100-101 CYCLE CYCLE TOURING MAYASIA & THAILAND

 

A Journey by Bicycle Through Malaysia and Thailand

Two Friends, Two Wheels and the

 Road to Bangkok

 

2,424 km – 60 Days
7 February – 7 April 2017 

MAP

  PHOTOS THAILAND

  PHOTOS MALAYSIA

PDF

VOICEOVER

FLIP-BOOK

 

Prologue

Before the first kilometre is tallied, before the chain is cleaned and the panniers cinched tight, before the route becomes a line across a map — the journey begins in the body.

In the pulse beneath the sternum. In the quiet, private yes that no one hears. The road does not begin at the ferry terminal or the village gate. It begins in the moment you decide to move.

And so we moved - for 1,425 kilometres, across 60 days of heat, monsoon, stillness, and surprise.

Across straits and coastlines, through incense-thick temples, past macaques, fishermen, rubber tappers, and the unchoreographed theatre of ordinary life.

Two women on bicycles, carrying more wonder than belongings,

pedalling north through rainstorms, laughter, broken spokes, roadside kindness, and the soft astonishment of being alive in a world that keeps offering itself, again and again, in small, shimmering pieces.

This is the story of those sixty days. This is the length of 1,425 kilometres, lived slowly.

This is the road to Bangkok.

 

Two Friends, Two Wheels and the Road to Bangkok

A Journey by Bicycle Through Malaysia and Thailand

Part 1 - Malaysia 

Across the Straits – Dumai, Indonesia to Port Dickson, Malaysia

I woke to the warm, comforting aroma of an Indonesian breakfast drifting through the room — a small, fragrant promise that the day would begin well. Energised, I hopped onto my bicycle and pedalled the short distance to the ferry office. I arrived far too early, but eagerness has its own logic; I was ready to check in, ready to begin whatever the day intended to offer.

As the hour crept toward eleven, the weather shifted with theatrical suddenness. The sky darkened, the wind stiffened, and the ferry crossing over the Strait of Malacca became a wild, heaving ride. The boat pitched and rolled like a creature shaking off a foul mood, and seasick bags appeared in trembling hands like tiny white flags of surrender. It was a sharp reminder that the road — or sea — rarely cares for our plans.

By the time we reached Malaysia, storm clouds hung low and heavy, and the world felt blurred at the edges, softened by mist and rain. I cycled toward Kuala Lumpur through a landscape washed into watercolour — greys, greens, and muted blues bleeding into one another. When the Grandpa Hotel finally appeared, glowing faintly through the drizzle like a modest beacon, I surrendered. I knew I wouldn’t reach Peter’s place that day, and the thought of a dry, cosy room felt like the right kind of surrender.

Later, I wandered to the Giant shopping mall, where the fluorescent aisles glittered with abundance. It felt like stepping into an adult candy store — shelves stacked high with colour, novelty, and luxury. I didn’t buy a thing, but the simple pleasure of wandering, of letting my eyes feast on the excess, was enough.

 

Reunion with the Yoong family, Janice’s arrival - Port Dickson to Puchong

Breakfast was humble—fried rice, fried egg, hot tea. Heavy rain had fallen overnight, but the skies had cleared, so I hopped on the bike for the eighty kilometres to Peter’s place on the outskirts of Kuala Lumpur.

The ride was pleasant—smooth roads, no potholes—through oil palm plantations and past the Malaysian Grand Prix circuit. Fruit stalls flashed by, and a massive solar farm glinted in the sun. Somehow, I ended up on a toll road and twice slipped past toll booths unnoticed, making for a quick, comfortable ride to Puchong.

Arriving at Peter’s felt like returning home. It was lovely to see the Yoong family again. That evening, we collected Janice from the airport—my excitement almost too big for my chest. Our long‑imagined journey was suddenly real. She reassembled her bicycle with quiet determination, and I felt a deep sense of shared purpose and anticipation for what lies ahead.

 

Thaipusam at Batu Caves - The trance, the spikes, the climb,

Before dawn, we joined the river of devotees flowing toward Batu Caves. Thaipusam, celebrated by the Tamil community on the full moon of the Hindu month of Thai, unfolded like a fever dream—milk pots balanced on heads, bodies pierced with hooks and spikes, drums pounding like a second heartbeat. Men with freshly shaven heads climbed the 272 steps in a trance. The air was thick with incense, sweat, devotion. Hundreds of devotees ascended toward the cave—it was packed—one could hardly move. Unsettling yet unforgettable.

 

Puchong Temples, Lakes, and Last Lanterns of the New Year

I ran at sunrise, legs remembering what they’d forgotten. Peter whisked us to the market, but first we stopped at the temple dedicated to the snake goddess Nagaswari Amman, shimmering, unlike anything I’d seen. Breakfast afterwards was a feast only the Chinese could orchestrate.

By evening, Peter, Alice, Janice, and I cycled around Putrajaya Lake—a delightful ride in a beautiful setting. Before returning home, we stopped for dinner, as one inevitably does in Malaysia.

 

Janice and I prepared for departure. We tested the bicycles with a ride to Tesco and picked up a few items for the journey ahead. It happened to be the last day of the Chinese New Year, and Peter arranged a Hot Pot feast. He invited a fascinating mix of people: two South Korean cyclists, Lina and Siew; their WarmShowers host, Rose; two British motorbike travellers, Maggie; Alice’s cousin, Ginger; her mother; and my friend, Saras, whom I’d met cycling in Malaysia a year earlier: a great evening—good company, delicious food.

 

The Kabins and the First Taste of the Road

Finally, Janice and I set off on our little adventure to Bangkok. Peter kindly accompanied us to The Kabins, leading us along secondary roads—pleasant riding on small paths past the remnants of Chinese New Year celebrations. Janice did exceptionally well on her first day, and we reached The Kabins early.

The Kabins offered a luxury night after our first ride: container rooms stacked around a lovely swimming pool. Air‑conditioning, fridge, kettle, coffee, tea—everything we needed. Boiling, we wasted no time jumping into the pool. There’s nothing quite like having a large swimming pool all to yourself on a tropical afternoon. We spent the evening chatting on our little veranda.

 

Bukit Malawati and the Fireflies

We drifted out late, following the coast until the road vanished, dissolving into sand and scrub. We walked the bikes, laughing at the absurdity. Still, the ride was comfortable along a rural road through oil palm plantations, with monkeys darting across our path.

Cycle touring compresses life; so much happens in a single day, it’s easy to forget the details. This day brought two weddings—exquisite outfits, multiple costume changes. We passed creeks lined with fishing boats waiting for the tide, and temples where joss sticks burned slowly, sending their heavenly scent to the spirits.

We rolled into Kuala Selangor early and checked into the Melawati Hotel. A short walk took us up Bukit Malawati, once the stronghold of the Selangor Sultanate: cannons, monkeys, fragments of history. I didn’t feel well, so I rested while Janice visited the nature park.

Later, while searching for dinner, we ran into the Korean couple again and invited them to join our firefly trip. It turned into a magical evening—thousands of fireflies blinking like a living galaxy. None of us expected quite so many.

 

Punctures, Wishing Trees, and the Kindness of Strangers

We left Kuala Selangor along the coastal road, passing heaps of oil‑palm fruit and iguanas stretched out in the sun like lazy emperors. Small fishing communities appeared one after another, their boats lying four‑deep, waiting for the tide to return.

Then came the day’s frustration: Janice’s puncture. Not the usual kind, but a hole on the inside of the tube—rim side. Only rough spoke holes or protruding spokes could cause that. We filed edges, taped them, replaced the tube. It lasted 200 metres. We repeated the process—this time it held.

At Pantai Redang, a colourful wishing tree caught our attention. To make a wish, ribbons are sold at the temple and thrown into the branches. We didn’t follow the ritual, and perhaps that was our undoing—shortly after Redang, Janice had another flat. None of our patches stuck. After four or five attempts, we ran out entirely.

There was nothing for it but to carry the wheel to the nearest motorbike repair shop. Mercifully, they had a bicycle tube. In minutes, we were rolling again. The tube held all the way to Sungai Besar, where we met Raja, a friendly cyclist with a generous heart. He showed us to a hotel, bought us a meal and a drink, and even drove us to a bike shop for rim tape, patches, and glue. His kindness was immense.

 

Trinidadian Folklore and River Crossings

Raja waited outside the hotel at dawn, eager to film us cycling. We rode along farm roads, laughing as he tried to capture the perfect shot. Along the way, we met Wim and Monique from the Netherlands, enjoying coconut shakes. They’d been cycling Southeast Asia for seventeen years, returning annually for a two-month ride. Raja left us to accompany them back to Sungai Besar.

Our path continued through coconut plantations, we stopped often, inspecting curiosities—one being the Kapok tree, whose fluffy seed pods are used for pillows and toys. Trinidadian folklore claims a carpenter carved seven rooms inside such a tree and tricked the demon Bazil into entering, locking him inside forever. People say he still lives there.

Our rural path ended abruptly at a river, but a small ferry carried us across. Shortly beyond, a conveniently placed hotel appeared—perfect for leaving seventy kilometres to Lumut the next day.

 

Island Time and Blowfish Art

We didn't meander too much on what would be Janice’s longest day since Kuala Lumpur. I expected a dull ride, but it turned out pleasant—hot, yes, but beautiful.

We crossed rivers of every size, from narrow streams to wide channels hosting massive ships. Chinese temples and Hindu shrines punctuated the landscape. Roadside vendors offered snacks. A bird seller showed us a curly-feathered pigeon—an odd, charming creature.

We stopped at a camera store - Janice bought an 18–200mm lens, ideal for travel. In Lumut, a ferry carried us to Pangkor Island. The Sea View Inn sat right on the beach, and we paid for two nights, well deserved.

 

We woke to a beautiful morning. I jogged along the beach, then jumped into the pool before breakfast. The morning dissolved into the usual housekeeping, and we hired a scooter to explore the island.

We found the remains of an old Dutch fort and a sacred rock carved with the image of a tiger holding a child—if one used imagination. Legend says a Dutch dignitary’s child disappeared mysteriously; some blamed a tiger, others, angry Malays wanting the Dutch gone. The rock also bears symbols of the Dutch East India Company.

We circled the island in two hours—it’s only eight kilometres across. Despite being a resort island, it remains a fishing hamlet at heart. A memorable stop at the blowfish man followed; he crafted hats, clocks, and lampshades from dried blowfish. He insisted the fish were accidental catches, already dead when found.

 

Rivers, Curry Puffs, and the Road to Taiping

By morning, a short ride brought us to the ferry. Back on the mainland, we faced a few technical issues: Janice exchanged her lens for a more compatible one, and her phone finally gave up the ghost. Unable to find a repair shop, she bought a new one. By the time we left, it was 3 p.m.

Still, the ride to Pantai Remis was easy—rivers, spirit houses, sugarcane juice, curry puffs. We checked into Pantai Hotel and later wandered among the mobile food carts. I settled on a soup with many ingredients; Janice chose a bag of fried goodies. The evening was spent setting up her new phone.

 

Spirit Houses and a Nightly visit to a Zoo

Rain overnight left the morning fresh and overcast. Our days had settled into a rhythm—ambling along, stopping when something caught our eye. We passed dense palm plantations overgrown with moss and ferns, piles of coconut husks guarded by spirit houses, and roadside stands selling food at dirt-low prices. Rivers crossed our path endlessly.

Kampungs stirred with barking dogs and crowing roosters. Residents called “hallo!” from behind banana plants, curious about where we came from. We stopped at Trong Leisure Farm & Resort for refreshments—chalets perched on a dam, peaceful and inviting. But Taiping awaited.

By evening, we visited the night zoo, wandering in the dark, listening to animals chew and snort—an unusual, slightly eerie experience.

 

Street Art, Visas, and the Small World of Cyclists

We rose early for the long ride to Butterworth. The main road wasn’t scenic, but it was the shortest route. Janice kept a steady pace, barely stopping. It became her longest ride in ten years, she said, and she handled it brilliantly.

The ferry carried us to Penang, docking around 3 p.m. Despite being tired, Janice still had the energy to explore Georgetown’s UNESCO-listed streets—its street art, its food, its charm. We even ran into Lina and Jihoon, the Korean cyclists. Small world indeed.

The next morning was for visas, laundry, and wandering Georgetown’s historic lanes.

 

Rain, Tea, and the Road to Langkawi

We left at leisure, boarded the ferry to the mainland, and continued north. At first, we had no choice but the main road, but soon we found a smaller path—far better riding. In one small settlement, a friendly Malaysian man invited us for tea. He’d visited South Africa and spoke fondly of Cape Town.

Rain set in, warm but relentless. We arrived at Pantai Merdeka, soaked through, and surrendered to the resort’s comforts. Clothes dried, spirits lifted. Janice finally found a non-spicy meal—rare in these parts.

 

Kinky-tailed Cats and the Ferry to Langkawi

After breakfast, we rode to the waterfront to find a boat across the river. While waiting, we watched children play on the sand and befriended the village cats—all with kinked tails, a curious genetic quirk.

A boat arrived, sparing us a long detour. The coastal path beyond was beautiful—tiny fishing hamlets, farmland, scrawny cows, lush forests, distant mountains. After sixty kilometres, Kuala Kedah appeared, and a ferry carried us to Langkawi.

We took the obligatory photo at the eagle statue, then cycled the final twenty-two kilometres to Cenang Beach. Janice found a place with air‑conditioning, a fridge, and a pool. Despite being tired and sunburned, we walked to the beach in search of dinner.

 

Langkawi - Tourist Tides, Mangrove Rush, and a Sunset Worth Staying For

Langkawi was swarming with tourists. Still, we joined a mangrove tour—more of a tourist conveyor belt than a nature experience. We were herded into a minivan, driven at breakneck speed, and loaded onto a boat that sped past cliffs and mangroves in a blur. Caves, floating restaurants, tight schedules—it was all rushed, but the scenery was undeniably stunning.

Back in the room, Janice discovered another puncture—again on the rim side. We couldn’t fix it, so we bought a new tube. We decided to stay an extra night, a wise choice. We swam in the lukewarm ocean and walked to the beach at sunset, letting the day soften around us.

 

 

Part 2 — Thailand

Crossing Borders and A Warm Thai Welcome

 

Langkawi, Malaysia to Satun, Thailand

The ferry wouldn’t leave until early afternoon, so the morning unfolded gently — a jog through humid air, a quick plunge into the pool, the slow ritual of packing panniers. Twenty-two easy kilometres carried us to the terminal, where Malaysia released us without fuss. An hour later, Thailand received us just as simply.

Rain greeted us at the pier, a soft curtain over the twelve-kilometre ride into Satun. An ATM spat out a handful of baht — enough for a SIM card and a room at the grandly named, modestly appointed Pinnacle Wangmai Satun Hotel.

At the night market, the world was skewered, fried, rolled, and ready: bugs beside sushi, sweets beside soups. Even the fussiest eater would find something to nibble beneath the neon glow.

 

Stilted Homes, Jackfruit Trees, and the First Dip in the Andaman

Barely ten kilometres out, a quiet country lane tugged us off the main road. Janice, ever patient with my detours, followed without complaint. The path slipped through villages where timber houses stood on stilts, smoke curled from open fires, and elders rocked in hammocks beneath their homes.

We pedalled past jackfruit heavy on branches, cows with long, floppy ears, and properties where mango, avocado, and frangipani trees grew as naturally as breath. Rubber plantations appeared in orderly rows, soothing in their symmetry. Tiny eateries offered noodle soup and conversation.

By late afternoon, Pak Bara Beach welcomed us. We walked straight into the Andaman Sea, letting salt water rinse away the day’s heat.

 

Karst Landscapes, Pineapple Hospitality, and Curious Eyes

A late start followed my morning jog. Our route wound through farmland and rubber plantations, past temples bright with colour, beneath the watchful silhouettes of karst cliffs. Caves dotted the landscape, but laziness kept us from long detours; the few we explored were deserted or sealed by time.

A pineapple vendor beckoned us over. She peeled and sliced fruit faster than we could eat it, and soon the village gathered — word spreading that foreigners had arrived. Children were placed on our laps for photos, their parents laughing behind their phones.

Ban Thung Yao appeared around mid-afternoon, its Cupid Hotel charming but inconvenient: no twin rooms. At sunset we wandered to the market, where foreign women seemed a rarity. Every glance lingered, curious and unfiltered.

 

Rubber Roads, Red Soda Shrines, and Pad Thai Rewards

We followed rural roads shaded by rubber trees, watching latex drip in slow, milky threads from grooves cut into bark. Our first stop was a coconut stall, where the vendor hacked open young coconuts so we could scoop out the thick flesh.

We entertained ourselves by filming small moments. Villagers peered from doorways as we passed; even the dogs retreated, as if unsure what to make of us.

Shrines appeared at the edges of fields, each one bright with offerings of red soda. When land is cleared, spirit houses are built to shelter displaced earth spirits — not religion, just custom. Red soda, the spirits’ favourite.

Trang arrived in good time. The Yamaha Hotel offered budget comfort, and we rewarded ourselves with Pad Thai — noodles, peanuts, egg, and the familiar warmth of a dish that tastes like arrival.

 

Trang to Krabi

We left Trang beneath a soft morning haze, pedalling past stupas and temples that rose like quiet guardians along the road. I hadn’t intended to ride all the way to Krabi — the distance felt unreasonable — but Janice had other plans. She pressed on with a steady, stubborn rhythm, barely pausing, as if the kilometres were beads she meant to slide cleanly along a string.

The main road offered little beauty, but it was honest and direct. We passed homes where life unfolded in simple gestures: bamboo slivers drying in the sun, chickens scratching in the dust, cows tethered beneath trees. Ordinary scenes, yet comforting in their constancy.

By the time we reached Krabi, I was proud of Janice — 130 kilometres on a loaded bicycle is no small triumph. After showers and a wander through the night market, we surrendered to the cool hum of our air-conditioned room.

We stayed an extra day, letting our legs soften. A boatman guided us through mangroves and caves, his longtail weaving between roots like a needle through cloth. The tide slipped away while we were deep inside the mangroves, but his skill carried us out without fuss.

 

Karst Towers, Kayaks, and the Warm Blue World Below - Krabi to Ko Phi Phi

After my morning jog and a dim sum breakfast, a short ride delivered us to the ferry. In less than an hour, we were transported into a postcard — limestone karsts rising from water so blue it felt unreal. Finding affordable accommodation was harder than reaching the island, but Sabai House offered the best balance of price and sanity.

From the moment we stepped off the ferry, Phi Phi swept us into its whirl: backpackers with sunburnt shoulders, neon party buckets, tattoo parlours, and the constant chorus of “You want massaaaaage?” We skipped the buckets and the massages, choosing instead the quiet logic of the sea.

A kayak carried us around the bay for hours, our paddles slicing through water clear enough to see the shadows of fish beneath us. Later, we prepared for a night out, though the island’s energy felt like it might outlast us.

The next morning came early — a two-tank scuba dive in warm, glassy water. Visibility stretched far; fish drifted around us like confetti. Swim-throughs beckoned, and we followed, weightless and content. Back on land, we still had time for a half-day snorkelling trip. The return at sunset — sky aflame, sea turning molten — was pure magic.

 

From Island Paradise to Neon Nights

The ferry to Phuket left at 14h00, granting us a slow, lazy morning. By the time we arrived at 18h00, only a steep hill separated us from Patong Beach. We crested it in fading light and found a room in the heart of the chaos.

Patong is unapologetic: sex tourism, neon bars, tattoo studios, and massage houses stacked shoulder to shoulder. The noise never stops. When I went for a run at dawn, the last partygoers were only just stumbling home. Some hadn’t made it home at all — bodies lay asleep on the sand, mercifully above the tide line.

The day disappeared into practicalities: blogs updated, photos sorted, laundry washed and hung to dry.

 

Big Spiders, Bigger Hills, and the Long Road North

The bridge linking Phuket to the mainland lay fifty kilometres away. Once across, we veered off onto a smaller road and were rewarded with a quiet ribbon of tarmac hugging the ocean. New resorts gleamed where pre-tsunami nipa huts once stood. The coastline was heartbreakingly beautiful — no wonder developers rushed in.

It became “the day of the big spiders.” Golden Orb Weavers hung in their webs like ornaments, each massive female attended by a few tiny, hopeful males.

The hills tested our patience. By late afternoon, Janice had reached her limit, but we still rolled into Khao Lak in good time. Fasai House offered a soft landing.

 

Brake Troubles, Hidden Waterfalls, and a River on Stilts

Coffee by the pool set the tone for the morning. A bike shop fixed Janice’s disc brake, but the day soon unravelled into mechanical mischief — I lost a brake pad entirely, leaving me with no rear brake.

A sign pointed toward a waterfall, but the path dissolved into confusion. Still, the detour was worth it — rural, quiet, and green, though relentlessly hilly. When Janice’s brakes acted up again, we resorted to the universal mechanic’s solution: a generous spray of WD-40.

Kuraburi appeared after five. Tararin Resort offered ramshackle wooden bungalows perched on stilts above the Nang Yon River. Our room was large, with a tiny balcony overlooking the water — imperfect, but charming.

 

Fixed Brakes, Hot Hills, and a Quiet Beach to Rest

A tiny bicycle shop in Kuraburi saved the day — new brake blocks for me, a proper fix for Janice. Relief washed over us like cool water.

We set off late, and the heat rose quickly. The road climbed and dipped through temples, forests, and small hamlets. Iced coffees kept us moving. By afternoon, Janice had had enough of the hills, and we turned toward Bang Ben Beach and the welcoming shade of Wasana Resort.

After showers, we cycled to the harbour for dinner — green curry for me, fish for Janice. Both perfect.

We stayed an extra day, letting time stretch. We cycled to the deserted beach for a swim, wandered to the pier in the evening, and watched boats resting high and dry, waiting patiently for the tide to return.

 

Forest Shade, Slow Miles, and the Comfort of Hot Springs

Morning light filtered softly through the trees at Wasana Resort, dappling the ground in shifting gold. After a slow breakfast, we packed our panniers and rolled back onto the road. The hills returned almost immediately—long, steady climbs softened by the cool hush of forest shade and the occasional flash of sea between the trees. Thailand’s west coast has a way of making even the hard days beautiful.

We pedalled past tiny hamlets where chickens scattered at our wheels and children waved from verandas. Roadside stalls offered iced drinks, and we gratefully stopped at nearly every one. The heat pressed down, thick and insistent, but the scenery—lush, green, unhurried—made the effort feel almost meditative.

By afternoon, the road dipped toward Ranong, a town known for its hot springs and its nearness to Myanmar. We found a simple guesthouse and settled in for a few days. Ranong had a sleepy charm: steaming pools, quiet streets, and a night market where we wandered between stalls, sampling whatever caught our eye.

Our rest day was spent at the hot springs, letting mineral water ease the ache in our legs. Locals watched us with amused curiosity, but welcomed us with warm smiles. Evening brought a soft rain that cooled the air and washed the dust from the trees.

 

Drizzle, Noodle Soup, and a Town Exhaling at Dusk

We left Ranong under a sky still heavy from the night’s rain, the air warm and metallic with the scent of wet earth. The road out of town was gentle at first, winding past steaming pools and wooden houses where early risers swept their verandas. The west coast has a softness to it—lush, green, unhurried—and the morning felt like cycling through a world just waking up.

Rubber plantations stretched in neat rows, each tree marked with a small bowl catching the slow drip of latex. Workers moved silently between them, knives flashing briefly in the filtered light. Dogs barked halfheartedly from the shade, more out of habit than threat.

A light drizzle began, cooling us as we pedalled. We stopped at a roadside shack for noodle soup, where the owner insisted on adding extra herbs “for strength,” tapping her bicep and laughing. The broth was fragrant and restorative—the kind of simple meal that tastes perfect because the day has earned it.

The landscape opened into wide fields dotted with palms, distant hills rising like soft blue silhouettes. Traffic was sparse; the world felt ours alone. By mid-afternoon, Kra Buri appeared—a small, unassuming town with a quiet main street and a handful of guesthouses.

We found a room, showered off the day’s sweat and rain, and wandered to the market for dinner. Fried chicken, sticky rice, fresh fruit—simple, satisfying. The evening settled gently around us, warm and still, as if the town itself were exhaling.

 

Triggerfish and Thai Hospitality - Kra Buri to Thungwualaen Beach

We left Kra Buri beneath a soft grey sky, the air warm but gentle enough to make for pleasant riding. The road carried us through farmland and long stretches of rubber plantations, the trees standing in orderly rows like slender sentinels. Workers moved quietly between them, collecting latex in small bowls, their movements rhythmic and unhurried.

Traffic was sparse, and the world felt wide and open. We pedalled past wooden houses on stilts, dogs dozing in the shade, and roosters announcing their territory. Small shops appeared at just the right intervals, offering iced drinks in plastic bags—sweet, cold relief that dripped condensation down our wrists.

The landscape shifted gradually as we moved eastward. Hills rose and fell beneath our wheels—never steep enough to break us, but enough to remind us we were earning our kilometres. We stopped often, not because we needed to, but because Thailand’s rural roads invite lingering. A fruit stall here, a shaded bench there, a curious villager wanting to know where we came from.

By midday, the heat settled in properly, thick and insistent. Still, the promise of the coast pulled us forward. The final stretch toward Thungwualaen Beach felt almost effortless—the air growing saltier, the breeze cooler, the horizon widening into blue.

Thungwualaen Beach appeared like a sigh of relief—long, quiet, washed in late-afternoon light. We found a room near the water, dropped our bags, and walked straight to the sea. The waves were gentle, the sand warm beneath our feet, and the entire shoreline seemed to belong only to us.

Dinner was at a simple beachside restaurant where the tables sat almost on the sand. We ate with the sound of the surf in our ears, the sky turning pink and gold as the sun slipped away. After a long day on the road, it felt like the perfect ending—soft, calm, and utterly unhurried.

We rose early, though not early enough to catch the sunrise over the Gulf of Thailand. Instead, we sat on our little veranda with steaming mugs of coffee, watching the morning soften into shape. When it was time, i pedalled to the dive centre, where the boat lay anchored in the bay. A rubber dinghy ferried divers out, bouncing lightly over the water.

The first dive was just the divemaster and me; the others chose to snorkel. All went well until halfway through, when a Triggerfish shot out of nowhere and launched itself at the divemaster. He fended it off as best he could, but the fish kept coming—relentless, territorial. Then it turned on me, ramming my cylinder and trying to bite my hair, which, admittedly, is not a difficult target. The divemaster banged his tank to scare it off, and we kicked away from the reef as fast as our fins would carry us. The Trigger was clearly defending its patch.

Only once back on the boat did I notice the divemaster had a chunk missing from his nose. Have you ever. He returned to shore immediately, and I was transferred mid-sea to another boat. The new boat was a proper Thai operation—little English spoken, the food was deliciously Thai and the atmosphere warm. I did two more beautiful dives (even though I’d only paid for two), including a wreck dive. The visibility wasn’t perfect, but being underwater is always pure joy.

 

Temples, Tiny Fish, and the Long Blue Coast

After a jog and a swim, we cycled out of Thungwualaen. The day unfolded beautifully—part coastal, part inland, past colourful temples and villages where people dried nipa leaves for rolling cigarettes. The young leaves were laid out in the sun, then folded neatly into bundles. I wished I spoke Thai; there was so much more I wanted to ask.

A Naga Buddha temple offered a chance for photos, and the road carried us across rivers where fishing boats lay three or four deep, waiting for the tide. Villagers dried tiny fish on wooden racks, the sun turning them crisp. We passed idyllic beaches and a gorgeous coastal route with a dedicated cycle path—pure bliss.

Bang Saphan Beach appeared like a reward. We found bungalows across from the sea, and the heat made the ocean irresistible. Dinner at the next-door restaurant was delicious, and the bill—two plates of food plus beer—came to only 190 baht.

 

Brochure‑Blue Beaches and the Art of Doing Nothing

The coastline north of Bang Saphan is one of the most beautiful stretches imaginable—snow‑white beaches, palm trees, lone hammocks swaying in the breeze. We couldn’t resist breakfast on the sand before setting off.

A quiet country road hugged the ocean, the kind of route cycle tourers dream about. Not long after leaving, a guesthouse at a postcard‑perfect spot lured us in. We surrendered without a fight. The rest of the day was spent doing almost nothing—swimming, resting, soaking in the beauty.

 

Shrines, and the Monkey Lady - Ban Krut to Prachuap Khiri Khan

Janice felt energetic, so we rode up Khao Thong Chai Mountain to its hilltop temple, arriving just as the first tour buses pulled in. Afterwards, we ambled along the coast, passing shrines, temples, and people going about their daily tasks—fishing in ponds, making charcoal from coconut shells, selling goods from carts piled high.

One shrine caught my eye: instead of the usual red soda offerings, it had bright orange bottles and colourful plastic flowers. A glass case beside it held silk garments, and a small wooden canoe with two carved figurines sat under a shelter. I wondered about its story.

We reached Prachuap just as the food stalls were being set up—perfect timing. Maggie’s Homestay became our base, a laid‑back place where everyone stayed longer than planned. We spent the next day doing chores before visiting Wat Thammikaram, the Monkey Temple.

The macaques were endlessly entertaining. They’d learned to pry up brick paving to crack nuts, and one had found a shard of mirror and couldn’t stop admiring herself. Mothers cradled newborns tenderly while youngsters ran wild. The “Monkey Lady,” an elderly woman selling bananas to tourists, was a character in her own right—sharp as a tack and impossible to photograph unless you bought a bunch of bananas. A business genius in disguise.

 

Coconuts, Railways, and Sam Roi Yot National Park

We packed up leisurely, waiting for the bike shop to open at nine. The coastal road led us through fishing villages, where we stumbled upon what seemed like a festival—or perhaps a funeral. It felt almost Hindu: music, dancing, mountains of food, and coconuts smashed dramatically. A “batsman” stood ready with a baseball‑like bat, smashing coconuts hurled at him. I was allowed to take photos.

We turned off the highway and discovered a beautifully maintained railway station with manicured gardens. The stationmaster spoke no English, but the place radiated pride. Our route passed temples and quiet villages until we reached Khao Sam Roi Yot National Park. Baan Pak Rimkong Guesthouse, perched on stilts above the river with fishing boats moored below, made a perfect overnight stop.

 

Caves of Light and the Road to Hua Hin - Sam Roi Yot to Hua Hin

A ten-minute boat ride carried us around the headland to Laem Sala Beach. From there, a steep trail climbed the mountain before descending gently into Phraya Nakhon Cave. A hole in the cave ceiling allows sunlight to illuminate the royal pavilion, but the sky was overcast, so we missed the famous light shaft. Still, the cave was magnificent.

We returned to the bikes and followed a coastal route north. Shortly before Hua Hin, a cycle path made for easy riding into the bustling city. Tourists swarmed everywhere. Bird Guest House—a rickety place on stilts over the water—became our home. Its wooden deck was perfect for enjoying the cool evening air and watching the tide roll in.

The next morning, I jogged along the beach and dipped into the ocean, though the 30°C water offered little relief. Hua Hin’s bike shop was well stocked, and Janice bought new cycling shorts, a pump, and a handlebar bag with space for a phone.

 

Salt Workers and the Heat of the Day - Hua Hin to Samut Songkhram

We left late, as had become our habit. Cycling was easy and interesting, and although we planned to stop halfway, Janice felt strong, so we pushed on.

The Hua Hin airport runway crossed the road—mercifully via a bridge—but it was still odd watching planes land straight toward us. Our route followed tiny paths between salt pans until the path dissolved entirely, forcing us to walk our bikes back to the main road.

The salt workers were the day’s highlight. Men and women of all ages carried heavy loads of salt in bamboo baskets slung from shoulder poles. Even children—no older than ten or twelve—worked alongside them. It was shocking to witness in modern Thailand.

We stopped for sugarcane juice, gulping it down greedily. Samut Songkhram greeted us with food stalls setting up for the evening. We headed straight to Hometown Hostel—my third stay there—and it felt almost like returning home.

 

The Market That Moves for the Train

We rushed to the famous Maeklong Railway Market, where stalls spill onto the tracks, and we watched as the train approached. Vendors whisk their produce and awnings back just enough to let it pass. The train crawls through, inches from baskets of vegetables and trays of fish. Once it’s gone, everything snaps back into place as if nothing happened.

On the road to Kanchanaburi, a kind man stopped and handed us a large plastic bag filled with water, biscuits, and flavoured milk. “You must be strong,” he said. I wanted to reply, “Of all the things I am, strong isn’t one of them,” but I only smiled and thanked him.

We devoured the treats in the shade before continuing. Kanchanaburi offered bungalows at Rainbow Lodge right on the River Kwai—250 baht for a room with a sunset view. We unpacked and watched the sky turn gold over the river.

We spent the next day exploring the sombre history of the Death Railway. The war cemetery, with its endless rows of graves, brought a deep sadness. Humanity’s greed for power has never known limits.

 

Ruins, Rice Fields, and the Delux Hotel

Another cyclist arrived at Rainbow Lodge, and we chatted before setting off. The day was easy and fascinating—rice paddies, sugarcane fields, temples, and ancient ruins. We stopped at Wat Phra That Sala Khao, built between 1424 and 1488, and later at Wat Kuti Song.

In Suphan Buri, we found a room at the ironically named Delux Hotel. The single faint light forced us to use torches to find our belongings, and the towel rail fell off the wall during my shower. The “Delux” part clearly referred to a bygone era.

 

Monkeys, Mothers, and the Heat of Lop Buri

Some days are simply more bizarre than others. Every temple claimed something special—ancient ruins, the most beautiful Buddha in Thailand, a 300‑year‑old sacred tree, even sculptures of Buddha riding a giant bee. Roadside stalls sold fruit with chilli‑sugar dips and, unexpectedly, grilled squirrels.

We reached Lop Buri early, but the heat—37°C, feeling like 40°C—kept us indoors until evening. Lop Buri’s ruins were closed by the time we ventured out, so we visited the monkey temple instead. Monkey society mirrors our own in uncanny ways—family bonds, rivalries, tenderness, chaos.

The next morning, we rose early to explore before the heat set in. I witnessed a monkey giving birth—messy, raw, extraordinary. The mother clutched her newborn and placenta fiercely, baring her teeth at any monkey that approached. Infanticide is common among males, and she knew it. Eventually, she turned her back to the world and faced the temple wall, shielding her baby. It was a privilege to witness.

 

The Fallen Capital and the Memory of Kings

Ayutthaya arrived shortly after departing—encircled by rivers, steeped in history. Once the capital of Siam, founded in 1350, it grew into Asia’s trading hub and by 1700 was the largest city in the world. All of it ended abruptly in 1767 when the Burmese invaded and razed it.

I never tire of Ayutthaya. Its ruins feel like the heartbeat of Thai history.

We stayed at Baan Lotus, an old schoolhouse turned guesthouse. The owner remembered me—something that always astonishes me. After a shower, we hopped on our bikes to explore the ruins, nearly all built during the Thai heyday.

 

Riding the Canal into the City

The ride into Bangkok followed a quiet canal path, then a route along the new Skytrain line, still under construction. We slipped into the city like seasoned pros, arriving in the Khaosan Road area while the rest of Bangkok was still napping.

This marked the end of Janice’s cycling tour of Southeast Asia. Thankfully, we still had nearly a week to enjoy Bangkok together.

 

Bangkok, Dim Sum, and the Last Days of the Journey

We wandered through the chaos of Bangkok—along canals, through markets, into odd corners of the city. In the evenings, we met Andre and Anton, friends from the UAE, and ate at my favourite dim sum restaurant in Chinatown. The next night, we joined them again at their fancy resort hotel, and they generously picked up the tab both times.

The days slipped by quickly. Soon it was time for Janice to pack her bicycle and panniers and prepare for her flight back to South Africa. The city buzzed around us, but our little bubble of shared adventure felt calm and complete.

 

 

Epilogue

Journeys don’t end at the city limits. They end slowly, in the quiet moments after —when the bicycle is boxed, the panniers emptied, the sunburn fades, and the legs still twitch at night as if pedalling through dreams.

The road leaves its mark in unexpected places: In the soft callus on the palm, in the memory of a monkey clutching her newborn, in the taste of sugarcane juice on a hot afternoon, in the echo of a train squeezing through a market, in the laughter shared over cheap meals and the kindness of strangers who appear at the exact moment you need them.

Bangkok was the end of the map, but not the end of the journey. The real journey continues.

99 CYCLE TOURING INDONESIA (2) - EN ROUTE TO MEET JANICE

 

INDONESIA (2)

 Bintang, Bakso and Bali Beaches

A Month of Cycling, Culture, and Connection

 

1,222 Km – 29 Days
9 January – 7 February 2017

MAP

PHOTOS

PDF

FLIP-BOOK

Prologue

There’s a unique thrill in setting out with little more than a bicycle and a sense of curiosity. As I bid farewell to familiar faces in Cape Town and touched down in Bali, I felt the pulse of adventure quicken. Indonesia—an archipelago of vibrant cultures, ancient temples, and untamed landscapes—beckoned with the promise of discovery even on a second visit. This journey would be more than pedalling a bike; it would be a tapestry woven from moments of awe, challenge, and connection. With each pedal stroke, I hoped to find not just new roads, but new perspectives—on the world, and on myself.

 

 

Bali

130 Km – 6 Days

 

Farewell Cape Town: The Journey Begins

The moment had finally arrived to bid farewell to my family and friends, and while I couldn't visit with everyone, I was grateful for the precious moments I shared with my mom. A highlight was the delightful day I spent with my long-time Facebook friend, Diana. Together, we explored the stunning winelands of the Cape, where we were entertained by a charming duck parade. We savoured a glass of wine while lounging on the lush green lawn—pure bliss.

During my stay in Cape Town, I hiked the majestic mountains, ran along the beachfront, and enjoyed spirited paddles with my dragon boat friends. Countless nights were spent around the crackling barbecue fires, sharing stories and laughter under the starry skies. I only managed to cycle once, though! Let’s just say the bicycle might as well have stayed in its box for all the use I got out of it.

Finally, on the 9th of January, I boarded a flight to Indonesia, where I planned to slowly make my way to Malaysia to meet my friend Janice for her inaugural cycle touring ride from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok. I couldn’t wait to reconnect with life on the bike and was excited to witness the changes Indonesia had undergone since my last cycling journey through this remarkable country several years ago, when I travelled from Malaysia to Australia.

 

Arrival in Bali: First Impressions and Tropica

Around 24 hours after taking off,l Air I finally touched down in Bali, and I was ready to escape the airport and breathe in some fresh tropical air! Bali, located just eight degrees south of the equator, greeted me with hot and humid weather, exactly as I had expected. I hailed a taxi instead of wrestling with my bike in the intense humidity. The cab took me to Komala Indah Cottages, where bungalows nestled in a beautiful, lush garden. Their breakfast deal included coffee, toast, jam, and bananas—a perfect start to my day.

After settling in, I withdrew some local currency, bought a SIM card, paid for my stay, and even treated myself to a large Bintang beer. I settled on the steps, sipping my drink and chatting with fellow travellers. However, despite my long and tiring day, the time difference hit me hard, and I found myself still wide awake at 3 a.m. Bali is five hours ahead of where I came from, and my internal clock was completely out of sync.

 

Settling In: Reassembling the Bike and Exploring Kuta Beach

I didn’t roll out of bed until 9 a.m., and by the time I finally got moving, the sun was already blazing, making my morning jog a sweaty affair. Afterwards, I reassembled the bicycle, packed my bags and then headed to the local store for some must-have goodies.

Bali, with its vibrant energy and stunning landscapes, has definitely earned its reputation as a top tourist hotspot. Still, I found it magical. Walking along the iconic Kuta Beach, surrounded by colourful vendors hawking their souvenirs, transported me back to my very first visit seven years ago.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, I was mesmerised by the surfers effortlessly carving through the waves, and I watched them with a cold Bintang beer in hand. Although the atmosphere at Kuta Beach can be pure chaos, I soaked it all in, loving every moment.

 

Tech Troubles and a Sunset Run

My plan was to start my ride today, but I encountered software problems and decided it was best to resolve them before getting underway. It took hours, and eventually, I had to call Microsoft support, who also had trouble reloading the programs. The connection was painfully slow, and it wasn’t until 10 p.m. that everything was finally up and running. Consequently, I didn’t get to see much of Bali or its beaches, and I only went out once (while the upload was slow) to marvel at what Bali has to offer.

Surprisingly, I found it to be still quite Balinese, despite being such a touristy island. This time, I waited until sunset to head out for my run. It turned out to be a glorious evening, and the sunset was genuinely spectacular. I was extremely grateful to have the desire and will to run. I had planned to jump in the ocean afterwards, but by the time I finished, the sun was long gone, and I still needed to rinse my sweaty running gear. Soon, it was time for my daily Bintang and Mie Goreng (stir-fried noodles) laden with chillies.

 

Rainy Roads to Ubud: Temples and Rice Terraces

The next morning, I got on my bike and zipped over to the Pelni ferry office to gather information about a ferry to Singapore. I was excited at the thought of meeting Janice in Malaysia in just a month and therefore had to make my way to Kuala Lumper as quickly as possible. The friendly staff at the Bali office informed me that a ferry departs from Tanjung Priok in Jakarta for Batang, arriving the very next day. From Batang, multiple ferries whisk travellers away to Singapore throughout the day, with only about an hour of travel time.

I returned to my lodging to pack my bike for the ride ahead. A quick stop at the bike shop had me leaving with a fresh pair of bright red pedals that added a pop of colour to my bike. By the time I hit the road, it was well past midday, and I was excited to get going.

Setting off from Kuta, I pedalled toward the quaint village of Mengwi, where the stunning Taman Ayun Temple awaited. This picturesque collection of temples, nestled within lush gardens, made the journey feel like travelling through a living postcard. The road between Kuta and Mengwi took on a magical atmosphere, lined with vendors offering beautiful temple paraphernalia at every turn. Unfortunately, my timing wasn't perfect; heavy rain began to pour just as I arrived, leaving me with hardly any time to take photos.

As the rain finally eased, I pressed on toward Ubud, riding along a path adorned with vibrant green rice terraces and intricate temples that seemed to leap out from the landscape. Just shy of reaching Ubud, an almighty clap of thunder nearly made me fall off the bike. Immediately afterwards, rain began to hammer down.

By a stroke of luck, I spotted accommodation and ducked inside, likely looking like a drowned rat. The kind lady at the desk must have taken pity on my bedraggled appearance, offering me a generous discount. I felt a flicker of guilt for my luck, especially knowing that the room came with air conditioning and hot water—precious comforts after a day of battling the elements.

 

Ubud to Medewi Beach: Ancient Caves and Coastal Rides

“Did you sleep well?” my host asked, smiling, palms together, fingers touching her forehead. What lovely people the Balinese are. Included in the room rate was a scrumptious breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, and Indonesian coffee, which was served on my little veranda. At the same time, the sweet smell of incense drifted across from the offerings.

One can’t stare into space all day, and I waved my kind host goodbye. Before getting underway, I first swung by the Goa Gajah or Elephant Cave, which dates to the ninth century. I’m unsure whether it means the cave was dug out in the ninth century (it’s pretty tiny inside) or whether the time refers to the carvings around the cave entrance and the bathing ghats (excavated in the 1950s). To enter the cave (now a temple), one needed a sarong, which I donned so I wouldn’t anger the fierce-looking demons.

The rest of the day was marred by undulating riding. Once over the high point, I sped downhill to the coast past scenic rice terraces, where I had to take the obligatory Bali rice terrace shot. I didn’t take one but hundreds. The rest of the evening was spent sifting through them.

Although the coastal route was hectic and narrow, it was immensely picturesque. Despite staying as far to the side as possible, the ride remained challenging. I passed several surf camps and other idyllic-looking beaches and eventually settled on Medewi Beach, which boasted a handful of places to stay, all reasonably priced. Once showered, I sauntered to the nearest vendor for my daily bakso soup and beer.

 

 

Java

1,092 km – 23 days

 

Crossing to Java: Ferry Adventures and Midnight Crater Hike

Breakfast was an interesting affair. It consisted of a ‘parcel’ accompanied by a steaming cup of authentic Indonesian coffee. The parcel contained a mix of rice and other ingredients, all wrapped in a banana leaf and secured with a toothpick or a slender bamboo stick. After savouring this unique meal, I hopped on my bike and set off for Gilimanuk, where ferries whisked travellers away to the Island of Java.

The ride was nothing short of magical, flanked by majestic mountains on one side and the sparkling ocean on the other, with rice paddies stretching endlessly in between. Pedalling through the national park, I was surrounded by a lush tapestry of greenery, where vehicles had carved a shaded path through the overhanging branches. Along the way, playful monkeys darted across the busy road, adding a touch of wilderness to the ride.

The ferry ride from Gilimanuk to Java Island was quick—barely 10 minutes—but the wait for departure stretched to about an hour. Once on Java Island, I made my way to the Banyuwangi Beach Hotel. It promised glamour, but for $3-$6 a night, I wasn’t expecting a palace. I decided to splurge a little and opted for a $6 room—truly living the high life! LOL.

The real reason for my stay was to visit a nearby crater lake. The visit began at midnight, and I was picked up for a one-and-a-half-hour drive up the mountain, followed by a hike up a steep, winding path that took an additional hour to reach the crater rim. This is where things became surreal. A steep descent led into the heart of Kawah Ijen Lake's crater, where toxic, sulphurous smoke billowed ominously from the volcano’s vent. A guide and a mask came with the package, which should have alerted me to the stark reality of the conditions ahead.

What shocked me even more was witnessing the miners working in such harrowing conditions, digging for sulphur deep within the crater and hoisting their burdens up the almost vertical slopes on shoulder poles. They trudged through clouds of acrid smoke that can only be described as a “medieval vision of hell.” Bright blue flames of sulphur flickered on the crater floor, a vivid reminder of the dangers they faced without even a mask for protection.

This journey to the crater lake was a profound and unforgettable experience—one that opened my eyes to the beauty of nature, even in its most perilous forms, and to the incredible resilience of those who work amidst its challenges.

By the time I returned at 7:00 a.m., I hadn’t slept or eaten since breakfast the previous morning. It was high time for a hearty meal and a much-needed nap!

 

Into the Heart of Java: Situbondo’s Daily Life

With a population of 260 million, Indonesia is a vibrant tapestry of life. A staggering 58% of this population calls Java Island home, making it the most densely populated island on the planet. This abundance of people means the narrow roads can feel like a chaotic river of humanity, with potholes adding an extra challenge to cycling. As I rode through the gritty landscape, I stumbled upon a broken-down truck that had become an unintentional gathering place. Its drivers were engrossed in a board game drawn right on the asphalt, while others adeptly collected food and cash from the traffic whizzing by.

The first few days in a new country can feel like sensory overload, with every sight and sound a fresh experience. Even though this was my second visit to Indonesia, the thrill was as strong as ever. If I were to document everything that intrigued me, it would surely fill a book! This particular day was no exception. After purchasing a bottle of water, I stepped outside and caught sight of someone measuring my bike. The poor guy was hard at work, measuring everything in sight — from gutters to paving stones. And just when I thought I’d seen it all, I encountered a stark-naked individual casually strolling by. While I knew the Dani tribe from New Guinea had a reputation for minimal clothing, I doubted these folks hailed from there. Their nudity seemed more tied to eccentricity than tribal customs.

The rest of the day eased into a more familiar rhythm as I ventured through quaint settlements, gliding past lush, green rice paddies framed by majestic cone-shaped mountains. Bright-yellow banana stalls filled with every variety of the fruit lined the roads, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight of men squatting and cutting grass along the roadside, presumably preparing animal feed. Women clad in hijabs tended to goats, and shops that sold hijabs exclusively caught my eye, making me consider picking one up. Children flew kites in the spirit of play, while older men marketed woven baskets. Nearby, women were drying small fish on wooden tables, while others navigated motorbikes piled high with wood. This tapestry of daily life unfolded as the muezzins' calls echoed through the air, and I couldn’t help but think their sound systems could use a little improvement.

As the sun set, I arrived in Situbondo and found a budget-friendly place to rest my head. Taking the low price, I couldn’t complain about the bathroom, which was certainly an interesting affair. What's more, the beds facing the bathroom instead of the door added a quirky touch to my stay. Street food vendors lined the streets, offering delicious nibbles, but finding a cold beer proved more challenging. I finally bought one at Indomaret, only to discover it was a Bintang Zero, but hey, cheers to new experiences!

 

Coastal Cycling: Probolinggo and Local Flavours

“Hello, Mister!” is the cheerful greeting I heard echoing throughout Indonesia, accompanied by countless thumbs-ups from motorbikes zipping by. I couldn’t help but smile as I realized I must have been quite the spectacle—a Western woman on a bicycle seemed to be a rarity here.

As I pedalled along the stunning coastal route, the day unfolded like a postcard, with the gentle breeze making my ride both easy and exhilarating. My path was dotted with warungs (little restaurants), all offering mouthwatering Ikan Bakar (grilled fish). With every stop, my Bahasa Indonesia improved gradually. It’s surprisingly straightforward when you get the hang of key terms—nasi for rice, mie for noodles, goreng for fried, bakar for grilled, ayam for chicken, and ikan for fish. I even cracked the code to introduce myself as being from Afrika Selatan and learned that a bicycle is called a sepeda.

Beyond the enticing restaurants, I noticed numerous fish and rice drying under the sun, a testament to Indonesia’s love for its staple foods.

As I continued my journey, I couldn’t help but notice the many mosques dotting the landscape, reflecting the nearly 90% predominantly Muslim population. Often, these mosques were collecting donations from passing vehicles, causing the already narrow roads to feel even more constricted. Phew, I forgot how challenging cycling in Indonesia could be.

Eventually, I rolled into Probolinggo, signalling the end of another delightful day on the bike. With Mount Bromo beckoning and a growing pile of laundry demanding attention, I called it a day and looked forward to whatever adventures tomorrow might bring!

 

Mount Bromo: Volcanic Landscapes and Mountain Mystique

In the morning, I packed my belongings and bid farewell to Probolinggo. However, as I approached the turn-off to Mt. Bromo, I spontaneously decided to take a short detour to this iconic site. Instead of tackling the steep mountain on my bicycle, I opted for a more comfortable ride and hailed a motorbike taxi to whisk me to the summit.

Having visited Mt. Bromo seven years earlier, I was eager to see if it would still captivate me. The ascent was thrilling, and even though my photography skills fell short this time around, I couldn’t dismiss the breathtaking view awaiting me at the top. The earlier images I captured felt like masterpieces compared to today’s snaps, but the sheer magnificence of the landscape made it all worthwhile.

As I stepped into the expansive caldera, the fume-belching cone of Mt. Bromo stared me right in the face. I could hear the volcano's ominous hisses and splatters even from a distance. A brief trek across the sandy terrain led to the crater's edge, where one could peer into the belly of the beast. The splattering and roaring sounds mingled with plumes of steam and smoke that rose dramatically, creating an otherworldly atmosphere. Strolling along the rim, with smoke swirling up around me, I felt like I had entered another realm entirely.

The return trip led past lush vegetable plantations nestled on steep hillsides, and I marvelled at how these crops thrived in such rugged terrain. The mountains exuded a unique charm, distinct from that of the lowlands. Up here, the air was cooler, wrapped in moisture and mist. Farmers bundled in blankets perched on horseback, inspected their lands, reminding me of scenes from African landscapes. Wooden homes perched precariously on stilts clinging to the mountainside, and cheerful, red-cheeked children skipped joyfully on their way to school.

Once back at my accommodation, the tantalising aroma of bakso lured me in, and I treated myself to a satisfying bowl before cycling into town to gather some much-needed supplies.

 

Urban Chaos: Surabaya’s Sights and Sounds

The terrible road and horrible traffic made a slow, soot-laden, exhaust-inhaling ride to Surabaya. Yet, despite the holdups and the sooty chaos, the day unfolded beautifully. I might not have experienced anything monumental, but the everyday life surrounding me was utterly captivating. Mobile carts adorned with stunning woven crafts caught my eye. Gangs of schoolgirls zipped by on scooters, their laughter filling the air as they headed to class. Mothers gracefully manoeuvred their motorbikes, one hand on the handlebars and the other cradling a tiny, near-newborn baby—a sight both charming and heartwarming.

Bicycle rickshaws whisked hijab-clad pre-schoolers to and from school, while toothless men leisurely chewed on nasi goreng as the world buzzed around them. In Indonesia, eateries are plentiful, and the route was lined with warungs dishing out the familiar flavours of nasi goreng, mee goreng, and ayam. The pungent aroma of durian wafted through the air, teasing my senses as I rode past stands where vendors blinked in surprise at the sight of a foreigner on two wheels. “Hello, Mister” chimed a friendly voice from a vendor selling massive jackfruit, making the moments feel quintessentially Indonesian.

As I neared Surabaya, the skies opened, unleashing a torrential downpour that transformed the ride into a nerve-wracking cycle into Indonesia's second-largest city. However, the relief I felt upon finally reaching this sprawling city was palpable, though finding budget accommodation amidst the pouring rain was a challenge in its own.

 

Exploring Surabaya: Arab Quarter and Chinatown

Once in Surabaya, I thought it was worth exploring, especially since getting there was such a mission. My first destination was the Qubah, the city's enchanting Arab quarter that twists and turns around the historic Mesjid Ampel Mosque. This mosque isn't just an architectural marvel; it's a significant site where the revered Sunan Ampel, a key figure in spreading Islam to Java, is believed to be buried. At the back of the mosque, devotees gather to offer rose petals and chant prayers near the sacred grave—a scene that resonates with deep spirituality.

As I ventured into the vibrant souk surrounding the mosque, I found myself amid an array of typical Arab treasures. From juicy dates and colourful fezzes to savoury samosas and fragrant perfumes, the market buzzed with life and energy. I quickly realised that this wasn't a touristy market, and I stood out like a sore thumb as I wandered the narrow, bustling alleys with my camera in hand.

The area around the market was equally fascinating. Curious locals peeked through the curtains of their homes, perhaps pondering what a foreigner was doing in their neck of the woods. The cheerful shouts of "Photo, photo!" rang around me as playful kids made the perfect subjects for spontaneous photography.

My exploration didn’t stop there as I eagerly made my way to Chinatown, which unfolded before me like a colourful tapestry. The vibrant streets were alive with the sights and sounds of beautiful temples, dazzling dragon decorations, and an array of tantalising food stalls. Unfortunately, the fish market had closed by the time I arrived, but the atmosphere was still electric. Vendors enthusiastically hawked everything from fresh meat to mouth-watering fruits and vegetables, creating a lively cacophony of voices. Outside, bicycle rickshaws lined the streets, ready to whisk shoppers home, adding to the bustling charm of the market.

Surabaya was a feast for the senses. Every corner revealed a new layer of its vibrant culture, making my exploration all the more rewarding.

 

Escaping the City: Bojonegoro’s Open Roads

The ride out of Surabaya was a nerve-wracking ride that I won’t soon forget. I kicked things off with an unexpected detour through the hectic streets of the city. My original plan was to hop onto a toll road, but with bicycles banned, I had to navigate through the hustle and bustle instead. As I pedalled alongside men clad in shalwar kameez and fezzes, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the delightful absurdity of it all.

After what felt like an eternity—almost two hours—I finally escaped the city’s frenetic energy. It’s hard to imagine an “open road” in Indonesia, but at least I was away from the chaos. Even so, the journey was anything but serene. I mostly kept my camera tucked away, focusing intently on dodging potholes and maintaining my balance while weaving through the madness.

Once I reached the outskirts, however, the atmosphere shifted. The ride became blissfully relaxed, and I savoured the surroundings as the day sped by. I couldn’t resist the temptation to explore a minor route, drawn in by the promise of stunning vistas. But after a bumpy ride that rattled my bones, I promptly rejoined the main road, realising that comfort sometimes trumps beauty.

Around midday, a drama unfolded when a truck toppled over, spilling its cargo of rice across the highway. The sight of grains scattering led to a massive traffic jam, an endless line of weary lorries stretching for miles. In that moment, I felt a surge of relief—I was on my bicycle, free from the gridlock. A crew of self-appointed traffic wardens skilfully managed the scene, and their efforts made me appreciate the ride all the more. What a day it was!

 

Rural Java: Rice Paddies and Woodcraft Wonders enroute to Sragen

The day dawned without a hint of sleep in between the cocks crowing and the muezzins calling the faithful to prayer—a lively soundtrack that set the stage for what lay ahead. Much to my surprise, the pace of the day turned out to be slower than I had anticipated. As I embarked on my journey, I was greeted by the sight of verdant rice paddies glowing in the morning light, interspersed with the striking silhouettes of mosques. However, as I ventured further, the road deteriorated into a bumpy, rickety path that turned my ride into a relentless shake-and-rattle affair.

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the reactions of nearly every motorbike rider zooming past; heads turned, eyebrows raised, taking in the sight of me wobbling along, resembling a cross between a circus performer and a free-spirited yogi clad in yoga pants and a flowing skirt. Occasional flashes of light caught my eye as yet another mobile phone emerged from a car window, capturing the spectacle. As the centre of attention, I felt a curious mix of humour and fatigue wash over me—was this what other cycle tourers felt, I wondered?

As midday approached, the sun cranked up the heat, and the terrain took a turn for the hilly, challenging my determination. I pressed on, cruising along a charming country lane winding through rural landscapes, where woodcraft seemed to breathe life into the local economy. The roadsides were adorned with vibrant stands showcasing a delightful array of wooden creations—from elegant furniture to intricate statues, and even some skulls that were hard to look away from.

Just as the clouds gathered and the first raindrops threatened to fall, serendipity guided me to the Graha Hotel in Sragen. It was a welcome sight, offering cozy economy fan rooms on the ground floor, with the added luxury of wheeling my bike right inside. What a relief! I couldn’t help but smile as I finally settled in, knowing I had narrowly escaped the impending downpour.

 

Rainy Detour: Surakarta’s Old Town

The traffic was already hectic when I got going, but it didn’t take long before lush rice fields and the silhouettes of mosques surrounded me. Initially, I had no plans to veer into Solo, but the allure of its attractions proved irresistible. After securing a room, I eagerly set out to uncover the charm of the old town.

Just as I began my exploration, dark clouds rolled in, and the skies opened up in a torrential downpour. I thought about waiting it out, but with no umbrella and the rain showing no signs of letting up, I flagged down a bicycle rickshaw.

Sadly, the rain put a damper on my sightseeing plans, forcing me to venture out just once, for a steaming bowl of soup and to snag a bright plastic raincoat to shield me from the deluge. Back at my accommodation, I did the laundry, crossing my fingers for it to be dry by morning. Fortunately, my laptop chimed to life, allowing me to dive into organising my photos—a small victory amid the storm.

 

Prambanan Temple: Spiritual Heritage and Local Rituals

I couldn’t fall asleep; maybe the wallpaper was too busy, or perhaps because I’d practically done nothing the previous day. I fell asleep around 3 a.m. Shortly afterwards, however, the muezzin started calling, and as one of the residents in the alley passed away during the night, funeral procedures began at around 6 a.m.

Eventually, I got up as there was no point in trying to sleep. The room rate included breakfast, and what a feast. I was served rice topped with a tofu stew, which was delicious and an all-vegetarian affair.

By the time I got underway, the entire lane was covered to give shelter from the threatening rain. Chairs were put out, and the body lay covered for people to say their last goodbyes. Speakers blasted verses from the Quran for the entire neighbourhood to hear. In a way, it was quite lovely, as friends and family randomly popped in.

During the day, I spotted guys loading flour and thought they could make interesting pictures with their flour-covered faces. But they spotted me and cleaned their faces before emerging from the shed on the next round. How sweet!

I cycled the short distance to the Prambanan temple. The temple complex is a UNESCO World Heritage Site comprising beautiful Hindu temples dating to the ninth century. The temple is dedicated to Shiva and was constructed by the king of the ancient Mataram Kingdom in 856 AD.

I discovered nearby digs and then set off on foot to explore the complex. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t cooperate (photography-wise). Still, the temples are set in a beautiful garden, and strolling around is a pleasure.

 

Journey to Borobudur: Buddhist Marvels and Country Lanes

After a brief but delightful day of cycling, I found myself on the way to the iconic Borobudur, one of the most significant Buddhist sites in the world. This majestic temple, crafted from two million stone blocks into an asymmetrical stupa, stands tall as a testament to Indonesia's architectural wonders. They say that when viewed from above, it resembles an immense three-dimensional tantric mandala, a sight that must be breathtaking. But first things first—I needed to make my way there.

Pedalling along charming country lanes, I passed through the tiniest of settlements, soaking in the enchanting scenery. In the distance loomed the iconic smoking cone of Gunung Merapi, a stunning backdrop to my ride. I couldn’t help but smile as waves from cheerful schoolchildren brightened my path. Yet, I felt a pang of sympathy for those little ones, bundled up as if they were braving the Arctic chill rather than enjoying the warmth of the equator. It seemed almost ironic that people in Indonesia suffer from a vitamin D deficiency, and I wondered how the children could truly enjoy their playtime while dressed so heavily.

I soon reached the Pondok Tinggal Hotel, where I planned to rest for the night. At first glance, the price seemed a bit steep, but the warm-hearted staff quickly offered me a generous discount, making my decision easier. The hotel, a charming bamboo-and-timber structure, was surrounded by a lush courtyard garden that felt like a serene oasis.

Instead of rushing to the temple that evening, I decided to bide my time and plan my visit for six the next morning. As the skies darkened and rain began to fall, I knew my decision was wise. Visiting the temple would have to wait, but the magic of Borobudur was just starting to unfold.

 

Borobudur: Art, Culture, and Ancient Stones

Art students had taken over nearly the entire hotel, turning it into a vibrant hub of creativity and energy. As night fell, we were treated to a fascinating cultural show in the courtyard that kept us entertained until 2 a.m.! Yet, I found myself waking at 5 a.m. and making my way to the temple by 6.

The dawn light was promising, even if Saturday brought half of Indonesia along with me to witness the enchanting Borobudur. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one drawn to this UNESCO World Heritage site! I forked out the steep $20 entrance fee for foreigners, but it was a small price for a glimpse into history.

This magnificent temple, believed to have begun construction around 750 AD, gracefully hugs a small hill. Interestingly, during renovations, archaeologists uncovered that this hill was not a natural formation as previously thought, but rather an artificial creation. The temple itself was abandoned around the twelfth century, likely due to volcanic eruptions. It was British explorer, Sir Stamford Raffles who stumbled upon this hidden gem in 1814, revealing the temple from beneath layers of volcanic ash.

As the day turned into evening, the art students packed up and headed home, making way for a lively car club that brought its own brand of merriment. I was graciously invited to join the festivities, where a band played lively tunes and a tempting spread of food and drinks awaited.

Later, a mesmerising Javanese puppet show unfolded in the foyer, starring the exquisite Wayang Kulit shadow puppets. These intricate performances can stretch on throughout the night, and it’s not unusual for the audience and musicians alike to drift off into slumber. The puppets, crafted from dried buffalo skin and horns, come to life in the hands of master puppeteers wielding thin sticks.

Though I didn’t stay too long due to the language barrier and the creeping sensation of sleepiness, the atmosphere felt inviting enough that no one would have minded if I had dozed off.

 

Rainy Rides: Kebumen’s Hills and History

I took off in a drizzle that continued throughout the day. At first, a steep climb led out of Borobudur, followed by an excellent descent. I flew downhill at breakneck speed, watching for the numerous potholes. I sailed past rice fields, raging streams, terracotta-tiled-roof houses, and friendly Indonesians.

History shaped the language of this country. The Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch and British all made their mark in Indonesia, and each left a few words. Words like “solo,” “mas,” “handuk,” and “kantor pos” are clearly borrowed from other languages. I thought it interesting they used the word “handuk” instead of “towel.” Obviously, this word comes from the Dutch.

I reached Kebumen early, but since I was soaked, I called it quits.

 

Forts and Caves: Karanganyar Indah’s Hidden Stories

Indonesia is a breathtaking tapestry of natural beauty, and I am in awe of its stunning landscapes every single day. Shortly after getting underway, I spotted a sign for Benteng Van Der Wijck—an impressive Dutch fort dating back to the 1800s. I couldn’t resist the call of history!

As I continued my journey, another sign caught my eye, directing me towards mysterious caves. Naturally, I had to explore! Upon entering, I discovered a surreal world with four underground springs believed to grant agelessness—imagine the stories those waters could tell. I should have scooped up some water! Inside the cave, I was surrounded by 32 statues, each narrating the captivating legend of Raden Kamandaka, a crown prince who was once imprisoned here. The atmosphere was both eerie and enchanting.

After leaving the cave, I took the scenic coastal route to Cilacap, but fate had other plans: the road didn't lead through Pangandaran as I’d hoped. Just as the weather turned ominous, an epic clap of thunder echoed, and suddenly, the sky unleashed a torrential downpour. My path transformed into a river but with my trusty plastic raincoat as armour, I pressed on, regardless.

I finally stumbled upon a roadside hotel around 5 p.m., sighed in relief, and was happy to call it a day.

 

Mountain Roads: Banjar’s Crocodile Estuary and Fruit Stalls

Accompanied by morning traffic, I slowly snaked out of the village, trying to avoid potholes. The rest of the day consisted of a hilly ride in Central Java. My route took me over the mountains toward Merak, where I planned to catch the ferry to the island of Sumatra. However, the poor road made the journey extremely slow, and, in the end, I realised I could do nothing but relax, slow down, and follow the traffic. It remained a frustrating day, as my gears kept slipping, making the inclines even more challenging. However, the stunning views made up for the bad roads and the slipping gears.

I passed a sign stating, “Watch Out—Crocodile Estuary,” and wondered how many people were taken before it warranted a sign. I stopped at colourful fruit stalls and was tempted to buy a whole lot but realised I couldn’t eat that much. Thus, I simply took a picture. The Indonesians are super-friendly and keen for you to take photos, making photography easy.

By 3 p.m., the weather came in, and by the time it reached Banjar, it started raining. I didn’t feel like cycling in the rain, so I checked into the first available hotel. Maybe I was overly keen, as the place was terrible and the area devoid of any facilities. Moreover, I didn’t think I would get breakfast in the morning.

 

Repairs and Kindness: Tasikmalaya’s Scenic Route

When travelling by bicycle, no two days are ever the same. This morning, I got on my bike and pedalled the couple of kilometres into Banjar, on the hunt for a place to buy internet time. Since most shops were still closed, I decided to continue along Route 3. That's when I stumbled upon an Indomaret mini-mart—an absolute treasure trove that seemed to have everything I could possibly need (well, everything except beer, but hey, it’s all good!).

Sipping on a steaming cup of coffee, I pulled out my map, eager to find a local bicycle shop. To my delight, I discovered Ikey bike store. The moment I rolled in, I was greeted with the warmest smiles. These folks didn’t just adjust my derailleur; they went above and beyond, replacing my chain too! I can’t express how relieved and happy I was—nothing ruins a ride faster than slipping gears, especially when you’re climbing uphill.

I had initially planned to reach Bandung, but reality hit me when I realised it was a hefty 170 kilometres away! Jatnika from the bike shop suggested taking the scenic secondary road, and what a stroke of luck that was. The smooth pavement felt like a ribbon beneath my wheels, and the tranquillity of the route allowed me to soak in the beauty around me.

Along the way, I encountered hidden gems—like talented knife makers showcasing stunning handmade blades and intricate sheaths in an array of styles. I even came across a bandy-legged man scavenging for recyclables, and lively salak fruit stalls where cheerful sellers called out “Mister, Mister!” enticing me to taste their sweet offerings.

Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, I paused to check my map near Tasikmalaya. Out of nowhere, two fellow cyclists stopped to chat. They offered their help and ended up escorting me to a comfortable hotel. I couldn't have asked for kinder companions on my journey. Thanks, guys—you made my day!

 

By Train and Bus: Jakarta to Merak and Beyond

I realised that if I wanted to meet Janice in Kuala Lumpur, I had to start moving towards Dumai, more than 1,500 kilometres away. I thus cycled to the train station and bought a train ticket for Jakarta as I reasoned it would be easier to find onward transport from there.

The train trip, albeit long, was comfortable, and we arrived in Jakarta at around six. Unfortunately, my bicycle wasn’t on the same train, and I was told to collect it in the morning. Consequently, I grabbed a motorbike taxi to Hostel 35.

The next day, I returned to the parcel office using an Uber moto. Thank goodness, the bicycle was there, and I cycled to the harbour to check if the Pelni ferry had already sailed, but I was too late, and the ferry was long gone. My next option was to catch the Dumai-Melaka ferry, so I cycled to the bus terminal about 15 kilometres away, where I finally boarded a bus to Merak, the most western point in Java, from where ferries sailed for Sumatra. It was past nine on arriving at the ferry, and it was best to settle for a losmen (basic hotel).

 

Sumatra Bound: Long Bus Rides and Survival Tips

The day began with a brisk bike ride to the harbour, where a colossal car ferry awaited, ready to whisk us away to the island of Sumatra. This ferry, a lifeline that navigated the waves throughout the day, may not have been as direct as the Bali–Java ferry, but it offered a swift passage to Sumatra.

Upon arrival, I quickly learned that Sumatra's public transport system was somewhat lacking, especially for long-distance journeys. After a bit of a search, I finally found a bus that would take my bicycle and me to Dumai. I suspected I had been overcharged, but considering the expanse of 1,400 kilometres ahead of us, I still deemed it a fair deal.

The bus itself was an older model, without air conditioning, and rattled along the uneven roads of the equator, offering a quite bumpy ride. Honestly, I couldn’t fathom how seasoned backpackers managed such travels! The bus driver was a true trooper, taking hardly any breaks. We paused only around 9 p.m. for a quick bite, and after that, we settled in for a long, uncomfortable night.

At around 7 a.m., we stopped for breakfast and kept powering on until supper. As someone who prefers to stay hydrated, I made sure to drink my usual amount of water, even though it meant asking the bus driver for pit stops. Each time I made the request, it seemed like the entire bus joined in, hopping off for their own restroom breaks. It turned out that was the secret to survival on these long bus rides!

To keep myself entertained, I turned to the internet. Thankfully, I had three power banks stashed in my bag, which kept my devices alive throughout the ordeal. I quickly realised that this bus ride wasn’t going to end that day, so we braced ourselves for yet another night on those unyielding, hard seats.

The next morning, we finally hit the Dumai-Medan junction, where I hopped off to tackle the final leg of my journey—a pleasant 50-kilometre cycle into Dumai. Despite the fatigue, there was something exhilarating about cycling that familiar stretch once again. Memories flooded back from seven years prior when I had traversed the same path but in the opposite direction. Surprisingly, everything looked just as I remembered—the potholed roads, sprawling oil palm plantations, glistening oil pipelines, and quaint houses perched on stilts selling ripe pineapples.

Upon arriving in Dumai, I checked the ferry schedule only to find that the boats had already departed. I was left with two choices: the 9:30 ferry to Malaka, Malaysia, or the 11:00 ferry to Port Dickson. There was a third option for Port Klang that sailed only on specific days. Once I got my plans sorted, I treated myself to a room at the City Hotel for $20—my little indulgence for having spent two nights on a bus! After checking in, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as I scrubbed off the travel grime, washed my hair, and handed over my laundry, ready for the next leg of my journey.

 

Crossing to Malaysia: Stormy Seas and New Horizons

After indulging in a delightful Indonesian breakfast, I loaded my bike and pedalled the short distance to the ferry ticket office. While it was way too early, I checked in and awaited the departure of the Port Dickson ferry at eleven.

However, as we set sail, the weather decided to take a turn for the worse, transforming our journey across the Straits of Malacca into a rollercoaster ride. The ferry rocked and rolled, earning its nickname “Pitch & Puke” as the crew handed out seasick bags left and right.

We finally anchored in Malaysia at three p.m., although the time difference pushed it to four p.m. As I made my way toward Kuala Lumpur, the stormy clouds cast a gloomy veil over the landscape, reducing visibility. But just when I thought my day couldn’t get any more unpredictable, I spotted the Grandpa Hotel. It beckoned to me like a cosy haven, and I couldn’t resist the lure of a warm, dry place to rest. Realistically, I wasn’t going to make it to Peter’s place that day anyway, and staying here felt just as good. What a day it had been!

 

 

Epilogue

As the ferry rocked its way across the Straits of Malacca and I finally set foot in Malaysia, the whirlwind of the past 29 days settled into memory. Indonesia had revealed itself in layers: through rain-soaked rice fields, bustling city streets, and the warmth of strangers. The journey was not always easy—there were days of exhaustion, unexpected detours, and relentless weather—but each challenge became a story, each encounter a lesson. Looking back, I realise that the true reward was not the distance covered, but the richness of experience gained. The road may end, but the spirit of adventure endures, ready for the next horizon.