Ride in a Magic Island: 'Nature Is Result of Prayer'

As we ride around the island we are awestruck, but the driver declares she is bored with Langkawi. Malaysian friend Aura, 26, says she would much rather tour Hollywood to see movie stars.

Instead, we see rainforest-covered mountains, mangrove rivers, and beaches after we leave our apartment building in Kuah, the most developed part of Langkawi.

Suddenly, I say “wow” as an aquamarine statue emerges from the woods near the entrance to a Hindu temple ( photo above left ). We stop, and we also see a Thai temple; a Buddha juts out in brilliant gold from boulders at the side of a mountain (photo, top right ).

Further away on the northwest side of the island, we plunge into the chilly water of a pool at Temurun waterfall. We wear bathing suits while next to us a woman takes a dip, completely covered in a hijab (photo, above).
Nearby at Tengkorak Beach, trees frame the Andaman Sea as monkeys strew garbage from trash cans onto the sand. A Surau, a prayer hut, appears at the hilly top of the beach ( photo, bottom of post. ) The warning written on it says, “( for Muslim only).”
The Muslim prayer hut on the beach, the Hindu statue, and the Buddha are among the images on the island with a Muslim majority as well as a multi-religious population.

Here and there in Langkawi, “One Malaysia” billboards emerge from the landscape; the billboards are part of the government‘s campaign to promote unity among the country’s diverse ethnic and religious groups. In one of them, children in costumes representing ethnic groups pose in a row under a 1Malaysia logo (photo left). Together, they smile and wave Malaysian flags.
As I look at the billboard, I remember conversations with members of different minority groups. One of them, Chin Fook, a Malaysian of Chinese origin, contends the 1Malaysia campaign is “government propaganda.” Chin Fook, a young project manager for an engineering firm, was discussing privileges granted to Muslim Malays, the “bumiputra,” ( “sons of the land.”)
The economic policies implemented in the 1970s that favor the Muslim Malay majority include setting aside properties that can only be purchased by them as well as special discounts when they buy property, subsidies for their businesses as well as quotas and scholarships just for bumiputra students.
Chin Fook compares minority status in Malaysia to yin and yang, contrary forces that interconnect and transform each other. Minorities have disadvantages, therefore they have an opportunity to struggle more.
Meanwhile back in the paradise, we meet Malaysian artist Aza Osman, who remembers an even greener era in Langkawi (photo, top left). More than 25 years ago, he visited with a pet monkey on his shoulder, riding his bicycle on dirt roads, rather than on asphalt; only sandy paths led to the beaches.

We chat with Aza at his business, Atma Alam Batik Art Village, now a half-acre complex with a batik workshop, showroom, and art gallery. He and his wife, batik artist Roshadah Yussof, opened it in one small room in 1987, the same year the federal government established Langkawi as a duty free zone. Soon after, tourists started visiting the 478.5 square kilometers of Langkawi‘s main island, now populated by some 64,000 people.
Finally, closer to home at Beringen Beach in Kuah, we meet Mohamed bin Yussof (photo, top of post, right). He runs “tours on the wild side,” including trips to uninhabited islands in the archipelago of 99 islands. As we admire the beach with a view of tiny green islands, he relates our surroundings to the Muslim practice of praying.
“The nature around us, all this is not free,” he says. “We have to pray for it five times a day.”
Photos and story by Carola C. Reuben, Earthy Reporter, copyright, 2011
This is the last of a series of stories and photos from living in Langkawi, Malaysia, 2010.

Earthy Reporter: Hari Raya in Langkawi: the Party after Ramadan

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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