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Drop In, Drop Out

Tioman Island may be remote, but once there, you'll find its untouched beauty and tropical tranquillity are everywhere.

January 16, 2011|Susan Spano

TIOMAN ISLAND, MALAYSIA — Even when you tell people where Tioman Island is -- that it's a patch of jungle off the east coast of peninsular Malaysia -- you'll still get no glimmer of comprehension. Fine with me, because that makes Tioman everything I want in a castaway island, especially when seen from the perspective of a chilly Southern California winter's day.

I came here in October while traveling in Southeast Asia because I wanted to crash on a beach for a few days without spending a fortune. I'd read that Tioman is a regular Bali Hai, rimmed by beaches and a handful of villages -- or kampungs -- whose budget digs are colonized by divers and backpackers.

It has a single police station, airport and ATM, about a mile of paved road and just one large, self-contained resort that caters chiefly to package vacationers from Singapore and Malaysia's capital, Kuala Lumpur.

The otherwise undeveloped island is a Malaysian national park. Think thriving coral reefs, strangler plants, giant palms, flying squirrels, monitor lizards; don't think king cobras and reticulated pythons, but know they are here.

October seemed the right time for Tioman, just before the monsoon season essentially closes the island to visitors from November to March. So I booked a flight from Kuala Lumpur to Tioman for $70 round trip and reserved a beachfront chalet with air conditioning for $100 a night at an isolated eco-resort known for its natural setting and sea turtle breeding program.

Sometimes I like to travel without a lot of information. You can go wrong, for sure. Or you can have an adventure.

The little airport on Tioman sits beneath long-extinct volcanic peaks in the main village of Tekek, an agglomeration of mom-and-pop resorts -- to use the term loosely -- cafes and dive shops splayed along the waterfront.

I waited at the dock for my transfer to the Melina Beach Resort, which eventually arrived in the form of a small, sea-worn vessel with an outboard motor known as a bumboat. It took me south from Tekek, past villages with traditional Malaysian houses on stilts and government piers built hundreds of feet into the surf to ensure access during low tides. The scenery got wilder as we rounded the coast, a scalloped pie crust of sandy coves bounded on both sides by apparently impassable headlands.

Melina Beach, which gets a star in the Lonely Planet guide to Malaysia, is marked by a burgeoning beach almond tree and mounds of huge, surf-modeled boulders. The resort, whimsically designed and built by hand to avoid disturbing the natural environment, has no dock. I got my skirt wet walking about 50 feet from the boat to the beach, a carpet of coral shards, some shells and the occasional plastic bottle.

Also posted are hand-lettered signs that say "Falling coconuts." Although most of the signs had fallen, even upright they seemed superfluous. Who in the world would be unlucky enough to get beaned by a coconut?

The maitre d' -- again using the term loosely -- an ageless Malaysian named Cheng Siong Suan, interrupted his sandbagging of some surf-eroded steps to give me a glass of freshly squeezed pineapple juice. He introduced me to the house cat, the hugely pregnant Marco Polo, pointed out treetops where macaques hung out and showed me the pen where endangered baby sea turtles, bred from locally purchased eggs, were kept before their launch into the ocean.

The resort's previous owner had started the hatchery, Cheng told me. An Irishman named Patrick Hedderman who had taken over a year ago would be there shortly, he added with a dour expression.

Remote little inns like Melina Beach often have their own stories. This one was "The Tempest," with Hedderman as the lonely wizard Prospero and Cheng as the doleful slave Caliban. They played an engaging tug-of-war.

Hedderman, who came to the resort as a guest for more than a decade before taking over, later explained that he bought it with his sister, who runs a Singapore-based ecology field trip company for private school children. Even more than eco-tourism, exposing kids to nature is the Melina Beach mission. Part of the open-air dining pavilion is given over to a classroom with tropical fish charts and specimen jars, and bungalows in a tight semicircle at the rear of the camp-like compound serve as student quarters.

My room was in a dark and creaky cabin on the beach, so drably decorated that I kept wanting to hang new curtains. It had a feeling of tropical desuetude along with a porch, a net-swathed double bed and a private bath. The wall-less shower got everything wet when it was on and was irresistible to mosquitoes. I tried to kill as many as I could every time I went in; it was swat or be eaten.

I'd been hoping for a Malaysian Post Ranch Inn, so I was mildly disappointed. But I loved sleeping under mosquito netting and the AC proved effective. Besides, the resort's raison d'etre is the natural environment -- mosquitoes included, I guess.

And what an environment.

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