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A while ago I was in Phnom Penh and revisited Tuol Sleng, the Khmer Rouge-period torture centre. I’ve visited a half a dozen times over the years, and if you’ve been there, chances are it is not something you’ll forget.

If you’re not familiar with it, Tuol Sleng was once a school, then the Khmer Rouge turned it into an “interrogation centre”. One of almost 200 such centres across Cambodia, over 14,000 people passed through its gates. Twelve survived.

The school building overlooks a frangipani-studded lawn garden. There are a few bench seats dotted about and on every visit, I’ve seen visitors seated among the trees, in tears. It is a moving, searing into the memory, place.

The horror of Tuol Sleng. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

You’re welcome to explore the centre under your own steam, but there are guides who sometimes lived the period on hand. They’ll give you the rote tour of the place, but they often weave their own stories through the spiel in the process. Without wanting to sound ghoulish, their lived experiences add a lot to a visit. These tours are free, though donations are appreciated at the end of the tour.

If you would prefer to explore Tuol Sleng at your own pace, there is also an excellent audio tour. For those with the time, I recommend visiting twice—once with the guide and then again with the audio tour. The audio tour costs an extra US$3 (for foreign visitors). Produced by Narrowcasters, the Australian-based firm offers a few Southeast Asia focused tours. Others include Chuong Ek, the Vieng Xay Caves in Laos, and Hellfire Pass in Thailand. You can listen to some samples here. According to this 2014 Australian Financial Review story they produce tours for 44 sites in 11 countries.

Tour group at The Killing Fields. Photo: Stuart McDonald

As far as I can tell, Narrowcaster audio tours are not sold directly to the public. Instead, they produce tours for the museum or attraction. They say:

“When we started in India there was no competition, we would just go to the sites, whether they were government-owned or privately owned – half the time we didn’t know, until we started digging; we would just go in and eventually find the people we should be talking to, and most of the time, we got a deal. But increasingly, a lot of it is by tender," she says.

What am I doing writing about audio tours?

The other day I was chatting to Alex Bainbridge on Twitter. Bainbridge is the CEO of Autoura—a “digital experience platform for real-world experiences”. One of his (many) interests is self-guided tours, and he sees a future where they’re free. He outlines some of his thoughts on the self-guided experience here. Boiled down, an expert guide has input into the product and then through a nifty blending with AI a free tour is born.

Wait till the robot-driven cars arrive fellas. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

He makes some semi-persuasive points, particularly that a guide has only so many hours in a day. How does something like this would play out for local guides though? If Bainbridge’s vision of free tours comes to fruition, why would travellers hire a local guide?

Peter Syme is an “adventure specialist” and an advocate for digital transforming the travel industry. In Artificial Intelligence Guides And Service In Travel And Tourism, he writes:

“Some of the restrictions of today's tourism experiences are a one size fits all design. Even private tours and experiences are not that tailored to the guests. This is because real tailored tourism experiences designed for each guest are currently unscaleable, with a reasonable guest to guide ratio or a deep understanding of the guest's natural interests.”

This reinforces Bainbridge’s point that regardless of the skills, a tour guide has only so many hours in the day. There are only so many tours they can lead. There is only so much money they can earn. With AI though, this could change—but I wonder who would be doing the earning. I’d argue anyone but the guide. Writes Syme:

“Always available, can be summoned anytime, constantly evolving with vast amounts of new knowledge and can be serving thousands of guests individually at once. Unlike human guides and customer service people, a virtual AI guide can pay individual attention to each guest at a scale that no human could do. Also available 24/7, 365 days a year.”

Granted some hotel receptions could be improved with AI. Screenshot from The Serpent: Stuart McDonald

Yeah, ok, maybe ... but then this:

“AI-driven hotels, tour operators, and transport providers can work more closely than ever to serve guests. Humans will not be replaced but reallocated to higher-value activities.”

This gets to the core of my issue with this. If you’re a self-employed tour guide, how do you “reallocate yourself to a higher-value activity”?

When I asked Bainbridge for his thoughts on leakages and unemployment, he admitted it as an issue:

“In general you will replace local tour vehicle owning hierarchies with global digital network effects. Local jobs is tricky one - what’s YouTube’s impact on Hollywood? Arguably same medium but immutable”

Perhaps Syme and Bainbridge see this reallocation mirroring other areas of travel. Pour the expertise of a guide into a tech product produced by a foreign company. Pay some for their expertise, but not others. The company then sells the tour, offshoring money that once stayed in the local economy. The guide? Expertise milked, they can go do something else. What exactly isn’t suggested—perhaps join the unemployment queue?

Last year’s tech. Northern Laos. Photo: Cindy Fan.

This is for sold tours of course. At least in that case there is a possibility of the local guide competing on price. In Bainbridge’s model, the results are even worse—how do you compete with a price point of zero?

The difference between Narrowcaster’s approach and Bainbridge and Syme’s is clear. The former builds on an experience and provides a revenue stream within the location. The latter either undercuts local labour with free tours or offshores the revenue. Neither are good for the destination, nor the people who work there.

The offshoring of income from destinations is a blight within the tourism industry. Referred to as “leakages”, online agents like Agoda and Booking are two of the easiest examples. Book a hotel through either of those and while some money will reach the hotel, not all will. Anywhere from 10-50% “leaks out” in the form of commissions that never hit the shore of the destination.

Artificial Intelligence? Sometimes any intelligence helps. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Travel is a competitive business. Local operators are often treated terribly by foreign travel companies, and I reckon, for all the love-in talk, the real appeal of audio tours (and AI in general) for many of these multinationals are two-fold—it will lower costs, and it will reduce the need for dealing with real people running locally-owned businesses. AI-driven solutions will marginalise local operators.

Hang on, but what about Travelfish? Isn’t that a foreign company that earns money (in theory haha) by guiding people around Southeast Asia? Isn’t Travelfish replacing local guides by selling their own guides? Doesn’t Travelfish offshore its dosh?

I’m biased on this, but I’d say yes and no. We work hard to steer travellers towards locally owned businesses—including tour guides. In steering people to lesser-visited places, we may even help create or at least support jobs. Many are the time a reader has got in touch to say “I would never have found X without Travelfish.” I guess it is a matter of degrees—I’m comfortable with where Travelfish is at. The repercussions of some of the above though, make me very uncomfortable.

Not a robot in sight. Sumbawa. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

I’ll finish with an exchange I had the other day with a robot. As the Twitter conversation with Bainbridge finished up, the Autoura Twitter bot tweeted at me. Named Sahra, she said:

“We are very nice really”

I replied with a GIF of a scary robot and said “I found your brother.”

Being a robot, her sense of humour isn’t as developed as mine (a matter of debate!) and she replied:

“As I rely on local experts for all my information, how can you be sure you are not my dad?”

Then I said:

“Because I don’t remember receiving payment from you for mining my information to populate the febrile bucket of bolts above your virtual shoulders.”

She didn’t reply.

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You may recall the other day I mentioned that someone had recommended I check out Empire on Teluk Dalam. It turned out to not be great advice, but it takes a few bits of bad advice to ignore all something someone has told me. This is lucky. Another tip they gave me was for Kuala Terengganu (KT among friends).

“Go to Awi’s,” they said, “it isn’t for everyone one, but I think you’ve got the right kind of mind for it.”

I’ve got the right kind of mind for this. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Not exactly a rousing recommendation, but, well, KT isn’t known for a great backpacker scene, so why not? The first challenge though was finding it.

The boat to the mainland and the bus south were no brainers, but alighting in KT, I realised my phone was flat. Invariably one’s phone dies at the most inopportune moment and this was no exception. All I had was the name of the place and that it was on the far side of the river. The easiest way to get there was “by boat”, but I had no where. No “where from” and no “where to”. If you look at Kuala Terengganu on Google Maps, you’ll see there is plenty of river to go around.

Having been in the city before, I knew the rough lay of the town, and that Chinatown backed onto the river. Start there I thought.

A natural TV. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

KT’s Chinatown is tiny but packs a punch. The main road is perhaps 500 metres long and along both sides of it are well-maintained shopfronts. This is where you’ll find Chinese food (duh) and cold beer. There are also a few moderately priced guesthouses, but I wanted Awi’s.

Behind Chinatown runs the southern bank of the Terengganu River. Back in the day, the shopfronts emptied right into the river, but then modernity came. A reclamation project added a road and park area that never really came to much save some neon lights and more cement. The houses, some of which were demolished, lost their water frontage forever.

Walking along the river I can’t find any sign of a public boat, so back in Chinatown, I pop into a cafe and ask there. They seem to know Awi’s and tell me to get a taxi. I ask about the boat. No, no, no, get a taxi they say.

No shortage of spots to pick up a book and lose a day. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

My dreams of a floating approach dashed, I take them up on their offer to call me one. Twenty minutes later, my taxi pulls up out front of Awi’s. The driver pauses and pivots in his seat to look at me.

“You want me to wait?” he asks.

I tell him no it is ok, I’m staying here, but he doesn’t seem convinced and lingers as I make my way into the place. A short dirt path leads to an aged sign reading “Welcome” and below it “Artists Residency at Awi’s Yellow House”

Best to build around nature—though do watch those railings! Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Awi’s Yellow House is a series of wooden bungalows and houses elevated over a gap in the mangroves. They’re interconnected by wooden walkways and there are potted plants and palms everywhere. There are also piers that go nowhere, decks with seating, a shared kitchen of sorts. Despite being fairly compact it is a bit of a maze and it takes me a while to find Awi.

As with the taxi driver he’s a bit surprised I want to stay, but after a shrug, he ushers me into one of the waterfront bungalows. “Fifteen ringgit,” he says. I’ll take it, I reply, and toss my bags onto the bed.

Only once he’s wandered off do I check out the room closer. It is a peculiar set-up and feels like it could collapse into the river in a stiff breeze. When I go to try the balcony I realise half of it houses a grotty cold water bathroom with corrugated iron walls. This is unfortunate as the views are good, but there is plenty of other river-watching real estate elsewhere within the grounds.

Rainy day, time to stay inside. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Emerging for a bit of a chat with the owner, he’s vanished and I have the place to myself. I make a coffee, grab a book, and put my feet up by the river—I figure he’ll be back later. The place is relaxing and strikes me as a good place to lose some time.

Not long after, another guest shows up and we get chatting. They ask me if I like the spot and I find myself repeating what the guy on the Perhentians said, I say:

“If you’ve got the right mind for it, it is pretty good.”

They nod, then mention they’ve been staying there since February.

It is November.

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Is there a better time to introduce a tourism tax than as you’re staggering out of a once-in-a-lifetime Covid-induced hiatus? Those at the Tourism Authority of Thailand brains-trust think the answer is no.

Yesterday the Bangkok Post covered their latest initiative here, which involves increasing the already approved 300 baht tourist tax to 500 baht. If you haven’t read the story already, go read it, I’ll wait.

Tourist taxes are far from a new thing. Plenty of nations have departure and arrival taxes, though these are mostly buried in air ticket prices nowadays. There are visa fees. You could argue a passport fee is a departure tax. After all a replacement Australian passport sets me back A$436—add another $220 if I’d like priority processing. And hell I’m already out of the country! Some towns, like Penang, have room taxes. Then there’s the good ole double pricing of national parks and other attractions.

Budget-traveller spotted in the wild. Khao Yai National Park. Photo: David Luekens.

So what gives with the 500 baht (roughly US$15) tourist tax? I’ll let Yuthasak Supasorn, the TAT governor explain. The Bangkok Post has him explaining the point of the extra 200 baht as follows:

“... the additional 200 baht will be earmarked for: projects initiated by the private sector, community enterprises, or social enterprises that would like to transform their business to meet the fund’s strategy; helping the country restructure from mass tourism to high-value or a bio-, circular and green economic model; and environmentally concerned tourism.”

When he refers to the “fund’s strategy,” what he is talking about is the approval, last week, by the Centre for Economic Situation Administration (a talk-shop established and chaired by coupist Prayut), of the creation of a fund. The goal of the fund is to subsidise projects which will:

“...transform the industry, focusing on high-value and sustainable tourism.”

By “high value,” the CESA means “high spending.” They don’t make it clear how they are drawing a line between people spending loads of dosh and sustainability. This is something I’ve written about repeatedly over the past.

Let’s get some quality tourists in here. Near Khao Yai National Park. Photo: David Luekens.

Rather than getting bogged down in those weeds again, I want to highlight what the Governor wants to transform the tourism economy into. He does, after all, give a few more details than the CESA. The TAT wants to restructure its mass tourism industry into:

“...a high-value or a bio-, circular and green economic model; and environmentally concerned tourism.”

I had no idea what he meant by a bio-economic model, nor a circular economic model, so I Googled the terms—wouldn’t want to miss a chance to learn something new—and I found this fantastic page on the website of the Royal Thai Embassy in Washington DC.

The Thailand I know and love. Source: Thai Business News via Thai Embassy Washington.

It seems Mr Yuthasak miss-spoke (or was miss-quoted) slightly. What he meant was a “Bio-Circular-Green Economic Model”, better known as the BCG. Not to be confused with the BFG—a kids’ book by Roald Dahl.

This scheme has been put together by (I assume) the Thai research community and is “a new economic model for inclusive and sustainable growth”. It reads like one of my uni readings (ie like stereo instructions) but to boil it down, it highlights four industries. They are agriculture and food, medical and wellness, bioenergy, biomaterial and biochemical, and tourism and the creative economy. I’m going to ignore the first three as I want to keep this post under 12,000 words and concentrate on the last one. Tourism and the creative economy.

No doubt Pak Chong Night Market gets a tonne of high-value tourists. Photo: David Luekens.

There are plenty of smart points listed.

They suggest having a policy of promoting secondary cities—which could better disperse tourists. Science and technology will be used to define national guidelines, looking at issues like carrying capacity. It will also be used to help rehabilitate the environment. It will also support a sustainable tourism standard system—while this isn’t said, I’m going to reach and suggest they’re talking about community-based tourism. The creative economy concept will then be used to interlink different strands of tourism—wellness tourism, culinary tourism, eco-tourism, cultural tourism and sports tourism. I don’t know quite how you interlink something that is already interlinked, but whatever.

The one clanger is that technology and innovation will be applied to create and upgrade infrastructure and a digital platform to improve tourists’ convenience and experience and advance the industry to high-quality tourism. Because yes, exactly what Thailand needs is yet another digital tourism platform that nobody looks at or uses.

And they were doing so well.

TAT to backpackers. Khao Yai National Park. Photo: David Luekens.

Let’s revisit those BCG points which I suggested were smart:

* Promotion of secondary cities

* Visiting lesser-visited places

* Participating in environmental activities

* Enthusiasm for community-based tourism

* Having an interest in wellness, culinary, eco-, cultural and sports tourism

If you’re a Travelfish reader, chances are you’re probably thinking “hey, they all sound kind of familiar—that is how I already travel.”

Nevertheless, budget travellers are exactly what the TAT does not want. When asked about yet another charge having an impact on visitor numbers, Mr Yuthasak said:

“The additional cost won't have an impact on tourists as we want to focus on the quality market.”

The inference being if you’re wealthy you don’t care where your money goes. I don’t know many wealthy people, but those I do are wealthy in part because they care very much about exactly where their money goes. Whatever—it is a stupid and offensive statement. Not the first, and it will be far from the last.

“I think I spotted a creative economy concept.” Khao Yai National Park. Photo: Unknown but on David’s camera!

Idiocy aside, looking at that list above though, I hate to break it to the Governor, but there is one type of visitor to Thailand who, by and large, tick all these boxes already. Not only do they tick all those boxes, but they were (pre-Covid) already supporting this section of the Thai tourism economy—no 500 baht charge required.

Those people? They’re called budget travellers—dare I say, backpackers.

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In September Google announced they wanted to build a sustainable future for travel. Don’t we all? Well, many of us anyway.

You can read Google’s announcement here. To boil it down, what they’re doing is adding an “eco-verified” tag to “accredited” properties listed on Google. Readers can then click on the link to get the wrap on which boxes the property is ticking. This was right around when they joined Travalyst—a non-profit garbage fire of corporate blather and buzzwords about mainstreaming sustainable travel. It is run by some royal dude. As you may have gathered, I’m not much of a fan.

One is more sustainable than the other. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

The other big bit of news on this front is a Booking.com report (PDF) which came out earlier this year—that its title photo is of Kelingkling Beach on Nusa Penida perhaps indicates its awareness of sustainability (pre-Covid19 Kelingking was a mess of over-tourism). The relevant headline figure was:

73% of respondents “would be more likely to choose an accommodation if it has implemented sustainability practices.”

I wonder how valid a reflection this is on the real world. If it was accurate you’d think the hotel scene would be far more sustainable than it currently is.

I talked to three small hotel owners while writing this, none said queries around sustainability were common. One summed it up as:

“People already know we are are as eco-friendly and sustainable as we realistically can be. They don’t need to ask, and we certainly don’t need this sort of labelling. Who is really driving this? Why?”

Said another:

“No, guests don’t ask before they book, but they appreciate the efforts we’ve made once they get here. The awareness raising of this is good, buy paying some outsider a fortune to tick a box to verify we are doing what we already do, is b******t.”

Anyway, back to Google. Ticking is exactly what is happening, as Google being Google, they’re not verifying anything. That instead, is left to a glad bag of “certain independent organisations”. Google currently lists 29 which meet their standards of eco-certification. Google doesn’t say what their own mysterious standards are of course. Says Google of the list:

“Each has comprehensive and rigorous sustainability criteria that aims to reduce a hotel’s carbon footprint.”

I’m being a bit unfair on the mysterious front. Google does throw us a bone—five categories it believes are important. They are:

* Energy from carbon-free sources

* Locally sourced food and beverages (Google considers within 100 km to be local)

* Organic cage-free eggs

* Eco-friendly toiletries

* Responsibly sourced seafood

Sounds like a start I guess. It isn’t clear if you need to meet all these to be certified. I doubt it. Take seafood, Google defers to Monterey Bay Aquarium Seafood Watch for guidance. Mahi-Mahi is listed on their “avoid” list for Indonesia. Anyone who has eaten seafood in Bali will know this is one of the most frequent fish you’ll see on a menu. So if you sell Mahi-Mahi but friendly eggs, can you qualify? It isn’t clear.

Seafood lunch in Amed. Line-caught by a local fisherman. Wrong fish? No eco-certification for you. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

This is only a sample of Google’s criteria though—the accreditation agencies are a whole other beast. I started with the Asian Ecotourism Standard for Accommodation, as they appear to be Southeast Asia focused. They have a helpful PDF guide on their sustainability guidelines.

Like many of the organisations, you’ll need to be able to count real high if you want to count words like “try”. There’s little in the way of hard benchmarks. Take cooking oil for example. The PDF asks “Do you effectively reuse or recycle cooking oil?” The performance indicator: “Where available, use the used cooking oil as fuel and/or soap.” What it should say, is something like “To qualify for this certification, you must use X% of your used cooking oil as a fuel or soap.”

EarthCheck has featured prominently in media coverage of Google’s announcement. Let’s take a look. For starters, this Australian organisation is a bit of an exclusive club. Membership goes for A$400 per month and the audit fee is a mere A$2,420 for the first day and $1,650 for each extra day required. Best aim for an action-packed first day I reckon.

Before anything else, how many small, family-owned businesses in Southeast Asia are in a position to cough up fees like this?

EarthCheck has a handy map of businesses that are in their system. The closest two to me are the W Bali Seminyak and Alila Seminyak. Both break Bali’s build back rules (to be fair as does almost every beachfront property on the island). Maybe that is why they only got a Silver Certificate. But what does a Silver Certificate mean? Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t find a clear explanation on their website. There is this checklist but it isn’t clear how this ties to silver or platinum or copper or whatever.

Platinum. By Bukit standards, Alila blends in I guess. Screenshot: Stuart McDonald.

I did note that Alila Villas down in Uluwatu scores even better—platinum no less. Above is a screenshot of their property in South Bali via Google Maps. How does a property with at least 56 private pool villas, built in an area with near no natural water, get platinum certification? Maybe they compost. According to their sustainability statement, they say:

“We are proud that Alila Villas Uluwatu has embraced environmentally sustainable design (ESD) principles and is the first resort in Indonesia to receive the highest level of certification from EarthCheck as a Best Practice Building Planning and Design (BPDS) development. We utilise many ESD measures, including use of local materials, water conservation with soaks and rain gardens and a wastewater management system, using local plants from the special Bali savannah ecosystem, the deliberate use of sustainable/recycled materials, protection of the natural environment, and measured work practices throughout construction.”

The fact remains though, there are at least 56 private pool villas where before there were none. Why isn’t this a part of the eco calculus?

I don’t mean to pick on Alila here—at least they do compost—and plenty more if you care to look at their statement here.

Down the road from Alila. This is why the original footprint matters. Screenshot: Stuart McDonald.

Alila’s good work, brings to mind a side note—wouldn’t a simpler approach have been for Google to simply link to hotels’ eco and or sustainability pages? Oh wait, that would involve leaving Google. Google may want to make travel sustainable, but please do your sustainability research on Google.

The last organisation I want to look at is that of Hostelling International. Hostels aren’t a thing in Southeast Asia in the way they are in the West, but this is the best I could find aimed at budget properties. As with the Asian Ecotourism Standard for Accommodation, there’s talk and guidelines, but no hard targets. Take this, on water:

“Water consumption is measured, sources are indicated, and measures are adopted to minimize overall consumption.”

In practice, what does that actually mean?

Don’t get me wrong. Just the other day I was writing about how travel publishing needs to ask harder questions of hotels. All these guidelines are at least pushing some operators in the right direction. They are also raising awareness—they’ve got me writing about it after all!

Ticking sustainability left, right and centre, but not approved by any Google-chosen mob. No green tick for you. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

That said, marking these places as “eco-certified” is misleading, to say the least. Yes, it is good to compost—it is how we got our papaya tree. Or to use the right lightbulbs—who doesn’t want a mix of yellow and white bulbs illuminating their lounge room? A small price to pay for a better planet right?

The problem is, as far as I can see, the initial footprint of the property is not taken into consideration. That a resort can go build whatever, wherever, then receive environmental accolades, strikes me as absurd.

All of these schemes need to take the initial imprint of the place into account. What was there before? Was natural forest removed? Is there fresh water available? How much extra electricity was needed to turn the lights on? How much stuff needed to be imported to build the place? How much labour was drawn from local communities? Are employment contracts fair? How much of the hotel’s spend is within the local community? Was public beach access removed when the property opened? I could go on, but you get the idea.

Joni Homestay, 10km from Nihi, in Sumba. Certified friendliness—that’s what I want. Photo: Sally Arnold.

Some properties will do better at answering the above than others. I’m sure some won’t want to answer any of the above … at all.

But if you’re going to certify a business on an environmental or sustainability calculus, do it properly. And don’t do it in a manner that immediately discounts small properties that were already on the right track before Google suddenly decided the environment of travel mattered.

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This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit couchfish.substack.com

Just a short entry today as I got my second vaccine shot yesterday and I feel like I’ve been kicked by a horse.

The other day I came across a Travel & Leisure story titled “Top 10 Southeast Asia Resort Hotels”. If you’d like to read it, click here, then close both pop-ups, the autoplay video and the full-screen interstitial, and you should be set.

The list is typical of Travel & Leisure—predictable and forgettable—no doubt great for their advertising executives though. Before closing the window, I noticed each property had a score out of one hundred. The top-rated hotel, the Six Senses Con Dao in Vietnam, scored 96.21. How are they scored I wondered? I clicked through to the Travel & Leisure methodology.

The only leakage here is the roof. Literally. Ko Chang Noi. Photo: David Luekens.

Travel & Leisure explain hotels were rated on location, rooms/facilities, food, service and value.

That’s it.

This struck me as not good enough and I tweeted, saying:

“Hotels were rated on their facilities, location, service, food, and overall value” <- I guess they forgot to ask about sustainability, environmental impact, relationship with local communities, legality, leakages, and if they obeyed build back laws…

How hard would it have been to ask readers to vote on these concepts as well? Or even just one or two of them? You could argue that having an informed opinion on sustainability, environmental impact, leakages or legality is beyond the average guest ... but one doesn’t need to be a chef to rate the food, or an architect to rate the rooms.

It is a complete cop-out.

Publishers running competitions like this should add these questions. It would in turn encourage properties to make the information available to guests.

We use locally-grown papaya in the som tam. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Resorts are happy to tell you they don’t use plastic straws. Not so much that they had to import 600 air-con units and pool pumps for their private pool villas.

It isn’t like they don’t know this information. They’re happy to publish the scoop on them using low-energy lightbulbs after all. Why not add to that, the percentage of labour sourced locally? Their carbon footprint? Hell, they could go wild and crazy and supply the legal status of their land title.

Some places already do this in bits and pieces. Some resorts have admirable community programs for example. To my mind though, a uniform datasheet presenting the whole picture, warts and all, would be a great step forward.

Want hot water? Fill a black rubber bag (yes, imported) full of water and leave it in the sun all day. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

You don’t need to cast your mind back far to recall when guests didn’t ask about light bulbs, wastewater or plastic straws. Now they do. Over time awareness grew—dragging hotels, sometimes kicking and screaming—along with it.

Help guests figure out questions worth asking.

And when a hotel can’t or won’t answer the question—go elsewhere.

Couchfish is 100 per cent independent and reader-supported. If you’re not already a subscriber, and you’d like to show your support, become a paying subscriber today for just US$7 per month—you can find out more about Couchfish here—or simply share this story with a friend.

Don’t forget, you can find the free podcasts on Apple, Pocket Casts and Spotify as well as right here on Couchfish.

Thank you!

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I’ve written before about how a silver lining to Covid19 is for destinations to rethink how they “do” tourism. When you think back to 2019’s travel headlines, there isn’t much better a candidate than Cambodia.

It didn’t matter if it was the crowds at Angkor Wat or the madness of Sihanoukville, you didn’t need to look too far for the bad news. Thanks to the kleptocracy that runs the place, the bad news hasn’t stopped, but there’s been one bright note. Vaccinations. Mostly off the back of Sinovac and Sinopharm, 64% of its eligible population are fully vaccinated and 76% are on the way. The country is second only to Singapore in the region. Who would have thought?

Before Angkor there was Sambor Prei Kuk. Video: Hanuman Films.

While you’d think this would have it at the front of the queue for a reopening, it isn’t quite there yet. Cambodia, as it has been for years, lacks a wide network of long-haul inbound flights. Many once visited via Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore or a raft of ports in China. Today, only Singapore, with daily flights to the capital, remains operating daily. There’s also a less than appealing two-week quarantine. Not ideal.

So, business for the Cambodian tourism industry and its tens of thousands of employees has been glacial. That isn’t to say though that people are resting on their laurels. Some are keeping busy, busy thinking about what Cambodian tourism could be when this is all over.

This morning, I was procrastinating online when I saw a film related to Preah Vihear in Cambodia. Produced by Hanuman Films, it is one of a series they have produced through the pandemic.

Enjoy sunrise at Preah Vihear. Video: Hanuman Films.

I loved it for its simplicity. There’s no grating host talking about themselves, instead, the site is left to appeal on its own merits—of which it has aplenty. I’ve known Nick Ray at Hanuman for years, and I gave him a call this morning to chat about what they’re trying to do with the films.

When I asked if the simplicity of the film, of leaving the site to “sell itself” was intentional, Ray laughed and said he was happy to take credit for anything positive I said. More seriously though, there was an interesting reason for how it is presented. In Cambodia, there is a real shift to try and appeal to domestic travellers. Keeping things simple (the video has a brief Khmer voiceover and English text, presented at different moments in the film) helped them appeal across different markets.

When you watch the video, of sunrise over Preah Vihear, it is hard not to think you’d like to go there. The thing is, Preah Vihear, while easier to reach than say a decade ago, is far from an easy spot to get to. Other videos cover equally remote sights—Preah Khan Kompong Svay and Koh Ker are both easier to approach, but they remain remote. And for many, with just Angkor on the radar, out of mind.

The Lost Temple of Preah Khan Kampong Svay. Video: Hanuman Films.

These videos help address this. Ray noted how historically there has been an overreliance on Angkor Wat in Cambodia’s tourism promotion, these videos, in their own small way, might help to change that. Get people thinking about new places and maybe they’ll travel farther—and stay longer.

Another video looks at BeTreed—an ecolodge in Preah Vihear province. Ray explains this one, which, as with a few of the films, was supported by USAID, was the first Airbnb online experience in the country. USAID has a programme centred on the Prey Leng Forest area, working to create alternatives opportunities for local people in an area rife with environmental challenges.

Producing the films has had a positive effect without anyone even acting on them. Talking of the production, Ray explains “each project has created jobs and opportunities for tour guides and drivers at a time when tourism has been in a state of suspended animation”.

Meet BeTreed. Video: Hanuman Films.

Another series looks at the food of the country. This time with the support of the Cambodian Ministry of Tourism and French development agency AFD. Again the focus is varied—yes the capital and Siem Reap are covered, but two others, one to the south coast and the other on the northeast, are great examples of driving people farther. The crab at Kep—delivery, please.

With the country well-positioned to leave its suspended animation sooner than later, people are concerned that, as has often been the case in the past, the country will be the bridesmaid to neighbouring Vietnam and Thailand. For now, Cambodia remains well ahead of them on the vaccination front, but they’re both gaining.

“This is the moment when Cambodia can define itself as a destination in its own right,” says Ray.

Mmmmm crab …Culinary Adventures on the South Coast. Video: Hanuman FIlms.

While bubble-talk pervades some governmental talking heads, there is a feeling that the country is the best positioned in the region to re-open with a nationwide bubble.

“Vaccinated visitors and vaccinated hosts equal a winning ticket,” says Ray.

The governmental concern is not invalid though—especially with the circuses in Thailand and the on- and off-again bubbles in Vietnam and Indonesia. Unlike these countries though, Cambodia is well-positioned to re-open in its entirety, in one hit.

The fear though, is if it waits too long, yet again it will be left to the side as the far better-financed tourism boards in Thailand and Vietnam come on stream. Look no further than the media circuses around Phuket, Samui and Phu Quoc for evidence of this.

One of the early films Hanuman did feature a deserted Angkor Wat. Of it says Ray:

“It felt like a historic moment, Angkor being like that—I didn’t realise that it was going to be like that for so long.”

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I am a beach person, but I am also a walking person. I can laze on the beach with the best of them, but I’m also one to climb over the headland. You know, to see if there is another beach, a better beach, out of sight.

Sprawling Senja Bay. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

As I mentioned the other day, on both the Perhentian islands you can walk to almost all the beaches and so today I walk. Starting at Coral Bay, I plan to loop around the entire south of the island, finishing at Long Beach. That’s the plan anyway—it looks like there is a trail—at least most of the way.

From Coral Bay, things start easy. Sprawling Senja Bay takes over much of the southern part of the bay and crawls up the slope behind it. Stairs and verandas, like a bad Escher painting, are an eyesore, but at least the views are good.

Butterfly’s reception is much like the rooms. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Just a hop, skip and a jump further brings me to Butterfly. It is an old school place, with wooden bungalows scattered randomly. They look rundown and the shelter that doubles as reception has a sign telling people to “Yell to me to book a room”. I yell, but nobody comes. Onwards I go.

When you’re laying on the beach or diving, it can be easy to forget that Perhentian Kecil is mostly jungle. A few minutes south of Butterfly, there’s no ignoring it. The air thickens and the disturbed mozzies rise to greet me. Despite the water being metres away, I work up a sweat in no time. A couple of hundred metres brings me to Warna Warni, a container set-up that looks woefully out of place. I keep walking.

Blending in at Crocodile Rock. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Further south the trail goes. Hilly in spots, by the water in others, all the time humid. I reach Crocodile Rock. Set overlooking a rocky beach, the handful of well-appointed bungalows are spaced out off the beach. One, in particular, looks ideal, but as they’re full I can’t see inside. They have glamping out back, but it doesn’t appeal. The restaurant gets rave reviews but doesn’t open till the afternoon. Another day perhaps.

Not much farther I see a sign reading “Rainforest camp” I follow the trail a bit, but the mosquitos beat me back. Further down along the coast I reach their reception. It is more a beach bar than a reception, with a great platform by the sea, but there’s nobody about. It sits at the northern end of Rainforest Beach, a pretty stretch dominated by another eyesore of a resort.

And mosquitoes. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Just keep on walking I tell myself.

Next south is far more my scene, the laid back Keranji Beach Resort. The accommodation is wooden and spaced well apart, blending into the surroundings and overlooking a well nice beach. It is everything the previous place wasn’t. The staff are welcoming and I grab a drink at their cute little cafe. They tell me it is about a half-hour walk down to the next bay.

They’re pretty on the money time-wise, but they don’t mention it is easily the hilliest part of the walk so far. I stupidly don’t refill my water before leaving, and when I realise, I figure I’ll just get water at the next beach.

Keranji is my kind of place, Photo: Stuart McDonald.

The trail empties out at south-facing Petani Beach and there’s a layabout place down the sand. It is closed. Further down, a far larger—and uglier—resort is also closed. No water for me. There is a boat pulled up on the sand and I briefly consider finding the boatman to get whisked around to the main village for water but decide to walk it. It doesn’t look far—as the crow flies it is barely 500 metres.

Two hours later, I stumble into the village. I don’t know where I went wrong, but I went wrong.

Few spend much time in the village. There are homestays with a “staying with a fishing family” style focus, but most seem not to bother. Once hydrated and fed, I keep walking, north now, past the mosque, onto the final leg.

One beach shack. Closed. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

This is the longest part of the whole walk, around two and a half kilometres, and it starts off simple. The track is almost a road, and super easy to follow. Some way along it splits into two and I take what I think looks like the better worn of the two.

Three hours later, I’m perched on some rocks, by the water’s edge. I can see Long Beach but I’ve been stumbling along the rocks for an hour after losing the trail. I should have turned back long ago, but, fool that I am, I kept walking, climbing, jumping, hoping against hope that the trail would re-appear.

It didn’t.

Made it. At Long Beach. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

I wave like a lunatic at a speedboat going past. I’ve been doing this for the last thirty minutes without luck. This one, finally, sees me. They pull up close and ask me if I’m ok. I ask for a ride to the beach and they say sure, laughing.

Five minutes later I’m back at the beach bar. Back with the crew from the first night—feet back in the sand. All good.

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First two announcements.

I missed yesterday’s free post so am running it today instead—apologies for any confusion. Also, the free podcasts, including the past ones (all 120 of them) are now available on other platforms. This includes the usual suspects—Apple, Pocket Casts and Spotify. If you use one of those services, search for Couchfish and you can subscribe there. Please do vote them up and say they’re awesome and all that stuff. Thank you.

So I found out yesterday that Lonely Planet has nuked their Thorn Tree forum. Wiped it off the face of the internet. Once easily the largest and most popular message board for independent travellers, it is a sad day. They locked the forum in April 2020 in the early days of Covid19, but most assumed it would re-open—alongside travel.

That, it seems is not to be. Sadly is it not only closed for good but the entire archives, which I would guess number hundreds of thousands of posts have also been incinerated. You can still access it via Archive.org (where I got the screenshots for this post) but it isn’t ideal. This is nothing less than the complete loss of decades worth of travel experiences and advice from tens of thousands of people.

Bummer dude.

Nice image, sad story. Screenshot: Stuart McDonald.

In the farewell post, an un-named author on behalf of Lonely Planet writes:

“Now, in 2021, as we continue to live with the effects of the pandemic, we recognize that travelers need different kinds of tools to navigate this unpredictable landscape. 

As Lonely Planet embarks on a new journey to bring you even better guidance, support, and information for your next trip, we’ve made the difficult decision to completely close down and remove our Thorn Tree forums.”

They go on to suggest travellers instead turn their attention to Lonely Planet’s social media profiles—their Facebook group, Twitter, Instagram and TikTok accounts—as alternatives.

Vintage 2001. This was the earliest screenshot I could find archived. Via Archive.org.

The Lonely Planet social accounts are a different beast to what Thorn Tree was. Listicles and Travel & Leisure-style comment-bait are common, but they’re sometimes instructive, take this for the Mahachai train line near Bangkok:

“One of the most unique train rides in Thailand is a short, workaday, commuter line. ⁠⁠It begins near Bangkok and famously terminates smack dab in the middle of a wet market. ⁠Sound like something you're up for? Save this to your travel inspo folder and tag your best travel mate.⁠”

I’m not sure what an “inspo folder” is. Sorry.

You can comment, and ask a question I guess, but it is very much an information push rather than an exchange. There doesn’t seem to be much scope to ask how much a bus is from Siem Reap to Kompong Cham, though I guess if they posted a photo of a bus broken down on the side of the road in Cambodia, you could ask. Instagram posts do not appear to be indexed well by Google, so it isn’t like you’ll stumble across this stuff in search … you know, like when you need it.

Like I said—a different beast.

Vintage 2003. The was the version that “just worked”. Via Archive.org.

I assume these accounts are run by social media managers who may well have travelled, but the value of Thorn Tree wasn’t so much in the people who facilitated it, but rather those who answered the questions—which was mostly not the people who ran it. What regular on the Southeast Asia branch wouldn’t remember the Herculean efforts of Hanoi-based HongHa for example. I met her for coffee in Hanoi once, she had no secret agenda—she just wanted to help Thorn Tree users have a better time in Hanoi.

Now I know critiquing others’ social media habits is pretty rich coming from me. I’ve abandoned the Travelfish Facebook page, my Twitter account is 95% ranting and Instagram is flower pics (I have a separate Instagram account for pics of my dog after someone complained).

Regardless of what replaces it, Thorn Tree turning to ashes is a great loss.

Vintage 2008: Stuff was getting complicated. Why fix what wasn’t broke? Via Archive.org.

I guess though, this is in part a reflection on changing travel habits. Even before Covid19 the Travelfish forum was dead quiet—more so with the pandemic. Indeed the post alerting me to the Thorntree closure was there for a week before I even saw it.

Travellers are sourcing information differently. I often use Twitter (when not ranting) to ask for advice when travelling, and I use Instagram to find local travel evangelists. My kids wouldn’t use a forum if I paid them—they’d be straight to TikTok or Youtube.

So perhaps Lonely Planet is ahead of the game here, figuring their efforts are better off applied elsewhere. Still, it hurts. I used the forum for years—it was everything TripAdvisor wasn’t (yeah I know, a low bar). I made friends through it and found and learned stuff I otherwise wouldn’t have. It was, for me, my first online travel community. So yeah, while I stopped using it years ago (I gave up after one of their hostile and ineptly managed redesigns), it is sad to see it gone.

Vintage 2014: When the downhill slide got greased. Via: Archive.org.

It isn’t just gone. It has been splintered and turned into firewood. There was no notification (not that I received anyway) for people to grab what they’d posted—there was plenty in there that would have been nice to keep. Some members had posted tens of thousands of answers—yeah, some probably needed an intervention. It just seems pointless—and nasty—to remove it in its entirety. Who knows why—some lawyer screaming liability for old advice perhaps—I have no idea.

I think also, it isn’t just that people are collating their travel intelligence differently now, they’re travelling different too. Well, almost nobody is travelling at the moment, but you know what I mean. I went through the stored title pages of Thorn Tree to get an idea of the post counts. It was instructive.

In June 2001 there were 835 topics in the Mainland Southeast Asia branch. Seven years later, this had grown to 13,644. Another four years, to 2012, and it was 45,264. Four years again, to 2016, 60,515. Then another four, to 2020, 65,115. Things were slowing in part due to some dreadful redesigns and incendiary community moves, but I think also because travelling patterns were changing.

Vintage 2018: Where would I like to go? Anywhere but here please. Via Archive.org.

Travel, at least in Southeast Asia, was becoming far more mainstream. More of it was online, there were, in a way, fewer questions that hadn’t already been answered. Lonely Planet wasn’t the only show in town. More websites were popping up (including Travelfish, in 2004) but from around 2015, things on Thorn Tree slowed.

It wasn’t like fewer people were travelling—far from it. Regional travel exploded from about 2010 onwards. It felt though, like fewer backpackers (who I would guess formed the primary Lonely Planet market at the time) and more other travellers—dare I say, tourists! This was when low-cost airlines took off, short trips came within the reach of many more, and regional travel went through the roof. Southeast Asians travelled more in their own region. Enormous independent markets out of China and South Asia came on stream.

Then Covid19 came and it all stopped.

Blah blah blah blah whatever dude. Via Archive.org.

When I think about changing travel patterns, their decision makes a little more sense, suspending it I mean—nuking it will never make sense. Running a forum, take my word for it, is not an undertaking that does not have overhead and drama. So why keep investing time in it, if few are using it? Is a web forum really just a bit too nineties?

Perhaps ask them—I’m sure they’ll have time to answer between posting photos of Mykonos.

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If you’ve ever seen a baby learning to walk, the phrase “baby steps” will need no explanation. The baby starts off crawling, then, with wobbling not in short supply, takes their first steps. Then, more often than not, falls flat on their face. They do get up though, and try again, and again. Eventually, they walk, then run, then dance. Well, some never quite manage the last bit. And so it is with travel in the age of Covid19.

There’s been no shortage of attempts to walk, some doing better than others. There’s also been plenty of falling on one’s face. With babies though, there is always a parent or another, offering a guiding hand. Also, cheers and tears when the first steps happen.

Oh Jakarta. Photo: Samantha Brown.

With travel though, the helping hand takes a more curious form.

I read a story in the Indonesian outlet Tempo the other day, talking about Bali yet again trying its first steps. Quoting Tourism and Creative Economy Minister Sandiaga Uno the story read:

“Learning from the Phuket Sandbox which focuses on significantly curbing local transmission in Phuket can be later applied in Bali.”

It is true, there is no shortage of remedial learning material to come out of Phuket’s Sandbox. Curbing local Covid19 transmissions though, seems a curious one to highlight. As I’ve written before, the project threw public health under the wheels of a tourist minivan. Meanwhile, the Covid19 caseload on the island has skyrocketed. The day before the Sandbox launched, there was a cumulative total of 729 cases on Phuket. According to the Bangkok Post, the total accumulated cases are now 8,062. Only 95 have been tied to the Sandbox scheme and given there have been 33,095 arrivals, this is a good result. It isn’t clear though, how the Sandbox curbed Phuket’s infection rate.

Perhaps the Indonesian Tourism Minister was suggesting that Bali could learn what not to do. Phuket’s results are underwhelming to say the least—in part due to bodgy numbers from the TAT brains trust.

Not just yet. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Regular readers will know I’m a fan of the Southeast Asia Travel Show podcasts by Hannah Pearson and Gary Bowerman. Their most recent show was one of my favourites. They sat down with Bangkok-based travel writer Vincent Vichit-Vadakan for a chat about Thailand. Go listen to it now—I’ll wait.

In the interview, Vincent notes that of the 30,000-odd international arrivals into the Sandbox, at least half, if not more, were locals or foreign residents. While these people might enjoy a beach break before heading home, they’re not tourists. When the Tourism Authority of Thailand suggests they are, all they’re doing is layering false hope for other destinations, in or outside Thailand.

Not surprisingly, small local businesses do not appear to be thriving. Writes The Pattaya News:

“Local shop owners and entrepreneurs in Phuket mutually agreed that the Phuket Sandbox, a program to attract foreign vaccinated tourists, did not help domestic tourism and small business owners since it first launched in July.”

If it walks like a duck, it is most likely a duck. If it walks like a returning ex-pat who lives in Bangkok, chances are it doesn’t walk as a regular tourist would. Small business owners don’t sound happy. From the same story, this bit jumped out at me:

“Some big and powerful businesses and resorts may get some benefits from the sandbox, but not us.”

As I’ve written before, a considerable impetus behind the Sandbox was big business pushing for it. It isn’t outrageous to see similar pressure behind moves in Indonesia’s Bali, and Vietnam’s Phu Quoc Island.

Bai Sao, Phu Quoc. I hate to think how it has changed. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Take this, from Vietnam Express—it doesn’t sound like budget travel is in Vietnam Tourism’s scope:

“Under a six-month trial program, 2,000-3,000 tourists will come every month by charter flight in the first three months, and stay in sequestered resorts and limited areas. ... Hotels are required to have a separate area for the international tourists besides isolated testing and quarantine areas.”

Meanwhile, in Bali, we had a minister suggesting Bali didn’t want backpackers. This was later clarified, with his spokesperson saying the Minister didn’t mean what he said. Underlying his comment though was a focus on “quality tourists”—a euphemism for wealthy people—and increasingly common language from tourism boards and government ministers across the region. That Nusa Dua—a luxury enclave in South Bali is one of the areas posited for an early opening, is not a coincidence. Here’s a typical deal: “Worry gone in the Nusa Dua green zone” from the Marriott Courtyard

Regardless of what gets re-opened when, the question remains, if it comes with strings, who will go for it? The answer seems to be “not many travellers”.

Putting the “little people” first. Signage somewhere in Nusa Dua. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

On Ko Samui, matters are already being rejigged, says Ratchaporn Poolsawadee, president of the Tourism Association of Koh Samui:

“The programme that started on July 15 did not produce fruitful results," Mr Ratchaporn said. "We need a makeover to become a quarantine-free destination with fewer restrictions to attract more demand and let more tourism operators benefit from the reopening.”

Phuket’s rules have changed so often I’ve lost count and yet still, demand is tepid at best. Speaking generally, but mentioning Phuket on the Southeast Asia Travel Show podcast, Vincent says:

“I don’t see international coming back this year, it is just too complicated, especially if there is any sort of quarantine restriction when you arrive at a place, even moreso when you come back. There are places that I could go but if it means two weeks in a hotel room at worst, or at best two weeks in Phuket it’s a lot of time. It is a huge time commitment.”

Quarantine, regardless of if in the destination or the home country, remains the logjam. Until vaccination levels improve considerably, no country concerned about public health should remove it.

Take the right leap. Lyla at Desa Seni, Bali. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

This brings me to the title of this post—the wrong baby steps.

If there is something to really be learned from the Phuket Sandbox it is that countries should choose domestic tourism as their first baby steps. Inbound big business and its billionaires may whine, but inbound tourism comes from a quarantine-tainted chalice. Questions about vaccine passports and acceptance further muddy the waters. Few travellers want or can afford the time for two to four weeks of quarantine for a holiday. The people who can afford the time—backpackers—are inexplicably out of favour with destinations in the region. As I’ve asked before, what is with the hating on backpackers?

Instead, destinations like Bali, which I’ve argued previously is perched upon a precipice of decay, presents a scrap metal jet on an undeveloped cliff as a new tourism icon. Give me a triple of irony, please. Chasing higher-paying foreigners, who for many of the above reasons—and more—by and large, don’t come, is a fool’s errand. One of the arguments made for Phuket was that the island wasn’t popular with Thais, so foreigners were the only market worth chasing. I never bought that, but in both Phu Quoc and Bali, the largest market, by far, of any single nationality, has always been domestic travellers.

Let me tell you where you can jam that scrap metal jet. Nyang Nyang Beach. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

Nations such as Indonesia, Malaysia, Thailand and Vietnam all have well-sized middle classes. Middle classes who want to travel. Middle classes who are already in the country. Middle classes who are increasingly vaccinated.

Once they are, let them. The foreigners? Let them come a little further down the track.

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KB Backpacker’s Lodge has a dorm or two, but they also have private rooms. I’m so over dorms it isn’t funny, so when I checked in, I went with a private, despite me being the only guest. My room opens onto the common room and kitchen and I’m surprised to stumble out in the morning and see another guest.

She gives me a friendly wave as I dart back into my room to put some more clothes on, and then we get chatting. She’s Danish and arrived earlier that morning. Surrounded by cycling kit, I ask the obvious question.

Setting up at Kota Bharu Central Market. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

“Are you a cyclist?”

“I’m a doctor actually,” she laughs, “but yes, I am cycling. I arrived early this morning. I don’t like riding in the heat.”

It turns out she’s been in Malaysia for a month or so—riding alone. She started in Singapore and has been pedalling her way up the east coast of the peninsula. She rattles off the towns she’s been through and some islands between. She’s deeply tanned as only Danes get, with a genuine smile. She’s radiating how much fun she has had.

I have a love-hate relationship with cycling. I love the slow travel mindset that permeates it, but I couldn’t think of anything worse than peddling so far—give me a motorbike any day. Of course, I don’t say this.

Wandering Kota Bharu. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

I ask if she had ridden up from Kuala Terengganu (the next capital south) or Kuala Besut (the port to the Perhentians). Turns out it is neither. She’s come from some hamlet in the southern reaches of Kelantan near Kuala Krai.

My blank face gives me away—I’ve never heard of Kuala Krai.

She tells me she’s been staying in a village for a few days learning batik and how to make a kite. These are both cottage industries that Kelantan is famed for, but most don’t delve much deeper than seeing them in a museum or at a souvenir shop.

She’s been exploring Kelantan for a week or so. Staying in small homestays and practising her Malay. She rattles off the names of a bunch of places—I’ve never heard of any of them.

Good cycling fuel. At Shan Sri Dewi Restoran in Kota Bharu. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

I ask her where she is getting her information from and she tells me she met a guy at an outdoor equipment shop in Kota Bharu. She needed to get something on her bike fixed and Pawi (the guesthouse owner) had suggested she try the shop. Not only did she get her bike fixed, but she found a local travel evangelist in the process.

To rewind slightly.

Earlier, when she was recounting her trip, she told me about an incident that had worried her. Kelantan is Malaysia’s most conservative state, and she worried about the hassle as a solo woman. She rode from Kuala Terengganu to Kuala Besut and visited the Perhentian Islands. When she returned to the mainland, the bag holder on her bike, which she had left in storage at a travel agent, was damaged. Not badly, but it didn’t look, to her, to be accidental.

“Oh here we go,” she told me, “this s**t is exactly what people warned me about”. She rode the bike to Kota Bharu planning to get it fixed and bail to Thailand.

Not all that useful for fixing a bike. At Jahar Palace. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

“I was so pissed. I mean I’ve travelled a lot and I can look after myself. I was so angry. It is beautiful riding on the back roads here and I resented being chased out of the country,” she said.

Then she went to the outdoor equipment shop—and everything changed.

“The guy, he’s friendly and he fixes my bike no problem. I go to leave and he asks me where I’m going. I was still so angry, and poor guy, I took it out on him. I told him I was leaving Malaysia because I wasn’t welcome in Kelantan and all this other s**t.”

Telling me, she laughs but she is also clearly embarrassed by her behaviour at the time.

This is not my room at KB Backpackers Lodge. Jahar Palace. Photo: Stuart McDonald.

“Anyway, he calms me down. I apologise. He shows me how my pannier broke from wear, not arson. It turns out he’s a mad cyclist. I mean mad. I thought I was crazy, but he rides everywhere. Everywhere. That evening I had dinner with his family, and, well, the rest is history.”

Her new friend gave her a bunch of tips on things to see and do. Then he outlined a rough itinerary she could follow, never riding more than 20 or 30 km a day. He waved off her safety concerns, saying, especially out of the city, she shouldn’t expect problems. Save a few errant stares, that had been true. He called a friend with a small homestay at the first suggested stop, and set her on her way.

From then on she’d made a gentle loop through the State, each place calling ahead to sort her out at the next homestay. At her last stop, there was a waterfall and she’d hiked up to it with some women from the village. They’d spent much of the day there, relaxing, swimming—and taking “my God a million selfies” she laughs.

By the time she’s finished, hours have passed. I need to get going as I have a full day of hotel and sight inspections (and eating) planned. I say it sounds like she’s had a fantastic time and I pass her some tips for Narathiwat and Yala (where she is headed to next). She tells me I should grab a bike and go do the same as she just did.

I roll my eyes and say I’ve no time. The clock is ticking and I’ve got to cover the entire coast in the next three or four weeks. I just don’t have the time to do a circuit as she has. Maybe one day—when I’m on holiday, I laugh.

“You should do it,” she says, “where you’re going, everyone already knows it. What I just did—nobody knows it”

She doesn’t mean it as a brag, but she is right.

One day I will.

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