INDONESIA (1)
1 Sumatra
Island
1,694 Kilometres – 33 Days
15 February - 15 March 2010
PHOTOS
15
February – Malacca, Malaysia – Dumai, Indonesia - By ferry
Malacca
was slow to wake from the Chinese New Year celebrations and no one knew if the
ferry to Indonesia was running. Time to move on, though, and a leisurely cycle took
us to the ferry jetty. Local advice told us to take the second ferry as the
first one was usually choc-a-block full, while the second one was often half empty.
The ferry ride took almost two and a half hours and, voila, there we were in a
new country – Sumatra Island, Indonesia.
At
first glance, Indonesia appeared halfway between India and Africa; hot, and humid,
with crazy traffic and potholed roads. This was my kind of country (unlike more
organised Southeast-Asian nations). I loved them all, but felt very at home in what
most people will consider third-world countries. Right from the start, I thought
I was going to like Indonesia. That said, the first night’s accommodation was
overpriced, dirty, had peeling, paper-thin walls, shared toilets, and bucket
showers. I thought this typical of a border town, which Dumai was and, typical
of such a city, Dumai was slightly sleazy.
16
February - Dumai – Duri – 75 km
The
route from Dumai to Duri followed a busy, potholed road south in blistering
heat; and I somehow thought this weather our lot in the coming months.
Working
out the Indonesian rupiah took a while and appeared approximately 10,000 rupiah
to one $US at the time. The area was a conservative part of the country and
being gawked at wasn’t unusual. Maybe the staring was due to us cycling in shorts
and T-shirts, or perhaps they were merely unaccustomed to foreigners travelling
by bicycle.
The
Indonesians were genuinely welcoming, and continuous invitations into their
homes were extended. “Hello, how are you? Where you go? Welcome to Indonesia!” was
frequently called from the side of the road. The amusing part was that all were
addressed as Mister irrespective of gender. It reminded me of the “Good morning,
Teacher” in Africa. It was a regular “Good morning, Mister” in Indonesia, even
in the afternoon.
By
then, my heat rash was bad enough to make me opt for an air-con room in Duri, a
small town way off the tourist route. However, even in Duri, accommodation seemed
pricey compared to other Southeast-Asian countries. It took cycling around to
find a reasonably priced room. In general, budget rooms were like in certain
Arabic countries; not exceptionally clean, curtains hanging from washing pegs, mouldy,
peeling walls, and all a tad smelly.
17
February - Duri – Minas – 110 km
The
map bought in Dumai was useless as it showed no kilometres and was in tiny
print but better than nothing. A narrow, potholed road ran between Dumai and Pekanbaru.
I was thankful for the courtesy of truck drivers, sitting behind us until safe to
overtake. This wasn’t a road to listen to an iPod, as one had to be aware of vehicles
coming up from behind. Not simply was the road narrow, but it came with steep
ups and downs. The area around Duri and Minas was rich in oil. Therefore, not
unusual to encounter tankers and other large trucks running to and from the
refinery. Add the construction of a new pipeline and you have complete chaos.
The
weather made it evident Indonesia was near the equator, not simply was the
weather hot and humid but the rain came down in bucket loads now and then. The
best was to take shelter with the motorcycles until the worst had passed. Spotting
a sign to a hotel, I enquired even though Ernest argued the place would be far
too expensive as there were security guards at the gate (a sure sign the hotel was
out of our price range). The establishment turned out a resort-type hotel with a
tennis court, swimming pool and lush green lawns. The price list scared us, but
after chatting with management, they offered us accommodation at 100,000 Rp.
Not only did our abode come with air-con and a hot shower, but dinner and
breakfast was included.
18
February - Minas – Bangkinang – 90 km
I
was reluctant to leave our cosy accommodation but pleased to discover the road had
levelled out. Our path led past rice paddies and the ever-present timber stalls
upon stilts under rusted corrugated iron roofs, selling the whole shebang from
cigarettes to petrol by the litre. Mosques were aplenty, a few quite impressive
and others looking a tad worse for wear.
Although
Indonesia was a Muslim country, Indonesians didn’t appear as conservative as
other Islamic countries. Girl Schools were plentiful, and women were out and
about, scooting around on motorbikes, appearing relatively independent. With
great delight I spotted the beautiful and unique-looking “Rumah Lontiak” or
Lontiak Houses. Sumatra was home to the Minangkabau. With the Minangkabau
society being matrilineal, the houses were owned by the family’s women and
ownership was passed from mother to daughter. The houses were mainly of timber with
dramatic buffalo horn-like curved roof structures and quite unique.
19
February - Bangkinang - Pangkalan – 85 km
Once
done looking to find a cap, as I lost mine, the time was 10h00 before getting
out of Bangkinang. The day turned out by far the best day since our arrival in
Indonesia. Although hot, humid and hilly, the route was incredibly scenic. The
path led past small villages, dense forests thick with ferns, and a large lake
where the river was dammed up, highly likely, to feed the hydroelectric plant spotted
earlier.
Our
route crossed a few large rivers, complete with fish farms. Still, our exact
location was unknown. The map wasn’t exactly accurate, and the signboards
indicated places not mentioned on the map. The final stretch to Pangkalan levelled
out and ran along an idyllic-looking river, had it been anywhere else, it would’ve
been jam-packed with holiday resorts. Towards the end of the day, a roadside
petrol station made a convenient stop as it had a public room where one could stay
overnight.
The
public room was a natural choice with a restaurant, showers and toilets on-site.
At the same time it was disconcerting as hordes of interested people watched your
every move. While eating at the little restaurant, curious onlookers instantly
shared our table. Being stared at, at such close range, was uncomfortable and best
to retreat indoors. With the room being a public room, more curious people came
trying to make conversation or only to see what was happening. We had a continuous
audience, and many proceeded to sit down, make themselves comfortable and settle
in to see what the heathens were up to. Going about the usual routine of
writing up the journal and downloading pictures was downright challenging, to
say the least, as not all nations have the same personal space. I felt uncomfortable
with people crowding around to see what I was doing.
During
the night, the room filled with more travellers taking a rest from their long
journey. I woke early to find a man lying beside me with his hand on my leg.
After yelling at him, he, nonchalantly got up and made his way to the door – he
turned out the security guard. I couldn’t wait until daylight to get out of the
room.
20
February - Pankalang – Bukittinggi – 85 km
I
was up at first light but we still didn’t get away until 9h00. The road to
Bukittinggi was predicted to climb all day, as the town was rumoured atop a mountain.
Finding the ascent just 20 kilometres thus came as a pleasant surprise. In the
process, the road crossed the equator, but I somehow missed the sign. (I must’ve
had my head down, huffing and puffing up the hill.)
The
top of the mountain came with a viewpoint and food stalls, a perfect place to
have a bite to eat and marvel at the landscape. Once on the bike, the road
descended steeply along the narrow winding road. The route stayed busy,
especially through the villages. The main street was crowded with buses,
trucks, cars, horse-drawn carts and motorbike taxis with sidecars. Throw in two
foreigners on bicycles, and the traffic was complete chaos.
As
was the norm in the afternoon, tropical rains came down, forcing us to seek
shelter; with the result, Ernest and I slinked into Bukittinggi long past
sunset.
21-22
February - Bukittinggi
The
succeeding two days were spent in Bukittinggi doing little, except taking a walk
to Panorama Park which had beautiful views over the gorge and exploring the
WWII Japanese tunnels.
That
night, I wondered how dog owners managed to sleep with their dogs barking all
night and as the dogs went to sleep, the mosques started up. At least the purpose
of the Adhan by the muezzin was to wake the community. Indonesia was a Muslim
country, and there were no getting away from it, but the dogs? How can owners
not wake from such a racket?
23-24
February - Bukittinggi – Padang – 95 km
The
road between Bukittinggi and Padang is indeed rated as one of the best cycling
days of the trip. The reason being the road descended the next 95 kilometres, past
small villages, raging waterfalls, across rivers and through lush and green
forests with volcanoes as a backdrop. Indonesia was a volcanic country with
hundreds, if not thousands, of volcanoes. Moreover, Indonesia was a country
that had experienced various natural disasters in the preceding years,
including a tsunami and a succession of earthquakes.
I
cycled into Padang without Ernest in tow; he veered off to do his own thing. I
was shocked to see the full extent of the devastating earthquake a few months
ago. Seeing and hearing about the tragedy via TV never came across as real.
Many buildings had collapsed and were in ruins, hotels had been destroyed, and
the few left behind charged, understandably, exorbitant rates.
However,
after pulling into a known budget hotel, still standing, Ernest pulled in as
well - ha-ha, there was no getting rid of the man. Still, I was relieved to see
him, as earlier I had seen a bicycle flattened by a truck and realised how
quickly an accident could happen.
Even
though severely damaged, Padang remained a busy coastal town with a scenic
beachfront, crammed with stalls offering crab and prawn meals. By evening the
setting sun made a colourful display over the warm waters of the Indian Ocean.
25
February - Padang – Painan – 80 km
The
following morning, the road headed south along the coast in Jakarta’s direction,
still more than 1,000 kilometres away. The ride turned out to be beautiful as the
route followed the coast for approximately 20 kilometres and then veered inland
over the hills. The path continued along a small river, through tiny settlements
and past rice fields and coastal forests. Villagers were drying all sorts of produce
on the no man’s land along the way: rice, oranges, cloves and cinnamon, all filling
the air with a lovely aroma.
The
small community of Painan signalled the end of the day, and we intended to camp
by the beach, but I’d a distinct feeling the entire town had come out to watch.
People arrived from far and wide on foot, on bicycles and motorbikes to witness
this unusual event. Uncomfortable under such scrutiny, I loaded up and headed
into town to locate a guesthouse with a very reluctant Ernest in tow.
26
February - Painan – Balai Selasa – 76 km
Although
Sumatra didn’t offer the most effortless cycling, the scenery was unsurpassed. This
day was no different, even though the ride started with a good hill, and the
weather was boiling. Again, the road followed the coast through one-lane fishing
hamlets, rice paddies and scenic rivers. En route to Balai Selasa, nibbles from
roadside eateries made easy snacking. I thought deep-fried cassava wasn’t all
bad.
A
drink stop typically attracted the entire village, all gazing in disbelief and unashamedly,
without even blinking an eye. The road was lined with small settlements and
seldom did you pass someone without hearing, “Hello, friend” or “Where you go?”
– As well as the occasional “What are you?” “Who are you?” or even “Why are
you?”.
Upon
arrival at the small community of Balai Selasa, Ernest barely had enough time
to pick up more fried snacks from the mobile food vendors before the rain
started pelting down.
27
February - Balai Selasa – Tapan – 65 km
Bathrooms
in Indonesia typically came with a squat toilet and a water reservoir (mandi),
from which one could scoop water with a plastic bucket to flush the toilet and
“shower” by pouring the water over oneself. This day I was so hot I submerged
myself in the reservoir, something I’m sure you’re not supposed to do, but
there I’d a tiny swimming pool. Fortunately, Indonesia had a power shortage
and, generally, low voltage globes in the rooms. It was better not to see what was
floating in the water. Unfortunately, power cuts were widespread, even stopping
the muezzin’s chorus in mid-sentence.
The
rain continued throughout the night but the weather cleared in the morning,
making a dry start to the day’s ride. Once again, the road turned inland over
the hills, but a cloud cover ensured a comfortable ride.
Roadside
stalls sold strange fruit, one (Markisa) was like passion fruit but less watery,
and with a thick skin one could peel off to eat the pulp inside. The other
fruit (Salak, or snake fruit) had a tough, scaly skin with three firm white
segments inside; quite sweet and delicious.
A
torrential downpour soaked us to the bone before arriving in the village of
Tapan. Sopping wet and dripping with water, it was surprising the landlady let
us in. The room was basic, with no glass in the windows, only shutters. Although
the place looked clean, Ernest picked up a horrible eye infection – maybe from the
pillow or perhaps from the wash water in the bathroom mandi.
28
February - Tapan – Pasar Bantal – 125 km
The
day started flattish but got progressively hillier. Although the route was a coastal
road, it didn’t run beside the ocean; instead, the day was spent cycling up and
down hills through palm oil plantations. One needed to pedal like the clappers on
the descent to make it up the next steep hill. The potholed roads were often
broken up in the lowest part, making it impossible to gain enough speed to
carry you up the next.
Thank
goodness, we had lunch as the ride became a long and drawn-out affair searching
for an ATM. Ernest had a dreadful day as he could not see out of his one eye,
while the other eye also showed signs of infection. In the late afternoon, the
rain came down, making camping difficult as the ground was generally flooded.
In the pouring rain and darkness, helpful Indonesians pointed us to a disused
mosque on the outskirts of the village; to our delight, the lights still worked.
Following boiling saltwater for Ernest to wash his eyes, supper was noodles,
washed down with coffee and then straight to bed – accompanied by many eager mosquitos.
1
March - Pasar Bantal - Ipuh – 53 km
The
road continued up and down sharp inclines, making strenuous riding. I felt
short of energy and had difficulty with the smaller gears, not a thing one needed
along a route with hundreds of steep hills. Still, our roller-coaster ride
continued through palm oil plantations. Again, Ernest struggled as both eyes
were virtually swollen shut by then.
In
Ipuh, I could not draw money, as the sole ATM was out of order. Ernest could barely
see, and we booked into a guesthouse allowing him to lie down. With my last
money, I bought a bus ticket to Mukomuka, where I saw an ATM the previous day.
Once there, I was shocked to learn the ATM exclusively took Master Card and not
Visa (mine was, sadly, Visa). I was in near hysterics as I’d no cash to pay for
the room or return to Ipuh. An extraordinarily helpful bank official gave me
150,000 rupiahs from his wallet without blinking twice. More remarkable was he
didn’t want to give me his name as I wanted to repay him later. I will be
forever grateful to this kind man. The money was enough to get a bite to eat
and pay for the bus and room where Ernest was lying in darkness with his eyes
(obviously) closed. There remained enough money left to get a large quantity of
noodles to see us through to the next big town.
I
reached Ipuh at 10.30 p.m.; hot, tired, hungry, and thirsty. Ernest was unimpressed
with my efforts, as he reckoned us worse off than before. I was utterly
gobsmacked by this response and stunned into silence. I wondered whom he
figured was going to pay for the room. Wow, what a day I had.
At
long last, I could shower and change out of my dirty cycling clothes - I must’ve
stunk the people out of the bus, considering I hadn’t showered or had a change
of clothes in the past two days.
2
March - Ipuh – Ketahun – 82 km
The
day didn’t start ideally and, once packing up, Ernest discovered he’d a flat tyre.
Instead of waiting, I left as, according to him, he needed no help and could do
fine on his own. Off I went, up and down the notorious hills. I was, clearly,
not in a good space. Slogging up a steep hill, in my granny gear, two guys on a
motorbike pulled alongside, asking if I wanted to “boom-boom” while pushing
their thumbs between their index and middle fingers. They picked the wrong day
as I was already in a foul mood and gave them a mouthful and they scurried off.
Ernest
caught up around 16h00, and shortly afterwards, a petrol station with a grassy
patch rolled into view. Supper was, no doubt, noodles washed down with coffee.
The tent was like a sauna, and leaving the flysheet off would’ve been preferred.
Still, that option wasn’t available with the constant spectators.
3-7
March - Ketahun – Bengkulu – 91 km
I
departed before Ernest even had his tent down. The road wasn’t as hilly as the
previous days but littered with potholes the size of small cars. Nevertheless,
the Indonesians were immensely kind and welcoming. From far away, one could
hear them call, “Hello, Mister, how are you?” When answered, scores of
hysterical laughter usually followed.
In
Bengkulu, the first task was finding a working ATM. Then, with money in my
pocket, we cycled straight to the nearest hotel to shower and buy food. To me a
shower wasn’t a thing that was ever overrated. Hotel Samudra Dwinka was quite
fancy, but with budget rooms at the rear which consisted of large, ground-floor
rooms with a fan and a back door as well as a hot water dispenser for ease of
coffee or noodles.
We
couldn’t move along until Ernest’s eyes had recovered. Finally, however, the
antibiotic drops from the pharmacy seemed to have worked, and his eyes soon looked
considerably better.
Bengkulu
was a sizable town with a shopping mall and a supermarket. The roads were
littered with mobile food stalls (Kaki Limas), and we ate as if we hadn’t seen
food in days. In the meantime, I found a better modem deal with a month of unlimited
internet access. I played on the internet while Ernest cleaned the bikes. Not
to mention, he sprayed the greasy muck off in the bathroom with the “bum-gun”.
I was hoping the hotel staff wouldn’t notice, as I’m sure they would’ve kicked
us out.
The
rest of the day was spent going back and forth to the mall, where I came upon a
face mask and hair removal cream and spent the rest of the day titivating
myself. In the meantime, Ernest located a market where he had his tent zip
replaced, shoes repaired, and his beloved chair sewn up.
Our
first earthquake in Indonesia came as both a surprise and a shock. The quake
happened 160 kilometres out to sea. Although the quake measured 6.5 in
magnitude, no structural damage or injury occurred in Bengkulu.
Ernest’s
eyes improved, allowing us to visit the historic Marlborough Fort built by the
British in colonial times.
8
March – Bengkulu
Bucketing
rain made staying put an extra day. Flip-flops were most definitely the
footwear of choice, as they made easy removal when entering shops, houses and
lodging. I thus went shopping as I was becoming fed up with removing laced
shoes.
Sleeping
didn’t necessarily come easy in Indonesia, with roosters crowing at all hours
of the night, dogs barking, muezzins calling people to prayer, and rock-hard
mattresses. Unfortunately, this combination didn’t make a good recipe for a peaceful
sleep.
9
March - Bengkulu – Seluma – 60 km
The
day started promising, as the way was in good condition and the hills absent. But,
not feeling well, I struggled on a day that should’ve been effortless and,
shortly past lunch, opted for a guesthouse and soon fell asleep.
By
evening, a walk into town, with hordes of children in tow, revealed many mobile
food vendors offering plenty to eat. The kids were sweet, usually a bit wary
but friendly enough and often chanted “tourist, tourist,” which generally got
the entire town’s attention.
10
March - Seluma – Manna – 80 km
From
Selum to Manna was a reasonably comfortable day as the hills weren’t as severe
as earlier. Biking through small villages, densely forested areas, rice fields,
and the ever-present palm oil plantations made perfect cycle touring.
Meeting
curious Indonesians usually came with a barrage of questions. “What’s your name?
Where are you from? How old are you, are you married?” Once you’ve answered
these questions and posed for pictures, you are considered a lifelong friend. I
liked that.
11
March - Manna – Bintuhan – 75 km
I
wasn’t quite firing on all four cylinders but carried on regardless. As usual, the
weather was hot and humid, the hills steep, and the roads poor. Nevertheless,
kids cheered us on passing through tiny villages, dogs barked at our heels, and
elderly people looked up, mouths agape and hands upon their hearts. Dodging
potholes, geese, chickens, goats and water buffalo while cycling through timeless
villages made one more great day of cycle touring.
In
Bintuhan, the fried food vendors got the better of us. We booked into a room, and
immediately rushed to the nearest food cart, returning with a massive bag of
fried snacks - enough to feed the whole of Africa. Just in case all the snacks
weren’t enough, included was a rice meal, in case one of us still felt peckish.
12
March - Bintuhan – Pugung Tampak – 82 km
Our
day started deceptively easy as the route followed the ocean. Soon, the path
headed over some of the steepest hills encountered thus far. The signboard,
indicating the severity of the gradient, was no exaggeration. At first, I
laughed at the sign but soon learned my assumption the sign was placed the
wrong way upon the pole was clearly incorrect. I gasped up the hills, eventually
hiking the bike up the near-vertical hill.
The
day was envisaged as scenic as the map indicated the path led through a
National Park. Still, I saw nothing, only sweat dripping on the tarmac.
However, I was never happier to see the end of a National Park; from where the road
ran downhill towards the coast and to the small settlement of Pugung Tampak.
Dead
tired, I was happy to reach Cecep’s home. Cecep ran a basic “homestay” and catered
primarily to surfers. His house was traditional, built around a courtyard
complete with a well, laundry and monkey on a string. Ernest suggested pitching
the tents instead of staying at Cecep’s. I foolishly agreed to camp behind the
house along the beach. Soon, the entire village surrounded us, and I was
concerned the crowd could come down upon my tent as they shoved and pushed to
get a better look. I felt like a trapped animal in a cage, bewildered and
wide-eyed. I was aware of torches shining into the tent until the early morning
hours as visitors came to see what was happening in their village. I’d hardly
fallen asleep, and the muezzin started calling people to prayer. Phew!
13
March - Pugung Tampak - Krui – 37 km
I
felt tired from the previous day’s hilly ride and a lack of sleep and was
reluctant to leave but loaded up. Albeit hilly, the route was nothing like the
previous day.
Our
path ran through many small fishing communities with double-storied wooden
houses lining the main road. Laundry hanging from fence poles and produce being
dried in the sun had become a daily scene, and it wasn’t unusual to see the odd
bullock cart.
Feeling
weak and unwell, nothing could’ve been more welcome than spotting a guesthouse
in Kuri. To have a place where one could close the door and be out of the
public eye for a few hours was always a luxury to me.
14
March - Krui – Bengkunat – 87 km
At
last, the road levelled out, and the ride was scenic along the coast, which lasted
at least 60 kilometres. Then, regrettably, the path came to an abrupt halt and veered
inland towards the mountains. What a pity we stayed in Krui, as there were
fantastic beach bungalows roughly 25 kilometres further.
We
investigated the place and then resumed our ride past fishing settlements where
fish dried on the tarmac. The smell of ground coffee and cloves accompanied us to
Bengkunat.
Nearly
20 kilometres beyond the tiny hamlet of Bengkunat, a derelict government office
made good camping outback. We set up camp at what looked like an abandoned well.
Later, we were almost as surprised as the villagers who appeared out of the
bush to fetch their evening water supply. In those isolated parts, people were shy
and stopped in their tracks as they came upon two strange-looking foreigners
camping next to their well. But, after surveying the scene from a safe distance,
they eventually built enough courage to collect their water. The crowd grew as
the kids became more comfortable, and they started demonstrating the English
they’d learnt at school. Words like “mother”, “father”, “grandmother”, and “grandfather”
were repeated over and over in a sing-song-like tone.
The
night wasn’t the most comfortable as the mosquitos feasted upon us at first, after
which rain started gushing down. Finally, no other option remained but to crawl
into the tent where I lay sweating in my private sauna.
15
March - Bengkunat – Kota Agung – 70 km
Ernest
had one of his incredibly slow mornings packing up. Wow, the guy could drag his
heels. I couldn’t believe the day consisted of more hills as the route ran
through another National Park. I concluded National Parks were established
purely as the land was too mountainous for any other purpose. The road climbed
higher and higher through a dense rainforest and, although scenic, I didn’t have
the presence of mind to enjoy the vistas.
Worse,
rain soon came pouring down, making the track a slippery mess. Once at the top,
the route descended steeply, but there was no enjoying the downhill. A
landslide covered the road in clay-type soil and vehicles attempting to pass,
spun and skidded, with trucks sliding into the embankment; what a mess! Somehow,
we managed to get through, albeit slipping, sliding, and dragging the bikes.
Upon
reaching the opposite side, so much clay clogged the wheels, it became impossible
to turn the pedals. Scraping off as much as we could, we continued downhill. Kota
Agung’s town came at least 20 kilometres earlier than anticipated, and a
pleasant surprise to uncover a comfortable abode with a convenient tap and hose
where Ernest washed the bikes.
16
March - Kota Agung – Pringsewu – 60 km
The
hotel gave a surprise breakfast of fried rice, and, once the bikes were oiled, we
saddled up and set out anew up one more mountain pass—nothing like a good long
hill first thing in the morning. I prefer a mountain pass to the short chain-snapping
hills of the previous days. At least one climbed up at a steady pace and the
road usually descended once at the top.
A
lovely surprise awaited as once over the crest the road kept descending. I knew
this had to happen some or other time. Finally, around 15h00, the clouds looked
threatening, and drops started falling. At about that point, an unexpected community
appeared and spotting a hotel, Ernest and I glanced at each other and pulled in
without a word being spoken.
More
amazing was no one in Sumatra knew the kilometres to the next town. Instead, they
glazed over and came up with a number varying so drastically from the previous
one, one never knew what to expect. They could, nonetheless, tell you to the
minute how long the ride took by motorcycle or bus.
The
distances between Kota Agung and Bandar Lampung varied from 50 to 200
kilometres. Quite a substantial difference by anyone’s standard. (In the end, the
distance turned out approximately 100 kilometres).
17
March - Pringsewu - Bandar Lampung – 38 km
Breakfast
was included in the room rate, and I thought the deal a dead loss to any
establishment hosting cyclists. However, I loved the rice cooked in banana leaves
served with a fiery curry/coconut sauce. The Indonesians weren’t scared of
chilli first thing in the morning.
This
time the distance reported varied between 45 and 75 kilometres to Bandar
Lampung. Strangely enough, there were no distance markers along the road to
Bandar Lampung. We, nevertheless, reached Bandar Lampung a mere 35 kilometres
down the drag. I needed to extend my visa ASAP, which had already expired the
previous day. I was thus anxious to get to an immigration office.
Upon
finding a hotel, I headed straight to the immigration office only to find I
needed a sponsor. Unfortunately, our hotel was unwilling to help - what a pain.
I couldn’t blame them as I don’t know if I would offer to sponsor a total stranger.
At least I returned ahead of the approaching storm, which came with such
roaring thunder I thought the nearby Krakatau had erupted.
18
March - Bandar Lampung
The
entire morning was spent renewing my visa. Whatever you do, don’t overstay your
visa in Indonesia; it comes at quite a price. Arie Tours, along Jl Wolter
Monginsidi, was kind enough to help in this regard.
Walking
around, I noticed there was more to Bandar Lampung than envisaged. Big
supermarkets, loads of hotels (we’d missed coming in the previous day), a considerable
market and even a Carrefour with a Pizza Hut were around the corner.
Traffic
was hectic and, like elsewhere in Sumatra, rules were often disregarded. In
addition, traffic lights and one-way street signs were ignored, making getting
around pretty challenging.
19
March - Bandar Lampung - Kalianda – 63 km
A
comfortable ride led to Kalianda where I thought of taking a boat to Krakatau.
Still, Ernest was uninterested and coupled with the fee being a little pricey since
paying my visa extension and overstay fines, I regrettably gave the trip a miss.
Instead, the rest of the day was spent in the small harbour town of Kalianda.
20
March - Kalianda – Cilegong – 46 km
Breakfast
was often included in the room price, even in budget rooms. It mainly consisted
of a plate of delicious fried rice. Following breakfast, we headed to Bakauheni
where passenger ferries and cargo ships departed for the island of Java.
Once
in Bakauheni, we were swiftly directed to the ferry terminal and found
ourselves upon a huge car ferry across the Sunda Strait in no time at all. The
Strait connects the Java Sea to the Indian Ocean and is scarcely 25 kilometres
wide.
So
came to an end our cycle tour of Sumatra and I was excited to see what Java
would hold. The ferry must’ve been the slow one, as the crossing to Java Island
took two hours. Surprisingly, it didn’t seem necessary to buy a ticket (nobody
asked for our tickets, and nobody offered to sell us any). Could the trip have
been free, or did we miss the ticket office? I guess I’ll never know.
