Distance: 78.86 km
Max Speed: 30.6 km/h
Average while moving: 18.3 km/h
Liverpool 1, Arsenal 1. Not the best result for Gan and Ray, Liverpool supporters that they are, nor for me, Manchester United supporter that I am. Of equal significance is the fact that as the game started at midnight, Gan could not make the 7am start we had originally planned for him to drive me back near where he'd picked me up on Friday.
To be honest I didn't mind. I was beginning to appreciate the comfort of home, driving (or being driven!) to places I needed to get to. Food and drink at your fingertips.
At the back of my mind, however, I was itching to get back on the bike. It had become second nature to me, to be pedalling about and to be so in touch and in contact with my surroundings. Additionally, I was beginning to tire of the urban surroundings.
There is something about being in the kampungs, a sense of some accomplishment, not function. It seems to me perhaps that in an urban environment, despite the very obvious examples of Man's attempt to subjugate his surroundings, it seems that with every attempt, we are merely distancing ourselves more and more from our humanity.
By injecting artificiality into the environment, we reduce our roles to functions. We are no longer 'Who' but 'What'. When you meet someone new in an urban setting, almost invariably the first question is 'So, what do you do?'.
In the kampungs, partly due to my appearance of course, the first question I'm asked is 'Where are you from?' Whether a question of history or birthplace, the emphasis here is on 'You'. I will explore this a little more in a separate post.
At 8:30 when Gan came around, I was a little sad to say 'Goodbye' to my mother and sister, but in a way, quite happy to be travelling again. I'd become used to the movement, the exertion, the sights, sounds and smells and I was eager to get back to that again.
We drove in to Pulau Carey, the island being linked to the mainland by a short bridge over the river. As we'd both never been before, we decided to drive all the way in, a distance of about 20 kms. The road ended at a short beach. Our map, and subsequent conversations with locals indicated that a connection would eventually be made to Pulau Indah nearby.
We backtracked until we saw a sign that pointed to an Orang Asli village and we went down that road until it came to a dead end at a little school and a small stall. Across from the stall, and next to the tarred road that we came in on, was a small football field. The lines were well marked out, and Gan and I noticed that one corner of the field was encroached on by the curving road. The corner was indeed on the tarred surface and I pity any player attempting a sliding tackle right at the corner! We unloaded the bike, Gan went off and I sat down at the stall for a cup of tea.
The stall was owned by a Malay lady who was busy setting up. Three of her kids were hanging around, a little girl of about 8 or 9, a boy of 4 and a younger boy of about 2. Another boy, an Orang Asli boy was sitting around waiting for his order of a couple of roti chanai to be cooked.
I chatted with the stallowner as she set up her hotplate and prepared the boy's order. Her littlest fella was busy playing with a black plastic device which I finally realised was the controller for an Xbox. It took me a few more seconds to notice the little TV set I had taken to be a standalone thing was actually connected to a set of mid-sized speakers and an Xbox!
As we chatted, the Malay lady said the kids around liked to play with it in the evenings. The Xbox and various other electronic devices were often purchased from Cash Converters in Klang nearby, and if they were broken there were even people in the area who could fix them. To say I was surprised in an understatement. Then again, presumption is a terribly condescending thing...
She got increasingly chatty and we talked for over half an hour. The school next door had over a hundred kids, including another of her daughters. They had teachers from the towns nearby as well as from out of state. The Orang Asli in the area were mainly fisherman and although we had driven in some way, the sea was actually not that far off.
She did say that things had changed a little since the area became oil palm estates. There were now two large mills on the island (we'd seen the signs) and many foreign workers. In fact, some of the locals did not feel as safe as they did before the influx of these workers.
I eventually got up to go and asked how much the tea was. She initially refused to accept money - I guess she doesn't get too many people coming and chatting and taking pictures of her and her kids! She finally accepted 60 sen, I got on the bike, they all waved goodbye and I was off.
Through the kampung I went, followed by a smiling and very curious boy on his bicycle. He followed me all the way out to the main road and I could still see him in my rear mirror for a minute or two.
I'd ridden some distance when the rain started coming down. Earlier, Gan and I had remarked how straight, flat and shelterless the road was and it seemed we'd tempted fate. The rain fell in buckets and when I spied a couple of buildings by the road, I quickly pulled in. These were two little stalls. The one on the right sold some groceries and petrol, dispensed by hand crank from two 44-gallon drums.
The stall on the right was a tea stall and in the shelter was a Malay man and a younger Indian man who had been on his motorbike and was now also taking shelter from the rain. The Malay man, busy wiping tables and the counter, smiled as I came out of the rain, saying by way of greeting 'It's raining'. I replied 'Oh yes, very heavy indeed', smiled at him and sat down.
As has always been the case in small towns and villages, we eased unhesitatingly into a casual conversation. After a minute I realised the Malay man's wife was inside, tending to the stall. She emerged with a cup of Teh-O for him and he asked if I'd like a drink to which I replied a Teh-O would be nice. He then passed the cup straight to me, waving away my protest that I could easily wait awhile.
The conversation got around to the people and economy of Pulau Carey. Palm Oil arrived quite a few years ago and was now the main activity. Golden Hope (soon to be merged with Sime Darby and Guthrie) owned the plantations around the island and had two big factories as well.
The Orang Asli still did a lot of fishing and both my new friends were adamant the fish in the waters around here were among the best anywhere. We talked about fish for awhile, but although my father loved fishing, I can just about tell a guppy from a shark and that's about it for my Marine Biology. Or should that be Zoology?
As we talked, I noticed the comfort and ease with which the two related to each other. I also noticed that when they spoke of the Orang Asli, they spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. No trace at all of any denigration. In fact, in my encounters in the kampungs and small towns, I have yet to pick up any trace of the condescension or derision we often feel in more urban settings when referring to other races.
We must have sat there for about an hour, even after the rain has eased. During this time, the lady came out with a plate of thinly sliced goreng pisang which her husband offered to me, then joined in our conversation too. One or two locals came around to buy petrol, and a number of cars and trucks passed along the main road, but we were otherwise fairly undisturbed.
At last I felt I had to take my leave. The young Indian man had mentioned nearby Pulau Indah and how it was all done up and I should go there for the night instead of Klang. He assured me there were chalets.
The Malay man wouldn't accept any money for the Teh-O and goreng pisang and would not budge. I wonder how the people on Pulau Carey actually make a living, such is their generosity!
I found the turn off for Pulau Indah with no trouble. It was the same road in as the road to a couple of the ports and as I soon discovered, was narrow, and thick with trailers... An almost unending stream of large trucks whizzed past usually mere feet from me and it was a frantic ride in. The Indian chap had given me the impression it wasn't far in, but after I'd travelled 10 km, I began to have second thoughts. The road was dirty and bumpy and the spray that my own bike and the passing vehicles was throwing up was caking my shoes, socks and bike in a layer of black and grey sand and oil. I would later find a lot of tar mixed in as well, and when I reached Klang that night, I simply threw away my pair of socks. It would have been impossible to wash it clean.
I began to tire, such was the effort of riding on such a narrow, heavily trafficked road. I figured, however, that as I'd come this far, I might just as well go all the way in so on I went...
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Max Speed: 30.6 km/h
Average while moving: 18.3 km/h
Liverpool 1, Arsenal 1. Not the best result for Gan and Ray, Liverpool supporters that they are, nor for me, Manchester United supporter that I am. Of equal significance is the fact that as the game started at midnight, Gan could not make the 7am start we had originally planned for him to drive me back near where he'd picked me up on Friday.
To be honest I didn't mind. I was beginning to appreciate the comfort of home, driving (or being driven!) to places I needed to get to. Food and drink at your fingertips.
At the back of my mind, however, I was itching to get back on the bike. It had become second nature to me, to be pedalling about and to be so in touch and in contact with my surroundings. Additionally, I was beginning to tire of the urban surroundings.
There is something about being in the kampungs, a sense of some accomplishment, not function. It seems to me perhaps that in an urban environment, despite the very obvious examples of Man's attempt to subjugate his surroundings, it seems that with every attempt, we are merely distancing ourselves more and more from our humanity.
By injecting artificiality into the environment, we reduce our roles to functions. We are no longer 'Who' but 'What'. When you meet someone new in an urban setting, almost invariably the first question is 'So, what do you do?'.
In the kampungs, partly due to my appearance of course, the first question I'm asked is 'Where are you from?' Whether a question of history or birthplace, the emphasis here is on 'You'. I will explore this a little more in a separate post.
At 8:30 when Gan came around, I was a little sad to say 'Goodbye' to my mother and sister, but in a way, quite happy to be travelling again. I'd become used to the movement, the exertion, the sights, sounds and smells and I was eager to get back to that again.
We drove in to Pulau Carey, the island being linked to the mainland by a short bridge over the river. As we'd both never been before, we decided to drive all the way in, a distance of about 20 kms. The road ended at a short beach. Our map, and subsequent conversations with locals indicated that a connection would eventually be made to Pulau Indah nearby.
We backtracked until we saw a sign that pointed to an Orang Asli village and we went down that road until it came to a dead end at a little school and a small stall. Across from the stall, and next to the tarred road that we came in on, was a small football field. The lines were well marked out, and Gan and I noticed that one corner of the field was encroached on by the curving road. The corner was indeed on the tarred surface and I pity any player attempting a sliding tackle right at the corner! We unloaded the bike, Gan went off and I sat down at the stall for a cup of tea.
The stall was owned by a Malay lady who was busy setting up. Three of her kids were hanging around, a little girl of about 8 or 9, a boy of 4 and a younger boy of about 2. Another boy, an Orang Asli boy was sitting around waiting for his order of a couple of roti chanai to be cooked.
I chatted with the stallowner as she set up her hotplate and prepared the boy's order. Her littlest fella was busy playing with a black plastic device which I finally realised was the controller for an Xbox. It took me a few more seconds to notice the little TV set I had taken to be a standalone thing was actually connected to a set of mid-sized speakers and an Xbox!
As we chatted, the Malay lady said the kids around liked to play with it in the evenings. The Xbox and various other electronic devices were often purchased from Cash Converters in Klang nearby, and if they were broken there were even people in the area who could fix them. To say I was surprised in an understatement. Then again, presumption is a terribly condescending thing...
She got increasingly chatty and we talked for over half an hour. The school next door had over a hundred kids, including another of her daughters. They had teachers from the towns nearby as well as from out of state. The Orang Asli in the area were mainly fisherman and although we had driven in some way, the sea was actually not that far off.
She did say that things had changed a little since the area became oil palm estates. There were now two large mills on the island (we'd seen the signs) and many foreign workers. In fact, some of the locals did not feel as safe as they did before the influx of these workers.
I eventually got up to go and asked how much the tea was. She initially refused to accept money - I guess she doesn't get too many people coming and chatting and taking pictures of her and her kids! She finally accepted 60 sen, I got on the bike, they all waved goodbye and I was off.
Through the kampung I went, followed by a smiling and very curious boy on his bicycle. He followed me all the way out to the main road and I could still see him in my rear mirror for a minute or two.
I'd ridden some distance when the rain started coming down. Earlier, Gan and I had remarked how straight, flat and shelterless the road was and it seemed we'd tempted fate. The rain fell in buckets and when I spied a couple of buildings by the road, I quickly pulled in. These were two little stalls. The one on the right sold some groceries and petrol, dispensed by hand crank from two 44-gallon drums.
The stall on the right was a tea stall and in the shelter was a Malay man and a younger Indian man who had been on his motorbike and was now also taking shelter from the rain. The Malay man, busy wiping tables and the counter, smiled as I came out of the rain, saying by way of greeting 'It's raining'. I replied 'Oh yes, very heavy indeed', smiled at him and sat down.
As has always been the case in small towns and villages, we eased unhesitatingly into a casual conversation. After a minute I realised the Malay man's wife was inside, tending to the stall. She emerged with a cup of Teh-O for him and he asked if I'd like a drink to which I replied a Teh-O would be nice. He then passed the cup straight to me, waving away my protest that I could easily wait awhile.
The conversation got around to the people and economy of Pulau Carey. Palm Oil arrived quite a few years ago and was now the main activity. Golden Hope (soon to be merged with Sime Darby and Guthrie) owned the plantations around the island and had two big factories as well.
The Orang Asli still did a lot of fishing and both my new friends were adamant the fish in the waters around here were among the best anywhere. We talked about fish for awhile, but although my father loved fishing, I can just about tell a guppy from a shark and that's about it for my Marine Biology. Or should that be Zoology?
As we talked, I noticed the comfort and ease with which the two related to each other. I also noticed that when they spoke of the Orang Asli, they spoke in a matter-of-fact manner. No trace at all of any denigration. In fact, in my encounters in the kampungs and small towns, I have yet to pick up any trace of the condescension or derision we often feel in more urban settings when referring to other races.
We must have sat there for about an hour, even after the rain has eased. During this time, the lady came out with a plate of thinly sliced goreng pisang which her husband offered to me, then joined in our conversation too. One or two locals came around to buy petrol, and a number of cars and trucks passed along the main road, but we were otherwise fairly undisturbed.
At last I felt I had to take my leave. The young Indian man had mentioned nearby Pulau Indah and how it was all done up and I should go there for the night instead of Klang. He assured me there were chalets.
The Malay man wouldn't accept any money for the Teh-O and goreng pisang and would not budge. I wonder how the people on Pulau Carey actually make a living, such is their generosity!
I found the turn off for Pulau Indah with no trouble. It was the same road in as the road to a couple of the ports and as I soon discovered, was narrow, and thick with trailers... An almost unending stream of large trucks whizzed past usually mere feet from me and it was a frantic ride in. The Indian chap had given me the impression it wasn't far in, but after I'd travelled 10 km, I began to have second thoughts. The road was dirty and bumpy and the spray that my own bike and the passing vehicles was throwing up was caking my shoes, socks and bike in a layer of black and grey sand and oil. I would later find a lot of tar mixed in as well, and when I reached Klang that night, I simply threw away my pair of socks. It would have been impossible to wash it clean.
I began to tire, such was the effort of riding on such a narrow, heavily trafficked road. I figured, however, that as I'd come this far, I might just as well go all the way in so on I went...
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