It was dark when we landed in Kota Kinabalu. The airport was
not huge. After collecting our luggage, we passed through an additional
security check, where our luggage was scanned. With a seal of approval on our
suitcases, we entered the arrival hall. I knew what to do, I’d read about it:
In order to catch a taxi, we first needed to find a counter, where we would
tell our destination address. The cost would be estimated and we would pay at
this counter. We would then get a receipt with the address, which we would give
to the taxi driver. This, we were told, was a measure recently taken to prevent
taxi drivers from over-charging unsuspecting tourists. After some discussion
between the two men behind the counter about where our hotel was located, we
sat in an air-conditioned taxi through a city in a country where we had never
been before.
We had booked the hotel through booking dot com. The reviews
had mentioned that the place was rather remote, but since we like walking and
the air distance to the city centre seemed reasonable on google maps, we
figured it would be perfect for us. As it turned out, the hotel was in a new
suburb, which consisted of a handful of streets with identical three-storey
town houses and a church. There was only one street through which one could
enter or exit the suburb, to which all of the other streets connected in a
bronchial pattern. Just outside the suburb, a high-rise building was under
construction.
Our hotel was in one of the town houses. The owners were out
for dinner, but the other guests, a couple from China, had been asked to greet
us and give us the keys. After getting the most important information – the
wifi password – we asked them whether there was a place to eat within walking
distance. There wasn’t. Not quite believing them, we decided to walk out and
explore the area. At the first street corner, we encountered a dog. It did not
seem to want us to enter its territory: to get past it, we walked, squeezed
against the wall on the opposite side of the street, not taking our eyes off
it. Then we got to the exit of the suburb. Getting to the city would have
required us to walk along the winding, partly unpaved road, until we would join
a larger road which would lead to Kota Kinabalu. Altogether, we would need to
walk 5 kilometres. Outside the suburb was the construction side, abandoned in
the dark. The road was surrounded by shrubbery. A pair of eyes shone at us from
the shrubbery. We heard barking and howling, some of it close by, some further
away. We decided to return to the hotel.
First thing in the morning, we decided to explore the city.
After we verified that, indeed, there was no footpath to the city, I installed
the Uber app on my iPad, and for the first time in my life, I ordered an Uber.
As I would do in a European city, I decided to start our exploration in a
central area, and after looking at a map of the Kota Kinabalu, I picked a mall
called the Star Centre. Our Uber arrived, and under some pleasant small talk,
he drove us past the construction site, through the winding road, to the bigger,
three-lane road that led to the city centre, past apartment blocks, through
modest traffic. “The Star Centre”, he declared, when he stopped in front of a
slightly run-down-looking building. He did not say this in a confident manner,
as if fearing that we would be disappointed. We thanked and paid him, and
walked through the entrance into the shopping mall. It was still early, some
time before 9. In its structure, the mall looked like any other mall that one
can find anywhere else in the world. However, it was empty: we were the only
people there. Many of the shops were unoccupied altogether, others were still
closed, with iron bars covering the shop fronts. The mall had two or three
storeys, but the upper floors looked like nobody ever entered them. After
several unsuccessful attempts at connecting my iPad to the wifi, we realised
that we had no map, and no idea where to go to from here.
“First, let’s just get something to eat”, we decided. We
were still hungry after our unsuccessful attempt to get dinner the previous
evening – though our fellow hotel guests had kindly shared some snacks they had
bought from the local market with us (they had given us the disclaimer that
they had no idea what these snacks actually were). We found a stand in the mall,
where we ordered Malaysian Kopi with sweetened condensed milk (which was served
in a take-away cup that came with a take-away-cup-sized-and-shaped plastic bag),
and a set of pastries, one of them filled with a custard containing the
infamous durian: a melon-sized fruit that, when opened, smells so badly, that
it is strictly banned from Singapore trains and hotels. The taste of the durian
was unusual. Ondra did not like the durian’s taste, leaving me to finish this
pastry after he had taken a small bite from it.
After we had eaten something, the shops in the mall had
started opening, people were starting to stroll past the bench on which we were
sitting, and the world already looked brighter. We left the cool mall, with
tentative steps exploring its surroundings. We crossed some streets, watching
out carefully for motorcyclists, trying to stay on the shady sides of the roads
to avoid the heat. Soon, we stumbled across a bigger mall. There, we finally
managed to connect to the wifi, chased down a map, and bought mosquito
repellent in a pharmacy. The sea was only a few blocks away. Armed with our new
map, we started walking in its direction, and indeed soon reached the market,
which stretches for several blocks along the beach, and sells everything from
souvenirs and clothes to fruits and seafood. A roof protected the shoppers and
vendors from the scorching heat, naked light bulbs hung from the ceiling. Many
of the fruits we had never seen before. After pointing at the most
exotic-looking fruits, we left with two bags worth of shopping.
We were particularly excited to explore the countryside of
Borneo, as neither of us had ever seen a landscape which was this close to the
equator. Our original plan had been to hike to Mount Kinabalu, but a tendon
injury had forced us to abandon this idea. Instead, we booked a few tours to
explore the area around Kota Kinabalu. The first tour consisted of a boat tour
through the jungle, followed by a dinner at a place near the river, driving to
the beach to watch the sunset, and another river tour to admire the glow worms.
The second tour involved cycling through the jungle, as well as through smaller
towns in the vicinity.
In the early afternoon of our first day, we were back at out
hotel, waiting for the tour guide to pick us up. The tour guide called: He
could not find the hotel. I passed my mobile phone to the hotel owner. Several
minutes later, a van turned into our street. In the car with us was a couple,
who later turned out to be employees from a law firm in Hong Kong, staying in
Kota Kinabalu for a long-weekend trip. We left the city, and passed a bridge
from where we had a clear view of Mount Kinabalu’s bell shape. We stopped at
the petrol station for a bathroom break. Still jet-lagged, Ondra and I decided
to get some coffee. “Try this”, I told him, giving him a can from the fridge.
“This coffee will be better than coffee at petrol stations in the Czech
Republic!” From my time in Sydney, I remembered these cans from the Asian
stores, as a sweet, refreshing drink. Later, Ondra told me that I was wrong
about it being better than instant machine coffee from Czech petrol stations.
We turned off the highway, and drove along a river. “Is that
a crocodile?” Ondra pointed excitedly at something that was sitting in a river
and that we saw flash past our window. It later turned out that there were no
crocodiles in the region, and it was likely to be a big lizard. The van stopped
in an unpaved parking lot, where some other vans and tourists were already
waiting. We were wearing shorts, t-shirts and sneakers. Some other visitors
were wearing summer dresses and high heels. Next to the parking lot was a
house, and next to the house was a roofed terrace, overlooking the river. The
boat tour through the jungle was first on the itinerary: we were given bright
red swimming vests, and shown to a boat, big enough to carry approximately
fifteen people. Think greenery surrounded the river: we were scanning it
carefully for monkeys. At times, behind the greenery, we would get a view of
Mount Kinabalu. Ondra clicked the camera as soon as this happened. Whenever a
monkey was sighted, the boat’s captain stopped, and tried to manoeuvre the boat
closer to the tree where the monkey was hiding. These shy little creatures were
difficult to spot between the leaves. Under some hanging bridges we went, then
we returned to the terrace, where dinner was served: to our disappointment, no
local specialities, but a tourist-friendly, culturally neutral buffet. Then we
were ushered to the vans again: We would be taken to the beach, to watch the
sunset. With my feet, I wrote “X+O” in the sand: this was our honeymoon, after
all. The next stop: the glow-worm show. It got dark very quickly: we were taken
to a different river, a different river-side house with a roofed terrace
attached, and were distributed into a handful of boats. The glow-worms looked
like tasteful Christmas decorations at a garden party: shining on the trees on
the shore. The tour guide flickered his torch, and they came flying in masses,
allowing us to catch them and let them go again.
Next morning, we ordered another Uber, and asked to be
dropped off close to the Sunday market. It was hot already, the market was
crowded. I pulled Ondra through the busy street, occasionally stopping to get
an ice-cold mango juice from a stall, or to buy little souvenirs. After we
ticked the Sunday market off our to-do-list, we went to the pier. In a large
hall, we bought our tickets to one of the islands off the shore of Kota
Kinabalu. We were told to wait in an area at the end of the large pier: the
pier was crowded, but we managed to find a place to sit on one of the many
plastic benches. The boats were smaller than the one we had been on the
previous day, on the river. Once our boat was called, we were given swimming
vests, then the trip started. Through turquoise-blue water, the bottom of the
boat crashing against the waves, past fishing boats, the occasional plastic bag
rocking in the waves. It took about half an hour to get to the island. A white
sand beach greeted us: there were already crowds sitting on the beach, adults
with swimming vests knee-deep in the quiet sea. We decided to explore the island
first: After all, there was not only the beach, but also a forest on this
island. Following a road, we got to the end of the beach, and found a path
leading to the forest. Stepping on the path, we left the crowds behind us. The
path became smaller and smaller, but it had clearly once been well-visited. We
passed an old gazebo. After a relatively short walk, we descended a small hill,
and found ourselves in a garden restaurant. It turned out to be the only
restaurant on this island, and we were hungry. We paid for the buffet, and dug
in the tourist-friendly, culturally neutral food. Then we went swimming, first
Ondra, then me.
We went back to Kota Kinabalu on one of the last boats.
There was a feeling of chaos as all the remaining visitors rushed to the pier,
but there were enough boats for all: we ended up on a boat with an extremely
serious-looking captain. Next to him was a speaker box, blasting a techno-song
with the lyrics “banana – papaya!”
“Something tells me this ride’s going to be crazy!” Ondra
told me, grinning from ear to ear. He was right: under the catchy tune, the
boat zig-zagged through the waves at top speed, hitting the biggest waves head-on, splashing
the enthusiastically screaming passengers from all sides.
When we got back to Kota Kinabalu, we calculated that we
should have enough time to see one of the city’s most important sights: the
mosque, famous for being surrounded by water. We decided to walk. From
the pier, this involved getting past some large water-side mall which was clearly
meant to be seen only from the inside, past something that looked like a
construction site, but then finally getting to a strip of green for
pedestrians. We were walking along a busy three-lane road, but first across a
lawn with coconut trees, with the sea to our left side, and then through a park
with gazebos, picnicking families, playing children, and a remarkably clean
public bathroom. Finally we arrived at the mosque, but were faced with a
problem: The mosque was on the other side of the three-lane road, with no
pedestrian crossing in sight. We did not let this stop us. The sun was setting,
its last rays shining on the white walls of the mosque, its architecture
reflected in the water. We were too late to go in – on tripavisor, someone had
said that it was possible to go up in one of the towers. After walking around
and taking pictures from all sides, we started looking for a taxi, because we
realised that walking back to the city in the dark might not be the most
pleasant experience. As there were no other tourists – it was already late – we
started worrying, but then we spotted an old car with an old man and a taxi
sign. We got in, and asked for a lift to the city. We ate in a Chinese
restaurant and drank coconut water from an actual coconut. Then we went for a
stroll through the city centre, towards the sea. Life seemed to have started
after the sun had set. We walked past a durian market: We did not come close,
but we could smell it before we saw what it was. We walked via some overpasses
over the busy roads. We walked through the night food market, where tables with
plastic cloths and plastic chairs had already been prepared, but life had not
yet begun. Then we walked to a mall which we had already discovered as a good place to connect to the wifi and order an Uber, and went back to the hotel. We
had a big day ahead on the next day.
On the next day, we were picked up by another guide. In the
car, he told us proudly that at first, he couldn’t find our address, but then
he had googled the name of the hotel, found the contact of the owners, and
called them for directions. In addition to us, there was one more
visitor: a middle-aged, Cambridge-educated engineer living in London. He was equipped with a
large camera, and a brand-new-looking bag which seemed big enough to fit the camera, but
nothing else. He had returned from Mount Kinabalu on the previous day.
We were taken to a village outside Kota Kinabalu, a house at
the edge of the village, standing on high poles, probably to keep the snakes
out. We were led to the shed and given bikes, helmets, and a water bottle. One
of the guides would come with us by bike, the other would drive a pick-up-truck
on the bigger roads which were parallel to our route with another bike in the back, in case
there was a need for replacement. We all looked fit, we were told by the guide,
which was good: He could take us via a more challenging, but also more
interesting road.
We quickly turned off the main paved road, and passed a herd
of water buffaloes. We entered a private property: a rubber tree plantation. The
bike club, which was organising these bike tours but originated as a group of
bike enthusiasts, had gotten permission from the owner to include the
plantation as part of the tour. The guide explained to us that the workers on
the plantation tended towards heavy use of alcohol, something which the owner
did not like, because harvesting the sap from the rubber trees is a delicate work: it
is important to carve the rind in the right way, otherwise the tree is damaged,
causing losses in harvest. By allowing the bike club to ride through the plantation,
the owner hoped that the workers would become interested in cycling, and by
picking up a new hobby, reduce their drinking. This plan, our guide told us,
was partially successful: they had already recruited new members from this
plantation. The owner’s condition for allowing the club to use his land for the
bike tour was that we had to pass the workers’ lodging, so they would see us.
After the plantation came the hanging bridges, one of the
highlights of this tour. We were given instructions: to keep our balance, not
to slow down, to wait for the person before us to pass before crossing. The
bridges were narrow, with high barriers on both sides. “This is not too
different from passing through London traffic”, the engineer told us. After the
four of us had passed, a couple on a moped that had been waiting for us thundered
over to the other side. Ondra and the engineer started discussing the physics
behind the hanging bridge’s oscillations. I asked the guide what kind of people lived
in these parts. He said that they were often people working in the city and
commuting. After passing some banana plantations, we arrived at our goal: the
next village or little town. There were wild dogs on the street, but unlike the
ones in our suburb at night, they did not seem to be at all interested in us.
In the town, there was a large pagoda, and a little restaurant to which our
guide took us. The restaurant had a buffet, with food for tourists and food for
locals. We took the food for locals, and another coconut filled with refreshing
coconut water. After lunch, we took the short way back, because the guide was
afraid that it could start raining. We were dropped off at our hotel before
sunset, and immediately set off to the next item on our list: Watching the
sunset from a set of stairs that lead down a hill, from a winding road, to the
city centre. The guide of today’s tour had warned us not to go there after
sunset: apparently, there were some shady figures hanging out there at night.
The Uber driver dropped us off at the top of these stairs, we walked down with
our hearts beating slightly faster than usual, but still enjoying the view over
the city and, behind it, the sea and the setting sun. It was still light when
we got to the bottom. We were a little bit relieved as we rushed to the seaside
to catch the last rays of the sun over the sea. Then we went to the next sight:
the night market, this time with an empty stomach. Not really knowing what to
expect, we sat down at the first place that looked good to us. It turned out
that they did not have any meat on that day, only fish. I ordered the most
spicy meal, Ondra (who is allergic to fish) ordered a desert that the guide had
recommended, something called ABC. The fish was excellent. The ABC turned out
to be a combination of jelly cubes, condensed milk, shaved ice, and even a few
pieces of pasta.
On the next day, I woke Ondra up excitedly, and called the
Uber: We were going to the local art gallery. We stood outside our hotel, still
catching wifi so we could see where our Uber driver was. On the online map, we saw that he missed the turn and
drove to the next suburb. He stopped: the app’s chat window popped up, he told
us he was waiting for us. I explained that he was in the wrong suburb: he’d
need to go back and turn to the right. After some negotiation, he managed to find us.
We told him we were going to the gallery. “I know where it
is”, he told us, “the address that Uber says is wrong.” Ondra and I looked at
each other. “The gallery has recently moved”, the driver explained to us. We
nodded. After a while, we arrived at a severe-looking building, with a boomgate
and security guarding it. The car turned into the driveway, the driver
exchanged some words with the security guy. This was not the gallery, but the
guard told him where to find it. After some more zig-zagging, the car turned
into another driveway, leading up a small hill to a modern, upside-down
cone-shaped building. The driver followed us inside: he said he also wanted to
have a look at the exhibition. We bought our tickets, the driver exchanged some
words with the guy at the counter and quickly disappeared to the exhibition
rooms, and we went to the top floor, to an exhibition of art by women from Sabah.
After we had gone through the exhibition, we checked if we
could connect to the internet to call an Uber, but there was no wifi at the gallery.
Instead, we went to the counter where we’d bought the tickets, and explained
the situation. “Didn’t you come with your own driver?” The guy asked, looking
confused. We explained to him that the man who had come in with us was only the
Uber driver and had probably left a while ago. No problem, the guy immediately arranged an Uber for us.
We asked the Uber driver to take us back to the pier: we wanted to explore another one
of the islands. It was later than last time we had been there: the crowds were
already distributed on the islands’ beaches. We found a company that still had
outgoing boats, and bought our tickets. This island was bigger, and upon our
arrival, we saw monkeys playing on a tree, which we’d had such a hard time
spotting on the boat tour. Wanting to exchange my sunglasses for my normal
glasses, I reached into the pocket in Ondra’s backpack only to notice that they
were gone. After our first quibble as a married couple about whose fault it
was, we again went off to try and find a path that would take us through the
jungle. When we got back to the beach, the tourists were already gone. Ondra
went for a swim, I was still grumpy about losing my glasses and stayed on the
beach. On the pier, we were alone, and started wondering if we had
misunderstood about the last boat’s departure time. Indeed, it seemed we had.
In the end, some more tourists came, and a boat buzzed towards the pier. After
we explained our situation, the captain made a phone call, and waved us to get
on board: the boat was run by a different company from the one with whom we’d
bought our tickets, but they agreed to give us a lift, anyway.
On the way back, the boat’s captain had to make a detour,
presumably on some personal business. The detour was past a fisherman’s
village: colourful wooden houses, the minaret of a little mosque, all on poles
sticking out of the water, clothes lines and wooden crossings between the
houses, a true Malaysian Venice. Our boat approached one of the many piers: the
captain reached a snorkelling set out towards the pier as far as he could, a
little girl, perhaps six years old, came running across the pier, tip-tap, and
took the snorkelling set.
This was already our last day in Kota Kinabalu. We had to
find my glasses – if we could. First, we went to the company that had sold us
the boat ticket: the counter was still open and we asked if, maybe, I had not lost
my glasses on the boat on the way to the island. They asked us to take a seat
while they’d make some calls: after a nerve-wrecking wait, we were told that
no, the captain had had a look, but unfortunately he could not find my glasses
in the boat. As soon as we found a place with wifi, I found the art gallery on
facebook and sent them a message: it was possible that the glasses had fallen
out when we were getting in or out of the Uber. The guy who had ordered the
Uber had probably already finished his shift, I wrote, but if there was any way
to find out if maybe I’d dropped my glasses either somewhere between leaving
the gallery building (where I had still worn my glasses) and leaving the Uber car… I
got a relatively quick response: They had searched the area between the
reception and the driveway, called the guy who had been on duty and ordered our
Uber, found the Uber, and called the driver. But still no glasses.
A last walk through the city, a last sunset over the sea. In
the dark, we went in a direction where we had not been before: past the local
market, and to a chain of waterfront cafés and restaurants, filled with
tourists, menu boards boasting European beers and hamburgers. At the end of
this chain, there was a mall: we needed to use the bathroom, so we walked in. The
toilet was a western one: a seat rather than a squat toilet, there was toilet
paper, and no container of water next to the toilet, in which a little bucket
would swim, presumably to scoop water out for subsequent cleaning. A western
mall: the same shops that we know, new, sparkling clean tile floors.
A last Uber drive to our hotel: We would leave Kota Kinabalu
the next morning. The streets which had seemed so exotic first were now familiar,
though the airport looked different in daylight.
