Thank you all for your kind feedback. greg99, I wish I had not been too lazy to pull out the camera during check-in at the airport. The AirAsia check-in girl was sweet; I almost wanted to buy her a drink from the nearby Kentucky Fried Chicken outlet but I figured she'd probably not trust me enough to drink it. I wouldn't have if I were she. PappaG, cheers to Y-class travel, although I do aspire to sit in the premium cabins someday too.
************************
Part III
More on the Datai. I am actually still writing parts of this trip report that I have worked on in fits and starts since last summer. I loved the Datai so much that, I see, I am being a little over lavish with words. By putting in more details I would remember it better myself.
Morning Nature Walk – Murad again
Ralf did not get enough of the evening nature walk. After retiring to our room later that evening following a sumptuous Malaysian buffet, he pored over the service binder and then announced that there was an 8.00 a.m. nature walk. Probably seeing me hesitate a little, he told me I did not have to follow if I did not feel like it. I said I would consider.
We awoke shortly before eight and, after a few minutes of frantic brushing and throwing on clothes and shoes, we sprang to the meeting point. Murad was, again, the tour leader, and seemed glad to see us.
Three months ago I was a woman
Ralf and I were the only ones from the tour the evening before. The group this morning was, apart from Ralf, entirely Asian. There was a quiet young Japanese couple and a Singaporean family with three kids (all boys) aged between 6 and 12 (I guessed).
Once we got on to the main road, we walked in the direction opposite to our tour the previous evening. Murad went through some of the same things – such as the birds, the strangling fig and the collagen-like substance-producing herbs. This morning he also pointed to a species being looked at as a possible antidote to the HIV virus; scientists were trying to derive substances (enzymes?) from the leaves.
Murad had fun with the kids, but was very stern when forbidding them to touch certain things. The two older kids had a bit of a destructive streak. I hope they learn to cherish the delicate treasures of nature in the years to come.
We were shown the Malaysian Viagra – the plant called “Tongkat Ali” (which means Ali’s walking stick). The one we saw was about 2 metres tall and reminded me of an anorexic papaya tree. When taken, it produces large amounts of testosterone, which, in addition to heightening sex drive, also served as a contraceptive for women. He pleaded half-jokingly with us not to come and steal it. He told us that a professional cyclist stole some to use as a performance (I believe he meant cycling) enhancing substance after joining this nature walk while on holiday; the said cyclist was last heard suffering from liver malfunction due to overdose.
I sensed the Singaporean parents mentally writhing in discomfort at the sex talk. I heard a slightly flustered “Mommy will tell you later.” Of course, the kids who did not get their answers started to get a little cranky and whiny and wanted to end the tour.
Murad kept talking through all the whining, and brought his story to a climax by announcing, “This Tongkat Ali is more potent than Viagra. I’ll let you in on my secret... three months ago, I was a woman!”
His little joke was greeted by a chorus of laughter. He then looked at the little one and winked. I watched the little face register horror. Now mommy and daddy just got a lot more explaining to do.
Into the forest
The scheduled one hour was up. Apparently on impulse, Murad said he wanted to go into the forest and that we were welcome to join him if we wanted to. Ralf nodded earnestly. My stomach was crying for breakfast, but I, too, decided that it was an opportunity not to be missed. The Japanese couple took up the offer as well. The Singaporean family decided (wisely, in retrospect) not to follow, and so mommy waited with the kids while daddy went to fetch the car.
I, the city boy, had no idea what I was getting into. The forest soon became thicker than I had ever imagined it to be. Murad disappeared very quickly but we heard his voice warning us to look out for this and that, both the exotically beautiful and the exotically vicious. We were warned about the rattan hooks – a series of very sharp hooks at the tip of the rattan palm. Had I bungled through the forest without guidance, I would have probably emerged (if at all) blind and severely lacerated. We picked our way through the damp undergrowth, navigating around giant creepers (lianas), climbing over fallen tree trunks, hopping over crawling carpets of forest termites; I had an arm out to shield my face at all times and was infinitely thankful for having decided to come overdressed (shirt, pants and leather shoes). Ralf had put on sandals, and thus had to hop a little more over the termites. In between the frantic moments there were also instances of calm where we sniffed at aromatic plants, listened for woodpeckers, learned about how some leaves serve as natural blood-clotting bandages and ooh ahhed over the story of how a military officer escaped from a tiger by climbing a liana.
The blinding mangrove leaf
After spending over an hour in the forest, Murad led us out through the mangroves and finally left us at the beach about a couple of hundred metres from the Datai beach club. We were shown the mangrove roots and their breathers, the long seed pods that were designed for long distance drifting and subsequent anchoring in suitable terrain and the leaves. Murad cautioned about the Berbuta (meaning “blinding”). He carefully tore a Berbuta leaf and showed us the white sap.
He said, in an ominous voice, “One drop in your eyes, you go blind. One drop in your food, you die within three days from massive internal haemorrhage. There is no antidote. That’s what the evil witch doctors used to kill people.”
Murad said something about the size of this blinding mangrove leaf being different from other mangrove leaves. It disturbed me a great deal that I could not tell the difference; there were no other visual clues. Murad dropped the innocently looking cool green leaf into the water; I took a step back.
As Murad left, I wondered if it would be excessive to tip him again after Ralf slipped him some the evening before. It amused me how discreet some were about tipping – a couple of notes folded between the fingers and changing hands in a handshake, almost like a card trick. I wondered if ever tipping would constitute an insult?
The little brown sucker
Murad vanished during my hesitation. I felt a little awkward but was soon distracted by the discovery of a sated leech on Ralf’s right ankle as we were heading back to the hotel. Since it was bloated, it was relatively easy to pick off. We watched it shuffle and somersault over the edge of the elevated wooden walkway. Ralf chuckled, “I hope you like French wine.” The Japanese couple was just behind us, and saw that the wound was still bleeding. The lady looked at it and finally broke her silence with a pitch perfect “Ça vous fait mal?” Ralf did not seem the least surprised; he shook his head, not even looking up from staring at the wound. The couple nodded lightly, smiled their goodbye, and went on their way.
I beckoned Ralf to follow me to the beach club where I immediately went in search of Salmah the waitress for small bandages. I left Ralf outside while I went in to ask. It took a few minutes, but when I returned, I discovered that the guy manning the watersports hut had brought Ralf to the hut and taken care of the bleeding.
*******************
End of Part III