The boat carried us away from our bikes and any obligation we had to ride further for the next few days. We had no accommodation booked and no real idea of what the islands were like or where the boat would drop us. Our friends from Cherating had suggested a place and so when the boat dropped us off we decided to give it a go. We got a small chalet, one double bed as usual with a fan and small bathroom, for RM70 per night ($23 NZD ish). It was right on Coral Beach, the quieter side of the more active island.
The bay we stayed in
Looking back towards the Malaysian mainland
All the coral at Coral Beach was bleached white and dead from all the boating activity. We made the walk over the island to Long Beach and enjoyed lunch on the sand and followed this up with a few beers at Ab'bas's Beach Bar, a place we would come to frequent over the next few days. The cold Changs went down well and any worry I had about leaving the bikes rapidly dissipated. That night was the Full Moon Party. We didn't know it and hadn't intentionally timed our arrival to coincide with it but we were very happy about this development. That night we sat at the bar on the sand and bought RM30 bottles of spirits (not full sized but still enough for our vulnerable livers). Things got progressively more blurry and we ended up watching a fire show on the beach before hitting a dance floor on the sand until 3am. Sean, who had approached me earlier saying he was off, was found curled up on the porch of our chalet (I had the key) with no recollection the next day of making the trek across the island. It was a good let down of the hair. These are crucial to maintaining high morale!
Beers and a thunderstorm to rock out in. Very rock n roll
We spent the next day at the beach reading our books, swimming and indulging in mango smoothies and roti canai, our favourite Malaysian treat. That night we relaxed and treated our bodies to a more wholesome evening. Always playing cards and reading. It's amazing how much more time you have in life to do things for yourself and your own mental stimulation. I found during work back home I would come home tired and not really interested in reading or writing or playing music. It's easy to get stuck in the social media bollocks trap and scroll through a mindless news feed. This is better.
Our roti man doing his thing
The snorkelling trip was great. We saw some very small sharks and a number of Nemos hanging out in the coral. There was also a large turtle that looked like it had been in the tourism game for too long. Much of the coral was dead and tourists seemed uneducated and often could be seen standing on the coral or touching it. It was almost offensive to see it but it's hard to go in as the righteous westerner telling local tourists what to do.
Floating with the fish
Anyway I digress... On Kapas we saw a young couple, both with a wash of bleach blond hair and golden tans - easy to remember. They had a friend on the Perhentian Islands also, a beautiful brunette girl. I was dead set on striking conversation when we saw them again on the Perhentians but didn't know how to. We were swimming on the last day and they happened to be in the same stretch of water. After a 45 minute conversation I was fairly keen to make sure we ran into them again as they were leaving that afternoon. We had dinner that evening as a thunderstorm rolled in very dramatically. The island was a fantastic place to watch storms coming in.
We motored back to Kuala Besut the next day and set off on the bikes (which were still there and untouched much to my joy) the next day. We headed inland to a place called Jeli, passing within metres of the Thai border. The next day we began climbing the 1000m pass over the spine of Malaysia. It was tough work but the scenery was good. Rolling mountains and forests extending uninterrupted to the horizon. We were on the look out for elephants, particularly after meeting our first cycle tourer on the road, Jens from Germany, who had, minutes before, seen one.
Our cycle touring friend, Jens
We saw plenty of signs of elephants but not the real thing. The descent was long and required a lot of concentration. The roads often throw up large potholes that would spell the end of a front wheel or even the frame of the bike itself if we were to hit them at upwards of 60k/ph. We made it to the lake region after more than 2,500 m of vertical climbing that day. The chalets were floating on the lake and very odd. There was nothing much else around so for dinner that night we were forced to eat white bread, peanuts, and cola. Hardly appropriate after what was, at least for me, the hardest day cycling on the trip to date.
I had been messaging Isaura and Delphine and attempting to organise a rendezvous before they headed to the south of the peninsula. It appeared it was going to take a big effort the next day as they had bused to the Cameron Highlands and were only going to be there for two more nights. It was impossible for us to cover the distance in time.
We, with advice from Delphine and a good bit of Kiwi resoluteness, headed off the next morning into hills again. It was to be the most bizarre and rewarding day of travel I have had in my life. We made it to Gerik at 11am after a 45km slog in tough terrain. The town looked unflattering with little to offer. All we needed, however, was a bus out of there. We had planned to get a dirt cheap motel, leave the bikes there, and head to the Cameron Highlands by bus. When we arrived at the bus station there was a large festival going on. Everyone was eating and the court was set up with large tents and tables. The spirit was very festive and we later found out it was the Hari Raya celebration.
The bus driver suggested the bikes could go under the bus in the hold. The bikes, being about 46kg a piece when loaded, did not look like they were going to fit. I told him we would hold off until the 1:45 bus which, he informed me, had a larger cargo area. While we waited a lady came up and tugged on our arms and insisted we follow her to their tent to enjoy the Hari Raya celebration. I noticed a TV camera was following us closely. Bemused we followed and set the bikes up next to a table on the edge of one of the large marquees. The lady plied us with Malaysian food and made sure we tried everything. I, horrified, was obligated to try the chicken skewers, and so picked one out and ceremoniously ate it in front of her watching eyes. I figured one was enough to be polite and fulfil her requirements. The entire time locals were approaching and taking selfies with us and looking closely at the bikes.
The terror on my face and the contrasting evil joy of our interviewer at the prospect of me eating chicken
The lady got us close together and started asking us questions with a microphone pressed closely towards us. I fumbled for words and rattled off whatever I could about how beautiful Malaysia is and the wonderful culture diversity and natural environment. All of it was true but under the pressure of the camera it somehow felt like I was in a propaganda film, obligated not to say anything bad of the country (not that I have anything bad to say at all, quite the opposite).
That bizarre experience ended with us shaking hands with the biggest religious leaders of the town and us riding off, a staged camera shot. The bus arrived and we dismantled the bikes. Wheels came off, bags went flying into the hold and eventually we found ourselves sitting in the air conditioned bus making our way to Ipoh. I was smiling all the time. The spontaneity and ridiculousness of it all really made me happy - that was what travelling was supposed to be about! Was it mad to be going to such effort to see someone I had only spoken to for 45 minutes? Probably but what was there to lose?
We arrived in Ipoh with an hour and a half to spare before the next bus would take us up to the Cameron Highlands. Again off came the bikes in pieces, we rebuilt them and got to the next terminal before going through the same pack down process again and getting on the next bus. There was quite a fuss over the bikes. We'd been promised the same deal and same price. After we loaded them on they came to inform us this was not the case and we had to pay for the bikes. Arthur, after a frustrating process of negotiation, won the battle of attrition and we got on. Emotions were flying high and in all the colours of the rainbow. The bus ride up the mountain was beautiful and somehow we managed to get there with the sun still holding on, gracing us with its dwindling presence. After starting the morning at a misc. lake in the middle of nowhere, riding 50kms of mountainous terrain, surviving a relentless but wonderful religious celebration, and changing buses twice we had arrived only 200kms from our starting location in Malaysia. It was good to be there.
Being a great poker player I found it easy to conceal my excitement. In the background Arthur pretends to read a book... no pictures in this one so hard to know what he was doing
