Club Med’s Malaysian Resort Cherating Closes After 47 Years, Exporting Legacy of Hospitality Globally

PAHANG (PANTAI CHERATING), MALAYSIA, 14 OCTOBER 2026 —

Club Med Cherating’s two-year renovation is the headline. The real story is what happens to the G.Os and chefs who spent decades making it one of Asia’s most beloved resorts — and how their reluctant departures are quietly carrying 47 years of Malaysian hospitality to Borneo, Japan, Phuket, and beyond.

Invited by the Malaysian government and the state of Pahang — both looking to put the East Coast on the international tourism map — he spotted a coastal forest flanking Pantai Cherating from the air and, by most accounts, knew immediately he had found it. The beach was largely unknown outside a small circle of surfers and backpackers.

The main roads from Kuantan were paved, but the final access road into the resort was still a dirt track. Trigano, in partnership with Tan Sri Philip Kuok — eldest brother of tycoon Tan Sri Robert Kuok — chose it precisely because it was hard to reach and impossible to ignore. Kuok provided the essential local business acumen, corporate backing, and network needed to secure and clear the massive chunk of pristine Pahang rainforest.

The resort that opened in 1979 was built on stilts in the style of a traditional Malay kampung, constructed from dark local teak wood. TRP was among the last guests to walk Cherating’s 850-metre elevated wooden walkway, the continuous corridor that connects all the resort’s buildings on stilts. While the canopy is no longer as dense, many massive, ancient trees still tower over the path.

During the media visit, the itinerary included a guided botanical walk along this boardwalk, where a Gracious Organiser — G.O. — explained what the different trees and plants were. The highlight came when the group spotted a large monitor lizard strolling casually across the green lawn below.

As part of the final hurrah, we were taken across the resort’s signature terrain to Pantai Beach — a journey that has always felt like a true rite of passage for anyone visiting Cherating. The adventure began on the jungle discovery trails, leading us up and over the emerald, wildlife-rich hills.

Under the cooling canopy of the rainforest — where macaques swing, and exotic birds flash through the trees — the dense foliage eventually gave way to a spectacular reveal: the pristine, secluded sands of Pantai Beach. Once there, the energy completely shifted from active adventure to absolute stillness.

We stepped into the adults-only Zen Oasis — home to the iconic Zen pool — where a strict quiet policy keeps the space free of activities and disruptions, designed purely for sunbathing, reading, and the occasional guilt-free nap. Perched quietly above the shore, this infinity-edge sanctuary features its own dedicated bar and offers views across the South China Sea — the ultimate reward after the jungle trek.

Nestled nearby is the Rembulan restaurant, where guests had been looking out at the waves from beneath the shade of the trees. When it was time to head back to the main resort village, there was no need to lace the hiking boots back up.

Instead, we hopped aboard the iconic shuttle train for a nostalgic, breezy five-minute ride through the lush coastal gardens back home — a perfect, final look at the landscape that defined the Cherating experience for nearly five decades. Fifty metres from the resort entrance, on the same stretch of beach, sits one of Malaysia’s longest-running marine conservation facilities — the Turtle Conservation and Information Centre (TCIC), operated by the Department of Fisheries (LKIM).

Established in 1972 and opened to the public in 1998, the centre has spent more than five decades protecting the green and hawksbill turtles that return each year to nest on this coastline. At its peak, the beach also received olive-ridley and leatherback turtles; the leatherbacks have not returned in years. The centre recently reopened in a new building — modern, sustainable, and designed to sit within the coastal landscape rather than interrupt it.

The old concrete tanks and display boards have given way to open-viewing conservation pools, an interactive digital gallery, and upgraded hatchery facilities. Between April and September, rangers collect eggs from nests on the beach, incubate them for 45 to 60 days, and release the hatchlings into the South China Sea.

During this visit, we joined a small group at the waterline in late afternoon dark for one of those releases — hatchlings placed at the edge of the surf, the South China Sea doing the rest. It is the kind of thing that is difficult to describe without sounding like a brochure, so it is enough to say that everyone reached for their camera and nobody looked at the screen.

For 47 years, Club Med guests walked past this centre on their way to the beach. Some stopped. The centre will still be there when the resort reopens, and the turtles, as always, will arrive regardless. The jungle and the beach are what most guests remember. But the thing that made Cherating genuinely strange — and genuinely influential — came earlier, and it no longer exists in the same form.

The all-inclusive concept wasn’t new to Club Med globally, but its execution at Cherating introduced something Asia hadn’t seen: deliberately removing money from the holiday experience. Upon arrival, guests purchased a necklace of coloured plastic beads — each colour a denomination, each bead a small permission to enjoy something. Cocktails at the beach bar cost a bead snapped from the wrist.

The system placed a French backpacker and a Kuala Lumpur businessman on identical economic footing within the resort walls.

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