INDONESIA (1)
3 Borneo & 4 Sulawesi Island
Borneo Photos
Sulawesi Photos
BORNEO
661
Kilometres – 21 Days
4
June 2010 – 23 June 2010
4
June – Surabaya, Java – Banjarmasin, Kalimantan, Borneo - By ship
The
last part of the ferry trip to Banjarmasin was up a large river. The view from
the deck revealed a large segment of the population lived in stilted wooden
houses over the water along the river banks.
Borneo
is the third largest island in the world and the largest in Asia. In my mind
the furthest place on the planet from where I was born - not so much in
distance as in culture, landscape and weather, and the island held a huge
fascination to me.
Politically,
the island was shared among three countries: Malaysia, Brunei and Indonesia,
with approximately 73% of the island being Indonesian territory. The island
straddles the equator, and about half of the island is in the Northern
Hemisphere. However, the best part of the Indonesian side is in the Southern
Hemisphere.
Twenty-two
hours after sailing out of Surabaya, Java the ferry docked at the river port of
Banjarmasin on the island of Borneo. It took only a few kilometres of cycling
from the harbour to get into the city and, although dark, we’d no trouble
finding our way or a room.
5
June - Banjarmasin
I
felt awful and spent the best part of the day lying under the, not so helpful,
fan. One could tell Borneo would be even hotter and more humid than Java, just
the type of hothouse effect one could expect from one of the world’s last
wildernesses. Ernest found anti-nausea tablets and I felt considerably better
by the evening and could arrange a river trip with Ahmed, a guide. Most of what
was to see in Borneo was inland along rivers and not along the single route
along the coast.
6
June - Banjarmasin
Our
guide woke us at 5 a.m. as I was unaware of the time difference between Borneo
and Java. Following cruising up rivers and canals in an open slow boat, we
arrived at a very colourful floating market allowing purchasing fruit from the
boat vendors.
Banjarmasin
was a city with a maze of rivers and canals. Much of the population seemingly lived
in their stilted homes lining the riverbanks. The waterways weren’t purely used
as transport but also as a toilet, bath, and place to fish, swim, and do laundry.
The people were curious, called greetings, and pointed us out to their kids as
our boat puttered past. At times, I felt as out of place in Borneo as an orangutan
would be on the streets of Cape Town.
Upon
the return trip, our guide stopped at the riverside “old market”, allowing the
purchase of vegetables to make that evening’s potato salad. I still couldn’t
stomach any fried stuff. The markets were interesting and a quick glimpse into
the daily life of the people of Borneo.
7
June - Banjarmasin – Margasari – 81 km
Instead
of taking the main road, we departed Banjarmasin via a narrow but paved street along
a canal with plenty of life. In contrast to our suspect map, the way abruptly
turned into a small, gravel trail running along rivers and canals. People
seemed apprehensive of us, a sure sign this wasn’t an area frequented by
foreigners.
The
path deteriorated into a footpath, and the mother of all storms was building ahead.
The storm broke upon reaching a coal mine entrance, making convenient to
shelter in the security hut. We soon resembled two drenched silvered leaf
monkeys as coal dust from the overhead conveyer belt showered down upon us. Finally,
the rain subsided and, albeit still drizzling, we proceeded along an unpaved
mining track. Unfortunately, the rain had turned the way into an impassable
clay pit. While slipping and sliding, all I could do was try and push the bike along.
Still, even this act became impossible as the bicycle and my feet became stuck
in the thick, sticky clay. While dragging the bike along, my one sandal got swallowed
by the mud; the truth was sometimes stranger than fiction.
What
felt like an eternity later, a canal was reached where a boat ferried people across.
Villagers helped slide the bikes onto the ferry, and clean off the worst of the
clay. Although late, camping was out of the question as the weather was still
rainy, and with no shelter or dry land in sight, we’d no choice but to continue,
with mosquitoes in hot pursuit. Helpful folk helped push the bikes through the thick
clay until the path became more solid. Cycling was tricky as, by then, darkness
had fallen, and the rain had made the route muddy and potholed, and I considered
myself lucky to have fallen just once.
What
felt like a lifetime later, two somewhat soaked and muddy foreigners slunk into
the small town of Margasari – much to the surprise of residents. Shelter was
sought at the police station, which we found deserted. Following a long wait,
the police returned from their patrol (or dinner). They permitted pitching the
tents in one of their derelict offices. It took a while to explain that all we
needed was a place to sleep (not a lift to the bus station, a meal, or anything
else). Ernest worked until well beyond midnight to wash the worst of the muck
off the bikes.
8
June - Margasari – Kandangan – 54 km
From
Margasari to Kandangan ran a paved road, and I’ve never been happier. The route
was along a narrow but scenic path, past rural hamlets and along a river that
led to the small city of Rantau. The ride was a fascinating one past Rantau and
onwards to Kandangan. Being in desperate need of a shower, an abode was found.
The afternoon was spent doing laundry and cleaning equipment. The skin on the palms
of my hands started coming off – gosh, what could be next?
9
June - Kandangan – Tanjung – 97 km
Breakfast
was typically included in the room rate and generally consisted of fried rice
and a boiled egg. Taking the weather into account, it didn’t come as a surprise
that duck eggs were the day’s order.
We
took off in a drizzle, and happiness was finding a hard-topped road, as anything
was better than the previous day’s clay.
10
June - Tanjung – Muarakomam – 92 km
Holy
Mackerel, those hills were near vertical! Our path went straight up and descended
equally steeply, and I wondered what happened to good old switchbacks. Upon reaching
the top and stopping to catch our breaths, the route went straight down and climbed
up the next. With coffee growing along the mountain slopes, farmers were drying
the beans along the roadside. Freshly ground coffee was, therefore, always
available, and delicious.
Muarakomam
was a tiny village with merely a few houses along either side of the road, a
mosque and a market and surprisingly sported a “penginapan” (small hotel). However,
they knew they had a monopoly as the price was a tad steep for such basic
accommodation.
11
June - Muarakomam - Kuaro – 57 km
The
stretch between Muarakomam and Kuaro was another tough day of cycling. It wasn’t
that the hills were long, approximately 500 metres or so. But the gradient was insane
and, reaching the top, the path descended equally sharply, usually across a
river, simply to ascend the next hill. This process was repeated until we
eventually reached the crest, where it felt like I fell straight off the
mountain. We flew downhill at break-neck speed. Flying around a corner at high
speed, I was nearly killed a second time in Indonesia. A truck coming up
swerved out to avoid a massive pothole and missed me by mere centimetres. I was
far more careful afterwards.
Happy
to reach the junction town of Kuaro, I called it quits as I desperately needed
to rest my legs.
12
June - Kuaro – Balikpapan - 141 km
The
route headed to the coastal city of Balikpapan, and I hoped the path would
flatten out compared to the previous days. According to the people living in
the area, the route was “good”. Still, the way nonetheless remained bumpy and
potholed with a good few hills. Again, like the previous days, the weather was
hot and humid and, under a searing sun, I was sure I had lost half my body
weight in sweat.
By
late afternoon we’d reached Pananjang, situated along the southern shore of a broad
estuary, with Balikpapan at the opposite side. A car ferry took passengers across,
but countless residents used the speed boat service as the crossing took more
than an hour. Cycling off the ferry, was long past sunset and hence already
dark. To my dismay, I found the ferry dock some distance away from the city. There
was no fun in cycling an additional 20 kilometres along an undulated road that
came with steep hills. The darkness and chaotic traffic made the ride even
trickier. Reaching Balikpapan, I was bushed, hungry and thirsty – but still this
wasn’t the end of our ordeal. Being late on a Saturday night, all hotels were choc-a-block
full. Eventually, and past 10 p.m., a place was located, but the space first had
to be cleaned. What an exhausting ride the day turned out, and I was never
happier being horizontal – lumpy, sagging mattress and all.
13
June – Balikpapan
I
wondered if people in South Africa realised to what extent they were in the eye
of the world at the time. With South Africa hosting the FIFA World Cup at the
time, their every move was watched across the globe. So there I was in Borneo,
and the streets were jam-packed with traffic, all going to the park where a giant
big screen showed the football. The mood was festive, and food stalls lined the
streets. Police should’ve blocked the roads, as the traffic was impossible.
Everywhere else in the city, people watched at pavement cafés and eateries,
cheering on their chosen team.
14-15
June – Balikpapan
In
the morning, we moved to a different hotel closer to the centre which offered
better lodging at the same price. My knees were sore from cycling up all those
hills, but I thought nothing a couple of anti-inflammatories and a few days
rest couldn’t sort out. Thorough use was made of the hot water shower, and we washed
clothes, hair and scrubbed bodies, all while enjoying the luxury of an air-con abode.
16-17
June - Balikpapan – Loa Janan – Samarinda – 139 km
The
time had come to move along, and we venture north towards Samarinda. Unfortunately,
our path stayed extraordinarily hilly and the distance was slightly further
than envisaged. By the time darkness fell, I called it quits as I’d enough of
struggling in the dark up hills and searching for accommodation in horrendous
traffic.
The
following morning, Samarinda city was a mere 13 kilometres away. Once settled
in, priority was to find the harbour to inquire about ferries to Sulawesi
Island. However, before leaving Borneo, I still had plans to explore the
interior by boat. As roads appeared non-existent, the best way to see the remainder
of the island was by boat. To my horror, I discovered our digs came with bed
bugs as I emerged covered in itchy bite marks.
18
June – Samarinda
In
Samarinda locating a guide was easy; in fact, he found us, as guides frequently
frequented hotels on the hunt to find tourists. I liked the guy and arranged
with him to go inland along the waterways. I’m sure one could’ve organised the
trip quite easily independently. Still, I thought this a convenient way to
travel and, in the process, support Samarinda’s economy.
19
June - Going inland – Day One
Our
guide arrived sharply at 8h00, and the three of us set off by “angkot” to the
bus terminus. (Angkot is an abbreviation of “angkutan kota”, meaning city
transportation. However, almost all foreigners call a minivan an angkot.) Our
guide, Ernest and I boarded a bus to Kota Bandung further upriver, a rough
three-hour ride from the bus terminus.
From
Kota Bandung we boarded a small, long-tailed boat, not a great deal more than a
canoe with an engine. It, mercifully, came with a canopy to keep the worst of
the sun off us. Unfortunately, the engine sat at the back. Moreover, it came
with a long direct driveshaft to the propeller, making the trip a noisy affair.
The engine sputtered and roared, reminding me of our disastrous crossing between
Thailand and Myanmar when the engine blew up, and the boat was left adrift in
the open sea.
Departing
the busy waterways, our boatman steered us across a vast lake resembling an
ocean. The colours reminded me of the Antarctic; whites and blues abounded as the
boat scooted across the lake at high speed, reaching a tiny floating settlement
two hours later. The village made a convenient lunch stop. The little community
was no more than two square kilometres and fitted with wooden walkways while
everything else floated alongside.
Back
on the lake, the ever-floating grass islands made navigating tricky. With great
difficulty the boatman found his way along channels through these islands, at
times so thick the boat couldn’t get through. Directions were sought from fishermen
as the canals were ever-changing.
A
thunderstorm was building and came down with such force that we took shelter at
a floating fish depot. This further allowed the skipper to buy lake prawns, to
cook for supper.
Our
overnight stop was at a community where we overnighted at an amazingly
comfortable guesthouse resembling a longhouse. Longhouses (the traditional
accommodation) aren’t in use anymore. I understood this type of living had been
discouraged by the government. Traditionally, entire communities would live in
one longhouse but, apparently, these houses became a breeding ground for
disease. Individual dwellings are now encouraged. Luckily, a few lovely old
longhouses remained.
20
June – Going Inland – Day Two
Following
a breakfast of tea and fried noodles, we once more took to the water. This time
the route was up a river, lined by dense forest and tiny hamlets. Wooden houses
upon barges floated along the side and toilets were no more than humble
outhouses directly over the water with a hole in the floor. From what I could
see, nearly all these settlements were fishing villages, and people didn’t seem
to do significantly more than fish, wash and clean. All kinds of fishing
methods were employed, from fish traps to Chinese fishing nets, but still,
plenty of fish seemed available. I couldn’t help but wonder how many kids drowned.
We
were lucky to spot a few long-nosed proboscis monkeys, highly arboreal and one
of the weirdest looking animals on earth. Endemic to Borneo’s jungles, they
never stray far from the island’s rivers, or swamps. These monkeys live in
harem groups consisting of a dominant male and two to seven females and their offsprings.
The
community looked well organised (albeit floating and with no connecting road to
the outside world). They had petrol stations, shops, furniture stores, schools,
and even markets floating upon barges or high stilts.
Women
could be seen going about their daily business with faces smeared with mysterious
white paint. The purpose of which was unknown to me. Babies were being rocked
viciously in small hammocks, and older kids were constantly playing in the
river.
I
found the lady making the face masks/paint in the next village, a concoction of
leaves and flour rolled into small balls and dried in the sun. She keenly gave
me a few. It must’ve looked like I needed it.
We
ate the rest of the prawn, tempe (resembling tofu, thinly sliced and fried) and
noodles, washed down with more tea.
I
could still not stop itching. No bedbugs this time but hordes of mosquitoes and
I was reasonably lumpy by then. Fortunately, the power came on in the evening.
It stayed on until morning, allowing the use of a fan during the night. Thank
goodness!
21
June – Going Inland – Day Three
Before
leaving, a quick peep into the traditional healer’s house was most intriguing. The
place was immensely colourful, busy, and obviously extremely popular. His drumming
and chanting could be heard throughout the night.
Our
boatman was ready and waiting, and steered us back the same way we came.
Although not a massive amount of wildlife was left, a fair amount of birdlife
remained. Our guide pointed out colourful kingfishers, numerous types of water
birds and even a large marabou stork or two, easily one of the ugliest birds on
the planet.
I
admit the toilets were a thing to get used to. Not only was this arrangement a simple
wooden structure over the water with a hole in the floor, but people washed, did
their laundry and swum right at the toilet door! Best not to think about it. Squat
and do your thing. Good thing they didn’t use toilet paper. The worst was that the
water used to wash one’s backside was scooped from the same river. Gosh, I
guess that’s way too much information for most people.
22
June – Samarinda
Back
in Samarinda, tickets were bought for the weekly passage to Sulawesi. Judging
by how tickets were sold left, right and centre, I anticipated one more long
boat ride with minimal facilities. I was sure they had no idea of the number of
tickets sold. Unfortunately, Ernest was sick and stayed in bed all day.
23
June - Samarinda, Kalimantan – Pare-Pare, Sulawesi
According
to the tickets, the ship sailed at 11h00, but the time was 14h00 before the
ferry finally departed. As predicted, fellow travellers streamed onto the ferry,
and soon all were jammed in like sardines. Rumour had it that 4,000 people were
on the ship (which I could believe) licensed to carry 970 people. There were no
cabins, simply a large open area where people sat. The boat was crowded and
impossible to find a space to roll out a mat. Even the open deck was crammed
with people trying to escape the stuffy interior. Hawkers still managed to get through
and sold all kinds of snacks and trinkets; how they did it remains a mystery.
You know you were in for a hot, stuffy ride when the hawkers peddled fans at
only a few cents.
The
muezzin’s call allowed the heathens to roll out mats to stretch their legs.
If
all this wasn’t enough, a fierce wind picked up, and soon our ferry sailed into
a storm. The storm brought rain and enormous swells. The boat pitched and the
people puked. There was no opportunity to go inside by then, as the inside was
even more crowded and didn’t leave standing space. Ernest and I wrapped
ourselves in our groundsheets and waited out the storm on deck.
The
problem with such an overloaded boat is that the facilities aren’t designed to
handle that amount of people. People thus puked and peed wherever they could
squat.
SULAWESI
24
June – 10 August 2010
24
June - Pare-Pare, Sulawesi
Upon
arrival in Pare-Pare, nearly all were dead tired and happy off the ferry. I
first swung by the bike shop to purchase a new tyre as a massive bubble
appeared along the tyre wall. With a new tyre fitted we headed straight to a
hotel to shower and sleep.
25
June - Pare-Pare – Enrekang - 86 km
Sulawesi
is a twisted, orchid-shaped island with four mountainous peninsulas sprawling
into the sea. The island came with little flat ground. The stretch between
Pare-Pare and Enrekang was gently undulating and probably the most level. Sulawesi’s
culture and architecture are utterly different from the rest of Indonesia.
Traditional wooden houses lined the road, orchids grew wild, and amazed and
friendly natives were keen to inspect us. I said “inspect”, as onlookers
appeared from nowhere at each stop and had no shame in staring (without
blinking) and even touching or poking us. Very much like one would treat an
alien who had just landed.
26
June - Enrekang – Makale – 80 km
The
way to Makale climbed up to the highlands with stunning views of the valleys
and rivers far below. Numerous stops were made to fill water bottles and admire
the vistas and charming traditional houses. Upon reaching the area of Tana
Toraja, the island became even more interesting.
Traditional
houses with boat-shaped roofs, rising in front and back, were the norm, and for
the most part had a richly decorated barn in front.
Although
Saturday night, finding digs in Makale was uncomplicated, a good thing as Ernest
was still not feeling well.
27-29
June - Makale – Rantapao – 24 km
A
short and comfortable ride led to Rantapoa, stopping at Londa, a small village
with fascinating burial caves. Inside the caves, old coffins were scattered
around, exposing skulls and bones. Above the cave was a balcony with a row of tau-tau
(life-sized, carved, wooden replicas of the dead), all dressed up in fresh
clothes watching their graves. Other caves had the tau-tau sitting high up along
a sheer cliff face.
In
Rantepao, we stayed two nights, doing little more but ly around and watching
football, waiting for Ernest to recover.
30
June - Rantepao – Palopo – 65 km
The
stretch of road between Rantepao and Palopo turned out another memorable day as
our path ran through authentic villages with colourful rice barns until
reaching the long-awaited descent. The route was in poor condition and washed
away in places, with parts so narrow one wondered how trucks and buses manoeuvred
around those detours. Thick clouds and rain hung over the mountaintop creating
poor visibility as the path descended to the coast. Reaching the town of Palopo,
a guesthouse close to the central market made a good enough place to bunk down.
1
July - Palopo – Larompong – 81 km
At
long last, the path levelled out, and the ride became a pleasurable and scenic ride
past produce drying in the sun. The entire range was there: cocoa beans, coffee
beans, fish, rice, seaweed, vanilla and the ever-present cloves. The smell of
cloves will forever remind me of Indonesia.
A
road sign indicated a beach hotel and, upon closer inspection, I came upon, what
must’ve once been, a superb resort hotel. The property was located right along the
Gulf of Boni. Still, it was neglected, and although the place had all the
facilities, there were no other guests. Our abode came with a small fridge and
TV, but only one channel despite the array of satellite dishes. (I later found
the TV remote in the bed.) The word must’ve gotten out two foreigners were in
their midst, as the townsfolk arrived to gaze at the two strangers and their
doings.
2
July - Larompong - Sidenreng – 123 km
The
stretch between Laromong and Sidenreng was a wonderful day of cycling, gently
undulating with magnificent views. A tailwind assisted us while cycling past
rural settlements where houses had shiny, pink curtains and kids wore bright
green school tracksuits.
Shortly
beyond Sidenreng and upon departing our water stop, Ernest’s bicycle chain snapped.
Although he fixed it remarkably quickly, a lady from one of the houses served
coffee and cake. Curious kids arrived en masse to witness this unusual event.
With
the Soccer World Cup hosted by South Africa, most people had at least heard of
South Africa. However, several still found it surprising we were Caucasian-looking.
They spontaneously broke into the “Wave your flag” song when they heard where
we’re from, a rather catchy tune.
3
July - Sidenreng - Pare-Pare – 31 km
After
a breakfast of fried rice and chillies, no doubt heartburn was going to set in
soon. But, for reasons unknown to me, Ernest was keen to get to Pare-Pare and
we, hence, didn’t continue to Makassar but took a day’s rest in Pare-Pare.
4
July - Pare-Pare – Pancep – 113 km
Contrary
to expectations, the road followed the coast and was picturesque and immensely
enjoyable. Unfortunately, hardly any of the places encountered were indicated on
our map – or the names differ from those commonly used in the area.
Ernest
was still unwell and considered stopping early. Still, we couldn’t locate somewhere
to stay and he’d no choice but to persevere until Pancep. Once again, I surmised
that the guesthouse in Pancep was rented by the hour. Still, the place was inexpensive
and the people friendly enough.
5-8
Jul - Pancep – Makassar – 56 km
The
following day a comfortable and short ride led to Makassar with its hectic
traffic and congested streets. A backpacker’s hostel in the town centre provided
five-day accommodation until the Surabaya ferry departed. While waiting, I investigated
the old fort and took bicycle rickshaws around the city, discovering Makassar’s
attractions.
9
July – Makassar, Sulawesi – Surabaya, Java - By boat
Eventually,
the time arrived to catch the ferry. The day dragged on, seemingly forever, as
checkout time was at 12h00, but the ship only docked at 3 p.m. and departed at
7 p.m. There wasn’t much more to do but sit around in cafes, shopping centres
and the old fort, with Ernest this time. At last, we could board the already
overcrowded ship. Makassar wasn’t the origin of the voyage, as the boat did a
weekly route amongst various Indonesian islands.
Once
on board, a passage close to the door looked like the perfect spot for us and the
bikes. However, other passengers almost immediately claimed their space in the
same alley and before long, one could hardly move. The rest of the boat was
similar, with people sleeping on the stairs and in passageways.
I
thought the Indonesians were the most tolerant people on the planet. With the
boat being overcrowded, everything from going to the (soon blocked and
overflowing) toilet to buying items at the shop came with a long wait in a long
queue. However, the Indonesians (unlike me) didn’t stand there grumbling, sighing,
and rolling their eyes. Instead, they stayed friendly and chatty as if this was
no problem. I truly admired their tolerance. Even when our ship developed
engine problems and the boat was left adrift out in the open seas, they didn’t lift
an eyebrow. Instead, they continued eating their instant noodles and playing
cards, believing the problem would soon be fixed.
The
many passengers generated a significant amount of garbage. Meals and snacks
were all served in polystyrene containers, and the wrappers were mostly
plastic. I was impressed that all trash was collected in large plastic refuse
bags and stored at the other end of our passage. But, to my shock and horror, a
large side hatch was opened during the night, and all rubbish was unceremoniously
dumped into the ocean. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
In
the meantime, the Indonesians showered repeatedly and always smelled as fresh
as daisies. Fragrant flowers, sold at the market, were placed in water and then
used for rinsing the body. How clever of them.
BORNEO
661
Kilometres – 21 Days
4
June 2010 – 23 June 2010
4 June – Surabaya, Java – Banjarmasin, Kalimantan, Borneo - By ship
The
last part of the ferry trip to Banjarmasin was up a large river. The view from
the deck revealed a large segment of the population lived in stilted wooden
houses over the water along the river banks.
Borneo
is the third largest island in the world and the largest in Asia. In my mind
the furthest place on the planet from where I was born - not so much in
distance as in culture, landscape and weather, and the island held a huge
fascination to me.
Politically,
the island was shared among three countries: Malaysia, Brunei and Indonesia,
with approximately 73% of the island being Indonesian territory. The island
straddles the equator, and about half of the island is in the Northern
Hemisphere. However, the best part of the Indonesian side is in the Southern
Hemisphere.
Twenty-two
hours after sailing out of Surabaya, Java the ferry docked at the river port of
Banjarmasin on the island of Borneo. It took only a few kilometres of cycling
from the harbour to get into the city and, although dark, we’d no trouble
finding our way or a room.
5
June - Banjarmasin
I
felt awful and spent the best part of the day lying under the, not so helpful,
fan. One could tell Borneo would be even hotter and more humid than Java, just
the type of hothouse effect one could expect from one of the world’s last
wildernesses. Ernest found anti-nausea tablets and I felt considerably better
by the evening and could arrange a river trip with Ahmed, a guide. Most of what
was to see in Borneo was inland along rivers and not along the single route
along the coast.
6
June - Banjarmasin
Our
guide woke us at 5 a.m. as I was unaware of the time difference between Borneo
and Java. Following cruising up rivers and canals in an open slow boat, we
arrived at a very colourful floating market allowing purchasing fruit from the
boat vendors.
Banjarmasin
was a city with a maze of rivers and canals. Much of the population seemingly lived
in their stilted homes lining the riverbanks. The waterways weren’t purely used
as transport but also as a toilet, bath, and place to fish, swim, and do laundry.
The people were curious, called greetings, and pointed us out to their kids as
our boat puttered past. At times, I felt as out of place in Borneo as an orangutan
would be on the streets of Cape Town.
Upon
the return trip, our guide stopped at the riverside “old market”, allowing the
purchase of vegetables to make that evening’s potato salad. I still couldn’t
stomach any fried stuff. The markets were interesting and a quick glimpse into
the daily life of the people of Borneo.
7
June - Banjarmasin – Margasari – 81 km
Instead
of taking the main road, we departed Banjarmasin via a narrow but paved street along
a canal with plenty of life. In contrast to our suspect map, the way abruptly
turned into a small, gravel trail running along rivers and canals. People
seemed apprehensive of us, a sure sign this wasn’t an area frequented by
foreigners.
The
path deteriorated into a footpath, and the mother of all storms was building ahead.
The storm broke upon reaching a coal mine entrance, making convenient to
shelter in the security hut. We soon resembled two drenched silvered leaf
monkeys as coal dust from the overhead conveyer belt showered down upon us. Finally,
the rain subsided and, albeit still drizzling, we proceeded along an unpaved
mining track. Unfortunately, the rain had turned the way into an impassable
clay pit. While slipping and sliding, all I could do was try and push the bike along.
Still, even this act became impossible as the bicycle and my feet became stuck
in the thick, sticky clay. While dragging the bike along, my one sandal got swallowed
by the mud; the truth was sometimes stranger than fiction.
What
felt like an eternity later, a canal was reached where a boat ferried people across.
Villagers helped slide the bikes onto the ferry, and clean off the worst of the
clay. Although late, camping was out of the question as the weather was still
rainy, and with no shelter or dry land in sight, we’d no choice but to continue,
with mosquitoes in hot pursuit. Helpful folk helped push the bikes through the thick
clay until the path became more solid. Cycling was tricky as, by then, darkness
had fallen, and the rain had made the route muddy and potholed, and I considered
myself lucky to have fallen just once.
What
felt like a lifetime later, two somewhat soaked and muddy foreigners slunk into
the small town of Margasari – much to the surprise of residents. Shelter was
sought at the police station, which we found deserted. Following a long wait,
the police returned from their patrol (or dinner). They permitted pitching the
tents in one of their derelict offices. It took a while to explain that all we
needed was a place to sleep (not a lift to the bus station, a meal, or anything
else). Ernest worked until well beyond midnight to wash the worst of the muck
off the bikes.
8
June - Margasari – Kandangan – 54 km
From
Margasari to Kandangan ran a paved road, and I’ve never been happier. The route
was along a narrow but scenic path, past rural hamlets and along a river that
led to the small city of Rantau. The ride was a fascinating one past Rantau and
onwards to Kandangan. Being in desperate need of a shower, an abode was found.
The afternoon was spent doing laundry and cleaning equipment. The skin on the palms
of my hands started coming off – gosh, what could be next?
9
June - Kandangan – Tanjung – 97 km
Breakfast
was typically included in the room rate and generally consisted of fried rice
and a boiled egg. Taking the weather into account, it didn’t come as a surprise
that duck eggs were the day’s order.
We
took off in a drizzle, and happiness was finding a hard-topped road, as anything
was better than the previous day’s clay.
10
June - Tanjung – Muarakomam – 92 km
Holy
Mackerel, those hills were near vertical! Our path went straight up and descended
equally steeply, and I wondered what happened to good old switchbacks. Upon reaching
the top and stopping to catch our breaths, the route went straight down and climbed
up the next. With coffee growing along the mountain slopes, farmers were drying
the beans along the roadside. Freshly ground coffee was, therefore, always
available, and delicious.
Muarakomam
was a tiny village with merely a few houses along either side of the road, a
mosque and a market and surprisingly sported a “penginapan” (small hotel). However,
they knew they had a monopoly as the price was a tad steep for such basic
accommodation.
11
June - Muarakomam - Kuaro – 57 km
The
stretch between Muarakomam and Kuaro was another tough day of cycling. It wasn’t
that the hills were long, approximately 500 metres or so. But the gradient was insane
and, reaching the top, the path descended equally sharply, usually across a
river, simply to ascend the next hill. This process was repeated until we
eventually reached the crest, where it felt like I fell straight off the
mountain. We flew downhill at break-neck speed. Flying around a corner at high
speed, I was nearly killed a second time in Indonesia. A truck coming up
swerved out to avoid a massive pothole and missed me by mere centimetres. I was
far more careful afterwards.
Happy
to reach the junction town of Kuaro, I called it quits as I desperately needed
to rest my legs.
12
June - Kuaro – Balikpapan - 141 km
The
route headed to the coastal city of Balikpapan, and I hoped the path would
flatten out compared to the previous days. According to the people living in
the area, the route was “good”. Still, the way nonetheless remained bumpy and
potholed with a good few hills. Again, like the previous days, the weather was
hot and humid and, under a searing sun, I was sure I had lost half my body
weight in sweat.
By
late afternoon we’d reached Pananjang, situated along the southern shore of a broad
estuary, with Balikpapan at the opposite side. A car ferry took passengers across,
but countless residents used the speed boat service as the crossing took more
than an hour. Cycling off the ferry, was long past sunset and hence already
dark. To my dismay, I found the ferry dock some distance away from the city. There
was no fun in cycling an additional 20 kilometres along an undulated road that
came with steep hills. The darkness and chaotic traffic made the ride even
trickier. Reaching Balikpapan, I was bushed, hungry and thirsty – but still this
wasn’t the end of our ordeal. Being late on a Saturday night, all hotels were choc-a-block
full. Eventually, and past 10 p.m., a place was located, but the space first had
to be cleaned. What an exhausting ride the day turned out, and I was never
happier being horizontal – lumpy, sagging mattress and all.
13
June – Balikpapan
I
wondered if people in South Africa realised to what extent they were in the eye
of the world at the time. With South Africa hosting the FIFA World Cup at the
time, their every move was watched across the globe. So there I was in Borneo,
and the streets were jam-packed with traffic, all going to the park where a giant
big screen showed the football. The mood was festive, and food stalls lined the
streets. Police should’ve blocked the roads, as the traffic was impossible.
Everywhere else in the city, people watched at pavement cafés and eateries,
cheering on their chosen team.
14-15
June – Balikpapan
In
the morning, we moved to a different hotel closer to the centre which offered
better lodging at the same price. My knees were sore from cycling up all those
hills, but I thought nothing a couple of anti-inflammatories and a few days
rest couldn’t sort out. Thorough use was made of the hot water shower, and we washed
clothes, hair and scrubbed bodies, all while enjoying the luxury of an air-con abode.
16-17
June - Balikpapan – Loa Janan – Samarinda – 139 km
The
time had come to move along, and we venture north towards Samarinda. Unfortunately,
our path stayed extraordinarily hilly and the distance was slightly further
than envisaged. By the time darkness fell, I called it quits as I’d enough of
struggling in the dark up hills and searching for accommodation in horrendous
traffic.
The
following morning, Samarinda city was a mere 13 kilometres away. Once settled
in, priority was to find the harbour to inquire about ferries to Sulawesi
Island. However, before leaving Borneo, I still had plans to explore the
interior by boat. As roads appeared non-existent, the best way to see the remainder
of the island was by boat. To my horror, I discovered our digs came with bed
bugs as I emerged covered in itchy bite marks.
18
June – Samarinda
In
Samarinda locating a guide was easy; in fact, he found us, as guides frequently
frequented hotels on the hunt to find tourists. I liked the guy and arranged
with him to go inland along the waterways. I’m sure one could’ve organised the
trip quite easily independently. Still, I thought this a convenient way to
travel and, in the process, support Samarinda’s economy.
19
June - Going inland – Day One
Our
guide arrived sharply at 8h00, and the three of us set off by “angkot” to the
bus terminus. (Angkot is an abbreviation of “angkutan kota”, meaning city
transportation. However, almost all foreigners call a minivan an angkot.) Our
guide, Ernest and I boarded a bus to Kota Bandung further upriver, a rough
three-hour ride from the bus terminus.
From
Kota Bandung we boarded a small, long-tailed boat, not a great deal more than a
canoe with an engine. It, mercifully, came with a canopy to keep the worst of
the sun off us. Unfortunately, the engine sat at the back. Moreover, it came
with a long direct driveshaft to the propeller, making the trip a noisy affair.
The engine sputtered and roared, reminding me of our disastrous crossing between
Thailand and Myanmar when the engine blew up, and the boat was left adrift in
the open sea.
Departing
the busy waterways, our boatman steered us across a vast lake resembling an
ocean. The colours reminded me of the Antarctic; whites and blues abounded as the
boat scooted across the lake at high speed, reaching a tiny floating settlement
two hours later. The village made a convenient lunch stop. The little community
was no more than two square kilometres and fitted with wooden walkways while
everything else floated alongside.
Back
on the lake, the ever-floating grass islands made navigating tricky. With great
difficulty the boatman found his way along channels through these islands, at
times so thick the boat couldn’t get through. Directions were sought from fishermen
as the canals were ever-changing.
A
thunderstorm was building and came down with such force that we took shelter at
a floating fish depot. This further allowed the skipper to buy lake prawns, to
cook for supper.
Our
overnight stop was at a community where we overnighted at an amazingly
comfortable guesthouse resembling a longhouse. Longhouses (the traditional
accommodation) aren’t in use anymore. I understood this type of living had been
discouraged by the government. Traditionally, entire communities would live in
one longhouse but, apparently, these houses became a breeding ground for
disease. Individual dwellings are now encouraged. Luckily, a few lovely old
longhouses remained.
20
June – Going Inland – Day Two
Following
a breakfast of tea and fried noodles, we once more took to the water. This time
the route was up a river, lined by dense forest and tiny hamlets. Wooden houses
upon barges floated along the side and toilets were no more than humble
outhouses directly over the water with a hole in the floor. From what I could
see, nearly all these settlements were fishing villages, and people didn’t seem
to do significantly more than fish, wash and clean. All kinds of fishing
methods were employed, from fish traps to Chinese fishing nets, but still,
plenty of fish seemed available. I couldn’t help but wonder how many kids drowned.
We
were lucky to spot a few long-nosed proboscis monkeys, highly arboreal and one
of the weirdest looking animals on earth. Endemic to Borneo’s jungles, they
never stray far from the island’s rivers, or swamps. These monkeys live in
harem groups consisting of a dominant male and two to seven females and their offsprings.
The
community looked well organised (albeit floating and with no connecting road to
the outside world). They had petrol stations, shops, furniture stores, schools,
and even markets floating upon barges or high stilts.
Women
could be seen going about their daily business with faces smeared with mysterious
white paint. The purpose of which was unknown to me. Babies were being rocked
viciously in small hammocks, and older kids were constantly playing in the
river.
I
found the lady making the face masks/paint in the next village, a concoction of
leaves and flour rolled into small balls and dried in the sun. She keenly gave
me a few. It must’ve looked like I needed it.
We
ate the rest of the prawn, tempe (resembling tofu, thinly sliced and fried) and
noodles, washed down with more tea.
I
could still not stop itching. No bedbugs this time but hordes of mosquitoes and
I was reasonably lumpy by then. Fortunately, the power came on in the evening.
It stayed on until morning, allowing the use of a fan during the night. Thank
goodness!
21
June – Going Inland – Day Three
Before
leaving, a quick peep into the traditional healer’s house was most intriguing. The
place was immensely colourful, busy, and obviously extremely popular. His drumming
and chanting could be heard throughout the night.
Our
boatman was ready and waiting, and steered us back the same way we came.
Although not a massive amount of wildlife was left, a fair amount of birdlife
remained. Our guide pointed out colourful kingfishers, numerous types of water
birds and even a large marabou stork or two, easily one of the ugliest birds on
the planet.
I
admit the toilets were a thing to get used to. Not only was this arrangement a simple
wooden structure over the water with a hole in the floor, but people washed, did
their laundry and swum right at the toilet door! Best not to think about it. Squat
and do your thing. Good thing they didn’t use toilet paper. The worst was that the
water used to wash one’s backside was scooped from the same river. Gosh, I
guess that’s way too much information for most people.
22
June – Samarinda
Back
in Samarinda, tickets were bought for the weekly passage to Sulawesi. Judging
by how tickets were sold left, right and centre, I anticipated one more long
boat ride with minimal facilities. I was sure they had no idea of the number of
tickets sold. Unfortunately, Ernest was sick and stayed in bed all day.
23
June - Samarinda, Kalimantan – Pare-Pare, Sulawesi
According
to the tickets, the ship sailed at 11h00, but the time was 14h00 before the
ferry finally departed. As predicted, fellow travellers streamed onto the ferry,
and soon all were jammed in like sardines. Rumour had it that 4,000 people were
on the ship (which I could believe) licensed to carry 970 people. There were no
cabins, simply a large open area where people sat. The boat was crowded and
impossible to find a space to roll out a mat. Even the open deck was crammed
with people trying to escape the stuffy interior. Hawkers still managed to get through
and sold all kinds of snacks and trinkets; how they did it remains a mystery.
You know you were in for a hot, stuffy ride when the hawkers peddled fans at
only a few cents.
The
muezzin’s call allowed the heathens to roll out mats to stretch their legs.
If
all this wasn’t enough, a fierce wind picked up, and soon our ferry sailed into
a storm. The storm brought rain and enormous swells. The boat pitched and the
people puked. There was no opportunity to go inside by then, as the inside was
even more crowded and didn’t leave standing space. Ernest and I wrapped
ourselves in our groundsheets and waited out the storm on deck.
The
problem with such an overloaded boat is that the facilities aren’t designed to
handle that amount of people. People thus puked and peed wherever they could
squat.
SULAWESI
24
June – 10 August 2010
24
June - Pare-Pare, Sulawesi
Upon
arrival in Pare-Pare, nearly all were dead tired and happy off the ferry. I
first swung by the bike shop to purchase a new tyre as a massive bubble
appeared along the tyre wall. With a new tyre fitted we headed straight to a
hotel to shower and sleep.
25
June - Pare-Pare – Enrekang - 86 km
Sulawesi
is a twisted, orchid-shaped island with four mountainous peninsulas sprawling
into the sea. The island came with little flat ground. The stretch between
Pare-Pare and Enrekang was gently undulating and probably the most level. Sulawesi’s
culture and architecture are utterly different from the rest of Indonesia.
Traditional wooden houses lined the road, orchids grew wild, and amazed and
friendly natives were keen to inspect us. I said “inspect”, as onlookers
appeared from nowhere at each stop and had no shame in staring (without
blinking) and even touching or poking us. Very much like one would treat an
alien who had just landed.
26
June - Enrekang – Makale – 80 km
The
way to Makale climbed up to the highlands with stunning views of the valleys
and rivers far below. Numerous stops were made to fill water bottles and admire
the vistas and charming traditional houses. Upon reaching the area of Tana
Toraja, the island became even more interesting.
Traditional
houses with boat-shaped roofs, rising in front and back, were the norm, and for
the most part had a richly decorated barn in front.
Although
Saturday night, finding digs in Makale was uncomplicated, a good thing as Ernest
was still not feeling well.
27-29
June - Makale – Rantapao – 24 km
A
short and comfortable ride led to Rantapoa, stopping at Londa, a small village
with fascinating burial caves. Inside the caves, old coffins were scattered
around, exposing skulls and bones. Above the cave was a balcony with a row of tau-tau
(life-sized, carved, wooden replicas of the dead), all dressed up in fresh
clothes watching their graves. Other caves had the tau-tau sitting high up along
a sheer cliff face.
In
Rantepao, we stayed two nights, doing little more but ly around and watching
football, waiting for Ernest to recover.
30
June - Rantepao – Palopo – 65 km
The
stretch of road between Rantepao and Palopo turned out another memorable day as
our path ran through authentic villages with colourful rice barns until
reaching the long-awaited descent. The route was in poor condition and washed
away in places, with parts so narrow one wondered how trucks and buses manoeuvred
around those detours. Thick clouds and rain hung over the mountaintop creating
poor visibility as the path descended to the coast. Reaching the town of Palopo,
a guesthouse close to the central market made a good enough place to bunk down.
1
July - Palopo – Larompong – 81 km
At
long last, the path levelled out, and the ride became a pleasurable and scenic ride
past produce drying in the sun. The entire range was there: cocoa beans, coffee
beans, fish, rice, seaweed, vanilla and the ever-present cloves. The smell of
cloves will forever remind me of Indonesia.
A
road sign indicated a beach hotel and, upon closer inspection, I came upon, what
must’ve once been, a superb resort hotel. The property was located right along the
Gulf of Boni. Still, it was neglected, and although the place had all the
facilities, there were no other guests. Our abode came with a small fridge and
TV, but only one channel despite the array of satellite dishes. (I later found
the TV remote in the bed.) The word must’ve gotten out two foreigners were in
their midst, as the townsfolk arrived to gaze at the two strangers and their
doings.
2
July - Larompong - Sidenreng – 123 km
The
stretch between Laromong and Sidenreng was a wonderful day of cycling, gently
undulating with magnificent views. A tailwind assisted us while cycling past
rural settlements where houses had shiny, pink curtains and kids wore bright
green school tracksuits.
Shortly
beyond Sidenreng and upon departing our water stop, Ernest’s bicycle chain snapped.
Although he fixed it remarkably quickly, a lady from one of the houses served
coffee and cake. Curious kids arrived en masse to witness this unusual event.
With
the Soccer World Cup hosted by South Africa, most people had at least heard of
South Africa. However, several still found it surprising we were Caucasian-looking.
They spontaneously broke into the “Wave your flag” song when they heard where
we’re from, a rather catchy tune.
3
July - Sidenreng - Pare-Pare – 31 km
After
a breakfast of fried rice and chillies, no doubt heartburn was going to set in
soon. But, for reasons unknown to me, Ernest was keen to get to Pare-Pare and
we, hence, didn’t continue to Makassar but took a day’s rest in Pare-Pare.
4
July - Pare-Pare – Pancep – 113 km
Contrary
to expectations, the road followed the coast and was picturesque and immensely
enjoyable. Unfortunately, hardly any of the places encountered were indicated on
our map – or the names differ from those commonly used in the area.
Ernest
was still unwell and considered stopping early. Still, we couldn’t locate somewhere
to stay and he’d no choice but to persevere until Pancep. Once again, I surmised
that the guesthouse in Pancep was rented by the hour. Still, the place was inexpensive
and the people friendly enough.
5-8
Jul - Pancep – Makassar – 56 km
The
following day a comfortable and short ride led to Makassar with its hectic
traffic and congested streets. A backpacker’s hostel in the town centre provided
five-day accommodation until the Surabaya ferry departed. While waiting, I investigated
the old fort and took bicycle rickshaws around the city, discovering Makassar’s
attractions.
9
July – Makassar, Sulawesi – Surabaya, Java - By boat
Eventually,
the time arrived to catch the ferry. The day dragged on, seemingly forever, as
checkout time was at 12h00, but the ship only docked at 3 p.m. and departed at
7 p.m. There wasn’t much more to do but sit around in cafes, shopping centres
and the old fort, with Ernest this time. At last, we could board the already
overcrowded ship. Makassar wasn’t the origin of the voyage, as the boat did a
weekly route amongst various Indonesian islands.
Once
on board, a passage close to the door looked like the perfect spot for us and the
bikes. However, other passengers almost immediately claimed their space in the
same alley and before long, one could hardly move. The rest of the boat was
similar, with people sleeping on the stairs and in passageways.
I
thought the Indonesians were the most tolerant people on the planet. With the
boat being overcrowded, everything from going to the (soon blocked and
overflowing) toilet to buying items at the shop came with a long wait in a long
queue. However, the Indonesians (unlike me) didn’t stand there grumbling, sighing,
and rolling their eyes. Instead, they stayed friendly and chatty as if this was
no problem. I truly admired their tolerance. Even when our ship developed
engine problems and the boat was left adrift out in the open seas, they didn’t lift
an eyebrow. Instead, they continued eating their instant noodles and playing
cards, believing the problem would soon be fixed.
The
many passengers generated a significant amount of garbage. Meals and snacks
were all served in polystyrene containers, and the wrappers were mostly
plastic. I was impressed that all trash was collected in large plastic refuse
bags and stored at the other end of our passage. But, to my shock and horror, a
large side hatch was opened during the night, and all rubbish was unceremoniously
dumped into the ocean. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
In
the meantime, the Indonesians showered repeatedly and always smelled as fresh
as daisies. Fragrant flowers, sold at the market, were placed in water and then
used for rinsing the body. How clever of them.
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