Hari Raya in Langkawi: the Party after Ramadan



At a Hari Raya party in Langkawi, Malaysia, a newspaper reporter observed that political foes become chums during the holiday season. “Soon they fight for politics; now Hari Raya, everyone friends.”
Liza Hasan, the local reporter for Sinar Harian, was watching Langkawi’s representative to Parliament posing next to the man who lost the race. Together they were smiling for the cameras. After all, forgiving past quarrels is a focus of Hari Raya.

Earlier that day, my neighbor Liza called while I was eating lunch at home. I was gazing as usual into the green of mountains covered with rainforest when she said, “I invite you to meet my governor.”

With a mouth full of food, I gulped, “What?” Liza said, “I will meet you downstairs at 1:15.” It was 1 p.m.

During the rush to put on a dress and lipstick, and gather camera, writing pad, and pens, I wondered where we were going. It turned out to be an outdoor “open house” for Hari Raya sponsored by the state of Kedah.


Johari bin Abdul, Kedah parliamentarian, Liza, Wan Sallet Wan Isa, chief Justice Party, Langkawi 

 We walked into festive rows of canvas rooftops, blue and white, pink, and yellow. Under most of the rooftops, people were eating. At a long table, women dressed in hijabs were serving chicken curry and beef stewed with cloves.
The tent at the front was like a stage where the governor of Kedah state and other politicians appeared to be on exhibit (top photo). The politicians were dressed in traditional clothing, print or lime green or turquoise tunics with color coordinated sarongs. They topped their outfits with a fez, either black or white.

Then excitement mounted when a raffle was announced for pilgrimages to the holy city of Mecca in Saudi Arabia, expenses paid. Liza explained bits of speeches made in the Malay language. In the background, a song was playing merrily, “Selamat Hari Raya” ( Hari Raya greetings ).
At the start of the Hari Raya season, fireworks lit up Langkawi’s sky. The chanting of the muezzin broadcast from the mosques turned into a din. Their prayers droned later than usual into the night. They were welcoming the transition from famine to feast. That first night of Hari Raya also marked the end of Ramadan when Muslims fast for a month from sunrise to sunset for spiritual reasons.
Stores around town displayed banners with holiday greetings, “Selamat Hari Raya.” Some spots on the island, such as the Temurun waterfall, were no longer secluded. Suddenly, vacationers from the Malaysian capital, Kuala Lumpur, were splashing in its waters.

Drums rolled as the governor was driven out of the crowd at the Hari Raya party.

During the 30 days of Hari Raya, different official entities sponsor parties open to the public, Liza explained. The events are advertised on enormous posters, but most foreigners living in Langkawi are not likely to know about them. The writing on the posters is in Behasa Melayu, the Malay language.
In fact at the party when politicians made speeches, I could understand only a few phrases in Arabic, such as the greeting, “Assalam u alaikum,” may peace be with you.
The politicians asked me, the only person who could not understand the speeches, why I was there. Then they invited me to sit in the head tent next to the governor and other dignitaries; they asked me to pose with them for official photos.
Filed away somewhere in a Kedah state archive in Hari Raya 2010 photos, next to the governor towers a white 5’4” giant.
Story and photos by Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter, copyright 2011

Part 2: Photo Walk in Kuah Focuses on Surprises

                               CONTINUED FROM LAST STORY

After we meet a woman who was getting a manicure on the only hand she has left after a crocodile ate the other one ( see previous post ), we walk down the street to an outdoor market.
A street in Kuah, Langkawi is suddenly transformed into a market. Peddlers set up tables with canvas roofs to sell their wares.
A Malaysian flag flies by a stall at the end of the street. It matches the building behind it. The exterior of the Baron Hotel is painted just like a Malaysian flag (top left photo).
We stroll down the street with pedestrian traffic only. It is lively with the colors of green beans, papayas, and bananas (top right photo).
We stop at a booth where a man is selling a remedy to alleviate aches. In small glass jars, dark herbs swim in red liquid.
On a bulletin board with Chinese characters, he displays photos of himself as a young trapeze artist in a circus. The man points to the photos, clenches his hand into a fist, punches himself softly, then rubs the medicine on the spot where he punched himself. I guess he is describing how the medicine cured him from injuries he suffered in the circus.
He offers me a whiff; it smells like Vicks. I buy the remedy; eventually I may have a use for it.
Next, we stop at a booth that displays JV whitening pearl cream, saffron sandal soap, and about 20 more products. Claims that they whiten the skin are written on their wrappers. I can read the English, but not the Malay, Arabic, or Thai on the wrappers. I ask the man selling the cosmetics if the products really whiten skin. He replies with a hearty laugh.
Some stalls offer ready-made Muslim-style hair coverings (photo above) and jewels to adorn hijabs for 1 ringgit ( 33 cents ); others display handmade straw purses, fez hats, fried chicken nuggets, and chicken curry.

Now we are determined to cool off for the day, so we head to the sea at the other end of Kuah. We pass billboards with photos of the sultan and sultana of Kedah (photo, right). We watch dozens of monkeys traipsing on electric wires.We carefully avoid open sewers that run next to some sidewalks (bottom photo). Sometimes, we step over sewers on cement slabs placed on top of them.
Finally we arrive at the Westin Resort & Spa. From the top of a hill, we see fountains, ponds, and pools cascading towards the sea (photo, right). We follow the water trail to the resort’s beach. Hotel employees offer us towels, mistaking us for guests because our skin is white.

After a dip in the sea, we swim in the pools. Then we lounge in the jacuzzi and sauna in the fitness center. We relish the balmy air, now that the temperature has cooled to about 75 degrees Fahrenheit. In the dark we trot home on a narrow, tile sidewalk, just wide enough for one person to walk at a time.
Suddenly, as I step on the sidewalk my entire body is jarred. For a few seconds, I don’t know what happened. Then I feel intense pain from banging my shins and a knee against cement. I realize I have fallen into a hole in the sidewalk, about two feet down into an open sewer. I feel the sewage covering my ankles. I notice that I splashed myself with sewage above the knees.
When I climb out of the hole, I am glad when I realize I am across the street from the ferry station. I walk to a bathroom in the station, dripping sewage and blood. I use a hose to wash my feet, legs, flip flops, and the deep cuts bleeding on my toes. The muezzin from the mosques chant the last prayers of the evening, broadcast clearly throughout the ferry station, “Allah ’u’ aqbar….”

I do not want to walk any more; now I am afraid of open sewers in Kuah. We go to the taxi stand at the ferry station and take a cab home.
The next day I review the sewer incident again and again in my mind. I am torn between feeling disgust at falling into sewage and laughing about the unexpected experience. I also find a use for the magic medicine from the market.
Story and photos by Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter, copyright 2011

Parts 1 & 2 of “Photo Walk in Kuah Focuses on Surprises” are experiences fused together from different walks in Kuah.

Part 1: Photo Walk in Kuah Focuses on Surprises

 

 Let’s go for a walk in Kuah, the most developed part of Langkawi, Malaysia. As the camera focuses on characters and colors, we encounter the unexpected.

We enter the clothing section of Billion in Langkawi Fair shopping center where employees dress in department store uniforms, yellow t-shirts with emblems, their hair and necks covered with Muslim hijabs. Barely clad women in underwear advertisements surround them (photo, right). It is the only time during months in Langkawi that we see such a stark contrast to the Muslim ideal of feminine modesty.

Then we cannot help staring when we see 20 or so beds covering the main floor of the mall. People lie on the beds as shoppers walk around them to stores. The people on the beds are donors, giving their blood in a public place.

The white sheets on the beds contrast with the lime green tunics of teenage boys in school uniform swarming around them. Alongside the boys covered in shiny material, girls in red and black school uniforms, long skirts and hijabs, are also helping with the blood drive.
Earlier that day, the walk begins from our apartment building, Seri Lagenda Tower. We walk past the violet and crimson colors of bougainvillea. The flowers contrast with different shades of green; light green banana leaves blend with the darker green of palm fronds. With mountains as a backdrop, we head downtown.

As usual the lady at the fruit stand greets us, "You want banana?"

We pass a fruit stand, where we admire the rambutan fruits covered with fuzzy pink and green skins. The woman there greets us as usual, “Hello. You want banana ?”
Motorcycles whiz past us as we walk. So, be careful not to collide with them. Women wearing long skirts and hair coverings drive some of the motorcycles. Motorcycle helmets top their bright pink and turquoise Muslim outfits.
We are also careful to avoid stepping on garbage as we walk on the dirt next to the asphalt road. Mangled cans mix with dusty plastic bottles.



Charisse manicures the only hand a woman has left after feeding crocodiles

 A mile or so later, we reach Kuah Town, and we stop at Girls Beauty Fashion & Nail Centre, next to Bank Islam. There, Charrice greets customers in English, Malay, or Mandarin. Her grandparents fled to Malaysia during World War II when the Japanese occupied parts of China. She is a third generation Malaysian, but she calls herself “Chinese.” The country’s largest ethnic minority, 24%, is of Chinese origin.
Charrice wears a short print dress, blue contact lenses, and orange-tinted hair. She fills the small store with laughter as she attends her sister Ivy’s business. The store displays fishnet stockings, tops with plunging necklines, and bouncy, round mini-skirts, a clothing collection unique in Kuah.

Rows of motorcycles glisten in the sunshine in downtown Kuah

“Who buys these clothes ?” I ask. Charrice explains that some of her customers dress like Muslims by day, night clubbers by night. Some young women buy clothes from the store for a night on the town.  Our conversation stops when a customer enters to get a manicure on her only hand.
Earlier, Charrice had told me about her. About six years ago, just for fun, the woman decided to feed crocodiles a fish dinner at the Langkawi Crocodile Farm. However, an animal also ate one of her hands as well as part of her arm, just below the elbow. According to Charrice, the woman accepts her condition as her destiny. (For more about the crocodile farm, see story under older posts, “Langkawi Crocodiles no Longer under Curse.”)
As we leave the store, we take out our umbrellas to shade us from the sun. We are a mere 800 kilometers ( about 500 miles ) from the equator. It is about 86 degrees Fahrenheit and humid. Our light, cotton clothes stick to us. The women covered in garments from head to toe do not seem to perspiring as they walk past us. 

The statue of the Langkawi eagle towers over the Andaman Sea

Among the pink and green and mustard-colored buildings, rows of motorcycles shine in the sunlight. We feel hotter as we look at their sun-heated metal bodies so we consider heading to the other end of Kuah. Near the ferry station, we can enjoy breezes where the Langkawi Eagle, 12 meters long (about 39.3 feet), towers above the Andaman Sea.
Story & photos by Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter, Copyright, 2011
KUAH PHOTO WALK TO BE CONTINUED FEB. 15

School girls volunteer for a blood drive in uniforms like those in this photo from Satun, Thailand




 

Part 2: Low Costs Draw Expatriates to Langkawi

 CONTINUED FROM LAST POST

Marsha and I were talking about the cost of living while we were eating lunch at the food court at Langkawi Fair shopping center.

“You can eat out for 5 ringgit” (less than $2) Marsha said while I was savoring a dish of Thai origin, tom yam soup with shrimp, kaffir lime leaves, lemon grass, and chili peppers. Marsha P. Waren, a US native and teacher in Thailand, was visiting in Langkawi, Malaysia.

The food court had cafeteria style tables, air conditioning, and several counters displaying dishes made with fresh ingredients, including fish, chicken, eggplant, string beans, ochre.

The food court at Langkawi Fair offers $2 feasts

A Malaysian man was listening to our conversation. He said, “Excuse me. Do you know how much you paid for that soup?” He grinned and said, “5000 ringgit” (about $1,666). He paused long enough for us to look at him with surprised expressions. “That is how much it cost you to come from your country,” he said. We laughed.

After the cost of a plane ticket, however, many expatriates enjoy a pleasant lifestyle at relatively low cost. Tevi, for one, chose Asia mainly for that reason. (See “Why Asia ? Simple Economics,” on Tevi’s blog, teviotshome.blogspot.com.)

Tevi (top photo) has been teaching English in Asia for more than five years since a friend called to ask if she would like to teach in his school. It took her just seconds to say “yes“ to the job offer in Inner Mongolia, China. Since then, Teviot Fairservis also taught in Thailand and Laos.

In Asia, Tevi became TV. She introduces herself like this: “I’m Tevi, like television. My Chinese students used to call me TV.”

When Tevi and I were 20 something, we were friends in Sharon, CT., USA. I was then working at my first newspaper job as a reporter-photographer for The Lakeville Journal. Tevi was absorbed with activities related to The Sharon Playhouse, where her father was a partner. Soon after she studied Asian theatre at the University of Hawaii; later, she became a producer and director for East-West Fusion Theatre.

A dense green view from penthouse terrace

Now Tevi lives in Langkawi, and for about $800 a month, she and I rented a two-story penthouse with terraces facing rainforest mountain views. She occupied one floor while I lived on the other. The apartment was completely furnished down to sheets, towels, washing machine, and flat screen TV.
 A neighbor/spa worker gave us one-hour body massages for $10. Or, for $11.50 at ACC Beauty & Massage, we could buy a foot massage and a session in a “fish spa,” where 300 tiny fish nibbled at the dead skin on our feet.

Amenities in the building included a large swimming pool. However, there were “third world” touches; a woman with a broom swept the pool area, hallways on 11 floors, and the parking lot of the building. 

Third World touch: Daily a woman sweeps the building

At the pool or in the elevator, we would meet foreigners living in the building, Seri Lagenda Tower. There was Robin from U.K., who has lived in the building for 15 years. At first, he organized golf tours; now he focuses more on apartment rentals. There was Peter, the Australian marine engineer, and Inni from Russia, an interpreter at Tanjung Rhu beach resort.
Also among the neighbors were New Zealanders Pam, who managed some rentals in the building, and her husband, John of Asia Pacific Super Yachts, who provided services for “yachties.“ Other foreign neighbors were not from western cultures, like Rayna, the writer from India, and Farouq, the karate champion from Iran.

Nikolai of Uzbekistan was among those from Muslim countries. Asked if he prays five times a day, like some devout Langkawi Muslims, he slapped the top of  his head and said, “When gray, pray. No now, no old.”

Malaysian neighbors included Liza the reporter, who might tell you she was dashing off to do a story on a new kind of fish at the aquarium, Underwater World. Another neighbor, Yuh Yee, a Chinese-Malaysian, was a coast guard; Azam and his wife of Japanese origin recently opened Sunday Surf shop.

Together we lived in an east-west fusion building.

Story & photos by Earthy Reporter, Carola C. Reuben, Copyright 2011

Part 1: Paradise Draws Expatriates to Langkawi




On a tropical island in a Muslim country in Asia, Christmas carolers sing in English near a rainforest, and partygoers drink German beer at an Oktoberfest by a balmy beach.
Expatriates bring events reminiscent of their native lands to Langkawi, Malaysia, and they can find out about them from a calendar of activities on a facebook page in English.
Perhaps following the beat of her own drum, Vanessa Workman created the page, Island Drum of Langkawi. She refers to her 7-month-old Island Drum as an experiment to find out what would happen if given a mouthpiece. The mouthpiece might feature upcoming parties, a lecture for a "greener island," an inquiry about pottery classes as well as a reward for a missing dog.

Oktoberfest waitress, Beach Garden Resort, Cenang Beach

Vanessa and her mate became Langkawi “expats” four years ago. After considering Costa Rica, they chose Langkawi because it is beautiful and the local people seemed sincere and friendly; also, it was much closer to “many cool places” to visit. Vanessa was a respiratory therapist for 30 years; she calls herself “a somewhat” artist/painter. Her mate has a production design company for events in the capital, Kuala Lumpur.

Both are US natives, a minority among the “expats” of Langkawi. “So many Americans I know are afraid to come here,” Vanessa said by e-mail. “It is a culture so unfamilar to them.” Far more of the “expats” from the western part of Earth are Brits, Scandinavians, Germans, and other Europeans. Australians and New Zealanders are also well represented.

Some of the “expats” say they like the easy communication with the local population. English is widely spoken. Malaysia was a British colony for more than 150 years, and the Malay language contains many English cognates. For instance, English speakers might recognize words like epel (apple), teksi (taxi), miziam (museum), polis (police).

Expat hangout: The Pier Restaurant by a mangrove river

Karick from Norway is not fluent in English, but local people address her in English because she is a foreigner. When we met at Langkawi Computers, Karick, 65, said she retired in Langkawi with her German husband. He had lived in many countries as an engineer for cement factories, but Langkawi was his choice for retirement. When Karick became a widow in Langkawi, her Malaysian friends consoled her.

“Yachties” are among other retirees living on the island. From their boats they first saw Langkawi emerging in the Andaman Sea among other hilly islands covered with greenery. Gudrun from Norway and her British husband got off their boat in Langkawi and stayed for six years. They had lived in China, Indonesia, Thailand, Singapore, and Nigeria when her husband worked for an Iraqi oil company.

I met Gudrun when she was selling calendars door to door for the Langkawi Ladies Charity Club. With an armload of calendars featuring photos of Langkawi’s birds, she knocked on Gitti’s door.

On the other side of that door, Gitti from Germany was telling me she feels “stateless.” She married a Malaysian 29 years ago; much of her family lives in Australia, and she worked in Singapore for 17 years as a pre-school teacher in a Geman school.


 She and her husband, “Bond,” both in their 50s, moved three years ago to Langkawi from Johor Bahru, Malaysia. “We are not going anywhere else,” she said emphatically. In Langkawi, Gitti wrote a book to be published in German about her grandmother, a free spirit who let gypsies camp in her yard.

 Dragon fruit on a porch: local produce is abundant.

Among Langkawi’s attractions, Gitti and other “expats” cite the low crime rate and the cost of living. (See next story on Earthy Reporter.)

Reliable figures for the “expat” population in Langkawi were not available. However, whatever the numbers may be, there are enough foreigners to support several “expat” hangouts, such as Yellow Café on Cenang Beach and the The Pier Restaurant located by a mangrove river.

The expat population is also large enough to warrant importing products, including processed foods, such as spaghetti sauce, and health foods. Several shelves at Bellis Spa are lined with organic products, such as tahine from Australia, miso from Japan, and black rice from Sabah, Malaysia.

In spite of their diversity, at the end of the day Langkawi’s “expats,” share a ritual. Many of them photograph the sunsets or simply admire them. After all, in Langkawi the sun sets on their days with intense colors, crisp blue and turquoise mixed with shocking pink and crimson.
Story & photos by Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter,               Copyright, 2010
TO BE CONTINUED...Part 2 to be posted in 2 weeks



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Chats with Women in Veils: Saudis in Malaysia

Newly wed Hannah of Saudi Arabia was on vacation with her husband, Abdul Azziz (photo below.) She was also having a holiday from covering her face while she was in Malaysia, where she was not obligated to wear a full birqa. Our communication was filtered through her husband’s limited English and my scant Arabic vocabulary.

As the ferry boat chugged along on the Andaman Sea from Penang to Langkawi, I asked how Hannah feels about covering herself in a birqa when she is in her hometown, Mecca. Imitating Hannah's  actions in jest, Abdul slapped his forehead, then stretched his arms skyward and shook his fists. Looking up at heaven, he lamented, “Ma’ambahsen.” ( I can’t stand it.)
Hannah, 23, is a college student. “What will she do after college ?” I asked. “She will go kitchen,” said Abdul, 28, a physicist. However, she can look forward to leaving the kitchen in 2014. Abdul is planning to take her to Brazil for the World Cup soccer tournament, “insh’allah” (God willing.)
Hannah will have “new look” in Brazil, he said. “She will have bikini and yellow hair.” I imagined he knew about yellow hair and bikinis from the internet. I asked, “internet mo haram ( not forbidden ) ? “Mo haram,” he said.
Hannah’s husband jokes about dressing her in a bikini, and he allows her to reveal her face in Malaysia, where the Muslim Malay women do not cover their faces or their bodies in black clothing. However, all over Langkawi, the shapeless black figures of Arab tourist women emerge from the green and flowery panorama of the tropical island. Men accompany the women; Saudi Arabian women are required to have male guardians, usually their fathers or husbands.
With their male guardians, the women walk on beaches in long loose robes, exposing only their eyes and hands (photo, bottom of post). Or, they sit next to pools in resort hotels wearing thick, opaque robes while their male guardians romp in swim shorts in the water. They are seen at Starbucks in the ferry station, sipping coffee without exposing their faces; they insert the cups under flaps of black cloth that cover their mouths.

On the decks of ferry boats, Saudi men sporting shorts and t-shirts would ask me to take their picture with their wives (photo, left.) I imagined the only way to identify a woman in birqa in a photo would be by recognizing the man posing next to her.
On one ferry ride, I met Saber Mohammed, a policeman, also from Islam’s holiest city, Mecca. Saber was traveling with two women in birqa. I imagined they were his wives; after all, Saudis are permitted to have four. However, one was his wife; the other, his mother. When I asked him how he learned his imperfect, but conversational English, he said “from TV in English.” He affirmed it is not haram to watch TV in English, but he added, “I only cannot watch sex.”
Then a woman hidden behind a birqa asked me in perfect English if I would take her picture with her husband. When I asked her how she learned her flawless English, she said she has a degree in English literature. She added, “I am interested in theatre, but in my country (Saudi Arabia) actresses are not allowed on stage without full birqa, but things are changing.”
I said I was surprised by her interests, her command of English. “Why ? she said. “It is the internet… It is globalization.” I had so much more to ask the woman hidden behind a veil, but the boat was about to dock. Her guardian led her away; on shore they moved away until she looked like just one more shapeless black figure blending into the crowd.
Story & photos by Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter, copyright 2011

Part 2:Monsoon Season Pours on Thai Island Trip

CONTINUED FROM LAST POST
Story and photos by Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter

Rain kept beating me on the head as I rode on a motorcycle taxi. The driver could not possibly see the road through the rain, so I assumed he arrived by instinct to the pier in Pak Bara, Thailand (photo below).

He was about to drop me off at the deserted pier, next to a few rickety boats creaking in the wind. So I said, “hotel, hotel.” I bent my head sideways and closed my eyes as if I were going to go to sleep. He said, “bungalow,” and took me to the Bara Guest House.
My bungalow bathroom was like a cement tunnel (photo below), and one had to pour buckets of water into the toilet to flush it. However, it was not raining in there.

Later I met a young Greek man while I ate seaweed soup at a food stand on the sidewalk. The Greek god had big green eyes set in a bronze face, framed with black hair. The tall, muscular man said he had been in Pak Bara for three months since his boat broke down. “Then you meet people. You don’t know what will happen next,” he said, stroking the belly of a young Thai woman in a red mini-dress.

I told him people keep telling me that during the monsoon season I can take a boat to only one island, Lipe. I said it is not possible that people who live on other islands are trapped there for months. He confirmed that little boats do go to some green islands.

So, early the next morning I spoke to travel agents who sat at tables on the sidewalk near the pier.One agent, who had permed his straight hair into curls, said with an effeminate flick of his hand, “Ugh.. what would you do in Bulon Leh? Everything is closed there.” Then I met Yoh, who spoke Thai for me to a boat driver heading to Bulon Leh. However, the boat would not leave that day in stormy weather.

Since I was stuck in Pak Bara, I upgraded my lodging. For $15 (instead of $8 for the bungalow), I settled into Best House Resort, which offered hot showers and air conditioning. The room even had original art work on the walls ( photo below), and on the TV, Hollywood celebrities were speaking in Thai.

The next morning I arrived in Bulon Leh on a little boat that made the 20 kilometer trip in about two hours (see beginning of last story). The boat took supplies, including styrofoam bowls, (dead) chicken, and kerosene for electric generators.

On shore, I squeezed out the water bulging in my pants pockets. I felt like a pickle marinated in brine, but then the rain was washing away the salt.
I walked across a stretch of grass to a row of rooms, which turned out to be the school. A woman covered in clothing, Muslim-style, greeted me; that part of Thailand is largely Muslim. She put her umbrella in my hand, pointed, and said, “bungalow.”
A muddy walk later, I met Bit at Bulone Resort, which had two rows of huts; one row was on the beach, where I would be the only guest.

From the porch of my hut, I watched the Andaman Sea in rainstorms and in drizzling rain (photo, left). Suddenly about 6 p.m. the rusty ceiling fan started whirring. The few hours of electricity for that day had just been activated.

During the green curry dinner on Bit’s porch, he told me he used to take tourists snorkeling at Bulon Leh 15 years ago. Then he met his future wife and stayed on the island. Bit’s wife and her 11 siblings, the Orgsara family, own Bulone Resort, managed by her Swedish brother-in-law.

The next morning it was deemed safe enough for a boat trip, and I was ready to leave. A cart pulled by a tractor took a few of us to the boat. There are no roads on the island; the tractor chugged along on a narrow trail through the dense greenery.

At the pier, a 50ish overweight Frenchman, who said he lives mostly in Thailand, nestled near a young Thai woman. I remembered what Marsha P.Waren, a US native who was a teacher for 4.5 years in Thailand, had said to me. She called trying to catch a foreigner “a career choice” for Thai women.
On the mainland at the food stand on the sidewalk, I met an elderly Swedish man  living quietly ever after on Bulon Leh. He was with Mark from UK, who spoke elatedly about Serendipity, the upscale resort hotel he was about to open on Lipe island. Mark, perhaps in his 40s or 50s, left behind him what he described as a stressful lifestyle as a salesman; he sold his property and put everything he had in the new business. “It is the first sort of nutty thing I ever did,“ he said.

A long trip later when I was back home in Langkawi, Malaysia, I vowed not to go ever again on a journey during the monsoon.
Copyright, 2010, Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter