The Road Warriors: Perhentian Islands, Part 1

We were in Kota Bharu and I had a suspicion that a very large bug was in our room. At first I thought it was the fan making that odd sound, like someone momentarily releasing the wheels of a wind up car in two short bursts at a time. I thought it was the fan until the sound started migrating around to different corners of the room, at one point sounding directly behind my head. "It must be the wings of a very large bug" I thought. I've seen how big the bugs in Malaysia can get, and the thought of a huge gobstopper of a bug landing on my chest at any second deferred my sleep significantly.

But the morning came and the fabled bug didn't. Adam woke me up, as he always does, and promptly set off in search of his favorite meal of the day. Groggy, I threw my backpack together and set out for the lobby in hopes to get on the net (a necessary daily ritual for me it seems). I Skyped my family and told them a few stories that had yet to make it up on the blog. They shared a few of their own. Apparently, my mom hid an Easter egg with money inside and a squirrel picked it up and ran off with it. Thank goodness we don't have monkeys back in Canada is all I could think. They would probably be dragging my dad's barbecue down the street.

Our bus departed with nary a hitch, packed and bound for Kuala Besut, where we would catch a fast boat to the Perhentian Islands. Since I eschewed breakfast for Skype, I ate some of Adam's dried lima beans while we waited for a boat. The boat came and a handful of us hopped on. We knew it would be a bumpy ride when we were given life jackets. In a land where no one wears seat belts and they entrust any jackass with a motorcycle, it was worrisome that in this instance, they chose to enforce a mandatory safety precaution. And the boat was rough. It skipped over the surface like a pebble, sending cascades of water up on each side. The poor saps in the front spent about 30% of the time in the air, and every once and a while we would hit a huge bump that would send splashes of water back into the boat and onto us. Complimentary drink. Everyone was actually enjoying it a lot, and the driver even treated us to a few "donuts" before dropping us off on Long Beach, the main beach on the small island.

The Perhentian Islands deserve the heaps of praise bestowed upon them by the guide books. A few kilometers off the eastern shore of peninsular Malaysia, they rise up and form shapes that seem to compliment one another perfectly. There are two, you see. Palau Becil (big island) and Palau Kecil (small island). As I mentioned, we were on the small island, and the strip of beach we landed on rimmed a small bay, sharply contrasted by the lush, green hills. All around it, the coveted turquoise waters produced by the perfect combination of endlessly shallow water and white sand. Developments were abundant, but not invasive. If it wasn't so damned hot, I would have been paradise.

On the ride up, we met an Englishman named Edward (good name for an Englishman) who showed an interest in getting his open water diving certification with us. He was the kind of person we couldn't possibly see being a bother to hang around, so we all agreed to get certified together.

Even before we fund a hostel, we checked into a local dive shop to inquire about prices and protocol. The man working the desk was very friendly and very helpful. The course would take four days, include four dives and require us to read a pretty hefty textbook. With equipment rental, an instructor and everything else, it would cost us 950 ringgets ($290), a friggin' steal if you compared it to the prices back home. We agreed and paid the man. After we dropped our gear off at the cheapest hut we could find, we did what seemed to be the most logical thing to do at the time; we dove into the water to see if it felt as perfect as it looked. It did.

The training video wasn't going to be anything but brutal. I went in expecting that, and for that reason, I was not let down. Stiff narration, failed attempts at humour and special effects straight out of Lawnmower Man. The only acceptable response to a video like that is a healthy dose of cynical remarks. It was Adam, Edward, a girl we met on the jungle train named Melanie and I in the course. We all sat, eyes half crooked, as we watched this ghastly video. Edward seemed to have lost patience with the video halfway through. It was actually quite informative, yet horribly hammy and basically said the exact same thing as the books. The guy who put on the DVD and pressing play turned out to be our instructor. He was a red-headed English chap, no older than 25, and kind of reminded me of Bo Burnham, for those of you up on your Youtube. So yeah, the video sucked and Adam made no attempt to say otherwise when asked about it afterwards.

It was quite weird having to watch an educational video and getting homework while on holidays on an island. It had been a month free of anything resembling work, and well over a year since I did anything resembling homework. After about thirty minutes of it, my brain fired back into that old familiar find-an-excuse-to-do-something-else mode. Not an easy urge to shake here. The sound of waves came from everywhere at once, beckoning me away from my big blue tome. I probably, theoretically could do whatever the hell I wanted to.

Adam and I passed a volleyball game in full swing and got invited to play. We dropped our books in the sand and joined in. I played two games valiantly, but lost both times. Nobody cared. Everyone was happy, even me despite all of the stupid homework I had to go home and finish.