The "road" to Mulu

Who said "it's not the destination, it’s the journey”? That sounds like a nice philosophy if you’re into zen and all that mystical stuff. Personally, I think it’s a cop-out, a sorry excuse made up to console oneself when the destination turned out to be one huge, disappointing mistake.
Give me a good journey AND a good destination any time. Give me a trip to Mulu, and give it to me the old-fashioned way, of course.
For the benefit of the uninitiated, that’s the renowned Gunung Mulu National Park in the north-eastern corner of Sarawak, famed for its superlative caves – world’s largest cave chamber, South-East Asia’s longest cave passage, longest cave system, etc.
Twenty years on, memories of my first visit, and what felt like an epic journey then, are still vivid.
From the seaside town of Kuala Baram, about 25km from Miri, I had to take a pre-dawn express boat journey to the small riverside town Marudi, three hours away.
Change over to an open top longboat for another three-hour ride to an even smaller riverside town, Long Lama, where another transfer is required, to an even smaller longboat for the last stretch up the calm Melinau river.

Waiting for the Long Lama ferry.

Today, Mulu has become one of Sarawak’s most popular tourist destinations, thanks to regular flights that deliver visitors almost to the doorsteps of the first-class Royal Mulu Resort and another dozen or so lodgings clustered on the banks of the pristine Melinau river.
When the opportunity to revisit Mulu came up in April 2006, it was the destination that got me excited first.
Then came the offer I couldn’t refuse – it was a Ford Lanun Darat expedition so the trip would not be made either in progressively diminishing boats or Twin Otter aircraft. Instead, we would drive there in a convoy of four-wheel-drive vehicles.
For most of the journey, the Ford Ranger pick-ups and Everest SUVs would travel on a well-used trail from Miri to Long Bedian, a remote settlement of the Kayan tribe.
Just how remote is it? Well, it’s about 125km from Miri, and the natives have e-Bedian (check out www.unimas.my/ebedian) and lots of satellite dishes.
And, when the convoy of 25 or so vehicles finally rolled up at the longhouse after a long, hard and dusty journey, the native women whipped out their snazzy camera phones to snap pictures of the visitors from afar!
The drive to get there had been a gruelling ordeal of dust, bone-jarring bumps and monstrous hills with steep climbs and descents like roller coasters.

The dust was so thick in places that visibility was down to a couple of metres.
For city slickers, there was one thing worse than driving virtually blind – knowing that we were sharing the trails with monster 80-tonne logging trucks that dwarf most of the semi-trailers on peninsular highways.
The long drive to Long Bedian and our overnight rest stop at the nearby Tenyok Rimba community resort had taken the best part of an entire day, and sapped all of our energy.
The locals put on a warm welcome, complete with dancing girls and traditional music but most of us were simply too tired to party for long.
But, as I was to discover the next day, that was the easy part. Next stop, Mulu!
A quick look at the topographic map and a consultation with my trusty GPS showed the objective was less than 50km away. But, that’s in a straight line, and nothing goes anywhere in a straight line in this part of the world.
It turned out to be four-and-a-bit hours of traversing some of the steepest slopes and, at one stretch of around seven kilometres, definitely the bumpiest bit of dirt and stone trail I’ve ever driven across.

There was the added pressure of a deadline. We absolutely had to reach that dot on the map by 1.30pm or else we wouldn’t have enough time to make the last stretch into the national park and still have enough time to return to our camp before nightfall.
Jury-rigged bridges made from a couple of logs, hastily cleared landslides, dizzying heights of hills and plunging depths of valleys were all par for the course, which ended abruptly at the river.
With barely minutes to spare, we had made the rendezvous. There, patiently waiting for us were the boatmen who would ferry us on the final leg of the journey into the national park.
Unfortunately, the tight schedule meant we could not explore the wonders of Mulu at a leisurely pace.

After a short boat ride through a sudden yet typical thunderstorm, we climbed 200 steps up to the gaping mouth of the magnificent Clearwater Cave, South-East Asia’s longest cave passage with over a hundred kilometres surveyed.
Descending deep into the chasm on wobbly legs, I realised that every step downward meant yet another upward step that must be taken on the return trip, and all these steps would lead to the 200 steps back down to the river. So much for “the journey, not the destination”.
Still, there was just enough time for a refreshing dip in the crystal clear lagoon fed by the underwater river flowing out of the cave before heading off for a quick lunch and then back to the vehicles for the long, bumpy drive back to Tenyok Rimba.
More bumps, more dust and mud, many more hours of arduous driving lay ahead before we returned to “civilisation” but when our tyres finally met bitumen, I felt I could say that Lanun Darat #28 had been a tough but enjoyable journey to and from a great destination.

Worms grow big in the highlands!

My wife’s 10th birthday

Another blast from the past, this one from 2004. Also, another example of the fun things you can do with a 4X4 (or several) and the band of brothers in mud that are usually associated with such vehicles.

A romantic dinner by candlelight in a five-star hotel, surrounded by dear friends, feted to a fine meal and even finer wine, serenaded with soft music – sounds like the makings of a perfect birthday party.
It’s easy enough to organise one of these – round up a few pals, head off to a fancy hotel, order the best food and drinks in the house, and then settle the bill at the end of the night.
However, this just did not seem good enough for a birthday that comes once in four years.
Last Sunday was Feb 29, my wife’s 10th birthday (so to speak!), and also exactly one month after our 10th wedding anniversary. Clearly, the occasion called for something special. But what?
I pondered on a “variation’’ of the above scenario – a romantic candlelight dinner, surrounded by dear friends, feted to a fine meal and even finer wines, serenaded with soft music... but all under a million stars amid the ageless rainforest, tens of kilometres away from civilisation.
A few days earlier, my regular gang of 4X4 buddies had proposed an off-road trip over the weekend to Sungkai, Perak. They were unaware of the “big event’’ looming before me. Ordinarily, I would not have had second thoughts about going along but this time, it was obviously out of the question. Try telling your beloved that you and she are going to spend her rare and precious birthday in the jungle, bathing in a freezing mountain stream and sleeping in a tent and … forget it!
Well, Rena is a rare and precious sweetheart indeed and when I suggested we head for the hills in our truck on her big day, she agreed!

There was actually a bit more to it than that: I sold her on a candlelight dinner, with a proper table and chairs, white tablecloth, crystal wine glasses, silver cutlery and all. Plus there would be a proper waiter in formal attire and a chef to cater to her every whim, all in a tropical jungle setting.
The inspiration came from countless movies I had watched as a child, when the most adventurous thing to do was to go on safari in Africa, like the great white hunters in King Solomon’s Mine and the countless Tarzan films I adored. The heroes and heroines would trek at the head of a long line of porters all day and then sit down to a proper dinner, complete with white linen, silver knives and forks, waited on hand and foot by their attentive native servants, amid the sounds, sights and smells of the wilderness.
The idea is quite politically incorrect today, I’m sure. But, I often wondered, wouldn’t it be fun if my pals could be persuaded to play waiters and chefs for a day?
Unfortunately, I could not even make the pitch to them in person because another pressing engagement (involving work and, more importantly, beer) came up at the time set for discussing the logistics of the expedition, which was going to proceed with or without me. But it was organised anyhow: ‘You’ve got your party’ read the short message service (SMS) on my mobile phone go and the mission was on!
After an inauspicious start on Saturday morning when I missed an interchange that I had used dozens of times before and ended up having to battle traffic just to get onto the expressway, we were on our way. An hour and a half of highway motoring brought us to Sungkai, a sleepy town off the North-South Expressway, around 110km north-west of Kuala Lumpur. Here, the convoy of six 4X4 pick-up trucks turned east and headed for adventure.
Unfortunately, one of our regulars, Gerard Richard of Cameron Highlands, could not make it because of a last-minute family emergency. We would miss his company, and the truckload of flowers he was tasked with bringing along from the highlands.
We bounced along dusty and deeply rutted tracks, at first passing through rubber estates and oil palm plantations and several orang asli settlements, then along muddy logging trails winding alongside a spectacular rock-strewn stream with breathtaking rapids.
Then, the lady of the day and her 10 male companions arrived at the chosen spot. According to the constellation of Global Positioning System, also known as GPS, we were at latitude north 4° 07’ 37.3” longitude, east 101° 27’ 22.2” at an altitude of 965m. The nearest town was Bidor, 18.9km away as the crow flew, on a bearing of true 264°.
As the growl of diesel engines died away, to be replaced by the sound of rushing water, nine men began the familiar routine of setting up camp.

Rena, Queen of the Jungle, did not have to lift a finger. Being the birthday girl has its privileges. I, as the lucky consort, enjoyed the benefits as well, along with a few nicely chilled Tigers while the “natives” sweated with the tents and cooking arrangements.
The view from our campsite was magnificent. In the middle of a valley winding up into the hills on either side, a crystal-clear stream tripped and fell over boulders polished smooth by centuries of fast moving water. All around us, ancient trees reached up tall and straight to the sky, forming walls of green that would put even the grandest hotel ballroom to shame. Above, the sky was clear and blue, promising us all a perfect evening under the twinkling stars.
Chef Richard Ho, whose day job is fleet sales manager at Ford Malaysia, wasted no time getting stuck into his favourite hobby of setting fire to charcoal.
Out came the lamb cutlets, and the steaks and chicken chops, sourced from a supplier known as “Lambchop Lai”. The meat had been well marinated since the day before, but no one could think of any good reason why a stiff shot of Johnnie Walker Swing should not be added to the gravy. Things were looking merry already.
Ho , who confessed to being unable to cook anything fancier than boiled eggs and instant noodles, proceeded to serve up one of the finest barbecue meals we’ve ever had, and we’ve had quite a few. By then, there was a banquet table laid out with white tablecloth, scented candles and the requisite silverware and crystal wine goblets and champagne flutes. Colourful examples of the local flora, including what looked suspiciously like grass seeds, filled the now-empty Swing bottle pressed into service as a vase.

The guest of honour took her place, clad in an elegant ankle-length evening dress of powder blue chiffon. I wore an appropriate Safari shirt while the rest of the crew wore shorts and T-shirts.
Maitre d’ Lionel Yew, looking suitably spiffy in his dinner jacket over an Adidas jersey and shorts, towel draped correctly over one arm, served up the stream-chilled wine, a bottle of Italian Nipozzano. By day, he moonlights as marketing manager for Adidas Malaysia, which explained the jersey and shorts.
The chef’s assistant and father, Geoffrey Ho, slaved over a hot stove and wok, serving up course after course of delicious dishes, including stirred fried cabbage and fresh petai with dried prawns. He finally stopped at five courses, but most of the diners were well and truly satiated by the third course.
More fine wine and liquor were served , including a bottle of Otard Jade fine cognac, a brand new bottle of Swing, and a giant magnum of South African bubbly labelled J.C. Leroux, which was perfect for the birthday toast, along with a bottle of sparkling Martini Asti.
Great food, fine wine and liquor, wonderful companionship in harmonious surroundings with Mother Nature graciously providing perfect weather (the temperature was an ideal 20ºC) and not a single mosquito in attendance – could it get any better?
We started counting the stars, and somebody got to 81 before complaints of stiff necks prompted us to adopt that as the official figure. No one thought we were being too generous when we judged our al fresco dining establishment deserving of 81 stars, plus a quarter moon.
There were some of the traditional trappings of a birthday celebration – the surprise appearance of a candle-topped cake, presents and the hearty toasts.
“I’m flattered, touched, lost for words. Don’t know what to say except to thank you all for this most wonderful birthday treat. I’ll treasure this memory for the next four years,’’ said Rena.
We talked, as good friends do, about everything under the sun. The subject of “ten” came up – Rena’s 10th birthday, our 10th anniversary, a party in the company of 10 men. Just then, Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony played on my truck’s stereo, and it sure sounded like “Ten, ten, ten, TEN!”
And so we partied on, well into the wee hours of the morning before retiring to the luxury of air mattresses in nylon tents, satisfied that this was one birthday party that was different from the norm.
Now, all I have to think about is Feb 29, 2008.

* Footnote: Feb 29, 2008, has come and gone. We went to Italy, she had her pilgrimage to St Peter's while I had mine to St Agata Bolognese. That's another story.

It's a four-wheel-drive, too!

Rena's 11th birthday present.

Same Same, but BETTER

Just because this blog is called Borneo 4X4 Adventures, and I am from Borneo, and I believe with full bias that Borneo is the best 4X4 playground in the world, does not mean it is the only playground. Cambodia is a wonderful country that has survived a tragic past and risen to become a lovely place to visit, with fun-loving people whose warmth, hospitality and kindness are not surpassed in any of the many countries I have visited. This is an account of my second visit in 2009, as a guest of RM Asia, the Ford importers and distributors for Cambodia.

THE party was in full swing, and I could not remember the last time I had so much fun. What made the mirth and merriment even more memorable was that I was having such a good time without understanding a single word of the lyrics being belted out with gusto by the band.
But help is always at hand in this friendly land of ready smiles, and I soon found out that the song then playing was about how “it’s good to be alive”, sung heartily in the Cambodian language, or Khmer.
Sipping a cold beer and occasionally joining in the impromptu line dancing, it was readily apparent that my new friends, many of whom I had met for the first time that day, were truly enjoying the simple pleasures of life – good music, good company and dance. What more could anyone want?
This might sound naïve, even child-like, in many other places but I was atop a rocky hill near a town called Pailin, Cambodia.
Here, in the last bastion of the dreaded Khmer Rouge, memories are still vivid from the years of horrors known to the rest of the world as the Killing Fields. Many of my fellow revellers that night had lived through the terrible “three years, eight months, and 20 days” of Pol Pot’s murderous regime. To them, being alive is reason enough for celebration.
The younger ones – anyone aged 30 and below – would have been born after the country’s emancipation from terror by current premier Hun Sen and his Vietnamese allies in 1979 but every Cambodian child is well aware of the country’s recent history.
So, life is good, and it’s good to be alive, and that’s as good a reason as any to party!
With a live band, professional sound stage and speakers and fireworks, this elaborate production was certainly turning out to be unlike any camping trip I’ve ever been on.

The story of how I ended up dancing around a campfire near the Cambodian border with Thailand began back in 2002, when several unfamiliar faces showed up for one of the Ford Lanun Darat 4X4 adventures that were my favourite outdoor pursuit. They were officials from various Ford distributors from other countries.

Seng Voeung

One of them, Seng Voeung from R.M. Asia Ltd, the Cambodian Ford distributors, told us that he had come to Malaysia to learn from us how to organise 4X4 events, camping, and so on, with the aim of doing something similar for his customers.
Five years passed without any news from him, until mid-2007, when Voeung showed up again for another Lanun Darat trip, and again expressing a desire to learn from us how these things are done. This time, he brought along three of his colleagues, who did not say much but took plenty of notes.
So, when invited to join them for their very own Ford Adventure, there was no second thought.
Upon arrival in Phnom Penh for the first time, initial impressions were mixed. Traffic seemed chaotic as expected (from reading and TV), with many beat-up jalopies and motorcycle-towed rickshaws which they call “tuk-tuk” like in Thailand.
But, there were also a surprisingly number of large modern 4X4s like the latest Toyota Landcruisers, Prados and even quite a few bling-bling Hummers.
Fossil fuel-burning vehicles with four, three and two wheels competed noisily for space with pedal power, with everyone honking madly to announce their presence and intentions.
The biggest surprise was the staggering scale of the event that our Cambodian friends had put together, far exceeding anything we had in Malaysia, despite having done it much longer.
One example was that, on our 4X4 outings, we had always tried to help the less fortunate rural folk, such as the orang asli, living in the areas that we visited by giving them some used clothes and a bit of rice and other foodstuff.
The Cambodians took this idea of charity to a whole new level by bringing along about 10 tonnes of rice, as well as thousands of bottles of soy sauce, fish gravy and bags of salt, all to be distributed to the villagers living near where we were to camp.
And, while the Ranger is the most popular Ford model sold there as it is in Malaysia, they also have customers who showed up for the adventure with huge US-specs F-150s, and the even bigger F-250 pick-ups! These humongous trucks certainly came in handy for hauling all that rice and sauces.
Hitting the road, wide-eyed Malaysians will notice the wide variety of vehicles – maybe conveyances might be a more accurate term to describe them – that Cambodians press into service as transport.
Motorbikes (kapcais) rule everywhere, carrying entire families or towing trailers or lugging logs or pigs, Toyota Camrys converted into pick-ups and loaded up to 3m high, tractors, bullock carts … if it has wheels, there is a use for it.
Safety standards are somewhat different in a country that has had to struggle with the millions of landmines so people riding atop vans without handholds do not attract a second glance.

Once out of the hustle and bustle of cities like Phnom Penh and the must-visit Siem Reap of Angkor Wat fame, the countryside is a picturesque procession of padi fields as far as the eye can see, and various cottage industries.
Depending on which part of the country you’re in, roads can be good, like the old trunk road from KL to Ipoh, or bumpy and dusty. One unpaved stretch that I drove on was wide and straight but very dusty and had so many potholes that were so big that they ought to be called craters, which in turn have potholes in them.
Generous aid from donor nations like Japan, South Korea, China and the European Union means many civil works programmes, including road construction, are under way so these dusty adventures may not be around much longer.
One horror stretch I had heard much about – between touristy Siem Reap and the Thai border town of Poipet – is now a smooth sealed road on which traffic zooms along at up to 100km/h so the stories you hear from people who have visited as recently as three or four years ago may no longer paint an accurate picture.
Heading west from Siem Reap, our convoy of about 50 Ford trucks and SUVs quickly reached Banteay Meanchey, a big town about 45km from the Thai border, turned left and head south to Battambang, a charming town that still boasts French architecture left over from the colonial days.
After a sumptuous lunch of Cambodian delicacies – much like Thai cuisine but subtly different, and with red ants – we hit the dustiest 80km I’ve ever driven on, with visibility down to about a car length in parts.
Plants, shops and houses lining the road are all coated with a thick layer of orange dust whereas trees and padi fields just 100m on either side are a lush green. But here, too, the road is being progressively tarred over so progress is coming.
Arriving with relief at Pailin late in the afternoon, our Cambodians invite us to make thanksgiving offerings at a pretty Buddhist temple, where a welcoming committee put on a musical and dance reception worthy of VIPs.
Then, it was a short bumpy drive to the campsite, which I was to discover only later was a bare hill because it had been stripped off all vegetation by miners scouring the slopes for diamonds!  Wish I had picked up a pebble or two.
Pailin used to be famous for its gems, the mining of which brought fabulous wealth to the area and also financed the Khmer Rouge’s struggle against government forces until peace came several years ago.
Although our Cambodian friends are all very positive about the future, memories of the past are never far away, with grim reminders like the mine that blew up an overloaded truck and killed three Pailin locals last year, just 30km from our campsite.
Mine clearing teams have been active in the area and much of the land has been declared safe but, according to the locals, the fatal explosion occurred at a place that many cars had travelled over frequently.
It happened to be a massive anti-tank mine that was set to be detonated by a weight heavier than most civilian vehicles, and even though many Cambodian cars are routinely overloaded, but the unfortunate vehicle was overloaded just that bit too much.
Unlike Malaysian-style camping where we would find a scenic spot near a clean river or stream to set up our tents, the Cambodian way is to find a wide expanse of ground that affords everyone plenty of space – and a great view – while necessities like water and toilets, complete with plumbing, would be brought in or built for the camp. A local fire engine was even commandeered to supply the water tanks!
After dancing the night away, the expedition would set out the next day to visit nearby attractions like spectacular waterfalls, but only after handing over the tones of goodies to the grateful local folk.
A visit to Cambodia, especially a driving holiday like Ford Adventure, is a feast of interesting experiences for the various senses, with so many exotic places and sights to see, and “interesting” food to eat.
But the enduring memory that one takes away is the incredible warmth and friendliness of the people, those we now call our friends as well as their other countrymen whom we came into contact with for just brief moments.
As a country whose economy depends heavily on tourism, there are naturally parts that are touristy – especially around the must-see wonder that is Angkor – but what’s a holiday without some souvenirs?
My favourite memento was the T-shirt that says “Same Same”, a phrase often heard at markets where tourists haggle with traders. On the back, it reads: “But Different”. That sums up my Cambodian experience – in many ways, same same (like, say, Thailand), and yet, in a special way, very different.

More photos here ...