March Madness 3 - Pulau Sibu 3

This story continues from: March Madness 3 - Pulau Sibu 2

When I woke the next day, it was still early and the sun had not yet risen fully. I took to the footpath and walked that short distance across the island that led to the beach on the other side. It was strangely still and deferential  I looked at the dead corals again and was reminded of the killing fields of Cambodia. Here, instead of piles and piles of bones, were piles and piles of dead coral. I wondered what it would take to revitalise the whole marine zone.

I skipped a few stones into the sea and retraced my steps back to the footpath. The kitchen should be serving breakfast soon and the rest of the fellas would be up and waiting.

The second day was all sand and sea. A few of us tried canoeing and windsurfing. I either laid on the beach or dipped into the sea. I had canoed quite a bit in my youth and so had no more interest.

But windsurfing was catching on in Singapore at the time and so I was keen to try it out. However, the winds that day were not very cooperative. I decided to just laze about and get tanned. Later, we all got together and played volleyball on the beach.

Around late afternoon, we went on an excursion to "big brother" island (i.e. Pulau Sibu Besar). In size, it was about six to seven times larger than Pulau Sibu Tengah (aka SIR) and about 2 km away. We visited one of the five resorts there. Unlike SIR, they were the backpacker sort each served by its own flimsy jetty.

Some guests we saw there were sun-bleached, wiry and wore headbands. They looked very much like the seasoned hippies of the 60s. I remember thinking they were no different from "harm yu" or salted fish laid out in the sun too long. It made us wonder how long these over-tanned folks had been living on the island!

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On the second day, we learnt from those who had canoed a sea eagle's nest around the left side of the island. It was nestled in some rocks quite near to the beach below. The cliffs on our island were not high, roughly six to eight storeys tall. Only the top of the right cliff was accessible via a narrow footpath.

From up there, we could get a good panoramic view of the ocean as well as the sea route our ferry had taken in from the mainland. Although the cliff was small, its stony facade somehow injected a natural sense of ruggedness and adventure to the place. They bear an inscrutable testimony to outdoor life.

The reason that the eagle's nest was so low is that the place was isolated and free from human encroachment. The nice beach there could only be accessible by boat.

We knew it was nice because the owner Hassan had told us during that first-night conversation. He was describing the new kind of clientele he was targeting at and related the story of a well-off Indian couple who were there for their wedding anniversary.

Wanting a private beach moment, the couple had approached him for help. Hassan then picked out that familiar spot of beach where the eagle's nest was, knowing full well that no one else could get there on foot.

"That Indian couple then had a late night picnic with champagne and stuff. We picked them up later when they were done. It was, however, much much later," Hassan said, winking as he did so.

I saw the beach the next day, not by swimming but by board canoeing. That's when you sit on a windsurf board and canoe with a paddle. I was bored and wanted some adventure and so set off on my own. I figured I would be safe as the windsurf board would not sink!

The beach was indeed nice. White sand with clear waters walled in by some rocks which gives it a private, lagoony feel.

The waters were surprising shallow for quite a distance, and colorful. There were many big rocks that somehow  gave off colors like the underside of an oyster's shell. Pretty. The shallow shoals made me wonder if they stretched 2 km all the way to the bigger island like a place I've once seen in Sabah. Over there, at low tide, one could wade some 500 m to an opposing island.

The sheltered bay of Eagle's Beach (as we named it) made the island feel near and safe. But once I got to the turn, that's when the sea really opened up. It made me feel as if I was in a paper boat bobbing in a large ocean. In such a situation, it is hard to keep faith with a flimsy surfboard but I held fast, convinced that it would not break whatsoever.

With a canoe, I alone could not right a capsized one. Trust me, I've tried that many times during my canoeing days. You would need a buddy in another canoe to help you. With a surfboard you could even paddle without an oar! That's the reason I went 'sightseeing' with it.

Now facing the open sea, I began to think about sharks. Are there any? A Big White has been known to taken a chunk out of a surfboard before. So, maybe my smart idea wasn't so smart after all! I decided to paddle on and keep my eyes open just in case. Big Whites were known to roam the Gulf of Thailand which was yet many miles away from where I was. Still, one should be wary. Stories of rogue sharks attacking swimmers in coastal waters surface from time to time - kind of like how car park wardens turn up from time to time to remind motorists to pay up!

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Having made that turn, I now find myself along the back of the island. The familiar sight of chalets and those dead corals (undersea) gave me comfort. I didn't go too near to the beach though, but stayed a comfortable distance out to see if I could spot any still-alive corals. Sadly, there were none.

As I paddled on in this little adventure of mine, the island became bigger. I guess the reason was that much of it was inaccessible and hence not factored in. Also, that short footpath through its middle between the beaches also gave the false first-impression that the island was small. I mean you cannot judge a woman's assets by her small waist alone. Look at Dolly Parton.

And just like Ms Parton's curvaceous outline, I eventually reached another turn and came up against a big lump rising into the sky. It was that same eight-storey high rocky precipice I had seen arriving on the first day. Looking at the same cliff now up close and from a flimsy surfboard, my feelings became different. It's not so much awe-inspiring as bleak. It was a cliff no one could climb. It was simply an absolute obstacle.

That thought reminded me of one of my favourite movies, Papillon. It is a 1973 movie about a man of the same name (Papillon is French for butterfly) who refused to surrender to the harsh prisons he was sent to after being convicted of a revenge killing he claimed he was wrongly accused of. After several near deaths, escapes and recaptures, he was eventually sent to Devil's Island, a place so ensconced by sheer cliffs and rocks and buffeted by strong waves that no one could ever dream of escaping from. But escape Papillon did, and in quite an ingenious way too.

So, in view of all that Papillon went through, my own round-the-island adventure was really child's play.

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From the cliff, it was a matter of minutes before I paddled myself back to where I had started: the front of the resort. But not before battling some strong currents.

I was hoping to just slip unnoticed into the verandah and sit down for a drink but some of my friends rushed out to ambush me. One of them was pretty livid. "Where the hell were you? We thought you had drowned or something! We looked everywhere for you!"

I felt sheepish then about going out on my little adventure without telling anyone. I came to realise that I shouldn't be taking my friends' concern for granted. I apologised to them and explained that I had gotten carried away. It was true in a sense; I had wanted to see the Eagle's Nest. Fortunately, the matter was soon forgotten. The guy who had made the most noise was Yew Meng, my OCS platoon mate during NS. I thought he should have known better that I could take care of myself. We were in OCS together! But would he have approved if he knew?. Probably not. But Yew Meng is a mother hen like that.

But for an hour or two that morning, I felt like Robinson Crusoe or Tom Sawyer going on a grand sea adventure. Sometimes a guy gotta do what a guy has gotta do in order to experience new things. Else, you wouldn't be reading this story now, would you?

Next story: PR Tale 1 - Bangkok

March Madness 3 - Pulau Sibu 2

This story continues from: March Madness 3- Pulau Sibu 1

As told, the sea journey was relatively short. Surprisingly, none of us got sea sick. As the ferry slowed its approach to the Sibu Island Resort, we noticed something unusual. There wasn't a jetty in sight!

Instead, two resort workers were seen pulling pontoons out. We could ride on these with the rest of our 'barang-barang' or jump into the sea and wade ourselves in. Most of us opted for the latter. It was a great way to immediately start our new beach holiday! Besides, with such clear waters and white sand, who could resist?

The front of the resort looked to be in a lagoon. The beach itself was surprisingly short even if covered with alluring white sand. Beside it was the raised verandah of the resort's Admin building, a dark wood construction that reminded me of resorts in Bali and elsewhere. Not cheap, not expensive, just typical. The large verandah gave a 180-degree view of the sea and beaches. We found out later that below the verandah were the rooms for karaoke and storage for canoeing and windsurfing equipment. How convenient was that!

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After deciding who to bunk with whom, we checked into our chalets. The ones we had booked were essentially 'couple' affairs. Each had a bedroom, a verandah with coffee table and chairs, an attached tiled-bath with instant hot-water heater and a flushing seat-toilet.

We noticed that there were indeed few chalets on the island - just 22 of them, and they were all standalone affairs. The bigger units could be found on the back beach, a short 5-10 mins walk from Admin. The path to that place was not paved out but natural and surrounded by shrubs and short coconut trees. We were told we could request for fresh coconuts every morning - quite the novel idea to us young folks then!

The beach at the back turned out to be just as pristine as the one in front. But it was much, much wider. There were corals too, but sadly, all of them had died. It was all quite the pity because there was evidence of a wide swathe of them all along the beach front. Near where I stood in the waters was a path cut right through the middle. I would have loved to walk this path when the corals were alive and well.

At low tide this sight of dead corals was especially poignant. It can make a grown man cry. If these corals had not suffered from the dreaded "white coral death" (a cancer of the ocean) this part of island would have been a wondrous scene to behold... Not the graveyard of porous stone it is now. White as skeletons and just as eerie.

After the short tour, we quickly put away our things in the chalet and changed into our swim gear. The sun was still burning and the sky cloudless. By dinner time, we had all gotten wet and burnished with a tan. But only just!

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Dinner was a strange affair.

Unlike the kind of cheap, fast-to-cook food one typically got from seaside island resorts, SIR actually had a menu typical of a Malaysian mainland Chinese restaurant. There was hor fun, mui fan, steamed fish, sambal kangkong, venison meat with ginger, etc. - Not at all the fare we were expecting.

We were pleasantly surprised (and hungry) after having just arrived and exerted somewhat. So we ordered what each of us liked. A couple of us did not have any preference and ordered just to see how good the cook could be.

That done, we put the menu aside and chatted as we sipped on our soft drinks and fruit juices.

Half an hour passed. Then one. Then one and a half hours.

All the while, we turned to look at the kitchen doorway ("hole" we called it) to see if food was soon coming out. But none. Oh, we could hear banging and clanging in there alright, but to what end, we were completely mystified. No one came out to tell us all was going well.

Then suddenly, the food came. There was no explanation why the delay. The staff were locals and did not seem to comprehend English very well. We decided to not pursue the matter. One cannot expect too much when in Malaysia. It's just not as efficient as Singapore, we consoled ourselves. The next time, we decided, we'll order ahead.

Interestingly though, even if the wait was tough, the food wasn't. The dishes were excellent! They really tasted like dishes back home. Never before had any of us gobbled up island fare this good and in such a wallop manner, but that's what we did. The only setback was wondering whether we should order more, but if we had to wait another eternity, no.

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Just after dinner, as we were lounging in the dining area (which was next to the main verandah area and the sea view), the owner of the resort turned up.

Up till then I had not met anyone up-close who owned an island resort... let alone an island, so I was rather intrigued by this person. He was a big-sized Malay chap aged about 40-ish with an air of a "Datuk" about him. In other words, he radiated wealth and connections. That evening, he was dressed casually in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved shirt.

The owner - let's call him Mr Hassan - had dropped by to say hello to Kim. He and Kim had become fast telephone friends through the many bookings Kim placed on behalf of her expat colleagues (she being the department secretary and all that). Even Kim's boss had been to SIR too! So Kim was a VIP in Mr Hassan's eyes.

After the obligatory introductions, Mr Hassan asked us how our dinner went. We confessed it was surprisingly good and then politely mentioned the rather tardy serving time. Mr Hassan apologised and said his staff was still coming to grips with what was expected of them. He also confided that he had spent considerable effort in hiring a good Chinese chef to whip up both Chinese and Western fare. His reasoning was that a good resort should be matched by good culinary experience. On that note, he was right on the money. I mean there is little point in setting up a 4-star resort with crummy food.

I was curious what the island was before SIR, so I asked Hassan. He said,

"Oh, it was just a rock. I bought it from the government and spent money developing it," he said, sounding more like a technocrat than businessman.

"It wasn't just about building these chalets. That was the easy part. The difficult part was making sure the island had a good source of water and could handle the future sewerage. We couldn't run this place on bottled mineral water alone."

I found that statement rather funny. To many Singaporeans, bringing mineral water on an island trip was as essential as bringing toilet paper. In fact, probably more important, especially for the girls. To some, taking care of the hair was paramount, not to mention skin on the face too.

We boys who had been through National Service was less bothered. We just made sure we didn't imbibe anything unclean and catch diarrhea. Swimming with a weak stomach is definitely a no-no. 'Dark pools' could form unwittingly.

Through further conversation with Hassan, we found out that he had spent more than half a million Malaysian dollars buying and redeveloping the island. It didn't seem like a small sum nor was it an astronomical one. Monies involved in island purchases typically ran into the millions at the time, or so we thought.

A couple of us wondered how much more "under table money" he had to pay to smooth things along what with Malaysian government officials known to take kickbacks. But we decided to be polite and not open that can of worms. I doubted he would even tell us!

Before Hassan left, he joked with Kim that she should have her honeymoon on SIR; he would give her a special rate. Kim, who was unattached, turned red and gave an embarrassed laugh. With that, Mr Hassan bade us good evening and wished us a memorable stay.

Later, when we got up to pay, the staff told us Mr Hassan had halved our dinner bill. It was to make up for the long waiting time. We thought that was rather decent of him to do that. He didn't have to but he did. He really was sincere about making the island resort work at a higher service level.

Suitably fed, we then sat around the verandah a little longer to discuss what we would do the next day. Some wanted to laze around, while others wanted to learn windsurfing. An instructor was available on the island free of charge for that. We simply paid per hour - or per day - for equipment use.

Later that evening, the girls went and entertained themselves in the karaoke room. They found it equipped with the latest song management system and had a blast till late. I sat and read a book by Robert Ludlum by the verandah and listened to the soothing sound of the sea waves lapping.

All through, I could tell that the resort was rather absent of people, just as the owner had intended. I thought how wonderful that is for a change. SIR might just turn out to be the resort game changer Hassan had hoped for after all.

This story continues with: March Madness 3 - Pulau Sibu 3

March Madness 3 - Pulau Sibu 1

Another March/April long weekend public holiday, another island adventure. This time, Pulau Sibu. There, I engaged in a death-defying act and met Death. Death? Yes, eerie. But if you were there, you would feel the same.

Back then, Pulau Sibu was a newly minted four-star resort. The first isle besides Pulau Tioman to offer true "first class" facilities. First class as defined by a flush toilet with seat, air-conditioned bedrooms and a hot shower. In other words, honeymooners can go there without the new wife complaining of how cheapskate the new husband is.

Or she be bothered by mosquitoes and sandflies when making out on the beach. A place they can take snapshots of themselves singing karaoke, windsurfing or buddy canoeing... not just play the usual carom, UNO card game or Scrabble in a leaky and smelly thatched lounge.

The Sibu island I am talking about was where the very first Sibu Island Resort was built. Since then, it has been upgraded beyond recognition, tacked on with a cocktail pool even. With the new look, it was given another star to its former rating. Five stars now.

Pulau Sibu was small then and it still is. Very small. You can throw the proverbial stone and have it land on the other side of the island. Or a coconut would fall and somebody will hear it.

If it is so small, where's the charm then? Thankfully, Sibu island is narrow at the width but longer in length.

I remember the island being surrounded by sparkling waters and white sand. Plus, the resort had few chalets. Meaning as a guest, you didn't have to fight anyone for a patch of beach space. And if no other guests turns up, you can jolly well be the only ones on the island. Wonderful, isn't it?

I first heard of SIR from Kim, my regular tennis partner. During a break in a game she had told me and our two other tennis kakis, Julie and Pauline, about this newfangled resort her German expat colleagues were raving about.

"Oh, they say it is really nice and cozy," she had cooed.

"Sibu Island Resort? Isn't that in the Philippines?" one of us offered.

"S-I-B-U, not Cebu," said Kim. "Apparently it is part of an island chain called Pulau Sibu. Sibu Island Resort is actually the smaller, middle one. And the best part is, it doesn't take long to drive there. We can spend more time on the island."

Er, drive there?

"I mean drive to the ferry terminal. Apparently Pulau Sibu is very near to the mainland unlike Tioman," said Kim.

At the time, Pulau Tioman was the most famous island along Malaysia's East Coast. But the ferry journey to that place was a long, some 2.5 hrs chugging along with sometimes choppy seas. With SIR, we could be there by 11am. Enough time to unpack and still catch a tan.

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I might not have known of Pulau Sibu but I knew of the other islands nearby such as Pulau Tinggi and Pulau Aur. They were rustic and visited mostly by people who liked to fish. One of them was my NS staff sergeant, Francis Lee, who went there often to spear fish. He invited me once but I wasn't keen on punching holes in anything, let alone fish - creatures I could easily get from a supermarket. After a stint in the Army, Francis went into missionary work. Last I heard, he's running an NGO in East Timor. Way to go, man!

Back to the tennis court.

"Wait, how many days are we thinking of for this holiday?" I asked Kim. I hate to feel comfortable in a resort and then realise it is time to leave.

"Well, how about over the Good Friday hols? Four days?" suggested Kim. "The best part is my boss is also on leave. And he has left me the company car." Kim grinned her biggest grin. That was good news instead. A big and spacious European car! And our transport problem solved.

Just as I was thinking how unusual it is for a guy to go on an island holiday with three girls, Pauline chimed in. "We could ask Kum Fatt and Yew Meng."

Both these guys were my buddies from NS (i.e. BMT and OCS). In fact, I had gotten to know Kim and the rest through Kum Fatt my BMT buddy. All these other folks were from St Andrews Junior College. I was from CJC, a sister school. Our colleges were - at the time - better known for sports than academic excellence. They were also hotspots for boy-girl relationships (for the first year at least).

In the end, Kum Fatt couldn't make it but Yew Meng could (he and his girlfriend). With two other guy friends, we managed to round up a total of four guys and four gals; quite the neat pairing, I thought.

In the end, we had two cars (one from Fred) and went round Singapore to pick up everybody in the early hours of dawn and then headed straight over to Malaysia via the northern Causeway. There was no Second Link then. I was staying next to the Customs at the time and was the last to be picked up. That's one thing I liked about living there in Marsiling: its proximity to Malaysia!

The road journey to the ferry point for SIR was smooth and uneventful. I remember we driving along curvy kampung roads and passing villages that harked back to the 50s and 60s. It was really a pleasant drive except for a couple of instances when we had to overtake some road-hogging lorry that were packed to the brim with oil palm fruit or pineapples.

Of course, since we hadn't been to the island before, we had to rely on information from Kim's colleagues. They in turn relied on information provided by the travel section of a German executive magazine, now translated for Kim's benefit. Kim, at the time, had only a rudimentary grasp of the German language and was still undergoing lessons at the Goethe Institute.

The instructions to get to SIR were thankfully straight forward. There weren't many unfamiliar detours and we could simply follow the major road signs. But once we neared the coast, we had to turn off onto a rural farm road. That was the only time we felt kind of creepy. It always was back then when in remote parts of Malaysia. Probably less so today.

The road we were on was a dirt track with grass growing out in the middle. By the sides were fenced-up grazing grassland with no animals in sight. In fact, the simply wired fences looked kind of neglected. Sections of it were weighed down by wild shrubs and fallen trees. It seemed as if the farmers had found some other thing to do than plough land or nurse animals.

Malaysia's economy was booming then and tourism was on the rise. Folks like us (and expats working in Singapore) were making a beeline for their island resorts, star or no star rating. So many of the locals there joined the tourism industry for better income and economic opportunity.

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As we drove along the farm road, I was looking out for coconut trees, a sure sign that the coast is near. I did indeed see them, and before long, our cars had to come to a stop. The road ended in a small opening right next to a ramshackle hut. We could also just see the sea right over a rise and some shrubs.

A skinny young Malay chap then arrived on a Honda Cub motorcycle. Young men like him all over Malaysia all seemed to like riding these 70-cc auto-gear two-wheelers from Japan. I was told they were affordable and consumed little fuel. In Malaysia, such a bike is indispensable for getting from one kampung to the next and to town. Waiting for public transport can cause hair on the chin to grow.

After an exchange of pleasantries, the young Malay chap instructed our drivers where to park their cars. He pointed to a squarish grass patch that was fenced up rather flimsily for our comfort. It was also gated by two hastily nailed-together planks that were chained to a post. It looked OK for fencing in goats but certainly not cars with superior horsepower and value.

Kim, who had large eyes, rolled them even bigger. "Er, he is not serious, is he?"

She did not appear to want to park her boss' expensive Audi in that make-shift parking space. Frankly, I wouldn't too. It was not even sheltered! The pressing concern was: what if the car went missing? Kim would have to spend the rest of her adult life indentured to her company, or maybe lose her job.

But what choice did we have? Turn back? Unlikely.

Seeing Kim a little upset, the girls gathered round her to give comfort and make conference. I didn't think it was a big deal because quite a few expats must have done the same thing in the recent past. So why should we even worry?

That was as much what I told Kim and the rest. The girls picked up on the logic and mollified Kim further with their sweeter voices. I could tell Kim was softening to the rationale. As added insurance we decided to pay the young Malay chap RM20 to look after the vehicles. That made Kim feel better and so, the matter was quickly settled.

The young man at first refused our offer saying it was his duty to his uncle. He only accepted after some persuasion. RM20 at the time wasn't a small sum and he didn't look the greedy sort. But it was better to have bought his allegiance than not. Back then, Johor had not picked up the reputation as a place where one could easily lose a car or be shot at beside a busy kopitiam. Or even have a purse snatched by a thief on a motorbike. All that would come a decade and a half later. Young men would also ask for money to do something - like cleaning your car windows.

With the cars safely locked up in the car park, we picked up our belongings and followed the young Malay chap towards the sea. He led us down a rocky slope and onto a backyard jetty just as a small ferry was arriving and sidling up to get us aboard. To those of us accustomed to formal ferry points, this backyard affair was quite surreal. But it was not exactly unexpected. Some kelong launch-off points were pretty much the same impromptu affair. Makeshift jetties all along the coast were used mainly by local fishermen.

We were not the only ones boarding the ferry. A couple of locals were bringing fresh produce to the island resort. We half hoped and joked that it included fresh lobsters and crabs!

The ferry that came was a wooden one with a small cabin typical of the many that plied between the islands in those days. It was painted green too. Back then, no one worried about life jackets and such. We got on board, kept our belongings away from getting wet and found a corner at the bow to sit in - a place free from trailing exhaust and where one could enjoy the fresh sea breeze (and spray) upfront. You know, the kind of things that told us we were finally on our way to an island resort and far away from the noxious atmosphere of city life.

Story is continued here: March Madness 3 - Pulau Sibu 2