Recent Highlights...

Going on my admittedly limited boating experience, I assumed that a 24 hour boat to Borneo would be somewhat enjoyable. Wrong. It is not. We arrived at the port in Semarang, Java, to a throng of Indonesian families trying to find space to camp before we board. We make our way past stacked boxes of indeterminable cargo until a guard, sensing our confusion offers assistance. Ah, yeah, this will be great we chime. Stepping onto the boat provides a different outlook. A big, open room greets us. Eh, is this a...cabin? For 70 people? Unsure of what to do, we quarter off a section of the floor with our bags and sit in our seats for the next 24 hour...on the floor. So where do we sleep? You guessed it, the floor. We quickly requisition some leather mats for the journey. Seriously, leather, in 40 degree heat, with no AC and 70 Indonesians surrounding us staring. It's going to be hot.

"Maybe we'll see some dolphins or a whale or something, guys!" I enthusiastically offer.

Jen and Alan flash me looks that scream "Shut up Eoin" so I hunker down and prepare for a journey for what could actually constitute torture in some countries. We're obviously the only Westeners on board which confirms that no-one else is as stupid as us and we therefore are the focus of intense staring and laughing throughout the trip. I try to watch Rambo 4 on the amazingly annoying TV situated in the middle of the room but its a Muslim censored version (not joking) so its over after, oh, about 18 minutes. I have never seen Stallone kick so little ass in such a short time.

The following morning I inquire into how the others slept. Those looks shut me up again and we eventually tramp off the boat having seen no dolphins, no whales and no-one's throat torn out by Sylvester Stallone.

Why would we subject ourselves to this? To get to Tanjung Puting in Borneo. I'm writing this 2 days later on another bloody boat. This time though, its different. I feel like Martin Sheen, sat on a little, chugging boat, cigarette in hand and jungle on both sides closing in on us. Instead if searching for Marlon Brando however, we're searching for a similarly proportioned but altogether different beast. The Orang-Utan is our Kurtz. Feeding time is at 2 apparently. We're headed towards the brilliantly named Camp Leakey research center. Instead of being a level in Super Mario though, it's the launch point for our quest to make friends with our hairy cousins. Alan's playing guitar on the bow, Jen is engrossed in a novel and Apocolypse Now this definitely isn't. It's way more fun.

When we step off the boat and make our way through the jungle, nothing prepares us for our first sighting. Our guide suddenly stops and then we see whats he's heard. A mother Orang-Utan, child clinging to her back stares at us and then nonchalantly turns her attention back to the sugar cane she's munching on. They are heart-stoppingly beautiful creatures. So human in everything they do but managing to make the most mundane actions clumsily graceful. As we venture further into the dense foliage, more cross our paths, literally. One is following our trail, about 2 metres ahead of us, stopping every so often to make sure we're still there. It's like she's leading us. Gibbons, proboscis monkeys and wild boars just add to the menagerie we have come across.

Back to the boat and it's time to grab some z's ahead of our trip back. We sleep on the deck of the boat with just mosquito nets between us and the two moons I can see through it. Wait, two moons? I stick my head out and shout to Jen and Alan to get outside quickly. It turns out that neither of the lights I saw were moons but the biggest, brightest stars that I have ever seen. Millions more joined the celestial light show to create the most incredible sight I seen in my short life. We are on the equater which is as close to the stars as you can get while standing on the earth but no words I can write here can describe what this looks like. It's a perfect moment to end our jungle experience with and having forgot about the safety zone of the mosquito nets, the best 150 bites I have ever received.

Next up for us is Banjarmarsin (cheeky preview: first messy session in weeks) and then back to Java before Bali, Lombok, Komodo and KL again. More soon...

Asia, first encounters

We're handed umbrellas as we leave the plane. Are you kidding? But as we breeze through customs, baggage and into the heat of the KL night something else is amiss. Nothing went wrong. The Petrona towers come into view as Strobe hits its crescendo. Hang on, this is too good to possibly be true. Where are the lost bags? The touts ripping us off? The sense of dread as we check into a shitty hostel? Nope, nothing doing as everything goes to plan and we get a good nights sleep in a wicked little part of town called Bukit Bintang. Breakfast the following morning is in a mall that is so Christmassy I half expected it to be served by Shane McGowen.

KL has an incredible sense that its touristy and commercial but doesn't really give a shit. The locals smile and sit at stalls eating food you can't pronounce while the suits and tourists whizz around trying to spend every ringgit they can. Photos echoing Lost In Translation are taken and an American (I know, right?) called Aunnie is enlisted into the gang for vistas at the top of the city and impromptu, drunken sing-a-longs. In fairness, Aunnie is probably the only American I've met who actually suggested drinking and then (nearly) matched us. Despite the Indonesian Embassys best efforts, KL has got us. Hook, line and drinker. The 40 degree heat of the Batu Caves and a bottle stealing monkey attempt to dampen our spirits but wet season in Asia seems to continue to deliver.

Wet season is an odd one. It doesn't rain and its fucking hot. Wet season, in short, is brilliant. As Athlone disappears underwater like Atlantis without the pomp we disappear into a whiskey called Winner to cool down. It softens the blow of 7AM buses to the jungle the following morning. Oh, no, wait, it doesn't at all. After planning an early night, the indefatigable Aunnie has us drunk enough to get half an hours' sleep prior to our hellish journey. Its the first big night since London and we're a little worse for wear to the say the least. A room (that is all) greets us and our guide John grates on us during our night walk through the world's oldest rainforest but the creepy-crawlies and subsequent morning's hike up a great, big mountain make it well worth the pitiful sum we parted with. The least rapid rapids I've encountered offer stupidly good fun and our boat down the river back to the bus and KL was all the relaxation we needed but maybe hadn't deserved!

5am and Singapore customs welcomes us with a poster of a man with a gun against his head. Not just a gun, mind. The most unnecessary M16 I've seen since the days of gratuitous 80's action flicks. Singapore throws confusion and what I consider idiocy at us for 3 days. A highlight was watching football in a bar and being asked to move 2 feet away from the table to a yellow box for a cigarette. I was still standing beside the table. And we were outside. In fact, I almost think I could hear Alan better. We revel in our shared disposition towards this pulseless sham of a country and actually love our time there if not the setting. Anyway, after looking at stolen architecture and empty streets its off to Yogyakarta for something completely different. The start of a month around Java and the dark, heart trembling island of Borneo...



(Photos soon when the Internet stops being a brat. Check for updates!)