It's Not a Tumor

Okay, call me crazy, but while eating lunch today I realized that I like Jakarta. 

I’m not going to move here, though, let’s not go crazy.  Even though the day began with a really rough start, I kept at it and the city proved it’s got some nice things to offer. 

But let’s get the bad stuff out of the way.  Sleeping was extremely difficult, which I will spare you the details about except to say that there were mosquitoes dive-bombing us so I wrapped up from head to toe in the sheets and a scarf but then I started sweating but when I unwrapped I got bites and it was so loud because people were doing their Friday night partying and it was all just a bit difficult.  I was up again five hours after I lay down, and that’s when I saw it: my upper lip had swollen to nearly 3 times its normal size.  I looked like that lady in “Legally Blonde” who had to learn the bend and snap.  It was so weird!  I think it had to be due to a mosquito bite (I hope) but if it didn’t go away I had no idea what I was going to do.  I swear, the craziest shit happens when you travel.

Undeterred, however, I set out to see the area of Jakarta that was closest to my hotel and which, like every other city in Indonesia, was hot, loud, smelly, and strewn in garbage.  In other words, two large steps up from the cities of India.  At least there aren’t cows running all over here leaving little gifts on the street.  Anyway, I concentrated on the area around the National Monument, which Lonely Planet claims has the nickname ‘Sokarno’s last erection’.  It’s basically just a flame on a tall pillar with some landscaping underneath, so I hope the others are at least a bit more interesting to look at.  Wait a minute, those giant fake flowers look like ladies’.... oh that’s why the name.  Gotcha.

 

The grounds around the monument would make for a nice walk or spot for a picnic and you can see a massive dome in the distance belonging to what I was told was the grandest mosque in Southeast Asia.  When I get there it turns out looking more like a government building than anything else, but in a country where Islam has such a strong influence, maybe that’s exactly what it is.  The Presidential Palace is just down the street and is also a bit anti-climactic, although I’m sure the 3 other palaces around the country make up for that.

I couldn’t find the history museum, unfortunately, but I did get nice and sweaty and ready for lunch.  When I returned to our room, Marianne was already there.  She had found a better hotel for the same price (no surprise there) and was going to move and do some shopping for work clothes.  She starts a job here on Monday, an internship in a program studying water usage.  It turns out she used to live here as a child and still speaks a bit of Bahasa, although she isn’t super excited to be returning.  God, I’d be feeling a lot of trepidation too if I were facing a six-month stint here.    

We said our goodbyes and traded emails because she was ready to go and I still needed to eat, so I went for an incredibly forgetful lunch then went back to the hotel to pack.  After my horribly sweaty walk this morning (which at least was totally free), I decided to treat myself to a taxi with air con to the bus station.  I don’t do this very often, but I also wanted to save time, so paying $8 instead of $.80 seemed worth it.  On the way, I started to think Jakarta is like a movie set: everything has a nice front on it but when you look at what’s holding it up from behind it’s all crumbling and cheap.   I was looking at the skyscrapers earlier today wondering what kind of safety codes they have and how well they’re being enforced, given the amount of corruption that the government has been accused of in recent years. 

But all will be well because I have seen the holy Trinity: Starbucks, McDonald’s, and Pizza Hut are here, bringing good old American culture and democracy to the suffering masses in the developing world.  My taxi driver proudly pointed them out as we crawled through a traffic jam, something every real Jakartan must do every day (manage traffic, I mean, not point to stuff).  When an ambulance, lights and sirens blasting, crept past us going about 5km/hour, the driver had one thing to say: “Dead”.  At least that’s what I think he said.

Speaking of dead, that would almost be preferable to the bus ride I endured after that, but then when isn’t that the case when you ride the cheap, public buses?  So hot.  So sticky.  So crowded.  So loud.  So dirty.  So MISERABLE.  This was definitely the hottest bus I’ve ridden on, and I found myself hoping I would pass out just so I didn’t have to feel the heat pressing down on me like a soggy blanket. On a related note, I wonder when Indonesians will realize that they could get rid of the cockroaches crawling around if they stopped dropping food and trash on the floor. 

But soon enough I’m in the house of Yudi Sujana in a city called Cianjur, southeast of Jakarta several hours.  He’s my host for the homestay I’m doing for the next few days and he seems like a really nice guy.  We chat for a few minutes before he invites me to explore the neighborhood as he’s just about to prepare dinner.  It turns out there is a very large area referred to as Cianjur, but where I am is the city proper.  The homes are actually quite nice and are built alongside the rice paddies that cover the landscape for hundreds of kilometers.  The sun is going down as I explore and families are coming out to celebrate the end of fasting for the day.  One man is grilling whole fish over a small fire (it looks and smells delicious), fathers sit on the porch with their kids talking and laughing as mothers are undoubtedly inside cooking.  A group of teenage boys is cracking each other up on the lawn of another house, and a few children play on a parked moped with absolutely no adults within sight.  So a typical evening for Cianjur.

Back in the house I'm introduced to Mario, a German traveler who is about to end his trip and go to Jakarta in a couple of days to fly home.  We have a simple meal of rice and satay and vegetables (terrifically yummy), get through the basic introductions then decide to take the same trip tomorrow to a rural village a few dozen kilometers away.  To be honest, I'm glad I'm not the only foreigner staying because I just don't have the energy for small talk with Yudi's entire family!  But I'd like to tomorrow so I'm going to bed to get my energy back.

 Looking over what I’ve written, it seems like I’m complaining a lot, considering how much I enjoyed Jakarta.  What’s easy to do is focus on the annoying and aggravating and forget to mention the little things that are nice: watching kids play basketball, a beautiful statue of horses pulling a chariot, mosques with tall minarets that still seem so exotic, a Dutch bakery with a working windmill, a life-sized bull painted vibrant colors, tiny alleys that twist away from the street and invite with you to explore them... there’s plenty to put a smile on your face.

Leia Mais…

Travel day...and goats

So getting to the ferry this morning was actually fairly uneventful. As the desk clerk from my hotel on Pulah Weh and I walked to the motorbike 'taxi' they had lined up for me, I ran into another couple of girls who were leaving, as well, and of course a few goats climbing around a picnic table, so I jumped in the car they (the girls, not the goats) had hired and ended up paying ten thousand less than I was going to for what would have been an excruciating 40-minute motorbike ride, no doubt. The ride was a wonderful way to say goodbye to Pulau Weh; the bends in the road create amazing vistas as you go up the mountains and I got to see everything I loved about this place one last time. My only disappointment was not getting a picture of a tsunami warning sign, which is unexpectedly adorable.

After that came the great unknown: would there be tickets to Jakarta available at the airport and would they be more or less expensive because I was buying them at the last minute? Either way, I've lost all sense of the conversion rate to either Sing dollars or USD. At Aceh's very modern and elegant airport, I bought an airplane ticket to Jakarta and then on to Surabaya for a mere Rp 1,733,500! For which they only accept payment in CASH. That was an interesting trip to the ATM. But the good news is, I still have over 19 million rupiah left in my bank account!

I decided to fly to on to Surabaya in east Java because I'm drafting a new travel plan that is a bit more relaxing than the previous one. Instead of heading from Jakarta in the west and exploring the giant island that is Java, my new plan is to go east to Bali and the Gili Islands, with a stop at the volcano Gunung Bromo on the way. I'm doing this because I figure I can either spend a week hurtling across Java, cramming in sights rather than enjoying them OR I can go where the relaxation is basically guaranteed and keep diving and riding motorbikes. A pretty easy choice. And with the new semester rapidly approaching, I'm anticipating enough stress as it is without trying to hurry through and "enjoy" my vacation. Oh, and I hear there are cute boys at Bali on occasion.

Now by dinner so far so good. My flights were uneventful and I have to give Lion Air some credit; they're fairly punctual, haven't lost my bag yet, and the staff are helpful and speak good English (even if one of them was wearing 3 shades of green eyeshadow at once). If only they hadn't jacked up the cost of my flight by 50% for buying it in person...

The bus ride through Surabaya was the most entertaining part of the day by far. The vehicle basically became a performance venue whenever we stopped. There were teenagers with guitars and harmonicas, men selling food and rubber toys that flash and bounce around, hawkers carrying large metal tins of even more food, and at some point someone was trying to sell me what was either a pair of castanets or an odd looking toy car. I say no to everything, although it's not without some difficulty when it comes to the "Batman masker".

It was actually this bus ride that cemented my decision to change my itinerary. I took it as a sign from God that during the 100m walk between the airport shuttle bus and the local bus to Gunung Bromo no fewer than 15 people walked up and asked if I was going to Bali. The real reason was that there were tons of night buses headed that way, but, whether you believe in him or not, God does work in mysterious ways and fortune favors the bold so it's off to Bali I go.

And just to keep you totally up to date, I have reached the point in my journey where nothing I'm wearing matches: brown and goald trainers (covered in dust), black pants, red tank top and pale blue knit sweater.  Not my most stylish look, it's basically everything that was a bit bulky and would make it difficult to pack.  And another benefit: now I look more like everyone else around me!  And speaking of everyone else around me, why (?!?!) do they take it as a sign that when I sit alone, reading or thinking or writing or just enjoying the view, that I want them to interrupt and start an awkward conversation where their questions are spaced five minutes apart and they only understand half of my answers?  I'm here for some quiet and solitude, people, it's kind of the point of traveling alone.  I'm thinking of wearing an announcement on a sandwich board.

I arrived in Probollingo, the entry point to Gunung Bromo, around 9pm and had a lovely tour of the town from my front-row seat in the becak. This was definitely new: the double seat goes in front while the driver pedals on the bike attached behind. It seems like a pretty little town, clean and fairly modern, and there were even Christmas lights up in various shapes like stars, religious symbols and produce (no joke--my favorite was the chili pepper).

My driver took me to my hotel where I met a few people going up the volcano the next day. When I spoke to the hotel owner about joining their group, it was the beginning of an utterly ridiculous escapade that I just can't be bothered to write about until tomorrow. I have to get up in a couple of hours to go up the volcano (on a motorbike, again.  What the hell is it with me and motorbikes?!?!) and I need to get some rest before we meet at 2am.

Completely random side note: I'm not sure if I should correct them when people call me "mister", which happens about a third of the time. And an odd occurrence today: as I walked past an old man he rubbed his hand down my arm from bicep to wrist and broke into a huge grin. Now, I like to think I have soft skin, but I'm pretty sure this guy was thinking to himself Holy crap, I just touched a white lady!!! I gave him an appropriately repulsed look, but really I was wondering why he felt the need to do it. Does he want to brag about it later? Was he curious whether white women feel different? Is he just a horny old man? Beats me.

Okay, later gaters.

Leia Mais…

Today there's a bit less smoke coming out of my ears

I can’t believe I’m going to be traveling alone again!! It feels like I’ve been hanging out with Elias for weeks, when really it’s only been about 5 days. He’s been a good traveling companion, even if I have gotten a little frustrated with him at times, but that’s going to happen with anyone you travel with, especially if you’ve never met them before and you’re from such different backgrounds. But I’m sure he’s been wanting some time to himself and it will probably be good for me to be independent again, too.

But now I need to try to figure out what I’m doing next: Bukit Lawang or Banda Aceh (although I think it will all come down to which bus is available to me in Medan this afternoon). Bukit Lawang offers life in a jungle village for a day or two with a chance to see orangutans while Banda Aceh would provide relaxation, scuba diving, and a bit of island hopping. I’m behind schedule a bit, so it might make more sense to go straight to Banda Aceh, especially since I’m not sure how overly excited I am to be in the jungle (I’ve enjoyed not sweating like a pig for the last several days). And let’s not forget that I find most monkeys incredibly creepy, but who am I to turn down the chance at a new experience like this?

All right, I think I’m ready to talk about the second half of my motorbike ride yesterday. Oh, I was just seething at Elias and myself and the road and the people hollering at me and Lonely Planet and the cows and everything! I was in pain and petrified that I would break something on the bike or fall off and hurt myself or, even worse, fall off and hurt my camera. It also got annoying that he would just leave me behind and get almost a half-kilometer ahead of me, like he was just leaving me to my doom.  At first, avoiding the potholes, piles of loose rocks and sudden drop-offs was a bit like a game (How Quickly Can You Swerve?), but I was getting madder and madder because I wasn’t able to appreciate the absolutely beautiful scenery around me. Elias compared it to the foothills of the Swiss Alps, but all I noticed was what the pavement looked like because I didn't dare lift my eyes off of it for fear of yet another crash.  This photo really doesn't do it justice.

At one point, I was just completely fed up and couldn’t go any further without at least complaining about it. I hollered at Elias to stop, came up next to him, bounced over a giant rock and promptly fell over into him. From that point forward I believe our exact conversation went something like this:

Elias: Are you all right?
Lauren: (picking my bike up) No, I am not all right! I’m getting really tired of this!
E: Well, just calm down.
L: Oh, come on, let me be upset for like two minutes. This is ridiculous!
E: No, calm down.
L: Trust me, this is as calm as I can get right now. Do you really think this road will get us out of here?
E: Don’t worry so much. We’re--
L: That doesn’t answer my question. Do you really think this road will get us out of here?
E: Well, it’s going down the hill so it will be fine.
L: God, this is just so ridiculous.
E: Look, the next time we see someone we’ll stop and ask them properly, okay?
L: (back on my motorbike, in an obviously fake, controlled tone) Can we get out of here, please?
E: We’re not leaving until you’re ready.
L: Until I’m ready? Don’t talk to me like I’m a child! I’m fine.
E: Well, behave differently, please.
L: Man, you sound like my father. Fine. I’m done. Let’s just go.

And I basically said next to nothing after that for about 3 hours. He got a lot of ‘yep’ and ‘nope’ and ‘uh-huh’ and ‘I don’t know’. Anyone who knows me well or has seen me ticked off will recognize this instantly, I’m sorry to say. But anyone who knows me really well or for a long time will know that I’ve grown to be a lot more patient and in control of my temper than I used to be. Not as much annoys me as it used to (thanks to my line of work, I guess), but to travel under difficult—read: cheap—circumstances in countries that don’t have luxuries like paved roads you should really have the patience of a saint, or as close to that as you can get. Also, I’m Irish, thus part of the difficulty.

So yesterday was a bit difficult, but of course every day has problems of its own and today’s is the same as yesterday’s: transportation.

One thing you must know about travel in Asia is that nothing is scheduled. No, wait, let me modify that: nothing runs on a schedule even though one does exist. Everything leaves whenever the driver feels like it, which is typically after the vessel is filled to capacity (e.g. overflowing) and they’ve taken another fifteen minutes on top of that for lunch. Okay, so now we’re ready to go, right? Yeah, to go about two miles before we stop again so the driver can add petrol or piss by the side of the road or lose a few passengers (which we must then wait to get replacements for) or just admire the goat walking down the street. Who the hell knows what the reason is, just add another twenty minutes to the trip.

For example: the 9:45 ferries came at 9:30 and 9:55. The eleven o’clock bus rolled up to an invisible stop down the street around 11:20 but didn’t leave until 12:30.

And you can’t get upset about this because this is just how travel works in places where cars are for the wealthy, enclosed single-passenger taxis are for the rich white tourists, and public transit is used as much to ship vegetables and chickens as to transport people.

But since we did eventually get moving, here are some fun things we drove past: a statue (paper-mache?) of a soldier ready to stick you with the bayonet on his rifle (the sign below reads Welcome to Lake Toba), the Monkey Protection Area, a smashed-up car straight from a demolition derby put on a pedestal with skulls and crossbones beneath it, you know, stuff like that that makes driving across someplace even as beautiful as Wyoming a snooze-fest.  Iowa especially could do with a lot more skulls and crossbones, since lord knows they've already got the smashed up cars.

Anyway, I manage to befriend yet another foreign traveler, this time a Frenchmen in shorts my dad would have rocked back in high school (oh, god, the Indonesians found that absolutely hilarious) who mocked the, admittedly, large size of my pack. He's one of those crazy travelers who can fit everything in a carry-on bag and still travel for a year with no problems. I hate people like that because I want to be one of them so badly. Yeah, that's never going to happen.

By the time we arrived in Medan I had most definitely missed the bus to Bukit Lawang, but there were still plenty of overnight buses to Banda Aceh so I guess I know where I'm going next! And I will get there in an air-conditioned, non-smoking, full-sized, reserved in advance seat god damn it. Since I had a little time, Jean and I walked through the city's largest mosque, Mesjid Raya, which he of course got to see more of than I did, then went to Lonely Planet's 'die die must try' restaurant recommendation: Corner Cafe Raya. After the obligatory 30-minute wait all Asian restaurants tack on to the meal, I was presented with a truly beautiful chicken cutlet sandwich. It was a monster! Cheese, egg, tomato, mayo, lettuce, cucumber, sprouts, chicken, and double of everything for a double-decker sandwich! Even eating it with a fork and knife I made a mess, and the whole thing set me back about $3. Incredible. It made Jean's little cheese and tomato sandwich look like an amuse bouche.

And then I was whisked away to the bus station where, after extracting multiple promises that this bus would provide the conditions I required for an at least bearable trip, I boarded the bus to Banda Aceh.  The last row again, near the smoking compartment, but it went pleasantly unused and there was plenty of space for me to lay my chair back.  And the staff paid a lot of attention to me to make sure I was totally comfortable; it was the best bus service I'd seen in Indonesia.  I even got a blanket and a pillow for the trip!  What opulence!  So now Banda Aceh or bust!

Leia Mais…

I think I might be getting a little tired...

Why do I get into these conversations with people?!? Went to breakfast with Elias, went back to Bedudal Cafe, the weather was perfect (about 65), my "shower" felt really good, my bug bites weren't bothering me at the moment, all was good...and then we started talking about politics and religion and other issues that always mean the conversation will lead to a frustrating and unresolved end. Two hours later we were still debating--much more heatedly than before--the legitimacy of shariya law and the feasibility of religion in general. Let's just say we don't agree on a few, or any, aspects of the situation.

Now to be fair we discussed other things, including our backgrounds as an American with a stereotypical, conservative, suburban childhood and a German from an unconventional, liberal, global upbringing. This probably explains a lot of the differences in our values and views. It was kind of a trade-off in the end: to learn some interesting things about one another and get to know each other better we had to put up with getting a little worked up and pissed off. Sounds like every other friendship ever. 

I just don't understand how I keep getting into these arguments in the first place.  And why is it so hard for someone to concede that you could at least be a little bit right???  Phew.  Anyway.

Not much to report for today, really.  After a leisurely breakfast we packed up (Elias took forever; what a Sally), said goodbye to the ridiculous bathroom that I tried not to use, had one last lunch at Turret, one last walk around town, and one last chat with Rajawali's owner, Ulrich.  He's an odd one, that Ulrich.  He was traveling through SEA and decided to move to Bukittinggi for good about seven years ago.  He's married to an Indonesian woman who I think already had children because he said he's a new grandfather.  He helps his kids run the hotel and in his spare time treks around Indonesia trying to create the most accurate map of the country everyone has ever made.  He's sweet, but once you get him chatting get comfortable because you're going to be there for a while.

Around 6 Elias and I boarded our bus to Danau Toba, a twelve-hour drive away over roads that made the 44 Hairpin Road seem straight and smooth.  We had paid for a non-smoking, non-air con bus (cheaper), but the one that arrived had AC and a smoking section in back.  We were told they didn't have seats for us so we would have to sit in back; they didn't know what happened to our bus (yeah, right), so we should just get on this one. 

(Quick note about buses: they are never on time, but as soon as they pull in you had better be standing on the curb ready to go or you will get an earful from the driver: "Let's go! Let's go! Hurry! Must leave NOW!" Sometimes they would grab my bag, to which my response would be to yank it back and move even slower. Seriously, dude, chill the hell out. It's not like I'm packing on the platform, just give me a minute.)

And so we got on. What a mistake.

Not only were they non-reclining seats right next to the pit toilet (don't ever touch an Indonesian road with your bare hands), but three men promptly came back there and lit up.  No, there was no ventilation or open windows.  I immediately felt nauseous and said I HAD to sit somewhere else.  They gave me the very back row of the bus next to the door to the smoking cabin, which may have actually been a step down in comfort and quality.  Again, seats didn't recline; instead, they rocked back and forth because they weren't actually fastened to the floor.  Also, after the man in front of me laid back, I had exactly 20" of space for me and my stuff.  Elias had joined me after about half an hour because he couldn't take the smoke either

For all of you smokers out there, Indonesia is the place for you.  The smoking cabin was really something for them to put on the brochure, because the whole bus became the smoking section.  I was able to catch a few guys (the only women that smoke are prositutes) and ask them to move to the back, but they definitely thought I was crazy and a pain in the ass.  At one point they tied the door to the smoking cabin open; I very nearly got into a fist-fight with one of the drivers because I kept untying it and pushing it closed and he would keep trying to push it back open.  It got so ridiculous that at one point I was leaning my whole body against the door and yelling repeatedly, "I will throw up!  Smoke makes me sick!  I vomit!".  Ridiculous, right?  Well, thank god Elias was there because as soon as "my man" stood up and spoke to them, all was well and the smoking cabin stayed shut. 

SOMETIMES I REALLY HATE BEING A FEMALE.  FREAKING MYSOGINISTS.  On a side note, I wonder how many cigarettes I will have effectively smoked this vacation.  I really feel sorry for the kids who grow up in these conditions and the wives who have to kiss these men.  Ick.

Anyway, between the rocking seats, cigarette smoke, and the bumpy winding road I was feeling horribly sick.  But Elias rescued me again, giving me water and telling me to look at the back of somebody's head in the front of the bus.  Worked like a charm.  After about 30 minutes I just felt tired, which presented the final challenge of the trip: how the hell were we going to get some sleep?  Leaning on the row ahead or the window was out because the bouncing smacked your head around.  Leaning back was out because there was a wall and we were sitting at 90 degrees already.  The only arrangement that worked was when I bent over and laid my head in his lap and he kind of folded over me.  And that was how we--sort of--got some sleep!  I woke up in the morning with cankles and a fire in my back, but thankfully the bus had started showing bad music videos again, so I had at least had something to direct my venom at.

Stupid crappy stupid pop music in stupid Bahasa.  Stupid.

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