The third and final leg of my Bornean adventure began with the most uncomfortable flight I have ever had the displeasure of taking. Following a fifteen-hour un-air-conditioned bus from the Bruneian capital to Kota Kinabalu the day before, I foolishly believed the worst of my transport woes were behind me. No, I was wrong.
Yesterday, I was atop Malaysia's tallest mountain. Today, I was aboard a flight from Kota Kinabalu to Brunei (officially named the Nation of Brunei, the Abode of Peace). A nation overlooked by many Bornean backpackers (I may have too had it not been for Bucket List 196), although I was determined to discover as much as anyone possibly could about the miniature Islamic nation - indeed the smallest majority Muslim nation on earth (in terms of population).
Twas the night before Christmas, when near to the hostel, everything was stirring, especially the brothel. Welcome to Malaysia. More specifically, the stretched coastal city of Kota Kinabalu on the mythical island of Borneo. I am here on my Christmas vacation, from teaching in South Korea, and boy do I require a break (attempting to teach toddlers the nuances of English grammar certainly takes its toll).
Throughout the autumn and darkening winter of my year teaching in South Korea, I went on as many short trips/weekends away as I possibly could. This was partly to see the new country I called home and partly to take my mind off the job that wholly occupied my thoughts and stresses from Monday to Friday.
I left you last at the infamous blue meeting rooms of the Joint Security Area (or JSA), having spent the morning hopping between North and South Koreas and taking photos with stern-looking border guards. Our group was then shown towards the North Korean gift shop, where all manner of legally-acquired northern merchandise was up for grabs.
North Korea. One of the most reclusive, unstable and unwelcoming destinations on earth - or is it? Yes, it absolutely is. Having said that, I would be lying if I said that I didn't have a slightly morbid fascination with the place - what is life really like in the self-contained and mysterious north?
Many a night was whiled away attempting to conceive a master plan of how I could travel the world and earn dollar at the same time. For some reason, I decided that teaching English to kindergartners was the answer, and shortly after signing up to a recruitment company I was on a one-way flight to South Korea - teaching little kids surely can't be that difficult?
The only way to get from Osaka to Tokyo is by bullet train. That isn't strictly true. I mean you could fly, drive, walk or ride on the back of a gibbon if you so wanted - but none are as comfortable as the Shinkansen. The five hundred kilometre journey takes just three and a half hours, and you barely feel as if your moving at all - it is basically the complete opposite of going for a jog after twenty-five sambucas.
A short train ride south from Kyoto and you arrive in Osaka - and the contrast is remarkable. If Kyoto was one of the most peaceful and calming places I have ever visited, then Osaka very well may be the least. As soon as we abandoned the train, we were sardined into the city centre - with no hope of deciding where our own feet went.
