Crash #4: Kuta

Despite being surrounded by altars and temples and little offerings left on every doorstep, today I got my closest look at Bali's Hinduism.  And of course more of its beaches, but there was definitely some culture thrown in there somewhere.

I rented a motorbike from my hotel and decided to first head back up to Seminyak so I could find a restaurant I had heard good things about and wanted to eat at that evening.  It's all pretty swank up there so I have a feeling this will be another bill for the credit card, but I'm not about to pass up on the best pizza on Bali!  Thank god I can hide my helmet under my seat, though, because everyone looks really nice up there and this red-orange monstrosity makes me look like I'm part of some fashion-forward but long-forgotten branch of Hitler's army.

Fortunately, there are lots of signs along the road that are nice and easy to follow, so after I find my restaurant in Seminyak I'm off to Denpasar to see the main city on Bali.  It's got a large park and several museums that I'd like to check out if I can manage the traffic and evade the police.  Without an International Driving Permit you aren't supposed to drive in Indonesia, and if they're going to get you in trouble for it anywhere, I've heard they're going to get you in Bali.  I've been told to keep about Rp50,000 separate so that if I'm stopped I can say that it's all that I have.  It's really an understanding between the police and the drivers: both groups know you shouldn't be driving without an IDP and you'll have to pay if you get caught, but everyone also understands that the money goes right to the cop's pocket so you're going to pay a smaller fee than you would in court.  It's an interesting system, but it works. 

Denpasar is a very typical large Indonesian city in that it's quite dirty, nondescript and dingy, except for the cultural center where most of the museums are.  There are a lot of run-down shops, dozens of carts selling food and petrol along the street, and electrical wires run every which way like a great rubber spiderweb.  My adrenaline is pumping as I try to look for police, look for signs, and lookout for the cars around me all at the same time.  It keeps you awake, that's for sure.  I took the highway into town and it was a great road: wide, well paved, well regulated (considering having 4 scooters across one lane is well within regulations) and quick.  So at least I'm making good time!

One thing that's really cool is that I keep going through these gigantic stone gates that are very intricately carved and at least ten steps up from the simpler ones at the entrance to the beach.  It would be cool if they used to be the entrance to a village or something, but they're gorgeous anyway.  The main square of Denpasar follows the theme of these gates and is like a world apart from the rest of the town.  The main temple and the Bali National Museum are side by side and their matching entrances promise you a trip back in time to when Bali was covered in jungle, not sprawl.  I didn't go through the museum, but got to enjoy a gamilan performance and a peaceful stroll through the temple before strolling through a nearby park.

Denpasar was nice enough, but didn't have much to hold my attention so I headed back south to the very tip of Bali where I could go back to the beaches and visit the sea-side temples.  The roads are definitely much quieter down here and the single-lane streets are edged by trees and fields rather than long lines of houses and shops.  My first stop was Uluwatu, the southernmost beach, and my plan was to park and wander north from beach to beach, stopping for food or sunbathing or a drink whenever I felt like it.

Um, that didn't happen.  Here's why------------------->

So as you can see Uluwatu isn't so much a 'beach' as a death trap for anyone who isn't a professional surfer.  The only way to get your board into the water is to walk down nearly a hundred stairs and wind through a canyon that has been carved out by thousands of years of rushing water.  If you go back up those stairs and walk along the top of the cliff you get amazing view and little restaurants and shops.  And did I mention absolutely insane views?  Gorgeous.  The next beach, Padang Padang, was similar, but not as impressive and with a definite beach area.  This is where I enjoyed a banana pancake and a jafle (grilled sandwich) followed by a quick swim (if you can call digging your feet into the sand and fighting against worringly strong currents a swim).  I walked a little ways to see how far the beach extended, but as soon I walked around a large rock it was just me and the ocean smashing up against lava rock.  So I just walked back to the beach and pretended to be as rich as the Europeans there who must have been too good for Kuta.

At this point I drove back to Uluwatu to see the massive Hindu temple there just before sunset.  Were you wondering when the crash was going to come in?  Well, here it is, and I'm not too proud to admit that it was pretty much my fault.  If you've read any of the entries before this you have an idea of how most Indonesians drive, and weaving your motorbike between cars is considered normal practice.  And of course I want to experience the "real" Indonesia, so I was weaving a bit, too, and managed to weave my left handlebar into a truck that was pulling off to the side of the road.  The loud scream that came from a woman by the side of the road may have been a bit unnecessary, but it's true this was my most impressive crash so far.  I wobbled to the right then fell to the left and did a somersault onto the road, skinning my hand, shoulder, and arm.  I was a bit sore on my left side for the rest of the day, but big kudos to my camera bag for keeping everything intact, my helmet for keeping me conscious, my pants for not ripping, and my glasses for not shattering!  My motorbike, well, that suffered a big more damage and in fact I almost couldn't get it running again.  The only way the engine would stay on is if I held the throttle down, at least a bit, and revved the engine even while I was stopped.  It took some practice and stalling several times to get the trick down, but at least I made it to the temple and wasn't stuck in Podunk, Indonesia.

The temple was beautiful and very extensive, and it was really enchanting to see people using it to worship.  It felt good that I wasn't just going to another old building, but rather a place that is still an important part of the culture of Bali.  Oh, just be careful of the monkeys--they're everywhere and very active, if you know what I mean!

Still a bit shaky after my crash, I wasn't excited to be back on the motorbike again, but it turned out to be good that I was because I was able to stop when I noticed a big crowd in traditional dress walking into a temple.  I walked up to the gate and was shocked to see a large crowd watching a procession headed into the heart of the temple.  There were elaborate costumes, a full gamilan orchestra playing, and a large animal (lion? dragon?) made of people like you would see in China.  It was beautiful!  I was totally enraptured and it gave me a huge thrill to see so unexpectedly such an incredible display!  This may be an ordinary thing for the Balinese, but I was speechless and just in awe.

Finally, I continue back up to Seminyak and ask for a table at Trattoria.  Lonely Planet swears it's the best Italian in the area, and based on the size of the crowd it seems lots of people would agree with that.  I ordered some of the local wine (very delicious), an arugula and goat cheese pizza (yummmmm) and panna cotta for dessert.  It's such a romantic restaurant, like the place Lady and the tramp ate outside of--opera playing, candlelight, the whole place open to the sidewalk--it kinda sucks that I'm the only person here dining alone, and it isn't helping me that at the table on my right there are ten girls that look about thirteen years old.  They're definitely American, and I would love to know how they managed to convince their parents that 1. those outfits are ok for their age and 2. they should go to Indonesia on their summer break.  But the food is delicious, even without company although it would be nice to get away from the ever-present Jack Johnson soundtrack that brings back too many memories.  Next time I come to Indonesia I'm bringing CDs to ask the restaurants to play while I'm eating. 

Finally, after one hell of a day absolutely filled to the brim, I clench up again and ride the throttle back to my hotel.  I manage to get it parked in one of the far spots and at this point all I can do is hope that I don't have to pay hundreds of thousands of rupiah in repairs.  Now, I know with these rental bikes people fall over or crash all the time (there were several scrapes on it before I hopped on), but is it really bad that I don't point out if I knock a mirror crooked or something like that?  Whenever I've ridden with someone they've always said, 'Oh, don't worry about it unless they find it and bring it up.  You can deal with it then.'  So it seems like most people don't really have a problem sweeping a few problems under the rug, and I have to admit I'm on their side with this one.  Does this make me a bad person?

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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.

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