Swinging Through the Highlands

Bunkers at Father's Guesthouse
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It turns out the road to the Cameron Highlands is notoriously sickening, winding through jungle covered hills over sharp switchbacks, driven by bus drivers with a tight schedule to keep. At times the road becomes very narrow and the drop-off next to it very steep. When we arrived in Tanah Rata, sort of the capitol city of the Cameron Highlands, we both were a little green.

The first thing we noticed getting off the bus was the weather. It was suddenly cool and temperate, none of the blast furnace humidity of the lowlands. The mild conditions are what drew the British to originally settle the Cameron Highlands, clearing out a mini-England in the hills. They built half timbered cottages on hilltops and stately stone mansions with lush gardens that put the Cotswalds to shame. Their neighbours were the Orang Aslee, the aboriginal Malaysians, who until British arrival had had little to do with the rest of the country.

He said his name was Faizel but we could call him Joe

Boh Tea Plantation
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As the highlands became popular with vacationing Malaysians, developers have unfortunately built hundreds of cheap apartment units in blocks perched in jungle clearings and stained by green and black streaks of moss. There has been an effort to adopt some of the charm of the original English cottages by painting half timbered motifs on the outer walls, but the only effect is to invite further unfavorable comparison with the the originals. In the towns the ham fisted architecture just about ruins the charm of the Cameron Highlands and I was initially unimpressed as we walked through town to find our guesthouse. Fortunately, some of the original charm remains. The Fathers Guesthouse, where we stayed, has a summer camp feel of a sprawling compound set amidst gardens and a little farm. The main building is a remnant of British design, a big stone mansion decorated by concrete ballistrades and vases filled with orchids. Some of the outbuildings are simple, low wooden structures, but the majority of the rooms are in bunker style half tubes of corregated metal giving the impression that one of Her Majesty's regiments may return someday to bunk down for the night. Everywhere flowers bloom and the guesthouse's position at the top of a hill gives it views of the surrounding jungle outside of town. It also has views of some of the unfortunate piles of apartments I've described that dot the landscape.

Boh Tea Plantation
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Against our better judgement we signed up for a full day tour of the local sights. Thankfully our guide was a sharp young South Indian with a good sense of humor and a weathered but dependable Land Rover. We bumped and twisted and swayed through jungle covered hills, rutted mud roads and into spectacular tea plantations. The last part of the day tour took us to an Orang Aslee village where we met the usual band of scruffy, irrepressible children who happily wrestled, destroyed stuff and climbed up beetlenut trees to show off. We also learned the basics of their hunter's blow dart gun, aiming for a crucified flip-flop pinned to the side of a house. It all felt a bit forced. Thankfully the kids were, as usual, excellent ambassadors of their indigenous culture and it is hard to forget their lopsided, mischievious smiles. In the end we decided the tour was almost worth the stiff price, but if it was a dime more expensive it would have been better to explore by ourselves.

Boh Tea Plantation
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Our last day was spent tekking through the jungle, surrounded by the iconic sound of hooting monkeys and the screeches of unseen birds. Deep in the bush we found the real charm of the Cameron Highlands. Vistas opened up occasionally, revealing unspoiled acres of misty jungle valleys or terraced berry farms. We were hiking to a Boh tea plantation, one of which we'd already seen on the tour but we were so taken by the surreal landscape we wanted to visit another on our own.

The tea trees are planted it a crazy network of rows, blanketing violently rolling hillsides with their rich green leaves. The plantation appears to be the giant hedge maze of a mad king, impossible to solve. In places the hills are very steep, gradually falling, or pinched into valleys.The land is never flat. Workers cling to hillsides as they harvest the tea, either clipping with shears or using a sort of modified two person lawnmower to roll over the tops of the bushes and shave the little green leaves into a bag. We walked several kilometers up a serpentine road through plantation land. At the top of the climb we drank tea (makes sense) and looked out over a spectacular view.

Boh Tea Plantation
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Having a bus to catch back to KL in the afternoon, we hitched a ride in an empty supply truck back to the main road and then thumbed another lift back up to Tanah Rata. A chubby local was behind the wheel of the car that stopped for us and he cheerfully agreed to give us a lift. He was a teacher at an all Chinese school but didn't speak Chinese. His English was a bit rough too but we got along well. He told us about his wife and newborn baby and then asked if we too had any daughters. As we got out of the car, we quickly introduced ourselves while thanking him. He said his name was Faizel, and then with his widest smile of the day and a big laugh, said that we could call him "Joe". The trip that had taken us two hours by foot had taken about twenty minutes to hitchhike back.

Boh Tea Plantation
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Counter to the highlands mellow atmosphere, the bus station was in chaos as we boarded to head back down. More students than could sit had piled on and stood in the aisle as the bus whipped around hairpin corners. We returned to KL for a final time, did an obligatory turn through our nemisis the nightmarket, and then boarded our next bus, an overnighter to the town of Mersing. From there we didn't quite know what was in store for us, but we ended up heading to Tioman Island and the tiny beach town of Salang.