Bangkok to Singapore - Grounded: A Down to Earth Journey Around the World - page 80

around the resort grounds. They're small (about the size of a terrier) and covered in soft black fur—save
for a white monocle around each eye, and a wispy white Mohawk. They quietly munch the leaves off the
branches they're sitting on. They watch us with placid, curious expressions and are far too dignified to beg
us for food like those shameless macaques did. Once they've had their fill of leaf munching, they all swing
out of view.
That night at the hotel's outdoor bar, the parade of adorable mammals continues. We notice something
leaping between the trees in the lighted grotto. Not quite leaping, though—more like floating. Closer in-
spection, and further research, reveals that they are small flying critters called colugos. They jump from
a high branch, extend their arms and legs to unfold membranous flaps that act like wings, and then glide
for what seems an eternity. When they reach a tree seventy-five feet away, they slam on the air brakes and
gently alight on the side of its trunk, hooking in with their little claws. They glide back and forth all night,
as though doing it purely for our entertainment. It's like watching a troupe of tiny, furry acrobats.
IN the morning, I rent a moto for forty ringgits from a guy in a concrete hut on the side of the road near our
hotel. He has just one moto that he rents out—his main business is doing tourists' laundry—and unfortu-
nately the bike doesn't have an automatic transmission. I'm forced to quickly learn how to kick the shifter
pedal into the next gear while not toppling over.
I soon get the hang of it, and before long I'm buzzing down a narrow road between coast and jungle,
squinting in the wind, occasionally whapping the big, soft leaves that dangle into my path. I lean hard into
the curve of a roundabout and take it at top speed. I coast for a moment to read a road sign and then pop
into a lower gear and crank my wrist to gun the accelerator. I feel like Steve McQueen—if, instead of a
badass, chromed-out motorcycle, Steve McQueen rode a purple, 50 cc scooter.
As our ferry chugged into the harbor yesterday, I'd noticed a posh little marina tucked away in a nearby
cove. It's called the Royal Langkawi Yacht Club, and it's where I'm headed now. My mission is to in-
gratiate myself with any yacht owners I can find there. Rebecca and I have time to work our way slowly
down the Malaysian coast, and I'm wondering if I can find someone with a sailboat who's willing to take
us partway to Singapore. Maybe as far south as Kuala Lumpur. There's a lot of leisure boat traffic passing
through these waters, so perhaps some skipper can be convinced to take on a pair of friendly, able-bodied
deckhands.
I park my moto on the sidewalk and step into the yacht club. A young Malaysian woman stands behind
the front desk. I ask her—halting and stumbling, because I'm not quite sure of the protocol—if it's okay
for me to, like, wander around the yacht club's docks and talk my way onto a boat. “No problem,” she says
with a smile. “You should talk to my friends. They're on the Lady Kathleen .” She gives me the slip number.
I walk past ketches and catamarans before arriving at a gray sloop, about forty-five feet long, with “Lady
Kathleen” painted on its hull. Two young dudes are hanging out on the deck. The blond guy's strumming
an acoustic guitar; the brown-haired guy's doing an effortless set of push-ups. Both are shirtless and deeply
tanned.
“Excuse me,” I say, interrupting them. “Do you know of anyone sailing south?” After I introduce myself
and explain my situation, they welcome me aboard and offer me a seat in the yacht's cockpit, in the shade
of the bimini top. The blond one disappears belowdecks then reemerges moments later to hand me a mug
of Vietnamese-style coffee with condensed milk.
Mike (the blond-haired guy, who looks about twenty-three) and Forbes (the brown-haired guy, who's a
few years older) are both Vancouverites who've been traveling around together in Southeast Asia. They
found their way to Langkawi a few weeks back and, soon after arriving, met the American fellow who owns
the Lady Kathleen . The guy works in the oil industry in Indonesia. He keeps the Lady Kathleen berthed