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Published: April 19th 2008
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Ahhh, Malaysia, like an old friend, one that smells a little but you like too much to really care. Slipping back into the country the way I came out back in 2004, via Kota Baru, I was confident, I was on familiar ground, I chatted to locals as a lone westerner on the awesome sleeper train, drank coffee in the dining cart like it was the 1920's, watched the jungle creep up as we neared the border.
At the start of my solo journey (Nilam had also gone to Malaysia, but wanted to see different parts of it, parts I'd already seen) I stepped off the connecting bus from the border into Kota Baru main square like a pro...then promptly got lost.
I ended up in the same place I'd stayed in before, after some local tout (dressed like an 80's pimp late to a rehersal of 'Fame!') attached himself to me, he tried to get me to stay in a place down the road, but two guys in the common room of my intended hostel told me they'd been robbed there and not to go with the tout under any circumstances, great. I think the hostel owner took
a shine to me, he'd bring me tea (ignoring the other guests), make me snacks and try and get me to stay in rather than go out for food (then he'd follow me). I found him asleep on a chair outside my room a couple of times too. Crazy. He was harmless enough though, and I know enough Muay Thai to kick someone in the balls should things come to that. I'd also forgotten Malaysia was a Muslim state and therefore fasting for Ramadan when I offered two Malaysian guys living in the hostel chocolate cookies. I got the death stare, they hadn't eaten for many hours! I am doing nothing to dispel the notion of western cultural insensitivity. I apologise West.
But I didn't hang around, I had paradise to get to! Or so I'd been told. Last time I was in Malaysia I'd headed to Pualu Tioman, and that was amazing (and also included another Malaysian guy who took a creepy shine to me because he thought I could navigate by the stars!?). But I'd been told The Perhentians are where all the cool kids go. It was a month before monsoon season (when the islands close
for roughly four months), so there wasn't much of a crowd as I hopped off the bus at the port of Kuala Besut to get the fast boat across. But the sun was shining so all was good. The fast boat lived up to it's name! Anything not strapped down (you and your luggage) went flying up in the air every time the boat crested a wave. You had to hold on tight to anything clearly nailed (preferably welded) down as it pitched and dived.
It only took 30 minutes of white knuckle thrill time to reach Perhentian Kecil (small island), my destination, where I could give my jolted spine a much needed rest. The water was pure crystal turquoise as I splashed through the shallows to the white sand beach and up to the solid looking ground at one end of the bay. That was hard work over hot soft sand with a 20kg bag. I was staying in Lemon Grass chalets and they made me feel right at home (as did the two gorgeous friendly cats who tried to climb into my backpack as I was leaving).
Again Electricity 7pm 'till 7am provided by generator, but
all you need it for is the fan. The bathrooms and showers were outside, the huge overhanging shower heads open to the sky like it was raining. Huge lizard things your occasional shower mates.
I spent my days chatting to the two guys who worked there, reading, wandering about and snorkeling amongst millions of fish, reef sharks and turtles in those perfect waters, following white fish over the white sand seabed. Much time was also dedicated to the important art of chilling out on the perfect (and deserted) beaches of Perhentian Besar (big island).
I spent serious time trying to accomplish my life goal of getting those pesky coconuts out of their tree hideaways on Robinson Creuso-esqe bays. I got closer to discovering thier secrets but I know one day, when I least expect it, one will fall on my head and end me before I can share them with the world.
The crux of this story is I don't think I'll ever be able to go anywhere in high season again. There is definitely a backpackery Thailand beach feel to the Small island, but it's more sympathetically developed (at the moment). The bars are made of
Hazy Days
A beach on the snorkling tour, straight of the 70's I love it! driftwood, set along the back of the beach or in the hills behind, hidden mostly by palms, nothing is in your face or over the top or too tacky, it's perfect. It certianly feels like your own little secret, like a treehouse you and your friends have made; organic and imperfect, but perfect for it, sprung from the landscape. But that will probably change, there was some serious concreting going on in the hills.
Some Korean students arrived with coolers full of excess food and beer they'd bought from Tesco (oh yes, Tesco! You can't use your points, I checked) in Kuala Lumpur and they barbecued it up for the guests (all four of us) and the staff. Perfect. Free beer and the generator started up early so we could all watch the England Rugby match on TV after the BBQ. There is nowhere on earth that does not get Sky Sports, it is a fundamental law of the universe, like gravity. All of us sat round plastic picnic tables on the grass overlooking the whole beach.
Afterward there was a bonfire party at a treehouse bar in the middle of the beach where we lazed about, drinking
beer on the sand and dancing 'till the generator died, barefoot on the wooden dance floor inside (I say inside, walls are optional here). I didn't want to leave really, and the guys at Lemon Grass even offered me a job! which was ace, I could have gotten in some committed coconut study. But it was coming up to bad weather season and last bus to the Cameron Highlands was leaving. So I said sad goodbyes to everyone (including the cats) and got back on that white knuckle ride to the mainland.
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