Taman Negara, all of it.

The Cameron Highlands were fun, but like always, it was time to move on. The bus to our next destination waited outside of our hostel for us to file into. Along the way we met a group of older folks from Maine. One gentleman was quite a bit older than the others and he regaled us with stories of his time working on Yokota Air Base in Tokyo during the Cuban missile crisis and JFK's assassination. They were off to the Perhentian Islands while we were destined for Taman Negara, so our cadres separated off into their own cardinal directions.

Taman Negara is a pretty important attraction in Malaysia, and one we did not have any intention of passing up. It is one of the oldest jungles in the world and is home to a baffling number of different species of wildlife. The Cameron Highlands seemed to whet Adam's appetite for trekking, so it was shaping up to be a pretty formidable experience.

Kuala Tahan is the main town inside the park, and it caters to all of the tourist needs. It hangs on both sides of a river, built up on steep cliffs, almost as if the river eroded the ground and uncovered a town in the process. Restaurants crowd the riverbank on one side while the other houses the entrance to the national park proper. On one side of the river, the side with all of the restaurants and hotels, they are not allowed to sell alcohol. To solve this problem, a small sand embankment a few meters offshore had several tables and chairs set up next to a cooler full of beer. A clever loophole to placate the tourists.

We arrived in the park late, like we do for most of our destinations. I'm not sure if it was something I ate or the winding jungle railway, but the first thing I wanted to do was ralph then sleep. So I did and passively left all of the planning to Adam. The next morning my stomach decided to cooperate and we set out early for a lengthy, if somewhat superficial, walk through the jungle. We paid a ferryman one ringet for passage across the river and set off down a trail. The trail was lined with information placards and was well marked, at times rewarding us with man-made stairs, walkways and bridges. The main attraction was a 500 meter canopy walkway, the longest in the world apparently. Women sold water along the way, and a man charged an entry fee complete with a paper ticket stub.

The trail then took us to the highest peak in the park. Upon our descent, we crossed paths with one of the longest millipedes I had ever seen. Adam took a video of me playing with it, and then, while reviewing the video, accidentally stepped on it. The night before he was forced to put a giant beetle out of its misery because its wings were broken. "Two of the biggest bugs I have seen on this trip so far," he said, "and I killed them both." The trail wound further down to a swimming spot along the river. Adam dove right in while I sat and swatted flies.

After the hike, I was mired with exhaustion. In one of the many coincidences on the road, we bumped into Allie, a girl we had met on Gili Trawangan. She had taken her own magic path over the last couple of weeks and ended up at the exact same hostel as us in Taman Negara. Backpackers are like a large community, maybe a couple thousand strong, all stretched out along a very well-defined line. Sometimes the line intersects with itself and you bump into someone you know, just like you bump into a former coworker at the grocery store. She was doing well, and even managed to pick up a few friends along the way. We would no doubt run into more people in the future. In fact, as I write this, we already have.

At dinner, I had what was probably the longest one-on-one conversation I had had with anyone besides Adam since the trip started. He was a 40-year old musician from Australia, but his name escapes me. His hairline was well receded, but his face was beaming with interest and intent. He had spent his entire adult life making ends meet through his music. He had no wife or kids, only bands he would join and tour with to put food on his table. He was a happy man, but he had grown tired of his anything-but-mundane life in Australia and decided to tour Southeast Asia for inspiration. He seemed in awe of my also somewhat transient life and we swapped anecdotes. He particularly enjoyed the exploits of my band back in Ottawa. I bumped into him again two days later. He had written two songs and was on his way into the jungle to record the sound of the cicadas at dusk. Something tells me that one day I will be married with kids and gainfully employed while this man will still be off recording cicadas in the jungle, still eking out a living while pursuing his passions, and still as happy as the day I met him.

The next day would be a test of what I was made of. Adam organized a stay in an animal hide 12km into the jungle. I was on the fence as to whether or not I should join him, but every damn time I don't, SOMETHING cool happens to him, so I hopped on board. Early in the morning we set off down the trail, walking briskly to make good distance while the heat was still bearable. The information placards eventually stopped. Then the stairs. Then the bridges. In fact, the entire trail damn near ended a few times until we backtracked and found a fork we missed. Water breaks became more and more frequent. About five hours in, I was ready to give up, but Adam assured me that the end was in sight. We crossed a river and eventually came across our hide, standing stoically amongst the foliage, completely empty. I let out a sigh of relief. The heat of the midday sun was at its zenith and I don't think there was a single part of my body that wasn't drenched in sweat.

I stormed into the hide like I owned it. There were twelve empty bunks and numerous remnants of previous tenants. Unfortunately, some of those remnants (read: garbage) attracted a swath of bees. Still feeling like I owned the hide, I felt it was my duty to drive out these invaders. I began swatting bees to the ground and stomping them. Sounds pretty hardass, but in reality, it was probably the saddest, most ungraceful sight Adam had ever seen. At one point, one of my girlish swipes knocked my own glasses from my face. Soon after, I stepped barefoot on the stinger of a felled bee, its posthumous revenge exacted. As I did this, more and more bees kept coming. What started as a few buzzes here and there escalated into a full synchronized drone of upwards of about a hundred bees. We had to get the hell out of there. We each grabbed our clothes we had hung to dry, covered in bees by that point, and made our way back to the river. On our way we passed two people headed for the hide. I was half-dressed and clutching my clothes. "The hide is full of bees!" I yelled.

After a lunch by the river, followed by a swim, we headed back to the hive, er... hide to scope out the scene. There were a lot less bees. One of the men who'd arrived was a Malaysian guide and I suspect he played a role in driving them out. The other man was a German nature enthusiast, hoping to catch a glimpse of some animals overnight. Another man arrived as I napped. A Frenchman. He too came for the chance of seeing some animals.

Four of us stared agog out of the window of the hide while the Malaysian man cooked dinner for the German. He managed to cook up a kingly feast. Well, kingly compared to the canned beans and tuna Adam and I had brought. Afterwards, he dutifully washed up and retreated to his bunk. The four of us continued to watch. Nothing. As night fell, we each gradually trickled back to our bunks. I was first. By then, I couldn't see anything anyways. I could only sit and listen to the chaotic sounds of the jungle at night. They could have been power tools or car alarms or Tripods from War of the Worlds, but they were creatures making these insane sounds. Between them and the rock hard bunks, I thought I'd never sleep, but I did eventually.

It was 7am and the bees were coming back. Adam and I packed ands got the hell out, bidding goodbye to our companions. I had definitely gained my trail legs because the walk back was not NEARLY as bad as the walk there. Overnight a strong wind must have blown a rather large and leafy tree onto the trail so at one point, we had to spacewalk over its felled carcass. When we got back to Kuala Tahan, it was pure indulgence. Milkshakes and fatty food and relaxation and Internet. We saw no animals during our time in the hide (aside from a lifetime's worth of bees), but our spirits were jubilant. We crossed the wooden plank over to the sand embankment and had a beer; our first since arriving in Taman Negara.

The next morning we packed up to leave. We had spent four night there in total and I could hear my calf muscles let out a sigh of relief as our bus pulled out.

Some big trees they had.

Jungle canopy walk.

The beehive we slept in.

Animal voyeurism.