Lombok delivered on its promise of adventure. We explored Benang Kelambu waterfalls, surfed at Selong Belanak and bought dinner at the fish market, navigating stalls of just-caught tuna and reef fish, the concrete floor slippery with ice and scales. In Kuta, we found a silver workshop and learned to make jewellery as Henry and Lily crafted their wedding rings. While on holiday, I not only saw more of Indonesia, but also more of Jem. Seeing him around the people he grew up with was full of insights. Suddenly, I had context for how he makes decisions, shows affection and even navigates disagreements. If you’re looking for a shortcut to these kinds of revelations, I recommend a two-day hike which exposes all manner of things about someone’s character. I believe our Lombok hike truly made us a couple (along with the ascent that broke us first). Mount Rinjani is a volcano blanketed in pewter-coloured ash. The hike takes a day climbing through the jungle before camping near the summit, where the wind howls. At 3am we woke to push for the top, scrambling over loose volcanic scree that slid beneath our boots. People began turning back. My body reached its limit. Thighs screaming, knees buckling, I had nothing left to give. Jem helped me find new inner resources as he took my bag and slowed his pace to mine. The reward was watching sunrise break over the crater lake below, the water an impossible turquoise. Hiking also provided the family holiday with an essential reprise, where one couple goes away for two days, offering everyone both a brief break from the intensity of uninterrupted time together and returning with new stories and anecdotes about Jem’s cowboy walk down the mountain after his thighs chaffed.
Holidays are in the business of memory acquisition. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and when it comes to family that lives far away, I also think it makes you more intentional too. Love changes when long distance, it must shift and find spaces to grow into. Travel strengthens our bond before we’re apart again. My favourite memories over the years are breakfasts in Kuala Lumpur. We’d walk to Chun Heong Kopitiam for breakfast and claim a red plastic stool beneath the ceiling fans. A kopitiam – the name combines ‘kopi’ (coffee in Malay) and ‘tiam’ (shop in Hokkien) – is a traditional Malaysian coffee shop with many stalls selling kaya toast, soft-boiled eggs, herbal soups or noodle dishes. It’s where people gather before work begins, the air thick with caramelised sugar and the sharp, savoury hit of garlic and pork sizzling in woks. We’d drink sweet, milky kopi poured over ice and order our favourite: chilli pan mee. The stall owner pulls fresh flat noodles from a steamer, tosses them into bowls, then builds each dish in quick succession: a scoop of minced pork, crispy ikan bilis, leafy greens, and a soft-poached egg perched on top. Chilli paste is served on a soup spoon so you can control your own heat. We mix everything together until the egg yolk coats the noodles and the pork mince is slicked with chilli oil. On the side is a cup of Unami-rich clear broth to sip between bites. Memories of those breakfasts fuel our WhatsApp conversations while we’re apart. We leave with dried chillies, anchovies, and sambal pastes, so we can share pictures of chilli pan mee attempts across time zones, lighting up the chat with nostalgia. I’ve been impressed by how adventurous my in-laws have been on these trips. They try chilli pan mee, go paddleboarding, and hop into a Tuk-Tuk. All, I think, to show Henry and Lily that they want to be part of their world, not just visitors in it.
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