CYCLE TOURING AUSTRALIA

AUSTRALIA
4,872 Kilometres - 78 Days
11 August - 26 October 2010

Photos 

Bali, Indonesia – Darwin, Australia - Darwin city centre – 14 km

The flight from Bali landed in Darwin at three in the morning. Following clearing immigration and customs, the time was four o’clock and still dark. The Australians scrutinised me, opening all the panniers and bike box, even checking the tent pegs! Once outside, we reassembled the bicycles and as soon as daylight came, we headed into Darwin. One could tell Australia was a first-world country as the countless early morning joggers, cyclists and people walking their dogs never looked up to greet unless they were greeted first.

Chilli’s Backpackers made a good enough place to stay and had a communal kitchen and outside sundeck sporting two small pools. The accommodation was, nonetheless, costly at AU$30 a dorm bed, especially since becoming used to paying around US$10 a double room.

The conveniently located supermarket, next door to the hostel, indicated prices in Australia. After buying a Stuart Highway map and a few other bits and bobs, I returned to the ATM to restock the wallet.

I laughed at myself being slightly shocked at the morals of the western world. It seemed the norm for inebriated people to go about skimpily clothed. Girls in shorts and crop tops danced upon bar tables. It all appeared somewhat immoral since spending so much time in Africa, the Middle East, the subcontinent, and Southeast Asia. By the end of the evening, I, nevertheless, felt comfortable enough doing the same. Well-organised Australia was hard at work transforming Darwin from its wild frontier and hard-drinking-day image to a city more suitable to European standards. However, I thought the authorities still had a way to go.

Undoubtedly, Australia was a different country as that evening, while having a beer at a pavement cafe, we met a professional rodeo rider. I’d no idea one could do such a thing for a living.

 

Darwin - Adelaide River - 124 km

With dry mouths from too many beers the night before, time came to leave the party town of Darwin and get on the lonely stretch of road to Adelaide. The time was past 10 o’clock before cycling out of Darwin where a bicycle path followed the highway to Paterson. I thought it amusing that the places that least needed a bike path had one - wouldn’t it have been a novel idea in India or Java.

The Stuart Highway was a motorway that ran 2,834 kilometres through the Australian outback from Darwin to Adelaide, referred to simply as “The Track”. The route was superb with a hard shoulder and the traffic light and predictable, quite different from Indonesia. Our first day featured plenty of water stops, and several places suitable to pitch a tent. The slight headwind was enough to cool one down and keep the flies at bay. Where all the flies came from, was a mystery, as there honestly wasn’t a great deal around.

Approximately 50 kilometres into the day, Ernest had his first puncture in Australia. Soon afterwards, we found a massive bushfire burning along the highway. Luckily, the section next to the highway was already under control, but still a tad too close for comfort. I also spotted my first wallaby. Finally, at around 6 p.m., when our shadows had grown long, we rolled into historic Adelaide River which had a suitable campsite, excellent showers, a kitchen area and a beautiful green lawn with shady trees.

The village was situated along the banks of the Adelaide River, well known for its high concentration of saltwater crocodiles; fortunately, they didn’t visit. The land around the Adelaide River was considered the traditional territory of the Kungarakan and Awarai Aboriginal people. Today they are acknowledged as traditional landowners. However, the predominantly European place names indicated the early settlers had little respect for this ownership.

 

14 August - Adelaide River – Pine Creek - 120 km

The area was dotted by World War II memorials from old campgrounds to cemeteries and airfields. Mercifully, more than enough water points and camping were encountered en route to Pine Creek. The road was perfect, though hot and the heat dry but bearable. Many rest areas were suitable for overnighting, and a few had toilets and, at times, firewood. Hayes Creek was the next water stop, after which the way continued to Emerald Springs.

The stretch to Emerald Springs had a few hills and a headwind. However, the headwind was a blessing in disguise as the breeze kept the flies away and cooled us. The stretch between Darwin and Katherine was clearly the luxury part of the outback as we encountered frequent water stops as well as campsites. Pine Creek had great camping known as the Lazy Lizard, which sported a lovely lawn and good showers. After pitching the tents and a shower, Ernest discovered his stove didn’t work and the adjacent restaurant and shop were already closed. However, the helpful bar lady unlocked the adjoining shop and sold us Vegemite, crisps and bread. I was starving as I’d nothing to eat all day, and the vegemite and crisps sandwiches were, therefore, delicious. Good thing I loved Vegemite, and Australia had decent bread.

Like virtually all towns along the Stuart Highway, Pine Creek was a gold rush town with a colourful and historical past. I learned workers on the Overland Telegraph Line discovered gold while digging a hole for a telegraph pole in the early 1870s. The subsequent gold rush lasted the next twenty years.

 

15-16 August - Pine Creek – Katherine - 97 km

Not surprising, breakfast was coffee and more of the same sandwiches. Our rushed departure was due to the flies, which were a menace and better to try and out-cycle them. The darn things were irritating, and it seemed they preferred eyes and nostrils. The air was extremely dry, making my skin flake and lips crack, and this was only day 3. The Track stretched miles ahead; merely an occasional uphill broke the monotony. Water breaks were usually quick as the flies soon got the better of us. The lack of rest stops made us push onward to Katherine, the third largest town along the Track.

Coco’s Backpackers gave cyclists a discount and had an intriguing set-up consisting of a ramshackle building, plenty of chickens, and a unique owner. Thus, Coco’s made a convenient place to have a rest day, and do the usual housekeeping. Ernest repaired tent poles and punctured tubes and got the stove working. He was offered a job of rounding up cattle by one of the farmers who frequented the hostel for such jobs. Sadly, he was disinterested in such ventures (I bounced up and down in the background, pick me, pick me).

Like the other towns, the land around Katherine belonged to Australia’s indigenous people, especially the Dagoman, Jawoyn and Wardaman. The area around Katherine is traditionally considered a meeting place for these tribes. Therefore, I was honoured to meet a few indigenous people and get a brief but fascinating insight into their lives and culture. I understood that their view of the world centres around “The Dreaming”, a complex concept of the past, present, and future and virtually every aspect of everyday life. It started at the “beginning of time” when mythic beings shaped the land and populated it with flora, fauna, and human beings and left behind the rules for social life. The same as virtually all other beliefs.

 

17 August - Katharine – Mataranka - 115 km

Approximately 28 kilometres south of Katherine a turn-off led to Cutta Cutta Caves. Formed millions of years ago, I thought the Cutta Cutta Caves were over-regulated as by then featured walkways and guided tours – which distracted from its historical past. After eating the pasta sandwiches Ernest made from the previous night’s leftovers, we returned to the road.

Fifty kilometres south of Katherine was a rest stop with water and toilets, but it was too early to call it a day. Instead, we ate our jelly sweets in the shade of a massive tree and then headed towards Mataranka. Apart from an occasional World War II site, the landscape remained unchanged.

Mataranka had a population of 420 and, surprisingly enough, a campground known as Bitter Springs Campsite. The majority of the towns in the outback were established due to water availability, the discovery of gold or the installation of the Australian Overland Telegraph Line, and Mataranka was no different.

 

18 August - Mataranka - Larrimah - 81 km

An early morning walk led to a hot spring flowing along a clear stream surrounded by natural bush. Swimming in this mineral-rich thermal pool was a pleasure before breakfast, and making more leftover pasta sandwiches to eat during the day. Other travellers left pasta and tinned food in the camp kitchen for those who needed it, which came in handy.

The route and traffic were excellent and consisted mainly of holidaymakers towing caravans or driving mobile homes. These weren’t your ordinary mobile homes. Instead, they were fantastic contraptions and more substantial than many apartments. However, most motorists were in good spirit and gave a little toot and a wave as they passed.

It could’ve been a tailwind or downhill (or maybe the pasta sandwiches kicked in). Whatever the reason, we rolled into Larrimah (population 200) before 15h00. The tents were pitched at the Larrimah Hotel with its legendary Pink Panther bar. The town’s entire history was learned before paying the camp fee. Larrimah was tiny and its single claim to fame was the “Gorrie Airstrip”. The airstrip was built during World War II, and is said the longest dirt airstrip in Australia.

Ernest was keen to service his bike’s front hub which had been making alarming noises. So, in typical Northern Territory style, I sat watching him in the shade of a colossal tree.

 

19 August - Larrimah – Daly Waters - 104 km

There were no water stops or rest areas between Larrimah and Daly Waters. The road stretched into a hazy infinity. Nevertheless, we pushed on, stopping at every “interesting” spot or memorial - even the occasional road sign made us all excited.

The legendary Daly Waters pub provided (expensive) beer and idle chatter to other travellers. It claimed it’s the oldest pub in the Territory as its liquor licence had been in continuous use since 1893. It had an amusing ceiling of bras and lots of memorabilia left by fellow travellers. The intriguing part was, in the early 1930s, Qantas Airlines used Daly Waters as a refuelling stop on the Singapore leg of its Sydney–London run. It must’ve been a big attraction when a plane landed, and I could imagine the excitement.

We pitched the tents a few kilometres away at the Hi-Way Inn amongst wallabies and parrots. In the process, we encountered immensely kind and generous travellers who invited us to beer, crab, and other delicious snacks. Their motorhome was awfully comfortable, and they truly lived in style.

 

20 August - Daly Waters - Newcastle Waters - 127 km

I woke to the raucous sounds of parrots and cockatoos outside my tent - not an unpleasant way to greet a new day. Birds of all colours surrounded us, which might’ve been why Ernest was ready at a decent hour. But, sadly, little of interest happened during the day.

Newcastle Waters was the next water stop and 127 kilometres down the drag. Many years ago, Newcastle Waters was a thriving gathering place for drovers and their overland cattle drives. However, following the start of road transport in the early 1960s, it became a ghost town. During our visit, no more than an old store and hotel remained.

Sleeping at rest areas was fascinating. Not merely was it free, but it often had water and toilets. As a result, these areas were often frequented by “Grey Nomads” in campervans. The people at rest stops appeared friendlier than most, and overnighting in these places inevitably came with heaps of socialising until late with fellow travellers, both foreign and local.

 

21 August - Newcastle Waters – Renner Springs - 118 km

The wind picked up during the night, and a long haul into the wind was feared. Mercifully, the wind was generally a crosswind and not as strong as foreseen. Nevertheless, Dunmara came after approximately 45 kilometres and made a convenient place to fill water bottles. While doing so, two guys travelling by motorbike also pulled in, making it the day’s only excitement.

The tarmac lay stretched out in front of us, and amusing ourselves consisted of picking up all kinds of things and renaming the birds of Australia. The way to Renner Springs was a lonely stretch where even less happened than the previous days, apart from two tracks turning off to unknown destinations, one repeater station and two cattle grids.

For thousands of years, the Warumunga Aboriginal people lived in this area, enjoying the plentiful freshwater and the wildlife attracted by the springs and lagoons. It’s estimated Australian Aboriginal people have been in Australia for at least 45,000–50,000 years. According to historians, Aboriginal people were hunter-gatherers who grew no crops and didn’t domesticate animals (apart from the dingo). I thought this fascinating as it meant they were directly dependent on natural resources in an area that offered little, agricultural-wise. While nomadic, they seemingly had a strong sense of attachment to sites and areas. It appeared a considerable amount of their hunting and gathering was done in the same region, albeit a large one. I only mention this as I think it marvellous how people could live 50,000 years in a place, scarcely leaving any evidence they were there. Yet, there I was, who could within one day generate enough garbage to last many lifetimes. How sad is that? It’s not something I’m proud of.

 

22 August - Renner Springs Road House – Tennant Creek - 166 km

The Stuart Highway was more of a tourist trap than wilderness and prices were utterly ridiculous. I guess the shopkeepers knew travellers had little choice but to buy at their price or go without. Even Australians were surprised at the exorbitant prices. Along the track loaf of bread could often cost AU$5. Besides the high rates, biking was easy along an almost flat road and various opportunities to fill our water bottles.

Banka Banka came sixty-two kilometres south of Renner Springs. The lady at the campground made sure we knew she was doing us a massive favour by letting us fill our water bottles (which she was). After that, she allowed us to sit in the shade of her tree while eating our sandwiches. Still, we were told not to walk around. Being only a tiny site, I wasn’t sure where one could walk. But that was what I liked about the outback. There were the most unusual and remarkable people living in this sparsely populated part of the world.

A further 50 kilometres of riding brought us to a rest stop, equipped with toilets and water (where walking around was allowed). While filling our water bottles, an Australian couple at the rest stop gave each an ice cream cone. It sure was the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever tasted.

A stiff tailwind pushed us right past Three Ways Junction and onwards to Tennant Creek, the fourth largest town in the Northern Territory, arriving at the campsite shortly before 6 p.m.

 

23 August - Tennant Creek

A day of leisure was spent in Tennant Creek. The campsite had an internet connection, and the day became busy, uploading photos, posting updates, and stocking up with foodstuff for the next few days. I wondered if I’d fit all the shopping into my bulging panniers. The rest of the day was spent doing long overdue laundry and fiddling with bicycles and tents. All typical rest day chores.

In the process, I learned about the one-eyed Jack Noble’s history, who teamed up with his blind friend and financier, William Weaber. Together they established the Nobles Nob Mine - a mine that, during its productive life, produced over 32,500 kilograms of gold. I loved these tiny settlements, with their tales and legends.

 

24 August - Tennant Creek – Wauchope – 120 km

The wind picked up during the night, making a reluctant start to the day. Pedalling into a headwind is never a pleasant affair, and thus 10 o’clock before two unwilling South Africans got on “The Track”. Thank goodness, the wind wasn’t as bad as predicted. Still, the road lay black and endless in front of us, forming a mirage on the horizon, always a forlorn and desolate scene.

Towards the end of the day, the scenery abruptly and unexpectedly changed. Huge rocks stacked upon one another covered the area, a stunning sight at sunset. Known as Devil’s Marbles, it made fantastic exploring, and was indeed a remarkable place. After chatting to a cyclist riding around Australia, the sun was already low, and the nearby National Parks campsite appeared a perfect overnight stop. However, I already had my tent up when Ernest pointed out the lack of water, and better to cycle the 10 kilometres to Wauchope Roadhouse.

The sun had, by then, already started setting, colouring the sky bright red. At the same time, a huge full moon rose to our left, a truly spectacular sight. A lone dingo trotted past making it even more special.

 

25 August - Wauchope – Wycliffe Well – 18 km

Wauchope was already quite far south, and it became icy during the night; and for the first time in nearly a year, I needed sleeves. We emerged to a howling wind, and I was in no mood to cycle but loaded up and headed to Wycliffe Well.

Wycliffe Well is said to be situated on a cross-section of key lines or energy lines. I guessed it the reason why Wycliffe Well has had its fair share of UFO sightings. The pub had a large collection of paper clippings stuck up on the wall regarding UFO sightings in the area. I was keen to see if I could spot one and decided to pitch the tent right there in their excellent grassy campsite. I kept my eyes peeled for a UFO but wondered if the sightings could’ve had anything to do with the substantial selection of beer sold at the pub.

 

26 August - Wycliffe Well

A howling wind, and rain pattering on the tents, made me pull the sleeping bag over my head and I loudly announced I was going nowhere. It wasn’t all that hard to convince Ernest. The roadhouse made good French fries, had internet, and offered bottomless cups of coffee. During the day, a cyclist heading north arrived and, would he not be South African? After coaxing him to stay the night, he pitched his tent, and it became a pleasant evening.

 

27 August - Wycliffe Well – Barrow Creek – 94 km

It became downright difficult to emerge from the tents as winter was setting in and the weather was bitterly cold. But following coffee and toast (made on the fire), time came to say goodbye to Clyde. The first stop was Taylor Creek Rest Area where water was available to fill our water bottles.

The day consisted of pedalling into a slight headwind and, upon reaching Barrow Creek, it was time to call it a day. Barrow Creek was a bit of a godforsaken place with hardly a campsite but a welcoming pub. However, Barrow Creek was where one of the outback’s most horrific and mystifying crimes took place. So the story goes: on the night of 14 July 2001, Bradley John Murdoch stopped a VW Kombi van. The van was driven by an English traveller, Peter Falconio, who was persuaded by Murdoch to leave his vehicle. Murdoch then shot the visitor, tied up Falconio’s girlfriend, Joanne Lees, who, miraculously, managed to escape after hiding in bushes. She was eventually picked up by a truck driver who took her 13 kilometres south to the Barrow Creek pub, where the police were alerted. Unfortunately, the body of Peter Falconio was never discovered.

Even though still early, the nippy weather made early camping. Ernest cooked the usual pasta, after which we crawled in.

 

28 August - Barrow Creek – Ti Tree – 93 km

Being ready by 9h00 was an early start for Ernest, and it made an early arrival at Ti Tree. All the talk about potato salad made us shop for potatoes, lettuce, vegetables and mayonnaise.

Soon after pitching the tents, a kind lady, offered us fruitcake which nicely complemented the coffee. The people in the outback may be eccentric but are the kindest and most accommodating people one will ever meet in Australia.

Our early arrival further made me sit in the sun while Ernest prepared the much-anticipated meal. Ti Tree was a tiny settlement. Its single claim to fame is its proximity to Central Mount Stuart, the geographical centre of Australia. The area was known as Anmatjere Country and encompassed a region of approximately 4,000 square kilometres. At the time, an estimated 2,000 people lived throughout the Anmatjere region and at least 60% of the population spoke Anmatjere as their first language.

 

29 August - Ti Tree – Aileron – 63 km

Being the end of August and the weather still icy, I couldn’t drag myself out of the tent before the sun warmed the air. However, a short ride from Ti Tree brought us to vineyards and a sign to wine tasting where I splashed out on a bottle of port. The first rest stop of the day came around 40 kilometres further, perfect to fill water bottles and eat potato salad sandwiches. From the rest area, a further 20-kilometre ride led to tiny Aileron through Prowse Gap and, even though early, time to sample the port.

The night was freezing, and Ernest made “vetkoek” (deep-fried dough balls) and soup which complimented the port. A zillion stars lit the sky while I sat wrapped in my sleeping bag, but not even the port could keep the cold at bay.

 

30 August - Aileron – Tropic of Capricorn Rest Area – 105 km

Upon departing Aileron, I first snapped a pic or two of the giant 17-metre-tall Anmatjere Man, erected in 2005 and weighing 8 tonnes.

The rest of the day was spent cycling into the wind. Ernest was energetic and led the way while I sat in his slipstream. The Tropic of Capricorn Rest Area made perfect camping. Later a motorcyclist, who had been riding from Germany, rocked up. It was interesting to learn he’d followed a near-identical route to us since Turkey.

 

31 August - Tropic of Capricorn Rest Area – Alice Springs – 36 km

Pitching a tent next to the Tropic of Capricorn Monument was maybe not a good idea. Early morning travellers arrived to take pictures of the monument. I guessed they would’ve to photoshop me out once home.

We blitzed the last few kilometres into Alice Springs – mostly downhill, passing the marker indicating the highest point along the route between Darwin and Adelaide (a mere 727 meters). Afterwards, we biked into Alice, the halfway point along the Stewart Highway.

I was both in pressing need of a shower and a dentist. The day was pleasantly warm, even hot and time to do laundry and air sleeping bags.

 

1-3 September – Alice Springs

I searched for a dentist as a loose crown was causing problems. The gory details I’ll spare you. So off to the dentist, I went and returned minus AU$180 and a tooth. There wasn’t a great deal I could do but continue with a missing tooth until reaching a place where one could’ve such work done. Never in my life did I think I’d be walking around with a gaping grin. Best to keep my mouth shut –I guess Ernest was happy about that. At least it wasn’t one of the front ones. I then understood why numerous outback inhabitants were missing a few teeth.

I was a little disappointed in the Australian barbie, as it appeared the BBQing was done on a gas-fired plate – not even a grid. But, at least Ernest was happy, grid or no grid, seeing this was his first real meat-eating country since South Africa (besides insects, dogs, and the occasional chicken or goat).

The following day was spent shopping for foodstuff to see us through the next few days. Ernest bought a new tyre and pedals from the bike shop, and I splashed out on a new bicycle computer. The weather report predicted heavy storms, but nothing came of the anticipated wind or rain, only a sudden downpour towards evening.

The plan was to leave the next morning, but it started raining, and nothing came of our planned departure. However, the reception/shop at the entrance had a small selection of books to swap. I located an easy-to-read one and crawled back into my sleeping bag. Later in the day I was tempted to continue biking as the sun came out now and then, and the wind was favourable.

 

4 September - Alice Springs - Stuart’s Well – 95 km

The sounds of birds chirping, and the sight of a perfect blue sky were great ways to wake and start the long-haul south. However, I was surprised at the vast number of colourful birds. Parrots, cockatoos, and large flocks of bright green budgies swooped across the way en route to Stuart’s Well.

Stuart’s Well was nothing more than a roadhouse and grassless campground. One couldn’t complain as it was free, and the dust made an extraordinary sunset. The lack of light pollution brought about a clear night sky complete and sightings of meteors (I prefer to call them shooting stars, it sounds far more romantic). Warning signs told us not to leave anything near the fence as horses around the perimeter had an appetite for things like towels, tents and bicycle saddles. We understood not long before the seat of a Harley was chewed.

 

5 September - Stuart’s Well – Erldunda – 111 km

There were two rest stops with water en route to Erldunda, and therefore, no need to carry extra water. The trees which accompanied us since Darwin gave way to shrubs and grassland. Sadly, the meteorite conservation was approximately 40 kilometres off our route. I would’ve loved to have investigated. The Henbury Meteorites Conservation Reserve contains 12 craters formed when a meteor fell there 4,700 years ago. Apparently, the Henbury Meteor weighed several tons and travelled at over 40,000 kilometres per hour but disintegrated before impact and the fragments formed the craters.

Instead, we continued to Erldunda Roadhouse, which had a restaurant/pub, campsite and pre-fab motel rooms. Erldunda Roadhouse was also the turn-off to Uluru (Ayers Rock), our next destination and a relatively long 500-kilometre return trip to see “The Rock”.

The area was known as the red centre as the soil colour was a deep red – especially stunning at sunset. It, however, didn’t always make suitable camping as, by then, all our gear had a reddish tint. Even the lone dingo spotted had a slightly red back. I noticed a warning that poisoned bait had been put out for “wild dogs”. I suppose “wild dog” sounded more acceptable than “dingo”.

 

6 September - Erldunda – Rest Area – 135 km

I waited for the sun to defrost and chatted to the other campers before packing up. The slow start didn’t affect us much as a good tailwind pushed us in the direction of Uluru. Luckily, we encountered two rest areas that had water.

At the first one, we were entertained by Daryl and Gloria travelling in a campervan. After chatting to them, drinking their coffee and eating all their fruitcake, we thanked them and headed to the next rest area. Never waste a tailwind, I say. When I say “rest area” I mean, what I know as a lay-by, a dirt area next to the motorway where vehicles can pull off.

 

7 September - Rest Area – Curtin Springs – 28 km

A strong wind picked up during the night, making the tent flaps roar like a Boeing in the process of taking off. While having coffee, Carson from Taiwan, whom we have heard from various people, also pulled in. He was a day or two ahead of us and en route from Uluru to the Stewart Highway. The chatter continued a while as all felt reluctant to leave the rest area as, by then, it had started raining, and the wind appeared to have gathered strength. Eventually, all had to head off into the icy wind and rain.

Cold, wet and windswept we arrived at Curtin Springs and, after a coffee, it didn’t take a great deal of convincing us to pitch the tents. The camp emu wasn’t all that welcoming, and I walked away quickly, but the emu followed close behind. I walked faster and faster, eventually running flat out, emu still in tow. On the next round, and with the smooth action of a well-trained Olympic diver, dived into the tent and stayed there the rest of the day. I only once ventured out (checking carefully for the emu) to get a loaf of bread from the roadhouse shop, this time at AU$7. It must’ve been the most expensive bread in the world.

 

8 September - Curtin Springs – Yulara – 88 km

The weather cleared during the night, and a huge rainbow greeted us in the morning. Unfortunately, the dreaded emu was back, inspecting everything and pecking on the tents. Dark clouds gathered and kept us tentbound. But by 11h30 the weather gave us a break, and packing up was at the speed of light. We hopped on the bicycles for the last stretch to Yulara, fortunately minus the emu.

What a gruelling day of cycling it turned out. A gale-force wind blew all day, and heads down and windbreakers flapping, we stepped hard on the pedals to Yulara. Eventually, the Yulara Resort and my first glimpse of Uluru in the distance came into view. By the time the tents were pitched, the wind had subsided, and the cold weather seemed to have dissipated.

Yulara was the service village for the Uluru-Kata Tjuta National Park, and I had to give it to the Australians, they can market anything, even a rock. Yulara offered a wide range of accommodation, hot-air balloon rides, dinner under the stars, camel rides, 4-wheel rides, helicopter flights, and more.

 

9 September - Uluru – 37 km

Following the usual rest day chores, a leisurely cycle led to the long-awaited rock. I was surprised at the size of Uluru; somehow, I envisaged it as considerably smaller. The rock was quite a dramatic sight as it rose 350 metres from the desert floor and measured 9.4 kilometres around its base. Regrettably, the sun didn’t want to play along and scarcely came out to give the rock its distinctive red colour. After snapping a few pics, we returned to camp for more idle chatter.

In a way, I thought it quite sad such a sacred site to the Aboriginal people was trampled by tourists climbing it. Of course, notices were asking people not to venture to the top, but still, many found this a kind of pilgrimage.

 

10 September - Yalara – Curtin Springs – 88 km

Ernest changed his worn tyre, and therefore 12h30 before getting underway. Fortunately, it turned out a more relaxed day than anticipated. The wind wasn’t as strong and arriving at Curtin Springs was shortly past 5 p.m. where one could buy wood to make a fire. Rudolfo from Argentina, who then lived in Melbourne, also camped at Curtin Springs. It became a pleasant evening spent around a fire with a few beers.

 

11-12 September - Curtin Springs – Mt Ebenezer – 107 km

After the usual leisurely start, an additional day of grinding into the wind made us crawl into Mt Ebenezer with its red, earthy campsite long past 5 p.m. I couldn’t resist the French fries from the roadhouse and devoured five dollars’ worth before setting up the tent.

The following morning, I surfaced at 5h30 with rain pelting down. The entire area had, by then, turned into a gigantic mud bath. There wasn’t a good deal more to do but lay cocooned in the tents, hoping the weather would soon clear. Sadly that never happened as it rained throughout the day.

Eventually, a break in the weather made me sprint to the roadhouse pub/restaurant to work on the laptop and have a coffee.

 

13 September - Mt Ebenezer – Kulgera – 135 km

The following morning, the weather had cleared, and an excellent tailwind helped us along the 60 kilometres to the Stuart Highway junction at Erldunda. From there the road beat a dead straight track south through the desert. An additional 75 kilometres along the Stuart Highway brought us to Kulgera, sporting a place to pitch a tent and roadhouse. However, Kulgera was nothing more than a pub and restaurant and had a population of barely 40.

 

14 September - Kulgera – Rest Area – 61 km

An icy wind blew, and I was reluctant to leave. Battling into the wind was one thing, but biking into a freezing wind was another. Twenty-two kilometres further south the route officially crossed into the state of South Australia.

At the border was a rest area where we ran into Gloria and Daryl, whom we’d met en route to Ayres Rock. Once again, they invited us to coffee and cake. I wonder if people realised what luxury it was to us.

Forty kilometres further, we came across a rest area with water and shelter. A fellow traveller at the rest area invited us to share his campfire, and I was quick to get my billy on the fire for my evening coffee. The people in the outback were extremely accommodating and kind, and sharing food and water came naturally to them.

 

15 September - Rest Area – Marla – 125 km

Upon waking up I could hear the unwelcome sound of rain on the tent. The day was thus spent pedalling in icy conditions and a constant drizzle. As a result, I was frozen stiff all day.

To make matters worse, Ernest hadn’t one but two flat tyres - not a thing one wanted in those icy conditions, although it didn’t seem to bother him. At the best of times, I’m not good at handling cold weather. I was utterly frozen and thought I might’ve had a bout of hypothermia as I was shivering uncontrollably.

On the bright side, I considered myself lucky to have seen wild horses and a giant kangaroo sitting in the middle of our path.

I was never more pleased to ride into a campsite. A quick cup of soup with leftover deep-fried dough balls and a hot shower was what I needed to defrost. Marla was the first settlement in South Australia and nothing more than a small hamlet, gum trees and a camping area. With a population of around 70, Marla wasn’t significantly more than a service town for people heading along the Stuart Highway.

 

16 September - Marla – Cadney Homestead – 85 km

A signboard stated Adelaide a further 1,082 kilometres down the track. Ernest repaired punctured tubes and once stocked up from the little mini-mart, the time was already 12h00.

The day turned out a cold and windy one. As a result, remote Cadney Homestead only rolled into view past 5 p.m.

Cadney was a favourite overnight stop along the Adelaide–Alice Springs drive as it had heaps of camping space as well as a roadhouse.

 

17 September - Cadney Homestead – Pootnoura Rest Area – 80 km

The section between Cadney Homestead and Pootnoura was a short distance. Still, it took the entire day to cycle as the weather was bleak with low clouds and freezing wind. Add to that the two blow-outs Ernest had due to his new tyre tearing along the side wall, and it turned out a positively awful day.

Taking the miserable weather, I stuck the iPod in my ears and battled on. Pootnoura Rest Area had both water and shelter and, as it looked like rain, I’d my tent up super-fast, and by super-fast I mean SUPER-FAST, as by then I was pretty good at pitching the tent.

 

18 September - Pootnoura Rest Area – Coober Pedy – 78 km

Making coffee was a struggle in the windy conditions, but, eventually, the water was boiling for an early morning cuppa. I wasn’t looking forward to another stormy day, but we’d move on as supplies ran low.

Struggling into the icy wind (sometimes from the front and sometimes a fierce crosswind), cycling was barely ever at more than 10 kilometres an hour. Strong gusts from the road trains practically blew me off my bike a few times but I clung on for all I was worth and barely managed to stay on the road.

The dog fence, a 5500-kilometre long barrier running across South East Australia to keep the dingoes out, wasn’t something I’d ever heard of before until almost 40 kilometres north of Coober Pedy. Another surprise was Cooper Pedy and the opal country and area featuring countless holes and piles of dirt. Opal mining was alive and well in Coober Pedy. I then understood why Coober Pedy was often referred to as “The Opal Capital of the World”.

 

19-20 September - Coober Pedy

Coober Pedy was a typical small mining town dotted by corrugated iron houses, dirt roads and eccentric-looking foreigners seeking their fortune. It had one more intriguing feature – old, worked-out mines had become homes. Living underground made a lot of sense as the heat was scorching in that part of the world. Apparently, the temperatures underground never rise above 23˚C. The surrounding desert had attracted several filmmakers, and old movie props were scattered around town. Tenting was at the Opal Inn Caravan Park. Out time was spent doing laundry, stocking up with supplies for the way south, and exploring all Coober Pedy had to offer.

 

21 September - Coober Pedy - Ingomar Rest Area – 94 km

Time to leave the life of hanging around and get on with the task at hand. Luckily, the day turned out more pleasant than anticipated. At last, the sun was out and the wind not too fierce. The area was flat, and the landscape consisted of miles and miles of nothing growing two meters high, apart from the occasional “molehills” where optimistic miners were digging opals.

Before leaving, I tried to draw money, but the bank was offline and set off without cash. There would be no need for it within the next few days as a sign stated there were no facilities in the next 254 kilometres. The rest area was (as always) interesting and had the usual bunch of odd and unique people.

 

22 September - Ingomar Rest Area – Bon Bon Rest Area – 79 km

I couldn’t believe it became one more day of making our way into the wind along a pan-flat road with scarcely a change in the countryside. On and on, “The Track” went, as we headed south, heads down into the wind. I was close to getting white-line fever. Mercifully, the distance between the two rest areas was short and once at Bon-Bon, we pitched the tents and could take a break from the wind. The most charming people were found at these rest areas. Jen from Adelaide was a 70-year-old lady who drove to Darwin to deposit her late husband’s ashes into the ocean. She was a remarkable woman and had loads of captivating stories. The more red wine we drank, the more compelling the stories.

 

23 September - Bon Bon Rest Area – Glendambo – 87 km

Ernest and I weren’t on speaking terms; the wind was relentless, the route pan-flat, and I couldn’t think of a worse situation, all I wanted was to get out of there.

Glendambo was an important stopping point along the Stuart Highway. This was the last petrol for the next 250 kilometres when travelling north. With a population of around 30 and an annual rainfall of barely 185mm, it will never, I guess, become more than a roadside stop. Still, it had a campground, a hotel/motel, a licenced restaurant, a roadhouse and a general store, and that was all I needed.

 

24 September - Glendambo – Woomera – 125 km

Thank goodness, not all things are constant. Once underway, a tailwind powered us south past vast areas of nothingness until reaching Lake Hart, once Australia’s prized salt deposit. Following good rains, the salt lake was filled to the brim, making magnificent vistas and offering plenty of camping space. In fact, the pan was so huge it resembled an ocean.

Like two horses who smelled the stables, we nearly sped right past Woomera wasn’t it for me having a flat tyre. By then, I think both wanted to get this trip over and done so each could go their own way. Woomera had a tad of a dark history as Woomera was the headquarters for experimental rocket and nuclear tests. I read indigenous people suffered greatly from these nuclear fallouts. The village centre had a rocket display, and I was surprised at how small some of these deadly rockets were.

 

25 September – Woomera - Ranges View Rest Area – 120 km

Past more salt lakes and a few dusty rest stops, we pedalled. I was surprised to find water at Ironstone Lagoon Rest Area, almost 70 kilometres south of Pimba. Overnighting was at Ranges View where the wind blew an absolute gale - I honestly thought my tent would take off with me inside, and I’m no lightweight!

 

26 September - Ranges View Rest Area – Port Augusta – 66 km

The following morning, came as a beautiful spring day - sun shining, barely any wind and flowers everywhere. The Stuart’s Desert Pea flowers were in full bloom and covered the soil almost as far as the eye could see.

I was relieved to roll into Port Augusta, which also marked the end of the exceptionally long Stuart Highway and find myself in a more built-up area. The campsite was a bit out of town but was inexpensive and had excellent facilities.

 

27-28 September - Port Augusta

The wind picked up, and I was happy we weren’t cycling. The routine tasks of laundry, internet and stocking up on foodstuff kept us occupied most of the day. While strolling about, I came upon an Aboriginal art display. I heard more concerning the complex topic of dot art and Dreamtime stories. What a fascinating culture, albeit far too complicated for me to grasp.

 

29 September - Port Augusta – Port Germein – 70 km

After two days of leisure, we resumed our quest. A strong headwind battered us all day, but we struggled onwards regardless. In fact, it became so intense I thought it outright dangerous. Trucks and buses blew one all over the place and upon reaching the coastal community of Port Germein, I called it quits. A cyclist, Grant from Perth, was in camp, trying to cycle home from Sydney in 30 days. The site opposite the “longest wooden pier in Australia” wasn’t cheap but had a well-equipped kitchen and good showers.

Port Germein was a forlorn-looking place with simply a few houses, a small hotel and general store, a jetty and camping. The area was a crabbing one, and just about everyone in town had a crab net.

 

30 September - Port Germein – Snowtown – 98 km

The wind eased slightly, but judging by the windfarms and mangled old windmills, the area was notoriously windy. Still, it remained a picturesque ride as the fields were green and stretched for miles on end past quaint towns like Waretown, Red Hill and Lake View.

We pitched the tents in Snowtown, sporting a community of 600, three churches, a hotel, and a general grocer. The campground was in the Centenary Park recreation area and had a perfectly manicured bowling green, tennis court and, of course, a football oval that doubled as a cricket pitch in summer.

 

1 October - Snowtown – Dublin – 89 km

Hallelujah, the wind was finally in our favour and the sky a perfect blue. The weather was pleasantly warm resulting in an excellent day past deep green wheat fields and yellow canola fields, vast salt lakes and delightful small villages with names like Lochiel, Wild Horse Plain and Windsor.

Tiny Dublin had a convenient rest area. So we set up the tents and only the following morning noticed the small “no camping” sign.

 

2-5 October - Dublin – Adelaide – 62 km

On a breezy but sunny Saturday afternoon we rode into Adelaide, and I could say I’d crossed one more continent. The streets were quiet, and Adelaide was undoubtedly the most accessible city I’ve biked into in a long while. Roads were wide and traffic orderly. There were no hooting, traffic jams, or strange one-way streets; simply a plain and comfortable ride right into the city centre.

Adelaide Caravan Park was ever so orderly, to such an extent I couldn’t make up my mind if boring or peaceful. Located along the banks overlooking the Torrents River, the park had a beautiful location but was relatively quiet. Sadly, the numerous rules didn’t leave a great deal for spontaneity. People, on average, seemed to hide in their mobile homes, and I missed the rest areas and their eccentric travellers.

Nevertheless, Adelaide remained a pleasant, spacious city with many parks, river walks and cycling tracks. Indeed, a very liveable city, apart from its 750 churches (I believe), which I thought enough to put a damper on any city. We strolled endlessly around city malls and along scenic river paths. We ate pizzas and drank beers at sidewalk cafes, ate their famous chocolates and, in the process, entirely blew the budget. I felt ill-suited for city life as I merely possessed one pair of worn sandals and a few pieces of tattered clothing.

Possums came to visit, black swans floated downriver, and in the morning, were woken by parrots. I bought a new rear hub which Ernest fitted but it cost me a set of tyres for his bicycle.

I finally decided on my plans for the near future. The plan (which changed daily) was to cycle to Melbourne and then fly (via South Africa) to South America to start the long haul north in summer.

 

6 October - Adelaide – Mt Barker – 40 km

What I first thought was a boring, dull town turned out a great city. Our path led over the Adelaide Hills along the Crafers Bikeway, past Stirling, Aldgate, Bridge Water and Hahndorf, Australia’s oldest remaining German settlement. It turned out a fantastic ride, through forested areas and quaint villages. Regrettably, what started as a beautiful morning, became an icy cold, cloudy, blustery and drizzly day.

Mt Barker made an excellent stop to get out of the weather and enjoy their lovely red wine. Not a bad day at all. A South African family who’d newly immigrated lived in one of the cabins and was still house-hunting– good luck to them.

 

7 October - Mt Barker – Tailem Bend – 79 km

The weather was bitterly cold as our path followed secondary roads past Littlehampton, Nairne, Native Valley, Callington, and Murray Bridge. These tiny villages were picture-perfect, neat, orderly, and had lovely old, restored buildings. Therefore, the ride was pleasant past farmlands and horsey areas, and the llamas spotted didn’t look too out of place.

From Murray Bridge, a path ran south along the west bank of the Murray River. The headwind made me lose my sense of humour somewhere along that stretch. I wondered what I was doing out there on a bicycle. At Jervois, a motor pontoon took people across the river to Tailem Bend. Once the tent was up, and following a hot shower, a glass of excellent Australian red and an enormous bowl of pasta, my sense of humour returned. Things didn’t look all bleak after all.

 

8-9 October - Tailem Bend – Meningie – 63 km

Our first stop was at “Old Tailem Town”. A pioneer’s village consisting of 105 old structures dating from the 1800s - uplifted from their original places all over South Australia to form an authentic looking pioneer’s village. The village consisted of houses, a church, school, movie house, bank, shops, and a railway station. The ride to Meningie was windy. Luckily it was only 63 km away.

Meningie, situated along the shores of Lake Albert, had beautiful vistas over the lake. The wind subsided, the sun set over the lake and pelicans drifted past while terns ducked and dived in search of their evening meal. A perfect ending to what was a rather unpleasant and windy day. So lovely was it the following day was also spent in Meningie.

 

10 October - Meningie – 42 Mile crossing – 83 km

From Meningie, the route to Melbourne ran along the Coorong National Park, a ride that became an excellent biking day. A slight tailwind and magnificent views of the famed wetlands and their abundant birdlife made it a pleasure out on the bike. I loved the place names encountered as the route led through Policeman’s Point and Salt Creek to 42 Mile Crossing, where tenting was at a park camp. The water tank was dry, the “kitchen” home to a swarm of bees, and flies and mozzies attacked simultaneously. However, I wasn’t complaining as I thought it was part of everyday life’s ups and downs, which general life was peppered with.

 

11 October - 42 Mile Crossing – Robe - 112 km

Loading up, I was bombed by a magpie - he, apparently, thought I’d overstayed my welcome. Powered by a strong tailwind, we flew past Kingston, but not before tasting their famous and delicious pies and then to picturesque seaside Robe.

Camping right along the ocean is always enjoyable. A stroll into the village revealed a restaurant serving veggie burgers, and I was delighted by the change of cuisine. The French fries were such a huge helping it bordered on rudeness.

Along the road, we met a Dutch lady (Anneke) cycling in the opposite direction. She came to visit her daughter and was riding back to the Netherlands. Anneke had no watch, no odometer and no cycling partner. As she said, all she needed was a credit card, passport and water. She cycled when daylight and slept when it became dark. Way to go, Anneke!

 

12 October – Robe

I was woken by the unwelcome sound of rain upon the tent. A steady drizzle settled in, and it didn’t look like the rain that would soon clear. I was thus more than surprised to see Ernest already packed, and that for someone who couldn’t get going even at the best of times! However, there was no getting me out of the tent in such foul weather and I stayed put.

 

13 October - Robe – Millicent - 81 km

The next morning, I listened carefully for the sound of rain but, mercifully, didn’t hear the tell tail drip-drip. The lack of rain made a hasty departure. Still bitterly cold, I dressed for the Arctic. During the day we met three other Australian cyclists, en route from Adelaide to Sydney, and I looked at their bikes and gear with great envy.

 

14-15 October - Millicent – Mt Gambier – 53 km

The map indicated a short distance to Mt Gambier and, therefore, no rush in packing up. Fortunately, a tailwind made effortless biking and an early arrival at Mt Gambier. Unfortunately, no sooner were the tents up than the weather came in. A steady drizzle accompanied by a strong and gusty wind brought freezing weather, enough to send me shopping for warmer clothes.

By the next day, the weather deteriorated even further. I lay wrapped in my tent, listening to the wind and rain the remainder of the day. Luckily, I uncovered a few girlie magazines in the kitchen and a packet of chocolate-coated peanuts in my pannier. That, and numerous cups of coffee, kept me occupied for much of the day.

 

16-17 October - Mt Gambier – Portland - 106 km

Dressed in my new winter woollies, I got on the bicycle in freezing weather, accompanied by occasional rain and high winds. Not the best day of riding – and I could’ve sworn I was in England.

The coastal route continued past Nelson and through large sections of state forests; we rode up and over the hills in freezing weather. For the second time on the trip, I was attacked by magpies. I read spring in Australia was magpie season, and breeding magpies often became aggressive and attacked those who came too close to their nests, especially cyclists! Good thing I’d the helmet I was required to purchase in Adelaide. I was more than happy to reach Portland. In fact, so miserable was it, I opted for a cabin at the campsite, and what a good idea. The cabin came equipped with a TV, microwave, kettle and toaster. So good was it, we also stayed the next day. I was warm as toast and comfortable on a bed.

 

18 October - Portland – Warrnambool – 105 km

Eish, time to get going. Back on the bicycle and out in the weather once more. Conditions weren’t all horrible as it only rained once or twice and the stretch to Warrnambool came with a slight tailwind.

Enough time remained to explore quaint and historic Port Fairy. The town had an ensemble of old buildings and a pretty harbour. It surely must be a popular summer place. Warrnambool was considerably larger than expected and had a campground right in the centre of town and easy walking distance to shops. It was a hot shower, hot chocolate, and choc-chip muffin weather and I did precisely that.

 

19 October - Warrnambool – Port Campbell - 71 km

The sun came out for the first time in days, making relaxing in the sun before leaving. The route continued past numerous dairy farms, cheese factories, and miles and miles of picturesque pastures. I even spotted a few black swans.

Eventually, the road spat us out at the coast and the renowned Great Ocean Road. I wasn’t disappointed. This scenic and dramatic coast draws thousands of tourists and has prices to match. The wind and ocean had eroded the limestone to form spectacular pinnacles, coves, caves and arches. A truly magnificent sight, and we turned off at every chance to admire the scenery and snap a few pics.

 

20 October - Port Campbell – Lavers Hill – 52 km

Luckily, the weather remained sunny with little wind. Our first stop was at Loch Ard Gorge, another dramatic viewpoint, and the famous 12 Apostles. Soon, the route left the coast and climbed through eucalyptus forests to Lavers Hill, a small settlement perched atop the Otway Ranges. En route we saw the three cyclists from Adelaide from time to time. In Lavers Hill, I was hoping to see the glow worms, but none came out and it became too cold to explore.

 

21 October - Lavers Hill – Kennett River – 73 km

From Lavers Hill, the road descended sharply, reaching speeds of over 50 kilometres per hour. But unfortunately, our joy was short-lived. Soon the way climbed through the Otway National Park, a dense forest with lovely fern gullies ending in a nice descent into Apollo Bay.

From Apollo Bay to Kennett River, the path ran along a magnificent stretch of coastline. The night was spent at a site across the street from the beach. The place was close to a paradise with koalas in the trees, ducks, and colourful birds. Also, camping was Alan and Heather from England, who had been cycling for the past nine months (on that trip). The incredible thing was we previously met them at Kannur in India two years before.

Ernest cooked a massive pasta dish, and too substantial to finish, leftovers remained in the pot. The next morning, we discovered the lid under the tree and the bowl empty.

Sadly, Ernest heard his mother had passed away the previous day. RIP Mrs Markwood.

 

22 October - Kennett River – Anglesea - 56 km

After chatting to Alan and Heather, it was midday before departing and the first warm day in ages, making biking enjoyable. The coastline was stunning, as the route ran along the shore past Lore and Aireys Inlet. The weather came in. Fortunately, Anglesea rolled into view shortly before the rain came.

 

23 October - Anglesea – Rosebud – 80 km

Instead of biking via Geelong on Port Phillip Bay’s western side to Melbourne, the ferry from Queenscliff across the bay’s mouth to Sorrento looked a more novel way. From Sorrento, one could cycle to Melbourne along the eastern shore.

The path to Rosebud ran alongside the coast and, while built-up, biking was effortless. Instead of cooking, I splashed out on pizzas from the shop across the way, a welcome change to our regular diet of pasta.

 

24 October - Rosebud – Melbourne – 80 km

I was concerned (as usual) about cycling into a big city, as traffic can be hectic, making finding a hostel even more challenging. However, my concerns were unjustified as not only was it Sunday, but the route leading into the city had a bicycle lane - how cool is that? What an organised city Melbourne was. Once across the famous Jarra River, the path spat us out in the town centre.

It didn’t take long to spot a backpacker’s hostel along King Street, aptly named King Street Backpackers. But, of course, nothing in Australia was cheap. Still, the accommodation was comfortable and featured neat, clean rooms, a kitchen and a big communal area. Although being in a place where everything was closed and locked up made me feel a tad claustrophobic.

 

25 October – Melbourne

A great deal of the day was spent organising a flight from Melbourne to Cape Town, South Africa (where I intended to spend time before flying to South America). Getting a bike box and arranging a taxi to pick me up and take me to the airport the next day took up the remainder of the day. That was Australia done and dusted. Albeit I didn’t see half the country, I thoroughly enjoyed my time, and to think I wasn’t even all keen on going there in the first place. This experience confirmed I should never judge a country before I’ve visited and impressions from the media and “friends” are often warped. I by no means claim to know a country I’ve cycled. My reports are far from factual and I only dot down what I “thought” I saw and my experiences have a lot to do with my state of mind, the weather and the company I’m in.

 

26-27 October - Melbourne, Australia – Cape Town, South Africa

A long and tedious flight took me from one end of the world to another. I was happy to have the opportunity to stopover in Cape Town instead of flying directly from Melbourne to Buenos Aires, Argentina. In those days, the flight was a direct one with a refuelling stop in Cape Town, and passengers could break their journey in South Africa at no extra cost. It was great to see my family. We wasted no time and immediately brought out the wine and ordered pizzas. Certain things never change.

CYCLE TOURING INDONESIA (1) - 5 JAVA, 6 BALI & 7 LOMBOK

INDONESIA (1)

 5 Java, 6 Bali & 7 Lombok
1117 Kilometres – 32 Day
10 July – 11 August 2010

Photos

 

JAVA

10 July – Makassar, Sulawesi – Surabaya, Java – By boat

The many passengers on the ferry generated a significant amount of garbage. Meals and snacks were all served in polystyrene containers, and for the most part wrappers were 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.

Due to our engine problems, our boat only docked in Surabaya around 22h00, instead of in the afternoon. It took forever to get off the ship hauling bikes and panniers. Our late arrival further meant cycling in darkness to find a place to bed down, and I was more than happy off the ship and out in the fresh air.

 

11 July – Surabaya

Due to Ernest being unwell, one more day was spent in Surabaya. I wandered about the Surabaya markets and found that most people have at least heard of South Africa. However, my impression was many still thought of South Africa as a geographical term, referring to Southern Africa. A typical reaction was often, “But you are not black?” or, as someone asked, “Where in South Africa? Nigeria?”

 

12-13 July - Surabaya - Pasuruan – 67 km

The route to Pasuruan was a relatively short distance. Still, it was congested with heavy traffic and was, at times, a nerve-wracking ride. The entire way was clogged, and we never cleared the city limits. The ride consequently became a soot-laden exhaust-inhaled cycle. Still, I preferred biking to staying indoors.

I must’ve caught Ernest’s cold and suffered from a tight chest, blocked nose and headache. Fortunately, guava stands lined the path, selling guavas as well as guava juice, making a great drink when loaded with ice.

Mercifully, we soon spotted a comfortable looking guesthouse. Not merely were the rooms outside, but also on the ground floor and sported a window and a veranda overlooking a central garden. The next day, Ernest and I felt a tad off and stayed in bed, making good use of our cosy room.

 

14 July - Pasuruan – Probolinggo - 41 km

A short and easy cycle led to Probolinggo. Again, the route was along a busy highway, but at least the ride was flat and we benefited from a slight tailwind. Probolinggo was the jumping-off point for visits to Gunung Bromo, the nearby volcano, and I was keen to investigate.

 

15 July - Gunung Bromo

I got up early the following day, left Ernest in bed, and headed up the mountain to see the sunrise. I hadn’t seen that many tourists in a long while and wondered where they all came from. Of course, one had to stretch your neck to catch a glimpse of the sunrise. Still, it remained a spectacular sight, sporting fantastic views of the dramatic surrounding landscape.

With its smoking cone and smelling strongly of rotten eggs, Mount Bromo is situated in a vast caldera and surrounded by various other craters. The eerie scenes have spurned countless legends and myths. Mt Bromo is of particular importance to the Tengger people, who believe this is the site where a brave prince sacrificed his life for his family. The people here appease the Gods once a year during the annual Kasada festival. Offerings of vegetables, chickens and money are thrown into the volcano’s crater to keep the beast’s smouldering fury at bay.

A climb to the lip of the crater to see what was below revealed a fiery caldera as plumes of thick smoke billowed from deep inside the earth. The smoke created otherworldly vistas. Returning to our abode, I found Ernest still semi-comatose under the covers.

 

16 July - Probolinggo – Situbondo – 102 km

Being well-rested, I had a great day on the bike; the route was flat, minus the usual hectic traffic. Our path hugged the coast much of the way, and albeit not a beachy area, more like mangrove swamps, it remained great riding next to the ocean.

 

BALI

 

17 July – Situbondo, Java – Gilimanuk, Bali – 90 km

The day started promising, but a stiff headwind slowed our efforts, worsening as the day progressed. The road wasn’t as flat as the previous day and was slightly undulating. Luckily, the hilly area was through a shady forest. From the dock in Ketapang, a short ferry ride took us across the Sea of Bali to the island of Bali.

At last, I landed in Bali, a place that conjured up images of a relaxing beach life, cocktail in hand. Finally, I was ready for an island holiday in a beach hut behind potted plants.

Barely off the ferry, an advertising board pointed to rooms, and what a delightful place it turned out - little bungalows in an overgrown garden, almost what I’d in mind.

 

18 July - Gilimanuk – Medewi Beach - 59 km

The first part of the day was through a national park under a green canopy of trees. No wonder Bali was such a popular destination; the island clearly had more than beaches. The Balinese Hindu culture was alive and well, and I seldom saw such a vast collection of Hindu temples and shrines. Towns and settlements cycled through all had a strong ancient Hindu flavour reflected in the architecture.

Upon rolling into the famous surfing spot of Medewi Beach, I called it a day. Close to the turnoff was a superb place featuring an equally excellent menu.

 

19-21 July - Medewei Beach – Denpasar (Capital of Bali) – 74 km

Bali has everything to make it a true paradise: with its warm tropical climate and great beaches, good surf, palm trees and frangipanis, the island is close to heaven. Add to that an evocative Hindu culture, green paddy fields and friendly Balinese, and it sure was a winner. Typical island style, plenty of fruit was available along the way. Roadside stalls sold bright red watermelons, large yellow bananas, pineapples and mangoes.

Upon reaching the capital, the priority was to inquire about a visa to Australia. There were many filling in of forms, copies made as well as a host of other requirements. Once done, all was handed in and it became a matter of wait and see. Ernest was satisfied sitting in a room in Denpasar, but I was bored stiff. Time to move on and check on the progress of the visa later. There must be more to do in Bali than sit in a city room, staring at the ceiling.

 

22-28 July - Denpasar – Kuta Beach & Uluwatu - 10km/29km/28km

With a reluctant Ernest in tow, I saddled up and biked the short distance to the famous, or infamous, Kuta Beach. The area had a lively touristy trade and came as a shock following such a long time in the rest of Indonesia. The beach was swarming with tourists and narrow pedestrian lanes crammed with curio stalls, T-shirts, surf shops, western restaurants, booze, tattoo shops and marijuana. We eventually found reasonably priced lodging and parked off, absorbing our new environment.

The unique thing about humans is how quickly they can adapt to new circumstances. Soon I was shopping, eating, drinking, and nearly had a new tattoo. I joined the beer-swirling holidaying Aussies, ate at Pizza Hut, swam in the ocean, dodged curio sellers and anyone else trying to sell me a trip to a nearby island.

I enthusiastically told a fellow traveller about our trip, and when he said he didn’t believe me, I was gobsmacked! A leisurely bike ride took us to Uluwatu Beach, one of Bali’s most famous surfing spots if not in the world. Unfortunately, there was no accommodation at the surfing point, and practically all rooms were scattered along the hilly path. After only one night we returned to Kuta, waiting to hear from the Australian Embassy. Once in Kuta, a better spot was found at Sari Bali – a lovely place sporting a balcony and pool. We enjoyed a luxurious life of eating pizzas and drinking beers.

 

29 July - Kuta – Padang Bai – 61 km

Finally, we waved touristy Kuta goodbye and pedalled towards Denpasar to pick up our passports. Naturally, we were eager to see if the visas had been granted. We were thus delighted to see a three-month visa securely pasted in the passports.

As our Indonesian visas were valid two more weeks and our flight from Bali to Darwin was scheduled for 10 August, we continued to Padang Bai from where ferries departed to Lombok.

Bali was smaller than envisaged and our chosen path, pleasant and picturesque. All in all, an enjoyable ride, peppered with Balinese Hindu temples and shrines. Padang Bai wasn’t merely a ferry port but quite a fun little community, featuring a small touristy seafront and heaps of places to stay and eat. Our budget digs came complete with sheets not changed in months. By evening a small restaurant along the “strip” lured us in. Ernest went wild and ordered a steak. Although the steak was ordered “rare”, he claimed the stake was cremated and resembled part of an old shoe sole, just as flat and just as tough, hahaha. He also sarcastically claimed the accompanying French fries looked and tasted exactly like rice. My vegetable curry was a winner, and it appeared by sticking to regional cuisine, you could avoid disaster on a plate.

 

 

LOMBOK

 

30 June - Padang Bai, Bali – Senggigi, Lombok – 40 km

The ferry departed at 10h00 for the four-hour voyage to Lombok. From the Lombok ferry port, a 20 kilometres cycle ride led to the capital which we bypassed in favour of Senggigi, further up the coast and famed for its lovely beaches. However, with Senggig being the most touristy place on Lombok island, the majority of accommodation along the beach was expensive. Sadly, there was no beach where I envisaged myself in a bamboo hut - water lapping at my feet.

Fortunately, in well-frequented places, one can always find a budget hut. That evening, Ernest, at long last, enjoyed fish prepared to his taste. I ordered the fried vegetables and tofu, which turned out delicious. Cooking was a major bone of contention between Ernest and me as he insisted on cooking. In contrast, I preferred to eat from mobile food carts. My preference to eat local was partly because I’d no interest in preparing food, and partly because I saw food as part of a country’s culture and, therefore, as part of travelling. Most of all, I had to pay for the ingredients that Ernest cooked and thought eating from the food carts was much less expensive and far more convenient. Still, he insisted on cooking!

 

31 July - Senggigi – Senaru – 85 km

Generally, rooms came with a simple complimentary breakfast, and that day was no different. Breakfast consisted of a touristy banana pancake and coffee. Afterwards, we saddled up our iron horses for a trip around the island.

We made our way via the hilly route, huffing and puffing up the steep little inclines to fly down the other side at high speed. The ongoing roadworks made it even harder. While pushing my bicycle up one particularly sharp incline through the roadwork, a kind motorbike passenger wanted to help. I think he underestimated the weight and soon abandoned me to my own devices.

Senaru, the jumping-off point for treks to Mount Rinjani, was along a short 10 km detour but the route led straight up the mountain. Our overnight spot featured stunning views of the famous Rinjani volcano. I was itching to trek up to the crater, but not enough time was left for such adventures.

 

1 August - Sennaru – Lanbuhan Lombok – 68 km

In the morning, the road took us down the mountain and onwards to Labuan Lombok, the ferry terminal to Sumbawa Island, our next destination. The landscape was breathtaking and friendly kids cheered us on while gasping up a near-vertical climb. A chorus of “turist, turist” and “hello mister” could be heard while pedalling past rural settlements.

Upon consultation with islanders, we concluded it best to stay the night and cross to Sumbawa Island in the morning. Food was bought at the market, and eventually, Ernest found a decent white snapper which he filleted and fried for supper.

 

2 August - Lanbuhan Lombok – Mataram – 75 km

Somehow our plans changed during the night, and we stayed in Lombok instead of crossing the short straight to Sumbawa.

Villagers reliably informed us that the way to the west coast was flat, but I think by “flat” they meant “straight” instead of hilly. Our path was dotted by small hamlets where the horse and buggy were still in full use, which seemed the primary mode of public transport. Farmers still ploughed their rice fields using oxen, and people were amazed that one could cycle to Mataram.

In Mataram, a lovely homestay was located where we could unsaddle our own well-used horses. Ernest did his usual afternoon march around the markets, and, as usual, returned with a Bintang and a few snacks.

 

Bali

3 August - Mataram, Lombok – Padang Bai, Bali – 21 km

A short amble took us to the harbour for the return ferry ride to Bali, reaching the port with minutes to spare. Along with trucks, buses, curio sellers and hawkers, we boarded the boat for another four-hour crossing. The swell was large, and one could do little else but settle in upon a mat and eat Pop-Mie (cup noodles) and salak (snake fruit), which we’d bought earlier.

By the time the ferry docked in Bali, the time was 16h30, and we opted for the same hotel where we’d stayed before (we were suckers for punishment). However, at least the staff had changed the sheets, and while not fresh, the sheets were less “used” than on the previous visit.

 

BALI

 

4 August - Padang Bai – Amed – 56 km

I knew it was simply a matter of time until our flight out, and I was reluctant to cycle. Eventually, we resumed our ride and veered west around the island. So, off over the hills we went and it turned out a superb ride. Lush and green with rice paddies and temples made the trip pleasurable, and I was happy on the bike. We came across various celebrations or festivals complete with people dressed in traditional clothes, as well as dancers and bands. That said, it could also have been a funeral (who knows?).

Once over the eastern hills, a downhill ride led to the coast. Once there, we came upon a strip of fishing villages known as Amed, an immensely touristy area along the far east coast. A guesthouse directly upon the beach, a swim in the ocean, a cold beer and a plate of spicy food concluded the day. Even though the beach was a black volcanic pebble beach, the water was crystal clear and lukewarm.

 

5 August - Amed – Lovina - 85 km

A good tailwind made easy biking via a reasonably flat road beside the ocean. Later, Ernest bought himself a fish at the market - a rather strange-looking, pike-like creature he cleaned and deboned for hours. He was pretty pleased with the result, but to me, that much work should’ve produced a lot more fish but, then again, I’m sluggish when it comes to cooking food and instead ate my instant noodles.

 

6 August - Lovina – Tangerang - 83 km

From Lovina, the way took us over the hills via a decent climb towards Denpasar and the airport. The scenery was, again, sublime as the way headed past neatly terraced rice fields. Overnighting was in the big town of Tangerang, roughly 20 kilometres north of Denpasar.

 

7 August - Tangerang – Kuta - 36 km

The ride to Kuta was reasonably quick but not without a few rain showers. En route Ernest bought a spare rim, and it appeared he wanted to take as much as possible to Australia. Then came the time to sort out bags and bikes for the flight to Darwin, trying to reduce the weight as much as possible (apart from the rim) as excess baggage came at a hefty price.

 

8-11 August - Kuta – Kuta Airport – 7 km – Darwin, Australia

The following day was spent scrubbing and cleaning bikes, doing laundry and sorting out gear for the flight to Darwin, Australia. I wondered who worked out the timetable as our flight was at 11 pm, arriving in Darwin at 3 am. That surely can’t be a convenient time for anyone. Nevertheless, I was pretty excited to experience Australia, a new country and culture, following such a long time in Africa and Asia.

At last, we said “Selamat tinggal dan Terima kase, Indonesia” as we biked the short distance to the airport. Once at the airport, we expected to box the bikes, but no boxes were available (contrary to what we’d been told). We were immensely fortunate to meet Tan C.K, an extremely helpful Malaysian who had bought a bike in Bali. He contacted the bicycle shop, who brought us two bike boxes and helped pack the bikes.

The sad part was paying for our overweight baggage. Even after a discount, the fee was far more than the ticket price (maybe it was that rim). As with all budget airlines, I thought it surprising the toilets were free.

CYCLE TOURING INDONESIA (1) - 3 KALAMANTAN, BORNEO & 4 SULIWESI ISLAND

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

659 Kilometres – 15 Days

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.