Even in 2026, the fastest way to get from Singapore to Malaysia is a five-minute ride on the diesel-powered Shuttle Tebrau, which takes passengers from the Woodlands train checkpoint in Singapore to the Johor Bahru Sentral transport hub in Malaysia.
But the shuttle’s time is soon coming to an end. By mid-2027 it is scheduled to end operations and be replaced by a new rail link connected to Singapore’s subway system that will depart nearby.
The coming change had me thinking about the rail connections between the two countries. Journeys into Malaysia by train were one of the most common holidays for Singaporeans before the rise of the low-cost regional airlines in the early 2000s. Rail connections were also disrupted by political developments. That’s too bad, because a long rail journey is a great opportunity to see the Malaysian countryside, and there are plenty of places to stop along the way.
And so, on a sweltering afternoon in March, I paid 16 Malaysian ringgit ($5) for a seat on the shuttle, kicking off my weeklong journey to Bangkok, with stops in the Malaysian capital of Kuala Lumpur and the state of Penang, to eat and explore.
Each leg took between an hour and four-and-a-half hours, except for an overnight ride to Bangkok. The whole trip took seven days and six trains. Train tickets cost $135 in total, and I stayed two nights in each city, spending approximately $1,400 on hotels, meals, transport and other expenses.
Delights of the Malaysian Capital
After my shuttle journey, I took the Electric Train Service, an intercity rail service, from JB Sentral to Kuala Lumpur. The direct connection, which had begun service three months earlier to great fanfare, has cut travel time between the two cities to four-and-a-half hours, from seven. Tickets can be purchased via the rail operator KTMB’s app.
The six-car train is not the equal of the high-speed rail services of China or Japan, but business class — at a cost of 171 ringgit — had reclining seats and plenty of legroom.
One of the best places to eat in Kuala Lumpur, renowned for its food scene, is the open-air Jalan Alor Food Street. A century old, it has everything from barbecued seafood to Chinese Muslim cuisine to the ubiquitous Satay. I grabbed a magnificent rougamo, often called a Chinese burger, consisting of small strips of slow-cooked pork stuffed into a flaky bun.
But arguably my best meal was lunch the next day at the renowned Village Park Restaurant in nearby Petaling Jaya. I sampled nasi lemak, the national dish: coconut rice accompanied by crispy fried chicken, peanuts, strips of cucumber and sweet sambal chili with a real kick.
Before lunch, I ventured to the otherworldly Batu Caves, a limestone cave complex on the outskirts of the city housing a series of Hindu temples and shrines. Inside the caves, a major pilgrimage site, the air was redolent of incense and long-tailed macaques gamboled everywhere.
Every tourist wanted a selfie. “Oh, she’s got a baby!” exclaimed a British woman about a monkey cradling her infant. Fittingly, there was a giant statue of the monkey-like deity Hanuman.
A 140-foot-high golden statue of the war god Murugan perched near a colorful 272-step staircase that leads to the Sri Subramaniar Swamy temple. It was a dizzying climb in the midday heat, accompanied by nonchalant monkeys leaping everywhere. At the top, I was rewarded by the sight of the towering rock formations that had formed over millions of years.
Street Food and Murals in Penang
My trip resumed the next day with a three-and-a-half-hour business class ride (175 ringgit) on a sleek and modern train to the town of Butterworth, alongside many British and Australian families. When we disembarked for a catamaran to George Town — the capital of Penang and a UNESCO World Heritage Site — I also overheard many Chinese and Korean accents. Tickets were two ringgit for the 10-minute ride.
Penang is often called Malaysia’s culinary capital. You can find an amazing variety of street food, such as char koay teow, or flat rice noodles stir-fried with ingredients like prawns, chives, bean sprouts and lard. A plate at the Michelin-rated Siam Road Charcoal Char Koay Teow cost me just 10 ringgit, and it was savory and spicy, infused with a wok hei, or smoky flavor.
Penang has also become associated with the murals of the Lithuanian artist Ernest Zacharevic, who rose to global acclaim in 2012 after creating a series of six street art murals depicting daily life in Malaysia. A combination of painting and objects like a bike or a motorcycle, the murals invite interaction, and tourists gather to get photos with them. Other murals have also sprung up around them.
At Penang Hill, a nature reserve just outside the city, another train awaited: a 1.2 mile funicular railway to the summit. Built by the British in 1924, it is reminiscent of the funicular at The Peak in Hong Kong. To enjoy the panoramic view of George Town, I sat at the bottom of the train for the five-minute journey.
I then ambled to The Habitat, a mile-long nature trail built by the British East India Company in the early 1800s. It sits on the edge of a rainforest reserve. With the sounds of cicadas ringing and the sight of langurs casually grooming each other, I wiped the sweat off my brow and took time to savor the trail.
Three Trains to Bangkok
The longest leg of the trip began with a two-hour train ride from Butterworth to the town of Padang Besar, which straddles the border between Malaysia and the Thai province of Songkhla. I jostled with backpackers and day-trippers en route to the Thai town of Hat Yai, a popular weekend destination for Malaysians, where I would catch a sleeper train to Bangkok.
While the popular option is to hire a communal van for a 90-minute ride, there are three trains a day from Padang Besar to Hat Yai; tickets can only be bought on site for eight ringgit. The six-carriage train operated by State Railway of Thailand was decidedly spartan, with overhead fans and a thick sheen of dust on the windows. It also left around 20 passengers wilting in 90-degree weather for 30 minutes.
When I finally got off at Hat Yai Junction station, I was greeted by the evening crowd, as vendors carrying their wares in baskets reached up to sell food through the train windows. There, I boarded the sleeper train bound for Krung Thep Aphiwat Central Terminal Station in Bangkok, the largest railway station in Southeast Asia. The train, an air-conditioned oasis in the heat seating more than 400, departed on time for the 15-hour ride.
For about 1,800 baht (about $54), a first-class seat gets you a private cabin with two seats that convert into beds, lockable doors and a sink, albeit shared with another passenger. My seat in a second-class carriage had cost just over 1,000 baht. Tickets can be purchased from platforms like Thai Railways or Baolau.
A couple of hours later, train workers converted the seats into upper and lower berths with curtains for privacy. It was reminiscent of my time in Singapore’s military a lifetime ago, when a dozen men shared double-decker bunks in a single room. It was cozy, if somewhat claustrophobic, and the ride tested the limits of my 45-year-old spine.
In spite of numerous travel influencers’ warnings that train engine noise makes it hard to fall asleep, I slept through the night. My only regret: not choosing the lower berth, which had a window. On the top berth, all I could do was stare at the ceiling.
In the morning, I was awakened by a staff member impatient to convert the berths back into seats as the train rolled into Bangkok. It was time to explore, starting with a meal at Funky Lam Kitchen, where the descendants of two Laotian princes serve up modern Lao cuisine. The spicy, earthy and sour flavors left me wanting more.
On my last day, I headed to Song Wat, a trendy district brimming with cafes, street art and amazing food. The streets and narrow alleyways held surprises around every corner — here a building adorned by a mural of two tumbling elephants, there a delightful cafe sitting in a two-story shophouse.
At the Michelin-rated Urai Braised Goose, chaos reigned amid a questionable queue system governed not so much by the sequence of numbers as it was the mood of the servers. It took me almost an hour before I got a seat, but I was rewarded by thin, flavorful strips of goose meat with a spicy dip and rice.
Despite the humidity, I explored Song Wat for hours, before taking refuge at the Sleep Like Cats cafe. As I sipped on an iced milk tea, the owner’s orange tabby — or perhaps the real owner — ambled past and stared at me curiously. I stared back and reflected on how far I had traveled to get here.
Nicholas Yong is a Singaporean freelance journalist based in Seoul, and the author of “Seven Sacks of Rice and Other Baggage.”
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