CYCLE TOURING INDONESIA (1) - 1 SUMATRA ISLAND

INDONESIA (1)
1 Sumatra Island
1,694 Kilometres – 33 Days
15 February - 15 March 2010

PHOTOS

MAP

 

 

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.