Captain Jamica and Sandfly bites

…….. are the two vilest thing I have experienced (so far) this year.

Do I hear you ask who the heck is Captain Jamica?

And where on earth did The Frou go to allow the holy temple of her body be ravished by vile sand gnats??

Well, it all started last weekend when I decided to fly to the northern part of Borneo to the ‘land below the wind’ or what is more commonly known as Sabah. I can sit here all day and wax lyrical about the ‘beauty of Sabah’, as one of my local friend likes to refer to her hometown, but I can’t recall much because my brain cells have been wiped out by the sleepiness of the East Malaysia culture and undoubtedly, Captain Jamica himself has to shoulder most of the blame for those dead brain cells. (Readers: Is he from Jamaica?)

So I shall reduce this post to the only 2 things I remember from my trip as per the subject title. And to add more suspense to the air about The Captain, I shall talk about the sand flies first. (Readers: Is he a sea pirate from the Kalimantan coasts?)

First of all, did you know that sand flies are not insects? They are actually crustaceans, and belong to a species which flies, bites and suck your blood dry. Only female sand flies will bite because they need the protein from human blood to help them lay eggs. When bitten, a sand fly will inject its saliva into your blood to thin it so that it is easier for them to draw blood. If you are so unfortunate as to be bitten, you will be left with welts that will swell and itch like mad and you will be left in this state for months and months. The icing on top is you will have a scar to remember the bite by at the end of your torture. Sweet!

And The Frou is THAT unfortunate to be bitten at 20 different places by those damned sea vampires. I am suffering as I am typing this. I have doused myself in calamine lotion, aloe vera and consumed a healthy dosage of anti-histamines. Nada. Not working.

And the reason why I am suffering, is because of karmatic forces at play and the fact that an insomniac Phillip dragged me out of bed at 730am because he wants to make like a beached whale and get a tan to rival Donatella Versace. So he dragged me out of bed and onto a tiny boat to Pulau Mamutik, which is the smallest of all islands in Kota Kinabalu stretching only a mere 15 acres.

There is absolutely nothing to do at Mamutik Island unless you want to pay exorbitant fees for sea sports which we refuse to because we are on holiday and don’t believe in moving a muscle at the beach. So we spent the entire morning just lying on the sandy beach and listening to the sounds of lapping waters and laughing silently in our hearts at our counterparts who are hard at work in their office cubicle this glorious Friday morning. I brought along my gossip magazines and we spent the better half of the morning bitching about who wore what at the Oscars. When the heat finally got to us, we adjourn into the waters where I proceed to teach him various yoga poses. We thought we were pretty clever when we came up with the concept of ‘water yoga’ and even pretended to make a promo video of it with cheesy voiceovers such as “The Chinese believe that water is the source of life, and therefore yoga on water will prolong your life.” (We are sincerely lame like that, we are not putting it on.)

Of course we got bitten by sand flies. Maro said that this is the Divinity's way of punishing us for making a mockery out of the ancient art of Yoga. I learnt my lesson and stand punished. (Well, Buddha did say that to live is to suffer…..ouch!)

The sandfly bites would have gotten the better of me and spoil my entire Borneo retreat but for the fact that Captain Jamica came to me rescue. (Readers: Is he handsome like Johnny Depp?)

And this is the story of how I met The Captain.

We were all sitting in an extremely cheesy hotel lounge in Sandakan, bored out of our skull. We just attended a wedding and this was the post-party. For those who are not familiar, Sandakan is the second largest city in Sabah and probably the most ulu. A beautiful place, no doubt, where many orang utans and proboscis monkeys live in conservation (which is the second main reason why I'm there) but it’s not a fun place for humans.

All the young people at the wedding are gathered at the lounge because it’s raining and our initial plan of a rooftop party is all rained-out. So we were reduced to sitting on one-seater armchairs and watching two Filipino singers and 1 old male bass player serenading us Living La Viva Loca in their skanky ourtfits.

Someone finally announce, “Look, the best way to deal with this situation is to get really, really drunk. Only then can this shithole be the most happening place on earth.”

That is really good advice, if you ask me. What else can we do? Didn’t some clever person once said that if life throws you lemons, go make lemonade?

And the bar did throw us Captain Jamica. Let me clarify. The Captain is not from Jamaica and neither is he a sea pirate. If he is to be a living breathing man, I doubt he looks like Johnny Depp but a skinny, dark Kadazan man smoking kretek all day.

My friends, Captain Jamica is liquid pleasure made from fermented rice and distilled white rum from (I would imagine) the depths of the rainforest in Borneo. It comes as a transparent clear white fluid in a tall skinny bottle that boast an image of a coconut tree and a man in a straw hat. Like I say, this is the local version so it’s Jamica, not Jamaica.

And boy does it taste vile.

The way we drink it is, everyone holds a shot glass which we fill to the rim, and we raise a palm to our forehand in salute to The Captain before throwing the liquid to the back of our throats and feel whatever drops left literally evaporating from our mouths. We did this every 5-10 minutes until the bottle is gone.

I cannot describe the taste in words. Let’s just say that none of us can drink a shot without making a constipated face that freezes for at least 10 seconds after we down a shot. It is one of the most foul-tasting liquid I have ever drank in my alcoholic life. Think kerosene.

But the miraculous thing is, within 10 minutes of consuming our first shot, all of us are grinning like proboscis monkeys on heat. We have no idea what is going on. And we cannot stop smiling dumbly. Our mouths just curve and stay up automatically. It goes right to your head, and you just want more. We toasted, and laughed, and stumble about. A group even broke off to form a train on the dance floor and choo-choo-ed to the beat of Brother Louie Louie.

We had half a dozen shots each and when the bottle is dry, we cried to the bartender for more. Alas, that was their last bottle of The Captain and they gave us another similar potion known as El Dorado. El Dorado however does not taste as vile and does not make us smile either, but at that point, alcohol is alcohol. The Captain has already laid the base and pave the way to a very happy drunk night. We consumed El Dorado within the next 20 minutes.

The next thing I know, I was in a karaoke room in downtown Sandakan wailing “I am not your Superwoman." (We love drunk singing!) What is amazing about Sandakan karaokes is that you get 2-3 attendants standing INSIDE the room with you and WATCH you sing and CLAP & CHEER for you when you are done. How’s that for positive affirmation? They made me feel like Karen White. These attendants also watches with eagle eye at your drink and promptly rushes to fill your glass when it is empty. My vodka tumbler never runs dry. How’s that for East Malaysian hospitality?

And that, in a nutshell, concludes my Borneo trip. No hangover the next day - The Captain is very clean. But no thanks to the Captain that I woke up late the next day and missed my Sepilok Sanctuary trip to see the orang utans. Perhaps in my next trip, I might get to see the REAL monkeys.

Salute.