Spooked in Borneo

Regardless of how much experience I gain as a traveler, or how mature I think I’ve become over time, I’ve learned that I can be spooked by an unexpected and unwelcome encounter, and I can feel the effect for days. I start to feel weak, emotionally and mentally. My spirit sags.

We were in the Malaysian part of Borneo Island. Our destination was the Sri Menanggul Cabins in a densely forested part of the north. It is accessible by a decent gravel road because this protected jungle park is surrounded by endless palm tree plantations. While I had expected ugly deforestation, the scene was surprisingly beautiful, discounting the harm a monoculture does to wildlife and flora. These plantations now replace more than 50 percent of the original jungle. Palm oil finds its way into many of our every day products like cooking oils and cosmetics - for which our world has an insatiable appetite – and it enriches Malaysia.

No sooner had we turned into the laneway when our guide Jamie pointed out a two-metre long King Cobra crossing our path and slithering along the gutter just ahead of our lights. It was night time now and snakes become active, but Jamie told us not to worry. Dan asked whether they were a problem for the villagers. Jamie replied, "Sometimes." Sensing my alarm, he added, "But not much."

I fear snakes more than any creature. I know that’s irrational, but it’s my reality. Having now been in Southeast Asia for a few months, I have heard much about the aggressive King Cobra, for instance, that its venom can bring down an elephant. This agile and potentially five-metre-long snake doesn’t chew its food; after biting, it engulfs it’s prey in expanded jaws. Digestion begins even during the final thrusts of the struggling animal when the toxins start taking effect. Even though new research is linking King Cobra venom to a treatment that would delay the onset of dementia in humans, for this human that’s just spin. Snakes of any kind are one reason I’m not enthusiastic about jungle treks. Still I join my husband Dan, an avid naturalist, in jungle excursions in what I accept as a wifely duty. I use my companionship at such times to lever opera tickets at other times.

We were the only guests in the lodge. Our cabin had a toilet cum shower cum sink compartment. It sat on stilts like other wooden buildings in the compound. There was a ceiling fan powered by a listless generator, too weak to give us sufficient reading light plus moving air at the same time. And for me, moving air wins out over reading light in 40-degree Celsius temperatures with the humidity. Our river-side table was ready for us in the open-air dining room. As is common in this Muslim world, we must take off our shoes before entering the dining platform. It’s a gesture of respect which I note helps preserve the lustre of the teak wood. In my troubled mind, however, I loathed being in stocking feet with a King Cobra in the laneway.

After dinner, Jamie wants to discuss the next day's itinerary. At 6 a.m. we would motorboat to an oxbow lake at which point, we'd beach and trek inland through the jungle for three hours.

"I'll lead, and Dan will spot the back position. But first we'll see what condition the trail is in after the rain. We cannot trek if it's flooded".

"Slippery?" I asked.

"Yes. But mostly, we don't trek because when it's flooded, salt-water crocodiles enter the area".
My brow moistens. "But don't crocodiles also walk over dry land?"

"Sometimes."

A few beads drop into my shirt. I began to feel uncomfortable with the word sometimes. I continued to question him.

"When's the last time you saw the trail?"

"Two weeks ago."

I tug my shirt out of my pants and mop up my face. I remembered how in Costa Rica, our guide got us lost in the rainforest, because, while he had been on a two-week holiday, a tree had fallen on the trail and vegetation grew thick around it. The guide left us for 15 painful minutes in the dark while he cut his way through the brush in a semi-circle. The idea was that as he expanded out his arc, he would eventually find the continuation of the trail. I explained this to Jamie reminding him of the King Cobra in the laneway.

"Yes, this happens sometimes."

I ordered some water, threw it in my face, and continued.

"What about leeches?" I remembered my recent trekking experience in Thailand when I lost a pint of blood to a leech. And even today, Jamie's own leg bled for two hours after he picked up a leech while birdwatching with Dan.

"Sometimes there are some."

About 3 a.m. I sat up in bed and announced to my husband that I was not going on the morning trek. I wished him a good time and not to worry about me.

The next day I stay back at the lodge and did some writing on a damp notepad while waiting for Dan to return from the trek. Between paragraphs, I daydream about frosty winter days in Toronto, bleak skies, sleet and snow, January in Timmins, and wool scarves. I pledge that when I get back home I will never again complain about the cold. But in my heart of hearts, I know it’s isn’t the tropical heat that’s tormenting me. Just outside the gate, there’s a King Cobra in the laneway.

Dan eventually returns excited by a dozen bird sightings, proboscis monkeys, a crocodile, and pygmy elephant dung. He avoided leeches because he and Jamie watched out for each other. Though the blood seeking worms rained down from the trees, the boys flicked them off their clothing before the leeches had time to lay down their suckers. Dan admitted to losing his nerve only once, when he found one in his pocket. But he quickly put it behind him when he spied the brilliant Asian Bird of Paradise. Later he counted four types of monkeys, a reticulated python, a sleeping Wagler pit viper, and a yellow-ringed cat snake.

The next day as we were leaving, Jamie confessed he had been wrong about the King Cobra sighting. It was really a Sumatran Cobra.

Taking that to mean I had might have been spooked for no reason, I asked, “So you’re saying the Sumatran Cobra is not really as deadly as the King Cobra?”

Jamie looked apologetic, “Sometimes.” (by C. Moisse at http://www.maturetraveler.blogspot.com/)