In Bangalore we were to spend the next two days meeting with individuals and institutions that embodied innovation and entrepreneurship.  The meetings began in the garden patio of the Bangalore Leela Palace, where we wagered the coffee would be strong.  Nikhil, our India Bureau Chief, had arranged for us to sit down with Indus Khaitan and discuss how technology is engendering change in communication, information access, banking, and education in India.

Indus has made a life for himself as a serial entrepreneur and early-stage investor.  In May 2009, Indus joined The Morpheus as a partner.  The Morpheus is an early stage investment firm that works with startups in the first 12 to 18 months of business, a period known as the “valley of death.“  As a firm, they act as a “limited-cofounder,” in a hands-on capacity to assist founders by offering their wide breadth of experience, making critical introductions, and providing a nominal amount of capital.  The firm refers to this combination of support as its “Business Acceleration Program.”

The comparison that most people make with a project like Indus’ is Y-combinator, an early stage startup incubator created by Paul Graham, active in Silicon Valley and Cambridge, Massachusetts.  However, Indus is quick to point out that one can’t so quickly draw direct parallels between the Silicon Valley startup world and that of Bangalore.  This rings true both in the business models of the startups themselves, as well as the role institutional investors play in startup growth.  The Morpheus’ portfolio companies not only include web startups, but also real estate firms, retail businesses, and professional service providers.  The Indian markets pose challenges for startups in all sectors, and The Morpheus is able to provide support across many industries.   As Indus says, “India has a lot of unsolved problems.”  This allows The Morpheus to branch out from the traditional technology-focused institutional angel investment model, while retaining the possibility for exponential growth across a broad base of portfolio companies.

Indus introduced himself in a reserved, yet youthful manner.  After dispensing with the small talk about his time in Northern California, as well as the experiment of AsiaWheeling, we began discussing the sea change occurring in the Indian consumer market.

Negative Interest Rates?

We began the conversation with an uncommon financial phenomenon seen rarely outside the dark offices of Swiss Banks: negative interest.  The story began with a team of Indian railway laborers maintaining track in the country’s north, and earning heightened wages as a result of the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, legislated in 2005.  Not accustomed to earning such wages, and because of the cost and difficulty of remitting it to the village in which their families  resided, the laborers would squander the cash on vices.  Beginning to regret the errors of their ways, the workers began requesting their supervisor to physically retain their wages in the worker’s custody.  For this custody, the supervisor charged a fee, essentially creating a deposit account for the workers with negative interest.

Why didn’t the workers simply open a real bank account?  The fact Indus shared, is that 81% of India is unbanked.  Because of the personal identification required, poor rural branch proximity, illiteracy, and a host of other issues ranging from trust to regulation, most Indians do not have bank accounts.  This opportunity, in particular, is one that has been rediscovered by technology firms.  With the emergent developments such as sente and airtime banking in Africa, the players positioned most obviously are the mobile phone providers.  With excellent rural penetration and customer trust, these mobile providers could potentially turn every basic phone into a device for sending, receiving, and depositing cash.

However, Indus explains, the mobile providers like Airtel and Vodafone aren’t licensed to engage in such activities;  regulation prevents it.  In their place comes a recently formed consortium of firms: Nokia, Obopay, and Yes Bank.  Nokia, the hardware firm that dominates the handset market in India invested $70M in Obopay, the mobile software startup. Together, they have partnered India’s Yes Bank to capitalize on this opportunity, which represents the first step to providing scalable options for the now unbanked.  Game on.

Learning from the Liquor Business

Conversing about this opportunity allowed us to analyze one of the truly massive oligopolies of India: the mobile phone market.  India has over 700 million mobile phone subscribers, with anywhere from 400M to 500M active at any given time.  Indus specifies that 95% of the connections are prepaid, offering ease to the consumer in budgeting and activation, as well as ease to the provider in reducing credit risk.

Moreover, Indus mentioned that many of the lowest-income users of these phones do not know how to save or recall a number in the phone book, using the phone purely to receive calls (which is free), or simply call the last number dialed in the phone.  AsiaWheeling and Indus brainstormed for a while on how one might design a phone to suggest common numbers for saving, which could be driven by an interactive voice interface.  While such innovations would increase the cost of each phone in both hardware and an initial phase of software development, the decreasing cost of manufacturing and huge scale of the consumer base may soon warrant a similar technology. No doubt, firms like Nokia are undertaking such research across the global south.

While India looks strikingly modernized sitting in the garden patio of the Leela Palace, the reality is that 70% of Indians reside in rural areas, subsisting on farming and fishing.  One of the major challenges faced by both Indus’ portfolio companies as well as giants like Airtel is reaching this vast, disparate, and relatively unconnected population.  In fact, Indus exclaims, these rural areas command 60% of the marketing budget for such larger firms.

How does one market in a village?  Many of the villages these companies seek to market to are not even on the books of the local government, and require a re-discovery by the private sector, a theme we saw repeatedly in India.  Almost quaintly, firms like Airtel will send mascots dressed as mobile phones to villages to strut around as loudspeakers play music and corporate slogans.  Radio, one of the most pervasive and low-cost mediums of mass communication, is used in conjunction with such physical appearances, alerting the populous of an event or giveaway in the village.

Outdoor marketing is commonly strategically placed on temples and shrines, which welcome the income and serve as a fantastic replacement to the billboards that are non-existent in the vast majority of villages.  Where did they learn these marketing techniques for the fragmented rural market?  Who taught companies like Airtel how to sell to the common man?  Indus elucidates for us in a hushed tone: they learned from liquor companies.  While we were initially surprised, it became clear that the liquor industry’s marketing has been some of the most original and effective. As AsiaWheeling was told in later interactions, the liquor store is the easiest shop to find in India, as it’s the only business with a queue.

Extremely Lucrative Schools

Ask Indus what he’s looking for in terms of talent to staff the startups in his portfolio, and he’ll tell you that specialists are the most desirable.  Whether it’s in marketing, software architecture, or engineering, a specialist proves a critical asset to the firm.  This comes as no surprise, given the value of experience in any labor market. Particularly, Indus looks for those who have a proven knack for marketing, which, he quips, is so sorely lacking in many Indian firms.

This brought us to learning about the phenomenon of for-profit educational institutions that have been on the rise to cater to the many new entrants to the “knowledge labor” pool looking to ingratiate themselves to potential employers.  Many of these schools are tiny, ad-hoc institutions using space in an office building, peddling meaningless degrees.  However,  operating such an institution proves to be “extremely lucrative.”  Because of regulatory and bureaucratic obstacles which would otherwise let new entrants in easily and drive down profitability, 90% of such schools are started by former politicians.

Interestingly, he notes that in funding and hiring new grads he puts no stigma on not having graduated from an IIT or IIM, which are the de facto top schools in India for engineering and management, respectively.  Indus claims that the drive of those graduating from second-tier schools is often heightened because they have more to prove, and their level of intelligence and training proxies that of a tier-one grad.  However at any level, he reiterates, the soft skills of persuasive communication, interpersonal coordination, and branding are in demand.

Exacting in conversation, with a swift recollection of figures and percentages, Indus proved to be a fantastic introduction to AsiaWheeling’s time in Bangalore.  The broad, yet interconnected nature of India’s evolving consumer-facing industries provided a firm foundation for the remainder of our investigation of innovation in India through the lens of this city.

When Scott and Woody asked if I would write an entry on Kuala Lumpur (KL to its residents) for this blog, I said yes enthusiastically. After a weekend of wheeling with the two, I had a renewed appreciation for the city I call home, a sense I wanted to communicate to AsiaWheeling’s readers. And like every local, I knew inspiration was to be found at our hawker stalls.

Malaysians are gluttons, and we can well afford to be. Fantastically delicious and affordable, local street and “coffeeshop” fare reflect the tasty possibilities of plural societies. KL, one of the most diverse cities in Asia, is composed of about 40% Malays (a mix of Javanese, Siamese, Indian, Arab, and Polynesian descent), 40% ethnic Chinese, 10% ethnic Indians, and 10% other and mixed heritage. Local hawker stalls are also the site of a rare egalitarianism: corporate tycoons, high court judges, fast-food servers, and cab drivers all frequent the same stall by the side of the road with questionable standards of safety and hygiene but with the best bak kut teh or nasi lemak in the neighbourhood. Various dietary restrictions are well accommodated. KL does food well, although it seems not much else.

Indeed, Malaysia’s capital has been making the news for all the wrong reasons. Much of this news, especially in the foreign press, covers events related to the federal government’s moral policing and its opportunistic adoption of an Islamic posture in more recent times. Every new constitutional amendment, political speech, and errant Syariah court decision signals the erosion of a democratic, secular political culture that reflects the significant percentage of non-Muslim citizens (at least 40% of the population) and that was the heritage of this former British colony.
The federal government, having never taken well to criticism, questions, or alternative opinions, suffers from a bankruptcy of ideas. It runs on patronage, empty rhetoric, draconian laws, and an unassailable belief that national resources can ride the country through financial crises, vast mismanagement of resources, and widespread corruption in the civil service. The KL City Hall fares no better, in its evident confusion of systematic urban planning for rezoning land to allow even more commercial development, leaving residents to handle KL’s famous traffic jams, urban slums, flash floods, haze, and a host of associated problems.

But the city itself is young (in both population and institutional age) and has promise. Founded as a tin mine only a century and half ago and with the resources of the entire nation channelled towards its development, this once sleepy backwater at the confluence of two rivers (from which the city derives its name, literally “muddy estuary”) has become a veritable city of dreams where, with apologies to Italo Calvino, everything imaginable can be realised (it helps to know the right people).

It follows that KL is also known to its residents as “Boleh Land” (trans., Can-do Land). Although this epithet is used to poke fun at official rhetoric and the latest local attempt at breaking a meaningless world record (biggest flag, longest sandwich, greatest waste of money, etc.), the description fits. KL exudes pumped-up, “Malaysia Boleh!” (trans., Malaysia Can!) exuberance and an anything-goes mentality. The latter keeps us more liberal and edgy than neighbouring nanny state Singapore. As long as you’re not a beer-drinking Muslim woman or a refugee or queer or a member of the political opposition or a non-Muslim with a penchant for using Allah’s name or intending to participate in a public protest (unless you are protesting the opposition or anyone who offends Islam) or anyone who disturbs the status quo and its Victorian-Islamic-Asian Values-bumiputeraist moral sensibilities, the authorities are pretty willing to tolerate difference. (Thankfully, citizens are upping their expectations. There’s been talk of universal human rights….)

In the meantime, the authoritarianism of the state, the politics of patronage and corruption that riddle the system, and the heavy moral policing of more vulnerable subjects—all at their most concentrated in KL—are infrequently confronted and mostly just add a bit of edge to middle-class urban lives otherwise spent waiting out traffic or tucking into some of the best street food to be found in any city in the world.

And glancing at some picturesque architecture. Quite a spectacle are KL’s steel-and-glass skyscrapers, the most famous of which are the twin towers named for national oil company PETRONAS. Lit up after dusk, the KL Tower dazzles with its clean, elegant beauty. The Dayabumi building is a beautiful example of modern Islamic architecture, and its polished white exterior exudes a certain calmness in the midst of all the colour and bustle of this little city that could. The mosques and temples are just magnificent. But it is the colonial-era buildings that truly delight me. Charming is the sight of unassuming, simply adorned shop-houses that contain Indian garments businesses and Chinese sundry shops along the bustling TAR, a main road downtown named for Malaysia’s first prime minister, Tunku Abdul Rahman. And the kampungs not 15 minutes from the city centre, and the colourful street markets that defy common wisdom that roads are for cars alone.

Then there are the old symbols of the city, like the Mughal- and British neoclassical-inspired Sultan Abdul Samad building that faces Merdeka Square, the site where many erroneously suppose Tunku declared Malaya’s independence from the British Empire in 1957 (Malaysia itself wasn’t formed till 1963). The actual location of that historic moment is the Merdeka Stadium, a ten-minute wheel away. The stadium is currently under renovation to return it to the splendour befitting a national heritage. However, but by the luck of a financial crisis that prevented nefarious development plans from turning Merdeka Stadium into Merdeka Plaza, a square containing—what else?—office buildings, a shopping mall, and a condo, the stadium built for the very purpose of announcing the birth of this independent nation would have been no more but a chilling reminder of a government’s willingness to destroy the material landmarks of a history that binds nation and city together in a bid to attract much-coveted foreign direct investment.

Unfortunately, many other heritage buildings have not been so lucky. On the brighter side of things, I have seven more shopping malls from which to get an ice-blended coffee drink or monogrammed satchel. Vive le capitalisme!

BBut let’s return to KL’s gastronomic offerings. Of which there are many. From fragrant nasi kunyit topped with curry or rendang bursting with flavour and spice and ooomph to hot, soupy pan mee, my most favourite noodle dish in the world, to the sinfully ghee-rich roti canai, a local version of the paratha which locals like to eat for breakfast or a mid-afternoon snack, there are Malaysian dishes to cater to every time, taste, mood, and budget.
Lunch fares are particularly brilliant: all variations on the theme of a plate/leaf of rice and a variety of curries and dishes to add as one fancies. Buddhist vegetarian versions of Chinese zhap fan (otherwise, and aptly, called “economy rice”) and the Indian banana leaf rice are my favourites, and both are vegan-friendly. The meat and spice lover might try mamak nasi kandar. Nutritious and filling, under USD1.50 and zero waiting time, and finger-licking good: you will never want to return to hoagies for lunch after. An essential KLite experience is hunting down the vendor or restaurant that makes the best this and my foodie uncle’s favourite that, and the reader is always welcome to join me for such a culinary adventure.

The city also abounds with restaurants that offer foreign and fusion delicacies to homesick expatriates and local gluttons. Japanese, Lebanese, Italian, Korean, Thai, and various versions of Chinese and “Western” fare are especially popular. Someone should open up a good Mexican restaurant in town and find a way to make cheaper margaritas. (Alcohol in this country is expensive, thanks to a steep excise duty imposed to address alcohol abuse and drunk driving issues.)
Ah, KL. So much good food, so many problems that keep cropping up. As perhaps is to be expected from any multiphrenic Asian city still in the process of determining its identity and values. Would be nice if the government could get their priorities straight though. A few more libraries, better public transportation, a sin tax on households with more than one car, an actual bicycle path, a focus on attaining first-world city status by working to improve the city’s liveability, sustainability, and social justice quotients. But perhaps first that local council elections. KL could use a new mayor.

Then this city can lead the way as the country starts to realise its potential and fulfil its promise to be a just, inclusive, and prosperous home to all its residents. And “Boleh Land” can become a term of celebration, not cynicism.

Human Rights

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It seems our most valued adviser, Ms Smita Sharma, had been awake for some while by the time AsiaWheeling dragged itself from bed. Having already breakfasted herself, and to our great excitement, Smita presented us with a couple of thin rice pancakes, soaked in a kind of of sweet coconut milk.

We were just digging into these, when she presented yet another most welcome surprise: two cups of homemade mellow Malaysian coffee, a variation on the fried in butter type we had found in Penang and Malacca. So delighted were we with this breakfast, and so excitedly were we looking at two slightly greasy looking goodies (known as Nasi Lemak) wrapped in brown paper (which seemed also to be part of our meal), that we were almost oblivious to the fact that as we ate, the apartment was becoming increasingly full of Tamil workmen wearing large gas masks over their bushy mustaches. Some of the workers were carrying large cans, from which they began to spray a foul and acrid liquid into the corners and along the base-boards of the room.

The arrival of the exterminator had also created the perfect excuse for Smita and her sister, a newly barred local lawyer, with an excuse to visit that great mecca of the budget conscious but mildly design oriented homemaker: Ikea. So, as the fumes began to fill the room, we grabbed our brown paper shapes, and made a mad dash for the cycles, swearing to Smita that we would meet again some day. As Smita and her sister faded into the poison mist, Scott and I made a silent prayer for their safe passage, and climbed onto the bikes. Nasi Lamak safely strapped to the rear rack, next to our waters and bike locks, we whipped down the street, passing buses, and scooters, screaming out the field commands and singing “She’s a Lady” in two part harmony above the din of the traffic.

Let me tell you, dear reader, we were feeling great. KL is an excellent city for wheeling, as long as you can maintain the high voltage. And that morning we could. In fact, we didn’t want to stop.

So when we spotted a coffee joint, we called a waypoint to re-amp and dig into the Nasi Lemak. The Nasi Lemak was one of the tastiest things I’ve eaten for breakfast in my entire life. As I write now, I find myself salivating over its sticky rice interior, dampened with fishy red sauce and roasted peanuts. Oh my.

Ready for anything, we poured back onto the streets, noodling through the downtown, allowing ourselves to be siphoned this way and that by the plethora of one-way streets. Before long, we had taken one siphon too many, and found ourselves on a raging highway. Malaysian traffic was whipping by us, and though they gave us plenty of space, we were still periodically given a good case of the willies by the giant signs that advertised blatantly that cycling on the freeway was prohibited. Though we swore to take the next exit, it proved to be only an entrance onto another raging highway. Finally, we called a waypoint to address the situation.

In the distance, on the opposite side of the highway, I could just barely make out what looked like a cross between an exit and the kind of steep gravelly uphill that one sees not so uncommonly in the American Rockies as a last resort for runaway trucks. This, it seemed, was our best chance at escaping the current predicament, so after a unanimous vote and closing of the meeting, we began the painstaking process of waiting for a break in the torrent of traffic that was doing its best to escape KL before the next day (Chinese New Year). After what seemed like an eternity, a break came, and we were able to make it across. Clling a very earnest “highway speeds!” we took off toward the exit.

Thankfully, it did prove to be an exit of sorts, dumping us off into a very lushly vegetated and expensively developed neighborhood of mansions. We caught sight of a sign directing us toward a side road if we wanted to “re-enter the rumah”. We thought anything must be better than attempting to re-enter the raging highway, so in we went. The road wound down the side of the mountain for some time; overhead we could hear monkeys scurrying about and from time to time we were forced to dodge little bits of debris sent earthward by the primates. At the bottom of the road, we found a small settlement of brightly colored houses, with inspirational mottoes such as “This is your test,” and “There is truth in the light and light in the truth.” Middle aged men were sitting in the shade at a number of pucick tables playing cards, and all immediately looked up at us inquisitively. We pulled an uber-rauchenberg and began to climb back up the hill in search of some way back into the city without using the highway.

It was only later that evening that we solved the mystery of the rumah. Rumah Pengasih is a Non-Goverment Organisation that provides treatment to rehabilitate drug addicts by using a “Therapeutic Community” approach. So it was a kind of halfway house community that we had wheeled into. An interesting waypoint to be sure.

From there, we were still badly in need of an avenue by which to regain the city that would not put us on the wrong side of the law. Eventually, we found one.

A great sewage canal bisects the city of Kuala Lumpur, and as we were noodling through what was now becoming a significantly less wealthy neighborhood, we came upon two men doing some kind of maintenance on the many layers of piping that help to empty the offal of the city into this canal.

Along the edge of the canal was a mostly paved service path, which seemed to lead for as far as we could see in the very direction we wanted to go. Thinking to ourselves, this could only be a step in the right direction, we hoisted the bikes over a section of rubble and pointy bits of metal, paused to chat a little with the municipal sewer workers, who seemed quite chagrined at the entire idea, and then hit the road -  or as it might better be put – the service path.

Finally after riding for some time, past fellows fishing in the canal, fellows swimming in the canal, and even some ladies that appeared to be doing laundry (the darks) in the canal, we came to a large metal bridge.  Across the water, garbage burned.

It was then only another minor portage over some sewage pipes, and back onto the road. It was then that I realized my rear wheel was about to fall off. It seemed that all the jostling of the last few days of journey had helped to bring the rear bolts to near the point of falling out of their sockets. Thankfully, the problem was quickly rectified by dashing into a local motorbike repair shop, where they were more than happy to lend me a wrench for a quick repair. During the repair, Scott ran to purchase waters and documented a large outdoor on-store advertisement for a Taiwanese bridal boutique.  Subtlety has its place, but clearly not here.

We were getting back to the main city, just in the nick of time, when the hunger pangs began.  We wheeled to safety back in Lot 10 Hutong.

We began with an immediate and emergency Egg Tart.

And moved onto Honkee porridge and other delicacies.

Smita called us and informed  us that after the meal she would like to meet in an Indian part of town called Brickfields.

It turned out to be another highway intensive wheel, for try as we might, we seemed completely unable to get to that part of town without at least spending some time on highways.

These, at least, were not emblazoned with anti-bicycling signage, and after a few false positives, we found ourselves surrounded by the tell-tale Tamil signage, increased levels of smoke, garbage, and Bollywood, which heralded our entrance to Indiatown. The day’s wheel had been very intense, and Scott especially was quite frazzled by our hair-raising highway rides. It was high time for a coconut. And luckily one of the roadside Halal Indian joints was ready to provide. The establishment used a curious system for cooling the interior. The entire seating area was outside and sheltered from the blistering sun by a large patchwork of lacquered canvas awnings. The management had piped water up into the awning so that it gurgled and trickled down, dripping like rain onto the pavement around the place. Inside, the seating area was covered by strategically placed panning and misting fans, the same kind we had seen so many times in Penang.

The coconut water proved delightful, and once again slightly fermented. We relaxed and allowed our bodies to absorb some of the moisture and energy from the coconut, while I read the wikipedia article on coconuts.

Of particular interest was the fact that coconut water is sterile and can be (often is in Sri Lanka and parts of Southeast Asia) used as an intravenous solution in a pinch. Scott and I briefly entertained the notion of contracting some terrible dysentery in the middle of the Laotian jungle, losing consciousness outside a pit toilet and discovering through a haze of dehydration and malnutrition that we were in a hospital built from bamboo and grass, where a fellow in a loincloth was sterilizing a needle with a lighter and attempting to attach us to a coconut.  No doubt the other fellow would be standing by with a camera.

Then we remembered the steadfast support of Surgical Associates of Grinnell, and thanked goodness that we carry antibiotics, and that we are careful about what we eat, and that the sun was shining and we were healthy and safe, and that the phone was ringing and Smita was done with her business at Ikea and wanted to go wheeling some more. So back on the cycles we climbed, and deeper into Tamil town we wheeled, where we found Smita, on her folding cycle ready to give us a tour.

We wheeled through Brickfields and up into Smita’s old neighborhood, a rather posh expat and nightclub area called Bangsar Village, where we stopped to drink a little more coffee at a local institution.

From there we continued our wheel on foot though block after block of nice restaurants, malls, and little boutiques, all set on this little hill overlooking the greater city of Kuala Lumpur. Once again, AsiaWheeling was forced to take a moment to consider how very well this city was doing, and how truly cosmopolitan it felt.  We did so while enjoying a delicious and hitherto unknown fruit of incredible taste.

We dined that night at another local institution, where we enjoyed a scrumptious Malay-Indian hybrid feast.

It came complete with Tandoori Chicken, some Malay curries, an interesting pressed rice dish, a towering dosa, and a strawberry hookah for desert.

We dined like royalty, allowing the meal to stretch into the night as we debated the finer points of Barak Obama’s implementation of his presidency, and Malaysian Feminism.  Feeling as though we had determined a suite of adequate solutions to most of the world’s problems, we climbed back on the bikes, with the goal of folding them up and hopping a train back to Smita’s neighborhood. Unfortunately, the skies had another idea altogether, and began to pour on us so heavily, that fearing our Panama hats might dissolve completely, we took refuge in a parking garage.

With no sign of the rain letting up, we negotiated permission to leave the cycles in the garage, and use a kind of underground passage that would allow us to enter a nearby mall with only about 10 meters of travel in the rain. In the passage, we found a very, very tattered and ancient cat, which nearly brought me to tears, and in the mall we found a very interesting store selling beauty products, which exhibited one of the most distinctive and well executed examples of branding of the entire trip.

When we left the mall, the rain was done, and we were feeling energetic enough to just wheel all the way back to Smita’s.

The wheel proved quite wonderful, with the entire city lit up with lights, and preparing for the Chinese New Year, which was the next day. It was hard to believe, when we arrived safely back at Smita’s most luxurious abode, that we would be boarding a flight for Tiruchirappalli (Trichy), India, the next day. Malaysia had proved comfortable, welcoming, and quite wheel-able. But was it too easy? India held untold extremes of experience, new problems to solve, and the sage advice of our India Bureau Chief, Nikhil Kulkarni. It was time for the next chapter, but we could not help feeling a little sadness, as we looked out over the city through the floor to ceiling windows of Smita’s apartment, while fireworks went off all around us. It was New Year’s Eve for the Malaysian Chinese, and they were showing their excitement and hope for prosperity in the Year of the Tiger in a most incendiary way. We decided there was no better way to consecrate the occasion than to crack open a couple of the local beers by the same name, and toast our brief re-exploration of Malaysia.

Our second day in Penang began with the same breakfast of toast and banana bread at the Hutton Lodge. Our plan for the day was to wheel north to a beach area called Batu Ferringhi. After crossing our hearts and swearing to make no puns or allusions to Star Trek, we brought the speed TRs downstairs and unfolded them for the wheel.

We made our way northward past towering hotel after sky-scraping condominium, discussing the best way to design an algorithm to separate signal from noise in the wavering of our compass reading, which at times became quite violent on the bumpy roads. Soon we found ourselves in a region that called itself Miami. We took a short side wheel here to explore more of the sparklingly posh housing developments. The sea to our side was becoming cleaner and bluer the farther we traveled from the busy port in Georgetown, and soon we were looking out at white sand beach on one side, and think jungle punctuated by expensive housing developments on our left. Both Scott and I could not help drawing parallels between this wheel and a popular wheel in San Francisco and Marin County known as Paradise Loop. Both sported good smooth roads, gentle elevation changes, cliff-side views of the sea, and generally expensive real estate. We had, in fact, enjoyed a very similar wheel during the planning phase for this trip. I know, dear reader, it was a mere three months ago, but now it feels like many ages have passed. The extremes of experience, indeed.

Back in Penang, Malaysia we were nearing Batu Ferringhi, and not long after we passed the Hard Rock Hotel Penang, we decided to stop for refreshment on the beach.

We sipped from very cold and slightly fermented young coconuts. It was our suspicion that the coconuts had sat for some time in the fridge, but the yeasty flavor was nice, and the meat had a tang that we quite enjoyed. If this was not a local delicacy, we would petition for its installation as one.

We drank and ate these, allowing the sweat to evaporate from our bodies and clothes, and watched 40-50 year old European tourists take horse back rides on the beach, or try their hand at para-sailing. When the coconuts were done, and at least five Avril Lavigne Songs had played on the Malaysian pop station at the restaurant, we decided it was time to climb back on the cycles.

We kept riding north, right through and out of Batu Ferringhi, into the more rural northern parts of the isle of Penang. Traffic thinned and jungle and beach began to dominate our view from the road. Soon we found ourselves at the entrance to a new, more rural settlement. This one seemed much less dominated by tourism, justifying its existence as a fishing community, and a kind of commuter’s suburb of the more touristy Batu Ferengi. The hunger was beginning to clench around us, and we called a Rausch into the township.

We rode around for quite some time before selecting a shop. None of them looked clean, so we needed to survey the area to find the one that was most popular. Our hypothesis was that if we were unable establish an estimate of cleanliness from the exterior of the business, perhaps the presence of as many un-diseased patrons as we could spot would point us in the right direction. And, dear reader, this it did.

We ended up parking the cycles outside a joint by the name of the Cafe Ibriham. It was a buffet style restaurant, where we were given a large plate with a dollop of white rice, and set loose upon a table piled high with large metal trays, filled with various dishes, just swimming in their own succulent juices, and regrettably covered with flies.

But it was a choice between full on starved lunacy, and this food. And to be honest, the smells coming from the buffet were intoxicating. So we put our faith in the doxycycline and dove in. The food proved absolutely delicious, exhibiting such diversity of spicing and texture.

My plate for example contained some curried fried chicken, a roasted fish, a pile of squid gravy, some cinnamony red sauce full of tiny fish, a paprika-filled fried egg, and a little pile of very American tasting homefries.

Delightful. Truly delightful.

As the blood sugar surged back into our systems, we took to the streets, wheeling hard and fast back toward Georgetown.

Back in town, we called a waypoint to sip a milk shake, and then took back to the streets. Cursed by the unbelievable number of one way streets in Penang, we found ourselves again and again siphoned onto the same streets. We were searching for the coffee place we had seen on the previous evening’s wheel. Finally, we were able to make our way back into Little India, where we were forced in desperation to just ride against traffic, until we found the place.

Sure enough it was vacuum pot coffee, and at 10 ringgit a cup, the owner was quite happy to explain the entire process to us at length.

Afterward, we wheeled down the streets to a music store selling Tamil super hits.  We indulged in a Rajnikanth mp3 CD with 27 films worth of music.   Below, the video from one of our favorite tracks:

That evening we made our way to a local mall food court that was set up in the local emergent restaurant style.  Tables in the food court were flanked on either side by stands selling individual and specialized delicacies.  Some vendors had appeared for the evening, and others had begun their Chinese New Year vacation early.  There we were able to try a number of local delicacies, such as Ais Kecang, a red bean and ice cream medley for dessert.

With our stomachs filled and blood sugar once again on the rise, we decided to indulge in a night wheel through the surrounding and very Chinese neighborhood. We called a waypoint when we heard some commotion, and found a little carnival tucked into a pedestrian mall. It appeared to be in celebration of the fast approaching Chinese New Year, and we were enthralled by the strange carnival games and terrifying deathtrap rides, which constituted the operation.

Once again, thrilled at our good fortune, with full bellies and smiles on our faces, we wheeled back through the night to the Hutton Lodge.

Our goodbyes to David had to be made through the fog that accompanies undersleeping. It was 5:00 am again, and the Rucksack Inn was still filled with the same six – eight zombie-like Internet users that had been there when I had retired for bed some four hours ago.

As David climbed into his cab to Changi airport, and we climbed into ours to the train station connecting Singapore with Malaysia (mysteriously not connected to the subway system…), we bid farewell to the strange and wondrous chapter of the trip that David had ushered in, with a phraseology that David and I had used in college: “Goodbye forever,” I told him, knowing full well that I would see him in the next year or two. “Yeah, goodbye forever,” David replied.

And then we were off. Our cab driver was extremely polite and efficient, sporting a cab full of flat screen monitors advertising Chinese New Year’s gifts to us. We lugged our shiny new bikes into the crumbling white colonial behemoth that was the entryway to Malaysia, and I sat on the steps playing Mama Rock Me, watching the sun rise on Singaporean Tamil men unloading goods from lorries, and  machines scrubbing the street with rotating brushes.  Inside the railway station, we took stock of our surroundings and confirmed the tickets.

Scott dozed in the giant waiting room, and in no time we were working our way through a system of inspections, detections, and checkpoints, making our way to the train.

The train itself was old, but comfortable, with plenty of space to store the bikes.  The lack of a window near our seats, played a supportive role in our sleeping through the majority of the 14-hour ride.

At one point, we were awakened by a loud, but unintelligible transmission coming from the overhead speakers. All transmissions on the train were ushered in and out by a rising and falling set of tones, which must have at one point or another been quite similar to those used on the metro systems of Hong Kong and London. However, due to some malfunction in the innards of this behemoth of a machine, the train’s announcements were subjected to a kind of radical Doppler shift, creating disconcerting parabolas of tone that were quite effective at rousing both one’s attention and the hair on the back of one’s neck.

From what we could tell, this transmission was commanding us to exit the train and go through customs, which we did, exiting Singapore, and receiving a number of stamps on our Malaysian entry cards. Eight hours later, when we next awoke from our slumbers, we were deep in Malaysia. It seems somehow, we had missed the official entry into Malaysia, and had made our way into the country without getting a stamp. We said a short prayer to the gods of immigration and customs, in hopes that this would not cause us trouble down the road, and fell back asleep, rocked by the rails, snaking our way through the Malaysian jungle toward Butterworth.

Butterworth was the end of the line, and the sun had already set when we packed up our things and climbed off the train. We followed our fellow passengers toward the ferry to Penang Island. So far, peninsular Malaysia felt very comfortable. The presence of moderate amounts of rubbish and less well maintained structures was comforting after the sterile polished exterior of Singapore. We were quite surprised to meet a school teacher from North Carolina, traveling with her two young children. It was one of our first clues that Malaysia would prove very safe and manageable. Most everyone we had yet encountered spoke very good English, and even public signage was almost always translated.

We were able to purchase tickets on the Penang ferry for about USD 0.35 and spent the ride over to the island gawking at the very developed, well lit island on which we were to spend the next three days and down at the brownish sea, which was quite visibly crowded with large white jellyfish, pushed aside by the hulking ferry. On the other side of the water, we mounted the cycles, and rode into the city. Penang was well lit, and festooned with red lanterns and banners in preparation for the upcoming Chinese New Year. As we had seen in Singapore, most everyone here appeared to be of either Han Chinese or Tamil descent. The sharp cheek-boned islander ethnicity  we had seen so much of in Indonesia, Borneo, and even on the train ride to Butterworth seemed absent here. Perhaps this is what our Malaysian Bureau Chief, Smita Sharma, had meant when she described these as Chinese straights towns?

Thanks to the ease of communication in Penang, we were easily able to find our way to the Hutton Lodge, an establishment that had been recommended to us by our most esteemed Malaysian Bureau. As would prove the rule, the recommendation was stellar, and the Hutton Lodge welcomed us with a clean room, a nice view of the courtyard, friendly staff, and promises of free breakfast with infinite coffee.

We dumped our belongings on the beds and quickly unfolded the speed TRs to head back out into the fray in search of food. Since we had slept all the way through the train ride, we were operating on just a few biscuits in the stomach, and even without having wheeled that day, we were starving. Luckily, as Smita had outlined for us, Penang was a food lover’s destination, sporting a new style of restaurant, which AsiaWheeling had not  yet experienced. It was a kind of emergent restaurant, where the many cooks establish small kitchen stalls around a central seating area. Patrons are then issued a table in the seating area by some central authority and invited to peruse the surrounding stalls, from which the many cooks quite vocally tout their wares. Diners select foods that look appealing, order, and the food is brought to the table.

We feasted that night on fried chicken wings, a local fried noodle dish by the name of Char Koay Teow, and some strange medicinal soups from a Chinese vendor. With the exception of the soups, which were just a little too medicinal for our liking, the meal was delightful, and we climbed back on the bikes, ready to get a little shuteye after our long day of sleeping on the train.

The day began with English breakfast at Scuba Junkie followed by a ride out to Pulau Mabul.  Lionfish, scorpionfish, frogfish, coronets, and all of the Finding Nemo crew call this island home.  Off the coast of the island lies a dive site fashioned from an old offshore oil rig.

David and Scott began gearing up for the dives, which would mark the last underwater skill building portions of the open water certification.

Running through the next maneuvers on land, they prepared to take a giant stride off the jetty into the water below.

And before too long, they were in the water giving the “OK” sign.

Having taken a break from SCUBA, I took up exploring the reef by snorkel, which also designated me as the morning’s cameraman, given that the maximum depth of the waterproof camera was less than what the SCUBA team would descend.

The coral reef was magical.

A diverse ecosystem lay below the sea’s surface, with a shallow reef that eased slowly into the sandy depths.

Mabul’s Reef, specifically “Froggie’s Lair,” proved to be a prime location for snorkeling and diving, as Scott and David can attest to.  Beware of those puffer fish though.  They look cute but you can’t get too close.

These photographs are, of course, mere approximations of the beauty, given the difficulty of achieving true color in undersea light amidst particulate.  We hope, dear reader, that you may venture to Borneo and witness it with your very own eyes.  The island itself was co-inhabited by a particularly interesting population of dive resort-goers and local villagers.  We searched for a coconut on shore, but neither of the communities were able to manifest one at any price.

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Rucksack Inn Singapore Toast Graph

Toast Making at the Rucksack Inn

With stomachs full of rapidly digesting toast, we struck out toward Clementi station on the MRT, Singapore’s devilishly efficient metro-rail system. Scott and I made like locals and folded our Speed TRs, rolling them on one wheel through the crowded metro terminal.

On board we did our best to adhere to the posted signs and placards, demanding silence, respect, no transport of durians, no spitting, no eating and drinking, no panhandling, and stern reminders as to the proper way to escalate depending on one’s preference for standing or walking.

At Clementi station, we were instantly met with the problem of finding My Bike Shop. Strangely enough, the locals that we asked seemed somewhat baffled about the correct direction, though we thought we were using reasonably well known and large roads, such as the West Coast Highway.  Still baffled after a number of queries, we took a break to drown our sorrows in a kind of Shwarma that was being sold in the vicinity of the train station. The Shwarma ended up consisting mostly of iceberg lettuce and thousand island dressing, but hit the spot nonetheless.

With renewed energy we made our way, albeit somewhat circuitously, to My Bike Shop. Tan was once again thrilled to see us, and greeted David by name, having already familiarized himself with the AsiaWheeling advisory team using our website.

We were all set with a zippy little cycle for David and were invited to relax and cool off in the shop. We allowed ourselves to indulge in another delicious cup of coffee from the My Bike Shop Nespresso machine, and allowed the folding bicycle enthusiasm to wash over us.

Now positively bursting with energy, we laid into the day’s wheel. First order of business was teaching the esteemed Mr. David McKenna Miller the rules of wheeling and the field commands.

“The first rule of wheeling,” I explained as we meandered our way through sleepy Singaporean residential neighborhoods, “is to always signal your intent.” We practiced our Rausches and Lichts until David became reasonably comfortable following the bishop, and even taking the lead himself from time to time before striking out onto the streets.

Our first waypoint was a local park, where we meandered our way past the docks and over to a section called the “bicycle obstacle course.” This seemed a good place to cover some of the more advanced wheeling maneuvers.

Below, Scott demonstrates the “Rough Rider” position on a demanding section of bumps.  Such position requires the midsection of the rider to be placed behind and below the bicycle seat, as if to sit on the back bumper of the bike.

David follows, executing the command with a champion’s fervor.

The obstacle course certainly did not hold back. Most of the obstacles seemed to be variations on the theme of slaloms, huge bumps, and downhill segments that dumped the rider out into a sandy gravel pit where balance and steering were almost impossible.

Well, David, we’ve seen better and we’ve seen worse, but you’re not bad for a rookie .

We also had to call an extended waypoint and dismount when we discovered an interesting playground, filled with fantastic geometric structures, and Singaporean school children who appeared to be using the playground to learn some rudimentary physical principals. David, who is among other things a school teacher by trade, remarked quite positively on the use of experiential education in this strange and gleaming city.

In a rare occurrence, AsiaWheeling stopped at a McDonalds adjacent to the park for a much needed refueling.   The fare consisted of 20 McNuggets, two Milo McFlurries, and two glasses of ice water with ice.

Back on the cycles, we struck west, ducking in and out of residential neighborhoods, retirement centers, shopping malls, and the like. The more we rode, the more we became amazed at the sheer number of retirement communities that we passed. Each one was a large compound with towering housing complexes and sloping manicured lawns.

Next stop was a Chinese grocery store nestled into the side of one of these cookie-cutter concrete communities.

The grocery was chock-full of goodies that would have no doubt been thrown in our basket if the hunger demons had been rumbling.

We purchased copious amounts of water and cloudy apple juice, purported to be one of the great undiscovered natural wonders.

We continued on exploring the Clementi area, which brought us to overpasses and underpasses of the West Coast Highway.

Soon we found ourselves on a newly paved exercise path, which followed one of Singapore’s canals.  It was a surprise to find, and a joy to wheel.

The canal snaked onward as we passed the many healthy joggers of the city.

It was nice to be out of the traffic, and we followed this until the sun began to set, and the imminent closing of My Bike Shop called us to return.  We made our way back, through the many urban obstacles of Western Singapore.

After an unsuccessful attempt to cut through the United World College Singapore (the guard here was cold at first, but soon David was able to warm him up enough to chat with us, but not to let us onto the campus), we rolled back into My Bike Shop tired and sweaty, but happy as clams.

Allen, from SpeedMatrix, was waiting for us, and in an unexpected and humbling gesture, offered to fund the repairs to our cycles. He also provided Scott, David, and me with a set of fine biking jerseys sporting his company’s logo.  Looking at the forthcoming selection of folding kayaks really got the gears in AsiaWheeling’s heads turning.

We warmly bid Tan and Allen goodbye, and sadly parted with the Speed TRs, which would be repaired while we were diving in Borneo, and piled into a cab.

We were already quite late for a dinner engagement with some Indian colleagues of Scott’s from when he was living in Pondicherry. Rajesh and Pappu were in good spirits, and not put off by our tardy arrival.

We made our way toward a local fish head curry restaurant. It served a kind of Singaporean Indian food, which was delightful.

We feasted on fish head curry (of course), along with some fried chicken, a buttery curry, and some knock-your- socks-off biryani. By the time the jet lag began to hit David, we were all quite full and completely smitten by our wheel in Singapore.

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Aboard AirAsia flight QZ 8496 to Singapore, we were starving. The morning’s wheel in Legian coupled with the savage ride to the Denpasar Airport had set our metabolisms into over-drive. Furthermore, through some error in the booking system, it seemed that had we ordered only one meal for the two of us. We were able to purchase more food at exorbitant prices from the beautiful but somewhat cold stewardesses, and landed in Singapore quite hungry and badly in need of a drink.

Singapore was clean as a whistle, easy to deal with, well organized, and completely in English. We waited in a long but swiftly moving line for passport control, and chatted with a charming, but quite obviously exhausted woman behind us who was moving to Singapore to work with International Bridges to Justice, an organization that aids in South East Asian legal and humanitarian strife. A noble mission… we tip our hats to you.

We had read horror stories about Singaporean customs, mostly having to do with the gargantuan size of fines in this country, but we made our way through with no issues and in record time. We collected our baggage from the strangely shaped baggage counter, where the fellow sternly reprimanded Scott for improperly packing the cycles. We could hear some pieces jangling around in the bags, and small stones appeared in each of our stomachs. We decided we should make our way to the hotel, and deal with it from there. If there was damage, we were at least in a place where repairs to folding bicycles are as simple as a swipe of the MasterCard.

The luggage scanners did ask me to play the ukulele pitch pipe (perhaps to prove its function was benign), so it might have been that same intoxicating note that lubricated our traversal. We also may be particularly non-threatening, in our Panama hats and with folding cycles and the ukulele. Whatever the reason, we quickly found our way into a gargantuan, but frighteningly fast moving taxi-cab line. Before we could even get through even 50% of the Wikipedia article on Singapore, we were at the front of the line, stowing the WikiReader, and loading the cycles into a truly crackerjack cab, piloted by a crackerjack fellow, ready and willing to attach bungee cables to a trunk that would not close, all our luggage loaded therein.

He gave us a tour of the city as he drove, and we marveled at the quality of the roads and the lack of rubbish in this place. Outside the Rucksack Inn, Scott leaned over to the cab driver and quietly articulated, “I hate to ask this, but… should I tip you?”

“Not required!” the cabby flashed back, and promptly unloaded our stuff, and, with a slight bow and a grin, was on his way.

The Rucksack proved to be a pleasant and comfortable place. Our room, though windowless, was sweet smelling, startlingly clean, and very comfortable. 24 hours of free coffee, tea, and toast were a pleasant find as well. And the Internet was… luxuriously fast. We set hundreds of megabytes uploading, and grabbed the cycles to go find some grub.

Wheeling in Singapore was certainly different. The speed of the traffic was three or four times what we had experienced in Indonesia, and the signaling of one’s intent was vital to survival.  Conscious of corporal punishment that might have ensued in case we violated any of the traffic laws, we kept vigilant of signs and posted directives.  We wheeled toward Chinatown, and as we got closer, the smell of food and concentration of cyclists on the gleaming night streets increased.  For you see, dear reader, we were approaching one of the many sacraments of  AsiaWheeling held close to our hearts:  The Eating of Chinese Food.

Eventually, we parked the bikes and struck out into Singapore’s sprawling Chinatown. It was all refreshingly new and refreshingly Chinese. Scott was able read the characters, and I was able to pick out familiar words like the telltale shriek of “Fuwuyuan!” (waiter).

We settled on a seafood noodle joint, which proved delightful. Soon two bowls of noodles, accompanied by boiling broth filled with various types of seafood arrived. We feasted hungrily, amidst Chinese businessmen just leaving work and cooling off with a beer.

Rather than return to the hotel, we decided to delve deeper into the neighborhood, finding our way into a gigantic night market, already heavily festooned with decorations for the upcoming Chinese New Year.

By this point, we were both becoming quite exhausted, but the spectacle was such that we could not stop walking.

You, dear reader, might best understand by simply looking at the photos.

From the First Graders:

How do you ride for so long every day? –Autumn

Hi Autumn,

When we are riding, our bodies are demanding more nutrition than if we were just chilling out. A big part of being able to ride all day in the sun is hydration. We drink tons of water and stop for snacks and small meals all day long. By never being too full, but also never being too hungry we keep a good flow of energy. Also we drink gallons and gallons of water so we can keep sweating enough to stay cool even though it’s boiling hot out.

Thanks,
AsiaWheeling

What kind of animals have you seen? –Molly

Hey Molly,

We’ve seen lots of animals. In the cities, we see lots of dogs and cats wandering around. We also see rats and mice picking at things. In some cities, there are even monkeys wandering around digging through the trash and begging for food from people.  Also, it is common to see cows and goats both in town and in the country. Especially in countries where people practice Hinduism (a religion where the cow is holy), cows will wander all around and no one seems to care.

Elephants are not so common, but we’ve even seen them. Most of the time when we see them it is because a fellow has one and is using it to make money selling rides.  Horses we see more often.

We also see chickens and roosters all over the place. Most of these are destined to become satay (this is a food kind of like a shish kabob with peanut sauce on it). Careful… the roosters will get a little feisty with you if you get too close!

People also trap many kinds of beautiful (though probably very sad) birds. They sell them in wooden cages by the side of the road.

In many of the cities we visit, there are lots of bats at night, big and small ones, which we are always happy to see because we know they are eating bugs that might otherwise bother us.  Spiders help us out by doing the same.

When we are in the ocean, Scuba diving or even just swimming we see tons and tons of different colored animals.

We see fish, rays, sharks, turtles, sponges, and even jellyfish (a few of those stung us).

And we see lots of coral. Did you know that coral is an animal?

I am sure I forgot all kinds of cool animals that we have seen. But we’ll try to take more animal pictures for the website now that we know you are interested.

Thanks,
AsiaWheeling

Do you have fun every day? –Cailey

Hi Cailey,

I know it sounds crazy, but we actually do have fun every day. I certainly can’t say that the whole of each day is fun, but the two of us are really quite good at enjoying ourselves even when we are put in somewhat harrowing conditions.

Hope you’re having fun too,
AsiaWheeling

Does it ever snow there? –Presley

Hi Presley,

Since we are traveling all over Asia and the Middle East, we will be visiting plenty of places where it snows. Right now, we have been in a part of the world called South East Asia. We are very near to the equator, so most of the time it’s either quite hot or raining like crazy. But even here in South East Asia, it gets plenty cold, and even snows on the tops of mountains, assuming the mountains are tall enough.

Enjoy the snow in Colorado!
AsiaWheeling

What is your favorite place so far? –Sammy

Howdy Sammy,

That’s a tough one. I’ll assume you’re asking about just the places we’ve visited so far on this trip (in part because it makes it easier for us). In that case, I might say Jogjakarta. Jogjakarta is a city on the Indonesian island of Java. It’s called the cultural capital, because it’s where a lot of arts and crafts (like fabric and painted masks) are made, and where there are a lot of local bands that play a style of music called Gamalan music. The people are very friendly there, and many of them are willing to sit down and chat with you even if they don’t speak much English.

The food is great, and the traffic is very friendly to bicyclists. You can also get to and from Jogjakarta by train. We love trains, here at AsiaWheeling.

Thanks for asking,
AsiaWheeling

Is it really hot there? – Cayley

Yes. It’s really hot in most of the places that we travel (at least during the times that we’ll be there).

Right now it’s 29° Celsius in Singapore.  Do you know what that is in Fahrenheit?

Luckily, we like it hot.

Thanks, Cayley.
AsiaWheeling

Second Grade

Hi my name is Hannah. What’s your favorite fruit?

Hi Hannah (#1),

Our favorite fruit is the Durian. It’s known as the king of fruit and it smells a little bit like feet but tastes like a delightful lemon custard. The outside of the fruit is pointy and green and the inside is pale yellow with big seeds.

The entire thing is about the size of a bowling ball, but not as heavy.

For more on Durian, read the wikipedia article.

Keep eating fruit!
AsiaWheeling

Hi my name is Hannah. Do you like were you are right now? P.S. Peace and love!

Hi Hannah (#2),

Yeah, we love the place that we are right now. It’s called Semporna, and it’s on an island called Borneo, which is claimed by a few different countries, including Malaysia. Can you name the other two?

It’s a great place, full of interesting people and interesting animals.

Peace and Love right back at you!

AsiaWheeling

Third Graders

My name is Julia. Do you have TV?  You can write in Chinese if you want.

亲爱的Julia小朋友:

当然我们有电视，我们还可以收到美国的很多频道。你们同样的也可以看到中国的频道对吗？
希望你好好学习中文，长大了可以到中国旅游。

高洁

Did the coffee taste like American coffee?   –Konne

Hi Konne,

The coffee is different than American coffee to be sure. Often the coffee is made by pouring the grinds into a cup, and just pouring hot water over the top. This means that there is always a delightful layer of sludge at the end of the coffee. Otherwise, they use powdered instant coffee, which is generally better than American powdered coffee.

Also, rather than using milk and sugar, often we find that they use sweetened condensed milk, which is a yellowish goo made out of boiled milk and sugar. In fact it’s sometimes tough to order a cup without the goo. So we are just learning to love it.

Nice question,
AsiaWheeling

From the Fifth and Sixth Graders:

How many lizards have you seen that are the size of a small dog? Also what other strange looking animals have you seen? –Brandon

Hey Brandon,

Good question! We see lizards a lot. Usually crawling on the wall. However, most of these are tiny guys. Maybe the size of a GI Joe. However, we have been seeing a few larger lizards as well. So far the count is at three. One in the Jungle in Bali (he ran away when we came up).

One in an open sewer in Borneo (he was alive and breathing, but I think he was pretty sick of being in the sewer) and another laying on the ground in an empty lot in Semporna. This monitor lizard was just hulking in the sun, soaking up the rays, and watching people go by. At first it’s shocking to see such a giant lizards, but we try to respect their space, and admire them from a distance.

Be Safe,
AsiaWheeling

Have you met any kids our age? Is their school-time/ schedule similar to ours? What kind of houses do they live in?

Dear 6th Graders,

We meet loads of kids on the trip. Unfortunately, we often cannot talk very much with them because they don’t speak any of the languages that we speak. Even if we can’t talk much, we often find kids who are yelling at us or waving at us while we drive by. Some of them are asking for us to give them some money or to buy things from them; others are just saying “hi” or wanting to play with our bicycles.

School times for students in the countries we visit during AsiaWheeling are very different depending on where we are. We have been on some islands and farms where the kids don’t even get a chance to go to school at all. Instead, they work with their parents trying keep the house together and put food on the table. In a lot of other places in Asia, children go to school for much longer during the day than in the U.S., and also have a much shorter summer holiday. My guess is if you visited a school in any of these countries you would find it to be very different from yours, though the things they are learning might be familiar.

Kids live in all kinds of different houses depending on where we travel as well. Where we are right now, in Borneo, many people live in houses made of wood, held up on stilts over the water. In Singapore, many people lived in apartments inside tall buildings, with special devices to let them dry their laundry out the window. In Indonesia, many people lived in little cottages, made out of concrete, if they were wealthy, or if they were not so wealthy, houses made out of whatever they could find — plastic, wood, stones, and metal sheets.

Good question!
AsiaWheeling

Do you ever get sick of each-other? –Hannah

Hi Hannah,

I think the short answer here is “no.” But to leave it at that would be misleading. When you are traveling for as long and to as many places as we are, you experience a full range of emotions. We think the trick to any friendship is communication. So no matter what is bothering one of us, we do our best to talk about it, and work on it together.

Your Friend,
AsiaWheeling

In your pictures it looks like more people ride bikes and motorcycles than cars. Why is that? -Kiera

Hi Kiera,

There are two reasons for this. The first is that bikes and motorcycles are cheaper to buy. Many families can’t afford to buy a car, and in the city one has to have a place to park the car as well. The other is that, gas is expensive in most of the places that we travel (even worse than in the U.S.). Motorcycles and Mopeds use only a tiny fraction of the gas used by a full size car, so people choose them over the car to save money.

Wheel Safe,
AsiaWheeling

What kinds foods of do you eat? –Taylor

Hi Taylor,

We try to eat local foods whenever we can because we find it exciting.

From time to time we are in a place where we cannot find any local foods that we think would be safe to eat. In that case, we might go to a restaurant designed for foreigners. These places serve familiar foods like pizza and hamburgers.  However, they are generally more expensive and the food is sort of like someone played telephone with the recipe, passing it from person to person and in the end it’s been changed a bit from what you might recognize in America. Usually the change is in the less tasty direction.

Cheers,
AsiaWheeling

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