Life in a hammock. I think I could do it.

Sometimes when I look back through my photographs, I realise I miss the crucial ones.  Usually there is no shortage of sunset and sunrise snaps, or even stunning scenery, but the images that eventually help me to tell a story, I may not have thought relevant at the time.   In the case of my visit to Pulau Dayang Bunting, it was all there, full in the face, but overcome by a sense of shyness, I hesitated to take out my camera to take the shots that could  accompany the story.  The story of have and have-nots, the story of how little we really need to be truly content and happy…

Shade was waiting for me at the quayside, as arranged.  Wiry and strong, he hoisted my suitcase up the steep and slippery steps on the way to his car.   From the pictures and description of the airbnb I had chosen, I was certainly not expecting to be collected in a luxury car, but Shade clearly lived modestly.  My suitcase comfortably fitted into the car boot, precariously fastened with a piece of string.  Rain was kept at bay by a large sheet of plastic covering  the back windscreen and fresh air pierced the taut tarpaulin stretched over the side passenger window.  But the engine was running fine, and on an island that mostly basks in sunshine,  who needs windows anyway when natural ventilation keeps everyone cool.

On our way to the house, Shade offered to give me a quick tour of the island.  Much smaller than the main island of Langkawi, Dayang Bunting did not take long to explore by car, especially as one side of the island is uninhabited and only accessible by boat, or on foot of course… armed with a machete to hack a path through the jungle.  A pity really, as that part of the island is home to the ‘Lake of the Pregnant Maiden’, a freshwater lake formed after the surface of a large underwater cave crumbled  and the cavity filled up with water.  Unfortunately, attempts to forge a hiking trail through the jungle had long since been abandoned, the thicket too dense and fast growing to turn it into a viable tourist attraction.

The island itself was divided into two parts, connected by a narrow, seemingly sturdy bridge, but barely wide enough to allow motorbikes or bicycles to get past each other, let alone accommodate the width of a car.  At least this bridge was still intact, because the smaller one that we needed to cross to reach our final destination had recently collapsed and was under repair.  The bridge had been in a dire state for some time, and although all island dwellers had expected its imminent demise, it had not stopped anyone from using the bridge until it finally gave way…  ‘Just so you know,’ Shade clarified, ‘We now have to go through the school grounds…’  as he veered the car onto the school premises, passing through the school gate, skirting the playground and exiting through another gate at the other side, before turning into the last stretch to his home.

My accommodation was comfortable, clean and with all the  essentials: my own private bathroom, a whirring fan to keep things cool, a TV and ample WiFi access…  plus a spectacular view over the bay.  As the main aim for this part of my holiday was relaxation, I spent plenty of time lounging in the hammock outside watching life at the seashore.  Local fishermen set traps to catch crab; others washed and rinsed their fishing nets after hauling in the early morning yield and the local ferry service was running smoothly, like clockwork.  Every morning, just before sunrise, the village water buffalo lumbered past my chalet, slowly submerging into the cool of the sea, looking for food.

Intent on not lazing about all the time, I borrowed Shade’s bicycle and ventured to the other side of the island.  Not where the lake was, but just over the hill…  Unfortunately, the bike was not exactly in best shape lacking gears to get me up the hill, and brakes to make it safely down again.  I pushed the bike along on foot, not wanting to risk life and limb.  ‘Take the motorbike,’ Shade had recommended, but with vivid and recent memories of e-bike rides in China, I much preferred to give the bicycle a go.  Shade looked sheepishly on my return, and agreed that maybe the bike desperately needed a decent overhaul before he would lend it to another visitor…  ‘Although,’ he added, ‘most of the guests happily use the motorbikes..’

Walking seemed to be the best way for me to check out the island and I do enjoy hiking.  But even this exploit came to an abrupt end when a well-intending local insisted on giving me a lift home on her motorbike…  So much for my endeavour to get in some exercise.  As we approached the entrance of Shade’s home, she stopped abruptly, motioning being frightened by the dogs which freely roamed the premises…  Malaysia being a predominantly Muslim country mostly adheres to Muslim rules and dogs are a big no-no.   Shade had needed a special dispensation from the local imam to be allowed his dogs.  ‘Well,’ he had argued, ‘living at the end of the road, the dogs are here to protect my home and property…’

His Airbnb accommodation consisted of a few beach-fronted huts, a spacious indoor dining  room for entertaining guests, and a romantic, secluded area for al fresco meals by candlelight.  In his younger years, Shade had been a chef in a renowned hotel but had since made playing host to foreign and local patrons his purpose in life, leaving the cooking and kitchen duties to his wife.  Whilst his father scoffed at the way Shade lived, ‘Look at your brothers in Kuala Lumpur…  One a pilot, the other a flight attendant.  They lead a comfortable life…’, Shade relished in greeting his English speaking guests in an accent polished to British perfection.   His father had been employed by the British military when Malaysia was still under British rule, so mastery of English had been a must in the household, and something Shade took great pride in.  Visitors from far flung places, as well as Malaysian tourists, have become regulars at his airbnb, and rather than quenching his thirst for knowledge by travelling himself, Shade’s international guests and neighbours are his window to the world.

Would I recommend the airbnb on Dayang Bunting for a break?  Definitely!!  The food was sumptuous, the hospitality unrivalled, the relaxation real.  So much more Malaysia than the touristy stretch of Langkawi.

Life in a hammock, simple and uncomplicated.  Quite tempting.  I think I could do it, one day …  just not yet…

Travelling with the locals in Malaysia.

After a short couple of weeks in China recharging my batteries, I was on my way again in mid August.  Malaysia this time and travelling solo.  After all the rushing around, it was intended to be the relaxing holiday, go-with-the-flow-and-see-what-happens.   A bit of culture in the main cities of Kuala Lumpur and Penang, catching up with some friends followed by a spell on the beaches of Langkawi and Pulau Dayang Bunting.   The perfect way to spend two weeks on my own.

Hotels can be a little isolating for the lone tourist, so I stayed with friends and relied on airbnb instead to guarantee some human contact and guidance from locals along the way.  Apart from my flight to and from KL and accommodation, I left every bit of detail to the last minute…  I figured there would be trains, buses, ferries and even taxis to take me from A to B, so why worry…   Not having a fixed itinerary meant I could change my plans on a whim and see where sudden impulses would lead me.  It was an interesting and unexpectedly liberating experience…

Of course, not everything went swimmingly, to the contrary.  In Kuala Lumpur I got stranded at a bus stop near the Forest Research Institute Malaysia (FRIM) after hiking on my own along cobra infested trails.  I admit, at the time I wondered about being the only one on the path, but I had not been able to locate the visitors’ centre and assumed that a clearly signposted track would have been safe…  I decided to turn back at the point where the path blended into the jungle and I had to clamber over trees and tree trunks and hoist myself up on ropes…  and a suspicious rustling in the undergrowth warned me of company ahead.   I was not brave enough to find out whether it was friend or foe, and retreated rapidly to the tarmacked road and other signs of civilization.

In the afternoon, I took no risks and found a guide from the centre before  further exploring the forest and its waterfalls.  Despite an unpleasant encounter with leeches, it was a great way to learn more about the conservation and restoration of a little area of jungle just outside the Malaysian capital.  The guide dropped me off outside the centre, next to a nearby shopping centre.  ‘You will easily find a taxi here,’ he argued, but every taxi driver I approached, shook his head and refused the fare.  ‘Too far,’ they claimed.  ‘I am not going in that direction,’ another one insisted…  I plonked myself down on the bench at the bus stop, not sure how to proceed.  I had yet to work out how to use taxi apps such as Uber and  Grab…  Conversations in broken English with the locals were not very fruitful either.  It then dawned on me that if I were to change my destination to another local touristy spot nearby, Batu Caves, I might be in luck with the taxis, especially as from there I could easily catch the train…

‘No need for a taxi,’ a young man exclaimed, face beaming, ‘You can get the free bus to Batu Caves’.    ‘You mean ‘free’ as in ‘I do not have to pay’????’ I queried…   There is such a thing as a free bus???  As if summoned by magic, the free bus appeared within minutes and the young man immediately boarded to explain to the driver where I wanted to be dropped off.  It was a long journey; the free bus clearly did not take the most direct route but I certainly saw plenty of the not-so-touristy-areas on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur…  Feeling a little nervous, I kept an eye on good old Google Maps  (local SIMs and plenty of data are an absolute must these days…) to help me decide the most optimum point to get off and when I felt Batu Caves was within walking distance, I signalled to the driver that I had arrived at my destination.  I took a quick peek around Batu Caves and found ‘India revisited’ with its Hindu Gods, bright yellow garlands and Southern Indian food on sale: massala dosa and  parotta…  before sauntering to the train station to continue my journey …

Most of my travel around Malaysia went flawlessly.  Kuala Lumpur itself had an extensive and efficient public transport system consisting of monorails, commuter trains and light rail transit, as well as city buses …. with rules befitting a predominantly Muslim population.  Taxi fares required some prior negotiating, but once I had figured out Uber and Grab, taxis were definitely reasonable.   In Penang, when walking was not an option, they were the best way to get around .  And with fares for internal flights at rock bottom prices, even flying to Langkawi and back was very affordable.

I only spent a short while on Langkawi itself, opting instead to stay a few days on the quieter, neighbouring island of Pulau Dayang, in a small airbnb establishment, Barkatt Chalets.  After a hectic summer I was looking forward to peace and tranquillity, to lying in a hammock watching the ebb and flow of the sea, to being away from the hustle and bustle of tourist fare and noise.  The island was home to only 200 people, mostly fishermen;  a small hotel attracting mainly Malaysian visitors; and Barkatt Chalets.   Airbnb reviews had been glowing, describing Shade, the owner, and his wife, not only as perfect hosts, but also as perfect cooks.  I would be in for a treat…  if I could get there…

Access to the island was by ‘local ferry’, a small fleet of speedboats shuttling the islanders back and forth for work or shopping.  ‘Let me know when you get on the boat, I will be there to pick you up,’  Shade had promised me.  ‘Just tell them you are going to Selat Barkatt, they will show you which boat to take.’   Having left the touristy beach stretch of Langkawi in the morning, I arrived at the small ferry terminal by taxi, but decided to first purchase my onward ticket for Penang to use later that week.  A fellow traveller at the Sweet Monkey Backpackel Hostel,  where I spent the previous night,  had had her ferry trip to Langkawi delayed because tickets had sold out.  ‘Better safe than sorry,’ I thought, as one of the shopkeepers in the small terminal offered to look after my suitcase whilst I trudged to the other, bigger building just down the road.    ‘Don’t worry,’ she put my mind at rest, ‘if you miss the early ferry, the next one will be around  2 pm.’

Of course, by the time I returned to collect my suitcase, the local ferry was a mere speck on the horizon.  With just an hour left till the next one was scheduled to leave, I sat down with the shopkeeper for a refreshing cold drink…  ‘No need to wait at the pier,’ she explained. ‘ I have already spoken to the ‘captain’.  He will let me know when everyone is ready to board.’  We whiled away the hour and were joined by the ‘local’ American lesbian who made it everyone’s business to know her business.  With no sign of the captain or life on the jetty, we had another drink and listened to the tales of woe of being an American lesbian at sea and living on a boat.  ‘Don’t worry,’ the shopkeeper kept on reassuring me, ‘the captain is probably waiting for some more people before he wants to leave…’

It was a sultry afternoon and rainy season in Malaysia..  Outside dark, menacing clouds had gathered  and it did not take long for the rain to start.  A trickle at first, but soon it came bucketing down.  As the conversation with the shopkeeper had all but dried up, I ventured outside to keep an eye on things, just in case a ferry might make it across the water…  I sat patiently, resting my feet on my suitcase, whilst the heavens opened even further.

The advantage of being a solo traveller is the ease with which you strike up random conversations with random strangers.  So it was that I initiated a chat with a British couple who had recently retired to the smaller island, part-time I should add: winters in Malaysia and summers in the UK.  Their presence this summer was merely due to the building works going on at their new house, stilted to keep it safe above rising and receding water levels.  ‘Ah, yes,’ they explained, they had given up on the ferry service, and purchased their own boat…  You could be sitting at the terminal for ages waiting for a ferry to arrive or leave…  Unfortunately, as they were expecting a full load of wood to be delivered, there was no room for me in their boat to take me across…

Eventually, the downpour subsided and the captain gathered his passengers onto his boat…  I sent a message to Shade to alert him that my departure was imminent and it looked as if I would make it to the island at long last…   The ferry was not exactly the lap of luxury, but rather a small motorboat kitted out to take passengers.  We walked down the slippery steps on the quay side and the captain helped with my suitcase, whilst I negotiated the gap between the edge of the jetty and the rim of the boat…  By then I was already quite damp, so I did not care too much that the benches inside had rivulets of water streaming down the back and immediately soaked my clothes.  The tarpaulin stretching over the door was clearly not that effective in keeping out the lashing  rain…

Shade, being a gentleman of his word, met me at the quay side and hoisted up my far too heavy suitcase…  Maybe for a trip like this, a backpack with just life’s essentials might have been more appropriate…

And if you are wondering whether getting off the island was any easier…  On Friday, Shade dropped me off early, at 8 am, in time for the first ferry of the day, at about 8.30am.  After a three-hour delay, watching more heavy showers before finally the sun came through, we were finally picked up.  At least I only needed to catch a ferry to Penang in the afternoon; the rest of the passengers would be very, very late for work…  No one worried, it was part of daily life.

Was a visit to the island of Dayang Bunting worth the endless waiting on the quayside…??  Next post…