La Isla Bonita

We were walking along Colley Avenue on that evening in spring.

That was minutes after Razin and I arrived from Hampton-Newport News looking for the unplugged albums of Black Sabbath, Judas Priests or Deep Purple in one old music store there. I particularly liked the classic look of the store owner with heavy traces of a hippy in 70's, hardly an inch without tatoo on his body but damn nice a guy. Not for what we went for, we came back with a rare piece by Eric Clapton instead. I was a proud owner of the track that contains fancies of the unreleased songs for album even some came in with raw string works.

We were about to step into the O'Sullivan's Wharf when I pulled Razin’s hand to draw his attention to such a pleasant bona fide tune coming from the music store nearby. I always loved that kind of rhythm. I could feel inside me grooved on with jigs on every beat of it.

I convinced Razin to delay a bit going in despite of his protest, kept on whining of empty stomach. O’Sullivan’s could wait for us as much as Lafayette River below, always there for ages. Those Oyster Rockefellers could wait for Razin as well. But, I couldn’t wait to have my curiosity answered. In haste, I lead Razin to the store and the first thing I did once reach there, I went straight to the counter and asked the lady whose song was it.

It was “La Isla Bonita” by Madonna, just a day old in the market. “La Isla Bonita” means “The Beautiful Island” in Spanish.

This morning, at Jalan Duta, in my morning-crawl ritual to get to office, I didn’t have heart to listen to Fara’s Crazy Frog CD and haphazardly pushing buttons on the steering wheel from one radio channel to another; from Sinar FM to Hot FM, from Mix FM to Lite & Easy, from ERA to Yusri KRU (no such channel), back to Sinar FM.

Lo and behold. Halim Othman was kind enough to play La Isla Bonita this morning by the time I tuned to Sinar FM. The moment the opening of the song was aired, it brought back all the memories of my younger days. Felt like all the images came rushing, bottlenecked on my comprehension for a moment. Out of the suddens I felt like I was all alone on the road. That Halim guy perhaps of the same age group as I am, almost the same time as Juliza Adlizan, a now singer cum vocal instructor who read musics, when was in the States. My presumption is based on the selections of songs he has and his “in-depth” knowledge in old songs. May be he gives the impression of him as a young dude due to his bachelor title. Is that makes me old for having married and have kids? Anyway, thanks to him, he has made my morning.

While driving, I refused to entertain thoughts on works. Instead of the regular airtime of wife & kids broadcasted in mind, my focus was narrowed to the song that now filled up my small space, “La Isla Bonita”.

Last night I dreamt of San Pedro
Just like I'd never gone, I knew the song
A young girl with eyes like the desert
It all seems like yesterday, not far away….

Tropical the island breeze
All of nature wild and free
This is where I long to be
La isla bonita
And when the samba played
The sun would set so high
Ring through my ears and sting my eyes
Your Spanish lullaby

My mind went to all islands; from Seychelles to Sicily, Barbados to Pulau Kapas, from Guam to Tioman, to Pulau Perhentian and then, settled at Seychelles – due to what I recently read about my respected friend, Idham has experienced.

“Damn! That guy’s lucky while I am still here seeing my regular Guthrie – PLUS – Jln Duta – Mahameru route”. Oh, by the way, “You are doing OK there, trust me, your hair is fine, give a room for a little extra pound – it won’t hurt you, and you are still as handsome as ever”.

Lollies' lots were in the picture as well. When it hits on 'a young girl with eyes like the desert', it has brought me to the Wadi Basking thing, forts and fortresses, sands and dunes. "One day I’ll be there Lollies, I’ll see it with my naked eyes".

Como puede ser verdad? That’s the opening line before the song proper comes in, means, “How can it be real?". Errr.. I took some Spanish before for my elective but now too little traces of it registered in my memory apart from some profanity words, vulgars that refused to go off. Rogelio, a friend from Guerrero, Mexico, was responsible for teaching me those. It claims permanent spot in the head when learning while having big laughs. And… Como puede ser verdad? How can it be real when Baddin sneaked into my mind for a second or two? "You have nothing to do with the island on my mind, kiddo!" I’d better ask his mom.

A white Porsche Boxster came squeezing into the lane I was in. I didn’t mind to give space for him. As a matter of fact it compliments well with the look of it and the imaginations I had, to be in front of me with the song on the background. I could feel the spirit of it surged in.

“La Isla Bonita!”

“I am on my way to office!”