I made this trip way back in late September, on the same day I visited the
paddy fields of Sekinchan and saw the
funky monkeys. The beach of Bagan Nakhoda Omar wasn't too busy compared, in part due to it being the fasting month for Muslim. The cerulean sky was clear and perfect. There were storm clouds in the distance, but it would be hours before they arrive - if they arrive at all.
The tide was way out and many locals and tourists were busy excavating delicacies in the sand.
In the shallow water, I picked up a hermit crab. The shy decapod crustacean only deign to extrude from its fortress after being left suspending motionless in mid-air for a fair while. A slight jerk of my hand would send it bolting back into its stronghold.
More crustaceans littered the sand. Another hermit crept gently though a saline stream.
Where there are living things, there will be dead ones.
The tide crafted different designs in the sand, some were fine parallel lines, others were more blotchy.
The tidal plane was mostly flat, except for the occasional rocks where barnacles and shells proliferate. If you look closely enough, the stripped legs of some hermits can be seen, jutting out of their current accommodation.
It was close to noon. The tropical sun was at its peak. The beach was baked with water and sand running warm beneath your feet. Yet none of the sweat-drenched beach combers were deterred by the heat. Parasols were opened as they press on.
I had been in temperate climate for close to 2 years. The Equatorial sun in its full glory was something I had not experience for a while. Crossing a stream, rising as the distant tide lulls in, I sought respite in a nearby mangrove forest.
These were black mangroves (or Avicennia germinans) with their pneumatophores. (Biologist/botanists out there, correct me if I'm wrong)
I lingered in their shelter until the stream I crossed from the beach ran higher and higher. By now, anyone foolish enough to venture under the sun unprotected was starting to turn red. Heading to the car, I pocketed 2 more hermit real-estates.
When we drove away, all the 2 legged mammals has left the beach. Some have moved under the shelter of man-made structures for picnics. Others were hauling the bounty of their morning's diligent digging back home for a feast. In a few hours time, the tide would come in, swallowing the beach almost completely.
Once there was rain forest. Then plantations and orchards came. When the hands that tended the planted trees grew frail and old, nature reclaimed its ceded territories. Men in turn invaded with arms of steel and houses were built. In the midst of dust, concrete and steel, a migrant village sprang and prospered even as terraces and bungalows rose. In time, local men, perhaps whose forebear once owned lands on those verdant hills mobilized too. Steps were hewed once more with hoes and soles. wooden arches and simple huts were erected and before long, flowering plants grafted and pruned. Lanterns and altars joined the serene landscape soon after.
Now, crowds thronged the hills at dusk and dawn, seeking beauty, seeking gods.
If they truly are man's best friend, they can never be far behind where we go.
I do not believe men can be more industrious than ants, tirelessly burrowing an amphitheater in the sand.
But some are not too far off, working yesterday's grove for extra cash to feed the bulging tummy that will deflate in a few months time.
These are the testament of being alive.
May your life far exceeds your years.
