July 23, 2011
The customs area to re-enter Malaysia from Brunei was full of cocky, well-to-do young Bruneians, I could only assume were on a weekend trip of sin. Pulau Labuan, just a short boat ride from Brunei, is a convenient place to indulge in vices unavailable in Brunei, such as alcohol, gambling and who knows what else.
Although this was a small tropical island, there was little evidence of paradise in dingy port town. It was urban and not much different than the other Malaysian cities we had been in. There was definitely a little more edge to it, though, as a thriving port that had enough autonomy to avoid Malaysia’s exorbitant taxes on things like alcohol.
As usual, we went looking for a budget Chinese hotel that was significantly cheaper than anything in the Lonely Planet. It wasn’t looking so good, so Lise sat with our bags while I searched high and low. I couldn’t find anything for less than $20. Then we remembered the flyer somebody had handed us after getting off the boat. It was for a guesthouse called “Uncle Jack’s” and the way it advertised wreaked of the kind of overpriced place that some foreigner (I guessed Australian) had set up for backpackers that were too afraid to spend some time on their own and needed to be around other travelers and probably some western food. But with a room for $13 (more than we are used to paying, but cheaper than anything else in town) we had no choice. Sure enough, when I walked in, I was greeted by a variety of traveler types, none of which I could peg as the one in charge. They all tried to show me around, but couldn’t really give me solid information. Eventually a young Malay woman sorted things out for us and got us to our room.. We set our bags down and headed out immediately looking for some dinner.
We wandered past a dozen Chinese, Halal and Indian restaurants, before one that looked cheap enough. Although the prices were not posted, by this point we knew how much certain dishes would cost in a place like this. The food was great and we washed them down with a couple duty-free beers. I had a clay pot noodle bowl, some mix of noodles, vegetables and meat that has been cooked in a clay pot. I don’t know what the clay pot does other than make it awesome. Lise had Tom Kha, the tangy Thai seafood soup that is common here as well. When we got the bill, though, we were surprised how much they were charging us. Instead of $1.50 or $2 for each of our meals, they were charging $3 each. I can be timid in the situation where I think I am getting ripped off, but can’t really prove it. Lise on the other hand can be surprisingly forceful. When Lise called over one of the younger servers and asked the price of the dishes, she made it obvious we were being taken for fools, because she hesitated and instead of answering us, asked the woman in charge. There seemed to be a lot of confusion surrounding us, which we took for dishonesty. Lise had the woman come and sit down for a chat and explained that we were obviously getting ripped off and we had never paid this much before for these meals. The woman’s English quickly degraded to avoid explanation, and just repeated the same sentence about this being the right price. Then the woman who was obviously in charge, said she wasn’t in charge, and the person who was had left. When will they be back? I don’t know. We went round and round, Lise getting angrier and more forceful. I really thought she was going to guilt them into giving us a decent price, but they stood firm, though nervous. When we left, we said we would be back to talk to the person in charge, but this did not phase them.
So back at the guesthouse, we ran into “Uncle Jack” and he was not Australian at all. Nor was he foreign. No, this was an ethnic Malay with a good humor and a sense of how to market to westerners. We also got to know the residents of the guesthouse, a fine mix of bold travelers. The whole crew made me regret stereotyping the whole place after just seeing the flyer. We had a Portuguese guy who had been extending his trip (or maybe affording his trip?) by always looking for whatever work he could get. Like most guesthouses, he was staying here for free by doing whatever odd jobs the owner could find. Then there was the Latvian guy who was a seasoned couchsurfer and hitchhiker. He had a little bit of an elitist attitude, bragging about how light his bag was and how many references in couchsurfing he had. I am sure I have come off like this more than once, though, and I still admired his travel ethos. And finally there was the Malay girl of Tamil Sri Lankan descent. She had been hitchhiking around with the two guys for a while, and had some other adventurous stories of her own, plus a lot of style. Travelers are always quick to classify people from other countries, but for me, so far that has proven impossible for all but a couple nationalities. However, I have started to notice that the travelers from some of the less wealthy countries make the best and most hardcore travelers. For people from Eastern Europe or Portugal, they can’t make the big bucks quickly like in Sweden or Australia and just blow it all on a three month trip. They learn to see Europe by couch surfing, camping, hitchhiking because it is the only way they can afford to do it. And then they realize how it’s the best way to travel and push it to the destinations further beyond.
Uncle Jack quickly invited us to the bar below, where he promised he was buying the beer tonight. Sold.
Uncle Jack switched back and forth between our table and a table of Malays sitting nearby. He got drunk and told all sorts of tales loudly, as we all swapped our own travel stories more subtly. He kept more rounds coming to our table before we could even finish our first bottles. During a conversation with the Latvian about India, Uncle Jack jumped in and started complaining about Indians, only justifying his attitude with the accusation that their masseuses, unlike the ones in Southeast Asia, have very strict barriers of what they massage. A flimsy argument, I thought, but entertaining nonetheless.
Our guesthouse owner and bankroller of the night eventually got bored or drunk enough to lead us to the nearest karaoke bar. It would be our first time indulging in what is arguably Asia’s most ubiquitous form of entertainment, and Jack’s beer-supplying was keeping our singing abilities confident. The Portuguese guy and I shared the song “Country Road” (who sings that?) but he knew the song far better than me. Then Lise and I tore down the house (or embarrassed ourselves terribly in front of all the confused locals) with our duet of “Poker Face”. Our songs and singing were very uncharacteristic compared to the constant love songs that everyone else sings very seriously.
When we left, I am sure we still had unfinished beers on the table, since Jack just kept sending them over. I asked the travelers how Jack makes money, because he seems to do this every night. I am sure he made almost no money off Lise and I taking into account all the beer he was buying for us.
We had a great night, and it was actually refreshing to hang out with some other travelers, especially a group as fun and interesting as this. Borneo is very touristy, but most people have such big budgets that our paths rarely cross.
We had nothing more to do in Pulau Labuan, or Malaysia, for that matter. We were now more than ready to move onto the Philippines. The northern state of Sabah is a big draw for tourists, but all the attractions of diving, mountain climbing, jungle trekking and visiting nature preserves are not backpacker material and we had to get our move on.
The boat from Pulau Labuan to Kota Kinabalu, the capital of Sabah state and tourism center for this region was rough, but not deadly. We arrived to a bright and shiny big city with a thriving tourist center. The neighborhood was crawling with pasty people flaunting all their brand new outdoors wear and clean backpacks. We felt pretty out of place. There were fancy hotels and less fancy hotels posing as hostels. In some places, I have noticed, that the word “hostel” has become exploited and they come nothing close to the basic budget accommodation I expect. Sure, it’s a dorm bed, but if you are paying $20 for it and you have wi-fi and a continental breakfast included, it just doesn’t seem right. Just around the corner, we discovered an empty, but basic hotel with rooms for about $8. They were everything we could hope for in a room: clean sheets, a fan, and a window.
We visited the night market that night, but were somewhat disappointed as it was the first time people had been inflating prices for us at a night market. We realized that it was because so many tourists were around. At the other night markets in Borneo, we had seen one or two tourists in each night market, but this place was crawling. The atmosphere of everyone yelling out to us, trying to force their grilled fish on us was new and less enjoyable, so we didn’t linger too long.
Nothing about KK was very appealing to us, making it that much easier to press on the next day toward the end of our time in Borneo and onto a new country.
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