Gunung Jerai (Photo Credit: GreaterKedah.com)
By Dr Rahim Said
There was a time when weekends did not begin with a GPS saying, “Proceed to the highlighted route.” They began with a map folded badly in the glove compartment, a full tank of petrol, and a determination to avoid rushing through life.
Before the PLUS Expressway sliced across the peninsula and made every journey an exercise in efficiency, the old trunk road from Butterworth to Alor Setar was an adventure in itself. It twisted through villages, crossed sleepy bridges, flirted with padi fields and occasionally persuaded motorists to stop simply because the scenery refused to be ignored.
One of my compulsory pit stops was Kuala Sedaka in Yan District. No, I had no relatives there. No business appointment. No urgent errand. I stopped for two entirely sentimental reasons.
The first was its name. To anyone of my generation, “Sedaka” immediately brings to mind Neil Sedaka, the boyish American singer whose romantic ballads accompanied many youthful dreams. Every time I saw the road sign, my mind automatically played You Mean Everything to Me. It was impossible not to hum the tune.
The second reason was even sweeter. Kuala Sedaka was famous for its nira — the fresh nectar tapped from the nipah palm. Cool, naturally sweet and wonderfully refreshing, it was the perfect antidote to Kedah’s afternoon heat.
So, there I was in 1974, proudly driving my brand-new Toyota Corolla, which had set me back the princely sum of RM6,000. Today, that amount might barely buy a fancy set of alloy rims, but back then it represented freedom on four wheels.
I would park under whatever shade I could find, buy a glass of fresh nira, take a leisurely sip and, naturally, continue singing Neil Sedaka.
“You mean everything to me…”
Somewhere between the second chorus and the last mouthful of nectar, I would drift into memories of my wonderful days in New York while wondering whether the girl who would eventually mean everything to me was somewhere out there.
Youth has a remarkable talent for mixing music, scenery and impossible optimism. Looking back, I cannot remember whether the nira was exceptionally good or whether nostalgia has quietly improved its flavour over the years. Perhaps both.
Then life accelerated.
Expressways arrived. Travelling became faster. We reached our destinations earlier, but somehow accumulated fewer memories along the way. Villages that once demanded a stop became places we sped past at 110 kilometres an hour.
I often wondered whether those little nira stalls in Kuala Sedaka had quietly disappeared with the old road culture. Then, thanks to social media, Kuala Sedaka unexpectedly returned to my life.
A young graphic artist has done something delightfully old-fashioned using thoroughly modern technology.
Every Saturday afternoon, he parks his mobile warung beside the bend in the road with magnificent Gunung Jerai standing majestically in the background. Coffee is served free. Homemade kuih appear on the table. During the season, there is even bubur asyura. Old Malay songs drift through the air while strangers become friends over steaming cups and laughter.
His short video reels have transformed an ordinary roadside stop into an unlikely weekend destination. Families come. Motorcyclists come. Photographers come. Curious travellers come. According to his reels, even Kedah’s Crown Prince has dropped by.
Imagine that.
In an age when influencers compete over expensive cafés with impossible coffee names, Kuala Sedaka has become famous simply for generosity, conversation and a beautiful mountain. Perhaps people have finally discovered what our parents always knew.
Sometimes the finest café in the world is not one with designer furniture and Wi-Fi passwords. It is a roadside stall where nobody is in a hurry.
Where Gunung Jerai watches silently over emerald padi fields. Where coffee is shared instead of sold. Where homemade kuih tastes exactly as childhood remembers. Where memories are brewed as carefully as the coffee itself.
Neil Sedaka may no longer be with us, but every time I hear his songs, my thoughts still wander to that little Kedah village whose name has become permanently entwined with both music and memory.
Long live Neil Sedaka. And even longer live Kuala Sedaka.
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