Or Sumatra stinks. I am so unbelievably frustrated by Sumatra, all I can say is I am glad I am out of there. From the durian trees which smell of garbage and rotting flesh marinated in urine to oil palm trees which emanate the worst smell imaginable produced by nature. Roads damaged by earthquakes and covered in potholes and mudslides with huge trucks barreling past you on hairpin turns with only inches to spare between you and a cliff dropping down several hundred feet. Cobras passing in front of your feet on trails. Menacing single mom orangutans that you need to back away from VERY slowly. Guides on jungle treks who spend the whole time on cell phones. Cab drivers and restaurant owners trying to swindle you of every dollar you have left. No VISA, no ATMS, robbery masked as exchange rates.
I will write more later when the lava in my blood is not so hot, because I think I will sear that island if I keep writing.
I am now safe and sound in Kuala Lumpur, and heading soon to Khon Kaen Thailand, and then Nongkhai, my old town, and final stop.
Hope all is well.
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