Want the full story? Klick here to start with "Question Authority, Question 3v3ryth1nG!" - the post that started this little travel adventure!
Castaway on
Pulau Tioman
Preface:
What started as simply jotting down notes of the places I have been has changed in Tioman. I felt more inspired writing about this place than any before, so it actually reads more like the chapter out of a novel. Let's call it realistic travel fiction ;). If anyone is in contact with publishers who might be interested in material like this, you have my email! :)
March 28
 |
Castaway.
I've grown wild in the two weeks on the remote Tioman Island ;) |
“Take the
bus at Boogey station to Jahor Baru. It’s my home town, just across the border.
From there you get a ticket to Mersing. If you are lucky, you can get the last
ferry to Tioman. When you are on the island, head straight to Juara Beach and
stay there, you will enjoy it. If getting away is what you are looking for,
Juara Beach is your best bet.” I soak up the words of the Malayan guy at my
hostel reception like a sponge. “Man, I just realize, I haven’t done an island
vacation in a long time. I should go to Tioman some time soon myself.” That’s
it, he’s sold it.
I cannot wait until I get to the Cameron Highlands to chill out in a hammock there. I’m off to
Malaysia. Tioman Island! I change
around 450 $ in cash, because there are no ATMs on the island. That should
suffice for a little bit over a week, unless I decide to learn diving, which
might just happen. Let’s see how long I last away from everything. I really
need time to sort my brain out, calm down. I’ll take as much time there as I
need.
I start to apply mosquito repellant for the
first time in Southeast Asia after I get bitten severely on the bus. This is
not Singapore anymore! The roads are more shaky, the landscape more rough. The
border crossing is surprisingly easy, however. If you are ok with the fact that
your bus drives away as soon as you hop off. It wouldn’t be so unsettling if
you knew another one was coming in fifteen minutes and that this was standard
practice.
I miss the
last ferry in Mersing. There’s sure to be some guy with a fishing boat to still
go over, right? Yes, apparently. He wants around 80 Dollars. There are seven of
us, so that would work out. One of us tries to talk to him, negotiate. Suddenly
the boat man decides he does not want to go anymore. He’d rather stay here. So
we are stuck in Mersing.
The only reason this town exists is really because the
ferry port is here and it brings people to the islands. It’s ugly and
uneventful. For lack of other excitement, Alison – the Canadian girl I met at
the border – and I go to Chinese food after an Odyssey of finding a bed-bug free
bed in Mersing. THE Lonely-Planet-recommended backpackers place caused us to revulse (people that stayed there later tell me they moved to sleep on the
floor because the beds were so disgusting). We find different hotels, then meet
up under the eyes of what must be Mersing’s entire Chinese community to have
some veggies and sea cucumber. I use the
wifi-opportunity to say my goodbyes to the civilized world before going to bed.
It’s about three hours before I have to get up again and catch the ferry. It’s
hot, it’s steamy and I am not looking forward to wake up in the middle of the
night.
March 29
The ferry
is surprisingly punctual – leaving at 4 o’ clock. Inside it’s cold due to the
air condition and a couple of Japanese divers are sleeping on the leather
benches. I pull my Science Fiction book,
The Lifecycle of Software Objects and
ponder over philosophical questions of mind development, my relationship to
Caro and a vague decision whether I should try and learn how to surf on the
island. I decide that a sexual relationship with a robot / digient is no more
problematic than an emotional one, although highly more stigmatized by society,
that freedom and freedom to make mistakes is an essential part of any
relationship and that I want to stand on a surfboard on Tioman. Then I fall
into silent slumber until heavy waves wake me up.
We've
arrived. At the dock, "Bushman" is
waiting to pick us up. He runs the place Allison is staying at, "Bushman's." That’s great, because it means I get over to the other
side, Juara, as fast as possible and at a third of what a regular Taxi would
charge me from Tekek. Bushman drops me off at Beach Shack… or Beach Hut… or
Beach Shack Hut “They change name again, this Beach Shack,” Bushman assures me.
 |
| The Beach Shack from the ocean |
I walk into an open, low roof porch area through the dark and feel the breeze
of the sea around my nose as I approach the deck.
 |
| Sunrise over the South China Sea |
My feet on
the wooden planks, I realize the ocean is right there in front of me and I have
arrived just in time to witness the most beautiful sunrise I have ever seen, as
the bright disk slowly crosses the line of the horizon over the ocean and
paints the sky in a wonderful array of oranges and purple. Two figures sit at
the side of the porch, staring in amazement at this magical spectacle. One is
an older, gray haired man with stubble covering his face. He is very thin,
wrinkled and incredibly tanned. The only thing he wears is a pair of board
shorts. On the sun chair next to him is a smaller woman with shoulder long,
black, slightly curly hair and a facial expression that makers her look a little like a monkey. Her skin is
brownish and her smile spreads across her entire face and beyond as she takes
photographs of the picturesque scene. Bound by the view myself, I somehow
manage to confirm this is the right place and they run it. I’ve met Tim and
Izan and this is enough introduction for us. Together we continue to watch the
day break and the sun move up the brightening sky, reflecting on the calm water
of the South China Sea before a slight rain begins and washes away the stupor spell,
slowly waking us from the dream that is this sunrise.
 |
| Chalet with beach view |
But the sun
does not keep me up for long. I’ve hardly slept the night before. After I drop
my heavy backpack (I travel with way too many things, did I mention?), I
have just enough time to set up a tiny bookshelf and admire the view from my
honeymoon chalet that looks down on the beach front. Then I fall into pleasant
slumber on the giant bed that sits in the room like a fairytale with its thin
blue layer of mosquito net cover. The sound of the ocean carries me over into
the land of dreams, but careful: sharp rocks at the bottom!
 |
| The "honeymoon" suite. Basic, but wonderful! |
I wake up
from a pinch on my arm. What? Rocks? No. Mosquito? How did you get in here? Oh no. This is
not a mosquito. I see a little black something scrawling over my pillow, trying
to hide in the dark. It looks like a tick. May I introduce? The Cimex Lectularius.
Oh, so this is what bed bugs look like, I think as I unsuccessfully try to
squish the little bugger on the bed. It won’t budge, then it disappears. No
way, that’s not cool, come back here, you took my blood! Don’t let the bed bugs
bite, I was told. As I look around the edges of the mozzy net I become fully
aware of the intensity of this encounter with my new six-legged friends.
Hitchcock’s The Birds comes to my mind as I look up and see black creatures
hovering over me, staring down only to wait for an inattentive moment to
attack. Chose your battles! I get my clothes on, open the window to let in some
light and indulge in a mass killing. My hands bear the bitterness of the murder
as I leave the room to wash myself clean in the pacifying waters of the ocean.
a.JPG) |
| Somewhere beyond the sea |
I have the
Shack nearly to myself. There is an Australian couple here that helps out.
There’s also a Scandinavian couple, but they never come out of their chalet.
It’s pretty much all mine, except for the boys, Tim’s nephew and a friend of
his: Azeen and Jay. Paradise is mine!
 |
| swing low |
But when
has man ever been happy in paradise? Feelings of relaxation and a strange
tenseness go back and forth in me, just as the hammock rocks me from side to
side at the beach front. I worry about overspending my budget, which I have
done indeed so far, then frolick at the beauty of the islands with its palm
trees. I worry about what to do with my life, then stare at the waves and try
to find the patterns in their movement. Most of all my mind is bothered by the
fact that I am on this island by myself. Isn’t it paradoxical? I venture out
to be by myself or dive into the adventures of live and then long for the
vicinity of a girl. A girl back there, that is, back there where home was, only
weeks ago. Already I am considering
skipping Central America and taking her to South America in July. STOP. What
nonsense. There will be no computer, no cellphone, no contact over the next few
days, maybe weeks. Maybe that will knock some sense into my head.
I go to bed
at nine. I have moved to a different chalet. It’s dark, I am tired and there is
nothing else to do anyway. Wonderful. Nothing to do!
March 30
When I wake I hear the
rooster cry to announce the crack of dawn. I stand by the window with the wind
blowing from the sea until the sky starts to slowly illuminate. I move to the
restaurant porch and watch yet another sunrise that sends it’s rays through an
array of purple and orange clouds. “That must be the most beautiful sunrise I
have seen this year. It’s spectacular,” he boasts as he passes me a cup of Earl
Grey. It’s easy to believe him. The rooster cries again to finish off the scene.
What a cliché!
 |
| "The most beautiful sunrise ever" |
I head down
to the beach to practice some Aikido and get rid of the rising thoughts of “I
wish I could have shared this sunrise with her”. I tear my skin on the sand, I
sweat, I drip. It’s wonderful. The dip in the ocean stings on my skin, but I
feel alive, SO alive. I’m exhausted and yet I have so much energy in my body. I
get some clothes on in my room and throw a quick glance at my cell phone. Caro
has written a supportive message. “It hurts me to know that we are living
parallel lives right now. I miss you. But you are doing the right thing and I
would do it just the same way. I hope you are enjoying YOUR life right now.”
I
am!
And since I am indeed, I don’t feel compelled to answer right now, although I appreciate the support. Instead I take my fresh Guava juice and
breakfast with Tim.
 |
| Tim on a fishing boat |
Tim is a
weird character. He’s the generation of my parents, young during those wild
hippie years. Except, while my parents never quite made it into the scene and
shied off at the hash to begin with, Tim was an acid-dropping hippie all the
way. Or so he says. The classic rock music, the look of his worn face and body
and the slightly anachronistic habit of calling anybody “dude” make for a
coherent picture, throwing in the surfer culture reflected in his board shorts
as well. When he was young, Tim would work on a lobster trawler during
off-season and spend the surfing season on the board. The low ceiling
restaurant shelfs carry pictures of surfers and trophies. What a life that
must have been! Then again, there’s been times where he and his four-headed
family survived on 100 Ringgit from muzzles they collected and sold in the
market.
We talk
about money and how people get too stuck on it and lose themselves over trying
to get more and more. That was my problem, too. Not trying to get more money,
but loosing myself in the task of finding myself. My lifestyle was too busy and
too hectic to really get in tune with myself. “You’ve lost yourself. If you
find yourself, your new journey begins.” He throws me a worn, yellowish brown
book. “Kook,” it says on the cover. “This is written by a guy who’s had enough
of it, you’ll like it.”
I skip through the pages and read a sentence at random:
“We need surf, or dance, or yoga, because it
reconnects us with our animal bodies. For a little while we practice moving
through the world with rhythm, with an intention of efficiency and power.
Without it, we become just a bunch of walking heads.”
I think of my Aikido
practice on the sunlit morning beach. Tim invites me to a trip into the jungle
that afternoon. He and the guys will make some wood. Maybe in two days the waves will
pick up for some surfing lessons. I’m on board!
 |
| Into the jungle, equipped with a chainsaw |
Tim and I slowly move into a working relationship. Having proven myself
useful on the woodmaking, he asks me for help on other small works. Michael and
Megan have gone off to China to teach English there, so Tim can use a hand. Not that he doesn't have enough personnel. There's a guy who takes care of the property, rakes the beach and keeps the walkways clean. Tim isn't exactly happy with his work morale, however. In fact, he doesn't think too much of workers in Malaysia in general. Nobody seems to show any motivation to get things done or advance. That's also the impression I got. Everybody is trying to work as little as they possibly can. Instead they sit around bored or watch TV. Anything, as long as you don't have to work. This is also true for Azeen and Jay, Tim's nephew and his friend. Granted, they're only nineteen and with the prospect of army service coming up for them in two months, they try to get as much holiday out of their stay as possible, understandably. Still, Tim can use somebody with motivation. I
get food and or accommodation in return, depending on the tasks.
 |
The team after 2,5 hours of making wood: all dripping sweat except for the scout.
I'm the mozarella white something in the back. |
Room is scarce, as more guests are arriving. With the recent weather changes that
saw more rain and the prospect of having to move to a tent, I speak with Tim.
He has a new, unfinished place with no electricity and only half the building
has a roof. But it’s dry and it’s free if I help out. On top of that, it is also
a little more remote, somewhat down the beach, so I get some quiet area for
myself while the place is bursting with people.
 |
| Half a roof is better than no roof ;) |
From then
on, I spend half the day training my arms and other muscles doing work for him. A particularly good training session is the day that the cargo ship arrives. It only comes once a week and this time Tim has lots of stuff coming in that he ordered from the mainland. Everyone from the village gathers at the pier to unload the boat as fast as possible. Tim didn't even ask if I can ride a motorbike a couple of days earlier (I've only rode one once before, when I was 16). I didn't protest either, so today, after I've had a couple of days of practice bringing stuff back and forth, he hands me the keys to the old machine with the side car and sends me off to the pier to load the bike. We're in a hurry, because the boat wants to leave.
As is usually the case with this old bike with wonky gears, the chain jumps off when I go too fast in the third gear. It happens at the most inopportune moment. Just when I am about to turn the corner, the bike chokes, I miss the corner, wheel the bike into the mud and jump over the handle to the front so I don't hurt myself. Grant! A local woman with a head scarf on a scooters stops and helps me to pull the bike out of the calves deep mud. I'm not the first to miss this corner. Pushing the last bit back onto the street, I burn my leg on the exhaust. It makes me laugh at my own stupidity.
At the pier, unloading about 400 brick stones that somebody has brought in is one of the rare opportunities to get friendly with the local islanders. So far they haven't been too social, hardly crack a smile when you greet them in the street. The woman on the road was the first friendly encounter outside of Beach Shack. In the chain from the boat to the pier where we all gather the dust of the bricks on our sweated bodies, we exchange encouraging smiles. Later on, they offer me a drink to cool down and regain energy while Tim rides off to unload the bike at home.
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"Illegal immigrants" coming to Pulau Tioman.
Found the log with crabs floating towards the island while snorkeling on the beautiful reef. |
The other half of the days on tioman is a bit more pleasant. I bathe in the sun, sip fruit shakes and devour the book or play
Nada with some of the other guests. Nada is
Tim’s favorite game in which you throw dice and count numbers until you either
stop or you get Nada. Nothing counts. You suck. Tim’s an ass to play with, too.
He hardly ever stops, always wins high numbers. He rubs the dice on every part
of his body for good luck, every part, then makes sarcastic remarks before, while and after
you play. I love it. “Animal body,” I think. When he pinches me, it’s the first
time I realize the strength in his arms. Surprising, as they look more like
matches than arms.
Each night
I go to bed, I wander off in my dreams to a place far away, where a girl lies
waiting for me. Thoughts about her occupy most of my free time, whether I’m on
land or in the water. I begin to lose track of time. I am starting to realize that living MY life might mean
not living a life with Caro. After a few days I find out the WiFi password. I
check my mail but decide there’s nothing important and I will keep pretending I
haven’t been online. No new text messages, either. It feels good to just be
unavailable for now, really good.
It’s just much more fun to go out on a
fishing boat and drag in dinner than sit at a machine writing emails.
 |
| Fixing a net on a fishing boat |
Work is
slowly getting more intense, I’m actually considering taking a day “off” on the
weekend to think. One of the new guests is starting to occupy some of my thinking time
as well. Aimée is a German girl. She has been here before. She fell in love with Tim’s
pet monkeys, although “we think of them as friends, not pets,” as he insists. I
don’t trust the monkeys, so I don’t really care what he calls them, but she’s
in love, clearly, spending nearly her entire day with them. Aimée seems to be a
nice girl and we get along. She gives me some tips for Malaysia, we flirt.
She’s kind of cute, too. My thoughts wander off to Germany much less in this
company and I catch myself feeling a bit guilty about that.
 |
Sunrise is the time to think.
While it's still cool and windy. |
It’s not
even been a week of true isolation. Isn’t that a bit early to start forgetting
about her? But wait, isn’t this MY life? Why am I still caught in what I'm "supposed to" do instead of doing what I want to do? Everything seems to be dragging me
away from that life that is mine. I just want to sit and read the book Tim gave me. I almost feel
too social playing games two consecutive nights. Not to mention the work. It’s strange. Again, the
questions hit me: what is MY life, really?
I've lost track of how long I've been here when I hit my motivational and emotinoal low. Painting logs in the mid day sun, I catch a
scorching sunburn on my back and don’t realize until the end of the paint job.
My quest to find soothing Aloe Vera remains unfulfilled as the entire island
seems to be completely devoid of it short of a Danish family who gives me a
thick layer straight onto my back. The night before hadn’t been much better.
With lots
of people coming in and little space, Aimée moved to the unfinished shack as
well, occupying the other, half-roofed room. As I somehow expected, I did not catch
much sleep that night. Scared shitless from some noise, she cried for my help
in the middle of the night. The gunfire was indeed somewhat disturbing. Images
of Lord of the Flies come to the mind on this remote island.
So, rescue
the girl. First I moved to her room, realized she didn’t have a mozzy net (or
roof), then got her to move to my room. I spread the net over the
make-shift-matresses, but that doesn’t leave too much space and so we lie snug
together. I put my arm around her in an effort to get comfortable, but with her
tossing and turning, listening for new noises, the night remains more or less
sleepless. Hence it is surprising, but not too much of a shock when we get a
visit from what we think is a monkey. It looks at me, draws back, then looks at
me again. Strange noises on the wooden planks. Yes, I admit, this is somewhat
scary, but the figure disappears.
 |
| Nothing to steal in this room, for sure. |
Aimée is
determined to spend the next night at the restaurant terrace, which I welcome
as she is actually going on my nerves by now, a feeling that will increase over
the next days. It might be unfair to her, but she has become a mirror for me. Only she is showing everything I want not in a woman and missing everything I have found in Caro. The following night I sleep sound until about 3 am, when again
somebody jumps up to the open part of the roof and stares in. Yes, it’s
somebody. We’ve been told by the neighbour, who himself looks a bit like a monkey, that there aren’t any monkeys on this part of the island. None as large as I described them on the entire island, actually. However, somebody tried to break into the neighbours house the night before.
Time to move and move on. This is not the life I want!
But then the waves
pick up a bit and so does my reading. Tim is busy and I venture out into the wild
waters of the ocean with the boys on boogey boards. I’m not incredibly
successful, but it is good to feel the power and force of the ocean. Animal
body. The Kook has come to Mexico to learn surfing and he’s brought along his
girl friend to give the relationship a real try. I haven’t, I’ve gone off by
myself . . . I miss her smile. “What a wonderful woman I left there,” I think,
indulging in memories of the imaginary photo book we created, for the safe
keeping of moments together that we want to remember. Right now, I’m writing only in
my own book.
 |
| Got surf? |
Tired of
waiting for a really good surf, the boys and I get Izan to show us some
basics of surfing on a day when Tim is on the mainland. The waves are probably
no higher than two feet, but it’s fun nonetheless. For two hours we paddle back
and fro, smashing ourselves into the waves, attempting to catch and ride the
flow of energy that runs through the water. The long boards are much easier to
float on than the bogeys, although I have some issues with balance. Once the
wave picks up the board, gives it the speed and raises you above the water level,
however, there is no more wobbling! It’s all fun from there and the waves give us
a smooth ride to the sandy beach. Right on, dudes!
I’m
starting to grow weary of the place. I feel ready to move on, in many different ways. The easiest sign to notice: I long for different food, as the greasy fried rice and omelets are not only starting to bore me, I wonder how healthy I can keep my body this way. Fruits and vegetables are rather rare on the island. Everything needs to come by cargo after all.
The work is busying me a lot and I haven’t had time to do any thinking recently, except immediately related to
what I am doing. The project
Tim does is somewhat disturbing to me and so is the thought that I am
supporting it. He is building new chalets down the beach in an area where right
now, there is a swampy biotope with a river running into the ocean slowly. It’s
filled with water plants, monitor lizards, dragonflies, butterflies, there is a
weaver bird’s nest and the other day we found a python the locals had slashed.
It pains me to see how this environment is going to disappear. Tim says the
government has agreed to dig out the riverbed deeper, so the biotope might be
able to come back and reclaim the landfill, but I remain doubtful.
 |
Without roof, the power company doesn't install electricity.
Without electricity it's a pain in the ass to build a roof... |
It reminds
me of the surf book I’m reading. The protagonist feels bad about the quickly
built tourist resorts where land was only developed in order to attract
tourists. Of course, he is part of it all, “asking for a campground, a
restaurant or two and an airport to fly in.” Really, traveling like this does
not seem sustainable and it is bugging me that I am not only part of it on the
tourist side at this point, but also on the development side. Tim is destroying
the natural land patterns while at the same time buying red light bulbs so as
not to disturb the turtles from finding their nesting grounds. It’s paradox.
 |
The rules for these little crawlers are easy:
Centipede, one pair of legs moves at a time, poisonous.
Millepede, two pairs of legs move at a time, not poisonous. |
I take an
afternoon off to do a little hike with Viveka, a Dutch girl staying at the
Shack. We walk up through the jungle and an array of spiders, insects, lizards
and all other kinds of creatures until we arrive at the waterfall we aimed for.
It is a beautiful setting and we have some very good conversations on traveling
and life. She helps me to realize that I have come to not live my life, but spend
my entire time working for Tim. When we return home much later than expected
and later than Tim had hoped I would come back so we could do some work, I
decide it’s time for a break. I will work tomorrow, then stay as a guest for a
bit, I tell him.
Tim is not
too pleased about it. I’ve told him before that I am restless and I think he
knows what is coming. But he doesn’t say a single word, does not complain,
although I can tell he would like me to work. What a beautiful relation. It’s
that easy. I dictate the terms again, but I’m not going to use that. I need
time to think.
The next
two days are actually amazing. With work off my mind, I manage to relax again
and the first time after a long while, I escape the train of thought that whistles
“I miss her”. Instead, I have some clear thoughts about my relationship with
Caro. I’d been hoping, deeply hoping, that she would still like the person I
would change into through the travels.
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When I go
out for a long morning swim into the ocean, it comes like a revelation to me: I don’t
even want to develop into somebody else without her being by my side. I don’t! There
is no point in us leading parallel lives. Not at all. Wouldn’t it be much
better if instead, we traveled together, changed together, lived together, not
in one but many places? I don’t want us to drift apart and if we are serious
about this relationship, what is the use in deferring it? If we are not serious
about it, then what is the point of keeping this alive at all – and if I’m not
serious about it, why exactly am I planning my life with her in my head right
now?
I've made up my mind. I will call
her and ask her to join me. Not now, I need a bit more time for myself.
I’m not quite ready for the company yet. I am playing with the idea of giving
myself four more weeks of single adventure. Doing it right now? Something in my
mind screams – NO, not yet. What about all the limitless fun? Find out who you
are, go enjoy your freedom, do some wild experiments, get drunk, stoned, get with some women! I
don’t know what to make of that yet.
What I do
know is that feel a growing sense of: “I want to share my life with that woman”
while other things become less important. What if she is my key to finding who
I am? What if I am hers? Or maybe we are not the others’ key to anything. Maybe
we find each other this way, maybe we find we are not actually made to spend
our lives together. But we can still help each other on our searches until our
paths separate and maybe one day join again.
 |
| Footprints in the sand...the rest is silence |
I step out
of the water and walk along the shore, one little step after the other, searching shells for a necklace I want to make. The waves touching my feet wash back and forth the thoughts of her and me living
our lives together. Tomorrow afternoon I will take the ferry back to the mainland, towards a place where I can place the adornment around her neck. It’s time to move on.
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