I feel like I ought to say something along the lines of "it was with a heavy heart that I bade farewell to the gently lapping waves of the sapphire sea, the slowly waving fronds of the serried ranks of palm trees fringing the island of Mabul, and the smiling happy faces of the staff and guests at the Borneo Divers resort", but I really didn't have a heavy heart at all. I had very much enjoyed my diving, but somehow my four days had been enough and I was ready to move on to the next excitement.

So I regarded the departure more as a new beginning, and managed to get to know a Danish girl Sigrid on the boat & bus back to Tawau airport. She is over on business - she works in forestry - but managed to squeeze in a few days' diving. It was interesting to talk to her about the challenges facing countries like Malaysia, who currently have lots of valuable trees and consequently are at the forefront not only of conservation efforts but also of illicit felling and black-market hardwood trading.

Tawau airport is really quite small, so I was lucky not to be alone for the next couple of hours of waiting for my flight to Sandakan. Claudio & Veronica, the Italian couple, were there too, and we sat chatting in the waiting area.

During the flight (in a propeller aircraft, so it wasn't too high up) I had marvellous views over the seemingly endless oil palm plantations that surround Tawau, as well as over the eastern coastline of Sabah. It struck me how very little virgin forest is actually left here. You think of Borneo as being the back of beyond, but there are sealed roads everywhere, and signs of cultivation all through the greenery (telltale straight lines of trees or plants).

We touched down at Sandakan airport in a sudden rainshower, and were met off the plane by ground staff handing out big umbrellas, which I thought was a nice touch. Inside, the Italians & I waited for our luggage and then shared a taxi into town. I had borrowed their Lonely Planet earlier to arrange myself some accommodation, so I dropped them off at their hotel and then went on in our big fat old Toyota taxi to the May Fair Hotel, a budget place right in the centre of the old town.

The owner of the May Fair is brusque to say the least. He seems the archetypal Chinese cheap hotelier, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and a stained white vest covering his flabby body. The room is spacious, clean and (too) air-conditioned, but the towel is probably the most threadbare I have ever seen in my life. I mean, any thinner and it could be a Hollywood starlet.

I had a shower and then went walkabout around the town. I found a nice outdoor roti chanai place that was showing a movie channel, so I sipped my teh tarik and watched a German action movie dubbed into English with Berhasa subtitles.

I devoted Thursday to culture. My first stop (after a wholesome breakfast of noodle soup with all the trimmings in a nearby Chinese eatery) was the city mosque, which was built a century ago and stands on a hill overlooking the historic town centre. It is one of only three buildings to have survived the Allied bombings and retaliatory Japanese razing of the Second World War. I had a little chat with a friendly elderly gentleman who showed me around and asked me about my faith but in a non-pressuring way, then headed back down the hill.

At the foot of the hill I found a big map showing the Sandakan Heritage Trail. Intrigued, I went to the tourist information centre to get more info, and ended up chatting for a long time with Elvina, a lady who works behind the counter there but has a sideline in getting to know travellers and then putting them in touch with each other if she thinks there is something they could both gain from such a contact. A fascinating lady, who seemed to have a keen insight into people's lives.

The day was hot hot hot and sunny and humid, and it was lunchtime, but Mad Dogs and Englishman and all that, so I just carried on regardless and made my way to the top of another hill, to visit the Chinese cemetery and the Japanese war memorial.

Rarely do you get such a glaring contrast: the Chinese memorial is beautifully kept, looks brand new, and is heaped with fresh flowers. The Japanese memorial next door is in a forgotten corner which has half been taken over by jungle; I had to clamber under fallen trees to reach it, and then felt terrible at seeing tombs which are about to topple over. Ah well, such is the fate of the losing side in any war it seems.

My next stop was the English Tea House, where I just had to have a Pimm's and lemonade whilst I watched people playing croquet and listened to big band music wafting out from the restaurant. And then I had a look round Agnes Keith's house, which is a must-see for tourists in Sabah.

I had never heard of her before I got here, but she made Sandakan - and indeed all of Borneo - famous with her book The Land Under The Wind, and its follow-ups Three Came Home and White Men Return. These books chronicle her life in the pre-, mid- and post-War periods, where she was respectively wife of the Chief Conservation Officer, a prison camp internee, and returning celebrity. They're probably worth a read, but I haven't got the time just at the moment.

The rest of the tour covered a couple of Chinese temples and an Anglican church (one of Sabah's only stone buildings). I returned to my hotel and collapsed for a hard-earned siesta. Then I popped out for some more roti chanai (yes I'm addicted).

And now here I am sitting in an online gaming shop in an otherwise deserted shopping centre in the heart of Sandakan, preparing myself mentally for the three days I will as of tomorrow be spending in the jungle. Should be good!

My body clock is all over the place at the moment. One minute I'm up at the dead of night to climb a mountain (unsuccessfully, yes thank you, before anyone rubs it in), the next I'm having a drunken lie-in. And here I was getting up at the crack of dawn (thanks Dawn!) to make my way to the airport for a 6am flight.

But oh! was it worth it! Quite apart from the absence of hot humidity at that hour, the early flight afforded us some spectacular views of Mount Kinabalu in the sunrise. The peak was framed by two silver layers of cloud, and diffuse flamingo-coloured sunlight bathed its mysterious granite crests. It's quite a photo, even though the aeroplane window was filthy.

I was sleep-deprived from the last few days' fun & games, so I slept pretty well on the plane and even in the headrest-challenged, middle-row, middle seat of the minivan at the other end from Tawau to Semporna. Then a bit of waiting around in the Borneo Divers office and finally a speedboat ride across to the island of Mabul. I found myself in a veritable Tower of Babel on the boat: there were Danes, Spaniards, French-speaking Swiss, German-speaking Swiss, Italians, a guy from Hong Kong and finally me & a Welsh girl. I was in my element!

The international flavour of the diving trip only matured and developed greater subtleties of the palate as it went on. I've chatted in all the languages I have a vague smattering of except Hungarian and Gujarati.

In particular I've had the chance to practise my Catalan: there is a lovely couple from near Girona who I got friendly with, Carles and Maria, and I will definitely be going to visit them when I'm back in Europe. And there are four other Catalan speakers here this week - mad! Also, my Italian has had a boost through chatting with Claudio & Veronica, a couple from Bologna who are leaving at the same time as me to go to Sandakan.

As for the diving, well, it's been marvellous. I have a list as long as your arm of creatures I've seen in their natural setting, including most excitingly of all stacks of turtles and quite a few sharks. Sadly, I didn't see any hammerheads; they are only slowly returning to Sipadan which was once a favourite hunting ground of theirs. But I did see white-tipped sharks and grey reef sharks.

In fact, after the tenth shark (this happened with turtles as well) you kind of get a bit blasé about them and start to look at other stuff! And there was lots of other stuff to look at. My favourite was probably a bright blue nudibranch (a kind of sea slug) that was as long as my finger and merrily waving its tentacles to and fro.

I must just say though that Sipadan suffers a little bit from overhype in my view. Given its status as a global top ten dive location, and given the prices they can get away with charging you for being here, I was expecting absolutely five-star treatment. Okay, the accommodation is nice, and the food is excellent, but the dive equipment was a bit ropey to be honest. I've never had so many problems with leaks and general wear-and-tear issues - which is to say, I've never had any problems anywhere before, not even in deepest darkest Africa. So I am a tad disappointed about that.

All in all, though, it's been fantastic to be back in the water - and tropical waters too, none of this Kiwi 14 degrees icy cold rubbish! And I've met a bunch of really lovely people here, including Brian (a Kiwi living in HK who I ended up sharing a room with), Cat, David & Janetta (a Polish couple without whom I would have run out of memory space on my camera: David has a laptop with a CD burner), and of course Carles & Maria, who have promised to take me diving in the Mediterranean as well as on a gastronomic tour of eastern Spain - yum!

When the minibus dropped us off back in the centre of KK, the Swedish couple bade us farewell and made a quick getaway. Matt, Sebastien & I arranged to get together for some dinner and a few beers later. I made my weary way through the intense heat of the city back to Lucy's Homestay. I was much refreshed by the cold shower I took.

The three of us had some roti chanai (well I just can't say no) and then some Tigers at the Upperstar bar (well I just can't say no) and then we had more beers and a shisha of apple tobacco at B&Bs (well I just can't say no). Sebastien had to catch a flight early the next day, so we called it a night at a reasonably early hour. I headed back to Lucy's and who should meet me there but Tom the birthday boy!

Of course we had to go out for some beers to celebrate the fact that Tom was one of the contributory factors to my humbling failure to conquer Mount Kinabalu. And who should meet us at the bar than Matt! We drank many Tigers and talked about this and that.

And then a bizarre coincidence became apparent: not only were Tom and I at the same university (only, he being four years younger than me, we had never actually met), but in fact Tom spent his second year living in exactly the same room as me in the same house! What are the chances of travelling halfway across the world, only to meet someone who has lived in the same room as you? How bizarre.

The evening passed in what seemed like a flash, and before we knew it it was closing time at Upperstar, so we wended our way home and got in at 3.30am.

The next day I found Tom in full group organising mood: he had managed to convince most of the people staying in Lucy's to travel together to one of the islands in the bay, because that way we would be able to fill a boat and not have to hang around in the ticket hall. This was a splendid plan, but failed to take into account how much longer it takes to get a group of any more than four people to do something. We ended up taking just as much time to get there as if we had all travelled separately! But this way was much more fun, because we all got to regress to childhood and let Teacher do all the thinking.

We were eight in all: two pairs of Danes, a Swedish woman, a Dutch girl, Tom & me. It was good fun speaking a bit of Danish again, and good fun speaking a bit of Dutch again too. And I learned a few words of Swedish as well. I just love languages!!

We went to the island of Mamutik, which is small and not nearly as busy as Sapi. The snorkelling was fab, but I didn't spend too much time in the water because the fish were so aggressive I was scared to! They were only little buggers, but they kept nipping at my legs and elbows, and running full tilt into my mask. I decided to get the message and not invade their territory any more. Instead I lay on the beach and fell asleep - so I'm much closer to my goal of a tan now than I was before. Okay, some would argue I'm beyond a tan and into the land of the fried, but long experience tells me my sunburn will mature into a lustrous russet colour.

When we got back to the mainland, I went to Borneo Divers and booked my trip to Sipadan for Sunday morning. Then, back at Lucy's, I joined Tom and his injured student (hence Tom being in KK and not with the rest of his group in the jungle somewhere) Henry for a bite to eat and a film at the cinema. We ate the most delicious satay beef & chicken. The sauce was so tasty I just had to drink the rest of it with the straw from my teh tarek ice!

We watched Stealth, which I have to admit wasn't half as bad as I was expecting. Okay, there were lots of Big Guns action scenes, but actually there was a storyline as well, and a couple of unexpected twists, so all in all it was good. The three stars (Josh Lucas, Jessica Biel and Jamie Foxx) all put in convincing performances and the supporting cast were good too. And the director made sure there were plenty of shots of Jessica Biel in clingy and/or sweaty swimwear/combat gear/evening gowns. Which made it all the more surprising that her acting wasn't awful.

After the film, we got Henry back to Lucy's and then headed straight back out for more beer! Everyone from Mamutik except Charlotte the Swede joined us, and we had a large night, ending up in a karaoke bar singing our little hearts out, before a round of roti chanai to settle our alcohol-induced hunger pangs. Lucy wasn't best pleased when we rolled in at 4am singing California Dreamin' and then very loudly shushing one another. But I think she'll get over it; after all, that's what Friday nights are all about.

The next day was a quiet one for me. I did a spot of clothes shopping (there are some truly amazing bargains to be had in Malaysia!) and generally prepared myself for leaving to the islands the next day. I also managed to squeeze in another movie, this time a Chinese martial arts & swordfighting film called Seven Swords. It wasn't actually that great, and suffered from having been adapted from what must have been a very long novel which they had to cut chunks out of. Or the screenplay writer was just shit, I don't know. Anyway, a little disappointed I left and ate more satay, before a mammoth internet session to write down everything I've done here before I forget it all. And so to bed.

Who should I meet on the bus to Mount Kinabalu but Elisabeth, the Dutch girl?! She had been allocated the seat next to me; she was going on to Sandakan to visit the orang utan sanctuary there. It was nice to have a familiar face to talk to. Pity I wasn't up for much conversation: three hours' sleep and a banana sandwich weren't really enough to combat the effects of several pints of lager the night before, and I slept most of the time in the bus.

Just an aside about the KK bus terminal: I feel really bad when I have been suspicious of someone's intentions, only to discover they weren't planning to mug and kill me but were in fact just being helpful. This happened again that morning. I was walking (admittedly in a bit of a daze) toward the buses, when a dishevelled-looking Malaysian stepped out in front of me and asked me where I was going. Warily I told him I was taking the bus to Mount Kinabalu. He then proceeded to walk me to the right bus and even pointed out the dishevelled-looking Malaysian I had to buy a ticket off of. So it turns out he was an integral part of the bus service, not some dodgy geezer after my money.

It occurred to me that if people in that sort of job wore uniforms I might have more faith in them; then it occurred to me that any old conman can wear a uniform and lead tourists astray. There really is no answer, except to do as I do anyway which is be polite but noncommittal until you can decide whether someone is on the level.

A couple of hours of snoozing later, the bus pulled up outside the entrance to the Mount Kinabalu National Park. I got off, along with a bunch of other people all planning to do the walk that day. In a seemingly random way I ended up in a group of five with an Aussie called Matt, a Belgian called Sebastien, and a Swedish couple Martin & Jana. We agreed to share a guide, which saved us a little bit of money. I warned them that I would be walking slowly, but they were cool with that. Matt had turned up without a booking for accommodation; it occurred to me that perhaps it was his fate that had brought me to the mountain, because of course I had a double reservation and so he could be the second person.

I was very ready for a second and more substantial breakfast at this point, but we got bustled along and before I knew it we had begun the climb. Not a great start to the day's toils. I soon had to crack open my energy food stores, but a handful of nuts is no substitute for a proper meal, and I really hadn't slept enough at all. I soon fell behind the rest of the group, but our guide stayed behind me. Pity he wasn't talkative; his English was very limited (and my Bahasa even more so) so I trudged along in silence.

The walk up Kinabalu, as every guide book assures you, is not technically challenging. In fact, it's rated for novices. I think that's a bit rich. It might not be difficult but it's bloody hard. Relentless is the perfect word to describe the ascent. You are walking for hour after hour, going forward 6000m and up over 1000m, and in all that time there are perhaps three stretches which don't go uphill, which perhaps amount to 250m in total. And you're high up even at the start, so breathing is not easy. Very soon I was breathing in on one step and out on the next, and some hours later I was having to breathe in and out with every step.

At the half-way point I had a mini panic attack. I was not enjoying this at all. I couldn't appreciate the view because I was too knackered to turn my head and look around; the guide was mute and only pointed out one thing all day (it was a pitcher plant, you know, those flowers that eat insects by attracting them with a pool of sweet juice and then having unclimbable walls, the juice turning out to be a weak acid solution that dissolves the helplessly trapped flies and other wee beasties); I gave up on catching up with the other guys; and I was soaked to the skin thanks to a sudden downpour that hit us early on with such speed that by the time my poncho was out of its wrapper I was already sodden.

I was sorely tempted to turn around and walk right back down again: after all, I was only half way, so it would be no further for me to go down than to go on up. I was gasping for breath, my contact lens kept hurting, and I was feeling very sorry for myself. My breathing went a bit erratic and I was on the verge of tears. It took all my willpower to make me go on, coupled with the memory that my only ever previous panic attack (back in Sydney, at a bikram yoga session where the heat just got to me and I wanted to run away) had passed by just forcing myself to be calm. So on I went.

At one point I thought there was a jet aeroplane flying low overhead. When the sound didn't go away I suddenly realised it must be the vicious howl of the wind as it rounded the mountain. After all, there's nothing else in the way of the trade winds in this corner of the world. It was ferociously loud, and I was glad to be under the cover of trees, even gnarled and stunted as they were getting by now.

Things got psychologically a lot better for me about two-thirds of the way up, when I encountered a young couple from Yorkshire who were walking even slower than me. We teamed up (our guides taking the opportunity to have a proper natter all the rest of the way up) and, as Elisabeth had predicted, mutual motivation made the ascent less horrendous. We took plenty of breaks - literally every 50 metres or so - and I could finally look around me and take in some of the scenery. Despite the hazy air and the cloudy skies it was delightful to look across at the rolling hills of virgin jungle fading to blue at the horizon, and to see in the far distance the coast and the flat ocean.

We finally reached Laban Ratan, the overnight camp, and with joy in our hearts sat down at a table. Laban Ratan was almost a welcoming ski lodge: there was food, warmth and the genial hubbub of tired but happy people in conversation. But it lacked the charm (and the open fire) of what for me constitutes a true mountainside haven. The building was shabby and the food tasteless although extremely welcome nonetheless; this was my first proper meal since breakfast the day before, because somehow lunch & dinner didn't really happen properly, and breakfast that day was minimal.

The rooms, although warm, were spartan in the extreme. Plus our room was infested with a variety of insectoid populations. Some of them looked like earwigs, while others were clearly from the cockroach family. But d'you know what was the grossest thing? The fact that I was so knackered I just didn't give a shit. I crept under my rough blanket and tried to get warm. Thank God the room was heated; it took a good hour to thaw my butt cheeks, let alone my feet, and I dread to think how I would have coped in one of the unheated blocks.

Sleep was very shallow; I didn't have an altitude headache, but I certainly was aware of the thinness of the air and for the whole day I had had annoying tunes running through my head, the way I sometimes do when I'm feverish and try as I might I can't shake that four bars of tinny pop music.

I got up again, went down and had some more food but didn't enjoy it. Everyone was exhausted so we all went to bed by 7.30pm. I had decided not to even attempt the summit climb the next morning, but I got peer group pressured into it by the Swedes and Matt & Sebastien. So at 2am on Thursday I got up with the others (including the Malaysian couple Teh and May from KL who were in the other bunk bed in our room), pulled on lots of layers of clothes, ate some more energy food and headed outside.

I really hadn't slept well, and was still sleep deprived from the night before. Add to that exhaustion and altitude difficulties, and it's not difficult to see why after some 500 metres of the torchlit walk up wet slippery rocks & wooden stairways I finally gave up and turned around. There was just no way I was going to get to the top AND back down to the bottom again in one piece. The weather was unpromising for a good view of the sunrise from the top anyway, and the wind hadn't let up all night, so I wasn't even too disappointed in myself at throwing in the towel.

Of course, as soon as I started down the clouds cleared and I got a glimpse of a marvellous starry sky, but I couldn't look up too long because I felt so dizzy and faint and queasy when I put my head back. I took it to be a sign that I was right to turn back and head down, and so I did just that.

I think I must have reached a psychological acceptance of my defeat by the time I got back to the accommodation, because this time when I lay down (taking no notice of the cockroach that scurried out from under my pillow) I fell into a deep sleep that mercifully erased the tightness in my chest and the throbbing pain in my teeth. Four hours later, when the others got back from the summit and told me how cold & windy it had been and how the sunrise had been basically invisible, I was almost happy that I hadn't gone up. And my extra hours of sleep meant that I was quite capable of keeping pace with them all the way down.

The walk down was no less demanding on the muscles, but it was a lot less demanding on the lungs. Once again the slope was relentless, but this time I didn't mind so much. Somehow I had managed to get away with having no muscle pain in my legs (although my arms were a bit sore from carrying a heavy rucksack all day), so I was in good spirits on the way down. The weather was much nicer too, and I was reminded of (much less demanding) walks in the foothills of the Austrian Alps as a child.

At the bottom, we managed to flag down a minivan to take us back to KK. Our mountain adventure was over, and the hulking pile of granite that is Mount Kinabalu receded into the distance through the back window of the bus.