Respite for the Restless Soul

We lurched to a stop on the highway, the driver pointing down a dirt path and saying something in Malay. This must be my stop; I gather my bags and hop off the dilapidated local bus from Kuantan, making the mistake of setting my pack back down on a bench inhabited by giant red ants as I scan my surroundings in an attempt to get my bearings. I stared down the empty dirt road that I assume leads to Cherating with trepidation as I spied one of the guesthouses mentioned in the five year old guide book I picked up; it lies in ruins, nothing more than a rotting collection of wooden panels and beams, the welcome sign swinging lazily from it’s last remaining hinge. Even in Penang the bus attendants thought I was telling them the wrong name when I said I wanted to come here. This does not bode well for me.

Cursing silently as I notice the ants storming my pack, I brush off the ones I can see and swing it over my shoulders, prompting a furious attack on my waistline by one or two hidden ones as I clip myself in. It’s barely 9am, and fortunately the sun is still at bay just enough for me to walk comfortably with all of my belongings, for once not dripping in sweat after two minutes. Cherating, for all I can see so far, is a ghost town. The air sits heavily upon its empty streets, flags hang limply and chairs sit upside down on café tables behind bamboo slat curtains, not a single inhabitant to be seen. If this were the desert vultures would be circling, the lonely caw caw of crows echoing through the air. Instead I am at a lost beach; macaques silently scale long deserted buildings, mutely slinking along power lines, letting only the occasional birdsong and crashing waves break the suffocating silence. I eye them warily as I walk past, remembering previous encounters.

The reason for the unusually empty streets and closed shops is nothing sinister, although it feels a bit post-apocalyptic; today marks the beginning of Ramadan in Malaysia. Today is the first day of a month full of prayer and fasting. Nothing opens up until after 5 or 6 in the evening….I wonder absently if I am going to starve here. I think this small village also runs on island time, and the eerie emptiness I initially intruded on was in part simply because it was still early in the day.

This was my introduction to Cherating, and it only got better from there.

As I slowly wandered down the single dirt road into town, I ran into a friendly local man who directed me to a budget guesthouse just up the road a ways, and invited me to visit his place and join in the nightly run to the market. I would be three days before seeing him again, and I would take him up on his offer.

After I got settled in I walked around town and discovered the first signs of life; a scattering of people on the beach, neighbors sitting in the shade gossiping, convenience shop owners opening their doors as the sun peaked in the sky. Almost all of the restaurants and cafés are all still closed, but it is Ramadan after all.

As it turns out, there are quite a few expats and long termers here in Cherating. The hostel I am calling home for now hosts more than a few people who arrived last month thinking they were only staying for a couple of days, yet still they remain. One German girl who had been here before for three weeks and, after a short stint up north is back again for another two weeks, laughed as she told me “it’s like Hotel California.” Instantly I was hit with a wave of nostalgia, pulled back to the Irishman in New Zealand, Maia and I belting out this Eagles classic with gusto every Friday for karaoke night…and for just a brief moment I longed to be back.

I am beginning to understand the allure of this beach village. The beach itself is nearly empty, it seems everyone knows each other by name, and trails dart off from the white sands into various jungle openings just waiting to be explored. While traveling with friends means you are assured to always have someone to do things with, solo travel has often been more rewarding for me. Even as a female, I have found traveling alone more enriching than frightening. I feel like I seem more approachable when alone, and I am more open to meeting new people. While I was enjoying my daily beach exploration, a German traveler and fellow solo adventurer told me about a nearby beach where you can watch turtles lay their eggs and offered to take me there with a group who were going later in the night. Of course I readily agreed!

On the walk back across the receding tide lines I stumbled across a massive jellyfish three times the size of a large dinner plate caught out in the sand, later finding two more unfortunate non-polyps farther along the beach. So there are massive jellyfish in the water, good to know. A river runs along the back of the village and you can go on night tours to surround yourself with fireflies in the mangroves as you float through the dark waters, or you can rent a kayak for an hour or two, or even go fishing. I can see how this place would grab you, pull you in, and bring you back again and again. It was already grabbing me.

As I mentioned before, I didn’t get around to finding my original local acquaintance until the third day when he again invited me to the nearby market, so I took the chance to get out of Cherating and grab some fresh local food. I was to meet him at the guesthouse he was managing at 5ish. Upon arrival I was informed that he had to take over the information booth but I could still hitch a ride in with his son who was going with some friends. I ended up in a car full of people around my age, and his son invited me to break fast with them. I had some trepidation about intruding on a family event and told him as much, but he assured me not to worry about it, it was just him and his dad and the more the merrier. We bought a ridiculous amount of food and made our way back to Cherating, excited to try some of this delicious smelling local cuisine. The best part of Ramadan, as explained to be in the car on our return to town, was at the end of the month when kids shook hands with their parents and asked forgiveness for everything they had done wrong in the past year.

Back at the house we set up the table for dinner, food flowing in abundance. At 7:30 sharp we all readily dug in, and I found out very quickly that my bringing forks to the table was pointless; all dishes are meant to be consumed with your hands. Correction, hand. Right hand only. Without hesitating I abandoned my fork and joined in, scooping up rice, fish and various curries into my cupped fingers. We had quality conversations over dinner and I had the chance to learn a bit more about Ramadan and the Muslim way of life in general. Some of the most beautiful moments in my travels stem from moments like these.

I tend to be a restless person, I’ve found that if I’m not doing something productive- or at least active- I get anxious, feeling like I’m wasting time and ready to pack up and leave yet again. But sometimes just being still can boost your well-being, a needed break for your body and mind. Who knows what this place holds for me, maybe I will fall under the spell of it’s charm, maybe I will allow myself more than few days of rest, reflection and re-centering. For months now I have been lugging around this hammock that I got pressured into buying my first night in Bangkok, and with the help of one of my new friends it now hangs behind me invitingly as I sit writing this on my bungalow porch, and I have a feeling I will at last get to put it to good use.

It is Ramadan, after all.