Note: this trip was made at Christmas 1995. In the time since then I'm sure much has changed so it may not be a great idea to treat this as a guide. Treat it as a memoir, which - give or take some editing - is exactly what it is.I opened my eyes. Everyone seemed to be packing up and heading towards the picnic area. We hadn't been there for five minutes had we? Someone was walking toward me echoing the dream that I had been having. (But how could I have been having a dream unless I'd been asleep?) I stood up and brushed the sand from my arms and legs.
"About forty five minutes." she told me when I asked the obvious question. The fragments of my dream flickered past but were gone before I could catch them.
At the picnic table eager monkeys stood watching us from near the sign that listed as rule number one - "Do Not Feed The Animals". I glanced at the other rules and chuckled at rule number seven - "No Nudity Or Public Indecency".
On the table lunch was taking shape. Blocks of cheese were sliced. Cans of tuna fish and a jar of peanut butter were opened. Loaves of bread were unwrapped. It all looked horribly familiar from our trek. Given the number of available ingredients the number of culinary variations was rather limited although Graham's tuna fish and peanut butter sandwich made a valiant attempt at expanding the envelope. Afterwards, mindful of rule number one, we cleared away as well as we could but as soon as we stepped away from the table hordes of monkeys who obviously hadn't read the sign descended on it to salvage whatever scraps they could manage.
Now we had a choice. We could return by bangka to Sabang or walk along a track called the 'Monkey Trail'. The few returning by boat left and the rest of us started up the path. Two steps along it started to rain. Fifty steps later it was back to the kind of downpour we knew and loved. That damned cloud had just been waiting until we were away from shelter. I swear that I could hear it sniggering.
Initially the track led up a series of sturdy wooden staircases that zigzagged steeply up the hillside. We were surrounded by trees that could have been designed by Salvador Dali. Great flat vertical boards formed the roots looking like pieces of chipboard slotted together as props for a stage production of Tarzan of the Apes. At the top of the steps the track levelled out and then gradually rose and fell as we walked through the jungle, the rain increasing in ferocity all the time. Finally another set of steps, this time distinctly rickety looking led down to another beach. We descended them one at a time for safety. Parts of them looked as if one at a time might be one more than they could take but we all reached the beach in perfect safety and then followed it round until a track cut a little way back inland to a broad flat path which ultimately took us back to Sabang and a change of clothes. At Sabang with a final little flourish the rain cloud drifted off to find someone else who had no shelter and the sun came back out.
"About forty five minutes." she told me when I asked the obvious question. The fragments of my dream flickered past but were gone before I could catch them.
At the picnic table eager monkeys stood watching us from near the sign that listed as rule number one - "Do Not Feed The Animals". I glanced at the other rules and chuckled at rule number seven - "No Nudity Or Public Indecency".
On the table lunch was taking shape. Blocks of cheese were sliced. Cans of tuna fish and a jar of peanut butter were opened. Loaves of bread were unwrapped. It all looked horribly familiar from our trek. Given the number of available ingredients the number of culinary variations was rather limited although Graham's tuna fish and peanut butter sandwich made a valiant attempt at expanding the envelope. Afterwards, mindful of rule number one, we cleared away as well as we could but as soon as we stepped away from the table hordes of monkeys who obviously hadn't read the sign descended on it to salvage whatever scraps they could manage.
Now we had a choice. We could return by bangka to Sabang or walk along a track called the 'Monkey Trail'. The few returning by boat left and the rest of us started up the path. Two steps along it started to rain. Fifty steps later it was back to the kind of downpour we knew and loved. That damned cloud had just been waiting until we were away from shelter. I swear that I could hear it sniggering.
Initially the track led up a series of sturdy wooden staircases that zigzagged steeply up the hillside. We were surrounded by trees that could have been designed by Salvador Dali. Great flat vertical boards formed the roots looking like pieces of chipboard slotted together as props for a stage production of Tarzan of the Apes. At the top of the steps the track levelled out and then gradually rose and fell as we walked through the jungle, the rain increasing in ferocity all the time. Finally another set of steps, this time distinctly rickety looking led down to another beach. We descended them one at a time for safety. Parts of them looked as if one at a time might be one more than they could take but we all reached the beach in perfect safety and then followed it round until a track cut a little way back inland to a broad flat path which ultimately took us back to Sabang and a change of clothes. At Sabang with a final little flourish the rain cloud drifted off to find someone else who had no shelter and the sun came back out.
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