Letter from Langkawi
Sunday, April 9, 2006
Telaga Harbour Marina
Lot 1, Telaga Harbour Park
Pantal Kok, 07000 Langkawi
Kedah, West Malaysia
Website: www.telagaharbour.com

Hello to all,

We arrived in Telaga Harbour at 5 PM Thursday after renting a car at the Langkawi airport. We were pleased to find Pacific Bliss looking good and well taken care of by the marina staff. I walked in to find her wonderfully free of mold—a bit rusty and squeaky in spots, dusty but not grimy. Having an air conditioner installed and on a timer helped significantly. Even the bedding was fresh, not damp. Most systems are working, including the engines. We have free WI-FI on board. We also have a new Malaysian SIM card for our cell phone: Country Code: 60, then 194437645. From within Malaysia , call: 0194437645

Our plans are to meet with WaveMasters on Monday and to hopefully haul out on Tuesday or Wednesday. While Pacific Bliss is in the shipyard, having her physical check-up and getting ship-shape for the Indian Ocean crossing in January, we plan to stay in a condo or hotel.

My latest story:

It never rains in Southern CA --except when Lois and Gunter need to get to LA to catch an International Flight--then it pours! As I complete my packing mid-afternoon on Tuesday, the showers begin; a feisty wind from the Pacific pushes wavelets across Sail Bay . I pull the blinds to prepare for our leave-taking and hope for the best. By the time we arrived at the commuter terminal, it is pouring. We check our bags—including the repaired radar system—with no problems, and arrive at the gate with hours to spare. An attendant calls for passengers to take an earlier flight, at 8:30 PM instead of 9:30 . Gunter is at the head of the line, concerned that our flight, the last one of the day, might be cancelled. Our luggage has already been checked into the 9:30 PM flight, but we are not worried—yet. After all, our flight from L.A. to Hong Kong doesn't depart until 11:55 PM .

We are herded through the puddles on the tarmac into one of these little puddle-jumper jets—appropriate for the occasion, I'm thinking. Then we sit there on the runway, engines groaning, in the dark, not able to read nor leave our seats, for over an hour. “Too many planes circling L.A. , backed up by the storm,” the pilot announces. Then the pilot turns back to the terminal to take on more fuel. We sit at the terminal, engines off, for another ½ hour. Then we taxi back to our old runway and wait for clearance, engines idling again. The wind shifts and we are routed to another runway. By now, Gunter is staring at his watch every minute or so, and computing our dwindling time allowance. We have been on the runway well over two hours. Clearance is finally granted. As we jerk and bump our way to L.A. , I vow: “Never again; it's Executive Limo the next time.”

We reach L.A. , but the time pressure is just rolling into high gear: we take a bus from another wet tarmac to Terminal 4, run through that entire terminal and out the other end, turn left outside, run along the sidewalk to the International Terminal, then toward the gate for our flight. Security has a line-up so long it appears that half of China has been in the U.S. waiting to go home! They could put those through first who have immediate flights, but they don't. They just keep calling, “Last Call” for our flight, like an irritating broken record.

At last, we make it through Security and head toward our gate. At the second rolling metal sidewalk, a man from Cathay Pacific, coming at us the wrong way, asks whether we are on the Hong Kong flight, then runs ahead of us to the gate. As we board, a voice on the loudspeaker calls out our two names and another man's, warning that the aircraft door is about to close! I ask the flight attendant who directs us toward our seats, way back in the "cattle car,” “Will our luggage make it?

“I doubt it,” she answers. “It takes over forty minutes.” Well, during that long flight, 14 hrs, 45 minutes, we think often about a back-up plan. Our luggage has been checked into Kuala Lumpur , Malaysia . We would stay there at the Pan Pacific until our luggage arrived. Then we would catch a flight to the island of Langkawi , hopefully, the next day.

After a surprisingly tasty seafood meal and Chilean white wine, we take a Sleepinal to help us sleep sitting up (although after having bronchitis twice during the last three months, I am used to it). But there is a problem: being vertically challenged, I fall asleep with my legs dangling about 6 inches off the floor. I wake up with a dream about my legs being paralyzed. Sure enough, I can't move them, that is, until I inch my way past the sleeping mass and sneak up and down the dark aisles until my circulation returns. After that, I put my backpack/purse on the floor to use as a foot rest. (They used to have footrests on planes; when did these disappear in the quest for jamming more and more passengers into less and less space?)

The 747 begins its descent into Hong Kong just as the thin, golden streaks of dawn finally appear. By mid-morning, we are on our way to Kuala Lumpur , the capital of Malaysia . At baggage claim, all four of our bags come down, cheerfully bumping along the carousel as if nothing were amiss! We give each other high fives and practically kiss the bags. Luck is with us.

Our home away from home.

We walk past the Duty Free shops and the familiar waterfall and tropical landscaping of this ultra-modern airport. At the Malaysian Airlines counter, we find that we can take an earlier flight to Langkawi. Instead of arriving in the dark at 9:30 PM and taking a taxi, we can now reach our destination in mid-afternoon, rent a car, and still drive the winding roads to Telaga Harbour in the daylight.

Soon we are through our final security and sitting in the blue-chaired departure lounge for our flight to one of Malaysia 's most popular tourist islands. The mix of passengers has changed. We are one of the few westerners, among a motley assortment of Malays, Indians, Chinese and even a few Arabs. As I look over the top of my magazine, the super-size strawberry blonde seated nearby lazily strokes the head of her husband. She is wearing a flimsy camisole top that does nothing to mask her huge frame. She may or may not be pregnant; I cannot tell since she is plump and puffed all over. I hope she is not an American, so flagrantly uncovered in a Muslim country.

A young woman walks in, holding hands with her thirty-something Arab husband. I know that she is young-- even though a full, black burqa covers her body from head to foot—because I detect slim ankles between her flared designer jeans and sports shoes. As she continues to hold hands and turns to talk to her man, I wonder whether she would dare that show of public affection in her own country. Her husband is comfortably dressed in a polo shirt, jeans, and sports shoes, so they are most likely on their way to a Langkawi resort.

Upon our arrival here last year, the talk was that Arabs like to vacation in Malaysia, not only because it has beautiful seashores with posh resorts, but because it is officially a Muslim country—even though the dress code is relaxed and headscarves are optional. Arabs do not like to be stared at. Who would? But who can resist being curious? Last year, I was seated at a table at a coffee shop back to back with a lady in full black dress from head to toe. I changed places with Gunter so that I would be facing her as she ate. I watched her lift up her chador , the garment that covers the head, shoulders and eyes, then place her spoon up underneath it toward her mouth. With each spoonful, she slowly repeated the procedure. At Telaga Harbour Park , there have been requests to build a Muslim-only restaurant on the second floor of one of the restaurants. Hey, now that I know how this works, I promise, I won't pull this chair-switching stunt again!

We arrive at the Langkawi airport and I head for the tanda (toilet) on the concourse. I skip the squat toilet stalls and head for a modern one I know will be there. The seat is square (does anyone have a square behind?) and the floor is wet, as usual. A hose—like a garden hose with a cut-off end and no nozzle, comes out of the wall, but at the airport, at least there is toilet tissue as well. Malaysian toilets no longer surprise me. I know now that Muslims must cleanse their private parts with water afterwards. And that if one encounters a toilet with no hose, usually the tank cover has been taken off the unit, to gain access to water. But as the burqa'd woman heads for the stall next to me, my curiosity is piqued again. How will she manage? Will she take off her burqa and sling it over the door? And how will she manage the water thing without getting her jeans and sports shoes wet? I have some Malaysian friends in Langkawi now. I will embark on some more detective work while I'm here. Ah! The curse of a writer!

We rent a gray, nondescript Malaysian Protean from one of the many airport hawkers, all vying for our business. Everything is negotiable—such a deal: $12 US per day. We load some of our luggage into the trunk, and stash the remainder into the back passenger seats. The hilly, winding way to the marina is familiar by now. We're not even tempted to stop alongside the road to watch antics of the monkeys. Been there, done that. We reach the marina and Pacific Bliss by 5 PM .

We skip the unpacking for another day. Instead, we take the bougainvillea-lined walk over to the charming Mediterranean-style restaurant row across from the marina. As night falls over the towering mountain behind the village, we order our first cold Tiger beers, along with an order of tapas. Our favorite: a small loaf of crisp, freshly baked French bread with a bowl of liver pate.

At daybreak ( 7 AM here) we walk the marina-village-resort circuit before the heat and humidity sets in. The sun doesn't break above the surrounding mountains until 8, so this hour is a pleasant interlude. A few other hikers are doing the same. We poke around the beach area, where Anna and the King , with Jody Foster, was filmed. The unforgiving tropical humidity and heat continues to rust and demolish the once-magnificent movie set of the Summer Palace . Never made into a resort, as intended, it is deserted except for a dilapidated dive and beach rental shop. We walk as far as the Telaga Lighthouse, and then loop back to restaurant row. We stop at the little Indian restaurant for a "workers breakfast" of rotis filled with scrambled eggs and lassi, a milk/yogurt drink. The tab: $1 US each. It is good to be back!

Langkawi has the feel of returning home. This is good, because constant newness can be tiring. Our next few months should be relatively easy: We have no more real long flights scheduled until our return to San Diego in early July. In May, we plan to spend three weeks touring China . And in June, we will spend two weeks touring Viet Nam . We have no long sails either; this week, we merely motor around the island to the shipyard. In between land tours, we may take Pacific Bliss out for a local sail. That's it.

We are happy to be here, back in Langkawi. But we will miss you all!

Love, Lois and Gunter