Penarek. just like in the holiday catalogue.
Telong beach
Processing sea fruit. Judging by the dedication the children were at work it looked a lot like child labour.
The roads are clogged in Malaysia 
Toll road near Tumpat, as empty as national highways are full. 
Rajah Brook, the national butterfly
Malacca
WE ARE IN Malaysia and lucky us it’s that time of year again: Ramadan! The Muslims are fasting and contrary to what we thought it means one month of, indeed, feasting. Wherever we cycle after 3 pm there’s always a street market nearby with the most colourful dishes on display. 
Meters of curries, grilled fish, roasted chicken, agar-agar desserts, pastry, all waiting to be devoured as soon as the sun goes down. Luckily for us we’re not subject to this Islamic law, just like traveling Muslims, the elderly, pregnant women and children.
WE ZIJN beland aan de voet van de Inas-berg in het noorden van Maleisië. Preciezer: aan het eind van een doodlopend zijweggetje van een binnenweggetje dat zich afsplitste van een B-weg waarvan we dachten dat hij over de Inas leidde, naar het stadje Gerik. De B-weg liep dood en nu staan onze fietsen in de schaduw van tropisch bos.
Aan onze voeten een waterval die het geknetter overstemt van brommers die aan de overkant komen en gaan. De berijders, ginnegappende dorpelingen. Ze hangen wat over hun stuur of nemen een duik. Ook wij storten ons op de bergbeek, en de brandende hitte lost op als, ehm, sneeuw voor de zon.
Tegen zonsondergang vertrekt de laatste brommer en komen al snel de eerste nachtdieren tevoorschijn. Weinig muggen, maar veel mieren. Een lobbes van 2-3 centimeter die zich snel en zeker over het terrein verspreidt. In tegenstelling tot de rode en de kleinere zwarte mier lopen deze om je heen en bijten niet. 
Ze maken rechtsomkeert als je de zaklantaarn op ze richt en raken in paniek als ze per ongeluk op de schuimrubberen matras terecht komen. Ook vreemd, ze houden zich niet bezig met het verslepen van een of andere buit. Massaal van hot naar her rennen, zover we kunnen zien is dat hun voornaamste bezigheid. We zitten midden in het gekrioel, kijken ernaar en geen centje last. Microsafari voor onze tent.
WE ARE on Penang Bridge over the South Channel between Georgetown and Butterworth. A nice and scenic ride as we pictured it from a distance. With 13,5 kilometers, it’s one of the longest in the world.
The bridge also ranks high in narrowness and busyness. It’s like a fast-moving traffic jam, two lanes on each side (with a third under construction) without hard shoulder, something we find out when we get on.
After a few hundred meters of traffic rubbing we stop at an emergency parking (‘pocket’) where a mechanic works on a flat tyre. As we estimate our chances of reaching the next parking he flags us down and tells us to wait. A call on the walkie talkie and a bit later a Penang Bridge truck arrives and the bikes are loaded into the back. 
Off we go, happy sightseeing after all.
‘Owning a car is special’ – Memiliki bank poster
‘Life prefers the fearless’ – insurance company billboard
‘Success is thinking one step ahead’ – bank billboard
‘Success never comes easy’ – Mickey Mouse, kindergarten wall Georgetown
WE ARE IN the hills of northern Thailand, having dinner at Tam’s street restaurant at the crossing of a mountain village. Tam runs it alone, because her husband was “drinking too much beer” and she left him. Neighbours and friends walk in and out. An uncovered dvd player plays karaoke VCDs.
There’s no guest house around so she invites us to stay overnight. Tam doesn’t like to be alone in the house.
Tam is 38, her teenage daughter studies in Petchabun. Tam gets up early. At 5 am she washes with a quick splash, puts on make up, dresses and goes to the market to get a day’s supply of vegetables.
Tam looks beautiful on her moped. She would like a foreign boyfriend, she says, someone of 60 would still be okay.
At 6.30 she lights incense at the altar on the food display and hands out rice to monks passing by with their bowls.
Of the 40-60 clients that will pass by today, the first arrive at 8 am. By that time the bouillons for the noodles are boiled, vegetables are washed and chopped and meat cut. Each dish is prepared in a very strict way, little variation is allowed. Even vegetables must be cut on a certain angle; when I chop them, the villagers who watch me help Tam come to show how it’s supposed to be done.
Tam enjoys cooking. A dish takes her 10 minutes at most and she serves it with a smile. There are three concrete tables in her restaurant, and ten dishes on the menu.
WE ARE IN Vientiane. The town feels provincial for a capital, in a nice way. Sunday afternoon we cycled almost alone in the middle of main street. On a weekday it takes about 20 minutes to cross the center. After a day in town we begin to see the same faces.
The sign under the arc is worth quoting in full:
‘At the northeastern end of the LaneXang Ave. arises a huge structure resembling the Arc de Triomphe. It is the Patuxay or Victory Gate of Vientiane, built in 1962 (2505), but never complete [sic] due to the country’s turbulent history. From a closer distance, it appear even less impressive, like a monster of concrete. Nowadays this place is used as leisure ground for the people of Vientiane and the seventh floor on top of the building serves as a excellent view over the city.’
[food comment alert!] Our bellies missed wheat so we had a great time enjoying French delicacies and Indian naan.
Billboards on Highway 13, put up at regular intervals. Why Nokia advertises models that roughly equal the average annual income in Laos I can only speculate. Maybe the corporation is motivated by William Gibson’s words ‘The future is already here – it’s just not evenly distributed.’
Mornings in Laos start with a glorious sunrise, which is about two hours after the first people wake up, and one and a half hour after novices beat the monastery drum for morning prayer.
We meet sunrise in Thaekhek. We’re sitting on the shore of the Mekong after a 130 km ride from Seno of which last half under the stars.
In the day highway 13 is peaceful and quiet to the point that cows and chickens walk around freely.
At night the trucks and busses that sleep like bats under the bush during the day start to move. They feel like kings of the road and a small cyclist like you with equipped with a tiny headlight, well, you better get off the road or close your eyes. Cows do the latter it seems, as they virtually freeze in the middle of the road once it’s dark. Traffic maneuvers around them.
Thaekkhek on Friday night is full of life: youngsters circling on mopeds, eating noodles at eateries or Vietnamese steamed buns at food stalls, sipping Beerlao, secretly kissing girls at the Mekong, elderly people playing cards till dawn in a half open restaurant. And of course karaoke on every corner. Give a Lao a microphone and he’ll sing his lungs out.
At 3 am everything gets quiet and dark. Maybe not as dark as it used to be during the American bombings. Then people wouldn’t switch lights at all, as told us an American expat who at the time was based on the Thai side of the Mekong.
At 3.30 am the first TV’s are turned on and the sound of karaoke reaches the street. An old shop keeper steps out of his shop and boils water for noodles, typical of how business and private life are merged in Laos. In the shop people sleep, eat, do business, and raise their children.
At 4 am the first man passes on his morning walk. At 4.30 am the shopkeepers’ wife starts to sweep the street, in her pijamas.
At 4.45 the first sun rays paint the sky blue, than to a sort of Nordern light, into purple, pink and red.
More and more people get out from their homes with small eyes for a morning walk and exicerse. A man practises karate with his toddler son, others jog, walk or cycle on brand new mountain bikes.
Shops open, food stall owner chase dogs away from the tables on their porch, and start to prepare the goods. The baguette seller puts her tasteless chewy buns on display. Fisherman gets into the boat to collect the night’s fish. The morning speeds up and than at 8 am the first heat hits you and everybody retreats to the shadow.
At that time we check in at the guest house and catch up with a night of missed sleep.
WE ARE IN Pakse, Laos‘ third biggest town and the first town when you enter Laos from the south. It’s near four waterfalls which are best visited with a motorcycle. The one at Champee was the most abandoned and the most idyllic.
In town we combine the usual food hunt with sightseeing.
Friday night the terraces just outside the centre are packed. Between the two bridges that cross the Mekong bar after bar compete with each other in liveliness. Sound systems boom, tables are exclusively filled with Beerlao, people are merry.
The service is split in two; one waiter or waitress takes and brings your order, another waitress (or a ladyboy) comes to your table to pour the drinks and returns to refill the glass until the bottle is empty and takes the next order. When you leave the first waiter brings the bill.
At a certain point the riot police, armed with a machine gun each, moves in. They loaf around the pavement between the terrace and the moped parking for a minute or two and then leave. It seems to be their routine, as nobody pays attention to them. At around 9.30 the terraces empty.
As loud the waterfront was, as quiet are the terraces in the centre, which seems to be reserved for backpackers. Could it be the Lonely Planet effect? At the Jasmin Indian restaurant staff wear shirts that have the slogan ‘as listed in Lonely Planet’ embroidered. Hope this is my last note on f o o d but their curries and naan are really delicious.
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