In which we get back on the truck for the last stage of our overland journey as we travel to (and through) Malaysia and on to Singapore.
They say all good things must come to an end, and this post covers the end of two things: firstly, our holiday from travelling on Samui and our last day on the big orange bus, but that’s a bit later.
We got up before dawn and were waiting outside our hotel for Karen and some of our truck mates, who had been staying on another part of the island, to come by in a minibus and take us back to the port for the 6.00 am ferry. All in all, something of a crashing return to the reality of truck life.
Having met back up with the others on the ferry and found out about all the fun they’d all been having – and seen all the new luggage they were carrying – we sat down and waited for the ferry to take us back to the main land and to the truck, which had been waiting patiently for us all the time we were on the island, and which started up perfectly for us the first time Will turned the key.
Everybody back on the bus. Next stop: Malaysia.
Actually, the next stop was for a breakfast of minced pork dumplings at a motorway service station, and the stop after that was for a lunch of pot noodle at another motorway service station. Just like old times, eh?
We got to the Thai side of the border at about 3.00 pm and through to the Malay side about half and hour later: quite possibly the quickest, easiest border crossing in Asia.
Crossing into Malaysia from Thailand is another one of those transitions where you know straight away that you’re in a new country. The roads are better, the verges tidier and everything looks, well, more finished. In fact we were really liking Malaysia until we got to the town of Alor Setar, where we stayed overnight on our way down to Kuala Lumpur. Normally, Karen camps en route to the capital, but decided to try the hotel here instead. Initially, we were all very pleased to be staying in a hotel instead of camping one last time. However, and I think this was the consensus opinion, shared even by Karen, this hotel was the crappiest, dirtiest most run-down, mossie infested flophouse yet and that’s saying something. It even made one or two of us nostalgic for quarries.
The next day, we decided we had to at least try going a little further afield. KL has an excellent Mass Rapid Transit (MRT) system, including an overhead monorail that runs from one end of the city to the other via, rather conveniently, a station immediately adjacent to our favourite shopping centre. We thought it would be an excellent way to see a little more of the city without having to walk around in the hot sun, plus we thought it would help to kill a couple more hours. In reality, it didn’t even take us one hour to travel the entire length of the line via both ends and back to the shopping centre again, so we went back to the hotel and re-packed our main bags. After which we rewarded ourselves with a Wendy burger: less well known than BK or Mac Ds, but much tastier despite being square, which is just wrong for a burger.
While we were there, we heard another screaming child. This is noteworthy because, although sadly not unusual in the west, you just don’t see (or, more importantly, hear) screaming, crying or even whining children in most of Asia. You don’t see them being carried, pampered or pandered to, and you never hear one complain. They seem to have to stand on their own two feet from a very early age and they just get on with it. That is, until you reach westernised, big cities like Beijing and Kuala Lumpur where pester power is alive and kicking and screaming.
Back at our hotel, we watched X-Men: First Class, which definitely lives up to it’s name, had a beer, went to dinner (at Nandos back in the mall again) then went to bed. Cities are just wasted on us.
This day: Saturday, 17th November, is the last day of our truck trip, which started 22 weeks earlier on Sunday, 17th June. That’s five months on the road, rails and sea and about as far as you can go overland across Europe and Asia by road and rail. (Actually, St. Petersburg to Vladivostok might just pip it, but only a pedant would mention that. Maybe next time.)
Driving out of KL was as smooth and easy as getting in was. We made Malacca (also spelled Melaka) another World Heritage city, by 11:45 and were given just under three hours to explore it. In the event, we’d just got started when the heavens opened and we experienced out first proper rain for months. Needless to say, we were totally unprepared for the torrential deluge, and had to take shelter in what we thought was a museum of Islam, but turned out to be an exhibition on road safety for kids. It didn’t really have enough to keeps us occupied for the duration of the downpour, so when it looked to be easing off a bit, we made a dash for it.
Irony of ironies, we end up in yet another shopping mall, eating first a burger at Burger King then getting takeout from Starbucks. Sorry, World Heritage Organisation: we’ll have to take a rain check on that.
Back on the truck, now headed for the Malay/Singapore border town of Johor Bahru, it was tropical storm all the way. The motorways in Malaysia have places for motorcyclists to stop and shelter from such downpours and plenty of large drainage channels to carry rain water away from the roads and verges. It wasn’t long, with all the windows closed against the rain, before our collective breath steamed them up, so I can’t tell you very much about our very last drive. I can tell you, however, that we were all very relieved to discover that the border post, which much more like an airport than a checkpoint, had a large and covered dropping off point, which meant that our luggage stayed dry as we off-loaded everything. In Juli and my case, all six bags of it.
Trucks – or, at least, ones like Will and Karen’s – aren’t allowed into Singapore, so this really was the end of the road for our big orange ‘MadBus’, as Christopher dubbed it. I’m a bit sad that we didn’t quite finish as we’d started. Instead had to carry, wheel and drag our kit up escalators, along walk-ways and across cavernous customs halls, where we got stamped out of Malaysia, then carry, wheel and drag ourselves and our bags onto a shuttle bus – everything inside: there were quite a few scowls thrown our way by the other passengers – which took us the kilometre or so across the causeway to the Singapore side of the border.
Then, after getting stamped into Singapore (country number 26) more carrying, wheeling and dragging to the taxi rank, where a very nice man helped us into his very nice (and air conditioned) cab, where we collapsed.
About thirty Singapore Dollars later, we arrived at our little bit of luxury, at the end of our mostly luxury-less journey, to discover it was right next to a major construction site that had completely closed the road in front, under which they were building a new MRT station. (Curiously, their website, where they describe themselves as a boutique hotel in a quiet corner of town, hadn’t mentioned any of this, despite the fact that it had been going on for over a year and scheduled to last another five.)
The hotel receptionist assured us that the noise was only normally evident during office hours and that we wouldn’t be affected by it since they had put us in the back of the hotel away from the road. Somewhat doubtful regarding their assurances – and, by now, very, very tired – we went up to our room and sighed. (Actually, I sighed; Juli cried.)
In the next post, I’ll tell you what happened next and all about our ‘stopover’ in Singapore.
TTFN - N
They say all good things must come to an end, and this post covers the end of two things: firstly, our holiday from travelling on Samui and our last day on the big orange bus, but that’s a bit later.
Days 150 & 151 (drive to Kuala Lumpur)
We got up before dawn and were waiting outside our hotel for Karen and some of our truck mates, who had been staying on another part of the island, to come by in a minibus and take us back to the port for the 6.00 am ferry. All in all, something of a crashing return to the reality of truck life.Having met back up with the others on the ferry and found out about all the fun they’d all been having – and seen all the new luggage they were carrying – we sat down and waited for the ferry to take us back to the main land and to the truck, which had been waiting patiently for us all the time we were on the island, and which started up perfectly for us the first time Will turned the key.
Everybody back on the bus. Next stop: Malaysia.
Actually, the next stop was for a breakfast of minced pork dumplings at a motorway service station, and the stop after that was for a lunch of pot noodle at another motorway service station. Just like old times, eh?
We got to the Thai side of the border at about 3.00 pm and through to the Malay side about half and hour later: quite possibly the quickest, easiest border crossing in Asia.
Crossing into Malaysia from Thailand is another one of those transitions where you know straight away that you’re in a new country. The roads are better, the verges tidier and everything looks, well, more finished. In fact we were really liking Malaysia until we got to the town of Alor Setar, where we stayed overnight on our way down to Kuala Lumpur. Normally, Karen camps en route to the capital, but decided to try the hotel here instead. Initially, we were all very pleased to be staying in a hotel instead of camping one last time. However, and I think this was the consensus opinion, shared even by Karen, this hotel was the crappiest, dirtiest most run-down, mossie infested flophouse yet and that’s saying something. It even made one or two of us nostalgic for quarries.
***
Diner last night was at a Pizza Hut, complete with screaming child – quite a contrast to the previous evening – and breakfast this morning was taken at a KFC ready for an 8.00 am departure. Malaysian roads are excellent (Will said they were too good – not quite sure what he meant by that) and we were soon eating up the kilometres. By 4.00 pm, we were rolling into Kuala Lumpur and caught our first glimpse of the famous bridged twin Petronas Towers and the ball-on-a-spike-like KL Tower, which has a revolving restaurant at the top, a bit like the BT tower in London, only much taller.
Our hotel – much better than the previous night’s – was right next to one of KL’s mega malls. This one, the Times Square Shopping Centre, had fourteen sprawling floors of retail units offering all manner of goods and services from burgers to breast augmentation, a cinema, a bowling alley and permanent fun fair complete with roller coaster, and was far from being exceptional in this city of shops. However, it didn’t meet my needs in that, with all those shops, I failed to find a shoe shop that had a pair of plain black lace-ups in a size 6. Mind you, we had no problem whatsoever in finding something for dinner. It seemed as if the cuisine of almost every nation under the sun was represented in the several food courts there. We chose Korea, not a country we’re visiting this trip, but somewhere very firmly on our bucket list.
Days 152 & 153 (Kuala Lumpur)
So here we are in yet another big city with little to interest us. After breakfast at the hotel, Juli and I went back to the shopping centre over the road – well it is at least getting out of the hotel and, very importantly, air conditioned – where I showed Juli all the shoes I didn’t buy because they didn’t have my size. There was one pair that I liked especially, so I thought I’d just check: “Do you have these in a size six?” “Yes. Of course.” “Oh, only last night you didn’t. Could I try them on please?” “Yes. Of course.” [Sales assistant goes to check] To Juli: “That’s good. I’m glad I double checked.” [Sales assistant returns] “Sorry. Only Brown.” “But I’m looking for black, like these.” “Sorry. Only Brown.” “Hmmm.”
After that, I left Juli on her own for a little light retail therapy and returned to the hotel to e-mail and blog a bit between looking up at Denzel Washington save Pittsburgh from a runaway train in Unstoppable. (Perfectly acceptable afternoon fare.) Juli returned at around 3.00 pm utterly exhausted and slept until teatime.
After dinner – curry from a local Indian restaurant (for local Indians) where Juli and I were the only westerners and Juli was the only woman – we went back to the hotel and re-packed our new ‘cruise’ suitcase: quite possibly the largest case I’ve ever owned, but not the largest Juli has every used. Apparently she had one so large it had it’s own gravity and atmosphere. It was known as Bernard (because it was the size of a St. Bernard and even had it’s own lead) and Juli took it to Switzerland when she au-paired there with Marion, who will no doubt remember him(?).
***
The next day, we decided we had to at least try going a little further afield. KL has an excellent Mass Rapid Transit (MRT) system, including an overhead monorail that runs from one end of the city to the other via, rather conveniently, a station immediately adjacent to our favourite shopping centre. We thought it would be an excellent way to see a little more of the city without having to walk around in the hot sun, plus we thought it would help to kill a couple more hours. In reality, it didn’t even take us one hour to travel the entire length of the line via both ends and back to the shopping centre again, so we went back to the hotel and re-packed our main bags. After which we rewarded ourselves with a Wendy burger: less well known than BK or Mac Ds, but much tastier despite being square, which is just wrong for a burger.
While we were there, we heard another screaming child. This is noteworthy because, although sadly not unusual in the west, you just don’t see (or, more importantly, hear) screaming, crying or even whining children in most of Asia. You don’t see them being carried, pampered or pandered to, and you never hear one complain. They seem to have to stand on their own two feet from a very early age and they just get on with it. That is, until you reach westernised, big cities like Beijing and Kuala Lumpur where pester power is alive and kicking and screaming.
Back at our hotel, we watched X-Men: First Class, which definitely lives up to it’s name, had a beer, went to dinner (at Nandos back in the mall again) then went to bed. Cities are just wasted on us.
Day 154 (KL to Singapore)
This day: Saturday, 17th November, is the last day of our truck trip, which started 22 weeks earlier on Sunday, 17th June. That’s five months on the road, rails and sea and about as far as you can go overland across Europe and Asia by road and rail. (Actually, St. Petersburg to Vladivostok might just pip it, but only a pedant would mention that. Maybe next time.)Driving out of KL was as smooth and easy as getting in was. We made Malacca (also spelled Melaka) another World Heritage city, by 11:45 and were given just under three hours to explore it. In the event, we’d just got started when the heavens opened and we experienced out first proper rain for months. Needless to say, we were totally unprepared for the torrential deluge, and had to take shelter in what we thought was a museum of Islam, but turned out to be an exhibition on road safety for kids. It didn’t really have enough to keeps us occupied for the duration of the downpour, so when it looked to be easing off a bit, we made a dash for it.
Irony of ironies, we end up in yet another shopping mall, eating first a burger at Burger King then getting takeout from Starbucks. Sorry, World Heritage Organisation: we’ll have to take a rain check on that.
Back on the truck, now headed for the Malay/Singapore border town of Johor Bahru, it was tropical storm all the way. The motorways in Malaysia have places for motorcyclists to stop and shelter from such downpours and plenty of large drainage channels to carry rain water away from the roads and verges. It wasn’t long, with all the windows closed against the rain, before our collective breath steamed them up, so I can’t tell you very much about our very last drive. I can tell you, however, that we were all very relieved to discover that the border post, which much more like an airport than a checkpoint, had a large and covered dropping off point, which meant that our luggage stayed dry as we off-loaded everything. In Juli and my case, all six bags of it.
Trucks – or, at least, ones like Will and Karen’s – aren’t allowed into Singapore, so this really was the end of the road for our big orange ‘MadBus’, as Christopher dubbed it. I’m a bit sad that we didn’t quite finish as we’d started. Instead had to carry, wheel and drag our kit up escalators, along walk-ways and across cavernous customs halls, where we got stamped out of Malaysia, then carry, wheel and drag ourselves and our bags onto a shuttle bus – everything inside: there were quite a few scowls thrown our way by the other passengers – which took us the kilometre or so across the causeway to the Singapore side of the border.
Then, after getting stamped into Singapore (country number 26) more carrying, wheeling and dragging to the taxi rank, where a very nice man helped us into his very nice (and air conditioned) cab, where we collapsed.
About thirty Singapore Dollars later, we arrived at our little bit of luxury, at the end of our mostly luxury-less journey, to discover it was right next to a major construction site that had completely closed the road in front, under which they were building a new MRT station. (Curiously, their website, where they describe themselves as a boutique hotel in a quiet corner of town, hadn’t mentioned any of this, despite the fact that it had been going on for over a year and scheduled to last another five.)
The hotel receptionist assured us that the noise was only normally evident during office hours and that we wouldn’t be affected by it since they had put us in the back of the hotel away from the road. Somewhat doubtful regarding their assurances – and, by now, very, very tired – we went up to our room and sighed. (Actually, I sighed; Juli cried.)
In the next post, I’ll tell you what happened next and all about our ‘stopover’ in Singapore.
TTFN - N
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