Asia for Beginners…

A small winding road led through thick undulating forest and past flat swampy areas. Few cars passed this way and I had this quiet road all to myself – one hundred and twenty kilometres through thick jungle and open grasslands. Gliding through small villages, passing the odd gravel quarry and natural gas wells nestled in the jungle, I enjoyed the clear skies and still air. I passed acres of oil palm plantations, cycled over drainage canals that appeared to stretch into the distance as far as the eye could see and past stilt houses built on the low-lying and swampy areas adjacent to the road. It was some of the best riding I’d experienced through Sumatra. At the end of the road lay the remote port city of Kuala Tungkal with one road in, one road out. From there, I was told, I could get a ferry to Singapore.

I played a game of cat and mouse with three young punk kids who were hitch-hiking by the side of the road. In marked difference to the more traditional Muslim attire, their dark clothing, spiked hair, tattoos and piercings really stood out. One of them was holding a guitar case and the other two looked like part of a travelling rock band. I would pass them on my bicycle and a while later they would pass by in the back of a truck laughing and waving. An hour later I would catch up to them again on the side of the road with their thumbs stuck out with a glum look and we’d all laugh. This went on for most of the morning. Cycling along this remote road really was a joy with the clean air, jungle surrounds and blue skies. I think in part it was also the excitement of soon being in another foreign country, thinking about the possibilities that lay ahead. Whatever it was, it felt good.

When I rode into town that afternoon I wasn’t even sure there was a ferry leaving. Today, tomorrow, Wednesday, 10am, 2pm - it didn’t matter - I had good time. I cycled around the town, past the wharves and fish markets with an orderly chaos and distinct odour, past busy shop fronts and cafes. I headed east towards what I thought would be the coast and soon found myself riding along a wooden jetty. On each side there were stilt houses, as if the whole section of the town was supported on top of piers. For blocks I cycled by these houses as locals looked puzzled. After asking around for directions that seemed to contradict each other, a kid of about twelve on a rusty green fixed wheeled bicycle said he’d show me the way to the ferry terminal. The ‘terminal’ wasn’t a terminal at all, but a simple concrete wharf with a few oddly placed wooden buildings latched to either side. I offered the boy a few chocolate wafers for his trouble but he politely refused. I think it may have been the last night of the fasting month of Ramadan. I learned the next ferry wasn’t until tomorrow morning, and so I checked myself into the cheapest hotel I could find. The room was small, the door closed with a stiff shoulder, the bed was hard, there were holes in the fly screen on the window and the fan barely created a draft at full speed. I rigged up my mosquito net and headed out for a feed.

With no direct ferry to Singapore, I had travel to Palau Batam, an Indonesian island south of Singapore. I headed out early the next morning for a Chinese noodle breakfast and a bitter black coffee before heading to the ferry terminal. The departure time was somewhat flexible and, while waiting for the captain to finish his early morning prayer, I passed the time walking up and down the old concrete wharf watching creatures scurry about in the tidal flats. Water from the higher mangrove areas formed small streams through the mud to the river. Small crabs ran about in the grey shiny mud scratching about for food. Mud skimming walking fish snaked their way to the retreating sea. I marvelled how these little fish developed leg like fins which allowed them to walk and lungs that allowed them to breathe. After a quick two minute noodle lunch at about 11am and with less than 20 people aboard, we departed north bound.

The ferry to Singapore was an old fibreglass boat that looked like it had seen many years of hard labour. It was scratched, dented and full of character. The paint rarely matched the surrounding colour and fibreglass mats lay on the deck forming what looked like a patchwork of repairs. I managed to convince the captain to put my bike inside, saving it from the nasty salt spray and subsequent rust. The boat roared and rattled and while inside I could barely hear myself think over the engine noise. It wasn’t until I discovered I could get on top of the roof that it became quiet again and I watched the small town of Kuala Tungkal fade into the horizon. Not since sailing to Bali had I seen the ocean all around. But in this busy waterway we were seldom alone. We cruised past barges, tankers and container ships. Despite its age, the ferry was speeding along and, with a calm ocean, it was a smooth ride all the way to Palau Batam.

Coming into Batam was like entering another world. We first approached an archipelago of islands littered with small isolated fishing villages and modest wooden fishing boats beached on the shore. The ferries didn’t run direct to Singapore and I needed to stop at the immigration office on Palau Batam (Batam Island) to get my visa stamped out of Indonesia. The Lonely Planet guide described Palau Batam as a leech hanging off the underbelly of Singapore, but I thought I would give it a little more credit. Cruising through the isolated islands, weaving around submerged reefs and rocky outcrops, we soon came to the ferry terminal on Palau Batam. An armada of huge steel tankers sat idle, moored in the bay. They looked tired and worn out. The paint looked as though it had been baked from the hull and rust leeched from every drain and port hole. Like giant redwood trees, a forest of construction cranes towered above the nearby shoreline. Huge hangers lay below beside the skeletons of half built ships that appeared to crawl toward the ocean as they grew larger and larger. From the sea these ships looked gigantic! It was a scrap yard and construction site for oil tankers, cargo ships and everything in between. Some ships looked as though they were being torn apart while modules were being fused together to build new ones. I’d never seen such a site in all my life.

I quickly got my visa stamped out of Indonesia, changed ferries and arrived at the Singapore ferry terminal in the dark. The lights of the ships anchored offshore and the bright city lights guided our way. I got my visa stamped into Singapore and found myself riding through modern streets in the dark. Far from the small subsistence farmers and run down dirty cities in Indonesia, Singapore was clean and modern. With every comfort of the west, Singapore is often described as Asia for beginners. It felt comforting in a strange way to be in a modern clean city where everything was at the fingertips. Here I could find all the replacement parts I needed, quality maps for Asia, good roads and all the types of food of the world.

Singapore was a place that fascinated me. I knew nothing about the country other than the airline used to be pretty good before Etihad Airlines came along. Singapore is a city state occupying an island off the Southern Malaya Peninsula. Separated from Indonesia by the Singapore Strait, it serves as an important shipping channel and port linking the Indian Ocean to the South China Sea. Growing from just a handful of small fishing settlements during the European discovery of the east, it boomed as a trading port. It then become part of the British Empire and was invaded by the Japanese during World War II,  before becoming part of the federation of Malaysia. Today, it exists as an independent country and major regional commerce and trading city. It was during the time of British rule that many Chinese and Indians migrated giving Singapore  the unique cultural identity that it has today. Here I found Chinese, Indian, English and Malay culture fused together and whose people enjoy one of the highest standards of living in Asia.

I stayed in Singapore for almost a month waiting on replacement parts and tracking down bits and pieces for the bike. I caught the edge of what I presumed to be the monsoon in Singapore. When it rains in South East Asia it feels like heaven itself is crying a river. The rain comes and goes with the clap of thunder, hard and heavy, with shards of lightening streaming from above then, as soon as it comes, it goes and the sun shines through the gaps in the clouds. All I could do was to seek shelter and wait it out. The winner in the end was the one with the most patience.

While staying at a backpacker hostel I met some friendly Indians (Indian people – not the native Americans) who introduced me to the Sikh religion. I still haven’t a clue about their ideology or philosophy but I learned that, if I covered my head and turned up at the temple at certain times of the day, I could get fed. The food was uniquely Indian, wholesome and tasty. It was a mix of bread, rice, dahl, yogurt and okra, an incredibly strong type of pickled fruit that’s marinated for months. The style of food was bulky, the chai tea exquisite and the people most welcoming. Living off the charity of others was something I was becoming accustomed to and, more importantly (for the dismantling of my own ego), becoming comfortable with.

When not eating at the temple, I ate mostly Chinese food. I had trouble recognising what was in it, but largely it was a soup or noodle. Like most of Asia, it was cheaper to eat out than eat in. When I went to the local food market to pick up supplies, it was full of all the guises of and smells of the orient; exotic fish, skinned frogs, chicken necks hung from hooks, the distinct smell of durians permeating everything, tropical fruits that resembled red dragon scales and another that looked like brown snake skin. It was an adventure in itself.

Singapore was expensive. I’d contemplated crossing the border to Southern Malaysia and finding a cheap place on a beach for a few weeks while I waited on parts. Luckily I managed to find a place to stay for a week while in Singapore through warmshowers.org. It was a welcome relief. While in Singapore I met up with my good friend Hannah Perkins who decided to join the expedition from Penang, in Northern Malaysia to Pai in Northern Thailand (www.paistriaghtup.blogspot.com). Hannah travelled to Singapore to renew her Thai visa. We chatted a lot about our friends, family and our lives over the past year. We talked about the upcoming trip, how it would be tough and what she needed to do to prepare. (I thought at the time it was ironic since I had done no cycle preparation for the trip). Other than getting confident riding in traffic, there wasn’t a lot preparation that could be done. It was great to see a familiar face again, if only for a few days.

I waited and waited for the parts to be dispatched to Singapore. I needed to replace the rear rim, re-spoke the wheel, find a new seat post (that luckily broke while in Singapore), replace the mounting bracket for my handlebar bag and repair the holes in my bags after the rigours of Indonesia. I also used the spare time to find a swag of odd bits of gear that needed replacing, cleaning or repairing. The metro system was expensive and so I rode everywhere from one side of the city to the other organising parts and contacting distributors. It was a gamble riding with cracked rims, but to their credit, the Rhyno Lite rims lasted the length (about 3000km) and rigours of Indonesia. There were only a few places where I could find people with the skills and knowledge to rebuild the back wheel. Singapore was one, Bangkok may have been another. I contacted Sun Rhyno in Singapore (the manufacturer) and they responded by sending two new rims by express post to Singapore!

Over the last few months I’ve become very attached to my bike. I’ve had a few people work on the bike here and there and learnt the hard way to always seek out people who know what they’re doing. Sometimes you don’t have a choice, but in Singapore I had many. A broken or poorly built rim in a remote part of Central Asia, or a bent fork in the Sumatran jungle could leave me stranded for months. I needed to be confident not only in the gear but also the skill and workmanship. TR Bikes (http://www.trbikes.com/) in Singapore were one of the few bike shops that I came to trust. Their selection of gear, expertise and advice was spot on and, as soon as the rims arrived, the back wheel was rebuilt in a day. I honestly can’t thank them enough. They also donated a set of mudguards and, at the sight of my old tube (which resembled a patchwork quilt of puncture repairs), the guys kindly replaced it with a new one.

With my bike repaired and running smoothly once again, I headed for the north eastern shore of Singapore. I heard about a small ferry service that I could use to cross over to the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula. When I arrived in the late afternoon, I learned the next ferry wasn’t until morning. With that, I cycled back along the beach and found a pagoda to sleep in. I wasn’t alone in camping at this nice spot and approached my new neighbour (who also had a pagoda) with a smile. He had tarps set up blocking the wind from the west and emergency tape (the kind police use to rope off crime scene) marking out an area. Inside the sand was swept clean of sticks and leaves and I thought it very odd. Was this guy living here? I approached him for a chat and found out that he wasn’t camping at all. His makeshift office was legitimate and he was on duty. John was part of the airport rescue team and had a hovercraft parked on the beach nearby at his disposal. Their base nearby was being refurbished and this temporary office served as a shelter where, if needed, they could be radioed and dispatched to an incident. I’d never met anyone who drove a hovercraft before. Of course I asked if I could have a ride and, after some careful consideration, the answer was a resounding “Ahhh, no!”  The next obvious question was how many incidents does the airport have a year to warrant a full time hovercraft and driver being on duty. “Not many”, was the reply I got. After some time I learned that the hovercraft has a cruising speed of about 35 knots and the only real incident was a few years back when a ferry from Indonesia sank and they rushed out to look for survivors. All they found were dead bodies which they had to pull from the water. Not as glamorous as the Thunderbird-like image I’d imagined.

John lived in Singapore all his life, had children in parts of Australia and Malaysia and had been working at the airport for a number of years. After some time I discovered that things were not as harmonious as they seemed in Singapore. John’s family had been living and fishing on a nearby island for generations, but they were kicked off when John was a teenager to make way for a defence base. They got very little compensation for their land and, after generations of fishing had to find a new career on the main island. With all the land reclamation going on in Singapore and subsequent destruction of wetland habitat, there are not a lot of fisherman left. I also learned that, with the autocratic government in Singapore, there was very little John could do. What I admired was that he didn’t seem bitter or angry about it, but seemingly accepted the fact that there was no way  he or his family could change things.

After a restless sleep, I headed to the ferry terminal in the morning and boarded a small wooden fishing boat that had been converted into a ferry. It seated 12 people and barely had enough room on the back landing to fit my bike. Here I was once again on a small, noisy but proven ferry, about to arrive in Malaysia and continue cycling north. A quiet smile erupted on my face as I looked back and saw my bike on the back deck, a trail of wake leading to waves in the distance and the Island of Singapore that lay behind.

“The world is so big if you stay at home, but it is so small when you go out” – Bici Clown. I met with Alvaro (aka The Bicycle Clown) while cycling through Java as we crossed paths. See the article on his adventures in the Jakarta Post .