Backpackers live in constant fear of being ripped off. It becomes second nature to scrimp, save and search endlessly for a better deal, a cheaper beer, a saving anywhere. So when a strange manager in your hostel suggests that you stay with his cousin in a ‘homestay’ at you next destination for significantly cheaper then the next best alternative, what do you do? Well, that whole scene gives me the creeps, so I stick to my pre-arranged hostel bed in Mulu National Park HQ.
Regardless, the cousin picks me up from the airport to take me to destination HQ and points out his place on the way, complete with a patio full of smiling backpackers. It doesn’t occur to me until I’m stuck alone in the park cafe, cut off from the outside world by a torrential downpour that I should have checked his place out while I had the chance.
It is monsoon season here in the jungle, I sit and wait it out in this huge empty cafe. There are only two other beds taken in the dorm, and I was on the last flight of the day. This looks like it is going to be a boring and lonely 4 days. At this point in time a ray of light seems to be shining on this whole homestay business, and I’m running out of money in this no ATM town.
Finally the rain dies down, in the darkening dusk I grab my camera and wander out past the office, over the suspension bridge rocking and rolling with every footfall. I step on to the patio, past the once smiling, now drunk backpackers and ask the lady behind the desk about the homestay. “No, that is next door”. Hopes shattered, this is just a cafe. I don’t see much next door, nor further down the road - just trees laden with rambutan and Malaysians riding their motorbikes through puddles, yelling hello to me. So back to the lonely, empty hostel it is.
I wander back slowly, the rain took the heat away, taking pictures and arrive at the dorm to find I’ve already met my two room mates, back in the crazy cat lady hostel in Miri. Things are looking up.
