Has my diary been getting a bit boring lately? No need to spare my blushes, though maybe boring's too harsh, but, maybe, maybe just things have been on an even keel for while - no great nightmares or triumphs. The writing reflects my experiences - the last few weeks in Malaysia have been extremely calming, a happy if not life changing time, few adventures where I've been required to unleash some clever traveller skill to survive (assuming I have any).

Two nights ago I was treading strokes in the evening waters off Long Beach, in the Pherentian Islands. A fantastic storm had passed, we had been sheltering on the edge of the beach under a tin roof, counting the seconds between bolt across sky and booming blast into our ears. Every so often, the thunderclap was instanteneous, coweringly powerful. The rain passed, I bought some new swimming trunks (earlier pair left behind in KL) and floated into the shallow waters as afternoon faded into night. My guesthouse's reception/meal/bar area was playing on of those familiar yet still appealing chill out classics.

It ocurred to me that this was surely the dream of every single person in England. Certain parts of taking time to go travelling on a fairly low budget would not I imagine be what lots of people want to do (eating strange foods, sleeping in dormitories, speaking to people who can't speak English). But wading/paddling in the not cold water, surrounded by a bay of white sand and green jungle, this was the postcard, this was the travel agent's poster, the Blind Date prize. The chill out music was in fact the music they would play were this a movie - it was my soundtrack.
The problem though with living an advert, is that adverts are rather shallow - not a lot has happened worth reporting here on Long Beach. But perhaps that's not really the point of this place, I suppose. I've talked to some good people, eaten good food, but it just fills me with nostalgia for the, in my opinion, far nicer and cheaper Bottle Beach. But, soon will do some snorkeling over the coral reef, hope to see turtles or sharks, so may be able to report back soon.

An unintentionally artistic shot of one night on Long Beach with new friends.

--

The iconic feeling felt even stronger the next evening. I have been reading Alex Garland's The Beach, I sat in the upstairs of a wooden bar in a hammock, while a Bob Dylan CD sang about shelter from the storm. Could I be more of a backpacker, I smiled - although I wasn't eating a banana pancake I suppose.

A book review of The Beach

I should say I haven't seen the film version, which by all accounts is something to be thankful for. It's a good book, keeps you turning pages, some of the dialogue is eerily familiar. Early on, the French traveller Etienne says, "Oh, we have been here already four weeks, and it is weird for us too" - this blasted me as exactly, exactly the line a European traveller with English as a second language would use. I'm about four fifths of the way through the book, it's dragging slightly lately - could probably have been a little shorter.
The thing the book sparked for me was wondering about travelling as it is done by people like me. The central concept of the book is that "real travellers" are finding their secret Asian paradises swamped and transformed by hordes of ignorant tourists on holiday, or by people who call themselves travellers but haven't got a clue. Working out how one separates "real travellers" from the depised idiots on holiday is of course a tricky problem, one that the book's hero struggles with himself, but the basic problem the hardcore traveller has in both the book and in the real world is, I think, that travelling is becoming easier and easier. One no longer needs to be Indiana Jones - the triumvirate of affordable plane tickets, guidebooks and the Internet mean that pretty much anyone can go to places that once a upon a time where the reserve of hippies and serious explorers. Read the description in the Lonely Planet's shoestring guide of how the Wheelers travelled around SE Asia writing their first guide. It sounded incredible - a journey and an adventure that may not be possible now.
The irony of reading The Beach on Kecil Island's Long Beach made me smile - Long Beach is close to everything the characters of the novel hate. Bars, diving schools, guesthouse restaurants pumping out music into the surrounding jungle. Lots and lots of young things in swimwear, who've clearly read and followed the advice in Cosmo or Men's Health on how to get that summertime flat-stomach. And why should anyone be surprised? The Pherentian Islands are famous for their easily snorkelable coral reefs and white sand - they are recommended in every guidebook and easy to reach from KL or Thailand. In this day and age one needs to be realistic about one's pretensions. I wrote some months ago in my diary, "I am not an explorer" - I am not the person who endures hardship and long uncertain journeys to reach some uncharted spot.
The characters in The Beach are, and this prompted some uncertainty in me. Should I be off island hopping in Indonesia or the Philippines, paying local fishermen to take me to the next dot on the map? I felt conscious that my RTW trip has taken in so few countries (eleven so far), conscious that outside of maybe... west China, northern Mexico, Honduras, I haven't really been anywhere that off the beaten track, that wild etc etc etc.
But as I read more of the book, other thoughts occurred to me. Why did these characters travel endlessly, what was the point of all their snooty explorations? What was the point of adventuring further and further just to find a beach and do nothing? Then I noticed that all the characters in the book are first worlders - Europeans and Americans. The only Thais mentioned are street sellers and police in Khao San road, dope field guards or tourist fleecers in Kho Phan Ngan. None of these "hardcore travellers" describe any of the people in all the countries they have come to visit, nothing about any special knowledge or empathy with Thailand as a culture. The hero once mentions a friend from Manila, that's it for non traveller contacts. The famous hideaway has no Thai people staying on it - this Eden is for rich white people only; it often feels like the Beach is meant to be a hideaway from Thailand as much from other travellers.

If The Beach's portrayal of the old school traveller is accurate, then perhaps these travellers of the 70s and 80s were less disruptive than the modern day Lonely Planet wielders only because the former's numbers were lower. Had the characters of The Beach been more interested in Thailand and Thais, been more interested in blending in with (or maybe helping) the local culture - perhaps Mister Duck and friends might have more moral authority to lambast the new kind of backpacker (the gap year student, the ex banker on a career break) that has come after them.

--

The next day I switched to the more peaceful D'Lagoon beach, about only 60 metres wide, one guesthouse offering meals, wooden rooms and hammocks between coconut trees. A really nice place, and cheaper than Long Beach by a long way. A five foot long monitor lizard ambled around the beach, hoping to be fed by the staff.

--

Snorkeling over shallow reefs. I wish I could take pictures of just how many strange fish I've seen, how the coral looks. It is undenably the unforgettable highlight of my time in Malaysia so far, like nothing I have seen before. I could I suppose buy an underwater camera, but in this glossy magazine world, there'd probably be little that fascinating in them, little you hadn't seen before. What was incredible was not these scenes themselves, but that it was me seeing them. It was me navigating this Finding Nemo world, passing brightly coloured two foot long fish, parting immense schools of tiny shiny shimmying fish, being circled by the inquistive three inch long tiger fish, actually being attacked by a solitary toothless fish the size of a finger. It was me swimming only a foot or two above the alien protrusions of the coral, past the purple wavy lips of the otherwise camouflaged skull sized clams embedded in the rock. The fish were incredibly relaxed about my presence, my ears were filled with the clickety click of occasional groups of them nibbling at the coral floor.

Tomorrow I hope to see turtles or maybe a friendly shark.

--

I went snorkeling early the next morning. I saw so many absurdly coloured fish, but the highlight was swimming over a sea anemone and having two Clown fish come out, fiercely guarding their home from me. So I had found Nemo.

Living on a budget beach resort is a peculiar thing. Days seem to slow down immensely, one does very little, yet one is never left feeling bored. Some swimming or snorkeling, reading and chatting with fellow stayers are prerequistes of each day; many sunbathe, I prefer swinging in a hammock in the hot shade. The most difficult decision each day is what meals to order - and D'Lagoon has a very small menu. One runs a tab, so you don't even need to carry a wallet.
It takes a couple of days to adjust to the pace of beach resort life - in a way, it is sensible to spend the first couple of days in the most developed, busiest beach, then, acclimatised, head for the secluded retreat from the world. D'Lagoon is pretty nice, all in. I have become good friends with four English couples - we eat meals together and sit around chatting whenever we feel like. I imagine if we stay here a few weeks we'll be weighing up any new arrivals - "Did you see what she was wearing"? They all seem happy here, although it's funny to be amongst that casual - well, bickering's too strong a word - just that long term boyfriend-and-girlfriend-weary-put-downs of each other. She:"Where's the water bottle?", Him:"I put it by the deckchair", Her:(with the tone of someone exhausted) "Oh... in the sun then"? Perhaps this is an inevitable part of being in a properly long distance relationship, or perhaps it's just an inevitable part of travelling with someone else for a long time?

--

Yesterday, I swam past a shark. More accurately, a shark, five or six feet long, swam past me. No, no... it was: me, ineffectually waving my fins in the water, and the shark suddenly was THERE, completely silent, and then it wasn't. About twenty feet away along the coral floor, it was maybe only a foot in diametre at its widest point (not counting fin), but it compacted into its frame an patent seething strength. A shark so obviously what it is - there's no doubts of, "maybe that's a big salmon" - it worked its way through the water in smooth twitches and was gone. I had been promised that the sharks in these shallow waters were friendly, which was fortunate as I would have been really quite scared otherwise. I was lucky to have spotted it, and would have never heard it or have a hope of swimming away were it to return for me.

--

I emerged from the sea victorious, elated. "I SAW A SHARK" - I ran around telling everyone. This proved a good icebreaker to speak to a group of young Malay Malaysians on holiday, who had always seemed friendly but I had never taken the plunge to talk to before. Later that afternoon I came over and joined their table.
They were a really nice group of old friends and fed me each time I came and sat with them. The six of them worked for the big Malaysian bank Maybank and were here for a three day holiday. We had a geeky chat about banking. I asked them what it was like being around all these foreigners. They liked it as a strange change, and liked also that none of us seemed to care what they got up to - apparently in a beach resort full of other Malaysians, everyone would be keeping an eye on each other. I told them about my suspicions of The Beach Nightclub back in KL, they laughed - it was well known among locals as a place where prostitutes went to find their next client.

--

In the early hours of the next morning, a giant turtle climbed on to the beach to lay her eggs. She had been expected, somehow, and the D'Lagoon manager woke us up at six am, once the eggs had been laid and the turtle was burying them in sand. In the near darkness, I came out of my dorm room, and looked around. A powerful, almost frighteningly loud slapping sound was coming from near two coconut trees. It was the turtle (maybe a metre long) using its fins to slap sand back on to the place where it had buried its eggs. It looked exhausted and continued its work as we stood around taking pictures. As the sun came up, the turtle finished, and pulled its great dragging bulk to the shoreline, where it dipped into the sea and nimbly vanished.

Daniel, June 29 2004, Kecil Island

PS I have also added photos to the pages "You don't need beer to have fun", and "Travelling on a wooden bench". The latter also has links to two new movie files. Hope you like them.