This Must Be Just Like Living In Paradise

March 24
Pelau Perhentian Kecil


Maya Guest Chalet is tripadvisor's highest rated place to stay on Pelau Kecil, the smaller and more “vibey” island I'm on. However, Matahari, where I spent my first night, is also their #2 highest rated spot, and that place sucked. Maya had a room that was probably around 12 bucks, with only a fan, way back against the jungle. I guessed it had to be better than my current situation (there was no bog of stench and no squatters for starters), but I still wanted a room with minimal chance of uninvited guests, i.e. screens or air conditioning. I checked out this place at the end of the beach called Senja. Its ratings were iffy but they had a room with air con which meant windows could stay closed. That factor, added to the handful of wooden lounge chairs on the beach, sold me. It was a smaller and less scenic beach, and the sand was mixed with tons of dead coral, but it was mellow and pretty and the water was calmer than the other side. I took the room sight unseen.

I practically raced back to Long Beach to pack my stuff and check out. I decided the walk was too long and my bags too heavy and the 9 AM sun already too hot to walk the 10 minutes (surely to be 20 to 30 painful minutes with the extra weight of 2 bags). I would just pay a watertaxi guy to cart me to the other side.

Lonely Planet said it would be an easy and cheap excursion. They lied. This was the straw that broke the camel's back (or rather, the backpacker's back, as mine is way too heavy). All the taxi stand guys - and there are usually 7 or so of them hanging around under a tarp doing nothing - also run snorkel tours, rent you gear, work at the restaurants, sell pringles and could probably get you drugs if you wanted them, despite the mandatory death penalty. They all have signs posting the rates (all said 10 ringets to get from Long Beach to Coral Bay, where I was headed). First dude said 20 ringets. I questioned him why, pointing out that the sign says 10. Because I was alone, naturally. God forbid he burn too much petrol on one person. I tried to get him to 15. And that's when it started. This skinny, black-toothed little jerk just said “you walk,” and left. I was floored. I went up to another taxi guy, who tried to get me for 30 ringets and I told him he was nuts. Why would I pay triple? Double, maybe. He then did the most incensing thing anyone can do – he was 4 inches from my face and he just shut down and started hammering his sign. I was mid sentence and he just pretended I was invisible. Flat out ignored me. I almost grabbed the hammer from his hand, and had a mind to throw it down on his skull, but instead demanded to know what the hell was wrong with him and why was he ignoring me? (I was more than sure the answer had something to do with. my gender and nationality actually challenging him.) Moreover, why was he ignoring a fare? People were not exactly lining up to go anywhere here. I'd probably be 1 of 2 fares he'd have all day. He simply replied “don't like attitude.” I had not started with an attitude, it surfaced once he started ignoring me. But apparently the black toothed bastard was running up and down the beach telling all his friends not to take me anywhere. I tried my luck with one more guy. After I pointed out that his reasoning to charge me half the price if I'd found another person to take the ride was incorrect, because I would still have my heavy bags so he would be taking less money to haul more weight, he also just started ignoring me. “You can walk.” “I'm willing to hire you to do your job and you're stupidly refusing the only fare you'll make all day?” “Not my problem. You walk.” So I called his mother a whore, cursed out the fat guy with the hammer and said the most obscene thing I could think of to the skinny guy with the black teeth who'd sabotaged my trip. (In actuality, I probably did less to offend them and more to propagate my own stereotype, which is of course a loose, American hooker with a big mouth. But it will never be in my nature to turn the other cheek.)

I was so angry I was in tears, and I sat down at a cafe for a minute. The waiter asked me what was going on and I told him I just needed a goddam ride to the other side of the island. Could he help? Of course he was also a taxi dispatcher and could get me to Coral Bay. I still paid triple the regular price, but at least he wasn't a total prick (who knows, maybe he was but at least he was smart enough to make a buck). He took my 25 ringets and pointed to the boat. He of course was not the driver after all, and wanted to have the initial black teeth guy drive me. I said no way and the entire beach started laughing. I demanded my money back until I was assigned 2 seven year olds to take my bags and me to the other side. They repeatedly drenched me on purpose and went so fast I thought I'd surely be thrown from the boat, and naturally made me wade out to my shoulders to get on board.

I vowed not to set foot on another water taxi or go back to Long Beach for the next 7 days, and I haven't. I refused to even get on a snorkel boat, which I kind of regret, as it's supposed to be some of the best in the world. But I also did not want to go out to swim with black tipped sharks the size of me with a bunch of strangers. Just didn't sound fun. The strangers here have remained strange, which is a shame. I'm sure I am the only American in town, surrounded by mostly Scandinavians, a handful of Germans, Australians and some English dudes. The couples int their '60s are friendly, the young people are not. I've sat next to this Swedish couple on the beach who look like Barbie and Ken, can't be a day over 19, and are so tan they will have skin cancer by the time they are 25. They have not said one word to me in 6 days. One day while I was having lunch, 2 English dudes started to make conversation. They were the first people I'd talked to in 2 days. I thought they might join me. It looked as if they were going to sit down. One grabbed a chair, then stopped talking mid-sentence, walked right past me and plopped his chair down at the table with the two 20-something bikini-clad German girls next to me. Their conversation was nauseating, with vague sentences like “I'm in international business, buying and selling.” Translate: you're a drug dealer. “You're too beautiful to be anything but German; German women are the finest breed.” Breed? These girls either had brain damage, really wanted a free meal, or were going to sleep with the guys and rob them blind. I hoped it was the latter. The service is horrendous; my room has not been visited by a “resort” member once in 6 nights. I had to ask for toilet paper and clean towels. Once, I asked for ice when given a warm diet coke. The girl looked at me as if I'd spoken to her an an African clicking language. Maybe I'm spoiled, but I don't think anybody likes warm diet coke. And so it's been for a week.

I've spent my days sitting on the beach until about 2, when my malaria meds make it impossible to even go in the sun unless you want to endure what feels like an all over singe from a hot iron. There are no umbrellas here, so unless you find the shade of that one coveted palm tree, you go sit on your porch in the shade until sunset. I've read 4 books, battled giant geckos and spiders, eaten some pretty crappy food, pined for a glass of wine (only beer and local moonshine is available, and it's hidden in some shady suntan lotion shop on the other side of the island), swam in the crystal clear water (which really is beautiful) and wondered why so many people think this place is the end all be all. If you're a diver, which most people are not, then it makes sense. But it's not a party town, and it's not cheap like Thailand, so I don't get the backpacker appeal. The food is all the same, and none of it is haute cuisine. There is no alcohol, at least it is illegal to advertise having it. So it's not a high end destination either. If I had my friends, a lizard poacher, window screens and a private chef, it could be paradise. But I'd take Baie Rouge in St. Martin any day over this. Hell, I'd probably even take Beach Haven, NJ.

Today I leave this so-called paradise on another harrowing speedboat ride, followed by a 7 hour wait at the 1 room airport, followed by what I'm sure is another bad hotel somewhere near Kuala Lumpur. Tomorrow, I go to Calcutta. Something tells me that all up till now, I've been wading in the shallows. I'm about to be thrown into the deep end.

PS – Jesus had it right when he turned water not into more water, but into wine. Mohammed and everyone who follows him could use a stiff drink. I know I sure could. Maybe JC could take the Prophet out for happy hour. Might just solve a few problems.