic to pray, thinking that mere words are spoken in the recesses of the mind. Regardless, I tried to be as open as possible. Listening to the love being professed above, I fell asleep. When I woke, my vision hadn't miraculously been restored. Rather the gunk had sealed my eye shut. I grabbed my bag of eye medication and padded off to the bathroom to do my ritual morning eye-cleaning. On the way I almost stumbled over a religious reveler sleeping in the hallway. Perhaps he had overdosed on love.

I'm quite critical of Christianity. Some forms more than others. In Britain I was very impressed with the attitude towards religion in general. It's regarded as a private thing. Even in the Church of England, doctrines are rarely discussed within the congregation. Religion can provide a community, I can appreciate that aspect of it, however it's not something that should have much impact on others' lives. The only time I ever got worked up about religion is when I read comments on Facebook from Tea Baggers back in the States. It's that particular brand of religion that irks me, the fundamentalist black-and-white, if-only-you'd-accept-Jesus-as-your-Lord-and-Savior, accuse Obama of being anti-Christian, prayer in school, look down on homosexuals, all Muslims being terrorists... well, you know the type. The vocal kind of Christianity. This sours my view towards Christians in general, and I guess it's funny because they might think they're being persecuted, but I think it's a load of BS.

Why am I taking the time to write about this? Because the next night, when most of the Americans had left and the hostel was a hell of a lot quieter, Chris and I sat down in the lobby to watch the National Geographic channel. There was a program on about bears. We were comfy, Chris and I, then out of nowhere a girl plonked down on the couch next to us. She introduced herself as Emily and told us how she had been helping on volunteer projects around the world. We had a wonderful discussion with her. Usually I don't like people interrupting my television time (it's so precious on the road) but Emily was both personable and interesting. I had an inkling she was one of the Christian revelers from the night before. In fact she was, but she brought it up casually and didn't make a big deal about it. She professed to be Pentecostal. I understood about all the laying of hands and such. As a group they had freaked me out with their intense emotion. However Emily seemed very level-headed. I really liked her. The next morning we saw her one last time. We were on our way to catch a bus and Emily was waiting for her group. Saying goodbye, she called out, “I'll pray for your eye!” God bless you, Emily. You really mean well.

 

Rumble through the Jungle

Chris was very sad to be leaving the Cameron Highlands. I, on the other hand, was ready to get out of the cold dripping wet. I'm not brilliant with cold and damp climates. The hills were nice, but I was ready for some jungle.

We booked a boat into Taman Negara, a national park in Malaysia. It contains the oldest ecosystem in Malaysia. That's nothing to sneeze at. I was ready to see some big trees and witness wild jungle animals at play, namely tigers and elephants. The leeches I wasn't too keen on meeting, with our guidebook warning us about them. I bought some expensive repellent at our stop in Jerantut.

The scenery at Jerantut was pretty incredible. There was a wide brown river carving out much of the landscape. All around was jungle. We were only a few hours away from the Cameron Highlands, but the difference was staggering. This was verifiable jungle. It felt sort of Amazonian, especially as we piled in a long boat and slid off through the water. Low to the river, we cruised through the muddy water, keeping our eyes peeled for crocodiles and natives. Everyone took their shoes off and got comfortable. It was a long ride upstream. Three hours to be exact. It was a long time to be sat like that in a boat, but the scenery kept us alert. There were water buffalo about, and locals with their fishing boats. We saw no towns along the river, only wilderness.

In late afternoon we slid up to civilization. We saw floating restaurants lining the shore of the river. Mama Chop's was dead ahead, and a guide waited there for us. After gathering our bags, we sat around and listened as the guide welcomed us to Taman Negara. The park was actually just across the river from us; we could see a sign and some steps leading into the park. The village we were stationed at was Kuala Kanpung Tehan. It was hardly even a village, there were two roads in total. It really felt like we were in the middle of nowhere.

The guide invited us back that evening to view a video on Taman Negara. Plus we had signed up for the Night Jungle Walk. We'd return to Mama Chop's, but first we had to get up a very steep hill with our rucksacks. It was rough. There were only a handful of guesthouses in the village, but fortunately the one we picked was very nice. Our room was equipped with a squat toilet, which wasn't ideal, but I was ready to overlook it in favor of the decor. The whole guesthouse had a kindergarten quality to it, with kid-style mosaics on the walls, stuffed animals hanging from the ceiling, and positive messages posted throughout. Our room had giant lady bugs painted onto the walls. A sliding door opened onto a mosque and jungle. Very nice. My only problem was that squat toilet. I still didn't have the hang of using one (I had a bad experience in Turkey that left me traumatized).

We prepared ourselves for leeches. I wore two pairs of socks (I heard these little buggers can squeeze through the holes in cotton socks) and tucked my pants into my boots. Chris and I sprayed our expensive insect repellent all over us. Leeches be damned.

The sun was setting over Taman Negara. Beautiful. We could see smoke rising across the river. There are communities of natives that live in the jungle. Related more to the Aboriginees than to Malays, they live in longhouses and maintain their jungle way of life (though tourism must make some impact on their lifestyles).

Chris and I ate at one of the floating restaurants then showed up at Mama Chop's for our orientation to the jungle. Groups of us sat around at tables and watched the half hour film. It showed some pretty non-impressive stuff. Lots of insects. My ears did perk up with the mention of tigers and civets. Maybe there was a chance we'd see one or two. Looking across to the deep darkness of the park, I wondered what we'd run into in that pitch blackness.

Snakes, Scorpians and Spiders—Oh my!

A short boatride took us across the river to the park. Our group did this in batches of two. Our guide was a small little Malay man with a slight lisp (non-English speakers had a hell of time trying to understand him). He seemed overwhelmed by the size of our group. He said he wasn't used to having so many people at once. I knew our chances of running into any elusive jungle cat were next to nil with this many people.

We started on our jungle trek. Chris and I noticed that most people were wearing flip flops and shorts. Ha, we thought. Let the leeches get them. But we weren't really walking through the jungle. Rather we were walking on a raised wooden platform. Still it was quite exciting, in that it was completely dark and the jungle hummed around us.

Our guide would sweep his flashlight over everything in his search for wildlife. Finally he drew our attention to a tree. We all gathered close to see the thing he had caught in his light. A frickin cricket. Oh dear. I knew we were walking along one of the tamest tracks in the park, but I was really hoping to see more than insects. Further on he found us another cricket, but a different type. I appreciated the guy's enthusiasm, but I have never in my life been excited about crickets. Thankfully things did pick up as he spotted a green snake hanging over our heads, and then a few really big spiders. The highlight of the walk was the scorpian he coaxed out of a tree. We all held our breathes as he tapped on the bark, waiting for the scorpian to emerge. Back in the Butterfly Farm in Brinchang, I had seen a few scorpians in a tank. Monster scorpians. But nothing prepared me for this guy. Frickin hell, he was huge, like something out of the Cambrian age. I stood far back, getting that feeling of creepy crawly things on my skin. Insects are good for a freak show, but in general I'm not a fan. Where were those tigers?

We continued on to an animal hide. This was a wooden hut built in the jungle, located near animal licks, for people to watch animals feed. There are a few hides throughout the park, but we were in the one closest to the park's entrance and to the resort. There was a very slim chance of finding anything. Sure enough, our guide swept his flashlight over the area, and only darkness stared back (though there were probably many insects to be found). He left us to sit in the hide for fifteen minutes in the dark. We all had to stay quiet in order not to scare any animals away. I knew that the animals were far off. Animals are not dumb, even with salt licks around. They keep their distance from humans. Still I liked sitting there staring out into the dark jungle. We could hear the sound of crickets and frogs and maybe a snapping branch here and there. It was almost meditative for me. When our guide came back, sure enough nothing was there. He talked a bit more, probably about the other fantastic hides further out in the park, but then before we were to leave, he shown the light into the dark again, and said, “Oh, there's something there!” We all jumped forward to the edge of the viewing area. It was just a deer, stopping to take a drink by the river. Yawn. “I've seen more wildlife in my parents’ backyard,” I told Chris. Still it was an interesting experience. There are elephants and tigers out in Taman Negara, and I dare say, I'm glad they steer clear of humans.

Among the Canopy

We went back in Taman Negara the next day for a little jungle trek of our own. One of the greatest things about the park is the Canopy Walk, a set of wooden bridges suspended from trees. It was quite a hike in itself to get there. The heat was intense. We weren't so worried about bugs anymore. We hadn't seen as much as a mosquito the entire time we were there. We did keep a keen eye out for snakes though. One thing I had learned from the night walk is that there are things everywhere. Seriously, we were probably walking past all kinds of creepy crawlies without realizing it.

Our guidebook had advised us to visit the Canopy Walk early in the morning before crowds gathered. Well Chris and I had vied to sleep in. Organized tour groups were due there in the morning, to avoid the crowds, I could only assume. By the time we got there, mid-afternoon time, we found there was no line at all. Funny that. All those people had joined organized tours thinking they were beating the crowds, when they actually were the crowds. Anyway, Chris and I had the walk to ourselves.

I walked through it in a breeze. Chris, on the other hand, is afraid of heights, but he did rather well. We were up pretty high, and some of the bridges swayed as we walked across them. Chris called out that there were rivets missing, a disconcerting announcement. But we made it safetly across, and I was somewhat disappointed to have passed through so quickly. We trekked back the same way we came. I tried to take in as much of the jungle as I could. After all, it's not everyday you visit one of the oldest ecosystems in the world. The trees were magnificent, their roots like giant octopus arms. Some of the trees stretched way high into the canopy. I thought of the redwoods and giant sequioas in California. Some of those trees are thousands of years old. They looked prehistoric. I could see some dinosaur rubbing its back against one of them.

Looks like Diarrhea for You

We had dinner at another one of the floating restaurants. I have to point out that these were the only eating establishments in town, and the food in them was not particularly wonderful. In fact it was downright scary. These places were as basic as you could get, which means that hygeine was probably lacking. I ordered a fish dish, just to change things up a bit. Marinated fish with rice on the side. I thought fish might be a safe bet, seeing as how we were on a river. At least it would be fresh. When the dish was set infront of me (and indeed it was a whole fish, head and all) Chris looked at me and said, “Looks like diarrhea for you,” or something to that effect. These are words I really want to hear just as I'm about to bite into my food. It ruined my meal. That and a dead fly I found buried in my rice. I really did feel ill and left quite a bit on my plate.

Sometime in the middle of the night, under our mosquito net, I felt a rumble in my tummy. Oh boy, this is it. I've been waiting for food poisoning. I was actually suriprised I hadn't gotten it earlier. I thought I'd be pooing my way across Asia with all the stories I had heard. In fact I was kind of betting on it, hoping to lose a few pounds along the way. But it was a false alarm. Nothing was going to happen over that squat toilet anyway, as my arse doesn't seem able to handle such a device. So it was no food poisoning for this traveler, though I wanted to swat Chris over the head for putting such a notion in my head.

Birthday with the Elephants

I was thrilled to be spending my day at an elephant sanctuary. Sure, I had originally planned on being in China at this time, and holding a baby panda on my birthday, but riding and feeding elephants was just as good if not better. I had decided this for my birthday treat. A bit pricey, but the sanctuary was a good place that helped find homes for displaced elephants, and didn't exploit them or force them to work like some of the other places in Asia.

We left Taman Negara early. This time we took a bus to Jerantut, and from there we got a mini-van to the elephant sanctuary. It was just Chris and I, so I was really hoping for an intimate experience with the elephants. That's what I had envisioned anyways. A little one-to-one time with Elly. When we were in Bangkok, we visited the zoo there. Most of the animals had been asleep, but the elephants were awake and ready to be fed and touched. I had never been close to an elephant before. It was a real treat to feed the elephants pieces of coconut. I couldn't stop laughing as an elephant truck searched my hand, gripping around the coconut chunk, leaving snot on me. I adored those elephants, and I wanted more.

Immediately we could see that the sanctuary was well funded. In the middle of nowhere, it had a very Western visitor center, complete with displays with elephant factoids. We were ushered into a theater where we watched a film on displaced elephants. It was actually quite sad. With the proliferation of date palm plantations (used for palm oil), lots of elephants find their natural habitat reduced. They barge into these plantations looking for food, creating massive amounts of damage. They risk being shot by the plantation owners. The film shows a team of men taking these large animals and placing them in a protective environment (many of them get taken to Taman Negara, which is a protected area). It's supposed to be a happy story I suppose, elephants being saved from being shot, but it was quite sad. These elephants don't know what's happening to them or why. They're tranquilized and chained and put into a completely different setting. The look in their eyes is just devestating. These are wild elephants, not used to humans. You can imagine how traumatizing the whole thing would be for them. I wanted to cry watching this movie. I wasn't sure what it had to do with the sanctuary. Maybe only the injured ones get rehabilitated at the sanctuary. I'm still not quite sure.

After the film we were hurried along to go feed the elephants. Chris and I were handed a bag of bananas. Ahead of us was a line of elephants behind a low wall. A crowd of people were already gathered. Chris and I tried to find a place, hoping to have more of an intimate experience. We focused on the last elephant in line. A cheeky fella. He danced around in front of us, shifting back and forth on his legs, but he didn't like bananas. He took them from our hands, but then tossed them aside distastefully. We had a potato in our bag amongst the bananas. The potato he liked, munching happily away. But the bananas... nah. I wonder why they had given us so many bananas. None of the elephants were very keen on them. It was sort of funny watching them fling them over their shoulders. I can imagine the dialogue in their heads as they reach out their trunks and discover “Oh crap, another banana.”

It wasn't the stuff of Hallmark specials, in that it lacked the elephant/human bonding experience I had hoped for. Still it was entertaining. That elephant dancing and tossing bananas was pretty damn cute.

They paraded several elephants out and performed tricks for us. I only hoped that these elephants were wanting to do this, and not forced. After all this was a sanctuary and not a circus. Some of the tricks involved rolling over and playing dead. Another sprayed water out of his trunk at the crowd. After that they lined the elephants up and we got to ride them. My first elephant ride. It was only around a little ring. It wasn't the most comfortable ride in the world; I wasn't very steady. We did get to stand there behind another elephant and watch him empty his bladder and bowels. Wow. That's all I can say. Wow.

It was then time to bathe the elephants. Or just one of them anyway. They brought a little Dumbo baby elephant out with a girl on his back. They led the elephant into the river (the very dirty river by the look of it). Chris got into the water with some of the others. Rolling his shorts up, he thought he could escape getting wet. I decided not to take part in the elephant bathing. After all, taking care of my eye was still my priority. I didn't want to risk getting bacteria in it, and that elephant-bathing water looked pretty bacteria-infested. I stood with the camera and snapped pictures as Chris climbed aboard Dumbo. The handlers there suddenly shouted “Bathe bathe” and started splashing the elephant and Chris. Everyone followed suit and within seconds Chris was soaking wet. It was really funny, especially since Chris had wanted to stay dry. I laughed and smiled, but I was quite sad that I hadn't taken part. Damn my stupid eye.

After our elephant extravaganza, we boarded another mini-bus back to Kuala Lumpur. We shared our ride with a bouncy blonde young girl from New Zealand. She was fantastic company. We discussed sheep and Maoris and everything kiwi. One thing I was pleased to find out—New Zealanders said they would boycott Cadbury chocolate if they started using palm oil. This was a fitting discussion, seen as how we were moving through palm oil territory. Palm oil is a cheap oil found in most kinds of chocolate. Not only is palm oil incredibly bad for you, the plantations are an atrocity to the Malaysian rainforests (we discovered one of the consequences of palm oil in the elephant video). New Zealanders had made their voice heard, and Cadbury had decided against palm oil, a real victory for environmental types. I'm proud of New Zealanders for taking a stand. I can only assume that Cadbury, bought out by America, wanted to cheapen their product (Americans don't know good chocolate anyway). I learned a thing or two by visiting Elly and her friends. I don't want palm oil in my diet. I'll be reading labels when I get back to settled life.

 

A Very English Interlude

We were finally ready to see Malaysia outside of Kuala Lumpur. Catching the train from KL Central, we had a very comfortable ride up to a town called Ipoh. Everything we had witnessed so far in Malaysia had been on par with Western society. Facilities were modern and clean. Almost everyone spoke a little English. Perhaps we had gotten spoiled, because when we stepped off the train in Ipoh, we stepped into a different world. Something very much bordering on third world.

Our final destination was the Cameron Highlands, a tea-growing region, with hills green and lush. To get there we had to board a bus in Ipoh (and Ipoh is anything but green and lush). The bus station was dusty and dirty. It wasn't even a bus station as such, rather just some booths set up. We were the only Westerners, and no one was looking at us in a friendly way. Men slept on benches and women fanned flies away. Food vendors sold bulk items, scooping bagfulls of dried goodies out out with their bare hands. If there was a stomach bug to catch on our journey, it very well might have been here. But Chris and I avoided food and stuck to bottled water. I dared a trip to the bathroom, and found the expected hole in the ground with the usual bucket of water. It was obvious that Ipoh bus station was not set up for foreigners. But then again, why should it be? Most tourists go through travel agencies to get from one point to another in Asia. We had decided to do it on our own, so now we were traveling like the locals. As soon as I got used to the guys on the bench next to me, realizing they weren't there to steal my bag, I got more comfortable with the situation.

Our bus was a bit rickety and smelly, but not bad considering. There was one other Westerner on the bus with us, a young blonde girl, and her presence was somewhat comforting, as it implied that indeed we were heading to a tourist-orientated area.

As a side note, I have to point out that I was quite impressed with how many young girls we ran into who were traveling solo. It didn't matter if we were in Europe or Asia—we ran into these independent travelers.  I get a tinge of jealousy when I see them. I didn't have that kind of courage back when I was in my prime. I did do a fair bit of traveling when I was younger, but either I traveled with my sister or with a group. I guess I held the belief that the world was a scary place, a place where men were just looking to take advantage of a young girl. Even if I had displayed the courage, I can assure you that few in my circle would have supported such foolishness.  I missed out on that courage, and I still lack the courage to travel alone, even inside the U.S. The only trips I ever completed on my own were a trip out to California, and a drive around Wisconsin. Both times I fared just fine. But I was lonely. You see, I have a morbid fear of eating in a restaurant by myself, or of looking like a lost idiot with a map. I guess my fears have lessened over time. Anyway, bravo to those people who travel the world on their own. I wish I had their courage, or more like, I wish I had had their courage when I was younger. (End of side note).

The roads leading to the Cameron Highlands were brutal. Motion sickness threatened making an appearance with every sharp curve the bus took. We'd lean to right, then left, then right—there was hardly a break. I usually enjoy bus journeys for effortless sleep I can usually fall into. But there was no sleep on this leg. It took full body effort just to keep upright.

Bright lights appeared as we approached civilization.  Booths were set up alongside the road and people were out in masses. It was the night market in Brinchang. The blonde girl got off but we stayed put; Tanah Rata was our destination. A few miles down the road we came to a bright strip of restaurants and shops. The roadside wasn't as lively as the one in Brinchang, but it was civilization nonetheless. We stepped off the bus, and it was one of the rare times we were happy to be greeted by a hawker. This one was hawking accommodation, and we were grateful for any recommendation. The guy took us from one place to another, finding each place full. Finally we came to a guesthouse that we had seen recommended in Lonely Planet, The Twin Pines. It was a perfect fit for us; not only the price, but the atmostphere. It had a nice terrace to sit out on, and good cheap breakfasts. It was set back a bit from the main road, but not too far. The only drawback was the durien stand we had to walk past to get to town (duriens are the most foul-smelling of all fruits) and the bathrooms.

Here's another side note: bathrooms. I'm not going to whine about squat toilets or weak plumbing or any of that (that'll probably come at another time). This gripe of mine has to do with the moistness of Asian toilets. To get this clear—most Asians don't use toilet paper. Most of them use water to wash their bums, usually with a sprayer or a hose. This may actually be a better method, it's really not for me to judge. What I don't understand is why they have to spray the entire bathroom like it's a carwash. I've done the water-bum method before and I usually manage to spray just the general area I'm aiming for. This doesn't mean water dripping from the rafters. Squashing down on a wet toilet seat is no fun. Twin Pines was worse than most places, for each stall was equipped with a shower. Everything was wet and generally unpleasant. The Cameron Highlands, as one can probably tell from the name, is a region cooler than the rest of Malaysia, being located in the hills. The climate is rainy, just like in Britain. This means that nothing ever dries, and my discomfort grew with every trip to the loo. I griped to Chris about this, but he doesn't understand the bathroom thing. He must have peed in bedpans when he was a kid. I think Britain was still using those in the 70's.

Fancy a Cuppa?

The cafes in Tanah Rata advertized afternoon tea. One of the places we ate at was named Hill Station. It very much felt as if we were in colonial India. There was even an availablity of Indian food. Tea, scones, strawberry jam, curry, naan... it was that mix of Indian and British that felt slightly odd set in the hills of Malaysia. But we loved it. Especially Chris. Perhaps he was pining for the green rolling hills of England. Or maybe the cool climate was a sweet relief after hot fume-filled streets of Kuala Lumpur.

We signed up for a tour. Mainly we wanted to visit to a tea plantation. We had tried to find one ourselves one morning, following the main road north out of Tanah Rata. With lorries rumbling past and snakes in the grass along the shoulder, it seemed silly to carry on.  We found it easier just to book a tour with an agency. This proved to be rewarding, as exploring the region on our own would be nearly impossible without our own transport.  It seemed a good deal, especially since we got our own guide. Well, that was only because the couple that was supposed to come along with us had food poisoning. Too bad for them, but good for us. We had Gavin all to ourselves.

Driving out of Tanah Rata and back towards Brinchang, we turned off onto a side road. A narrow, bumpy road led up upward into the hills. It as a fun ride, bumping along, leaning forward to understand Gavin as he did his whole guide thing. The road was incredibly narrow, but this didn't stop the flow of traffic. When an uncoming car approached, it was always up for speculation who should give way. A lot of horn tooting. All this was very amusing, but the locals seem to have this system down. Gavin explained how they have their own car language, by the way they sound their horn. Brits may flash their lights, Americans may use hand gestures, but Malays use their horns to communicate, and it's not considered rude.

It's to be noted that the Cameron Highlands are the bread basket of Malaysia. Not only tea is grown in the region, but for just about every kind of fruit and vegetable you can imagine. Unemployment is low. The locals seem to enjoy their lot in life; we saw a lot of them alongside the road. Gavin said that they were decendants of those workers that came before them. They lived in this region, accepting their role in the farming industry. It was good to see the abundance in the area, but still upsetting to witness the huge divide between the rich and the poor. There was still a class system in place, probably thanks to the British.

Gavin brought us to Boh Plantation. First he stopped and let us wander out into the hills. We were up high, and we could see the hills as rolled on and on and on. Gavin told us all that we could see belonged to a Scottish family by the name of Russell who founded the plantation. It was hard to imagine that all this land was all owned by one single family (still owned today by one of the decendants), but I suppose this is the nature of colonization. Westerners came and grabbed up what they could wherever they could get it. Meanwhile the locals were hired for backbreaking work. They had to gather so many kilos of tea leaves in a day to make a meagre living, slaving from sun up to sun down, six or seven days a week. Russell housed them on his plantation, in tiny shacks. It reminded me Boone Plantation, or any of the other cotton plantations in the American south, where you can find old slave quarters. On Boh Plantation, the workers still live in these shacks. Fortunately though, technology has played a hand in lessening their work over the years. Now machines are used to pick the tiny leaves. The locals are still hired to manufacture the tea, and we saw them at work in the tea factory.

The smell of the plantation was incredible. I go gaga over loose leaf tea, just by sticking my nose into a canister of the stuff. In the factory, we watched the workers grind up the leaves and package them into bags. These bags were huge, several kilos or so, ready to be shipped to London or other cities. I would have given anything to bury my nose in one of those bags. Tea (especially good tea) is heaven on earth. No wonder the Brits are practically religious about it.

We were left to ourselves for a half hour or so. I had never heard of Boh tea before, which was hard to believe considering we were surrounded by endless acres of the stuff. Chris and I sat down at the cafe near the factory and ordered ourselves a cup of Boh tea and a strawberry tart. It was perfect. Fresh tea—it couldn't get any better. Sitting out on the terrace overlooking the hills, it was one of the more pleasant experiences of my life. I felt just a tinge of pride in my British heritage. Plus it brought back my love of all things English. Nothing beats a good cup of tea. It really does make everything right in the world.

Pandora

After the tea plantation, Gavin continued to drive us futher up into the hills. We came to a tower, the Viewpoint, which looked out over the whole area. Chris and I climbed the tower, but unfortunately a fog had washed over the far hills so we couldn't see much. Gavin then took us for a little hike. He kept saying the name of where we were but it wasn't registering. Something Forest. As we crept into the foilage it finally dawned on me what he was actually saying. The Mossy Forest. We were in the Mossy Forest. It's a funny name, it being the official name, but nobody can say it isn't fitting.

It was a weird hike, so I thought at first. Gavin was encouraging us to touch the moss and make the most out of it. I coudln't understand the appeal of moss. What was so great about it anyway? In the American south, Spanish moss is everywhere, dripping off giant oak treees and killing them. Moss was dripping everywhere as well in this forest. It looked like it had overtaken everything. Gavin touched the moss as if it were a precious resource. “Anticeptic” he told us. “Very good for wounds.” He then pointed out various flowers in the trees and told us their health benefits. I was beginning to realize that Gavin was showing us around a living forest, an ecosystem not much different than a rainforest.

Gavin explained the difference between rainforests and jungles and forests. It mainly had to do with the canopy and how much light was allowed into the undergrowth. Malaysia has all three types of ecosystems. We were in a forest. Down below, near Brinchang, was a rainforest. The Mossy Forest was highly unique. Gavin explained why. First of all, the Mossy Forest is about 200 million years old. It's an incredibly ancient ecosystem, unchanged through the millenia. This area of the globe stayed temperate during global unheavals, unaffected by volcanic activity and temperature shifts. The forests of Malaysia are among the oldest in the world.

I was impressed already, thinking about being surrounded by this primeval forest. What kind of creatures lived here once upon a time? To add to my imagination, Gavin told us to feel the spongy ground. What we thought was ground wasn't actually ground. Below us were trees. The trees had built ontop of one another, canopy growing up out of canopy. The ground, wherever it was, was far far below. We were walking ontop of an ancient forest. We could look at the way the trees were growing, these dripping green things, and understand that the forest was still extending upwards. In another thousand years or so, all we saw would be buried under a newer forest. The forest seemed alive around us, one huge ecosystem extending through the ages. Gavin told us that James Cameron had used the Mossy Forest as his inspiration for Pandora in Avatar (though I looked this up as well and I couldn't find any confirmation of this). Regardless, the Mossy Forest has that otherworldly feel to it. The trees are strangely alive, and you can almost feel their healing effect when you touch them. The Mossy Forest is a great place for the imagination, and I could tell that Gavin really had a fondness for it. He tried to impart its magic to us, and we caught on to it, winding around the trees as we continued on our hike. It was the best part of the tour for me. But then again, I've always been somewhat of a tree-hugger.

Butterflies, Strawberries and Corneal Ulcers

The tour continued and we headed back towards Brinchang. Unfortunately we left the magic of the plantations and the forest behind. We entered society once again, in the form of bus fumes and tourist-orientated activities. Gavin dropped us off at a Butterfly Farm. This was okay, afterall I'm sort of a fan of butterflies. But it was so hot, and incredibly bright. It's to be noted that I had suffered through most of the day. Still fresh out of the Eye Hospital, my eye felt very sensitive and vulnerable. Light, any kind of light, was agonizing. I squinted through most of the day, other than in the Mossy Forest where I had found relief. Wearing my sunglasses ontop of my regular glasses, it was all I could do to try to keep the light out. But it wasn't enough. I squinted, and my eye watered, and I had to apply drops every hour, alternating between two kinds of drops (plus a third one to relax my eye muscles). It wasn't pleasant. I enjoyed being out, but at the same time I wanted to crawl into a dark room and just rest my eyes. I felt that a lot of money was going to be wasted on our travels if I couldn't actually see anything.

After the Butterfly Farm came the Strawberry Farm. This sounded delicious, and I was so ready to go strawberry picking. It reminded me of trips out with my mom and sister when I was kid, and of the taste of freshly picked strawberries. I was an eager tourist, so I handed the money over without thinking, though Chris was somewhere in the background frowning, but hey, you only live once, right? The farm was immense. I was ready to start picking, spotting some juicy numbers dangling nearby. But no, there was always some guy there telling us not to pick there and pointing us in some other direction. After this happened a few times, some guy stepped in and guided us to a place we were allowed to pick from. There were shelves of potted plants, so we didn't have to bend over or anything. The pots were filled with husked coconut shells, a better method than regular soil, or so we were told. The flavour of the strawberries was supposed to be like no other. But we didn't know—we weren't allowed to taste. We spied strawberries, but the guy hanging around would either tell us yes or no (mostly no). A lot of times he pointed out strawberries he saw fit for us to pick, thus taking the fun out of the experience for us. He was a funny guy so he was okay, but it wasn't like we were actually picking strawberries for ourselves, rather we were being directed. This went rather quick and we were out of there in about ten minutes. We had payed £6 for a container of strawberries. It was dawning on me how expensive this actually was, expecially considering most of our meals had been about £2 each. Chris had found a container of strawberries just outside in the shop that were a quarter of the price. We had paid for the fun of picking our own strawberries, but that had been somewhat of a joke. Oh well. Live and learn. Finally we were allowed to taste our strawberries, and yes they were good. But I still think British strawberries are the best in the world. Ain't no comparison.

After the strawberries we were taken to a Buddhist temple in the hills. This was a Chinese temple. It was okay, but not much to write home about. Lots of little golden Buddhas and lots of joss sticks. I still hadn't connected with Buddhism.

We returned from our tour rather worn out. Armed wtih strawberries, I retreated to our damp dark hotel room and planned to stay there for the rest of the day.

The Mossy Forest and all that had been great. I even enjoyed the backwater feel of Tanah Rata and its cute British-inspired cafes. But I was entering a dark period. It could very much have been due to the fact I was reading George Orwell's 1984 which, let's face it, is a real downer. Imagine a boot stamping on a human face—forever. Geez what a thought. I felt a boot of my own, limiting me in every activity. I really thought this trip might be over. I was due to see the doctor again in a few days. There was still the fear hanging over me that the infection might get worse. I tested my eye out every day to see if there was any improvement. It was hard to tell. The pain might have disapated, but the discomfort was very much there. Venturing out of a dark room into sunlight was as unpleasant to me as it would be to a vampire. I’d hold my arms out and scrunch my face in horror. Yes, this was far from ideal. How would I carry on traveling like this? Chris and I continually talked about it, and like 1984, it was a real downer. Was it worth spending all this money if I had to keep my eyes down all the time? Or stay in hotel rooms in the dark? It wasn't looking good, though we decided to keep plugging along. The future was undecided. We'd have to see how my doctor's appointment went. But first we had a few days in Taman Negara, and my 35th birthday to celebrate.

My Little Eye Adventure

I don't fully remember arriving in Malaysia. I remember bits about the airport in Hong Kong, and those mostly had to do with me breaking down. What had started as a mild irritation in my left eye had developed into a full-blown infection. Still believing I had viral conjunctivitis (I had diagnosed myself online, and indeed the symptoms seemed to fit), I figured it was just a matter of time before it would clear up. I was no stranger to conjunctivitis; I had had it years before (the bacterial kind). I remember redness, the runniness, the feeling that something was stuck under my eyelid—all unpleasant things. What I didn't recall was the pain. I was in severe pain.

Chris had to lead me like a blind person. I was completely dependent on him. This was mostly due to the fact that I couldn't open my left eye in bright light. Any light would cause stabbing pain; I’m talking normal daylight, any overhead light, even the light from my Kindle. Walking around with one eye continually shut wasn't much fun. Not being able to make eye contact with anyone, I probably looked like a right grump. I didn't care though. All I could get through my brain was “Please make this pain stop.” I slumped over the table where Chris and I had had our lunch and started crying. “Why does it hurt so bad?” I asked. This didn't seem so much like conjunctivitis anymore.

I broke down a few more times at the airport, as I was helpless to know where we were going. I couldn't follow signs, I couldn't help Chris with anything, I was probably acting like a child. When I couldn't read my book, I threw it in frustration. When we seemed lost in the airport, I just sat down and cried. I wanted to pull myself together, but I had spent the last few days doing that, convincing myself my eye infection was nothing serious. But the pain was now continuous. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't even close my eyes to escape the pain. It was like something was stabbing my eyeball over and over again. Pain like that takes over everything. It takes over your rationale. It takes over your personality. It takes over every normal function of your life.

We must have flown from Hong Kong to Malaysia, but I don't remember it. I think I curled up in my seat with my eyes closed, but didn't sleep. Any conversations with Chris had ceased. I could sense he was unhappy with the situation, but there was nothing to be done short of going to a doctor. We had chosen not to go the doctor route in Hong Kong, probably due to my self-diagnosis. We had visited a pharmacy at the airport. The girl there wasn't able to do anything, she wasn't a doctor. She had sold us alergy medication, which may have helped my runny nose, but did nothing for my runny eye.

I don't remember touching down in Kuala Lumpur or going through customs. The only thing I do remember was the taxi ride, and that was because it was so horrendous.

Late Arrival

Our plane had landed sometime around 1:00 in the morning. We had booked a private room at a guesthouse in Chinatown, Kuala Lumpur. As far as I knew it wasn't going to be a long drive. I was looking forward to a soft bed and laying my head down. Staying upright and somewhat alert was an exhausting process. I wanted nothing more than to totally tune out.

The taxi driver seemed a nice young chap. I thought he spoke enough English to understand our destination. He drove off confidently, so I thought, taking us in the direction of Kuala Lumpur. About an hour later he pulled over in some neighbourhood. We had seen the lights of the Petronas Towers, so at least we knew we were in the right city. However our driver was making phone calls. He didn't know our destination. I distinctly remember telling him “Chinatown” and him going, “Okay okay,” and driving off again.

We drove around in circles, up and down the empty streets of Kuala Lumpur. On maybe a different night this might have been entertaining, but not after the kind of day we had had. Chris was visibly getting pissed off. He kept trying to instruct the guy, but the guy was like “Okay okay,” with nothing getting through to him.

Eventually, after driving around in circles, the driver pulled back onto the tollway. Passing by numerous signs pointing towards the city, we headed out into the darkness. “He's taking us back to the airport,” Chris said, losing more of his patience. Finally he leaned forward and said, “Listen, if you just let me fucking drive this thing, I'll get us there. You don't fucking know where you're going.” I told Chris to back off, but I was getting nervous. This wasn't much fun at all, especially now that we were heading out of Kuala Lumpur. I was fully on guard. Our driver had been driving us around for over two hours. He had been on his phone numerous times, talking in a language we couldn't understand. Now he was paying a toll, taking us out into the darkness of the countryside. At 3:00 in the morning, all kinds of scenarios can go through a Westerner's head. He's taking us somewhere to hold us for ransom, was one of my thoughts. Or, he's going to mug us and then kill us. These seemed perfectly feasible.

“Chinatown,” I nearly shouted at him. “Don't you know where Chinatown is?” Suddenly, instead of the usual “Okay okay” we’d been getting, he went, “Chinatown. I know Chinatown. Back in Kuala Lumpur.” I wanted to clap my hands. Brilliant. Why was he only understanding this for the first time when we had been saying it all along?

He still had to turn around, which wasn't easy on the tollway. We went miles out of the way so he could turn back around, and then he had to pay the toll all over again. He was clearly upset with himself, which, frankly, was a relief to me. At least he wasn't selling us to kidnappers.

We arrived in Chinatown around 4:00 in the morning. We were dead tired and still didn't know where we were going. Our packs were heavy, and I was very near to crying again as we blindly walked the streets. Finally we came upon a group of Chinese eating at a restaurant. One of the men was clearly drunk, but lovingly clapped a hand onto my shoulder. “Please watch bag,” he said. “I only worry for you.” This was even more disconcerting, being lost in the middle of the night. Chinatown did look rough with all its dark alleys, especially at this strange hour. I was afraid someone was going to pop out of the darkness with a knife and slash our bags open.

Thankfully we were pointed in the right direction and in no time located our hostel. We were lucky reception was still open (though we got a reproving look, having arrived three hours later than we had indicated online) and were given a room to ourselves. The room was heaven, with all the comforts I had hoped for. I flung myself on the bed, so exhausted I could have died. It wasn't just the physical exhaustion, it was mental and psychological as well. I thought for sure I would just curl into a blissful sleep right then and there and drop into oblivion. The thing was—I couldn't. My eye hurt even worse when it was closed, scratching and scraping up against my eyelid. It seemed so unfair. I couldn't escape from it. And if it was at all possible, it was actually getting worse.

Desperation

Our room had no windows, so there was no sunlight to indicate the time. This felt unnatural. Having arrived at 4:00 in the morning, we could have slept for two hours or ten. Waking up was a surreal experience. Thankfully it was a reasonable hour, and we could still make breakfast.

Breakfast was on the terrace. I vaguely made out that our hostel was nice, and the terrace had a nice view looking out over the city. But I didn't care. More than that—I couldn't see. I ate my toast in deep numbness. “We're going to find a doctor,” I told Chris, who I'm sure was sick to death of hearing about my eye at this point. He seemed a bit irritable, either with me, or lack of sleep, or the eye thing. He was short with me, even when I told him, “My eyesight's just gone.” I was taking a miserable bite out of my toast, my eyes downcast, when I noticed that a white haze covered over the vision in my left eye. “Everything's gone blurry,” I told him again, turning to him in panic. “It's just pus,” he said. “I can see a blob of it. Here, I'll try to get it out.” And with that he took a napkin to my eye. I cringe now, thinking about it. I cringed then, not wanting anything to touch my eyeball. But whatever he thought was on my eyeball, it wasn't coming off.

Once back in the room I took a good look at my eye. Sure enough there was a blob of something there. I tried moving it around, to see if it was just gook. But it appeared to be stationary. Now I was starting to get scared. What was that thing?

We headed out into the city. Having recieved vague directions to a clinic, we made our way down the street. The heat was intense and we were sweating. The pollution seemed thick, buses and trucks belching fumes around us. I was blind to everything. Chris led me once again, but really it was the blind leading the blind. We didn't know what we were looking for. The bustle of the city was unsettling to me, and the pain in my eye was so bad I was ready to start screaming right there in the middle of the street. “Hail a taxi,” I ordered Chris. “Take me to the ER.”

The taxi driver was my savior. He understood the situation. He took one look at me and said he was taking me to the Eye Hospital. I sat back in the taxi and felt relief for the first time in days. Finally this pain was going to end.

The Hospital

Two steps inside the Tun Hussein Onn Eye Hospital, I received a diagnosis. From the receptionist of all people. “You have very serious eye infection,” she informed me.  Even from a distance she could see that. Having someone acknowledge that was a relief to me, as if I wasn't making this all up on my own. Then she said, “You have a corneal ulcer. I can see it from here.” A corneal what? I thought all along I had a bad case of conjunctivitis, or something similiar. I thought maybe some drops and some firm counsel about contact lenses was in order, but... what?

She took me to the doctor straight away. It didn't take him very long to ascertain that indeed, that cloudy thing on my eye was a corneal ulcer. Having never heard of such a thing before, I didn't realize the seriousness of it. I was still busy being impressed with such a modern and clean hospital. This was my first experience inside a foreign hospital (nothing bad had ever happened to me abroad before). I had thought foreign hospitals were something to fear and avoid at all costs. But this, well, let's just say compared to Tameside Hospital in Greater Manchester, this was a dream. Maybe it had something to do with the fact I was a Westerner. I was attended to quickly, being ushered from one room to another by polite staff. Everyone spoke English. I got the sense that I was in the most expert hands in this place. They knew a thing or two about eyes, which leads to mention the only downside to my hospital visit—the situation with my eye.

The doctor said that it was a very big ulcer (bad), though it was located just off center of my pupil (good). Still optimistic that this was just a matter of taking drops and letting the thing clear up, I refused to hear how serious my condition was. The doctor advised hospitalizing me, and I just kind of laughed it off. I'm a Westerner, I thought. They want to make some money off me by exaggerating my condition. “Just give me the drops,” I said. “We'll take care of it ourselves.”

They performed a corneal scraping on my eye, which sounds worse than it actually was. Numbing drops were about to become my new best friend. I couldn't feel a thing as he scraped my eye. They would send a sample to a lab to determine what had caused the infection. It could either be bacterial or fungal. In any case, whatever was eating away at my eye was powerful and had to be fought with antibiotics. I got loaded up with four different kinds of antibiotics—two drops, one oral, and one ointment. I was to administer the drops each hour. No problem, I thought. Now that I had antibiotics this thing would clear up in no time. The doctor wanted to see me again in two days but told me I could come back sooner if I needed to. Armed with my bag of antibiotics, I left the hospital feeling good that my condition had now been diagnosed, and now my eye could start healing.

We found a monorail station close to the hospital which conveniently took us to our stop in Chinatown. I sat like a blind person in my seat the entire ride, my head down, my eyes unfocused. Chris led me around by the hand, I was completely dependant on him. Normally when I'm out walking, I check streets for traffic before I cross them, or lights at crosswalks, or even assess foot traffic so I don't run into anyone. I could do none of those things. I kept my head down with my sunglasses on, putting all my trust in Chris not to lead me into traffic or into a brick wall.

Stopping for lunch at a booth down the street from our hostel, the noise and bustle were too much for me. I squinted throughout my meal, only keeping my food within my periphery.  I was starting to realize that this wasn't going to be an easy time, eye drops or not. The pain was very much still there; they had given me nothing for that.

The rest of the day was spent checking my watch and administering eye drops. “How long do I have to do this for?” I wondered. The schedule dominated my day. I couldn't imagine traveling like this. By the end of the day, pus had started to form, piling around my eyelashes. I took that as a good sign. Perhaps it was a sign that my eye was responding to the antibiotics. My eye was actually looking worse, but for some reason I didn't worry. I kept dabbing at my eye with tissues. In the morning, after another night of constant pain, I looked at the bedside and saw just how many tissues I had gone through. It was alarmingly a lot.

“I think my eye is better,” I told Chris, squinting at myself in the mirror. What this was based on, I'm not sure, as my eye looked like hell. My eyesight was now completely gone in my left eye. I didn't notice the extent of it until we went to breakfast and I was out in full daylight. A milky substance had completely taken over my vision. I could hold my hand directly in front of my face and not see it. I couldn't see shapes or even colors. It was as if a spider had woven a thick web over my eye in the night. Light was the only think I could see, and maybe some shadowy things in the background. I was now blind in my left eye.

Feeling that perhaps something wasn't right with this total loss of vision, I told Chris we should go back to the eye doctor. We finished our breakfast, switched rooms at the hostel (we hadn't planned on staying in KL very long, so we had to book more nights) and found our way, or I should say Chris found our way, back to the hospital via the monorail. We walked into the clinic but were told that my doctor, Dr. Azher, had left early for Friday prayers. I was willing to see another doctor. Unfortunately, that doctor turned out to be a monstrosity of a woman. After waiting an hour I was ushered into a room where a big middle-aged woman stared me down. “Yes,” she simply said, “what do you want from me?” “I have no vision in my left eye,” I told her. “Well what do you want me to do about it? You saw Dr. Azher yesterday, you must talk with Dr. Azher.” Yeah, thanks a lot you callous cow. I went back to the waiting room and had to wait another hour, then finally I was called into Dr. Azher's office.

The good doctor was evidently still praying. His assistant was on hand to examine me. I was confident that, even despite my vision loss, my condition had improved. The pain had lessened. I was able to open my eye fully now, which I hadn't been able to do in some time. So it was a bit surprising when the assistant doctor looked at me and said, “The infection has grown worse. Your ulcer is bigger in size. I'm very concerned, you can lose your eye. I advise that we admit you.” I was stunned. “For how long?” I asked. He shrugged, “It depends on what's causing the infection. If it's bacterial, maybe a week. If fungal, much longer. Maybe several weeks.” Several weeks? I didn't know what to say? What about our trip?

Chris came into the office and we discussed the situation. We were actually considering going back to Britain, as the NHS would take care of me. Something long term would completely spoil our travels. We were at a crossroads.

I agreed to being admitted. What else was I going to do? I could bloody well lose my eye. The gravity of the situation was really hitting me now. I was already blind in my eye. I could lose it all together.

Somewhat in a daze, we made the roundtrip journey to the hostel to collect my stuff, then, for the first time in my life, I got checked into a hospital room. I hadn't cried up until this point, but I was holding back tears then.

Hospitalization

Chris stayed for awhile with me. My room was actually quite nice as far as hospital rooms go. I had my own bed and my own bathroom. There was even a TV. And of course there was a chair for Chris to sit. Being an Eye Hospital, Tunn Hussein seemed slightly better than a regular hospital in that there weren't sick patients wandering the hallways, or people wringing their hands in worry, or that medicinal/poo smell that permeates most hospitals. No, this was alright. In fact, it was better than some of the places we had stayed in so far on our trip. To me, this was like the Hilton (and ironically costing about the same).

It was getting late and Chris had to leave. It was a sad parting. I didn't want to be alone that night. I found myself alone in the room, anxiously waiting to see what they were going to do to me. They had mentioned something about a shot of antibiotics into the eyeball. I'm a terrible baby when it comes to needles. Shooting something directly into my eyeball sounded about a million times worse than any regular shot I've ever had. I waited nervously for the nurse to come. Eventually she came.

I was ushered into a treatment room where they told me to lay down on a bed. There was a young female doctor I hadn't seen before. She was talking with some of the nurses in a language I couldn't understand. They kept putting drops in my eye; I was told they were numbing drops. I was incredibly nervous, but tried to soothe myself with the thought that numbing drops were miraculous things. I hadn't even felt the corneal scrape. They were taking their time. Out of the corner of my eye I finally saw the needle. I swear it was as long as a knitting needle. “Are you going to stick that in my eye?” I asked the doctor. She looked over at me knowingly. It was as if they had been trying to hide it from me up to that point. “Yes I am,” she said, and with that I tried to put on a brave face as they finished their prep. The nurses suddenly all surrounded me, one of them holding me in some kind of headlock. The doctor informed me that she was going to put my eye in clamp, and believe me, that was a freak show just in itself. I was starting to feel like the victim in a Hostel movie, my eyeball clamped with a needle hovering over it. The doctor then said something that made my blood chill. “This is going to hurt,” she said. “You cannot move your head, no matter what.” I think the fear really showed on my face because she repeated sternly, “Do not move your head.” The nurse held onto my head even tighter. And then there it was—the needle going right into my already tortured eyeball. Let's just say I felt every inch of that needle, and the injection seemed to take bloody ages. I desperately wanted to close my eyes and will myself away to another place, but I couldn't escape what was happening to me. Finally the needle was pulled out, and I felt tears, or blood, streaming down my temple. They covered my eye and left me laying there. I felt slightly traumatized.

The rest of that first night was a real downer for me. My eye, which had been sore before, was now beyond the limits of pain. It was bleeding and throbbing and just a real nasty mess. They packed it up with so many drops and gels I couldn't open it even if I wanted to. I was called into see the doctor one more time, and she pried my eye open. “Have you seen your eye yet?” she asked. “No, I haven't looked at it,” I said. She had a little smile on her face. “You should look.” I think she had appreciation for the whole freak show, and indeed I did too when I got back to my room. My eye was now blood red and squirting all kinds of fluids. I had some kind of weird fascniation with it, I couldn't stop going to the mirror and staring. But then the antibiotics started making me feel sick, and I was feeling low from the whole experience. I went to bed feeling very alone and very despondant. There was still a chance I could lose my eye. Maybe I had left it too late. Maybe the antiobiotics wouldn't work. There was a real chance I could be left permanently blind from this. Not only that, but I was told that even if the ulcer did heal, I would be left with a scar that would impair my eyesight. This was bad stuff. Any cockiness or positivity I had felt up until then disappated. It was a hard night to get through.

My Life as a Patient

I perked up in the morning. For breakfast they brought me hot chocolate, and for some reason this was comforting. The nurses came every hour to put drops in. I hate to stereotype, but they all looked the same, the nurses. Being Muslim, they all wore identical headscarves. They were all short and slightly on the plump side. Their Malay faces were round and cute and makeup-less. Some of the nurses wore little nurse’s hats ontop of their headscarves, a slightly silly look. Regardless of who came to me, they would deliver the same repeated instruction: “Look up,” squeeze in an eyedrop, “Close your eye,” and then wipe it with a swab. This was repeated over and over again by the revolving door of nurses.

I was seen by the doctor. Despite the abomination that my eye had turned into thanks to blood clotting, the doctor delivered the news that the ulcer had grown smaller. My eye was responding to the antibiotics. This was a turning point. I had been at the brink of losing or saving my eye. It now seemed apparent that it was on the saving side, though it was stressed to me that the healing time was very slow. Not having any blood vessels on my cornea, the sore wouldn't heal like a normal fleshwound on the body. It could take up to several months to fully heal. Still I was optimistic about the antibiotics working. It was a real boost. As horrific as that shot to the eyeball had been, it saved my eye.

Chris came to visit, though there wasn't much for me to do to entertain him. He sat in the chair and read for most of the day while I rested. I could read a book for a little while, but with the blurriness it became a chore. There was nothing good on TV, most of the channels were in foreign languages. Every now and again we'd find a gem like Takisha's Castle, a show in which contestants face humiliation in trying to traverse an obstacle course. Watching cute Japanese girls get knocked over by a foam arm into a vat of mud was just the kind of entertainment I needed. We could also onder movies for about $1 each, but the movies were all of Steven Seagal standard. I'm not sure how Million Dollar Baby was put into the mix, but we watched that one afternoon and made the time go by.

I had become fairly sedate. They’d given me some comfy drawstring pajamas, and I practically lived in those. I couldn't do much so I slept a lot of the time. They gave me a menu to choose my meals from, and sometimes the food was very good. My first experience with Nasi Goreng happened in that hospital room, and it was quite tasty. They brought me lots of Milo (a brand of hot chocolate) and even a snack in the afternoon. With doctor visits twice a day, with the doctor telling me all the time I was improving, my spirits were fairly high. I was having a much better stay than Chris was at the hostel, where he had moved into a dorm room.

Chris came to me later than usual on my third day there. He had gotten food poisoning, supposedly from a cafe in Chinatown. He thought it was from eating a beef noodle dish. It was obvious that he wasn't doing so well, leaving his chair several times to noisily puke in my personal bathroom. I encouraged him to try and eat something, offering some of my food (the portions were always too much for me) but he wouldn't attempt even a bite. The journey back and forth from the hospital wasn't an easy one when sick, so I appreciated Chris' effort to come see me.

Because of our situation, there were talks about ending our travels. I was still facing a long road ahead with my eye, even if I was out of danger zone. My sight was still terribly blurred. Each day I tested out my vision by holding fingers infront of my face. The day I could finally make out a letter (albeit a very big letter) on a wrapper was a good day. I felt progress was being made. My eyesight was coming back a little at a time, but I was confined to my hospital quarters. Could I travel like this? It was something to consider.

We had booked flights to Bali. We still had a little less than a month in Malaysia. It became apparant that a lot of time would be spent in the capitol, close to the Eye Hospital. If my condition had greatly improved, maybe we could take a few days trip elsewhere. We didn't know. We still didn't know what type of infection I had. If the results came back with my infection being fungal, I could be hospitalized a lot longer.

By the third day I was starting to get bored. The nurses were nice, but limited in their English. There was only one nurse that gave me a scare, one of the night nurses. She came in late, flipping on the light, not saying a single word to me. Avoiding the usual instruction to look up and then close my eye, she administered the drops one after another without me knowing what she was doing. She also cleaned my eye a bit roughly. Maybe she was having a bad day, or called in to work a shift she didn't want; I don't know what her deal was. But she scared me. For the first time I realized how helpless I was. And at night, when the hospital was eerily quiet, I realized she could come into my room without anyone knowing and stab me in the eyeball. Maybe she didn't like Westerners. Maybe she was a militant Muslim. I slept with one eye open that one night (the good eye).

My eye continued to get better. The doctor had me brought into his office on the fourth day and informed me that the lab results were in. It was a bacterial infection. He showed me the name of the bacteria; some long latin name about twenty letters long that I couldn't make heads or tails of. I just nodded and beamed. This was splendid news. The antibiotics were working and my eye was now stabilizing. He told me I could probably go home the next day. I nearly skipped back to my room.

Then Philomena started visiting. This made me really want to leave. Philomena was some kind of head nurse who was training medical students. She spoke the Queen's English and had a haughty air about her, obviously regarding herself as superior. An older lady, she was intimidating to the nurses-in-training who were now admininstering my eye drops. She'd put them down, right infront of me. She even put down their religion, her being a born-again Christain. She asked if I had found the Lord yet. Trying to hide a smile, I told her I had no religion. “Don't worry,” she said, patting my arm, “You'll find him some day.” Then she went on to tell me how meaningless life is without God, presenting her life story while the meek Muslim girls just stood there. It was very uncomfortable. Being a hostage in my bed, I really just wanted her to go. She would come back to visit me even when the nursing students weren't present. She must have thought we were the best of friends. She identified herself with the English, having grown up under British rule. Having misjudged me as someone who really gave a damn, she informed me of her high-class status and her British standards. I didn't know what I was supposed to say to her. Was I supposed to congratulate her? Thankfully Chris would show up and drive Philomena away.

After four days in the hospital, my eye had improved enough for me to be released. Actually my situation was the best-case scenario. I had stayed the minimum number of days. There had been an Australian girl before me who also had developed a corneal ulcer; she ended up staying two weeks and she had had to fly back to Australia while her friends went on to Thailand. And her ulcer had been smaller than mine. I realize how lucky I was. Sure, it was unfortunate for the infection to happen in the first place, but for me to have it, and to be in Kuala Lumpur at a place that specializes in corneal ulcers, and to have caught it before it spread outside of the cornea—I consider myself incredibly lucky. The outcome could have been much much worse.

And with that, we decided to continue on with our travels.

Kuala Lumpur, From the Sidewalk Up

I had now been in Kuala Lumpur (KL) for six days, and I still hadn't seen it. Still couldn't see much of it, for my eye was still highly sensitive. Riding the monorail I continued to keep my head down and my sunglasses on. It felt strange being outside again. There was so much noise and commotion. Our hostel was on a very busy street, full of growling buses and motorbikes. I felt vulnerable outside of my hotel room. Chris continued to lead me like a blind person. I could only keep track of the bubble of sidewalk around my feet. Every now and then I'd lift my head up, but the light would drive my eyes back down.

I told Chris I wanted out of the pollution. I could feel the germs looming around Chinatown. Chris said he'd take me somewhere modern, somewhere out of the chaos of the Chinatown streets. We boarded the monorail yet again and headed in the opposite direction. We came to KLCC (Kuala Lumpur City Centre). There I found a haven. Chris encouraged me to look up as we stood outside. Yup, there were the Petronas Towers, the twin towers of Asia, once the tallest buildings in the world. They were impressive enough, but I needed to get out of the sun. So we entered into the mall, and there I wanted to stay for the rest of our time in KL. There was every type of restaurant in the food court, even a Chili's. This food court was my home away from home, I felt safe there amongst the tables. I tried something called “cendol” for the first time—a kidney bean type ice cream that I found interesting, but Chris found repulsive.

In the courtyard outside of KLCC were the Dancing Waters. No doubt they were a replica of the Bellagio Dancing Waters in Las Vegas. Having seen both, and being a fan of both, I'd have to say that KL takes the lead as far as sychronized water goes. We watched the fountain perform to Sting's Desert Rose. The sun had gone under and the rainbow lights came switching on. It really was magnificent. Especially with the Petronas Towers sparkling overhead. For the first time in a long time, I took attention off of my eye. I was beginning to see the world again.

My eye continued to get better. The differences were very slight, yet they were perceptible. Little by little I could see letters or numbers more clearly. The extraordinary pain I had felt at the beginning of my eye episode was a distant memory. I still had discomfort and couldn't raise my head in sunlight. My eye still ran through the night. But compared to the agony I had felt before, I felt liberated. You don't really appreciate not being in pain until you've been in pain so terrible that you would do anything, and I mean anything, to make it stop. Almost two months after my infection surfaced, I still don't take this lack of pain for granted. If I ever have pain that even comes near to that level again, I'll be on the next bus, boat, scooter, chopper—you name it—to the nearest hospital.

We went to visit the doctor once again after a three-day interlude. He confirmed that my eye was now stable. He still wanted to see me in another week to continue to check its process. Chris and I were relieved at this. We thought we'd have to check in every other day or so, but the doctor was giving us a full week. We wanted to head out of KL. We wanted somewhere green and lush and pollution-free. The doctor said he couldn't see any reason why we couldn't go. So we packed our bags, and after two weeks in KL, we headed out of the city. We needed a vacation. A vacation within a vacation. The whole eye episode had been rough on both of us. It was time to get this travel thing going again.