Peninsular Malaysia
Peninsula Malaysia had never really appealed to us. Other countries in Asia had always seemed more different, exotic and fascinating but the ability to travel from Thailand by train, and an overnight train at that, was just too great an opportunity to miss.
The train arrived noisily, only ten minutes late, at the quaint red & white station in Chumphon. It was 11.45pm and we’d had a long day wandering around Ranong on a less than inspiring diy tour, then a cross country bus back to Chumphon where we spent the next few hours just waiting around. We were hot & sweaty, not ideal when there’s no washing facilities, but we were also very tired, so hopefully we’d be able to sleep. We climbed aboard, negotiating our way around the luggage that littered the aisle as quietly as possible as all the other passengers were already asleep, cocooned in their tiny dark curtained bunks. Our hopes of a good night’s rest were dashed – the train was loud & clanky and heaved to an abrupt halt every 15 minutes. Little sleep was achieved.
Thankfully though, we didn’t need to be very alert as the border crossing was a doddle. We hopped off the train & straight into immigration which was actually inside the train station, the Thai & Malaysian passport controls right next door to each other. No long walks & very little queuing. A nice little nap on the train to Butterworth & we were on the ferry to Georgetown, our first stop in Malaysia. And our first encounter with the extremely hot & humid temperatures we’d so far managed to avoid.
We had a very leisurely few days, partly due to the heat & partly as there wasn’t that much to do. We stayed in a great area full of mostly dilapidated old Chinese shop front buildings, battered & faded with lovely bamboo advertising blinds rolled down over the doorways. Above were wooden slattered shutters, some hanging precariously from their hinges beneath disintegrating fancy plasterwork that ran high up below the eaves. Painted house fronts were beautifully symmetrical, a central door with windows either side & lozenge shaped grills for air circulation and all the frames painted in a contrasting colours. This was so much more atmospheric than the gentrified & far more popular streets where the buildings did look fabulous but the terrible tat-infused stalls & hordes of tourists queuing for their Instagram photos really detracted from the architectural loveliness. The joy & interest came from wandering the back streets, moving from the Chinese influenced shop fronts to Little India, loud with music & overflowing with gaudy signs & cluttered shops. A few steps further to the remnants of the colonial past now very faded & mostly hidden behind hoardings & roadworks, all except the pristine white facades of the very grand City & Town Halls facing onto the green open space of the Padang.
The old jetties had the same stark contrast. Lee Jetty, quiet & peaceful, lined with private houses built on stilts, where bikes were propped out front and incense smoke swirled around the doors and where we were the only people treading the narrow boards that led out over the water. Next door, on Chew Jetty, it was a tourist trap, densely packed tacky shops & throngs of bored looking Chinese tourists disgorged from their tour bus.
We enjoyed the architecture away from the busy streets, the Chinese temples gearing up for the New Year celebrations with 8m tall pink incense sticks decorated with colourful dragons, the fabulous traditional cake shop where we sampled durian pastries – very like mango but distinctly smelly. We had some fabulous local Malay food and some exceedingly good cream cheese tarts from the Kai Lai Chinese bakery round the corner from our hotel – the chocolate and tiramisu our favourites, though the pistachio and lemon ones were also divine. We’d have worked our way through every option if we’d stayed a few more days…….
A very early start saw us on the bus to the Cameron Highlands. A big bus that felt far too large for the narrow winding road that led uphill via switchback bends through the lush tree covered slopes. It felt just a little bit uncontrolled. Tanah Rata, the main town in the Cameron Highlands, was a very odd place. Very little of the British 1920’s colonial town remains but there appearrs to be a general desire to retain a feeling of Britishness with a plethora of cafes selling scone cream teas and the most bizarre mix of scruffy white buildings all adorned with mock-Tudor beams, a look that just doesn’t work on a Soviet-style tower block. The weather here also wasn’t playing ball. Torrential rain just after we’d arrived, hammering down on the metal roof of our tower block, resulted in very muddy trekking conditions. Not ideal. We therefore spent a lot of time sampling the scones, so much so that we actually ranked them:
1. The Barracks: 2 scones, plain & wholemeal fruit both good & crumbly, homemade jam but let down by the cream. Unlimited tea. Garden setting.
2. Michael & Sue cafe: 2 plain scones, good & crumbly, homemade jam but not proper cream. Served on a tiered cake stand with nice floral crockery. Best value.
3. Baku cafe: 1 plain scone, fairly crumbly, good jam, bad cream, no butter.
4. Growing Seed cafe: 1 plain scone, bit solid, average jam, bad cream, no butter.
5. Cameron Tea House no. 2: 2 scones, bit solid, tiny portions of jam & cream neither very good, dreadful butter in a tube. Very expensive.
None were anywhere near as good as the ones I make!
A huge draw here are the tea plantations and these were a wonderful sight in the early morning light as the mist still hung over the gentle rolling green hills but not so appealing and atmospheric an hour or so later when they were full of loud local tourists posturing for inane photos. My idea of sampling the tea in a beautiful setting was obliterated by the huge, noisy canteen where the most popular tea served was the 3-in-1 packet variety (tea, milk & sugar) followed by fruit, floral or a weird coffee/tea combo. Traditional English Breakfast it wasn’t.
After being disappointed with the tea, the morning improved with our walk through the Mossy Forest*. Bouncy peat underfoot and a tangle of old, knarled branches to climb over & under, moss clinging to trunks and covering branches, where the golden light filtered through to cast wonderful warm patches of sun onto the ethereal mossy filaments. It was beautiful. Unfortunately this gorgeousness was ruined when we reached the top of the hill where the expansive views showed the reality of what is happening to such attractive countryside – forests being cut down to widen the road for the influx of tourists or to be replaced with unsightly polytunnels for (not very tasty) strawberry fields.
* We walked through a small area of mossy forest, the much larger area currently off limits while trees are cut down to form boardwalks so visitors don’t need to worry about muddy shoes or hanging branches when they come for the Instagram shot of ‘nature’. The irony of how the local tourists like to enjoy the natural world.
Given the rain and the trecherous muddy conditions, I decided against going trekking in favour of sampling more scones, leaving Simon to enjoy slipping around on his own:
Definitely a case of ‘be careful what you wish for’… I’d been enticed by the lure of the jungle walks around the Cameron Highlands with routes that sounded both challenging and scenic alike. It was a major reason we’d decided to stay for 4 days there. Hiking through moss-laden forests, up near vertical paths strewn with intertwining tree routes, with tough rope and ladder sections and ending in bucolic tea plantations with the promise of recovery via a lovely fresh brew. It sounded too good to be true, and, indeed, it was. The terrible weather put paid to any chance of Helen and I walking together, so I chose a route with a little more challenge, got up early and decided to ignore the advice about not walking unless it was dry. Within minutes of the trailhead I was hauling myself up a slope to reach a ladder, slipping and sliding on both the hill and the rungs and struggling to stay on my feet. Near vertical slopes came next, with more ropes and slipping around. Dense roots too, but treacherous and potential ankle breakers. I was almost at the top before I took my first tumble, a slip that landed me on my arse, my left hand skewered on a thorny branch in the undergrowth and a shooting pain in my left shoulder that almost made me faint. I took 10 minutes and started again, getting to the top of a hill to view some lovely distant hills and trying to ignore the behemothic presence of many, many electricity pylons and the distinctly unlovely view of Tanah Rata in the middle distance. That, as it turned out, was the easy bit. The descent down to the Cameron Tea plantation was like downhill skating on ice. I fell down 3 more times, each occasion jarring my shoulder in ever more painful ways. I took 6 ibuprofen tablets at once in an effort to dull the agony. At least the plantation was lovely. Until you reached the tea houses that is. Both were rammed solid with Chinese New Year holiday makers. Having queued for a half-hour, I managed to get a seat in one, armed with a pot of earl grey from India and two baked items that feigned a passing resemblance to fruit scones, then trudged back. Sprain or strain, or trapped nerves – I know not, but as I write this the bloody shoulder is killing me….
We left the Highlands behind but took the wet weather with us and arrived in Ipoh to a thunderstorm and everywhere closed for the Chinese New Year celebrations. Luckily though, Malaysia being so multi-cultural we did manage to find a fabulous speakeasy in an old Chinese building for a beer and an odd assortment of dumplings, noodles & wantons for dinner.
Ipoh is a bit of a secret. A town that in the past has attracted tin miners, Chinese merchants and the British, its still a mixing pot of cultures and cuisines and with it’s history, the eclectic architecture and the appeal of few Western tourists, it was our favourite place in Malaysia. Ipoh old town is full of old Chinese shop fronts and colonial piles, but unlike Georgetown, Ipoh is not UNESCO listed and so the wonderful old buildings still retain their air of faded glory and are so much more atmospheric for it. Granted there are quite a few small trees growing out of many walls & roofs and the colourful street art is slightly battered around the edges but this just adds to the charm. Charm that is enhanced by the multitudes of scarlet red Chinese lanterns strung across the streets, bright against the muted colours of the buildings. We had a great time wandering the narrow lanes, taking a tour of an old miner’s clubhouse where gambling and opium used to be the order of the day, savouring some excellent brunch cafes and managing to see a few of the many Lion Dances being held to celebrate the new year of the horse.
Lion dances are a significant element of Chinese culture traditionally performed at New Year festivals to bring good luck and fortune. The ones we saw were put on by individual businesses and filled the street outside their premises with their colourful antics while cars attempted to weave their way around the chaos. They were frenetically energetic, fun & extremely loud. Drums beat continually, gongs & cymbals crashed and the two yellow and red furry lions danced to the music, climbing up walls & gifting offerings from their mouths (tangerines are popular). The dances finish with firecrackers going off with wild abandon making a deafening racket and scattering fuschia pink streamers in every direction – it looks good but soon turns to a sludgey mush in the rain, of which there was lots. They were absolutely fabulous. And unlike our New Year celebrations, they continued for weeks with firecrackers exploding randomly at all hours of the day and night. We even got to set off our own firecrackers, courtesy of our gueshouse owner. Simon lit the touchpaper at arms length but still didn’t manage to get away fast enough before pink streamers (and their hard casings) started firing off, pelting his retreating behind with a peppering of sharp stings. Much to my amusement!
On the outskirts of both Ipoh and Kuala Lumpur there are limestone outcrops within which nestle a series of temple caves. In Ipoh these are Buddhist and the two we visited were enormously entertaining, a mixture of religious temple and kids playground. Ling Sen Tong temple has golden Buddha statues with a beautiful backdrop of rugged grey limestone & deep green forested slopes alongside brightly coloured statues with love-heart benches and numerous lime green cows with unicorn horns. Next door, Nam Thean Tong is much larger and did seem to err more to the religious. Illuminated caves ran deep into the cliff, lined on all sides with statues with incense smoke curling around them. Large landscape murals were painted on the walls cunningly using natural water-prone fissures as waterfalls. Here the cows are a deeper shade of green (they bear a very striking resemblance to Yoda!) and stand alongside multicoloured lions with flashing blue eyes.
The Batu caves in Kuala Lumpur are a major Hindu site and far larger than the caves in Ipoh. Guarding the 272 colourful steps that lead up to the cave entrance stands an enomous gold statue of Lord Murugan, the Hindu god of war. The climb to the top is hot & sweaty and you run the gauntlet of the troop of macaques intent on stealing food from the unsuspecting hordes. We witnessed one cheeky male hanging onto a woman’s backpack whilst he tore open the attached plastic bag holding bananas while she desperately tried to shoo him away – he succeeded in grabbing several before he lost his grip. At the top a huge cavern opened before us smelling pungently of the chlorine being used to clean the floor. Disco lights decorating the small temple spun and flashed, while the crows of the resident cockerels echoed around the space and chickens slid across the chlorine sudded floor. Not your traditional Hindu temple. And whilst we thought this was quite bizarre we decided against visiting the Snow House where we could view Vishnu in a 7m snow drift alongside a gathering of snowmen or the Ramanyana Cave where a reclining gold statue of Kumbhakarna looking like a mustachiod 70s porn star resided. An interesting outing.
Kuala Lumpur feels like one huge shopping mall, one that you wander around for hours desperately trying to find the exit. It would be quite possible to spend your whole time here indoors with covered walkways linking the different malls, protection against the oppresive humid heat and the frequent heavy downpours. Yet there is also a lot of green spaces and close knit local neighbourhoods sitting side by side with towering shiny skyscrapers – it isn’t all stark and modern.
We weren’t initially overly impressed with the Petronas towers. From the KLCC park they didn’t seem that big, maybe it was the number of other high rise buildings around, but they just didn’t dominate the skyline as we expected. But from our evening vantage point of a roof top bar their size became apparant gleaming brightly against the dark, brooding sky. Still not a view that really won us over though. We much preferred the narrow lanes of Chinatown covered in vibrant murals, where local street food stalls sat alongside cool cafes and unremarkable doors led up to hidden bars. We had a few beers in a dimly lit death-themed bar called ‘The Deceased’, followed by a delicious meal that reminded us of the fabulous food at Mangwoo in South Korea and some unusual ‘drip-fed’ wines, a sort of cross between wine and a cocktail. Mine was called Gheko. It was a subtle pale pink, like rose wine, and contained both gin & pineapple though it tasted of neither, hence the reason I liked it. It was a lovely way to end our time in Asia.
We’d cut back on the time we’d originally planned to spend in Malaysia, adding extra onto Thailand (primarily for our ‘holiday’ on Koh Phayam) and it was definitely the right decision. Whilst we’ve enjoyed some aspects & had the chance to get a lot of useful stuff done (haircut for me, dentist, innoculations for the South Seas & getting the camera lens fixed) it hasn’t been the most exciting or interesting part of our trip. To us, Malaysia is a sanitised version of South East Asia and the contrast moving on to Australia won’t now be quite so great.
After 11 months in Asia it feels very strange to leave. Three months in Oceania await before we return.
Helen (28th February 2026)
What an end to Asia sprained shoulder, all the scones cheeky monkeys, fire cracker burns.drinking with the dead. What memories you will have.
Lots to explore in Australia. Just take care no more injuries. XX