It is the first full day of the Lawrence Clan (80% of us due to Lexi not finishing work until tomorrow) and extended Lawrences (my parents) visit to Malaysia's answer to The Isle of Wight, Langkawi. The two island are about the same size, both are tourist destinations and both have weather. After that the comparison needs to stop.
It was quite a long journey for my folks to deal with from Desa Park City to Green Village Langkawi involving packing, driving to the never glamorous Low Cost Carrier Terminal at KL airport, checking in, clambering aboard, eating Pringles, clambering off, lugging luggage, collecting hire car, unloading luggage, checking in and then relaxing. (Children and I swam in the sea while parents relaxed before dinner.)
So after breakfast this morning we set about our explorations. I aimed for a place in the North West of the island which claimed to be a pebbly beach thinking that this would be manageable for my folks and that anything sea-like and wet would be fine for children. Naturally we didn't find the place but at the end of the road did find ourselves driving into an extremely posh resort. And it was extremely posh indeed. White BMWs were parked at the drop off zone, ready to whisk guests to wherever they needed to go. Luxury golf carts were there as back-up and the immaculately turned out staff were both everywhere and nowhere to be seen at the same time.
The place was more than happy to sell us coffee, Early Grey tea and juices for the children and we absorbed the luxurious view, through jungle, to the sea. The children and I explored and on our way down to the beach were greeted with great enthusiasm by one of the staff. "Hello Mr Marshall," the chap said. "How are you today?" Ok, I was out of my depth. I was wearing a scruffy polo shirt, carrying a cheap day rucksack and had three obviously cheap and cheerful children in tow. I was clearly not a resident of the place as they all appeared to drift around the place in daze of relaxation and sunglasses that were not cheap knock-offs from Petaling a Street. I played along with it. I let the guy know that I, masquerading as Mr Marshall was fine, and that yes were were going to explore the beach, which he seemed to think was a good idea. We set off.
I wasn't quite sure how to answer the question asked by one of many equally everywhere and nowhere to be seen at the same time staff who were at the beach area. What was our room number? In situations like this a work colleague of mine always says with complete confidence, "Room 109," and carries on about his business. But what should I do, I thought? What would Mr Marshall do? Who the hell was Mr Marshall anyway?
(The reader fills in a few gaps here).
The children and I had a lovely time on the beach, enjoying the sand and sea. The coffee delivered to our sun-lounger was delicious as was the most expensive bottle of water in the world. The waiter appeared to appreciate the tip. I was certain that that was exactly the sort of thing that Mr Marshall would always do.
Had a lovely sunset drink at Sugar Cafe on Pentai Cenang beach this evening. I needed it really to recover from the shock at finding out how much rooms were at the earlier resort. One night would set the Mr Marshall's of this world back a whopping £250 to £1250. I think Mr M and I would get on.