Traveling Solo in Malaysia and Borneo
Traveling solo has become my modus operandi; born not of desire, but out of necessity.
Back in my old days, I deemed it impossible to watch a movie in a theatre alone, eat sushi without someone sitting across from me, or lay beachside without a blanket to share. Until my friends’ and my work schedules, family obligations, love rendezvous, revenue streams, and fancies aligned at the exact same moment in time, all of this would simply have to wait.
Sharing these experiences could only truly be enjoyed with another by my side. Vacationing alone was preposterous. That’s what my mind told me.
My body told a different story. I am incapable of sitting and waiting—no matter how extreme the circumstances, no matter the pain involved, no matter the cost.
The world is vast. There are places to see, people to meet, adventures to be had, laughs to share, and trouble to get into. Waiting for all the pieces to fall into place before I could actually live wasn’t cutting the mustard anymore.
My body motivates me, drives me, guides me. I’ve learned to trust it because it has never taken me down the wrong path.
My mind, on the other hand, fights for control constantly. Sometimes it gets my attention, and when I listen, all hell breaks loose. But what’s life without a few challenges, eh?
Hitting the road with me by my side has become the norm. I wouldn’t do it any other way. Honestly, I wouldn’t know how to. The idea of traveling with someone else now scares me.
I know myself: I’d get caught up in wanting whoever I’m with to be having a good time—concerned with their comfort, walking their pace, making random conversation, eating what they want to eat, sleeping at the same time. What a nightmare. How could I enjoy myself? I would naturally go out of my way to assure their enjoyment over mine.
I like doing what I want to do when I want to do it. Imposing my wants over someone else’s would weigh on me. I’m not great at compromise because I always acquiesce. It’s a rare day at the vineyard I disagree with me.
What started as necessity has become my way of life. That’s not to say it’s all been hunky-dory. Trust me: the logistics can be nightmarish. But anytime I step out of the norm and live a life that’s true to me, I choose to deal with the consequences. I’d rather deal with those than battle with my body.
Throughout Malaysia, traveling solo is a rarity. Traveling solo as a woman is an oddity. I’ve come to accept the question “Are you traveling alone?” as pure curiosity. That’s the given—often followed by “How old are you?” and “Where are you from?”
By the time I land in Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, Borneo, I’ve become so accustomed to being quizzed and shit-shat with, I greet my Grab driver like a long-lost buddy.
“Wassssup,” I say.
“Not much, wasssup wit you,” he fires back.
We crack up laughing, then catch up on where I’ve been and the usual topical goings-on.
My plane had been delayed for a few hours and I’m starving.
“What’s open around here?”
“You can probably get something by the beach.”
“Groovy. How far?”
“Oh, about a 15-minute walk.”
WTF. I guess when they said my hotel was by the beach they meant just kidding.
After depositing my house on wheels, I exit the hotel in search of vittles. Immediately to the right of the entrance is a hummus place. Well…it’s a restaurant that has hummus on the menu. My eyes hyper-focus on the one item I recognize and ignore the rest. At least I can sleep soundly knowing I won’t starve.
My new digs may not be right on the beach, but give me a rooftop infinity pool any day. The building is incredible. My room is huge—it echoes when I talk to myself. And the bed? Wowza. I fight the urge to jump on it; it’s so big and fluffy and comfy. Still no top sheet, but I’d best accept the fact I may never see one again.
I sleep in late the next day—shocking, I know—but getting here was a rough 13 hours of travel. Grabs, check-in, and a two-hour airport wait that turned into six. The only food options were a Whopper with cheese, medium fries, and a Coke Zero. Luckily they had that or things could’ve taken a turn.
Days of the KL sweltering heat dome had me jonesing for some quality water time.
Running an Instagram slideshow in my head—lounging on the beach, a seaside breeze, jumping into a bathtub-temperature ocean—turns my brisk walk into a full-on trot.
Which turns into an abrupt halt.
What the what? You call this a beach? Aside from a few tented stalls (that only open after the sun sets), there are no restaurants, no cafés, no lounge chairs—and no people. There’s a sign at the edge of the sand warning of crocodiles. That scares the crap out of me, but it can’t be the only reason no one is within fifty feet of the water.
I spend the next two hours walking from one end of Aru Tanjung Beach to the other and back again, waiting for the sun to set. I manage a quick dip near what I assume is a lifeguard station. At least if a croc snaps off a limb, I’ll get immediate medical attention.
As the sun melts into the horizon, the crowds grow. Just as it’s about to be party time—well, what Muslims consider party time—I’ve run out of steam. I’ll head back another night for the after-sunset version.
Watching families and friends converge on the beach to celebrate another glorious sunset—the fourth greatest sunset in the world, mind you—stabs at my heart.
Traveling solo is freedom… yet on days like today, it would have been nice to have someone to walk with.
If my stories made you laugh, think, or feel a little less alone today, you can buy me a glass of wine
https://ko-fi.com/livinglikeimdying
