The time had come to start heading north again.

Our eventual destination was France, but there was no rush to get there. We had an extended four-month sojourn through Southeast Asia planned, partly because we love this part of the world and partly because, quite frankly, who wants to be in Europe in winter when there are warmer options available?

Our plan was another slow overland journey. We would start in Singapore, make our way north through Malaysia and Thailand, eventually reaching Bangkok, and then decide what happened next.

Or, more accurately, that was the plan.

Anyone who has travelled for any length of time knows that plans are useful, but they are also rather optimistic documents. They give you a sense of direction while quietly allowing reality to make adjustments along the way.

Singapore was our starting point.

We had visited several times before, and I have always had mixed feelings about the place. There is no denying that Singapore works. Everything works. The trains run on time, the streets are immaculate, the systems are efficient and the whole city operates with a level of organisation that makes you suspect there is probably a spreadsheet somewhere controlling when leaves are allowed to fall from trees.

It is impressive.

It is also perhaps a little too orderly for my liking.

I like a little chaos when I travel. A bit of unpredictability. A street that looks slightly questionable but turns out to have the best food you have ever eaten. Singapore occasionally feels like it has removed all possibility of surprise.

And then there is the cost.

After years of budget travel, Singapore has a remarkable ability to make your wallet feel considerably lighter without you being entirely sure what you have actually purchased.

Still, it was the perfect starting point for our journey north.

We boarded our Jetstar flight, a decision I approached with some hesitation.

Jetstar?

Really?

A budget airline for a seven-hour flight?

I admit I had my doubts.

However, I was pleasantly surprised. The seats were comfortable, with more legroom than I have experienced on some supposedly superior long-haul airlines. There was no entertainment system, but I had my tablet, and food had to be purchased rather than included.

The food was actually pretty good.

They provided free water throughout the flight, and for a budget airline it was perfectly acceptable. Sometimes expectations are a wonderful thing. Set them low enough and life becomes full of pleasant surprises.

We landed at Changi Airport around 6pm and, as expected, everything worked beautifully. Singapore airport is almost unnervingly efficient. We moved through immigration, collected our bags and were soon in a Grab heading towards our hotel.

And that was where things started to go slightly wrong.

You see, I had read about capsule hotels and thought they sounded rather fun. An experience. Something different. Why not?

This was my reasoning when I booked it.

Looking back, I can only assume I was temporarily possessed.

Dear oh dear.

What a mistake.

Thankfully, we did not actually end up in a capsule, which in hindsight was probably a blessing. Instead, we were given a tiny room somewhere in the attic that appeared to have been designed for people who did not particularly enjoy either space or fresh air.

It was approximately one thousand degrees.

The air conditioner made a valiant effort but mostly succeeded in producing strange noises and blowing something that could generously be described as slightly less warm air.

Outside the window was a spotlight.

Not a normal light.

A stadium-style spotlight.

Naturally, it was pointed directly at our window and remained on all night. Because apparently sleep should not be too easy.

The final touch was the communal bathroom, where someone had thoughtfully left their dirty underwear on the floor for future guests to navigate around while attempting to shower. Nothing says “welcome” quite like a stranger’s laundry obstacle course before breakfast.

It is, to this day, the only accommodation I have ever rated one star. And honestly, I am not entirely convinced it deserved that.

But this is budget travel. These things happen.

Sometimes you find an amazing little place for very little money. Sometimes you find somewhere that makes you question your own judgement. You simply chalk it up to experience and move on.

Needless to say, we were awake early the next morning.

There was no lingering around our tiny attic room.

We headed out in search of breakfast, which we found in Chinatown. Steaming Chinese buns and something that was described as coffee set us up for the day.

It was technically coffee.

In much the same way that some people are technically morning people.

It did the job.

With no desire to linger in Singapore, we collected our bags and headed towards the bus station for the next stage of our journey — Malaysia.

The “international” bus station was a little less impressive than Changi Airport. It was essentially a tin shelter in a car park, which felt like Singapore briefly allowing itself to be normal.

We managed to catch an earlier bus than expected and, after only a short wait, climbed aboard.

The bus was surprisingly comfortable and clean, and the border crossing into Malaysia was incredibly smooth. Immigration was efficient, organised and painless.

After years of travelling, you learn to appreciate these things.

A border crossing that does not involve confusion, endless queues or someone asking for a document you have never heard of is a small victory.

As we travelled north, I watched the landscape change outside the window.

And then I started noticing the palm plantations.

And noticing them.

And noticing them.

They stretched endlessly, row after row of oil palms disappearing towards the horizon.

It was difficult not to feel a sense of sadness looking at it.

What had once been rainforest had been replaced by a monoculture stretching for kilometres. The scale was enormous, and the environmental cost of that transformation was impossible to ignore.

Progress is complicated.

From a distance, neat rows of palms can look orderly and productive.

From a bus window, after hours of watching them replace what was once incredibly diverse rainforest, it feels very different. I sat there watching the endless rows pass by, occasionally interrupted by a town, a service station or a cluster of buildings, but mostly it was just palm trees stretching into the distance. It was a landscape that looked incredibly productive, yet somehow strangely empty at the same time.

Eventually, I stopped staring out the window and settled back into the rhythm of overland travel — watching the world pass by, wondering how long the journey would actually take and accepting that, as usual, the timetable was probably more of a suggestion than a guarantee. The journey should have taken around four hours. It took eight..

We spent a large part of the afternoon sitting in traffic, although exactly why remained unclear. An accident, roadworks, too many vehicles trying to occupy the same piece of road — nobody seemed entirely sure. This is one of the small mysteries of overland travel. Sometimes the answer is obvious; sometimes you simply accept that you are stationary and that someone, somewhere, probably knows why.

Eventually, late in the afternoon, we rolled into Melaka.

And then came the best moment of the entire day.

The bus stopped directly opposite our apartment building.

Hallelujah.

No dragging backpacks through unfamiliar streets.

No wandering around random back roads trying to find an address while pretending we were not lost.

No debate about whether “it should be just around the corner”.

We simply crossed the road.

After a long travel day, this felt like winning the accommodation lottery.

Melaka was going to be our home for the next month.

But first things first.

Bags down.

Shoes off.

Find food.

A simple meal nearby was all we needed.

The journey had been longer and more frustrating than expected, but that is travel. The best stories rarely begin with everything going perfectly.

And after a long day getting there, our month in Melaka was about to begin.