As soon as we are out in the open sea, I see an official on deck with the box of passports.
There is immediately a crowd around him and again, we have to wait for our names to be called out. I keep thinking that if they’ve somehow missed putting my passport onboard – and with all the passengers and confusion and waiting around it’s a distinct and very real possibility – then I’m screwed for getting into or out of Malaysia.
But after just a short time my name is called and I step forward. The official looks first at me and then my passport picture. My passport is five years old and I’m suddenly embarrassed because I know it’s not a good likeness of me.
I’d had the photo done in a hurry in one of those photobooths in the supermarket while out shopping. It had been cold and raining and blustery that day, but Charles had said he was taking me to Tenerife for our twentieth anniversary (a trip that didn’t actually happen for reasons I won’t bore you with) and I’d been so busy thinking about how I was soon to be basking in warmer climes, that I’d been blissfully unaware of how I’d live to regret looking rain-splattered and wind-blown in my passport for the next ten years.
The official takes his time looking me over. ‘You not look like this anymore…’ he points out. He hands back my passport. Feeling embarrassed, I gratefully scuttle back to my seat to realise that I’m now starting to feel queasy. The boat is lurching and pitching in the water.
It’s clear to me that others are starting to feel queasy too.
I see a few people with their eyes closed, looking decidedly green. Except for Ethan. He’s pulled down his hat again and appears to be sleeping. I check my watch and wonder if the staff will be issuing sick bags any time soon. I then overhear some people in the seats behind me talking about a one-hour time zone change. Apparently, the island of Langkawi is one hour ahead in time which, to my great relief, means that by my new calculations we’ll all be on this ferry boat for an hour less than I’d previously thought.
But I’m still looking around in acute distress. The woman sitting across from me smiles, catching my eye, and I attempt to smile back. She asks me something, but I think she is Russian, and of course I don’t understand. She takes something out of her bag – it’s a packet of seasickness tablets – and offers me one. Gratefully, I take one and wash it down with my no-longer-cold bottled water. Another half an hour later and I’m starting to feel better.
What a miracle! What an amazing invention – who knew seasick tablets actually worked?
When we arrive at the ferry port on Langkawi, Ethan wakes up and we disembark. He and I are some of the first in line to get through customs. It doesn’t take long. I made sure to check my passport to see that I have been given a full ninety-day entry stamp into Malaysia.
Then Ethan and I look at each other and we both know this is the final goodbye.
I try not to cry. Suddenly Lorna and Jodie and David and George appear and there are hugs and kisses and thanks and goodbyes expressed with great gusto and lots of laughter and we all promise to keep in touch with each other. Everyone adds me to their Facebook.
They ask me if I have Instagram and Twitter but I say that I don’t have either of those.
I immediately feel like an old dinosaur but when I find out Ethan doesn’t have any social media at all – not even Facebook – I feel slightly better but then worry how I might keep in touch with him in the future. To my relief he pulls out his phone and asks me for my number.
I tell him it and he types it into his phone and calls me so I now have his number too.
‘Call me when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting,’ he says to me, but his tone of voice is low and flat as if he doesn’t ever believe I will call.
I’m clutching my phone to my chest protectively, while he kisses my cheek one last time and then suddenly everyone has gone – including Ethan – and I’m alone with hundreds of strangers. I start to search the heaving masses for him, desperate for one last glimpse of his broad back and his muscular frame and his brightly coloured crazy shirt, but he has disappeared without a trace. I’m now feeling bereft and asking myself if I’ve made a terrible and stupid mistake.
Malaysia is just as hot and humid as Thailand. I have nowhere to stay, so I find a café in the shopping mall outside the terminal and buy a cup of coffee, so I can connect to the internet for free. From what I can see on my hotel booking app, most of the hotels and restaurants are in the lively Cenang Beach area of Langkawi. I resist the temptation to stay at a fancy five star with a huge swimming pool, even though my spine is screaming for a big soft bed after spending every night for the past couple of weeks in a hammock suspended from the ceiling.
But I really do need to start watching my spending. With no income, if I want the money in my bank account to last me for any considerable length of time, I must start to cut back on unnecessary luxuries. So I book a budget hotel for a couple of nights and grab an Uber to take me there. On the way, I gaze out of the window at the sights of Langkawi and I distract myself from thinking about Ethan by keeping my eyes peeled for somewhere interesting to eat.
I haven’t exactly been starved on Koh Phi Tao but perhaps surprisingly, fish was in short supply there and seafood is a firm favourite of mine, so as we drive along past restaurants specialising in fish and lobster and shrimp and every other type of seafood, I ask my driver for a recommendation. ‘Madam, I will show you the best seafood restaurant in Langkawi!’ he tells me with great enthusiasm. ‘Tell them Sami sent you. Yes! Please! Thank you!’
Between the ferry point and the Cenang Beach, Sami also points out many places of interest and where to get the very best of everything cheaply because he tells me Langkawi is a duty-free island. And he yells yes, please, thank you! after everything he says, which covers all bases in polite English.
The seafood restaurant he recommends is on the main street behind the beach.
It doesn’t look like much. I think I might have just walked passed it if it hadn’t come recommended. There are tables inside and outside – plastic chairs and plastic tablecloths – but I can see it’s busy and the seafood being displayed is alive and in a huge glass tank right next to the pavement and in full view of passers-by.
I practically squash my nose on the taxi window just trying to see what’s swimming around in it. When we reach my hotel, the fare is such a pittance, that I tip Sami generously and he gives me his business card in delight.
‘Call me directly next time, madam. Yes! Please! Thank you!’
I check into my hotel. It’s a clean and modern two-story building.
My room’s fine – in a basic travel lodge kind of way; clean and comfortable with a small bathroom and the usual flat screen TV opposite the bed. As soon as I throw down my backpack, I plug in my phone and charger and excitedly call each of my boys as promised. Disappointingly, Lucas doesn’t pick up but Josh answers straightaway.
‘Mum! I’ve been worried sick about you!’ he tells me anxiously.
‘But I told you not to worry and I was going off grid for a while.’
The fact that this sounds like parent-son role reversal isn’t lost on me.
‘Anyway, I’m fine. How are you, darling? And how is Lucas?’
‘We just need to know you’re safe, Mum. I mean, one minute you’re in Thailand. Then you message us to say you’ll speak to us next from Malaysia, for heaven’s sake!’
‘Yes. That’s right. I’m in Malaysia now. I’m on the island of Langkawi. It’s lovely here.’
‘I’ve no doubt it is!’ Josh exclaims. ‘But when are you coming home, Mum?’
There is a silence while I think about how to tell him I’m not coming back yet.
‘Mum … are you still there?’
‘Yes. I’m here, Josh. But I’m not exactly sure when I’ll be back. I want to travel for a while longer. Do you understand, darling?’
‘But Mum, you’re all on your own at the other side of the world. It might be dangerous!’
‘Darling, I’m a
grown woman. I can look after myself. It’s not like I’m being reckless.’
‘Dad said he wants to see you too. I spoke to him yesterday.’
‘Oh, does he? Well, I don’t want to see or speak to him.’
‘He says there are things that you two have to sort out.’
‘Like the terms of the divorce?’ I say, sourly.
‘Yeah. He said he wants to keep the house. He wants to buy you out of your fifty per cent.’
‘For cash?’ I say, suddenly a lot brighter. ‘Tell him I accept. I want fifty per cent of the current market value. If he agrees, I’ll sign the house over to him and give him his divorce.’
‘Don’t sound so cheerful about it, Mum! I thought you’d be gutted?’
‘No. I was gutted a month ago. Now I’m over it. I’ll admit, it has taken a lot less time than I expected to get over twenty-five years of marriage,’ I say, with a little sigh of acceptance.
‘Mum, are you sure you’re okay. Are you … drunk?’
I laugh. ‘No! I’m certainly not drunk. I’m perfectly sober and absolutely fine.’
‘Mum, Lucas and I have been talking. We think all this business about Dad and his affair and the divorce might have given you some kind of breakdown, so if you’re not coming home, we’re going to have to come out to see you. I’m looking at flights online right now.’
‘Oh, Josh. Really? You’d come out here? Both of you? That would be fantastic!’ I squeal.
I know they want reassurance that I haven’t completely lost my mind, but once they get here they’ll clearly see I haven’t. I need to see them so much. ‘When will you come?’
‘We can fly directly from London to Kuala Lumpur and arrive on Saturday morning.’
‘This weekend coming, you mean?’ I clarify, sounding as though I’m checking my diary.
‘Yes. We can only stay two nights. We’ll get Monday off work. I’ll say it’s a family emergency. I can’t get any longer off work this close to Christmas. I’m sure Lucas is the same.’
It’s only then that I realise it’s already December.
Just one week to Christmas. When it’s so hot and sunny it’s hard to contemplate it.
‘Would you mind bringing me over a few things?’ I ask him tentatively. ‘I don’t need much but I’d love to have my little laptop with me and my camera and just a few bits and bobs.’
‘Okay. But I’m only bringing one bag. Message me with what you need.’
So we agree to meet up in Kuala Lumpur. The boys say they’ll send me their flight times and I agree to meet them at arrivals on Saturday. I’m so excited. Seeing my boys again is just the tonic I need right now. All my anxiety over Ethan and whether I’d done the right thing by not going with him has been brushed from my mind because my boys are coming all this way to see me. Josh is right, we do need to talk. It has to be hard on them, knowing their parents have separated. And I can understand how worried they are about me. If it had been either one of them who’d experienced such a terrible shock and then taken off around the world, then I’d be worried sick too.
At least this way, I can reassure them both face to face.
And, if Charles wants to buy me out of my share of our home, that’s a perfect solution for me. With my bank account topped up with such a lot of money, I will be able to keep travelling for far longer than I originally thought possible. In fact, I might never have to go back ever again. I imagine myself as an old woman living in a little hut on a tropical beach.
Smiling happily to myself, I pick up my phone and log into a local air travel website and I book myself a one-way flight for Friday afternoon from here to Kuala Lumpur. I then book us into one of the finest hotels in the city, right opposite the fabulous and famous twin Petronas Towers. A Christmas present to myself and to my boys. I’m so very excited!
Chapter 13
Langkawi, Malaysia
Feeling far more upbeat than when I first arrived here on Langkawi, I go out exploring and shopping. With Langkawi being a duty-free island, and with a decent exchange rate for the local ringgit plus the low cost of living, it makes for a very happy and guilt-free shopping location. I buy myself a good moisturising face cream (I’m a little worried about the sun aging my face even though I feel ten years younger with a tan), a bottle of perfume (my favourite Chanel Mademoiselle), several new light cotton dresses, lots more tops, a couple of (flattering) bikinis and a nice bottle of wine to drink in my room later while watching my big flat screen TV. Low cost luxury after basic island living.
But I really have to eat. I want seafood and lots of it.
So I go along to the recommended street restaurant to discover I’m lucky to even get a seat. The place is packed out and obviously very popular with locals as well as tourists. I am seated only because right at the same moment I arrive, someone else just happens to be leaving. I am given a small plastic bowl – exactly the kind I used to use at home for washing up dishes – and in it I’m asked to put my chosen seafood.
I choose a small lobster. To my horror, it’s black and shiny and moving about. Its claws have elastic bands around them to stop him nipping at me. It looks at me with its beady little eyes and I admit that I start to feel horribly guilty for wanting to eat him.
‘How you want it cooked, madam?’ I’m asked by the chef standing by the barbeque grill.
I look unsure. I’m not used to seeing my meal at this early stage.
Normally, I would expect to choose a lobster from a menu and only actually see it once he was dressed and ready to eat. ‘Ermmmm…’
‘With garlic and butter is the most popular choice, madam?’
‘Yes! Please! Thank you!’ I say quickly, adding a huge tiger prawn and a big scoop of mussels and clams to my bowl.
When it all come to me on a smoking hot platter, and dripping with butter and garlic from the barbecue grill a short time later, it looks so amazing and fantastic, that I take a photo of it before I got stuck in. I always wondered why people did that but now I know. It’s food porn.
Groaning from the amount I’ve eaten, but vowing to do it again before I left Langkawi, I call for my tab while I finish my glass of local beer. I see the poor waitress is rushed off her feet. When she brings me my bill, I can hardly believe how little such an extravagant meal had cost. I gush praise about the deliciousness of the food and get chatting to my waitress. ‘How long you here on Langkawi, madam?’ she asks me.
‘Oh, just a couple of days,’ I reply.
‘If you would like a tour of the island tomorrow, I can take you to all the best places.’
I am just about to decline when she gets her phone out and starts to show me photos of her car. ‘Look, I have a very nice car. It has air-conditioning. I can take you to the cable car and the sky bridge and the waterfalls. All very beautiful. You can hire me and my car for the whole day. Very good price.’
‘That is a very nice car,’ I agree, feeling a little under pressure.
She flicks through her photo gallery and shows me photos of her whole family.
‘Look, this is my daughter,’ she continues, pushing the phone screen under my nose.
She smiles at me with such dark and pleading eyes, that as a mother myself, I can see, despite the very nice car, that she is desperate to earn some money and that waiting tables isn’t covering all she needed. ‘Okay. Yes. I would like to take the tour,’ I tell her.
‘Very good. My name is Zara. I’ll pick you up at your hotel at 8.30 a.m. promptly.’
I tell her my name and where I am staying and I pay my bill.
Then, as I head back to my hotel – just a five-minute walk – I realise I hadn’t asked her for the price of the tour. Oh, I’m such a mug, I think to myself. I go back to my room, undress, showered and open my bottle of wine.
I plug in my phone to charge up and flick to my contacts to look at Ethan’s number.
I stare at it and then repeat it to myself. I really don’t know why.
My mind flashes back to the fir
st time I saw him, when he introduced himself to me on the beach. To his concern when he was attending to my cut foot. His cheeky grin and sexy wink as he handed me a cold beer for ‘pain relief’ and how handsome his silhouette looked against the night sky as we’d sat together on the beach guarding the turtle nests.
I switch on the TV to find one of my favourite movies just starting and so I settle down to watch it. With a full tummy, a glass of wine and a movie, I know this is going to be an okay evening. I will get over Ethan. It just might take a little time, that’s all.
The next morning, at eight-thirty on the dot, I’m at reception when Zara arrives.
She gives me a huge smile and escorts me out to her car. It is indeed the same one she had shown me in the photos and it’s spotlessly clean and polished inside and out. Once we’re inside, seatbelts on, she presents me with a bottle of water and a packet of shrimp flavour crisps. ‘Drink and snacks for you, madam.’
I insist she calls me Lori and then we’re off into the morning traffic.
She drives carefully and confidently, so I do feel I’m in safe hands.
Zara tells me she’s taking me first to the very popular cable car and to the very famous sky bridge and that we have to be there early to beat the queues and she’ll wait while I go up the mountain and have a lovely time.
‘But don’t worry. I will have you first in the line, Miss Lori.’
‘Don’t you want to come too?’ I ask her in surprise, as she’s supposed to be my guide.
‘No, no, Miss Lori. You go and I will wait here for you. Take your time.’
When we get there, I wander off to the ticket office and take the cable car to the top of the mountain, where the views are literally breath-taking. It is possible to look out from this great vantage point and see all the green islets and rocky islands around Langkawi’s coast and the breeze is refreshingly cool and a relief from the humidity at lower levels.
From the top of the viewing station on one mountain peak, I walk across the curved skybridge, an incredible feat of engineering, to another mountain peak and the views from there too are spectacular. It’s also incredible to look down from the bridge into the dense jungle below. Being a little afraid of heights, I cling to the handrail. It’s too high to see anything below in any detail, except the tops of the trees. But as this is one of the oldest jungles in the world, I can easily imagine it’s populated with the most diverse wildlife and of course, plenty of snakes.
The Backpacking Housewife Page 17
