Posted from: Khota Boru, Malaysia
We arrived in Khota Boru after a sixteen hour overnight train ride, a short walk across the Malaysian / Thai border and a 45-minute taxi trip into town.
Out of any that I’ve experienced so far, taking a train is easily my favorite mode of transportation, an opinion only bolstered by the trip down here. I thought intermittently of the Vietnam War, and what combat on similar terrain would be like: wet, viney jungles where ground creepers snake up and through the trees, sometimes netting them completely. Tall trees, thin but well-muscled like African tribesmen, encircled rice-paddy fields, or marshes with lolling water buffalo, a white bird perched on one’s hindquarters making a meal of parasites.
As we got further south the Thai Wat became less frequent, and mosques cropped up railside instead.
Malaysia is a Muslim country – the vast majority of the women covering their hair, ankles and shoulders despite the heat. There is a definite change form Buddhist mentality. I felt very much the foreigner plodding along in my tank top and ripped jeans, hair exposed. In fact, both Noah and I noticed that we haven’t seen a single other foreigner since stepping onto the train in Hua Hin. This pleases me.
Not a hint of Christmas in the air, and needing a nap.
