A cruisy start to the day was needed. After much toiling and partying in the blistering heat, I decided to languish by the pool after breakfast. Spent time chatting with Prakash from Layatharanga, as well as two KL girls by the names of Sariah and Shenice. Sitting in the pool with a beer in hand was just what I needed. We played stupid games with a thoroughly un-aerodynamic ball. It was a bit like the official ball for the current world cup, only worse. There were quite a few people who had the same agenda as us on their minds, so the pool came alive with laughter and lots of splashing.
Later we were joined by the very outspoken Shenice's two friends from KL; Julie and Sylvia. Great. Two more girls to make fun of me. Yep, it seems that I'm the target for a lot of ribbing with my somewhat ebullient personality and unconventional appearance. Ah well, when in Rome... right? The girls and I thought a visit to the beach was in order, and after following dodgy instructions from the hotel staff, we scuttled through a stormwater drain and walked past bright red no-trespassing signs as well as a golf course to reach the elusive beach.
The sun was HOT. Devilishly hot. But the water was fantastic, and the company... weeeell, I suppose I can't complain too much about being the only guy amongst four pretty ladies. I heard a distant rumble. It appeared the god of thunder was not too impressed with our frolicking, and I could see some rather angry looking storm clouds making their way slowly towards the mountain, and us. It still had a while to go before it reached us, so we kept on talking trash and verbally abusing each other. For instance, sweet Julie came up to us with a spray-on temporary tattoo of a crab by her belly button, exclaiming "Check out my crab!" whilst looking downwards. I trust that you, my dear readers, have sufficient imagination to visualize the mockery that took place after that statement.
Meanwhile I was getting as roasted as a crab's underwater colleague, the lobster. My red face has also been kindly referred to in the past by a loving friend who said it resembled a baboon's ass. Nice. Thanks buddy. I've never forgotten it. We got out of the water, and took some silly photos, including a photo of all four girls pointing their butts at the camera; all under the watchful and disapproving gaze of an old Malay woman wearing traditional headscarf. Yes, the girls felt a tad sheepish walking past her. We packed up and got ready to head off to the cultural village.
While waiting for the girls to get ready, I gave myself a commando wash by the poolside, and, as any self respecting male does, did all my ablutions in record time. Finally, an hour later, the girls appeared, and off to the village we went; all the while still taking the piss out of each other. The skies were starting to look a tad more menacing at this point, and we were all wondering what the weather had in store for us. Food, glorious food, was what we needed, so we chowed down on some more of the local delights, as well as some ice cold beer. Julie, who was also one of the media attendees, gave me a TV interview for her west Malaysian TV station, which was an interesting distraction. I hope I didn't make too much of an ass out of myself :)
The place was absolutely humming! People were everywhere, and I knew right then and there that it was going to be an awesome night. Finally, the heavens opened and absolutely deluged the whole village grounds. We were joined by some more people, and decided to wait for a lull in the rain before taking a walk. Well, it didn't lull, but it let up a bit. Enough, so that we could walk around without my camera gear getting destroyed. I ducked off for a while to catch up with some friends, but rejoined the girls at the sheltered stand next to the stage. And by that stage the rain was thundering down! Hmmm, definitely going to be an interesting night!
The performances began, and while we didn't see everything that was going on, we were so close to the stage that the music was loud enough for us to appreciate. So many people came and went, and with each new addition, we made acquaintances and talked shop. I met one of the older guys from the Columbian/Australian band Watussi, who was a fellow greenie at heart, so both of us chatted about the environment, corruption, and compared notes on each other's home countries. Obviously I have two home countries so I had a lot to say. All the while, people were laughing at me and with me about how I resembled Cyclops from the X-Men with my very pronounced sunglass tanlines, that had by this stage, well and truly made their mark.
While talking, I was still paying close attention to the music. The night started off with a group called, Bakih, from Malaysia, who played a riveting jam of homegrown Sarawakian music; electric sape (traditional guitar with an electric pickup) mixed with electric bass mixed with funky rhythms infused with a blend of traditional and contemporary music. They were followed by Yerboli from Northern China, and De Temps Antan from Canada, who busted out their respective Mongolian and Quebec/ Native North American influenced rhythms. The wooden floor ocassionally shook as people jumped up and down, especially to the more energetic parts of the sets. Then, a captivating sound filled the humid, electrified air as the Musafir gypsies of Rajasthan took to the stage and showed the crowd what Indian tribal music was all about.
The rain was showing no signs of letting up, and it carried on torrentially for a good three hours before easing up enough to allow us to get comfortably drenched instead of uncomfortably drowned. But the show must go on! It was Tuak time (for those of you that don't know; a local rice wine) so we headed off to get some supplies for the night. At this stage Shenice had left, and Sariah was off with some other friends so it was down to me, Julie, and Sylvia to do the right thing and get silly off the local brew. Supplies, check. Attitude, check. Fun mode? Full throttle. I bumped into a few friends on the way over to the stage. By the look of their inebriated faces, I was glad to see we weren't the only ones down for the madness that was to ensue.
We sloshed our way through the mud and caught the last half of Galandum Galundaina, from Portugal. You must forgive me, dear reader, at this point, because my analytical mind was caught up in the revelry of the moment. And possibly, just maybe, a bit blunted from the Tuak. All I can really remember is the interesting instrument one of the performers wielded; a cow jawbone that rattled upon striking it. We slipped, skidded, slid and grooved to the catchy tunes, took silly photos, and made more acquaintances on the dancefloor. I had some people come up to me and say "Hey, nice tatts" or "Hey, you're that crazy guy that takes photos in the middle of the moshpit" or just a plain "Hey".
For the second to last performance we made our way to the centre, where I bumped into a few more friends. The MC introduced Novolima from Peru, who busted out the jams with a larger than life stage presence and some seriously funky tunes guided by Afro-Peruvian persuasions with a healthy dollop of modern DJ-ing. The joint was swingin', rockin' and sloshin'! Friendly faces surrounded me; everyone feeling the moment and celebrating truly being alive amidst conditions that would make most people run for cover. The smiles, the pats on the back, the good sounds... ahhh, so this is what it feels like to be living!
After their impressive performance, the MC announced the finale act, which was a showcase of each performances' skills. Each group had about a two minute slot, where they worked together on the rhythm. The girls and I, had all this time been attacking each other with mud. But I was fighting a losing battle, because these were two seriously determined young lasses who thought that I looked better covered in mud. Sylvia also regularly attacked my nipples, perhaps thinking that by tweaking them the volume would increase. We did stupid things, like when Reelroad'B hit the stage, we danced like hillbillies with me fiddling an imaginary fiddle, and interlocking arms as if we were at a dixie hall danceoff. Besides the mud, I had a grin plastered on my face from ear to ear.
But everything good MUST inevitably come to an end. The very last performers finished their slot to an impressive and deafening roar of approval from the audience. Much cheering and backslapping and high fiving and hugging went on. We had been spoilt by their sheer awesomeness for the whole weekend, and now it was time to leave. Reluctantly, we started making our hesitant way out of the village. While walking out, I spotted a fellow Kiwi, a Maori singing to himself in Maori, funnily enough. I went up to him and said "Kiaora cuz!" He grabbed me and said "Bro! Gimme a Hongi (traditional Maori greeting where you touch noses; a sign of respect). Then, we busted out an impromptu and loud haka for all the delighted and bemused onlookers. After that, I was speartackled to the ground by a friend who caught me off guard. We traded mud and brotherly love. What an awesome time.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, we were back at the hotel. My plans had changed. I wasn't going home that night. I was covered head to toe in mud, and when the hotel staff saw me they shook their heads as they handed me my bag that I had placed behind the counter. You see, I had already checked out of the room that afternoon, with the intention of catching the late bus home. But there was no way the bus would let me on in my state. I decided to crash with the courteous and accommodating girls. Julie used the shower first, but when it was my turn, the waterworks had given up the ghost. I was shouting to the girls for some help. So what did they do? Both of them came busting in while I was butt naked, with only mud to preserve my modesty. Hilarity and laughter ensued. I've had some ridiculous shit happen to me in my life but that moment was definitely up there.
Sylvia and I decided to go down to the lobby to check out the Netherlands VS. Spain match. By this stage it was 2-ish in the morning. Lots of people were down there, still coming down from the natural high of the night. One man with a vuvuzela kept us entertained with his intermittent blasts whenever he thought Spain was going to score. A painfully drawn out match that was, I must say. By the time Spain won, it was 5 something in the morning, and we had to be up by ten. Despite the pain I felt in my whole body, all I could feel was ecstatic about having one of the best weekends of my life. I didn't want it to end.
So, dear reader, I shall give you my word that this time next year, you'll be reading more about the magic that is the Rainforest music festival of Sarawak, Borneo, and I hope through my experiences I've persuaded you to join me in the fun next year. Mud, sweat, and beers, my friends. Mud, sweat and beers.
Santubong Mountain, I can't wait to see you again soon.
One Love
Dan
P.S. - Sylvia, my nipples are still bruised from all that "lovin'"
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