That's Me

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A wanderer. A bon vivant. A movie aficionado. En amour avec 'A'. These four remain constant. New interests develop every day. Latest being photography. And mastering the French language. Training for the marathon. And blogging.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

This is it.

I fall in love with the name. Coaraze. I look into some images in Google and just know in my heart that I have to visit the place. The name pops up while I am doing a customary search on ‘Day trips from Cannes’. The usual suspects come first – Nice, St. Tropez, Monaco, St. Paul’s Vence. Then come the unusual ones. Most of which could only be accessed if you have a car at your disposal. I, on the other hand, who can neither afford a car, nor would know how to drive in France, prefer public transport to go around. Yes, I do miss a lot of picturesque country roads and charming villages in the bargain, but have learnt to live with it.

I dig deeper and figure out that Coaraze can be reached by a bus from Nice – the only hindrance being there’s only one bus that leaves Nice and only another bus that passes through Coaraze for Nice in a day. So it is going to be a do or die situation – miss the bus and you are stranded in a remote village up in the mountains, with a handful of houses, an hour away from Nice. But it is doable. And do I will, I decide.

I have to reassure A that I will be back by 4 in the afternoon. I don’t tell him about the one-bus-a-day scenario – it will surely freak him out. I kiss him goodbye and wish him another productive day at the Cannes Congress, where he will get to see the heavy weights of the industry throwing their weights around.

I take the train from Cannes at 09.05 am and reach Nice in 30 minutes. I hop into the Office de Tourisme next to Gare de Nice but figure out that I know more about Coaraze than the lady at the counter. She, however, gives me direction to Nice Gare Routière, from where I need to catch my bus to Coaraze. I pick my breakfast from a boulangerie on the way and walk down to the bus terminal. It takes me around 20 minutes, but when in Europe, I don’t mind walking. It takes me a while to find Bus No. 303, since apart from me, there are only 3 more passengers queuing up for it. None of them look like tourists and they stare at me suspiciously as I look very much like one, with a knapsack and camera slung around my neck.

The bus starts exactly at 10.30 am. The first half of the journey is a bit boring as the bus makes its way through the city, picking up locals, all of whom seem to know everyone else on the bus. Once we leave Contes, however, the scenery takes a dramatic turn. The road starts winding uphill, through the Paillon river valley. Soon we are zigging and zagging through a treacherously narrow mountain road, each turn taking me further and further away from the civilization.

The bus drops me at the entrance of the village precisely in an hour’s time. Yes, I am the only one to get off. I take a moment to survey the scene around. I am some 650 m high up in the mountain, about to enter a tiny village that nestles peacefully among thick woods and deep ravines. It is classified as one of the most beautiful villages of France and I already get a sense why it is called so. I cross the road and start climbing the pebbled pathway that leads to the village.

There is not a soul around, it seems – the only sound I can hear are birds chirping and a stream running somewhere nearby. As I make my way through the terraced cobbled street, I stop every now and then to admire the stone houses that are painted in brilliant hues of blues and oranges. The Office de Tourisme is shut of course and with no help around, I decide to consult my notes and explore on my own.

The vaulted passageways keep me away from the sun. I pass through backyards of houses which are adorned with summer flowers. I catch a dog napping in the shades of the tunneled street and try to make friends with it. It seems completely disinterested in me and rolls back to sleep. I notice the interesting looking sundials at almost every house entrance and start clicking photographs. Coaraze is called the sun village or the village of sundials and is famous for having artists like Jean Cocteau, Georges Douking and Mona Christi leaving their work behind in this petite sun drenched village. There are also a few very curious lizard motifs around the village. I look for someone who will explain them to me, but I find none.


As I make my way through cobbled streets punctuated by flower-decked little squares, I meet a few locals. Ah, so this is not a haunted village or a movie set after all, people do live here. I come across an old lady sitting in her garden, crocheting. As I stop by to admire her little garden, she invites me in. I guess they don’t see much tourists here – that too an Indian one. She starts speaking in French and all I can manage is ‘Parlez-vous anglais?’ – thanks to my Lonely Planet ‘useful terms and phrases’ section. Obviously she does not but that does not deter her from carrying on the conversation with me. I give polite-verging-on-stupid smiles to all her questions and thank her for offering me some water. I ask her if I can click her picture which she fervently declines. I ask her for the way to the village church and what I gather from her animated gestures is that there’s only one way that leads to the church and that is straight up ahead.

I get repeatedly lost in the labyrinth of the vaulted passageways but find my way back to the open squares. After a few attempts, I manage to find the village church. Coaraze is also known as the village of fêtes and apparently there is always something or the other happening here. I find almost the entire village gathered around the huge open space in front of the church. No wonder the streets were so deserted. Some celebration must have just got over and the villagers are kissing and shaking hands and bidding each other good bye. I feel like an intruder amidst all this festivity as I can feel the looks I am getting from all around me. Not in a bad way, because all of them seem to be smiling at me.

I try to find out in my broken French what is going on, but either my French is too bad or they don’t want to share their little secret – I walk away from the scene without knowing much about what the merriment was all about. From the bits and pieces of French words I pick up, I have a feeling they are celebrating the advent of summer - but then according to my research, these Coaraziens celebrate everything. Today, they might just be celebrating life.

I follow the steps from the corner of the church that lead up to a large square shaded by Acacias, Cypress, Pine and Mimosa trees. The view from here is of deep valleys and high forested hills to the north and south of the village. I am rendered speechless and I just sit down at the edge, appreciating the beauty around me and eating my picnic lunch. I gaze at the vistas in front of me and soak in my solitude. I wish I could share this with A – but I know he is having a nice time back in Cannes, probably consuming lobsters by kilos for lunch, right at this very moment. The thought brings me back to reality – time to head home. The only bus back to Nice is at 01.10 pm and it is already past noon now. I pick up my things and walk back to the village. I cannot hurry even if I want to – the serene ambiance compels one to lose the sense of time. The village of sun dials seems to be time warped in a century when life was hard but straightforward, when machines were a distant dream and people still believed in the art of simple living.

I find my way through the winding street, stop by to capture a few more memories in my camera and soon arrive at the bus stop. I still have 20 minutes to spare. I take a last look at this mountain hideaway as I wait for the bus to arrive. I am joined by a couple of villagers who are all going down to the city. An old man finds me very intriguing and strikes up a conversation with me. He can speak a few words of broken English and we carry on fine. He asks me about India and seems genuinely interested. He has never travelled anywhere – not even to Paris and wonders why a girl would come all the way across the oceans to visit his part of the world. I ask him if the legend about the devil cutting off his tail, in order to get away from the Coaraziens who had caught him, was true. He answers in affirmative. Apparently, the village was called Caude Rase in medieval times, which means ‘cut tail’. The lizard motif becomes clear now - the devil had surrendered his tail like a lizard, hence the lizard motifs to commemorate the legend.

A woman joins our conversation – though she does not speak English. After knowing that I speak English, she starts a long conversation with me in French. She looks a bit distraught as she is trying to make me understand something. I pick up a few words – Michael Jackson, mort, ce matin. I get a sense of what she is saying but I don’t want to believe it. How can it be possible – I watched him giving a press conference a couple of days back on BBC about his upcoming world tour! I keep on asking her for details – but our conversation obviously gets lost in translation.

The bus arrives dot on time and as before, it seems like every passenger is known to the other. They are all, of course, discussing only one thing now – Michael Jackson. I curse myself for not knowing French. I am also amazed by the fact that people who don’t understand a word of English are mourning his death. Music, surely, transcends all boundaries.

By the time I reach Nice, it is past 2. I almost start running towards the station as soon as I reach Nice but decide to take the tram instead. I guess some of that dawdling effect of Coaraze has rubbed off on me. And then, for € 2, which is the cost of the return bus ticket from Nice to Coaraze, I can avail the tram as well, both being part of the TAM network - so why shouldn't I? I swing by the Office de Tourisme to pick up some information about my day trip for the next day. I have to wait for a train to take me back to Cannes for another 20 minutes or so and by the time I reach Cannes, it is almost 04.00 pm. I rush back to the hotel and find A glued to the TV set. Yes, I am back to civilization all right.

As the images flash before my eyes on the TV screen, the contrast hits me. The better part of the day was spent celebrating life and here I am, ending the day with death and disbelief.

I wonder how it would be if we could all live in places like Coaraze – unaffected and untouched by this very distressing time that we survive today. Life has its own rhythm back in Coaraze – unhurried, deliberate - it has its own definition. The Coaraziens still smile at strangers, take the time out to talk to their neighbours or to celebrate nature. I am sure they will once more banish the devil if he ever sets his foot in their terrain. They are happy in their little village, some working in bigger cities like Nice or Contes, but coming back every night to their humble homes – far away from the civilization. They may not have travelled beyond Nice but their little world is fulfilling and has adventures of its own. They don’t just exist like we the city people do – they live life. Yes, MJ would agree with them – ‘Make a little space, to make a better place’.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Bangkok Burning

It’s a battle zone out there. I shudder as I see the images on CNN of the Red-Shirts hurling petrol bombs, tyres burning at every street corner, black smoke covering the skyscrapers and the horizon, armored tanks and gun toting commandos running through the empty streets of a ghost city. This is a Bangkok I never thought I will ever see. Always bustling with life – any time of the day or night, Bangkok is like Bombay – it assaults all your senses. There’s pollution, corruption, traffic jam, chaos – yet the city beckons you to return to her, time and again. It is sad that a political crisis had to take shape of a civil war but of course, the issues are intense and we, as outsiders, perhaps, cannot comprehend what pushed these Red-Shirt protestors to hold a city hostage to get their demands met. Also coming from Thai people, who are otherwise, so chilled out, with a typically ‘sab chalta hein’ attitude – very much like us Indians - this battle comes as a shock.

But I am not here to discuss the political scenario in Thailand. Having been there a few times, I thought I would share some travel tips with those who are either stuck in Bangkok right now or have plans to be in Bangkok in the next few days, but don’t know what to do.

Of course, if you can, try and bypass Bangkok on your holiday to Thailand this time. The other parts of the country are still as inviting as ever and with the Army in action, I hope the Bangkok International Airport will be spared this time. Those who have already been booked in Bangkok and can’t cancel, try and stay near the airport. And instead of taking the Bangkok city tour, head out of the city. Believe me, there’s as much to do around Bangkok as is in the city.

Here are some options:

a) Bridge on the River Kwai: If you have watched the 1950’s movie by David Lean by the same name and liked it, here’s your chance to be a part of it. One of the most popular day trips from Bangkok is to visit the Death Railway and the famous bridge over the River Kwai in Kanchanaburi, and it can take between 2-3 hours to reach from Bangkok, depending on the method of transportation you choose.
If you know your history, you are probably aware of the fact that Thailand was under the Japanese control during World War II. It was here in Kanchanburi, which is near the Myanmar border, that Allied POWs, building the infamous Burma Railway, constructed a bridge. More than half of the prisoners working on the project died from disease, maltreatment and accidents.

Not a very appeasing piece of history, but history none-the-less. And a better option than trying to explore Bangkok amongst gun shells and being history yourself.
You can either negotiate the famous bridge on foot or via a little tourist train which runs a 15-minute round-trip across the bridge and back. It's aptly called the Death Railway.
While you’re out visiting the bridge over the River Kwai, be sure to also check out the nearby War Museum, which contains pieces from the original iron bridge which was destroyed by the Allies.

b)Taweechai Elephant Camp: Thailand is the land of elephants. There are several elephant camps in Thailand and the one present in the Kanchanaburi district is called the Taweechai Elephant Camp. Home to nearly 30 elephants including one born in late 2009, Taweechai offers elephant rides, bathing with elephants, bamboo rafting and special elephant training mahout courses.
Taweechai is conveniently located halfway along the route from Kanchanaburi to Erawan waterfall and so can be included in a day trip to the falls.

c) Erawan waterfall: Erawan National Park is a 550-square-kilometer park in western Thailand located in Kanchanaburi Province. The major attraction of the park is Erawan Falls, a waterfall named after the erawan, the three-headed white elephant of Hindu mythology. The seven-tiered falls are said to resemble the erawan. Needless to say, a cool break from all the heat that is consuming Bangkok right now.

d) The Tiger Temple: One of the most famous attractions in Kanchanburi is the visit to the Tiger Temple. A monk who started looking after abandoned and injured tiger cubs started this sanctuary, which now charges 500 baht to tourists to take a look at the tigers. If you want to pet them, be prepared to shell out 1000 baht more. Yes, you read it right – you can pet the tigers. If you ask me, I think the tigers are drugged – but still, touching the mighty beast is an experience to cherish for a life time. The monks say that the tigers are habituated to having humans around them, but you can make out that there’s something more to that story. Otherwise, a 300 kg fully grown tiger, letting you touch it and click pictures with it, is really inconceivable.

More than the mighty beasts (which scared the shit out of me – drugged or otherwise); however, the fun part of the trip was getting to play with a couple of 3 weeks old tiger cubs. That the cubs were not drugged was evident from the way they made sure that they’d chew on anything that came their way, including my shoe lace. They were like little pups - playful and full of beans. I so wanted to smuggle one out in my back pack - only if they'd stay still for a minute.

All these trips could be arranged by any tour operator – your hotel should have one. And looking at the situation around, it is perhaps prudent to go through a tour operator, than by yourself.
Try to break up the trip in 2 days – with one night spent on a river house in Mekong River. The cost should come to around 3900 baht per person – for a full-board 2 days 1 night stay.

And then, there’s Ayuthhaya, an ancient city near Bangkok, which I haven’t visited but have heard many tales about. Founded around 1350, Ayutthaya became the second capital of Siam (Thailand) after Sukhothai. Throughout the centuries, the strategic location between China, India and the Malay Archipelago made Ayutthaya the trading capital of Asia and even the world. Today, the remains of the once-impressive ancient city make it an ideal destination for history buffs. In 1991, the historic city became an UNESCO World Heritage Site. Its proximity to Bangkok makes it a popular day-trip destination for travellers from Bangkok. You can take a train or a bus, but the best way to go now would be to get in touch with a tour operator.

If nothing else works, stay put in your hotel and indulge in Thai Massages and Thai cuisine. Stay safe, stay cautious and try look at the brighter side – you would have never bathed with an elephant or petted a tiger, had the Red Shirts and the Army not taken over Bangkok.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Of Dark Knights and Twilight Zones

The lone vigilante stands tall over the city. It is dark and the rain falls hard from the heaven above. It is hell below – the city, now engulfed in a fog, has claimed her nights. It sleeps peacefully knowing it has someone to watch over it - the silent guardian, the watchful protector. She is a creature of the night and her day starts when the sun goes down. Her devoted cohorts – the colonies of bats - hang around her, ready to follow her whenever she takes flight. But she waits. And she broods. She has been afraid for the very first time in her life – she has walked away from darkness when she should have plunged right into it. She contemplates her actions and makes up her mind. It is time to charge into the underworld, pitch into the shadows and set things right. But she waits….

…and she waits. She, as in, me. And no, I don’t feel like Bat Woman right now, though I try to spin a story in my head to make me feel all right. To be honest, I feel rather stupid. I should have not been a coward and gone right ahead. What could have happened? And anyway, anything is better than waiting here in the sun, and waiting for A to enjoy an adventure all by himself and then having to hear about it for the rest of my life.

I am getting ahead of my story. We are in Taman Negara - one of the world's oldest tropical rainforests. It is estimated to be about 130 million years old. We are here for an extended weekend. Having done the usual touristic trail – like hiking the jungles and walking across the longest canopy walkway and swimming in the waterfalls and visiting the orang asli villages – we have been promised something off the beaten track for the afternoon. We are visiting Gua Telinga, one of the many caves in Taman Negara that houses colonies of bat. Not the vampire kind but the kind that survives on fruits and hence aptly called the Fruit Bats. Personally, I would have liked a close encounter with the vampire kind, but - ah well, you can’t have it all! A 20 minutes boat ride from where we are staying and a further walk into the forest, this cave promises to be an adventure of lifetime.

I am all charged up as I approach the cave. I get in also. But then I start to lose my footing on the lime deposit on the floor and panic. What if I fall down? Once inside, there is only one way out – to go forward. It is dark inside, it is constricted and what if I can’t make it out. You must realize that this is pre aspiring-to-be-a-marathon-runner days – so my confidence level on my own physical capability is not really high up on the radar. Of course, I make up with enthusiasm what I lack in energy – but this is a very different proposition. It requires going underground through treacherous passageways in complete darkness. I step back and walk away. A goes ahead with our guide. And I am left pondering whether I just let go of a unique opportunity to experience an once-in-a-lifetime adventure.

30 excruciating minutes later, A comes out. Looks at me and says “You have to do it!” That does it. What possibly can go wrong? People are doing it, aren’t they? A did it. If he can do something, I can do it better. I look at our guide. We have been supplying him with cigarettes since yesterday – now it’s time for him to pay back. A offers him another cigarette and asks him if he can take us back to the cave again. I conjure up all my charm and give him a pathetic smile. The guide looks at my face, thinks for a minute and says “datang” – I hop, skip and jump behind him.

He advises me to sit on my back and drag myself if I find my feet slipping. But this time, my determination sees me through the first phase – I make it through the entrance without sliding down. The sunlight gradually fades away and the walls cave in and suddenly we are inside the cave and below the ground. It is pitch dark, it is cold and our guide shines his flashlight. By now, we are on our knees and we crawl through the cavity. The guide switches off his flashlight after a while, since the only way forward is the way forward through this tunnel as we proceed to go deeper into the cave. We are, as the cliché goes, blind as bats – but we know we will not fall off anywhere and hence safe. Now, if a snake also decides to join us in our expedition or cross our path – then that will become a different story. I can hear my heart pounding but A, the veteran, who’s already been there and done that, keeps on reassuring me. After what seemed like eternity, the guide flashes his light again and we get ourselves into sitting position and then jump down.

We are inside a bigger cavity now but we can at least stand on our feet. As my eyes try to adjust themselves to the faint light that emits from our guide, I find myself in a magical world. Stalactites – of bizarre shapes and sizes adorn the ceiling of the cave. A stream runs down through the middle. It is a sight I have imagined every time I have read ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’. Or nothing remotely close to what I have ever imagined it to be. The flashlight casts weird shadows on the rocky walls, the crystals hanging from the ceiling glow in its beam. Alice has finally arrived in the wonderland.

A further walk down the cave and we duck our heads to enter another chamber. The guide warns me not to touch the walls to feel my way through. Before I can ask why – he shines his torch on the walls. The wall seems to be moving. It takes a moment for me to realize that what I thought to be moving is actually colonies of bat – hundreds and thousands of them - clustered together – hanging from the walls. An eerie sight indeed, but a thoroughly thrilling one, none the less. If you have an active imagination like me, which has been fuelled with adventure stories since childhood, you would know what I mean. It is pitch dark otherwise and our vision is only limited to the beam of light that shines on the wall. We take in a few minutes here – marveled at the sight we just saw. A few bats, disturbed by the light, start flying around. A few of them swoop down upon us. Time to move on.

We make our way through some more treacherous and tricky paths, sometimes crawling on our fours. Then we suddenly see a ray of sunlight. We follow the guide and the sunlight and find ourselves in a chamber – with a hole on the ceiling. That is our way out. I panic again. How am I supposed to climb up that hole? Sure there’s a rope hanging and a few stones arranged in a very precarious manner to give you support. But no way am I going to manage to climb that up.

A goes up first. I watch him carefully as he steadily, if not too comfortably, maneuvers his way up. The guide asks me to follow. I am still dilly-dallying - should I put my right foot first and then haul myself up or the left will make the climb easy. And then a bat lunges down upon me from nowhere and I scream as I feel its wet wings touch my skin. I have to get out of this place. I take a deep breath and with a prayer on my lips, just aim for the rope. A foot here, a step there – I haul myself up rather awkwardly and if I may say so, desperately – out of the situation. My mind is blank as I am doing this and all I can think of is trying to touch A’s hand. I reach it finally and A pulls me up. I breathe again.

Would I go for such cave explorations again? I surely will. Was it worth all the physical and emotional strain? Hell, yes! I have gone exploring caves twice after that in Thailand. Plan to do a few more in Borneo in the near future. Not for the faint hearted but definitely an experience of a lifetime. None of my other cave expeditions seemed as hard as this one, though. On the hindsight, it was fun. It was more an “Indiana Jones” adventure than a “Caped Crusader” escapade. A hidden trunk of treasure unearthed during the jaunt would have made it just perfect.

Let me tell you how this adventure ends. I take a deep breath as I straighten myself up on the surface of the earth. I take in the sunlight and the fresh air. I am all sweaty and dirty - my palms and knees are covered in bat poop and all kinds of slime. But I just can’t stop smiling. A gives his "I-told-you-so" smile and asks me how I feel. Ecstatic is an understatement to describe how I feel. The guide comes out and I look at him, bat my eyelids and say “Can we go again?”

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Monkey Business

“How about witnessing the miraculous event of someone giving birth!” I say, as dramatically as I can. A chokes on his coffee.
“Or seeing some young ones running wild.” I add breezily. The colour has now drained out of his face and he has stopped breathing.
A looks at me suspiciously. Maybe, I have finally lost it. Or maybe, I am serious and it’s time to rein in all unnecessary expenses and start thinking about college funds.
I toy with the idea of torturing him for a little while. But I can feel his blood pressure rising – so I come to his rescue.
“I was only talking about our Merdaka weekend getaway, you fool. I have found this amazing island, in Sabah state…..” As I fill him in on my latest research, A starts smiling. A smile that means “Whatever you say. As long as I don’t have to see wild kids running around in my house!”

East Malaysia is the best part of Malaysia. Uninhabited islands, virgin rainforests, some of the world’s best diving sites – east Malaysia has everything that one looks for in a wildlife adventure. And in this pristine landscape, lies Selingan Island, one of a group of uninhabited islands situated between the Malaysian and Philippine boundaries lying within the Sulu Seas. This archipelago is the home to the Green and Hawksbill Turtles, who live in and around the water of the Sulu Seas and hatch their eggs on the white sands of these desolate landmasses. The three main nesting islands - Pulau Selingan, Pulau Bakkungan Kechil and Pulau Gulisan, covering an area of 1,740 hectares, are protected for the sole purpose of conservation and preservation of turtles and other marine animals inhabiting the area and are called The Turtle Islands Park or Pulau Penyu National Park. Pulau Selingan is the only island of these three that has a small resort, which accommodates guests who would like to see a turtle lay eggs.

Our journey starts from Sandakan – a small port town in the north eastern coast of Borneo. If the name sounds familiar, let me remind you of the TV series we used to watch late night in the black and white era of Doordarshan about a pirate named Sandokan who used to terrorize the jungles of Borneo. A series that made me fall in love with Kabir Bedi and a wild land called Malaya. Somerset Maugham came later in my life and cemented my wonder for the Malaya land. I always used to fantasize about the feral rainforests of Malaya. For many years, as a child, I have visualized myself exploring the Malaya jungles, à la Phantom style. Now that I am finally here, I consider it destiny. Before A panics again, let me clarify that I don’t intend to straddle a horse and roam wild in the jungles, though I would, if I could. But I do want to explore every nook and cranny of this wonderful land and compare notes with my mind's eye.

Back to reality, Sandakan is neither wild, nor unexplored – but a proper small town, with some really good sea food. And an airport, which is why it is the gateway to some of the wild adventures in Borneo. A night’s stop in Sandakan, we start early the morning after, for our destination – Pulau Selingan. About 3 hours of boat ride through the bluest water I have ever seen, we see the first speck of land in the horizon. I start feeling like Christopher Columbus. A starts feeling hungry.

We are off loaded in the white sands of Pulau Selingan soon - we, as in, the two of us, and 6 other couple. August being an off season in this part, we got lucky not to be straddled with 60 people, which is the maximum number of heads this island can accommodate. Okay, so we will not be able to witness up to 50 turtles coming ashore at night to lay eggs. But we were assured that we will definitely get to witness a couple, if the weather is nice.

And the weather is nice. We spend the rest of the morning getting wasted in the sun and the sand. We find our own private spot in the deserted beach and while A, now happily fed, snoozes, I go snorkeling. The island is surrounded by coral reefs and the moment I dive into the water, I am greeted by colours – of every hue and palette ever imaginable. It is like swimming in a vast aquarium – schools of fish – of all colours and shapes swim past me and along with me. A joins me soon and after splashing around for a while, goes away in search of some chilled beer. But me, I just can’t seem to have enough. I keep going back, enamored by the crystal clear blue and the scene it has to offer. By the time I am called back by an again-hungry A, I have a bad case of sun burn, but I feel like a mermaid.

The afternoon is spent snoozing and then later, catching the sun go down. One is not supposed to walk in the beach after sun down without a guide, so we make the most of the daylight available and explore the island. Apart from a basic resort, which accommodates visitors, there is a small restaurant, which doubles up as a visitor’s centre to give an idea about the Green Turtles that populate these parts of the ocean. Needless to say, the Green Turtles also fall in the list of endangered species. There is a hatchery where the eggs are collected from the beach and looked after till they hatch. There is a pier where we landed in the morning and then there is the vast expanse of pure white sand and azure blue waters. The island is so small that one can circumnavigate it in 30 minutes flat. We walk down the beach, taking in the sunset and looking for adventure. We spot a couple of geckos. We shoot pictures aimlessly, knowing that whatever we click, will come out looking magical. Such is the ambiance.

We have an early dinner and a tour through the gallery, to get some knowledge about these very vulnerable sea creatures. Green turtles are the largest of all the hard-shelled sea turtles. While hatchlings are just 2 inches long, adults can grow to more than 3 feet long and weigh around 160 kg. Adult green turtles are unique among sea turtles in that they are herbivorous, feeding primarily on sea grasses and algae. This diet is thought to give them greenish colored fat, from which they take their name. A green turtle's top shell is smooth and can be shades of black, gray, green, brown, and yellow.

They may sport a hard shell as an exterior but that plaster is not hard enough to protect themselves from a vicious species called the homo sapiens. As we humans have successfully demonstrated over the last 4.4 million years, no matter what species you are, if we humans find you, we will make sure you become extinct. The Sea Turtles have existed for over 100 million years but suddenly, they are struggling to survive because of things we humans are doing to the planet's oceans and beaches. Not only that, we hunt these turtles for their meat, for their oil to be used in cosmetic industries, for their skin to make bags and belts. If for nothing else, we run over these turtles with our fishing trawlers.

We wait in the dark while we ponder about the dark side of humanity. And we wait and wait for the Mother Turtle to come ashore to lay eggs. It being a clear moonless night, we gaze at the stars and hear the ocean lashing at the rocks. We don’t mind waiting. We exchange stories about our wild life and diving adventures, we discuss our future holidays with the fellow enthusiasts. I could have spent an eternity there, but then the Mother Turtle finally shows up.

The Ranger guides us through the rocks and takes us to where the action is. And there she is, a huge green turtle, nestled in the sands, laying her clutch. It is only safe for the ranger to invite visitors for the watch once the female has comfortably settled in motion; otherwise she may get scared and dump her clutch in the water on exit. We surround her and watch in awe as she goes through the motion. It is as if she is in a trance, oblivious of the human chain around her. She will lay around 100 – 110 eggs of which only 1% may survive to adulthood.


For us, it is an overwhelming experience – a scene we never have and will never experience ever. We show her the respect she deserves - we try and click pictures without using flash; we contain our excitements to ourselves and don’t create a racket; we don’t clamor over each other, but give up our space so that the others can also catch this ethereal sight. The entire session could well take up to 4 hours and after the process is over, she will rest a while and then head for her home in the ocean.

Meanwhile, the Rangers will collect the eggs, label them and bury them in a pit of the same depth, among the sands in the hatchery. A protective cylindrical wire meshing is placed around each pit so that when the hatchlings burst out from their nest in around 2 months’ time, they will be restricted in the area until the Rangers collect them in a basket to be released on the beach. Like the crocodiles, the sex of the hatchling is determined by the temperature of the nest. Essentially, the hotter the sand surrounding the nest, the faster the embryos will develop. Cooler sand has a tendency to produce more males, with warmer sand producing a higher ratio of females. Of the 100 eggs laid, only 5% will make it to the ocean and 1% will ultimately survive to adulthood. For turtles to achieve sexual maturity, it usually takes anywhere from 20 to 50 years and hence there is an urgent need to protect and ensure as many eggs hatch as possible.

After watching the action for a good one hour and wanting more, we are taken to the ocean, where a batch of newly hatched turtles are being set free. Tiny as they are, they struggle through the waves to head out for freedom. A few keep coming back, confused and dazed, not knowing what is expected of them. But finally, primal instinct takes over – the little ones scuttle towards the open sea. A few will die on the way, a few will fall prey to the birds. The ones who make it to the ocean will have to struggle to survive. But the ones that finally will prevail against all odds and attain adulthood will keep the cycle going. The females will swim miles to come back to the same place where they were born. And hatch eggs – to spawn a new cohort of sea turtles.

We leave the island the morning after and head for the mainland, ready for some monkey business. 25 km away from Sandakan, is the Sepilok Orangutan Rehabilitation Centre. Started in 1964 and covering an area of 40 square km, it is one of only four orangutan sanctuaries in the world and one of Sabah's top tourist attractions. The centre deals with injured, orphaned and dislodged orangutans. Orangutans, which are exclusive to Malaysia and Indonesia, have been categorically hunted down by humans over the years to make them feature in the endangered species list. Just ten years ago the estimated population was around 27,000, today it could be as low as 15,000. At the Sepilok Centre, a dedicated group of environmentalist work hard to rescue and train these doomed apes – so that they can finally be freed to where they belong – the jungles of Borneo and Sumatra. Run by a British NGO called The Orangutan Appeal UK, with the help of the Wildlife Department of Sabah – this centre is doing a good job. It has so far, successfully rehabilitated around 80 orangutans to the wild.

We arrive just in time for lunch and position ourselves in the enclosure to watch in bewilderment as these almost human like apes come sweeping from trees and bush and sit themselves properly to have lunch.
The word "orangutan" comes from the Malay words "orang" (man) and "(h) utan" (forest); hence it means "man of the forest". Well, true to its etymon, in its mannerisms, an orangutan apes man. It’s the other way round, actually – since they came first and were somehow, somewhere related to our forefathers. According to a study, orangutans and not chimpanzees are the closest living relatives to humans. Humans share at least 28 unique physical characteristics with orangutans but only 2 with chimps and 7 with gorillas. Now that is some food for thought.

We walk through the centre, see the work that is being done here and are impressed. It needs a lot of compassion and devotion to dedicate oneself to a cause like this. The orphaned babies are reared by the staff as if they are their own. Once they are old enough, they are trained such that they become independent to find their own food and survive without any human contact. The babies are so sweet - almost like human babies - inquisitive, affectionate, hankering for attention. It breaks your heart to think that these vulnerable creatures are being persecuted by humans and kept captive or injured, for no fault of theirs. It dawns on you that we, the humans, are the beasts in reality – who for their own selfish motive are steadfastly destroying all that is good in this world.

We fall in love with one of babies and end up adopting him. His name is Sogo-Sogo and he will be 3 next March. This year, we have adopted another girl – Michelle, who is 7 months old. We are told that both are making good progress and Sogo-Sogo may soon be skilled enough to be set free in the wild.

So yes, we did end up having kids, as A had suspected before we started this sojourn. Ah well, what can I say - he's the wise one. It’s only that the kids don’t run wild in our backyard – but hopefully, will soon be running wild among the lush greens of the rain forest, living and surviving in the wilderness with dignity, as they justly deserve.

PS: If you want to adopt one, please visit www.orangutan-appeal.org.uk. It does not take much on your part, but does make a lot of difference for this conservation effort.

Here, There and Everywhere