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IB'S PARADISE

Ib Hussein Gallery, Langkawi - Visited Ibrahim Hussein's Museum and Cultural Foundation at Pantai Pasir Tengkorak today. The road wound up the hill and revealed a stark, white building sitting atop.

Inside, the gallery was white and spacious, built over two floors. Immediately, I could see Ib Hussein's signature style lines. Lines that ran long and thin, lines that were mere squiggles, lines that were well-controlled and balanced, lines that showed preciseness and perfection. If you can read an artist through his paintings, then, here was a man who was disciplined in his art and cared deeply for his craft. He painted political issues (9-11, the handover of Hong Kong) on large canvases. He painted his peace message (One day man will rule with tenderness). He painted erotic bodies in dance, in embrace, his steady hand drawing lines over them like a topography map of the world.

He painted Aung San Su Kyi, he painted the Bandit Queen, he painted his wife, Sim, in a Warhol-style. Then, there were these whimsical pieces also, what journalist Ooi Kok Chuen called 'baubles of riotous colours' - Ib's paintings on a canvas of rock or a piece of driftwood. He turned the work of God into a work of art.

Scattered all around the upper floor of the gallery were these tree branches, giant pea pods and gnarled tree trunks that he collected around his property, dressed in Ib's colours.

The door to the toilet had a poster promoting Ib's paintings inspired by the literature of a female poet who wrote, Give me the paradise of the end of spring/ and I'll wrap for you an endless summer. Perhaps Ib Hussein has found his paradise in this little cove by Pantai Pasir Tengkorak, and this is the endless summer he promised in return.

Winding down Jalan Datai

Jalan Datai 4 July, 2004 - Pantai Pasir Tengkorak is a stretch of beach just next to the Ibrahim Hussen gallery. It is flanked by two headlands on either side. The sand is powder soft and the waves roll lazily in. Shady trees with peeling red bark cast shadows on the sand and rolling surf.

We stopped for a quick bite there at a small stall operated by a makcik and her daughter where we a shared bowl of home-made laksa Kedah - soft and fat, rice wheat noodles in light fish broth, topped with a generous garnish of boiled egg, onion rings and thin slivers of pucuk daun gajus which was the bonus in the meal. We slurped the soup dry and left for our next stop, The Andaman.

The Andaman is beautiful. So is The Datai. The first thing that struck me here was the silence. It was peaceful, then calming, then deafening, then overwhelming in turns. I was too distracted by it I did not take many photographs. Even if I did, I would not have been able to capture the silence, the most beautiful thing about the place.

Along the winding and lonely road back to Pantai Kok, a lone monkey was sitting in the middle of the road. He was black as night with white circles around his eyes and mouth. He looked just as surprised to see me as I, him. I learned later that he was the dusky-leaf monkey (spectacled langur). By the time I reached for my camera, he was already bounding off for the jungle, his bum bobbing up and down in a cute way. He gave one last glance to me before disappearing into the jungle.
Pantai Cenang by night

Pantai Cenang 4 July 2004 - I only got to see Pantai Cenang by night. It was too dark too see anything as we drove along the road with the sharp bends. At one point, we passed Bon Ton and quickly made a u-turn to check the place out. It looked beautiful even at night. I can only imagine how much I would love it by sunset. I promised myself I would make another visit, another time. We headed down the road again and stopped for seafood at the first charming restaurant we saw - Rasa. We had the seafood platter - a plate of grilled prawns and crab for RM10 and grilled snapper cooked with galangal, shallots, coconut cream and local spices.

The snapper was to die for. It was soft and tender and deliciously cooked. The marinade seeped into the flesh really well and tasted good on its own, although the dipping sauce of sambal belacan and tamarind sauce were a bonus.

On the way back, some of us wanted to nurse their appetites again in anticipation for pulling an all-nighter watching the Euro finals. So we made a stop at Kampung Teriang for their specialty - Kway Teow Sup Perut. It was really good and the soup was given an extra kick with the addition of finely-pounded ground-nuts for that lemak taste.
RETURN TO LANGKAWI

It has been more than 20 years since I last set foot in Langkawi, Kedah. Those days, the island was little known except to the locals in the north. It was a mere glint in Mahathir's eyes. Tourists had not heard of the legendary Mahsuri. And the wildlife still roamed free on land and hill.

I remember visiting Pantai Pasir Hitam where the sand was dark and wet and hundreds of starfish washed up ashore. It was an outdoor science class for me as I learned about the tin and mineral ore deposits that coloured the sands black, and about the fascinating sea creature with many legs.

Walking along the surf on that lonely stretch of beach, I felt like the whole island, and the waters of the Straits of Malacca, was mine.

Years passed and perhaps Mahsuri's curse on the islands lifted. From Kuala Lumpur, I learned that big things were in store for the island. It helped that the Prime Minister of Malaysia at the time, Dr. Mahathir Mohamad (Tun now) was a Kedahan. Under his premiership, Langkawi grew - a little too big, a little too fast, I thought.

There were plans for hotels and resorts on almost every beach. Parking bays for yachts were built. A giant eagle was constructed. Langkawi was made into a duty-free island selling chocolates, liquor and cigarettes cheaply. They turned the sea into a marine park. They re-created the legends of Langkawi at the Taman Lagenda. They promoted reading at the now defunct Book Village.

They made cable car rides up to Gunung Mat Cincang, and created a man-made waterfall at Jalan Datai.With every development they made on the island, I cringed inside. Because I knew that the island was being exploited for profits. It was becoming too commercialized and tacky, the way they were going about things.

So, as the island called on tourists from all corners of the world, I did not answer. For many years, I did not answer. Afraid of seeing the island shamed by the rape of its progress.

Last week, duty on the island called, and I finally answered. It was as I had feared. The island had lost the innocent charm I remembered. The billboards, the prices, the buildings, the architecture they were all built for the tourist.

But as I went about on the island in a beat-up rented car, taking roads less traveled by, I was heartened to see the part of Langkawi that was not staged, the part that had no touristy theatrics.

Eating delicious laksa Kedah and giant slices of watermelon by the beach. Waiting for the makcik to fry some cempedak and keledek to go with my ice tea. Buying local fruits from the roadside vendor. Passing verdant forest on left and right of me. Watching a local family picnic by the beach.

Stopping for cucur udang and teh tarik at a local food stall. Driving down lonely roads that would take me to a quiet beach. No Bas Persiaran jostling with me for the last parking spot. Roads where, for the whole stretch that circled Gunung Mat Cincang, I was the only driver in sight.

The part of Langkawi that did not care about tourists, that let me feel, once again, as though the whole island, the jungles and peaks rising up on the west, was mine alone. It took a little searching, but I think I may have found it there.

Langkawi 4/7/2004