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. 

CYCLE TOURING INDONESIA (1) - 2 JAVA ISLAND

2 JAVA
1,215 Kilometres – 44 Days
20 March 2010 - 3 June 2010

PHOTOS

20 March – Kalianda, Sumatra – Cilegong, Java – 46 km

The ferry between Sumatra and the Island of Java came in true Indonesian style, complete with karaoke singers, instant noodles and the ever-present, deep-fried tofu sellers. The fact that staff were frantically working on one of the engines during the entire trip - bits of engine parts scattered all over the deck and smoke billowing from down below – didn’t seem to bother anyone. Sea traffic was no less hectic than the regular traffic, with ships passing dangerously close in front of us.

Once off the ship at Merak at Java Island, Ernest and I resumed our ride straightaway, heading in Jakarta’s direction. Barely 15 kilometres of cycling through congested traffic brought us to the town of Cilegong. Cilegong sported an establishment with rooms outside under shady trees, making the accommodation perfect, especially for cyclists.

 

21 March – Cilegong – Tangerang – 91 km

If Sumatra was considered a long, drawn-out village, then Java was a long, drawn-out city. The route never left the built-up area or cleared the hectic traffic. While congested, one got the impression drivers were acutely aware of slow-moving vehicles and cyclists.

Passing a chap who converted a bicycle into a sewing machine workshop didn’t merely make an excellent photo opportunity, but I was impressed with his resourcefulness. He went door to door doing repair work; as the saying goes - “If the mountain does not come to Muhammad, then Mohammad must go to the mountain.”

It rained on and off all day and, by our third soaking, considered it time to find an abode and dry out. Even though Tangerang was a large town, locating lodging was challenging, with many hotels seemingly full. Maybe they didn’t want two scruffy-looking and sopping wet cyclists dripping rainwater all over their neatly polished tiles.

 

22 March - Tangerang – Jakarta – 31 km

From Tangerang, a mere 30-kilometre cycle proceeded into Jakarta. Aided by a tailwind, we were blown right into the city centre amidst whirling dust clouds, cardboard boxes and plastic bags. The traffic was hectic and it took weaving through thousands of motorbikes and taxis to find Freedom Square. From the square, a short cycle took us to the backpacker enclave of Jalan Jaksa and Borneo Hostel, comfortable enough at the price. Ernest seemed hyperactive and washed the bicycles as well as his gear.

 

23-24 March – Jakarta

I donned a hat and shades and, in complete tourist disguise, set off to discover what remained of the old Dutch city of Batavia dating to the 17th century. Upon closer inspection, no more than an old town square with one or two well-preserved colonial buildings remained. Nevertheless, the former Dutch port still operated with beautiful wooden fishing vessels but in polluted water. Cargo was loaded in a slightly old-fashioned style along rickety gangplanks.

Around the corner from the old port was the fish market. At the best of times, a fish market is smelly. Still, with dirty water gushing from open sewers, people doing their daily ablutions in full view in the nearby canal, cats and rats having the run of the mill and homeless people squatting seemingly everywhere, this one was smellier than your usual fish market. Outside the fish market was the old lookout tower, which resembled the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Further exploring was done by train as at Rp1000, the ticket was virtually free, but the return ticket was Rp1500. The pricing made no sense - same train, same route but different price. Subsequent experiences suggested the fare was to the end of the line and thus further on the return journey.

 

25-28 March – Jakarta

Scores of Islamic students staged a protest outside Jakarta’s parliament against US President Barack Obama’s upcoming visit to the country. Instead of being caught in the riot, it made sense to head in the opposite direction. The positive side was the city streets were dead quiet, and one could wander around at leisure.

To the south of Jalan Jaksa was Jakarta’s modern city, complete with bumper-to-bumper traffic, modern shopping centres, high-rise buildings, and the like. Luckily, the area was relatively easy to get around, whether by bus, train, tuk-tuk or minivan.

For his own reasons, Ernest was reluctant to move along, and, following a week, I couldn’t believe we were still in Jakarta.

 

29-30 March - Jakarta – Bogor – 57 km

The entire way between Jakarta and Bogor was congested. Bogor, called the City of Rain, was world-renowned for its historic botanical gardens. So I thought it sacrilege to cycle past without exploring the park. Puri Bali Homestay provided a comfortable overnight spot close to the park, with lovely old and spacious rooms. The next day was spent investigating the gardens - and what an impressive haven. Known as the “Kebun Raya”, the park had more than 12,300 plant specimens including 400 types of palms. A delightful day out.

 

31 March - Bogor – Cibodas - 41 km

The best part of the day was spent climbing the Puncak Pass’s volcanic slopes. This ride offered stunning vistas of the surrounding mountains and tea plantations. Unfortunately, the weather came and with Ernest still suffering from bronchitis I considered it best to find accommodation.

Disaster struck when running down a wet concrete ramp to inspect our overnight spot. Upon slipping, I immediately knew something was seriously wrong as I started shaking uncontrollably. Ernest was irritated by the accident as this wasn’t part of his plan. Nevertheless, he reluctantly came with (long face and all by taxi) searching for medical assistance. I thought his behaviour rude and inconsiderate as the whole fiasco resulted from trying to accommodate him. X-rays revealed a dislocated shoulder and two fractures. Still, the hospital wasn’t equipped for further treatment and recommended a specialist in Cianjur, about 20 kilometres away. However, the doctor was out of town, and an appointment was made for the following afternoon.

An uncomfortable night was spent in the “disaster zone”, sucking on painkillers and unable to use my arm. Ernest was of little help as he was peed off as the accident had inconvenienced him by interrupting his journey. He was, nevertheless, free to proceed and was under no obligation to hang about.

 

1 April - Cibodas – Cianjur - By minivan

With the arm strapped by an old T-shirt, I searched for a van to take me, the bike and the bags to the larger town of Cianjur. Unfortunately, the doctor in Cianjur couldn’t help either, and as biking was out of the question, all one could do was take more painkillers and go to bed.

My bank card got stuck in the ATM as if my problems weren’t enough. Mercifully, this happened outside a still open bank, and following a big rigmarole, the card was retrieved. Unfortunately, this was clearly not my week; if bursting into tears could’ve solved my problems, I would’ve.

 

2 April - Cianjur – Bandung - By minivan

Ernest continued by bicycle while I arranged to get myself to Bandung. Organising things was somewhat of a mission when unable to speak the language. Upon enquiring about a minivan to Bandung, hotel staff assumed I wanted to exchange money. In the end, I found flagging down a taxi myself, easier.

Upon reaching Bandung, the arm had swollen to roughly double its standard size and felt as if on fire. One more hospital visit revealed little they could do but put the arm in a sling and give more painkillers and anti-inflammatory medication. I wasn’t interested in the operation they recommended.

 

3 April – Bandung

As cycling was out of the question, I believed it best to leave my belongings at the hotel and return to South Africa while waiting for the arm to mend. Fortunately, a travel agent was directly adjacent to the hotel, and I was South Africa bound in no time at all. Ernest wanted to come with me, and I bought him a ticket, albeit on credit, as I didn’t have the money. He was, immensely miserable, and I was sorry I spent such a large amount of money on someone so unappreciative.

 

4 April - Bandung – Jakarta - By bus

Getting to Jakarta airport from Bandung involved a chartered minivan from the hotel to the bus station and then a three-hour bus ride to the airport. All this while in constant pain and with a splitting headache (something I rarely suffer from). Add an eight-hour wait for our flight, which only took off at half-past midnight. It became a miserable day in unpleasant company. To crown it all, I puked two airsick bags full before the plane even took off and the phrase “things not going to plan”, sprang to mind.

 

5 April - Jakarta – Cape Town, South Africa - By plane

What a long, trip, hours and hours in the air – via Dubai. Eventually, our flight touched down in Cape Town. Just as many hours were spent chatting with my sisters while drinking numerous glasses of wine. I was relieved to get off the darn aircraft and be snug in a real home, eating my favourite dish (macaroni cheese) of which a large bowl awaited at my sister Karin’s house.

 

6 April – 11 May - Cape Town

Party upon party, pizzas galore, and following many good bottles of wine, the time came to head back to Indonesia and continue where we’d left off. I enjoyed seeing friends and family. However, five weeks weren’t enough to catch up with everyone, even after extending the departure date by a week.

 

12 May - South Africa - Indonesia - By plane

Following a 9-hour flight to Dubai, a 5-hour stopover, a further eight hours to Jakarta, plus a 3-hour bus trip, we finally arrived back at the hotel in Bandung at 3 a.m. I was happy to find the bags still precisely as we’d left them, albeit a tad dusty.

 

13 May – Bandung

Jetlag and time-zone differences took their toll, and after a long and deep sleep, I still felt tired but had to start organising equipment. Sadly, my bicycle’s new front rack, bought in South Africa, didn’t quite fit, and the gears didn’t want to play along.

 

14 May - Bandung – Cicalengka – 46 km

We thus first went past the bike shop to have the gears sorted. Ernest got a new front derailleur, and, once all was fitted, the time was 12h30.

The road out of Bandung veered southeast along a terribly busy route, complete with traffic jams, buses, trucks, motorbikes and scooters. Not even on a bicycle, could one get through.

So heavy was the traffic by 4.30 p.m., we’d covered a mere 46 kilometres. Dark clouds loomed ahead, and with big raindrops falling, we pulled into a roadside settlement (in Java the whole roadside was a village) and inquired regarding accommodation. The place was windowless, had a solid mould cover upon the walls and ceiling. A pile of cigarette butts was swept into a corner. The rooms were, clearly, let by the hour as a constant stream of visitors was coming and going. Judging by the sound effects from the other rooms, all had a pretty good time. With rain pelting down upon the tin roof, we cooked our noodles and drank a Bintang or two.

 

15-16 May - Cicalengka – Tasik Malaya – 73 km

I was happy to be out of our cell and en route to our next destination. Things went well until the path started climbing over the mountains, and I could tell I hadn’t cycled in a while. In the afternoon, the usual rainstorm arrived, driving us to seek shelter at a petrol station. Finally, an hour later, the worst of the rain was over, and we set out anew.

In poor visibility and a slight drizzle, we made our way along a path resembling a river. The poor visibility, narrow road with flooded potholes, and hectic traffic made a dangerous situation. Thank goodness, about 10 kilometres before Tasik Malaya (or Tasikmalaya), Ernest spotted a hotel and we pulled in.

 

17 May - Tasik Malaya – Tasik city - 16 km

A short distance led to the city centre where I drew money and then decided to stay the night. Good thing too, as we needed to do laundry - I’ve been wearing virtually the same clothes since departing Cape Town five days ago. Tasik was known for woven mats, painted umbrellas and batik and, therefore, a lovely area to saunter about.

 

18 May - Tasik Malaya – Cipatujah – 78 km

It felt like I was returning to my stride and felt more at home on the bike than the previous two days. The way south to the seaside village of Cipatuja was, fortunately, along a far smaller and quieter path.

Albeit a hilly route, the scenery was sublime. The way led past small communities, rice paddies and densely forested areas. Once again, rain made seeking cover, but it wasn’t much more than a drizzle which made enjoyable riding.

Cipatujah offered budget lodging close to the beach. Soon after unloading the bikes, the landlady presented us with a bunch of bananas and two massive plates of fried rice accompanied by the usual omelette, prawn crackers and slices of cucumber. Not much later, a group of travelling salesmen on motorbikes arrived. Staying in an establishment favoured by motorbike salesmen, usually indicated one found the best budget digs in town.

While relaxing, the earth started to rumble and shake. Clothes swung from hangers, the standing fan teetered back and forth, and the water in the bathroom mandi (tank) sloshed around. Even the floor tiles were moving back and forth. Ernest and I looked at each other, wide-eyed, and quickly donned our shoes, in case we’d to run from our not-so-solid-looking abode or a tsunami.

Minutes later, a gang of policemen arrived, apparently to check our visas. They were obviously curious and wanted to chat. Still, the language barrier was a problem, and the visit was short.

 

19 May - Cipatujah – Batu Karas – 76 km

Leaving our fragile-looking digs, we headed to Pangandaran, the next biggish town on the map. Our path consisted of mostly minor coastal routes that ran past fishing hamlets and more rice paddies. At times bicycle touring can be a great deal of fun, and this was one of those days.

A short detour brought us to the idyllic fishing settlement of Batu Karas. Batu Karas was a lovely and popular village sporting a great beach and good surf. It, consequently, had a good range of accommodation, from fancy hotels to basic “surfer dorms”.

 

20-23 May - Batu Karas – Pangandaran – 34 km

A short ride led into Pangandaran, the top beach resort on Java island. The town sported a lovely beach, hundreds of inexpensive hotels, a peninsula with a nature reserve and hardly any tourists. An additional day was spent in Pangandaran. While Ernest fiddled with bicycle equipment, I spent time at the beach, swimming in the lukewarm water of the Indian Ocean.

After supper, I started feeling nauseous and was sick as a dog all night. Albeit a million times better in the morning, I felt weak and stayed two more days. The first day was spent sleeping; by the second day, I found a bookshop and spent the rest of the day reading The Shining Mountain by Peter Boardman. I love reading mountaineering books and find our justification for what we’re doing scarily similar.

 

24 May - Pangandaran – Cilacap – 90 km

During the night, a storm came in and, in the morning, rain was still bucketing down. When I say it rained, I mean a Biblical type of rain, “build a big boat and gather two of a kind” kind of rain.

By midday, the weather cleared, and we returned to the rough potholed road, which meant fewer vehicles. Being a minor route, it led over the hills, past rice paddies and coconut groves, through small settlements, and onto the large port city of Cilacap.

 

25 May - Cilacap – Kebumen – 90 km

The landlady woke us at 6h30 with a breakfast tray consisting of a chicken thigh (claw still attached), sticky rice, and sambals.

The early wake-up call meant an 8h00 start, a record for Ernest. During the day, the path led back to the Main Road, and, in Java, “Main Road” meant crammed with buses, trucks and scooters. We had to remind ourselves that 130 million people lived on tiny Java, measuring 132,000 square kilometres, making it the most populated island globally. Moreover, the roads were narrow and often in poor condition, not factors that made relaxed cycling.

Kebumen, a large town almost halfway between Cilacap and Yogyakarta, was our next stop, where we’d no trouble finding a guesthouse. In the more conservative Indonesian cities, finding a beer to relax during the evening, was extremely difficult – and this town was one of them.

 

26 May - Kebumen – Borobudur – 87 km

We woke to a slightly overcast day, which turned into a steady drizzle- not a problem as cycling in the rain can be pretty enjoyable.

Approaching Borobudur, the route became hillier as it crossed over the flanks of two volcanoes. Jeepers, those hills were steep, but we huffed and puffed and gasped our way to the top. From the turn-off to Borobudur, a nice downhill run took us into this immensely touristy settlement. The plan was to explore the famous Buddhist temple the following day. Unfortunately, searching for an abode was done in pouring rain, and accommodation was hard to find due to the annual Buddhist Waisak Festival.

Borobudur is the largest Buddhist temple in the world. During this festival, thousands of pilgrims and monks visit the site to celebrate the birth of Buddha and his teachings. Because of this, Borobudur inevitably comes with all the tourist paraphernalia one can expect of such a place.

 

27 May – Borobudur

Our day started early, allowing investigating the temple ahead of the hordes and the heat. Borobudur was an excellent example of Java’s Buddhist heyday. The complex was constructed in the early part of the 9^th century but later abandoned, most likely due to the decline of Buddhism in the area. During a volcanic eruption, in 1006, the structures were entirely covered by volcanic ash. The buildings were rediscovered in 1814 by Raffles, the then governor of Java. To Buddhists, the temple symbolises awakening and a human’s journey to enlightenment. The structure sits atop a small hill and overlooks the surrounding valleys and mountains. From there, one could see the two nearby volcanoes, Sumbing and Gunung Merapi, which appeared in a near state of eruption complete with smoke spewing from the top. At the time, I thought they better behave until we were out of there. A few months later, repeated outbursts of lava and ashes caused numerous pyroclastic flows down the densely populated slopes of Merapi. Over 350,000 people were evacuated from their homes.

Soon, hordes of giggling school kids arrived (“small students”, as the gatekeeper referred to them), inviting us to pose with them. They asked for our autographs on books which they brought with them, especially for such a purpose. We did the best we could, but there were too many of them. The heat and school kids’ arrival indicated time to retreat to our digs and enjoy a lazy afternoon.

 

28 May - Borobudur to Prambanan (via Yogyakarta) – 71 km

The Mendut Temple, where more Buddhist celebrations were underway, came shortly after departing Borobudur. Police blocked the streets around the temple but allowed bicycles, enabling us to see the chanting monks.

A good descent led into Yogyakarta city, and I knew why I felt stuck on the tarmac en route to Borobudur. Once in Yogyakarta, there was no available space, and every nook and cranny was chock-a-block full due to the celebrations. With the lack of space, we headed toward Solo, our next destination. Within roughly an hour, the famous temples of Prambanan appeared. A basic hotel near the temples made exploring the grounds easy in the morning. Prambanan was a Hindu temple complex (as opposed to a Buddhist); hence, accommodation was readily available.

 

29-30 May - Prambanan – Solo – 51 km

I set off to investigate the Prambanan temples in the morning – reputedly the largest and most beautiful Hindu temples in Java, built in the 9th century and mysteriously abandoned shortly following completion. While severely damaged by the 2006 earthquake, they were still awe-inspiring. Sadly Ernest wasn’t interested in looking at temples, and I found it difficult to take my time enjoying these ruins, knowing my cycling partner was tapping his feet in the room.

From Prambanan, a reasonably smooth ride led into Solo, a highly conservative city. Solo couldn’t have been all traditional as Ernest managed to find beer as well as ham. The conservative Muslims probably considered him on the highway to hell.

One more day was spent in Solo. I would have preferred spending the day at the temples instead of Solo where food was challenging to find. Most dishes came with meat or eggs and eventually, I ordered a spring roll at the hostel where we stayed. Still, the language barrier remained a problem, and I was served an omelette with a vegetable filling. Ernest had no problem eating the order, and taking he’d already eaten two breakfast omelettes; I’m sure he’d enough eggs to last the remainder of the trip.

 

31 May - Solo – Caruban – 119 km

At breakfast, Ernest devoured two more omelettes. Afterwards, we pointed our bikes in the direction of Surabaya. The road was smooth and flat, meaning buses and trucks were going ten to a dozen, and care had to be taken not to become roadkill.

At last, the route led away from the built-up areas and through farmlands, a welcome change. Cassava, rice and sugarcane grew in large quantities. All kinds of things were sold alongside the road, including baby monkeys, fancy chickens and colourful songbirds in cages.

I came extremely close to being killed as a snake that had been run over was striking out wildly. I didn’t spot it until the last moment and instinctively swerved out. In the process, I was nearly run over by a truck; mercifully, the driver managed to avoid me, if only by mere centimetres. I was extremely thankful for the quick reaction of the skilful truck driver.

Otherwise, the ride was good, and we reached the small town of Caruban shortly past 5 o’clock, where finding a bed, food, and beer came easily.

 

1-2 June - Caruban – Surabaya – 159 km

We got underway reasonably early, and good time was made until reaching the outskirts of Surabaya. Nevertheless, reaching Surabaya, the traffic became horrendous. The last 15 kilometres into town took considerably longer than I wanted to spend dodging traffic, especially following such a long day on the bike. By the time a suitable place to bed down was located, it had been dark sometime already.

In the morning, inquiries were made regarding a boat to Kalimantan, the Indonesian part of Borneo. Unfortunately, the first shipping company didn’t allow bicycles on board. After schlepping to another, I was informed that the ticket office was elsewhere and decided to leave the inquiries for the following morning.

By evening a massive explosion rocked our street, scattering building rubble and broken glass everywhere. The power was cut instantly, and general pandemonium prevailed with people running and sirens wailing. Within seconds, a strong military presence made one surmise the explosion could be something more sinister than an accident. We later read the blast was due to an accident in a gas-storage warehouse, leaving three people dead.

 

3 June – Surabaya, Java – Banjarmasin, Kalimantan, Borneo - By ship

In the morning, we biked to the harbour, where the security guard at the gate went to the shipping office by motorbike to buy our tickets. Not feeling well, and with boarding time being a great deal later, I parked myself under the nearest tree while Ernest went back to town searching for an Internet cafe and snacks.

Judging by the ticket price I didn’t expect a cruise liner. I was suffering from severe diarrhoea and wasn’t looking forward to spending a long time on a crowded boat without toilet facilities. The ticket included six meal vouchers making me think they expected the journey significantly longer than the predicted 20 to 24 hours. The vessel was a large car ferry; and one could cycle on board and store the bikes below deck with the trucks, cars and motorbikes at a small additional fee.

The boat departed at 20h00 instead of 17h00 which made me wonder if one would indeed need all those meal vouchers. Once on board, the accommodating crew gave the option to upgrade to a private cabin at a small fee. Considered a bargain I dug into my wallet and handed over the cash. Meals were even served in the cabin while the rest of the people had to stand in queues.