Yep. we were well and truly on time this morning, getting to the posh hotel that the bus left from about half an hour earlier than we needed to be. And the bus was late, or, rather, the bus sat in the car park for an extra half an hour, but we got on and settled in eventually. The air-conditioning only had one setting: ice-age, and I'd forgotten my jacket, so it was a chilly four hours up to the entrance to the National Park. We arrived at about 12.30 and the boat to the hotel left at 2, so we checked-in with the little hotel booth and the reception guy sold us an all-inclusive package that included all the tours that we wanted to do. He even paid for our lunch as we were his first customers of the day. Which was nice. Then, with about 45 minutes to go, we tried to pay for the room with credit card, which he couldn't accept. He hurriedly called a taxi for us, and we made the mad dash into nearby Jerantut for a cash machine. The taxi driver was either very good or totally suicidal, but we made it there and back in 40 minutes, a drive that would probably taken a normal person about twice that time. We actually flew over some of the hills and the young men on stuttering mopeds were completely oblivious to the near death experiences they so regularly avoided. We paid the driver and the hotel guy and then descended the steep steps to the boat jetty. It was incredibly hot and humid, and quite uncomfortable. But the boats turned up and the trip got exciting again. They were very long, very narrow, very wooden vessels and, sitting on the floor of them we were actually slightly under the level of the water. We were in the second, emptier, one, which soon overtook the other boat despite the engine sounding like it wanted to crawl into a corner and die.

The river was a murky, watery beige colour, at times more than 60 feet wide, and there were a lot of pretty yellow beaches and sand banks along the way. The breeze and the spray from the boat were very cooling, so the journey was quite pleasant. Unfortunately, though, the trip took three hours, by which time sitting had become very uncomfortable. However, every now and then there was something fun to see, so it was all broken into manageable chunks. Other than the 130 million year old jungle with hanging vines and half a million shades of green, we saw kingfishers on tree stumps and herds of water buffalo, sunk up to their chins in the water. Children from the Orang Asli jungle tribes swam and waved from the shore, and, best of all, were the troups of greenish grey small macaque monkeys that looked like cats on the beaches, their long tails upright as they prowled the river banks.

We passed over several sets of rapids, and finally we saw a small wooden village floating on the river. Restaurants, shops and even a petrol station were built on pontoons of old oil drums and plastic bins, and moored to a sandy, motorbike-strewn beach, above which stood hotels and more shops. This was the local town of Kuala Tahan. Our stop was fifteen more minutes up the river, a place called Nusa Camp.

This really was in the middle of the jungle, all dark green and humid, and several steep concrete steps led up from the river, and a long, narrow rope bridge took us from the river to our little bungalow. It was made of wooden slats with netted windows, and contained about one hundred mosquitoes just waiting for a chance to feed. But they wouldn't have that opportunity - we thwarted them with our mosquito nets, the first time we've used them. That done, we put on plenty of insect repellant and went along the path to the restaurant for supper.

Chicken curry, fried beef with onions, rice, watermelon and fruit juice. All very satisfying. At about 8.30pm we went on a night walk through the jungle with a guide. I wrapped up well in long sleeves and long trousers and a scarf over my head to stop the long-legged, sticky-footed creatues finding me, and we took Mikey's torch too. Once away from the camp it was very dark, the stars were obscured by the huge tree canopy and the sound of the night was like a thick, itchy woollen blanket all round us. Unseen things chirped and squeaked and whistled and whipered, they beeped and cheeped and scratched music into the darkness. Alarm clock frogs and car alarm crickets and robotic owls added their electronic tones. It was very spooky and very, very tangible, and totally a world of noise.

Our guide pointed out several creatures, and I sent Mikey to investigate each one before I risked a peek. Fortuantely, there was nothing bad in all the giant spiders, giant scorpions, giant stick insects, giant crickets, tiny fireflies or small, thin stripy snakes, and I enjoyed the walk despite the heat. We saw a ling of shining dots in the trees - spider-eyes. One of the best burbling noises we heard was made, according to our guide, by a type of worm, 'like a snake without a head' but we didn't see one and I'm really none the wiser. I was relieved and surprised to discover just how hard you have to look to find the creatures, none of them coming willingly to be photographed.

We stayed for a few minutes to record the sounds around us, and then, it being almost 10pm and a long day, we went to sleep, light from outside casting pretty patterns on the mosquito nets, the fan whisking the warm air around, breezes in the trees whispering and rustling, and the crickets and frogs and night-creatures playing their songs.