Dear All,

Wow!! Once again I sit down to write and I haven't got a clue where to begin...apologies if my last blog entry was slightly odd - a full day's traveling and a slightly surreal setting rather affected it!

As I was writing it, a German man came and tapped me on the shoulder. He'd been on Tioman with Nicole and I, and was chatting to us about bus times to Kuala Besut, from where we would get the boat to the Perhentians. It occurs to me now that I'm not even totally sure that I made mention of our final destination in my last blog. This was slightly odd, but with their being only one main route up the East Coast of Peninsular Malaysia, it is only to be expected. If only it could be a six foot four Sweedish boy, and not a squat, decidedly middle aged balding German. Sure enough, he shows up on Long Beach, Perhentian Kecil - wearing a pair of overly tight speedos and... a bum bag. Mum, I thought bum bags were a crime before now, but I'm probably scared as a result of this.

Worse was still to come. He was diving with Quiver, the same people as us. I noticed from the board that his name was 'Olaf'... I practically snorted with laughter when a line from Blackadder goes Forth hit me, regarding "Olaf the Hairy, High Chief of All the Vikings". Olaf was indeed Olaf the Hairy, although Viking blood appeared to be somewhat missing. Accosting us at every opportunity, he took it upon himself to start issuing loud, firm instructions to me about dive procedures, the assembly, disassembly and cleaning of my BCD, etc. With all of two more logged dives than me, I didn't take to kindly to this, particularly when he merely told me things I had all ready done, inbetween kicking me in the face with his fins, unable to control his buoyoncy.

I'm living in waking fear that he's about to tap me on the shoulder right now folks, here in Kota Bharu, about 15km from the Thai border, where I'm sitting in a very charming Chinese run guesthouse after a thoroughly enjoyable day.

Having not even attempted to give this entry some form of chronological shape, I should probably give you the rough outline of the last few days, since my half crazed warblings in Terrenganu that followed an abortive dinner mission at about half past nine at night. Everything just seemed to taste of Malaysia, in the same way that the sewers all smell the same.

Bright and early the next morning, having met an eighty year old British woman called Hannah sharing a dorm with us (she had been there three months... these beds cost us about 1.20GBP for the night...), and having been woken by travellers mildly shocked to disxcover the hostel was padlocked from the inside, we set off to Kuala Besut, a mere 120km jaunt up the coast. Then the 0830 bus broke down and was cancelled, we got harrassed by a long distance taxi driver (whom we only fended off by using our Lonely Planet guides as something of a 'scam swat'), and we met an Italian with orthodentics. When we eventually did embark on the final leg of our marathon journey up Malaysia (I'm so glad Malaysia isn't actually a big country), our lovely non air con local bus stopped whenever anybody rang the bell between Terrenganu and Besut. 120km, folks, in three hours. We both had pretty numb bums by the time we reached the 'speet boat' terminal.

No chance of that past then, as the 30/40 minute crossing from the hugely attractive seaside fishing village of Kuala Besut (somewhat spoilt by offensive quantities of tourist tie dye tat) sent us flying into the air as the boat crashed down in the trough of every wave. I didn't think I'd arrive with my cocyx intact. This journey, fans, was only after a slightly embarrassing run round all the travel agencies in town in desperate search for the Slow Boat... about RM30 cheaper, and would probably have been somewhat gentler that our high speed delivery to beautiful, beautiful islands and sea scapes. Emblazoned by a recent edition of the Lonely Planet, I was quite confident that they were all out to get me, of course there was a slow boat, or else there wouldn't be a fast boat, right?

Wrong... having had to eat humble urm... mee goreng? I discovered the slow boat did in fact stop running two years ago. The tour operators obviously expected this, as they held the fast boat from departing until we had finished our wild goose chase. Oops.

As for the Perhentian Islands, in terms of sheer beauty... wow. Quite simply, wow. Miles of white sand, crystal clear aquamarine waters, jutting protrusions of vertigous rock through jungle covered mountains poking up through the gentle fringing of sand and coves from the sea. It's a shame, then, that food and accommodation were considerably more expensive than Tioman, and double mainland prices, the diving wasn't quite as great as it was made out, and the general vibe wasn't a patch on my happy nine days on Tioman. Unsurprisingly, therefore, I'm here, and not there, three nights on...

That said, I did work on my tan, meet a couple of nice people, have a laugh with Nicole and get another three dives in. The visibilty wasn't great as a result of a storm shortly before we arrived, but on my last dive you practically had to move the sharks out the way to see the turtles, who in term were blocking the view of the box fish, blue spotted eels, angel fish, parot fish, clown fish, Nemo, and the rest of the rainbow of aquatic 'culture' found beneath the South China Sea. Having spent nearly eight hours of my life underwater since my first dive ten days ago, I have hung up my fins for a little while and am engaging in Malaysian 'culture'.

Sadly I had a bad experience of this a few hours ago... my own stupid fault, having forgotten I was no longer living the laid back island life, I headed out without covering my arms. After a man shouted at me and threw a newspaper as I was sitting on a bench, I got the hint. Doh.

Other than that, Kota Bharu is the nicest place on the mainland I have been to. Although seemingly like any other Malaysian town/city, it is home to a lot of crafts - woodcaving, batiq, etc... and some excellent museams. Having arrived in a shared taxi at about 11, I headed out and hit the handicraft museam, the museam of royal ceremonies (fascinating... from wedding presents to pregnancy arrangements in a magnificant wooden traditional Malay palace), various markets, and... the tourist information centre. Having got the information I wanted about the jungle railway (I am taking a sleeper train to KL accros the Interior in a couple of days time), the ridiculously camp ownder, Roselan, was making plans for the week long stay he envisaged. On his suggestion, however, I did take in a show at the Culture Centre, with traditional drumming, music, a cross between drama, fighting and dance, and top spinning. Stopping at a batiq workshop on my way back, I do seem to have packed it all in.

Tomorrow I am taking part in a free trip organised by the Tourist Information Centre to visit the area and meet local families. I resisted Roselan's insistance that I spent the night on the homestay programme, despite, I kid you not, his wrist flapping and exclamations that, "Blimey Love, you'll miss dinner! What a shame!". The whole situation was hilarious, and I had to refrain from laughing. His beautiful assisstants, headscarf clad young Malay women to whom he fired off badanage in million mile an hour Malay, had little English, except from this "Blimey, Love" effeminate catchphrase of his, which they repeat like an echo...

All thoroughly bizarre. It is looking difficult for me to visit the temples of Tumpat region alone, so if I can't get some people together for the day after, I will go on the 'Buddha' tour that my hostel organises before catching the night train to KL...

Love to All

Px