Malaysian memories

We cycle the last six miles in Thailand from Satun to the ferry dock where boats depart Thailand for the Malaysian island of Lankawi. I wear my knee length shorts and a conservative shirt instead of my usual tight-fitting bike short and tank top attire. Beads of sweat slyly expand into puddles. The sweat becomes a wet layer of Elmer’s glue and my shirt becomes a sheet of saran wrap clinging uncomfortably to me….

I was worried about cycling Malaysia. I had never been to an Islamic country before. Would the people judge us and not accept us? Would I have to cover myself and cycle in 90 degree heat fully covered? I shouldn’t have wasted the time to worry or write the previous sentences. It turned out that Malaysia was my favorite country out of all our travels in Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, and Malaysia.

Memories that sparkle in my memory that are meant to be savored to the last drop, the last moment….

Witch costumes-- Will I have to wear one while biking? I see some women wearing long black robes, long black head scarves, and even long black scarves that cover their entire faces except for their eyes. I wonder how they eat and spy on a woman on the street corner stand slipping her spoon underneath her face cloth. I never see her smile, nor her curved nose, nor her curved body- just the blob of her burka that resembles a Halloween witch costume. However, men that accompany the women, wear typical western attire (shorts, tank-tops, t-shirts). It seems strange to me that only women cover themselves so carefully, but that men look just like men from the United States. I worry that they are offended by my hideous bike attire (tank-top, tight bike shorts). We spend our first nights in Malaysia on the island of Langkawi at a guesthouse owned by a Japanese/Iranian couple. The Japanese lady seems modern-- dressed in shorts and a t-shirt and always greets us with a smile and advice on the best cheap local restaurants and markets.
”As a tourist, am I offensive for not covering my body like the women that wear all black?” I ask her.

“No problem!” She replies kindly. “The women that wear all black are tourists from Saudi Arabia with a different more strict form of Islam. The Malaysian women usually just wear scarves that cover their hair and often wear just jeans and t-shirts or skirts. You will be safe and comfortable anywhere you go in Malaysia. No worry!”

Sea sick on the Indian Ocean- I sit calmly on the seat of the ferry-boat ready to write in my journal about our island adventures on Langkawi island. I imagine writing stories and stories and stories more during the three hour boat ride from the island to the mainland of Malaysia. At first, the ride is calm, smooth, gentle. I write about the Islamic attire of the women and am deep into my thoughts when a man begins to distribute black plastic bags. A wave breaks our determined forward route and shakes us sideways, then another wave, and another… I look out the window and feel terrified as I see monster hungry waves trying to swallow the boat. The boat bounces between them, surfacing after each one. People begin to use the bags followed by gagging sounds that I will save my reader from experiencing. I do not like boats, SAM I AM! Not in the Pacific, nor in the Atlantic, Nor anywhere, SAM I AM! I like the land, yes I do!

The never ending night jungle bike ride

Steve sinks in the sewer- We make it up the never-ending mountain in the lowest gear 1 and finally are overjoyed to see the warning fast decline sign… down, down, down, carefully in the pitch dark with just the small glow of our eternal light flash-light… Yes! Finally there are street lights signaling civilization in the distance. Then, the street lights welcome us as we cycle underneath them into a small town. We look up at the buildings for any English clues for “Hotel” or “Guesthouse” and BOOM! “OUCH!” I look behind me to see Steve’s leg caught in a sewer hole. The grate is just wide enough for his foot to slip through and his knee thick enough to catch his fall. Several people seem to pop out of the store fronts. “You needing help?” “We bring you to hospital?” “You ok?” “You leg broken?” One man picks up Steve’s bike. Another helps him up. We all watch eagerly as the evil sewer hole lets go of his leg. We let out a deep breath of relief as he takes a first step forward. A swollen knee, a few scratches, but nothing is broken. It was a moment that showed us the hospitality of the culture. People are people and they came to our rescue!

Iron legs and enjoying it! Southern Vietnam is mostly flat. Cambodia is flat. Southern Thailand is flat with a few gentle hills. Malaysia must be flat too. FALSE! We bike UP, UP, UP winding hill roads which reward us with beautiful views, lots of monkeys, and iron legs!

Jungle train inside the life of the locals

Trekking with the loved leaches- We thought leaches only lived in standing water, but they hang out on the jungle floor and join us on our six hour hike into the jungle and snuggle in between our toes. YUCK!

…Vines are braided like a little girl’s hair. Leaves are bigger than a giant’s head. Tree trunks tower majestically above our heads reaching to Jesus, Zeus, or Buddha. I take in the pure virgin forest air. My eyes trace the trunk up, up, up and hang on the canopy leaves above. “What is that?” Steve’s voice interrupts my focus above. He stares at a small slimy creature catapulting up his shoe. We stare at it in unison as it magically disappears through his sock. “Yikes!” We freeze in amazement and pull back the sock. Within thirty seconds the hideous creature (leach) catapults onto Steve’s shoe, slithers through the microscopic pores in his sock, and sticks its suction cup mouth onto his ankle. “I can’t pull it off!” “It really has a grip on me!”

“Salt!” I remember. “We need salt!”

“Where are we going to get salt in the jungle?” We look at each other, completely defeated by the small evil leaches.

Then, it dawns on me. “I have salted peanuts in the shell!”

I pop the shell open, eat the peanut inside, and place the salty shell on the head of the leach devouring my Steve. It detests the salt and lets go as Steve grabs it using a leaf and tosses it on the ground. We are saved by salted peanut shells and rainforest leaves!

Night jungle treks, safari- The strong glare of the flashlight temporarily paralyzes snakes, monkeys, birds, butterflies, spiders, stick bugs, sloths, wild cats and all sorts of jungle critters. Their shiny eyes glow and reflect from the flashlight beam.

Is this really the way to the capital? We saw more monkeys cycling to the capital city of Kuala Lumpur than while trekking in the jungle!

Kuala Lumpur, the capital city of Malaysia- A mosaic collage of people together create a piece of beauty

Malaysia welcomed us with adventure, culture, friendly people, and mean leaches! We flew from Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok, Thailand—Capital city hopping until catching our long flight homeward bound!