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30 more celebrity travel interviews
I’ve always loved the beach.
As a kid in Malaysia, I was called Little Indian, because I was tanned as
brown as a roasted peanut. I’d spend long weekends on Pulau Pangkor island,
in the Strait of Malacca, with a group of friends, building a big treehouse
in the bending Malay beech-wood trees and hanging out, cooking fresh red
snapper on an open fire.
I definitely fancied myself as Tarzan. The trouble was, Tarzan could swim
better than me. Like many Malaysians, I learnt to swim late, at 17.
On one of my boyhood beach adventures, when I was 9 or 10, I was sprinting
around on a promontory on Batu Ferringhi beach, in Penang, when a friend ran
up behind me, howling, and pushed me in.
It was terrifying: I reacted like a cat, windmilling my arms and legs around,
and drinking more than my body weight in salt water.
Since then, I’ve had respect for the sea. Fishermen say that there are no
atheists at sea, and I believe that. The tsunami reminded us of the water’s
hidden power.
As they say in China: “You can bully the mountain, but you can’t bully the
sea.” These days, like the wise old Chinese, I swim only on the days that
the sea welcomes me.
Fishing or golf? Perhaps they’re the inevitable indulgences as men age. My
good friend [and fellow designer] John Rocha turned me on to fishing - he
fishes the lakes of Galway, Alaska and upstate New York, and says it’s the
only way to keep himself sane in the fickle world of fashion.
I learnt to sea-fish as a child. It was a very different experience to now: we
used to take a piece of biscuit, chew it with sea water for a few minutes,
then spit it out onto the sand.
Within minutes, it would attract a worm, which we’d use for bait: we rarely
came home empty-handed.
The last time I fished, in Mauritius, was more sophisticated. I was there for
my cousin’s daughter’s wedding, and I felt a little guilty about escaping
the family crowds to indulge myself, but I forgot my guilt as soon as the
charter sailed out into electric-blue waters that jumped with fish.
The ambition in Mauritius is to catch blue or black marlin - they’re famous
for their fighting ability, grow as big as a car and can strip a fishing
reel in minutes. The ultimate trophy fish.
Of course, I fantasised about bragging of my catch to John. Sadly, I had no
luck with the marlin, although I did catch a wahoo - a thin, long fish with
soft white flesh. I took it back to my hotel, where the chef coated it with
bright-orange curry powder and fried it until its skin was crisp.
The world comes alive to me through food. Whenever I have time for a two-week
holiday, I’ll return to Penang to visit my sister.
The first thing we do together is go out for the simple street food I’ve loved
since I was a child: chicken chow rice, curry kapitan, assam pedas, laksa,
sago pudding with gula melaka sauce.
Afterwards, we drink teh tarik, a popular Malaysian tea made with condensed
milk poured between glasses from a height until it becomes frothy. I’ve
always thought that it tastes smooth and slow - like romance. It transports
me back to my childhood in a heartbeat.
If I have time to spare during the summer months, I pack up my Mercedes and
take to the road. I love the countryside of Wales, the grandeur of Bath and
the warm light of late summer in Somerset.
When I first arrived in London, in the 1980s, I remember how bizarre the huge
dishes of fish and chips and steak and kidney pie with mash seemed to me.
It was Fred Cooke’s Eel and Pie shop, in Dalston, that converted me - all
these fashion people used to go there, and Boy George was a huge fan.
Now pub food is a big part of the pleasure of a road trip. If I ever retire,
I’ll spend long summers in England, and the rest of the year I’ll follow my
heart to Malaysia.
I feel I’ve worked hard in life, and have earned the right to enjoy the world.
But I still find travel humbling, in that it shows me how much I have to
learn.
Jimmy Choo talked to Sally Howard
