Amy Watkins encounters tempestuous storms, tropical forests and finally, the elusive ‘man of the jungle’ on an expedition voyage along the coast of Sabah

Seafood supper under the stars had been cancelled, but thanks to Borneo’s torrential tropical rain we could barely hear the announcement. Soggy barbecues were not our priority at that point, as we could hardly see our expedition ship as we bobbed in the dinghy while lightning ripped across the heavens. Crackles and rumbles from the angry sky sent a shiver through us as we waited to return to on board after an excursion into the Klias Wetlands. We’d signed up for an adventurous nine-day expedition cruise around Sabah, with Australian-owned Orion Expeditions, but storm-chasing was a new addition to the itinerary.

You have to expect the unexpected when you’re travelling to remote areas and it’s essential to pack an adventurous spirit along with your sunglasses and camera. Borneo is divided into the northern Malaysian states of Sarawak and Sabah, where our ship sailed from the city of Kota Kinabalu; the independent sultan state of Brunei; and the southern Indonesian part of the island. Borneo is most famous for its gentle, endemic orangutans, but it’s also home to a diverse range of wildlife from comical-looking proboscis monkeys, to the colourful hornbill birds and gigantic monitor lizards.
When we arrived, the air was ripe with the tang of sun-drying fish and at the local market, elderly men furiously clacked away on vintage Singer sewing machines with a cigarette clamped between their lips.

ANIMAL ENCOUNTERS

Our first encounter with the local animals was on our first excursion to the Klias Wetlands. Orion’s inflatable zodiacs ferried us to a jetty, where a bumpy bus ride took us deep into the mangrove rainforest to catch a small speedboat into the heart of the wetlands for some primate-spotting. Proboscis monkeys are not as famous as orangutans, but they are as endangered and after spotting the males – with their big bellies and droopy red noses – as they gathered their harem of females, it was hard not to fall in love with them.

It was heartening to see so many monkeys along the mangrove-entwined banks of the river, calling to each other and hurling themselves through the mango and hibiscus trees. Closer to the river’s edge, we saw huge monitor lizards sunning themselves on branches and high above, red-beaked hornbills glided over our heads. All these sightings made the subsequent storm-chase back to the ship more than worthwhile – especially when, dripping wet, we were welcomed back on board with a vodka cocktail to calm our nerves.

There was no need for nail-biting zodiac rides at our next port when we docked at Labuan Island, a federal territory that takes its name from the Malay word for anchorage. Most of Orion’s passengers are Australian, so they were more familiar than us with the WW2 history of this island off the coast of Sabah. Labuan was ceded to Britain in 1846 from Brunei, before being occupied by the Japanese during the war and then liberated by the Australians on September 9, 1945. It was a poignant tour for many of the Australians as we visited the Commonwealth war graves and wandered amongst the bird of paradise flowers in the Japanese peace park.

Borneo’s history is a fascinating one and back on the main island of Borneo we travelled from the town of Kudat to meet the indigenous Rungus people. They live in communal ‘longhouses’ in northern Borneo and we saw a reconstructed one made of palm leaves and bamboo stalks at Bavanggazo and in contrast, visited a modern one in Tinagol made of MDF and iron.

Local people were also on hand to welcome us at the idyllic tropical island of Pulau Mantanani. Traditional dancing, which involved jumping over moving bamboo stalks and blowing darts, took place in a small sandy clearing near the white beach. Children took us along a pebbly path to their village, where Orion provides supplies to the school, and villagers watched over smoking barbecues laden with squirrel fish as we met students from the school. The heat and humidity were intense, so a snorkel safari out to a nearby lagoon to spot purple anemone was a welcome relief – as was the barbecue and beach bar. We were treated to another island stop later on in the voyage at the tiny jungle-covered Pulau Lankayan, where the ‘house reef’ that surrounds it is home to rainbow-coloured parrot fish, blue starfish and even a baby black-tipped shark.

It was time to return to spotting our land-dwelling wildlife and the city of Sandakan, site of a famous POW camp during WW2, was our base for several days as we headed out into the heart of the jungle. Near Sandakan is Labuk Bay, a proboscis monkey reserve on a huge palm plantation. It’s a sad fact that much of Borneo’s rainforest has been cleared to make way for these plantations, which create palm oi for use in Western food and cosmetics. At Labuk Bay we saw our old friends the proboscis monkeys, double-beaked hornbills and macaques who were trying to steal food from the feeding platforms.

One of the highlights for many passengers was a visit to the Sepilok Orang Utan Rehabilitation Centre to observe the orangutans at the feeding stations. Set up in 1964, the largest orangutan rehab centre in the world works with orphaned orangutans (the name comes from the Malay, ‘man of the forest’) to teach them how to feed, climb and play before releasing them into the wild. It was a privilege to watch them as they ate their lunch and the visit heightened our anticipation for an overnight adventure down the Kinabatangan River.

SOUNDS OF THE JUNGLE

A speedboat took us several hours inland up the cocoa-coloured river, where jungle-clad banks were home to white egrets and plenty of proboscis monkeys straddling the branches. We refueled at a riverside restaurant, with a lunch prepared by local villagers, and sped on to our overnight lodge.

Before bed an evening cruise rewarded us with more monkeys and monitor lizards, as well as a saltwater crocodile the length of our little boat, majestic crested serpent eagles and electric blue kingfishers. We went to sleep with the sounds of the jungle drifting in through the slatted shutters; hoots, calls and the gentle patter of rain.

In exchange for an early start the following day we were rewarded with fantastic wildlife spotting. First a gibbon attracted our attention, then a big group of hornbills added a splash of colour to the trees, while datar birds and brahminy kites flew over lakes clogged with purple water hyacinths. But we were all holding our breath for an orangutan sighting.

We’d seen some orangutan nests the night before, but no movement, so when our guide pointed out a distinctive orange arm hanging from a tree we were all ecstatic and two more sightings of the gentle giants filled our hearts, and our memory cards, with joy. There had been plenty of exciting adventures along the way, but this is what we’d all really wanted to see here. Borneo’s wildlife, alive and kicking, in the heart of the jungle.

Sue Bryant discovers a slice of heaven in India’s tropical deep south

We arrived in Kerala on one of those bleary-eyed night flights, the kind when you’re so tired you no longer know or care what day it is, bumping off the airport highway onto endless dirt roads, the silhouettes of coconut palms shadows in the moonlight. We stole into Purity, our lakeside villa, in the darkness, like thieves, greeted by a sleepy night watchman.

I woke to bright sunlight streaming through the window and stood on my balcony blinking at the brilliant colours of rural India: scarlet flame trees, red and yellow hibiscus, pinky-white frangipani. At the end of the villa’s garden, the vast expanse of Lake Vembanad, India’s longest lake, shimmered metallic grey in the morning heat. Fishermen in loincloths, nets heaped high on their dugouts, were returning with the morning’s catch. Great rafts of purple water hyacinth formed islands on the lake. Kerala dubs itself ‘God’s own country’ – and I could see why.

Shaking off the journey and the stress of London life was no trouble in this exquisite spot. We flopped around in the infinity pool and dozed in the shade. I had an ayurvedic massage which I can only describe as extreme; no whale music and Western spa modesty here. I slithered out, dazed and still drenched in oil, a bindi on my forehead and curry powder in my hair.

Later that evening, we toasted the sunset with an excellent Indian rosé while some of our fellow guests went out with a fisherman in his dugout to admire the Chinese fishing nets, complex wooden structures characteristic of this area, cantilevered over the water’s edge.

Malabar Escapes, which owns Purity, has several villa hotels in Kerala, designed to visit in a circuit with maximum contrast and minimum time on the road. We headed away from the coast, driving through densely vegetated countryside, the air like a warm bath. The roadsides were lined with traders; stalls selling heaps of watermelons, great bunches of bananas and chickens in cages.

jasmine in the air

Serenity is a grand old plantation house situated on top of a hill overlooking a dense rubber plantation, set in pretty gardens filled with exotic bushes, the scent of jasmine in the air and a small, green swimming pool looking out towards the distant hills. We went on a plantation walk to learn about how the rubber is tapped; it’s laborious work, collecting the sticky, white liquid every day. A visit to a local house was an education; I realised that Keralan gardens, while appearing random and messy, actually feed the whole family. Every plant has a use: coffee, cinnamon, nutmeg, mango, papaya, pineapple, coconut, banana and allspice. Dinner that night embraced plenty of the local produce; curries of fish, tomato and coconut, followed by platters of delicious fruit, all washed down with another highly respectable Indian wine.

There was great excitement the following day when Lakshimi, a 42-year-old elephant, arrived at Serenity with her mahout. She’d been ‘hired’ for the day by a family we met as a gift to their three boys, who would learn to wash Lakshimi, walk her and ride on her, a break from her day job of hauling logs. She gazed at us serenely from under long eyelashes as we ran around, snapping away like paparazzi.

Our last night ashore was spent at The Malabar House, the hippest address in Fort Kochi, the crumbling old colonial part of Cochin. A little oasis in turquoise and coral, dotted with statues, silk wall hangings, erotic art and koi ponds, Malabar House is blissfully romantic, although shopping aside, I wouldn’t rush back to scruffy Fort Kochi. I was anxious to get out on the lake and the next stage of our journey was by boat.

Lake Vembanad is part of India’s largest wetland system, fed by the monsoon rains cascading down from the hills and kept fresh by a long, saltwater barrier regulating the amount of seawater that gets in. There are hundreds of houseboats mooching around the sleepy backwaters here, although we sailed in splendid style, on the Oberoi MV Vrinda, a beautiful boat carrying 16 guests and belonging to India’s poshest hotel chain, Oberoi Hotels.

Vrinda is a distinct contrast from the chaos on the quayside of cars, motorbikes, wandering cows and salesmen touting peacock feather fans and carved coconut shells; more a world of ice-cold hand towels and freshly squeezed pineapple juice. The captain cast the ship’s lines and we chugged out onto the lake, the horizon fading into a white sky in the heat of the afternoon. Cormorants perched on the hyacinth islands and eagles wheeled overhead. Chanting from a distant Hindu temple echoed across the water. Gin-and-tonic hour came and went swiftly before mosquitoes drove us indoors, but I wasn’t complaining; the food, all magnificent Keralan specialities, was delicious, rich with coconut and spice. One day, we were served an 18-course wedding banquet presented on banana leaves – and that was just for lunch.

Our fellow guests were a mixed bag: a young Austrian couple, two British retirees who were chilling on the lake after a strenuous tour of Rajasthan, and a group of very elegant Belgian women who were touring India by private jet. Their husbands, we learned, were in diamonds.

a flash of turquoise

Every day, we’d leave our mother ship (which is too tall to fit under the low-hanging power lines that cross the canals) and head into the backwaters on a rice barge. Under the tutelage of the charmingly formal Mr Joyce, our guide, we visited an eclectic range of sights, not least a third-generation wood carver, who produces Virgin Marys and life-sized crucifixion scenes, painted in lurid colours and with an order book extending worldwide.

We stopped at a ‘secret’ boatyard where a crew of workers was building a snake boat. These 130ft vessels are made of solid jackwood and rowed by a crew of 100 in inter-village races in August, which is a huge event. This particular boat was costing 2.2m rupees (£22,250) to build. As a mark of respect for the tradition it represents, a sign read: “No shoes in the yard, no photos, no smoking and no swearing”.

The canals themselves are still and tranquil, the only movement a flash of turquoise as a kingfisher dives for its catch, or the occasional blur of burnt orange or shocking pink as sari-clad women thrash washing against the rocks. The reality, though, is a setting of constant industry, some of it tough. Untouchables in loincloths dive down into the muddy water and forage for clams in the silt. The clams are eaten and the shells ground up to make cement. The rice paddies are harvested by hand and mallards from the many duck farms are brought in to peck at the seeds left over and fertilise the soil, before they’re carted off to market.

Money sent home from the grim construction sites of the Gulf has allowed Keralan families to build grand, marble-lined mansions along the canals. Soon, Mr Joyce told us, the rice paddies will be harvested by machine, which is just as well, as young people now aspire to get out of India and earn a tax-free income in Qatar or Abu Dhabi, and there won’t be anybody left to do the manual jobs. It’s sad, the way families are torn apart in the name of progress, but even in God’s own country, paradise has its price.