The Bus and Other Things You Sit On

We reached Kota Kinabalu (locally known as KK), after five hours on the bus of undetermined ownership. Lots of bus travel in this part of the world - small vans, school busses, big “motorcoaches”, etc. – but they are all identified and labeled according to where they go instead of who they belong to. Instead of company name emblazoned on the side, you’ll see a list of three destinations that that particular bus probably services for the rest of its life.

The motorcoach that we traveled on offered a number of delights not obtainable on Greyhound:

- Beauteous blue satin curtains with fringes that add a certain Victorian je ne sais quoi to crawling through the Malaysian countryside at 20 mph.
- The chance to develop an iron bladder. We were happy we hadn’t been thirsty that morning. During our hours-long, bumpy journey, not once did we stop at a bathroom. Nor did anybody ask to get off or express discomfort.
- Pretending you are a car. When we crossed into the state of Sabah (which apparently doesn’t care that we officially entered Malaysia elsewhere; perhaps it has country aspirations), everybody had to get off the bus and stand in line for passport stamps and awkward questions about customs – in the line of cars. It’s great the vehicular traffic was heavy that day and they had to slow way down before the checkpoint! Imagine if, as you traveled I-95 on a bus, the bus pulled to the side of the highway before the toll, then made you get out, wander into traffic, and pay at the window yourself.
- A personal chaperone. Well, if you have to stand in traffic, it’s nice to have someone making sure you get back on the bus! Since we were curiosities at the border (being the only Americans that day), the officers processed us last, and we watched the other passengers board the bus far ahead of us. “Is the bus going to leave?” Laura asked several times. Gee, I hope not, since all our worldly possesions are on board! Everything was fine: once we got back on, the chaperone (who we thought was just an old guy who liked to sit on the floor at the front) did a head count and we were off. Without a bathroom break.
- Fresh food every 10 feet. As mentioned in the last post, food is paramount to successful bus travel, so if you’re in need of an ingredient, just ask the busdriver to stop at a promising stand.
- Personal service. What the bus lacked in punctuality, it more than made up in personal service. We stopped for many people standing beside the road – even, incredibly, those who just chatted a few moments through the open door, then never got on! - as well as making whistle stops for those on board. Decided you’re not going all the way to KK? Get off at this rural crossroads; the chaperone will even carry bags to your front porch!

Nonetheless, we did make it to KK that afternoon. After a tense morning wondering if we’d get anywhere close and how we could possibly avoid going back to the Bandar Seri Begawan (Brunei) Terrace Hotel.

To hearken backward for a moment, the Terrace Hotel was the right price. We didn’t see the giant spiders that some reported on Trip Advisor. The desk staff was helpful and had a good sense of humor (“Can I see the Sultan?” “Ha, ha, ha!!”) But our room smelled funny. What do people actually DO in their hotel rooms that makes them smell so bad? So many “budget” places do, and all with such uniquely awful miasmas. This one smells like someone threw up and the maid poured too much disinfectant on it. That one smells like they prepared a body before you arrived. This suite hosted a sewage sampling convention. If my house doesn’t smell bad, I think my hotel room should remain inoffensive, too, right?? What strange activities do others do in hotel rooms that they don’t do at home? Um, well, besides the obvious, but they must wash the sheets, right? Or did the last guests not throw the linens in the tub, signifying that they need washing?

Getting back on topic, the Terrace hallways were dark and ours contained a stained couch that I remarked on as we got off the elevator one day. “That thing is long past its decorative function and I’m sure nobody ever actually sits on it.” Well, wouldn’t you know it: the next time we get off the elevator, three guys are seated on it, sort of crammed together. And they’re all looking at us defiantly, probably for the innocuous reason that we surprised them by (ding!) arriving at their floor when only 3 rooms total were filled in the entire place. In the unique calculus of travel, not only do people really sit on the item you sneered at, they fit more individuals than you thought possible right after you made the remark!! In fact, those three guys probably were headed to their rooms when the ineluctably attractive couch sidetracked them. “Hey, let’s sit here and talk it over!” Or even “This is the same couch I have at home!”

But all that is behind us now as we head for the Nexus Hotel, having bargained the taxi driver down to half of what he wanted, then springing a surprise McDonald’s visit on him. We hadn’t had anything to eat since the night before, having unwisely spurned victuals that morning when we had the chance because it was too “early.” One thing we’ve learned from this trip: when you see food, eat it. Because you never know when you might see it again.

One more report to edit! I’ll post it in the next couple of days.