This Time: End of Malaysia

July 25, 2011

We set out from Kota Kinabalu, hoping that we would be able to make it to Sandakan before dark. From Sandakan we would be taking a boat to the Philippines. The schedules, unfortunately are pretty elusive, and when we set out for the town we had only vague information that they might make their weekly departure that evening or the next morning.

We had no plans of taking the bus, and had a good feeling that hitching would be almost as fast. Because I am writing this nearly two months after the fact, my memory of all of our rides is a little hazy.

I am fairly certain that our first ride came quickly with a wealthy man in an SUV. He took us perhaps a third of the way on our 200 km or so journey. We ascended for the first time into some mountains. For the past year I felt like I never got more than a few hundred meters above sea level, so this was a welcome treat. I could see why this place attracted so many tourists. The jungle covered slopes looked rich and inviting. We eventually reached the base of Mount Kinabalu, the tallest mountain in Southeast Asia. It is supposed to be an incredible climb, but the permits and costs made it out of our reach.

Eventually our driver took us to his town, gave a small tour around, as many Malaysians had done before, then put us back on the road in a good spot for our next ride. It took a little longer than expected, but our next ride, a young man in a sports car who knew no English. We had no idea how far he was taking us, and unfortunately it was only a few km. Next we caught a ride with a guy who was vague in his explanation of where he was going because of his rough English. We knew there was basically one road, so we figured it was ok to get in with him. After 20 km, he turned onto a side road and said he had to pick someone up and take them back to where we would come from, he said he would be back for us. Something about the guy seemed off at this point. At first he said he was not going to Sandakan, but now he said he would be going to Sandakan, after dropping off his sisters in the nearest town. It seemed really suspicious, so we hoped that we wouldn’t need to get a ride from him when he got back. Luckily, after half an hour, two women in a massive SUV pulled over for us. They welcomed us in and say they were going almost all the way to Sandakan. Perfect. Long ride, no suspicious guy, we were on track to make it faster than the bus.

It was a really unique thing to get picked up by two women. It wasn’t rare, in many countries to see women driving alone or with other women, but it was the first time I had ever been picked up outside France or America with just women. They were very friendly and could stumble along in English. Unfortunately our Malay never developed beyond pleasantries and food.

They brought us about 20 or 30 km from town, close enough that it felt silly not to just jump on the next local bus that passed. We preferred to hitchhike, but there was a lot of traffic, and nobody was stopping because of how many busses there were.

Sandakan was very different than Kota Kinabalu. It was the first place in Malaysia that felt truly slummy in parts. Lots of clothes hanging to dry in the windows, kids running wild and half-naked in the streets playing games, piles of trash, etc. It was the first time I had felt sketched out just walking in the street at night in a long time. It fit the bill of a port town. Money changers and pawn shops at every corner, plus plenty of prostitutes.

At the night market we found lots of Filipinos. Being the closest port of entry to any country to the Philippines by boat, it made sense. Already we could notice some different styles and mannerisms from the Filipinos, though telling them apart from their face was a bit mysterious. They were obviously much poorer and they seemed to occupy the dirtier half of the market, selling fruits and snacks.

We also spent much of our night trying to track down accurate information about boat departures. We had learned little from all of our sources. There were two boat companies, and one had a website with information that seemed accurate. The other one had no website. We tried calling both of them, to no avail. We later found out that the company that still had a website was the one that had since shut down. We went to several hotels to ask and were met blank stares. I checked various traveler websites, but couldn’t get any recent information. The best we could come up with was that a boat might leave the next day at 6 AM, but maybe not, and if not, probably not for several days.

So we set our alarm for 4 AM, allowing time for going through customs and immigration, left the France Hotel, and searched the empty streets for a taxi. The driver seemed pretty quiet about his knowledge of an early morning boat. That should have been a sign.

We got to the port, far from town, and it was dark and empty. The taxi was gone. We walked around, next to huge fences, gates and mountains of shipping containers. The only people around were a few women opening up their food stalls. That seemed like a good sign. The women didn’t know anything about the boats, so we found a security guard. He said he thought it was at 4:00 PM. By 7 AM it seemed obvious that we would be in for a wait. We ate freshly prepared food from the stall, then I set out looking for information. I had managed to find out where the boat company’s office was back in town. By now public transit was running so getting to town was pretty easy. I got to the office before it was open, and had to hang around the neighborhood This was a treat, though, as it seemed even rougher than the neighborhood before. Everyone was rising and getting ready for the day. It was a good feeling to watch the neighborhoods wake up and join them for a morning coffee.

Back at the ticket office, they said the boat would be at 3:00, but that I had to pay in cash. It would be one of the first times I was ever planning to pay for something with a card. I figured paying for 2 $80 boat tickets wouldn’t be a problem, but I guess it was and I needed to go visit an ATM. Another bus farther into town, finding an ATM, then finding a money changer to exchanging a small wad from Ringgit to Pesos. Back to the boat office, I got the ticket and was on my way.

When I got to the port, Lise seemed a little bit exhausted. Obviously we hadn’t gotten enough sleep, but she had grown annoyed with the attention she was getting with the men that had shown up. It was true, she was getting a lot of stares. I noticed when approaching that I was getting a lot more attention as well. Malaysians were generally polite and didn’t stare in an ogling way. But now we had entered the port area, we were more among Filippinos and things had changed. Several of them had already approached her for small talk, and one of them, already drunk at 11 AM had greeted me with a handshake that didn’t let go and then asked for some money. We knew we couldn’t wait at the same table we had eaten at for the next seven hours around these leering men, so I went in search of some shade and privacy. On the other end of the parking lot, there was a small grassy area next to a fence. I rigged up my tarp up to make a shade attached from the fence and staked into the grass, then put the rain fly of my tent for a floor. There was enough shade for both of us and nobody could see.

A couple times we thought me had come over to have a look at where we were, but both times it was just people coming to get their cars. I noticed that people were starting to accumulate around the gate by 4:00, so I figured we should get a spot so we weren’t last one through customs, and therefore last one on the boat. It was a 24-hour boat ride, so we really didn’t want a bad spot.

All sorts of hustlers, mostly money-changers, milled around us, offering services and suspicious conversations. We were glad when the gates finally opened at 5:00. They only got us to another locked door, and the crowd pushed and shoved for position. Lise and I were a few of the first people at the gate, but at this point, even trying hard not to get pushed around, we had lost considerable footing. The gate had only opened to allow trucks into the port so goods could be loaded onto the ship. Porters carried bags through the crowd, yelling and pushing their way through towards the doors. Every time a path opened, people tried to jockey for position in the leftover space. Several people had almost knocked us over as they pushed through us. Even when nobody was moving, people were knocking legs, rearranging shoulder into better position, and avoiding eye contact from those they moved in front of. After half an hour in the stifling crowd, they finally opened the doors, we hadn’t lost too much ground, but we knew in this moment we couldn’t lose focus. People stampeded through, heaving all their luggage, nearly knocking each other over. We saw x-ray machines, but nobody else cared, rushing past them onto the next door. The officials yelled and screamed at everyone to get back and put their luggage through the scanners. Luckily we were right next to them and quickly threw ours onto the conveyor belts. Some people came back, but most just pushed past the officials, neglecting the entire security process, marching right to the immigration desk. Even in that line, people were shoving and blatantly trying to cut in front of each other every time the line moved. After we had formed a line, some people made a second line right next to us, and would force their way in front of the people in our line. Nobody would look at the person they were cutting in front of, and nobody would complain. It was bizarre, but after a guy cut in front of Lise, she actually turned to him and told him that she was in front of him and he let her go. We later found out that he didn’t even need to wait in the line as he was Malaysian and didn’t need an exit stamp, but he still felt compelled to have the better spot in line. Even as I was answering the questions as the official looked at my passport, the person behind me hung on my shoulder so they wouldn’t lose their spot. They were the most cutthroat lines I had ever been in.

We got a good spot on the boat’s upper deck, since everybody else preferred the lower deck for some reason. We expected all the beds to be full with family’s spilling out of every nook and cranny. It was like this on the bottom floor, with little room for relaxing. Upstairs we had about half the deck to ourselves and we spread our stuff out accordingly.