The roof of Borneo

Malaysia | Anno 2016

 

Tuesday 5 April | Sukau – Kundasang

Wednesday 6 April | Kundasang – Kota Kinabalu

 

 

Tuesday 5 April | Sukau – Kundasang

Shortly after half-past nine, we leave Sukau behind. Not even ten minutes later, the paradisiacal, quasi-untouched rainforest is gone. Palm oil plantations slide past the bus window, one after another. There seems to be no end to them.

When it comes to palm oil, Malaysia and Indonesia lead the way. Together, they account for 87% of the world's production. The oil palm was introduced from Africa in 1848 and turned out to thrive here.

Ferns and orchids grow luxuriantly on the trunks of the oil palms. Pure nature, so it seems, nothing to worry about. Yet that's not quite right. The monoculture of a palm oil plantation is fatal for biodiversity. More than 80% of the plants and up to 90% of the mammals, reptiles, and birds disappear. Their habitat becomes fragmented, and pesticides and herbicides pollute the rivers.

Deeply hidden in a piece of untouched jungle, slightly south of our route, lie the Gomantong caves. For now, they have managed to escape deforestation and plantation expansion. But due to a lack of time, we have to skip these caves. A pity. Because it’s not so much the familiar karst phenomena that make these caves so special, but rather the swifts that populate these caves.

They build their nests by spitting their sticky saliva against the rock wall. Layer by layer, they create a tiny nest where their offspring – one to four chicks – find just enough space. They look like small cups of prawn crackers clinging to the rock wall.

Strangely enough, these nests are considered edible. Moreover, in China and Southeast Asia, they are even regarded as a delicacy. This type of swiftlet even owes its name to it – the edible-nest swiftlet.

A bowl of soup cooked from these nests will easily cost 25 euros

Twice a year, the nests are harvested by the local population. Balancing dangerously on bamboo poles, high against the rock walls, they pry off the white nests. The first harvest occurs between February and April, before the actual breeding season. This harsh practice yields two harvests. The unfortunate swiftlets have no choice but to start building a nest again. After the breeding season, once the young have fledged, the nests are harvested a second time.

The edible-nest swiftlet are not the only ones to produce edible nests, the black-nest swiftlets also build such nests, though of a slightly less refined composition. They dare to mix their saliva with twigs and feathers, and even with excrement. Not immediately appetizing, but still valuable enough to be harvested.

White nest or black nest, it doesn't matter; the nests need to be purified before using them in the kitchen. This is done very carefully, with toothbrush and tweezers. It's a labour-intensive process. The best quality sells for several thousand dollars per kilogram. A bowl of soup cooked from these nests will easily cost 25 euros.

More than half an hour after our departure from Sukau, we reach the AH150, the familiar Pan Borneo Highway, under fairly dense clouds.

The monoculture of a palm oil plantation is fatal for biodiversity

Palm oil plantation

Palm oil plantations accompany us endlessly. At a gas station combined with a roadside restaurant, we can examine the remnants of a harvest. Entire bunches of orange-red and black berries are scattered across the ground. Such bunches only grow on the female version of the oil palm. The male version has to make do with flowers.

 

Bunches and berries of the oil palm

A bunch can easily weigh twenty kilograms. The black skin of the fruits is used for soaps and cosmetic products, the white palm kernel for edible oils. The orange flesh is simply burned – we recall the black smoke and the choking stench. In the shop, a few Muslim girls giggle away their shyness in front of our cameras.

 

Shop along the AH150

It's half-past twelve when we recline in the plastic chairs of Restoran Loung-Loung in Telupid. Their cuisine is simple but tasty – pork in sweet and sour sauce, chicken, fish, vegetables, crinkle-cut fries, white rice, corn soup, melon.

We are now climbing higher and higher, via a pockmarked asphalt road full of scars from haphazard patchwork. During heavy rain, landslides can be a problem on this route – the only road between Kota Kinabalu and the interior. There is hardly any traffic; sometimes our progress is slowed down behind a heavy truck groaning slowly up the winding slopes.

 

Longhouse

Behind us, the palm oil plantations fade away, as they do not thrive at this altitude. On the densely forested slopes and in the deep valleys, nature's exuberance takes over once again. A great variety of tall trees towers above the green canopy. Occasionally, the sun sparkles through the clouds. Only where the valley widens slightly do a few small fields appear on the riverbank.

The home territory of the Kadazan-Dusun is this, the tribe of Eric's wife. Every now and then some buildings appear along the road. Invariably, you are confronted with an advertising panel for a church community – either Catholic or Anglican.

Just after three, we approach Ranau, about 500 meters above sea level. A brief stop to refuel gives us a chance to stretch our legs. Rice fields surround the town, and the market primarily offers vegetables from a temperate climate.

Peaceful as the place may be, the name Ranau still evokes shivers in Australia

Peaceful as the place may be, the name Ranau still evokes shivers in Australia. This was once the final destination of the infamous Sandakan death marches. With the tide of war turning, the Japanese became quite anxious in Sandakan in early 1945. The prisoner-of-war camp was rather close to the coast, and the Allies might have thought of rescuing their comrades – a correct assumption, as it turned out later.

In three waves, the Japanese forced the prisoners inland – 600 Britons and 1,800 Australians, heavily laden, malnourished, weakened, often barefoot. They marched through the jungle, nearly 250 kilometres to Ranau. Those who collapsed from exhaustion along the way were executed on the spot.

The toll was staggering. Only six prisoners of war – one in four hundred – managed to survive this hell by escaping along the way, as was later discovered. But the fact that 3,600 Javanese forced labourers also perished during these death marches is often overlooked.

 

 

We continue to climb higher and higher, with no end in sight for now. After all, Mount Kinabalu National Park is our destination. Since 2000, this park has been part of the World Heritage.

The roof of Borneo, that is what Kinabalu is sometimes called. Not entirely without reason, as it stands at 4,095 meters, making it the highest mountain on the island. And the second highest mountain in Southeast Asia – only the Hkakabo Razi in Myanmar surpasses it by a significant 1,800 meters.

Mount Kinabalu is a bare mass of plutonic rock, an igneous rock formed deep beneath the Earth's surface and pushed upwards through tectonic uplift. This process is thought to have begun around nine million years ago and is still ongoing – each year, Kinabalu rises by five millimetres.

The peak is somewhat shy and rarely reveals itself

However, the peak is somewhat shy and rarely reveals itself. Even now, it remains firmly grasped by clouds. Will we be able to see it?

Quite unexpectedly, just before four o'clock, Sam brings his bus to a halt in Pinausok at Mile 7. To the right, a few market stalls line the road, while on the left, a narrow road steeply ascends towards Celyn Resort Kinabalu, our lodging for the night. Our bus can't handle that route – it's too big for that. A smaller bas persorian, a passenger van, is ready to take us the rest of the way, while our luggage is loaded into a bas mini, a minibus.

This means saying goodbye to Sam, Zek, and Eric. Sandakan is the gateway to real Borneo wildlife, Eric reminds us. On behalf of the animals, he thanks us for our visit. One by one, he lists their names, each followed by a heartfelt Thank you.

It's just past four o'clock when we set off with our bas persorian towards the entrance of the national park. Pale smoke from a few local fires blurs the view over the valley. However, it's mainly the clouds that obscure Mount Kinabalu from sight.

 

Kundasang

On the slopes, terraces have been constructed here and there. At an average altitude of twelve hundred meters, they grow vegetables and fruits that you wouldn't immediately associate with the equator – tomatoes, carrots, cabbage, endive, … The vegetable market in Kundasang is world-renowned in Sabah and the surrounding areas, and the town proudly showcases this – at both roundabouts, they've planted a man-sized concrete cabbage.

People typically come to Kinabalu to climb that gigantic block of plutonic rock. The ascent begins at Timpohon Gate at an altitude of 1,866 meters, and you climb in one day to one of the sleeping huts at around 3,300 meters. The next morning requires an early start, as you have almost 800 meters more to climb. Like everyone else, you'll want to witness the sunrise from the top of Kinabalu just before six in the morning. Then you return down – just as tiring as the climb, according to experts.

But there are other ways to experience the mountain. We realize this at the entrance of the Kinabalu Park World Heritage Site, 1,588 meters above sea level. The results of the 28th International Climbathon are displayed there. It's a race to the top, from 1,866 meters all the way up to 4,095 meters and then back down. In 2014, Collins Kipkorir Kimosop – a Kenyan, not surprisingly – outran everyone. He completed the 23-kilometer route in just 2 hours, 23  minutes, and 33 seconds.

Our ambitions don't reach that high – literally and figuratively. The network of walking trails at the foot of Kinabalu seems more suited to us. The Silau Silau Trail leads us into the rainforest along the river of the same name, via a wooden staircase.

 

Mount Kinabalu National Park

In a montane rainforest like this, everything tends to be smaller. The essential minerals are washed away too quickly along the steep slopes. Tree canopies typically reach no more than ten meters high.

This gives smaller plants more room to thrive. Though it's worth noting that the giant tree ferns unfolding above our heads can hardly be considered small. Rhododendrons also grow to respectable sizes here. Meanwhile, mosses and lichens soak up the moisture from the clouds that hang like damp mists among the trees.

 

St. Andrew's cross spider

Orchid

We probably won't see any animals. Still, we are immediately struck by the sight of an argiope, also known as a St. Andrew's cross spider. It's a female – the males are three to four times smaller.

Across her delicate, almost invisible web, she has woven a very striking St. Andrew's cross in white silk. Insects are said to be attracted to it because the white silk reflects UV light. The spider lies patiently in wait, with its eight legs bundled two by two in the shape of a St. Andrew's cross, perfectly aligned with the silky artwork.

Not bad for an parasite with no roots, no stems, no leaves

Another thing we won't see is the famous Rafflesia, the official flower of the province of Sabah. For nine to twelve months, it lives as a black cauliflower, slightly thicker than a tennis ball, only to suddenly bloom for three to five days. Rodents often disrupt this process, as they find the cauliflower quite tasty. Therefore, few are lucky enough to witness a Rafflesia in bloom. It's a pity, as the five red petals with white spots can have a diameter of over a meter. Not bad for an parasite with no roots, no stems, no leaves – a parasite that cannot survive without its host. The smell of rotting flesh is something you gladly tolerate in exchange.

Imported eucalyptus trees thrive on these slopes. Pieces of bark have come loose and now lie under the trees, contributing to the acidification of the soil.

A tiny flower on a long stem is said to be the smallest orchid in the world – its name is podochilus. It feels at home on mossy tree trunks in montane rainforests. Fragile jewel orchids don't seem to mind catching so little sunlight on the forest floor.

 

Mesilau

Just before five thirty, we set out to find our lodging for the night. At least, that's the plan, but our bus seems to be giving up already – we've only driven it for a mere twenty minutes. After about ten attempts to start it, the engine finally roars to life again.

The Kinabalu still remains hidden behind the clouds. However, it seems the wind is gradually tearing that cloud fortress apart. Pale grey peaks cautiously reveal themselves from behind the clouds. Things are looking promising, so we keep watch in Kundasang. It pays off, because around six o'clock, the long, jagged ridge is fully visible, which is quite rare.

 

Kundasang, Mount Kinabalu

There's no snow on the bare peaks to be seen – after all, we are only 6° north of the equator. Ironically, the highest of these peaks is called Low’s Peak. This is because a certain Hugh Low was the first Westerner to climb it, back in 1851.

Ironically, the highest of these peaks is called Low’s Peak

Mount Kinabalu

Though Borneo is mostly spared from the volcanism of the Ring of Fire, it occasionally feels the impact of earthquakes. This happened last year on 5 June [2015], when a magnitude six earthquake struck the area around Kinabalu. Eighteen people lost their lives, mostly tourists and climbers.

Not all roads have been repaired since then. Mesilau Nature Resort, located at 1,900 meters high, just within the park, is still inaccessible. This is where we were originally supposed to spend the night.

So, we head to Celyn Resort Kinabalu in Kundasang. The climb is steep, the road narrow and partly unpaved, but the bus stubbornly chugs its way three kilometres uphill without hesitation. Once this vehicle is convinced to move, it seems you can count on it.

At an altitude of over 1,200 meters, the hotel overlooks a majestic panorama. In the distance, Kinabalu dominates the wide surroundings. The curtain of clouds around its peak has closed again.

Still, something crunches underfoot – unfortunately, that must have been one of those beetles

We gently remove the green beetles from the shower, chase away the large moth, and shower under the approving gaze of a gecko. Still, something crunches underfoot – unfortunately, that must have been one of those beetles, who knows where it came from.

Three tables with steaming hotpots are waiting for us in the restaurant – a halal restaurant, to be precise. In a half-baked commercial compromise, you can buy alcohol here, but you can’t consume it inside – you have to drink outside at the tables. Meanwhile, eating must be done inside at the table, as you can't exactly carry around a steaming hotpot. So, there's a constant back-and-forth between bites inside and sips outside.

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Wednesday 6 April | Kundasang – Kota Kinabalu

Swallows are darting swiftly through the breakfast room – entering through one window and exiting through another. The Kinabalu is still shrouded in a thick layer of clouds.

 

Kundasang – Terraces

One hundred kilometres of the Pan Borneo Highway separate us from Kota Kinabalu, our final destination. But first, we have a few more things to do here, such as visiting the vegetable market of Kundasang. Dozens of stalls line the market, almost all selling the exact same products: tomatoes, carrots, cabbage, endive, strawberries, raspberries, broccoli, bell peppers, chili peppers, and so on. Everything is neatly packed in trays with a cellophane cover. But you can also find mangoes, bananas, avocados, rose apples, dragon fruits, pomegranates, melons, pineapples, and more.

 

The vegetable market in Kundasang is world-renowned in Sabah and the surrounding areas

 

Slowly, we climb behind a palm oil tanker toward the national park. The sky is mostly cloudy, yet most of the hills and valleys are bathed in sunlight, except for the ridge of the Kinabalu. Its steep slopes rise grey-blue into the clouds, occasionally interrupted by pale quartz veins.

This garden is a more than commendable attempt to gather all the plants that grow on the slopes of the Kinabalu in one place

A little after ten, we arrive at the botanical garden. This garden is a more than commendable attempt to gather all the plants that grow on the slopes of the Kinabalu in one place. Because if a plant thrives at an altitude of three thousand meters, that doesn't necessarily mean it will do well at 1,600 meters.

 

Orchid

Orchids abound here, as do mosses and ferns. Flowers here tend to be quite small and often green – not inclined to stand out.

 

Juwel orchid

Halfway up a tree trunk, orchids feel right at home. They get just the right amount of water, are usually well-protected from gusts of wind and rain. But not all orchids are epiphytes. Some, like the jewel orchid, grow on the ground.

Typical of orchids are their six petals, with one enlarged into a platform. This gives them their characteristic symmetrical shape with five petals. Insects, attracted by specific shapes, colours, or scents, land on that platform. Hopefully, they carry some pollen with them and deposit it on the pistil of another orchid. But even then, success is not guaranteed. The wind must carry the seeds to an environment where a certain type of fungus is present; otherwise, they won’t germinate. A familiar story, but one that never ceases to fascinate.

 

Ginger flower

Less well-known is the story of why bananas are curved – a weighty problem that regularly disturbs our sleep. A banana plant with a beautiful flower helps us lift a tip of this veil. To begin with, this tree is not a tree, and this flower is not a flower. It is a plant with a pseudostem made up of overlapping leaf sheaths, topped with a pseudoflower that grows upwards.

To begin with, this tree is not a tree, and this flower is not a flower

If we were to peel away the outer layer of that pseudoflower, we would see the tiny fruit beginnings of the true flowers of the banana. Each of these fruit beginnings grows into a banana, initially very small. Under the second layer, more fruit beginnings grow. As the bananas fill out, the branch begins to sag under all that weight. But bananas love the sun and its rays, so they turn upwards – hence their curved appearance.

 

Large niltava

Carnivorous plants, the mere thought of them might give one visions. Human limbs just barely sticking out of a malicious piece of cellulose are populating many a comic strip. But in practice, it turns out to be not so bad. After all, the small pitchers with which these plants manage to capture insects and spiders are quite tiny.

Human limbs just barely sticking out of a malicious piece of cellulose are populating many a comic strip

Carnivorous plant

These pitchers have formed from the main vein of a leaf. Attracted by the scent the plant emits, insects are lured to land on the rim of the pitcher. If they venture onto the slick inner wall, they inevitably slide down into the water at the bottom of the pitcher. Much to the delight of the small worms waiting there for their next meal.

Only when these worms excrete do the minerals that the carnivorous plant needs become available, closing the nutrient cycle

Only when these worms excrete do the minerals that the carnivorous plant needs become available, closing the nutrient cycle. A lid above the pitcher ensures that just the right amount of water is maintained – not too little, but certainly not too much, which is important since a rainforest can experience quite a bit of rainfall.

 

Crozier or bishop's staff of an emerging fern

Dragonfly

There are twice as many orchid species as there are bird species. However, this diversity doesn't prevent some orchids from being incredibly expensive. The paphiopedilum rothschildianum, known as Rothschild's slipper orchid, is a prime example. On the black market, this orchid could fetch as much as five thousand dollars, making it reportedly the most expensive orchid in the world.

Making it reportedly the most expensive orchid in the world

Rothschild's slipper orchid, Sumazau orchid or paphiopedilum rothschildianum

Admittedly, it is a stunning piece of nature, with its chic striped pattern of burgundy and silk yellow. But what truly sets it apart are the two long petals that it stretches out horizontally. For this reason, it is sometimes called the Sumazau orchid, after a popular traditional dance in Sabah, where the dancer makes wave-like movements with arms stretched out sideways.

But it takes more than just a beautiful appearance for people to pay more for an ounce of this orchid than for an ounce of gold. You can find this slipper orchid only on the slopes of Mount Kinabalu, specifically at an altitude between 500 and 1,200 meters. Moreover, it takes fifteen years for it to bloom, and… the trade in this orchid is illegal.

 

Moulted cicada shell

Fern stems sometimes end in a spiral curl, resembling a bishop's staff. That’s why they’re called a crozier. This is an unfolding leaf, soon to become a new green frond.

With their sturdy stems, they can reach up to sixty centimetres high – not bad at all for a moss

Giant moss (Dawsonia longifolia)

Strange twigs with green pine needles seem to grow on the forest floor. But it's an illusion. These aren't twigs; they're a giant moss, specifically Dawsonia longifolia. With their sturdy stems, they can reach up to sixty centimetres high – not bad at all for a moss.

You can only find this green magpie in the montane rainforests of Borneo

Bornean green magpie

High up on a branch, a Bornean green magpie is busily working on a tough piece of food. You can only find this green magpie in the montane rainforests of Borneo. It's a formidable predator, this brazen bird isn’t shy about snatching chicks from other nests to feed its own young.

 

Stick insect

We head down to the Balsam Buffet Restaurant, just below the park headquarters. A buffet lunch is prepared there. Apparently, quite a bit is fried, but it tastes good. A few Dutch expats are also lining up. They work in the oil industry in Brunei.

 

Orchid as epiphyte

Fungi

A little after two, we continue our journey to Kota Kinabalu. Like Kundasang, Nabalu also likes to showcase its covered market. There’s an abundance of temperate vegetables, supplemented with the obligatory tourist trinkets. It's more of the same, it seems. However, the market attracts an unusually small number of visitors – there are about ten times as many stalls as there are customers.

Near Tamparuli, we roll into the coastal plain and leave the mountains behind us for good. A little before half-past four, we complete the circle – we once again settle in Kota Kinabalu, the capital of Sabah.

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Jaak Palmans
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