Jungles

I've walked through Jungles before.

In Peru I followed the enthusiastic Luis through jungles looking for monkeys, macaws, wild pigs and caiman. We had to wear wellies as the jungle floor was flooded in several places, but Luis, armed with a machete and binoculars, took specific care to tell me about everything, show me everything I might find interesting and also try to improve my Spanish (limited success).

In Malaysia it's a bit different. The guides walk us silently an hour and a half into the highland jungle where we encounter one bug, a little waterfall and some (very) big spiders that I have to point out to the rest of the group.

After viewing around four dead and alive giant raflessias (also elegantly named the 'corpse flower' or 'meat flower') our guide sits on a log, lights up a fag and asks "you have any questions about the Raflessia?". Somehow I get the feeling that he's not really bothered.

It might be different in Temana Negara, by far the biggest ecological park on the peninsular, but here I'd say they haven't quite got the whole eco-tourism thing down yet. Part of the point of it is education, but I get the feeling that in Cameron it's less about education and more about making a quick buck.

On Sunday after lounging about with an iced chocolate malt in one of the Tana Rata cafes, I decide to go for a walk through town to see if there's anything else. Tana Rata is tiny, I reach the town limit in half a mile and after exploring what I thought was a tiny tea garden I realise I'm walking one of the several surrounding jungle tracks.

Now, I know this is a bad idea. For a start I'm dressed in a silly summer dress and carrying a plastic handbag with a picture of Disney's Stitch on it. I've bought myself some watermelon, and am now walking into a forest stuffed with insects holding a bag of fruit salad. I have no first aid kid, no way of calling for help and no map, but once I've walked a fair distance I keep going a bit further, and decide I've come too far to head back. I get a bit nervous when a local man shows up behind me hunting with a blowpipe. It's a modern-looking plastic one, and I wonder how long it will be before I'm stuck with it and crash to the floor like a wounded hippo.

Luckily, I bump into an Irish couple and band up with them. Thank God, because the ensuing path is vague and overgrown. It often has a thin path with a steep drop over one side, and only insect-filled vegetation to break your fall. It also starts to rain. Lots. My dress and hair plaster to my body, and I quickly reach saturation point, with only a brief respite from the rain from random banana trees close to the path. Eventually, after about 3 hours of wrong turns, puddles and hurdle logs, we find the path back.

The lesson? Never enter a jungle without a raincoat. Don't do it by yourself. Don't take a bag of fresh fruit with you.

Befriend Irish people; they are lovely.