"Indonesia is shit. Don't go there"

So said the cynical 20 something British girl when she found out about my plans to go Indonesia. The Aussie knew two girls from his time in Kuching that were in Miri, and he invited me to come along and meet up with them. One was a type a Canadian whose intensity and talking speed had me convinced that she was probably on speed. The other was the snobbish, 20 something British girl who criticized my plans, and actually asked me, after I told her what I did in Brunei, if I had actually done anything there?

It has come to my attention that there is a type of traveller out there that can best be classified as a Lonely Planet snob--and both girls fit the bill. They had to do everything specified by Lonely Planet, and nothing would convince them otherwise. Even though I told them that there was an express bus between Miri and Brunei that was only about 5-7 bucks more expensive (and on a big, air conditioned bus to boot) than the multiple hop itinerary, they insisted on doing it the local way, giving me a look reserved for heretics who dare question the holy guidebook. When they asked me how much it would cost them to climb Kinabalu, I told them (about 1,000 MYR), and the british girl's response was classic travel snob (incorrect spelling intentional to get the gist of her accent: "150 quid to climb a fookin' mountain? I was on the Incar Trail and it was much higher than that and it didn't cost near as much."

They generously invited me to come to dinner with them later that night, but I politely declined saying that I had to pack up.

Oh, and as to the Indonesia comment? It turns out the girl had only been to Bali. When I pointed out that judging Indonesia based on Bali is like judging Mexico based on Cancun, the Canadian actually agreed with me. Since I'm not planning on heading to Bali, its a non-issue.

I got back to the hostel with the hope that the 20-something brother in law and husband and wife party that I was sharing the dorm with would like to go to dinner, and indeed we did.

The two brothers were American-Belizean--mother was from Indiana, dad was from Belize, and the girl was Chinese Malaysian. All three had gone to Goshen College, and the husband and wife now lived in Kuala Lumpur. They were a really nice group of people, and fun to hangout with. Thus began the saga of the night in which I managed to have one of my worst meals of all time and best of all time, in a span of several hours.

The couple had been to Miri before and knew a place called the Bavarian Grill. After we had ordered, it turns out that they didn't have half of what was on the menu, and the cook had "gone missing." The food came out one at a time, usually separated by about 10 minutes. My lamb cutlet was indistinguishable from a fried something or other, and one of the brothers' pasta was literally a plate of cold noodles with a piece of cheese on top.

Since we weren't filled at all, we went to a place right around the corner from our hostel. It is always a good sign when a restaurant was filled with locals, and this place was packed. We ordered the special--chicken satay--and though it didn't look too appetizing, it was, quite simply, amazing--real white meat chicken to boot. I am still drooling thinking about it.

Meanwhile, I am back from my epic fail of an adventure to Bario, details of which I will post later.