We made sure we were up very early, on the chance of catching a ride down to Ranau. It paid off, too, + we were just finishing our breakfast when one of the ladies who works around the place came in to tell us a minibus was going down in 10 mins. It was a commercial bus-ride, but the fare was only $3 each, so it was good value.
The rain came down heavily just as we arrived in Ranau, so we sheltered in a café. The rain effectively destroyed our idea of hitching down to KK, so we sat around drinking coffee, waiting for the bus. That was a couple of hours. I buried myself in a book for the journey, so it seemed to take no time, tho’ Val tells me she found it interminable. KK was no drier than Ranau, so we rushed over to the Tourist Office, left our bags there, + headed back into the rain – we had a lot to do, + not much time to do it.
Our first task was to try the port, to check if there were any boats heading to the mainland. I was pessimistic about the prospect, + was even les enthralled with the notion when the rain started to come down more heavily, but it was really only to satisfy Val that I agreed to go. I also thought it was quite absurd to be attempting this under such severe time restrictions. If we were unsuccessful, Val wanted to catch tonight’s night flight to Kuala Lumpur. Even more severely, we had to pick up our bags at the Tourist Office by 4.30 – it was already about 2.30, with the port a good walk away. But Val wanted at least to try, + in that she was right. I’ve commented before on her almost naïve optimism, + that can only work given a chance to work. So we marched off into the rain, seeking the protection of the overhanging shop facades wherever possible. It was when they ran out, + we had to strike out for the open desolation of the dual carriageway, with cars + lorries screeching thro’ the puddles that, angry + annoyed to be soaked in what I saw as a futile quest, I argued for postponing this venture till tomorrow. We were both upset, standing drenched in the pouring rain, but I won (if that’s the right word) + we started to turn back, neither of us seeing, or looking to see, the other’s point of view.
But just as we started back, a lorry driver waved us over + offered us a ride along the road – obviously he’d seen our doubt + dislike of the highway. This sort of external influence we couldn’t ignore, so gladly accepted. It turned out not to be far, but it made all the difference. The next problem was getting past security on the gate, but they seemed to accept happily enough our story of visiting a friend on the Straits Freedom – that was the name of a boat Val had obtained from the Shipping Agent. I’d have been more pleased if they’d turned us away. The Straits Freedom wasn’t in dock, it turned out, which shows what wonderful security people they were – but we visited 4 others. The first 2 were no good for one reason or another – not heading to the right destination, I think – but the people we spoke to were friendly enough. The third was sailing this afternoon, + to the mainland, but the young fellow insisted we contact the agent, insisted the Captain would tell us the same thing. And the people on the 4th were rude + unhelpful. So we returned to town.
Val was angry with me that I’d railroaded her, that I hadn’t helped her, that I’d torpedoed any chance of a boat we might have had from the start. I was angry with her that she’s dragged me out in the rain for what I’d always known was a pointless exercise. I arrived back at the Tourist Office just in time to reclaim our bags – Val was a little later, having leapt off the bus early to buy some provisions. And now it was off to the airport for the night-flight – actually, it was more of an evening one, departing at 8.30. We had no tickets, or Malaysian cash, but Val had been able to discover that there were plenty of seats left, + we felt sure we could change some Travellers cheques at the airport. And so we could, we discovered, direct with the agent there, tho’ the rate sounded poor, so far as I could remember – just 2.15 Malay for US. However, I forked out US$250 in travellers cheques, + was duly told we were on the waiting list. This sounded stupid, as MAS head office had just told us there were plenty of seats, but what the hell.
I returned to Val, minding the bags out in the reception lounge – she had been joined in my absence by Joan, already confirmed for tonight’s flight. We munched thro’ the food Val had bought earlier, stale corn flakes + milk, bread + cheese, + soon drove Joan away to the relative security of the departure lounge. I know how she felt – I am embarrassed by us too sometimes, but suppose I have become more immune. Val was not at all happy with the exchange rate I’d got, + after some calculations reckoned we’d be paying just the same, with a proper bank exchange, to travel normal economy fare to Johore Bahru, the Malay airport right next to Singapore, tomorrow. It would, moreover, be to where we wanted to go, + save having to travel all the way down from KL, + then all the way back up again. So we determined to try to regain our Travellers Cheques. Fortunately this was remarkably easy – our cheques were given back, + we strolled out of the airport once again, feeling much happier, but now faced with the prospect of finding somewhere to stay. If we had to take a hotel room, we would promptly lose all the money we had just saved. So we decided to head once again to the Anglican church – we had some idea of where it was now.
We had a bit of luck too – while we were waiting for the bus, we hitched, + got a ride with a Korean businessman in a great big Volvo, right to the door of the Church hall. We went along to the vicarage to ask permission to stay, but there was no-one in except a very frightened little girl, so we went back to the Hall, where there was a badminton club in progress, to wait there. We chatted with one guy in particular, a young lawyer who had trained in England, + was now practising in KK. He was not really on the same wavelength as us, but he was very pleasant, + offered to take us home to spend the night there, an offer we accepted with alacrity. He is clearly doing well for himself – he drove us back in his BMW, + while the house was nothing spectacular, he told us he was having another, larger one, built. We ate a late-night snack of fried noodles obtained from a Chinkie takeaway ( I should be careful what I am saying – Peter himself is Chinese) + then to bed.
I will attempt to claim that Chinkie was a perfectly normal term back then, but I know I am on shaky ground; though it is undeniably the case that there was a lot more casual (ie not even thought about) racism back then. Other than that, the day largely characterised by Val and I having one of regular rows, her optimism tempered by my pessimism, and ending up with newither of us very happy.
But in the end, we fell into some of the regukar informal hospitality that is happeneing to us a lot at this stage of our journey; the more we ventured into places with plenty of tourist infrastructure, the less that occurred.
