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.Les mer
Last days in Malaysia
8. januar, Malaysia ⋅ ☁️ 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.Les mer
Malaysia - Penang Island
1.–3. jan., Malaysia ⋅ ⛅ 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.Les mer
Malaysia - George Town (Christmas day)
25. desember 2025, Malaysia ⋅ ⛅ 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!Les mer
Malaysia - George Town
23. des. 2025–4. jan. 2026, Malaysia ⋅ ⛅ 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.Les mer
ReisendeWhat 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
ReisendeHi. 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 - road to Ipoh
20.–22. des. 2025, Malaysia ⋅ ☁️ 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.Les mer
Malaysia - Pangkor Island
18.–20. des. 2025, Malaysia ⋅ 🌧 27 °C
I’ve rarely seen Lilz so worried. For the full fifteen minute ferry crossing his face was a picture of anxiety. Through the ferry window we could see Sexy Pete outside, balancing on the ferry’s thin walkway edging, with only a thin piece of twine stopping him from falling into the briny sea.
People who know me know I love a ridiculous looking bird. The reason we’d made the journey to Pangkor island was to see the hornbills that live there. Malaysia is home to ten of the 62 species in the world (the Rhinoceros Hornbill is their national bird) and whilst normally rare to see, here on Pangkor island we’d read we were guaranteed to see some. I don’t think we expected we’d see so many!
Ferry crossing survived, we cycled the four miles over to the quiet west side of the island. The island was such a restorative change after the monotony of the last few days. Golden beaches with holidaying families made way to a rise into green junglyness. Due to a landslide, roadworks had restricted access to two-wheeled vehicles only, meaning we had the road all to ourselves. Without any cars the ride was an utter joy.
Our destination was the small village of Teluk Nipah, its few narrow streets laid out above a wide crescent beach. We were greeted by some gentle dogs as we entered the village - rare to see in this Muslim majority nation. Known for its seafood stalls and sunset views, the village has a very relaxed yet active island vibe. Behind the village, a green wall of tree covered hills that make up the centre of the island swept up towards the sky. We immediately liked the place.
As the sky started to take on hues of pearl, peach and persimmon we wandered down our street to Sunset View Chalet. Here Noordin, the guesthouse owner, continues a practice he has been doing every night for the last sixteen years. Offering small chunks of banana to people who have gathered on the roadside, he instructs how to hold the fruit high above your head, and wait. Swiftly, deftly, and surprisingly delicately (considering the size of their beaks), hornbills swoop down and take the banana from you. A supper stop on their way home to roost in the jungle, there can be as many as thirty birds on the cables above, or hopping along the fence, waiting patiently for their turn to grab their dusk treat. It was truly wonderful. The hornbills were pied hornbills, and they weren’t bothered about us at all.
The following day was full of sunshine and we cycled a loop of the island, enjoying the leafy, viney, shaded roads. Rare gaps through the thick foliage afforded picture perfect glimpses of bright blue sea and sky. A large still bay opened up at Teluk Dalam, complete with random large galleon, like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean. The locals have nicknamed it “Jack Sparrow’s Ship”. Here we befriended a stray mum and her pups, all bandy leggy and full of curiosity and affection.
Further round and the Chinese settlements of Sungai Pinang Besar and Kecil were a hub of industrious work in the boatyards. We cycled through strong smell pockets where the drying and processing of anchovies wafted up to us. Fishing boats in vibrant primary colours were being unloaded at rickety wooden docks.
In Pekan Pangkor on the east side of the island where the ferry comes in, we rode through a wee street where noodles were being made on one side and left to dry in the sun on large trays on the other.
Remains of a colonial Dutch fort held little interest. However one of the three little gift shops alongside had a retail display that was quite entertaining. Various oils in glass bottles were lined up above information boards of long lists, showing pictures of lizards and camels. Google translate magickery later, and I learnt the oils were derived from camel fat, herbal roots and the spiny-tailed lizard - produced by Haji Azman Bin Sharif of Pulau Pangkor. Marketed for the external relief of a whole smorgasbord of ailments: joint pain, asthma, insect bites, digestive problems, and gout, with a significant portion of labelling dedicated to curing male sexual health. Quite graphic claims made for strengthening and improving genitalia performance, with some bold energetic assertions! Inshallah.
Following a dead-end rewarded us with the sight of the floating mosque of Masjid Al-Badr hovering gracefully above the waters of Teluk Baru.
Cycling the hills back to Teluk Nipah we rounded off a perfect day by grabbing some corn on the cob from a street stall which we ate watching the late afternoon sun drop and then some curry on the beach.
Tomorrow we head to the historic city of Ipoh.Les mer
Malaysia - KL to Sitiawan
15.–17. des. 2025, Malaysia ⋅ ☁️ 23 °C
From KL we did a short side trip to see the Batu Caves, a half hour train ride out of the city.
The caves at Batu are located in a large limestone escarpment. Inside the caves are several shrines and small temples, dedicated to Hindu deities.
The large cave has a shrine dedicated to Lord Murugan, the god of war. It is guarded by a large golden statue of himself and we were looking forward to seeing it. It’s 43m high and one of the largest in the world. Unfortunately, our visit coincided with some spit and polish for his Lordship, and he was covered in scaffolding and shrouded with extensive blue tarpaulin, so not at all visible. I am sure he’ll be back on show soon, looking sharp and glinting in the sun!
The caves are a site of pilgrimage for Hindus and particularly Tamil Hindus, who attend a big festival annually. Someone told us that it gets very busy during this time with overwhelming numbers.
It was busy enough the day we went, although not first thing as we were there early. Later it was crazy busy when we descended back down from the Cathedral Cave.
A rainbow staircase of 272 steps lead up to the cave. Amanda and I climbed them without breaking a sweat or getting out of breath, so kudos to the cycling as it must be making us a bit fitter, something we’d not quite appreciated before.
Arriving at the cave entrance I understood why it’s called the cathedral cave. A huge cavern, with a roof formed of large stalactites resembling columns, organ pipes and pulpits, like the interior of a gothic church.
Descending the steps inside, the cool damp air hit me along with the smell of incense, and I could hear the sound of swifts and their high pitched ‘click-clicking’ as they swooped in and out of the cave in the vast stone atrium above.
There were shrines placed throughout the cave. Some were small with effigies of deities ensconced in the face of the rock. Others were large enough to go inside and devotees could enter to receive a blessing from the pujari or sadhu, (priests or holy men), who accepted the offerings of pilgrims and placed them at the foot of the statues of the deity, chanting and raising lit oil lamps in some form of ritual.
We saw one lady dressed in her finest sari, walking slowly to the shrine, barefoot, slightly limping and balanced a metal pot on her head, held only by one hand.
When I looked up later what this act was all about, I found that a Hindu devotee balancing a metal container on their head is a common practice associated with religious rituals and festivals. I think this lady may have been carrying out the act of a ritual offering. Possibly a symbol of devotion, sacrifice and of carrying a burden. The pot could have contained milk or water to be offered to the deity. She certainly carried it up the 272 steps but may have travelled even further and I wonder how far she had walked. An amazing feat with her inner balance and focus, to shut out all the surrounding worldly distractions. The man and lady accompanying her walked patiently by her side, in attendance, never helping physically, but allowing her to slowly make her way to the shrine. She passed the pot to the priest and he poured it into the shrine, her act of devotion completed.
One man walked by me with his offerings in a plastic bag, probably bought from one of the stalls at the entrance. A macaque appeared out of nowhere and snatched hold of the bag.
The man, a little startled at first was resolute and unwilling to let go. For several seconds both were giving no quarter, and there was a sort of push pull type physical struggle over the bag and its goodies. Man determined, macaque persistent. It would have been hard to place a bet on a winner - it was too close a contest and one that was ultimately decided when the bag tore in half.
The man let go, and the monkey quickly emptied the rest onto the floor, and quickly gathered its prize.
I had never seen a monkey eat a banana until this moment. A monkey by the shrine stuffed two bananas down like a tree branch being passed into a shredding machine, along with one apple, in less than one minute. Some going.
Emerging back into daylight we got a great view looking back down the staircase to the plaza and visitors now milling below. Droves of huffing and puffing visitors ascended the steps in a constant stream of people. A conveyor belt of humans emptying into the caves mouth.
From trees next to the steps, the macaques appeared in numbers, dropping down from the rock face and then onto the balustrade of the staircase like stealthy primate commandos on a mission. Visitors meant potential food. There were monkey mums with infants, roving gangs of youths and an old puffed up alpha male chased away other challengers. He had very big incisors! It made me a bit sad to see them sucking the last bits of juice from a plastic cup, or licking the remnants of a bag, then discarding it, for another to then grab it and check for any leftovers.
We called into two of the temples on the main plaza, each one brightly coloured and with several effigies of the various deities.
The holy men busied themselves by dealing with offerings from worshippers - taking bags or food and other gifts, carefully placing them on the altars.
They also sort of ‘tout’ for blessings, catching your eye or beckoning you over. We acquiesced, Amanda receiving her tika first and then I got one from another holy man in a later temple. A tika or tilak is a marking on the forehead in a coloured ash. We also received a sacred thread tied around our wrists, and were then invited to make a small donation. We noticed that worshippers had different tikas - three horizontal lines to show devotion to Shiva, a vertical line for Vishnu and a single red dot for Shakti.
Leaving KL we took our bikes onto the Komuter train. The train passed through a green landscape of forested hills, palm oil and banana plantations for much of the way. Alighting at Tanjong Malim we cycled through a university campus to our hotel set just off the main highway. A modest town with monotonous terraced concrete blocks of shops and housing it didn’t inspire. Struggling to find somewhere open to eat we found ourselves walking along the shoulder of the busy highway to a Dominoes Pizza place. An unpleasant experience: both for the walk and the terrible margarita.
The next day’s cycle followed Federal Route 1 all the way. A heavy rain shower all morning dampened our moods from the start - Amanda’s even more when she got soaked from a huge splash by a passing car.
In Sungkai, a carbon copy of the previous night’s town, our hotel was particularly grim. Painted cell-block grey, our room had no window, no furniture except the bed and one fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling. A common option in Malaysia, no-window rooms presented us with a much cheaper option. It wouldn’t be the last time we would have a ‘no window’ room.
To escape the room we went in search of food. Of two places, found via Google, the first was shut, the second terrifying-looking. Wandering the streets we came full circle, finding a small local resto just around the corner from our hotel! Simple noodles and rice dishes later, served by a very friendly waiter, we were much happier. Much better than the previous night’s pizza! Heading back as dusk fell, the street was alive with swooping swallows, flocking to roost along the eaves of the buildings and on the power cables. I have never seen so many in a single place. Balancing in long lines they chirruped away incessantly - filling the air and one of the loveliest sounds to hear.
Next day was a long 64-miler along uninspiring, largely straight roads with a distant vanishing point cutting a line between swathes of palm oil plantations. So much of it. Plantations stretching to the horizon. Long lines of trees regimented and in various states of the growing cycle. Vast areas were being cleared and the ground prepared for new saplings to start their life.
Malaysia is the second largest producer of palm oil after Indonesia and its export contributes a huge amount to their GDP and significant revenue for the Malaysian economy and thus people’s livelihoods. So versatile, palm oil is found in half of all packaged products in supermarkets including around 70% of personal care products (your soap, shampoo, makeup and lotion). Significant amounts of palm oil exports are also converted into biofuels. In terms of yield it is vastly more productive than any other alternative. Therefore there is huge demand for more and more of this efficient wonder plant. Sadly at the expense of natural habitat, and according to Wikipedia, working conditions with the use of illegal immigrants in Malaysia.
As we neared Sitiawan large housing estates echoed the plantations we’d passed through with long lines of regimented identical homes.
A large sprawling town at the intersection of a couple of major dualled highways it served as a stop on the way to the island of Pangkor. Tomorrow we’ll cycle to the marina to catch the ferry.Les mer
Malaysia - Kuala Lumpur 2
13.–15. des. 2025, Malaysia ⋅ 🌧 28 °C
Our last two days in KL would be a mix of planning the route ahead and a cram of sightseeing.
Saturday started with a bit of me-time! I had my fav breakfast of roti canai and teh tarik (Kate, I will be ever grateful) at the mamak round the corner before going to get my haircut. Lilz has been doing a stirling job cutting my hair but it just needed a bit of tlc reshaping.
Catching the metro to Bangsar I was transported into a very different neighbourhood. Detached homes, designer apparel, international restaurants, home decor shops, trendy cafes. A John Lewis vibe. Expats and the affluent strode by with confidence. The salon had a minimalist aesthetic. My Japanese stylist was a man of few words and unexpressive features. His sure, quick movements skilfully restored layers in my hair. Within 20 mins of sitting down I was up and paying (fraction of the cost in Edinburgh) and was out the door. Leaving upscale Bangsar behind I joined Lilz to do route planning for the rest of the day, peering at the laptop eating biscuits and drinking tea.
Sunday, our last day in KL, started with a quick visit to the doctor’s (immediate appointment, lovely doctor (who studied in Russia in -25 winters) antibiotics dispensed rapidly, great service).
Meeting Lilz we explored the edge of Chinatown coming across REXKL. An ex-cinema transformed into a cultural hub it has a little craft market, retro stores and vintage pop-ups… and the magic of BookXcess taking up the top floors.
BookXcess is like no other bookshop. The bookshelves create a maze of books across different levels, with cutaways and staircases, airwells and platforms. It brings out your inner child as you clamber around fiction, up into history, through a labyrinth of children’s books, and take a wrong turn into maths. As much as I delighted in the concept, the reality of the place is less about the books (which weren’t even in alphabetical order!) and more about the gimmick. Tourists hold their phones aloft at every twist and turn, but never a page is turned or spine examined.
Saddened by this, we left to discover the busy hubbub of China Town’s Petaling Street. Here you wander through an eclectic market selling anything a tourist may desire: trainers, Pokémon key rings, fruit on a stick, wallets, bags, sunglasses, football shirts, durian flavoured ice lollies in the shape of the Petronas towers.
A short walk found us in the vastness of
Merdeka Square, passing a group of lads all dressed in pale mint green suits for a photo shoot on the bridge.
A longer uphill hot and bothered walk and we were in the Botanics. A huge green expanse in the city it felt good to be surrounded by plants, but as far as gardens go they weren’t superlative. The orchid garden redeemed things. I’m not usually that bothered by orchids: they seem a little overhyped. But seeing a myriad of different types, in intricate shapes and with butterflies and dragonflies similarly in appreciation, it was a beautiful experience.
We had a date with the some of the highest cocktails in the world that evening and needed to get a wriggle on. We couldn’t however walk past the National Mosque without visiting. A quick look! Geometric lines in white. Cool, calm, tranquil. Spoiled only by the requirement to wear a provided purple robe, mandatory for entry to cover the legs, arms and head to meet the Islamic dress code. Perhaps Allah favours the purple Smurf.
As usual we were now rushing not to be late. We reached Merdeka 118 tower (named for its 118 floors) in a damp fluster, in sharp contrast to the perfectly orderly doormen. After calmly welcoming us inside towels were magically produced to help us dry off the rain. From hereonin we were treated like kings. Directed through the cavernous cathedral-like marble foyer to the lifts we waited in anticipation. The lift smoothly rose up through the 74 floors, our ears popping, to emerge on Level 75 where we were accompanied to the Park Hyatt’s chocolate-themed bar, Cacoa Mixology. Sat on high stools with a lovely Christmas centrepiece running the length of the long wooden table we faced the view we’d come to see. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic view of the city, overlooking the Petronas and Menura towers from high above.
Soft Bossa nova music, atmospheric lighting, refined contemporary decor - we’d definitely left our shabby touring selves at the ground floor and entered sophisticated luxury. I like it up here. Might not leave.
We ordered a cocktail each. A tropical fruity ‘Junglebird’ for Lilz (rum, pineapple, sugar, lime, Campari) and a crisp, citrusy ‘Sidecar’ for me (cognac, Cointreau, lemon juice). The staff were attentive and gracious and we enjoyed hearing about their careers that led them to join the newest Park Hyatt. Lee Wei Lung, from Penang, was the Beverage Manager and told us he’d worked at the Hilton before and had visited France for mixology and bartending competitions where he’d emerged as National Champion and Global Finalist. Fazly was our main host - an absolute gem - and with the sweetest smile plied us with free treats. With the cocktails we bought, we were also each given a complimentary cacao aperitif, traditional savoury nibbles, and chocolate tastings from a decadent display of beautifully handcrafted chocolates. We both agreed, paying £25 for cocktails to be in this high-up bar was a wonderful experience and beats £100+ to go up the Petronas towers for just the view!
All good things must come to an end, and after Fazly had kindly taken us on a tour of Level 75 - we poked our noses into private meeting rooms that cost an arm and a leg to hire, the dining rooms, and Park lounge - we descended back to earth.
Our walk home took us through Jalan Sultan street, vibrant with restaurants and people out to eat. We wove through groups of friends sitting outside under colourful street art, sharing food and stories, and soaked up the happy vibe. Thank you KL, you’ve been a city of surprising and vivid contrasts. Tomorrow we leave to head north, via the famous Batu caves.Les mer
Malaysia - Kuala Lumpar 1
11.–15. des. 2025, Malaysia ⋅ ☁️ 31 °C
Kuala Lumpur. Capital of Malaysia. Besides its iconic Petronas Twin Towers, its cultural diversity, and that our friends Kate, James and Krista had lived there, I didn’t know anything about KL. We had 3.5 days to learn more.
We were led by recommendations. The man we’d met on the train insisted we visit Brickfields for the best food. I was hungry so we headed there. A half hour walk in the late afternoon light led us on lovely pedestrian walkways alongside the Klang River for the first part and negotiating multi-lane busy roads for the second.
Dubbed the ‘River of Life’ by tourist signs the Klang is a sorry specimen, stinky, sluggish, and brown. At the confluence of the Klang and Gombak rivers, the Sultan Abdul Samad Jamek mosque is by contrast stunning, from another era with its white onion domes, arches and palm trees.
‘Little India’ in a city - bursting with colour, incense, and spices - tends to be my happy place, and Brickfields was no exception. Here I was especially delighted, first to see urban chickens scratching around, and second to be inside Gandhi’s Vegetarian Restaurant. The freedom to eat anything on the vast menu made my belly truly happy.
Across the road we poked our noses into an intriguing temple, Sree Veera Hanuman, where it’s all about the monkey god. Every inch is decorated to Disneylandesque effect. Bananas, of course, frame the temple entrance. Lilz’s favourite Hindu deity, the divine monkey has immense strength, wisdom, and devotion. He is revered for his role in the epic Ramayana (which we’d seen in the kecak performance on our first day in Indonesia at Uluwatu temple). I liked that his green tail winds its way throughout - appearing from the temple’s ceiling, disappearing around a pillar, and surrounding the tower with 47 coils. That’s a lot of tail!
Ambling back to our hotel we watched flocks of crows fly over to roost as the National Mosque called people to prayer. A pocket of peace descended cancelling the hum of traffic. As we passed Sultan Abdul Samad Jamek mosque again, we found it was now lit by evening blue lights, fountains rising and falling, and artificial mist piped out across the river, in an attempt at a mystic atmosphere.
We rose on Friday ready to follow Kate’s recommendation to visit Chow Kit wet market, one of Malaysia’s largest, selling meat, fish, fruit and veg. The neighbourhood was where Kate had stayed eight years ago. Once a seedy part of town - home to a large red light district and buildings in dire need of repair - it has long been on the up, becoming more modern and gentrified.
We arrived at the market a little late. In hindsight I think this worked out well as the meat and fish market in full swing would have been pretty intense. As it was we got a feel for the market’s size and energy without the crowds. It was raw with powerful smells, cleaver thuds, the sight of carcasses piled up and slumped purple grey innards. Stall holders called to each other as they started to pack up their produce, swilling water to clear the benches. It was a relief to explore the market next door. Row upon row of brightly coloured, textured fruit and vegetables piqued our curiosity. Familiar chillies, limes, tomatoes, and garlic held space with more exotic produce. Pomelo, soursop, snake fruit, mangosteen, banana flower, rambutans. This last one - a round, dark red, spikey fruit we got to taste - a lot like lychee.
The market is not far from the Petronas towers which we walked to, grabbing a late lunch on route. We were trapped after eating, waiting under cover for a heavy storm to subside. It was fun to watch the dramatic lightning show, the thunder obliterating all other sound as it crashed and reverberated around the skyscrapers. A returning Malaysian, on holiday from his now-home in Canada, explained to us how dangerous these storms can be, recounting that a friend of his had died after being struck by lightening.
Waiting out the storm meant we arrived at the Petronas Towers for early evening, seeing them lit up against the black sky. Underneath the twin white shimmer of the towers sits a high end mall, luxury hotels and flash sportcar showrooms. A large fake Christmas tree competed for attention with the rainbow lit fountains as tourists took selfies.
We’d quickly decided against going up them, as it would cost more than £50 each for a ticket. Instead Lilz had booked us in for cocktails in the second tallest tower in the world, Merdeka 118, which opened August 2025. Something to look forward to on our last night in KL!Les mer
Malaysia - Melaka to Kuala Lumpur
10. desember 2025, Malaysia ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C
Melaka to KL was a two-day cycle. Rolling the steady 50 miles from Melaka to Port Dickson was pretty uneventful except for meeting Nas, Jeremy and Nina. Port Dickson to Kuala Lumpur was a short 20 miles to Seremban where we caught the train into the city centre.
Nas rolled up alongside us on his scooter wanting to know where we were from and where we were going. He instructed us to follow him back to his Dad’s garage nearby so we could chat. Genuine and kind, he gave us a cold drink and explained he was also a cycle tourer and had just returned from a week cycling in Sumatra. He also told us about the south-east Asia WhatsApp. A large group of currently touring cyclists all asking questions, giving advice, and offering support to each other in the one group. It’s a mess - like we’re all in a room talking at once - but somehow works, and gives me comfort being part of a community of other tourers. Nas also invited us to stay with his brother at his guest house further up the coast!
Just outside Port Dickson, coming out of a nice stretch of quiet backroads onto a busy main road, we met Jeremy and Nina on their bikes. On the corner of the junction, with scooters and cars going round us, we excitedly exchanged stories. They were nearing the end of their trip, after starting in Portugal to finish in Singapore in a few days’ time. After lots of useful titbits shared - on Chinese hotels, the Pamir Highway, and camping - we wished each other well, and cycled on in opposite directions.
The train the next day into Kuala Lumpur was freezing cold - we must have acclimatised! - and for a very long train also pretty empty. The ‘Komuter’ trains allow bikes on at either end of the train, at certain times of day. They also have women-only carriages. An attractive young Indian man who got on for a few stops talked to us about his wedding (very small at 150) and his job as a lorry driver, driving across south-east Asia for the last ten years. Just before his stop he recommended we visit Brickfields for excellent curry in KL and George Town for the best food in Malaysia (chef’s kiss).
Felt excited when we rolled into KL. We’d be here for four days and had some great recommendations from our friend Kate who lived here whilst she was doing her tiger research. Lots to see and do!Les mer
Malaysia - Melaka
7.–10. des. 2025, Malaysia ⋅ ☁️ 32 °C
We arrived in Melaka looking forward to our visit to the city. Formerly known as Malacca, the Malaysian government changed its name officially, in 2017 to revert to the original Malay name rather than the anglicised version.
It is a World Heritage Site and melting pot of cultures with an interesting history. Originally an Islamic Sultanate founded by a Sumatran prince and then undergoing a period of colonial rule - first by the Portuguese, then Dutch and following them, the British, not forgetting the Japanese occupation during World War II.
Its mixed population of different ethnicities and emigrants include Indians and Chinese. A vibrant place, colourful by day and by night.
A place with a mix of styles, beliefs, religion and food, sitting on the coast of an important trade route going back hundreds of years.
We wandered through the historic central centre with its square surrounded by Dutch-era buildings including the city hall (Stadthuys),
The square is a place where people congregated in the evening and also a departure point for trishaw rides.
Melakan trishaws are adorned with various items in garishly bright colours and often themed - Pokémon, Hello Kitty, Spider-Man etc. At night they seem to come alive - they are covered in LED lights and pump out music from their onboard sound systems. Pedalled by their drivers, they wait for business and pick up passengers, often families with children, who then wedge themselves into the front bench sea, 3 or 4 abreast. They grin and smile as they get ridden through the streets, filming themselves to capture the experience. It makes for a strange sight.
It was Sunday when we arrived and the street where we stayed on was closed to cars.
People meandered amongst the various stalls and street vendors and we wandered up to the famous Jonker Street which becomes a bustling food market in the evening.
This is where the Dutch resided during their rule. Today it is in the heart of the Chinese influenced part of the city. The street market was lined with a multitude of mainly food stalls selling everything from fresh juice and tea, to noodles, chicken balls, grilled squid and octopus, barbecued meat and sweet snacks. Large metal pots of food bubbled away and satay sticks sizzled on grills. It was packed with people and hard to stop and investigate the stalls in the traffic jam of people.
We found our way to the river that snakes its way through the centre of the city. Many of the river walkways, bridges and buildings have been refurbished and preserved to encourage tourism. With the introduction of river cruises along the river, it has been likened it to a mini Venice. The river once was an important conduit for trade between the Strait of Malacca and city during the Sultanate in the 1400’s.
The following morning we went to the edge of Little India to get some breakfast. We found a small peaceful cafe, whose airiness, plants and curios made it welcoming, as did the warm smile of the owner, Mr. Patma. A diminutive man with a friendly demeanour, he served
us an amazing breakfast of roti and murtabak, washed down with some hot sweet teh tarik!
So good, we went back the following day, when he spoke effusively about the curios that decorate his shop, many from his British father-in-law who owns an antique shop. He shared his knowledge of food and cooking, having learnt his trade in his hometown in the Cameron Highlands and later in restaurants in Kuala Lumpur. His love for his cafe, set up three years ago, was evident and he showed us the small courtyard behind the front cafe which he wanted to develop. Cool and shaded, it had a fantastic spiral stair up to the upper floors of his house. Each step had a potted plant which he said he watered every day! A hanging garden that kept him fit!!! A truly lovely man with a good energy we will remember him fondly.
With stomachs full, we found our way to Temple Street. It has a Hindu temple, a Mosque and two Chinese Temples within a stones throw of each other - along with all the various outlets selling the incense and offerings that worshippers can buy to satisfy their religious deference or gift to honour their ancestors.
Allah, Ganesh (the remover of obstacles), the Chinese God of Mercy, and Buddha have been neighbours in the street for centuries. They have coexisted as part of the diverse communities spiritual beliefs of the Indian Hindu, Indian Muslim, Chinese and Malay people who have made it their home.
The UK often seems to struggle with multiculturalism and as there is increasingly a leaning toward the right and its divisive dog whistle politics. This street reminded me that harmony can exist and that it can be accommodated, provided everyone has a little bit of tolerance for others.
Exploring the back streets after dark was very atmospheric. Many of the old shophouses have kaki-lima. Kaki-lima are the covered walkways in front of the houses that act as a shade from the sun and protection from the rain.
Navigating our way along the kaki-lima we had to tread with care. There are often changes in level, steps, parked motorbikes, pipes that stick out, open gutters and other hazards to keep you on your toes!
Many floors and walls of the shops fronts were decorated with ornate tile work of flower patterns and geometric motifs in vibrant colours, many in a relief style with raised designs They are referred to as Peranakan tiles, however, they were often imported from Europe and other places.
Next day we visited a traditional Peranakan home, now a museum, the ancestral seat of the Chan family - several generations of whom lived in the house, after their ancestors emigrated to Melaka from Southern China. These Chinese migrants are collectively known as Baba-Nyonya.
The house contained many items from the family’s life, and although opulent, it felt like a family home. The house itself was the star. It had two floors joined by a fantastic wooden staircase that had a special hatch, which could be deployed and locked to protect those on the upper floor and stop anyone from getting upstairs.
The terraced houses on this street are 160 ft in depth and 55 ft in width. There are no windows on the left or right walls. Ventilation and light comes into the house through 3 inner courtyard airwells, surrounded on the ground floor by living and dining areas and on the upper floor by bedrooms. Open to the sky, rain falls through the airwell, to cool the house, and also brings good luck and prosperity (ong) into the house as it is believed that water signifies wealth.
On our last evening we went out for a stroll. We climbed up to the old Portuguese fort on the hill behind the main square. The sun was setting over the strait of Melaka and evening light painted the stones of the old
Church of St. Paul pink. As it got dark we
found ourselves again in the back streets, where paper lanterns decorated with Chinese symbols hung under the kaki-lima, swaying gently in the evening breeze - throwing a warm red glow that bathed the covered arcade. Many businesses were closed but in places, open shutters were an invitation for us to nosily peer inside. This would reveal a glimpse of a person in the dimness, engrossed in something or other, vignetted like a figure in an old painting.
Along the river path, we stumbled upon an ‘emporium’ of curios in the flea market Trash & Treasure, a veritable museum of vintage items. One unit is given over mainly to alcohol memorabilia. We chatted with the proprietor David, who started up the flea market years ago and is an avid collector and enthusiast, particularly of items related to the alcohol industry. He told us that when the government decided to restrict the promotion of alcohol in many places, that much of the alcohol related paraphernalia - posters, branded glassware, bottles, advertising and marketing materials, became redundant.
He has a big collection including items from Johnnie Walker, Guinness and Tiger, many of which are rare, as they were special versions released in the SE Asia market only. He talked for ages with such enthusiasm. Even though we weren’t buying anything, he showed some of his favourite items and as we mentioned we live in Scotland, paid us attention to some special whisky memorabilia!
Our impressions of Melaka were that it was a visually interesting place, and one that was wonderful to walk around. The colours popped, the multicultural influences made it stimulating, and the heritage buildings added to the feel of faded grandeur. A city that we could have spent more time exploring.Les mer
Malaysia - Johor Bahru to Melaka
4. desember 2025, Malaysia ⋅ 🌧 29 °C
Arriving in Malaysia was not fun. I wondered if Malaysia would treat us well?
Grey skies. A sea of grey concrete apartment blocks. Clouds threatening rain. Swept along by commuting scooters we emerged from the custom booths on the bridge into a teeming spaghetti of fast roads. Many of the buildings proclaimed “I ❤️ Johor Bahru & You”. The feeling wasn’t mutual.
And then the heavens opened. With no where to shelter and more than twenty miles still to go it was heads down as we pedalled through the sheets of water forming on the highway and tried to anticipate the bow wave from the fast passing cars. We were pretty soggy when we arrived at our unassuming hotel in the middle of a concrete grid of buildings just off the highway.
Our cycle to Melaka took three days, stopping the night at Benut and Muar on route, both small towns. So far, cycling in Malaysia was less interesting, with straight roads through endless palm oil, banana, and coconut plantations. We saw evidence of the recent flooding and many irrigation channels were running very high.
In Benut we enjoyed eating Indian food and were celebrities in the supermarket with the manager asking us for a selfie.
The ride to Muar the next day was 62 miles (a big day for us). For second-breakfast we ate at a busy roadside eatery where the owner’s daughter gave Lilz a complimentary dish of nasi lemak, considered the national dish. Compacted rice cooked in coconut milk and pandan leaves served with spicy sambal, crispy anchovies, and a hard-boiled egg.
In Muar, boys were playing football across from our hotel and we ate from a pop up food market, dribbling butter from corn on the cobs down our chins.
A shorter 29 mile day to Melaka found us cycling more back roads, along the coast. When we stopped for lunch we met Nadiah, a lady who had studied medicine in Newcastle and now lived with her eleven cats helping her mum run the restaurant. Shortly after lunch, we met Stefan, our fifth cycle tourer. An Austrian, he’d been on the road for 18 months and was carrying a lot! He was heading down to Australia where he’d then fly to South America to cycle with his best friend, his father, who was joining him.
Standout features cycling along the nondescript seafront was the enormous two meter long monitor lizard we saw swimming, and new interesting birds - colourful kingfishers and large white bellied raptors.
Entering Melaka felt good. Immediately there was an energy and excitement about the place. I felt we were going to like it.Les mer
Singapore
2.–4. des. 2025, Singapore ⋅ ☁️ 26 °C
We only had two days in the island city state of Singapore, one in the city and another cycling across the island to cross the border bridge over to Malaysia.
Entering Singapore was weird on a few fronts…
After putting our bikes back together it was a dangerous journey from the airport to the city centre! We had to survive several dinosaurs along our (wonderful dedicated) cycle path.
It was weird being in the city knowing our friends James and Krista no longer lived here - we had visited them years before and it felt an emptier city without them. We enjoyed the memories coming back of the places we had visited with them and wished they were still here.
Being accustomed to Indonesia, Singapore felt so different. A major financial hub and port the city is a prosperous, clean, modern metropolis. There are dedicated green spaces - after escaping the T-Rex we enjoyed cycling through East Coast Park where people were engaged in sporting leisure activities, something we’d never seen in Java. The car dominated again, and we waited obediently to cross busy roads, something we’d never done in Java. There was the wonderful sound of birds, something we rarely heard in Java. A diverse multicultural island with Chinese, Malay, Indian, and Eurasian communities, we no longer stood out and people didn’t give us a second glance, very different to the attention we got in Indonesia. We were in a big city with suits, skyscrapers, and public transport. People were efficient with their time and there were fewer smiles.
When we arrived at our hotel the reception was cold (both freezing aircon and staff demeanour). Impassive we were told we were ‘guests of the day’ (selected at random), that they wanted to take our photo and that there was a surprise in our room waiting for us! Not sure what to expect we were a little relieved to find the surprise was just a pair of towels on the bed in the shape of swans sprinkled with fake petals. Weird. Lilz was unimpressed by the towel surprise, having hoped it was biscuits.
We spent our day in the city exploring Chinatown, the Arab quarter of Kampong Glam, and Little India.
We walked on pavements (pavements!) to the nearest Metro stop, passing big signs enticing us to eat frog porridge. Skipping this particular delicacy, we opted for the quintessential Singapore breakfast of Kaya Toast. Consisting of two slices of toast sandwiching butter and kaya (coconut jam), served alongside kopi (coffee) and soft-boiled eggs, you add soy sauce and pepper to the eggs to taste and then dip your toast in. Despite trying the best - from ‘Ya Kun Kaya Toast’ an outlet on China street serving kaya toast since 1944 - I’d give it a 5/10.
On our way to Thian Hock Keng temple, the oldest Hokkien temple in the country, we passed an interesting mosque/museum and popped our heads in. We learnt about the area we were in - Telok Ayer - and Indian Muslims who emigrated to Singapore.
Telok Ayer was one was one of the first conservation areas to preserve building façades and streetscapes, escaping the massive demolition of Singapore’s old city following independence from Malaysia in 1965. We liked the old shophouses - unique to Southeast Asia - the futuristic glass and steel skyscrapers behind only emphasising this pocket of earlier colonial settlement. Telok Ayer was for many early immigrants the first place they landed after weeks at sea, and the area reflects a diverse cosmopolitan community. Early religious and civic institutions include the Indian built mosques, the Chinese temples and clan associations, and several Jewish properties sit alongside Anglo educational institutions.
After visiting the beautiful Thian Hock Keng temple we caught the metro to wander the Arab quarter: Kampong Glam. Here I loved the colour and buzz. We wandered with other tourists through streets lined with multicoloured shophouses, street art, and shops selling local indie brands, tourist tat, bright patterned textiles, carpets, and traditional clothing. Getting hungry we grabbed enormous falafel wraps from a corner food vendor. Always present was the prominent gleaming golden dome of Masjid Sultan, the Sultan Mosque. We went inside and were amazed by the size of the patterned carpet covering the prayer floor.
On our way back to the metro at Parkview Square we popped our heads into Atlas, an opulent art deco bar where you can have cocktails or afternoon tea. We just used their toilet and stood at the edge to admire the grand gilded gold interior, ornate frescos, and soaring Christmas tree. It was like we’d stepped into a scene from The Great Gatsby.
Next stop Little India to grab some bits and bobs in City Square Mall and then dinner - oh so good! - at the Tekka hawker centre.
Leaving the city the next morning we passed Raffles Hotel and the smiling doorman in his crisp, military-style uniform and white turban wished us well! It was a lovely spin along beautiful cycle paths by a river, on old railway lines, and through deep jungle where we heard, and then saw, our first hornbill high up in the trees! Luckily no wild boars, but a few dinosaur-like monitor lizards did slowly cross our path.
At lunchtime we stopped at a mall to grab some snacks and got chatting to a delivery driver as we were parking our bikes. As it started to rain hard we settled into more of a conversation with Azrin, who explained he also used to do a lot of touring until he had an accident damaging his back and can no longer cycle. Azrin is a gentle kind soul and before we knew it he was insisting on buying us lunch. Not taking no for an answer he sat us down in the mall’s food court and ordered us bowls of noodles. Expecting him to eat with us, we were saddened to learn he had to dash, getting back to his deliveries. The astonishing fleeting kindness of strangers never fails to bowl me over.
With full bellies, happy hearts, and passports at the ready, we cycled into the busy chaos of lanes going over the Woodlands bridge. Next stop, country five: Malaysia!!Les mer
Java - Yogyakarta 4 (Kotagede)
30. november 2025, Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C
One of those days on the trip that screams: “this is what it is all about!” We thought we’d spend the day in Kotagede, a heritage area of Jogja, finding traditional wooden joglo houses, winding alleyways, and its famous silver craft industry. We did find these things, but we also found a whole lot more - meeting a film director and local gamelan group - encounters that are absolute highlights of our trip.
We’d arranged for our cheeky becak driver, who took us to the museum the day before, to pick us up from our hotel. All of us full of grins we took off on the half hour ride to Kotagede east of the city centre. We were grinning because the novelty of riding in a becak hadn’t worn off; our driver was grinning because he had agreed a crazy good deal (Rp 100,000 : £4.50 - twice what the journey should cost). Warmed by this he kept insisting that he could also wait for us and take us back “nose problem, nose problem.” We were firm: we’d make our own way back, he was grumpy… until his face lit up for an approaching new customer.
The Kotagede Great Mosque (Masjid Agung Kotagede) is the oldest in Yogyakarta, built in the 16th century. Passing under a giant banyan tree, its roots a solid curtain to the ground, and through an ancient brick gateway we were in a large courtyard. There was a lot going on. People in their finery. Food. Decorations. I think we had gatecrashed a wedding! We slipped past the celebrations to the inner courtyard to see the traditional buildings surrounding the royal cemetery - Yogyakarta is the only Indonesian royal city still ruled by a monarchy.
After the peace and tranquility of the mosque and cemetery courtyards we were in the bustle of Pasar Legi, the local’s market. It was late in the morning so we’d missed the main vibrancy but we could imagine the intensity of activity in the dark market hall. Everything was here: fruit and veg, chicken carcasses, herbs, spices, clothes, traditional snacks... Outside, stalls spilled out into the road, jewellery and farming tools carefully arranged on blankets on the ground, live birds fidgeting in overcrowded pens, food being cooked on trolleys for shoppers.
Drifting away from the chatter and hubbub we wandered down little side streets, finding
‘Between Two Gates’ (Gang Rukunan) a unique heritage alleyway lined with old Javanese joglo houses, the alleyway named for the two historic palace gates it connects. The alleyway was quiet and still and led us to a tucked away cafe - Longkang- featuring traditional Javanese architecture with wooden pillars, decorative carvings, and patterned tile floors. Here, a shout went out from the cafe owner and before we knew it Eugene Panji had taken us under his wing.
Guiding us around his traditional house before sitting us down on turquoise metal chairs in the open cafe he ordered a healthy looking drink for us to sample on the house. Greens, lime, tamarind, honey on ice. It was good. Both Eugene and his son are here in Jogja, from Jakarta where they live, for the Asian film festival. Eugene is 52 and a film director. He is an established name who started out making music videos, and now makes money directing commercials. In his spare time he makes feature films with social commentary: what he calls ‘charity movies’. His first film - Cita-citaku Setinggi Tanah (Stepping on the Flying Grass) - was about childhood dreams and all proceeds (£1.7m) were donated to YKAKIndonesia, a foundation supporting children suffering cancer, funding nine new shelter homes. He talked to us about his current project, a film focusing on a woman from Aceh, Sumatra who applies for euthanasia in Amsterdam. A very controversial subject here he hopes it will spark debate. He explained he was deeply scarred witnessing his aunt’s slow demise through breast cancer, as she could not afford the expensive treatment. He sat beside her in her last days in pain.
Eugene and his son both hold a warm charisma that we instantly missed when they left to attend the film festival. Eugene’s daughter is to study in London next September so we hope to see their engaging selves again in the future and repay their wonderful hospitality. Meeting this wonderful pair was enough to make this day extraordinary. But there was still more magic to come…
Stirring from the cool calm of the cafe we made our way along narrow alleyways, exploring the old town network of lanes, coming across murals, chickens, small front yards. The sound of gamelan drifted towards us. Following it, I nosily looked in to a covered courtyard as I walked past to see a group at practice. A man noticed my sticky nose and ran after me to laughingly invite me to come in and watch. I called out to a better behaved Lilz and we both sat on the step opposite the five gamelan musicians gratefully watching their practice. A barefooted elderly man, in batik shirt and with deep smile lines around his eyes, used his long stick to direct the group through the musical notation numbers. At the end of their piece they invited an overjoyed Lilz to have a go. Patiently the man helped Lilz along, pointing out the notes on the gambang (xylophone-type instrument) Lilz should strike with his mallet. Lilz was totally chuffed at being able to have a go - a dream fulfilled! - and we left shaking hands grinning from ear to ear. Such welcoming warmth and open generosity was incredible to us and made us reflect on how we hope it is in our gift to pay similar acts of kindness forwards.
Our hearts full we made our way to see the silversmithing that Kotagede is famous for. We visited two grand shops, with high ceilings and large wooden beams. We peered bewitched into glass cases holding exquisite works of art - delicate filigree silver work made into jewellery and home décor pieces. In the second shop (Ansor’s) a man invited us into the back workshop to see the silversmiths painstakingly creating. Reza was fascinated by our trip as he is inspired to start cycling more and had lots of questions for us. It was nice to exchange question for question: silversmithing for cycling. He very nicely gave me a large discount on a silver chain that I’ll use to hang the pounamu stone I have from New Zealand.
With tums rumbling, we left Kotagede on the back of two Grab scooters, and finished off a perfect day with some delicious simple Japanese noodle soup and a night dip in the pool. Days like this are a gift we feel overwhelmed by - that the world can hold so much to experience and wonderful people to meet.Les mer
Java - Yogyakarta 3 (Batik)
29. november 2025, Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C
One of the things I wanted to learn more about when in Indonesia was batik. A friend of mine, Fidra, had given it a go and it had been fun to hear of her experience. Cycling through Bali and Java we saw people everywhere wear batik day-to-day with casual elegance. I was keen to do a workshop to learn more about how it is created.
Batik is a method of decorating cloth using wax and dye. The wax is drawn or stamped onto the cloth to prevent colour absorption when the cloth is dyed. When the wax is removed it creates a patterned negative.
The most surprising thing I learnt was batik’s real cultural significance in Java. In each phase of a person’s life cycle, batik plays an important role in key rituals.
For example, in a prenatal ceremony held in the seventh month of pregnancy the mother-to-be changes clothes seven times, each with a different batik motif. Each design visually symbolises various hopes/prayers for the baby's well-being, character, and future life.
For weddings particular designs are reserved for brides and bridegrooms, and their families, and different motifs are worn during the various stages of the wedding ceremony e.g. the marriage proposal, the procession the night before, the showering ceremony (when the bride and groom are purified of worldly sins), the ceremony itself.
When someone reaches age 64 they wear the batik motif called ‘sida luhur’ celebrating longevity and representing nobleness. In death, the family and mourners wear the ‘slobog’ batik motif. In ancient Javanese society batik motifs also indicated a person's level in society (originally batik was only worn by royalty).
I went along to Batik Winotosastro, a prominent batik workshop and store in Yogyakarta. There I experienced both methods of creating batik - batik cap where the wax is applied to the material using a copper stamp, and batik tulis: applying the wax freeform by hand.
Batik cap is traditionally the work of men. The wax is heated in a shallow pan containing a filter to remove impurities and used as a stamp-pad. Standing behing a padded table, the worker presses the copper block (the cap) on the stamp-pad to absorb the wax then applies the cap onto the white cloth. Patterns on the fabric often require the use of several caps. It is precise work with a skill in knowing when the cap is hot enough and has evenly taken the wax, in lining up the pattern perfectly and consistently, and stamping the cap so just enough wax is applied evenly and with no blotches. The man who showed me how to do it had an extraordinary sense of calm. I was really pleased with my first attempt. Cocky, I glooped on my second.
Batik tulis is traditionally women’s work. The batikers sit in a circle around a metal pan of wax. They dip the canting - the pen-like tool with a small copper bowl and spout - into the wax to fill the bowl, wipe the spout on a piece of cloth on their lap, before applying the hot wax onto the fabric. Cantings have different spouts for varied line thickness. Watching the women at the workshop was wonderful, each woman repeating the same smooth movements hundreds of time a day. I’d read that the strokes of wax liquid were as if writing a strand of prayer, and that there was hope tucked in disguised behind the drawn up motifs. Doing it I could really relate to this sentiment. I found the whole thing a very meditative practice and was immediately in a flow mental state. The rest of the world was on pause and I felt utterly peaceful and in the moment. I could have kept applying wax all day if they’d let me!
Once the fabric is waxed it is dyed in vats. It can go through several dying stages with unwanted wax scraped off different areas each time. Or the fabric can be placed in boiling water to remove all the wax, revealing the final design.Les mer
Java - Yogyakarta 2 (Street Art)
28. november 2025, Indonesia ⋅ 🌧 27 °C
Image #1
Small display of poster type artwork with a poem written in Farsi, about unrequited love I believe.
“I wish I had known from the beginning... that in the chest and the heart of yours you have a fashion for... this wound of always being tired. I wish I had known from the beginning that in your hands you have a key to... forever closed”
Image #2
Affandi Koesoema, known as Affandi, is an Indonesian abstract/expressionist painter. Someone has stencilled him onto a wall with a spray can. Maybe as a mark of respect.
Image #3
Snowy the dog (from Hergé’s Tintin). Possible dazed or inebriated (as he had a penchant for the odd accidental tipple in the Tintin stories)
Image #4
Poster art with an environmental message. The top one translates to “By planting we survive” and the graphic of the low battery tree is a clever way to denote earths depleting resources.
Image #5
I researched the quote in this image, "I can't be a singular expression of myself. There's too many parts, too many spaces,"
Apparently it’s is a line from Solange Knowles (Beyoncé’s sis) song “Can I Hold the Mic" off her album When I Get Home.
The quote seems to examine the complexity and nature of identity.
Image #6
Couldn’t see a tag so couldn’t look the artist up. I loved the portrait of this person.
Image #7
Again, one that I couldn’t find anything out about. These eyes look out from a location on the wall of a narrow alleyway between our accommodation and street with our favourite cafe.
Image #8
The lady with the bird. Amanda loved this one. The lady (Mother Nature?) holds our planet, a vine and a tiny bird, while the city looms behind. Maybe a comment on looking after what we have?
Image #9
This image is a photograph of a pice of artwork created by Indonesian artist, Tamara Pertamina "Garuda: Predator OR Protector" is a work by this transgender artist and contains themes of gender identity, national identity, and human rights in Indonesia.
Garuda is an emblem and significant cultural symbol for Indonesia. It is the mythical and divine great golden eagle of Hindu and Buddhist lore - the king of birds, ridden by Vishnu and is a powerful, half-human, half- bird representing divinity, protection, and national identity.
Tamara’s art questions the nation states role as either a protector or a predator for transgender individuals (known locally as waria).
Image #10
A legendary depiction of a sparrow type bird down an alley in the Prawirotaman neighbourhood. I think it’s by an artist called Yunanto Getlups.
Image #11
The Kotagede area of the city has many murals
Image #12
Another wall mural in Kotagede.
Image #13
Also in Kotagede. A great mural of someone hanging up batik prints to dry, possibly.
Image #14
This was on a closed shop front for a mechanic or small auto garage.
Image #15
A stencil by Sumatran street artist Anagard. His Bio states he is a professional street artist who specializes in stencil technique and is a graduate from Indonesia Institute of Arts in Yogyakarta. The character portrayed appears on several pieces we saw and seems to be part human, part animal. His art often depicts animals from the country he visits and comments on social issues, reflecting on the relationship between humans, nature, and government. He says that he uses animal heads in his images from his local myth, local philosophy and religion, as ancestors believe that is our behaviour related with life of animals.
Image #16
A Banksy-esque figure with CND t-shirt doing some graffiti art. Art of the doing the art itself.
The tag says Wak Yong who could be Adril Wak Yong, an Indonesian artist
Image #17
A lady with a can of spray paint stares out defiantly, I couldn’t see a tag but really like the way she stares out.
Image #18
I think this is another piece by Anagard. Similar strange hooded creature with bird feet, holding a heart in a string
Image #19
An almost pop art mural of a person licking an ice cream.
Image #20
A large piece by Anagard. A child with a headdress peers through binoculars. Keeping an eye on us all, maybe?
Image #21
A large mono mural with lots of detail and different motifs. Mutasi Jawa is possible a name for a movement or style of Indonesian street/urban art,
This is a collaborative effort by Ismu Ismoyo (a muralist/visual artist) and Guntur Susilo (a batik artist), who have worked together on various art projects and exhibitions. In their words, it depicts the changes in Javanese culture that occurred between 2010 and 2015, particularly in Yogyakarta. One of the changes they wanted to convey was the conversion of agricultural land into buildings. Ismu explained that his idea stemmed from his observation of the increasing number of hotels and apartments in the city. How this also led to conflict, such as the one in Kulon Progo. It emphasises that the conversion of agricultural land that led to conflict stemmed from the need for money. Therefore, he painted fragments of this story on a piece of money.
Along with addressing change, Ismu also wanted to emphasize his mural with a characteristic inherent in Javanese culture: batik. Based on this, Ismu collaborated with a Wonosari batik artist named Guntur Susilo. Considering that the message of change is particularly prevalent in Java, the two men, agreed that the batik motif complemented the intended message: a commitment to the struggle for Javanese cultural values.
For Guntur, batik is a part of culture that needs to be preserved. Therefore, he believed that by depicting it through murals, everyone would have the opportunity to see it every day in the public space - a wall in a street. "That way, when people see these murals, at least their memory of batik as part of their culture can be reawakened," Guntur commented.
Image #22
The half human half bird (?) offer something in her hands. We do t know what that is as her hands have been cut off by the corner of the wall of the building. This may have been intended as part of the narrative.
Other similar stencils are also in the edges of buildings and so have a strange appendage where the hands should be.Les mer
Java - Borobodur
26.–27. nov. 2025, Indonesia ⋅ 🌧 25 °C
Yogyakarta is about 25 miles from the temple of Borobodur.
We decided to cycle to see it, overnight in a guesthouse and allow ample time to visit the temple.
Leaving most of our stuff at the hotel in Yogyakarta and travelling light, we headed out of the city for the first half an hour along with the usual frenzy of traffic, noise and fumes. As we drifted into the countryside we left it all behind,
We both enjoyed the ride. The landscape was mostly agricultural and dominated by fields of rice, fruit and vegetables.
Farmers worked hard, many wearing the conical ‘caping’ hat, woven from palm leaves or bamboo, and used to protect them from the sun and rain.
We wondered if many of the crops were those of subsistence farmers, who grow their own food to eat directly, or maybe to sell if there is surplus. The labour seemed mostly physical and we saw hardly any mechanised help.
We meandered along tiny lanes through small hamlets of houses, sleepy and quiet. Chickens and their small chicks scratched in the leaf litter and cats lazed in the shade of trees.
The rain came - several times and we frequently stopped to put on wet weather gear and then take it off again, hiding under whatever shelter there was during the heavier showers.
We arrived at the homestay damp and ‘foosty’ and set about covering the entire room in clothes to dry them out. We can be the worst guests.
The next day we cycled over to the temple entrance a couple of kilometres away.
After showing our tickets we were asked to remove our shoes and put on some complimentary bamboo slippers, to protect the stone steps mainly. To manage visitor numbers and our effect on the temple, a maximum of 1200 visitors are allowed to enter the temple each day - accompanied by a guide.
Our guide, a small lady with a cheeky smile and all wrapped up to protect herself against the sun chaperoned us through the grounds and up to the temple.
She told us lots about the temple.
The first thing she mentioned was that the site used to be used for music concerts. The last two artists to appear were Mariah Carey and Westlife (not at the same time). Who would have thought!
Some stats in a Top Trump style:
Scale: The Largest single Buddhist temple in the world
No. of Buddha statues: 504, each carved from a single block of stone. Many Buddha statues are enclosed in the numerous smaller perforated stupas. We noticed that many of these had no head. Our guide mentioned this was due to looting or acquiring for collections and many fell into the hands of western museums.
Stone relief panels: more than 2000.
Age: 1200 years old.
No of annual visitors: 1.5 million (approx).
The monuments layout led us through, along each level and then ascending to the next.
Buddhists visit to perform a ceremonial pilgrimage by walking around the temple clockwise. The temple guides the pilgrims through its systems of stairways and corridors from bottom to top, past the many relief panels that depict the normal daily life of Java, as well the law of karma and the life of Buddha.
Each of the temple levels represents one stage of enlightenment, on the path to nirvana, and passes through the realms of Buddhist cosmology - the world of desires, the world of form and the formless world.
Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles, the British overseer of Java in the 19th century became aware of the existence and location of the temple by native Indonesians. He did not visit in person but sort of kick started the need to preserve Borobudur. He enlisted a Dutch engineer to investigate. Subsequent visits by Dutch archaeologists uncovered the full extent of the temple and the work was continued by others,
All of the stones in a variety of sizes used in the build interlock and fit together, like a puzzle, using no mortar or other artificial methods. Amazing!
It was quite a spiritual experience and a privilege to visit something so intricate. To be astounded by its physical construction.
One lovely moment I will remember is when a bee like insect alighted on one of the statues - the only one of the stupa Buddhas open to the air. It settled for a while right on the top of a serene looking Buddha’s head. This image summed up for me the enormous sense of calm I felt in this place.
Leaving the temple we make a quick pit stop back at the guest house to pick up our panniers, and then made our way to a place that Amanda discovered when she was doing research back in Edinburgh.
About 4km out of town lies the ‘chicken church’. We cycled out to see this strange sight and hoped to find out more about it and why it was built.
Positioned at the top of a very steep hill, Bukit Rhema, commonly called Gereja Ayam (Chicken Church) was inspired by a dream its creator, Daniel Alamsjah, had to build a prayer house for all faiths of all nations in the shape of a dove, an emblem of peace. The dove has a vision for the future to bring peace and prosperity to everyone who visits and to those who live in the surrounding area.
Due to various reasons construction was never finished and halted in 2000. and the building was left to deteriorate for several years.
With the help of the local community, the building was maintained and the vision for the church grew to be house of prayer for all religions. He initiated many good causes from providing rehabilitation for addicts, growing food to donate to those who need it, and empowering women from local villages.
It has become a tourist attraction and so Daniel’s vision to have visitors from all over the world has come to fruition. It is also a popular wedding venue!
Each of the floors displays themes of living a good life, helping others, how prayer can help those with faith, local wisdom, and hope.
Whether the visitor is one of faith or not, there is something to be said for a place with prayer or meditation spaces for all, irrespective of nationality, faith or religion, or spirituality and all under one roof.
A hope for all, bound in concrete and iron and shaped like a chicken!Les mer
Java - Yogyakarta 1
22. nov.–2. des. 2025, Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 29 °C
I had been looking forward to Yogyakarta since reading about it on a wet morning in Edinburgh library pouring over the Indonesia Lonely Planet. It was hard to believe we are now here.
Yogyakarta (pronounced ‘Jogjakarta’ and known as Jogja) is a small but vibrant city located in the heart of Java. Described as Java’s soul, the city is also its cultural hub. Along with being the gateway to the famous UNESCO temples Borobudur (largest Buddhist temple in the world) and the stunning Hindu Prambanan temple (which we had visited on the way in) LP told me Jogja is where you can see ballet, batik textiles, music, silversmithing, street art, and wayang puppetry. Exciting!!
It will also be our last destination in Indonesia. By favouring exploration of some of Indonesia’s sights along our route over long riding days covering more ground, we would now not make the Sumatra ferry to Malaysia before our visa ran out. (Or at least not without a lot of connecting train logistics and a squeaky bum). So with a heavy heart we’d opted to fly from Jogja to Singapore.
Arriving…
Jogja treated us to the best start, and we were immediately captivated. Checking in we loved our hotel. Expensive at £25/night (!) we enjoyed endless free eclectic buffet breakfasts, a big pool, views across the city, and a safe basement car park for the bikes. Through a little street-art filled ginnel across from the hotel we emerged onto a colourful street of restos, cafes, icecream flavours, plant-covered buildings, crafty souvenir shops, antiques, and… Via Via.
Full of healthy veggie-friendly food, Lilz-friendly coffee, and even friendlier staff Via Via became our happy place for meals. Twice we enjoyed great live music. It has plants and good spoons.
Shadow puppetry…
Time was ticking, and having arrived and eaten I jumped in a taxi to take me the half hour drive up to the university. I’d seen a poster online advertising a student performance of Wayung Kulit: one of the cultural things I definitely wanted to see.
Wayung Kulit is a traditional Indonesian shadow puppet theatre, and is becoming harder to witness as younger people have little interest in the tradition. Jogja is the best place to still see it.
I arrived in good time - I thought I’d get lost - but with the help of some students found it tucked behind the campus. A huge outdoor stage was laid out with a full gamelan orchestra. The instruments, red with gold detail, were set before the screen. Intricately carved leather puppets lined up ready to come alive. Seats for 200 people were set out under a temporary tin roof. I took a seat at the front. At ten to 7, I was the first person there. 😆
At half past - the show was meant to start at 7pm - I was still feeling pretty lonely. Music blared from speakers thunderously loud. Beautiful sickly sweet incense wafted on the warm evening air. I played on my phone.
At 8pm things eventually started to kick off. The compères, two ladies in smart traditional dress, asked everyone to stand for a prayer, and to sing the national anthem, and another song. A short dance by three ‘princesses’ followed. Then some poetry. And some long speeches - in a mix of Indonesian and Javanese - thanking various people for their part in the show and reminding people of its significance. I caught some of the gist using google translate…
“Tonight let us enjoy the story of Prabu Nala not only as a puppet show but also as a guide to life, a reminder that every intention must be accompanied by enthusiasm and sincerity. The performance is not only art but a reflection of human life, full of philosophy, human nature and human behaviour.”
Now past 9pm, the performance still hadn’t started. Finally, the dalang, the master puppeteer, took to the stage seating himself in front of the screen. Or rather, behind the screen. As technically we, the audience, are in the wrong place being situated to witness what would normally go on behind the scenes - so not the actual shadow of the puppets!
The dalang controlled all puppets and voiced the characters, improvising the dialogue, and narrating the story. He manipulated the figures with rods, skilfully moving their pointy limbs in time to the atmospheric percussion-heavy music: the gamelan players and vocalists providing the emotional soundtrack to the unfolding drama. I was spellbound.
Puppetry has always had an enchanting appeal for me. Its storytelling, intimacy and magic has the same pull as gathering around a campfire on a dark night. I’d read the Javanese wayang kulit was a medium for communicating the human soul. Only the dhalang sees the colourful painted side of the puppets - the character’s full inner qualities. The dhalang’s absolute control over the puppet parallels God’s power. The audience only sees the shadow: the character’s outward behaviour in the world. The characters’ shadows help the audience actively meditate on how practical, everyday actions and decisions shape an individual’s overall character.
I didn’t see the full epic tale out - the show would continue past 11pm - as without understanding the language I lost a lot of the meaning and entertainment. Happy to have seen this ancient art form I jumped on a Grab scooter (like Uber) and joined Lilz back at Via Via for a bintang beer.
The rest of our time in Jogja…
We spent our time in Jogja split between the headache of sorting bike boxes and transport for them and us, packing them up, booking flights, etc, and sightseeing.
We took two days out to visit Borobudur temple, another to explore Kota Gede a heritage neighbourhood of Jogja, and I spent a half day learning about batik at a local batik factory. Each of which we’ll detail in separate notes.
We also had a lot of fun taking a becak (beh-chak) - basically a motorised rickshaw - from our hotel to Sonobudoyo Museum. It was ace experiencing the city’s ambiance at a leisurely pace with our cheeky driver grinning over our heads as he wheedled through the traffic. The museum was brilliant - really well set out and gave us a real insight into key cultural aspects - and Lilz enjoyed the attention of hundreds of visiting school children wanting a selfie as I hid surreptitiously behind exhibits.Les mer
Java - The Road to Yogyakarta
13.–22. nov. 2025, Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 27 °C
Leaving Malang, we were aiming for Yogyakarta in a week’s time.
Our first destination was Blitar, around 48 miles southwest.
Escaping the city, we weaved through small alleyways and cut-through, just wide enough for our bikes’ handlebars. These often brought us out into residential backstreets with the odd small shop. People went about their business and we received frequent hellos, along with a few bemused looks.
Joining one of the main roads south, we encountered many ‘traffic directors’ that they have here in Java. These maestros conduct traffic at road junctions. They can be identified by the blow of their whistle and precarious position, standing between the turning traffic, halting vehicles in one direction and beckoning another’s to proceed.
To negotiate this is often confusing. Not knowing when to stop, or go and interpret the simultaneous quick arm gestures, baton pointing, and whistle blowing, All road users seem to adhere to the law of
this virtuoso and we often received a smile or thumbs up from him as we passed by.
I have warmed to Java and I like the Javanese.
Indonesian people in general have this uncanny ability to seem facially the most grumpy, and also the happiest of people.
Along this part of the journey we have had many encounters and have been met with expressions I would interpret as curiosity, suspicion, bemusement, surprise and ambivalence.
Amanda and I have found that the toughest nut can be cracked and we have taken pleasure in this small game between us of eliciting a snails. We have smiled at many people. A smile costs nothing and this deposit of happiness often resulted in the return investment of a grin, or “hallo” from a person, even those who start out with the most earnest of frowns.
This exchange of smiles turned a mostly short, unspoken and fleeting encounter into a joy, leaving us feeling much better about the world.
I have experienced the frequent greeting mostly from kids, of “halo mister”.
I have never been called just ‘mister’ before. I suppose I look old enough to them to be a ‘mister’.
Turning down rural lanes, we went through fields and fields of rice, then followed a sort of towpath by a river channel for a while. Its brown fast flowing water fed many smaller tributary channels that ran off to feed the fields and irrigate the crops.
In this tranquil part of the ride, we saw the everyday of Javanese life - people working knee deep in mud, crouching and tucked in between rows of chilli plants, gathering ears of corn which lay in piles by the side of the road.
Reaching Blitar, we checked into a hotel. An old building of faded grandeur, with an entrance archway covered with hanging foliage. It felt like something out of a novel with its white walls and dark teak wood furniture.
We were offered afternoon tea, to be taken at 4pm! This completed the image that we had somehow slipped into the parallel cinematic world of a Merchant Ivory film, only lacking in a period costume and talking in the clipped speech of the upper class.
Relaxing underneath a roof fan, we sipped tea, ate glutinous rice treats, fried banana and some nuts. The staff were warm and friendly.
The sky darkened outside and the air became thick and heavy and clouds swelled, pregnant with rain. I sat and watched a heavy downpour ensue, turning the street in front of the hotel into a river. Cars ploughed furrows of water as they zipped along, their drivers seemingly unconcerned about moderating their speed, or stopping distance to the vehicle in front.
The ‘rainwear fashion’ of motorcycle riders varied. Some wore plastic bag type anoraks and trousers in lurid colours, covering the full body. Others rocked the poncho look, which flapped about like Batman’s cape. Some wore a jacket backwards and a few didn’t bother with protection at all, just using one hand, held above the eyes to shade the rain from their eyes .
Meanwhile, Amanda looked around the hotel museum of artefacts, paintings and historical photographs. Some showed the Indonesian delegation, and the negotiations between them and the Dutch leading to gradual freedom from colonial rule, although this was protracted and not without conflict.
We found out that Blitar is the resting place of Indonesia’s first president, Sukarno. A revolutionary and activist, he became its leader when Indonesia gained its full independence from Dutch rule. His mausoleum is just outside town.
Amanda was poorly the following day with very bad food poisoning and spent much of the day in bed. One of constants on our trip has been food. It keeps the engine running and is also something to look forward to. Amanda didn’t want to eat, for fear it would not stay down - so she was a bit miserable and also lacking in energy. The kind hotel staff made her a cup of hot lemongrass tea which did help settle her tum a bit and the kindness cheered her up.
Amanda felt a bit better the following day and so we hit the road to Tulungagung (which is as hard to say as it is to spell). A larger town than we expected, we arrived and on a busy Saturday. Many market stalls lined the streets and the smell of cooking food permeated the air. As dusk fell we went out to find somewhere to eat. The call to prayer drifted in and out between the noise of the cars and the horn that announced the regular trains passing through the centre of town. We managed to find a place that served pizza and a welcome break to our mainly rice and noodle diet and also a safe bet as Amanda’s constitution was still gradually recovering.
The town of Ponorogo was to be tomorrow’s destination and was 52 miles away, up and over a large hill. We wanted a sharp start in the morning so it was early to bed for us.
A very hot morning turned into a hotter afternoon. One big steady climb was tough in the heat and we stopped often under the shade of trees to take in water. The reward for some hard pedalling were the views of densely forested hills, lush, green and tropical.
Arriving at our digs in Ponorogo we were greeted by an eager security guard who instructed us where we had to park our bikes. This willingness to help was kind but taxing after a days cycle when we just wanted to unload and check in. Every move and faff we undertook was watched closely by him as he hovered about. It was like being examined for some kind of practical bike unloading certificate. This had become a theme where our bicycle parking becomes a spectator sport for others.
It was pouring down in the evening, so we ate dinner in the hotel ‘restaurant’. We were the only customers in the place and the cooks only clientele. Loud jaunty music played over the speakers, maybe to create some ambience - solely for our benefit, or to get rid of us faster, so they could knock off!
Next day we left late morning knowing it was a short 20 mile day to reach our next port of call, Puwantoro. We both enjoyed the cycle through small villages and rice paddies. The villages had traditional houses with red tiled roofs - we saw large kilns offset from the road where the tiles were made.
As the day went on, the darkening grey of the sky made it feel gloomy. The clouds piled up and wind strengthened. A sign we had become all too familiar with - the onset of coming heavy rain. Almost at the top of the climb, Amanda spied an Indomaret, a convenience store with a covered frontage. Time to stop for an ice lolly, to help cool us down. A wise decision it turned out to be! For the next hour, the heavens truly opened and sheets of rain came down in windy squalls that danced along the main road.
We sheltered until it faded to light drizzle and then set off again, the air now slightly fresher and temperature cooler.
We reached the top of the hill and arrived into Purwantoro. The home stay was in a back street and was bigger than we expected and more like a small hotel. The reality was much nicer than the pictures online, which made it look a bit grim.
Our room appeared quite new and was extremely comfortable. The room had no window, which seems to be quite common thing in SE Asia.
At breakfast, we were provided with a traditional dish of rice served in a large leaf, called Nasi Pecel, accompanied by a traditional Javanese cracker (peanut rempeyek).
The rempeyek is made from a spiced batter mixed with peanuts and then deep-fried and looks like a large thick crisp.
We chatted to Aldi, the brother of the owner of this family run guesthouse. He was staying over for a while and was helping out. A lovely friendly guy and warm host, he told us he was heading off to a job on a cruise ship in the Caribbean soon and would be away for 6 months. He was looking forward to it despite mentioning that he wouldn’t get any days off during this time. His downtime would consist only of free time after the end of his shift. We grabbed a photo of us all and said our farewells, happy that we had decided to stay in this little gem of a place.
The cycle to Wonogiri was a tough one as our westerly direction took us across the foothills of Gunung Jokolangan. The hills ran in ridges down from the mountain and the road crossed these. This meant that the road undulated a lot and the constant up and down was tiring. We saw cashew trees along the way and trays of harvested cashew nuts, left to dry in the sun. There were tarps laid out on the ground and they bulged with harvested ears of corn, bright orange in colour.
We arrived at Wonogiri tired. After checking in and doing the usual faffing, we retired to our room and ate noodles and tuna, in a sort of bedroom picnic. We went onto the large veranda on the floor below and watched the distant lightening as dusk fell. The air was close and the cacophony of insect sounds intensified to remind us that we were in tropical climes.
Arriving in Prambanan, we ended up staying for three nights, to allow us to visit the nearby temple and to spend some time planning.
The following day we visited the Prambanan Temple complex.
It is the largest Hindu temple site in Indonesia, and is dedicated to deities Brahma, the creator, Vishnu, the preserver and Shiva, the destroyer. It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and its temples and shrines are set out in a specific layout. The three large main central shrines, each honour one of the main deities, and each contained many carved stone reliefs. Restoration started by the Dutch in the 1930’s and continued to the 1980’s, halted in between by the Second World War.
The main temple compound is surrounded by hundreds of smaller temples, only two of which have been restored to their original state (the whole site was damaged after a significant earthquake in 2006).
The rest remain as piles of stone rubble - a never ending jigsaw puzzle for the conservation team dedicated to rebuilding and preserving this stunning 9th Century temple.
It amazed us how much has been done to maintain and restore the complex. There must be millions of pieces of stone, each one interlocking and belonging in its own place. A lifetimes work to sort and then place, to eventually return the complex close to its original form.
Amanda went up into the temple compound and I lingered outside looking at the pyramids of jumbled stones that were once the surrounding 240 mini temples.
After 20mins or so, Amanda appeared and told
me that she was overwhelmed, not by the temple but with the attention she had encountered.
It transpired that she had gained a small entourage of schoolchildren who wanted photographs and who followed her around like devotees! They were delighted when she asked them for a selfie!
I discovered too that the temple was busy. Mainly with school trips, consisting of large groups of boys and girls, wearing colour coded attire, maybe identifying their school group and accompanied by their teachers and parent helpers.
Wandering around I too became aware of being followed. Children lurked before politely approaching me, then asking for a photo. Nervous and giggling, one of them usually mustered the courage to request “photo please”, “selfie”, “can I take a picture”.
Even after about the twentieth time it was quite endearing and it happened to us a lot during our visit.
Our 15 minutes of fame over. We walked around the temples and inside them to look at the relief carvings set into the walls. They depicted the stories of the Hindu epics and can be followed, left to right, clockwise around the temple - the direction that pilgrims would follow when they visit.
We drifted through the peaceful grounds and over to the other temples, Candi Lumbung and Candi Sewu.
Much quieter than the main area, it was nice to be without a fan club, at least for a while.
We enjoyed our stay in our Prambanan. Next stop, the city of Yogyakarta!Les mer
Java - Mount Bromo
10. november 2025, Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C
We travel by bike because we love it and it also allows a certain autonomy in travel choices - where to go and when to stop.
Amanda and I wanted this trip to also be about different experiences and making memories, so once or twice, we agreed we’d go on an old fashioned ‘excursion’.
An incursion into organised travel often fills me with dread. An introvert at heart, a minor control freak and someone that likes small groups, this type of affair often raises other worries for me. Who else will be on the trip? What if I have to talk to someone for hours? How will I deal with not having any control and so forth.
The jaunt to Mount Bromo was such a trip.
We chose a shared tour to Bromo with a company based in Malang, where we were staying. A 10 hour round trip to see mountain vista, a panorama with active and dormant cones set in a large volcanic crater. The vision of a double page spread in National Geographic. It involves a ‘Jeep’ ride up to the mountain, then down into the crater, across a sea of sand, followed by a sunrise viewpoint and a final ascent on foot up to the rim of the active Bromo cone.
We opted for a shared trip as it was significantly cheaper. It meant we would be sharing the Jeep with up to 4 others, not including the driver.
We were collected at midnight in order to reach the crater viewpoint for sunrise.
Our driver rolled up at ten to twelve and the ‘7 seater’ looked more diminutive than expected. My mates and I all had an Action Man when we were kids. My friend David had a jeep for his Action Man and our car was like that but with a roof.
As Amanda and I clambered into the back (why we didn’t chose to sit in the front seat I don’t know). I prayed that the tour was not fully subscribed so we would have a bit more room. We were the first to be picked up.
My brain went into overdrive. No seatbelts, no air con and the possibility of 4 other passengers for the 90 minute or so drive to the mountain. Would the jeep stay together for the duration? It creaked and rattled as we trundled along the city steets on relatively flat roads and with only two passengers.
My prayer went unanswered as we arrived at the second passenger pick up….and then the third. Our fellow travellers - firstly two French girls, who chose to ride up front.
Next, two lanky Dutch boys, who folded themselves into the rear cab along side us. Seated opposite each other on bench style seats, our combined four pairs of legs made a cat’s cradle, each limb trying to find its own place in the rear foot well.
While a group of pygmies would be comfortably accommodated in our jeep, a group of 6 leggy Europeans much less so. Squeezed in we set off to Bromo, bodies and backpacks all contained within our military inspired clown car.
I write this as we bump along dark roads and I try not to feel sick. My bum is getting ever so slightly numb and I have no idea where we are, or what the surroundings look like.
It’s pitch black. However, we are driving increasingly uphill, through what looks like thick forest. I have glimpses of trees when they get lit by the cars yellow headlights.
Even though the engine grunts and groans and my ears pop, I can still hear the incessant chatter between the two Dutch boys who have not stopped talking since we picked them up (one hour now and counting). I wish I could understand Dutch.
A brief stop for a rest - more for the car than for us as the climb had made the jeeps engine very hot. We all got out to stretch our legs and experience the first chill of being at a higher altitude in the early hours of morning.
Jumping back in we drove for a while more before descending down a tarmac road built on the steep slope of the crater rim, to the base of the caldera.
Mount Bromo (height of 2329m) is an active volcano. It is part of the Tengger Semeru National Park and the group it is part of contains several peaks. Amongst them is Mount Semeru (highest peak in Java) is also active. It went off recently and the area was still on alert at the end of November according to local reports.
The panoramic vista promised much and we hoped we would witness its majesty at dawn.
The jeep tilted, swerved and bumped its way across the rutted sand, our driver taking care to steer the jeep along the best line and not cause us to be thrown about. All this in darkness. It took about 20-25 minutes to reach the far side. Occasionally, a motorbike would appear, overtake us and disappear. The jeep then huffed and puffed its way up a very precarious feeling incline.
Reaching the drop off point, our driver parked on the narrow steep road. It was about 2:30am and he said to meet back at the jeep at 5:30am. Sunrise was going to be 4:30-5am, so we had some time to kill.
Amanda and I sat for a while in a makeshift cafe, nursing a packet coffee and trying to keep warm. This covered shack was amongst a sea of shacks, like a sort of shanty village, perched along the track. They offered snacks, meals, drinks, warm clothing hire and various other services. It was quiet and sleepy and there were few of us tourists about at this early hour to fulfil custom for this small industry.
We decided to wander along the track to the viewpoint and climbed up the hill above and tried to work out where ‘the view’ was and grab a good spot to position ourselves. We could see lights below. Tiny pin pricks of white appeared far down at the base of the crater. The lights of vehicles, many in lines, making their away across the sea of sand, as we had done earlier.
We sat and stared into the caldera. As time passed and our eyes became accustomed to the gloom, shapes started to form.
The promise of dawn from far away light crept closer and silhouettes of mountains and volcanoes formed, slowly emerging from the dark.
The triangular shapes of two cones rising from the floor of the caldera, one with billowing smoke. A large dark mountain in the distance. That was Mount Semeru, a towering presence despite being far away. I could make out the ridge of the caldera rim from where we started our journey down to the sea of sand, which was now evident and defined by the light of dawn.
The panorama was one to behold. It was like an image from a magazine, one with the stratovolcano appearing as the monthly nature centrefold.
The sun came up and lit the cones, highlighting the rough terrain of ridges and troughs created by powerful eruptions and pyroclastic flow, over millennia.
We stood and stared.
Our group met back at our jeep which we just managed to find, amongst the now lines of jeeps identical to ours and parked on either side of the narrow mountain road.
We made our way back to the crater floor stopping about half way across at a makeshift parking area.
Parking up, the place was like a bazaar- market day at the volcano. Shops and stalls, motorbikes and jeeps, horses and people, all milling about.
We made our way on foot across the gritty grey volcanic sand, past the large gathering of horses and their owners, heading toward the smouldering cone of Bromo.
We could make out a staircase up the steep side of the cone. Aiming for a gap between the rocks, the path was busy with people going to, or coming back from, the crater rim.
Some of these people had decided to take a horse. A small industry exists to cater for visitors not wishing to walk. They can hire a horse from a rider. He (all the horsemen seems to be men) walks along side, acting as chaperone on the journey. Many of the horses are adorned with accessories and have multicoloured manes, or tails, and look like they have been inspired by My Little Pony.
Watching visitors riding along on these horses, customised and inspired by Disney, often in long ‘caravans’ was a strange sight. A counterpoint to the grey landscape of the mountain crater.
Moreover, when a horse was ridden by its owner, it was a sight to see. Man and horse in perfect harmony as they bounded over the sand with ease. Many rode at a cadence that wasn’t a trot and wasn’t a gallop but somewhere in between. The horses seemed to come alive more so than when they trudged along carrying tourists.
Reaching the stairway, we passed small stalls with coloured offerings that you could buy, to then throw into the crater. Maybe this was to appease the gods or to grant a wish?
Ascending the steep steps I paused to gather breath, before reaching the crater rim, welcomed by the eggy smell of sulphurous gases escaping from the pit below.
Looking down into the tumult of gas and boiling liquid in the base of this volcanic cauldron was mesmerising. A fissure that bubbled and hissed, it sent clouds of gas and mineral deposits up and away, freeing them from their origin deep down in the earth. The sound was loud and guttural. It felt primal and an astonishing demonstration of power of the earth and of what cannot be controlled by humankind.
We lingered for a while, not wanting to leave. The volcano did possess a certain pull.
Walking back to the jeep for the journey home, our driver stopped one more time for a group photo. He had us climb on his jeep, like cheap tourist models, posing for a second hand jeep dealership.
The drive back was more enjoyable. It was daylight and we could now see more. We descended from the mountain, navigating the tiny precipitous mountain roads. It made me appreciate how good our driver was. Although he must have done the trip lots of times, his skill and expertise at negotiating the narrow road, built on top of a narrow ridge and with a steep drop off on both sides was most appreciated.
From the window, I could see that the mountain slopes were cultivated with various crops, set out on some extreme terracing, due to the very steep gradients. A patchwork of fields in various shades of greens and formed of many textures, they stretched across the hillsides. Farming this land must be incredibly hard and require some backbreaking work.
We arrived at the outskirts of Malang in a much quieter jeep. The Dutch lads had nodded off and I enjoyed watching one of the French girls fight her tiredness in the front seat. Her head dropped periodically like a rag doll, falling against the drivers shoulder. Waking momentarily, she then nodded off again, repeating the pattern for several miles.
Our driver chivalrous in response, he was probably used to the return journey slumber of tourists! Now glad that we chose the backseat and avoid the socially awkward moment of leaving my sleep drool on the drivers shoulder.
It felt like a long day already (it was only midday) and Amanda and I were both looking forward to catching up on some sleep too.Les mer
Java - Malang
7.–13. nov. 2025, Indonesia ⋅ 🌧 26 °C
Eight students “had a creative idea to turn the slum into a place full of colour and life” says a dusty information board in the heart of Jodipan. They smile brightly out at me from the photo pinned on the board, confident they can make a difference. And they did.
Once a rundown slum area, Jodipan is now one of Malang’s ‘must-visit’ destinations.
Jodipan is a neighbourhood on the edge of the Brantas river in Malang. Malang itself is the second-largest city in East Java, cradled between volcanoes. Before 2016, Jodipan residents lived in poor conditions, waste was everywhere and clogged up the river, and they faced the threat of eviction by the local government.
The students came up with the idea to paint the neighbourhood as a way to regenerate the area. They developed the idea for a PR practical assignment, part of their Communication Studies Program at Muhammadiyah University Malang. Working alongside neighbourhood elders and a paint company they used three tons of donated paint to transform Jodipan into a rainbow village.
Leaving the bikes parked at one of the village gates, we each pay a small fee (RDP 10,000 : 45p) to enter. We are immediately enveloped by colour - green, orange, purple, yellow, blue, pink - and follow narrow winding walkways between small homes, descending ever downwards to the fast brown river. Everywhere creativity shines out. There are murals on walls featuring animals, masks, laughing cartoons. Above us eclectic decorations hang, made from rainbow umbrellas, coloured balls, and conical hats. Plants and flowers burst from pots. Residents sit on communal seats outside their homes and nod at us as we walk by. It is quiet, peaceful, full of welcome.
A local we meet called Darman - an unusually tall man (for Indonesia) - takes us under his knowledgable wing and tells us the neighbourhood now has a “great spirit of togetherness and care for the environment and community.” Since the painting, residents want to maintain the cleanliness and beauty of their village. Working together residents routinely clean the streets. The fees paid by tourists drawn by Jodipan’s colorful charm, enable developments: the repainting of faded walls, maintaining public facilities such as the bridge and seats, and funds improvements. The vibrant colours have brought about real change. And neighbouring communities also looked to Jodipan’s success and underwent their own transformation.
Enjoying our insightful chats with Darman he suggests we go for lunch together. Following Darman across the high road bridge we look across at Kampung Biru Arema (The Blue Village). Inspired by Jodipan, this neighbourhood is painted entirely in blue, to honor the local football team, Arema FC.
Walking with Darman we come across interesting areas of Malang we never would have found on our own. He takes us through Malang’s flower market, lush with green and selling all manner of orchids, bonsai trees, shrubs, ferns, palms, succulents. Leading us to the back of the market Darman suddenly exclaims with disappointment. The hidden cafe, a green riverside oasis - ‘Pipir Lepen’ - he wants to take us to is closed today.
Unfazed and smiling, Darman leads us on, taking us instead to the maze of narrow streets of Kajoetangan Heritage district. We feel we are walking around with a friend who truly loves their city. His favourite cafe here - ‘Jengki 976’ - he believes “really captures the heart and soul of this district, because it feels like a real local home. The house and recipes are passed down through generations.”
Inside we understand what he means. The furniture is vintage and homely. Family photos hang on the walls. A sleeping cat is curled peacefully in a chair. Darman orders us all a ‘Jamu Temulawak’ from the lady who lives here, a traditional iced herbal drink made from ginger, cinnamon, tamarind, honey and lime. Each family in Java will have their own recipe. This one is delicious - the drink has complex bitter and sweet flavours, earthy, woody, and spicy.
Meeting Darman has been an utter highlight. His easy friendliness and willingness to share his passion and stories and culture of Malang totally enriching our stay. Saying our goodbyes he slips a postcard of the area into our hands along with his WhatsApp number in case we need him for anything.
We’ll be sad to leave Malang. The city has felt like a soothing balm after Banyuwangi with its cooler elevated climate and dark green leafy streets. We’ve enjoyed the prevalence of young people - Malang has 12 universities - and the cafes they sit laughing and chatting in. Five days is long enough though, and the legs need to pedal onwards. Revitalised and restored, tomorrow we’ll start on our journey to Yogyakarta.Les mer
ReisendeOh gawd I’d love to visit! It would be hard not to feel cheerful and alive with all that vibrancy! That drink also sounds delicious 😋
ReisendeIt was really an eye opener. Inspiring and the effect of colour and community buy in. The community strive to keep the place nice and also have ceased to throw rubbish into the river that runs through the village.
ReisendeWhich is amazing and shows what can happen in any community once they start to value it!
Java - Banyuwangi and Mt Ijen
4.–7. nov. 2025, Indonesia ⋅ 🌧 26 °C
We spent four eventful days based in Banyuwangi at the foot of Mt Ijen, that included chasing rats, being ill, climbing a volcano, seeing superhuman men carry the ‘devil’s gold’ out of the very mouth of the earth, and negotiating train travel.
Ketapang is hot. Ketapang is crazy busy. Rolling off the ferry and straight onto the highway felt like an onslaught. Bali’s quiet north coast suddenly felt very far away.
We’re in Java!
Of Indonesia’s 17,000 islands (crazy vast archipelagic country!) Java is the political and economic centre. Jakarta, the nation’s capital, sits on the northwest coast. The busy island bursts with people - 158 million - making it home to over half the country's population. I find this hard to comprehend. In the context of the UK, Java is nearly half our geographical size but with almost 2.4 times our population. And this is with a chain of volcanic mountains running east-west across the island squeezing people onto the remaining flatter land.
All this means we now need to find a route that navigates around Java’s volcanic peaks, through one of the world’s most densely populated places, and all against the ticking clock of our Indonesia visa deadline.
One of the first things I noticed cycling the seven miles along the highway from the port at Ketapang to Banyuwangi was the prevalence of headscarves worn by women, and the omission of dogs. Java is home to the largest Muslim population globally. I loved how the colourful head scarves float and flutter behind each woman as they speed elegantly by on their scooters.
The heat was intense - in the mid-30s, the air was filled with fumes and the roar of moped engines, the humidity I guessed was higher than Java’s 75% average. The clouds ahead were black, pregnant with impending rain, and the wind had started to pick up, a sure warning the heavens were about to break.
We only just reached our Airbnb in time. In damp clothes we watched from the porch as the rain pummelled the concrete and made a river of the road.
Our Airbnb was nestled deep in a family orientated neighbourhood of narrow roads and modest single storey cubey homes. The call to prayer from small community mosques reached us from all directions five times a day. The house had no outside windows as such (to better keep the interior cooler? for privacy?), all surfaces are hard and shiny to better keep things cool and clean, and there was a small prayer room. Best of all, we had a kitchen area with water dispenser, stovetop (no ovens in Indonesia, all gas canister hob cooking), and fridge. All pots, plates, utensils were securely kept in a large plastic box.
Foraging for food is tricky. The Indomaret and Alfamart convenience stores (everywhere) only sell snacks and food like noodles and large bags of cooking oil. No fresh food. Supermarkets - as we know them - are like hen’s teeth and are usually only found in city centre shopping malls. We learnt later the outdoor market where everyone gets their food only opens early (setting up from 2am). A little grocery store on Googlemaps looked promising… but wasn’t where the map said it was: we would never have found it without the help of a friendly man who took us there himself, all smiles. Loved buying vegetables: such a pleasure to have control once more over what we may eat and the quantity. Excited about eating home cooked food (that’s not fried!) .
The next day I experienced bad stomach cramps and diarrhoea. From our spaghetti the night before? The cafe where we’d had a late lunch? Drinking the water - although boiled - in my tea? Luckily we were having a rest day to plan routes across Indonesia. We booked a night train to take us to Malang. We ventured out to a logistics company to package our bikes and send them ahead to Malang (bikes can’t go on passenger trains with us unfortunately). It felt very strange not to have our bikes with us anymore, and a little anxiety-inducing.
Early to bed as we were getting picked up by our guide at 3am to take us up Mt Ijen in time for sunrise.
At 2am I woke to some crashing and scrabbling noises in the house. Tentatively I got up to investigate. Opening the bedroom door I saw a shadow bolt across the floor. Another scooted into another room. Rats! I quickly moved to the kitchen, collecting up the few items of food we had left in a bag on the counter and popped it securely in the fridge. I took the bin outside. Lilz had come to see why the lights were on and was soon broom in hand chasing the rats out the house. Their speed and agility was hard to believe. We discovered they had gotten in through the bath plug hole and up through the grate in the bathroom. We inserted the plug and put a large water container over the grate. Hopefully they wouldn’t return…
Mount Ijen is an active volcano in East Java, famous for the rare ‘blue fire’ phenomenon caused by burning sulfuric gases and its turquoise-colored, highly acidic crater lake. It's also known for its traditional sulfur mining operation.
We’d been told that we wouldn’t be able to see the blue fire as the mining company was doing maintenance. Disappointed as it’s so rare to see this phenomenon (only two other sites in the world: Iceland and Ethiopia) but we were still keen to go. How often do you get to go up a volcano?
We paid (725,000 IDR each = £33) for the tour, slightly more than the going rate but we wanted our money to go to ‘Ijen Miner Tours’. Started in 2010 as a student social project to find ways for miners and their family to earn extra income, the company has empowered village locals to guide tourists and open up their homes as accommodation. Today they have many locals working as hosts, tour guides, and drivers.
The steep drive up the volcano took an hour in the dark. From the car park, head torches guiding our way, we started the hike up to the crater lip, chatting to Rouf as we went.
Mt Ijen is one of the few places in the world where sulphur mining is still done by hand. The work is exceptionally hard, and carried out in the most hostile and unsafe environment. The air is acrid and thick with yellow noxious fumes in the depths of the volcanic crater, and the work takes its toll on the men’s backs and joints, with many suffering respiratory, skin and eye complaints.
A private Indonesian mining company holds the contract from the government to extract the ‘Devil’s gold’. The sulphur is used in industries like fertiliser, pharmaceutical and cosmetics industries. In Java it is used in matches and to make sugar whiter, among other things. The company employs 250 or so people, made up of about 30 miners, and the rest porters.
The miners use metal rods to break up sulphur chunks, formed when volcanic gases cool into solidified sulphur. They work in 15-day periods: 15 days labouring and 15 days of rest. For every 15 days spent in the crater, a miner receives a fixed salary of $120 (£92).
Porters collect the sulphur blocks into wicker and bamboo baskets which they then carry out of the crater. They pack heavy loads weighing 70-90kgs - more than their body weight - and carry these slowly 300 meters up the steep path on the inside of the crater to the rim, before descending 3km to the weighing station. Porters often repeat this journey twice a day, forming thick calluses and wounds on their shoulders. They are paid 1,500 rupiahs (IDR) (7p) per kilo transported, each day earning £10. If working 25 days a month this equates to a £250 monthly salary.
In our eyes, this seems like meager compensation for such difficult and dangerous work. But in this inhospitable region where work is scarce, these salaries are much-coveted. Neighbouring workers harvesting coffee in plantations growing on the volcano, earn $3 for a 12-hour day, yielding a monthly salary of $75 (£57). An article I read from a photographer who spent many years with Mt Ijen workers, said: “They never complain or expect compassion from tourists who witness their daily exploits... We owe them respect, if for nothing but the life lessons they teach us each day.” His article also interviewed one of the porters: “I am proud of the work I’ve accomplished here over the last eight years… I get to rest in the afternoon after work. I make my schedule, choose the weight of the load that I transport, and enjoy great camaraderie with all my friends. It feels good to be photographed like the stars. When the tourists leave (around 8am) the baskets’ weight suddenly seems heavier and harder to carry. There are lots of girls that want to take pictures with me, and I love feeling like a hero in front of all these strangers.”
Once back at the house we took the rest of the day catching up on sleep, letting my stomach settle, and looking ahead to Malang. The next day we packed up and caught the new 19.47 Ijen Ekspres train. Lucky for us this night service, which only began operating in February 2025, provides a more comfortable (air conditioned, comfy seats) than the day service, something we appreciated for the 7hr journey. Due to high demand the cheaper seats were all sold out, so we ended up in swanky executive seats 💺 and super extravagant they felt too!! Way better than anything experienced at home. All for £25 for both our tickets. Malang here we come!Les mer
Bali - Lovina to Gilimanuk
31. okt.–2. nov. 2025, Indonesia ⋅ ⛅ 29 °C
Leaving Lovina, we headed to Pemuteran where we planned to stay two nights so we could go on a snorkelling trip to Menjangan Island, part of the West Bali National Park, and known for its pristine coral reefs. We were excited to have the opportunity to see more of Bali’s underwater life.
The road was quiet and it shadowed the coast, twisting around bends and giving us glimpses of the multiple shades of sea blue - turquoise, aquamarine and cerulean. Large white clouds formed of cumulonimbus stretched high into the sky, flattening out at the top and darkening with the promise of a thunder storm.
Cycling along, I found my mind wandering and think about how I was feeling about travel and Indonesia, so far…
As mentioned previously, I had been struggling a little with homesickness on our arrival here. I found the culture shock akin to a big slap in the face.
My usual cultural norms had no reference and getting used to the new country along with its heat, humidity, food and language required some adjustment.
This proved challenging for me and it significantly affected my mood, resulting in swings between highs and lows. A challenge also for poor Amanda, who had to pick me up and know how to deal with my frame of mind, especially as I confessed some uncertainty about how long I wanted to continue, having a strong feeling of wanting to go home.
Amanda and I had some frank conversations to unpick why I felt like this. We agreed that being honest in our feelings was best and to take it one day at a time and keep checking in with one another.
Receiving some kind and sage like words of wisdom from our friends helped the realisation that much of what I was experiencing was normal. This feeling of being outside one’s comfort zone is natural and part of the trip, part of the journey that is going on internally, while the physical body travels by bicycle. Hopefully, it will build resilience and allow me to have some perspective, a better understanding, and and enjoy being slightly uncomfortable in the moment.
I have realised that travelling makes me appreciate home more - my friends, family, our home, our city, the countryside, nature and our freedoms, and to keep an open mind about future possibilities. It puts a perspective on many things, including how lucky we are to be able to do what we are doing. I also think of my parents and how they gave me the gift of curiosity and exploration and that these things are precious. Take advantage of them whilst you can as things may change in later life.
Turning into a quiet lane off the main road, the homestay we booked was closely partnered with a dive company, whose office was next door. We had done a bit of research to avoid the affair where loads of people are packed onto a boat for snorkelling en-masse. Like in Nusa Penida we chose the Biorock Homestay and Dive Centre as they mainly take divers, with snorkellers making up the numbers.
This is often more enjoyable as the divers go off with their dive master and we get to snorkel in a smaller group, while they are down in the depths. Biorock also promote Pemuteran Biorock Reef Conservation. It was initiated in collaboration with local communities, marine biologists, and environmentalists to develop innovative reef restoration techniques. This encompasses the creation of artificial reefs to allow coral and its cascade of marine life to become established and allow sustainable tourism, educational outreach programs, and hope to create a lasting impact on marine conservation efforts.
Our group consisted of the boat skipper, a dive master, our snorkel guide, Amanda and I and three Spaniards who were divers and had been travelling in the region for a month to dive in different spots.
This turned out to be perfect. A small group and we were the only ones snorkelling.
We grabbed our kit, climbed into the small boat for the 45 minute ride to Mejangan Island.
The sea was flat and we enjoyed views of the high hills of Bali inland and off far away to the mountain volcanos of Java, with their cloaks of thunderous cloud giving them an air of foreboding.
The sea has the most vivid spectrum of blue and what you would expect in a tropical paradise. We arrived at the dive spot on the far side of the island. Not many boats at all and only one or two small groups in the water and all quite spread out. 👍
The flat island’s shallow waters are home to a reef which then drops off, the reef wall descending to the deeper water, tens of metres below.
Jumping into the warm sea (no wet suit this time) was like getting into a warm bath.
I have never experienced water so clear. Entering the world beneath the surface did not disappoint. Never seen so many fish!
Shoals of small ones with purple metallic markings, other with stripes. Long thin pointy fish, almost translucent and hard to spot and ones with strange fins and cranial bumps. Even ‘Nemo’ made an appearance - an actual clown fish, clowning around in the tentacles of a large anemone!
It was like staring into an aquarium. Stopping from looking down for a moment, I looked across and through the water just below the surface and saw hundreds and hundreds of fish. They floated around us and broke formation as we passed through them. David Attenborough’s voice was narrating in my head. Amanda calls him ‘God’ and this was a very spiritual moment.
Heading across the shallower warm water, clear and buzzing with life, we swam to the edge of the drop off. The reef wall plummeted down to the sea bottom, hidden by water gradually getting more opaque, the suns rays failing to breach far into the depth of dark blue. Silhouettes of fish appeared and then disappeared as they melded back into the milky haze like ghostly apparitions. Looking below, the sensation of having no visible bottom was strange, humbling, and a bit scary, but exhilarating.
Coral fans swayed as the cooler current pushed up the wall to chill me for a moment. Tubes of coral projected from their rocky holds, playing a fanfare to the ocean. Brain corals looked like actual brains. Large fish started to appear, weaving through the sun beams that shimmered into the depths.
Our guide spotted a green turtle which was sleeping and had lodged itself beneath a rock, its head and a flipper comically sticking out. A sanctuary of protection for its underwater siesta.
Another turtle emerged from the gloom and made for the surface to take in some air. Lovely to bear witness to these fantastic creatures.
With our time up, we returned to the boat and made for the island to have a break.
We sheltered from the sun beneath a covered shelter and ate our lunch.
The small island was a wildlife reserve and home to several species, one being the Mejangan, a deer that the island is named after. They swim across to the island and are not at all timid. They have learned to associate visitors with food and came right up to our group, politely, doing its best Bambi impersonation, in hope to receive titbits. Despite signs saying (in both written and picture format) to not feed them, some tourists did: another example of how we have an impact on the natural way of things.
We returned to Pemuteran happy after a very special experience and one that I will never forget.
We rounded off the day by eating in a local family run restaurant hidden up a dark lane off the main road. A small open area with a few tables set out and hatch to the kitchen. We each chose Nasi Campur, a traditional meal of vegetables served in a banana leaf with rice. Simple and one of the tastiest meals we’ve had in Indonesia so far.
We left early next day to catch a ferry from Gilmanuk, to hop across the channel to Ketapang on Java. The short cycle was accompanied by surprised troupes of monkeys sitting by the side of the road, staring at us with their wide eyes, perplexed at what kind of creature we were, human but with wheels! We reached Gilmanuk in about an hour and a half.
Endless ticket booths lined the main road to the ferry port. As we had stopped at a store to grab a drink we called at the ticket booth in front. A smiling and helpful chap showed us the tariffs and we paid the price - 40,000 IDR (£1.80) - for two people and two bikes. Arriving at the port entry to present our tickets, a sign advised the retail ticket price - 22,000 IDR - half the amount we had paid. As you can’t buy the advised tickets at the port, you have to buy from the ticket agents and are at their mercy somewhat. It was super cheap so we couldn’t complain but were a bit annoyed at ourselves for being rubbish at shopping around.
We waited by the docking bay until the boat arrived. On the ferry, jaunty music blared from the ferry sound system on the outer decks. To avoid the noise I dozed most of the way inside. The crossing of 45 minutes took a generous hour and a half as we waited for a free place for the boat to dock, bobbing about for a half hour.
Waiting for all the vehicles to disembark the fumes of revving engines mixed with boat engine exhaust made the wait seem longer.
It will be interesting to see how Java is compared to Bali and also how the place may have an effect on us and our journey onward.
We saddled up and cycled away for the port and made for the town of Banyuwangi where we planned to stay for a couple of nights.Les mer
ReisendeWhat a beautiful landscape - your private snorkelling trip must have felt surreal and helped to reinforce why you have undertaken this epic adventure! You’re bound to feel low at times so…one day at a time X
ReisendeHello. Thanks Julie. I feel a bit of a softy and have never really experienced home sickness before. During the challenges of the last few years, this trip seemed like it would never happen. So feel a bit churlish to relate the downs. We are incredibly lucky to be able to do this.
Bali - Padangbai to Lovina
29.–31. okt. 2025, Indonesia ⋅ ☁️ 27 °C
Leaving Nusa Penida via the ferry back to Bali, we arrived in Padangbai around lunch and headed back to Bhalance Retreat - the accommodation we stayed at before.
Up early the next morning, we set out for Amed on the northeast coast of Bali, where we would then continue along the north coast of the island to Gilimanuk, a port on the west side, to catch a ferry to the island of Java.
As the day progressed the road became busy.
Produce was being moved by truck and moped. Often, innovative solutions with rope, straps or just creative balancing were used to lash down items being transported: always interesting to see. Most methods would probably not pass muster in the UK. Slow moving trucks carried rocks and soil and puffed out clouds of blue-black smoke as they wheezed their way uphill. The trucks here tend to be smaller than at home but are very heavily laden and thus incredibly slow. We closely followed an old asthmatic lorry reluctantly heaving along the road, making our progress seem rapid as we overtook the surprised driver.
As we left the main coastal road for side routes we passed along narrower lanes of houses and small shops, getting curious looks from the elderly and receiving enthusiastic shouts of “halo” from children. We progressively left tourist Bali behind and witnessed daily life. Farmers planted rice in waterlogged terraces tessellated across the hillside, working knee deep in chocolate coloured water. Craftsmen toiled away in small workshops, carving ceremonial items from wood or chiselling large cement cast blocks intently.
Uphill and with the heat of the day in full swing we gradually made our way to the top, fuelled by a stop at a small store for some cans of soda and ice lollies (made by Walls). The heat is causing us to drink at least 2 litres of water each per day.
Back onto the main road we enjoyed a great downhill, coming to an abrupt stop when we saw a sign that read ‘Organic Coffee Fried Banana’ positioned by a lay-by on the road. Greeted by a small lady we followed her steeply down some windy steps to a covered shack, ducking as we went into a shaded lean-to on the hillside. With a bench looking out over the rice terraces of the verdant hill side and valley below we had an amazing view and respite from the midday sun. We relaxed for a while eating delicious battered banana fritters with Bali coffee (ground coffee with boiling water, no milk. You have to let the grounds sink to the bottom of the cup before drinking or you end up with black bits all over your teeth). A lovely dog dozed lazily below our bench in the shade and he held a wonderful sleepy pose. Amanda wished she could have taken him home.
We reached the town of Amed mid afternoon and checked into our homestay for the night - the usual small bungalow room set in a garden around a mini pool. Amed is a popular centre for diving and snorkelling due to its proximity to some reefs and a wrecked ship.
As dusk fell we heard the sound of bells and chanting and quickly went outside to see a large procession walking along the street. There were people everywhere, the road full of celebration, with resulting traffic jam. Those participating were all dressed in their finery and carrying what looked like offerings. The music sounded like Gamelan and was hypnotic, adding to the atmosphere. We never found out what the Hindu festivity was. It felt like an exotic version of the old fashioned ‘Walking Day’ that occurred in my childhood in England when several local churches and organisations marched to a brass band. I remembered Wahyu, our driver in Nusa Penida, saying Hinduism was an expensive religion due to the multitude of festivals, holidays and offerings made throughout the year! A hauntingly beautiful chanting could be heard later on as the festivities stretched into the evening.
Next day we pressed on, sad to leave a place that had such a nice feel, less touristy than we’d experienced so far but still with things to do. The climate on this north coast definitely felt more arid, with a dryer heat. This is largely due to being in the lea of Mount Agung, which shadowed us on our left. It is nearly 10,000 feet tall, more than twice the height of Ben Nevis. A conical shape it looks like a stereotypical volcano, and causes the south of Bali to be much wetter and the northern part much dryer.
Deemed to be Bali’s most sacred mountain it is believed to be a replica of Mount Meru - a sacred, five-peaked mountain present within Hindu and Buddhist cosmologies, and revered as the centre of all physical and spiritual universes.
Around lunchtime we reached the village of Les, where we had an overnight at a homestay. Our arrival coincided with the home time commute for local school children and college students. The kids start school early - around 6am and finish early afternoon. We passed groups of smartly dressed primary kids, who greeted us we rode by, some holding out their hands for high fives. Close to what seems like a college, students spilled out onto the main road, like bees leaving a hive, the road buzzed with motorcycle engine noise.
Arriving at the gated house we were welcomed by the host, a small lady who was heavily pregnant. With some language difficulty we checked in and she showed us the facilities.
The cool room was wonderful and set in a quiet leafy garden. Gecko’s scrabbled across the wall and we seemed to have one or two resident in our room as we could hear a “chuck-chuck-chuck” sound. It was funny to see an encounter when one gecko strays into another one’s territory. A stand off would ensue with lots of posturing, head bobbing and tail wagging, followed by a possible chase off! They eat mosquitoes so we are big fans of them.
We enjoyed the rare feature of having a shared outdoor kitchen, well equipped and with some useful provisions and so could cook our own dinner. Bliss! We managed to score some spaghetti and tomatoes to cook a simple tomato pasta dish as we craved a change from our rice and noodle based diet.
The following day’s destination was a place called Lovina. A modest ride of around 26 miles and mostly flat. We paused at a temple, dressed in its finest accoutrements, in homage to some Hindu festival. The colours of orange, yellow and white of draped material along with brightly coloured offerings decorated the pale stone. Large poles staked into the ground and curved at the top and hung with offerings lined the road.
We stopped and were approached by a friendly crossing attendant. Rising from his shaded spot he came over to speak to us. His job is to help people across the road, stopping busy traffic, to allow worshippers to get safely to the temple. He offered to take Amanda and show her around the temple making the experience much more enjoyable with his insight into the customs and the Hindu festival taking place.
He explained the festival was a significant spiritual event in the Balinese Hindu calendar involved rituals and prayers to honor deities and ancestors, invoke blessings, and strengthen community bonds. It is an important annual community event and includes large prayer sessions, and attendees will go into the sea opposite the temple as part of a communal purification ritual.
He explained that many of the effigies and offerings in the temple are made from foodstuffs, crafted using different types of grains, including white rice, red rice, black rice, corn, and other whole rice varieties. These intricately created effigies highlight the deep connection between Hindu tradition, nature, and the cycle of life and death. The current ceremony coincided with fifth full moon and is considered good timing for offerings to the gods.
Reaching Lovina by early afternoon, our homestay was tucked down a dead end lane that led to the sea. A dry dusty grey beach with a few shacks dotted about and a handful of warungs (eateries), where we hoped we could get some food later. We had a rocky start to the homestay, as they insisted we leave our bikes parked in the car park (not outside our room how we like), and the room had broken air conditioning and toilet door. We had to stem our usual reticence to complain and requested another room. The boss lady agreed and offered us a room with functioning air con and a roof fan, which was a godsend.
We left early the next day to make for our next destination, a place called Pemuteran, which will be the place we spend our final nights of our journey around Bali.Les mer
Reisende
Cows are not normally sacrificed by Hindus and are usually held in high regard 😞. But apparently there are rare exceptions.
ReisendeYes. The guide told us they would be killed to be eaten so more of a meal.
ReisendeSorry. Sacrificed the wrong word. Basically they were dinner for the festival feast that night.
ReisendeGreat! Now you officially arrived. 😉
ReisendeIt was unofficial when we met you!😀
ReisendeWe are still way behind on posting. 100Km yesterday - we are now in Samut Songkhram. Land of canals and water.
ReisendeAbsolutely! As long as there is no proof in your blog, you’re officially not in the country😉.
ReisendeOh! So you’re quite close to Bangkok already. 100 km. One day? Congrats!
ReisendeYes. We will skirt around Bangkok to the NE and head to Ayutthaya.
ReisendeWhat a lovely introduction to a new country. Great to see the smiles x