Hidden Islands in Malaysia: My Journey to Places Tourists Rarely Visit
I’ve visited Malaysia several times, hopping between Kuala Lumpur, Penang, and Langkawi. Each of those places is lively and full of energy, buzzing with people, markets, and attractions. But this trip was different. I wasn’t chasing Instagram-famous beaches, rooftop bars, or crowded resorts. I wanted something quieter, something untouched—hidden islands that most tourists never hear about.
For weeks before the trip, I had been reading small blog posts, digging into obscure travel forums, and talking to Malaysian friends about where to go if I wanted real solitude. The answers were always the same: skip the big names, take a boat from Terengganu, and don’t be afraid to go where there’s no Wi-Fi.
This is my diary of that journey: the islands I explored, the people I met, the food I tasted, and the mistakes I made along the way.
Day 1: Arriving in Terengganu and Setting Off
I landed in Kuala Terengganu just as the sun was rising. The air was already warm and heavy with the smell of the sea. Unlike Kuala Lumpur’s busy terminals, the airport here felt small and unhurried.
The drive to the jetty was quick. My Grab driver told me stories about his childhood, catching fish along the coast before tourism arrived. He said something that stuck with me: “The islands look the same now as they did when I was a boy. Maybe that’s why people still go.”
Grab from airport to jetty: RM35
Breakfast at local kopitiam: Nasi lemak + teh tarik, RM7
The kopitiam was crowded with locals. Men in work shirts dipped kaya toast into soft-boiled eggs. Women carried steaming bowls of noodles to tables where entire families gathered. My nasi lemak came wrapped in banana leaf, with sambal so fiery it made me tear up. The teh tarik was sweet, strong, and frothy—Malaysia in a cup.
By mid-morning, I was boarding a boat to Pulau Kapas. The fare was RM40, and I could already feel the city melting away as the engine roared to life. Within minutes, Kuala Terengganu was a small shadow on the horizon, replaced by nothing but turquoise water stretching endlessly in front of me.
Pulau Kapas: Tranquility at Its Best
Pulau Kapas isn’t a place for luxury. It’s for people who want to stop moving so fast.
I checked into a beachfront chalet for RM120 a night. It wasn’t much—simple bed, a creaky fan, and a bathroom that had seen better days. But the door opened directly onto sand, and beyond that, the sea sparkled under the sun.
Exploring and Snorkeling
By noon, I was waist-deep in the ocean, adjusting my rented snorkel mask. For RM25, I got gear that took me into another world. Beneath the surface, coral fanned out in strange patterns, clownfish darted in and out of anemones, and schools of tiny silver fish swirled around me.
Compared to the Perhentians, the reef here was quieter, less touched. It felt like nature had been left alone to grow.
Lunch was simple: fresh grilled fish for RM15, served by a smiling woman who ran a small stall. She had probably caught it that morning. I washed it down with a coconut for RM5, the juice ice-cold, the flesh soft enough to scrape with a spoon.
That evening, I sat alone on the beach as the sky turned shades of pink, orange, and purple. No music, no crowds. Just silence and the slow rhythm of waves.
Mistake of the day: Forgetting sunscreen. By night, my shoulders were red enough to glow in the dark. Reef-safe sunscreen isn’t just about your skin—it protects the coral too. Lesson learned.
Day 2: Hidden Island Hopping
The next morning, I joined a small boat tour. The operator was a wiry man named Hafiz, who told me he had been taking travelers around for 20 years. The trip cost RM150, but I split it with another traveler from Germany I had met the night before.
Pulau Gemia and Pulau Tengah
These islands were different—wild, uninhabited, untouched. There were no chalets, no stalls, no Wi-Fi. Just beaches so white they looked unreal and forests so dense you could almost hear them breathing.
We snorkeled off the coast of Pulau Tengah, drifting over coral gardens alive with color. I spotted clownfish, sea urchins, and even a reef shark gliding gracefully in the distance. It was humbling to see such life, knowing how fragile reefs can be.
Lunch was a simple picnic—sandwiches and fruit I had bought the day before on Pulau Kapas (RM10). Eating on the sand with no one else in sight felt priceless.
The silence was almost shocking. In a world where we’re surrounded by constant noise—traffic, phones, conversations—the absence of sound became its own kind of luxury.
Mistake of the day:
I didn’t bring enough cash. Out here, no cards work. I had to ration what I had carefully until I got back.
Day 3: Pulau Perhentian Kecil – The Quieter Side
After two nights, I headed north toward the famous Perhentian Islands. Everyone told me to avoid Long Beach if I wanted peace, so I chose a guesthouse tucked away on the quieter side of Perhentian Kecil.
Boat from Kuala Besut: RM60
Guesthouse stay: RM90 per night
Here, life slowed even more. I could walk the beach for nearly an hour and only see a handful of people. Children from nearby villages ran barefoot across the sand, while fishermen prepared nets for the evening.
Diving Adventure
That afternoon, I signed up for a dive with a local operator (RM150). The underwater world here was unlike anything I’d ever seen—turtles gliding as if time didn’t touch them, parrotfish crunching on coral, and gardens of anemones waving like dancers.
It reminded me of how little space we occupy in nature’s grand design.
Dinner was nasi goreng kampung (RM10) with a tall glass of fresh mango juice (RM5). Later, I bought banana fritters for RM5, crispy and golden, the kind of snack that never makes it onto travel guides but feels unforgettable.
Mistake of the day:
I didn’t check the tide schedule and almost missed the last boat back. On small islands, the tide isn’t just water moving—it’s a clock you must obey.
Day 4: Island Life and Local Connections
Instead of chasing activities, I spent this day simply living.
I walked into a fishing village, where men sat repairing nets while children helped clean fish. One old fisherman invited me to join. My knots were clumsy, and everyone laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that makes you feel welcome, not embarrassed.
Later, I met a family who sold coconuts at the pier. They let me help pack them into crates while telling me stories about storms that had swept through the islands. Their resilience was inspiring—life here was simple, but not easy.
Meals were plain but memorable:
- Breakfast: Roti canai + teh tarik, RM6
- Lunch: Grilled squid with rice, RM12
- Coconut water: RM5
Walking through the village, I noticed how little the locals seemed to need. They lived with less, but somehow carried more joy than I often saw in cities.
Mistake of the day: Overpacking snacks. The villagers shared food generously, and I realized I had carried unnecessary weight in my backpack.
Day 5: Reflection and Farewell
On my last morning, I woke before dawn and waded into the water. The sea was calm, almost glass-like. As the first rays of sun broke over the horizon, everything around me turned gold. It was a moment of stillness I’ll never forget.
Before leaving, I snapped a few photos—not for Instagram, but for myself. Proof that beauty doesn’t always need filters.
- Boat to mainland: RM60
- Grab to airport: RM35
- Lunch in Kuala Terengganu: RM12
My five-day trip cost me around RM1000 (~USD 220). For what I experienced—the solitude, the kindness, the raw beauty—it felt like a bargain.
Key Takeaways
- Cash is king. ATMs are rare on small islands.
- Respect nature. Sunscreen, plastic use, and waste matter here.
- Plan with tides. They dictate boats, snorkeling, even your meals.
- Talk to locals. Their stories are richer than any guidebook.
- Less is more. The fewer distractions, the deeper the experience.
Conclusion
Hidden islands in Malaysia gave me something that busy tourist spots rarely can: perspective. Pulau Kapas, Pulau Gemia, Pulau Tengah, and Perhentian Kecil weren’t about fancy resorts or crowded bars. They were about silence, nature, and connection—with both people and myself.
I realized that travel doesn’t always have to be about chasing more. Sometimes, the most meaningful journeys are about embracing less—less noise, less distraction, less consumption.
If you’re looking for a trip that strips away the unnecessary and leaves you with just the essentials—sun, sea, and self—then Malaysia’s hidden islands are waiting for you.
Just pack sunscreen, cash, and an open heart. The rest will unfold naturally.