The Far Side of the World, Pt 2

June 1974, and Tony Reavley's running into a few difficulties in Malaysia. The authorities keep mistaking him for a hippie, and it doesn't help matters that he's about to risk deportation for breaking indecency laws...

Tony's previous letters: November 1973, December 1973, early April 1974 and late April 1974.

02-06-74

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

After resting a day at Prachuab we continued south, leaving on 29th April for Ranong about 300km away. Arrived in the afternoon and went to the pictures in the evening. Saw "Custer's Last Stand". This little gem had Thai dubbing with Chinese subtitles, so we didn't understand a word. One voice covered all the actors, so Custer and the Red Indian chief held a dialogue in the same voice. Still, it killed an evening as there is often little else to do in some of these one-horse towns.

Next day we left for Phuket Island a further 300km south where we planned to stop a few days. Our 7am bus had gone at 6, and instead we had to catch the 2pm bus which went at 1.30. Spent three days welcome rest here visiting a different beach each day, most of which we had completely to ourselves. On May 4th we left for Phang Nga and went on a spectacular boat trip. We visited a stilt village built in the sea and saw underground caves with huge stalactites, and incredible mountains dropping sheer into the sea.

Caught a train the next day to Sungai Kolok which is on the Malaysian border. Thai trains are quite interesting. The one we caught was steam which burnt logs instead of coal. Very slow - average speed about 13mph! Ticket collectors, neatly dressed, look like army officers. They travel up and down the train in pairs, one clipping, the other carrying a gun and handcuffs for the social misfits who don't pay. Stayed the night here before attempting to cross [the border] the next day.

Malaysia is currently engaged in an anti-hippie campaign at present. This disease doesn't usually last long; it died a natural death in Nepal and more recently Ceylon. Unfortunately, anyone Western is a potential hippie and Baz & I weren't taking any chances. The west border (mostly used by hippies) is notoriously difficult. We heard of an American being turned back at the border with 750 dollars in his pocket! He was told they required an outward plane ticket before they would let him in. The east border we were crossing was supposedly easier; we arrived the next morning looking as smart as living out of a rucksack will allow. Hair combed, wearing ties, shoes and long trousers instead of the usual shorts and sandals; for good measure, we hung a camera each over our shoulders to which I added my binoculars and donned a pair of trendy sunglasses. We had no problems and managed to get the full two week visa.

Our troubles in Sabah really started in Kuala Lumpur where we were told a separate visa wasn't necessary for East Malaysia. Our visas expired on Tuesday 21st, and the midnight flight to Kota Kinabalu (capital of Sabah) went on Friday 17th. We DIDN'T bother to smarten ourselves up; marched blithely through Immigration until they grabbed us and demanded to see our passports. To our horror we discovered that a separate visa was required and our West Malaysian visa was no use. They stamped our passports for two days only, which was not what we needed. We were told we would have to get our visas renewed again in two days. However, we reckoned if we smartened up we would get the two week extension with no problems.

So on Monday 20th, we went through the wearisome performance of dressing up all over again. Applied for the maximum two week visa but this was refused and we were given a further two days. This was absolutely useless as it made us virtual prisoners in Kota Kinabalu (which is the general idea, I suppose). We needed several days as we wanted to visit the Kinabalu National Park and also the climb Mount Kinabalu, South East Asia's highest mountain. We argued with the official but he wouldn't budge or even give us a reason why we couldn't stay longer. We kept cool and demanded to see the boss-man; we were told we could have an interview with him the next morning.

Dressed up again the next day and saw the Controller of Immigration. He told us the same story: two days only. The Controller was the sort of typical jumped-up little squirt you would expect. Puny, pot-ugly, completely unsympathetic, prejudiced and obviously frightened to let us stay. We asked him if it was length of hair and he told us it was not only this but also general scruffy appearance. "You are not bona fide tourists" he said, which was a compliment at least, I suppose. We offered to get haircuts and smarten up if he would give us two weeks, to which he replied he "might".

Returned to the flat feeling shattered, and with a bit of the afternoon still left, decided to go over to the nearby golf course and read in the sun. Fairly warm, so we stripped off; Baz in just his shorts and me in my holey pants. Reading quietly when I looked up and to my amazement saw the Controller about thirty yards away marching towards us. We were too flabbergasted to move or try to cover up, but just sat there open-mouthed. He told us we were "indecently dressed" and we should be on the beach, which actually happened to be covered in oil. We pointed this out to him but he called us liars, hippies, and added with obvious relish that we would be deported the next day. With that he marched off to the far side of the golf course where, unbeknownst to us, he'd been practising his shots.

We had to laugh or we'd have wept with frustration, or gone mad with rage. There were two courses left open to us: either go to his office and get deported, or get "lost in the jungle". The next day we caught a train to a small town called Tenom about a hundred miles away en route to the National Park. We hoped the Controller would forget all about us or might be bluffing, though we'd heard there was a chance of a heavy fine or even jail sentence unless we could cook up a good story. We reasoned that by the time we arrived at the airport on the night of the 31st they would be so sick of us that they'd just stick us on the plane.

However, we found out there was an Immigration Office in Tenom which also dealt with visas; to our delight and amazement there was absolutely no trouble there. The officers were very friendly and gave us two weeks which by now was more than enough. Everything was now legal and as the man who stamped our passports was under the Controller there was not much they could do about it. The Chief Minister of Sabah is responsible for the anti-hippie campaign; he earns a million dollars a DAY from timber and apparently spends a lot of time in England. Wants to become a British citizen but we won't let him, so he's dropped OBE from his many titles. Everyone is terrified of him. He owns racehorses but never loses as opposing jockeys are frightened of the consequences if they beat him. He has a mania about long hair. We heard stories from several reliable sources that police set up roadblocks, drag long-haired youths out of their vehicles and cut their hair at the police station. Sometimes this is done at night in public with a big spotlight on the offender. Greg & Gail, two Australian teachers, were in school one day when pandemonium broke out with children getting out of their seats and running out of the classrooms. The police had arrived, locked all the exits and were chasing all the kids with long hair and taking them off in police vans! We sometimes talked with long-haired youths (most speak English) but if they saw a policeman walking by they would dive under the table. Just before we left, they passed a law making long hair a CRIMINAL OFFENCE!!! Youths with long hair were to be banned from cafes, hotels, dance halls and were not allowed to take part in sports!

I had a letter from my mother saying Cyril had written but unfortunately she seems a bit scared of taking a lodger even for a short period. [Editor's note: this refers to my late uncle, who at the time was looking for room and board "down south" on a temporary basis, and had obviously hoped to lodge with Tony's mother due to the family connection.] Cyril, I'll reassure my mother that you're not a hippie, murderer, maniac or drunkard.

Best wishes to all

Tony