[UPDATE 21 APRIL 2013: SARI PACIFICA HAS APPARENTLY RE-OPENED ]
After scrambling over the rocks, I arrived at the abandoned ‘Sari Pacifica’ resort. The 5-star resort, which closed in December last year (the Tripadvisor pages make interesting reading) lies empty. The white concrete and glass semi-detached rooms were covered in weeds and the water in the pool and ornate fountains looked like pea soup. Puddles covered the floor of the main reception building underneath a corridor of grubby decorated fabric. A skeleton crew made little progress as they hacked away at dead plants. Two other workers seemed surprised by my intrusion as they pointed me towards a gap in a fence out of the grounds.
After scrambling over the rocks, I arrived at the abandoned ‘Sari Pacifica’ resort. The 5-star resort, which closed in December last year (the Tripadvisor pages make interesting reading) lies empty. The white concrete and glass semi-detached rooms were covered in weeds and the water in the pool and ornate fountains looked like pea soup. Puddles covered the floor of the main reception building underneath a corridor of grubby decorated fabric. A skeleton crew made little progress as they hacked away at dead plants. Two other workers seemed surprised by my intrusion as they pointed me towards a gap in a fence out of the grounds.
There were no signs of life in the nearby village. I strolled onto the rickety jetty where a plank of wood gave way allowing my leg to pass through up to the upper thigh, just shy of the important parts. I uttered a bad word. After extricating my leg, I gingerly continued along the jetty to get what turned out to be a rather dull photo. A chap on the shore provided a cloth a warm water to bathe the wound and what I hoped was wood preservative from my upper thigh before I continued along the coast on the concrete path.
A short limp later, I encountered another resort called the ‘Twin Beach Resort’ with typical brown wooden huts around a large open grass area. Once again there were no signs of life, save for a smouldering fire of palm tree off-cuts. By now the scenery was getting rather predictable, so I retraced my steps past chickens, dozing cats and the occasional equally sleepy local.
Back at the hut in Rimba, I noticed Mrs M’s snorkelling equipment which meant she had probably returned in one piece. After recounting my adventure over dinner, she could only recommend the application of ointment.
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