Hoteliers from Venice to Malaysia are paying a heavy price as their guest rooms languish emptily, but the locals can at least enjoy the return of some serenity.
‘What news on the Rialto?’ asks a character in The Merchant of Venice. As ever, Shakespeare plunges his audience into the central marketplace of the action, where the gossip is richest as merchants swirl among storekeepers and citizens. What news indeed, now that Venice lies bobbing once more on the lido, unhindered by the weight of tens of thousands of tourists, no longer rocked by cruise ships designed for oceanic wandering rather than paddling-pool mooring.
Well might Antonio rue the day that he put all his merchant eggs into shipping, as one by one news comes in of shipwrecks, founderings and general disasters; I’m sure he would sympathise with the resort-owners here in Tioman, an island off Malaysia’s eastern coast, who having ploughed substantial investments into glitzy high-end projects must now sit and watch the palms grow thick as their buildings lie empty.
On Tioman, the shoreline is dotted in places with sumptuous shells of hotels. Some have (to borrow a neat Glaswegian phrase) ‘gone on fire’ in mysteriously catastrophic blazes that have reduced them to charred ruins. Others lie half-complete, as concrete balconies stare out across the ocean from above unglazed rooms and unfinished jetties. It seems that the larger the project the bigger the fall, with one timeshare extravaganza holding the most spectacular of peninsular situations utterly abandoned; it sits there in all its glory, mocked by the passing fish eagles and lapped by the coral reefs of the South China Sea.
Smaller concerns seem to have fared better, being less reliant on the sheer volume of traffic and more focused on boutique-style accommodation. One such place, quaintly called Bamboo Hill Chalets, is run by a lovely English lady who has specialised in what would now be considered retro chic but is simply a few beautifully built simple, shuttered huts with stunning views. Spurning the mass-market demand for high-end extras, she has focused on crisp linen, elegant bathrooms and lots of fresh air. The local restaurant is a walk across the stream away and sells only local dishes (mains are £2, bring your own refreshments!). You can cycle along the only path, which winds its way around the coast to the nearest market village. Her formula has been very successful even in the downturn. Needless to say, she recycles everything and feels her business has a minimal impact on the environment, unlike the giant resorts.
Further down the coast at the southern tip is another privately run place, aimed at the top end of the market but also managing to buck the trend, thanks to some shrewd marketing by the owner’s youthful daughter. He was all set to pack up the concern for the year, since no overseas tourists could get to it, when she suggested he try for the wealthy Malaysians and well-to-do expats now stuck in the country but looking for a break. Having built the place up from nothing (in order to prevent a giant resort being developed on a beautiful cove) he acutely felt the pain of seeing its 15 rooms empty.
However, he reduced his staff to the minimum, fixed a deal on the accommodation and food, and waited for customers – who slowly but surely began to arrive to swim with the turtles, view the reef just offshore and marvel at the astonishing backdrop of the Dragon Horns mountains, two immense granite peaks that attract some serious climbers. Minang Cove has several mass-market resorts just a beach walk away, but unlike them it has retained the sense of being run by an individual who really cares for the surroundings. His customers sense this and are prepared to pay a little more for a much better experience.
One advantage that has come out of the lockdown is a return of some serenity to otherwise busy places. Venetians can walk their own streets; fish have apparently returned or can at least now be seen in its canals. Here in Tioman, tropical birds and reptiles have reappeared to peer at quietly inquisitive guests. Antonio’s gamble on a pound of flesh, while confirming what many may think of the demands made by modern bankers, may serve to highlight the perils of risky venture capital in uncertain times. It doesn’t always have to be so, as the more cheerful private hoteliers above might testify. Small can indeed be beautiful; less can be more.
Breathing
“What news on the Rialto?” Pigeons
Clatter into the unhindered air,
Rise into an azure blue basilica.
Sentinel, the campanile once again
Chimes over its citizens. Fish witness
The gondola’s idle hull rocking to
Waves naturally born, not torn from cruise ship
Bows, souping the sediment below.
Lion-mouthed fountains refresh stone troughs
While lounging cats mock their compatriots,
Slink down echoing alleyways where water
Slaps at palace gates. Plaster peels artists’
Terracotta, sienna, umber, bone
Life in Venice, a palette when alone.
