Growing with India

My Indian experience will stay with me forever. In the twelve weeks I spent there I had the privilege of seeing the Taj Mahal bathed in the glorious morning sun, the forts of Jaipur and Jodhpur tower over their respective cities and the sense of a nation still in love with its Maharajas. The poverty was far more penetrating than any sentence I could attempt to construct so I won’t attempt it. The greatest gift I came away with was the awe inspiring approach to life by these people who live and die by their faith in the fairness of karma. I and others around me spent most of their time in India complaining and wishing to move on, and like a fool who is left to learn from his mistakes under the guidance of a wise master, we all inevitably fell in love with the land of a thousand temples. There’s no escaping it. Sure – at times I was ripped off and felt unsafe and threatened, but the times when I vented this feeling to other, friendlier locals, they simply shook their heads with a knowing smile as if to echo the words of Friedrich Nietzsche “That which does not kill us makes us stronger.”

My journey ended in Agra – in a sense- as this was the point at which I was to retreat to the soothing beaches of Goa to “recover” from my arduous affair with the deserts of the north. I approached the train station with strong pessimism with regards to my journey ahead as this train ticket I clutched in my hands was the final piece of an itinerary sold to us by a less than honest man in Delhi. Never mind, karma will see to it that he is dealt his lot. The said ticket was in Hindu and I was hoping that the words “air conditioning” were among the beautiful scrolls on the paper. After all, I had paid a premium for this in particular.

Alas, it wasn’t to be and I was flung into the mercy of the real Indian summer along various landscapes in 50 degrees of hellish heat. Just to add to my suffering, I would share the 46 hour non-stop journey (that’s not a typo!) in my roasting six person cabin, with an Indian family of eight and what appeared to be all of their worldly possessions. Needles to say, the ordeal was worsened by the threat of thieves which are known not only to be common on Indian railways, but also very cunning. I slept at night, clutching my backpack as if it were the love of my life.

Roll on many monotonous hours and two days after I had boarded, I finally disembarked at my destination. Well, sort of. There was still a two hour bus ride to deal with but after what I had endured, this felt like a pleasant drive through the countryside. As the bus navigated its way along the Goan hills, stopping and starting as it went along. The distinct contrast of the surrounding landscape to that of the north was jaw dropping. A million palm trees covered every inch of hill and mountain as far as the eye could see and before long, the blue waters of the Arabian Sea were beginning to peer through the swaying branches.

As we rolled up to our stop – Palolem Beach – a painfully exaggerated smile forced its way across my face. I was utterly exhausted and elated at the same time. I leapt from the bus and ran to the beach like a man lost at sea who had just found land. And what a land it was. Acres of palm trees decorated with coconuts. Market stalls selling various hand carved trinkets as well as the travellers necessities like books, replacement backpacks, mosquito nets and many others, all facing the blue ocean as if wirship. I had six weeks before my flight to Thailand and I intended to spend two or three nights at each beach town along the coast. I never left Palolem beach for six weeks! In my next post I will attempt the impossible and try to describe the paradise that surrounded my existence in these weeks. They were truly the happiest of my life.

I Love The Smell of New Delhi in the Morning

I was by no means prepared for anything remotely resembling India – in particular, Delhi! I recall reading the same thing over and over again in my pre departure research; that nothing can prepare you for the smell of Delhi. But I also recall not taking much notice of this. I was too busy staring at images of temples and glorious Indian food markets etc. Only when you actually arrive in the city (following numerous near-death experiences in an antiquity of a taxi driven by an insanely nonchalant and bad driver) do you suddenly recall all of those small references to the tirade of a million assaults on your senses by the stench of cow, dog and human shit, rotting flesh and exhaust fumes, juxtaposed with a million and one pungent spices and blazing incense sticks all brought to an abusive simmer with the 50 degree heat that tortures your soul to within an inch of self capitulation. After arriving at our “hotel” we realised that we had been ripped off. Again! The lovely marble reception was a facade that hid the tyranny of various insects in the many nooks and crannies in our run down room which proudly smelt just like the rest of Delhi. We dumped the bags and escaped to a roof top cafe to meet the acquaintances we had just made at the airport. Once I successfully dodged the various cows, their shit, and everyone who wanted to sell me something, I entered a very narrow but tall building. It was 5 floors and was a hotel (apparently) that over looked an even narrower alleyway that seemed to be a hub of activity. I don’t mean there were many people walking up and down the alley. No – I saw entire families bathing with one bucket of water on the side, a shepherd herding a flock of animals (I think they were goats) and other such sites that you naturally expect to see in a big metropolis!

I clamoured up the steps to the roof where some newly familiar western faces were waiting. I still feel pissed off when I remember the air of calmness that surrounded everyone but me. They all seemed to be delighted by this “fantastic city” with all its “rustic charm” ... Bollox! I sat and began to sip the ice cold ginger, lemon and honey concoction that the waiter had insisted I try. It was horrible!! (But naturally everyone else was so delighted by its refreshing aroma that I ended up looking like an ungrateful twat). I opted for a SevenUp. Once the cold and sugary drink did the trick of soothing my emotional irritation, I turned to find a massive cannabis tree right behind me! (okay, it’s the only cannabis tree I had ever seen so I don’t have any others to compare but it looked pretty big to me). I asked the waiter if it was legal and he gave me that classic non-committal Indian headshake and walked off.

“What does that mean?” I said to my fellow westerners.

“It means he has no idea what you just said so he shook his head and went away” Came the sarcastic answer.

I realised I was beginning to offend people with my inability to adapt to the place instantly so from then onwards, I also adopted an air of tranquil graciousness. It was then that I realised none of these losers knew what the hell was going on but felt the need to pretend to each other, that they were in complete control. I left Delhi the next day.

The rest of India was much nicer and smelt considerably less! (Except for my hotel in Agra – but that’s for another rant)

When I Set Off On My Travels In 2008, I Started In Delhi. Big Mistake !

As we started our descent for New Delhi airport I realised I had very little factual knowledge of India or Indian Culture. In fact, all I had in my locker were the repeatedly regurgitated stories of absurdity I had been exposed to on the various travel blogs I’d read. At the time, I thought this to be a flawless form of research that would elevate me above the guide book toting, gap year twat brigade. So much so that I had demanded my girlfriend at the time, leave the chunky copy of Lonely Planet on India at home.

As we glided over the suburbs of our destination, I tried to take in every possible and impossible sight, much like a scientist looking for an answer through the lens of his microscope. The housing appeared to be in clusters of modern - as in new, not stylish -apartment buildings. From my elevated view point, it seemed like someone had dropped these settlements into the middle of what was clearly a desert. I thought about how these people lived, where they worked, how they got to work and what kind of furnishings they had within the walls of their dusty white blocks. This was the last trail of thought I would have involving logic for a while!

New Delhi airport was in the process of being rebuilt when I had the pleasure of going through it. There seemed to be more staff than passengers present as I made my way down some unusually slow escalators towards passport control. The two chaps responsible for checking my papers were in order, took a quick glance at my Visa, handed me my passport back and said "move". I put this down to bad English due to the lack of venom in their tone and did exactly as they said, smiling inwardly. Whilst awaiting our backpacks to appear on the carrousel, we befriended a young British girl called Melissa. Melissa told us that she was 18 and that she had decided to travel around India for a while until she was ready to go home. She had the air of someone who would not last 10 minutes in Edmonton Green Shopping centre, let alone India. We took pity on her and asked if she wanted to share a taxi into town.

Indian law dictates that Rupee's cannot leave the country so I’d brought a few hundred of the queens finest with me. Our newly adopted friends’ bags had turned up pretty quickly and naturally mine was taking centuries to surface. To avoid the customary 'oh god, I bet they've lost it' circling its way around my jet lagged brain; I left them on guard and went looking for a bureau de change. I found it in the form of a man, occupying what was clearly a child's desk and chair with an armed guard standing to his uncomfortably immediate left, who was about half the size of his rather eye catching, antiquated rifle. He didn't like my eyes catching his rifle one bit!
"Stop"
so I did, and threw him the most patronising, British look I could conger, shortly before noticing the remnants of a single yellow line drawn across my path with the word 'stop' in bold capital letters. The money guy shuffled uncomfortably in his miniscule furniture set and produced a form for me to fill. pretty basic stuff....how many rupees do you want; what's your mothers' maiden name; do you intend to fund any narcotics, arms or sex trafficking deals with the said currency?... that sort of stuff. I ticked all the right boxes, so to speak, and handed it back. A quick glance, a friendly smile, several badly aimed stamps and a customary shake of the head later, he produced the biggest wad of cash I have ever seen out of the smallest draw in the world.

"No no, I only wanted to buy 16000 rupees"

"Yes, 16000 rupees"

I looked down at the wad of severely used 20 rupee notes and before I could ask for larger denominations, I nearly passed out from the smell. If you've ever had to borrow someone elses' goalkeeping gloves and made the error of sniffing the interior before pulling them on, you'll know what smell I mean.

"Do you have any bigger bills?"

He didn't like that

"No bigger bill. India poor country, no one give change for big bill so you have problem"

Fair point, I thought.

"Thank you Kindly"

A word of advice: Indians are very cautious about accepting torn notes. Of the eight hundred 20 Rupee notes I had in my possession, about eight hundred of them had some kind of tear ranging from slight incisions to the absence of at least half of the bloody note.

"You’ll get ripped off in India... no matter what happens, you'll get ripped off in India" That was the advice I’d received when I was toying with the idea of my trip, from a former colleague who was Indian. He was right.

Lost: In the Hills of the Thai Rainforest – Part 3 (of 3)

In the morning, thin shafts of strong light penetrated the room in which we all slept. I rolled around to avoid the irritatingly bright beams but to no avail – soon I was awake. After twelve rounds with my mosquito net, I managed to make my way off the mattress and out of the room. Once again, I seemed to be the first one up out of all of us and I enjoyed the tranquillity from the veranda. Unlike our previous village, there really wasn’t much going on around. I recall wondering down the steps and along the wooden walkway to the river bed but after a short while I became bored and walked back to find Dodi and everyone else sitting and drinking green tea. Green tea was accompanied by breakfast which was a sweet sticky rice which I believe is usually consumed as a dessert. So after enjoying some delicious dessert for breakfast, we gathered our belongings and headed down to the river bank. There were two rafts. No bigger than twelve feet long and five feet wide. We were told to sit evenly spaced out to ensure we didn’t flip over. We immediately sank about five inches and set off straight away. The journey would take approximately 4 hours and I would have my bum permanently in 5 inches of water! “Great” I thought. “Pneumonia here I come!”

As we followed the murky green water downstream, the raft almost seemed to have been moving effortlessly but Dodi and the other guides were on hand with their giant bamboo sticks to push us away from any impending collision. So there I was - feeling safe, secure and soaked – admiring the steep cliff faces on either side as well as the jungles desperate attempt to camouflage them, when I felt something kick me right up the arse. I want to say that I reacted in a man-like manner with dignity and all intact, but that would be a lie. A strange, high pitched sound resonated first from my mouth, then back off the cliff face on either side of us. A startled flock of tropical birds took off in a bid to escape the unfamiliar sound of this screeching monster and all of the people on both rafts burst out in hysterical laughter. When everyone had stopped giggling, they noticed that we were not moving anymore. I explained to the twats that this was due to the fact that we had just hit a massive boulder. And by “we”, I meant the part of the bamboo raft that was immediately beneath my posterior. Dodi tried to push us off the rock but it was no use – we were too heavy. So to ensure the show went on, one of the guides just jumped into the river to lighten our load and as soon as we were free of the boulder, he swam up and dragged himself back on. – Genius!!

I suffered a bit of discomfort but to be honest, after a while the cold river running through my but cheeks numbed them so much, that I felt like I didn’t even have an arse – let alone one that was throbbing with pain! Dodi attempted to fill the journey with conversation about us and our lives back home. I guess it’s understandable that he was curious but when trying to leave that life behind for a few months, it’s not really something you want to talk about. Certainly not in the amount of detail he was demanding. So I changed the conversation by asking if there were any predators in the jungles and rivers of Thailand and he nodded with a mischievous smile. I was not amused. No one was amused. Then, it got worse as he started to list them. “Land mines, unexploded bombs, rebel fighters, malaria...” the list went on. He evidently misunderstood my question but his answer made me forget about what natural born killer may be lingering beneath the surface around the next bend. I think he realised that this was not the best response when we travelled in complete silence for the next hour or so.

About halfway to our destination (I’m seriously guestimating here – I have no idea of the timeline in which everything happened on that river) we came to a very quiet stretch of river as it widened at the side and the strong current pushing us forward almost stopped. A little further and we came up to a couple of dwellings off to the left hand bank. There were children running around, jumping in and out of the river, people carrying all sorts of stuff on their head, gliding past one and other effortlessly. We pulled over and were advised that this was our toilet stop. I didn’t need to go but I jumped at the chance of dry land – even if only for a few minutes. I checked my but cheeks and saw that I had good reason to make everyone feel bad about laughing at me. I had a slight gash, emphasised by the far less serious yet dramatic scratches that surrounded it. Alas, when I showed this to my fellow travellers, it simply induced further hysteria. Sometimes you just can’t win!

Ten minutes and we were back on the road again - Or the river, if you will. The rest of our journey was blissful and through much calmer waters. Dodi offered us the chance to guide the raft while he took a break. After five minutes, he decided that he didn’t need a break after all and demanded the giant bamboo stick back. I personally thought I was doing OK. Evidently not! We pulled up to a much bigger hut on the left a while later and as we did, a small child was photographing us frantically, running along the river bank in a bid to get better shots. This was the end of our journey. We got off that raft and life just seemed to improve immensely for me. Until, that is, we were given our lunch which was loads and loads of rice and bugger all else! To add injury to insult, we were not allowed to eat in peace thanks to the little budding photographer who had now reappeared with many photos of us in frames made from elephant dung. “nah” I said “this looks like shit”! The joke was lost on the kid. Nonetheless, I still refused to buy one since he had managed to avoid taking any photographs in which you could see my face.

Once we drip dried ourselves, we jumped on the back of the very same pickup truck that had driven us up into the mountains 4 days ago, and made our way back to beautiful Chiang Mai with it’s wonderful cold beer and hot running water. Once I showered back at the hotel and dried myself with what felt like the fluffiest towel in the world, I did look back over the experience of the last 4 days as with a little perspective and found that I had just had one of the most incredible adventures of my life. If I could go back, I’d do it again. Wait a minute! - I AM going back!!! Whoop Whoop Whoop !!!!!

Lost: In the Hills of the Thai Rainforest – Part 2 (of 3)

We awoke one by one and began to converge on the veranda overlooking the stream, with a cup of coffee each. When breakfast arrived, the smell was more than enough to coax the remaining few sleepers, out to the fresh morning breeze. The sun was gently toying with the idea of popping over the hills from where we descended into the village the previous day and there was a bizarrely quiet sense of rush in the village as people could be seen power walking in and out of huts, carrying washing to and from the stream and frantically sweeping their porch. I realised that they were trying to get things done before the sun showed its eager face and made movement almost impossible. Then I remembered I had a long arsed day of trekking ahead beneath the watchful eye of that very sun! I downed my coffee and went for a refill.

We set off after breakfast and many of the village folk had come out to see us off. A miniscule, old man was presented to us as the village elder and he wished us all the best in his own language (Dodi was translating) and made some “blessing” gestures with his hands. I was eternally grateful when I realised that we would be continuing our journey along the flat of the valley rather than climb back up to where we came from. The more we walked, the better I felt as the lushness of the jungle in the morning and the stupendous amount of wildlife activity around made it impossible not to feel upbeat. We continued on foot through the valley, eventually coming to the foot of a steep hill which was densely vegetated. This actually made it easier to climb as there was stuff to hold on to. After 123 citations of the phrase “Are We There Yet” and 64 declarations of “That’s it, I’m Done, Just Leave me here”, we once again came to a clearing at the edge of a hill and saw the pleasant site of six elephants grazing in the valley below. We had made it! It was lunch time!

Lunch was more of the usual. Lots of rice with Thai curry. And very delicious it was too. If you’ve ever trekked through any hot climate, you’ll know that your water supply becomes a bit pants when it reaches virtual boiling point. Luckily, there was an ice cold stream that ran through the elephant camp. Having witnessed the elephants jumping about playfully in the stream, I decided not to drink from it. Instead, I tied a string to my bottle of warm water, tied it to a rock and dropped the bottle in the stream. This action gained me substantial brownie points and increased my jungle-cred beyond measure. After lunch, we were all lining up at the raised platform to get on our respective elephants for the next part of our journey. The following hour can only be described as an earthquake measuring 8 on the Richter Scale, with the prospect of imminent death hanging about whilst my rather well fed elephant meandered along the narrowest of paths with a sheer drop of at least 40 feet to either side. Needless to say, when I saw the dismount ramp in the distance, I was grateful to my elephant for not taking a tumble. I’ve never promised to buy more bananas for anyone in my life!!!

Once my feet were on the ground, I was taken over by such a euphoric feeling that I swore I would never ever do that again. Furthermore, the one hour trek to the next village that followed felt like a dream as I strode along the path on my own two steady feet. As we approached the village, we passed a school of quite substantial size. Dodi explained that the school was in fact for the twenty or so villages in the surrounding area and that many children walked to school and along the same route we had taken, on a daily basis. Suddenly my envy for the idyllic lifestyle of these villagers was shattered. We arrived at the village to find that it was set on the banks of quite a large river that meandered its way through the sprawling jungle with some visible force. After some much needed green tea, we all rushed to the river bank like excitable children with our towels and toiletries after Dodi assured us that this was the “shower”. As I crept in slowly, allowing my body to adjust to the temperature, I realised that though the current was fairly persistent, it was by no means of ferocious strength and was perfectly manageable. Then I turned to find the German girl heading rapidly down river in a silent panic. Luckily she didn’t wait for me to do my best David Hasselhoff impression and managed to get control of her movement by holding onto a branch that was being held out by highly amused children on the river bank. Quick scrub and I was out of there like a flash! Dodi showed us one of the rafts that we would be travelling on for four hours the next day. It was a bamboo raft in its simplest manifestation. That is to say it consisted of several thick bamboo branches, tied together with string. “Great!” I exclaimed and Dodi smiled enthusiastically – I was glad that the sarcasm was lost on our trusted guide. Dinner was a simple affair but it has to be said that the taste of the potato and spinach curry I ate that evening on that veranda has stayed lingering among my most precious of memories to this very day. The more of it they brought out, the more of it we ate, before collapsing into our roll out mattresses to rest following another eventful day in paradise. As I drifted off to sleep, the final thought that lingered in my mind was whether or not there were crocodiles in that river...

Lost: In the Hills of the Thai Rainforest – Part 1

In April 2008, days after arriving in Bangkok for the first time, I embarked on a breathtaking journey into the dense rainforests of Northern Thailand. As a state of mind, I was living and breathing in anticipation of the journey that lay ahead after having worked my way down the western coast of India for the two months prior.

I sat waiting in the lobby of my modest Bangkok hotel on the day of departure with the images of the previous day still fresh in my mind and senses. Our guide Dodi (I doubt that was his real name) had taken me and the five other people (two New Yorkers, a Californian, a German and a fellow Brit) who would be joining the adventure, for a tour of the weekly food market. The market was bustling and had an intimate feel thanks to the canvas covering the entire area, attempting and mostly succeeding in keeping the ever present sunlight from putting off the customers. There was stool after stool selling everything from poultry to fish of a hundred varieties. Accompanying these were buckets full of frogs, eels, crickets, mice, birds and many other living breathing creatures. Yes, everything in this market was still alive!! Dodi, who is a member of the Karen tribe with whom we were going to be staying in a couple of days, explained that most of the animals were not purchased for consumption, but rather for offerings to Buddha by way of releasing them back into the rivers, forests and skies of the city. Knowing this made some of the more sensitive members of the group feel a little better about the rest of their day.

After a short time, all of the others were at the lobby, as was Dodi. He put us through the details of what was to come and we listened intently. After we were done, he advised us to take the rest of the day to get to know Bangkok and be ready to depart for our overnight train to Chiang Mai in the north - A city used as a station to access the mountainous home of the hill tribes.

The Bangkok train station was not nearly as majestic and imperial as the Victoria Terminus in Mumbai, but it carried certain grandeur in its own right. The customary tall ceilings of a central hall were present, as was the enormous time piece suspended in full view of all corners of the station. The Thai people are the only people in Southeast Asia to have avoided coming under the rule of the western empires and this means that many of their architectural achievements are proudly that of their Kings and countrymen. The train journey did not yield much in entertainment as we travelled through unparalleled blackness but what our carriage lacked in views, it more than made up for in comfort and privacy. Dodi told us not to get used to it – He had a big grin on his face when he said it.

Sun break saw us pull into Chiang Mai station and driven to our accommodation in the centre of Town. It was the same deal as Bangkok – get to know the town, buy any supplies needed and in the morning we would all depart after meeting in the lobby.

After a remarkably chirpy (for 5.30 AM) American expat took photocopies of our passports in case we went missing out in the jungle, he walked around to the back of the pickup truck and distributed them with a slightly unsettling “Good luck out there” to each and every one of us. I was feeling quite excited until then! The next 45 minutes saw us drive up. Sometimes we turned left and right, but we were always going up. We were dropped off at a small clearing by the edge of the rain forest where out of the dense foliage appeared two Thai men, both no older than 20, and greeted Dodi with evident familiarity, despite all exchanges being made in their own mother tongue of Karen. The three of them, and the five of us all set off through the dense jungle for what we were told would be a three hour trek to the first village where we would overnight. We walked in a line, with each person responsible for checking the feet and legs of the person in front for any wayward leaches. Occasionally, someone would shout “Leach” then the line would come to a halt as everyone congregated around the slimy buggers’ victim and watch Dodi get it off with the help of a cheap lighter. Luckily, we were so shit scared of having our blood sucked that we always spotted them before they broke the skin. All except for one of our young guides That is, who failed to notice a tiddler slip through a hole in his shoes and latch onto his heal. When he removed his shoe the blood was quite substantial and drew some squeals from the female members of the party but the victim seemed quite amused at the ingenuity of the leach to access his shoe through the tiny hole his laces were pulled through. I was so paranoid after that that I couldn’t tell you what the trees or animals around looked like for the rest of our journey into the village – which took at least double the estimated 3 hours by the way!

When I was on the verge of bursting out with obcenities and demanding to be airlifted to the nearest hotel, the forest suddenly cleared and visibility went from 3 feet to infinite as we saw that we had arrived at the edge of the hill and before us stood a village that lay a couple of hundred feet below, in the middle of a vast valley of lush green forest. There were no more than six or seven dwellings, all of modest size and all made entirely from wood. The single solar panel that provided energy to refrigerate meat and power the odd light bulb appeared as the remnants of a futuristic alien visit in contrast to the subtlety of the rest of the village. We were shown to our room where all nine of us would sleep for the night. It was essentially a barn on stilts with many mattresses rolled out side by side with an individual mosquito net over each one. We dumped our bags and went to the bathroom (hole in the ground) to freshen up before appearing in the cool veranda one at a time. Here we were greeted by five or so of the women from the village, all dressed in the traditional, colourful attire of their tribe. There was an absolute language barrier but the ladies were evidently used to western faces rolling into their village with the exaggerated look of exhaustion in their faces, so they served us a kind of green tea that was remarkably sweet and soothing.

That evening I sat watching the village go about their business, thinking of how much more my legs would ache in the morning and wondering what the next day would hold, until Dodi walked onto the veranda and enlightened me about our itinerary. We were to trek for a further four hours in the morning before reaching an elephant camp where we would break for lunch and continue the rest of our journey along a river, astride an elephant. This concerned me as my only experience astride an elephant was in Jaipur, India where I was trying not to fall off whilst being threatened with all sorts of things, should I not be willing to tip generously at the top of the hill. Following our journey down river, we would then overnight at another nearby village before heading back to Chiang Mai by way of a bamboo raft for four hours. Hearing this made me want to sleep, a lot. So I did...


To be continued....

Left: The stream that came down the mountain and flowed through the village was used for washing laundry and cooking utencils. Hands down, coldest shower i've EVER taken!!!

The Most Beautiful Islands in the World?

With such an abundance of tropical islands to choose from, the “Most beautiful island in the world” has been the label of many over the years. I haven’t been to them all so I’m certainly no authority on the subject, as is more than likely the case for anyone who has made the bold statement about any other island before me. I therefore see it as my duty to simply inform you of the most beautiful island that I have ever been to.

Problem is there are two of them; Perhentian Besar and Perhentian Kecil (or Big Island and Little Island as they are locally differentiated). These two absolute gems sit side by side off the coast of Northeast Malaysia and offer travelers an tranquil sanctuary with their powdered white sand beaches and crystal clear waters. The Islands are part of Pulau Redang National Marine Park which means no fishing, no motorised water sports, no littering and no collecting of coral. The said coral is not hard to find as you can simply wade out into the sea and before long you will have stumbled upon it and its thousands of colourful inhabitants. The islands interior is a tropical splendor of flora and fauna with the odd monitor lizard and wild monkey thrown in for good measure.

Perhentian Besar and Perhentian Kecil are accessible by speedboat from the mainland and the route is quite well served by a number of passenger speed boats throughout the mornings. Nothing can beat the first impression of approaching a tiny rock in the horizon, to find that it is in fact the most beautiful pair islands you have ever seen. The Big Island has more amenities than the Little Island which I stayed on but neither have any building that is more than 2 stories high. The Little Island actually has only 1 building made from bricks and cement, with the rest of the abodes constructed entirely from wood. Boat taxis will happily take you from cove to cove for a few Malaysian Ringgits as the interior is essentially a Jungle with a few pathways that connect coves on opposing sides of the islands. If you’re a diver (I’m not) then you can take to one of the many dive sites used to spot the reef sharks and sea turtles. If you’re more of a snorkeler, then the easily accessible reef will not let you down! Land activities are limited to reading, sunbathing and if you are feeling adventurous, jungle trekking. In the Jungle you can expect to see a fair few of the lizards and monkeys that i've already mentionned but all in all it’s a calm, soothing experience. These animals have never been poached so they have a built up trust for humans.

One day, as I sat on the beach reading my book, I turned to find a rather large white eagle, lunching on a mouse to my not too distant right. The eagle drew the attention of the handful of people lazing around the beach and as they tiptoed closer and closer to compensate for their cameras lack of zoom, they realised that they need not be concerned about scaring the fellow away, as he made it quite clear he had no intention of moving and that should they advance any further, they may just land themselves on the menu! The sheer nonchalance of the bird summed up the attitude on these islands very well for me. Everything is so beautiful that you needn’t make a fuss of anything – just sit back and enjoy existing in that very moment.

There are no ATMs so you must bring enough cash to accommodate your stay. There is very limited internet and mobile phones don’t pick up a signal. There are various shacks that produce the most mouthwatering delicacies along with an abundance of fresh fruit and despite the state of Terengganu being a dry one (no alcohol) the islanders always manage to sneak a tipple in to help everyone enjoy the evening bonfires lit along the beach. In essence, this is heaven