Malaysia - road to Ipoh
20–22 dec. 2025, Maleisië ⋅ ☁️ 32 °C
We caught the ferry from Pangkor to the mainland. A less stressful affair than going out as Thom and Pete were fastened to a rail on the bow of the boat. I could breathe easier, knowing they were very unlikely to tumble into the drink.
After everyone else disembarked, the ferry staff helped us manhandle our bikes onto the dock.
The ride to the town of Seri Islander was humdrum. Mostly along the hard shoulder of the Sitiawan bypass and highway for the early part of the day.
The roads were straight and plantations filled the views on both sides of the highway.
Not a great deal to see and we entered a flow state, pedals turning, moving forward and letting our minds wander.
Now and again we would startle an egret or heron, breaking their intense focus and petrified pose, as they loitered by a pool or water course, launching into a frenzied flapping in flight.
Arriving on the outskirts of Seri Islander we stayed at a roadside motel, in the middle of nowhere. A miserable looking row of buildings next to the highway. A touchscreen machine check in was our only greeting as the place didn’t have any staff. Our room had no window - a room without a view!
The following morning a short cycle led us to a small eatery, busy with locals eating breakfast. We feasted on our favourite roti cenai and sweet tea to fuel our days ride.
We followed highway 5 most of the way to Ipoh before finally getting off the busy and noisy road at the outskirts. Quieter roads guided us through pockets of green along the river into the city. We arrived early so Amanda could visit the street market which she throughly enjoyed. She mentioned that “everything” was for sale. Fruits stalls, household wares, farming tools, pickled parts of animals, bric-a-brac and clothes side by side - many spread out on a square of tarpaulin. Chaotic and practical without trying to be cool or with a western qualifier label that makes it hip. Later we grabbed some lunch and found our digs where we’d stay two nights.
Evening found us in Little India searching for some veggie food. We found Little India Villas, a veggie restaurant that served a thali (banana leaf set) at a reasonable price. The banana-leaf meal stems from Southern India dining culture. The banana leaf stands in for a plate, with a dollop of hot rice, served with a variety of vegetables, pickles, curried gravy and yoghurt on the side. It was very filling and very good!
Next day we went to visit the Sam Poh Tong Temple a few kilometres outside the city. The temple is dedicated to Mahāyāna Buddhism - a branch of Buddhism whose goal is to become a Buddha through a specific path. Entering the temple, its facade set in the foot of the cliff of the mogote (limestone hill) we entered a cave with many shrines, statues and paintings. Information stated that the cave became home to a travelling Chinese monk. After he died other monks followed in his footsteps - using the cave for retreat and meditation, later leading to the temple being built.
The cave reflects the multiculturalism we learnt about in Malacca, with deities from Hinduism depicted alongside Buddhist. Sharing the same space temple inside the cave reflecting history of an exchange of cultural and religious beliefs.
Walking through the limestone cavern, we reached an opening where the temple sits in an amphitheatre of sheer limestone cliffs, covered in clinging vegetation. The temple, pagoda like in appearance, glowed as the morning sun crept above the rim, sending beams of light down onto it.
A small fenced enclosure contained many turtles! They could be fed with cherry tomatoes purchased from a stall - all in the pursuit of good karma. The turtles really liked cherry tomatoes and moved pretty fast when someone threw some into their pen. I watched one turtle try to bite at a tomato, only for it to push it further away, several times. Finally, the turtle managed to clamp its jaws onto the tomato, triumphantly squishing it with a ‘pop’!
Leaving Sam Poh Tong we called into Nam Thean Tong, a Taoist temple, next door. A large cavernous space filled with altars, carvings and paintings on the cave wall, incense smoke hung in the air and we ventured into the deep recess of the cavern with its interlinking tunnels and the frozen liquid appearance of its limestone rock formations.
Stairs led upward to the upper floors, and we followed wooden walkways and platforms created within the wall of rock. It was quite eerie.
On the cliff in front of the temple a Buddha face can be seen, high up on the rock wall. The rock's colour naturally forms the shape of the Buddha's face. The likeness formed by mouth, nose, eyes, and hair. It was hard to see at first but we think we picked it out. This is supposed to bring good luck to those that spot it, so fingers crossed!
We headed back into the city centre to explore the streets and alleyways of the old town. A mix of old colonial architecture and shop houses, it was busy and crowded. Tourists ambled along Concubine Lane, populated with food stalls and shops selling gifts and tat. We escaped the crowds by seeking the back streets and art trail, and enjoyed passing the Indian bazaars, material shops and carpet sellers of everyday Ipoh. Trees invaded old buildings and pastel coloured paint faded and peeled from facades. The architecture ranged from pretty shuttered colonial buildings to brutalist blocks of concrete, in contrast to the traditional temples we visited the day before, creating an eclectic cityscape full of styles.
Tomorrow we head to the train station to catch a train to Butterworth, opposite the Island of Penang, as we try to reach Georgetown for Christmas.Meer informatie
Malaysia - George Town
23 dec.–4 jan. 2026, Maleisië ⋅ ⛅ 31 °C
George Town is like a colourful film set. It's like a period drama, musical, cooking show and lifestyle documentary all in one. It’s known for its incredible food scene, street art, cultural diversity and heritage streets.
We really liked it, and because we stayed in four different places across the old town we got to know its different areas really well.
FOOD
Food is everywhere here: George Town has gained a reputation as Malaysia's gastronomical capital. People we met before coming here told us how good the food was and we noticed how proud the town is of its culinary scene.
Pride is caught up in identity. With such a mix of cultures - the result of waves of immigration - the food people eat, how they prepare it, utensils used (claypots, bamboo steamers, stone mortars, woks) carries traces of history and place. On the one street there will be several food vendors specialising in their own culture’s signature dishes - Nasi Kandar (spiced rice with curries), Char Kway Teow (stir-fried flat noodles), Hokkien Mee (prawn noodle soup), Assam Laksa (tangy fish-based soup), Roti Canai (Indian flatbread), and Dim Sum (Chinese dumplings). It was not unusual for us to pass long queues of people waiting to order food from well-known establishments. For instance there was always a long queue outside Hameediyah, recognised as Penang's oldest Nasi Kandar restaurant (it originally started under a tree in 1907). A Penang specialty, Nasi Kandar comes from a time when street vendors would go around carrying the rice (nasi) and curry in two buckets balanced (kandar) at the end of a pole carried across the shoulder.
Being vegetarian meant taking part in the gastronomic delights of George Town was pretty restrictive. We did manage to eat like kings at a handful of places we found: Woodlands Vegetarian Restaurant in Little India where the curries were amazing and the staff were dour, and Ee Beng’s, where we stuffed our bellies at a veggie all you can eat buffet for around a fiver for both our meals. And of course, we searched out the most wonderful of all, roti canai, for our breakfasts!
ART
George Town is also all about art - visitors come to seek out lifelike murals hidden in its narrow streets. For the more iconic ones I found it amusing to watch the crowds wait their turn to queue to be photographed alongside the piece. Many of the artists are now long gone and the sun and weather are slowly fading them into obscurity.
More permanent street pieces are a series of steel-rod caricatures installed on walls across the city as part of George Town’s bid to become a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2009. Each one captures local stories, often in a witty or humorous local voice. You see them everywhere - 52 in total! One of my favourites sits above a coffeeshop and celebrates the simple, straight-up way of talking that Penangites are known for. A customer's request in a slew of barista terms is quickly simplified to "Kopi-O-Kau” - black coffee - by the waitress.
We also came across three serendipitous artiness, each very different and the last utterly moving.
We came across ‘The Infinite-land’ by Hong Kong artist Sim Chan, by passing the venue ‘Blank Canvas in Malaysia’. An exhibition of miniature sculptures - little worlds or story boxes - often seeming to reflect on our use / mis-use of resources in our routine daily lives, but in a really playful way. I liked peering through narrow windows, immersing myself within the tiny fantastical realms.
By chance we also came across the Hin Bus Depot. Loved this place so much! A partially renovated art-deco bus depot, transformed a decade ago, is now a thriving community hub and contemporary art space. We found it on a Sunday so were lucky enough to also enjoy the weekend pop-up market. To the music of a local band we weaved through colourful stalls of art, crafts, clothes and food. The whole place had a wonderful, relaxed, family atmosphere. One stall had items made from bold bright fabrics. Talking to the owner I learned the material featured all her own printed designs. When I asked if I could buy a small piece, explaining I’m collecting fabric from each country to later make into patchwork, she generously gave me a piece insisting I needn’t pay. I now have a treasured unique piece of cloth with orchids on it.
The most moving piece of art we came across by luck was an exhibition called "Gaza Habibti: Hope and Loss (Part of Untold Palestine)" featuring photographs by 23 Palestinian photographers.
Unsure at first if it was an open exhibition we hovered outside looking hesitant until a friendly shout came from inside and we were warmly invited in. The photographs were beautiful - showcasing everyday life in Palestine. An old weathered man picking bright oranges, a female football team triumphantly throwing footballs into the air, a man exercising his horse in the blue sea, a boy zipping along the beach on his bicycle, a vendor enticing people to sample his food.
Yafa Atef Abualrob - a smiling Palestinian woman - welcomed us to sit with her and her two friends, a Muslim and Chinese lady. Together we listened to Yafa share her stories and experiences of living in Palestine. A student she had managed to reach Malaysia by catching a last minute flight, urgently urged by her father to snatch the rare window of an open checkpoint and flight being available. Leaving at 4am with no time to properly pack or say goodbye she found herself in a new land, knowing nobody. It was hard at first for her to comprehend Malaysia. She had freedom to move. To go anywhere she liked, whenever she liked. At home her movement had been constricted by checkpoints that open and close at random. Fireworks at Diwali had her running in fear, the sound evoking the memory of gunshots from home. She still doesn’t like it when airplanes fly overhead as this always meant bombs in Palestine. When she is able to return home she says it takes her two months to recover from the sadness of the visit. Many of her friends and family have lost their jobs as private businesses have moved out and civil jobs no longer exist. They now cannot afford anything because prices are so high (Israel is a developed country, but within Palestine they do not have the salaries to match Israeli prices). Everyone has lost someone to the war and/or knows someone who has lost a home. Overcrowding is common and no one has any personal space. People are sad. They live in constant fear. She said her family no longer socialises as they have no food to share and do not feel like it. Her home is eroded of hope.
She took us to see some more photos - Polaroids and selfies of people smiling at the camera. All looking out at us - rows and rows of them along a corridor - and I smiled as I looked at them, people I could identify with: everyday people doing everyday things. Until at the end of the corridor Yafa explained that all these people - many who she had known - were no longer with us. Dead. Killed by the conflict. I burst into tears. Yafa - who had experienced all this - gave ME a hug.
The power of the exhibition was so humanly raw. The showcasing of real people, just like me, just like everybody, doing and feeling things we all do and feel. Speaking to Yafa was such an intensely moving experience, her openness and friendliness so genuine. Instead of the news pictures of horror and victims, she had shown us a reality that honoured her people’s resilience, reflected on their loss, and invited us to show solidarity.
HERITAGE
We wanted to visit George Town as we’d heard about how beautiful it was. Established as a trading post in 1786, George Town was the first British settlement in Southeast Asia.
Its prominent position in the Straits of Malacca drew merchants and laborers of all descents: Chinese, Indian, Burmese, Arab, European. They all left their mark - on the food, on the architecture and on the language. We weren’t great at understanding all this, we just enjoyed ducking in and out of the pastel-hued shophouses and admiring the faded buildings and restored heritage hotels.
However what was evident everywhere - and which we’d marvelled at throughout Malaysia - was the everyday recognition that difference is the baseline. There is often little that is ‘common’ between people beyond the label "Malaysian". For instance signage is written in several languages - Malay, Chinese, English, Tamil - all stacked evenly. No one pauses to wonder at this: the signs simply accommodate the polyglot crowd. I found this so striking precisely because of its ordinariness. Multilingualism here is banal, differences coexist as a normal texture of daily life.
A very different part of George Town are the Clan Jetties. A historic waterfront settlement of stilt houses built by Chinese immigrants in the 19th century. We enjoyed walking the creaking wooden boards a meter above the sea, the air warm and salty. Little gardens of succulents and spiky plants soften the long wooden walkways. Seabirds with pointy beaks, long legs and beady eyes place one foot carefully in front of another as they walk on beams between homes. A loud plop as a monitor lizard enters the water below a stilted building. The homes are small, with windows overlooking a briny world of boats, rope, and fish.
In a paradox to all this heritage, I learnt Penang’s present is all about being a tech hub and creating an Al ecosystem to attract talent and digital infrastructure investment.
2026
We liked Hin Bus Depot so much we decided we’d return for the ‘New Year Countdown’. We very much enjoyed celebrating the bells in much of the same arty relaxed vibe we’d experienced on Sunday. Drinking a (very strong, £5) margarita we watched the fireworks launch from atop the nearby Komtar Tower alongside a sober happy crowd. Lilz and I danced a little Auld Lang Syne jig together to confused onlookers. George Town saw in a new year - our first few days of 2026 will see us exploring a bit more of the island, before we finally head north again.Meer informatie
ReizigerWhat a huge variety of sights in this place! Lots of very kind people- very moving account of life in Gaza which has somewhat been sidelined in the news due to other world events X
ReizigerHi. It was very powerful and the lady we met was one of those amazing people that exist. It was a privilege to meet her and makes us want to be more activist in our middle age as it’s clearly a horrendous demeaning and hope stripping exercise that Netanyahu and his cronies are perpetrating.
Malaysia - George Town (Christmas day)
25 december 2025, Maleisië ⋅ ⛅ 31 °C
We’d been looking forward to Christmas in George Town and it didn’t disappoint.
It was a strange old Christmas in that it didn’t feel Christmassy at all. None of the normal things were here - we were far from family and friends, there were no presents, no big meal, no cosy wintery feel … Also no crazy two-month build up, no relentless consumerism, no over-played Christmas songs at every turn, no stress. Plenty silver linings.
We used Christmas as an excuse to take a cycling break and treat ourselves. Seeing as we were in beautiful George Town, recognised by UNESCO as a World Heritage site, we’d booked ourselves into a beautiful heritage hotel for Christmas and Boxing Day. A restored Anglo Indian mansion, it was wonderful to wake up in a pocket of luxury, under high ceilings, surrounded by wood lattices, plantation shutters, and Muslim and Indian design features.
We spent Christmas Day wandering the old town. Beautiful streets with rows of colourful Chinese shophouses, street art, and eclectic shops full of interesting curios, clothing and gifts.
For our Christmas meal we had Afternoon Tea at The Blue Mansion, on Leith Street. The restored former home of 19th century tycoon Cheong Fatt Tze (his is a rags-to-riches story) the mansion is now a luxury hotel and it is beautiful. It has a deep indigo wash on the outer walls which gives it its name. Inside it melds Chinese tradition with European style. It is one of the most photographed buildings in George Town and has served as a location in several films, most recently ‘Crazy Rich Asians’.
We sit at the edge of one of the elegant courtyards, looking up through tropical palms to the delicate cast iron balustrades above made in Scotland. English Art Nouveau stained glass colours the windows blue, green and yellow. Cantonese timber lattices frame the square of sky above us. Chinese calligraphy and fine embroidery
decorate the walls, whilst the building’s strict feng shui surrounds us in calm. When our Tea arrives, we pop the tiny delicious morsels one by one into our happy mouths.
The most different Christmas we’ve both had, but also one of the best!Meer informatie
Malaysia - Penang Island
1–3 jan., Maleisië ⋅ ⛅ 30 °C
New Year! New day! Jan 1st 2026.
What did we do? We went shopping 😩
A mundane way to start the year, we visited a large soulless, confusing mall, procured a small rechargeable fan to help ventilate our tent, a pair of flip-flops. 🤘and we also bought some Thai currency.
The plan for the evening was a trip up the hill above the city. Penang Hill is a collection of peaks, rising high above Georgetown. The hills forested slopes are criss crossed with small roads and walking trails.
The journey up was exciting. We took a funicular from the lower station located in the Ayer Itam area of the city, 20mins by taxi from where we were staying.
We arrived around 5pm, planning to get to the top and city views by day, do a bit of exploring and then be able to take in views of the city after dark.
We were glad that we booked advance tickets online. The queues for tickets were considerable. The journey up the steep hill side lasted about 5 mins. The first funicular was incorporated in the 1920’s to replace the pack horse and sedan chair way of getting to the top.
The hill is steep and angle of the funicular set to combat the incline is quite extreme. It can move about 1000 people an hour. One car goes up and one comes down at the same time, on a single track, with a passing place where there is a short twin section of track, allowing cars to pass by each other.
We ascended quickly and the city tower blocks shrank from view. We rose over a crest and the track seemed to get even steeper. It felt like a ride on a roller coaster. The carriage clung to the track fixed to the densely forested slopes and I tried not to think of all the clever engineering keeping it, and all and us, anchored to terrafirma. Passing quickly through the steepest tunnel in the world we pulled into the upper station and disembarked with the throng to take in the views.
Busy with lots of people, the upper station catered for day trippers - food and drink and some basic attractions. We managed to escape the crowds and find our way to some of the walking trails spread across the hill. Descending steps into the shady dipterocarp tropical forest felt a world away from ‘touristville’ and its commercial trappings. At first, we passed a few other walkers on the path but then no-one for the next couple of hours. We tried to follow a signposted map of footpaths and trails but they were incredibly confusing. Like a map created by a child who had based it on a snakes and ladders game. We were unsure of what path we were following and whether to climb or descend but had a rough idea that we were following a circular route.
The forest enveloped us. A hush fell, broken only by the crack of a falling branch or fruit, the hum of insects, bird calls and monkeys, who ambled about high up in the tall trees. It was hard to believe we were on the edge of a city.
Flagstaff Hill - known as Bukit Bendara in Malay was an old hill station, also a retreat for European colonials and is dotted with grand bungalows with amazing views.
We imagined stiffly dressed English emigrants sat on their terraces drinking gin and tonic! No doubt to own one of these properties today would require a lot of money.
The evening light faded and gaps in the forest provided a superb vista of the city below, with its towers illuminated and its two long connecting road bridges, highlighted by the continuous lights of traffic passing over the strait from the mainland beyond.
We walked past trees and flowers that emitted scents making the air sweet smelling. The place possessed a wonderful peace and calm.
We arrived back at the upper station, grabbed a quick tea at the food court just before it closed. Much quieter now, as the crowds had gone.
We waited for the next funicular and were in luck to be the first to board. We travelled in the first car. Downward facing, in the direction of travel.
The journey down was more exhilarating than the way up. The steepness of the track now evident, I thought we would fly off as we dropped back down rapidly. Suddenly, the funicular car travelling up came into view, heading toward us, fast, on the same track! Shooting toward us, only to divert at what seemed like the last second, timed to perfection (and causing my heartbeat to quicken).
The lower station came into view, we slowed to a halt and our car gently kissed the buffers. A great experience that certainly had my adrenaline flowing.
Leaving Georgetown, we spent two days cycling around Penang Island, broken by an overnight in a campsite on the west of the island.
Making our way out of the first part city way a bit slow. Limited scope for cycle infrastructure to counter the one way roads combined with changes in level and haphazard placement of street furniture made it an obstacle course. In some ways, riding on the busy road would have been more straightforward and faster.
The road passed through the cities eastern urban sprawl. It’s coastal strip populated with tower block condos and smart malls with big brand name stores.
Amanda was moved cycling past the Shangri-La Rasa Sayang Resort, remembering happy childhood memories. She had stayed here twice as a small child, in 1981 and 1984, on family holidays. At the time there were hardly any hotels. Now there are loads along this stretch of coast, with more being built. Amanda’s mum told us that she got told off by the hotel management for putting her kids in T-shirts to swim in the pool. Amanda’s mum ignored them in favour of her children not getting sun burnt!
We made our way into the quieter northeast end of the island. Hilly, forested and wilder, we cycled gradually upwards toward the National Park, along side of a reservoir of the Telok Bahang Dam, and then onto a twisting, turning road section. Numerous durian stalls by the roadside were laden with the smelly delicacy, grown locally on the many farms in this part of the island. We weren’t tempted to stop and sample any.
Pausing at the high point, Amanda visited an Art Garden, which was set out on the hillside with magnificent views. Peaceful, shady and landscaped with plants and flowers, it showcased the work of a glass artist (Fuan Wong), and the garden was also home to group of tortoises. Amanda found herself the only visitor. A suspicious and dodgy one she must have looked, as a staff member followed her, observing her every move as she walked around the garden?! This spoiled the experience for her a little. Perhaps she looked like a glass art thief?
We had a lovely long downhill to cool us off and our route took us onto a coastal plain, densely covered mangrove to one side and palm plantations on the other. Cattle grazed lazily by the road. Tethered and left to chew the cud, many lay down in shady spots, usually accompanied by an honour guard of white egrets, ever hopeful of a chance to feast on the cattle’s flies and parasites.
A strange sound could be heard. Passing large concrete buildings, a couple of stories high, with no windows, we could hear an incessant whizzing, clicking, chirruping noise, Resembling electronic static, artificial, like a radio stuck between stations. We realised that these buildings must offer roosting birds a place of rest. Gathering in numbers inside, the structure would act like the cabinet of a speaker, amplifying the birds calls, emphasised by the small ventilation holes in the building’s side, making the air reverberate as their chorus was broadcast over the surrounding area. An avian call to prayer, if you like! It became a regular occurrence as we cycled through the landscape and a lovely thing to hear.
One final climb up to the place where we would camp knackered us out a bit. The place looked shut but a quick call to the owner and we were instructed to come in through the gate with the sign indicating that trespassers could be shot!
Greeted by the friendly host, she showed us where we could pitch. There was a small amenities block and an outdoor kitchen area with fans - bonus! The view across the hill to the sea was lovely as smoke from a distant fire created a haze as the sun went down. Red sky at night, camping delight!
The family ran a durian farm. The lady’s husband was third generation fruit farmer, working with his father, whose likeness was captured in a large mural by the kitchen.
After dinner, we clambered into our tent looking forward to a sound nights sleep. This was curtailed in part due group of giggling schoolgirls on a camping trip, who seemed inseparable and went everywhere and did everything together, even aimless wandering. It was like they were roped together. Also, a group of lads who talked loudly and played music into the early hours! Relaxing vibe dampened slightly.
We eventually slipped into a restful slumber, sometime around 1:00am.
We cracked on early the following day, riding back into urban sprawl, along past the end of the airport runway. Overcoming some tricky road interchanges, we managed to get onto an actual decent proper cycle path, heading north along the waterfront all the way back into the city. The route threw us a few bum turns and obstacles due to a lot of construction on many new waterfront developments. A fallen tree and collapsed telephone wires meant our way was barred and we had to manhandle the bikes through the damaged barrier onto the highway and back again, wheeling bikes and lugging panniers around the blockage, possibly as karmic punishment for enjoying the cycle path too much!
One last night in the city and on the island. Tomorrow we catch the ferry back to mainland Malaysia, to continue the final leg up the Malaysian coast toward Thailand.Meer informatie
Last days in Malaysia
8 januari, Maleisië ⋅ ☁️ 25 °C
Just over 100 miles of Malaysia left, and then we cross into southern Thailand.
Route: George Town - Yan - Alor Setar - Kuala Perlis - Langkawi island.
This is by far the best cycling we’ve enjoyed in Malaysia (which overall we’ve not been that inspired by). Quiet peaceful backroads, often alongside the sea. Kedah, our last Malaysia state, is the country’s main rice producer and we cycle through expansive views of fluorescent green paddy fields framed by coconut palms.
The white gravel tracks often teem with dragonflies flying at eye level. At such close quarters you can appreciate their beautiful colour, a bright burnished copper. Clouds of swifts fly in the blue sky above, playing with the wind. In the aerial level above large storks soar upwards in wide spiralling circles. Ariel-white egrets, heads upright and alert, thin as a stick, are often startled as we cycle by. So graceful, their wide wings lift them up, as they tuck their feathery feet neatly behind, their throats curled in an elegant ‘S’ below their arrow heads. Large monitors lizards plop into irrigation canals and silently glide through the murky green water. Large gaudy-coloured flowers trumpet from the undergrowth on either side.
It is times like this - cycling along with nature for company - when my heart is gentle and open and I love the world.
Highlights from our last Malaysian days:
• We had to circumnavigate a wedding that paused all traffic through the centre of the village. The whole village turned out in all their finery: beautifully patterned sarongs and immaculate head dresses.
• Ferries top and tailed our first day back on the bike. On the large car ferry from George Town a friendly elderly lady on a scooter (an Aussie) invited us to stay with her in Butterworth. With further to go I had to decline. Our second ferry - to cross the Merbok river over to Tanjung Dawai - was much more fun. Lifting the bikes up onto the small wooden boat from the beach and racing across the water at top speed our panniers in a large pile at our feet.
• Our first tropical camping - we’d lapsed in fear of overheating since experiencing equatorial humidity in Indonesia - was brilliant. We spoke to a local who had lived in Hertfordshire for 25 years and motorcycled around Scotland. We had the place to ourselves and so pitched our tent up on a covered platform with great sea breezes and cooked our meal as we watched the sunset and crabs with one big red claw scuttle across the mudflats. There was a huge resident spider in one of the toilet cubicles - not a highlight! - luckily there were other cubicles!!
• We enjoyed roti canai at a roadside eatery. When we went to pay we learnt that a local who had left, had already bought us breakfast!
• We briefly met another cycle tourer, Ondřej from the Czech Republic. Svelte in tight cycling Lycra and a minimal setup he was lightning fast compared to us.
• The early morning ferry to the island resort of Langkawi from Kuala Perlis provided spectacular views as it wound through karst limestone scenery. We had planned to cycle up to the land border crossing of Wang Kelian (Malaysia) / Wang Prachan (Thailand) but recent landslides and flood damage in early December had forced closure of the crossing for over 6 months. The other land crossing of Padang Besar would put us on the wrong side of a mountain chain once we entered Thailand. So an island hop it was - ferry to Malaysian Langkawi, ferry off the island to Thailand region of Satun.Meer informatie
Hello Thailand!
9–14 jan., Thailand ⋅ ⛅ 30 °C
After departing Malay immigration on Langkawi island, a ferry transported us to Satun province and country No. 6! We’ve cycled over 3700 miles (6000km) so far and excited to now be in Thailand, a country we’ve visited before and loved. Amanda’s aunt, and friend Jason, lived here for many years and it’s good to have tapped into their knowledge of the place.
Tammalang to La-aNgu
Arriving at Tammalang Pier on the Thai mainland, we disembarked at a small sleepy ferry terminal. Last off the boat - all the other passengers were gunning to get off, crowding by the exit door long before the boat had even pulled into dock! - the bikes were ready and waiting thanks to the efficient ferry staff. We loaded up the panniers once more.
The queue for immigration was long and it took over an hour to pass through.
After a couple of hours of riding, the sense of being in a different country was palpable. Although the southern states of Thailand have a lot in common with their Malaysian neighbour - they are majority muslim and palm oil still seems to be prevalent, smiles were more readily offered and Thai towns are ascetically more pleasing than many of the towns we passed through in Malaysia.
Empty roads through green lush coconut palm, rubber plantations and mangrove coaxed us through small hamlets.
Wats (Buddhist Temples) started to reveal themselves. The glint of a shiny golden stupa peeking through the forest.
Riding through our first large Thai town we stopped for some food and it zinged with flavour, fresh and tasty. We felt relaxed about the new place and next stage of our journey, I think due in part to an element of being able to better recognise cafes, restaurants and stores, despite signs written in the beautiful Thai script.
The highway was quiet, surfaced in a smooth dreamy tarmac, making our progress seem light and quick. Limestone karst outcrops rose to either side and made us feel small.
Our first night was spent in a lovely chalet bungalow on the outskirts of La-Ngu village. The temperature already felt a bit cooler, the evening warm and balmy.
La-Ngu to Thung Yao
After a peaceful sleep, we awoke to melodious babble of a pair of Yellow-vented bulbuls that perched right outside our window and performed their sweet morning song for us.
Buoyed by our first full day riding in Thailand, we set out to ride a short day of 30 miles. Stopping for lunch at a small roadside shack in the middle of what seemed like nowhere, we were welcomed by the proprietor and her friends. With limited Thai we managed to communicate the need for food with no meat and fish and received very delicious rice with Thai omelette, cucumber and dipping sauce. Good food, good feeling! Explaining we were aiming for Laos she kindly urged us not to go near the Cambodian conflict zone, making a ‘bang, bang’ gun action and saying please stay away, “very bad, very bad”.
Stupid Cupid, stop looking at me! Thung Yao was our destination and we arrived late afternoon to check into the lone hotel in the area. The Cupid Hotel. ♥️
We arrived to the sound of a pickup truck with a blaring sound system, its dismembered voice loudly campaigning in Thai. We had noticed several large campaign posters by the side of the road, with various candidate’s photographs on them throughout the day for the upcoming general election, which will determine the make up of the Thai House of Representatives.
Our arrival of this day of the campaign coincided with an alcohol ban for 24 hours and so our first beer in Thailand (that we were very much look forward to) had to be postponed! A large fine and six month prison sentence was the penalty for those breaking the 24 hour period of selling abstinence.
Dogs, dogs and more dogs. 🐕 🐕 🐕
This town had many roving feral hounds. Seemingly unadopted, but looking reasonably fed and not too bedraggled, often dozing in the shade, hanging out like teenagers in small groups on waste ground, or trotting to some place looking purposeful. Most looked similar in appearance.
Thung Yao to Baan Namthip.
Next morning we set off on a 42 mile day. A combo of highways and empty ‘B’ roads weaving through a rural landscape.
The highways had a big hard shoulder, so even though traffic was fast we felt safe. Smooth surfaces and great views contributed to two happy cyclists! We saw hardly anyone all day.
Rubber began to replace the palm oil plantations. The distinctive latex sap of the rubber trees gathered in white ‘balls’ inside collecting cups fixed to trees became a common site. Its sickly smell alerted us to its presence, particularly when a pickup truck passed full of the harvested stuff, leaving a trail of dripping smelly liquid behind it as it overtook us.
The road became a lane, then a dirt track, then a lane again and after passing through a small village, we rolled into the Bann Namthip Homestay and were welcomed with the biggest beaming smile of Mr. San.
San was the owner of the place which consisted of about 4 chalet bungalows and he ran the local shop, and served food, cooked by his wife. He instantly made us feel welcome and right at home. Surrounded by trees, flowers and birdsong it was a lovely place to spend the night. San had a good energy about him, infectiously warm and generous (he fed us like family and made us a large three-course breakfast which included a savoury ‘starter’ and some sweet glutinous rice treats served in banana leaves). I felt I wouldn’t be able to cycle afterward as my belly was so full! He was passionate about food, about meeting people and the enjoyment of his guests. He told us that he changed profession from doing 20+ years marketing for a timeshare company. Due to the high workload, long hours and pressure to sell, leading to worry, and lack of sleep, he recognised things needed to change. He bought this land and expanded the place, developing it over five years to be a homestay and named it after his daughter.
He said it was the best decision he made and I would agree - he has found his calling.
He runs its along side a small rubber producing concern and explained to us that collecting the latex is often done in the early hours of the morning due to the colder night temperatures, which help the tree release its sap.
Baan Namthip to Khlong Yang.
Grinding out the miles on mostly highway, long straights and through dusty road construction sections on a fairly unremarkable day, minivans buzzed passed us at speed, on a mission to transport their tourists to whatever island resort they were being transferred to. Closer now to the tourist mecca of Krabi, - white beaches and large megalithic green islands rising from the green-blue Andaman sea. We were hoping that Koh Lanta would not be too touristy.
Khlong Yang to Koh Lanta
In the morning we headed south down the peninsula toward the ferry for the short ferry trip to Koh Lanta. When we woke up we didn’t anticipate a surprising encounter with some goats. At a brief stop for a cold iced coffee we were approached by a man in wellington boots asking us if we had eaten goat curry?! “No” we replied. He then pointed to the packets of Goat Curry, branded in the name of his farm, to which the cafe adjoined. He asked us if we wanted to feed some baby goats! Of course we said yes, trying not to think of where the goats would eventually end up, if you get me.
With purpose he strode on, grabbing a baby bottle full of milk on the way. We followed him to his top field and into the secure enclosure that contained his goat pen. Constructed of bamboo and raised on stilts and fenced in, small heads with long floppy ears popped up and soft noses squeezed through the gaps. He originally had 200 goats, but as he gets older has reduced down to 100. He alone bottle feeds the kids. A lot of work for him but he said it’s hard to find workers to help him on the farm.
He then showed his pride and joy. The billy goat that is father to all! 60Kg in weight, he lifted it up with its front legs and passed them to me. I couldn’t hold him. I put him down and the large billy proceeded to then try to butt me and pushed his head against me powerfully. As his sharp boney horns were frightfully close to my ‘man-tackle’ I was vigilant and held his horns to guard myself. “Don’t hold his horns. He doesn’t like it” said the man ! I gripped loosely but there was no way I was letting go, for fear of a pointy blow to my nether region. Mr Billygoat had shown that he was master of his domain and I was happy that our encounter ended without incident or embarrassment.
Amanda got to hold and feed a baby goat with milk and we both tried to not think about packets of goat curry back at the cafe - learning that after 9 months, the goats are sent away to be slaughtered.
A random encounter and not what we thought we’d be doing at the start of the day.
The final part of our ride took us right down to the waters edge, and to the small ticket booth, where we paid our fee and waited to board the ferry. Koh Lanta here we come.Meer informatie
Thailand - Koh Lanta
14–18 jan., Thailand ⋅ ⛅ 29 °C
Who doesn’t want to go to a paradise beach island? We thought we should visit at least one of Thailand’s famous idyllic islands… however it wasn’t quite what we expected.
We chose to visit Koh Lanta as it is easy to get to with a RORO ferry. Also we’d read the island was “a quieter, more laid-back, scenic island in the Andaman Sea than neighbouring Phuket or Phi Phi. It is known for its 30km-long coastline featuring nine uncrowded white sand beaches, mangrove forests and forested hills and is ideal for those seeking a mix of nature and relaxation”. Sounded just the ticket!
It took us over a day to cycle the ‘4206’ main road down the peninsula to reach the ferry at Hua Hin Pier, cycle the smaller island of Koh Lanta Noi, before crossing the bridge to reach Koh Lanta Yai, the main island. It’s fairly big: 25km (15miles) long and 6km (4 miles) wide. Our plan was to spend two nights in the south-west to explore Mu Ko Lanta National Park on the island’s southern tip, cycle over the hilly centre to see rustic Lanta Old Town on the opposite eastern coast where we’d camp, before having one final night on the north-east side ready to cycle up towards Krabi.
As it turned out Koh Lanta wasn’t our cup of tea. I guess we’ve enjoyed being off the tourist trail for a wee while and Koh Lanta is Thailand in tourist-mode so it was a bit of a jolt. Cycling over the bridge into Sala Dan we were instantly struck by how many ‘falangs’ there were: we’d not seen so many westerners since Australia! The main road was wide and busy with an endless stream of pink skin and tattoos scootering past in convoy. English menus offered cocktails and Pad Thai (for twice the price we’d been paying for food), massage opportunities abounded, weed joints could be smelt every few kilometres, and numerous boards advertised trips to nearby islands.
We joined the throng of scooting tourists on the western road as we cycled to the southern tip of the island. The number of scooters slowly petered out, peeling off at each successive beach we reached. After a brutal rollercoaster of hills we finally reached the national park. Home to the last beach on the island, shared with only a handful of folk, we really enjoyed a long lazy swim in the sea.
On the eastern coast we chilled out with a coffee in Lanta Old Town. A laid back tourist trap, every shopfront on Lanta’s main street sells souvenirs and food and drink to slowly ambling visitors. In an oldywoldy-looking wooden cafe we did a spot of planning, with a view of karst islands hazy on a bright sea every time we looked up from the monitor.
Trusting in the camping icon on Google maps our highlight on the island was finding The Anchor Place down a dead end road. The loveliest elderly Thai man came out to greet us and showed us around his campsite. We were the only campers that night to enjoy this very peaceful spot. We sat with a beer looking out at the pale blue karst islands dotted on the sea view horizon, with the smell of mosquito coils and the sound of large tropical leaves softly rustling in the salty breeze. I woke in the morning to stare through our tent mesh at an orange ball sunrise emerging from the sea and the silhouette of palm trees above us.
Our last night was very different. We strung out our morning enjoying the campsite for as long as possible before cycling up to Lanta Old Town to get some lunch. 12 miles later, through back roads, quiet and green, we arrived as dusk fell in Sala Dan at the top of the island. Our accommodation - Lovely Lanta - was far from it. Mosquito-ridden, dark, and uncomfortably hot and stuffy. This end of the island is more developed, with wide roads, more accommodation, and is not an area we felt relaxed in. We were glad to leave, early the next day, catching the ferry at 8am to cycle our way up towards Laem Sak and Krabi.Meer informatie
ReizigerI have read this with great interest and a sort of melancholy. Eleven years ago my first bike trip through Thailand also led me to Ko Lanta where I spent gorgeous days. As I left the island, I had to use two (!) car ferries then to get back to the mainland. The bridge you mentioned between Yai and Noi, even in its final phase, was still under construction. Aboard the ferry on my way to the other side I could watch the whole building site and I thought maybe I just witnessed the end of Ko Lanta’s good old days as this bridge will make it far easier to bring people to the island. After reading your blog entry I’m now pretty sure that I was right. But you both already have found and will find other places of solitude. 😀😃😄
ReizigerNo doubt it was lovely 11 years ago. I worry about the sustainability of some places, Bali included. However, the economy of many of these places derives from tourism but I wonder when the tipping point will be?
Thailand - Krabi and Laem Sak
18–20 jan., Thailand ⋅ ⛅ 31 °C
Ooo, these were a good couple of days! Landscape was off the scale and we visited a wonderful remote monastery where a senior monk hugged Lilz (you are not supposed to touch monks as a sign of respect).
Getting to Krabi from Koh Lanta was 64 miles (103km) of meh: retracing our steps up the peninsula and then highway pretty much all the way. When we deviated off the hwy we hit snarly dirt tracks which the rain last night had turned to mud. We did pass an elephant hospital though (no elephants seen, only imagined with jumbo bandages). We have also seen a lot more cycle tourers - at least five before lunch.
Krabi Town was nicer than we both expected.
The weekend night market had the best street food and we slavered our way through big bowls of Massaman Curry, a southern Thai dish we instantly fell in love with (a mix of Persian dried spices such as cardamom, cinnamon, and cloves, with Thai ingredients like lemongrass and galangal). I delighted in seeing green vegetables again - something I’d not seen a lot of whilst in Malaysia and Indonesia - and ate the larger half of our shared Morning Glory dish. Yom!
The landscape around Krabi - huge towering lumpy bumpy karst limestone - is amazing and one of my favourites. I love the drama of it. We took the beautiful rural 4034 away from the highway (a cycling highlight of the trip) with a detour up to Kuan Nom Saow restaurant. It was a workout to get there: 900m along a sandy track up to a high viewpoint, but worth it to enjoy lunch looking out across a stunning panoramic karst vista.
On these wonderful rural roads we briefly stopped to chat to a Spanish tourer, looking rugged and relaxed he was cycling Hanoi to KL and gave us some camping tips.
Turning a corner we were met by a serene line of five pure white Buddhas, each smaller than the one above, guarded on either side by fearsome nagas (Nilakarn Nakarat and Kanyawadee Nakhi Devi. Nagas are guardian spirits/powerful supernatural serpents, that can influence well-being or destiny).
One of my favourite things about cycle touring is randomly coming across such things. Stopping to look I learnt it was a community built shrine, still in completion. A large poster in the shrine’s workshop area told of Mr. Supin Thin Nongchik, the craftsman, who conceived the idea of creating the large statues during Covid, to be built through volunteer work only, driven by merit and faith. Children, adults, and elderly people all participated, sculpting the Buddha statues one by one, bending iron and mixing cement.
Mr. Supin wanted to “create these miraculous things, to represent the power of merit, the power of faith, and the power of unity”. Seeing the construction up close and the moulds for the naga’s scales, each placed by hand, I marvelled at the community’s time and dedication.
By late afternoon we had turned west to cycle down the Laem Sak peninsula, a detour to visit ‘Wat Mahathat Laem Sak’ at its tip. Limestone karst cliffs accompanied us down the quiet rural highway undulating its way to the Wat. A stall-seller gently laughed at me for buying one cucumber (normally sold in large bags) not understanding quite that we have no fridge to keep things from turning to mush in the heat, neither wanting to lug more weight than needed for tonight’s tea.
Rolling into the Wat’s grounds around 5pm Lilz approached a slight framed monk, dressed in rusty orange and tending to flowers in a hedge. In his best broken Google Translate he asked if we could set our tent up somewhere in the grounds. Obviously not the first with this request, softly smiling Chusak (the monk told us his name meant raise up and be strong) led Lilz to a large covered car park area and showed him the sanitary block. Wow: showers!!! Happily setting up on a raised platform next to a row of minibuses we settled in for the night, listening to a melodious call to prayer from the mosque next door. When the heavens opened with a deluge of rain we were glad we were undercover, happy to listen to the rain drum on the metal roof above. When in Edinburgh and Lilz struggled with insomnia his go-to white noise was tropical rain. I looked over at him: he was fast asleep.
At dawn I heard the monks leave the monastery and then return laden with alms from the villagers.
In the morning we had just finished eating some sorry looking packet food, mainly for the calories, when a tall thin monk approached and asked us to follow him. Taking us to a table with a handful of villagers sorting out food he indicated we could eat anything we wanted! Assuming the food was leftover alms we tucked in encouraged warmly by the villagers.
Feeling utterly blessed and very full, we skipped up the long flight of steps up to the white and gold temple. A place above life’s humdrum it changes your mood almost instantly to one of calm and serenity. In bare feet we drifted around the outer square of covered cloisters, looking out at the spine of karst islands and cliffs jutting out of the sea. In the centre we wondered at the sublime decoration inside, the intricate murals, gold, stars, and painted doors. We had the place to ourselves and felt like we were in another world. A gift of a place.
Returning to the world below, full of a lazy calm, we weren’t quite ready to get back on the road. Instead we wheeled down to the coast and continued our luxurious morning with an iced coffee and karst view before exploring the small seaside town. Lunch was simple, sitting on a raised platform built around the expanse of a Goliath fig tree and looking out over the sea. Little narrow streets dotted with street art wound us gently back to the highway. At last we must leave and cycle the rolling 20 miles to Thapput, which sets us up tomorrow to take the 4118 up to the national park of Khao Sok.Meer informatie
Thailand - Khao Sok National Park
22–24 jan., Thailand ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C
We spent a day at Khao Sok National Park, heading out before first light by longboat, across the manmade Cheow Lan Lake. We were back at the pier by 10am, but those four hours on the lake as the sun came up and the karst peaks silently surrounded us were four hours I will remember happily for years to come.
We had a fairly easy day cycling Thapput to Ban Ta Khun where we were staying for two nights, just a few miles southeast of Cheow Lan Lake. In the last few miles we were reacquainted with our karst friends as a huge backbone of rock rose up to our left.
That evening, after getting noodles and snacks and on my way back to the hotel, I met with a rare gigantic albino Water Buffalo coming the other way. Beyond the actual impressive physicality, I can’t describe how big this creature FELT. Like he took up more space than his physical presence.
In the dark hours of morning we were cycling the very tough 3 miles (4.5km) up to the lake. The steep road seemed endless in the black. Once at the pier, there was only a handful of people about. We met with our boatman and slipped out from the rows of longboats bobbing gently on the water into the lake.
Passing the Ratchaprapha Dam it was hard to comprehend how recent and huge an endeavour the dam was. It was completed in 1987 creating this enormous lake, displacing 385 families and local extinction of several fish and bird species in the process, and now provides 240 MW hydroelectric power for Southern Thailand.
The sky was turning coral pink and apricot behind us. Our boatman cut the engine for a while and we bobbed gently appreciating the sunrise.
Khao Sok NP protects a 160-million-year-old rainforest, considered older than the Amazon. The lake is the NP’s centre-piece, a complex flooded valley with many narrow, fjord-like bays and hidden inlets. We sped through its dramatic jungle topped karsts and near-vertical cliffs formed from ancient coral reefs. Now a dark watery world of submerged mountains, their peaks are living jagged giants that erupt nearly 1,000 meters straight up from the water. It is like moving through a scene out of Avatar. It feels otherworldly, a place of beauty hard to describe or capture.
We pulled up at Klong Ka Lakehouse. This is one of about 20 floating raft house resorts on Cheow Lan Lake. Budget constraints meant we hadn’t opted for a raft house stay, yet we enjoyed a kayak and swim.
Being on a kayak, without the loud growl of the long-tail boat, I could appreciate the quiet of the lake, the only sound I made the rhythmic, hollow plink of droplets falling from my paddle blade. I felt like a gliding ghost in the landscape: slipping through a world I didn’t know. I followed the edge of an island, listening to birds hidden in branches far above - catching sight of a hornbill flying into the canopy - and looking through the clear green water at the waving reeds below. It is so rare in life to be out on your own, just you and nature, and nothing else. Nothing else. It gives you a frightening realisation of how far removed we are from this natural pure state. How alien we are in it, and for me at least, a keening to better belong to it.
Swimming in the lake with Lilz was delicious. The water was a perfect cool calm temperature. The mountains rose up around us.
On the hour boat ride back to Cheow Lan Lake pier the light on the lake was changing, slowly waking up to the dazzle of brilliant white hot sunshine. Shadows and light beams played across craggy karst crenellations.
As we got closer a growing armada of long tail boats were heading our way, full of tourists flocking to see the lake’s delights themselves. At the pier tour groups were spilling out of minibuses and being herded on to boats. It felt loud and busy and full of an energy that didn’t match our own. We were happy to get back on the pedals and cycle up onto the dam road away from the bustle.Meer informatie
Khao Sok to Chumpon
24–27 jan., Thailand ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
Saying goodbye to Ban Chiao Lan and the mountainous karst vista of Khao Sok behind us, we cycled north and east, toward the Gulf of Thailand coast.
Cycling into a slight headwind provided a nice cooling breeze, to hold off the heat effects of the morning sun.
On route we bumped into another cycling couple, Jeroen and Ruby from the Netherlands. As we grabbed some shade and a drink outside a 7-11, they pulled up and introduced themselves. Super laid back, Dutch, and travelling quite light, they had bikepacked Chiang Mai in the north and then flew down south to explore, and now headed back to Bangkok to fly home. We talked for a while about dogs, camping, roads and other topics of chat that cyclists seem to fall into.
Hitting the busy roads north of Surat Thani required a period riding along the highway and tricky negotiation of a couple of really unpleasant junctions.
Cycling along the wide hard shoulder of a ‘motorway’ meant we didn’t feel too exposed, but we had to pass across several on ramps, and then make a right turn across a three lanes, to reach an overpass to exit. 😫
A manoeuvre we would never attempt in the UK.
Thailand, however, is a different bag. Certain things are tolerated e.g. travelling down the hard shoulder of a carriageway in the opposite direction of traffic. No one bats an eyelid.
Our state of calm returned after leaving the expressway, and enjoyed riding through the bustling town of Tha Chang, past roadside stalls and a variety of vendors. People stopped to buy fruit, vegetables, and meat ‘popsicles’ - grilled meat served on a stick. Amanda bought some vegetables for our evening meal and the lady running the stall found it most amusing that we only wanted one carrot, one onion and one cucumber. The same puzzlement occurs in vendors when we buy bananas, which are commonly sold by the tree sized bunch. We have resorted to miming a ‘chopping action’ to indicate we only want a few.
Our nights ‘camp’ would be in a Wat that we had Googled. The temple grounds were set below a large limestone mogote and there was a series of shrines set high up on it. When we arrived the Wat seemed deserted. Most Wats we had been to seem deserted of people but are colonies for animals - dogs, cats, roosters, cows. Where are all the monks?
As if by magic, a lone orange robed small elderly gentlemen appeared in the distance. We cycled over and I had my translation ready to ask permission to camp. I think the monk may have used glasses to read. He struggled to read the translation, so we muddled on!
We reached an understanding and he led us to where we could set up. As we put up our tent, another young monk appeared, smiled and said hello and then disappeared. He returned a short time later with some bottles of water, a toilet roll, soap and talc. This kindness and generosity humbled us but we may have looked like we were in need!
After setting up and as dusk was approaching, we hurriedly climbed the many steps to see the shrines set into the limestone cliff. The Wat now far below, the view across the canopy of trees toward the sea in the far distance appeared all hazy in the pink sunlight. Strange noises began to form a chorus around us. The screech of an owl pierced the hypnotic rave like hum of insects, that built to a crescendo,
and then, suddenly, they stopped. Rave over, time for bed!
Returning to the tent, we managed to startle a large horned cow in the darkness (both the cow and ourselves jumped). We retired to our tent and tried to doze off in the calm evening, its silence occasionally broken by the bark of one of the many temple dogs. We were prevented from our slumber by the sound of karaoke drifting over from a bar in the local village, which went on until nearly midnight. We slipped off to sleep, only to be awoken by a loud gong around 4:30am. A waking call to the monks, announcing the start of a new day, and part of the daily ritual of gong and drum. Now we too were awake and experiencing the biorhythm of monastic life.
At 4:45am, the gong was followed by a period of chanting in a low, steady and constant tone.
I was fast asleep by this stage so Amanda bore witness to this and managed to translate some of it using her phone. It lasted one hour and in a much shortened, paraphrased brief, contained the following mantra…
“The Lord Buddha is the supreme being. I entrust this Dhamma to you, the teachings of the Buddha. This is the Dhamma that I have learned. I humbly bow before you. I pay homage to the Blessed. He is the teacher of both gods and humans, knowing himself, awakened and enlightened”.
Amanda was ‘awakened’ certainly! Our enlightenment continued, as the cockerels welcomed dawn with their cacophony and made our nights sleep feel like a short nap.
I love the feeling of peace and calm of a Buddhist temple. Ironically the dogs, cows, gong and chanting meant it was noisier than a Saturday night in our city centre flat at home. However, I felt that it was all part of acknowledging the sounds of life, the living temple and of the spiritual growth gained!
Onward next day and we rode alongside the Gulf of Thailand, getting glimpses of the aquamarine sea between palm trees that hugged the coast.
We found we were the sole campers that evening at a small campsite looking out onto the ocean. We arrived with no-one around to pay and no answer from the phone number to call. I managed to beckon a man over who was working in the garden next door. He seemed to understand our request to camp. We weren’t sure he was the owner. He made a phone call. Then we asked how much. He told us the cost. We paid him the money and assumed that he would pass it on, to the actual owner. We weren’t sure but at least we tried and someone knew we were there.
The next days ride to Chumpon was a mixed bag. We spotted colourful fishing boats moored up as we crossed creeks on the highway. We travelled along shady lanes, amongst coconut palm plantations, whilst folk toiled at their work, covered from head to toe to protect themselves against the sun, as they tilled the soil, or collected crops.
We stopped briefly by a few beaches. and found that they were strewn with rubbish which was very sad. Mostly plastic - bottles, bags, shoes, caps, single use cups. Stretching out along the sand into the distance, it was a sad and depressing sight. Items that had found their way to the shore, washed up the sea and deposited at the high tide mark. The beaches pristine white blighted by humankind’s unwanted items and displayed in a band of shame.
This contrasted to the beauty of the landscapes, flora and fauna we had experienced in Thailand already. I suppose the detritus was unsurprising in regard to the high use of single use plastics here. Take away food and drinks are provided in plastic cups, often accompanied by a straw and a bag to carry it all in. Mostly all drinks bought in a food court, from a street vendor or roadside shack, and even in a cafe or restaurant, are supplied in single use plastic cups, rather than crockery. Plastics bags are given automatically. We refuse them when possible, giveback our straws and buy coffee using our travel mugs. We have certainly contributed to this mountain of plastic by buying bottled water. Although, we recently found that they do have water refill but they are not always obvious. How great it would be if every 7-11, gas station and service area had a refill station, with potable water.
By late afternoon, we were back on a highway, now busy with large Ute’s and other cars and trucks spewing thick black exhaust smoke ‘clouds’ that lingered in the air.
We approached Chumpon somewhat tired and arrived at our guesthouse for the night. It was enclosed by trees and backed onto a river. We looked forward to a good nights sleep, bathed only in the peace - no karaoke, gongs, chanting or otherwise!Meer informatie
Reiziger
Nawahhhh