Home and away

I had been wondering about Langkawi. It’s now a well-known holiday destination, especially for honeymooners, but when I lived in Malaysia none of that existed. Even Penang was only just starting out in its career as a holiday resort. I’d never been to Langkawi before, so felt that the next few days would just be a relaxing break rather than anything especially meaningful.

How wrong I was! Leaving the ferry port and finding a taxi in Kuah, I felt I was still in the Malaysia I know so well. Chaotic, noisy, warm, friendly and lively. The taxi, as I mentioned yesterday, seemed to nearly break down in the middle of Kuah. It didn’t matter. In Malay, one says ‘tidak apa’ or even tid’apa’, meaning literally ‘no matter’ or ‘never mind.’ This is an attitude that permeates Malay culture and one that I had let go, to a large extent, while living in the much more uptight society of Britain, where most things are supposed to matter quite a lot.

The hotel we stayed at is lovely, relaxed, intimate and luxurious, in a breezy and outdoorsy sort of way. (I will do a separate post in a few days about all the hotels we stayed in.) Outside the gates, though, I encountered Malaysia as I used to know it. Langkawi is more like the country I knew over 30 years ago. So relaxed, so very, very relaxed, friendly, muddly and even a little shambolic. Nothing is really polished or modern. Most motorbikes don’t have lights. Crossing the road is an exercise in assertiveness; just as I learned as a teenager, you have to be brave, step out and put your hand out to slow the vehicles down. Life is slow, though, luckily, so no-one was driving very fast.

There are all the important trappings of a tropical island, including soft white powdery sand, warm, gentle sea lapping rather than crashing at the shore, more coconut palms than anyone could need, a cacophony of noise and a wonderful array of fantastic food. Inland, there are hills and forests which are no doubt filled with all the flora and fauna one could wish for. If you want to do the touristy stuff, it is all there and you will never be bored. You can dive, go through the mangrove swamp on a boat, trek in the jungle, ride on the cable car (more of that tomorrow). We didn’t have long and I didn’t need to do the tourist bit. I needed to connect with the place.

So I decided, for the very short time we would be there, to stop and to focus on being there. Our room was a cabana style, with a door opening into its own little enclosed garden which in turn opened on to the beach. I could step out of the room in a swimming costume and bare feet and be on the beach in a few steps, then a few steps more to a sun lounger. The sea was right there. As always in the tropics, nature intrudes whenever it can find the opportunity, so maintaining the greenery is more a matter of cutting back than encouraging. There were palms and hibiscus, or bunga raya, which is the national flower of Malaysia, right outside the room. This feeling of nature always trying to take over, persistent, vibrant, has always been a metaphor for life, for me. In Malaysia, you are surrounded by luscious growing things, things that grow so fast you feel you could see them moving if you just watched for a little while. The greenery is always full of insects. Birds are all around. The whole place is buzzing with aliveness.

So this was why I needed to be here. I needed the feeling of old, chaotic, relaxed Malaysia which has largely disappeared in the cities and even in Penang, and I needed the relentlessness of nature and the proximity of the land to connect with. I was ready to make that connection.