INDONESIA (2) - EN ROUTE TO MEET JANICE
1222 Km – 29 Days
9 January – 7 February 2017
MAP
PHOTOS
Bali
130 Km – 6 Days
9 January 2017 – Cape Town, South Africa –
Bali, Indonesia
Too soon time came to say goodbye to my lovely family
and all my awesome friends. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see everyone but
spend time with my mum and met up with a longstanding Facebook friend, Diana, with
whom I spent a lovely day around the Winelands of the Cape. We watched a
hilarious duck parade and enjoyed a glass of wine on the lawn. Bliss. I walked
in the mountains, ran along the beachfront, joined my dragon boat friends for a
paddle, and spent countless nights shooting the breeze next to “braai” fires. Only
once did I cycle and could as well have kept the bicycle in the box.
On 9 January, I boarded an Indonesia-bound
flight. I planned to slowly make my way to Malaysia to meet my friend Janice
for a “Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok” cycle. Watch this space! Time to return to life
on the bike, and I was excited to see what Indonesia held.
10 January - Bali
Virtually 24 hours later, I landed in Bali
and couldn’t wait to get out of the airport and into the fresh air. Bali is situated
a mere 8 degrees south of the equator, and the weather, as could be expected, thus
hot and humid. I flagged down a taxi, as I was in no mood to reassemble the
bike in such humidity. The cab dropped me at Komala Indah Cottages, sporting bungalows
set in a lush garden. The price included a breakfast of coffee, toast, jam, and
bananas.
I drew 2,000,000 RP, bought a SIM card, paid
the guesthouse, and bought a large Bintang beer, which I drank sitting on the
steps talking to other travellers. I fell asleep early but was wide awake at 3
a.m. Bali is five hours ahead of where I came from, and therefore no wonder my
time was out of sync.
11 January – Bali
Nonetheless, I fell asleep and only woke at 9
a.m; after which, I hurriedly dressed and went for a jog. Sadly, the run turned
out to be a rather unpleasant affair, as it was already too late and became too
hot and humid.
I reassembled the bike and organised my
panniers. Then set out to the shop to get a few bits and pieces needed as I fly
with the bare minimum.
Bali is as touristy as they come but remains
a pleasant enough place to hang out, and I took a walk along Kuta beach. I’m
sure there were enough tie-dyed T-shirts and sarongs to dress the entire
Africa, and one wonders how all the eateries make a living. I watched the
sunset over the Indian Ocean as surfers caught the last waves of the day, all
while doing my fair share for the sale of Bintang beer. I quite liked the
madness of it all.
12 January – Bali
The plan was to head out, but I encountered
software problems and considered it best to sort it out prior to getting
underway. It took hours and hours; eventually, I called in Microsoft support,
who also experienced difficulty reloading the programs. The connection was
immensely slow, resulting in it being 10 p.m. before all was up and running.
Consequently, I didn’t see a great deal of
Bali and its beaches and just walked out once (while the slow upload was in
progress) to marvel at all Bali holds. However, it stayed surprisingly Balinese
for such a touristy island.
This time I waited until sunset to head out
on my run. It turned out a glorious evening, and the sunset was genuinely
spectacular. I was extremely grateful I’d the desire and will to run. I planned
to jump in the ocean but once done, the sun was long gone, and I still needed
to rinse my sweaty running gear. Soon time came for my daily Bintang and Mie
Goreng (stir-fried noodles), laden with chilli.
13 January – Bali – Mengwi – Ubud – app 50 km
I first cycled to the Pelni ferry office to inquire
about a ferry to Singapore to meet Janice in Malaysia in a month. According to
the Bali office, a ferry departed Tanjung Priok, Jakarta, to the island of
Batang, arriving there the following day. Various ferries are left from Batang
to Singapore several times (one hour).
I returned to my abode to load the bike and
swung by the bike shop to buy a new set of pedals. It was thus past midday before
setting out, sporting two bright red pedals. Next, I pointed the bike in the
direction of the small village of Mengwi, home to the Taman Ayun Temple, a
group of temples situated in a beautiful garden. The entire stretch between
Kuta and Mengwi resembled one massive temple. The road was dotted by vendors
selling temple paraphernalia. Sadly, my arrival coincided with bucketing rain;
as a result, not many pictures were taken. Finally, the rain subsided, and I
continued in the direction of Ubud along a path that led past bright green rice
terraces and ornate temples.
Shortly ahead of Ubud, one massive clap of
thunder nearly made me fall of the bike, and almost immediately, rain came
pelting down. I pulled into the first accommodation spot. I must’ve looked
somewhat bedraggled as the lady gave me a considerable discount. I felt guilty
as the place offered an aircon and hot water.
14 January - Ayu Bungalows, Ubud – Medewi
Beach – 80 km
“Did you sleep well?” my host asked, smiling,
palms together, fingers touching her forehead. What lovely people the Balinese
are. Included in the room rate was a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast,
fruit and Indonesian coffee served upon my little veranda. At the same time,
the sweet smell of incense drifted across from offerings.
One can’t sit staring into space all day, and
I waved my kind host goodbye. The Goa Gajah or Elephant Cave dated to the ninth
century and I swung by the site to investigate. I’m not sure if it meant the
cave was dug out in the ninth century (it’s pretty tiny inside) or if the time refers
to the carvings around the cave entrance and the bathing ghats (excavated in
the 1950s). To enter the cave (now a temple), one needed a sarong, which I
donned as I didn’t want to anger the fierce-looking demons.
The rest of the day was marred by undulating
riding. Once over the high point, I sped downhill to the coast past scenic rice
terraces and had to take the obligatory Bali rice terrace shot. I didn’t take
one but hundreds. I guessed the rest of the evening would be spent sifting
through them. Although the coastal route was hectic and narrow, it was
immensely picturesque. Albeit sticking as much to the side as possible, the
ride remained challenging. Finally, I passed a good number of surf camps and
other nice-looking beaches and settled for Medewi Beach, which sported a
handful of places to stay, all reasonably priced. Once showered, I ambled to
the nearest food cart for my daily bowl of bakso soup and beer.
Java
1 092 km – 23 days
15-16 January - Medewi Beach, Bali –
Banyuwangi Beach Hotel, Java – 60 km
Breakfast was a rather exciting affair known
as a parcel and coffee. The parcel consisted of rice and other ingredients
wrapped in a banana leaf, closed with a toothpick or thin bamboo stick.
Delicious. I then biked to Gilimanuk, from where ferries left to the Island of
Java. An enjoyable ride of mountains to the one side and the ocean to the
other, past the ever-present rice paddies. The route ran through a national
park, an area even more lush and green than average. Vehicles had cut a tunnel
through the overhanging branches making a dark ride. At the same time, monkeys
risked their lives darting across the busy road.
The ferry from Gilimanuk to Java Island was a
relatively short crossing that took barely 10 minutes. Still, we’d have to wait
roughly an hour for the ferry to depart.
Once on Java island, I opted for the
Banyuwangi Beach Hotel, which sounded far more glamorous than it turned out.
But, then, what can one expect for $3–$6 a night. So I went upmarket and
settled for a $6 room—living the high life.
The stay was to arrange a trip to a nearby
crater lake. I got picked up at midnight, from where it took an hour and a half
to drive up the mountain. Then followed a walk up a steep path for an
additional hour to the crater rim. This was where things became somewhat
surreal. A steep descent led into the crater and Kawah Ijen Lake and its
sulphur deposits. Noxious and sulphurous smoke billowed from the volcano’s
vent. Both a guide and a mask were included should’ve warned me regarding the
conditions. It was more bizarre to pass miners digging sulphur from the crater
floor and lugging it upon shoulder poles up the near-vertical path. These guys
work in conditions that can only be described as “a medieval vision of hell”
and one could barely make them out as they slowly made their way up the path in
a cloud of sulphurous smoke. One could see the bright blue sulphur fires
burning on the crater floor. I felt extremely sorry for the people working
there, without masks or protection.
By the time I returned, the time was 7:00 and
I hadn’t slept or eaten since breakfast the previous morning. Time for food and
a nap!
17 January - Banyuwangi Beach Hotel –
Situbondo - 88 km
Sporting a population of 260 million,
Indonesia is somewhat crowded. Fifty-eight % of the people live on Java Island,
making Java the world’s most populous island. As a result, the narrow roads
were rather congested, and the potholes didn’t make riding any easier. Broken
down trucks had nowhere to pull off. I passed one that looked as if it’d been there
some time, as the drivers were playing board games (using a board drawn on the tarmac)
while the others were collecting money from passing traffic.
The first few days in a new country can be overwhelming
as everything is unique and different. Even though this was my second visit to
Indonesia, I found it no less exciting. If I wrote down all I found intriguing,
I’m sure it would be a book. This day was no different and exiting the shop
where I bought water, I noticed someone measuring my bike. The poor chap seemed
to go around measuring everything, from gutters to paving stones. If that
wasn’t enough, I twice came upon a stark naked person, casually ambling along.
I know the Dani tribe from New Guinea wears barely anything, but I didn’t think
these guys were from New Guinea. I assumed their nakedness was due to mental
problems.
The remainder of the day was less bizarre as
I made my way through small settlements past bright green rice fields with the
ever-present cone-shaped mountains as a backdrop. Banana stores sold nothing
but bananas, in all colours, shapes and sizes. I pedalled past men sitting on
their haunches cutting grass along the no-man’s-land next to the road (as
animal feed, I guessed) and hijab-wearing women tending sheep. I passed
colourful stores selling exclusively hijabs and was considering getting one.
Boys flew kites in the rice paddies and older men peddled woven baskets. Women
dried small fishes using wooden tables, and others transported wood upon
motorbikes stacked sky-high. All this took place as the muezzins called people
to prayer. I felt they should pay more attention to the quality of their
speakers.
I called it a day at Situbondo, where I
located an inexpensive abode and couldn’t complain about the bathroom, that
turned out an unusual affair. Stranger was the beds facing the bathroom instead
of the door. Plenty of street food abounded, but beer was more difficult to
locate. I bought one at the Indomaret simply to discover it a Bintang Zero.
18-19 January – Situbondo – Probolinggo – 95
km
“Hello, Mister” is the standard greeting in
Indonesia, and I received numerous thumbs-ups from motorbikes scooting past.
Still, it appeared I remained a novelty and guessed seeing a western woman
travelling by bicycle was a rear event.
The route hugged the coast the best part of
the day, making it easy and scenic cycling. The way was lined with “warungs”
(restaurants) selling “Ikan Bakar” (grilled fish). In the process, my Basa
Indonesian was coming along nicely. In the food department, Basa Indonesian is
relatively easy as long as one knows the words for rice (nasi), noodles (mie,
mee or mi), fried (goreng), grilled (bakar), chicken (Ayam), and fish (Ikan).
In addition, I learned to say where I’m from (Africa Selatan) and that a
bicycle is a sepeda.
Besides the restaurants, plenty of fish and
rice were drying in the sun, which is understandable as Indonesia’s staple.
Practically 90% of the population is Muslim,
and hence not surprising, I encountered a multitude of mosques - they all
seemed short of money and collected from passing vehicles, making the already
narrow road even more so. Phew, I forgot how challenging cycling in Indonesia could
be.
Probolinggo signalled the end of the day’s
ride. I wanted to go to Mount Bromo and desperately needed to do laundry.
20 January – Probolinggo – Mt. Bromo
In the morning, I packed up and left
Probolinggo, but reaching the turn-off to Mt Bromo, I changed my mind and
decided to make the short detour there after all. Instead of cycling up the
mountain, I opted for accommodation, and I grabbed a motorbike taxi to the top.
Though I visited Mt Bromo six years
previously, I believed it worthwhile paying it another visit. Although a
spectacular ride led up the mountain, it was a relatively unsuccessful day when
taking pictures. I thought the images taken six years earlier were miles
better. In any event, it remained a spectacular sight.
As one entered the vast caldera, the
fume-belching cone of Mt Bromo stared you right in the face, and, from a
distance, one could hear the hissing and splattering of the volcano. A short
trek across the sand led to the summit and the crater’s rim, where one could
gaze into the belly of the beast. It splattered and roared as steam and smoke
rose high above the cone. Walking along the edge while smoke billowed up gave
the volcano an other-worldly feel.
The return trip led past vegetable plantations,
and I wondered how they managed to farm along such steep terrain. The
mountainous regions have an entirely different feel from the lowlands. Higher
up, the weather is considerably cooler, wet and misty. Blanket-clad farmers on
horseback inspected farmlands and reminded me of Africa. Wooden houses upon
stilts clung precariously to the mountainside, and red-cheeked kids skipped
their way to school.
Returning to my abode, I ordered a bowl of
bakso prior to cycling into town to stock up with needed supplies.
21 January – Probolinggo – Surabaya – 102 km
The terrible road and horrendous traffic made
a slow, soot-laden exhaust inhaled ride to Surabaya. Nevertheless, it was a
fantastic day, and though not a significant amount happened, the general
everyday life fascinated me. Mobile carts sold beautiful woven articles, and I
cycled past gangs of schoolgirls on scooters, giggling their way to school.
Mothers steered motorbikes one-handed, holding (what looked like) a near one-day-old
baby on the other arm. Bicycle rickshaws carted hijab-clad pre-schoolers to and
from school while toothless men sat chewing nasi goreng.
There’s never a shortage of eateries in
Indonesia, and the route was littered with “warungs”, selling the usual “nasi
goreng”, “mee goreng”, and “Ayam”. I often got the pungent smell of durian as I
cycled past stands, where stall owners appeared startled seeing a foreigner.
“Hello, Mister” came from villagers selling enormous jackfruit, all making the
day quintessentially Indonesian.
At the outskirts of Surabaya, it started
raining, making a nerve-wracking ride into Indonesia’s second-largest city. I
was happy to reach my destination but uncovering budget digs were hard in the
bucketing rain.
22 January - Surabaya
Once in Surabaya, I thought it worth my while
to explore, seeing it was such a mission getting into town. The Qubah (the
city’s labyrinthine Arab quarters), situated around the Mesjid Ampel Mosque,
was ideal for doing so.
The mosque is said to mark the burial place
of Sunam Ampel, one of the holy men who brought Islam to Java, and at the rear
of the mosque is a grave where devotees offer rose petals and chant prayers.
The mosque formed part of a lively souk selling typical Arab merchandise,
including dates, fezzes, samosa, prayer beads, perfumes, and heaps more. The
area wasn’t touristy, and I stood out like a sore thumb as I wandered the
alleys, camera in hand. Residents peeked through curtains and doors slightly
ajar, most likely wondering what foreigners were doing in their area. “Photo,
photo,” the youngsters called, making easy photography, even if not the best of
backgrounds. I nibbled from mobile carts and watched in amazement as ducks were
slaughtered right on the pavement.
Chinatown didn’t disappoint either and was
colourful and vibrant, featuring beautiful temples and the ever-present
colourful dragons, not to mention exciting eats. Unfortunately, the fish market
was already finished when I arrived. Still, the rest of the market was in full
swing, selling anything from meat to vegetables and fruit. The market area was
equally crowded, and bicycle rickshaws waited in line to cart shoppers home.
23 January - Surabaya – Bojonegoro – 117 km
A nerve-wracking ride led out of Surabaya. I
first made a loop through town as the way I’d in mind was a toll road, and
bicycles weren’t allowed. Eventually, I found the path and followed men on
bikes dressed in shalwar kameezes and fezzes out of the bustling city centre.
It took almost two hours to get on—and I
hesitate to call it—the open road. Of course, there’s no such thing as an “open
road” in Indonesia, but at least I was out of the thick of things. The entire
way continued to be busy. I scarcely took out the camera as I concentrated on
avoiding potholes and keeping my line.
Mercifully, cycling became more relaxed once
out of the city limits, and the day passed quickly. I only once tried a minor route,
and though it came offered beautiful vistas, it was too rough, and I returned
to the main road. Midday, a truck overturned and spilt its entire cargo of
rice. It caused a massive traffic jam, and lorries backed up tens of
kilometres. Phew, I was happy on a bicycle. The self-appointed traffic wardens
did an excellent job.
24 January – Bojonegoro – Sragen – 125 km
There was no sleeping in between the cocks
crowing and muezzins calling people to prayer. Good thing as well, as the day
turned out relatively slow going. The day started with a scenic ride past rice
paddies and mosques; unfortunately, the road deteriorated. I rattled, shook,
and bounced my way along, something which got more irritating as the day wore
on. I laughed as nearly all motorbike riders spun around to see who or what was
on the bicycle. I couldn’t blame them, as I resembled a clown in yoga pants and
a skirt. Now and again, I would spot a mobile phone and hand popping out a car
window. Being constantly in the public eye is tiring and I wondered if other
cycle tourers felt the same.
Around midday, the heat grew more intense and
the route hillier. Still, I followed a country lane through a rural area, where
woodcraft appeared the primary income. The way was lined by stands selling
beautiful wooden items, from furniture to statues and even skulls.
I managed to stay dry all day and uncovered
the Graha Hotel in Sragen before rain poured down. The hotel offered a few
economy fan rooms on the ground floor, and I could wheel my bike right in.
25 January – Sragen – Surakarta (Solo) – 32
km
The traffic was already hectic when I got
going, but I soon found myself between rice fields and mosques. I’d no
intention of turning into Solo but then changed my mind as it boasted quite a
few noteworthy things. I thus set out on foot to explore the old part. But, unfortunately,
I was hardly underway, and it started bucketing down. I imagined I could wait
it out but, eventually, it took a bicycle rickshaw ride to get back as I’d no
umbrella.
Nothing much came of my sightseeing as the
rain never subsided. I popped out only once for a bowl of soup and to buy a
plastic raincoat. Next, I did laundry, hoping it would be dry by morning. Luckily,
my laptop came to life, and I could sort out my growing number of photos.
26 January - Surakarta – Prambanan Temple –
53 km
I couldn’t fall asleep; maybe the wallpaper
was too busy, or perhaps due to the fact I’d practically done nothing the
previous day. I must’ve fallen asleep at around 3 a.m., but the muezzin soon
started calling. One of the residents in the alley further passed away during
the night, and funeral procedures began at around 6 a.m.
Eventually, I got up as there was no point in
trying to sleep. The price included breakfast, and what a feast. I was served
rice topped with a tofu stew, delicious and an all-vegetarian affair.
By the time I got underway, the entire lane
was covered to give shelter from the threatening rain. Chairs were put out, and
the body lay covered for people to say their last goodbyes. Speakers blasted
verses from the Quran for the entire neighbourhood to hear. In a way, quite lovely,
as friends and family randomly popped in.
I spotted guys loading flour and imagined them
making interesting pics with their flour-covered faces. But, unfortunately,
they spotted me, and on emerging from the shed, they’d cleaned their faces. How
sweet!
I cycled the short distance to the Prambanan
temple. The temple complex is a UNESCO site and consists of beautiful Hindu
temples from the ninth century. The temple is dedicated to Shiva and was
constructed by the king of the ancient Mataram Kingdom in 856 AD.
I uncovered nearby digs and then set off on
foot to explore the complex. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t play along
(photography wise). Still, the temples are in a beautiful garden setting and a
pleasure strolling around.
27 January - Prambanan Temple – Borobudur –
55 km
A short day of cycling took me to famous
Borobudur, home to one of the most important Buddhist sites in the world. Built
with two million stone blocks in the form of an asymmetrical stupa, it’s one of
the finest temples in all of Indonesia. It’s said viewed from the air; the
temple resembles a colossal three-dimensional tantric mandala. In any event,
I’m ahead of myself as first, I’d to get there.
I followed country lanes through the smallest
of settlements. A beautiful ride, offering views of the famous smoking cone of
Gunung Merapi in the distance and past bunches of schoolchildren waving
enthusiastically. I felt sorry for these small kids, all bundled up as if they
lived along the Arctic Circle instead of the equator. It surely can’t be healthy.
For the most part, I read that people in Muslim countries suffer from a lack of
vitamin D. If so, it would be regrettable as they live in such sunny countries.
I can’t see how kids can play dressed like that, sad, as kids do not choose a
religion. No wonder people are so unhealthy. When visiting temples, I’m shocked
to notice people struggling up a standard set of stairs huffing and puffing and
hanging onto railings.
In Borobudur, I booked into the Pondok
Tinggal Hotel. At first, it looked far too pricy, but the staff were extremely
kind and offered me a good discount. The hotel was a beautiful bamboo and
timber building featuring rooms around a spacious courtyard garden.
I didn’t go straight to the temple but planned
on going around six the following day. In any case, it soon started raining,
and even if I wanted to visit, it wouldn’t have been possible.
28 January – Borobudur
Art students occupied nearly the entire hotel,
and a cultural show in the courtyard entertained us. The performance carried on
until 2 a.m. Still, I was up at five and at the temple by six.
The light was slightly better than on my previous
visit, but being a Saturday meant half of Indonesia was there. I was clearly
not the sole one who wanted to see famous Borobudur. The temple is a UNESCO
site, and the entrance fee was quite costly at $20 (for foreigners).
It’s, however, a fascinating site, and it’s
believed construction started around 750 AD. The temple is wrapped around a
small hill. Still, during renovation work, archaeologists discovered the hill
wasn’t a natural one, as assumed, but artificial. It’s believed the temple was
abandoned around the twelfth century, most likely due to volcanic eruptions. British
Sir Stamford Raffles rediscovered the site in 1814, and the temple dug out from
underneath volcanic ash.
The students made their way home, and the car
club moved in. I was kindly invited to join the festivities, including a band
and plenty of food and drink.
That evening a Javanese puppet show took
place in the foyer. The show was interesting as it featured the famous Wayang Kulit
puppets, known as shadow puppets. These performances often go on all night, and
not uncommon for the audience and musicians to doze off. Wayang puppets are
made from dried buffalo skin and buffalo horns. The puppets are manoeuvred by
master puppeteers using a thin stick. Unfortunately, I didn’t stay long as I
didn’t understand the language and felt sleepy. However, no one would’ve been
offended if I’d fallen asleep.
29 January – Borobudur – Kebumen – 83 km
I took off in a drizzle, a drizzle that
continued throughout the day. At first, a good climb led out of Borobudur, followed
by an excellent descent. I flew downhill at breakneck speed—all the while
keeping an eye out for the numerous potholes. I sailed past rice fields, raging
streams, terracotta-tiled houses and friendly Indonesians.
History shaped the language of this country.
The Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch and British all made their mark in Indonesia,
and each left a few words. Words like “solo,” “mas,” “handuk,” and “kantor pos”
are clearly borrowed from other languages. I thought it interesting they used
the word “handuk” instead of “towel.” Obviously, this word comes from the Dutch.
I reached Kebumen early but soaked I called
it quits.
30 January – Kebumen – Hotel & Rumah
Makan Karanganyar Indah – 100 km
Indonesia is a country with immense natural
beauty, and every day, I was amazed at the beauty of the landscape. Shortly
after getting underway, I spotted a sign for Benteng Van Der Wijck, a Dutch
fort built in the 1800s.
Departing, a sign pointed to caves and I had
to investigate. The cave was remarkable as it featured four underground
springs. I should’ve scooped out water as it’s believed the water from the
springs will make one ageless. Inside the cave were various statues, 32 in all,
said to tell the legend of Raden Kamandaka, a crown prince who was once
imprisoned in the cave.
I continued via the coastal route to Cilacap
but learned it didn’t run through Pangandaran. In the process, the weather came
in. After one almighty clap of thunder, the heavens opened to such an extent my
path quickly resembled a river. Nevertheless, I donned my plastic raincoat and
carried on regardless. Finally, around 5 p.m., I discovered a roadside hotel
and was happy to call it a day.
31 January - Hotel & Rumah Makan
Karanganyar Indah – Banjar – 90 km
Accompanied by morning traffic, I slowly snaked
my way out of the village, trying my utmost to avoid potholes. The rest of the
day consisted of a hilly ride in Central Java. My route made its way over the
mountains in the direction of Merak, where I planned to get the ferry to the
island of Sumatra. However, the poor road made the going extremely slow and, in
the end, I realised there was nothing I could do but relax, slow down, and
follow the traffic. It remained a frustrating day, as my gears kept slipping,
making the inclines even more challenging. However, the stunning views made up
for the bad roads and the slipping gears.
I passed a sign stating, “Watch Out –
Crocodile Estuary,” and I wondered how many people were taken before it
warranted a sign. I stopped at colourful fruit stalls and was tempted to buy a
whole lot but realised I couldn’t eat that much. I thus simply took a picture.
The Indonesians are super-friendly and keen for you to take photos, making easy
photography.
By 3 p.m., the weather came in, and reaching
Banjar started raining. I didn’t feel like cycling in the rain and slipped into
the first available hotel. Maybe I was overly keen, as the place was terrible and
the area devoid of any facilities. Moreover, I didn’t think I would get
breakfast in the morning.
1 February - Banjar - Tasikmalaya – 47 km
No two days are ever the same. I cycled the
two or three kilometres into Banjar, searching for a shop to buy internet time.
But generally, shops were still closed, and I headed out along Route 3, where I
found an Indomaret mini-mart that sold virtually anything.
Having coffee, I scanned the map for a
bicycle shop. I was pleasantly surprised to find a very competent and
super-friendly Ikey bike store. Not merely did they adjust the derailleur, but they
replaced the chain, making extra-smooth gear changing. I can’t explain how
happy I was. Cycling uphill with gears slipping is no fun at all.
The plan was to push on to Bandung. Still, I
was a tad over-optimistic as the town was roughly 170 kilometres away. Jatnika,
from Ikey bike shop, advised to take the secondary road, and what a pleasure.
The road surface was considerably better, and the way quiet. I came upon hidden
gems. One was the talented knife makers selling beautiful knives and sheaths in
all shapes and sizes. I passed a bandy-legged man, scavenging for recyclable
items and salak stalls where sellers called “Mister, Mister” for me to sample
their fruit.
Close to Tasikmalaya, I stopped to consult the
map when two cyclists out on their daily ride stopped and offered to show me a decent
hotel. I hence got escorted to a great hotel in Tasikmalaya.
2-3 February - Tasikmalaya – Jakarta - by
train – bus to Merak - 45 km
I realised my time in Indonesia was running
out and I’d one more look at the map and knew I’d to start moving towards Dumai
more than 1,500 kilometres away. I cycled to the train station and bought a
train ticket for Jakarta as I reasoned it would be easier to find onward
transport from there.
The train trip, albeit long, was comfortable
and we arrived in Jakarta at around six. Unfortunately, my bicycle wasn’t on
the same train, and I was told to collect it in the morning. I thus grabbed a
motorbike taxi to Hostel 35.
The next day I returned to the parcel office
by Uber moto. Thank goodness, the bicycle was there, and I cycled to the
harbour to check if the Pelni ferry had already sailed, but I was too late, and
the ferry was long gone. I thought if there, I could hop on. Still, I cycled to
the bus terminal about 15 kilometres away, where I finally boarded a bus to
Merak, the most western point in Java from where ferries sailed for Sumatra. The
time was past nine on arriving at the ferry and best to settle for a losmen
(basic hotel).
4-6 February – Merak – Dumai (by bus)
A short cycle led to the harbour where a
giant car ferry operated to Sumatra. The ferry ran throughout the day. Although
further than the Bali – Java ferry, it remained a quick crossing, and we soon
arrived at the tropical island of Sumatra.
Sumatra had a rather scanty public transport
system, especially for long trips like Dumai and 17h00, before locating a bus that
would take both the bicycle and me. I’m sure I was overcharged but still
considered it a bargain as the trip was 1,400 kilometres. The bus was old without
air conditioning, and we rattled along the equator along an inferior path. I
honestly don’t know how backpackers do it. The bus driver needed a medal as he
hardly stopped. He merely stopped to eat at around 9 p.m., after which we all
settled in for an uncomfortable night.
At around 7h00, the bus stopped for breakfast,
and then drove straight through till supper time. I’d no intention of dehydrating
myself to prevent using a toilet, and I drank my usual amount. When I needed
the bathroom, I asked the bus driver to stop, which they did without a problem.
Each time I asked, the entire bus got off to do the same. Maybe that was the
way to do it.
To pass the time I played on the internet, fortunately,
I’d three power banks. I also realised the bus trip wasn’t going to be over that
day and we settled in for another night on the hard seats of the bus. The
following morning, I was let off at the Dumai/Medan junction, leaving a
50-kilometre cycle to Dumai.
I was never happier to cycle 50 kilometres. Even
though sleepy, it felt downhill to Dumai. While cycling this short stretch,
memories of cycling this same route seven years previously (albeit in the
opposite direction) came flooding back. Still, things were much as I
remembered. The potholed road, oil palm plantations, oil pipelines and houses upon
stilts selling pineapples were still exactly as they were seven years ago.
Once in Dumai, I checked on the ferries, but
both ferries had already departed, and I was left with two options. The 9h30
ferry to Malaka, Malaysia or the 11h00 ferry to Port Dickson, Malaysia. A third
ferry sailed for Port Klang, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Once all was
sorted, I booked into the City Hotel at $20. My excuse for spending that much
money was I spent two nights on a bus. I’d a good scrubbing, washed my hair and
handed in my laundry.
7
February - Dumai, Indonesia – Port Dickson, Malaysia (by boat)
After
an excellent Indonesian breakfast, I cycled the few hundred metres to the ferry
ticket office. Although far too early, I cycled to the harbour anyway, checked
in and waited until the Port Dickson ferry departed at eleven. Sadly, the
weather came in, and it became a rough ride over the Straits of Malacca. The
ferry rocked and rolled and could as well have been called the “Pitch &
Puke” as seasick bags were in high demand.
Our
boat anchored in Malaysia at three p.m., but the hour time difference made it
four p.m. The weather was rather stormy, causing poor visibility as I headed
out in the direction of Kuala Lumpur. I didn’t get far until spotting the
Grandpa Hotel and weakened at the thought of a nice dry and comfortable abode.
I wasn’t going to make Peter’s place that day anyhow, and it made little
difference whether I stayed here or further along. Walking to the Giant
shopping mall made me feel like a kid in a candy store. I didn’t buy anything
but merely feasted my eyes on all the luxury items.
Bali
130 Km – 6 Days
9 January 2017 – Cape Town, South Africa –
Bali, Indonesia
Too soon time came to say goodbye to my lovely family
and all my awesome friends. Unfortunately, I didn’t get to see everyone but
spend time with my mum and met up with a longstanding Facebook friend, Diana, with
whom I spent a lovely day around the Winelands of the Cape. We watched a
hilarious duck parade and enjoyed a glass of wine on the lawn. Bliss. I walked
in the mountains, ran along the beachfront, joined my dragon boat friends for a
paddle, and spent countless nights shooting the breeze next to “braai” fires. Only
once did I cycle and could as well have kept the bicycle in the box.
On 9 January, I boarded an Indonesia-bound
flight. I planned to slowly make my way to Malaysia to meet my friend Janice
for a “Kuala Lumpur to Bangkok” cycle. Watch this space! Time to return to life
on the bike, and I was excited to see what Indonesia held.
10 January - Bali
Virtually 24 hours later, I landed in Bali
and couldn’t wait to get out of the airport and into the fresh air. Bali is situated
a mere 8 degrees south of the equator, and the weather, as could be expected, thus
hot and humid. I flagged down a taxi, as I was in no mood to reassemble the
bike in such humidity. The cab dropped me at Komala Indah Cottages, sporting bungalows
set in a lush garden. The price included a breakfast of coffee, toast, jam, and
bananas.
I drew 2,000,000 RP, bought a SIM card, paid
the guesthouse, and bought a large Bintang beer, which I drank sitting on the
steps talking to other travellers. I fell asleep early but was wide awake at 3
a.m. Bali is five hours ahead of where I came from, and therefore no wonder my
time was out of sync.
11 January – Bali
Nonetheless, I fell asleep and only woke at 9
a.m; after which, I hurriedly dressed and went for a jog. Sadly, the run turned
out to be a rather unpleasant affair, as it was already too late and became too
hot and humid.
I reassembled the bike and organised my
panniers. Then set out to the shop to get a few bits and pieces needed as I fly
with the bare minimum.
Bali is as touristy as they come but remains
a pleasant enough place to hang out, and I took a walk along Kuta beach. I’m
sure there were enough tie-dyed T-shirts and sarongs to dress the entire
Africa, and one wonders how all the eateries make a living. I watched the
sunset over the Indian Ocean as surfers caught the last waves of the day, all
while doing my fair share for the sale of Bintang beer. I quite liked the
madness of it all.
12 January – Bali
The plan was to head out, but I encountered
software problems and considered it best to sort it out prior to getting
underway. It took hours and hours; eventually, I called in Microsoft support,
who also experienced difficulty reloading the programs. The connection was
immensely slow, resulting in it being 10 p.m. before all was up and running.
Consequently, I didn’t see a great deal of
Bali and its beaches and just walked out once (while the slow upload was in
progress) to marvel at all Bali holds. However, it stayed surprisingly Balinese
for such a touristy island.
This time I waited until sunset to head out
on my run. It turned out a glorious evening, and the sunset was genuinely
spectacular. I was extremely grateful I’d the desire and will to run. I planned
to jump in the ocean but once done, the sun was long gone, and I still needed
to rinse my sweaty running gear. Soon time came for my daily Bintang and Mie
Goreng (stir-fried noodles), laden with chilli.
13 January – Bali – Mengwi – Ubud – app 50 km
I first cycled to the Pelni ferry office to inquire
about a ferry to Singapore to meet Janice in Malaysia in a month. According to
the Bali office, a ferry departed Tanjung Priok, Jakarta, to the island of
Batang, arriving there the following day. Various ferries are left from Batang
to Singapore several times (one hour).
I returned to my abode to load the bike and
swung by the bike shop to buy a new set of pedals. It was thus past midday before
setting out, sporting two bright red pedals. Next, I pointed the bike in the
direction of the small village of Mengwi, home to the Taman Ayun Temple, a
group of temples situated in a beautiful garden. The entire stretch between
Kuta and Mengwi resembled one massive temple. The road was dotted by vendors
selling temple paraphernalia. Sadly, my arrival coincided with bucketing rain;
as a result, not many pictures were taken. Finally, the rain subsided, and I
continued in the direction of Ubud along a path that led past bright green rice
terraces and ornate temples.
Shortly ahead of Ubud, one massive clap of
thunder nearly made me fall of the bike, and almost immediately, rain came
pelting down. I pulled into the first accommodation spot. I must’ve looked
somewhat bedraggled as the lady gave me a considerable discount. I felt guilty
as the place offered an aircon and hot water.
14 January - Ayu Bungalows, Ubud – Medewi
Beach – 80 km
“Did you sleep well?” my host asked, smiling,
palms together, fingers touching her forehead. What lovely people the Balinese
are. Included in the room rate was a breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast,
fruit and Indonesian coffee served upon my little veranda. At the same time,
the sweet smell of incense drifted across from offerings.
One can’t sit staring into space all day, and
I waved my kind host goodbye. The Goa Gajah or Elephant Cave dated to the ninth
century and I swung by the site to investigate. I’m not sure if it meant the
cave was dug out in the ninth century (it’s pretty tiny inside) or if the time refers
to the carvings around the cave entrance and the bathing ghats (excavated in
the 1950s). To enter the cave (now a temple), one needed a sarong, which I
donned as I didn’t want to anger the fierce-looking demons.
The rest of the day was marred by undulating
riding. Once over the high point, I sped downhill to the coast past scenic rice
terraces and had to take the obligatory Bali rice terrace shot. I didn’t take
one but hundreds. I guessed the rest of the evening would be spent sifting
through them. Although the coastal route was hectic and narrow, it was
immensely picturesque. Albeit sticking as much to the side as possible, the
ride remained challenging. Finally, I passed a good number of surf camps and
other nice-looking beaches and settled for Medewi Beach, which sported a
handful of places to stay, all reasonably priced. Once showered, I ambled to
the nearest food cart for my daily bowl of bakso soup and beer.
Java
1 092 km – 23 days
15-16 January - Medewi Beach, Bali –
Banyuwangi Beach Hotel, Java – 60 km
Breakfast was a rather exciting affair known
as a parcel and coffee. The parcel consisted of rice and other ingredients
wrapped in a banana leaf, closed with a toothpick or thin bamboo stick.
Delicious. I then biked to Gilimanuk, from where ferries left to the Island of
Java. An enjoyable ride of mountains to the one side and the ocean to the
other, past the ever-present rice paddies. The route ran through a national
park, an area even more lush and green than average. Vehicles had cut a tunnel
through the overhanging branches making a dark ride. At the same time, monkeys
risked their lives darting across the busy road.
The ferry from Gilimanuk to Java Island was a
relatively short crossing that took barely 10 minutes. Still, we’d have to wait
roughly an hour for the ferry to depart.
Once on Java island, I opted for the
Banyuwangi Beach Hotel, which sounded far more glamorous than it turned out.
But, then, what can one expect for $3–$6 a night. So I went upmarket and
settled for a $6 room—living the high life.
The stay was to arrange a trip to a nearby
crater lake. I got picked up at midnight, from where it took an hour and a half
to drive up the mountain. Then followed a walk up a steep path for an
additional hour to the crater rim. This was where things became somewhat
surreal. A steep descent led into the crater and Kawah Ijen Lake and its
sulphur deposits. Noxious and sulphurous smoke billowed from the volcano’s
vent. Both a guide and a mask were included should’ve warned me regarding the
conditions. It was more bizarre to pass miners digging sulphur from the crater
floor and lugging it upon shoulder poles up the near-vertical path. These guys
work in conditions that can only be described as “a medieval vision of hell”
and one could barely make them out as they slowly made their way up the path in
a cloud of sulphurous smoke. One could see the bright blue sulphur fires
burning on the crater floor. I felt extremely sorry for the people working
there, without masks or protection.
By the time I returned, the time was 7:00 and
I hadn’t slept or eaten since breakfast the previous morning. Time for food and
a nap!
17 January - Banyuwangi Beach Hotel –
Situbondo - 88 km
Sporting a population of 260 million,
Indonesia is somewhat crowded. Fifty-eight % of the people live on Java Island,
making Java the world’s most populous island. As a result, the narrow roads
were rather congested, and the potholes didn’t make riding any easier. Broken
down trucks had nowhere to pull off. I passed one that looked as if it’d been there
some time, as the drivers were playing board games (using a board drawn on the tarmac)
while the others were collecting money from passing traffic.
The first few days in a new country can be overwhelming
as everything is unique and different. Even though this was my second visit to
Indonesia, I found it no less exciting. If I wrote down all I found intriguing,
I’m sure it would be a book. This day was no different and exiting the shop
where I bought water, I noticed someone measuring my bike. The poor chap seemed
to go around measuring everything, from gutters to paving stones. If that
wasn’t enough, I twice came upon a stark naked person, casually ambling along.
I know the Dani tribe from New Guinea wears barely anything, but I didn’t think
these guys were from New Guinea. I assumed their nakedness was due to mental
problems.
The remainder of the day was less bizarre as
I made my way through small settlements past bright green rice fields with the
ever-present cone-shaped mountains as a backdrop. Banana stores sold nothing
but bananas, in all colours, shapes and sizes. I pedalled past men sitting on
their haunches cutting grass along the no-man’s-land next to the road (as
animal feed, I guessed) and hijab-wearing women tending sheep. I passed
colourful stores selling exclusively hijabs and was considering getting one.
Boys flew kites in the rice paddies and older men peddled woven baskets. Women
dried small fishes using wooden tables, and others transported wood upon
motorbikes stacked sky-high. All this took place as the muezzins called people
to prayer. I felt they should pay more attention to the quality of their
speakers.
I called it a day at Situbondo, where I
located an inexpensive abode and couldn’t complain about the bathroom, that
turned out an unusual affair. Stranger was the beds facing the bathroom instead
of the door. Plenty of street food abounded, but beer was more difficult to
locate. I bought one at the Indomaret simply to discover it a Bintang Zero.
18-19 January – Situbondo – Probolinggo – 95
km
“Hello, Mister” is the standard greeting in
Indonesia, and I received numerous thumbs-ups from motorbikes scooting past.
Still, it appeared I remained a novelty and guessed seeing a western woman
travelling by bicycle was a rear event.
The route hugged the coast the best part of
the day, making it easy and scenic cycling. The way was lined with “warungs”
(restaurants) selling “Ikan Bakar” (grilled fish). In the process, my Basa
Indonesian was coming along nicely. In the food department, Basa Indonesian is
relatively easy as long as one knows the words for rice (nasi), noodles (mie,
mee or mi), fried (goreng), grilled (bakar), chicken (Ayam), and fish (Ikan).
In addition, I learned to say where I’m from (Africa Selatan) and that a
bicycle is a sepeda.
Besides the restaurants, plenty of fish and
rice were drying in the sun, which is understandable as Indonesia’s staple.
Practically 90% of the population is Muslim,
and hence not surprising, I encountered a multitude of mosques - they all
seemed short of money and collected from passing vehicles, making the already
narrow road even more so. Phew, I forgot how challenging cycling in Indonesia could
be.
Probolinggo signalled the end of the day’s
ride. I wanted to go to Mount Bromo and desperately needed to do laundry.
20 January – Probolinggo – Mt. Bromo
In the morning, I packed up and left
Probolinggo, but reaching the turn-off to Mt Bromo, I changed my mind and
decided to make the short detour there after all. Instead of cycling up the
mountain, I opted for accommodation, and I grabbed a motorbike taxi to the top.
Though I visited Mt Bromo six years
previously, I believed it worthwhile paying it another visit. Although a
spectacular ride led up the mountain, it was a relatively unsuccessful day when
taking pictures. I thought the images taken six years earlier were miles
better. In any event, it remained a spectacular sight.
As one entered the vast caldera, the
fume-belching cone of Mt Bromo stared you right in the face, and, from a
distance, one could hear the hissing and splattering of the volcano. A short
trek across the sand led to the summit and the crater’s rim, where one could
gaze into the belly of the beast. It splattered and roared as steam and smoke
rose high above the cone. Walking along the edge while smoke billowed up gave
the volcano an other-worldly feel.
The return trip led past vegetable plantations,
and I wondered how they managed to farm along such steep terrain. The
mountainous regions have an entirely different feel from the lowlands. Higher
up, the weather is considerably cooler, wet and misty. Blanket-clad farmers on
horseback inspected farmlands and reminded me of Africa. Wooden houses upon
stilts clung precariously to the mountainside, and red-cheeked kids skipped
their way to school.
Returning to my abode, I ordered a bowl of
bakso prior to cycling into town to stock up with needed supplies.
21 January – Probolinggo – Surabaya – 102 km
The terrible road and horrendous traffic made
a slow, soot-laden exhaust inhaled ride to Surabaya. Nevertheless, it was a
fantastic day, and though not a significant amount happened, the general
everyday life fascinated me. Mobile carts sold beautiful woven articles, and I
cycled past gangs of schoolgirls on scooters, giggling their way to school.
Mothers steered motorbikes one-handed, holding (what looked like) a near one-day-old
baby on the other arm. Bicycle rickshaws carted hijab-clad pre-schoolers to and
from school while toothless men sat chewing nasi goreng.
There’s never a shortage of eateries in
Indonesia, and the route was littered with “warungs”, selling the usual “nasi
goreng”, “mee goreng”, and “Ayam”. I often got the pungent smell of durian as I
cycled past stands, where stall owners appeared startled seeing a foreigner.
“Hello, Mister” came from villagers selling enormous jackfruit, all making the
day quintessentially Indonesian.
At the outskirts of Surabaya, it started
raining, making a nerve-wracking ride into Indonesia’s second-largest city. I
was happy to reach my destination but uncovering budget digs were hard in the
bucketing rain.
22 January - Surabaya
Once in Surabaya, I thought it worth my while
to explore, seeing it was such a mission getting into town. The Qubah (the
city’s labyrinthine Arab quarters), situated around the Mesjid Ampel Mosque,
was ideal for doing so.
The mosque is said to mark the burial place
of Sunam Ampel, one of the holy men who brought Islam to Java, and at the rear
of the mosque is a grave where devotees offer rose petals and chant prayers.
The mosque formed part of a lively souk selling typical Arab merchandise,
including dates, fezzes, samosa, prayer beads, perfumes, and heaps more. The
area wasn’t touristy, and I stood out like a sore thumb as I wandered the
alleys, camera in hand. Residents peeked through curtains and doors slightly
ajar, most likely wondering what foreigners were doing in their area. “Photo,
photo,” the youngsters called, making easy photography, even if not the best of
backgrounds. I nibbled from mobile carts and watched in amazement as ducks were
slaughtered right on the pavement.
Chinatown didn’t disappoint either and was
colourful and vibrant, featuring beautiful temples and the ever-present
colourful dragons, not to mention exciting eats. Unfortunately, the fish market
was already finished when I arrived. Still, the rest of the market was in full
swing, selling anything from meat to vegetables and fruit. The market area was
equally crowded, and bicycle rickshaws waited in line to cart shoppers home.
23 January - Surabaya – Bojonegoro – 117 km
A nerve-wracking ride led out of Surabaya. I
first made a loop through town as the way I’d in mind was a toll road, and
bicycles weren’t allowed. Eventually, I found the path and followed men on
bikes dressed in shalwar kameezes and fezzes out of the bustling city centre.
It took almost two hours to get on—and I
hesitate to call it—the open road. Of course, there’s no such thing as an “open
road” in Indonesia, but at least I was out of the thick of things. The entire
way continued to be busy. I scarcely took out the camera as I concentrated on
avoiding potholes and keeping my line.
Mercifully, cycling became more relaxed once
out of the city limits, and the day passed quickly. I only once tried a minor route,
and though it came offered beautiful vistas, it was too rough, and I returned
to the main road. Midday, a truck overturned and spilt its entire cargo of
rice. It caused a massive traffic jam, and lorries backed up tens of
kilometres. Phew, I was happy on a bicycle. The self-appointed traffic wardens
did an excellent job.
24 January – Bojonegoro – Sragen – 125 km
There was no sleeping in between the cocks
crowing and muezzins calling people to prayer. Good thing as well, as the day
turned out relatively slow going. The day started with a scenic ride past rice
paddies and mosques; unfortunately, the road deteriorated. I rattled, shook,
and bounced my way along, something which got more irritating as the day wore
on. I laughed as nearly all motorbike riders spun around to see who or what was
on the bicycle. I couldn’t blame them, as I resembled a clown in yoga pants and
a skirt. Now and again, I would spot a mobile phone and hand popping out a car
window. Being constantly in the public eye is tiring and I wondered if other
cycle tourers felt the same.
Around midday, the heat grew more intense and
the route hillier. Still, I followed a country lane through a rural area, where
woodcraft appeared the primary income. The way was lined by stands selling
beautiful wooden items, from furniture to statues and even skulls.
I managed to stay dry all day and uncovered
the Graha Hotel in Sragen before rain poured down. The hotel offered a few
economy fan rooms on the ground floor, and I could wheel my bike right in.
25 January – Sragen – Surakarta (Solo) – 32
km
The traffic was already hectic when I got
going, but I soon found myself between rice fields and mosques. I’d no
intention of turning into Solo but then changed my mind as it boasted quite a
few noteworthy things. I thus set out on foot to explore the old part. But, unfortunately,
I was hardly underway, and it started bucketing down. I imagined I could wait
it out but, eventually, it took a bicycle rickshaw ride to get back as I’d no
umbrella.
Nothing much came of my sightseeing as the
rain never subsided. I popped out only once for a bowl of soup and to buy a
plastic raincoat. Next, I did laundry, hoping it would be dry by morning. Luckily,
my laptop came to life, and I could sort out my growing number of photos.
26 January - Surakarta – Prambanan Temple –
53 km
I couldn’t fall asleep; maybe the wallpaper
was too busy, or perhaps due to the fact I’d practically done nothing the
previous day. I must’ve fallen asleep at around 3 a.m., but the muezzin soon
started calling. One of the residents in the alley further passed away during
the night, and funeral procedures began at around 6 a.m.
Eventually, I got up as there was no point in
trying to sleep. The price included breakfast, and what a feast. I was served
rice topped with a tofu stew, delicious and an all-vegetarian affair.
By the time I got underway, the entire lane
was covered to give shelter from the threatening rain. Chairs were put out, and
the body lay covered for people to say their last goodbyes. Speakers blasted
verses from the Quran for the entire neighbourhood to hear. In a way, quite lovely,
as friends and family randomly popped in.
I spotted guys loading flour and imagined them
making interesting pics with their flour-covered faces. But, unfortunately,
they spotted me, and on emerging from the shed, they’d cleaned their faces. How
sweet!
I cycled the short distance to the Prambanan
temple. The temple complex is a UNESCO site and consists of beautiful Hindu
temples from the ninth century. The temple is dedicated to Shiva and was
constructed by the king of the ancient Mataram Kingdom in 856 AD.
I uncovered nearby digs and then set off on
foot to explore the complex. Unfortunately, the weather didn’t play along
(photography wise). Still, the temples are in a beautiful garden setting and a
pleasure strolling around.
27 January - Prambanan Temple – Borobudur –
55 km
A short day of cycling took me to famous
Borobudur, home to one of the most important Buddhist sites in the world. Built
with two million stone blocks in the form of an asymmetrical stupa, it’s one of
the finest temples in all of Indonesia. It’s said viewed from the air; the
temple resembles a colossal three-dimensional tantric mandala. In any event,
I’m ahead of myself as first, I’d to get there.
I followed country lanes through the smallest
of settlements. A beautiful ride, offering views of the famous smoking cone of
Gunung Merapi in the distance and past bunches of schoolchildren waving
enthusiastically. I felt sorry for these small kids, all bundled up as if they
lived along the Arctic Circle instead of the equator. It surely can’t be healthy.
For the most part, I read that people in Muslim countries suffer from a lack of
vitamin D. If so, it would be regrettable as they live in such sunny countries.
I can’t see how kids can play dressed like that, sad, as kids do not choose a
religion. No wonder people are so unhealthy. When visiting temples, I’m shocked
to notice people struggling up a standard set of stairs huffing and puffing and
hanging onto railings.
In Borobudur, I booked into the Pondok
Tinggal Hotel. At first, it looked far too pricy, but the staff were extremely
kind and offered me a good discount. The hotel was a beautiful bamboo and
timber building featuring rooms around a spacious courtyard garden.
I didn’t go straight to the temple but planned
on going around six the following day. In any case, it soon started raining,
and even if I wanted to visit, it wouldn’t have been possible.
28 January – Borobudur
Art students occupied nearly the entire hotel,
and a cultural show in the courtyard entertained us. The performance carried on
until 2 a.m. Still, I was up at five and at the temple by six.
The light was slightly better than on my previous
visit, but being a Saturday meant half of Indonesia was there. I was clearly
not the sole one who wanted to see famous Borobudur. The temple is a UNESCO
site, and the entrance fee was quite costly at $20 (for foreigners).
It’s, however, a fascinating site, and it’s
believed construction started around 750 AD. The temple is wrapped around a
small hill. Still, during renovation work, archaeologists discovered the hill
wasn’t a natural one, as assumed, but artificial. It’s believed the temple was
abandoned around the twelfth century, most likely due to volcanic eruptions. British
Sir Stamford Raffles rediscovered the site in 1814, and the temple dug out from
underneath volcanic ash.
The students made their way home, and the car
club moved in. I was kindly invited to join the festivities, including a band
and plenty of food and drink.
That evening a Javanese puppet show took
place in the foyer. The show was interesting as it featured the famous Wayang Kulit
puppets, known as shadow puppets. These performances often go on all night, and
not uncommon for the audience and musicians to doze off. Wayang puppets are
made from dried buffalo skin and buffalo horns. The puppets are manoeuvred by
master puppeteers using a thin stick. Unfortunately, I didn’t stay long as I
didn’t understand the language and felt sleepy. However, no one would’ve been
offended if I’d fallen asleep.
29 January – Borobudur – Kebumen – 83 km
I took off in a drizzle, a drizzle that
continued throughout the day. At first, a good climb led out of Borobudur, followed
by an excellent descent. I flew downhill at breakneck speed—all the while
keeping an eye out for the numerous potholes. I sailed past rice fields, raging
streams, terracotta-tiled houses and friendly Indonesians.
History shaped the language of this country.
The Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch and British all made their mark in Indonesia,
and each left a few words. Words like “solo,” “mas,” “handuk,” and “kantor pos”
are clearly borrowed from other languages. I thought it interesting they used
the word “handuk” instead of “towel.” Obviously, this word comes from the Dutch.
I reached Kebumen early but soaked I called
it quits.
30 January – Kebumen – Hotel & Rumah
Makan Karanganyar Indah – 100 km
Indonesia is a country with immense natural
beauty, and every day, I was amazed at the beauty of the landscape. Shortly
after getting underway, I spotted a sign for Benteng Van Der Wijck, a Dutch
fort built in the 1800s.
Departing, a sign pointed to caves and I had
to investigate. The cave was remarkable as it featured four underground
springs. I should’ve scooped out water as it’s believed the water from the
springs will make one ageless. Inside the cave were various statues, 32 in all,
said to tell the legend of Raden Kamandaka, a crown prince who was once
imprisoned in the cave.
I continued via the coastal route to Cilacap
but learned it didn’t run through Pangandaran. In the process, the weather came
in. After one almighty clap of thunder, the heavens opened to such an extent my
path quickly resembled a river. Nevertheless, I donned my plastic raincoat and
carried on regardless. Finally, around 5 p.m., I discovered a roadside hotel
and was happy to call it a day.
31 January - Hotel & Rumah Makan
Karanganyar Indah – Banjar – 90 km
Accompanied by morning traffic, I slowly snaked
my way out of the village, trying my utmost to avoid potholes. The rest of the
day consisted of a hilly ride in Central Java. My route made its way over the
mountains in the direction of Merak, where I planned to get the ferry to the
island of Sumatra. However, the poor road made the going extremely slow and, in
the end, I realised there was nothing I could do but relax, slow down, and
follow the traffic. It remained a frustrating day, as my gears kept slipping,
making the inclines even more challenging. However, the stunning views made up
for the bad roads and the slipping gears.
I passed a sign stating, “Watch Out –
Crocodile Estuary,” and I wondered how many people were taken before it
warranted a sign. I stopped at colourful fruit stalls and was tempted to buy a
whole lot but realised I couldn’t eat that much. I thus simply took a picture.
The Indonesians are super-friendly and keen for you to take photos, making easy
photography.
By 3 p.m., the weather came in, and reaching
Banjar started raining. I didn’t feel like cycling in the rain and slipped into
the first available hotel. Maybe I was overly keen, as the place was terrible and
the area devoid of any facilities. Moreover, I didn’t think I would get
breakfast in the morning.
1 February - Banjar - Tasikmalaya – 47 km
No two days are ever the same. I cycled the
two or three kilometres into Banjar, searching for a shop to buy internet time.
But generally, shops were still closed, and I headed out along Route 3, where I
found an Indomaret mini-mart that sold virtually anything.
Having coffee, I scanned the map for a
bicycle shop. I was pleasantly surprised to find a very competent and
super-friendly Ikey bike store. Not merely did they adjust the derailleur, but they
replaced the chain, making extra-smooth gear changing. I can’t explain how
happy I was. Cycling uphill with gears slipping is no fun at all.
The plan was to push on to Bandung. Still, I
was a tad over-optimistic as the town was roughly 170 kilometres away. Jatnika,
from Ikey bike shop, advised to take the secondary road, and what a pleasure.
The road surface was considerably better, and the way quiet. I came upon hidden
gems. One was the talented knife makers selling beautiful knives and sheaths in
all shapes and sizes. I passed a bandy-legged man, scavenging for recyclable
items and salak stalls where sellers called “Mister, Mister” for me to sample
their fruit.
Close to Tasikmalaya, I stopped to consult the
map when two cyclists out on their daily ride stopped and offered to show me a decent
hotel. I hence got escorted to a great hotel in Tasikmalaya.
2-3 February - Tasikmalaya – Jakarta - by
train – bus to Merak - 45 km
I realised my time in Indonesia was running
out and I’d one more look at the map and knew I’d to start moving towards Dumai
more than 1,500 kilometres away. I cycled to the train station and bought a
train ticket for Jakarta as I reasoned it would be easier to find onward
transport from there.
The train trip, albeit long, was comfortable
and we arrived in Jakarta at around six. Unfortunately, my bicycle wasn’t on
the same train, and I was told to collect it in the morning. I thus grabbed a
motorbike taxi to Hostel 35.
The next day I returned to the parcel office
by Uber moto. Thank goodness, the bicycle was there, and I cycled to the
harbour to check if the Pelni ferry had already sailed, but I was too late, and
the ferry was long gone. I thought if there, I could hop on. Still, I cycled to
the bus terminal about 15 kilometres away, where I finally boarded a bus to
Merak, the most western point in Java from where ferries sailed for Sumatra. The
time was past nine on arriving at the ferry and best to settle for a losmen
(basic hotel).
4-6 February – Merak – Dumai (by bus)
A short cycle led to the harbour where a
giant car ferry operated to Sumatra. The ferry ran throughout the day. Although
further than the Bali – Java ferry, it remained a quick crossing, and we soon
arrived at the tropical island of Sumatra.
Sumatra had a rather scanty public transport
system, especially for long trips like Dumai and 17h00, before locating a bus that
would take both the bicycle and me. I’m sure I was overcharged but still
considered it a bargain as the trip was 1,400 kilometres. The bus was old without
air conditioning, and we rattled along the equator along an inferior path. I
honestly don’t know how backpackers do it. The bus driver needed a medal as he
hardly stopped. He merely stopped to eat at around 9 p.m., after which we all
settled in for an uncomfortable night.
At around 7h00, the bus stopped for breakfast,
and then drove straight through till supper time. I’d no intention of dehydrating
myself to prevent using a toilet, and I drank my usual amount. When I needed
the bathroom, I asked the bus driver to stop, which they did without a problem.
Each time I asked, the entire bus got off to do the same. Maybe that was the
way to do it.
To pass the time I played on the internet, fortunately,
I’d three power banks. I also realised the bus trip wasn’t going to be over that
day and we settled in for another night on the hard seats of the bus. The
following morning, I was let off at the Dumai/Medan junction, leaving a
50-kilometre cycle to Dumai.
I was never happier to cycle 50 kilometres. Even
though sleepy, it felt downhill to Dumai. While cycling this short stretch,
memories of cycling this same route seven years previously (albeit in the
opposite direction) came flooding back. Still, things were much as I
remembered. The potholed road, oil palm plantations, oil pipelines and houses upon
stilts selling pineapples were still exactly as they were seven years ago.
Once in Dumai, I checked on the ferries, but
both ferries had already departed, and I was left with two options. The 9h30
ferry to Malaka, Malaysia or the 11h00 ferry to Port Dickson, Malaysia. A third
ferry sailed for Port Klang, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Once all was
sorted, I booked into the City Hotel at $20. My excuse for spending that much
money was I spent two nights on a bus. I’d a good scrubbing, washed my hair and
handed in my laundry.
7
February - Dumai, Indonesia – Port Dickson, Malaysia (by boat)
After
an excellent Indonesian breakfast, I cycled the few hundred metres to the ferry
ticket office. Although far too early, I cycled to the harbour anyway, checked
in and waited until the Port Dickson ferry departed at eleven. Sadly, the
weather came in, and it became a rough ride over the Straits of Malacca. The
ferry rocked and rolled and could as well have been called the “Pitch &
Puke” as seasick bags were in high demand.
Our
boat anchored in Malaysia at three p.m., but the hour time difference made it
four p.m. The weather was rather stormy, causing poor visibility as I headed
out in the direction of Kuala Lumpur. I didn’t get far until spotting the
Grandpa Hotel and weakened at the thought of a nice dry and comfortable abode.
I wasn’t going to make Peter’s place that day anyhow, and it made little
difference whether I stayed here or further along. Walking to the Giant
shopping mall made me feel like a kid in a candy store. I didn’t buy anything
but merely feasted my eyes on all the luxury items.
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