Yesterday – on the day of my embarrassing defeat to gravity – I had my first brief paparazzi experience. It is quite usual that people wants to take my photo: On todays ride from George Town to Alor Setar I stopped at a roadside restaurant for something to drink and the two girls and one guy that was running the place asked me if they could take a photo of me. Of course I didn’t reject that, and they ended up doing a session where one photo turned into several, in which I posed with different configurations of people, and with and without sunglasses, lol. Most situations are like this, with people I have talked to if only briefly. However, a few just take a quick stealth shot without ever talking to me.

Although I am not crazy about being in front of the lens I think it is only fair that I let people have their photo. If they think it is funny that a cyclist comes all the way from Denmark and end up in their little known corner of the world, well … go ahead, shoot! After all, I take photos of people I don’t know as well and am a bit of a voyeur looking into peoples living rooms. Still, a few times it has been a weird feeling that knowing people are talking about me and just snapped a pic with their cell phone, while they thought I was not paying attention. I hope I am not circulated on Facebook and the like – getting thumbs up or down with regards to my coolness factor, but at least I will be anonymous in that case.

But the actual case went a bit beyond that. In George Town I was generally just another tourist and people didn’t pay special attention to me. Except in this case, where a guy (Asian – could be Chinese or from Japan) with a huge Canikon spotted me and started shooting away. He must have thought I looked hilarious in my cycling outfit (and I wouldn’t argue this point). But he was quite serious about his photographic business and rather than the “any snapshot will do” approach he was running around to get into different positions in order to get the optimal framing of the shot. I just ignored him as I went on with my business as if he was not there. I thought it was a quite interesting experience for various reasons: He knew that I knew he was taking pictures but he never recognized me – not a word or a polite nod. He moved about while he took his pictures and then checked how they turned out. As an amateur photographer I tend to be in his shoes, behind the camera, taking the pictures. So while I think he was overdoing it, could it be me? Situations as these has made me a bit more conscious about how I behave as a photographer. I would have preferred he at least approached me afterwards, asking me if it was okay.

I know that approaching strangers to ask them to model for you is a personal challenge that is difficult for many photographers to overcome. It is even recognized as something for photographers to train at, just as composition and choosing the right aperture is. Guides on “how-to-talk-to-strangers” can be found in photographic magazines and on the Internet. I’m not good at it myself. It is even a dilemma if you should ask, because asking is not even always the best solution as people then start posing and become self conscious, whereby you loose the natural response.

I hope my paparazzi got a useful picture, but if he had just asked I would have made the job easier for him.

When I wake up this morning it is as a man with a mission. One of the main attractions of the island is Penang Hill, a granite hill in the outskirts of George Town which at an height of some 800 m supposedly offers great views over the city and a little bit more humane temperatures. It was my mission to get to the top, since my first attempt didn’t pull off because the usual train that takes passengers to the top was under maintenance. There should be a small, winding road (4wd only) starting from the nearby botanical gardens and I hope they accept cyclists as well. Next up, was to explore some more of the island, that sports a small nature reserve with some nice beaches at the opposite end of the island.

As a man with a mission it is a slow start, though, before I finally dress up in my lycra outfit and start rolling … 200 m down the road where I have corn flakes and coffee for breakfast. But I cannot postpone forever and eventually I find myself in front of the gate to climb the hill. The guard is more than willing to let me go ahead, and he expresses some confidence that I can do it. I have brought my tripod on the rear fender and my backpack with camera with me, so I am carrying a bit of extra weight. Immediately at the other site of the gate my bike computer goes crazy and reports silly  gradients in the 20s. I’m in the granny gear right from the beginning! In case you are not familiar with such numbers the average hors catecorie climbs in Tour de France – those that are talked about with reverence and presented with skulls or the like – rarely reaches more than 10 per cent. So I dare say 20+ is steep. In fact I can feel the front wheel losing contact with mother earth all the time and steering is a little bit tricky – perhaps because I have loaded the bicycle with extra weight. The thing about steep climbs is you just have to keep pushing ahead all the time, because if you stop it is difficult to get back on the bike . Theory is one thing and I had to stop several times, mostly to prevent me from falling into the ditch. And each time I performed variations of a curious show, which purpose however was to let me gain enough speed that I could click into the pedals and still be able to turn the bike so that it faced uphill. I’m glad nobody caught this on tape. I think I spend about 10 minutes performing this show without an audience, before I decided there where more constructive ways to kill time.

So I disgraced myself and turned back, went down the hill and waved goodbye to the guy who expressed confidence in me. I gave up! I quit!

On tired legs I went ahead with second part of the plan, and ended up having a nice walk in the woods. Before that happens, I’m singled out from the other visitors at the visitor’s center by a young fellow, who says “hello” and then stares intently at me. I thought he believed he knew me, but after a few awkward moments we start chatting. He is  going to camp in the jungle but we decides to join for a bit of the walk. As we pass small beaches and campsites on our way I regret I didn’t have a tent with me.

I am still in my colourfull lycro outfit and that draws some attention from other visitors on the paths. Are you a cyclist, one girl asks. No, I just like to dress up like a clown, would be a possible answer. But I stay polite, naturally, and make a joke about bringing my helmet because of the danger of being hit in the head by a falling coconut. It’s a nice walk, before I leave the woods to turn back to George Town.

I guess it wasn’t in my lot to see George Town from the damned Penang Hill!

In case you thought that all my day time on this trip is spent either rolling through lush jungle or along palm fringed beaches and then relaxing in the evening by idling around, buying a bit of  food here and then …

Well, that is part of it, of course, but this is what I did today: When I woke up in the morning first thing I did was to check mail and stuff (in this case “Stuff” includes confirming no one is actually reading this blog). Most importantly, I haven’t bought a return flight yet, so I researched my options. None of them looked really attractive as the cheaper ones involves one stop and gives the choice of either very short time to find your connecting plane or half a day to do so (no I’m not exaggerating). Everything can go wrong with option 1, but on the other hand, what the h*** do I do to kill time in Dusseldorf airport for the the best part of the evening and the night? The reason for doing this today, was because I discovered I needed a visa for Thailand. Rules for Thailand changes regularly and contrary to what I thought I would not automatically get 1 month at the border (as used to be the case), but only 14 days. So I needed a visa and I needed it now. And officially they require a flight ticket to issue a visa. In the end I decided to just show up at the consulate on my bicycle and see how long that would bring me with the officials. But first a shower and some breakfast.

Fortunately I’m now rather confident with the one way layout of streets in George Town so getting out of town to the consulate was a breeze … well, “breeze” maybe not quite the right term because of the sticky heat I was soaked in sweat. A few minutes later I’m heading back towards town to find a photocopier for my passport. Check! Back at the consulate I turn over the papers and am told to come back in the afternoon. So back to George Town where I take the second shower of the day and change shirt. Next up is to go looking for a few presents to send back home. Check! Now to the post office … where I’m send away to find a place where I can get boxes. I can’t find such a place, but the place finds me – a man comes from a shop and asks if I happens to be looking for boxes?! Yes, sure am mr., you got a deal. Unfortunately it turns out this guy is either taking extreme pride in his job or is just in constant slow motion mode. The boxes are modified, glued, wrapped and glued once more and generally taken care off, while he is shuffling ever so slowly back and forth to pick up glue, paper, knife and pen. What I would have expected to be a 3, maybe 5 minutes job takes this guy half an hour, despite the fact I politely explain to him I’m busy. Finally, he’s done, but now it’s to late for the post office. No check for this one yet! So back to the guesthouse with the parcels and off to the consulate. Passport received and story told to officers about how fast I ride, how many km a day etc. Check! Back to George Town and post office, which I reach 15 minutes before it closes for the weekend. Check! Third shower and change to my last clean shirt.

I know got 2 months visa to Thailand. That’s one more than expected and means more flexibility.

Just to let you know – I am working on updates right know … but it’s time for bed for this traveler.

It is a quite different world I have arrived at – there are backpackers and even … charter tourists (I think). I enjoy the place very much, though, and George Town is a photographer’s paradise. I have a lot of picture I need to have a closer look at.

My favorite experience so far: Pinang Peranakan Mansion – very photogenic place. Here is a random pic:

Details from the interior of the temple of Penang Mansion

I wake up a couple of times during the night. First time it is just dark in my room – like many of the cheap hotels in Malaysia it has no window. I’m slightly confused and it takes some time before I get the reality pieced together: Who am I, where am I? With these facts in place I go to sleep again … but not for long: Second time I wake up, it is probably because of an change in the auditive surroundings. It is still dark as hell, but now it is also completely silent: There is not a sound to hear. I realize it is because the power has gone, so the fan has stopped. Ouch, that will be slightly claustrophobic in my little, hot coffin. Fortunately the power comes back on after a while.

In the morning I head towards Penang and George Town on the west coast. Penang is an Island off the coast, connected to Butterworth on the mainland via a bridge. The ride is easy, but boring . The lush green surroundings have been replaced and now it’s mostly a landscape of plantations. For a stretch of more than 30 km there is nothing – no cities, no road side restaurants or shops. I economize with the water, but fortunately I don’t feel thirsty before I finally reach a small town. Then I reach the highway, but fortunately there is a path for scooters that I use. In Butterworth I head straight for the bridge. Everybody needs to pay a toll, so I head for one of the booths, where a young guy refuses to let me past. I ask: Why can’t I cross the bridge – there is even a path for scooters I can use. His reply is to giggle and indicate with his hand I must turn around. As this have repeated itself a few times with me trying to come up with various arguments in favor of my case, but his reply remains the same imbecilic giggle. I then turn around and ask in one of the booths for cars and a car passenger is able to explain that it is company policy not to allow bicycles on the bridge. But there is a ferry a few Km away. So I’m sent back towards the traffic, in the direction I came from and is now looking for a ferry instead.

Finally, in George Town, the next hurdle is to find a place to sleep.  I can head straight into town, but it looks slightly sleezy or I can turn left or right. I opt for left. George Town turns out to be a maze of Jalan Sehalan – one way streets – where I basicly have to go with the flow. I search for quite some time before I find a place. It is not welcoming and expensive so I turn around. The next place give me the impression of being a brothel so without even asking I continue my hunt. Finally, I get a map from a hotel clerk (place has a swimming pool, but is too expensive) am lead in the direction of the backpacker area. This, off course turns out to be the sleazy looking part of town where my search started.

Time for a shower!