We are learning that one does not only know a country by what it is, but that one understands it even more deeply by what it is not. We are only now understanding puritanical Malaysia in contrast to its louder, freer, more debauchered neighbour, Thailand.
It has been two weeks since the previous blog update, fourteen days and 1200 kilometres in which we have crossed the jungled dragon's back of the Malaysian interior from west to east and pedalled steadily north along the veiled and unspoilt beauty of the east coast to the Thai border at Sungai Kolok. Our journey weaved past the lush rubber and palm oil estates of wealthy Chinese, through small, wealthy Triang where the children are computer game-mad and through snobbish Maran where we stumbled upon the delights and secrets of a night market by locals for locals. We took a sneak peak, sampled the foods and fled, feeling naked in shorts and sleeveless shirts.
Once we hit the coast at Kuantan, the mosques became even more illustrious and the food changed to include exotic seafood fare. We beagn to learn the language - nasi goreng for fried rice and kayam for chicken and air for cold and pannas for hot and bhua-bhuahan for fruit. Throughout Malaysia the smell of Durian lingered like an expression of national pride and finally on the picture-perfect paradise island of Pulau Perhentian Kecil, we sampled our first taste of the putrid fruit, which has the texture of rotting blubber. We paddled around the island, snorkellled off deserted beaches and had an unexpected swim with a pod of five inquisitive black-tip sharks.
We fell in love with Malaysia for its tolerance, allowing churches, bhudist temples and hindu shrines to flank the towering mosques, for peoples's genuine friendliness and their respectful regard of tourists, for the sensory delights of its loud, colourful and authentic day-and-night markets, for the warm, silky, South China Sea and for the Malay obsession with clean cars, judging by the disproportionate number of car wash Cuci Kereta services alontg the way and finally for their morbid fascination with anything of the American Wild West.

Locals warned us to be careful in the south of Thailand for the recent conflict between the Thai government and a minority muslim community who had been fighting for more autonomy. As we cycled further and further north along the Thai east coast we felt tensions lessening until we arrived in Hat Yai after dark and a long, hot head-winded day of cycling in the chaos and carnival atmosphere of the city's annual fair.
In Thailand the towering mosques of Malaysia have made way for glitter of Bhuddist temples and scantilyt dressed girls have replaced the veiled Malay women of the south. We have a sleepless night, our hotel fronting a massage parlour and popular brothel.