Southern Thailand

Wednesday, December 18th

Left Penang early and made it to the Thai border by about noon. Crossing into Thailand was easy. Suspiciously easy. 3km in I decided to turn back and investigate; I had read that an overland crossing can sometimes take hours. When I got back to passport control, they told me I only had an exit stamp from Malaysia, and no entry stamp into Thailand. Why nobody stopped me is a mystery, but good thing I turned back, otherwise I would have had some potentially disastrous issues trying to exit the country. Sorting that out took about an hour, and then I was on my way again. I stopped briefly in a sordid little border town for a quick lunch. The place was really depressing, and thinking that spending a night in Hat Yai wouldn’t be much of an improvement, I decided to ride another 350km straight to Krabi, a beach town on the west coast. As soon as I set off the rain started. First a drizzle, but the sky looked ominous, so I pulled over and got dressed for a downpour. Fifteen minutes later it was coming down in buckets. I waited under an overpass for about half an hour until the storm passed, and when it petered to a drizzle, I headed back out praying the weather would hold for the trip up to Krabi. Thai drivers are more reckless than Malaysians, but the highway was solid, and I made it to town just as the sun was setting. A guy named Alex saw me arrive by bike, and we chatted for a bit–he was travelling with five other Californians, and I ended up spending most of my three days in Krabi with that crew. Thursday morning we went on a five island boat tour. Here’s what the landscape looked like:

Our vessel, referred to as a longtail boat (basically a large canoe with a canopy) was powered by a diesel truck engine, which was perhaps the most incredible feat of ghetto ingenuity I’d ever witnessed.

Friday morning I went rock climbing, which was awesome. After that I trekked to the emerald lagoon, an incredible natural site on Railay beach. Didn’t have my camera with me that day, thinking it might get damaged rock climbing. This was stupid, and hopefully the Canadians I trekked with will make good on the promise to send me their pictures. Saturday I rode down to Koh Lanta, a large island 70km south. Here’s the bike loaded up with gear at the ferry staging area:

On Koh Lanta I stayed in a charming little beach hut, and on Sunday I went on a bike tour of the island, stopping for lunch in the old port town.

Above, a swing at the end of the pier. This morning I left early for Ranong, a town 400km north of Koh Lanta at the border of Myanmar. Meeting up with my Austrian friend here for some dirt bike adventures. At around one I made it to a small town and started looking around for a place to eat. When I saw what must have been a hundred people sitting at outdoor tables I knew I’d found the best restaurant in town. Or so I’d thought. I was immediately swarmed by curious locals who wanted to know everything about this farang (foreigner) in full adventure touring regalia. Not much got across in broken English, but when I made the universal gesture of fork-to-mouth, a four course meal arrived for me. No menu, which was a bit strange, but I was hungry and grateful. “Free, free,” they all kept saying, but I assumed this meant something else in Thai. When I ate all that I could, I walked over to the woman who served me my food with two hundred baht in my hand and tried to pay for lunch. “No, no, free, free!” She kept saying. I told her it was the best restaurant I’d eaten at in Thailand, which was true, and she laughed and said, “No restaurant, funeral.” Another girl with better English explained to me that her father had recently passed away, and she pointed to the shrine behind me. I had just crashed a memorial service. Thoroughly flummoxed, I paid my respects to her late father, and then numerous attendees requested I take pictures with them in front of the shrine. I made sure they got one with my camera as well.

I exchanged emails with the girl, received well-wishes from the entire crowd, and was on my way.

Cooling in the Cameron Highlands

It was all hairpin turns on narrow two-way roads during the ascent to Tanah Rata, but the risk was worth the reward: cool weather (a welcome respite from the 100% humidity of the sea-level cities). On Saturday morning I trekked 2000m up Gunung Brinchang. Below, some views from the top.

On the way down I stopped at a tea plantation for a tasting and a brief tour.

I left for Penang early Sunday morning. Going down the mountain is always easier than going up, and with no traffic I thoroughly enjoyed the winding roads. I arrived mid-afternoon, napped, and then headed out to the notorious hawker stalls for what was some of the best food I’ve had in Malaysia. I was too busy noshing to remember to take any pictures, so here’s this morning’s dim sum breakfast:

Not too shabby. I spent a good chunk of the morning at the Thai consulate, and I’m happy to report that I managed to procure a 60 day tourist visa, which should be plenty, and is quite a bit more than the 15 days I otherwise would have received at the border. More soon.

Melaka & more

First, and most importantly, I finally got my act together and set up my SPOT shared page. My SPOT Satellite Messenger is by far the coolest of all my goofy gear. I’ll spare you a wordy explanation of its capabilities, suffice to say click here to see my route on google maps. Melaka is a small, charming, historic port town 150km south of Kuala Lumpur. Not much to report, except the food was amazing. Below, Laksa and Rojak, a spicy coconut noodle soup, and a fruit and vegetable salad, respectively:

While in Melaka I met an experienced Austrian biker who took my scrambler for a test ride and advised that I make some minor upgrades for safety, longevity and performance, so I brought the bike back to the dealer in Kuala Lumpur to do the work. I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning and head 200km north to a mountainous region called the Cameron Highlands. Lastly, to give you a sense of the multifarious Malaysian motorbike, I present to you the fire truck, hose included:

Setting Off

I arrived in Kuala Lumpur on Friday December 6th, paid for my bike on Saturday, lost my nerve on Sunday, and somehow found it during the longest Monday of my life riding selatan–that’s Malay for south–on expressway 2 en route to Melaka. KL was a blur: between route planning, registration transferring, nerve steeling, and jet lag, all I managed to squeeze in were hurried meals of sloppy curry (Indian food here is good,) and a quick trip out to the Batu Caves, a Hindu shrine guarded by the largest Murga statue in the world and a platoon of mischievous monkeys.

Terror. I’d only ever felt it before in my dreams. But the night before I was to set off on the first leg of my journey I found myself wandering in circles around Chinatown at dusk contemplating shipping my gear back home, canceling the bike purchase and going about my trip as a regular ‘ole backpacker. This crisis of confidence was spurred by three things: the accident that occurred outside my hostel–two cars, one flipped, none injured–the prospect of driving on the wrong side of the road in dense, lawless Asian traffic, and a German traveler who chided me for not having planned this trip a year and half out. He was right, and I was rankled. All of Monday morning and much of the afternoon was spent at the Malaysian DMV, which is the same nonsense as in the states, and then it was back to the dealership to retrieve my 2010 Kawasaki KLX 150.

The mechanics helped me tie down my luggage, and then I convinced one of them to lead me to the main southern highway, E2. He was the first of three people I solicited to lead me places. To wit: I got lost a few times. After he dropped me off at the entrance to E2, I somehow managed not to get on E2, and instead wound up pulling over and convincing another friendly biker to lead me back to E2. On our way we witnessed a (minor) motorbike accident that left the rider with a pretty badly damaged forearm. I gave him water, got out my first aid kit, and patched him up while others flagged down a car to take him to the hospital. Thank god for my expensive Italian riding suit, which would let me walk away from a spill like that with little more than wounded pride. I finally got on E2, stuck mostly to the motorcycle lane, and cruised at 100km/h, which is wide open throttle. About an hour later I took the exit towards Melaka, which is about 16km away from the city center and may as well have been the middle of nowhere. By now it was 6:30pm, so I pulled into the driveway of a remote hotel to get directions, and it started raining. Nothing serious, but I promised myself I wouldn’t ride in the rain or at night, and certainly never both. After mapping out the remainder of my trip, I donned my rain gear and headed west in an effort to beat the sunset; better wet than dark. But the last bit of day faded quickly, and the directions I got from the hotel concierge were in broken English. More lost than ever, I pulled over and tried to get directions from a group of security guards–I have no clue what they were guarding, but it couldn’t have been terribly important, because I convinced one of them to lead me the rest of the way to the city center, which took about 25 minutes. In the end, he wouldn’t even let me pay him. I pulled up to my hostel sweaty and starving, but none the worse for wear.