The Worst Way to Travel to Malaysia

Part 1: “How do I get out of this?”

This summer, I was surprised to hear that a good friend of mine was getting married in Malaysia, her home country. I was invited to attend along with my group of friends from Ireland, some of whom also live in Japan. My first thoughts were along the lines of “Can I afford this?” and “How do I get out of this?”. I know it sounds terrible that my first thoughts included finding some way not to go. Don’t get me wrong — it’s not because I didn’t want to see my friends. I just hate flying.

I decided to make the 5000+km journey to attend the wedding. After all, this was the first of my close friends from university to get married, and I wanted to set the expensive precedent that we would all attend each other’s weddings, no matter where they would be. A few weeks later, I found direct flights to Singapore. It worked out as cheaper (and in my mind ‘safer’) to fly to Singapore first and then cross the border to Malaysia, where the wedding would take place. The return flights cost a little over ￥80,000, which I was willing to pay for the convenience of a direct flight with a respectable airline.

More than the cost, the main issue I was facing was timing. The wedding was on a Sunday during school term. Flights were available on different days, but the best priced tickets meant I would have to leave on Saturday and return on Tuesday. I could use just two days of precious nenkyuu. Being the strategist that I am, I made use of the fact that I have two ex-ALT friends who recently returned to Singapore. Below is the actual plan I came up with:

Friday: After work, travel to Osaka and stay in a hotel near Kansai Airport

Saturday: Earlyish flight (6hrs long), chill with Singaporean friends and crash on couch.

Sunday: Get to Malaysia for wedding.

Monday: Hang around with wedding-going friends for the afternoon and go back to Singapore to stay near the airport.

Tuesday: Fly back to Japan and possibly have a chill time in Osaka before Shink-ing back to Hiroshima.

At the time, I thought this was a pretty good plan. Actually, most of it was a good plan. I made sure that my accommodation was near the airports, I would be able to meet my ALT friends and my friends going to the wedding. I even thought about what I would do when I got back to Japan. I thought I was making the best use of my time there. Little did I know that travelling between Singapore and Malaysia would be the most intense journey of my life.

Part2: Sunday — Get to Malaysia for Wedding

My Singaporean friends told me how to get to the border crossing. I just had to take a few buses and maybe a train to ‘Woodlands Checkpoint’. My friend and I were barely awake as he led me to the bus stop near his house at 5:30am. I got off at the first bus depot that I encountered. It may have been what he told me to do, or maybe not — I tend to forget directions very quickly. I then had to ask a station attendant how to get to my next destination. He told me I should take the train, which also stopped at this depot. So far so good. I consulted Google Maps to see which direction I should take the train. By all accounts it seemed clear that I had to go to ‘Marina South Pier’. It looked like it was going to be quite a long train journey, but I figured that it made sense since I was going to the edge of the small country.

About 3 stops from the end of the line, I double checked the map. To my horror, I realised I was now on the opposite side of Singapore, the south side (hence “South Pier”, I guess). I switched trains and began to make my way back the way I came, finally going in the right direction. I think this mistake added about an hour to my journey. I really want to say this was Google’s fault. When I searched my destination, it gave me a list of trains I could take, each with the same station listed — Marina South Pier. Only after realising I was travelling in the wrong direction did I also realise that Marina South Pier was the station of origin for the trains. Very unhelpful, Google! Finally, I made it to Woodlands Checkpoint, where I could cross to Malaysia.

It should have been so simple. As an Irish man, a ‘European’, if you will, I have never encountered a country border on land that I can remember. The usual procedure at Woodlands Checkpoint, I think, is that one first takes a bus up to the passport check building. After that, you go on foot through a building with customs officers checking passports, then you get back on the bus to cross the bridge. I remembered hearing my friends talk about how it was possible to walk across the bridge in 20–30 minutes. It was a lovely day, and I had spent all morning cooped up in public transport. Plus, it was still early enough for the pre-wedding activities. So, after the reasonably quick passport check, I decided I would walk the bridge.

I passed the buses where literally all the other border-crossers were queuing up, and I confidently approached a security guard who was in front of the gate for pedestrians. She suggested it was better to take the bus and that it could take me a while with my large suitcase in hand. Having confidence in my walking speed, I proceeded through the turnstile to a spiral staircase leading down to the pedestrian walkway.

Part 3: I’ll Cross that Bridge When I Come to It

I saw two other people walking in the opposite direction. Locals out for a casual stroll to the neighbouring country, I presumed. As I continued along the path, I started noticing subtle hints that this may not have been the ideal choice. Parts of the path were overgrown by hedges. A light, warm, constant breeze blew across the bridge, bringing with it a mixture of sweet-smelling vegetation and exhaust fumes.

There was a constant train of motorcycles passing close on my right side, and every time I maneuvered around a bush, I worried about tripping on my suitcase and falling in front of them. There were no other people walking that I could see. The sun was high in the sky, and my pasty Irish skin was getting redder by the minute. I eventually reached a sign that depicted a pedestrian crossed out like a no-smoking sign. What devilry was this? I walked a straight line along a pedestrian bridge, and now there’s a no walking sign?

I stopped and pondered for a bit, checking Google maps to see if there was something I missed. No, this had to be the right way. I brazenly passed by the sign, all the while feeling the hundreds of judging stares from the motorcyclists and other drivers stuck in gridlock in their air-conditioned cars. Eventually the footpath ended, and ahead of me I could see what looked just like a Tokyo highway curving upwards and to the right around a corner.

Feck this.

I was heading back for a bus. I turned around. Now I was walking against the flow of traffic, revealing my lobster-red face to the hundreds of people making their way to Malaysia. About halfway along the bridge, I met a girl who had been waiting in shadow by a small derelict shelter. (I’m not sure why she was there, but I assume she was waiting for someone to pick her up). I asked her what I did wrong. She explained that it is actually possible to walk, if you walk along the highway-like road. Nah. I didn’t feel like dying. Not like this. I continued to head back to the post-passport check area to take a bus — like everyone else.

However, as I got closer, I realised that I couldn’t return through the gate I had gone through earlier. Now I had to enter through the passport-check that people entering Singapore had to go through. This wasn’t good. I didn’t come here to have my passport stamped fifty times crossing borders. I asked the security guards what to do. They took my passport and asked me a few questions about why I was coming back without even reaching Malaysia. I explained my decision about not wanting to die on the bridge. The guards were very helpful. They understood and let me back through to the buses that I needed to get on.

The bus crossed the bridge in about 20 minutes. If it wasn’t so dangerous to walk, I really would have saved myself the cramped and sweaty bus ride. I messaged my friends that I should reach them soon. As the bus arrived, however, I was dumbfounded to find that there was yet another immigration checkpoint. I had to queue up again for over 20 minutes to have my passport stamped again. All that time on the bridge, I thought I had already made it to Malaysia. It turns out the bridge is a jointly owned area, with checkpoints on both sides.

Part 4: ‘Grab’

I had some trouble using ‘Grab’ for the first time. It’s an app that many Singaporeans and Malaysians use to get taxis — similar to ‘Uber’. In due course, I got a ride and had a conversation with a friendly Malaysian driver. It was a relief to have air conditioning and to sit down. He took me to the gated neighbourhood where my friends were — at the groom’s house. Most of my friends were bridesmaids and had been with the bride all morning for various ceremonies and traditions. I got out of the cab at the address my friends had sent me. I sent them a message — “I’m outside!”. They replied, “We’re here, in the tent”. I looked around. What tent? There was nobody to be seen. It was a quiet upper-class neighbourhood, with no sign of any wedding party.

We soon realised that it was a small mistake, they were at a house further into the estate than they had told me earlier. I made my way there but was stopped by another security guard at a gate. I showed him the map and told him I was going to a wedding party. He was the first person I met who didn’t seem to speak English. He sent me in the opposite direction. I immediately realised this wasn’t right and after consulting with my friends, I tried reasoning with the guard again. I was let through after a few minutes of explaining the map with hand gestures. I finally reached my friends, who were all appropriately dressed for the wedding. Having been through a 7-hour ordeal without a moment to change, I was sunburnt and sweaty — and still in my t-shirt and shorts.

Part 5: Getting back to Japan

From that point onwards, I was able to enjoy the wedding festivities and not worry about getting around by myself. The wedding dinner that evening was fantastic, and we all had a great time. Apart from a driver who clearly learned to drive by playing Grand Theft Auto, the rest of Sunday continued without a hitch. We shared a somewhat extravagant apartment overlooking Johor, which only set me back about ￥2,500. The view was magnificent. From the 21st floor, we could see far into the distance with hardly an obstruction in sight. The apartment wasn’t without its flaws. I discovered a colony of ants diligently marching along the wall of the open-plan living room and kitchen to their hole in the wall where they presumably live in luxury, rent free. We also couldn’t get the hot water working in the bathroom, so I was treated to a cold shower — but it was a welcome ‘punishment’ for my poor judgment on the journey so far.

After spending some time with my friends in the nearby mall until about 3 or 4pm, my plan was to get back to Singapore and stay near the airport. Naturally, everything went wrong the moment I tried to set out on my return journey. In order to get to the apartment to collect my suitcase, I needed to take the keys. My friends were busy, having just started playing games at a VR arcade. They suggested I take the keys and leave them with the security guards on my way out. It sounded like a reasonable suggestion. I got back to the apartment, gathered my things, and returned downstairs afterward to meet a taxi.

When I got down to the lobby, my phone’s internet stopped working. The sky turned a dark grey colour and a thunderstorm echoed across the sky. I couldn’t contact the driver or my friends in the mall. I knew there was a driver coming, though, so I tried to leave my keys with the security guard as my friends suggested and just wait for the driver. But the security guard refused to hold onto the keys. I had no choice but to hurry to the elevator and go back upstairs to the apartment to use the Wi-Fi. After contacting the driver to wait just a few more minutes, I tried calling my friends. Some didn’t answer, and the ones who did had by now separated from the main group, making it even more difficult to communicate my dilemma. Once again, it seemed fate had decided that I was going to have a hard time on this journey.

After about 15 minutes, a friend arrived back from the mall to pick up the keys. The driver had cancelled the collection because I took too long, so I had to arrange for another one. I was finally on my way, far later than I intended, and now I would be crossing into Singapore during the peak rush hour. But I knew what to do this time, I was going to take a bus back, no more walking.

I arrived at a bus depot, where my ‘trusty friend’, Google, had led me. This bus station was not like the nice places in Malaysia I had seen thus far. It was dark and run-down. Drivers (of taxis or buses, I’m not sure) were trying to get people to come with them, and each one I passed called to me in English “Hey, you! Singapore? Where you going?”. Of course, I declined every offer as politely as I could. I couldn’t find any information booth or any station staff that seemed to be guiding people. I asked a bored-looking lady at a ticket office if I could get a ticket to Singapore.

She directed me to bus stop 1. But I had no ticket, and there were no clear signs to say where the bus was actually heading. Nah. Now was not the time to be taking chances. I went to some automated ticket machines and selected the English language option. I couldn’t see Singapore listed anywhere. Less than a minute later, a man approached me and asked if I was going to Singapore. He said I could just hop on a bus and pay. This was after I noticed several signs saying “Get your tickets at the automated booths — don’t get scammed”. It was at that point that I noped out of the bus station and got a taxi to Johor Bahru City Square, a reasonably nice mall right at the border. It was also where I had previously entered Malaysia and where, in retrospect, I should have gone in the first place. I took refuge in a cafe and had what I thought at the time was a very expensive latte (15 Ringgit, which is only about 360 yen).

With my previous hard-earned knowledge of how to cross, this time proceeded relatively smoothly. I followed the crowds through the passport check on the Malaysian side and took the right bus across the bridge to the Singapore side. The queues for the foreign passport desks were pretty short and I entered the line straight away. I reached the desk after about 15–20 minutes, only to realise that I was supposed to have filled out a form, which was conveniently hidden in a dark corner of the hall. Sneaky. There were a few other foreigners also being turned around to pick up the forms. At least I wasn’t the only one who waited in line for nothing.

After I got through to the Singapore side, I was able to get to the airport after a very long train and bus journey. Singapore’s Chiangi Airport is fabulous. It’s by far the nicest airport I have ever visited. If I get to go to Singapore again, I think the airport might even be a nice place to spend a day. The hotel I stayed in was pretty basic, though that was largely my own fault for cheaping-out for the last leg of the trip. The next day, I flew back to Japan and discovered I had lost my SIM card.

Part 6: Lessons Learned

Now that it’s all over, I have had time to reflect on the mistakes I made. Next time, I will hire a private driver to take me across the border. I won’t trust Google Maps unquestionably. I think I appreciate the comfort and security of feeling at home more, but at the same time, I am looking forward to the next chance I get to visit somewhere new.

Malaysia was a nice country with nice people, for the most part, I recommend travelling there if you have a well-thought-out plan and if you are travelling with an experienced group. The food was delicious and had a lot of different flavours which are uncommon in Japan. On top of that, the exchange rate meant that everything was more affordable. Singapore looks spectacular, and I personally think it blows Tokyo and Seoul out of the water in terms of architectural grandeur. Singapore also has great food, but some spots can be expensive. Despite only having a very short time to see both countries, I want to visit both again. I think they are a must-visit for ALTs working in Japan — especially those who want to explore Southeast Asia!