Awfully sorry about the delay in Episode 3, having been allowed to open in December I can joyously report were full to bursting over Christmas and New Year and it was absolutely brilliant, amazing weather and best NY party I can ever remember. Of course, the fact it started raining at 7pm on 31st December 2020, only stopped on the morning of the 4th January 2021 (and when I say rain I mean torrential) and was accompanied by tropical storm winds and 2m waves did make it rather interesting. So much for “let’s get rid of 2020 ‘cus 2021 has to be better”…. one should never tempt the gods!
Since this blog is my story it consists of memories, anecdotes and, quite possibly, ramblings rather than any accurate account of the business. I would like to acknowledge that Daniel and I were not alone in the beginning. Our first partners were a lovely German couple, with two small children, that we knew from the Maldives. For various reasons they left and we subsequently had two more partners, a South African chap, who lived on Pulau Sibu, and an Englishman, who did not. It was only from 1999 that the Wills’ became sole owners of Winter Snow Sdn. Bhd., our rather perversely named company, which owns and operates Sea Gypsy Village.
The second I held Richard in my arms a dam of love, the like of which I had never felt before, burst and I knew instinctively I would kill anyone that tried to harm this treasure. I might not have wanted a baby but I really enjoyed pregnancy, breezed through child birth and adored our baby and our little family. I knew Daniel was also besotted because we frequently spent time simply looking at the baby sleeping for entertainment, we’d hold each other and smile, privately acknowledging how brilliant we were to have made this wonderful gift. That paragraph is an overload of treacle and just as sickening but absolutely true, we were horrendously happy and pleased with our family by November 1992.
If only I could have said the same about my home. Our new family moved permanently to Pulau Sibu in January 1993 and the fact it was still monsoon didn’t help. We lived in what is now the dive base, so basically a wooden shack exposed to howling wind coming off the sea, being bombarded with torrential rain, in what was still a filthy piece of land. Consequently, everything was damp and covered with a residue of salt, which will happily destroy everything unless constantly cleaned. I was still battling cock roaches, rats and eagles. Yes, I did say eagles. Sea eagles to be precise, one of which particularly drove me nuts as it used to fly through the restaurant leaving an eagle sized trail of poop across the tables. Quite apart from that, whilst building the resort Daniel had taken a series of photos of a sea eagle swooping down to catch and then eat a baby shark. Happily showing off said photos on arrival in Florida he didn’t notice the look of consternation on my face amid all the oohs and aahs. I doubted very much whether a hungry sea eagle could differentiate between a baby shark and a wriggling 7lb baby when it came to a satisfying meal. Get rid of it was my firm directive to a disappointed Daniel, even before I knew about the disgusting pooh situation! He did, by luring it over to Rimba Resort, with their permission I hasten to add, but I have no idea how.
I had two luxuries, one was my short-wave radio, which had been my constant companion since I started traveling at the age of 17, and the other was my electric kettle. The kettle wasn’t so much about making tea, as I’m nothing if not incredibly fussy about tea and didn’t have either the right tea leaves or milk, but about sterilising baby things and having some hot water for baby’s bath. I was desperately trying to be upbeat about my current life style but certainly remember feeling as though that blasted lease was a ten year prison sentence and so far Daniel seemed to be enjoying himself. To be fair business to date had been his friends coming up at weekends from Singapore, so it was like a constant party. Hardly surprising since our advertising had been Daniel going to the Tanglin Club, Raffles Marina and the Cricket Club and telling everyone that he was “back” and on Pulau Sibu. I was still praying for him to hate being an hotelier so we could leave. We had a very small generator at the time, the one that had come with the lease, suffice to say it was not in the greatest of shape. One morning Daniel popped his head into our room and told me I could no longer use the electric kettle and was about to make his exit.
Everyone knows I shout. Well, explode actually. I don’t particularly shout at any individual, I frequently just shout to the gods. Those that know me largely ignore it since outbursts are short and sharp and once over, I’m perfectly affable again. My intimate circle, and particularly my children, will tell you it’s when I go quiet you really need to watch out. Daniel turned back because I hadn’t replied and, taking one look at my demeanor, correctly decided that a lengthy explanation about the generator problem was probably not the best way to go at that precise moment. Very, very quietly I said, “Bad enough every time I pick up a baby grow it’s covered in gecko pooh, bad enough that the rats constantly gnaw holes in the plastic top of the formula to lick the remnants of milk powder, bad enough the toilet is constantly blocking, bad enough every time I walk down the beach a pack of wild dogs run out and try to attack, now you’re telling me I have to walk to the kitchen and boil a kettle every time I want some hot water? Fix it!” The proverbial straw, ref the camel’s back. He was out that door like a greyhound that had spotted the rabbit and did not return for a very long time. However, he eventually returned and informed me that I could use my kettle. Poor chap, to this day I don’t know how he managed it since you can hardly pop to the shop for a spare part. I didn’t care. I rather think I may have packed up and left if he hadn’t have given me back my electric kettle and I rather think he thought the same. That night, snuggling down in bed, I did thank him and I did apologise, as I may have been a tad OTT. After which my darling man seriously replied, “I could put you in a palace and you’d complain.”
“Try me!”
One beautiful evening I found Daniel and a couple of other staff sitting on the steps of the bar facing the sea and asked what they were doing.
“Watching an enormous fire.”
I sat down with them and indeed there was an enormous fire, it appeared to be burning on one of the two islands we refer to as Dolly. It was mesmerising in its intensity and then suddenly it leapt to the second island and both of them were on fire. By now all six of our live in staff were there and we sat and watched whilst chatting, not drinking any alcohol i hasten to add, and we were all witness to the fire. The rest of our small staff walked over from the village daily. In those days Kampung Duku was a very traditionally built, sleepy fishing village and there was no TV, no international radio (other than my shortwave that picked up the BBC World Service for two hours in the morning and four hours in the evening), no devises holding hundreds of games and films, no instant communication with the outside world completely free of charge. Consequently news of events like this fire were newsworthy and interesting. So the following day Daniel and the boat boys took the 40hp and shot over to Dolly to find out what damage had been done. Nothing, absolutely nothing, they circumnavigated both islands, no sign of any fire whatsoever anywhere. At that time we didn’t own a large boat, we rented a local bum boat, its captain was Patlong. The next time he came ashore for fuel to do a trip for us by way of conversation and because we had found the event so interesting, we told him what we’d seen and asked him if he’d ever heard about such a thing before. His brown skin managed to turn grey, he looked terrified and breathed the words, “Sea witches,” as he turned tail and, old and creaky as he was, literally ran to get back to his boat and leave as fast as he could.
At that time there was a well established backpackers place at the end of the beach called O&H Kampung Huts run by a British woman called Helena. We loved the compact A frame huts nestled into the rocks behind the lovely garden and the ambience of the small lounge, bar, dining area. We especially loved Helena who was a fount of knowledge when it came to living on Sibu and all things Malaysian. Life still being at a very leisurely pace in those days Nancy, Richard and I would wander down the beach for a visit most afternoons. Helena’s partner Omar ran a backpackers hostel in Mersing and owned a bum boat called the “Black Sausage” that ran from Mersing to Pulau Sibu daily. Omar had a very successful knack of scooping up travelers arriving in Mersing and shipping them over to Pulau Sibu. Therefore, from Chinese New Year to Deepavali the hostel was full of interesting people from all over the world and we loved sitting chatting to them about their adventures.
We often found ourselves almost alone on the property at the beginning and although mostly romantic it could also, sometimes, feel a little creepy. In the middle of one night there was a sudden banging on our door along with incoherent sounds. We lay quietly, pretty much hoping it would go away or we were imagining it but it was persistent. Daniel got up and gingerly opened the door a crack, more incoherent mumbling, then he turned and explained there had been some kind of accident and he had to go, he was a trained paramedic. Some chaps down at O&H had got extremely merry on local alcohol, which is cheap but lethal. Playing a silly game jumping from the rocks to the beach one chap had shattered his leg, one of the horrid ones where the jagged bone sticks out. Daniel did his best to sort it out and the chap was eventually taken to the General Hospital in Johor Bahru. However, here’s where the story gets interesting (if it’s true, I cannot verify it). Apparently there were complications with the leg and things were looking bad. The chap was broke so the obvious and best thing to do would have been to contact the British Consul and get him flown back to the UK. The problem was he was a wanted criminal and if he went back he’d go to prison. What to do lah? Stay and have your leg amputated or go home and end up in jail? If anyone from O&H in 1993 is reading this can you enlighten us, we’ve always wondered.
We’d already decided that I was going to try and get pregnant again immediately, so I stopped breast feeding Richard at exactly three months (since the old wife’s tale says one can’t get pregnant when breast feeding) and by the time Richard was four months old I was indeed pregnant again. Joy, another monsoon baby, being due beginning of January 94. I started planning my return to Florida end October. Meanwhile I was still having trouble with that blasted blocked toilet so there was only one thing to do, lift the lid off the cesspit to find out what was what. Have I mentioned before I’m completely snake phobic? I cannot stand them, or even the thought of them. A completely irrational fear, I am well aware of that, so I just tried desperately to ignore their existence. Due to the vast number of rats around the place we obviously had a lot of snakes so I made a great deal of noise if I had to go into the jungle. When we lifted the cesspit lid a 2 metre python was revealed and, although it was released deep into the jungle, I became irrationally terrified of sitting on the toilet, lest a snake should pop up and bite me in the bottom. Two articles appeared in the newspapers in rapid succession after that (and if you’re reading this Nancy I appeal to you to verify it in the comments). First, that a man in India had died after a snake came up out of the toilet and bit him in the bottom. Second, was an amazing photo, taken in Malaysia I believe, of the most enormous snake (we’re talking anaconda here) with a human’s legs sticking out of its mouth. Not sure whether the poor human died from the snake trying to swallow him or the fact the locals had shot the snake with something like an AK47 and had got hit in the process. I swear I am not making this up. Needless to say my snake phobia remained and was not helped when a couple of months later we moved into the house that Daniel built for us, nestled into the jungle at the back of the resort.
Speaking of our rat population at that time, it isn’t really conducive to enjoyable dinning to have rats running around the restaurant rafters every night. Keeping the lighting dim helped, crossing all digits and hoping people wouldn’t look up was another option. However, one night there were a few more rats than usual and we happened to have a KLM crew on stopover staying with us. I noticed one of the young ladies glancing up, nudging her neighbour and then both staring up at the fury shapes. I had to say something before they had a chance to scream, “Rats!”
“That’s the lesser known White Crested Jungle Vole, they’re very rare,” I explained, looking at them interestingly. “You should try to get a photo.”
I have no idea whether they believed me but to this day our rather cute little rats, that always have white chests, are known as the lesser known White Crested Jungle Vole. More to the point, they are rare nowadays, thanks to nearly 30 years of cleaning!
One grey afternoon Nancy, Richard and I were sitting in the O&H lounge area having a cuppa with Helena. We were contemplating walking home as it smelled like rain when Helena suddenly jumped up, ran outside, turned and looked up and over the top of the lounge having apparently heard an ominous creaking. “Get out and run!” she screamed. Her voice left us in no doubt, we weren’t about to stop to ask why, I lumbered up, Nancy grabbed Richard and we shot out and kept running. Within seconds we heard an almighty crash and turned in time to see a tree demolish the lounge, bar, restaurant building, where we had been sitting only moments before. We also saw the fastest moving, not to mention biggest, storm we’d ever seen. Within minutes the torrential rain was falling, the thunder was continuous and lighting was hitting all around. In those days there were many more coconut trees. Aesthetically pleasing as this might be, coconuts come down like missiles in a tropical storm and are extremely dangerous. Consequently we had to run back up the beach but at the same time whole palm trees were coming down like skittles along the beach front and with the tide up and the sea now raging it didn’t leave much wiggle room. By now the storm was overhead, I had never seen so many lightning strikes anywhere on my travels. Being of an age all my fillings are metal and my mouth was literally tingling from all the electricity in the air! We finally reached the safety of our restaurant, which was the sturdiest structure we had and by far the best place to wait out the storm. Once we’d calmed down and caught our breath, we needed to ascertain that our small staff was safe, most having had the sense to come to the restaurant, but where was Daniel? We then realised that we could hear the sound of a buzz saw coming from across the garden. Squinting through the downpour I could just about discern my husband sawing up a tree that had come down, slightly damaging V6 and blocking the path to the back of the property. Completely insane and quite simply, why?
Sadly, due to so much logging over the years by the land owners between Sea Gypsy and what was O&H, the land it was on has all disappeared into the sea and the hostel no longer exists.
Ah, writing V6 above another FAQ springs to mind, what does the V stand for? When I first saw the accommodation that Daniel had built (I was not involved in the design) there was a discussion about what to call them when marketing, e.g. rooms, chalets, etc. I facetiously suggested villas and wandered off. Unbelievably the word stuck and for years our chalets were referred to as villas, hence the V. The family chalets have an H because the plot of land they are on was called Hillside by the owner. I doubt I need to explain the A in front of the A frames.
I had managed to stay pretty fit during my pregnancy but did get tired so when Daniel suggested an end of season party and wanted to invite the entire Kampung I wasn’t thrilled. Catering for all those people and then having to host them all till heaven knows what time. He seemed sublimely unconcerned and told me I wouldn’t need to worry about all that, by which I assumed he’d be the party planner. Having put Richard to bed, taken a shower and made myself party ready I headed down to the restaurant, admittedly slightly late. I couldn’t understand it, the majority of place settings had already disappeared and the restaurant was almost empty except for some our staff, most of whom had already moved to the bar. Daniel grinned at my reaction to my first Malaysian party; arrive, say hello, eat and leave. It’s taken me a very long time to get used to it and I would like to report that we have slowly managed to get our local guests to stay a little longer nowadays and enjoy each others company as well as eat.
If you have been, thanks for reading. x