It’s well known that the great Rabbie Burns wrote "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft agley". What's slightly less well known is that he was trying to make it across Malaysia on Hari Raya when he wrote this.
I was trying to get from Penang to the small town of Lenggong in Perak and thanks to the impending festival my best laid plans were definitely ganging agley. These plans in summary were this: Catch ferry from Georgetown to Butterworth; catch bus to Kuala Kangsar; catch local bus to Lenggong; get picked up there.
In reality, this happened: caught ferry to Butterworth; found out that due to people travelling home for the celebrations the only bus to Kuala Kangsar was full; waited an hour and caught bus to Taiping; got to Taiping, wandered round a bit, waited for a bus and tried to get on it only to be told it wasn't what I thought it was, caught the right bus into Taiping town centre, waited some more, caught a bus to Kuala Kangsar, realised that I hadn't seen another white person since I left Butterworth, caught the local bus to Lenggong and got some mad confused stares from the locals, obviously wondering why the hell some fairly androgynous pale person would be going to where they're going, had a series of minor freak outs when I noticed that I had no idea where to get off, no idea where I was and no idea where the unexpectedly long bus trip ended up, closed my eyes and crossed my fingers when the bus FULL OF PEOPLE decided to go over a WOODEN BRIDGE, breathed a huge sigh of relief when we pulled up at a bus station, tried to call my contact to no avail twice, finally got him and was told he had already been down to pick me up once (only later would I understand how annoying double trips are for him), bought a drink from a girl who proudly yelled "THANK YOU HOW ARE YOU" when I'd given her my cash, got settled in for a bit of a wait with my book, and finally looked up from my pages into the face of Ladia, who'd made his way down to get me (again).
 |
| Travelling in the lap of luxury.... |
My decision to go to Perak Permaculture Farm and volunteer for a week had been a rushed one. I googled Perak, saw the link, saw one single, vague but glowing recommendation and emailed to book myself in. Because of this, I didn't really know what to expect, but being picked up by a dreadlocked Czech guy in the world's most beat up 4x4 was definitely not it.
Ladia and Hana Kuta, the raddest Czechs in Asia, have had their permaculture project for 2 years now and the journey up to the farm from the town feels like stepping into another dimension. With Ladia's 4x4 literally falling apart as it struggles up the hills into the jungle, you feel further and further away from real life and by the time you pull up in front of the farmhouse you’re ready to step out into Narnia. This isn't too far from the truth.
 |
| The view from my window |
When they say it's in the jungle, they really mean it. The farmhouse and the other building, separated a little, both lie within the site of an old tea plantation, surrounded by mountains which are dripping with the kind of greenery you don’t really believe exists. Running through the site is a small river, which pools just by the farmhouse creating a natural freshwater jacuzzi - the sort of thing they recreate in posh spas, but a million times better because its real and full of teeny fish that suck at your skin if you sit still long enough. All around the site is unbelievable flora, things I've never seen before, interspersed with planting areas which have been saved from overgrowth by the hard work of Ladia, Hana and their volunteers; in my 8 days at the farm I learn the truth of Ladia's saying "If you don't take care of something here, the jungle takes it back".
 |
| The jacuzzi |
The guys also run a homestay to generate a small amount of income; as the farm is non-commercial, this helps them keep the whole place going. They often have people who pay to stay there, sample Hana's amazing cooking and learn from the couple about sustainable farming, the nature of the place, and their unconventional lifestyle. When I arrive a lovely Chinese-Malaysian couple are staying, as well as Ladia and Hana's friend, Zahir (who despite having an American accent, is from KL).
 |
| ZAHIR! |
Volunteers at the farm are expected to work for a minimum of 5 hours a day in return for free accommodation and as much food as they can eat (they don't say this, but its very much the case). As I'd already messed Ladia about with my changing arrival time I was keen to get stuck in but really had no idea what I was doing. I'm not the most green-fingered person (anything more animated than a tissue just dies in my presence, and we even had to let our pet snail Rupert go because he was depressed) so I was a bit nervous of ruining something important at first, but by the time I got to have a go at a tree with a machete, I was going all Feral Man and making MAN SOUNDS. I even got a machete blister - still a source of endless pride for me.
My room was away from the main house in a block above the animals - there are goats, chickens, ducks, rabbits, turkeys and even a little quail kept in this part of the site. Having heard the stories of tigers coming down after dark and even an elephant once or twice, I spent a part of my first night having a mini spazout that the scratching at my door was a big cat who'd managed to scale the stairs, but I realised soon enough that it was a bat and I am an idiot.
 |
| My room - no tigers |
As a novice volunteer my daily duties were to gather food for the animals when I got up, feed them all and water Hana's nursery. Generally then breakfast was ready, and after the first feast of the day we'd get to work on whatever was needed. Sometimes this was hacking away some jungle to make room for planting, or building the wall for the pond around the back, sometimes it was weeding, or putting the seedlings into the ground. Surprisingly often this was heeding the call of "GOOOOOAAAAATTSS!!!" and running down the hill, or up the hill, or wading into the veggie patches to capture the goats that he broken free and try to stop them eating three week's worth of vegetables, which they do amazingly fast. I got a perverse enjoyment out of grabbing the errant goats and wrenching them up to where they should be, especially the first time when we decided to let them graze further up, which involved cajoling them into jumping across the stream. My goat did not want to be cajoled, and in trying to pull him across, I slid into the muddy bed of the stream, leaving a flip flop behind as I retrieved my foot. Goat 1, footwear 0. Fun factor: off the chart.
The goats were all fairly lovable animals, apart from Big Daddy, who gets a little carried away when he smells women and is tied up at all times for this very reason. Big Daddy goat gets a whiff of your pheromones and out comes his nasty little penis, all pointy and blood red. Ladia explained to me how to grab his horns and wrestle him to the ground to reassert my position of power if he ever tried to mount me, which I listened to with distinct attention as well as the knowledge that if that ever actually happened I'd just be running away and crying.
 |
| The offending fellow |
I had expected my green fingers to come out in the jungle, but not my cooking skills. However, Hana is an unbelievable cook and would often rescue me from the physical labour by asking for my 'help' in the kitchen (even though the only thing I contributed was a pair of hands and some reggae tunes to cook to). This chick has the ability to make a total banquet out of 2 potatoes, an egg and some spinach, and by the end of the week I’d got hopelessly addicted to Hana's Tofu Balls and Black Jungle Cake, which is like Black Forest Cake but heaps better. I’d also learned how to make rosella jam, and would force it down the throat of anyone unlucky enough to come near when a jar was open.
I also hadn't expected to make such good friends. After his first trip Zahir came back up to the farm with a couple of friends, Tanner and Zhariff, and a few days later two fellow Brits, Hannah and Doug, turned up to volunteer. After some epic meals, shared drinks, some sessions on guitar singing ‘hits’, and a very horrible, emotional experience involving a Chinese psychopath and the farm’s poor, poor dogs, we were pretty tight; so tight that I ended up heading back to KL with the two Z’s and Captain America (Tanner) after my time at the farm was up.
 |
| Unofficial anthem of the trip |
Before that time came around though, I'd cleared, fertilised (this sounds weird - not with my own poo) and planted my own pitiful little veggie patch, which forevermore will only grow vegetables that are like me; small and English. I'd also got WAY more into the fertiliser thing than I would ever have thought possible; at one point I found myself knee-deep in compost pits teeming with cockroaches and, in one, a mouse nest, using all my minute amount of strength to overturn the steaming faeces to get to the better stuff underneath. I was adamant that if it was worth shovelling shit, it was worth shovelling the best shit, and spent an afternoon lovingly preparing it the best way I could. I've no idea what the chickens thought to the sight of me watering their waste then jumping up and down on it to pack it into the pit.
One thing I didn't get involved with was the fishing, apart from in the capacity of official photographer. There's a big pond around the back of the farm, which serves as the source for the fish everyone eats. As a vegetarian (for environmental and health reasons, as well as just preference these days) I don't eat fish, but I don't eat fish because commercial farming is driving many species to extinction and farming methods ruin the sea as well as the seabed and everything that lives there. By this dictum, I should be able to eat fish that's from sustainable sources, fished in a positive manner. The farm's fish is caught by Ladia and the volunteers, with a big net, from their own pond. Sure, I said, I'll eat one of those. But I don't really want to catch it.
So in plunged Ladia, Tanner, Zahir, Zhariff and Doug with a big ass net, to drag along the pond and catch some dinner. First time, no fish. Second time, one fish. Third time; losing faith. Evidently the fish are vaguely annoyed with their territory being trawled, and have taken to hiding in the holes at the side of the pond whenever they see the white strings of death. This was frustrating for the guys but hilarious from the bank, and this turned to amazement when Ladia got serious and caught everyone’s dinner from their hidey-holes with his bare hands. Hardcore.
Dinner tasted good.
 |
| Best cat EVAR |
Every day I spent there I learned something new; how pineapples grow, what wild lemon grass looks like, what sugar cane tastes like, how to chop things down, how to plant things, how to grow things, where this goes and that goes and how this happens and how to avoid chemicals while still stimulating your plants, as well as being introduced to a vast array of Weird Shit that grows nowhere else than Asia. The most fantastic experience of my trip, though, was the waterfall trek.
 |
| THINGS GROW IN THE GROUND |
When I heard the phrase “river trek” I hadn’t considered that this trek would actually take place IN the river. Yet there we were, waist deep in the water, scrambling over rocks, straining under branches, picking coffee beans off trees on the way, making hats from giant leaves and secretly hoping that we were picking up the biggest leeches on the way, just for bragging rights. By the time we got to the waterfall I’d lingered in the water long enough to pick up several, including a big mamma leech on my ankle who was getting fatter by the second. Rather than be grossed out like I imagined I would, I took a perverse pleasure in taking the lit cigarette and holding the burning end to the little sucker, watching him fall off my leg writhing in agony and then seeing the relatively massively hole in my leg gush out a heap of blood. And this, from a vegetarian. Apparently these wounds just don’t stop bleeding, so the thing to do is to drop ash onto the wound, to encourage the blood to coagulate; and it does work!
With this fun over we took to the real experience; kitting off and sitting under the mass of water falling from the rocks above. If there’s a more divine sensation, I don’t know what it is; it’s like a baptism, but less creepy. We took turns to sit under this deluge laughing like children then slid down and over the big rocks made flat and smooth by the water erosion, smashing into a bigger rock at the end of the ride and loving every minute of it. We climbed up to the top of the waterfall, burning off our little visitors and taking in beauty of the view and that of the jungle around us. Then we had all the fun of trekking back down to the house, picking up more leeches and panicking a little when the sun went down very, very quickly and we still weren’t back.
A few days earlier a mad storm had come over, and while the people who live in Malaysia had sat inside, used to these tropical thunderstorms, Tanner and I, as the tourists of the group, had stripped down to our swimmers and run out to play in the hot rain, revelling in a situation we’d never find ourselves in at home.
Life at the farm isn’t for everyone – cold showers, bugs, holes instead of flushing toilets, scorpions, mad sunburn, hard work, epic heat and rough-and-ready accommodation aren’t welcomed by some people – but the experiences you have there are so beyond your normal scope of life that they’re absolutely priceless.
As we headed down to Lenggong, waving au revoir to a teary Hana with promises of coming back to put on a reggae festival the next year, I sighed that sigh lamenting the fact that everything this awesome must always come to an end. I missed the farm, and the people there, before I even stepped out of the crazy, broken 4x4 and back to reality.
