By Richard Fenning
MT. KINABALU, MALAYSIA – I doubt the writer Tolkien ever climbed Mount Kinabalu. But if he had he would have immediately felt at home. For nowhere else that I have been so closely resembles Mordor, the fictional land he created in Lord of the Rings. From a distance the mountain is an awe-inspiring and mystical sight, its rugged granite ramparts rising majestically a few miles from Kota Kinabalu in the Malaysian state of Sabah. Tolkien is reputed to have based Mordor on the Sicilian volcano of Stromboli. But Kinabalu must be what he had in mind; mist-shrouded and mysterious, a ready-made film set in the jungles of northern Borneo.
At just over 4000 meters Mount Kinabalu has long been a popular destination for hikers from all around the world. It is not a technically difficult climb, more an arduous slog requiring many hours trekking steadily upwards through changing vegetation until you reach the treeless summit plateau from which rise the multiple jagged peaks of Tolkien’s imagination.
The hours spent on the trail give you plenty of time to observe your fellow trekkers. In contrast to the ancient forest and timeless summits, the process of walking up this mountain also reveals a lot about the contrasting national characters of very modern Asia.
For the large contingent of Singaporean climbers “safety first” is definitely the operational mantra. They are equipped for any eventuality: GPS-enabled boot laces, avalanche warning sensors (there is no snow even at 4000 meters this close to the equator) and wrist watches capable of launching search and rescue missions. No risk is left unmanaged.
The Koreans are more boisterous and competitive than the Singaporeans (guess who got to the top first?). But they are no less obsessed by gadgetry, with GoPro cameras attached to everything from their titanium walking poles to their uranium-enriched head torches. All this smugness about over-prepared climbers is no doubt a cover-up for the fact that I had forgotten to bring nearly all the things on the kit list or indeed that it was a British-led expedition that twenty years ago got lost exploring the formidable Low’s gully on Mount Kinabalu and had to be rescued.
Like me, the Chinese climbers are less well-equipped than their Singaporean and Korean counterparts. But you sense they are catching up fast. Like the Chinese government’s appetite for aircraft carriers, once Chinese tourists start togging up with the latest paraphernalia there will be no stopping them. In the meantime, what they lack in equipment, they make up for in decibels. Every few kilometers the peace of the jungle trail is broken by a raucous cacophony of Cantonese or Shanghainese voices with the entire group speaking so loudly and simultaneously they cannot possibly hear the latest girl-band music blaring from their backpacks.
By contrast, the Japanese are more dignified, comprised as they are mostly by teams of elderly Japanese women. Prime Minister Abe need look no further for the elusive remedy to Japan’s long-running economic woes. Turn off the printing presses and stop reflating the economy with cheap money. Instead, turn to “granny power,” Japan’s greatest natural resource. Japanese women of a certain age are extraordinary: they are incredibly tough and resilient, filled with vitality, unwaveringly cheerful and seemingly they never die. Stop messing around with the laws of economics and moaning about the cost of pensions. Rather, find a way to harness this extraordinary national asset. It goes without saying that the oldest person to climb Mount Kinabalu is an 87 year old Japanese great grandmother.
The Malaysians are by far the most relaxed in their approach to the climb and rightly proud of their beautiful mountain. The local porters who ferry everything needed to equip the lodges on the mountain carry eye-wateringly heavy loads on wooden boards strapped to their back and forehead. They rocket along at an incredible pace pausing only briefly for the occasional revitalizing cigarette as the air gets progressively thinner.
As dawn breaks, the view from Low’s peak—the highest of the many rocky pyramids—is breath taking and, as always on mountain tops everywhere, there is a great sense of camaraderie. As you scramble up the last few meters to the top, you half-expect to be greeted by Gandalf himself brandishing a staff above his head. Instead and inevitably, there is a party of Koreans jostling a Singaporean group out of the way to take the compulsory summit sunrise photo—with a camera lens so powerful it could photograph dust particles on the moon.
Richard Fenning is CEO of Control Risks, the global risk consultancy.
