Yes, I've thrown in the towel on Indonesia, and now that I've left the country I finally appreciate it (a bit). Traveling in Java was difficult, and annoying and frustrating and honestly, the payoffs weren't that great. You know when you've endured a shitty, overnight, 12+ hour developing country bus ride but then you get to see an amazing landscape or take a death-defying bike ride, so it's all worth it? Yeah, well the amazing part just never really happened in Indonesia. Maybe it was because I was there in the off/rainy season, but every volcano I tried to see or wanted to climb was closed or clouded over, every temple I visited was fogged in, and I just didn't click with Indonesians. I attracted a lot of (unwanted) attention. In Malang, my tour guide, Helmy, thought it was great to have a private, full-day English lesson with a real teacher, and one with "sexy" tattoos! I didn't think it was so great, as I was the one paying for the English lesson, and you know how much energy it takes to make small talk all day in ESL! Another time, I had a lovely waiter at one restaurant that started the conversation as all Indonesians do, with "Where do you come from? Where are you staying?" Since this is normal in Indonesia, I told him which hotel I was at and he promptly asked if he could come to my room later! Ah, just because I'm wearing a tank top and I'm white doesn't mean I'm a hooker, thank you very much. Perhaps I really just needed a friend to laugh with about these misadventures.
While I did avoid the local bus for further legs of my trip, kicking it up a notch with my door-to-door shuttle service to Solo was not without it's particular Indonesian charms. I had yet to be introduced to the phenomenon of back alleys coming alive during the day with the hustle & bustle of a local neighborhood. Arriving in Solo at 4am, the driver pulled up to an ominously dark back alley, the entrance to which was gated and deadbolted and told me this was the address of my guesthouse. Without a cell phone or any skills in Indonesian, I frantically looked up the word "afraid" in my phrasebook, and kept repeating in English, "You can't leave me here!" while the driver promptly unloaded my bags and tried to take off. Luckily the girl with us understood and let me use her phone to call the guesthouse and someone came to meet me. I must admit, the idea of spending the night outside in an Indonesian alley had me a little frazzled, but the next morning I realized all was right in the world, though, as life in the alley went on as usual, bikes zipping through, chickens running around, teenage boys fixing up their motorbikes, ladies selling food. Solo turned out to be a much nicer city than Malang, the people were friendly and apparently more accustomed to seeing a foreigner or two, and there was more to see and do. But still, nothing had really clicked.
Things got better in Yogyakarta, as I knew they would. I made friends, I tried curious Indonesian food from restaurants set up on the backs of a motorbikes, and I finally saw some sites worth writing home about. The kraton (palace) in Yogya is spectacular, and it is home to a walled-in village of all the families that historically worked for the sultan. I spend an entire day wandering through the alleys, running into living room karaoke sessions, children bike racing, and rows and rows of chirping birds. The Taman Sari is the private swimming pools of the sultan and his harem of mistresses and was beautiful. I ran into a guy on the street who offered to take me to Mt Merapi for $5 - the tour companies were selling the same trip for $15, so of course I said yes. Mt Merapi is the volcano that has recently erupted and the surrounding countryside is a desolate, barren ground of volcanic ash and dead trees. I should have known for a full-day $5 tour something was too good to be true, and yes, I spent the last 3 hours of my afternoon sitting at a motorbike repairshop in the middle of nowhere because our 1970s motorbike had broken down. I also visited Borobudur, the largest Buddhist monument in the world, and a UNESCO World Heritage site, but was more impressed with Prambanan, a Hindu temple also just outside the city.
I left Yogya with Carlos, a Colombian guy I'd made friends with, heading towards Jakarta with a stop at the Dieng Plateau, an area with Hindu temples, surrounded by volcanos and bubbling sulphur lakes. Supposedly a beautiful place to visit. Well, it was hell getting there on our own steam, one of the buses we rode in actually had a roof partially duct taped together and I watched the road whiz by underneath us through the rusted out holes in the floor. Carlos said, and I quote "I've been more comfortable in toilets in India." Furthermore, we ran into several different people who didn't want us to stay at their hotel, ride on their bus, eat in their restaurant... was it because we were bule, non-Muslim, not married? We never figured it out, but it certainly wasn't pleasant to be blatantly discriminated against. To top it all off, the Dieng Plateau was a big bust, the temples were small and crumbling, the volcanos clouded over, the bubbling sulfur lake surrounded by swarms of tourists. Carlos and I had both had enough of Indonesia, but there was one last stop: Jakarta!
As the train rolled into Jakarta, we passed an extensive shanty town built up alongside the tracks. Shacks built out of wood, metal, cardboard, tarps; fires burning between the tracks, chickens pecking around garbage piles, people cooking on open fires, naked babies running around, all against the backdrop of a bustling capital city. Jakarta was actually the first place in Indonesia where I thought, "Wow. This is amazing." Obviously for reasons other than natural beauty and endearing charm. The smog hangs so thick in the air you can't get a clean breath and it's virtually impossible to find green space or any kind of quiet. My first hotel was clean, at least, but as soon as I settled in for a snooze I realized there was a sewage trough running directly outside my window which, while slightly unpleasant, was not actually the straw that broke the camel's back on Indonesia. No, what took the cake was the 4am wake up call from the mosque next door (no matter where I stayed, there was a mosque next door), after which the streets wake up and erupt with the sounds of people yelling, ringing bells, honking car horns, screeching brakes, kids screaming, etc. After a completely sleepless Jakarta night I told myself, "Screw it, I'm outta here!" (although I may have been thinking something more expletive)
Since I didn't run into a lot of other travellers in Java, I spent a lot of my time being introspective, and while reflection is lovely, I have enough time in my regular life to be introspective, and this trip was supposed to be a welcome distraction. I've had so many ups and downs on this trip, sometimes within the same hour like when you arrive at a crowded bus station and you don't speak the language and everyone is yelling at you to get in their taxi, and you've got a 30lb backpack on, and the sweat is dripping off your nose, and the map you have doesn't make sense and besides no one in this country even knows how to read a map, but then you find a nice (or at least clean) guesthouse and wander down the streets and see a little kid, butt naked and fully soaped up running away from his mom who is trying to give him a cold-water, plastic bucket, side-of-the-road bath, and you just have to smile at this crazy world we live in. Travelling alone, it can be scary thinking that you're the only one who's got your back, but it's also empowering. I've learned that the down moments pass, always, and that's a relief. But I've learned to really appreciate and savor the good moments because they too, can be just as fleeting.
Anyway, my only revenge was to go somewhere fun, so now I'm on the beaches in Thailand, drinking banana shakes, lounging in hammocks in raggae bars, scuba diving with sharks, working on my tan, and having way more fun!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Java Java
So it took me until my last few days in Bali to finally appreciate the lounging around. After three days of constant rain, the sun finally and gloriously started shining, and I was able to get a pretty rockin' tan while reading and drinking beer by the pool. It was a great way to spend the last few days with ol' Mom & Pops. We said a tearful goodbye (well, Mom was the one crying) as I made my way to Java and they to the land down under. I hopped onto a bemo, a minivan kind of thing that took me to the ferry terminal on the western tip of Bali. Twenty minutes on the road and this cute little old shoeless, toothless guy got on, shook my hand and plopped into the seat behind me. A few seconds later, I felt his hand reach around and pat me on the stomach. I smiled and nodded, as I like to be a good sport about these little cultural idiosyncrasies, and who knows what kind of greeting a pat on the stomach could mean? But when he then tried to lift up my shirt, I realized as I pushed his hand away that he was just a pervy old drunk and that, apparently, transcends cultural boundaries!
I got off the bemo and wandered over to the ferry terminal, stopping every 10 metres to ask for directions in my non-existant Indonesian, and waiting to see the tourist buses that were surely going from Bali to Java, but none arrived. Looked like I was on my lonesome, but two girls who'd chartered their own car and driver did show up on the ferry so I hitched a ride into town with them, saving myself one headache but acquiring another one when they dropped me off in the middle of a town that I had no map for. As you can perhaps imagine, streets in Indonesia are hardly labeled in any kind of coherent or recognizable way, so I wandered into the nearest store and used my miming and sign language skills to ask where to go (good thing I've played so many Charades!). Some guys at the store offered me a ride, and as I threw my bags into their car the thought briefly crossed my mind that something could go really awry here, but then I realized I just had to trust. So I did and here I am.
My reason for stopping on the easternmost edge of Java, which hardly sees any tourists, was to hike Kawah Ijen, a crater lake in Ijen volcano. Ijen is very aesthetically impressive, spectacular and otherwordly, but even more impressive are the men who climb up to the rim and down into the crater to gather sulphur. It's a back-breaking job, and while one miner might carry out a 60-80kg load, it only pays 600Rp per kilo (about 6 cents). I made friends with a Frenchie at my hotel, and while I paid $40 to hire a jeep to drive up to Ijen, she had her own motorbike so followed us on her own. On the hike up we met many miners coming down with their loads who would let us take their pictures for a cigarette or two. Because the Frenchie and I are both adventurous women, we gladly took up one miner's offer to lead us down to the very bottom of the crater, to the very site where sulphur spews out from the bowels of the volcano, and as it hardens they are there with pick-axes chopping it off. Their safety gear includes dish towels wrapped around their faces and rubber boots. It was kind of the craziest place I've ever been. Not to mention that we had to climb back out on our own and the sulphur fumes made us dizzy and perhaps disoriented and we lost the trail. Kind of scary, but really quite exciting! I kept telling myself that if the volcano erupted at least I wouldn't feel a thing.
My next stop was Malang, and I found myself an economy bus, which, while offered at a very affordable price, I learned for the following reasons never to make the mistake of taking again:
1. An economy bus will roll nearly to a stop in every single village while the driver's assistant leans out the front door yelling out the destinations so people can run along beside the bus and hop on. Since Java appears to be basically a continuous stream of villages, we mostly operated on a rolling along speed.
2. There's one rule of the road in Indonesia: if your vehicle is bigger, you have the right-of-way. Since we were in a large bus, that meant not only did we have the right-of-way, but also that the driver could pass any number of vehicles and any oncoming traffic would have to swerve into the ditch to avoid being hit.
3. As a courtesy to oncoming traffic, you know to let them know we were barreling down the wrong side of the road towards them, the driver steadily held down not only the regular bus horn but also blew the air-brakes at regular three minute intervals.
4. I am fairly conspicuous as a woman traveling alone, and add to that the fact that even with my new tan I am really white and was wearing a tank top. I might as well have had flashing sirens on my head. But economy buses are not air conditioned, or even well-ventilated, so as the beads of sweat literally dripped off my nose and between my boobs I actually put a t-shirt on, just to avoid being stared at.
5. While stopped in each and every village, a steady stream of peanut and rice vendors and three-piece bands would jump on, do their thing and then shove a plastic bag in your face expecting money, like it was a pleasant experience to have a guy playing makeshift bongo drums in your ear.
6. Right when you might get comfortable, when the bus is on the highway, driving at a normal speed, and you have just pulled out your really good book to read, the driver's assistant will think it an opportune time to throw on the ol' Indonesian karaoke discs at top volume.
7. You can still smoke anywhere in Indonesia, and that includes on economy buses.
I'm sure I haven't even exhausted the list of reasons, but those were certainly the top contenders. Needless to say, I've splurged on a door-to-door shuttle service to my next destination, Solo. And by splurge I mean I spent $10 on an 8 hour journey. My hopes for Malang were to hike Mt. Bromo, another volcano, but it is currently causing radars to blip so it's not possible to climb. I've spend a quiet two days in town, and hired a motorbike & driver to take me around to some of the sights. As it turns out, I am the most interesting sight in Malang, perhaps in all of East Java! Everywhere I go children say hello and then giggle hysterically and run away when I reply, women turn their heads 180 degrees just to get a better look, groups of men shout out from their vehicles "I love you!" It's really quite uncomfortable. It doesn't feel threatening in any way, but I am looking forward to getting to the Javanese tourist mecca of Yogyakarta so I won't feel like I escaped from the circus sideshow.
I got off the bemo and wandered over to the ferry terminal, stopping every 10 metres to ask for directions in my non-existant Indonesian, and waiting to see the tourist buses that were surely going from Bali to Java, but none arrived. Looked like I was on my lonesome, but two girls who'd chartered their own car and driver did show up on the ferry so I hitched a ride into town with them, saving myself one headache but acquiring another one when they dropped me off in the middle of a town that I had no map for. As you can perhaps imagine, streets in Indonesia are hardly labeled in any kind of coherent or recognizable way, so I wandered into the nearest store and used my miming and sign language skills to ask where to go (good thing I've played so many Charades!). Some guys at the store offered me a ride, and as I threw my bags into their car the thought briefly crossed my mind that something could go really awry here, but then I realized I just had to trust. So I did and here I am.
My reason for stopping on the easternmost edge of Java, which hardly sees any tourists, was to hike Kawah Ijen, a crater lake in Ijen volcano. Ijen is very aesthetically impressive, spectacular and otherwordly, but even more impressive are the men who climb up to the rim and down into the crater to gather sulphur. It's a back-breaking job, and while one miner might carry out a 60-80kg load, it only pays 600Rp per kilo (about 6 cents). I made friends with a Frenchie at my hotel, and while I paid $40 to hire a jeep to drive up to Ijen, she had her own motorbike so followed us on her own. On the hike up we met many miners coming down with their loads who would let us take their pictures for a cigarette or two. Because the Frenchie and I are both adventurous women, we gladly took up one miner's offer to lead us down to the very bottom of the crater, to the very site where sulphur spews out from the bowels of the volcano, and as it hardens they are there with pick-axes chopping it off. Their safety gear includes dish towels wrapped around their faces and rubber boots. It was kind of the craziest place I've ever been. Not to mention that we had to climb back out on our own and the sulphur fumes made us dizzy and perhaps disoriented and we lost the trail. Kind of scary, but really quite exciting! I kept telling myself that if the volcano erupted at least I wouldn't feel a thing.
My next stop was Malang, and I found myself an economy bus, which, while offered at a very affordable price, I learned for the following reasons never to make the mistake of taking again:
1. An economy bus will roll nearly to a stop in every single village while the driver's assistant leans out the front door yelling out the destinations so people can run along beside the bus and hop on. Since Java appears to be basically a continuous stream of villages, we mostly operated on a rolling along speed.
2. There's one rule of the road in Indonesia: if your vehicle is bigger, you have the right-of-way. Since we were in a large bus, that meant not only did we have the right-of-way, but also that the driver could pass any number of vehicles and any oncoming traffic would have to swerve into the ditch to avoid being hit.
3. As a courtesy to oncoming traffic, you know to let them know we were barreling down the wrong side of the road towards them, the driver steadily held down not only the regular bus horn but also blew the air-brakes at regular three minute intervals.
4. I am fairly conspicuous as a woman traveling alone, and add to that the fact that even with my new tan I am really white and was wearing a tank top. I might as well have had flashing sirens on my head. But economy buses are not air conditioned, or even well-ventilated, so as the beads of sweat literally dripped off my nose and between my boobs I actually put a t-shirt on, just to avoid being stared at.
5. While stopped in each and every village, a steady stream of peanut and rice vendors and three-piece bands would jump on, do their thing and then shove a plastic bag in your face expecting money, like it was a pleasant experience to have a guy playing makeshift bongo drums in your ear.
6. Right when you might get comfortable, when the bus is on the highway, driving at a normal speed, and you have just pulled out your really good book to read, the driver's assistant will think it an opportune time to throw on the ol' Indonesian karaoke discs at top volume.
7. You can still smoke anywhere in Indonesia, and that includes on economy buses.
I'm sure I haven't even exhausted the list of reasons, but those were certainly the top contenders. Needless to say, I've splurged on a door-to-door shuttle service to my next destination, Solo. And by splurge I mean I spent $10 on an 8 hour journey. My hopes for Malang were to hike Mt. Bromo, another volcano, but it is currently causing radars to blip so it's not possible to climb. I've spend a quiet two days in town, and hired a motorbike & driver to take me around to some of the sights. As it turns out, I am the most interesting sight in Malang, perhaps in all of East Java! Everywhere I go children say hello and then giggle hysterically and run away when I reply, women turn their heads 180 degrees just to get a better look, groups of men shout out from their vehicles "I love you!" It's really quite uncomfortable. It doesn't feel threatening in any way, but I am looking forward to getting to the Javanese tourist mecca of Yogyakarta so I won't feel like I escaped from the circus sideshow.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Bali adventures
Life is slow here in Bali and craving some adventure, I convinced my parents to go white water rafting. We went on the Telagawaja river, the one with "big water" and a 4 metre waterfall drop at the end (more like the log jam at the PNE, but still fun). Something must have gotten lost in translation, as I think the locals confused "big water" with "big rocks" because we basically spent the afternoon playing bumper cars with giant boulders and/or being grounded on them, and our guide's role mostly involved wrestling awkwardly with our boat. The saving grace was the spectacular scenery; untouched jungles, pristine waterfalls, little kids running around and of course naked, bathing men (naturally, Mom mostly gawked rather than paddled).
Our education in Balinese culture continues and we took a Balinese cooking class in Ubud - the food is awesome here, I thought I'd lose some weight from all the sweating, but I doubt it, especially since they cook everything in a lot of oil - coconut oil! We started the day with a visit to the market in Ubud, always a favourite activity of mine. As far as markets in developing countries goes, this one was pretty typical: spices, crafts, vegetables, fly-covered meat hanging out in the open, mangy dogs sniffing around and eating stuff, discarded fruit peels and other garbage, people shouting, handling money, bagging goods, and of course yelling at you to buy their stuff, but this time with the added bonus of a half-dead eel writhing around on the floor. That was new.
There are some walks around Ubud mapped out in the Lonely Planet that sounded lovely and Mom was dying to do. One promised crossing rice fields, jungle trekking, an artisan village and vistas of the Ayung River. So, faces firmly glued to the LP map in our book, Mom & I headed out. After half an hour of walking past nothing pretty, or interesting, we found ourselves wondering where the hell these damn rice paddies were. Toot toot! Oh, here comes our new best friend, Made! He told us, "You're looking too closely at your Lonely Planet. Follow me." True, and how convenient that he showed up right at the precise spot we needed to cross a (mostly hidden) bamboo pole bridge and climb a hill through the jungle in order to find our coveted rice fields. We emerged onto a prairie of rice, 123 plots, through which we had to navigate along the 6-inch terraced walls of each individual plot. We zig-zagged through the plots, careful not to fall into the murky, muddy, eel and frog-filled fields. Made led us past laundry hanging on trees (no lines required!), waving above the irrigation ditch, "the back way" to the village of Sayan (a bit of a fixer-upper if you ask me). We followed him across a busy street and down the near vertical stairs of a privately-owned estate that overlooked the Ayung River valley, and it did feel like a little slice of paradise. We then had to billy goat our way uphill through dense jungle, which finally gave way to a huge pile of garbage, naturally (nowhere to put your refuse? throw it in the jungle!), and a family compound. Surprise, surprise, it was Made's house! We knew it was coming, that he would expect money but it was worth it. There's no way any foreigner, no matter how closely they were following their LP, could have ever navigated their way through that trail!
We've made our way to Lovina, a sleepy town on the north coast, where we're doing more of that lounging around. Mom & Dad are afraid to ride motorbikes so we rented some bicycles and tried to visit a waterfall, but abandoned ship when we were accosted by a dozen local guys trying to convince (or intimidate) us that we needed a guide to get to the top, when we could clearly see the staircase. I did however, when offered, take a swig of their back-alley local homebrew "coconut sake," which got me yelled at by Mom and tasted bad anyway. Our bike ride continued uphill (would've been way easier on those motorbikes!) to a hot spring filled with locals, most of whom were Muslim and wearing all of their clothes! (I was happy to flounced around in my bikini.)
Lovina is close-ish to Menjangan Island, one of Indonesia's best dive sites, so off we went. Mom freaked out when she saw the dive boat, somewhat comparable to a rescue raft. The boats were no problem with me, we were floating weren't we? I was paying more attention to the Slovenian guy that changed into his speedo in the boat and then sat across from me with his balls hanging out for the rest of the ride. They didn't advertise that! I had wanted to see the Eel Garden and since I was the only certified diver, I got to go on my own with the guide and we swam right over to it. We hovered in the middle of the eels and they popped back out of their holes, surrounding us in a field of eels. I felt just like a camera in Planet Earth, it was totally awesome! I also saw a turtle, my first one, and flailing along behind the turtle was Dad, attempting to get comfortable underwater on his intro dive! So far, so good!
Our education in Balinese culture continues and we took a Balinese cooking class in Ubud - the food is awesome here, I thought I'd lose some weight from all the sweating, but I doubt it, especially since they cook everything in a lot of oil - coconut oil! We started the day with a visit to the market in Ubud, always a favourite activity of mine. As far as markets in developing countries goes, this one was pretty typical: spices, crafts, vegetables, fly-covered meat hanging out in the open, mangy dogs sniffing around and eating stuff, discarded fruit peels and other garbage, people shouting, handling money, bagging goods, and of course yelling at you to buy their stuff, but this time with the added bonus of a half-dead eel writhing around on the floor. That was new.
There are some walks around Ubud mapped out in the Lonely Planet that sounded lovely and Mom was dying to do. One promised crossing rice fields, jungle trekking, an artisan village and vistas of the Ayung River. So, faces firmly glued to the LP map in our book, Mom & I headed out. After half an hour of walking past nothing pretty, or interesting, we found ourselves wondering where the hell these damn rice paddies were. Toot toot! Oh, here comes our new best friend, Made! He told us, "You're looking too closely at your Lonely Planet. Follow me." True, and how convenient that he showed up right at the precise spot we needed to cross a (mostly hidden) bamboo pole bridge and climb a hill through the jungle in order to find our coveted rice fields. We emerged onto a prairie of rice, 123 plots, through which we had to navigate along the 6-inch terraced walls of each individual plot. We zig-zagged through the plots, careful not to fall into the murky, muddy, eel and frog-filled fields. Made led us past laundry hanging on trees (no lines required!), waving above the irrigation ditch, "the back way" to the village of Sayan (a bit of a fixer-upper if you ask me). We followed him across a busy street and down the near vertical stairs of a privately-owned estate that overlooked the Ayung River valley, and it did feel like a little slice of paradise. We then had to billy goat our way uphill through dense jungle, which finally gave way to a huge pile of garbage, naturally (nowhere to put your refuse? throw it in the jungle!), and a family compound. Surprise, surprise, it was Made's house! We knew it was coming, that he would expect money but it was worth it. There's no way any foreigner, no matter how closely they were following their LP, could have ever navigated their way through that trail!
We've made our way to Lovina, a sleepy town on the north coast, where we're doing more of that lounging around. Mom & Dad are afraid to ride motorbikes so we rented some bicycles and tried to visit a waterfall, but abandoned ship when we were accosted by a dozen local guys trying to convince (or intimidate) us that we needed a guide to get to the top, when we could clearly see the staircase. I did however, when offered, take a swig of their back-alley local homebrew "coconut sake," which got me yelled at by Mom and tasted bad anyway. Our bike ride continued uphill (would've been way easier on those motorbikes!) to a hot spring filled with locals, most of whom were Muslim and wearing all of their clothes! (I was happy to flounced around in my bikini.)
Lovina is close-ish to Menjangan Island, one of Indonesia's best dive sites, so off we went. Mom freaked out when she saw the dive boat, somewhat comparable to a rescue raft. The boats were no problem with me, we were floating weren't we? I was paying more attention to the Slovenian guy that changed into his speedo in the boat and then sat across from me with his balls hanging out for the rest of the ride. They didn't advertise that! I had wanted to see the Eel Garden and since I was the only certified diver, I got to go on my own with the guide and we swam right over to it. We hovered in the middle of the eels and they popped back out of their holes, surrounding us in a field of eels. I felt just like a camera in Planet Earth, it was totally awesome! I also saw a turtle, my first one, and flailing along behind the turtle was Dad, attempting to get comfortable underwater on his intro dive! So far, so good!
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