By Lynley Capon

PORT DICKSON, Malaysia -- The 32-kilometre bus trip from Seremban to Port Dickson lasted just 30 minutes, but what a ride! At one point, the driver buckled a roadside sign because he steered too close to the shoulder.

Yet my husband Peter and I arrived safely. Immediately, we asked about places to stay by the beach. A helpful taxi driver took us three km up the road to the Sunshine Bay Resort, where three apartment blocks each stood 13 storeys. They looked well kept so we viewed an apartment on the 13th floor – oops, make that 12A due to numerical superstitions.

We rented the unit for 11 days at a reasonable rate. From a window, we could see far along the coast. From our balcony, we looked down at a large swimming pool and play area. Perfect for the rest we needed.

After a good night’s sleep, we strolled into town for necessities. We’d walked most of the way when a car pulled up. A fine-looking gentleman emerged and introduced himself as Tenku Idris. He’d seen us debating routes at an intersection and decided we needed guidance. As the town’s mayor, he wanted to welcome us. To our amazement, he invited us into his car and took us to breakfast.

After a wonderful meal at a place called PD Eating Point, the mayor, a Malay, took us home to meet Kim, his beautiful Chinese wife. They insisted that we go with them to dinner later at the home of some Indian friends, where we enjoyed tremendous hospitality and food.

The next day one of the mayor’s staff members and a driver took us sightseeing. A museum at Kota Lukut told us of the Portuguese influence circa 1600, followed by Dutch battles for control. Sea warfare left treasure troves at the bottom of the Malacca Straits. Later the British arrived, arrogantly stamped their mark and imported Indian and Chinese workers for the tin mines and rubber plantations, leading to the modern multiracial blend.

At Cape Rachado about 18 km along the coast, we visited a large lighthouse. Public access requires walking, but we rode right up the hill and climbed to the top of the light, a rare privilege. We even fed monkeys near the building.

Then we arrived at a mini zoo, mainly a breeding place for ostriches raised for meat. Normally, I find zoos depressing and dislike seeing animals in captivity, but this was a farm so I ignored my quibbles and enjoyed an uncomfortable ostrich ride, followed by some ostrich satay. We held a small crocodile and had a monkey sit on our knees and shoulders.

Two evenings later, we attended a civic celebration to mark the local sultan’s 40 years of rule in the area, Negeri Sembilan. We enjoyed local music, entertainment and a great fireworks display.

Then we joined the mayor and Kim at the Royal Adelphi Hotel for the only good coffee we tasted in Malaysia. The mayor gave me a book he’d written, Langkawi, which enlightened us about the country’s economic progress and objectives.

In the following days, we walked on the beach, swam in the warm sea, lazed by the pool and read more books. We found a fascinating place along the beach where terracotta pots, saris and clay lamps rested in the sand. Some statues there looked like they’d come from a Hindu temple. Above the high-tide mark, we saw a sculpture of a cobra that was wrapped in a sari. Later we learned that’s where Hindus throw the ashes of cremated bodies into the sea. No one swims there, but it’s a popular fishing spot.

As a dog lover, I enjoyed seeing a canine family -- mum, dad and seven pups -- who lived on the beach and sheltered under a pile of concrete posts. The pups crept under the posts if anyone came too near, and I worried that they might drown at high tide. My anxieties evaporated one day when two pups looked stranded, but then swam across the lagoon. I’d never seen dogs so at home on a beach. They weren’t street dogs, but beach dogs. From our apartment, I watched them with amusement.

Each afternoon brought a thunderstorm. Sometimes the rain reached us, and sometimes it fell nearby. On the beach, scurrying crabs amused us by fleeing, hundreds at a time.

Many local women, as Muslims, wear headscarves in varied styles, often quite becoming. Oddly, the women may wear the head covering as required, but dress in tight jeans and T-shirts, an incongruous sight.

After a week of walking into town and along the beach, we hired bikes to widen our range. For starters, we returned to PD Eating Point for another good breakfast. There, an Indian man asked where we came from and reacted happily to the reply, New Zealand. He’d spent a year at a Bible school in Christchurch. Since Peter had studied at the same school, this new friend, Paul, insisted that we visit his home for dinner. So we savored yet more Indian food and hospitality.

Paul also took us to breakfast one day and to lunch another. As our stay ended, he kindly drove us back to Seremban so that we avoided the hair-raising bus ride.

On the subsequent train journey to Singapore, I considered what I’d learned about Malaysia: its history, palm-oil industry, car production, oil refineries and development into the 21st century, the hospitality of its people and its diversity, yet unity. Solemnly, I vowed to return for another holiday and to see the friends we’d made.

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