Riding the Peninsula
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SINGAPORE (2) & MALAYSIA (3)
1,030 Kilometres – 36 Days
13
April – 19 April 2016
Prelude
Leaving
Cape Town for Singapore felt like stepping back into the familiar hum of the
road—the airports, the heat, the small rituals of transit that mark the start
of a 1,030‑kilometre ride. Asia had always been a gentle place to begin again,
and this stretch through Singapore and Malaysia would become a mix of humidity,
kindness, small frustrations, and steady northbound movement. It was the quiet
beginning of a journey that hadn’t yet revealed its shape. (And, as usual, the
road was already smirking, knowing full well it had surprises planned.)
Singapore
Long Layovers & Tamil
New Year Treats
Even though I didn't manage
to cross everything off my to‑do list, it was finally time to hit the road
again. It wasn't until mid‑April that I bid farewell to beautiful Cape Town and
embarked on a long flight to Singapore with layovers in Dubai and Colombo, Sri
Lanka.
The flight wasn’t too bad as
long‑haul flights go, except I had a six‑hour layover in Colombo. Moreover, it
was the Tamil New Year, a public holiday in Sri Lanka. As a result, heaps of
free fruit, tea, coconut milk and rice cakes were offered. (The rice cakes were
lovely, especially when served with a potent chilli paste that could probably
remove rust from a bicycle chain.)
Arrival in Singapore’s
Midnight Warmth
As the wheels of the plane
touched down on the tarmac in Singapore, I couldn't help but feel a jolt of
excitement at the thought of immersing myself in a whole new world. Stepping
into the bustling airport, I was surrounded by a vibrant mix of cultures and
nationalities, each adding its own unique flavour to the atmosphere. (Singapore
Airport is one of those places where even the escalators seem to have a higher
IQ.)
After grabbing some local
currency, I made a beeline for a SIM card and then hailed a taxi to whisk me
away to Tree in Lodge Hostel, a gem known for its warm welcome to cyclists like
me.
Upon arrival, the hostel
owner, SK, greeted me with a genuine smile, despite the late hour. It turns out
he's a dedicated cyclist who once pedalled all the way from Finland to
Singapore. (Which is the kind of thing that makes you question your own life
choices, like why you complain about cycling 60 kilometres in the heat.) He
even went out of his way to help me lug my bike and gear inside. His kindness
instantly made me feel at home in this unfamiliar, yet fascinating, land.
Chinatown Wanderings &
Bike Assembly
The next morning, I emerged
from my cosy hostel room well past midday. I set off through the immaculate
streets and orderly suburbs of Singapore, heading to vibrant Chinatown.
The place was a feast for
the senses, with enticing aromas wafting from street food stalls and an array
of intriguing dried goods on display—from seahorses to flying lizards. (There
is nothing quite like seeing a dried flying lizard to remind you that the world
is vast and you understand very little of it.) Among the gleaming skyscrapers,
the old Chinese shophouses stood proudly, showcasing their bright colours and
intricate designs.
After indulging in a
delightful feast of pau and dim sum, I returned to the hostel to tackle the
task of assembling my bike. As each piece came together, I couldn't help but
feel anticipation for the adventure ahead. Cycling north was top of the agenda,
and I couldn’t wait to get going.
Parliament Tour & Hostel
Friendships
By morning, a roommate
informed me of a free tour of the Parliament House, and I jumped at the chance.
After hastily downing a coffee, I set off for a day filled with history,
stunning architecture, and mouth‑watering food. As I strolled along the
Singapore River, I passed by intriguing art displays, watched tourists
savouring meals at riverside restaurants, and observed busy Singaporeans
hurrying to and from work. (Everyone in Singapore seems to walk with purpose.
Even the pigeons look like they have appointments.)
Later, I headed back to the
hostel to grab my tripod for some night‑time photography, but my plans took an
unexpected turn when two cyclists showed up, and we ended up spending the
evening chatting over a few beers. It turned into a lively and social night
without me even leaving the hostel! (Cyclists have a homing instinct for one
another, like migrating birds but with more beer.)
Laser Show at the Waterfront
I ended up staying there for
two extra days, and it was totally worth it! First off, I was on the hunt for a
new laptop because mine was on the fritz, but I ended up deciding against it.
Then, at sunset, I took a
leisurely stroll to the waterfront and was lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a
spectacular laser show. I tried to capture the moment with some impromptu
handheld shots, but I couldn't help wishing I had brought my tripod. (It’s
always the way: the one time you leave the tripod behind, the universe
schedules a laser extravaganza.)
Malaysia
Crossing into Malaysia at
Woodlands
As the sun rose, I found
myself on the road to the Woodlands checkpoint, where I met up with SK for a
refreshing cold drink. Shortly after, I crossed the border into Malaysia at the
bustling and efficient Woodlands checkpoint. Malaysia was starting to feel like
a second home to me.
Even though it was still
early, I headed to Johor Bahru to experience all this country had to
offer—finding an ATM, getting a local SIM card, and soaking in the atmosphere.
Johor Bahru was undergoing
rapid transformation, evolving from a gritty border town into a vibrant, modern
city. Sadly, the charming old neighbourhoods were giving way to shiny new malls
and shopping centres, but I managed to find a room in an area where traditional
eateries and local culture still thrived. I enjoyed a delicious curry and rice
while watching toothless men play board games, sipping tea or Tiger beer. (The
toothless men seemed to be winning, which suggests experience trumps dental
structure.) The flavours of the curry reminded me of why I loved Malaysian
cuisine so much. It was a perfect way to end the day.
Johor Bahru’s Changing
Streets
My windowless room was made
for sleeping late, and the time was thus past 9h00 before emerging. The humid
weather made my clothes cling to my sweat‑soaked body long before I got on the
bike. (Malaysian humidity is the kind that hugs you tightly and refuses to let
go.)
Initially, I planned to take
a smaller coastal path, but to my surprise, I found it had become a new
highway, clearly indicating Malaysia's rapid development. This left me with
little other option but to continue along the highway until I found a minor
road. Despite this, the highway made for comfortable riding to Pontian Kecil,
where an inexpensive hotel beckoned me to stay.
Highway Heat on the Road to
Pontian Kecil
After checking in, a short
stroll led me to a supermarket to buy food and other bits and bobs. However,
the scorching heat made me scurry back to the coolness of my air‑conditioned
room. April is one of Malaysia's hottest months, and I could feel its intensity
even indoors.
Kindness on the Ride to Batu
Pahat
It must have been a
scorching day as a kind lady on a motorbike pulled up beside me and offered me
an ice‑cold "100‑Plus" sports drink. Her gesture was greatly
appreciated, and I eagerly gulped it down. Feeling refreshed and grateful, I
continued, but the midday heat remained unforgiving.
Later, a Malay man stopped
and offered me a bottle of water. He also offered to give me a ride to Batu
Pahat. He must have thought I was a bit crazy for biking in the heat, but he
wished me well and continued. (It’s always touching when strangers try to save
you from your own questionable decisions.)
The Warmshowers host I
contacted the previous night never responded, so I stayed at the Garden Hotel.
Still, it was a good day, and the kindness of strangers reminded me of the good
in the world.
Scorching Push North to
Malacca
My digs included breakfast,
which came as a surprise. Then, following a decent plate of fried rice, the way
led north to Malacca past plenty of stands to quench my thirst. Despite the
scorching weather, I soldiered on and eventually arrived at bustling Malacca.
Malacca was home to Ringo’s
Foyer Guest House and Warmshower host Howard. The place was a cool hostel where
cycle tourists could stay overnight on the roof terrace for free. (“Free” and
“roof terrace” are two phrases that make cyclists instantly loyal.)
Rooftop Nights & River
Jogging
The next morning, a jog
along the river revealed an entirely new perspective of Malacca. The sweltering
weather made me appreciate my rooftop spot, as it offered a slight breeze. (A
slight breeze in Malaysia is worth more than gold.)
Coastal Humidity on the Way
to Lukut
The high humidity left me
drenched before even getting underway. However, the day offered pleasant
coastal riding. A humble stand provided breakfast at a fraction of the price in
touristy Malacca. One could tell the day was unusually hot as even Muslim
ladies were swimming in their burkas and all. (When fully‑clothed swimmers appear,
you know the heat has reached “biblical trial” levels.)
Seeing all those ladies in
their wet burkas must’ve been a tad too much for this conservative society, and
no sooner had my path left the coast than I came across a man masturbating by
the roadside. (Travel teaches you many things, including the fact that
humanity’s oddest behaviours are not confined to any one country.)
The oppressive heat made me
opt for a pricey homestay, if only for the powerful air‑con. (Air‑conditioning
in Malaysia is not a luxury; it’s a survival strategy.)
Palm Plantations to Puchong
My early departure was due
to the heat, and I headed to Peter's place in Puchong, hoping to meet him and
his family. The day turned out to be comfortable for riding, with the route
taking me partly through palm oil plantations and partly along a busy road that
passed the Malaysian Grand Prix circuit and airport. (It’s always surreal to
pedal past a Formula One track at bicycle speed, like a tortoise visiting a
cheetah’s house.)
Upon reaching Peter's place,
I was greeted with a cold beer and a warm pie—what a lovely treat.
Peter arranged for me to
stay in an apartment as the flatlet he usually used for Warmshowers guests was
already occupied. Meanwhile, I made plans to fly to India to retrieve the
package I had sent from there three months earlier. Unfortunately, the parcel
had never left Kochi Post Office, so I had to go there myself. The box
contained all of my “valuable” items, such as my sleeping bag, tent, and stove,
so it was worth the effort to retrieve it. (There is nothing quite like
discovering your worldly possessions have been sitting untouched in a distant
post office, probably being used as a footrest.)
Flight prices varied daily,
and I was able to find the best‑priced option for five days later, so I had a
few days to relax. I spent most of my time lounging about, going for a morning
jog, and strolling to the shops to buy food.
Flying to Kochi for the Lost
Parcel
Peter kindly drove me to the
airport at the ungodly hour of 3:00 a.m. as my flight was scheduled to depart
at 6:00 a.m. The flight was uneventful and lasted for 4 hours. We arrived in
Kochi, India, at 7:00 a.m.
I stayed at Kevin's Homestay
for the next few days as I searched for my parcel, which was found intact at
the post office. The reason the parcel was not delivered was listed as twofold.
Firstly, an item contained "batteries", which may have referred to
the solar panel that couldn't store energy. Secondly, an item contained
"powder". Could it have been the instant noodles? (Only in India
could instant noodles be considered a suspicious powder. One imagines the
postal staff gathered around, debating whether it was contraband or lunch.)
Since the parcel was returned for security reasons, the postage was not
refunded. Finally, with all my goodies safely in my possession, I headed
straight to my favourite steamed momo restaurant.
Heat, Laundry & India’s
Contrasts
It was May, and the
oppressive heat made Kochi appear quite desolate. All the tourists had left,
and even the long‑term tenants had departed in search of cooler climates. When
someone asked why I was still there, it became clear that the tourist season
had long been over. The fishing boats in the port seemed abandoned, and the
fishermen were lethargically watching flies crawl over their meagre catch. The
colourful clothes on display looked faded as they slowly flapped in the breeze.
(Everything in Kochi looked like it had been left out in the sun too
long—including me.)
Despite the heat and
humidity, India remained my favourite place to linger. Maybe it’s the madness,
the contrast, the craziness of everything.
While observing the
incredible amount of plastic pollution, I saw someone knitting covers for
nearby tree branches. I thought to myself, “This is indeed incredible India.”
(India is the only place where you can witness environmental catastrophe and
whimsical tree sweaters in the same five‑metre radius.)
I had a free day in Kochi,
which allowed me to explore the city and all it had to offer. I also realised
that carrying a large box was impractical, so I purchased a suitcase instead.
Afterwards, I went to the
washing area, where laundry was still done by hand in large concrete tubs. The
clothing was then wrung out and hung on a twisted rope line. The clothesline,
made of coconut husk, isn’t just green; it's considered one of the strongest.
The line is twisted, and corners of the laundry are slipped into the twists,
making pegs unnecessary. How clever? (India excels at solutions that are
simultaneously ancient, eco‑friendly, and smarter than anything found in a
hardware store.)
Finally, all the items were
neatly ironed with old‑fashioned cast‑iron irons heated over coals. It's
amazing how nothing ever gets lost in India; it's just one of the country's
countless mysteries. Again, the contrast in India left me speechless.
Airport Chaos & Tuk‑Tuk
Escape
My return flight to Malaysia
departed at 23h30, leaving me with considerable time to kill. At 80 rupees, the
airport bus made more sense than a 1,200‑rupee taxi ride. But, being India, not
everything went according to plan. Soon after departing, all were refunded
their 80 rupees and told the bus was kaput. (There is something uniquely Indian
about receiving a refund for a bus that has just died in front of you.) Teaming
up with Bianca from Switzerland, we hailed a tuk‑tuk, and off we went in our
“air‑con Ferrari” in bumper‑to‑bumper traffic and made it just in time to catch
our 23h30 flight. There’s never a dull moment in India.
Return to Puchong in Monsoon
Lightning
AirAsia is a budget airline,
and I mean Budget. They didn’t even offer a glass of water; the fact that the
toilets were free was a surprise. Still, I wasn’t complaining—it was simply
fascinating. (AirAsia seems determined to remind passengers that hydration is a
privilege.)
We landed smoothly, and the
airport train took me to Putrajaya Central, where Peter waited. Following a few
winks, I slowly gathered my stuff, ready to resume my quest. That evening, a
spectacular storm broke over Puchong, complete with dramatic lightning.
The previous night’s storm
made for a fresh and perfect morning jog. I jogged past municipal workers
mowing lawns, leaving the smell of freshly cut grass in their wake. Past the
lake and the new MRT still under construction, past the lady selling fried
snacks, and I enjoyed the familiarity of what has become my morning jog. My
last day in Puchong was spent doing laundry and packing my belongings, and I
suddenly found I had a whole bunch of extra stuff. (Travel has a way of
multiplying possessions when you’re not looking.)
Rural Riding to Kuala
Selangor
I had breakfast in the
company of Peter and Alice and knew I would miss them terribly. Still, being on
the bicycle and biking along rural paths was good. Towards the end of the day,
the Melawati Ria Hotel came into view. At the reception, Saras, a teacher from
Puchong, promptly invited me to join them on a firefly trip. We boarded a tiny
rowboat in bucketing rain and surprisingly had good sightings of fireflies.
(Fireflies in the rain feel like nature showing off.)
With a fair amount to see in
Selangor, I donned my running shoes and headed out the door, first toward the
nearby small Nature Park. Unfortunately, the area wasn’t for the fainthearted,
mosquito‑wise, and I had to step up the pace a tad and make my way out of the
park with swarms of eager mosquitoes in hot pursuit. (Malaysian mosquitoes do
not merely bite; they pursue with ambition.)
Once outside the park, I
dragged my then weary body up Bukit Malawati, a small hill where once stood a
fort, captured by the Dutch in 1867 and recaptured by the Sultan in 1873. The
only remains were part of a retaining wall, a few cannons, a poisoned well, a
200‑year‑old Angsana tree, and a bedrock believed to have been used for
beheading traitors, but was highly likely utilised by the Sultan as a lookout
over his stronghold.
Although the outing was more
sightseeing than running, it remained fascinating.
Quiet Kampungs &
Silvered Langurs
Early morning, the tarmac
was already baking in the sun. Still, I filled my water bottles and searched
for rural routes, of which there were plenty. These small secondary paths
through palm plantations were quiet, with practically no traffic, only the
occasional small kampung and playful monkeys darting across the way.
Interestingly, these
Selangor silvered langurs are born sporting orange fur, while the adults are
black. The fur doesn’t change colour until three to five months after birth.
The young are cared for by females communally and aren’t weaned until 18 months,
even though the biological mother stops lactating after 12 months. How
fascinating? (If humans adopted this system, childcare would be a far more
harmonious affair.)
Wishing Tree at Pantai
Redang
Pantai Redang was home to a
wishing tree with branches entangled in red ribbons. One could buy ribbons,
knot them at both ends with coins, and throw them into the tree to make a wish.
I threw one lying on the ground and wondered if it would have the same effect.
(One hopes the tree accepts wishes regardless of trajectory.)
Laptop Charger Saga in
Setiawan
My chosen path continued
across countless rivers, crammed with fishing boats, past ornate Hindu temples
and small villages until reaching Melintang. At almost 16h00, the usual food
carts were already in full swing. The smells drifting across from these stalls
were enough to make me call it a day.
The stretch between
Melintang and Setiawan turned out to be uneventful, as it didn’t offer any
rural paths. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have stopped in Setiawan
had it not been for me leaving my laptop charger behind. To my shock and
horror, I learned that no charger was available for my brand‑new laptop. (How
do they launch a new laptop without the necessary support? It’s like selling a
car and forgetting to invent petrol.) All my ranting and raving didn’t make one
iota of difference, and certainly wouldn’t make one fall out of the sky.
Contacting the Kuala
Selangor hotel to inquire about the charger was a priority, but the answer was
negative. A subsequent phone call revealed that the charger was indeed located,
and a happy dance marked the expected happy ending. Unfortunately, the saga
continued as no direct bus ran to Kuala Selangor. The sole bus option ran
Setiawan—Kuala Lumpur—Klang—Kuala Selangor, a two‑day overnight journey
returning the same way. Phew, it's best to sleep on it.
Packing a small bag of
necessary items, I made my way out the door, mentally prepared for a long bus
ride. Midway, I opted for a costly taxi ride. The fee was nearly the laptop's
price at 500 Malaysian ringgit (approximately $125). But, on the positive side,
I would be back the same day. There were probably better options, but the deed
was done. In the process, I became the proud owner of the costliest laptop
charger in Malaysia. (If chargers had prestige categories, mine would be in the
“luxury goods” section.)
Short Day to Taiping &
Belgian Cyclists
“How old are you?” and “You
must be very strong” are typical remarks in this part of the world. My usual
reply is that I’m not doing anything remarkable, seeing as there are women who
give birth naturally. That is strong and brave! I’m simply pedalling a
bicycle—not pushing a baby out of my vagina! There is no comparison! (One would
think cycling required Olympic‑level youth, judging by the reactions.)
Taiping made for a short cycling
day, but I had no desire to push on to Penang, an additional 80 kilometres down
the drag. During the day, I met two Belgian cyclists nearing the end of their
year‑long cycle journey from Belgium to Singapore. They looked fit, lean, and
tanned—but mostly happy. Though they were looking forward to seeing their
children and grandchildren, I was sure they would miss their life on the road.
We chatted for a while before continuing on our separate ways.
I pulled into Taiping,
thinking I might give the zoo one more try at night, this time with a tripod in
hand, but the weather came in, and it started raining, and nothing came of my
nightly visit to the zoo. (The animals probably stayed indoors too.)
Overcast Ride to Penang
It was late morning before
biking out of Taiping, as I didn’t fall asleep until the early morning hours.
Fortunately, the day was overcast, making riding to Penang effortless. Not that
I wasn’t sweating buckets, but at least it wasn’t under the scorching sun.
Penang was meant to be a
quick in‑and‑out to arrange a visa for Thailand. But being Friday meant waiting
until Monday to hand in the passport and, hopefully, receiving it the following
morning, which meant I wouldn't resume my ride until Wednesday. In the
meantime, a budget room at the Love Lane Inn was as bare‑bones as they came,
providing only a mattress on the floor. The price, however, reflected the lack
of amenities. (It was minimalist to the point of monastic.)
Visa Errands &
Bare-Bones Lodging
Soon, the famous street food
got underway, and I rushed to my favourite food stand and gulped down a good
dose of exotic eats. Then, after making a copy of the passport (needed for the
visa application), I returned to my mattress on the floor.
In the morning, I put on
running shoes and set off to explore the area on foot. First, I went to the
water’s edge, then along the promenade, past the old fort and heaps of old
colonial buildings, some renovated and others still waiting in line.
One could hardly call it
“running” as I merely chugged along, grimacing, gasping for air, arms flailing
wildly. Taking all that effort, I should’ve moved at quite a pace but scarcely
moved at all. (It’s extraordinary how others can make jogging look so
comfortable. I looked like someone trying to escape invisible bees.) Drenched
in sweat, I returned to my mattress and found the shower empty due to a broken
pipe. The lack of amenities made me load up and move around the corner to
another and considerably better joint at the same price. At least I had a bed,
bedside table, writing table, two chairs, and a “shower inside”, but the toilet
was still outside. LOL.
Breakfast with Rickee Lee
Following my morning run, I
met up with Rickee Lee, a native of Penang and fellow cycle tourer. We had
breakfast together and jabbered on about all kinds of things. It’s
incredible—the awesome people one meets when travelling by bike.
Snake Temple & Pit
Vipers
The following day, a bus
took me to the Snake Temple along the town's outskirts. The temple is quite old
and was constructed in 1850 by a Buddhist monk. Surprisingly, the snakes
weren’t in cages but slithered at random. One had to tread carefully, as pit
vipers were everywhere. (It’s the kind of place where you suddenly become very
aware of your ankles.) After a few pictures, I made a hasty retreat.
Visa Collected, Thailand
Ahead
Finally, Tuesday arrived,
and it was time to collect the passport containing a new two‑month Thailand
visa. The reason for the two‑month visa was that I planned to meet Tania in
Bangkok around mid‑June for a three‑month cycling trip in Asia.
Northbound Ride to Alor
Setar
I just about had enough of
the negativity in Southeast Asia. If one more person told me I was too old to
cycle, I thought I was going to fucking punch them in the face. I look old, but
Christ, I wasn’t 100 years old. All the “How old ARE you?” said with a lifting
of the eyebrows was getting on my droopy tits. I guessed I could’ve donned a
burka. One would swear the right to ride a bicycle was strictly reserved for
those under 25. (Rant absolutely justified.)
I didn’t get underway until
9h00, but the day offered pleasant biking and 30–33 °C weather. My chosen route
followed the main road past a multitude of eateries selling interesting snacks
and drinks. The area further revealed large, high‑volume buildings used to farm
swiftlet nests. These edible nests are made of solidified saliva and used in
soups, an immensely popular, albeit expensive, dish.
The rainy season was fast
approaching, and paddy fields were being prepared for planting. This labour‑intensive
job made me appreciate every grain. I reached Alor Setar (Alor Star) in good
time, and the Comfort Hotel was easily the most affordable in town. There was
no “bathroom inside”, but the bicycle could be inside, and the communal
bathrooms were sparkling clean. The conveniently located night market behind the
hotel provided easy pickings.
Swiftlet Farms & Paddy
Fields
There wasn’t a single “How
old are you?” on this day. I guessed my aura clearly stated, “Don’t even think
about it!” The 60 kilometres to the border were uneventful, and the crossing
into Thailand was easy‑peasy.
I followed the usual SIM
card and ATM routine before a 57‑kilometre cycle ride spat me out in Hat Yai.
The area around the railway station came with a plethora of inexpensive digs.
Park Hotel turned out to be quite reasonable at 350 Thai baht (app. $10) for a
sizable room with Wi‑Fi and an en suite bathroom.
Rolling into Hat Yai
By the time I crossed into
Thailand, Malaysia’s heat, generosity, and occasional absurdities had settled
into the background hum of the ride. The road had stripped away the
noise—especially the endless commentary about age—and left only
Epilogue
By
the time I crossed into Thailand, Malaysia’s heat, generosity, and occasional
absurdities had settled into the background hum of the ride. The road had
stripped away the noise—especially the endless commentary about age—and left
only the rhythm of pedalling toward what came next. Hat Yai marked the end of
one chapter and the quiet anticipation of another: a new country, a new visa,
and the promise of meeting Tania further north. The wheels had carried me
exactly where they needed to.
