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Monkeying Around in Borneo

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So we’re driving along a road in Northern Borneo and I catch a glimpse of a white guy walking on the side of the road. Something clicks, we U-turn, and pull up alongside. It’s Bryan, the worldly Scottish traveller I explored Angkor with in Cambodia seven months ago. The probability of driving past someone I know in the jungles of northern Borneo is, by my calculation, 1:543,000,020,063,007. But these things happen to me, which is why I buy lottery tickets.

Another sleepless night watching France destroy Spain (no bad history between those two) and I’m off to Selingan Turtle Island, an hour boat ride into the warm South China Sea. Giant sea turtles, some as ancient as 100 years-old, lay eggs on the beach of the small island, which are then collected by rangers, protected from predators, incubated, hatched and reintroduced into the sea. Only a small percentage will survive to maturity, as little as one percent, the rest of the little guys feed the food chain (and local markets, where turtle eggs are illegal but common). Turtle Island is one of those tiny tropical islands where monitor lizards run past your feet and fireflies strobe at night. Sparkling water, soft sand, not much to do in the day except sleep and take shelter from the heat, humidity, and bugs. The surrounding beaches are covered in turtle tracks that resemble thick motorbike treads. Last night, there were 27 landings, with over 2000 eggs laid and 500 hatchlings released. After dinner, a ranger yells “Turtle Time!” and we rush off to a beach where a giant female is laying 84 ping-pong ball eggs. The soft eggs are taken away, buried in the hatchery, while others are hatching throughout the night. We are allowed to hold a baby, which melts hearts with its flapping and flipping, but any attempt to slip one away could result in a hefty fine and maybe three months in jail. Darn it. I named mine Gonzo, blessed its green shell, and hoped it would beat the odds and go on to become a wise adult, and not the delicious turtle casserole I ate in New Caledonia. On the beach, the hatchlings head for the light, shuffling their way forward into the sea, where they will disappear - the lost years - and return to this very beach to lay their eggs when they mature in about 40 years time. The wondrous cycle of life, like March of the Penguins, only with hardshells and flippers.

And so week one draws to a close. It’s been hot and sticky, with the frenetic pace of a football international. I didn’t find my ape sidekick, but as I write to you from an air-conditioned cabin on a small island in the tranquil South China Sea, there’s no doubt that coming to Borneo has been a definite score.

Selingan Turtle Island
Sabah, Malaysia

* Forgive my references to the Clint Eastwood 70’s classics, where Dirty Harry was out-acted by an orangutan named Clyde

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