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Published: March 22nd 2008
Boat to Perhentians
Within the first five minutes of the trip, the speedboat had crashed through a wave and saturated us. Every passenger cracked up simultaneously and from then it became like a theme park ride as we slammed over the waves, complete with squeals and delirious laughter.It's not terribly difficult being a vegetarian in Malaysia. There is a large enough Hindu population that you can always find an Indian restaurant serving vegetarian food, and plenty of 'Western' food anyway (I ended up eating more pasta in Malaysia than I probably will in Italy).
At first I was worried that it would be different on the Perhentian Islands, which I had heard were small and sleepy. I wondered if I would end up living off the remaining mandarin placed in my hand by a kind old Indian woman who we chatted to while waiting for a bus. I considered stocking up on a supply of cup noodles but in the end only had room for the important things - a bottle of red wine, a small bottle of gin and a small bottle of whisky (we had also heard that there was no alcohol available on the island, and though we had hardly drunk anything in Malaysia - being so expensive to do so due to the Muslim majority - the idea of a glass of wine on the beach was too compelling to resist).
In the end the Perhentians came through. Long Beach, the cheapest
Perhentian Kecil
Craig sitting on the porch of our little hut. side of the cheapest island, also had the cheapest restaurants, places where we abandoned shoes and ate with our toes nestled in the sand. The most difficult part was in the choices available to us, my vegetarian self included.
The Perhentians fed us. The Perhentians sheltered us, in a tiny, very basic wooden hut with a creaky front porch facing the beach, a few steps away from the sand, for less than AU$10 a night. Our basic needs were well and truly taken care of, and our secondary needs too. We felt, for the first time in Malaysia, a sense of belonging, of community. The beach was small and underpopulated, still in the low season after the summer monsoons closed the island for months. The staff at our accommodation and restaurant were relaxed, lacking the facade of professionalism and subserviance seen at most of the world's resorts - they did as they pleased within the confines of their employment, and ambled around the grounds and the beach chatting with us and each other, sleeping in the hammock outside our hut, playing games of chess, and sitting in the restaurant staring out at the ocean. When restaurant staff took our
Long Beach
The view from our hut. orders they sat down at the table with us. They told us the secrets of the island, the hidden beaches, the jungle tracks, the best places to snorkel.
Here, too, we made friends from Canada, Holland and Korea, people with whom we ate meals, played cards, shared drinks and stories. They fed us, too, with inspiration, all of them having been on the road a lot longer than us. They made us want to stay in Asia and seek out our own versions of the stories they told, and we will return there on the way back from Australia to live the life we glimpsed through them.
It became difficult to leave. We met a European girl working at the restaurant who came for a few days, months ago, and remains there still. Bob, a Malaysian who also worked there, told us that whenever he leaves he drinks from a spring in the middle of the island in an attempt to imbibe the spirit of the place, to keep with him while he is away. Which all sounds very romanticised but completely plausible while you are there, wandering along the beach, snorkelling the reef just outside our front
Long Beach
One of the restaurants nearby. door, floating in the sea, trekking through the sauna-like jungle. Day by day we abandoned our plans for further travel in Malaysia and ended up making a straight run from the island back to Kuala Lumpur at the last possible time we could. If we didn't have to make our flight to London a couple of days ago, we might be there still.
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