Cycling into a Civil War! - Singapore to Burma

Singapore! As the speedboat from Batam docked in Singapore I was immediately greeted by a land of shiny skyscrapers, spotlessly clean streets, and supercars. It was a huge departure from the smog and craziness of Indonesia. Still, that perfection came at a price, which I was made all too aware of even before stepping foot on Singapore soil. The 45-minute crossing from Batam to Singapore cost me the same as my 35-hour crossing from Jakarta to Batam! No luxury hotel for me here, my accommodation, a bunkbed cramped into a tiny room in a little hostel that sat above a restaurant. Space was at such a premium my bike had to be lifted out the window to sit on the hostel's roof! Still, that was a big upgrade from the first place I tried, at which the bloke assured me there was “secure parking”, fantastic I thought, handing over the cash and being shown to my room. “Now where’s this secure parking?” I asked, to which he pointed to the street outside! I’m not a violent person, but If he didn't give me a refund I think I’d have had to punch him in the face!

Singapore

A beautiful Porsche 356

To limit the damage to my wallet, I opted for street food, which was reasonably priced and tasted superb. What was not so groovy, was that of all countries, it was here in Singapore, the most civilised of them all, that the lady serving my grub tried to short-change me! She must have sensed I was fresh off the boat (literally!). The only other country in the world where someone has robbed me is probably the safest of them all, Canada. My speedo was nicked outside a homeless shelter……….where I had slept the previous night. Serves me right for being a cheapskate and not getting a hotel! Since this was the start of what would hopefully be a continuous plane-free cycle all the way to Calais, I thought it would be a good idea to get a view from the starting grid, so headed for the top of the immensely impressive Marina Bay Sands Hotel, 3 huge 55 story towers with a connecting bridge right at the top. The only other thing on my tick list was to visit a classic car showroom. The one I visited had cars stacked above each other 20 cars high like little boxed matchbox toys. I picked from the menu, a classic Porsche of course,  and the car would drop down on a Japanese-style car ramp for me to inspect. Impressive! I’m pretty sure that the bloke working there was no fool and realised I wasn't an underdressed rockstar, though was a good sport and happily showed me around anyway. 

  

Back on the bike, it took me a little over an hour to reach my next country, Malaysia. Exiting Singapore was one of the slickest fuss-free border crossings I’ve ever experienced, there must have been at least 20 drive-in counters for motorcycles alone (and me, the oddball on a bicycle), and within a few seconds my passport had been handed over, examined, stamped and returned and  I was cycling over a bridge crossing the Johor Strait to Malaysia. Reaching the border town of Johor Bahru it was immediately apparent that I was no longer in Singapore. There were the same huge skyscrapers, they just didn't look as precise and polished as in Singapore. I didn't mind a bit though, Singapore was like a Tesla, crisp, clean, efficient, and full of technology, but it just wasn't really me! Malaysia was a little rougher around the edges, a bit like my bicycle. A middle ground between Indonesia and Singapore. People were very pleased to meet you, far more than in Singapore, though didn't invade your comfort zone or chase after you on mopeds. Not great for blog writing, but not a bad place to be cycling I thought. Racing up the flat west coast of the country, I made it to the town of Batu Pahat, 100 miles north of Singapore on my first day. I checked into the Silver Inn hotel in the town centre, a small privately owned hotel of about 10 floors. The owner, a man in his 60s, slim and smoothed faced with a pot belly wearing a white shirt, seemed to be enjoying checking me in as slowly as possible. “Come one mate!” I thought to myself, tapping my foot impatiently, I’m sweaty, starving and I’ve just ridden 100 miles! Then, he tapped my bum……twice!..... called me sweetheart, and led me towards the lift to show me my room. Considering the room consisted of a bed, shower, and TV, it was a pretty protracted way of showing me how to use a bedroom. After flicking through the channels, he selected men's field hockey for me to watch. Noting to do with guys running around in little shorts of course…..and finally left me in peace, though not before shouting, “Call me darling, anything you need, call me darling!!”. The bed, unsurprisingly, was an elaborate mock-up of a medieval king's bed, complete with a mock chandelier hanging from the ceiling.  

Taking a bee line up the flat west coast of Malaysia didn't do justice to this kind and hospitable country. After so many mountainous roads I was in the mood to make good progress, especially since I’d just booked a flight to the UK to spend 2 weeks at home, there were a few things I had to do and people to see back home. One place I was determined to visit though, was the Petronas Towers, the former world’s tallest building in the nation's capital, Kuala Lumper. Arriving in KL, I feared another repeat of the chaotic 40-mile traffic jam I had experienced entering Jakarta. Despite having no choice but riding down 5 lane motorways to reach the city centre, traffic was sparse, the police didn't give a fuck,  and I glided in with ease. “Sold Out” said the sign at the ticket counter to the 452-metre-high skyscrapers viewing platform. “Come tomorrow at this time and try again” reiterated the receptionist to the group of people in front of me, explaining that tickets were pre-booked only and sold out for the week with it being a school holiday, the only option was to keep turning up at a set time and hoping for a cancellation. “Is it just you?” she asked as I reached the front of the queue. “We have a cancellation, just for one person”. Get in! I thought, and up I went, the view was outrageous. 2 enormous 88 storey towers with an elaborate multisided shape and a connecting bridge on the 42nd floor. Formerly the words tallest building from 1996 till 2003, The foundations alone were 120 meters deep!  This oil company was rubbing it in how much profit it was making, it was a good job someone whacked a spire on top of Taipei 101 in 2003 to steal the crown.

Petrona's Towers

Malaysia

....A little different to the polished skyscrapers of Singapore

Colonial Era Fire Station, George Town, Malaysia

Blasting up the coast, the road cut inland and out of nowhere started to zig-zag up the mountains through the Thale Ben National Park. As I’ve seen throughout many of the world's border crossings, a dramatic change of landscape also denotes a new country, and this small mountain range marked the beginning of my next country, Thailand. The Thai border was an easy enough affair, no fear of not being allowed in here. After chatting with a few ex-pats who were making border runs to extend their visas, I pedaled in. Thailand needs no introduction. It's a wonderful country, with insanely beautiful beaches, awesome cuisine, and calm peaceful people, quite remarkable given some of the British idiots getting completely trollied and causing a scene! Other than the Brits, the only other animals that weren’t very peaceful were the dogs, which kept giving chase bringing back nightmares of South America. It's amazing how dogs behave differently in different countries, I guess like their human counterparts, it's how you bring them up! My dog-dealing skills have significantly improved over the years. I’ve tried everything from pepper spray, a dog whistle, and even carrying a stash of dog biscuits I’d launch when a pack gave chase.  This is how I deal with them now:

1. Downhill…..pedal hard and keep going…most dogs will do well to keep up!

2. On the flat….take a wide birth and get ready to unclip your foot to kick out if they give chase….or better still, get off the bike. Most dogs seem mesmerised by the pedaling motion and quickly lose interest when you stop.

3. Uphill….get off and walk, if they still go for you, walk on the other side of the bike using the frame as a  shield….. pick up a stone and raise your arm like you are about to launch it (any dog that's had a rock thrown at them before will soon leave you in peace!)

My first target was the island of Phuket, not because I wanted to shag a ladyboy, but because one of my best friends was on holiday there and I was invited to crash on his balcony. “Are you sure this is ok with your wife, this is your annual holiday and you only have 4 days??”.......... I must have asked a dozen times. Yes no problem Panth, came the reply from my old school friend Dicky, who had been living in Japan for the last 10 years with his extremely laid-back wife, Yukari. And so I did, top floor room perched on a hill watching the world go by, as well as digging into the Buffet breakfast for free. I don’t know many couples as cool as that!

Making time for a dip in the Ocean - Southern Thailand

Me, Karl & Yukari..Coconut Power

Salt Flats - approaching Bangkok

That won't fit!

A Beer at Steves Bar

Could have done with this at the end of each day's ride!

"I want to see the fire engine!!"

Using the pool at a hotel pool in Bangkok whilst waiting on the Burma Visa

Main road out of Bangkok

I need of a new front rack and a bit of TLC

Royal Enfield

P.S Im getting behind with this blog, which can be both a pleasure and a chore to write….so I’m going to fast-forward it a little!........

Pedaling down a huge 7-lane motorway into the in this madness of Bangkok (unable to get the song “one night in Bangkok” out of my head) was another milestone on my journey back to England. It would also be a time for some respite off the bike. I had booked a  little trip back to London to see Daz, my family, and Helen, a family friend (and the daughter of my godparents) who is the strongest, most glass half full optimistic and fun-loving adventurous person you’ll ever meet. Helen is fighting a long battle against cancer, and if anyone can defy the odds and come out on top, it's her. Even with all the shit that's been thrown at her….and there has been an awful lot, she has the same energy and wears the same intoxicating smile. She is about to take her husband and little boy Jack to the top of Mont Blanc. So I wanted to say….. “COME ON HELEN!!!!!! …. Letting you know my thoughts are with you all the time as I cycle and I truly believe you can defy all odds.

Before flying back, I squeezed my bike into a tiny locker at a storage centre in central Bangkok and went to visit a good friend and former colleague from Canterbury fire station, Steve. This is the same Steve I stopped by to see 6 years ago when I first started my pedalling panther blog (this time fortunately I wasn't on crutches with a broken foot!) Steve has done “retirement” exceptionally well. He lives in a beach house in a remote part of Thailand called Laem Sing, not far from the Cambodian border, with his beautiful wife Mem. They have a restaurant on the beach and Steve spends his time producing beautiful artwork, sea swimming, stand-up paddle boarding, performing his own ice baths, and riding his Royal Enfield motorbike along the coast, whats not to like!!? Steve drove me on an 8-hour round trip all the way to Bangkok’s Suvarnabhumi airport at silly o’clock in the morning for my flight home. What a legend. The flight was the cheapest I could find and had a 10-hour layover in Ho Chi Minh City. To most this sounds like a nightmare, to me, it was bloody brilliant.  The airport was bang in the city centre and before I knew it I was flying all over the city crossing over a huge suspension bridge at night on the back of a motorbike taxi. After a brilliant, somewhat dangerous improvised motorbike tour the kind man dropped me off right back at the airport for my flight home. He was over the moon when I gave him a hefty tip. In total, it cost me about a fiver! They should be charging more for flights with long stopovers not less……who doesn't want a free 10-hour city break!?

Back in London, I had the chance to get a bit organised, not one of my strong points in life! I changed over some gear, including swopping my single pole one-man tent, which was unable to stay upright on hard impenetrable pegging ground (by that I mean unable to insert pegs - not the sexual act in which someone penetrates another person’s anus with a strap-on dildo), for my trusty 2 pole, 2 man Vango Banshee.  It was also a great opportunity to get visas. The new Evisa for India is only valid for airport arrivals, so I decided to head to the Indian Visa Centre on Goswell Road, Farrington to apply for a year-long multi-entry visa, securely glued into my passport. As well as spending time with Daz and the family and a glorious swim at the chilly Brockwell lido,  I decided to make a surprise visit to my colleagues at the Old Kent Road fire Station. Dressed as spotters with binoculars, anoraks, hats, and a notepad, me and my 2 ex-colleagues Batty and Jambam (who had gone even further with a very old London fire brigade undress uniform, complete with flat cap, broken glasses fixed with sellotape and fake crooked teeth) met up at our rendezvous point, the Lord Nelson pub, bang opposite the station. Batty, a genius with his comedy accents, called my manager Lu who was on duty in the station office just metres away, explaining we were spotters who had come all the way from Southampton to see the fire engines, begging to come into the station and not to put the phone down on him! Luis, who was hook, line, and sinker, was professional as always, keeping it together whilst politely telling us to F Off until Matt (also in on the prank) opened the bay doors from inside as we walked across the Old Kent Road towards the station! We had ‘em the whole time, until my gangly walk gave it away, metre's from the bay door. Batty and Jambam had both driven 100-mile round trips for 30 minutes of fun and laughter. Full credit to them, it showed the amazing spirit and friendships of colleagues in the Fire Brigade, for which I shall be eternally grateful!

Before I knew it, a whirlwind 2 weeks had passed and my winter jacket was exchanged for shorts once more as the plane wheels screeched down on the tarmac at Bangkok’s BKK Suvarnabhumi Airport. Itching to get cycling I went straight to the storage centre to grab (and assemble) my bike from the tiny locker and waved bye to the friendly staff (perhaps too friendly!…one text from the lad working there said “If you need anything…..I mean anything! Jusy call me!”) I then headed for the most swanky bike shop in Bangkok, Pro Bike, based on the edge of the lovely Lumphini park. I paid good money and was looking forward to receiving the blue bullet back in top nick. I was in for a disappointment. Amongst other things, such as my fully serviced bike being the only one not to receive a clean (just because it looks like a piece of shit you don’t have to treat it like one!) the brakes were even less effective than when it was handed over (if that's possible!)..... and, moments after leaving the shop, the rear inner tube exploding! I returned to the shop where they agreed to fix it free of charge. Like deja vu….I set off again, deciding to do a city tour as a test ride. Just as I was crossing the huge bridge spanning the cities Chao Phraya River, both front and rear tyres exploded simultaneously! I made my way back to the shop, realising what I should have worked out long before. There was nothing wrong with my wheels, tyres, or anything else. The tubes must be old stock, perished, and unable to expand without splitting.  I returned once more to the “not so Pro shop”, this time with my bike strapped to the back of a tuk-tuk. The friendly but perhaps over-confident sales guy mentioned that he forgot to charge me for some “rim tape” …… “Mate, you didn't fix my brakes, didn't clean my bike, now I’ve had to pay for a tuk tuk all the way across bloody Bangkok because you’ve sold me some dodgy innertubes!”  My correlation with finding cheap, honest, and humble backstreet mechanics around the world and receiving great service vrs paying top dollar to fancy overpriced bike shops for shit work seemed more true than ever! To be fair, I think the mechanics were ok, just overworked….and it was probably the manager's fault the innertubes were a decade old stock.

The better news, was that after a nervous 5-day wait, my visa for Burma had been approved and was ready to collect. I was roaring to go. Burma was the missing link. 5 years ago on my first sabbatical, I had been traveling the other way, heading from Delhi towards Singapore. At that time, the eastern Indian states of Asam and Manipur needed a special pass to enter which I could not obtain, making the border crossing from India to Burma impossible.  I opted to get as close as I could to Burma, the southern coastal town of Cox Bazar in Bangladesh, just 20 miles from Burma (and a humanitarian crisis). An energetic town with the longest beach in the world, where women surfed in burkas. From there, I returned to Dhaka for a Bangladesh Airlines flight over the border into Yangon, Burma, where I continued on the bicycle. This time around, I felt as though luck was on my side. The previously unreachable states in eastern India were now open, and I had traditional bulletproof visas for both Burma and India glued inside my passport. 

There was just one thing that could stop me….. A civil war! It had been no surprise I was the only foreigner at the Burmese embassy a week earlier.  The last time I visited Myanmar, was at its most peaceful. It was then brilliantly run by the democratically elected female Priminster, Aung San Suu. Since that time (despite her party winning a legitimate 2020 general election) a 01 February 2021 military coup occurred, Aung Suu was thrown in jail for 33 years for ridiculous made-up charges (having a contraband walk-talkie and breaking covid rules), and civil war broken out between the military and loyal pro-democracy rebels. The timing wasn't great! Still, despite the Uk government travel advice covering the country in swathes of “no-go” red on its travel advice map, the military government had officially opened the country to tourism……..and I had a visa. What could possibly go wrong!

Heading north on the 500-kilometre stretch towards the Thai Border town of Mae Sot I was full of optimism, despite the 40-degree heat and beating sun, I had a glorious tailwind and renewed energy and excitement, this was my chance to crack the route that evaded me 5 years earlier…though this time I was going all the way home to England. The Thai people (outside of areas frequented by British idiots) were wonderful. Struggling to re-adjust to the Asian time zone, I found myself past out asleep in the mid-day sun outside of a Thai service station. During this brief snooze, 2 people had left me water, another electrolytes, and another woke me concerned for my well-being. What a glorious caring nation. The last 50 miles to Mae sot, on an erry road which terminated at the border, were a reminder that I was about to enter new territory, the terrain changing dramatically from being as flat as a pancake to rugged dry mountains. Other than a few military vehicles, there was little traffic, giving me unwanted solitude for my mind to wander and play tricks……perhaps not in a good way as I pedaled towards a civil war zone!

Finally, the moment had arrived, as I cycled under the signpost directing me to the “friendship bridge” in the early afternoon. I had thought about spending the night in Mae Sot, though on reflection felt it best to get my teeth into Burma straightaway rather than let apprehension build. After a brief chat with the Thai immigration officer, I was told to leave my bike at the border post and go to the office on the Thai side of the bridge to get my passport stamped. “Next time you have to enter by air, last time coming over the border,” said the immigration officer as she stamped an exit stamp in my passport. What on earth are you talking about, I thought to myself. Not to jeopardise my chances, I waited till I had my passport safely back in my hand before I asked. Last time coming back over the bridge, next time you have to fly in, she explained. It clicked, she thought I was an ex-pat doing a border run to extend my visa. “I’m not coming back, I’m going into Burma!” I explained with a smile on my face. “No, No, you can’t!” came the response. Pretending not to understand, I agreed, grabbed my bicycle, and pedaled over the bridge, crossing the river that separated the 2 countries. It was ironic, that a country I had traveled through just 5 years ago without a  care in the world, was instilling more fear by the second, as I crossed the bridge. It was also somewhat concerning that I was the only one crossing that bridge. This was a border crossing previously notorious for having mile-long queues! Scared, but also grinning like a Cheshire chat, knowing I was entering a  place I wasn't supposed to be, taking the danger road!

Emotionally drained - Burma Border

I was officially in Burma. Though things didn't feel quite right. Before I knew where I was, I was surrounded by 7 border guards, all looking extremely surprised to see me. “You can’t come in, its too dangerous” said an officer in impeccable English, clearly the Boss in charge. “No, No…. I have an official visa in my passport, not an e-visa, I can cross this land border with this visa”, I retorted, mind racing, the words coming out effortlessly as if I had sub-consciously prepared for such a scenario. “Yes your right, but you CAN'T come in, it's for your own safety, there has been a gunfight, the road is closed”. Which road, when??? I asked, expecting it to be in a village miles off the main highway. “This road" he said, "2 hours ago” He then pulled out his phone to show me freshly taken photos of a dozen men shot in various places, head, back, chest, some face down, others in hospital beds, some obviously dead. It was a pretty harrowing no-nonsense reply, to say the least, one to which I had no come-back, the game was up. No longer thinking consciously, my mind mixed up in massive disappointment yet high on endorphins, I asked if I could at least walk a few metres into Burma to get a Coke, “I’m thirsty” I added. One officer held my passport, another my bike, to make doubly sure I didn't do a runner, whilst a 3rd accompanied me to a tiny cafe where I sat down to enjoy a Coca-Cola.

Pedaling back over the bridge my head was in turmoil,  I was still exhilarated yet completely gutted. Deep down I knew that my chances of being allowed into Burma were far from certain. I was aware that bad things were going down but chose not to read the news and instead keep a sense of optimism. The reality though, was that  reports of gunfights were intensifying by the week, only 4 days before I tried to cross the BBC reported:

“Some 10,000 Burmese people have fled to Thailand to escape fierce fighting between the military and units of a powerful ethnic armed group………”

This had happened at the very border I had just tried to cross. Conflict at the  Burma / India border was apparently even worse. The rebels (a name that doesn't seem fit for determined shop owners and bakers with makeshift guns, that just wanted democracy and their old lifes back, following an illegal military coup!) were giving the junta a run for their money. In retaliation, the junta was using Russian and Chinese-supplied helicopter gunships and fighter jets to fire upon and drop bombs on ethnic villages. What a shitshow. I was massively disappointment, it could spell the end of the continuous overland line home. Yet, maybe I should be counting my blessings and someone was looking down on me. There had to be a sporting chance I got caught up in the crossfire of a gunfight.

I headed back into Mae Sot to grab a hotel and think things over. The town felt even more erry than when I had first arrived. I noticed a  huge sign to welcome people from Burma into Thailand, that I hadn’t noticed before pedaling in the opposite direction,  as well as huge shops and car showrooms on the wide Highway into town. All of it was built in readiness for the much anticipated economic boom from a  newly democratic and prosperous  Burma. Those shops now sat eerily quiet at a dead-end border town. There was a way around Burma,  though that meant heading in the opposite direction towards Vietnam, and into  China. The problem was that I didn't have a Chinese visa! After being closed for 3 years, the country had finally opened to foreign tourists just 3 weeks ago, the timing was perfect, though visas were “only available from your home country”. Not only that, I was due to meet Daz in a month's time in Delhi!

 It was all technically possible, though it involved flying back to London (1200 quid), applying for the visa, cycling as far as I could into China, finding a place to store my bike, and trying to find an indirect flight to Delhi (possibly from Kunming) and then back to China again. Should I be trying to achieve my dream at any cost, or was this just being completely insane, needlessly jetting around the world whilst claiming to be a green cyclist. The alternative was to return by bus to Bangkok and then take a 2 and half hour's flight over Burma to Calcutta for 100 quid. That was completely rational, but felt like cheating. Another side of me remembered my last sabbatical, I had knocked out Alaska to Ushuaia, Argentina in 7 months and 27 days, and Cairo to Cape Town in 3 and half months as well as a good chunk of Asia, covering 46,000 kilometers. Most people took 2 years just to cover the Americas route! I had covered so many miles I literally couldn't run for months without severe leg pains when I returned back to the UK. I had promised myself that this last journey would be about going slower and seeing more, not hacking out ridiculous 120-mile days back to back. Not only that, but the route through India, up into the Himalayas and into Punjab to then cross the notorious and tense border into Pakistan (a country I was desperate to visit) was the dream route, Leading to the Karakoram highway, the highest border in the world. I needed to do a SWOT analysis.  I just couldn't make sense of it!

To make things even more frustrating, I had literally returned from London 10 days ago. Hindsight is a beautiful thing, but I could and should have got the visa while I was there! I knew the Burma route wasn't 100 percent and should have gotten it anyway as a contingency plan. I was furious with myself. Cycling across Africa and Alaska to Argentina I had gotten away with flying by the seat of my pants with little or no planning, getting visas on the road. Now that approach had caught up with me and I was paying the price. There were lessons that needed to be learned. I slept on it, then in a zombie-like state headed to the Mae Sot bus station early the next morning, still confused and seriously doubting if I had made the right choice. Whilst waiting for the bus, a kind Thai lady offered to exchange tickets with me, her bus left half an hour before mine and it was touch and go whether I’d make my flight or not. Wonderful Thai people.

 My mind still in turmoil, I decided to make a last-minute call to the Chinese Visa centre in Bangkok, without success, I then tried the one in Hanoi, Vietnam. “Hallo!” Answered the lady, “Can I get a visa for China from Hanoi, I’m British”. I asked. “Yes you can, we have got visa for many foreign people” came the reply. I couldn’t believe it, after everything I had read online, this lady was telling me I could get a visa. I had myself obtained a Chinese visa in Vietnam as a backpacker 18 years ago, but this was a different time. China had opened just weeks ago, and the guidelines were very strict and clear. I wondered if she was getting confused with pre-covid applications. I asked the question again, “We cannot promise but we can probably get you a visa”. This was a lifeline, but it was in a way the answer I didn't want to hear! I wanted to be told categorically that this option was impossible, yet this was a complete headfuck! And just as I was on the phone, my bike box was being loaded under the bus and everyone was boarding. I went to take my seat, appearing very unappreciative to the Thai lady for her kind gesture.  I was acting like an out-of-control idiot, I got off the bus, then back on, off the bus, then back on. This probably sounds completely ridiculous to anyone reading this blog. And in reality, it was completely ridiculous. I have been an extremely jammy gitt in life, I’m living my dream riding my bicycle around the world, while friends back at home were trapped in rainy London offices. Yet to me, in that moment, it meant everything, It was the final chapter in an attempt to continously ride a bicycle around the world. I finally made up my mind, and decisively got off the bus for the last time and went to grab my bike from the hold, as I did, the bus driver shook his head, we’re going. The decision had been made for me.

Whilst on the bus, I pulled out my phone to call the Hanoi China visa centre once more, I needed clarification. Unable to think clearly, the important questions I didn't think to ask before were:

How many entries does the visa have? (It needed to be double)

How long was the visa valid for?

The answer gave some satisfaction, it was a single entry, 15-day visa. I needed at least a month to get to the Kazakstan border (there would be daily Police checks and the penalty for overstaying was 70 quid per day!), and a single entry would mean that after flying to meet Daz, my bike would be lost forever in China. Time will tell if I made the right choice and if I should have flown back again to London. Though I sensibly reminded myself how pathetic I was being. People were getting shot in Burma, and far worse atrocities were happening in Ukraine. How lucky I was to be alive. Bring on Incredible India.