Southeast Asia on two wheels

It’s a very hard thing to explain in words. The journey usually starts in a bustling city, feelings of cultural disorientation add to the overwhelming cacophony of sounds and smells and a slight sense of danger as you kick back the stand and merge into your first mindless stampede.

Everyone drives close and if you’re white, you start getting attention from children on the backs of family scooters and little rusty utes and the occasional hay cart. You’ll be stopped in traffic for a while and happy boisterous locals will be wanting a high five.

You settle in to it and you might find yourself starting to love it. You start to trust the local drivers and their uncanny vehicle awareness. You start to get the thrum of the intersections and the steady weave of pedestrians through the stream of traffic and all the while you’re tracking your team and keeping close so you don’t miss any turns.

As the city starts to thin out, there are more and more horses and bullocks pulling freight carts, the occasional flock of goats or cows that you have to drive around and the wiry young shepherds shouting something at them.  You start to pick up speed and dust and before long the valleys start to narrow in, the volcanic mountains start to encroach into your vision with their imposing steepness.

You start to become aware that you’re actually not being watched or monitored or scrutinised by anyone. No-body really cares what you’re doing or where you’re going. You are quite welcome to come and go as you please. Everyone looks at you with smile, and though it sounds cliche, you’ve literally never felt so free.