A Hitchhikers Guide to Malaysia

Diving right into Malaysia from Thailand, and intending to spend a short amount of time, meant being prepared for a few things. I heard from many travelers in passing, that costs in Malaysia were higher than in Thailand, and Thailand was one of the most expensive Southeast Asian countries I had been in. Granted, I was there the longest - with 6 weeks under my belt, and some luxurious indulgences like elephant sanctuaries, private rooms, and motor scooter rentals - nevertheless, Malaysia was coming, and I had to prepare.
Before arriving in Malaysia, I imagined villages, much like rural Thailand, and I imagined major cities like Bangkok, Ho Chi Minh, or Beijing. I needed to book flights from Singapore to Borneo and around Borneo, so once that booking was finished my time in west Malaysia was limited. I held off on the flight booking for as long as my budget could stand it. If one thing is for certain in life and travel, it is that plans are more like rough guidelines, often more useful as toilet paper than anything else. Holding off on purchasing my flight gave me the freedom to flush my previous plans, 10 days in west-Malaysia (Penninsular) down the drain.

The tentative plan was only there for budget reasons. More time more money. Mo money mo problems.
I took my budget struggle to the streets. I searched on CouchSurfing.org, messaging half a dozen people on Penang Island, so that I would have a place to start after driving south from Thailand to Malaysia. Within a week I received a response from a lovely Iranian guy, Milad, getting his doctoral degree at the university on the island. Four nights on Penang Island with good Middle Eastern company, boom, check.

Penang Island had NO island feel to it. I arrived coming down off of a high from camping and having beaches all to myself in Ko PhiPhi, Ko Lanta, and Ko Tao, Thailand - I was not really in the mood to explore a city on public transportation. Luckily my gracious host offered me everything, from transportation to almost anywhere, to a big bed with air con and wifi. This was the time I would take to research the future of my trip. For all intensive purposes, from here on out I am going in blind - the best way to go if you want all of your senses taken to the next level.

Judging by the things that interested me in Penang, leaving West Malaysia within 10 days was looking like it would be no problem. Everything was going as planned.

After a few restful days I found another CouchSurfing opportunity in Kuala Lumpur. Elma was the next sweet soul to take me in. While I was on the bus to arrive at Elma's house, I received an email from her explaining that she is not actually in Kuala Lumpur. I should arrive in KL, get a train to an outer suburb called Rawang, then find a local bus, or hitchhike if I arrive after 7:30pm, to a place called Bandar Tasik Puteri. My lazy side contemplated passing-up the opportunity. I would have to hitchhike since the journey wouldn't bring me into Rawang until 9pm. Honestly, I couldn't even say the town properly until I started asking around about how to get there. It was also only the third or fourth time I've hitchhiked in the last ten months of travel, and I was nervous. Of course I took the journey out to Rawang, asked around, hitchhiked. No one picked me up. It started to rain. I took a taxi. First Malaysian hitchhiking experience was an epic fail.

Elma was the sweetest woman, and reminded me a lot of my mother. She was righteous, funny, and young in spirit. We were instant-friends. She always had something to feed me, and left me with a lovely Russian guy to have the entire house to ourselves while she went on vacation. Unfortunately she was a busy woman, so I had to start hitchhiking to do pretty much anything in the area. It was the perfect push to get me out of my bus-taking, taxi-riding shell and breakout into the hitchhiking world.

On her way out of town Elma brought me to a nice little corner next to the highway where I could easily get a ride for my first day of adventures via hitchhiking. Within five minutes a Hokkien Chinese-Malay guy picked me up and brought me to the national park.  At the park I climbed waterfalls, got my feet wet, and then took my time returning to the highway to thumb another ride. Within ten minutes an Indian-Malay truck driver pulled over and picked me up. Furthermore he gave me his phone number and said that if I need any rides along that highway I could call him because it is his working route. He seemed too eager to be my chauffeur and it gave me a funny feeling. Eventually he wanted to detour off of the highway to pick something up, I didn't understand what he was saying and was not comfortable detouring from the route with a guide who gave me a 'funny feeling.' I got out on the side of the road and found another ride within the snap of a finger. This time a nice Hakka Chinese guy brought me all the way to Batu Caves outside of Kuala Lumpur, I did my tour, and then found another ride partway back. Somehow, since the driver was not going all the way to my destination, I ended up under a highway bridge with a bunch of motorcyclists during a massive rain storm. They all were fairly entertained watching me try to hail down a car for 30 minutes. The rain storm seemed to make people less generous. Eventually we waved down a local bus and it took me back to Rawang for less than a dollar.

That was my first day of commuting completely via hitchhiking.

Now 100% confident in the generosity and safety of the hitchhikers way, when it came time to leave Elma's house, my plan was to hitchhike all the way two hours north, to a town called Ipoh, where I would re-join with my friend Luca who I traveled with in south Thailand. Foolishly I stood, facing the wrong direction, on a road that was not the main highway. I got a lot of waves and thumbs up. I'm sure I made friends with passerby's just by standing there smiling, and waving at everyone.
After some time of waving to people who smiled, gave me thumbs up, and still did not pull over to help a sister out - I finally met my angel of the day. The man who picked me up was named Nick - nickname Mun. Straightaway Nick told me that he was not going all the way to my destination, he was en route to his parents house an hour north where he is caretaker for his mother and father. He told me that he would go most of the way and then leave me at a local bus station. It took so long to get a ride on the road initially, that it was already 3pm when he stopped for me, and I was accepting of any generous offer. It started raining once I got into the car. After chatting along the way, I felt really good about meeting Nick. He offered to stop to get me lunch, and gave me all kinds of advice about hitchhiking and traveling in Malaysia. Since my final destination after Ipoh would be the tea plantations in the mountains of Cameron Highlands, Nick told me that there were also plenty of mountain adventures in the area we were in. He told me that, if I wanted, he could take me around the mountains, and then I could sleep at his parents house for the night. Considering I had such good feelings about this generous guy, I said yes. My mind was completely at ease when I arrived at his parents house and met his hardcore Chinese mom who invited me to eat, do laundry, and stay in a private air-con room. Heaven has a name, its a tiny Hokkien Chinese village called Rasa, Malaysia.
That night Nick took me out for dinner, insisting on paying for everything, and he even brought fireworks for us to set off in the street. In this small town, everyone was fairly informed about everyone, so much so that when Nick walked in anywhere, it was as if the mayor had arrived. He told me that showing up with a young white foreigner would certainly hit the rumor circuit by morning. I told him to fuel the fire. We sat next to each other, talked all night, snuck out the back of the restaurant for a cigarette instead of smoking where we were sitting, and I imagine rumors got really wild when the same people saw us go out to breakfast the next morning. Staying with Nick was a lot like staying with my dad's best friend. After breakfast he drove me one hour out of his way to my destination and left me at a local bus stop to get me where I'm going. After a night of accommodation, treating me to anything I wanted, fireworks, and laughter, I was sad to say goodbye to him. Uncle Mun!

By now it has been one week in Malaysia, and it's safe to say that I was absolutely in love with the country. Ten days wouldn't cut it, so lets throw in the tea plantations, highlands, jungle, and rainforest for good measure. These are all places I didn't know existed before stumbling across an online magazine article during my downtime in Penang. The article advertised the Top 20 Must-See things in Malaysia, now my aim was to do as much of them as I could manage.

I arrived in Cameron Highlands, not having paid for a single night, or tourist bus for the previous week in Malaysia. I was completely in love with what Malaysia had to offer in spirit. When I met up with my friend Luca at Cameron Highlands, I found him in opposite spirits. He wasn't enjoying the experiences he had in Malaysia up to that point. I told him one day with me and he will love it.

On that one day we took a two hour trek into the jungle. The climb was hand and feet through mud, pulling ourselves up over the vines that nature presented as steps to the top. Once we arrived, we had a little picnic. On the sunmit there was a road to return down the mountain, and a guy was offering some Netherlander girls a ride which they declined. So I chimed in 'We'll take a ride!' The guy, Azmi, and one of his wives, drove us down the mountain to a place called the Mossy forest. He pulled over, told us to go tour the area and that he would wait for us. Really? That's extremely kind, don't mind if I do. At this point, I am grateful for the generosity, but not surprised at all. Luca was still taking it all in. "Wow, he's so nice." Yeah bro, this is Malaysia.

On our walk we bumped into a German guy named Cornelius. It appeared as though Luca and Cornelius had met before, so we walked out of the forest together, and Azmi told Cornelius to get into the car also. There we were, feeling blessed by the generosity of this traditional Muslim-Malay couple, two Germans and an American covered in mud, sitting snug in the backseat. I knew what was in store for this ride. It was fun for me to sit back and watch Luca and Cornelius in shock and awe at the Malay generosity they were receiving. I grew to expect it, love it, make friends with it, so when the rest of the day became the Azmi-guided tour, I was extremely grateful and unabashed. Azmi not only took us on a tour of the tea plantation, but he also took us to the enormous and beautiful Lavender gardens where he paid for our entrance. The Germans and I all chipped in to buy his wife a bouquet of fresh flowers as a "thank you." Following the gardens, he brought us to the Kings' vacation home where it turns out he is the landscape artist. We walked around this VIP spot admiring his work, and the gorgeous view. All of the states of Malaysia have a king, and the king is re-elected every 5 years. Azmi made sure we knew that no tourists go there. No one goes there but the politicians and kings. Before parting ways, he invited the three of us to dinner, where he insisted on paying for everything, and then returned us to our hostel for the night. We walked away, all jaw-dropped at the kindness we were shown. I think by the end of the day it was safe to say that one day with me changed Luca's opinion of Malaysia. Really, one day of hitchhiking and meeting Azmi.

From Cameron Highlands, Luca joined me for a detour to Teman Negara to trek through the world's oldest rainforest and walk along the world's longest rope bridge. Teman Negara included some more hitchhiking and friend-making, before I said my sad goodbye to Luca and headed to Kuala Lumpur. I reveled at the idea of meeting people who were shocked at the idea of hitchhiking, and i would try to convince them to do it. It felt as though I would be introducing them into a whole new world of experiences.

When I arrived in Kuala Lumpur I emailed Azmi and Nick to thank them for the amazing memories that they made with me. Azmi responded telling me how disappointed he was the he couldn't be in Kuala Lumpur to show me around. He really was disappointed, because as an alternative he gave his daughter, Mya, my phone number, and within minutes she was calling me to make plans for the tour of KL she would take me on. Just as I received the response from Azmi with the 'programme,' I bumped into Cornelius. He joined me on our adventure the next day with Mya, her mother and her beautiful baby boy. We went to a fantastic pink mosque, a children's theme park called I-City, delicious Arabic food in between, and also the evening light show at the famous Petronas (Twin) Towers in KL. Mya was so generous, patient, and sweet, that she wanted to take us the next day on a day trip to Malacca town, which is a beach city two hours west of KL. Curse the notion of making plans! I had already booked a flight from Singapore to Borneo, so I had to move on and pass up another fantastic day with this incredible family.


Concerning safety, traveling alone as a woman, and not knowing enough about my surroundings, I was always hesitant to do any kind of hitchhiking while on my own. I'm not sure if I would continue this in every country I go to, however, Malaysia has certainly opened my heart and my eyes to the generosity, opportunity, and love that the people here have to offer. I am so grateful for hitchhiking, and I wanted to share that with everyone.

Here are 8 reasons hitchhiking and CouchSurfing in Malaysia was one of the highlights of my trip

1. Hitchhike. Do it. Malay people are generous, friendly, and do not expect anything in return except to maybe be your facebook friend, get your phone number, or take a selfie with you and their children.

2. Hitchhiking and CouchSurfing awards positive experiences that you can't plan, pay for, or expect.

3. It's free.

4. You are officially off the beaten path. Locals know stuff that you can't learn without them. They take you places, teach you things. Just by talking to them and asking them questions, you will learn so much about the area, culture, language, and religion. They picked you up or took you in because they expected to talk with you after all. It builds your confidence. Knowing you is just as valuable to locals as knowing them might be for you. That is why they want to meet you to begin with. Your host is intrigued by your skin, your tradition, they all want to know where you come from, what religion you are. They get the experience of meeting a foreigner, and you get the experience of meeting a local, along with the added bonus of a free ride. Everyone leaves happy.

5. It's the scenic route. You're not stuck on a bus, train, or subway - you're not in a noisy hostel having to pay for anything and everything straight down to the drinking water. You have your hands out the window, or the air-conditioning in your face, you have a couch or a bed in a private place. Take it all in and fill yourself with gratitude.

6. You are completely on someone else's plan, and you must go with the flow. This can be difficult for some people, and for others it's not a downfall at all. However, in their car or their house, and on their time, you are their guest. Flexibility is a fantastic learning tool.

7. Sometimes you are in extremely remote areas, and this can be inconvenient. Who cares though, its a trade-off for a great experience and a new friend outside of the partying, traveling, backpacker crowd! Often times, remote places are more memorable than the alternative. For me, it depends on where I am and what I want to do as to whether or not I prefer to CouchSurf or stay at a hostel. Sometimes, being remote is fine because I want to relax and be with the people. Other times, I have an active schedule in mind, and it can take a lot longer commute time to try to hitchhike everywhere I want to go, and a lot more money and effort otherwise.

8. There are good people in the world. If there is anyway to renew your faith in humanity, the Malay locals will certainly light your fire.


More to come while in Borneo! Cheers

Dublin, Ireland

From the moment I sat on the Aer Lingus flight from Boston to Dublin, my natural draw to people was on fire, and attracted kind people to me. On the plane I sat next to a woman, who I would classify as your typical suburban British woman. Ever see a Ricky Gervais show or movie? Well, she was the leading lady; witty, empathetic, comedic (the British sort) and of true grit. We talked about British shows we both liked, and how British humor is better than American humor because of its wit, and truth. I could tell right away that she was a warm person. She gave me advice for my UK travels, laughed with me about poppy cock, and was downright offended by the general idea that Americans have a food called "London broil." With every "t" pronounced, and a rising inflection, she said with her true Brit accent; "Its beef and gravy? And you named it after our capital city? Thas pure rubbish." We laughed a bit, and before parting she asked me if I had anyone in the UK to call in an emergency. I told her I had the U.S. Embassy. So she gave me her mobile number, and told me that it was in case I got arrested. I wondered for a second if, in the mostly silent 6 hour plane ride, that she deduced from my character that I may be a person who gets arrested. I assured her I wasn't that sort, and told her if I pass through Liverpool or Bermingham I would buzz her, and in return the next time she is in Boston on business I will treat her to a London broil and laugh at her mortified response to it - the rubbish.

Upon landing, I waited at the airport for a few hours until the bus system turned on at 6am. Waiting an hour or so to spend 6Euro on a bus instead of 30 on a taxi is just the beginning for me. We have to be choosey now.

My adventures begin in a city thriving in history and oppression. Parts of Dublin are like being back in Sol Madrid. Shops everywhere in the tourist areas so that it is almost like an outdoor mall. The cobblestone streets along the Temple Bar section is where all of the piss, and Guinness line the sidewalks during the day, and where live folk and rock music can be found at night. I wasn't able to check into the hostel to sleep until 3pm. So I locked up my bags, and from 6:30am until 3pm, I walked the city. It only took 3 or 4 hours to really see the whole of it. The section where I am staying is more rubbish than the tourist sections - not dangerous, but clearly somewhat trashier than the better kept parts of town - I didn't take to Dublin right away because of it. There are cigarette butts everywhere and it smells like the dry sweat of an Irish army. 

I never hesitated to tell anyone that I was from Boston. My plan for a lot of this trip was to say I am Canadian - I know I will need to in Central Europe because I have been discriminated against before for being American. I learned quickly that saying you're from Boston in Ireland gets you respect, because some people might even assume that you are Irish. They know that Boston is heavily Irish in history and they love it. Maybe thats why Boston is so resilient - Irish are certainly resilient. I learned a long time ago that foreigners know Boston better than New Hampshire, so i just don't bother with that unless they want to know more or we become friends.

After walking about I came and sat in the lobby of my hostel waiting for a walking tour to start. While I waited I met a kind Iranian family. I was drawn to them speaking Farsi on the couch next to mine. One was a young woman studying Middle Eastern conflicts for her PhD in Belfast, and the others were her aunt and uncle visiting from Norway. After much discussion on passions concerning the Middle East, good health, and the fascination of cultures - I was offered a place to stay in Belfast, and also in Oslo. I don't know that I will, but I was complimented by the generosity and smiles of this family. We continued to chat and exchanged emails before the tour started some time later.

On the walking tour we skipped around Dublin seeing some parks, memorials, the Irish Castle, and Trinity College where the library holds the book of Kells (the only Gaelic version of the Bible.) The castle looked like any Plaza Mayor you've seen or heard of, minus people, minus restaurants and stores, minus everything but blank walls and an empty square. Its deserted. The Brits built and the Brits left, so thats what you get. I learned that, while in Ireland, I should have a distaste for the Brits. They enslaved the Irish and sent them to the Caribbean, just as Americans enslaved Africans. I knew this already, but the way that our tour-guide, Rory, spoke about it brought light to the fact that when Americans typically think of slavery they think of black Africans. Ever heard of slavery and thought of a bunch of poor famished Irishmen? I suppose racism is engraved in us in that way. Imagine though, you are put on a boat not knowing where you're going and then you and the famished guy next to you end up working cotton fields in between beatings for the rest of your life. Although the separation of Ireland with Northern Ireland was meant to bring peace between the Brits and the Irish, it caused conflict within Irish traditions, tearing apart families to the point of them killing one another over disagreeing about right and wrong. Politics. Religion as well. Rory told us about how most Irish are against Israel in the conflict between Israel and Palestine. Not because of politics, he assured us, but because of murder and immorality - because Irish see themselves and their history in the anguish and suffering of others. In my own opinion Israel is comitting a genocide - after having slimly escaped their own in history it makes it ironically sad to me. I suppose history shows us that every powerful nation at least attempts genocide before peace. Gaza Strip is the most densely populated region in the world. Drop a bomb anywhere and its the end for many, whoever the many may be. Oppression is very powerful - I'm sure it has something to do with Israel's desperation to get rid of Hamas no matter the consequences of their inhumanity towards the civilians. I'm sure it has something to do with why Ireland has such a drinking culture. Everyone's gotta cope. Even now, the Irish feel strongly about their culture and what history has to do with modern Ireland.

For instance, Gaelic is a dying language with less than 15% of Irish speaking it. The correct way to say the Irish language is "Gail-gah" not Gaelic. Gail-gah or Irish. Essentially its because of the British banning of Irish culture during their rule that the language is dying. Irish who can speak Irish are the super Irish Irish. :-) Back then community meetings weren't allowed, which forced Catholic mass to operate underground for fear of punishment. It sounded communist almost, or an effort to genocide. Well, it was an effort to genocide. Funny how the world forgives and forgets the mistakes the most powerful nations have made - Britain, America, Germany, Norway, France, Spain, Russia, China, etc. The Vietnamese and Koreans have forgiven us and are kind people to us... But take the money from Europeans and start hostile takeovers of downtroden Middle Eastern countries during an oppressed time and that sort of shit puts you on most of the worlds' shit list. Places that are safe for Europeans to travel, like Cairo, or Saudi Arabia, are not safe for Americans according to the US 

State Department. Anyone here will tell you, its a lot more dangerous to travel as an American than someone else. Thats why its so important that I am passionate about understanding a people/culture. It sets me apart from the typical traveling American who ignorantly goes on a vacation just to drink and dance and eat away from home - plowing through anyone and everything, not asking questions, having the mentality of "who cares I'll never see them again." Well, you may never see them again, but you just helped solidify their opinion of Americans.

Rory passionately spoke as an Irish purist to us, and (clearly) it ignited my passions. Aside from his degree in history, it was apparent that he chose to lead free walking tours as a job so that he could share his passion and the "real" history of Ireland. The grit of it - the humanity.

Much like New York City, Boston, Paris, Munich, or any other major city you can think of - the real majesty of the country is in suburbia, outside of the city. Also, all of the best major cities have a lake, river, or ocean in/next to it (Paris, Budapest, Athens, Dublin, Boston, Miami, NYC, London, Beijing, Ho Chi Minh - and so on.) So I chose to cut my plans short in Dublin so that I will have one more day and night to experience what I want in the city. Then I willl leave Dublin and spend an overnight in Galway to hike the Cliffs of Moher and walk along the Atlantic Bergen. It will set me back by making my trip to Belfast longer, but I will see more and pay the same.

Rory told us on the tour that in the West are many Irish purists who work hard to preserve the language and culture. Even Irish who study 12 years of Gaelic in primary school are usually not fluent. Not to mention, listing "Irish" as one of your main languages, will not help you get a job anywhere. So the Irish westerners try to keep it up, to keep Gaelic from becoming a dead language. Just like any other culture, Rory said that people in the west tend to respect you more if you at least try to say some things in Gaelic. He taught us some phrases. All I remember is that "Slante" means cheers. I remember it because I heard it a lot at the bars.

I asked Rory if the cliche idea of Irishmen getting together, getting drunk, and singing Irish folk music was far from the truth. He told me to give him some beers and he would show me how true it is. Hah!

Foreshadowing of the night to follow - when I was walking to the pub later in the evening I saw a man in front of me peeing on the sidewalk. I have seen this a lot all over Europe. Except for this man wasn't pointing his peewee at the wall, he was aiming for the street and leaning against the wall. I thought, hey! You're doin it wrong! As he zipped his pants a woman walked past paying no mind and he said to her "oh fuck off!" which drew her attention. I liked her response when she said, "me fuck off? You fuck off!" And she kept on walking. I laughed to myself, lifted my skirt to my knees and took a large step over the stream and kept on going. That was my only negative experience of Irish people, even then I enjoyed it for a laugh.

Along the walking tour I became friendly with a lovely Sicilian woman. We talked about couchsurfing, and how she is going to meet her host after the tour. She invited me to a rock concert later in the evening as a couchsurfing event, to meet other hosts and surfers. I went.

An aside; couchsurfing (CS) is a website and community network of low budget travelers connecting and sharing their culture, language, and couch with others who want to do the same. Its a give and take, not immediately and not in any service, but overtime through community and gratitude. I will stay with you, and maybe we will be friends and maybe we wont, but when you have the time to travel and if you so happen to make it to my home town, I will do the same for you.

So now I'm at a pub for live music with these people who all met through the couchsurfing network. One thing I can say for certain, if you go to any Irish pub in the world, close your eyes and tell yourself you're in Ireland, and then open your eyes - believe it or not, you are in Ireland. Every Irish pub is the same, wooden panels, stools, the smell of beer everywhere, lots of beers on taps, samples of beers, green tapestries, and random framed whatevers all over the place with the occasional drinking slogan. Oh, and live music. In the group I met a few Italians, enjoyed speaking Spanish with a girl from outside of Madrid, there was a Nigerian man, and another man from San Diego. The band was American and played classic rock music - so I paid no mind to anyone else and did my hip-shaking foot stomping thing. Soon enough others were joining. It was a two piece sitdown band, like I had never heard before. One strumming all of the rock solos perfectly, and the other banging his head and singing better than any bar band I had ever witnessed. I felt right at home. The singer announced to the bar that he wanted the bartenders to bring him a Guinness. He got himself into a mess of trouble with that, because he was such a good singer that everyone in the bar was buying him Guinness. He had a stool of 4 pints sitting in front of him when he told everyone to fuck off with the Guinness. Literally, "fuck off with the Guinness already. Give me another and I'll fuckin kick you out. I'm serious" He drank two, gave another away to a handicapped man in a wheelchair, and then announced he was drunk. Fair enough, this was his second gig of the night, and first solo gig of the night. I know because we followed him barhopping from the two-piece band to the solo gig because he was amazing, and our group organizer knew him. After he told everyone he was drunk, the crowd roared with excitement. He then sang an Irish drinking song or two in between the Eagles and Thin Lizzy. An Irish song can be created, basically, by getting really drunk and depressed and singing your blues while clapping along. If you can mumble loudly with a drunken drawl, then you can get by during most drinking song choruses - da da die dah die dah die, la la lie, la la lie. Drinking is not my thing, but Irish pubs certainly are.

There is a music festival tonight in Merrion park next to Trinity college. I was invited again by the sweet Sicilian woman. I was also invited to pub crawl with a group of young people who met two years ago studying abroad in Germany. I might do both, one, or none. I would like to hear more local folk music, its fantastic. 

All in all, if it weren't for kind foreigners, or the Irish being generally friendly, fun, and passionate people, I might not have liked Dublin at all. So I'm ready to move on to where I not only love the people, but the environment. I think that will be Galway, and a suburban hike or two outside of Belfast next week.

Slante!