Northumberland - Hadrian's Wall - Part 1

[This is a rather long post, so I will break it up in to a few posts. My second series after Phuket!]

Now, during my formative years in England, we used to have a show-and-tell, and one of my classmate’s parents just so happened to be archaeologists. Coupled with my fascination with Indiana Jones and my over-eagerness to visit the British Museum whenever we were in London, it would be little surprise that I grew up to become a closet archaeologist, eventually leading me on the path to an Indiana Jones-Nathan Drake-Lara Croft-esque hike out in the open Northumberland countryside, and along the since 122 AD 135 km stretch of Hadrian’s Wall.

So, on one fine Saturday in early spring, as my mates were either hungover or sleeping in, I decided to take the morning train from Newcastle Station to Bardon Mill for a little ‘me time’. Of course, I could have used the AD122 bus which runs on regular intervals between Newcastle-Monument to major sites along the Wall itself, but where is the fun in that? (That, plus I don’t like busses).

After a one hour plus train ride in the general direction of Carlisle, I stopped in, well, what felt like the middle of nowhere. Hardly even saw a corner shop.  So, leaving the station, or more like the halt, I switched my GPS and Nogago Navigator on and started my trek.

Wanting to keep this as adventure game-like as possible, I did relatively minimal research and a lot in terms of map preparation. Of course, like adventure games, Nathan Drake has no idea how far a site genuinely is, and neither did I, apart from the general direction of ‘North-Northeast from station.’

Passing through the village, walking along quiet paths and leafy neighbourhoods, intersped with the occasional pasture and cow, and walking through a pretty forest reserve which, had I not packed a satchel with provisions in, I would have went on a little trail run, I savoured in this slice of quaint rural life.

Before walking through the pretty forest reserve-turned park with Chainley Burn flowing through it, I encountered the first of many ‘checkpoints’ which formally introduced me to the English fascination with walking: the wooden gate without a lock but secured in place by something approximating a lock. It was the first of many, and it gave me a hint of where I was supposed to walk, and occasionally an entertaining way for me to side-step when I got bored of walking in a linear fashion.

Vindolanda: a magical site amidst the green

After an hour of walking, I checked my GPS to see where I was heading, and lo and behold, just a few clicks northwest was my first checkpoint: Vindolanda. I walked up along a ridge and a clearing to get a better look, and like a bored senator who was invited by the governor of Britannia to visit the great land tamed by Claudius, I turned from ‘ugh, plebes’ to ‘and behold, the might of Rome!’

Of course, my next problem would be how to get there. I was in the middle of pasture, and a few parts were fenced up. My map showed a path in front of me, which went through someone’s land. I thought ‘sure, I’ll just open the gate and walk through’ but the cows ahead of me in that field were giving me weird looks. Tantalizingly close just on the next hill, I started to wonder how to get to the site. I walked down the hill, only to be encumbered by dense vegetation and a stone fence, with a few more obstacles.

Not exactly in the mood to scale along fences or potentially be chased, comically, by a cow, I decided to forgo the direct route and use the slightly more circuitous road above. Of course, being in a fenced up field, I still needed to scale a few fences and jump up and down hedges. Eventually, I reached the road and used the more pedestrian (hah!) road.

No caption needed

Walking along the main entrance, I encountered a small cottage which doubled as the reception, mini museum and restaurant for the entire site, aptly named Chesterholm. Quaint, with a replica of a patrician Roman garden, complete with grotto and folly. After paying the entrance fee and looking through the museum, I decided to cut short the foreplay and head straight for the action.

Archaeologists digging, with a reconstructed turret in the background

I followed the sign through the garden and up a path leading to a hill. I could sense the archaeology permeating through the greenery. And then, past a few poplar trees, was Vindolanda, in all her ruined glory, a fort being there, in multiple forms from 85 AD. Archaeologists were out and about digging in their carefully laid out quadrants. I decided to indulge my little fantasy and got as close to a working archaeological site as humanly possible. And then I took a picture and immediately posted it.

Now, the UK, and the North in particular, gets a bad rap for horrible, unpredictable weather, and a penchant for it being eternally cloudy, with clear fine warm weather being as rare as a four leaf clover. Not on this trip. It was nice, sunny, warm and, dare I say it, cloud-free. A jolly day to be surrounded by jolly archaeologists digging dirt, eager to find not a gold artifact which would affect the very foundations of the universe while dealing with rolling balls and booby-traps but just a plain simple bead.

'Main Thoroughfare' in the fort: perfect weather for a stroll

So, there I was, in the middle of a Roman fort, near the very edge of Empire and a famous Romano-Britain archeological site. I was shifting between Indiana Jones and Tacitus, one second observing the archaeologists digging like a fascinated Lord Carnarvon watching his Carter, the next like a bored Roman senator suddenly filled with pride at how his great Roman Empire could transplant a piece of the Med to the very doorstep of the Barbarians in this not exactly temperate site.

Digging archaeologists, amidst well manicured grounds and rolling hills.

It helped that the site was clearly signed. The map was of ‘some’ use, but wandering around was the best, as you stroll around and imagine what was propped up where in what order. I walked along the walls, went to the baths, admired the views from the commander’s quarters and scaled up a reconstructed guard tower, wondering where the wode-brigade was.

'Thermae' in the fort: fancy a warm bath? Get the slaves to light the fire

After a good hour living a fantasy with split personality, I decided to head on to the main event itself: the Wall. But before that, no checkpoint in an action adventure game is complete without a trophy! So, I got a post-ironic Roman Legion recruitment poster. It was either that or a gladius, and I didn’t have space in my satchel for a mock-relic. I then asked the nice receptionist at the cottage how to get to the Wall. She suggested the bus. Naturally, I ignored that advice and trotted on by foot, wishing I had a grappling hook instead to pull me ahead.

How to get there?

Train Stop: Bardon Mills

(Or for the less adventurous, a few stops on the AD166 Hadrian’s Wall Country Bus from Newcastle in front of Eldon Square/Monument)

Distance: Bardon Mills – Vindolanda (including my slight detours) is 3.75 km

Regular trains run the Newcastle-Carlisle route, though best to use ‘Northern Rail’ services, which stop at most if not all stations between Newcastle and Carlisle. I bought tickets on the day itself, as there is little incentive to pre-book tickets on this commuter-ish route.

Admission to Vindolanda is GBP 6.75 and includes an ‘optional’ 10% donation included in the price, though there is a joint ticket if you also want to see the Roman Army Museum further down the Wall, and not exactly convenient walking distance if you want to make  a stop during the hike, unless you have a car.

Bangkok - The Vertical Marathon

What do you do when you and a good mate are transplanted from Europe and based, for the moment, in Kuala Lumpur and Bangkok respectively? Go up to visit him. What do you do when the two of you usually do something active when together, i.e. run along the Amstel whenever you pop by to Amsterdam? Do something athletic. And what would this friend suggest in this exotic locale? A vertical marathon.

Now, neither I nor Dr J have done a vertical marathon before. It is an annual thing at the Banyan Tree Bangkok apparently. Usually, we go up the Banyan Tree to Moon Bar for drinks on the rooftop. This time, we were supposed to, erm, use human power in place of mechanical power.

Without much thought or research, I signed up. This was 5 days before the event. The next day, the day before my flight, I decided to read up on it. This is what I discovered:

And this is why you should do research before committing

-          17^th edition

-          8 November 2015

-          Race up all 61 floors

-          1,093 steps

And of course, my male bravado and I set our sights on ‘time to beat: 6 minutes 35 seconds.’

And of course, there was a clear absence of training. Mornings, after breakfast, we’d talk about the need to train. After lunch, we’d talk about training, after a swim (which counts! We do laps!) and chill by the pool with the looming Banyan Tree Bangkok tower just in front of us. Come evening, we’d have drinks with friends, who thought us daft for doing this, and again, realize our clear absence of training.

So, the Friday before, after lunch and a swim, we decided we seriously needed to train. Now, our residence is just about 35 floors. We could not start from ground, due to security, so we side-stepped a few floors, and a confused-looking cleaner, and started from the 14^th floor.

-          First 10 floors: Yay!

-          Next 5 floors: Come on, Dr, get those long legs working

-          Last 6 floors: Why did we sprint on the first 10?

With our Friday lesson learnt, we decided to try again on Saturday, after lunch. We paced ourselves properly, kept a steady rhythm and timed ourselves. Just under 5 minutes for 20 floors. Yeap, doable. We found our pace, knew our strengths and aimed for 15 minutes to reach the top.

The Navigator and Dr J, all smiles and grins: but will we smile after 1,093 steps?

Come Sunday morning, we were excited. We woke up early, got semi-ready, walked down the street to the Banyan Tree and got our kit. Naturally, we wondered who the insane man was who did the entire thing in 6 minutes and 35 seconds. I looked around and I saw a Slavic looking fellow, in full triathlon gear. I pointed him out to Dr J. We agreed: it had to be him.

So, come the ‘countdown,’ we had a brass band playing to get us in the mood. Some people were clearly excited. Some people were nervous. Some had GoPros strapped on them. Some were colour coded. Some had no clue at all. We were in the latter.

One hiccup came up: Dr J and I were in different classes. I was in the 20 – 39 class, he in the above 40, despite him just reaching that pivotal ‘change in age class.’ We were hoping to race up together to keep our pace and support the other. We tried, and I delayed my entry to the start line, to be the last in my group and him the first in his.

It almost worked. A race warden saw me, so I got slotted in a group before. We wished each other luck as I just took it in stride while my fellow racers were all geared up. First thing in my mind: pace. Pace. PACE, YOU FOOL. I also, naturally, targeted and numbered my competitors (and yes in the blink of an eye, I turned from casual indifferent observer into a Type A Top Gun jet pilot).

GO! Went the warden. *Beep* went the buzzer. Zoom went the racers. WHOA went my head.

We ran past the brass band. I had to restrain and keep a steady pace as Bloke A – E sprinted. G – I decided to keep a steady pace. If only the brass band had a bag-pipe, I would be in heaven. There is something about the haunting deep melody of the sheep’s gut which stirs something deep down. But, alas, this brass band would do.

We ran past the lobby I knew well. We ran up a side entrance to an emergency exit I didn’t know exist. And so it began, up the stairs. You could hear the pitter patter of shoes, huffing and puffing and deep breaths. I had concerns over ventilation, but the sight of large fans blowing in to the shaft allayed my fears.

There were regular drink stops, and by the 5^th floor, I saw people clamouring for a drink. I went on, not wanting a distraction. I was not to drink until I reached the rooftop. Preferably, I wanted a vodka martini. I stayed close to the center of the shaft, imagining my body a well-oiled machine, as I used my legs to propel me up, my hands on my thighs if needed for an added push, and fighting the urge to use the handrail.

By the 10^th floor, a few of Blokes A – E were already slowing down. One already stopped. A few flights more, another was using the handrail for leverage. A few more, one was standing at a drinks stand, clearly wondering what he got himself in to.

By the 30^th floor, I heard the dread of all dreads: someone vomiting. Woe befall me if I dare step on it.

By the 40^th floor, the last few of Blokes A – E, including some of the runners ahead of me, were either slowing down, walking up, hauling themselves up or sitting on the floor, catching their breath. Random guys looked dejected or outright out of their elements.

Truth be told, the closer I got to the 50^th floor, the faster I went. There were less people now, and those at the top clearly had the summit in mind. So I picked up the pace, in anticipation for the top floor, in full knowledge and with autopilot on, that once on the top floor lift lobby, I had two more terraces and mezzanines to contend with.

And then, there it was! I saw the light, literally, as I approached the doors to the terrace. There before me was Bangkok in all her glory: Silom by my feet, the Thai sky ahead, Surya shining his rays on all. For a brief moment, I slowed down to savour, before realizing ‘NO! GET GOING!’

Shiny medal, sunny day, clear vistas of Bangkok: good combo

The last few steps, and there the finish line. It was quiet-ish. A giant cartoon mascot was urging me on, as was a very cheery cheerleader. I crossed the line with a hop, a scotch and a grin as I got my medal. I actually could go for another round!

The obligatory selfie after crossing the finishing line. It filled up fast.

With drink in hand, I looked around. A few of the guys were in their adrenaline high. I knew how they felt: I was in it. A few others looked knackered, while a few more were on the ground, exhausted beyond belief.

But this bloke takes the cake: GoPro attached to his person the whole time.

I roamed around, admiring the view I am accustomed to viewing with martini in hand. Done with the view, I went back to the finish line to wait for Dr J. Not long after, I saw him, and we congratulated ourselves at the top. Of course, we had to do the obligatory selfie to post on social media: our subtle way of guilting our friends who chose to lay in on a Sunday morning instead of running up to a rooftop bar.

Squinting, thanks to the sun, but still all smiles: all that is missing is a vodka martini and a gin + tonic

What did we win? Apart from a medal, bragging rights: we earned our drinks at Vertigo and Moon Bar no. We ran up the Banyan Tree Bangkok where most sane people would use the lift.

And they say running doesn’t bring you anywhere.

Our final time: me at 10 minutes 59 seconds, at 44/158 for my category. Dr J came in at 12 minutes 20 seconds, and 43/98 for his category. Would we do it again? I’ll let you know.I still think I could have gone faster, had I not gotten distracted.

Somehow, not as fulfilling without using the stairs up 61 floors.

2 weeks later, I took the elevator for an evening drink. 

Oh, who beat 6’35”? Mr Slavic Triathlete.

Langkawi - from a kayak

I have noticed two camps around New Year’s: those who insist on having a resolution and those who see no point in it. Again, the ‘resolutionists’ camps split in to two: the resolutions you could do without too much effort and the resolutions which seem like noble, albeit lofty endeavours. One part of my resolution was to bring a certain charity project to fruition. Noble, but requires quite the effort. The other resolution, and this I decided at dawn on 1 January itself on the terrace overlooking the bay, was to kayak to an island out there in the Andaman Sea.

New Year's morning from the villa, overlooking Ular Island in centre, Dayang Bunting Island to the left and Singa Besar Island to the right, from Teluk Baru bay

So, like any ‘sane’ man, after lunch, I left my friends at the villa, including my partner who insisted I do my silly youthful stuff as he lounges on the terrace, and went straight for the beach. Now, for the past 3 years, we made it a point to go to Langkawi as an escape from the chaos of NYE in big cities. For the past 3 years, I always sat on the same terrace, looked out at the same sea and thought of my own little pied à terre out on the horizon.

Tengah Beach, and Cenang Beach just beyond, with Mat Cincang Mountain in the background

Our villa is a 5 minute drive from Tengah Beach, and Tengah Beach is a quiet stretch of sand, away from the hustle and bustle of nearby Chenang Beach. It also has a nice assortment of watersports vendors. Naturally, I thought they had a kayak. Sadly, the nice lady in the headscarf said she didn’t have one, and the only kayak available on this side of the island is at Cenang Beach.

After a call, she got a contact, who came by and guided me to his little sports hut on the beach. There, amidst the hustle and bustle and hung over partygoers on Cenang Beach were 2 kayaks amidst an array of jet skis. “YES”! I thought to myself, as all I heard was random mumbling of his briefing while I kept daydreaming of me paddling the open sea while getting a good back workout.

He gave me a life vest, though he did not insist on me using it. My male bravado and I thought it unnecessary, so I placed it on the bow of the kayak. After getting the kayak to about knee’s length above water, I paddled out. So the adventure begins.

From the kayak, looking towards Cenang Beach

Of course, something will go awry somewhere. First came the jet skis. Good god are they a menace at times. Zipping past, thinking they own the waves. I paddled straight on, ignoring them at times, pausing at others, wary of the wake their jet skis will leave. Keeping a steady keel with numerous big wakes from over eager jetskiers is harder than it sounds.

Next came the wind. I do not mind wind. Being a regular visitor to Edinburgh and living in Newcastle, one would be very accustomed to great strong winds. Wind can add an extra challenge as you hike up Arthur’s Seat or the Northumbrian coast. Wind can also provide an extra challenge or annoying obstacle for a kayaker, depending on your point of view. Why? Because of the added waves, that’s why.

All this would not be complete without the waves coming from the sea either. Now, it has been about a decade and a half since I last formally saw physics equations, but out there, in the sea, with numerous waves and angles and pitches coming in, all I could see were wavelength equations and me trying to find the perfect angle to plough on through.

Thus, day 1 of my kayak adventure ended up with an aborted attempt to paddle from Cenang Beach to Rebak Kechil Island. I blame the waves.

Though it was not without adventure, no! As I was paddling on, I spotted this stunning yacht: “Itchy Feet.” Either a) the universe has a sense of humour and decided to caption my life, or b) the yachties on board are advertising their sea-faring lifestyle.

The yacht Itchy Feet: notice the two bicycles attached on stern

The great yacht and I made circles around each other, as I admired the boat, and the curious two bicycles attached at the back. Add on to this, a helicopter kept flying overhead, low above the water and beach.

Kayak + yacht + helicopter with the backdrop of tropical islands and open sea; makes you think of a Bond film

Now: adventurous kayaker + beautiful yacht + lone helicopter flying overhead + stunning islands and private beaches. How does that not spell out a Bond film? The soundtrack of Skyfall kept playing in my head.

One would think that I would abandon this futile attempt. Oh no. Day 2 came, and I was even more determined. First thing in the morning, I checked the clouds, the wind and the waves. Come breakfast, I sneaked a peek at the western side of the island to see the sea. Right after breakfast, I rented a kayak and set my sights on Rebak Kechil Island. That island is mine.

Rebak Kechil Island ahead, on day 2

Again, I saw the “Itchy Feet.” Again I saw the island before me. Again, the waves tried to hinder my approach. Now, the first ¾ of the way was smooth paddling. No wind, relatively calm sea in the harbour: seemed alright. And then came the sea waves. Truth be told, I was paddling too hard to compensate, so I did make a few 360 turns while correcting my bearings, but soon enough, and 25 minutes later, I reached the uninhabited island of Rebak Kechil, which for that brief moment in time, I lay claim in the name of my cat Cameron Aloysius Titus, Lord Protector and Sovereign of this little patch of sand.

The sandbanks and the yachties on the north of  'uninhabited' Rebak Kechil Island

But alas! That was not to be. The yachties claimed it first. 3 fit guys were already on the island. Still, it was big enough for 4 men. They were on the north along the sandbanks, I took the south and east with the beach facing the other islands and rocky promontory. Yes, I am making this island sound much larger than it actually is. Indulge me in my Raffles fantasy.

In the end, my New Year’s resolution ended in 1.5 days. I reached my goal of kayaking to an island in the Andaman Sea. Looking back, I don’t think it qualifies as a resolution now, considering that I was planning to do that already, and it wasn’t as ‘taxing’ as resolutions are assumed to be.

The kayak on Rebak Kechil Island looking towards the Andaman Sea and Tepor and Kentut Besar Islands

So, what was the first thing I did? Took pictures, uploaded it on Instagram and tagged it for a beach/villa/pool picture competition. I also decided to upload it on Facebook to further annoy and irritate my friends with my caption-less images. Narcissistic me also took a few selfies, just because.

'The Navigator' with his selfie on the kayak back to the main island

Not sure if I am that effective a navigator now. I can somewhat plot the path to my destination, though the route was just *slightly* circuitous thanks to circumstances. Still, a navigator who got from point A to the intended point B, with a tan and a tote filled with sand and stained with sea salt. Kayaking in the open sea off Langkawi *tick.*

From Rebak Kechil Island looking towards Langkawi Island: Tengah Beach in the middle, Cenang Beach off left

Notes: There are a few sports huts on Cenang Beach and Tengah Beach, and they cater mostly for mangrove tours, jet skis, banana boats or parasailing. The beauty of being in a small community is that everyone knows everyone else, and if you want a specific sea sport equipment and that one sport hut does not have it, ‘they have a guy.’

This specific sports hut on Cenang Beach is easily identified with the large number of jet skis parked on the beach with a (then) blue tent, and is accessible through the side street leading to the beach parking lot in front of ‘Cenang Mall.’ None of these huts have names to identify them, sadly.

Kayak rental is MYR 30/hour. Cheaper rates available for longer rentals. All the equipment are well maintained. All doubles, all open kayaks, life vests provided. Bush hat optional. Sunnies mandatory.

p.s. I would not advise taking pictures while kayaking: be mindful of waves and on-coming sea traffic

Phuket - Part 3 - Horse Riding & Capes

A week in the Amanpuri Phuket does sound like heaven. Sure, you can laze around in your massive villa, enjoy skinny dipping regardless of the time of day in your private pool or get a tan on a private beach shared with one other ultra-luxury resort. Yet there are times when you just need to get out and explore.

Andaman Sea from the Amanpuri facing Bangtao Beach

Which is exactly what I did on occasion during my stay, as I tend to get cabin fever being cooped up too long regardless of the luxurious surroundings. I may enjoy my creature comforts, but I still have to explore a bit.

So, being in close proximity to the resort enclave of Laguna, on Bang Tao Beach, surely there must be a few activities geared towards their target clientele. A friend told me to sample horse riding on the beach, and one of two facilities is located right at the entrance to the Laguna enclave: the Phuket International Horse Club.

Prices were fair for one hour, one and a half hours and two hour rides, with the one hour ride at THB 900, one and a half hour ride at THB 1,500 and two hours at THB 1,800. My first ride was the one hour option, as I wanted to reacquaint myself with riding.

This was in the late afternoon, just before the rainclouds were rolling in and the midday sun all but absent. Usually, a booking is required but considering this was the beginning of the monsoon season, ergo the low season, I just went in and it was only me and a couple on this fine morning.

Trooper and his sense of humour

My horse, Trooper, is a beautiful young chestnut steed, with an occasionally lazy trot until he reaches the beach, then he gets excited. With my trainer-cum-assistant, we went on a slow, leisurely stroll from the stables along the pavement along Lagoon Road, past green spaces, an elephant riding facility and a gated residential community before passing through the Dusit Thani Laguna Resort side road that led straight to the beach.

View from Trooper and another set of hooves on sand

And then the fun started. We trotted up and down the beach, occasionally going on a full gallop as a light drizzle came down. My white linen shirt was already wet from sweat so the small bits of accumulated rainfall did not make too much of a difference. I got my balance on, foothold proper and thigh ‘grip’ right while brushing up on my one-two-one riding technique.

Sadly, I could not use my wide-brim hat as, for insurance purposes I had to use a riding helmet. For my ride the next day in the late afternoon for the sunset ride, I also learnt my lesson not to use hiking shoes and should have asked for proper riding boots.

The sunset ride the next day was fun. I set off at 1630 for a one-half hour ride, with riding boots on and opted against riding pants despite the slight saddle burn from using shorts the day before. I noticed two couples this time, an elegant middle aged couple finishing their ride as I went to the beach looking at one with the horse, and another couple on the beach: the guy looked like a proper polo player, comfortable on his ride with quintessential polo shirt with collar upturned as his partner was walking next to her horse, perhaps not used to having her legs so wide astride the saddle.

Against the setting sun, a rider rides along

Trotting along the beach, we encountered young girls who were mesmerized by the horse as I casually rode past them, curious beach bar goers taking pictures of a rider against the sunset and managed to maintain my balance and keep the horse calm as an overly excited dog almost spooked Trooper.

Considering I was a returning client, the manager gave me a 10% discount on the ride and naturally I went for a two hour ride the next day, just to get my fill.

Promthep Cape, southern tip, Phuket

Formations and 'sculpture,' tip of Promthep Cape

But in between the rides, which SSM did not participate in considering he is not a fan of horse riding, we did explore the island a bit. We drove down the coast from Surin down to Promthep Cape, were I rediscovered the beauty of the cape, and discovered a little known path which led straight to the southern tip of Phuket, with sacred trees and rock formations that look like fairy castles, and a few altars to the local deities.

Pomegranate Martini & Apple-Lemongrass Martini, Zazada Bar

And of course this being an island, we had to enjoy at least a drink or two at a beach bar, though we restricted this to establishments with close proximity to the Amanpuri. Surin Beach has a nice selection of beach bars, with Catch Beach Club and Zazada Beach Club being my two favourites, Zazada especially with their happy hour. Surin also happens to be a favourite with weddings, with 3 wedding ceremonies during our week long stay.

Sunset from Catch Beach Club, Surin Beach, Phuket

My first trip to Phuket without diving didn’t feel that odd. It also did not feel like too much of a waste by staying within close proximity to the resort and doing stuff other that lounging, tanning and just lazing at the villa.

Phuket International Riding Club, Lagoon Rd, Laguna Phuket, Bangtao Beach, Phuket; +66 81 968 3187, last ride at 1730 for sunset ride. Look for the two horse statues on the left before the Laguna ‘gate.’

Instagram: @jasonanom

Putrajaya - Red Bull Air Race

If there is one thing which I have not done quite properly over the past few months, it would be posting. Travel and stuff got in the way, and general laziness, but 2 weeks ago, I attended something which I heard of and found quite interesting. It became all the more interesting when a round was held in Putrajaya, of all places.

Red Bull Air Race Putrajaya ticket

This was the Red Bull Air Race, Putrajaya, held over the weekend of 17 and 18 May. Tickets were fairly priced: MYR 85 for Qualifying on 17 May, MYR 129 for Finals and RM169 for both days. I opted for both days.

Day 1 was fun, albeit chaotic. There was a slight hiccup when ticket holders of Zone A were denied crossing the bridge that links Zone B and the main Race area from Zone B due to safety reasons. A no show of buses to transport those stranded while being denied the option to enter Zone B, which I believe is the same ticket category, of course created quite a number disgruntled ticket holders. In due time, we were allowed entry to Zone B, which while on that day itself sounded like a consolation, on Race Day became a Holy Grail.

Granted, weather-wise the day itself did prove to be a bit of a downer. It rained in the morning, and of course the qualifying rounds had to be postponed from the scheduled 1130 to 1330. When the time came, the rain stopped, but light intermittent drizzle though in miniscule amounts and gloomy overcast weather gave me the impression of a dampener for the day.

Flying in on low approach past the Seri Gemilang Bridge

Yet, the image of acrobatic planes doing their stuff, flying in low on approach over the ‘gates’ of the Seri Gemilang Bridge after being granted 'smoke on' to enter, then making zips and turns, steep ascents and teeth clenching dips did much to keep me stuck at my perch. Cloudy weather disregarded, but eventually Sol did shine through the cleared-up skies. It was then did I have an appreciation for the sport.

Steep climb up past the finish gate, after the first turn

Day 2 was more interesting. After learning from the mistakes of Day 1, I found out where the shuttle buses were, despite the lack of signs, and that saved me quite a penny from the fixed charge taxi trip to the site. This time, we got to Zone A proper, which though larger than Zone B, did not afford quite the same vantage point as Zone B. In fact, by now I longed to return to Zone B having had a taste of it the day before.

Finishing after two rounds towards the Finish Gate

It was far busier than Qualifying day, and had the feel of a Red Bull-infused Sunday Picnic, with options of ‘orange juice,’ soft drinks and random snacks. All that was missing were a few bottles of vodka and jaegermeister (which I shall neither confirm nor deny bringing in quietly to the grounds).

Despite not getting a full view of the course or a dramatic approach like in Zone B, Zone A did offer a full sight of the acrobatics on display, which in a way made up for it.

Steep curve viewed from Zone B

The numerous acrobatic planes zipping up and down, making interesting turns all at quite some speed was truly astounding, though what got more interesting was when a finalist in the final 4 was disqualified as ‘Did Not Finish’ for going at 201 knots, 1 knot above the approved approach speed of 200 knots.

Having had this taste of the Red Bull Air Show, safe to say I will be keeping a keen eye on this sport, especially if the aerial site is held in stunning surrounds with dramatic backdrop. Word has it the finals in China might be held in Shanghai. The location is yet to be confirmed at time of writing.

Two planes dancing above Putrajaya Lake

Plane acrobatics in Pudong/Puxi, anyone?

p.s. there is a much better write up on this by my friend Stefan Seville. Honoured to have a mention in his article.

http://www.airshowsreview.com/Red_Bull_Air_Race_Malaysia.htm

Kuching - Climbing Mount Santubong

Mount Santubong, on the Damai Peninsula, about 30 minutes drive from downtown Kuching, is 810m above sea level. Sounds tame, but looks can be deceiving, as after a fairly gentle gradient up, it becomes a serious climb, with scaling required where the grade can reach 75*, in short almost vertical. That is why I flew in over the Easter Weekend to Kuching with my Camelbak.

Having done some prior research, apparently, it takes 3 hours to reach the summit from the Bukit Puteri Entrance, without stops or delays, and just slightly less to come down. It takes an extra hour from the Restaurant Entrance just down the road, as you will be passing the aforementioned waterfall. Both good starting points on a mountain that inspired Alfred Wallace's 'Sarawak Law' during his stay here.

Intent on doing the summit directly, DC and I chose the Bukit Puteri trail, and after paying RM8 at the entrance and parking our car by the side of the road, we started our ascent at just after 0930. The entrance is manned by the same people as the restaurant, and they will watch out for your car in addition to logging your details. Officially, this site is a National Park, and fees are collected by the Sarawak Forestry Corporation, so this subcontracting is somewhat questionable, but at time of writing has yet to be satisfactorily explained by anyone.

Ant Highway, goes on for a few metres, along summit trail

This trail is a single shot up along the ridge, with nice views of Santubong Village, the Santubong River and Kuching City on your right, with nature to your left. I was tempted to run up, the trail runner within keen to hone his skills, but DC, despite being muscular and a regular gym goer, talked me in to keeping a steady pace. I compromised with a somewhat fast steady pace, intent on reaching the summit in under 3 hours.

Mt Sejinjang, Pandak and Panjang beaches, Salak River in back;
Santubong Village and Santubong Estuary in foreground

After under an hour from the start point, we reached the split. The route to the left goes to the jungle trail, waterfalls and restaurant entrance. Upwards is the summit. After a brief stop for DC to get some air, we ploughed on ahead.

Shortly after the split, the trail became steeper, and we bumped in to our first group of hikers. After pleasantries, we pressed on ahead, to be greeted by what was the first of a few somewhat challenging ascents. At 30-50* grade, we had to really hike up, with the aid of ropes for some, or makeshift steps from soil and roots for others.

Trail map, not to scale or trail, Mt Santubong

Here, we reached the second of the pit stops, and a view point somewhat obscured by a rock. This was just under F7, at ‘Viewpoint 2.’ After a brief stop and some picture taking, we both decided to send pictures out to make some of our friends envious. I am more surprised that here, in the middle of dense jungle on a mountain, I had excellent BlackBerry coverage, even better than in some parts of KLCC.

Santubong River, Mt Sejinjang, Kuching City;
seen from Viewpoint 2, Mt Santubong

We ploughed on ahead, with more ropes to guide us along the steeper bits. The entire thing made me think of the Hash Challenge trail running marathon I did last year. As we were climbing up, we both kept yakking away to keep our mind occupied and I retold my entire 42k Hash Challenge story to DC. If I could do 42k up and down mountains in just under 11 hours, this 10k return trip should be doable. He called me a crazy mountain goat effortlessly scaling up rock face.

The steep bits done, DC hinted that if it kept getting steeper, he would turn back. I told him we were close by the summit, which was true. There, at F8, at 1,561 ft, we had a view of the city, a clear view of the summit within reach, and voices just beyond the trees. We caught up with a big group.

After a small bar of chocolate to keep us on the move, we continued on. I conveniently neglected to tell DC that there were steeper bits, wooden climbs, valleys and sheer rock face coming along.

Steep climbs, boulders and ropes; Mt Santubong

Within short order, we reached the first bit of the really steep bits, maybe 60* grade. We caught up with the group just ahead of us. After holding on to rope ladders and plank stairs, we were right behind them, and DC, sensing my agitation, told me to slow down and wait for them to clear.

Roots and trees and a deceptive incline

That I did, as DC took that opportunity to slow down slightly, catch his breath and drink some water. I told him to ration his 1 liter as much as possible. He somehow did not listen to my advice of taking 1.5 litres. After waiting for clearing, we scaled up the rope ladders along bounders and sheer face, careful with our footing and wondering how they decided on spacing the ladder handles.

At F11, we bumped in to yet another group, this time making their way down. This tested my resolve for zen, as we patiently waited for 3 big groups to clear: one before us waiting to climb, one in the middle taking pictures on the mid-rope landing and another going down from the top.

Steep walk down, Mt Santubong

While waiting, we met this lone Caucasian guy descending. He told us that we had an hour to the summit, and that there were a lot of ropes and roots to hold on to. So, after 5 minutes of agonizing wait, we went up, and taking advantage of the less steep and wider hold area, by-passed the group on the open side and went to the last ‘basecamp,’ F12. There were a few people who just sat by this summit, content with this height, with the summit-proper was just in reach.

And there, with the goal in sight and determination filling my very being, the moment DC reached the summit of F12, I gave him just enough time to catch his breath and have a sip before we did the home stretch.

Just as we went along another steep descent and ascent, we bumped in to another group. The leader informed us that we had 45 minutes to an hour to reach the top and advised us to rest and take it slow as it was basically a vertical climb. DC and I had other ideas: I wanted to reach my aim of the summit in under 3 hours and DC wanted this challenge to be over and done with.

After the steep descent and ascent which was somewhat technical for efficient climbing, at F13, we reached the most challenging park of the climb: the 75* grade. This was almost vertical, with rope ladders and roots your only foothold against solid rock. This was not a walk in a park.

Damai Peninsula, Damai Golf Club and South China Sea,
from Mt Santubong summit

Once at F14, I called out to DC, who kept going strong, and told him we were close. As I let him rest momentarily, I went up to recce the rest, and before long, I told him to hurry up. The stop at F14 was basically the slight pause before the fanfare in Handel’s Zadok the Priest.

Santubong River, Kuching City in the distance, Mt Santubong summit

Flag of Sarawak, Mt Santubong summit

'Welcome Arch,' Mt Santubong summit

Cloud cover, Mt Santubong Summit

Immediately after F14 after scaling up boulders and stuff, lay the top of the ridge, the summit, F15. The views were spectacular. The Damai Peninsula before us, the South China Sea, the Santubong River, coves and bays and beaches. There was a small inscription at one of the boulders at the top, commemorating the legend of ‘Datuk Merpati.’ A carved head lay hidden somewhere amidst the foliage.

At the top, at 810m, we explored the narrow ridge. There was a small pool, which had some water, and a thatched hut. There was even a topiary archway and of course, a flag at the top. The view above the cloud line was beautiful, with the City of Kuching laid before us.

Santubong River Estuary and cloud-line

After a few minutes of contemplation, we made our way down. Just as we did, a group of Caucasians came up. One was a blonde guy, shirtless with a heart monitor, determined as if he was racing up. A few steps behind him, another blonde guy with a girl, both looking very fit. Trailing behind them, another Caucasian girl and just a few steps behind her, a Norwegian man who called out to his wife at F13. These were serious climbers, no joking here, all complete with gear.

I admired their determination and resolve, and their almost single-mindedness to reach the summit. They, I told DC, were the proper Mountain Goats, as I was all but a Mountain Kid, still getting his rock climbing feet stable.

View on the descent: The Serapi Range in the back, middle is Pandak
and Panjang Beaches and parts of Santubong Village in foreground

At the ranger’s office, as we signed out, the park ranger was impressed at our speed, and asked if we ran up. I told him we did not, just a regular, steady but brisk-walk pace. He told me we did it faster than the most. How Alfred Wallace did it during Sir Charles Brooke's reign in the State, considering the steepness and lack of trails then, is in itself an example of the toughness of British explorers in the Victorian Age.

He even asked me if I bumped in to the Caucasian group going up and I told him they did. After explaining to him the heart monitor, he tells me they do the climb very regularly. After congratulating us on our speedy ascent, we drove a short hop to Damai Central to get some drinks. DC was truly knackered and was wondering where all my energy came from. I just shrugged as I left him in the car, checking my GPS tracker on our hike as I walked to the shops to get us drinks.

All in all, the numbers on the climb of Mount Santubong:

Ascent: 0930, summit 1205; Descent: 1215, station 1405.

2 hours and 35 minutes to ascend, including stops, delays and chatter; 1 hour 50 minutes to descend, including chatter and an errand for fellow climbers; 10 minutes on the summit and walking around.

I used Nogago Tracks, very efficient especially on the BlackBerry 10.