Malaysia — Markets, Monkeys, and Motorbikes
- Reese Highbloom
- 3 hours ago
- 4 min read
(Jan 10–28, 2026)
When I crossed from Singapore into Malaysia, I didn’t expect the country to stretch into nearly three weeks of constant motion. I arrived late in Malacca, the bus humming quietly as it rolled through the dark streets. My taxi driver talked proudly about his country the whole way to the hostel, pointing out buildings I couldn’t see and explaining the mix of cultures that made Malaysia what it is. When I stepped out of the car around 11 pm, I was surprised to find the night market still fully alive, smoke rising from grills, plastic stools packed with families, vendors calling out in languages I couldn’t yet distinguish.
I finished watching Castaway in my dorm that night, which felt fitting. I’d been moving fast through countries. Malaysia felt like a reset.
The next morning started gently. Coffee downstairs led to meeting a French girl headed to breakfast, which turned into brunch, which turned into a long walk to a floating mosque past abandoned seaside resorts slowly being reclaimed by the ocean. The heat wasn’t overwhelming, just heavy. Malacca was calm, slower than everywhere I’d been recently. That night, we wandered the market again, bought unnecessary cologne, and shared food with a kind older Singaporean couple. It was an easy start.
By afternoon the following day, I was headed for Kuala Lumpur.
KL felt bigger immediately. Louder. Faster. My hostel was hidden behind an Indian restaurant, and within hours I was eating beef roti at a street stall and sitting at a poker table with strangers. The night stretched longer than it should have, and the next morning punished me accordingly — no running water, hungover, no shower. Welcome to KL.
Still, I rallied. A new friend joined me for breakfast, and we headed to the Batu Caves, climbing the rainbow staircase while monkeys circled tourists like pickpockets with tails. The city revealed itself slowly, Chinatown markets, durian (better this time), the glow of the Petronas Towers at night, rooftop bars where the skyline felt almost futuristic. I made a few social mistakes along the way, one involving confusing a prayer washing station for something it absolutely was not, but Malaysia seemed forgiving.
I moved hostels, found a better crowd, and spent my days wandering museums, markets, and neighborhoods I’d never heard of. One evening, we caught a local soccer match on the outskirts of the city. KL FC lost, but the atmosphere made up for it. Nights blurred into street food dinners, metro rides, and late conversations about work, life, and what comes next. It was also here that I met my new friend Jack from New York, who would join me on the rest of my travels through Malaysia.
Eventually, the concrete gave way to the jungle.
Taman Negara was thick, humid, alive. The river ran brown and wide beside our lodge. That night, we ventured into the forest with flashlights, spotting insects, spiders, and glowing eyes in the dark. The next day was even better, hiking upriver, swimming beneath waterfalls, and then shooting downriver in a narrow wooden boat that left us completely soaked. We visited a nomadic indigenous village and watched a man start a fire and shoot a blow dart with deadly accuracy. It felt raw. Real.
From jungle heat, we climbed into the cool air of the Cameron Highlands, where tea plantations rolled endlessly over hills that looked almost Scottish. Jack and I rented scooters and spent the day weaving through the highlands, tea and scones overlooking green valleys, strawberry farms, random petting zoos, and misty hilltop views. That night was quiet. We were exhausted.
Then came Ipoh, which surprised me more than I expected. Limestone caves so massive they felt cathedral-like, hidden temples inside rock walls, an abandoned colonial castle standing in the heat. I cut my foot open exploring one cave, but barely noticed. We ended that night watching a movie at the mall and playing cards back at the hostel.
By the time we reached Penang, I knew Malaysia had something special.
Georgetown was art and architecture layered over Chinese heritage and colonial influence. The hostel had a guitar, which meant I was staying. Days were spent wandering the streets, eating roast chicken and hawker stall dishes, and exploring floating villages. Nights were louder, pub crawls, card games, pool, and many cheap beers. I got sick for a day from pushing too hard, recovered, and went right back out.
Scooter day around the island was one of the highlights. Botanical gardens where monkeys harassed us, hidden beaches, ridiculous bagels at a viral café, and that feeling of riding with no real destination. Malaysia kept offering small surprises.
Then came Langkawi, my final stop.
The sunsets there were unreal. Volleyball on the beach, guitars at the hostel, cheap night markets, and long walks along the sand. On my last full day, I rented a car for $25, still can’t believe it, and gathered a crew of friends I’d met along the way. We drove the entire island, chasing waterfalls and beaches. At Seven Wells, we hiked to the top and swam in natural pools while hornbills flew overhead. The day felt cinematic. Music loud, windows down, no rush to be anywhere.
When I boarded the boat north on January 28th toward Thailand, I realized Malaysia had quietly become one of my favorite stretches of the trip.
It wasn’t flashy like Bali. It wasn’t chaotic like Vietnam. It was layered. Unexpected. A mix of late nights, jungle mornings, mountain air, cave echoes, street food smoke, and new friends who appeared exactly when they were meant to.
And just like that, Malaysia was behind me, and I was back where I started 5 Months ago.
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