A langur would not take his eyes off me. I had stepped out onto the balcony of my room, where my suitcase had just been delivered, to inspect the surroundings. Through the crowns of the trees I could make out the bay, but right in front of me stretched a green sea of jungle, with a langur sitting on a branch. He was waiting for a treat, but I clearly remembered the instructions: “Do not feed the monkeys.”
And although langurs are rather polite, even hospitable, I would say, the danger lies elsewhere. Annoying macaques may appear out of nowhere, snatch food not only from them but from you as well, and at the same time create an unbelievable mess if they get into the room. A biscuit served with tea during check-in had already been stolen from me while I was busy making delighted small talk.
I pulled the balcony door firmly shut behind me, ran into the reminder not to forget to do exactly that, and examined my domain for the next few days. The Ritz-Carlton, Langkawi may well be a reason in itself to come to the island. It is a resort drowning in greenery, and walking along its paths is pure pleasure. Every now and then, among the tree crowns, you can spot black giant squirrels or hornbills, walk past a lotus pond, and look at the flowers.
Outside the windows, the rain started dragging on again. A typhoon that had arrived from who knows where had spoiled my only plan: to fulfil the required quota of doing absolutely nothing on the beach, dozing to the rustle of the Andaman Sea, nibbling on pieces of fruit that guests are offered now and then, and sipping wine from a misted glass. I looked admiringly at the custom cake with my portrait on it and decided I would eat all that later. Then I wondered whether I should take a bath, with foam, salts and rose petals.
A more logical alternative seemed to be going to the spa for the signature Mandi Bunga ritual, which originated in Malay royal households and was performed to cleanse away negative energy. Guests are invited for treatments and massages in one of the “bubu” — artfully woven domes stylised as fish traps. They have become one of the hotel’s most recognisable design objects. So if you see this structure, you should know: someone inside is probably feeling just as good as I once did.
When designing the hotel, Tropical Area Architects set out to reflect the style of Malaysian kampong villages, bringing nature into a contemporary context. The design of Langkawi Kitchen, the restaurant serving breakfasts with an astonishing choice and perfect omelettes, dim sum and roti canai, was also inspired by the longhouses of the Iban people of Borneo. Dinner there deserves praise as well, although I will long remember the seafood prepared for me at Beach Grill.
The hotel manages to cope with a difficult task: making every guest happy when it is pouring in the jungle. Children spend all day in the club, making things and having fun. Adults prefer languor — yoga lessons, meditative cooking workshops. I decided to spend yet another rainy day in the world of sea cucumbers and went to the Eco-Discovery Centre, designed like a tree house, to meet marine biologist Fadzli.
As part of the Community Footprints programme, the hotel has launched a major project to restore the population of this unusual species. Here, such conversations are called Sea Cucumber Talk. That was how I found out that gamat, as sea cucumbers are called here, are apparently under threat of extinction. For centuries on the island — and, I suspect, in China as well, where I have seen them dried more than once — they were used for medicinal purposes.
Had it not been for a rainy day, I might never have learned that sea cucumbers help filter the seabed, supporting a healthy environment for other creatures; that they breathe through the rear part of their bodies; and that they reproduce on their own — they are asexual. On a fine day, grown individuals from the nursery, where they are bred, can be released into the sea during a kayak trip with the programme curator.
Over several days of bad weather — well, what can you do, even in season the weather misbehaves — I still enjoyed the holiday. I read a couple of books by the sea, listened to DJ sets at the Horizon lounge bar and stretched out the hotel’s signature Hornbill cocktails, in a space reserved for adults only. I watched the daily thanksgiving dance to the sea, performed at 6 p.m. at reception, and took a bath thoughtfully prepared for me by my butler. And I did, after all, survive a robbery brought on by my own foolishness
I could not properly remember whether I had closed the balcony door, but since such an invasion had happened, apparently I had not. Returning to my room on the final day of my holiday, I found my butler chasing a macaque with a huge broom, trying to drive the brazen creature out. Its satisfied relatives were sitting in the surrounding trees, waiting to see how the conflict would end. Each of them held a little jar of stolen nuts from the minibar.
The sweets I had bought as gifts had been torn open and bitten. The bed and furniture were smeared with chocolate. The fruit and my custom cake had been stolen. Everything from my cosmetic bag and medicine kits was scattered across the bathroom floor. I started laughing. I had been robbed by monkeys!
Travel reportage
Leave a comment