At some point, my GPS dropped out (dead) and due to the massive amount of water falling from the sky, I could not consult a map without destroying the map or being unable to read it. I had made some snapshots from Google Maps on my laptop, but for similar reasons, I could not just pull out the laptop to check my route. I decided that as long as I continued north, I should find the Woodlands checkpoint and all would be good.
For a while, I followed a route specified as headed to Tuas and Woodlands, but then Woodlands seemed to drop off the signs (I must have missed a turn-off) and I assumed, incorrectly, that there would be another sign to Woodlands. Getting lost twice, I decided that I could either head back to Singapore City and try to pick up the trail from there to Woodlands, stay another night in Singapore (even though I had told Singapore officials I would be departing on the 14th), or continue to the Tuas checkpoint.
There were pros and cons for both the checkpoints, so I decided to take what was on offer, and headed for Tuas. At first, I went to the dangerous good declaration lane, as I had been told to do, but they waved me away after quizzing me on what I had in my backpack and panniers (clothes aren't dangerous, nor is a fully fuelled motorcycle from Australia).
On entering the motorcycle entrance to Tuas, I noticed a flock of motorcycles and no lane markings until you hit the boom gates. My bike, larger than anyone else's, demanded respect, especially after two locals nudged the panniers and almost fell off. I felt the nudge, but had much more mass on my side (for the first time in my life). Between the boom gates was a massive concrete rampart that I had concerns I would get through. With just enough space between the two panniers on either side and grazing the top of the concrete rampart, I managed to stamp my passport for deportation from Singapore. Although at the time, I thought this would be the hard part, I failed in my assessment.
Without any customs points after, I pulled over to find someone to finalise my carnet for the motorcycle. No one knew what I was talking about, but finally, I found someone who did. Although she kept muttering that there was a mistake on the carnet to her colleagues, she told me it was all fine and there were no issues. It took some time to stamp it as required and complete the sheets and she said she would call across to the Malaysian customs so they were ready to meet me. Finally, I was free to head across the bridge to Malaysia.
The bridge itself was glorious, especially as the rain blurred the distance. Behind me the sleek, grey of Singapore receded as the dark green of Malaysia approached. In between, the dark Singapore Strait seemed cold and foreboding, and once closer to the Malaysia side, I could see floating platforms that were mining or dredging, or something completely different. The checkpoint for Malaysia had more horizontal space for motorcycles, but less vertical space and I scraped (gently) the bike on two massive concrete speed bumps as I entered.
My passport stamped for my stay, I proceeded to the Customs checkpoint and again moved into the dangerous goods lane. This time, a military man stopped me and, very gruffly, told me I had come the wrong way and to go back to the motorcycle lanes. I explained my reasons for being there, but he told me I didn't understand instructions and directed me again to the motorcycle lanes. Not planning on arguing with the Malaysian military, I did as instructed and I found no customs officers to greet me.
Before I proceeded too far, I turned myself around and parked outside the customs building to find someone who could help. Knocking on the front door, and realising the time had passed 1800, the man who came to see me didn't say a word to me, but waved me around the other side of the building. On a full circuit, I found the entrance I had originally gone to was the main entrance. I did find three guys sitting at a table out the back smoking kretek and playing cards, who approached me as soon as they saw me. I explained the situation and showed them my documentation.
The only guy who spoke any English said I did not need any of that in Malaysia and the carnet would not be stamped. Some countries do not recognise the carnet, and although my previous research had suggested Malaysia would be a country that did, I thought I must have been mistaken. I asked if there was someone in charge I could talk to and the guy told me he was in charge - that there was no one else to talk to. Without any ability to voice a contrary opinion, he waved me through. I even asked about insurance, but he just shrugged.
I continued on my way and had to stop at a checkpoint to pay a toll for entry. Not noticing the motorcycle lane (which seems to always be on the left of Malaysian tollways), I ended up in the car and truck lane where a pleasant young lady who spoke no English directed me back up a one way freeway to get to the motorcycle lane about 800 metres away. As darkness descended, I turned the bike around and drove up into oncoming trucks and cars, who were just as worried as I was about me heading for them. I tried to cut across the heavy traffic to get to the motorcycle lane and managed to do it with no casualties other than my wits.
Once in the motorcycle lane, the nice lady directed me to a far lane and asked me to produce my touch-and-go card, which I did not have. She made it clear I needed one and could not pass. I asked her if I could purchase one there, and although she initially shook her head, in consultation with another lady manning the boom gate, they agreed I could purchase one. The price, in Ringgit, seemed like it had just been negotiated with the boom gate operator and then I realised I had no Ringgit anyway. I asked if I could pay in US dollars - more discussion resulted in an agreement for USD$34 for the card. With little option to check, I felt I was being ripped off, but I could not argue nor check, nor was I in any position to negotiate. I sucked it up, touched my new card against the pad and the boom gate rose, allowing me into Malaysia.
I decided I should try to get some local currency and fuel immediately, so stopped at the first depot I could find. They did not change money, but directed me to someone who could. Using the last of my US$ in cash, I got a handful of ringgit (Malaysian dollars) and then purchased fuel. A bottle of water for the guy in front of me was MYR$1 but MYR$4 for me. Again, I sucked it up (literally and metaphorically) - I just wanted to be on my way to my accommodation already booked in Mersing and I had some trip ahead of me since I had crossed the border onto the West coast and headed for the East coast, through Johor Bahru which would have been my first city in Malaysia if I had crossed at Woodlands.
Taking a toilet break, I noticed the massive amounts of chewing gum stuck to everything. I realised I had taken the lack of chewing gum in Singapore and the smoking laws (even though they were often ignored) for granted. Here, everyone smokes (sometimes inside helmets while riding motorcycles and scooters) and there are racks and racks of different chewing gums available over the counter. By this time, about 2000, I knew I would need to call my accommodation again to let them know of my late check in time, but found my phone would not work (as expected), however no one sold a new SIM card. The hotel had said they would be open until 11pm for check in, and my trip should take about 2.5 hours. I should have realised that since things were going so smoothly getting across the border, they would go just as smoothly to get to Mersing.
Rain still pelting down, I stopped at a 7-Eleven in Johor Bahru to get a SIM and directions. They did not sell any maps, my GPS was still unresponsive, and the guy at the counter could not explain to me how the SIMs worked, so I held off. In retrospect, I should have just bought one and called my hotel to let them know I would be late. The guy offered to sell me his SIM (apparently, he had two) but I refrained from that idea. There was no telling what trouble I could get myself into for that. I cowered, drenched, under an overhang at the 7-Eleven and risked destroying my laptop to check my snapshots of Google Maps. I committed the sequence of towns along my route into memory, identified the route number, and got the chap in the 7-Eleven to point in the general direction of Kota Tinggi.
Following route 3 toward Kota Tinggi and Mersing, I proceeded in the dark through pelting and stinging rain for 3 hours. There was little lighting on the roads and when there was it was insufficient to be useful. There is a left lane (a shoulder of the road) that many of the smaller motorcycles use. The buses and trucks and many of the larger cars push the motorcycles from their paths, almost physically, and many drivers do not check their blind spot.
There were people and animals walking up and down (and across) the road with no warning until you were on them already. In the rain, I almost hit two cows and a bunch of half a dozen people walking almost in the middle of the road. Additionally, in Australia, it is illegal (if not plain discourteous) to flash someone oncoming with your high beams, but in Malaysia this was normal and when someone did the courteous thing and turned their beams down, this did not carry over to motorcycles. Once they passed the car in front of me, they flashed them on again before I was past them. I ended up staying behind another vehicle so it could show me the road and I could use it to shield me from the oncoming high beams, which were completely dazzling in the heavy rain (all I could see were the red lights of the car in front and without a car in front, I had to slam on the brakes and try to find the often non-existent line on the left of the road).
I had already passed several signs warning of potential cattle on the road, which I had seen for myself. It was about this point in time that there were two signs warning me of potential elephants on the road. I slowed down for a bit, and lost my lead car which carried on ahead at 110 kph. I decided it was safer to be sitting at 80 kph or lower and then had to deal with cars and trucks flying up onto my arse and overtaking me, spraying me with water. Without seeing any elephants (that I noticed, as my view extended only to the edges of the road and about 100 metres ahead in high beam) I decided to get behind an elephant buster and stick to it like glue. If they hit an elephant, the damage to me would be significantly less than if I hit it ... I assumed.
Checking the time, I made it into Mersing at about 2250 and tried to find a place to purchase a SIM card for the phone. My directions were not good to get to the hotel and I was convinced I could not make it in 10 minutes. I couldn't even get a SIM in 10 minutes, but managed to find a U-Mobile SIM for MYR$8. I stepped outside to slot the SIM into my phone, but it failed to work. On entering the 7-Eleven again to see what the problem was, the guy behind the counter THEN chose to tell me that he had to activate it for me and stepped through various instructions he had behind the counter.
Finally, I tried to call the place I had a booking, but at 2315 they failed to answer. I had some directions, but would need to head back the direction I had come and calculations suggested it would take me another half an hour to get there. I was pretty sure they had cancelled my booking and even if I turned up they were not at the office to check me in. I would have to travel half an hour to get there, find out I could not check in, and then at least half an hour back to Mersing to find another accommodation. I asked the guy at the 7-Eleven if he knew anywhere I could stay at that time of night and he directed me to a place his mother worked at, a small hotel just down the road called Sweet Hotel.
As I had not eaten anything all day, I stopped into KFC for something to fill me up that could be identified and although the burger did that, the other thing I had could not be identified. I think it must have been potato wedges coated in egg and cheese sauce. It was tasty, but did not agree with my stomach, although that could just have been the KFC.
Pulling into Sweet Hotel, the lady behind the counter held the door open for me and gave me a good rate on the room. I mopped up after myself as I left puddles of water in the reception, up a flight of stairs and in footprints all the way to my room. She offered to keep an eye on the motorcycle by putting it right in front of the door to the hotel, which I appreciated. This is the first time I used the motorcycle disc brake lock.
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| My room in Mersing (the only photo I took of the town). |
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