You know that dreaded weekday rush – pounding your way to the office, panic rising in your chest as you feel time slipping by although the workday hasn’t even started? Well, the folks in Sekinchan probably can’t relate. This small agricultural town on the fringes of Selangor, just a two-hour drive from Kuala Lumpur, feels like worlds away from the daily grind.
✦
Part of the magic lies in the journey. As you leave the city behind, gleaming skyscrapers give way to swathes of palm oil plantations and rustic kampung houses perched on stilts. By the time you roll into town you’re greeted by paddy fields stretching into the horizon, cloaked in vibrant greens or golden hues depending on the season. It’s a place where time flows differently, for locals and visitors alike.
The village that paddy built
Located by the sea and surrounded by about 180 sq km of paddy fields and fruit farms, Sekinchan is often dubbed the Land of Rice and Fish. First settled by Chinese fishermen in the 1800s, the town’s name means ‘village suitable for planting’ in Chinese – a fitting moniker that reflects the area’s rich natural resources.
Beneath its picturesque charm, though, lies a less-perfect history. During the communist insurgency of the 1940s in what was then known as Malaya, ethnic Chinese villagers were relocated into ‘new villages’ – fortified settlements established by the colonial British to isolate them from guerrilla fighters.
These sites, known as Site A, B, and C, together with the original fishing village of Bagan, form what we know today as Sekinchan.
But perhaps it’s this isolation, coupled with Sekinchan’s remote location, that has kept it shielded from over-commercialisation.
Many of the town’s residents are Teochew and Hokkien Chinese who still practice deep-rooted traditions and run family businesses that have been passed down through the generations.
Photo: Neil Mogol
One such gem is Hup Guan Coffeehouse, a 70-year-old coffee shop tucked in a row of weathered, single-storey shophouses in Site A. Here, there are no flashy signs, just an old wooden façade and the delicious aroma of roasting coffee.
Run by an elderly couple, the shop feels like it’s frozen in time. A tear-off calendar swings lazily on a hook. Cracked tables and faded chairs bear quiet witness to decades gone by. A soot-streaked altar sits in the corner, where Taoist deities peer down on diners from their perch.
It’s easy to spot the out-of-towners: They’re the ones glued to their phones, while locals chat leisurely over steaming cups of kopi (robust local coffee).
The proprietress, dressed in a floral blouse reminiscent of every Malaysian Chinese grandma, shuffles between tables buttering toast, while her husband, whom everyone calls “Uncle”, mans the coffee station at the back.
There are no menus, as most who come here know by heart the type of fare the place serves: classic kaya butter toast and soft-boiled eggs, perfectly paired with an iced coffee.
For something more filling, grab one of the banana leaf-wrapped packets of nasi lemak – coconut rice with grilled fish – piled high on the tables.
Photos: Neil Mogol
Fishing for wishes
My next stop is Redang Beach, one of Sekinchan’s most popular attractions. Along the riverbanks leading to the beach, rows of fisheries offer fresh seafood at wholesale prices, a weekend ritual for city folks who arrive by the carloads to snag the day’s catch for a bargain.
As I enter the beach area, the famed Wishing Tree – a gigantic banyan – looms into view. Its gnarled branches are adorned with thousands of fluttering red paper strips, each bearing a hopeful wish.
I write down my own (winning a million dollars from the lottery sounds like a long shot, but you never know!) before launching the paper up into the branches.
It’s believed that the higher your wish lands on the tree, the likelier it will come true.
The tree sits beside a century-old Datuk Gong Temple, a small shrine dedicated to the local guardian spirit, or datuk. Look closely and you’ll see that the deity statues are clad in traditional Malay attire, including sarongs (cloth wraps), songkoks (traditional headwear for Malay men) and even the keris, a wavy dagger used by Malay warriors of old.
This practice dates back centuries, when early Chinese immigrants in the Nusantara region of Malaysia, Indonesia, and Brunei found common ground with the local animistic worship of spirits and nature.
Over time, the traditions intertwined into a unique culture. Since datuks are believed to be Malay spirits and therefore Muslim, worshippers don’t offer pork or alcohol as gifts to the deity. Instead, packets of nasi lemak and cups of coffee are placed respectfully in front of the altar, alongside joss sticks.
Leaving the cool confines of the temple, I head to the beach proper. While it isn’t your typical postcard-perfect shoreline as the waters of the Straits of Malacca give it a muddier hue, Redang Beach has a unique charm.
I was lucky to witness the ‘sky mirror’ phenomenon, which typically happens in very hot weather and during low tide, when shallow waters on the sand flats reflect the sky to create a stunning, mirror-like vista.
Walking out to the water’s edge on a rocky outcrop, I spot migratory birds like egrets, terns and waders, swooping over the water’s surface to catch fish. Closer to shore, they cluster on the sand, waiting patiently for hermit crabs to emerge.
Photos: Neil Mogol
Out in the fields
No visit to Sekinchan is complete without venturing into its iconic paddy fields. One of the best spots to do this is near the Paddy Processing Plant, where open fields stretch endlessly under wide, blue skies.
With no tall buildings in sight, the view is hypnotic. The breeze rustles through the stalks, almost as if the paddy is whispering a song. If you’re planning a visit, timing is key: for lush green fields, come between March–May or September–November. For golden fields ready for harvest, aim for mid-May or mid-November.
While the processing plant itself is more functional than scenic, being a working warehouse with a small, static museum, it’s a great place to pick up locally grown rice to take home.
Another must-see is Nan Tian Temple, located in Site A and surrounded by sweeping paddy fields. Sekinchan is an agricultural community, so it’s fitting that the temple is dedicated to the Nine Emperor Gods, powerful Chinese folk deities who are associated with the arrival of rain.
The temple’s bright yellow façade makes it easy to spot amidst the paddy fields.
Dragon motifs can be seen throughout the temple: At the entrance, two golden dragons with glowing red eyes scale the sides of pillars, while inside two wooden ones frame the altar, which also has a large painting of a dragon.
Although the temple isn’t as old as the Datuk Gong Temple (this was built in the 1980s), the prayer smoke wafting up to the top of the hall has blackened the rafters, giving the hall a charming, weathered look.
A touch of new and old
While Sekinchan maintains much of its traditional way of life, it certainly isn’t stuck in the past. The younger generation has fresh ideas to attract more tourism, as can be seen in the wave of hipster cafes that’s quietly transforming parts of the town.
Take Hay, Hey Café, housed in a repurposed swiftlet nesting house (yes, the birds whose nests are prized for bird’s nest soup). From the outside, it resembles a giant concrete box, but step inside and you’ll find a stylish, airy space, with outdoor patios overlooking the fields.
The menu serves creative fusion food like Japanese-style fried chicken with fluffy local rice, seafood spaghetti, homemade cakes, and ice-cold brews – perfect for Sekinchan’s sunny weather.
Before heading home, I make one last stop at Ah Ma’s House, a quaint souvenir shop that doubles as a nostalgic mini museum. The space is filled with treasures once belonging to the owner’s mother, with everything from antique typewriters and tiffin carriers to fire-engine red clogs and old dressers.
There’s even a replica of a traditional wood-fired kitchen, and shelves lined with classic childhood snacks like maltose candy on sticks, biscuits in colourful tins, and other treats that stir memories of yesteryear.
It feels like stepping into a time capsule of 20th-century Malaysia, a heartwarming reminder of simpler times.
As I leave the fields behind, my heart is full. And if ever life starts feeling a little too fast again, well – you know where to find me.
