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From Malacca to who knows where

The good ones would keep a map. The good ones would still have tickets, evidence or at least notes. I'm not in that category. And so I bring just a few photos with me, useful to feed fuzzy memories.

But that's the beauty of it.

Over the years, the mixture of old memories generates a soup of emotions on which some element of concreteness tends to float. It will be by hopping on them, just to not get drenched, that I will tell of a half-day from Malacca to some islet nearby.

I could also try to assume that it was Pulau Besar (the one in Malaysia). But even if it was, what would it matter? In any case, the real Pulau Besar would never correspond to the recombination of the luminous fragments that lodge in my soul.

It was, I believe, early afternoon. Somewhere in Malacca my wife and I get on an out-of-town bus. What size? What color? Perhaps a mixture of those I have gotten on, in almost all continents. In the midst of the locals, in a fabulous, albeit partial, summary of the population. I can't wait to be able to do it again. Okay, the reader has maybe understood that I do not remember anything, but I recollect one thing: I try to ask someone where I have to get off to take the ferry to the island. I had the timetable.

And, yes, I know it's vague... But, again, isn't that the beauty of it?

The nice thing is also that somehow I get to the ferry after a short walk. And a group of very young and cheerful boys gets on the ferry. Which would seem a fairly overused combination. And maybe it is. But if I think back to them, to their faces, youth and happiness become person, they become two maids of this memory. I could define them as young as luxuriant happiness or happy as a luxuriant youth. You decide.

Three, four boys, who went to spend the night on an island, all fishing together. To fish, exactly. Putting some effort to speak a little English they explained it to me. Intrigued by us, since in that place (at least in that period) there was very little else to do. I would have found out shortly after. But they were there simply to fish and be together, having meals brought from home. I've been thinking about it for a few minutes and tomorrow I'll surely change my mind. But at the moment I can't imagine a better way to celebrate youth: nostalgia of someone on the way to middle age, I presume.

I get off the ferry and immediately I don't know where to go, the indications are few or perhaps they have melted into my self-awareness. But I have one thing in in my mind: I want to take a dip in the water, maybe just for a few minutes. Almost out of stubbornness.

We walk along the coast, but we also go inside. At one point I walk past what must have been an open-air restaurant. Probably very lively at certain times of the year. But at that moment, there is no one. Everything is closed. I have a hard time finding even a small shop to buy a snack. We rushed there and got a little hungry. I realized in that instant why the boys had brought food from home.

However, I also doubt that I am touring on the wrong side of the island, because I struggle to find human beings or their signs. Or maybe it was a precise choice, to look for some fabulous hidden place to immerse me in.

There is a bizarre stasis in the air, which does not give tranquility, but neither agitates. It would sculpt every moment if I didn't feel the sand scratching my feet or notice the peaceful movement of the waves.

I stop for a moment to observe the sky: it is a cloud that gives me this advice.

Island near Malacca #7 — Clouds talk too...

This is where I have to dive.

And it doesn't matter that the waters aren't the most bewitching they've ever invited me. It doesn't matter if there is any rock here and there, to which I must pay attention. It doesn't matter if the ground slowly declines and my desire to dive delays to be satisfied. Eventually, I find myself already coated in seawater. And satisfied, simply for getting there. I'm back, right now I'm right there. Everything around me is warm.

Where have you been, Stray? Who knows... Maybe I fled into nothingness, maybe I just imagined it.

And now I have to return, unfortunately. Like I did it that time. Last ferry of the day to return. A guy, intrigued as well, informs me that there will hardly be buses to return to Malacca. Bad news, since I don't even know where I am.

He tells me that he will give us a ride to take us closer to the city. Then, however, we will have to find a way by ourselves. He will drop us off in a place where some bus might even pass.

We wait almost an hour, but we don't even see one. But at least there are people and a couple of places to eat. I have no idea where we are. Out of town, for sure, but I don't know how far. At that time, I might have had a first smartphone, but I certainly didn't have a data plan or a GPS to orient myself.

Those were still the times when the "I don't know" was nearly absolute and almost irremediable! Those were still the times when by chance you saw a taxi driver, probably not even on duty, unexpectedly passing on a peripheral road! And you stopped him like he was your savior. And then, in the evening, you slept in your hotel bed, laughing about it.

"So where exactly did we go today?"
"Who knows..."