19. Thaipusam

Some practical stuff had to be done and the first day in Georgetown was spent cleaning my clothes, getting a VISA to Thailand, buying a ferry ticket to Langkawi and giving my bicycle a full service at Gary’s bicycle store. Despite my careful “planning” it turns out that you do need a VISA to get in to Thailand unless you arrive by air, which I obviously don’t. Rules are rules even if they are stupid, but luckily I was able to get a 60 day VISA in just 24 hours. Bureaucracy really works when the rules exists only for the sake of bureaucracy, doesn’t it?

I am way behind schedule. Every place seems to keep me a little bit longer than initially planned and taking the ferry from Penang to Langkawi saves me two days of riding. It’s only cheating if it is a competition (that is my official excuse).

I ran into my local “friend” again. He claimed he had been waiting for me outside my hostel for several hours last night, and wondered why I never called. Gee, I don’t know! What’s your name, again? I don’t know what kind of promises he thinks I had made, but I know from experience that some people have a very vivid imagination which somehow leaks into their reality.

The Thaipusam is a Hindu festival, celebrated when the moon is full at the end of January or beginning of February. People dress up and go out on the streets to eat, drink, sing, dance and put huge spears through their heads.

I knew that there would be a huge event at the Batu Caves and in other sacred Hindu places, but I had no idea that it would be such a big festival in Penang. Tens of thousands of people filled the streets and I was in the middle of it; the people, the different aromas, the sounds and the food! I have never experienced anything like it and I walked in awe through the crowds taking it all in. And there were monkeys.

 Some people are crazier than others.

Emilie and Natalia would love this.

Thug of war.

He doesn’t look too happy about his situation.

 

Crowded street.

More pain.

Beautiful clothes.

Monkey!

18. Penang

I am getting sloppy. I have been riding with open zippers and bags several times the past day, and I can confirm that a Garmin will survive a drop of three feet at 25 km/h. I am really lucky I haven’t been throwing money all over the road.

I am now riding Route number 1 which is not at all as scenic as Route 5 in southern Malaysia, but alternating between somewhat decent and horrible with a lot of traffic. For a while I thought I just as well could take the highway and save me a decent number of miles, but I’ve been scared of highways since KL. To get away from traffic and boredom I took a couple of detours through Malaysian Suburbia and got to see both the rich and the poor way of living. A GPS really helps when you are riding around the neighbourhoods. A lot of dogs barked at me, but none of them was brave enough to approach my now pretty muscular legs (and I’ve got a fantastic ass)!

At one of my stops for rest I met a Buddhist monk sitting by the road. The man was on a journey around the world and we talked a bit about travelling, philosophy and materialism. Did I mention the guy was walking around the world? Barefoot. Without any money! Next time I am complaining about something I will think about him. Before I moved on we exchanged gifts, he gave me bread, crackers and water and I gave him the only thing I had; a lousy orange juice. I should have given him my 150 ringgit bracelet of “peace” I was conned to buy in KL, but I didn’t think of it until later.

I have read about other cyclists crossing the bridge to Georgetown, but I did some further reading and decided against it. As it is 14 kilometres of highway it would take me about 30 minutes, long enough for any cops to catch me even if I could get past the toll booths. When I reached Butterworth the traffic was bad enough, so I took the motorcycle lane to the ferry. To my pleasant surprise there was a special rate for cyclists, only 1.40 ringgit for crossing over to Georgetown! The ocean breeze was fantastic and I realized I hadn’t seen the ocean since Port Dickson, and it seems like an eternity.

Entering a new city is always exciting, especially a moderately sized one without too many highways, and Georgetown was no exception. Even though the traffic is heavy, people keep their distance and the chaos seems to work somehow.

I had a couple of beers with a local guy who really wanted to be my friend, but something didn’t feel right so I excused myself. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but I rather trust my instincts too many times than too few.

My belt has become pointless. I haven’t lost any weight, but all my body fat is gone. I have tried to remedy it with beers, but it doesn’t seem to stick. Everything is incredibly healthy, even the yoghurt drinks I buy at gas stations are low fat, so I was craving a hamburger! I found a McDonalds and ordered not one, but two, Big Mac Meals. After the first one I had a mild heart attack, but it was worth it. I’m still hungry though.


Distance:
87 km from Ipoh to Taiping.
89 km from Taiping to Georgetown, Penang. Not including ferry.
Total: 912 km. Ten riding days makes it an average of 91 km per day.

Horrible road.

Some small town 136 Km from Butterworth.

Couldn't think of a fun caption for this picture.

Crossing the Sultan Abdul Jalil Bridge over Perak River.

Malaysian Suburbia.

Guy who is walking around the world. Some people are just crazy!

Ferry from Butterworth to Georgetown. Notice my gorgeous purple bullhorns!

Narrow streets with lots of cars in Georgetown.

17. Jungles, beers and then a hangover all the way to Ipoh

I woke up with a surprisingly clear memory of me dancing on a table the night before. And the night before that. I had promised myself and everyone present to go to bed early this time, but that clearly didn’t work out. I must have awoken half of the people at the thin walled hostel with my alarm clock, but after 30 minutes I shut it off and stayed in my bed dreading the nine kilometre climb that was ahead of me. I could take the easy way out and go back to Tapah knowing it would be a constant downhill all the way, this seems to be what most cyclists I have spoken to recommend, or I could continue forward hoping that the initial nine kilometres is the only climb I’ll have to do. Since I hate going back (really, really hate), the decision had already been made. You can’t turn back just because you don’t know what’s in front of you.

It has been nice to walk for a change, and walking I have done. Ryo and I took the local bus to the exit road leading up to Boh tea plantation, not knowing that the remaining walk was just as long. But we didn’t mind as the scenery was nothing but breathtaking.

Ryo left for Langkawi and I hooked up with Ian from England and Claudia from Switzerland. Ian enjoys beer as much as I do and Claudia wasn’t shy either. We trekked around in the jungle using Ian as a guide as he knows everything about nature. At least that is how I, who know nothing, perceived it.

So there we were at The Jungle Bar, one guy more awesome than the next; the backpackers, the motorcyclist, the vagabond, the volunteer nurse, the Australian rapper, the crazy Welsh. While the mixed tape played the same strange blend of music over and over we took turns to order until we emptied their stock of Tiger Beer and were forced to switch to a lesser brand.

On my last night in Tanah Rata two cyclists arrived to town; Petter, another Swede who just started from Kuala Lumpur and a French guy who is cycling from Tokyo to Paris. Malaysia seems like a detour to me, but then again, the guy was fit.

I finally dragged myself out of bed, slowly consumed a breakfast and packed my bags. Nine km up the road, passing Brincang, the uphill turned into a downhill as I had expected, but to my disappointment it didn’t last as long as I had hoped and I had to climb another hill. And then another. I started to think Earth had tilted somehow, how else could it possibly be uphill all the time? Then the magic happened! I instantly knew that the hilltop I was approaching was the last one, and it turned out to be true. A glorious downhill through a magnificent landscape began and for 50 kilometres it was nothing but down, down, down!

At one point I actually cycled ten km/h faster than the speed limit and it felt really good. The further down I got the higher the mercury rose and soon I had left the cool weather of the Cameron Highlands behind me. I realised that I had missed the heat even though the sweat started to pour again. In the hostel I slept wearing a blanket, socks and a t-shirt but it was still freezing cold in the mere 14 degree night. I reached Ipoh in no time, checked in to a cheap but decent hotel and went out for a stroll around the city. Two beers and a fantastic dish at a popular Chinese restaurant ended this evening, and it was almost for free!

Distance:
91 km from Tanah Rata to Ipoh, half of which were no effort at all.
Total: 736 km.

LARHAK1: 91 and counting.

Tanah Rata. Ryo in front of me.

Tea plants.

More tea plants.

Jungle in the clouds.

Trekking with Ian and Claudia.

View.

Robinson Waterfall.

Ian knows what kind of spider this is. I don’t.

Corn at the night market.

Rhys (right) likes to party. Jon (left) carries a hairdryer in his backpack.

Tabledancing.

Farewell present from Claudia.

Ipoh in the evening.

The glorious downhill from the highlands to Ipoh.
(Sped up 5X and stabilized with Deshaker)

16. Cameron Highlands

I was recommended to go to Cameron Highlands by Malena Stiteler, a fellow cyclist. She must have legs of steel, because cycling from Tapah to Tanah Rata was the hardest thing I’ve done in my entire life except for that pointless trench-digging marathon in the army. Tanah Rata is elevated about 1300 metres above Tapah and for those of you who haven’t cycled up a hill I’ll tell you that’s a lot.

My alarm was set at 10:00 but I didn’t wake up until the maid knocked hard on my door. Some empty calories at a corner shop for breakfast and I was ready to go. It is recommended that you start early and reach Ringlet, 45 km up the road, before noon and here I was, still in Tapah at one o’clock. The first few kilometres were ok, but after that it was 50 km of constant climbing. Cycling at a mere 10 km/h and having frequent stops to rest and it takes a while to get anywhere.

A passing truck driver offered me a ride and if I had had the time to think it over I would probably have accepted, but I turned it down and he drove off while using his hands to signal that I was a complete nutcase.

Now and then there are food stalls along the road. I stopped by a family selling something to drink and it turned out to be honey mixed with water. It was sweet and good, but it cost me a good 25 ringgits and all my cigarettes. Although I told them several times I was from Sweden, they insisted I was Australian. Must be the beard.

When I reached Ringlet I had consumed almost all of my 4.5 litres of water, my Coke and a few bananas. Just before town there is a wonderful and much welcomed downhill and I picked up quite a speed. Since it is just 13 kilometres left to Tanah Rata I decided not to stop for refreshments (why would I want to push my brakes when I am finally riding at 25 km/h?). But as soon as I passed Ringlet the climb started again, and this time it was even worse. Much worse. I started to count down the kilometres, then every 100 meters and soon my eyes where fixed on my bike computer, counting every 10 meters.

I was completely exhausted when I finally reached Tanah Rata. Madde had recommended Fathers Guesthouse, but when I got there all I could see was the stair with four million steps I had to climb to reach the building, so I continued and picked the first of numerous guesthouses that looked decent.

I had just locked my bike and removed my packing when I looked up at someone walking towards the hostel. The expression on his face was priceless and mine was probably worth a fortune as well. It was Ryo, the guy I’ve shared a room with for three days in Melaka. We talked about past events, after Melaka he went back and forth to Ipoh and Singapore and had just arrived to Tanah Rata. Obviously he uses other means of transportation.

Distance:
60 km from Tapah to Tanah Rata, all of which are uphill.
Total: 645 km.

Just 59 km to Tanah Rata. How hard can it be?

Another fall by the road.

View. Haze from my smudgy camera.

Cute girl who liked me.

Part of the way from Tapah to Tanah Rata.
(Sped up 10x and roughly stabilized with Deshaker. Original is VERY shaky)

15. Moving on

I gave up. I am such a looser. The past days with walking, beers, sightseeing, wine with a beautiful woman, clubbing, fantastic food, more beers, Ezer, one of the coolest guys I've ever met, his family and maid, massages (as in plural), beer for breakfast, spa, deep conversations and incredibly giving people have made me realise that I don't have the strength to go on cycling the way I have done so far. No, I have the strength; I just don't feel like it. So I caved in and bought a Garmin. I know, it is the worst of all imaginable sins, but I am weak.

I am seriously impressed that such a petite girl is strong enough to break every single bone in my body. I was told it would be ok to ask my masseuse to go easy on me, but unfortunately she didn't speak any English. Any attempt from my part to communicate my pain only resulted in her bringing another pillow, a cup of tea or a glass of water, but she kept on tormenting me with her tiny hands. I have biked more than 400 kilometres without any kind of bruises, but one woman after another makes my body ache.

I am getting the hang of eating with chopsticks and I have now finished a whole dish without the help of the fork and spoon. It took its fair amount of time and it turned cold before I had eaten half of it, but I am still proud and can add one more trait that I have learned so far on this trip. I've seem to have lost a couple of skills as well, but that is another story.

I met Rune from Norway and we had some food and drank beers. I spoke Swedish for the first time in weeks and it was surprisingly difficult.

Leaving Kuala Lumpur was easy with a GPS. I stopped by the Batu Caves but didn't climb the 272 steps to actually visit them. I thought I should save my legs for the trip ahead, which turned out to be a very wise decision. Apparently, choosing the Shortest Route doesn't necessarily mean the Flattest Route and, apparently, the shortest route between Kuala Lumpur and Tapah crosses part of Genting Highlands and, apparently, Genting Highlands is considered to be one of the most challenging bicycle areas in the world. Yeah, I thought it was kind of hilly.

When I reached the last hilltop it started to rain. Even though it felt like hail to my face it is much more fun to speed down in 55 km/h than it is to climb in 8 km/h. After a while it started to rain some more, but I was already soaked by my own sweat so I didn't mind. In fact, it was refreshing. Then it started to rain even more and I thought "Ok, enough is enough", but nobody cared about my needs because now it really started to pour. For a while my feet were actually submerged under water at the bottom of each pedal stroke, and I am not kidding.

But after rain comes sunshine and after hills comes flat terrain. However; my clothes refused to dry and my legs were starting to cramp so I stopped by the side of the road to change into a dry t-shirt and shorts, then I kept on going. Genting Highlands made me loose valuable time so I used all my focus on getting to Tapah before dark. I failed. The last 30 km meant cycling in pitch black, which was no fun. Luckily there was a decent shoulder and the traffic was light.

Reaching Tapah was a great relief and KFC never tasted as good. I checked in to a lousy hotel lacking luxuries such as hot water and toilet paper. But life is good.

Distance:
147 Km from Kuala Lumpur to Tapah.
Total: 585 Km.

Petronas Twin Towers timelapse.

Steps up to Batu Caves.

Waterfall by the road.

Here be hills.

14. Kuala Lumpur

Iunia was in KL for work and we had agreed to meet. Seeing her again turned me into an insecure stuttering idiot for some reason, but I managed to keep my appearance somewhat and we had another awesome time far too late into the night. The downside being, of course, that I had to part from this woman for a second time in the matter of a few days.

I walked around downtown Kuala Lumpur using the Petronas Twin Towers as the landmark and I eventually ended up there. Still rather early in the morning, at least by my standards, I was hoping I could get one of the limited numbers of daily tickets to the walkway between the towers. The sign said Closed on Mondays. What day is it again? Monday, of course.

A Buddhist monk approached me asking if I wanted to buy a bracelet and contribute to peace. I think peace is a worthwhile cause so I agreed, but I can’t shake the feeling that I got conned. Peace may be expensive, but not THAT expensive. What can I say? I’m rich and stupid.

I found an enormous bookstore and I went in to look for maps. They had a selection of decent ones and I bought a map over Thailand. Since I already crossed almost half of the Malaysian peninsula I decided I could just as well manage the rest of the way and buying a map now would be a waste of 30 ringgits. I’m positively one hundred percent sure that decision will not come back and haunt me a few days from now. I’m rich and stupid and cheap.

I walked for miles back and forth in KL without finding my way, I was regretting that I didn’t buy that map when I had the chance, until I got tired of walking and stopped at a corner bar and had a beer or two or three. They had the most interesting restroom from which I was plainly visible from the restaurant, while the faucets were hidden. If I had designed the place I would’ve put things the other way around, but beer doesn’t wait and I’m totally open-minded. I guess it’s an Asian thing.

Rain started to pour and I went back to Ezers place. His maid asked me what I preferred for dinner; “chicken rice” or “chili rice”. There was some language confusion (my bad) and I was served a substantially sized dish of both courses. I learned a lot from this dinner; I learned that chicken rice is supposed to be cold and include bones, I learned that chili rice is really, really hot, I learned how to use the fork and spoon, I learned that water doesn’t help one bit against chili and I learned that you do not have to finish the whole plate.

Hanging out with Ezer having some beers, eating ciku and watching Avatar in a 3D cinema ended the day.

Some mall.

Classic view of the Petronas Twin Towers.

My beard is starting to show.

Rip-off Street in Chinatown.

12. Ezer

The hill never ended. I tried to shift down but there were no more gears available. Every stroke on the pedal caused a flood of sweat that made my eyes itch, my glasses fog and my ego bruised. I could see the top, but I could not see that I was getting any closer. I looked at my speedometer, it said 8 km/h. Even if it is slow, it is still a third of my usual speed, I should be up this hill in no time! But I wasn’t at the top, and it seemed like I hadn’t gotten any closer either. I put all my weight on the pedal but it did no longer move, so I had to get off and walk. I had failed. But how easy and refreshing it felt to walk! Suddenly the top was not that far away, actually I had only ten metres left. Ten lousy metres.

Earlier I had put my wet swimming trunks on my rack to dry and biked the last 5 km to Port Dickson. The town was as uninspiring as I had feared so I just had a spicy sambal-sardine-bun at gas station for breakfast and continued on to Kuala Lumpur.

When I was closing in on KL I caught up with a racing cyclist. I asked him how to get downtown and he told me to follow him and he would try to help me.

The guy’s name is Ezer and he was training for an Iron Man. He and a group of cyclists had just made a tour to Port Dickson and back, and we all rendezvoused at a parking lot close to the highway. The bikers discussed for a while but they could not recommend riding the rest of the way. The few of them who had entered the highway on bicycle had been escorted out by one or more police cars.

Ezer offered to take my bike in the back seat of his nice and shiny Toyota with leather seats, and asked me about my plans. When I told him I didn’t have any he offered me to stay at his home! I couldn’t believe my luck and I humbly accepted.

In the car we realised we have a lot in common, we share the same education and have many similar views. We arrived at his fantastic house with a magnificent view over Kuala Lumpur and he showed me around. He showed me his paintings that he painted himself, he showed me his pictures from when he built a school in Cambodia and he informed me about his animal shelter.

He works as a CEO for a multinational company. So what do I do when not riding a bicycle through Asia? I eat a lot of hamburgers and I deploy software to thousands of computers. Sometimes it even works!

(Yes, he is single! Although he used to date a Playboy model. I saw pictures.)

We went to a mall to get some food and tried to exchange contact information, but for some reason my phone had no coverage even though we were in the middle of Kuala Lumpur! I guess my employer finally figured out that I was abusing their assets and simply blocked the card. I’ll deal with that later and bought a new SIM.

Distance:
65 km from Port Dickson to a parking lot south of Kuala Lumpur. Minus 10 metres for walking.
Total: 438 km.

Beautiful winding road.

My bike with the gorgeous purple bullhorns.

Almost in KL.

Even the smallest of villages have a mosque.

At least I am faster than he is.

11. Almost, but not quite, in Port Dickson

I needed to do some practical stuff before leaving Melaka so I asked around at the hostel. Howard promised me to take me to a good bike shop later and I went out to do my laundry. When I reached the appointed place it was another guesthouse, locked, and nobody answering the door. As I waited, thinking about what to do, a man walks up to me with a suspicious look on his face. I explained my mission and he asked “Did Howard send you?”. As I acknowledged he replied “Fuck Howard”, and let me in. He guided me to his washing machine and told me to use it. Sure, why not.

At the bicycle store I finally got spares. I also adjusted my handlebar as it hasn’t been entirely comfortable and I got a pair of shiny, purple and absolutely gorgeous bullhorns.

Howard and Sam followed me out of Melaka to point me in the right direction and we said goodbye.

I was riding through a nature preserve and, beautiful as it was, it made me realise that once again I had missed a turn somewhere and this time there was no choice but to turn back. I cycled for a while looking for the road, I couldn’t remember passing any, when I stopped at a fruit stand. It turns out the crossing I am trying to find is after the preserve, not before, so I had to ride the same road for the third time. It annoyed me a little.

A monkey crossing the road cheered me up again and when I stopped at a gas-station for some soda and a Mars bar I was told a group of cyclists recently passed. The mood was recovering and I happily unwrapped my candy when hundreds of red little ants crawled out of it.

I caught up with the cyclists a little later and we had some ice tea. They were five cyclists coming from Estonia and riding from Singapore to Langkawi. I biked with them for a couple of kilometres but they were too slow for my taste, so I finished my cigarette, said “See you later” and sped off.

I passed the Port Dickson Hospital then one luxury beach resort after another looking for something resembling a city. Suddenly all civilization ended and I was riding with the beach on my left and a forest on the right with nothing in front of me. Is this really it, the beautiful paradise I’ve been told about? A bunch of resorts? I checked my stamp-sized map I bought in Johor Bahru and sure enough, I had passed Port Dickson. I really wanted to continue but didn’t know where so once again I turned around and checked in to the last resort I just rode by. I paid what it costs to stay in the cheapest room in a Malaysian luxury hotel and became even more annoyed when a place like this only has Wi-Fi in the lobby! I went to my room, opened the door, and my mood improved again. I guess I can stay for one night I thought when the two-room suite with waterfront balcony revealed itself.

I had an amazing pepper steak practically right at the beach, watching the sunset while talking to the waiters, who all thought I was completely mad. The dinner alone set me back more than the entire three days in Melaka, but it was a great steak. It came from the good part of the cow, I was told.

After dinner I took the computer down to the lobby to Google a bit and it turns out I had not yet reached Port Dickson! I cursed myself for not doing proper research and I think that maybe, just maybe, I should get some decent maps.

Tomorrow I will get out of this hellhole as soon as possible. Right after a swim in the pool.

Distance:
78 km from Melaka almost all the way to Port Dickson, including biking back and forth.
Total: 373 km.

Howard and Sam guiding me out of Melaka.

Other riders.

Lonely dinner with a view.

Timelapse from balcony.

10. Melaka

Halfway between Batu Pahat and Melaka is the city of Muar. I rode downtown looking for something to eat but I couldn’t find anything that resembled a restaurant, which surprised me a little since it is a pretty large city. I took a break in a park, had some warm Coca Cola and considered my options. I really had to eat, and as soon as the coke kicked in I did another tour trying to find calories. I finally noticed something resembling a restaurant (people eating), at a second story balcony and I walked up to see what I could get. “Chicken rice?” a man asked and I nodded. Maybe I forgot to mention that I wanted it cooked because it turned out to be a rather cold dish and it mostly resembled leftovers, bones and all, but since I really needed food I hoped that my vaccines and pills would take care of any problems and I finished the whole thing.

Leaving Muar the nice coastal road turned into a two lane highway. After a while I realised I must have missed a turn somewhere, because the road signs did no longer match my map. I really (really) hate to backtrack so I kept going hoping that an exit would allow me to get back to the coast. The road was straight and boring so for the first time I used my mp3 player and, inspired by a good friend, Soul Man filled the void. It is amazing how music can give you energy and I picked up an extra 5 km/h. Soon enough a sign pointed me back on track and I was once again cycling on the beautiful road along the coast.

As I arrived in Melaka I immediately got lost. I asked a few people for directions to the hostel where I wanted to stay but to no avail. The first person gave me detailed instructions to his cousin’s place, and the other people I asked didn’t know the hostel or the address.

I didn’t mind riding around Melaka, because pictures does not do justice to this magnificent city, but the sun was getting low on the sky and I don’t want to ride after dark. Suddenly a woman I previously queried for directions approached me and asked if I had found the place. “No”, I responded, and it turns out she had looked it up for me since she couldn’t tell me the first time, and I got pointed to the right direction. What a wonderful world we live in!

I had some spicy pepper squid when I hooked up with Emilie and Natalia, two gorgeous, cool and very, very tattooed girls. We had a common interest so we shared a bucket of beers. The next day we went sightseeing in Melaka and had a fish massage, which was a new experience, but I guess I need to take better care of my feet because the girls switched tank after a while due to all the fish were concentrating on me.

Howard, the owner of the guesthouse, is a real bicycling freak. He takes his guests and friends on nightly tours around Melaka, so in the evening that day he put his stereo in the front basket and with Lady Gaga on maximum volume eight people rode around the city. The places we went to were both the obvious Melaka highlights and hidden secrets that I would never had found otherwise. We stopped for dinner at a fantastic Chinese restaurant outside of the tourist area, and it was basically for free so I guess Mr Axelsson now owes me only 6 SEK. One of the riders is the manager of one of the bars in the city, so naturally we ended up there.

Distance:
103 km from Batu Pahat to Melaka.
16 km riding with Howard.
Total: 292 km.

A boring stretch of road.

 Chinatown in Melaka.

Food for the fish.

People who like beers.



Riding towards Melaka.