What a wonderful experience it was to arrive on the, clearly beautiful, island of Langkawi. I love it when we disembark a plane via a motorised staircase. You step out of the air conditioned coolness of the aircraft straight into the humid furnace, if there is such a thing, of the Langkawi sunshine. This sudden change of temperature always makes me feel we have been transported into another world and the holiday can begin. In no time at all we were at the fantastic Casa del Mar hotel.
Note to Freedom Destinations: why did we need to fly through KL when there are direct flights from Singapore to Langkawi.
We were shown to our generous, but perfectly neat, bungalow. Talk about a beachside holiday this, indeed, was, to my mind, the ultimate in beachside locations. One of the resort’s straplines is “Your Home By The Sea;” and how true it is: gorgeous. To be fair, there was a swimming pool in between us and the beach. I always assess health and safety and thought we might be a little vulnerable to a tsunami but, on the other hand, I guessed that the wave might have lost much of its energy by the time it reached us it would resemble a ripple on a village pond. That assumption was not based on science but absolute optimism. Beautiful!
This was where we would spend Christmas. Wonderful! After a stroll along the beach where we were able to watch all sorts of scary water-sports going on, a sort of beach club and some fisherman loitering by their boats offering excursions out to sea we headed for the bar. It just seemed like the right thing to do. We were, after all, on holiday. Alan Jackson came to mind as it was a little before, actually quite a lot before, five in the afternoon.
It was idyllic. It was positioned in the shade of a straw roofed cabana. However much you dream of a beach bar you will never conjure up anything better than this. We had clearly landed on a planet surrounded by our own types. This, I must point out, is not what made this place so welcoming, it just happened to be the case. Mainly, though, the people were of a certain age-group: ours! That’s what made it good. Christmas music played calmly in the background, decorations were slung from the ceiling and, I know it’s a leap of faith, you could just imagine the white sand was snow. We met many different folk on this first afternoon but, over the few days we were staying, we always seemed to bump into the same two couples. Firstly, there was an Australian pair, and you mustn’t blame them for that as they can’t help it, from Bedfordale in Western Australia, literally the next suburb to where my brother lives in Perth, Chris and Julie. The other pair, equally as nice, were Brian and Linda; she was a girl, albeit of around our age, from near Huddersfield in West Yorkshire and the bloke was from Falkirk, I think, in Scotland, with a turn of phrase that made Billy Connolly seem like a choirboy! I realise that this is probably another one of my idiosyncrasies, but I always feel that profanities, delivered with a Scottish accent always possess a cultural eloquence unmatched anywhere else in the UK. Keep it up, Brian. Sorry, Linda! They now reside in France. They were terrific drinking buddies and raconteurs of the highest quality. We had a great time. We never ventured out to the other restaurants on the strip but spent every night in the shelter of the cabana. The food was much and varied, prepared by first class chefs and cooks. There was a choice of Asian and European cuisine and every single one of the dishes we tried was extremely tasty.
The next day was always going to be a take it easy sort of a day. Up at leisure, after listening to the morning call for prayer, Malaysia is primarily Islam in its beliefs, and into the same cabana for breakfast. It was a buffet with a cooked course as well. The staff, among the friendliest I have ever encountered, offered to collect my needs from the buffet. No need to ask. That always puts pluses in the credit column, a white-cane mark on its own.
I can’t actually believe we did this next bit, I must check to see if I have any German heritage, but we placed towels on the sun-loungers right outside our little bungalow. We then headed to the lobby, booked a massage for later that day and a personalised escorted excursion for boxing day. Must get cash for the excursion. Have got by on cards alone so far.
Until very recently I have not been a fan of having a massage, it has always seemed like there is something a little seedy about women as young as my own daughters, probably even younger now as they are getting on a bit, rubbing you all over. That was until Jane informed me that we could have couples’ massages. I can never wait for the next one now! They are, on the whole, incredibly relaxing. A good way to while away an hour or so waiting for the bar to open. No, not really. Just kidding!
Who ever thought I would ever lay on a lounger at, or at least near, a beach. The beach is still a step too far for me. Sand manages to get into places where I never realised there were places. Laying in the shade listening to audio books, music and radio is a wonderfully relaxing experience. Every now and again a waiter would call by and place a glass of iced water infused with various fruits on the table between us. Glorious! It was about two in the arvo, as the antipodeans say, when Aussie Chris rocked up and started downing pints. Julie had been booked in for an afternoon’s worth of treatments. He suggested I join him. I am well aware that I am pretty lightweight when it comes to drinking so declined his gracious offer saying I didn’t drink until it was gone five.
Went out in search of a cash machine. My word, it was a different world away from the resort. There were pavements, which in theory were plenty wide enough, but they were blocked by all sorts of clutter. Abandoned motorbikes, impromptu gatherings of locals complete with garden chairs and tables and every description of street furniture. I will never ever complain about the state of British pavements, sidewalks, footpaths or whatever again. Of course, I am telling fibs! I love a good whinge. I found it all a bit too challenging but, as ever, my brilliant guide, Jane, was there to help me negotiate every obstacle known to man. There were ditches running alongside the pavement which, I swear, were so deep it would take minutes to hit the bottom if you fell into them rather than seconds. And, dare I say it, there hadn’t been any rain for a little while and the water, well, had become a little ponky. It was quite an assault on all of my other senses even taste as I was sure I could taste the rotting vegetation in the back of my throat. I used all my other senses: hearing as usual, touch as I felt my way along a handrail before, inexplicably, it disappeared and I lurched forward off balance, smell as I absorbed the odour of the stagnant ditches, but probably not really taste. We returned to the resort and I needed a pint to test the old taste-buds.
Had one delivered to my sunbed and who should appear out of nowhere but Aussie Chris. “I thought you didn’t drink until five?”
The words of the great Alan Jackson came to mind. “Well. It’s five o’clock somewhere. Cheers.”
We started drinking far too early on Christmas Day. After breakfast and the obligatory video calls back to the children and grandchildren in East Anglia, I might even have spoken to my brother and sister as well, we again stationed ourselves on OUR loungers. Towels weren’t necessary this time to reserve our spots. We nattered well into the afternoon with all sorts of people from all walks of life. We, on reflection, probably didn’t natter for long enough and, before long, we were sat at the bar drinking with our new found friends. They had a deadly game they liked to play at the bar. You could spin a pointer and if it pointed to the same colour tile as you had placed your drink on along the bar you won a free one. I think we were all winning too many times. As the saying goes “Free alcohol” are two of the most welcome words in the English language whereas you muddle them up, “Alcohol free,” and they become two of the most shocking!
We remembered we needed to have another go at getting cash. Neither of us fancied another hazardous journey to look for the nearest ATM, which we never found the day before, but, fortunately, Scots Brian saved our bacon by going to his room and bringing back the requisite amount, hundreds of Malaysian Ringgits. Don’t believe what people tell you. I can vouch that the Scots are extremely generous. He did take our passports as security and said he would have to hold one of us hostage until he had been paid back in full. Fair deal! Of course, that didn’t actually happen before hordes of English raid over the border for revenge.
Christmas dinner was included within our package price. We had wondered what sort of shape it might take but, we all agreed, we dined with Linda and Brian, it was a truly first class meal. A great time was had by all along with a little too much wine and beer. Never mind, we’re on holiday.
I awoke the next morning to the call for prayer. I, surprisingly, felt amazingly fresh. Cracked it at long last.
This final day proved to be a day to remember. We were collected by our driver for the day, Fendi. First of all he took us for a drive around the area, not the entire island, pointing out places of interest before we got to the Sky Bridge Walk and cable car. The angle of the cable car ride was quite precipitous. It was much more scary coming down than it was going up. It was also very windy as we went higher and higher. We were swaying about as if we were a small boat on a fairly frisky ocean, crashing into one of the platforms with quite a jolt. It was at this time that the day before had caught up with me a little. The tummy felt a little delicate. The line for the cable car was ridiculously long but, fortunately for us, there was an express queue which allowed us to board without any real delay.
Once upon a time in the distant past Jane and I took our two daughters on the Cog Railway to the summit of Mount Washington in New England. We were wearing short-sleeved shirts and, at the ticket office, were advised to get something warmer from the gift-shop. I can’t remember the exact prices but maybe a good fleecy sweatshirt was about $10 at the base station. I said that this was ridiculous as it was the middle of summer and, surely, it would not be that different at the top. It was my decision and solely mine, no-one else to blame. We alighted the carriage at the top and, firstly, were nearly blown away to the same place as Dorothy’s house in “The Wizard of Oz,” and, secondly, the temperature felt as though Lieutenant Lawrence Oates might go out uttering “I am just going outside and maybe some time.” Immediately, we repaired to the gift-shop at the summit. The same sweatshirts, I swear, were $100 each up here. I was left with no option but to buy them. I was still wearing mine about twenty years later, full of holes, thin around the elbows and faded to a light pink from the original bright red. I refused to let it go until the overall unit cost dropped to below a penny per day.
When we disembarked the cable car it was nowhere near as bad as Mount Washington, which I would thoroughly recommend as one to add to your bucket list, but it was bad enough to remind me. It was definitely a coat or two colder at the top and the wind was ruffling my hair! We had a good walk around but the slightly hazy view made it difficult to see that far for the sighted let alone the nearly unsighted. We decided to give the Sky Bridge a miss as there were huge queues and, after all, we had crossed many a bridge in our time. We purchased the obligatory photograph of us making out we were having a good time and started the journey back to base. The attendants, to give them enormous credit, were keeping an eye out for the express passengers, I think we wore some sort of bright sticker to identify us, and would usher us through ahead of the hoipolloi. On the way down we managed to crash into a few more platforms but, in the end, we made it unscathed. It was a relief to walk out into nice warmth again. It is incredible how cold 20° in cloudy weather feels compared to 32 in the sun.
We then took a pretty long drive to, arguably, the best experience of the trip so far, certainly if you take out battlegrounds and military museums. It was a trip around the mangroves in a jet-propelled boat. Incredibly, it lasted for the best part of four hours but felt as though it passed in the blink of an eye. We were right near the border with Thailand as the phone went into message ecstasy informing us one minute we were in Thailand and the next, Malaysia.
We boarded from a pontoon quay onto quite a sleek looking boat. In a way it was like the Norfolk Broads, which we visited for the first time back in July last year, except about 20° warmer. We nudged our way slowly out of the moorings and the minute we were clear the pilot opened the throttle and we flew. I have no idea how fast we were travelling at but it most certainly was not the five knots, or whatever it is, on the Broads. The mangroves were passing in a blur. When a craft passed us in the other direction we always had its wake to contend with and it was like crashing into potholes on the A47 between Swaffham and Norwich. The spine took an enormous pounding. After the massage I felt as though my back had been stretched out so that I was now at my full height of six-two again. By the time I was finished with this trip, my vertebrae colliding with one another like asteroids ploughing into planets, I think I was a tiny five-ten!
The first place we visited on this pretty amazing journey through this timeless waterscape were the swirling and diving Sea Eagles. I could, at a lucky moment, when my sight lined up with a swooping bird, just about make them out. There was no way I could tell if they were an eagle or a sparrow. They were totally lacking in colour and markings to me whilst the size was not identifiable at all. Nonetheless, I got a terrific feel for it and the sound was, in a way, just as illuminating as seeing them. Of course, they hadn’t just decided to do a display just for us, they had to be bribed, and there was the all pervading aroma of dead fish being tossed into the sea to attract them.
This really was one of the best experiences I have ever had and would thoroughly recommend it to anyone. With the throttle opened up again we blasted our way, bow pointing skywards, to the monkey island. They hide themselves up a little when boats approach but, once again, bribery plays a part. Bread was tossed onto the shore. One brave little fellow made his way down to the food and, being most vocal in his appreciation, others of the troop soon arrived. There was lots of noise as they raced around trying to grab the easily obtained grub. Some were successful, some failed and one or two were very dominant and, I am sure, scoffed down a gorilla’s share let alone a tiny little macaque’s. Like humans they came in all shapes and sizes, apparently, some had much larger waists and looked like they bullied their way to the front when it came to getting fed. One little chap, in a bid to show us his appreciation I am sure, stood tall, well as tall as he could anyway, and pissed in our direction. Thank you.
We saw eagles where the eagles fly, monkeys on monkey island. Next stop was Crocodile Cave. These are probably Jane’s least favourite creature, the stuff of nightmares. I could tell she was a little apprehensive and I didn’t help the situation when I said I had seen a programme, many moons ago now, showing crocs jumping clear out of the water. I asserted that one could easily land on the boat but, not to worry, I was sure our guides would not put us at risk. As we entered the cave Fendi, our escort, let the darkness build before announcing that the reason for the cave’s name was nothing to do with crocodiles but the amazing geological feature that had made the walls of the cave resemble crocodile skin. There are no crocodiles in Malaysia. Jane, having held her breath for ten minutes or more, I am sure, exhaled with relief.
The next stop sounded like we were visiting Gotham City. It was the Bat Cave. I expected to enter some sort of a world and find Adam West and Burt Ward sitting in front of a fire drinking hot cocoa or some such. Fendi recommended that I did not take part in the tour inside the cave as it was treacherous underfoot with very narrow paths and low ceilings. I waited, bobbing about in the boat, as Jane jumped onto the small quay and headed into the darkness. I confess that I was disappointed but Jane confirmed, when she returned, that it would have been most precarious and that it was a bit of a job looking after herself let alone trying to guide a stumbling blind man through. It’s alright, my wife is allowed to speak to me like that. In fact, I do allow many people to speak to me like that, it doesn’t bother me. You will be in serious trouble, though, if you work for a government agency, then, I am afraid, you have lost the right to address me as you see fit. You sacrificed that right when you became an officious Government employee and thought you did not have to comply with the Equality Act 2010. Funny how you are allowed to abuse me but I am not allowed to abuse you! If you are disabled I am sure you have often pondered why the government brings in a law and then never takes the time to brief its own employees about it. What chance do the rest of us stand? Jane thought that it was okay but probably not worth repeating. Holy nausea! It was only when we were waiting-off for Jane’s return, bobbing around like an abandoned swimming float in a diving pool, that I became aware the slightly unbalanced feeling in my stomach had disappeared. Holy relief!
On leaving the mouth of the river and gaining the open Andaman Sea we stopped. We were handed life-jackets. WTF? We had been thumping into wake-waves all afternoon so, why now, did we suddenly need to wear buoyancy aids. I could feel a fear start to manifest itself inside my gut, taking the place of the sickly feel. How bloody bad was this going to be? In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. It was no worse than navigating the mangrove lined waterway. Sure, we were skimming over waves at what felt like two hundred miles per hour with spume wetting our faces and, every now and again, we would catch a wave so wrong that we received a minor soaking. None of this mattered as we were having the time of our lives. We darted between the most incredibly wind and wave formed rocky sea-stacks, Mendelssohn’s “Fingal’s Cave” playing in my head, as we made our way to feed the fish just off Dingli Island. On arrival, engine killed, we drifted close to shore where landlubbers were tossing bread into the water. We had bread ourselves but really didn’t need it as the fish were biting bigtime. I could hear people saying how exquisite they looked,. Jane confirmed this, the literal definition of the term “Kaleidoscope of Colours.” To me, they all looked the same, a grey load of blobs, albeit sometimes glistening in the right light , floating just below the surface. Every now and again one would break the surface and consume a piece of bread with a delicate splash.
We stopped off at a fish farm on the way back where Jane could get up close and personal with, among other things, a stingray. This was after the crew of the boat, the skipper, had entrusted Jane to drive the thing. We went at a pedestrian pace, maybe even slower, but she was having a terrific time. People said she had the happiest of looks on her face as she was piloting the craft. I think it is the same sort of people who observe a baby is smiling when it actually has wind. By the way, I am not suggesting for one minute, that she had wind. Just being a tad cautious, that’s all. There is a restaurant next to the fish farm. Alcohol and killer fish is not a good mix. One day a slightly inebriated diner left the comfort of the restaurant to play with the fish. Yeah, I know, you have to ask why? Suffice to say, he was never to leave another restaurant or play with killer fish again. It’s a bit of a rum-do when you go out to eat fish and it ends up that fish eat you!
This day will go down as one of the best of the year. It was like the Norfolk Broads but with rocket boosters. Never forget it. Both of these tours and many more besides can be booked through the hotel.
That was almost the end for us in Langkawi. Onto Kuala Lumpur tomorrow. I will miss it and I think we both wished we had booked in for longer here. Room: great; bar: great; restaurant: great; view: great: staff: brilliant. I could easily get around the resort on my own and now I have started awarding white mobility cane-marks like tour companies hand out stars this would probably be a 4-white-cane, maybe 5-white-cane, stay. Well done to all.
We have now booked a return trip for early next year, 2025.
Find out more:
Resort: https://www.casadelmar-langkawi.com
Sky Bridge and Cable Car: https://www.panaramalangkawi.com
Mangrove Tour and Other: https://www.welovelangkawi.com
White Cane Ratings
Casa del Mar Hotel: 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 4
Mangrove Tour: 🦯 🦯 🦯 3
Sky Bridge and Cable Car: 🦯 🦯 2
Kuala Lumpur Airport: 🦯 🦯 🦯 🦯 4
Langkawi Airport: 🦯 🦯 🦯 3