Bali - Denpasar to Uluwatu
16–20 paź 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
A six hour flight took us from the reasonably familiar culture of Australia, to the culturally different island of Bali. A soft landing (for us) to this new the country. Although well established now on the increasingly mainstream tourist map, and its flux of international visitors, we envisaged some challenges. In the main, heat, humidity and language.
Three words to sum up my first impressions over the first couple of days - sweat, smells and smoke.
As we flew into Denpasar, the island’s capital and main city late in the evening, we would need to pass through immigration, grab our luggage and bikes, find somewhere to unpack them, assemble them and dispose of the boxes and packing material. We also needed to withdraw some currency, and sort out some local SIM cards for our phones. We landed at about 9:30pm local time, so it was going to be a late night.
The airport was busy and we passed through without issue. The only question asked of us - Why had we brought bicycles? Sometimes I wonder?
On the concourse outside, the heat and humidity were oppressive and the smells and sounds unfamiliar. Feeling a bit ‘mingy ’ already after the flight, the discomfort progressed as we assembled the bikes, generating more sweat from all parts of the body!
Set up and ready to go, we went out into the sticky night air to head to our guest house, and hoped to get there quickly as it was only a ten minute cycle. Getting out of an airport by bike is usually a challenge and it proved so again. Darkness, unfamiliar signage and Google Map conundrums meant we stopped often to check directions. We took a couple of wrong turns. Navigating off the main road onto tiny side roads and a maze of small alleyways, we eventually arrived at our guest house after midnight.
We arrived to a friendly and bemused welcome and manhandled the bikes into the guest house courtyard, as the heavens opened with our first tropical shower.
After a poor nights sleep we were awake early. Taking our breakfast in the courtyard, the heat was crazy and it wasn’t yet 8:30am! With a temperature close to 30 and humidity of around 80%, it was going to be a daunting first day, and we would cross part of the city to head south to visit the temple of Uluwatu.
Cycling into downtown Denpasar, the traffic was intense. Everything was happening, everywhere, and all at once! Cars, motorcycles, pedestrians, hawkers with carts, dogs - all negotiating the same stretch of road. The intense heat, fumes and horns mixed in a tumultuous melee and we had to concentrate; on the road ahead, behind us, traffic passing, traffic coming toward us (motorcycles often drove on our side of the road towards us! We had to react to who was starting, who was stopping and who was turning, and get ready for our turning well in advance. This proved to be stimulating and overwhelming at the same time. Right turns were difficult. If we didn’t get over into the centre of the road in time, we’d get stuck in the left lane. If we stopped on the left to wait to cross, it was impossible to cross or slot back into the flow, as a break in traffic would rarely occur.
After a couple of hours we started to get it a bit. We had to be assertive, go with the flow and use the accompanying traffic to help us. Turning with the mopeds, we became part of their ‘flock’ and take advantage of a perceived safety in numbers.
The use of horns was normal. Drivers use them to let you know that they were approaching or passing, or to warn other vehicles of something. We found this etiquette of communication to be useful and witnessed no road rage. Many junctions have no discernible right of way and there are few traffic lights, except for major arteries. Despite all this, things seemed to work and everyone seemed aware of everyone else.
As we travelled slowly in the congestion, boxed in by the traffic around us, it strangely felt much safer than the highways in New Zealand and Australia.
We eventually turned off onto quieter roads. On the coast were large resort hotels, their entrance gates manned by security staff, often decked out smartly in traditional Indonesian dress, eyeing us as we sweated and huffed and puffed our way past.
Reaching a more rural area, our route took us along potholed roads, along tiny alleyways that could be a path but then a car would appear to remind us it was a road. We zig zagged back and forth, climbing to the top of a significant hill, where we looked back to grab views of the city and its airport on a narrow choke of land between the main city and the Bukit peninsula where we were headed. The blistering heat of the afternoon made pushing the bikes to the top of some of these hills hard. As we leant into a steep gradient, applying brakes at each rest stop to stop the bikes rolling away, sweat making everything slippy, we gulped the warm air and waited for our hearts and heads to stop pounding.
We arrived at our guest house close to Uluwatu late afternoon. Set on top of a hill with views across to the Uluwatu temple site and sea beyond, it was a welcoming place and in peaceful contrast to the hectic and frenetic pace of the day’s cycle.
We had booked tickets to see a traditional Kecak (pronounced kechak) dance at the Temple that night. Background - a Kecak is a traditional Balinese dance and musical drama. It uses no instruments and is driven by a large male chorus that chant rhythmically for the majority of the performance, demonstrating amazing physical stamina. The narrative tells the story of the Ramayana, the ancient epic of Hinduism, through dance and drama, and part of it features a fire dance. Although the performance had its origin in the 1930s from a Balinese trance dance ritual called Sanghyang, it was adapted and developed by Balinese artist Wayan Limbak and German painter Walter Spies (which we would learn about later from visiting the Art Museum in Ubud). The two of them helped create and shape the dance by their collaboration into the dance form known as Kecak.
The male choir sit in a circle, moving their hands and bodies in a rhythmic sway that represents flames. It’s primal and exotic. They are shirtless and wear a sarong. Some have body paint. More flamboyantly dressed performers enter the stage and depict Rama, Sita, Hanoman, Ravana and others. My favourite was Hanoman, the divine monkey. He was cheeky and mischievous but also fearless, courageous and loyal.
The story is told in acts - one of good (Rama and Sita) v evil (Ravana) in what I can only describe as a ‘voodoo opera with pantomime touches wrapped up in a B movie vibe’. We, the audience, are like adventurers to a distant isle, where we stumble upon, and witness, an ancient ritual of natives.
…and there is fire! Hanoman is ceremonially burnt by Ravana and his cohorts in a circle of flames. The brave monkey overcomes this and precedes to kick the fire (real fireballs) high into the air and all over the stage. You wouldn’t get that in the West End. H&S nightmare!
Good eventually prevails and Ravana is defeated. All this as sun went down so it was very dramatic. To continue the drama a man and woman get pulled on to stage - what is going on? - and the man proceeds to go down on one knee, offering up a ring to his girlfriend! With the whole audience watching she accepted: what a proposal!!
We walked back up the hill to the small restaurant where we were staying and ate dinner as the traffic below picked up for those attending the second Kecak show of the evening. There are two shows each evening, every day and makes the performers endurance more amazing as each show lasts and hour, non-stop.
The following day we returned to visit the temple. As a sign of respect, any persons with bare legs must wear a sarong, or, a sash if wearing clothes that cover the legs. As well as good etiquette it is to demonstrate purity. Located on the edge of cliffs with the sea 70m below, Uluwatu is one of Bali’s six most important temples, said to protect the island and maintain a spiritual balance. The Hindu temple has a number of shrines and pavilions that are located inside different compounds enclosed by walls with decorated gates between. Certain parts of the temple are accessible by worshippers only. The temple layout follows an ancient design and has a sacred arrangement and meaning.
We wandered around, following the cliff top wall and path, wondering how long before parts fall into the sea, far below. The temple is populated with long tailed macaques. If you saw the David Attenborough Planet Earth III episode you’ll have seen these entrepreneurial monkeys nicking sunglasses, hats, cameras and phones from the tourists. They then ‘negotiate’ to return them upon the reward of food. The cheeky monkey muggers of Uluwatu. Stealthy, sneaky and learned, they pop out from trees or drop from the temple roofs suddenly. There are signs warning you. “No phone, take off glasses, no hat” and so forth. There are many guides offering to ‘guard you’ from the monkeys, and help reclaim your belongings if they get stolen. Some of the temple guides have small slingshots and snacks to aid the return of ‘lost property’. I wonder if the guides and macaques are in cahoots, like Fagin and his band of urchins and have a team meeting every morning before the temple opens.
“Tommo, you are on iPhones today. I want at least 5”
“Marty. Sunglasses. Go for the designer ones”
“Kids, just look cute and distract the human idiots”
“Now, go forth and steal. A ripe mango goes to the one who pilfers the most”
A small young one tries to grab my phone when I wasn’t looking! I felt the snatch before I even saw the monkey. Luckily, I had a tight hold.
Leaving the temple and relived to be monkey free, we had a large chilled coconut sold by the nice ladies in the car park. One small and slight lady chopped into the green husk with a very sharp machete. Using rapid strokes close to her fingers, it was fear inducing, witnessing the speed and dexterity with which she chopped - demonstrating that she has probably done this thousands of times. She looked over at me and squeezed her bicep and smiled with a toothy grin. I was living a tourist cliche but didn’t care as on this hot afternoon it was the most refreshing thing I have ever tasted.
On last evening on the terrace we enjoyed watching the flashes of lightning in the distance but the storm never came.
We could hear the sound of an Imams call to prayer drifting in and out above the noise of traffic as it picked up on the road below. Red lines of tail lights heading for the temple and evenings Kecak performance.
The show must go on and so must we. Tomorrow we head through the city again to reach Sanur and the east coast, before heading inland (and probably uphill). Czytaj więcej
Bali - Uluwatu to Sanur
20–21 paź 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☀️ 30 °C
From Uluwatu we had to head back to the airport to cycle off the Bukit peninsula, before heading east along the coast.
We hit crazy rush hour traffic around 8am - never seen so many scooters - and were glad to turn off at the Garuda Wisnu Kencana (GWK) Cultural Park. Immediate peacefulness.
Opened seven years ago, GWK holds the towering copper and brass statue of the Hindu God Wisnu, atop his mount the mythical eagle, Garuda. I’d seen the immense statue from the plane, as it soars above Bali to a height of over 120 meters, the fourth largest statue in the world. (I’m a nerd, so I googled the other three: Statue of Unity (India), Spring Temple Buddha (China), Laykyun Sekkya Buddha (Myanmar)).
GWK is an odd place. The grounds of the cultural park are vast, holding other large statues and corridors of colossal cut limestone pillars. It was weird wandering through this strange oversized exotic landscape that we virtually had to ourselves. Sadly, we didn’t learn much about Bali’s culture except perhaps how to monetise the tourist dollar. When GWK was first put forward religious authorities worried its massive size might disrupt the spiritual balance of the island, and its commercial nature was inappropriate, but the project went ahead, favoured as a new tourist attraction on barren land. It was weird visiting, but at least we got to see a fish unicorn…
Back on the bikes, negotiating busy roads channelling a heave of traffic through the narrow isthmus connecting Bukit peninsula to the rest of Bali, squeezing past the airport, we finally got on to the pedestrian/cycleway that borders Sanur beach.
Holiday atmosphere all around. This is the Bali you hear about from holidaymakers. Sand, sea, palm trees, manicured resorts, and white guests wearing very little. Beachfront restaurants with western menus exude laid-back surf-boutique vibes with polished natural design decors, all just begging to be Instagrammed. It felt safe, very relaxing, and a little surreal. I had avocado smash on sourdough and Lilz savoured a flat white!
Our homestay was tucked down a side street away from the beachfront, our room perched above red tiled rooftops. Plants abounded. Our host owns six bicycles and enjoys cycling around Ubud’s rice fields. I liked it!
Behind the beach, Sanur and its busy streets are difficult to navigate on foot. Pavements (when they’re there) have very high curbs, broken slabs, deep dark holes, lying dogs, parked scooters, and ever-present canang sari (small offerings made of square baskets woven from palm leaves, filled with flowers, incense, and sometimes food, cigarettes, or money. You have to be careful not to step on these as a sign of respect).
We slowly wove our way to the Night Market and had a delicious dish of noodles, rice and vegetables sitting behind the stall as we watched the cook throw ingredients around his intensely heated wok. This was swallowed down with fruit smoothies from another stall, and finished off with pisang nutella terang bulan (banana and nutella pancake). Out of this world. I can definitely get used to this!
High on sugar and Bali good feelings we decided to round the night off with a Bintang beer on the beach.
Rising early in an attempt to beat the heat we were cycling only 15 miles, all a gradual uphill, to reach Ubud in central Bali on the foothills of the volcanic mountains. (Ubud: pronounced OO-bood).
We enjoyed cycling the roads into Ubud as it did seem the creative cultural hub it is known to be. We cycled past workshops kite making, wood carving, stone temple chiselling, basket weaving, and thatch making. I screeched to a halt outside Agung Dian Egg Painting workshop. Love a painted egg. A teeny tiny lady came out and showed me her husband’s work: beautifully intricate paintings on chicken, duck, cassowary and ostrich eggs. It takes him seven hours to paint one egg. And luckily wooden eggs too - an unbreakable souvenir for me! Czytaj więcej
Bali - Ubud
21–24 paź 2025, Indonezja ⋅ 🌧 29 °C
We cycled to town of Ubud, located in the uplands of Bali. Set amongst lush rain forest and rice terraces and dotted with many holy Hindu Temples and Shrines, the region would seem to represent the Bali of magazine articles, travel blogs and social media feeds.
The town of Ubud and its surrounding villages are known for their arts, culture and crafts.
From the 1960’s onward, tourism has increased rapidly and Ubud receives several million visitors a year, If the figures are correct it means that the weekly total of visitors outnumbers the population by about 5:1. It would be interesting to see what, if any, impact this had on the town.
Cycling to Ubud we hoped for a chance to see some more of the countryside and hopefully, experience some ‘normal’ Bali life…
On the road…
It’s wonderful what can be carried on a moped. As we cycled along, we saw motorcycles with baskets of chickens attached and men riding along balancing long bundles of bamboo!
Other with ladders and tools, women with bunches of foliage cut from the fields, scooters with multiple family members on them…and the odd dog being given a ride (many people didn’t bother with crash helmets and neither did the dogs).
I’d say that the moped is embedded in the way of life here. The women riding pillion, seated side saddle, relaxed and with poise. They seem to have little need to put arms around their driver, or hold onto the bike as they zipped along. Many passengers often held something, so had no ‘free arms’ with which to cling on! Collecting the kids from school, the adults drove, whilst the kids stood on the footplate, cradled between the adults legs. We witnessed solo children riding motorcycles, some seemed of an early school age, and appeared at ease. This made sense, as we spotted toddlers, and even babies riding along with their parents and siblings.
A nation of shopkeepers.
We passed many small shop fronts, open to the road. Often dark, belying their main purpose and with produce set out on small table front, or goods piled on shelves, or hung from an awning. The proprietor sat patiently or dozed, sprawled out on a wooden platform, as they waited for business. They would often be cooking up something on a grill or makeshift stove. Smoke billowed across the road as we passed through a ‘scent cocktail’ of smoke and cooking meat. These ‘shops’ are called warungs. A warung is a type of small family-owned business, such as a store , stall or place to eat, or a mixture. They are simple and many warungs sell the same things. They appear confusing to us as signage is often limited, or non-existent, or in Indonesian and so far from our western idea of a shop or eatery.
Arriving in Ubud.
As we arrived into the outskirts of Ubud, traffic picked up the road was now much busier. Arriving early afternoon, we crawled along the main road toward the centre. The narrow road and amount of vehicles meant a laborious staccato of stop, start, stop for what seemed like an age. Our clothes, now wet and clingy with sweat, had moulded to our bodies, our tops vacuum packed, clinging tight to our torsos. The fumes and heat of exhausts and engines from surrounding vehicles added to the mix of what was a heady miasma. Mopeds crept along the road to the left of the cars, sneaking yards by riding in the gutter, or mounting the path. We followed suit, keen to break out.
Eventually we arrived at a cafe, where we pulled in for some food. Slightly off the main drag, Suka Expresso was a respite from the heat and fumes. We dismounted, sweat dripping from our faces, we were not calm and cool like some of the other tourist couples who arrived by moped. That is, cool (as in, not sweaty) and cool (as in, like they were in an Italian movie). Our appearance didn’t put off the cheery cafe staff, who welcomed us to a table outside. After some food, liquid and rest under a most welcome roof fan, we continued through the constant hum of smelly vehicles to reach our accommodation.
Reaching our homestay.
We arrived at our home stay, hidden behind a large wall, broken by a typical gate of double doors, intricately carved and painted bright colours. The stairway of high steps led up to the doors guarding an inner compound and threshold to what looked a temple!
Amanda went in to check us in and came out smiling. The reason for this was the place was a very very beautiful traditional Balinese home. Entering the compound was like stepping into a calm bubble. Greeted by a serene statue of Ganesha who provided a friendly but vigilant welcome at the door to the street, we climbed down the steps into a quiet courtyard with trees and potted plants. Incense wafted through the air, lingering from the mornings offerings. Running water falling into a small water pool provided the only sound. The inner compound contained several small ‘houses’, outdoor shelters for rest and several personal shrines. It was truly amazing. Ornately decorated with carved stone idols, friezes and painted woodwork, depicting stories and characters from Hinduism, we likened it to staying in a palace.
The Gedong family and staff made us feel very welcome. Speaking to Mr. Gedong later in our stay, he explained that he was a speciality Balinese architect and had designed the carvings himself, including the statue of Ganesha. He had overseen the creation of his ideas on wood and stone by a team of 20 or so craftsman over many man hours. Many of the images came to him while he slept he told us, and he then drew these out on paper before honing the designs ready for them to be created. He was a lovely man and he wished us well on our travels as he departed for a relative’s funeral, dressed in his finest white formal dress gown and headscarf. Our stay here was my favourite memory of Ubud.
Final thoughts;
After wandering the streets of Ubud, I had mixed feelings about the place.
Tourism is about 80% of the Bali economy and Ubud especially feels like it is set up to cater for the tourist. Lots of cafes and restaurants with similar (natural boutique) decor and international menus, with an emphasis on healthy food - juices, smoothies, poke bowls and açai bowls. There is nothing Indonesian about these places: once inside you could be anywhere in the world. There are also numerous places offering yoga, spa, beauty treatments and massages.
The streets were full of small stalls selling shirts, sarongs and vests. How do they all survive? Many stall holders say hello. They want your business of course. Some proprietors are nice and others less so, more mercenary and a bit more insistent. I am not good at hard-nosed negotiating, and so probably paid too much for a sarong to use for temple visits. I later saw them elsewhere costing much less. The lady was canny. Well done to her.
Many items did not have a visible price - of course one should always ask but it is also difficult to browse. Showing any kind of interest seems to indicate you have entered an ‘invisible contract’ to buy something, like shaking someone’s hand and then finding it difficult to let go. Often, you are observed or ‘helped’. Falling back on my British sensibilities, I tended to avoid the whole thing. Fortunately, travelling by bike means we are not interested in buying much, unless it’s practical.
There were many tourists on scooters - either grabbing a Gojek (like Uber but on a moped) or riding a hired one. They buzzed along through the streets and backroads, appearing at cafes and temples. Mostly couples - the guy wearing shorts and a vest or often shirtless, and girl, in a floaty dress, often holding a mobile phone and most seemed to be young and European.
The area may have been a quiet place, discovered by adventure travellers ahead of the curve and by those who were seeking a hippy bohemian lifestyle, or those with a more spiritual slant.
For me, the place felt a bit over saturated and is quite mainstream and all of us who visit now tread a well worn path, that is less authentic. The scales seem to have tipped toward the visitors. Although we only visited for a small time, being in this place felt like a being is a surreal bubble, like being a character in the film ‘The Truman Show’ but within a false facade dominated by the trappings of mass tourism rather than a true representation of a more traditional Bali. I hope that we find the real Bali during our journey. Czytaj więcej
Podróżnik
When you panned to the end I was expecting the Monkey God Littler to do some sort of fancy move with an umbrella in the rain.
Bali - exploring Ubud
22 października 2025, Indonezja ⋅ 🌧 26 °C
Panniers off! When Maybe Thom and Sexy Pete are unladen they feel so airy to ride.
We’re taking the bikes up a ten-mile incline (and then back down again, weeeee), to see some of the countryside and temples around Ubud. Although enjoying the new sights, sounds and smells, we are increasingly feeling uncomfortable in our tourist role, another pair of westerners unintentionally changing the face of the place we are visiting.
I liked getting free of the Ubud craziness. On the one hand we really liked the place: it is pretty and easy for us westerners with lovely places to eat and drink, arts and handicrafts everywhere, and promotion of wellness and alternative living on every corner. However, as Lilz I think mentioned in his Ubud post, it all feels a bit unreal being in vegan brunch hangouts, surrounded by digital nomads taking video-calls between bites of their organic Buddha bowls and sips of their oat milk cappuccinos. Everything seems set up to be Instagram-worthy, the polished aesthetics just begging to be photographed.
It was wonderful cycling through little villages, and being surrounded by lush greens: the vibrant acid green of the rice paddies, creeping vines, huge banana leaves and swaying palms. A high point (literally and figuratively) was pausing at the Tegallalang rice terraces, cascading down a steep narrow valley. A cafe overlooking the terraces gave us reprieve from the already brutal mid-morning sun, where we stopped for a cold drink and hoped the dripping sweat would cease. It also gave us pause to watch tourists fly their drones and take photos of their girlfriends with arms outstretched to the sky.
Tegallalang is one of five rice terrace areas with UNESCO World Heritage status due to its traditional ‘subak’ irrigation system. Rice is seen as a gift from the gods, and the subak system is part of temple culture. Water temples are the focus of cooperative management of springs, canals and weirs controlling flows of water out onto the paddy fields. Since the 11th century the temple network has managed the ecology of rice terraces for whole watersheds, providing a communal and egalitarian farming practice that has enabled the Balinese to have very high rice productivity. However, the success of the terraces as a tourist destination has led to shifting livelihoods as farmers earn more by switching from farming to tourism, while others have sold their land to investors building tourist facilities… perhaps the very cafe we are sitting in.
Onwards and upwards we reach the water temple, Pura Gunung Kawi Sebatu. One of the lesser visited temples, it has beautiful carvings, tranquil ponds, and is a sacred site for purification rituals (Melukat). We found it utterly peaceful to wander around, enjoying marvelling at the intricate shrines and lazily watching koi move in the pools.
Many locals visit to bathe in the holy springs, believed to cleanse the body and soul of negative energy. Balinese use water purification as an important step before starting something new: e.g. as spiritual cleansing before weddings, graduation, coming of age. It is an activity open to people of all faiths, and there has been a sharp rise in tourists wanting to experience this traditional Balinese ritual.
Whilst the few tourists we saw taking part in Melukat seemed respectful of the process, we have heard there are many - largely at other more visited water temples - who show total disregard, simply taking part to create social media content. Also I wasn’t sure about the ritual being marketed as a ‘spiritual experience,’ with marked up prices for foreigners. I’ve seen websites promote Melukat as “a cool and unique thing to do in Bali”. Should sacred rituals be put up for sale? The dependence on tourism for local livelihoods motivates commodification of the ritual, turning the sacred practice to profit-driven performance, often simplified to align with tourist expectations. Tourists then receive an information asymmetry: they are often unfamiliar with Melukat’s cultural and spiritual significance, and consume it as a superficial experience. By diluting the practice as a ‘tourist attraction’ I wonder if it also compromises its cultural integrity for Balinese Hindus themselves.
We cycled on under darkening skies, feeling the promise of rain build. As the first drops fell we took shelter and watched in awe as the heavens opened, lightening and thunder shaking reality. It felt like a different world when the rain finally stopped. Cooler, fresher, the humidity wall broken, and the insect sounds came to life.
Soon on the downhill return to Ubud we almost free-wheeled all the way back, happily taking in local sights as we went, before returning to Ubud’s traffic chaos. Czytaj więcej
Bali - Leaving Ubud for Padangbai
24–26 paź 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 30 °C
We left Ubud early (for us). Around 7am.
We changed our routine. We learnt from Bali - better to cycle early in the day, arrive at our destination by lunch, or early afternoon and then ‘defunk’ and rest up.
This avoided the main mid day blistering heat, although by 9:00am, the temperature was already in the mid twenties and humidity quite oppressive.
We turned off the busy main coastal route, with its larger trucks heading to and from the ports on the south east of Bali, and along what was becoming our favoured routes - the backroads. Riding pleasure derived from the quieter arteries allowed us to relax, let the mind wander and take in rural life, happening around us.
Passing through smaller habitations on what we would deem a lane, the road dissolved into the landscape, becoming ever tinier until it was but a track between fields, linking small villages. Bits of rainforest existed with exotic crops such as banana and mango tucked in beside fields of rice.
People to’d and fro’d. Mopeds laden with large bunches of green stuff. Feed for animals? Some form of crop? Who knows but it was on the move. The deft riding of the pilot was impressive. They negotiated the narrow track, his or her large bunch of green stuff stuck out behind the moped like a peacock’s fan. We pulled to the side to let them past and received smiles of thanks. The puzzled looks of villagers, mostly the elderly, contrasted with the enthusiastic “halo, halo” from children, accompanied by a big smile. This was wonderful and though these greetings and goodbyes combined were fleeting, such joyous encounters carried us forward.
The people are workers. They toil, for sure and it made me feel humble, very lucky and a softy at times.
Women and men seem to work in equal measure from what I could see. Whether it was the harvesting crops in the fields, or moving soil or rocks in some type of building work, or cleaning (they are very fastidious - always sweeping!). Balinese of all ages were actively doing something, despite the heat.
We made a little detour to see a temple.
Amanda paid the entrance fee (this is common in many temples) and wearing a sarong, she went with a guide to walk through the fields to the temple to see some stone carvings.
I was suffering in the heat somewhat. I decided to give it a miss and remained with the bikes and tried to hide in the thin shadow of a fat truck to stop me melting in what was now the burning heat of late morning.
Onward and back onto the main road.
It was the usual constant traffic and requirement for cycling vigilance. The numerous trucks, travelling slowly were constantly overtaken by cars. Cars overtaking trucks, scooters overtaking cars…and then add in the same coming towards us on the opposite side of the road. A tad intense.
A quick stop at the ‘Bat Cave’ temple. We planned to come back here at dusk to see the bats who live in a cave at the back of the temple grounds (note: we ended up not doing this as we met Nick).
As we stopped I was pounced upon by several small ladies who wanted to sell me things. As we raced through the usual introductions and general questions as they ascertained what I needed, wanted etc. and so approach with the correct sales strategy and selling patter. The first lady was nice and staked her claim upon me (Amanda had gone over the road to see the bat statue) and she beckoned me to come to her stall. I was thirsty and agreed to buy a soda and said I would come when my wife returned. Then another popped up and butted in. The same questions as her eyes darted around me, our bikes and I felt possibly sizing me up? Another one then approached and they had me in a pincer movement. I wasn’t thirsty enough to buy drinks from all so I had to say that I had agreed to buy from Lady No.1. as she had approached me first. This seemed to raise a slight smile in Lady No. 1 as she returned to her stall, enthusiastically directing me as to its location. The others retreated, figuring that I wasn’t worth a battle and possible combination of bicycles, not going into the temple and not being a high roller meant sales angles for them were slim to nothing.
After a refreshing drink we headed off the short distance to our digs. Set in the middle of nowhere, Bhalance Retreat sounded like it could be a new age facility for former cult members. The picture looked nice with
a common layout of small lodges, set in a garden around a pool.
We arrived after a ten minute cycle along a path set in the forest to a walled entrance.
Parking the bikes we stepped over the threshold into a green oasis. The grass led grounds faced onto a lake, covered in water lillies and some other floating plants and flowers. Swifts skimmed the calm water, grabbing flies on the wing, sending ripples to break the reflection of the clouds in the sky. Hills rose about a mile distant and the scene reminded me of the type of scene depicted in a film. The place was quiet. A couple of guests lounged around the pool and staff pottered around, sweeping, and it seemed very relaxed. We were checked in by the friendy receptionist and were given a welcome drink whilst our room was readied. It sounds like luxury doesn’t it?
It was to us! A nice room, beautiful location and its own small restaurant made it ideal.
All for the price of around £25 per night. This would be several hundred if it were elsewhere in the world I’m sure.
A shower and the now regular process of ‘defunking’ of our riding clothes by the method of hand wash. This is usually done in a basin or by taking clothes into the shower, then manual wringing and then hanging out on a makeshift washing line (done with sympathy as much as possible so as not to lower the tone of the place).
We went to the bar area to do some planning. Several staff busied themselves behind the bar and staff to guest ratio seemed high. We have noticed that many places in Indonesia have several workers in some roles that would seem like almost too many for the task at hand and customer requirement. I wonder if this is because the population is so high and cost of labour very low and incentive also to keep people in employment?
A bar tender mixed cocktails at the bar. A special event or possible influx of people for an evenings soirée perhaps? It turned out not to be the case, as the bar tender preceded to drink some of the cocktails, as did some of the staff, who watched on, intently!
We ordered a drink at the bar and I ordered a Coca Cola. The bar keep quipped “would you like some whisky in it?” I said no as I was from Scotland and only drink whisky neat!
This seemed to pique his interest and he also told us later he had seen us looking at maps earlier, as we sat in the bar area doing our planning on the laptop. He was curious and this was an ‘in’ for what turned out to be an evening that we weren’t expecting at all.
Nicholas (Nick) was Javanese. He was a roving bar keep. A sort of alcoholic troubadour, his job was to move amongst his bosses properties (the place we were staying at being one), teach staff the bar trade, and create a signature cocktail menu to reflect each place.
He made one for us to try, at no cost, and wanted honest feedback on how we found it. A cocktail called a Negroni with his own twist was made and we tried it watched on by Nick and the other staff. This led to a prolonged discussion on drinks, including whisky . He talked about his ingredients and why the flavours are paired. He sounded passionate and knowledgeable and admitted he was somewhat of an alcohol nerd. He read up on the history of cocktail names, when they were first created or introduced and knew so much about the whisky process and facts on other spirits and liqueurs that we were in awe of his information recall.
As we progressed onto test cocktail No. 2 he digressed and we offered our honest feelings on his concoction and remained his only customers. I think we had connected with Nick and although he was technically working, he seemed extremely laid back, as did the other staff.
Post dinner we chatted again when he came over to check on us and as we were about to head off to bed, he asked to join him for a wee dram of Black Label as a nightcap, so the staff could close up for the night.
Nick had an interesting life. His father was in the military and known person in Java. He and his brother were beaten by his father with a rubber hose “to toughen them up”. In a bid to escape the influence of his father, and military school, he and his brother ran away and lived independently in the middle of nowwhere.
He worked as a bar tender in Jakarta and at one of the cities’ craziest nightclubs, served his apprenticeship and learnt his trade and knowledge. He hated the term ‘mixologist’ and explained that he’d participated in competitions to face off against other ‘mixologists’ from other countries and how he was treated by those he competed against. He gave an honest account of addiction to opioids and other drugs and about having an epiphany to straighten up, in part for his relationship with his wife and for the love of his daughter. He found that the travelling part of his role is hard, as it takes him away from home for weeks at a time. We could tell that he cared about his daughter and together with his profession, which he extolled as being about the customer and not the drink and how important meeting people is and of the exchanges that follow. That’s what seemed to drive him and it is this addiction that replaced the chemical ones he used to rely upon. As he threw back several whiskies (we declined as we had already had several cocktails) it was now late and we reluctantly retreated to bed. We said that we would take him to our local pub for a whisky, should he make it to Edinburgh.
Another encounter created in the random way of things that our trip throws up from time to time - unexpected , memorable and at the generosity of strangers.
Waking early the next day and hangover free we hit the road to the port of Padangbai, to catch the ferry to the small island of Nusa Penida.
About six miles to the port we arrived in time to allow us to buy tickets and find out where the ferry departed. Looking puzzled and unsure, we asked where we could buy tickets and immediately a local on a scooter bade us follow him. He took us right up to the front of the queue. No ticket booth? He offered to get our tickets, but the price was higher than we’d read it should be. We declined and he motored off. Amanda volunteered to go and find where tickets could be bought.
It materialised that official tickets were hard to come by. Tickets were sold by all and sundry - small booths by the port and men on scooters with leather bum bags who sort of acted as ticket agents or brokers. It meant a ticket would cost you a varied amount depending on the agent, his commission and how he was feeling. After buying a ticket, Amanda then had to get a boarding pass, which involved going somewhere else. Convoluted and seemingly inefficient to us, this is probably totally logical to Indonesians (and a way for another group of people to make a living). The result was that the prices we researched were not the case in reality.
With small bits of paper in hand to get on the ferry, we waited in line as mopeds and motorcycles arrived to swell our numbers.
Mostly Indonesians, there were a couple of other westerners amongst us. We got chatting to a nice American called Chris. He was living and working in Bali and was a passionate snorkeller. He was on an overnight trip with his guide Eddie to do some snorkelling on the island. He riffed at length on Indonesia, snorkelling, politics and geopolitics and was no lover of the current US administration. In part, maybe why he was on the other side of the world.
It was welcome again to have a conversation with another in a common language. It is so easy and not exhausting. It just flows and is something we have missed, although our lack of language has been put to shame many times by the proficient conversational English spoken by some of the people we have met.
The ferry approached and docked. It looked a bit top heavy but relatively sea worthy. It was also painted a jaunty yellow colour so that gave me some comfort.
As the arriving vehicle and passengers disembarked, our motorcade lined up, like the starting grid of a moto Grand Prix. We hung back as we figured there must be some order to the loading. As the cars, trucks a vans rolled on, we were invited and walked our bikes into the belly of the beast and tucked Thom and Pete at the bottom of the stairway leading up to the upper decks.
We climbed the stairs to the small seating area, with rows of chairs facing forward, covered above but open to port and starboard, allowing a nice breeze through. Hawkers acted quickly to try and sell food, drink and others items to passengers before they had to get off. To the smell of diesel fumes we settled ourselves into a seat for the crossing and hoped it wouldn’t be too choppy. Czytaj więcej
Bali - Nusa Penida
25–28 paź 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 30 °C
Going to Nusa Penida, the large hilly island 1.5hr ferry ride southeast of Bali, is up there as one of my trip highlights. This is because Nusa Penida is one of the best places in the world to see manta rays, a creature I have always dreamt of seeing up close.
Originally we’d hoped to explore the island’s dramatic cliff coastline by bike. However when we looked closer at the route and the profile in RideWithGPS (the planning platform we use) and saw huge elevations with steep climbs we rapidly decided against this. Instead we spent our 2D3N on the island exploring with a hired driver, and on our second day snorkelling with Bali Aqua.
Much quieter than Bali we enjoyed cycling from the ferry along the seafront to our beautiful hotel. Nusa Penida is less developed, but this is rapidly changing. Instagram and Tik Tok are having a significant impact, in particular that ‘one shot’ of Kelingking Beach - the T-Rex-shaped cliff (google it: it’s stunning) - driving a tourism boom. This singular view now defines the island’s identity online.
Whilst driving to sites along the coast - we visited popular Angel’s Billabong and Broken Beach - we saw (and were a part of) the overcrowding and infrastructure strain caused by this one viral image. Thousands of tourists now depart from Bali every morning to enjoy a whistle-stop package tour of Nusa Penida, returning by fast ferry late afternoon.
Although we wanted to see the beautiful scenery along this coast we didn’t feel the need to collect the T-Rex image and avoided the Kelingking queues, opting instead to stop at Paluang Cliff (a bit further along). From this beautiful viewpoint we were amazed to see an elevator being installed into the cliffside above Kelingking. An 180m glass lift backed by a Chinese investor, it will enable people to easily reach the beach below the famous cliffs. For me this project erodes the very essence of what draws people here in the first place (!), but we also learnt the next day from our Bali Aqua guide, it also increases the likelihood of unwitting tourists swimming at the beach and getting swept away by dangerous currents. A French tourist died at the beach at the end of October after entering the water here, despite several warnings against doing so.
Happily construction on the lift has recently been suspended in reaction to public outrage. Bali’s Provincial Government has said the lift is potentially contravening spatial planning rules. I wonder what will happen to the unfinished lift if the project is abandoned…?
Leaving the queues behind, our driver - friendly Wahyu from Lombok - drove us further southeast along the coast to Guyangan waterfall.
Wahyu told us he was the only child in his family of three other siblings still not married. Getting married costs a lot of money and he and his girlfriend - who is currently working as a cleaner in a hospital in Japan on a three year contract - are saving to work on a cruise ship as they are keen to travel. But to get a job on a cruise ship they need to first pay an agent the equivalent of $4000 (four THOUSAND American dollars!). Working as a driver in Nusa Penida pays more than working in Lombok. And Wahyu had amazing driving skills! The drive quickly confirmed our decision not to cycle as the right one. The roads are narrow, in poor condition, often very very steep, and chock-full of cars ferrying tourists around: leaving little room for bicycles. Exploring the island is challenging, and we were relieved to be in Wahyu’s skilled hands.
Guyangan waterfall is a bit of a misnomer. There is a waterfall - it is small and at the bottom of a large cliff face - but it is not what we came to see. Neither is the small shrine that accompanies the waterfall. Reaching the waterfall involves climbing down hundreds of steps on a bright blue stairway, and by doing this you experience the most amazing views of Nusa Penida’s dramatic cliffs. And not being on the tourist trail we had the place all to ourselves - only having to pause once on the cliff face (at a thankfully wider spot) to let an Indonesian family pass us on their way back up. All smartly dressed in traditional clothes they had made a pilgrimage together to the shrine.
The stairs were a bit of an adventure, hanging from the cliff face with big gaps between each rung. Navigating these was made all the harder by having to wear a sarong - to show respect as the shrine is sacred. Thankfully the metal staircase felt pretty solid. That is until the final blue stairs, now made of wood and hanging directly over the ocean, with waves crashing on the rocks below. These last steps looked very dubious and we decided not to proceed, happy to have seen the beautiful views we’d seen so far.
The following morning my heart was all fluttery and excited. We skipper down from our hotel to Bali Aqua’s base by the beach. Joining 8 others - all scuba divers - we sped across the water to Manta Point. The divers tipped over the boat’s edge, plunging backwards one by one into the water. The water was perfect, cooler here due to colder currents, and I was glad of my research finding Bali Aqua. A responsible outfit, they only take small groups and give a talk to all they take out about how to behave in the water with the manta rays. They also provide full length wetsuits, fins, good masks and snorkels. Our guide, Italian Lisa, took such good care of us and I warmed to her immediately. This was her last trip out with the mantas as she was finishing her summer scuba season to go work in the skiing resorts of the Swiss Alps over winter. This is the summer/winter pattern her and her husband live to - scuba, ski, scuba, ski…
Despite my excitement and long anticipation for this moment, I wasn’t prepared at all for how seeing manta rays would affect me. Their size astonishes (and would have taken my breath away if I wasn’t already struggling to breathe through a snorkel). And these Reef Manta Rays are the smaller of the two species! Their elegant beauty as they gracefully fly through the water, their movements languidly balletic, is beyond captivating and impossible to do descriptive justice. I was utterly spellbound.
Sadly the spell was often broken by getting another’s flipper in my face, or elbow jabbed into my side. Manta Point is a cleaning station - basically a manta ray spa, where resident smaller fish clean their clients of parasites and dead skin. The popularity of this spa with the mantas means it is almost guaranteed to see them here, and many boats capitalise on this = hoards of tourists. Many tourists are clearly not briefed in the clear guidelines for passive interaction with manta rays as we saw many free diving down to get a selfie shot, getting in the manta’s way. The number of divers also creates a wall of bubble streams.
The hour we had in the water meant we saw boat groups come and go and gave us time to find space. I tried to shut out the human element as I floated on the surface, enthralled in watching the mantas circle round and round, often flying beneath me in slow magical formation. One of the most intelligent fish in the sea, they have one of the highest brain-to-body ratio of all fish, and have been shown to have physiological and cognitive self-awareness (few species have ever passed this test). You could sense this intelligence in them, and I wonder what these wise gentle giants thought of us all, if they deemed to think of us at all.
From Manta Point we stopped in the calm waters of Crystal Bay to snorkel above the coral reefs and watch the huge number and variety of tropical fish play out their busy lives below us. Just as we were making our way back to the boat, we were lucky enough to see a green turtle munching away at the coral, surprisingly camouflaged.
What a morning! A very special hour of my life I will never forget and am so grateful to have shared space in the manta rays’ presence. Czytaj więcej
Bali - Padangbai to Lovina
29–31 paź 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 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. Czytaj więcej
Podróżnik
Cows are not normally sacrificed by Hindus and are usually held in high regard 😞. But apparently there are rare exceptions.
PodróżnikYes. The guide told us they would be killed to be eaten so more of a meal.
PodróżnikSorry. Sacrificed the wrong word. Basically they were dinner for the festival feast that night.
Bali - Lovina to Gilimanuk
31 paź–2 lis 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ⛅ 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. Czytaj więcej
PodróżnikWhat 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
PodróżnikHello. 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.
Java - Banyuwangi and Mt Ijen
4–7 lis 2025, Indonezja ⋅ 🌧 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! Czytaj więcej
Java - Malang
7–13 lis 2025, Indonezja ⋅ 🌧 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. Czytaj więcej
PodróżnikOh 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 😋
PodróżnikIt 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.
PodróżnikWhich is amazing and shows what can happen in any community once they start to value it!
Java - Mount Bromo
10 listopada 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 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. Czytaj więcej
Java - The Road to Yogyakarta
13–22 lis 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 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! Czytaj więcej
Java - Yogyakarta 1
22 lis–2 gru 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 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. Czytaj więcej
Java - Borobodur
26–27 lis 2025, Indonezja ⋅ 🌧 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! Czytaj więcej
Java - Yogyakarta 2 (Street Art)
28 listopada 2025, Indonezja ⋅ 🌧 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. Czytaj więcej
Java - Yogyakarta 3 (Batik)
29 listopada 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 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. Czytaj więcej
Java - Yogyakarta 4 (Kotagede)
30 listopada 2025, Indonezja ⋅ ☁️ 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. Czytaj więcej
Singapore
2–4 gru 2025, Singapur ⋅ ☁️ 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!! Czytaj więcej
Malaysia - Johor Bahru to Melaka
4 grudnia 2025, Malezja ⋅ 🌧 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. Czytaj więcej
Malaysia - Melaka
7–10 gru 2025, Malezja ⋅ ☁️ 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. Czytaj więcej
Malaysia - Melaka to Kuala Lumpur
10 grudnia 2025, Malezja ⋅ ☁️ 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! Czytaj więcej
Malaysia - Kuala Lumpar 1
11–15 gru 2025, Malezja ⋅ ☁️ 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! Czytaj więcej
Malaysia - Kuala Lumpur 2
13–15 gru 2025, Malezja ⋅ 🌧 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. Czytaj więcej
Malaysia - KL to Sitiawan
15–17 gru 2025, Malezja ⋅ ☁️ 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. Czytaj więcej
Malaysia - Pangkor Island
18–20 gru 2025, Malezja ⋅ 🌧 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. Czytaj więcej
PodróżnikWhew it’s a lot. Take care both x
Podróżnik
John calls these small places to stay ‘Losman.’ Do they still have traditional mandis where you scoop the water over yourself?
PodróżnikNot for this one, all mod cons! There’s been the occasional squat toilet with scoop.