Malaysia — The Journey

Not the first time. That is more or less the point.

Fourth long journey. At some point I stopped explaining it to myself. Life has too much to offer — that is probably the whole reason.

One thing is different this time. I am carrying a real camera. Semi-professional, nothing spectacular, but a lot more than a phone.

I am not travelling and taking pictures on the side any more. I stop where I used to keep walking. It changes the whole day.

It starts in Malaysia. It usually does.

Kuala Lumpur

A dense cluster of high-rise towers stands beyond a wide canopy of palms and jungle under broken cloud.

I fly into Kuala Lumpur. From there I move on, then come back, then leave again. Three times on this trip. On a map it is a hub. Over the years it has become something else as well — a place I know my way around.

That goes back to 2014. I have met friends here every time since. A few of those have held across years and across separate journeys. You stop arriving as a complete stranger, and you know some of it will still be there when you come back.

The upper section and spire of a skyscraper at night, seen from directly below, its stepped tiers lit against a black sky. — Kuala Lumpur · 2024

Kuala Lumpur is loud. Huge, very urban, a lot of concrete. Sometimes dusty, sometimes completely wet. And the city smells. Food, rain on hot asphalt, exhaust. Usually all of it at once.

It is dense. Something is always happening somewhere.

I find that impressive. Not pretty. Impressive.

A busy street of shophouses and signage, traffic below and office towers standing behind.

What gets me every time is how visible the different communities are. Malay, Chinese and Indian influences are the ones I notice most, and not as a statistic: in the food, in the streets, in the neighbourhoods, in people. A mosque, a Chinese temple, a Hindu temple, a church, none of it far apart.

Malaysia is more than those three. But those are the ones I see. And it all works side by side, which I have never quite got used to.

The carved tower of a Hindu temple, crowded with painted figures, lit against a black sky.

A tall statue of a standing deity holding a spear, in black and white, above a flight of steps.

The food comes out of that. The mixture produces a range I don’t know from anywhere else. For me the cooking is one of the real strengths of this country.

A narrow shop stacked to the ceiling with goods, seen from the street under a row of red paper lanterns.

A communications tower with a round observation deck stands against an orange dusk sky, crossed by overhead cables.

And then Kuala Lumpur is mostly movement. Airport. City. Friends. Food. Heat. Concrete. Rain. On.

A painted girl holding a sunflower covers the gable end of a shophouse, beside a tall optician’s sign in Chinese and English and a Malaysian flag.

George Town

George Town on Penang belongs to this. If somebody asks me where the best food in Malaysia is, I say George Town. Without thinking about it.

Eating there isn’t something you tick off. It is how you understand the city. The cultures sit close together and you can taste it.

Sounds simple. It is simple.

The roof of a Chinese temple seen from below, crowded with painted dragons, above a carved stone pillar and a red lantern. — George Town, Penang · 2024

Pulau Kapas

Dark leaves and palm fronds frame a narrow view of pale sand and blue sea.

A balustraded stone stair drops to rocks and a shallow bay, with a moored boat, a small beach and low islands beyond. — Pulau Kapas · 2024

Kapas was an accident.

In 2016 I flew to Malaysia with a friend. The plan was fixed: two weeks on the Perhentians. Kuala Lumpur to Terengganu, and then we had to stay a night there.

You can see Kapas from the coast. It just sits there. I suggested we go over and have a look at what it was.

We went over, found LongSha Campsite, and stayed for the rest of the two weeks. We never made it to the Perhentians.

Call it love at first sight.

A curved sandy bay runs out to a forested headland under a line of small cumulus.

It has been my favourite island since. When I am in Malaysia I try to get back. This time that was most of my weeks in the country. Not a hard decision.

What makes it is mostly what it doesn’t have. Almost no infrastructure. Nothing built that takes over. Beach, sea, vegetation, a few places to stay, people. Not much more.

There are a few more buildings now than the first time. The feeling has stayed.

Quiet.Beautiful.Clean.Small.Uncomplicated.

Looking up through dark leaves at a cloud lit gold by low sun.

A day there goes roughly like this.

You wake up in the tent and hear the sea. Coffee. Swim. Hammock. Then you walk off and look at the island, and there are bays with nobody on them.

For food you go across to Marang. Market, supermarket, cheap. Then you cook something simple.

In the evening it is the fire, or the hammocks, or the kitchen area. At weekends people come over from Terengganu. They invite you to eat with them. Nobody asked them to.

Looking out from the shade of a shelter past hanging floats and palm fronds to bright sand, turquoise water and distant hills.

There are beach cleanups. There is a turtle sanctuary. You help around the camp, because it needs doing and you are there anyway.

And it rains. Properly. When a storm comes in, a relaxed group of campers turns very quickly into an efficient trench-digging operation, so the tents don’t flood.

That is basically it. And that is exactly why I keep going back.

A bank of cumulus catches the last light over a dark sea, with mountains low on the far shore under heavy cloud.

Kapas slows everything down. You arrive, and pretty soon you stop dividing the day up.

The reef looked good. Intact. The sea and the reef are a large part of why this island counts for me and not some other one.

And the people on Kapas are great. I don’t really need to say more than that.

Palm fronds and two hanging lamps against a deep blue sky after sunset, with lights along a distant shore.

I have known this country since 2014, but with the camera I see things I have walked past a hundred times.

In the city it is concrete, density, people, weather. On Kapas it is the opposite. Space, water, light, a slower pace.

No plan, no concept. Just looking more carefully. That is the whole change.

Purple and pale pink chrysanthemums packed tightly together, seen close.

Malaysia isn’t a country I visited once. It is a starting point.

Islands, cities, highlands with tea, jungle, different religions, different communities — and from here the rest of Southeast Asia is right there.

That is why the journey begins here. And why it carries on from here.

An empty curve of sand under soft cloud, with jungle and one leaning palm on the right and a flight of steps rising into the trees.