To our surprise, Hassan was not far off being on time this morning. That was just as well, for by the time we’d gulped down the remainder of the toast, loaded our bags, + then driven back across to his place, we weren’t left with a great deal of time, especially with the early morning being at its height. H gave us a sarong each – very welcome – while we returned with presenting the Burgess book. Neither of them seemed overimpressed, but we’d at least tried. The traffic was indeed appalling – driving here means one has to be so much more aggressive, forcing oneself into queues of traffic, for example, or one wouldn’t get anywhere.
We arrived at the station with 10 mins to spare, + then the train was 10 mins late, so we weren’t too rushed. There were an awful lot of people waiting on the platform, so we envisaged an almighty rush for seats, but fortunately the train was very long, so there was no problem. It was also remarkably comfortable, despite being 3rd class, with padded seats + plenty of leg-room. We had a pleasant journey, reading + listening to the tape we’d made for mum (we were right – it was dull.) And then, fortunately, for there was no sign – we were told we had arrived at Tapah, so off we climbed.
We were still some little way from the town itself, which we had to get to before taking the branch road up into the Cameron Highlands, so I acceded to the entreaties of a local taxi-driver, + took that – it only cost $1 each. He dropped us actually at the junction too, which was a help. A bit of a wait, but eventually got a ride taking us all the way up. It was with an Indian/Malaysian + his lady-friend. Normally he was a rep for Carlsberg, but he had taken a few days off. A nice enough bloke, I suppose – he dropped us right outside Bale’s Holiday Chalets, our destination, which was useful, as we didn’t know where it was. It also saved us a walk. The place seemed alright, tho’ the kitchen was deserted, so we weren’t able to get a cup of tea or anything. So we set out on a brief exploration of the area… with tea very much in mind.
We set off in the direction of Brunchang, the next town on, about 2 miles distant – we got an unsolicited lift, which made things easy. Then, after a brief look around town – there was really almost nothing to see – we walked back. There were some nice eating places on the road, the most notable being the Smokehouse, which looks exactly like an Old English (?) transplanted direct from a small country village. We reckoned that would be beyond our price, however, so stopped off beforehand at Edward’s, a more modest establishment attached to the golf club. We ordered a round of a dozen cheese sandwiches, that being the minimum order, + very unappetising they were too – pre-sliced processed cheese in the middle of unbuttered pap.. The crunch came when I discovered mould on the edge of one of the pieces of bread – the crusts had been cut off, but inexpertly so. When I pointed out the mould, the guy began to remove just that particular thick triangle, presumably to wrap 2 other slices around the same slice of plastic cheese. When I protested that that was not good enough, the guy became almost self-righteous – if we didn’t like it, we could go. We went.
Just along the road, to the Smokehouse. It was indeed pricey, but it was very nice. A little bit artificial, this clinging to the model established in another country, another world, but acceptable nonetheless. We found a couple of items which wouldn’t totally destroy our budget, + had a pleasant meal. The food was excellent, the only thing wrong was the quantity.
We returned to Bala’s afterwards, + sat in the café for the rest of the evening. There was one of those travellers’ conversations going on, the sort we can’t avoid – comparing notes on hotels, playing one-upmanship on temples, treks. It’s not an exchange of information, it’s crass commercialism, + it’s a game we won’t play. That is, we won’t play it if we can avoid it, + we realise the trap… for it’s tempting enough.
Later, however, after most people, including Val, had gone to bed, I chatted a lot with an American called Tom. He runs a restaurant in Denver, so we chatted a lot about food. He also used to be a Drama teacher, + is very interested in theatre, so we talked a lot about that. It was bloody freezing when I went to bed, so I warmed up under a hot shower (a real hot shower!) + then crawled in with Val to steal as much of her warmth as I could.
Not at all upset to be on our own again, and in charge of our own lives. Mostly trevelling stuff, of courtse – a mixture of train, taxi and hitching. But comfortable accommodation at the end. The Cameron Highlands are very much tea plantations for the most part, but with snatches of Old England, (see Smokehouse, above.) And back to traveller’s talk, the main way to gather information. Is it still like that in this time of the ingernet? No idea.
