Blog Archives

Central Kalimantan

25/6/2026

What can you contribute to repay the hospitality of a village?

Luckily I just missed peak tourist season. The people in Meringbang Jaya Village clearly remember the last tourist rush. Two Australian cyclists rode through in early 2025. The beauty of such isolation is that you are treated with special privilege. I was hosted by Made Pagadau Tompou, but the entire village passed by to have their photos alongside a very ordinary New Zealand cyclist. The uniqueness of my visit elevated my status so I really tried to leave as much as I could to honour the extraordinary hospitality.

A few days later I had asked permission to camp under the palms of a small mixed farm. Before I had set up camp one of the farm workers arrived with a bag of goodies. The farmer himself picked me up in his truck to wash in his bathroom. The owner of the cafe next door arrived with a bunch of rambutan and a durian. After a long hot day the lychee-like freshness of rambutan is perfect. The only clue I missed was the insistence that I move my tent to a quieter spot, the night was party night at the cafe, loud music all night. Fortunately 80 kilometres of tough hill climbing induced total deafness.

My introduction to local fruit had started in a high mountain roadside store. I started with a fruit with the appearance of a small soft skinned orange with a large stone inside. A very refreshing taste but I still have not identified it. Durian I had been reluctant to try because of its reputation for evil smell, but the custard like texture and taste I found really pleasant. Every store has a large elevated wooden platform which I learned that night is a public sleeping place, so my tent was replaced with an iron roof. The central mountains have a reliable pattern of torrential evening rain.

The transition from West to Central Kalimantan starts with a high mountain pass. It was late in the day, the gradient got too steep to ride. I. Arrived at the top just as darkness and the daily rain storm arrived to claim the worst campsite ever, crammed between a small prayer hut and the main road, overlapping a rubbish burn pile.

Next day in the mountains proved one of my toughest days ever. The terrain consisted of steep conical hills in close succession. At maximum power I could just get the load up, but totally heat cooked. It ended up a very long day of bike pushing for a miserable 50 kilometres.

I am now following the southern Borneo Coast, much less isolated with easier terrain and good regular services including phone data for blogs .

My farm camp hostess and rambutan provider

Last resort mountain bush camp

Derelict fish farms on the south coast delta

Border between West and Central Kalimantan

Village stilt houses

A sudden colour blast from a Chinese Temple. Mountain people are predominantly Christian with Dayak tribal connectionss

As I came around the corner this guy was raising his tray on an uneven slope and literally toppled right in front of me. He is stemming the bush of diesel with a rag

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Sarawak West Kalimantan

15/6/2026

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I was about to award the supreme motor scooter balance award to a man in Pontianak. On the back seat of the scooter sat balanced a full fridge-freezer. The pain on his face from the strap across his forehead, gave the effort away. Then along came scooter number two, this time with a chest freezer on the back, the half metre overhang on each side lifted the game to a whole new level. The most delicate balance award went to the young mother sitting side saddle, baby in one arm and large bag of rice in the other. Her only point of contact with the scooter was her seat. She rode with the elegant poise born of years of practice.

My journey headed west in Sarawak, skirting the big city of Kuching. The complexion of the scene past Kuching was much more traditional and rural. Small stalls of local produce appeared regularly along the route. Water mellow stall holders expertly slice mine into bite-sized chunks. The small town of Bau was surrounded by tall volcanic spires, giving a mystical feel. Next was Lundu, close to the north western corner of Sarawak. South China Sea beach gave a holiday feel.

Crossing the Malaysian-Indonesian border at the remote Aruk crossing had a too-easy feel as I breezed out of Sarawak, just a quick friendly passport stamp. I arrived at the Indonesian side and things started to get messy. “You need a Carnet to bring your bicycle into Indonesia, you must go back to Malaysia and travel by bus”. First question what on earth is a carnet. “It must be issued in the country of origin”. Frantic calls to the NZ support crew connected me to the Jakarta Embassy and to a connection in NZ Police. I now had evidence that I wasn’t bringing it in for commercial purposes. Google told me me the only NZ carnet issuer was the Automobile Association. Sunday, no emergency contacts.

Hours passed. The attitude softened. “We can issue a bond as long as long as you return through the Aruk Border”. A trip the the ATM and the 3 million six hundred rupiah deal was struck. I was through.

The border crossing took me into mountain country. Lush forest and steep climbs. I headed out to the coast stopping first at Sambas. The coast down to Pontianak was dotted with fishing villages. Traditional Indonesian boats crammed into the river anchorages. Rustic quirky and rough, but lots of interactions with locals on the numerous drink stops.

From Pontianak the trans-Kalimantan road headed inland into rolling hill country, hard riding in the heat. I managed to cross the equator 3 times, although without official markers I am unsure exactly where. The heat told me I was pretty equatorial. A few tough moments of doubt as I try not to cook on the climbs and the riding average plummets. It is a huge island.

Across the Kalimantan Border

IBan jungle walkway

Rice Paddies

Drying coconut shells

Typical village architecture

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Bandar Seri Begawan to Sarikei Sarawak

1/6/2026

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Blog 1

Kampong Ayer Mosque Bandar Seri Begawan

Arrived exhausted in Sarikei last night. The restaurant across the road had apparently run out of everything. A random stranger appears beside me with a few quick words on my behalf and the menu difficulties disappear. The stranger is an electrical engineer who worked on the air conditioning system in Aorangi Centre in Auckland and has recently visited Queenstown. Once again the world shrinks.

It started just 10 days ago in Bandar Seri Begawan. Visiting Brunei was part of the motivation for travelling in this part of the world. Barb and I spent two years here in 1981 to 1983. A time apart, jungle with monkeys and snakes to our back fence. “Special tea” in teapots to disguise the beer. Panaga Club for expat social life. Underwater hockey in the pool, rugby and netball in the blistering heat. This time just a mad cyclist but equally blistering heat.

Recent cyclists deaths had prompted knee jerk legislation changes to close all high speed roads to cyclists. The cyclists had both been hit by an unlicensed driver travelling at 180kph in broad daylight, so perhaps less of a cycling problem more of a driver one. Never the less it required me to take my bike on minor roads deteriorating to jungle tracks (the only workable route Reg from Brunei Cycle Doctor could find for me).

Unacclimatised and heat fogged I decided my befuddled internal compass was better than my GPS. Fortunately I had informed Brunei Police of my intentions so I wouldn’t get arrested trying to cross the one forbidden highway junction. They used my GPS track to find me and turn me around. By the time we neared the highway junction my balance sense had also gone awol and the Police contingent kindly bundled me and my bike into their vehicles for the final stretch. Terima Kasi Brunei Police.

A short haul took me across the Border to Sarawak next day, ending the day in Miri (the limit of my previous Sarawak experience). The previous two days effort limited my range next day to a short haul down the coast on the South China Sea. I spent an afternoon recovering as the only guest in Tim’s Seaside Resort.

The coastal road south east showed the dominance of palm oil economy, huge continuous plantations. Gone were the IBan longhouses of old, replaced by long concrete structures of the modern longhouse pay-off. The effect was a palm oil desert with tall security fences cutting off any off road access. In a huge industrial complex at Samaluju I found a friendly refuge in a foreign workers camp, a comfortable cabin for the night.

Bintulu gave a modern city break with cuisine to match. Heading into the tiny kampong of Balinyian had a traditional feel much to my liking. The shower consisted of a bucket of water and a ladle. It worked well. Air con came from a breeze down the open corridor.

I was finding the options for free camping limited. All the roads were lined with deep sungais (drains) linked to the larger rivers allowing free-flow crocodiles. Further off road into jungle the floor was often deep swamp, nightly monsoon rain turned everything that wasn’t swamp into a brief one. Matu was my first tent night when the kindly owner of a fully occupied home stay offered a tent site on his back lawn. The tradition of generosity on the road continued with a breakfast watched by all the neighbours around the table.

The last 3 days of travel has been dominated by huge batang (rivers) and corresponding massive bridges. Yesterday the Daro Bridge across the Batang Lusaka spanned 4 kilometres. Later in the day a 15 minute ferry ride across the Batang Paloh is about to be replaced by another huge bridge.

Riding in intense tropical heat requires some strict disciplines. Ride at a pace where you are not continuously panting, hot air in the lungs is massively drying. Know the heat level you can tolerate, find shade and cool down before you cook. Hydrate continuously to keep the mouth moist, take quantities of something other than water to stop electrolytes being flushed (fruit and coconut juice is good). Ice creams at every stop.

Once again the journey has been highlighted with magical interactions with local people like the Chinese, Iban, Malay sisters in Balingian. A brief insight into lives of people so far yet so incredibly close.