Crash #1: Bukittinggi

5:05am--This is me trying VERY HARD not to get upset about a cultural difference between me and Indonesia. This is me being UNDERSTANDING and APPRECIATIVE of a chance to see what life is like for average Indonesians. This is me BEING WOKEN UP WAY BEFORE GOD DAMN DAWN BY TEN DIFFERENT MOSQUES ALL BROADCASTING THE CALL TO PRAYER. This is me, the girl currently known as NOT AMUSED.

8am—Okay, much better. Elias and I are headed to breakfast before getting our motorbikes and hitting the road for Lake Maninjau. I’m hoping there will also be time to see something east of Bukittinggi, like this cool network of caves, but with a group of five (some other German guy turned up—Otto?), I think it’s best I just stay with the boys. And if breakfast is any sign of what’s to come, it will be a good day. We got some longtong, a delicious soup-like dish that has potatoes, veggies, a hard-boiled egg, and rice pressed into chewy wedges in a spicy, coconut broth. And of course it’s served with strong Sumatran coffee with plenty of grounds and condensed milk. I loved it all!

It took us longer than I would have liked to get ready to go; it was at least 10am before we all got our bikes ready and another half-hour to get petrol and get our directions sorted.  But once we had hit the road it was wonderful.  I don't know how to describe the freedom and exhilaration you get from riding, but it's at least partially made up from the thrill of the danger, the wind in your face, the connection you feel to the road and the scenery around you, and the knowledge that you could go pretty much anywhere you want to.  The only other time I have felt like this was when I jumped out of an airplane.  I really want a motorcycle of my own at some point!  Okay, dad, I get it now.

As we left Bukittinggi, we made our way through Sianok Canyon, which draws many hikers to this city.  It didn't look as if the water level of the river was very high, though, so I guess we don't have to worry about our hotel flooding (not a big surprise when the name of the city means 'high hill').  The volcanos in the background, Merapi and Singgalang, were beautiful and the sky was so clear you could see all the way up to the summit.  And there were plenty of the same quietly stunning vistas as before: thick jungle that only gives way to terraced rice paddies and clusters of houses desperately clinging to the hillside.

We made our way up the hills and around the villages until we came to a lookout over the lake.  I think for about ten minutes the only thing any of us could say was "wow" and the only noises were the cows eating grass and five different cameras clicking away.  The misty clouds swirled over the lake and played hide and seek with us: now you saw the water, now you didn't.  But when you could see it, you were shocked at how clear it was for being so far down the mountain: the water looked smooth as satin and you could even see across a valley on the opposite side of the lake all the way out to the Indian Ocean.  The rice paddies looked like stripes running down the hill and the docks looked like they weren't even attached to anything.  But most of all it was quiet--so wonderfully quiet.

It was gorgeous, and after sitting in silence for almost half an hour we were finally ready to go down and see it close up.  As we made our way back down the mountain, someone noticed a small cafe wedged along the shoulder of the road, butting right up against a cliff that dropped down about a hundred feet.  Although I would have preferred to keep going and have more time down by the lake, someone made the executive decision to stop and have some coffee and cake, and looking back I have to say it was probably the right decision.  Good food, an amazing view, a final chance to relax before we hit the only way down to Maninjau: the 44 Hairpin Turn Road.  Oh, and right before we left, George was nice enough to point out that I had about 10 mosquito bites on my neck that I hadn't been aware of until then (see photo for the full disgustingness).  I swear, the mosquitos in this country are vicious; it's like they know I'm coming from Singapore, where mossies basically don't exist, and they're making up for lost time. 

As nice as our pitstop was, I hope no one was looking for a quiet ride with peaceful, uninterrupted coffee breaks.  Every time we stopped George and Elvis had a whole crowd of Indonesian fans gathered around their gigantic bikes.  I'm sure some of those men would have handed over a couple of their daughters and maybe even their wife to get their hands on one of those things so they could gloat over all of their neighbors.  Every man wanted to touch the handlebars or rub the seat, and it was pretty clear that the women hanging around in the background would have liked to have done the same thing.

The 44 Hairpin Turn Road sure lived up to its name; it even had the turns numbered with signs in case you doubted their honesty.  I have to admit, I started down the mountain with quite a bit of bravado for someone who hadn't ridden a motorbike in 7 months and who crashed it the last time she did (just a little crash, but I guess it still counts).  And of course I wanted to be able to keep up with the boys and not come off as just another girl who can't handle the power of a motorcycle or something like that.  So maybe I was going a little fast on a bike of questionable quailty when I got to turn 35 and maybe I braked too hard, but there's no doubt I skidded out, rolled off my bike, slid a few feet down the road, and wrecked my white shirt.  However, it is also true that I was totally fine, nothing in my backpack was broken, George was able to bend the handlebar back into shape, I had a spare shirt to change into, and we just kept going without any more accidents.  The only real damage was that I did not manage to reach my goal of being a girl who could handle a motorbike on her own without any help from the boys.

But we made it to the lake soon enough, alive and intact, and, as it turned out, anxious to keep going.  After we had spent a few minutes taking photos of the lake, someone suggested just going on to the ocean.  It would only take a few hours and we could still be home before dark (famous last words, right?).  Why not?  How often do you get the chance to ride a motorbike to the Indian Ocean?  The road around the lake was a great ride, too: flat, smooth and well-maintained, it allowed us to enjoy the scenery as it passed rather than having to worry about dodging potholes or rocks or something (although I did fidget with my helmet a lot as it threatened to blow off everytime I hit 60km or faster).  And once we got close to ocean, George and Elvis led us splashing through this marshy area full of invisible pits and deep sand.  How Elias and I made it through on scooters without falling, God only knows.  If only I could say it was sheer skill...

Oh, the sea, the sea!!  Enchanting!  It was about 90 minutes to sunset so the water was a frothy grey and the sun reflected off to create a path of light straight to your feet.  Warm water, strong breezes, little crabs running around your feet, coral washed up on the beach, colorful fishing boats, and of course a crowd all jostling to see George's and Elvis's motorcycles.  Don't you love how the ocean puts you in a trance?  Somehow it demands every iota of your attention and you spend hours just staring at the horizon.  But every minute spent on the beach is a minute longer after dark we'll arrive home.  Somehow, during our break and conversations with the fishermen, Otto disappears on us.  After a half-hour search we're on the road, but Otto is a very timid driver and Elias and I accidentally leave him behind on the road back to Bukittinggi.  So there's another search and by the time we reach the half-way point we have to turn our lights on for safety.  Elias leads and I'm the caboose behind Otto, and all I can do is pray Elias knows where he's going because I'm turned around by all of the curves and a bit distracted by buses coming towards me that don't have lights on and force me onto the shoulder.  Assholes.

Did I mention that there were bugs the size of half-dollars bouncing off my face as we rode?  Just wanted to point that out. 

But we made it!  We returned our bikes, got dinner, typed up our journals, and said goodnight.  I'm a bit disappointed that we weren't able to see more of the area, but riding with the guys forced me to take breaks to enjoy the scenery and I wouldn't have attempted the ocean on my own.  I definitely would have ridden right past the coffee stand that turned out to be such a nice pit stop and I probably would have gotten lost trying to backtrack all that way and find the caves.  I guess it means I'm just going to have to go back and explore the area again at some point.  Bummer.