Travel Bug: Story #2 -- Malaysia

To continue on with my travel stories, one in particular comes to mind now that we've hit the summer holidays. You see, last summer I decided to venture to Thailand to work at an orphanage for kids with special needs. After a month of exhausting work, a dear friend of mine invited me to visit him and his family in Malaysia. The deal was that if I would pay for my flights, he would cover everything else. What a deal right?

And so I went, and the deal was no word of a lie! He had planned out the entire week for us -- even got angry when I offered to pay for an ice cream or pop here and there. We had a fantastic time, I met his family, his friends and really got to see Malaysia as I wanted - no touristy garbage, just first hand Malaysian style travel.

One of the excursions that my buddy lined up for us was to go to this island called Langkawi. It was beautiful -- we stayed in little villas, enjoyed some extremely spicy food and hiked, swam and boated like it was nobody's business.

On our last day on Langkawi, the group of us (my friend and his friends) all decided to go to the beach at sunset. I, looking for adventure as always, then thought it would be a great idea to go parasailing! For those of you thinking "So what? People go parasailing all the time!", you really have no idea what MALAYSIAN parasailing is like.You see, as I said before, I was experiencing Malaysian travel just as a Malaysian person would. Therefore, the beach we were at was not touristy, nor did it offer the comforts of a classy resort with certified equipment or bilingual staff.

So there I was, standing on the beach with my buddy as he bartered with the guy to get a better price for the activity. As it turns out, they were both born in the same tiny mountain town and so, being "brothers" we got a fantastic $30 for 20 minutes each!

My friend was a little nervous about parasailing (I should have listened to him) and so made me go first. We walked out to the beach and each got strapped into what looked to me like fraying seat-belts. I stood there, happily being groped by random men as they put my "harness" on, and tried to understand the instructions on how to parasail from a man with very little knowledge of the English language.

I was to run (yes RUN) down the beach in the harness, pulling the parachute behind me until the slack between me and the metal dingy boat that was to be pulling me disappeared. I would then be hoisted into the air and pulled along the shore, over the water and off into the sunset. After my time in the air was going to be drawing to a close, I would "hear a whistle" and see this small, Malaysian, purple-shirted man waving his arms above his head. After I saw this, I was to pull on the right side of my parachute. Once I saw this same little man waving his arms below his knees, I was to let go of the parachute and drift softly down to the earth where he and his co-workers would catch me.

It sounded easy enough to me and after going over it about 30 more times with the man, I was on my way down the beach, awkwardly running like some sort of Forrest Gump equivalent, strapped onto a parachute and into a sketchy harness, waiting to be hoisted into the air.

Off I went, sailing through the sky, looking out over a calm sea at sunset. The colours in the sky were insane and the beauty of where I was - at what seemed to be the top of the world - was overwhelming. As the boat turned and began to go back the way we came, I stopped looking at the sunset and the ocean, and focused on the beach below. Much to my surprise, when you're at such an altitude, people on the beach look more like ant colonies than actual human beings.

So there I was, looking down, trying to spot the small Malaysian man in a purple shirt amongst a sea of ants and suddenly found myself getting a strange sinking sensation deep within my soul. As I tried desperately to search for my little man in the crowds, what do I hear but a whistle blast - just the cue I was waiting for to begin my decent onto the beach. At that moment, I grabbed onto the right side of my parachute and began to pull. Looking down at the beach I began to see many people waving their hands over their heads. I thought to myself "WOW, I am actually doing great!" ... that would later prove to be the dumbest thought I had ever had.

After keeping my focus on the people on the ground for so long, (what was really maybe 10 seconds) I looked up to see that I was no longer over water.. and was in fact heading quickly towards a very rocky cliff. Realizing this, I let go of my parachute and was instantly whipped in the opposite direction where I saw - looking down again - that my boat driver had stopped driving the boat and was also waving his hands above his head.

Then it happened. I looked up. What I saw was my parachute folding in on itself and what I felt, was a sudden rush of wind and as I began to plummet to the ground. Scrounging to make it alright, I tugged on my parachute here and there as I free-fell from what was now about 3.5 stories in the air. I decided at that moment that I did NOT want to break my left leg again (as I had just recently gotten out of a cast) and so angled my body in such a way that my whole right side would take the impact of the fall, instead of my left.

As I crashed to the ground, what seemed to be hundreds of people came running toward me screaming in Malay (the language of Malaysia). I was numb and in incredibly shock that I had just plummeted from the sky. One man yelled at me in English "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?? YOU COULD HAVE DIED!!" as I tried to untangle myself from the mess of the parachute and cords.

I ended up with a sprained ankle, a twisted knee, a sprained wrist, a mild concussion, a toe-nail completely ripped off, and bruises up and down the right side of my body.

I could have died that day. I'm very aware of that. It certainly has made me think twice before trying to experience things that perhaps are maybe not as safe as they should be. None the less, I did get a fantastic story from the fall... even if it did result in some pain meds, bandages and a seriously bruised ego.

Travel Bug: Story #1 -- Honduras

So I was talking to a friend of mine about a week ago and the topic of travel arose in our conversation. She was telling me about her upcoming summer and was looking for some advice. All that I could think to say was "Be safe". She laughed and asked of all the things I could say, why would I say "be safe"? Normally I would think up some responsible response encouraging safety to her by saying that the best way to travel is to ensure that you're alive and well to tell your stories when you get home. However, what I then realized was that some of my absolute best experiences and stories have come from when I was fearing death, facing death, or simply in a position that could have resulted in me not being able to come back alive and well to tell a story.

Needless to say... it's story time :-)

I'll begin this (hopefully) chain of travel posts with the story that sparked the aforementioned conversation. It happened in La Mosquitia, Honduras in March of 2006. I was in my final year of highschool and was partaking in a service project, building a dormitory and volleyball court for a boys orphanage/school run by a nun named Sister Maria Rosa. I had gone with Friends of Honduran Children - http://www.friendsofhonduranchildren.com/ - and after just under a month working a 1/2 hour outside of Tegucigalpa (the capital), myself and the other 15 volunteers departed for what we thought would be a fun, safe, educational adventure in the rainforest.

It started off interestingly with the plane ride to La Mosquitia We took a short regular plane ride to La Ceiba (one of the most popular cities in Honduras) and from there, we boarded a 16-seater plane - including the pilot's seat - to La Mosquitia. Everything about this plane was questionable from the frayed seatbelts to the cracked window to the Russian instructions written throughout the cabin. We later found out the plane was used during the Cold War and had been left in Honduras by the Russians... go figure. ANYWAY, so we took off into the sky in this tiny little aircraft and flew just under the clouds for about an hour. As we were getting ready to land, the group of us kept checking out the windows in search of an airport... we then landed on a strip of dirt no longer than a football field and the airport itself was about 6 wooden posts in the ground with a straw-thatched roof. We unloaded and looked around the dirt patch and made our way to the back of a pick up truck which we were told would take us to our guide. We ended up spending the night in a cute little hotel in a little shanty town where everything was on stilts. All night we could hear men fighting and women hollering at the pub next door and after a little bit of shut-eye, we awoke excited for the adventure ahead.

We walked across the street to the docks where we expected to see a couple of motor boats waiting for us. Instead, we found hollowed-out trees with little motors on the end with an old man at the motor and a young boy standing at the bow of the tree-boat. As we skeptically climbed into our trees, we were told not to worry, we'd be well taken care of and would be at our destination before dark.

So we took off in a little convoy of tree-boats down a peaceful lagoon. Soon the lagoon turned into a river and the river then turned into a large open expanse of water with fairly rough waves. Holding on for dear life to the hollowed tree, afraid of boats and open water, my group and I finally made it to the other side. We assumed our journey was ending here as it was already about 2:30pm and we had been travelling for quite a few hours. Were we ever wrong.

After coming out of the open water, we entered yet another lagoon. This one was unlike the first in that it was incredibly shallow... this meant that our tree-boat - loaded down with passengers, dry-sacks, backpacks and food barrels - would often drag on the muddy bottom and get stuck. It was at these times (which were more often than one might think) that we all would have to hop out of our tree-boats into the murky waters and drag the boat along until we got to a little deeper space. We'd then heave our wet, muddy selves back into the boat, peel off the leaches and slime and continue the journey. By 5pm we had reached the end of the lagoon, only to hear that we had still quite a ways to go on the river ahead.

At first it was really neat. We were passing homes on stilts with thatched roofs and were weaving through mazes of up-rooted trees that had been scattered throughout the river after a terrible hurricane and wrestled with the area a few years before. We motored alongside water-snakes, saw toucans sitting in the branches of the trees along the river, heard monkeys howling, saw native families bathing and playing in the river... it was one of the most peaceful, inspiring, beautiful things I have ever seen in my life and what made it all the more beautiful was the rich Honduran sunset that kissed every inch of the area. And, as the sun continued to make its way behind the trees, we volunteers breathed a sigh of relief knowing that we would be reaching our camp any minute, as the guide had told us we would be there by sundown.

As the last ray of sun dropped behind the trees and night began to fall, we asked our guide if camp was in sight. To this he replied shakily, in broken English "Umm not exactly". He refused to say anything more and as the stars came out and the darkness kept everything from view, myself and my fellow volunteers began to get a little nervous. With our 70 year old tree-boat driver and our 10 year old bow-man, we found it difficult to keep trusting them... especially when they asked if anyone had a flashlight so they could see where they were going.

We spent the next hour in pitch darkness, motoring down a river with only a head-lamp showing the way. We then hit, what would be the most terrifying part of the trip.... RAPIDS. I'm not talking little ripples in the water, I'm talking legitimate rapids, sloshing our tree-boat about like a toothpick. Unfortunately for my group, our toothpick was sloshed into a rock hold that, no matter how hard our driver tried, we could not maneuver out from. It was then that we were told to get out of the boat.... let's recap here shall we? Pitch black darkness. Rapids. Snake and crocodile infested waters. 5 volunteers. Pure terror.

So we got out of the boat and tried desperately to yank the boat out of the crevasse, all the while trying to stay afloat, alive and calm. Our 10 year old bow-man had joined us in the water and with the 6 of us heaving and hawing, the boat finally got loose and was able to push forward through the rapids. The 5 of us volunteers, exhausted, cold and terrified clamoured back into the boat, only to realize that our 10 year old bow-man was missing. We scoured the water with our headlamp in hopes of seeing him, but nothing was happening. Finally, we heard a splash come from another boat and, hearing the screams of our fellow volunteers, we learned that the guide had jumped into the rapids to save the boy. As we all sat silent, listening to the pounding of the water through the rocks and against the boats, we feared that we had not only lost a small boy, but also our guide who was supposed to be keeping us safe. After what felt like 10 minutes (but was probably only 2), we hear a large bellow followed by fits of sputtering. Our guide had found and saved our boy and as soon as he had done so, the 10 year old - with only a wipe of his face - was back at work navigating our boat through the rapids and down the river, much to our astonishment.

We arrived at the camp base at 11:30pm, exhausted, wet, unnerved and incredibly thankful that we had survived such an epic boat ride. And, although it was in my top 10 list of most horrifying experiences, it also makes my top 10 list of insane travel stories, which have really impacted my entire life and have left me craving adventure. So, to my dear friend who asked for advice when travelling... screw being safe. Make it a goal to stay alive, but try everything, fear nothing and love every minute of every experience no matter how crazy it may seem at the time.