I’ll say one thing about being back on the move, it’s all been a seamless experience. At each transfer point there have been no hitches and no delays, but it has taken it out of me. Three days of constant travel to get from the peaceful environs of Koh Tarutao to Kuala Lumpur has taken its toll. With little sleep each night my energy levels hit an all time low, but not my fortitude. A few times I found my mind starting to stress about the late arrival of various trains, as there was nothing I could do I just went with the flow, and I never missed a single connection. Whenever a glitch seemed likely it resolved itself, without any effort on my behalf. The border crossing I took was the dodgiest in this part of the world, bombs are not unheard of along the stretch of border of Thailand and Malaysia, particularly in the region of Sungae Golok, the east most point of the frontier. The fact that it’s a troubled area was self-evident. (Photo: Paddy Thai style - South of Hat Yai, Thailand)
Scrabbling over the rails to reach the furthest platform of Hat Yai rail station, a distinct difference was all too obvious. A heavy military presence loitered outside my scheduled mode of transport. The other four platforms were totally devoid of such personnel, which would be enough to worry more fretful characters. It isn’t as if I scoff at the smell of danger, though I must admit it does make my heart pick up pace a tad, it’s more that we can’t go through life avoiding potential hazardous situations. Alright, there would be less risk on another route, there would also be far fewer delights. I’d heard of the Jungle railway, a route that starts in the far northeast corner of Malaysia and winds its way through the jungles of the central highlands, finally joining the main branch line connecting the main cities on the east coast. Not only was I intent to go out of my way for a more dynamic experience, I was also determined to take the slow mail train leaving at 03.50 am. (Photo: Jungle as it should be - Nr Tumpat, Kelantan, Malaysia)
On the way to the border the train played host to a full squad of soldiers, wielding AK47’s and M16’s. They worked their way through the whole train, checking whatever luggage appeared to be unaccompanied. Then they split up leaving at least one member of the squad in each carriage. Every town we passed through had barricaded checkpoints at each intersection, fortified barracks stood in prominent positions. The military were sure taking the risk seriously anyway, I decided to leave them to do the worrying and sat back to enjoy the scenery. The Thai’s are a long way from utilizing every square foot of soil for cultivation, large areas lay as broken wasteland. Where expanses of flat land were to be seen it was given over to rice paddy, apart from that rubber plantations far outnumbered all other uses of the countryside. Accommodation is generally basic and far flung in rural areas, the railway essentially their main lifeline with the rest of the country. (Photo: Alternative modes of jungle travel - Nr Kuala Lipis, Malaysia)
The closer to the border we got the more predominantly Muslim the population became. I mean traditionally Muslim; in west coast Thailand the largely Muslim population are not as strict in their dress code, nor the men’s drinking habits. It gradually changed, by the time I’d crossed into Malaysia and reached the first city, Khotu Baru, without exception the women were covered from head to foot; face and hands were the only bare skin to be seen. It was nothing like other staunch Muslim countries, the women were not hidden or sheepish, there was no avoiding eye contact. They didn’t hesitate to converse with strange men, even tattooed ones with dreadlocks. I won’t claim they were clamouring to initiate conversation, yet neither did they avoid it. They laughed and joked with the bus driver on the way to Tumpat, the north end of the Jungle Railway, they just didn’t appear subjugated to any great extent. (Photo: Hand cleared homestead - North of Kuala Lipis)
If expecting unbroken jungle I’d have been disappointed, luckily I wasn’t, I’d been forewarned. But there was enough of it to warrant the title given the train ride. The initial leg of the journey was through a lot of natural jungle, not impenetrable bush country, yet enough to get the feel for it. There wasn’t much in the way of orderly cultivation, what there was tended to be on a small scale. Rubber plantations gave the game away, and for a long time there was little other evidence of mankind’s interference. Banana palms were common, but haphazard, infrequently small patches would appear in small areas obviously cleared for that exact purpose. Clearing is very much an ongoing process, before Kuala Lipis only half an acre or so would be cleared in any one place.
That changed drastically once aboard the second train on the day, enormous expanses of bare soil swept across the horizon, hillsides roughly terraced to facilitate the planting of date palms. Whole vistas of date palms crowded out any illusion of a natural habitat, from new plantation to well matured versions that must have been there for many decades. Palm oil is the harvest from date palms, and the fruit is produced while the palms are barely above ground level. All they need do is thicken out before bearing fruit, which I don’t imagine takes too many years. I know Malaysia produces a lot of rubber, as do many of the SE Asian countries, but it’s far outweighed by palm oil production, at least in acreage given over to production. Obviously future investment is concentrating on palm oil rather than rubber. Bearing this in mind it seems strange to witness many ruins standing at the edge of the plantations, I can only assume the necessity for workers to live amongst them has diminished with the advent of better transport infrastructure. (Photo: An overabundance of date palms - South of Kuala Lipis, Malaysia)
For me the train was all about experiencing the every day life of those who depend on it, those who rely on that early train. Kids who’ve never had an alternative method of reaching school, women who load bales and baskets of goods on board on their way to market in the next decent size town. The train stops at every single station, getting more and more crowded as it goes. Passageways become clogged with bags, bundles and bushels, old ladies sit atop their wares smoking hand rolled jungle tobacco. Scurrying up and down the aisles they carry gossip between one group and the next. It’s as much a community gathering as a trip to market, life is bright and breezy, they laugh and cackle with glee. From Kuala Lipis I had to join an express train, gone were the colourful characters in their bright, gaudy polyester garments. But the ethnicity of the people grew more varied. The closer to the bright lights of the big city, the larger the melting pot of cultural diversity became. Ethnic Indian and Chinese increased in numbers. By the time we reached Kuala Lumpur Malay Muslims were outnumbered by these migrants from times gone by. (More Limestone karsts - Central Highlands, Malaysia)
I’ll say one thing about being back on the move, it’s all been a seamless experience. At each transfer point there have been no hitches and no delays, but it has taken it out of me. Three days of constant travel to get from the peaceful environs of Koh Tarutao to Kuala Lumpur has taken its toll. With little sleep each night my energy levels hit an all time low, but not my fortitude. A few times I found my mind starting to stress about the late arrival of various trains, as there was nothing I could do I just went with the flow, and I never missed a single connection. Whenever a glitch seemed likely it resolved itself, without any effort on my behalf. The border crossing I took was the dodgiest in this part of the world, bombs are not unheard of along the stretch of border of Thailand and Malaysia, particularly in the region of Sungae Golok, the east most point of the frontier. The fact that it’s a troubled area was self-evident. (Photo: Paddy Thai style - South of Hat Yai, Thailand)
Scrabbling over the rails to reach the furthest platform of Hat Yai rail station, a distinct difference was all too obvious. A heavy military presence loitered outside my scheduled mode of transport. The other four platforms were totally devoid of such personnel, which would be enough to worry more fretful characters. It isn’t as if I scoff at the smell of danger, though I must admit it does make my heart pick up pace a tad, it’s more that we can’t go through life avoiding potential hazardous situations. Alright, there would be less risk on another route, there would also be far fewer delights. I’d heard of the Jungle railway, a route that starts in the far northeast corner of Malaysia and winds its way through the jungles of the central highlands, finally joining the main branch line connecting the main cities on the east coast. Not only was I intent to go out of my way for a more dynamic experience, I was also determined to take the slow mail train leaving at 03.50 am. (Photo: Jungle as it should be - Nr Tumpat, Kelantan, Malaysia)
On the way to the border the train played host to a full squad of soldiers, wielding AK47’s and M16’s. They worked their way through the whole train, checking whatever luggage appeared to be unaccompanied. Then they split up leaving at least one member of the squad in each carriage. Every town we passed through had barricaded checkpoints at each intersection, fortified barracks stood in prominent positions. The military were sure taking the risk seriously anyway, I decided to leave them to do the worrying and sat back to enjoy the scenery. The Thai’s are a long way from utilizing every square foot of soil for cultivation, large areas lay as broken wasteland. Where expanses of flat land were to be seen it was given over to rice paddy, apart from that rubber plantations far outnumbered all other uses of the countryside. Accommodation is generally basic and far flung in rural areas, the railway essentially their main lifeline with the rest of the country. (Photo: Alternative modes of jungle travel - Nr Kuala Lipis, Malaysia)
The closer to the border we got the more predominantly Muslim the population became. I mean traditionally Muslim; in west coast Thailand the largely Muslim population are not as strict in their dress code, nor the men’s drinking habits. It gradually changed, by the time I’d crossed into Malaysia and reached the first city, Khotu Baru, without exception the women were covered from head to foot; face and hands were the only bare skin to be seen. It was nothing like other staunch Muslim countries, the women were not hidden or sheepish, there was no avoiding eye contact. They didn’t hesitate to converse with strange men, even tattooed ones with dreadlocks. I won’t claim they were clamouring to initiate conversation, yet neither did they avoid it. They laughed and joked with the bus driver on the way to Tumpat, the north end of the Jungle Railway, they just didn’t appear subjugated to any great extent. (Photo: Hand cleared homestead - North of Kuala Lipis)
If expecting unbroken jungle I’d have been disappointed, luckily I wasn’t, I’d been forewarned. But there was enough of it to warrant the title given the train ride. The initial leg of the journey was through a lot of natural jungle, not impenetrable bush country, yet enough to get the feel for it. There wasn’t much in the way of orderly cultivation, what there was tended to be on a small scale. Rubber plantations gave the game away, and for a long time there was little other evidence of mankind’s interference. Banana palms were common, but haphazard, infrequently small patches would appear in small areas obviously cleared for that exact purpose. Clearing is very much an ongoing process, before Kuala Lipis only half an acre or so would be cleared in any one place. 
That changed drastically once aboard the second train on the day, enormous expanses of bare soil swept across the horizon, hillsides roughly terraced to facilitate the planting of date palms. Whole vistas of date palms crowded out any illusion of a natural habitat, from new plantation to well matured versions that must have been there for many decades. Palm oil is the harvest from date palms, and the fruit is produced while the palms are barely above ground level. All they need do is thicken out before bearing fruit, which I don’t imagine takes too many years. I know Malaysia produces a lot of rubber, as do many of the SE Asian countries, but it’s far outweighed by palm oil production, at least in acreage given over to production. Obviously future investment is concentrating on palm oil rather than rubber. Bearing this in mind it seems strange to witness many ruins standing at the edge of the plantations, I can only assume the necessity for workers to live amongst them has diminished with the advent of better transport infrastructure. (Photo: An overabundance of date palms - South of Kuala Lipis, Malaysia)
For me the train was all about experiencing the every day life of those who depend on it, those who rely on that early train. Kids who’ve never had an alternative method of reaching school, women who load bales and baskets of goods on board on their way to market in the next decent size town. The train stops at every single station, getting more and more crowded as it goes. Passageways become clogged with bags, bundles and bushels, old ladies sit atop their wares smoking hand rolled jungle tobacco. Scurrying up and down the aisles they carry gossip between one group and the next. It’s as much a community gathering as a trip to market, life is bright and breezy, they laugh and cackle with glee. From Kuala Lipis I had to join an express train, gone were the colourful characters in their bright, gaudy polyester garments. But the ethnicity of the people grew more varied. The closer to the bright lights of the big city, the larger the melting pot of cultural diversity became. Ethnic Indian and Chinese increased in numbers. By the time we reached Kuala Lumpur Malay Muslims were outnumbered by these migrants from times gone by. (More Limestone karsts - Central Highlands, Malaysia)
Where next I wonder?
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