So yes, I am not completely away from e-mail. I am in Kota Kinabalu in Sabah, Borneo, Malaysia and I have located an Internet cafe. So much for the pervasion of technology in Earthy paradise.

After my last days in Singapore seeing off people or saying my goodbies to my Singapore friends, which entails a lot of presence time in the Next or New Page bars, in the Liquid Room or Velvet, I waved sadly at the tropical economic miracle, buckled up on this taxi driven by the rudest person on the planet before I found myself in Johor airport for my second Air Asia flight.

This trip did not start well. The Singapore driver who left us at the border stole S$30 from us. Great. I hate when these things happen. I feel sorry for the guy - and just hope that he will feel some sort of remorse and better conscience.
Anyway, it is about 6 in the morning and we catch this flight ok. We first enjoy the beautiful views over the islands of Borneo (three countries fit in there: Brunei, one of the richest countries in teh world, Malaysia, a promising bestseller and Indonesia, one that might be competing for the lowest growth ever) before catching a minivan to teh mountains and relax in some Hot Springs resorts (very disappointing setting after the joys of Tabacon Hot Spring Resort in Costa Rica).

Then things got worse. There was a problem with accommodation at the Mount Kinabalu National Park and they lost our reservation. No confirmation number would solve the problem, so we ended up having to stay and start our hike from Masilau Nature Resort. The hike up the 4000m high mountain would be 2 extra kms for us, INSEAD folks.

The first 6 kms were delightful, in the middle of teh rainforest, over little dangling bridges - some sort of cheap and riskless Indiana Jones endeavor.
The next 2 kms up the mountain hut were awful. I thought that I had seen more steps that I could ever bear in my entire existence of poor mortal while trekking up the Inca trail in Peru but Kinabalu presents itself as a very serious contender. It is also a real highway with loads of people running up and down (ok, so crawling up or slipping down) at all times.
We also seriously understimated the distance, hoping to see the mountain hut only 4 hours after we began our perilous journey. It ended up being 6 hours after, since we took this longer but nicer route. Now breakfast for me was very light. I am a vegetarian and I was served sausages, eggs and other various meat products, all local and all perfectly fine I am sure. I had to content myself with two pieces of toasts and a little bit of greasy butter. My system was petitioning for more food at noon time, as well-trained as it could be and complicated my ascent by all sorts of growling noises, located in the middle part of my tummy. Finally, as I was drawing close to exhaustion on the slopes of this unforgiving peak, counting the trees out of boredom and hoping for a better life when I graduate, the refreshing and welcoming pre-fabricated mountain hut showed its friendly face and open arms.

And these arms had to be open to swallow at once 35 Ringits for a night and some 20 ringits per meal. The hut is operated by a semi-permanent staff and dozens of people every day who climb some 3000m with food, bottles of water, etc...and climb down with used mattresses, rubbish...I am stunned with admiration at these poor souls who are probably getting half a ringit per hour and who submit themselves to such harsh conditions. Exactly like I felt on the Macchu Picchu trail when the porters who always left the camp AFTER us, reached the next stop BEFORE us and carried some 25 kgs on their back.

After so many hours of self-humiliation, we could enjoy a well-deserved rest and the most expensive meal in Malaysia before heading off for a nap. Breakfast will be served at 2am.

In our dorm, the fight with the Heater From Hell started. A special contingent of British, Chinese, French, German, Greek and Americans all fell for this evil person who had decided to turn our resting time into a horror story by blasting uncontrollable hot air into a small stuffy room. Opening the windows to let the freezing cold air in, opening the door to welcome the smell from the kitchen and the noisy rumors of restless climbers did not suffice. We had to resort to manual regulation of the heat flow.

After such an event-free half night, we get up all fresh and enthusiastic about the climb. We are all ready to set world records, dodge the yeti and engage in a mountain domination venture.

The climb is remarkably easy. There is no need for a flashlight since 2000 people are climbing the mountain at the same time. Just pick up a group and follow their light. Star light did wonders too on clean white volcanic stone. I even saw a shooting star!
We reached the top way too early - our guide already made up stop in the warmth of the checkpoint.

We froze to death before witnessing a masked sunrise - as a majestic river of clouds withdrew the Father of the Inca from our fragile sight. The scenery alone justified our heavy adventure. There we were standing above a sea of clouds and non-engaging peaks, atop the highest peak in the area - feeling satisfied with ourselves - even though I clearly need to become a lot fitter, 4 months of laziness hasn't done any good to my overall shape - and filling up our lungs with the clean fresh altitude air.

A time of renewal.

That was before we climbed down the 2000-odd steps on this highway, all the way to this entrance gate, which we conveniently missed the first time round. My friend suffered an injured knee and had to climb the trail backwards. It took her 3 extra hours, during which I was waiting randomly by a bus stop, hoping that this thick mist that had formed as I was going down was not going to transform itself into heavy tropical rain and wet everything that I held precious in a nano-second.

I guess that I must mentioned that I did most of the trek with Murphy on my side. My hiking shoes, 10-year old companion of the most crazy adventures on foot- gave way and dissolves 3 hours away from the final destination. My feet were wet because internal soles are not waterproof, sore and bloody because each rock was carving its little nest in my flesh. Yet, it broke my heart to part with this travel buddy, this pair of old-timer walking boots.

Anybody witnessing our descent from the glorious height of this moment of brief climbing glory would have wondered why INSEADers walked funky on mountain trails.

I stopped to rest along the way and within seconds was surrounded by rats - little ferocious rodents on a quest for more food. They had long relinquished their belonging to the wild environment of the tropical forest and were getting ready for a feast that counted the numerous disillunioned climbers in its value chain.

Note that I escaped death on many occasions on this trip.

Firstly, I nearly died of hunger on the way up
Secondly, I faced a horrible death, as steamed monkey in the dorm room of the mountain hut
Thirdly, I contemplated the end of my existence as an iceberg at 4100m high
Finally, I fought vigourously for survival as this squirrel rats attacked my open plastic bags

This is omitting the risk of being crippled by hours of climbing down nearly barefoot a cruel cruel mountain - trying to fly as much as I could to avoid getting my feet wetter than they already were thus multiplying the risk of breaking my legs as I would cascade down 10 steps in one long haul slide.

Let us think for a minute. There has got to be a good reason to sue somebody and never have to work again in this lot.

Anyway - I am just back to the bottom of the fence looking up to a harsh reality: I have no job. So I was just being creative and finding ways around it.

Today's lying on the beach at some of the most beautiful beaches of Borneo was certainly a delight, after an invigorating walk up and down hotel stairs. I cannot feel my legs but this did not prevent the most interesting looking fish to come and nibble at them as I was snorkeling past the coral reefs.

Tips:
- When Kinabalu park officials tell you: the mountain hut if full, it means that it is too late to climb. The hut was not full, we asked people who spent the night there.
- "where are you coming from" and "where are you going" is one and only question in Kota Kinabalu. It means "do you want a taxi?"

Being on holiday, albeit in some of the most pleasant places in the world, surrounded by smiling and helpful Asian people, feels so weird. I just wander purposeless in the streets, trying to remember what assignment I might be late for, what my role in this world could be, and whether I would need 1 or 2 eggs for each 250g of flour if I prepare crepe dough. All these material considerations that every MBA participant should carefully reflect upon on a continuous basis.

Anyway, this same stomach which failed me so miserably on this hideous mountain is claiming its due once more. I can hear it ask eloquently for a sacrifice. I must therefore leave you to these deep and voluptuous thoughts, and go hunt for my meagre dinner.