The End?

I’m writing this on the last day of my trip as I speed towards Tokyo on the Shinkansen, which is perhaps my favorite train in the world. I’ve spent the better part of the last 300 days traveling from Sydney to Tokyo, a total of ten countries and dozens of cities, posting more than 100 blog entries and 3,000 photographs. That I'm going home hasn’t completely sunk in. I’ve been taking this trip one day, one week, one city at a time, and the end has crept up on me. So it is with mixed feelings that I return to Tokyo, where I’ll spend one more night before boarding a trans-Pacific flight (my least favorite form of travel) back to the U.S. of A.

I’m excited to return to familiar territory, where I speak the language and I am well versed in the customs. I’m looking forward to seeing family and friends, to eat my mother’s cooking and watch late-night cable television. But I’ll miss the freedom of the open road, the expected pleasures and unexpected impediments that make for open-ended travel. I’ve got an itch (no, not that kind of itch), formed early in life, that leaves me restless. It will lead to more travel in the future. For now, it's time to reflect on 2007 and look to 2008.

As a final installment of Packmonkey: Asia (leaving the door open to Packmonkey: North America and Packmonkey: Europe), I offer a short summary of the good, the bad and the in-between. This is hardly a recap of my entire ten months on the road, merely a short trip down memory lane. I plan to offer a little more reminiscing once I'm back in Los Angeles.


Everything Australian: I spent nine weeks in Australia in February and March, traveling overland along the southern and western coasts from Sydney to Broome, then into the Outback on a 4WD trek from Adelaide to Alice Springs. Australia is a beautiful country. The interior is desolate, stark and remote, the coasts rugged and wild. As a whole, it is a challenging, rewarding and breathtaking place to travel. I will never forget sleeping under the stars in the Painted Desert or swimming in sea lions in the Eyre Peninsula. I also made some lasting friendships in Oz: Bernie and Kate, Dean, Elizabeth – keep in touch! Australia raised the bar for all subsequent destinations. The time I spent in Australia amounted to the trip of a lifetime. Had I returned home after the Outback, I would have been satisfied.

Monkeys and Mountains in Malaysian Borneo: I arrived in Malaysia with low expectations. I left in love with the country. The Malaysian people were some of the friendliest I encountered - always a smile for the wandering Jew in their midst - and the food unexpectedly satisfying. The three weeks I spent in Malaysian Borneo sealed the deal: encounters with the orangutans, proboscis and langur monkeys, Uncle Tan’s jungle camp and the trek to the summit of Mt. Kinabalu, which left me exhausted but marked two of the best days of the whole year.

Backpackers’ Laos: Backpackers flock to Southeast Asia, so it’s no surprise that there’s a backpacking culture in this part of the world. My time in Laos, from my arrival at the border with Thailand to my departure from Vientiane, was the ultimate backpacker’s experience. The country itself is wonderful, remote and rural, yet unspoiled by the tourism you encounter in Thailand and Vietnam or the tragic history of Cambodia. Laos had been described to me as Thailand of 20 or 30 years ago. Ten short days in country showed me the Southeast Asia I dreamed of visiting.

What made my time in Laos really special was the friendships I made. Two days floating down the Mekong solidified a bond with my French amis, Guillaume and Emmanuelle. We spent the evenings in Luang Prebang at a sidewalk bar laughing over glasses of cloudy pastis, the days meeting the young monks at the city’s temples or swimming at the tranquil waterfalls outside of town. In Vang Vieng I met Mitzi and her daughter, Miksa, from Hawaii. We explored caves and rented bicycles for a trip to the local market. At night we relaxed over cheap food and beer at the backpacker cafes. Miksa and I even found time for a marathon afternoon watching "The Simpsons." Traveling friendships are short and intense, and one of the joys of travel.

Food, Food, Food: Who doesn’t love to eat? Everywhere I traveled there was something new to taste: kangaroo sausages in Outback Australia, blue rice in Malayasia, chicken rice in Singapore, khao soy in Northern Thailand, even deep-fried tarantulas in Cambodia. There were also some old favorites to devour: sushi and ramen in Toyko, curry and pad thai in Thailand. Somehow, I still haven't tried durian.

Indonesia Headaches: I arrived in Indonesia with high hopes. Two weeks later I couldn’t leave get out the country fast enough. From the touts and taxi drivers oozing desperation in Bali to the scam artists in Java who took me for a ride, I was overwhelmed by the amount of ill-will I felt in Indonesia. I’ve heard reports from other travelers about good times in Bali and Java, so I will not say the country is filled with bad people and bad times. At least I left with two good memories: sunrise at Mr. Bromo and an afternoon spent wandering the ancient Buddhist temple at Borobudur. These two places almost make up for all the aggravation I experienced everywhere else in Indonesia.

Tourism in Thailand and Vietnam: Thailand and Vietnam are two of the most popular destinations in Southeast Asia. They were also, for me, two of the most disappointing destinations on my trip. In the island of Southern Thailand, I encountered hoards of westerners traveling from one beach to another. It seemed that the locals in sight were either serving the foreigners beer and food or cleaning their rooms. There was also the terror of the night of the flying termites. The beaches are nice enough, but crowded and dirty. Were it not for the energy of Bangkok or the charm of Chiang Mai, I’d have to write off Thailand as a loss.

In Vietnam, the tourism treadmill also operates at full speed. Perhaps it was because I’d been on the road for six months, or perhaps it was because I was exhausted from a whirlwind tour of Cambodia. Whatever it was, I found Vietnam to be hectic in all the wrong ways. From the overcrowded and polluted streets of Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi, where even the act of crossing the street was hazardous, to the constant haggling over prices, Vietnam was a downer.

Life and Death in Cambodia: I only spent 10 days in Cambodia, but those days contained some of the best and worst times of my trip. On the positive side was an extraordinary tour that took me into the Cambodian countryside and introduced me to the real Cambodia of today. The tour also resulted in a few of those backpackers’ friendships that I mentioned earlier. I loved drinking late into the night at a small bar in Kampong Cham and on the beach at Sihanoukville with Sally and Renee, nurses from Adelaide, Australia. And Kathe, a university student from Holland, turned into a close and unexpected friend.

On the down side was a bus accident that left two Cambodians dead and exposed the utter corruption and poverty of Cambodian society. I refer you to the impassioned blog post I wrote on the afternoon of the accident.

Return to Tokyo: I knew that I wanted to end my trip in Japan, to return to a place I lived for 18 months in the early 1990s. I did just that and I am now reminded of that old adage about not being able to go home again. In the years since I lived in Tokyo, I’ve changed, Japan has changed and the world has changed. I love the country and the Japanese. I loved taking Japanese lessons and exploring the country again. But in the end I could have done with less. I’d been on the road for most of the year and was tired, wanted to do little more than curl up with a good book and a glass of whiskey. So I spent most of my time in Tokyo enjoying solitude and rest.

My time in Tokyo was good for the spirit, but perhaps something of a missed opportunity. Perhaps what it taught me is that the next time I take off and travel the world, I’ll impose a six-month limit. For me, that seems just right.

So on the eve of my return to the U.S., I look forward to reuniting with family and friends, to starting a new chapter in my life that builds on everything that’s come before.

Some people say travel changes you. I think that’s a big fat myth. I’m still the same person I was when I started this trip. What I have now that I didn’t have before is a greater understanding of the world and my place in it. I think I’m more humble. I’m definitely more aware of how fortunate I am. My place in this world is small, but my future is unlimited. The end? I don't think so. Just another beginning.

A HUGE thanks to everyone who checked in and supported me over the past ten months. I will see you all very soon!

Monkey Mania

It's been weeks since I was in Borneo, but it's never to late to write about monkeys. My latest dispatch for Tripmaster Monkey ("Home of Yellow Journalism") is about my stint as a Monkey Tourist. It's chock full of simian antics and heartwarming anthropomorphism. I hope you'll give it a read, and click on a few ads when you are done to support the fine folks running the show at TMM.

Previous: Singapore, Indonesia

Rocky Mountain High

I’ve been to desert, ocean, city and swamp. I’ve swum with sharks and sea lions, encountered deadly snakes and wrangled with disingenuous locals. I’ve climbed a bridge, visited temples and photographed skyscrapers. I’ve downed delicious tropical juices and devoured mounds of Chicken Rice. What’s a traveler to do next? How about climbing a mountain?

Mount Kinabalu in Malaysian Borneo is thee tallest mountain between the Himalayas and Papua New Guinea. At 4,095 meters (13,435 feet), Kinabalu can’t compete with the world’s great peaks. It’s not even half as tall as the five highest peaks on the planet. Kinabalu doesn’t even rank in the top 100. It’s a runt in a land of giants. But I’m a hiker, not a climber, and 13,435 feet is a noble challenge.

Mount Kinabalu Obscured by Clouds
(As Seen From Kinabalu National Park Headquarters)

"Selamat Mendaki" (Happy Mountaineering)
The trek takes two full days. I would stay in a hostel in Kinabalu National Park, at 1,564 meters (about 6,000 feet), then wake early for a day of hiking from Timpohon Gate to the resthouse at Laban Rata, a distance of six kilometers and 5,000 vertical feet. I would then spend the night in a hut at 11,000 feet, waking up at 2 a.m. to tackle the summit, a climb of 2.7 kilometers and an additional 2,500 feet of elevation. Numbers are all well and good, but don’t tell the whole story.

Everyone who climbs Mount Kinabalu must hire a guide. My guide was Julius, a deceptively reserved local who has spent his entire life within ten kilometers of Mount Kinabalu. He started working as a porter when he was 14. Now, at 28, he doesn’t know how many times he’s climbed to the summit. He does, however, estimate that he could make the 18-kilometer round-trip in about five hours. Life all the porters and guides I encountered on the mountain, Julius was strong as an ox and modest as a wallflower.

Julius was an excellent guide and climbing partner, never pushing me to go beyond my own pace, and happy to point out flora that I would otherwise have missed, like the carnivorous pitcher plants that trap their prey in a cup of sticky syrup. He was also good for conversation, delivering a string of out-of-left-field questions like “Do you know Chuck Norris?,” “Do you like women with big breasts?” and “Do you believe in black magic?” These moments of absurdity help me immensely and I thank Julius for his offhand take on the world. He was also my unofficial photographer, though he could use a lesson in composition and the importance of a level horizon.

Julius, Master of the Mountain

I’ve done my share of hiking, and wasn’t concerned about the climb itself. Other travelers said I’d be sore in the days to come, but that seemed par for the course. What I discovered soon after passing through Timpohon Gate, however, is that Mount Kinabalu is more climb than hike. There’s nothing subtle about the trail; it is rocky, steep and treacherous. Well maintained, yes, but challenging. About 20 meters out 8.7 kilometers is on level ground. The rest is incline, over rocks and roots, up steps, around boulders and across rock faces. The steps are tall, consistently up to my knee and sometimes up to my thigh. Even with the walking stick, I often struggled to find my footing and had to pay attention to every step.

The Summit Trail...

...It's a Walk in the Park
Within the first hour of the climb I started to feel fatigue. But Julius gently urged me forward, telling me, “You are a very strong man,” and I soon found a comfortable pace. We covered the six kilometers to Laban Rata in four hours and forty-five minutes, arriving at 1:30 in the afternoon. I was the fourth climber of the day to make it to the camp, and I entered the empty resthouse exhausted and happy. Still, I was unable to eat, unable to do anything but rest my head on a table and wish for unconsciousness. I checked in at registration and dragged myself another ten minutes up the trail to my hut, where I found a comfortable bunk and two warm blankets.

Panar Laban Hut
I awoke three hours later feeling rested and alert, and returned to the resthouse for a meal. What had been an empty hall in the early afternoon was now crammed to the rafters with climbers. There was tempered excitement in the air. Everyone in the room had climbed up the mountain; we were equals in this endeavor whether the climb had taken four hours or fourteen (the average is about six hours). We were a collection of weary faces and slumped postures, but we were now some of the highest people in Southeast Asia.

I retired to my bunk at 7:30 an settled in for a few hours of sleep. Julius woke me at 2 a.m. After snatching a quick cup of weak coffee at the resthouse, I gathered my supplies (headlamp, gloves, hat, camera, energy snacks, multiple layers of clothing) and set out to conquer the summit.

Julius and I had hiked through rainforest most of the previous day, and had spent the night in an alpine zone of stunted trees and sparse shrubbery. Now we would cross the timberline and hike cross a great slopes of bare granite. The air was thin, but at least the terrain was fairly even.

We set out at 2:40 and within a few minutes passed a young woman vomiting by the side of the trail, a visceral reminder of the situation. Anyone can climb Mount Kinabalu – it doesn’t require mountaineering skills and can be accomplished in a sturdy pair of walking shoes. The climb is, however, very strenuous and without a moderate level of physical fitness you will suffer. And there’s the unpredictability of altitude sickness –even the strongest of athletes can be hobbled by elevation.

I was aware of the altitude, and decided to take my time. If it took five hours to hike 2.7 kilometers, so be it. As I trudged up the mountain, my progress slowing as I gained more elevation, I thought of every National Geographic special I’d seen about Everest, recalling how climbers would take one step, then rest, another step and another rest. And here I was crossing 12,000 feet, taking a few steps at a time, and resting. I was walking slow, slower than I’d ever walked in my life, slower than a tourist on Seventh Avenue or rush hour traffic on Santa Monica Boulevard.

I pushed on, following the thick white rope that guides climbers up the naked rock to the summit. The full moon had passed a night or two earlier, and I was able to turn off my headlamp and hike by moonlight. Jagged peaks were outlined against the starry sky. Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or the realization that willpower was propelling me closer and closer to my goal. Perhaps it was the elevation. Whatever it was, I couldn’t think about reaching the top without experiencing an upswell of emotion, tears of joy threatening to erupt at any moment. But I kept my emotions in check and set my sights on the only thing that mattered: the summit.

Low's Peak (4,095 Meters)
My legs felt great, but I was acutely aware of my lungs and my heart rate. Passing 13,000 feet, I’d push myself 10 or 20 feet and have to stop, gasp for a few breaths while my heart thudded in my chest. It took me an hour to cover the last 500 meters. I covered the final 100 meters at a slow crawl, using hands and feet to clear the jumble of boulders below the summit.

Meanwhile, Julius was like a kid at the playground, jogging up and down the slope behind me and bouncing up and down for warmth. I should have hated him, but was inspired by his enthusiasm. Even after 14 years and countless ascents, he displayed an impish glee at being at the top of the mountain. I’m sure Julius earns a paltry salary for his efforts; he deserves much, much more.

There’s an old saying that the journey is the reward, not the destination. I reached the summit, asked an older Japanese man to take a few pictures of me and was quickly ready to start climbing down. The sun was about to break the horizon, and there were dozens of climbers clamoring for space on the narrow summit. Also, I felt a sudden surge of nausea and didn’t want to vomit on the expanse of Southeast Asia that lay below me.

The Summit
With the rising sun illuminating the slopes, I took my time on the descent, photographing the peaks that were only outlines an hour before. A cottony layer of cloud covered the land, perhaps a thousand feet below me. I realized that no birds were singing, no frogs croaking, that plant life was stunted and wispy, clinging to the crevices in the rock. I was tired, so tired, but still in awe of the scenery, appreciating every moment I had earned with hard work and perseverance. I was reminded of my love for the Australian Outback and the American Southwest, for the harsh spaces where only the hardiest of species survive. Beaches and forests are great, but for me there’s real beauty in the barren. I wonder where that comes from?

Moon Over Kinabalu

View From the Top

South Peak

Sunrise Over Kinabalu

Two hours later I was back at Laban Rata, eating a breakfast of ramen noodles and ready to complete this adventure. But Kinabalu National Park had one more surprise in store for me. The park is in a rainforest. I had been lucky the previous day and climbed without encountering one raindrop. On the descent, however, the rain never let up. It never poured, just a steady mist and drizzle that increased the difficulty of the trek. All those steep slopes, the rocks and roots were now wet and slippery.

On the hike down, we encountered the next day’s climbers making the ascent. I urged them on with words of encouragement, telling them the summit was worth the effort. Around kilometer two an elderly Australian man asked me if the climb got any easier. I should have said it was a piece of cake, but told him the truth, that no, it really doesn’t get any easier, that it’s a slog from start to finish, both going up and coming down. He seemed put off by my answer, but asked me if I’d do it again. Without hesitation, I said “Yes.”

I surprised myself with this quick response. Mount Kinabalu was the toughest climb of my life, a challenge for mind, body and spirit. I loved every terrible minute.

Mission Accomplished!