Getting lost is part of the agenda in this home traveling series. While I did not actively seek to be lost, it happened when I was in Tanjung Bidara.
Compared to other beaches in the east coast of Malaysia, Tanjung Bidara hardly strikes an impression on travelers. Its cloudy water and fishy aroma is hardly soothing for vacationers to begin with. I come here to see one thing: How teritip (baby oyster) is harvested. The locals call the harvest, ketuk teritip. Teritips, as we hardly know, are the main ingredient in oyster omelets.
On a sunny and humid late afternoon, I reach Tanjung Bidara but see no beachfront that warrants this mostly deserted place a worthy mention. I drive through arch that welcomes its guests to this faraway edge of Melaka. However, there are no road signs to facilitate navigation thereafter.
Off the beaten path by a couple of kilometers, I think. That side is where the resort is.
I try my luck and steer through narrow trunk roads at a cautious speed of 10kmph, passing low but well-kempt village houses along the strip of elevated tarmac. The quaint little kampung (village in Bahasa Malaysia) hardly seems like the place I intended on going.
As I approach more and more winding lanes, I pass by an immense farm on my right. At this, I believe I am lost. More houses rise before the windscreen as I drive on. Turning left or right seems to lead me to one place: nowhere.
Soon, I find delight in meeting a group of children who have gathered in a circle among themselves.
‘Dik, kak nak tumpang tanya. Pantai Tanjung Bidara kat mana?‘ I asked.
The school-going age children chirp and point to a doubly narrow road that is almost on par with the roof of the house next it, on my left: ‘Kat situ.’
‘Kereta boleh masuk ke, dik?’ Five of them nod in unison: ‘Boleh!’ And beam.
I did just as directed. Carefully, I maneuver into the lane. More huts and houses, that are tough and ready, ahead of me; quite a change from what I have driven passed earlier.
At the turn of a sharp corner, I finally see the ocean – waters rippling and waves beating the shores – that is about 50 meters from me.
Away from the coastline, few elderly men and women put their feet up below a shabby-looking hut.
They turn from each other and stare at the moving mobile. Hostility starts to taper off as I smile and nod at them.
To my delight, I pass 2 blocks of chalet facing the beachfront. Both have a renewed look with a fresh layer of yellow and brown color paint. I am not that lost after all; people do come here.
I continue to cruise on the narrow path until I reach the end of the tarmac, a dead end. I examine my surrounding and look around to find my bearings. I see huge boulder rocks thrust on the coastline and the rocks’ belly has rough deposits grown around it. I figure they must be the teritip that I am looking for. A man is sitting on top of the boulder with a fishing rod in hand. No one else is there.
No one else is there but a man with his fishing rod
Boulder rocks has teritips growing on its belly
An empty shell of a teritip. Its flesh has been harvested recently.
After twenty minutes of aimless strolling and pacing up and down along the brown-sandy beach, I get back to the car and contemplate my next move. I entertain the thought of giving up as it flashes across my mind.
In a place where I thought I was lost, I ended up making friends with Shah, Hussin and Pak Haji Ram, fishermen who have not only turned my adventure around but have widened, perhaps a little, my knowledge in fishing.
When you are lost, giving up, sometimes, may not be the best idea. Instead, you may find more than what you have come for. That particular day and the following day are my most memorable days during my stay in Melaka.
Tomorrow, joeygan.com will share an account on the author’s experience in fishing for comel – squid – as how the locals call it, with Shah. Another account will follow, the next day, to expose how teritip is harvested, with Pak Haji Ram.