“What is your favourite place – Thailand, Malaysia or Indonesia?” I ask the kids.
“Malaysia is my least favourite,” says Lukie. “It seems to be very developed, mainly cities.”
He looks out from the cockpit, scanning the anchorage horizon. We’re positioned amidst a sea of yachts just seaward of Kuah, the capital of the Malaysian island of Langkawi. Ashore, light buildings cower under heavy clouds which have engulfed the dark green hills of the hinterland. It’ll rain soon. “Indonesia has the best food,” Lukie continues, looking up at me.
“I prefer Indonesia,” says Matias. “I like all the deserted places we went to there. We saw a lot of beautiful islands.” He pauses. “But the Thai script is pretty cool. Way cooler than our normal letters.”
“The food is worst in Thailand,” chips in Lukie. “It is way too hot. But Thailand is the cleanest. Malaysia is sort of in the middle, and Indonesia is the least clean. All that plastic everywhere.”
“So, overall?” I ask.
“Indonesia is my favourite,” says Matias. “Best deserted islands.”
I look at Lukie. “And you?”
“Indonesia for me too,” he says. “Best food. But I prefer how Thailand is cleaner. Malaysia is my least favourite. Although the food here is OK.”
I nod. Always good to hear the kids’ perspective, even if I feel that restaurant menus dominate Lukie’s assessment a little too much.
We’ve just come back to Malaysia from ten days in southern Thailand where we visited the small islands around Koh Lipe. We are back in Malaysia briefly to pick up a few more boat parts before heading to Thailand again, for our last five-week trip. Once we return to Malaysia early in the new year, it will be time to pack up the boat and get it ready for sale.
It is a bit unfair to judge the entirety of Malaysia from the little of it that we have seen. Apart from Tioman Island off the east coast of peninsular Malaysia, we’ve only been to the west coast, and we have missed out Malaysian Borneo entirely.
Similarly, we’ve only seen a tiny fraction of Thailand – on our recent ten-day trip we only had time to explore the small islands which are just a day sail from north-western Malaysia. It was a lovely trip, and we fully enjoyed escaping the murky Malaysian waters for a brief interlude of white beaches and turquoise shallows, exchanging sweaty boat work for exploring, snorkelling, diving and kite surfing.
Koh Lipe is Thailand tourist land, the busiest of a group of postcard-perfect islands. It reminds me of Bali in Indonesia – busy with young-ish tattooed tourists clad in little other than swimwear, little restaurants lining the narrow streets, alongside curio shops enveloped in thick incense-laden air featuring tie-dye pants, carved masks, and turquoise jewellery. The air is full of the sound of at least ten different European languages (it’s their winter now, and Koh Lipe is the ideal getaway), mixed in with the sound of ankle-chains chiming and sunscreen being slapped on.
Like much of Thailand it is a diving destination, and although the visibility is not pristine there are some interesting things to see – cryptic scorpionfish, brilliantly coloured soft corals, large moray eels.
And the food – oh the food. I’ve been to Thailand before and remember the deliciously fragrant food well, and on this second visit it doesn’t disappoint. Although one night when we went very local the kids ended up with dishes (spicy minced pork and a red curry) that they found inedibly spicy. (This was where Matias discovered the beauty of the Thai written language. Although he had seen it on signs and menus, he didn’t really connect until he saw the waitress writing down our order on her little pad: “Did you see how she wrote it down, Mummy? She used that script!”) Hence Lukie’s harsh assessment of Thai food – if he had just stuck with Pad Thai, the country would probably top Indonesia in his mind. We’ll see if we can repair the damage when we get back there today: it doesn’t seem fair that the culinary prowess of an entire nation should be dismissed because of one spicy meal.
As I feel the first raindrops hit my face, Lukie looks at me. “What about you, Mummy? What do you prefer – Thailand, Malaysia or Indonesia?”
I think for a while. I loved the dichotomy between the crazy chaos of the inhabited areas and the deafening silence of the exquisite wildernesses we found in Indonesia. Loved how we couldn’t get anything we were used to, and so had to learn how to cook Indonesian, and speak Bahasa to get by because nobody speaks any English. I realise that I quite like difficult places – like the challenge of getting by in foreign lands. Malaysia, in contrast, is easy. Everybody speaks English and you can buy most things. It’s a good place to do boat work, although the places we have been to have not been memorable for their natural beauty. Thailand is different again. Stunningly beautiful and very touristy, which makes for easy sailing. People speak English, the food is wonderful and everything is available.
The only South-East Asian country that was never colonised by Europeans, Thailand remains somehow more ‘foreign’ than Indonesia and Malaysia. Utterly different language, culture, religion. Little Buddhist shrines everywhere, and no women with veils, no melodic mosque calls in the early morning. After so long in Islamic countries, the difference is stark and comes in small waves of sudden recognition. The absence of huge, colourful, waterfront mosques. The jet-black shine of a local woman’s hair, no veil in sight. Alcohol and pork on the menu in restaurants. The endless throngs of tourists wearing string bikinis. The switch to Buddhism has some advantages: I am no longer too hot because I can wear shorts and a singlet, without risking offending anyone.
“I don’t know,” I tell Lukie and ruffle his hair, which is starting to feel wet from the rain. “Let’s close up the boat so the rain doesn’t come in. And then, when it stops, we’ll lift anchor and head back to Thailand to see some more before we make up our minds.”
SV Bob The Cat 