Were met at the airport by someone from the tour agency. He was holding a placard containing several other names. I was crossing my fingers we were not going to ride on the back of a pickup, or in a stuffy van. The airport was tiny, with an equally tiny strip of runway. A house sat at the end of the runway. I bet the pilots have adrenaline-pumping moments landing the big birds. I doubt Air Asia fully computerised its fleet.
To our relief, there was a new, air-conditioned bus waiting. The journey to the jetty took about an hour. I was oblivious to time and surrounding as I fell asleep as soon as the bus moved. Wombat sat next to me again, but not before she told me she once puked on a road-journey similar to ours. I feigned unconsciousness.
First stop: Perhentian Island Resort's jetty. A lot of Mat-Salleh's got off here. Wombat said it's THE resort. Five-star. Hmmm. Probably has golden taps and toilet seats. Next was our stop: Bubu Long Beach Resort's jetty. There was a tiny office attached to a rundown building called Bubu Inn. Another couple with an adorable kiddie girl got off with us. I saw from the sign-in form that the guy is an Italian and the wife a Chinese. Their daughter? Chitalian, what else.
Furby was nicely chatting up the Italian guy while the wife brought the daughter in search for a loo (and ice-cream, which I enviously noticed later). We had to pay RM5 each as conservation charge for Marine Parks of Malaysia. Note: Please pay attention to this conservation charge as Marina would be referring to it 20 times a day at the island.
The boat ride was FAST and furious. Furby said she puked on the boatride going to Tioman Island. We made her sit at the back so she could do her business if she felt the urge. Wombat said she might, too. Wow. I was hoping Wombat wouldn't lose her breakfast. I mean, this woman can puke land, air and sea. The ultimate.
The speedboat skimmed and raced above the waves. Wind whipped at our faces, hair, clothes. The mini-Chitalian cooed in bliss and excitement. Mum was gripping her arm in such protective manner I could see red marks rising on the kid's forearm. Dad was doing his macho thingy. Body slightly bent forward, hands clasped over knees and assuming a deep-in-thought look. The girls and I rolled our eyes at each other. Men would be men. Furby was talking to a Chinese guy beside her. He's a diver too. Nobody puked. *phew*
post script: Furby wore a top with floppable neckline. Big boo-boo. Floppy neckline flopped like mad being whipped around by the wind. Furby had to close the flaps with one hand for the entire boatride. Position assumed is akin to one trying to calm oneself after recovering from a close-call of heart attack. Chitalian bombarded Mum with "Ma, why the cheh-cheh like that one?" Wombat and I, being the nearest to Chitalian, stifled laughter while Mum smiled apologetically and ignored Chitalian's pesterings. Aah, demure Asians. I would have slapped my thighs and guffawed.
To our relief, there was a new, air-conditioned bus waiting. The journey to the jetty took about an hour. I was oblivious to time and surrounding as I fell asleep as soon as the bus moved. Wombat sat next to me again, but not before she told me she once puked on a road-journey similar to ours. I feigned unconsciousness.
First stop: Perhentian Island Resort's jetty. A lot of Mat-Salleh's got off here. Wombat said it's THE resort. Five-star. Hmmm. Probably has golden taps and toilet seats. Next was our stop: Bubu Long Beach Resort's jetty. There was a tiny office attached to a rundown building called Bubu Inn. Another couple with an adorable kiddie girl got off with us. I saw from the sign-in form that the guy is an Italian and the wife a Chinese. Their daughter? Chitalian, what else.
Furby was nicely chatting up the Italian guy while the wife brought the daughter in search for a loo (and ice-cream, which I enviously noticed later). We had to pay RM5 each as conservation charge for Marine Parks of Malaysia. Note: Please pay attention to this conservation charge as Marina would be referring to it 20 times a day at the island.
The boat ride was FAST and furious. Furby said she puked on the boatride going to Tioman Island. We made her sit at the back so she could do her business if she felt the urge. Wombat said she might, too. Wow. I was hoping Wombat wouldn't lose her breakfast. I mean, this woman can puke land, air and sea. The ultimate.
The speedboat skimmed and raced above the waves. Wind whipped at our faces, hair, clothes. The mini-Chitalian cooed in bliss and excitement. Mum was gripping her arm in such protective manner I could see red marks rising on the kid's forearm. Dad was doing his macho thingy. Body slightly bent forward, hands clasped over knees and assuming a deep-in-thought look. The girls and I rolled our eyes at each other. Men would be men. Furby was talking to a Chinese guy beside her. He's a diver too. Nobody puked. *phew*
post script: Furby wore a top with floppable neckline. Big boo-boo. Floppy neckline flopped like mad being whipped around by the wind. Furby had to close the flaps with one hand for the entire boatride. Position assumed is akin to one trying to calm oneself after recovering from a close-call of heart attack. Chitalian bombarded Mum with "Ma, why the cheh-cheh like that one?" Wombat and I, being the nearest to Chitalian, stifled laughter while Mum smiled apologetically and ignored Chitalian's pesterings. Aah, demure Asians. I would have slapped my thighs and guffawed.
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