Passports and Eyerolls

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The Goodbye We Knew Was Coming

Goodbyes are hard.
We knew this one was coming, but there’s no real way to prepare to say goodbye to your husband, or your dad, for several long months.

Our last day in Singapore was about being together. We wandered without much agenda, grabbing favorite snacks, revisiting familiar spots, and quietly preparing for everyone’s trips the next day. We stopped at a 7-Eleven so the boys and I could stock up for the bus ride (the first of many 7-Eleven stops on this trip). We repacked bags, double (and triple) checked paperwork. Dan checked in for his flight home. But mostly, we just spent time together.

Fortunately, the next morning everyone had to leave at roughly the same time, so no one had the chance to sit and wallow. Last tight hugs as we waited for our Grabs, and then we were off – the boys and I to the bus depot, Dan to the airport.

First Bus, First Border, First “Hurry Up and Wait”

Our journey to Malacca, Malaysia would take about four hours, depending on how busy the Singapore–Malaysia border was. Coming from a country with such a strong car culture, taking a charter bus was a completely new experience for the boys. For me, crossing an international border by bus was also a first. A new adventure for all of us.

The bus was clean and comfortable, and after about an hour, mostly crawling through Singapore traffic, we reached the first border checkpoint. This was the exit from Singapore, so we only needed our passports; our larger bags stayed on the bus and met us on the other side. We filed through immigration, reboarded, and drove another forty minutes to the Malaysian border.

Despite, or maybe because of, the anxiety-inducing warnings, we made it through just fine. Soon we were back on a new bus, again clean and comfortable, with about three hours left to Malacca.

Teen Travelers: Strong Backs and Magic Ding-Ding Boxes

At this point you might be wondering how the boys were handling all of this. They were, and continue to be, troopers. One of the great advantages of traveling with teens is that the stuff becomes less of a thing. They carry their own bags and often help with mine. Singapore and Malaysia also have excellent cellular networks, so long waits and drives are easily softened by the magic ding-ding boxes, along with plenty of pre-downloaded books.

The hours passed quickly. Malaysia’s eastern countryside rolled by, lush, tropical, and green in the rainy season, dotted with small towns and farms. As we neared Malacca, the land flattened, with only the occasional hill rising in the distance.

We arrived at Malacca Sentral, the main bus terminal, in the late afternoon. Based on my research, I knew that although there was a bus stop technically closer to the historic center, getting off at Sentral and taking a Grab would be faster and far easier. Malacca’s old town streets are incredibly narrow, and the “easy walk” from the closer stop would have involved hauling forty pounds of luggage through ninety-degree heat. Instead, ten minutes later, we were dropped at the door of our hotel in the heart of historic Malacca.

Trading Skyscrapers for Shopfronts

Malacca was the perfect counterpoint to hectic, modern Singapore. Our hotel, the Heeren Straits Hotel, sat just one street from Jonker Street, the heart of the old town. Housed in a restored Peranakan townhouse, it was lovely and full of character. The room was spacious and comfortable, but we barely paused to admire it before heading back out to explore.

On the way to Malacca, several people had told us – only half joking – that Malaysia is known for two things: batik and food. Every stop came with new recommendations. In Malacca, the must-tries were Hainanese chicken rice balls, cendol, and Nyonya laksa. The boys were starving, and when we spotted a chicken rice ball shop on Jonker Street, I nudged them inside. Success. Especially for Aiden, who loved it.

Riverfronts and Night Markets

Well fed, we wandered toward the river as vendors set-up for Malacca’s famous night market. The street closed to traffic (mostly, the intrepid motorbikes still found a way through), filling with families and shoppers. By the riverwalk, the festive mood continued: performers competing with eye-popping trishaws blasting pop music, kids squealing with delight, vendors calling out with sweets and snacks. It was crowded, the last weekend before school started but cheerful and filled with families.

The heat eventually caught up with us. As we crossed the river, we noticed tour boats drifting by, passengers waving enthusiastically to those of us on shore. Instead of continuing on foot, we joined them. Tickets were easy to buy, and that’s when we realized something interesting: Malacca is definitely a tourist destination but largely a local one. For once, the “nationals” ticket line was far longer than the “foreigners” ticket line.

We settled in, enjoying the breeze, the setting sun, and the gentle meander along the canal. The onboard commentary pointed out places we planned to explore the next morning.

After the tour, we wandered back through the night market, soaking in the sights, sounds…and smells. It was durian season, or at least the minor one, and every so often we’d turn a corner and collide with the unmistakable aroma of the “king of fruits”: imagine twelve pairs of moldy gym socks and a plate of cheese left in a sauna and you have an idea of what the fruit smells like. We would encounter it many times in Malaysia.

Too tired to be truly adventurous and not particularly hungry, we grabbed a few familiar favorites and nibbled our way back to the hotel hot, happy, and officially settled into the next chapter of the journey.