It’s approaching 6 p.m. at the Datai on Langkawi island, the tropical sun is still warm but no longer burny, and through my binoculars from my poolside lounger I’m watching the hornbills swooping down from the tall tree opposite and the sunbirds delving their long curved beaks in to some sort of exotic, colourful flora. By my side is a barely read copy of a classic work of literature and a half-drunk cocktail. I’m not sure that life gets much better than this.
And that’s perhaps the main problem with staying in arguably Malaysia’s loveliest hotel. It’s so perfect – the service, the outrageously exclusive rainforest location next to Langkawi’s best beach, the villas on stilts with their colonial-style hardwood interiors, the Malaysian, Indian and Thai cuisine, the monkeys and orchids and stingless bees – you’re in danger of overdosing on schadenfreude: just think of all those billions of poor sods who aren’t here, experiencing what you are experiencing now!
In my youthful backpacking days I would have been affronted by the very notion of it.
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