Crossing the Border

My last image of Thailand was from the window of a bus (the seat was hard) as we drove south to the border—the sun setting in an orange sky to the west and a huge, full, bright moon rising over palm trees in a dusky sky to the east. This view was quite nearly destroyed by the odor of what must have been a feedlot or slaughterhouse a bit further down the road. It was dark when we got to the border and the area was, for the most part, vacant. We walked across the border after getting thoroughly checked and scanned for drugs—our luggage was even X-rayed. We entered Malaysia with our lives intact (there is a mandatory death penalty for transporting drugs) and not a bus or taxi in sight.

So we had a scrumptious dinner at the 7-11—Cup O’Noodles and chips, yum!—and spent the night in a dodgy room near an empty market right across the border. It was someone’s home, and we had our own closed-off room, but had to walk through the kids’ sleeping area to reach the bathroom, which, as it were, had no running water. I spent the night still itchy with my hives and psychologically itchy with bedbugs, but luckily, I was exhausted, and I slept. In the room next door was a British couple who had gotten off the bus with us. They told me that in the UK, doctors won’t prescribe Malarone, the anti-malarial I had been taking, for more than a month at a time. I wonder why!  It certainly made me question the FDA's standards.

In the morning, we took a taxi to the bus station, a bus to Butterworth, a bus to Ipoh (where I ate watermelon and sweet corn at the bus station, having had only orange juice and cookies all day), and then finally a bus to the Cameron Highlands—Tanah Rata. After two full days of being transported, we finally were in a place we wanted to stay. Some hot tomato soup and garlic bread in town followed by a hot shower and a clean bed never felt so good.

We slept in the next morning. I had a peaceful, quiet day to myself in the mountain air (Malone was still feeling ill with her headache). The Cameron Highlands reminded me of Colorado. A tiny, one-street town was nestled in amongst the mountains, and the buildings just reminded me of a brick-building lined street in a small Colorado town. The day was rainy, and I think the cool, humid mountain air cured the remnants of my hives. I spent the day reading, writing on the sheltered porch of the hostel while the rain streamed down outside, exploring the town, and eating tasty Indian food. It was nice to have a peaceful day in a pretty place; the next day was packed and one of my favorite days in my memory!