Jamal’s Beachpotting. Perenthians part I.

I always admired Danny Boyle  for his artistic universe, being so broad and diverse. When heading to Perenthians with Maren I had in mind The beach in which young western people are looking for a paradise, perfection on earth.

After landed in Kota Bharu we went to an information desk. In there we thought we had truly magic powers since no one notified our presence.

        -  "Good afternoon, we want to go to Perenthians Island"- I started

        -  "Do you prefer to arrive there by bus or by taxi?"- the lady said.

        -  "By bus!"- we both answered.

        -  "Too late now, Madame, only taxi"- the lady continues- "You will arrive to Kuala Besut and from there you have to take a boat. Do you prefer to take the boat today or tomorrow?"

        - "Today"- we answered together.

        - "No possible today, only tomorrow"

We took a cab and the taxi driver was trying to teach us some Malaysian in the way. In fact, it was difficult to know when he was speaking English or Malaysian, he was also asking questions and when our answers were correct he was beeping the horn. I thought about Jamal Malik, sweating his white shirt. The windows were open, the traffic chaotic and the smell of the sea was coming through.

        - "Now I have to stop, you can remain in the taxi and I will come back soon"

Suddenly we were there listening to the radio in the middle of nowhere, the last minutes of the day were passing by and, for a moment, we wondered what was going to happen. We tried to spot him in the crowd, he stopped by a fountain, cleaned himself and he entered into a Mosque. He was just praying! Well, we had a fixed price for the ride and the boat was living the morning after so we didn't have any rush.

        - "Do you know how many times we pray a day?- he said back in the car.

        - "Five times per day"- Maren rapidly answered.

        And there it was the father of all the horns......maaaaaaack maaaaaaaaaaaaaaack"

Once in Kuala Besut, we found an interesting place- you have what you pay for- the toilet's pub in Trainspotting was cleaner than our room. I always loved that artistic dirtiness on the screen, but there it was an itching and uncomfortable reality. The tinny room, the fan, the colour of the walls, and the dancing padlock in the door were making it difficult to breath. Well, if Mark Renton survived through all of that we could easily spend one night there and, at the end of the day, we were looking for paradise, and no one said getting there was easy.

To be continued....