I had a most disturbed night. In case you were wondering, my tummy trouble has not deserted me, + I was up + down several times. It was even more annoying in that the toilet was so far away. So by the time Val saw fit to disturb me in the morning, when I was finally getting some rest, everybody else had finished their breakfast, so we ate alone. It was a strange meal. In some ways, it was very lavishly provided; in others, because of transportation difficulties or local taste, it failed. There was instant coffee, tea bags + Milo provided with a flask of hot water – I had a cup of each – + one could forgive the condensed milk. To eat, tho’, it was crackers, tinned margarine, + egg + coconut jam. The first two were forgivable + edible – the last was neither. However, we ate as much as we could, + then prepared to leave.
We took our bag to the office first of all, to see whether there was any means of transport going across. The man we spoke to seemed to think there might be some possibility this afternoon, + told us that he would contact us. Not a very satisfactory arrangement, but we weren’t in a position to dictate. To kill time for the rest of the morning, + on the off-chance that we might find someone else to ask, we went for a stroll round the camp. It was a blend of shanty-town + traditional longhouse settlement, with a few touches of technology – TV aerials could be seen sprouting above the rooftops, for example. Not surprisingly, it was all made of wood, suiting both tradition + the company that owned it. Sporting facilities weren’t bad, with a football pitch + basketball + badminton courts, but there was nothing else. Certainly no leisure facilities – cinema, library – but not even things one would regard as basic – shops, for example, or even gardens to grow food. The only things along such lines were a canteen, which we were told was expensive, and a store boat, which called on a regular basis. When one thinks that, with the base-camp + the saw-mill, that is a more or less permanent home for 1000 people, one shudders.
We strolled a little way along the road, but I soon fell victim to the heat, + what has become a perpetual languor, + turned back. Within not very long, it was lunch-time. While we were eating, the personnel officer arrived, + was both surprised + a little peeved that we hadn’t taken his advice, even tho’ we explained how difficult to know whose advice to take. Tho’ he was still doubtful about there being any transport, he said he would see what he could find out, but we settled ourselves down to spending another afternoon + evening there. I must say I wasn’t too distressed, since this would give me the opportunity to see some British football, shown on TV every Saturday. It was not to be, however, not this week at any rate, for at about 2.15 Henry, the personnel man, came rushing in to tell us there was some transport, not to Long Bedian itself but to another longhouse a little downstream from it. It was his family longhouse, he told us, his father being the Headman there.
We gathered our bag + rushed out to climb into the back if a Totota pick-up. It was already jam-packed with local people, but they made a bit of room for us, + so, with me perched on top of a truck battery, + Val sat on our bag, off we went. Or off we went as soon as we’d been given a bump-start by one of the trucks. It soon appeared that 2 or 3 of our fellow-passengers were very drunk, + one of them in particular I took an instant dislike to. He was blind, + the cataracts in his eyes were very unattractive, but worse than that he tried to force himself upon us. He spoke some English, + kept telling us he would look after us. Personally I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. I don’t like drunks at the best of times. When they try to ingratiate themselves with me, inbetween bouts of touching up the girls + giggling, they’re even more repugnant.
This was, however, the least of our troubles for the time being, since the road was a nightmare, + it took all our concentration to keep us from being thrown out, or breaking a hip, or something. Once, I was sure we were going to topple right over, + twice we had to get out + walk. Not that it was necessary to lighten the load particularly, but the slewing + jolting were so violent over those stretches that there was a serious danger someone could have been hurled out.
And finally the inevitable occurred – we slithered to the side when trying to race thro’ a particularly deep stretch of mud, + found ourselves with our axle buried in even deeper mud at the side of the road. The driver tried both fo0rward + reverse, but the only effect was to di an even deeper grave, so everybody climbed out – he tried again. Was this a mistake? Wouldn’t greater weight give greater traction? I don’t know much about such things (or, indeed, about anything much at all). The result was no different in any case – we were well + truly stuck. In the circumstances, it was remarkable good fortune that we could hear some heavy traffic at work not too far away. One of the more sober men went to seek aid, + in 10 mins or so a great bulldozer came lumbering out of the undergrowth. Naturally, that had no trouble at all extricating our Land Cruiser, + we were soon underway again.
We hadn’t been given any information about this trip, there hadn’t been time, so it was a surprise to us when we came to a stop, apparently in the middle of nowhere. There was a large plank sticking up out of a hole in the middle of the road, + the driver got out + peered down at it, so I assumed it was some sort of clever arrangement for telling the depth of flood water up ahead, or something like that, but then everybody starting climbing out. We now discovered that the truck was turning round + returning to camp at this point, and that we would be continuing our journey by long-boat, along a small river.
There was a canoe overturned on the bank, semi-concealed, + the first task was to drag that down to the water. I lent an ineffectual hand, being careful, I’ll admit, not to step into the deeper patches of mud – the other guys had bare feet so could cope better. With a little struggle it was done, + then we loaded ourselves in. No easy matter – Val shared a seat with another girl, + we were very low in the water. I discovered later that I had one of the few seats that didn’t have water pouring in over it. However, once the small outboard motor that had been brought along was fitted on the back…
The trip that followed can only be described as an adventure, perhaps the greatest adventure of the trip so far. The fear + excitement of the white water rafting trip were greater, but those emotions were deliberately + calculatingly aroused. This was clearly rather an everyday trip for these people, + so the experience was more authentic, more real. If the scenes one sees of jungle-boat trips in the movies seem romantic, that is far from the truth. At least, from my limited experience, so I would judge. The river down which we travelled was very narrow, + with all sorts of obstacles to make things even trickier. There were trees growing up out of the water, plus occasional logs which had somehow found their way in there, + become jammed, so that at times we had no more room to get thro’ than the boat width. Branches from the banks + creepers from the overhanging trees reached put to clutch at you, + drop insects in your hair, + one’s behind soon became numb + bruised from the battering, tho’ after about an hour we both lost most of our fear of being toppled in, even tho’ we came close a couple of times, bouncing against semi-submerged logs.
The guy up in the bow, just ahead of me, had a very important role. He acted as watchdog for obstacles, + also helped to steer, using a stick to push us off from the bank of tree-trunks that we passed close to. When the out board stalled, as it did frequently, he would paddle or punt us along. And perhaps most important of all, he showed us the way, indicating to the guy manning the engine the best course, + frequently the right turning too – this was no simple river to follow, for there were many side-channels, all looking to me equally likely.
After a while, when the trip was becoming a little tedious, it was quite encouraging to see someone else on the river, just a couple in a longboat, equipped with a much larger outboard than ours. They zipped past, with much exchange of jokes + laughter – were we at last getting close to home? But we still puttered on, with no sign of a change ahead – we were cutting thro’ some of the side-channels now, short-cutting the meandering loops of the main river. And then the rain began, soon becoming a downpour, + then increased. I have never known rain like it. Val + I had our ponchos on, but they were effectively useless, never having been meant to cope with much more than a shower, + the others all had pieces of plastic or umbrellas (except for my friend in the bow, sticking manfully to his task), but nothing could do much good. I couldn’t even look forward, the rain was so fierce.
And then, right on cue, our outboard coughed, spluttered, + stalled, + refused to start again. I couldn’t say that I blamed it, but it left us in a most unhappy situation, drifting gently downstream, while the rain poured + poured. I thought for a moment that I heard another outboard fire, some way away, but the noise does + no boat appeared, so I thought I must have been mistaken. But then, angel of mercy, the boat that had passed us suddenly appeared alongside – only from behind us. I do not know how that could be – I can only imagine that they came back to look for us, but had missed us when we went down one of the side-channels. Such speculation did not concern me then however – the important thing was that we were soon tied together + speeding towards warmth, safety, + the dry.
The longhouse was another 10 or 15 mins away, so soon enough we were staggering out of the boat, splashing thro’ the shallow water overlapping the bank. This was our first longhouse, but we understood the first thing to do was to see the Headman. Sure enough, we were taken there without delay, though, being such a big longhouse, it was a very long way. We were shown upstairs when we finally reached the right place, + then, somewhat to our surprise, were left entirely alone. This did at least allow us the opportunity to dry ourselves + change into so0me drier clothes – nothing had entirely escaped the soaking. Eventually, the Headman made his appearance, a large, old, + ponderous –looking gentleman. He did not speak English, but Val was able to convey some basic information in Malay (near as dammit to Indonesian), + then we presented him with some gifts – a tin of corn, a tin of peas, + a plastic jar of sugar, with which he disappeared. Shortly after that, some food appeared – rice, fish, spinach… + our corn, + gradually an audience assembled to watch us eat.
Later, some of the ladies began to prepare some leaves for making into hats, so, to reciprocate, Val got out her bilum, + showed them how to make that. They were very interested, + soon she had a couple of them trying their hand at it. They were, apparently, very good, soon outstripping their teacher. I don’t know what anthropological damage Val has done by introducing the New Guinea bilum to Sarawak – it’ll give the scholars something to think about anyway. It was very late by now – we had arrived just before dark – + I was tired, so was delighted to be told our sleeping quarters were ready. Very comfortable they were too – our own room, a mattress on the floor, clean sheets. I climbed between them hungrily.
And if we thought our previous travel had been varied and interrsting, then this was even more so, especially the extraordinary trip in the canoe. Despite the fact that we’dtransferred to it from a Land Cruiser, it really was a throwback to an earlier type of travelling and exploring.
What an adventure! The only thing that calmed me was knowing you survived the tale.