~ eight miles high ~
Thurs. Mar.11. The plan. A few lazy days, a week maybe somewhere on Pulau Madura. Why Madura? Cheese and rice. I dunno. It's a place I haven't been to. It doesn't by all accounts have that many foreign tourists. It has lots of local ones. The girls thereabouts are very accommodating or so I've heard. But most importantly, it's probably got at least one beach. It's been a month since Saigon, and I haven't stayed at or been to a beach yet! Come to think of it, a peach by the beach might be story. After Madura the half-plan is to check Surabaya and Ujang Pandang [Sulawesi] out for jobs, right. Right! I'd also like to visit Mt. Bromo from Surabaya. Forget about Bali. I'm just not interested. However, Flores and Sumbawa are two more places I'd like to visit. But I don't think so this trip if I don't go there straight away. Cash. I've got about US$1,700! I still have the passport problem to resolve too. Remember. Like I've got one full free page left and the looming extension of the Indonesian visa. Anyway, the most exciting thing is about to happen. A flight. In a plane. My first in seven years!
So back to Bullshittinggi, oh sorry, Bukittinggi. From Maninjau I ride a share-taxi for the local price of Rp.13k. Once in Bukittinggi, at the bus station, I head by microlet back at the Germans' place. Thoughts are...it feels like a cocoon. Back at a backpackers' place with no locals. I have a different room, but of course still up on the rooftop. I listen to Frank Zappa overlaid by the intersection noise. Can't help thinking ~ could've, would've should've. Like...I shouldv'e gone out to Maninjau earlier in the piece and been able to spend more time there. But I've already got the onward ticket to Surabaya. So just a quick whistle-wind tour of Indonesia it's gonna be this time. At least I made it to Sumatra this time! And for the future, I know that Maninjau is my kinda place. That's if it doesn't change that much in the interim.
Some family history comes to mind. Back in 1953, after George and Mary had their first child, a son, whom they named David, they didn't stop cycling. Every free moment, weekends and holidays, they continued to 'go camping'. So, for the formative years of his life, David moved...moved quietly...along uncongested Scottish, country roads and through relatively unspoiled and undeveloped countrysides, on the two-wheeled cycle machine. David moved, as his early world moved. And he observed and recorded those moving scenes. Maybe it's something like that? For some it's the security of the 'womb', for me it's being perched on a bike and the bird's nest view. I dunno. But...being free, being without dependence...being able to travel.
There's a definite buzz that I get when I arrive at a place...even just returning to one after 4 days. With a new place that buzz usually lasts a good 3 or 4 days. I rarely smoke these days and don't drink [now]. Gotta get a buzz from somewhere, I guess! But hey, I'm only here in Bukittinggi for one night. I use up the buzz-energy on the German. Like, after my stay at Maninjau, I'm feeling relaxed and centred. Connected [that's the buzz!]. Understandably enough I chat amicably with Ulrich owner of Rajawali Hotel. I was pissed off with his place a little because Indonesia isn't like it was. Cheap, I mean. Actually now that I'm in a different space, Ulrich seems not such a bad fellow after all. Tells me about his main interest in life here...GPS and mapping etc. He convinces me that my next camera must have GPS capability. Information on the exact location of shots! He mentions that the University of Texas website is the place for excellent although somewhat old maps. He shows me the one he downloaded of Sumatra and customized using software such as 'Touratech QV4' and 'Mapwel 2009'.
Fri. Mar.12
I miss flying on the unlucky-for-some day! Leave Bukittinggi at the pre-arranged time of 5.45am. in unaccustomed luxury in the form of a flash, comfy, shared taxi courtesy of Jogya Travel. It's not free but not such an expensive way to wake up (Rp.40k). Down the early-morning road then to Padang Airport on the coast. The road is relatively quiet. The jungle sections are very reminiscent of around Reefton in the South Island. Perhaps the railway line aids this. The size of the road too and the nature of the drive....amazing! Amazing is the driving also.If you've been to Indonesia and traveled to any extent you know. What side of the road are they supposed to drive on? But we arrive safe and sound. I've now got three hours to kill. We left at such an early hour because earlier flights are being catered for. Turns out they're delayed anyway. At the check in my pack weighs only 17.5 kg. I've got 8kg to burn. Without asking for it I'm allocated a window seat. But in the eventuality, it turns out it's on "the seaside" of the plane for flight down. No volcanic mountain shots. Ah well...something to think about next time. Some cloud and looking down on coastal towns, meandering rivers shots will suffice.
I'm thinking how insignificant I am, up here 8 miles high. First time I've flown for 7 years, ya. Shows how I have been traveling for those past years in S.E.Asia...and filled up two passports in the process. We arrive for the stopover at Soekarno-Hatta Airport, Jakarta. The transfer check-in avoids another leaving tax of around Rp.35k. I'm given a window seat over over a wing. It's no big deal. I'm too tired to take pfotos anyway. Outside the Jakarta terminal during the stop-over. Don't get lost now. I wander and have lunch. I order by copying the customer in front. For Rp.25k, which isn't bad for an airport. It's the first rice I've eaten for a long time. I really got into the Indian in Malaysia knowing that I'd be back to rice here. I observe the odd foreigner...expats and backpackers floating around. And yes, this is where the young people are, for sure. About half of them, trendy girls looking good. Eye candy. Not your average big-bummed country girls. Rather the country girl who goes to Hollywood and wants to be fashionable and trendy...and contemporarily sexy. I'm thinking that because of Indonesian girls' conservative cover-all dress code, the country girls when they're in the country, aren't so conscious of their hidden body-shapes. Some of their weight's due to their diet too...and the use of motorbikes.
Friday ends with a tired traveler in a great room for a very reasonable price. Indonesia, just the way I remembered things on previous encounters. Here's what happens. I decide when I'm on the plane to try to make Madura tonight. I want to avoid expensive, tiring, time wasting in the big city. There'll be enough of that later when I've decided to look for work here. We arrive at Surabaya airport about 3.30pm...only slightly late. I'm really tired. Airport bus. It's a rip-off. But not about being a rich foreigner. Everyone pays the same. It takes us to a bus station not far away. And there's a bus just leaving for Madura! But where on Madura to head for? I don't know the names of any of the towns there. So out comes the guide book...useful for once. The town of Camphlong'll do. It's about halfway along the south coast of Madura to the east. There's a beach there too. It's Rp.25k on the bus. I've no idea of how long it will take. Well, it pisses around the harbour area of Surabaya, stopping, waiting for weekend returnees to their homeland, refugees from the city...in the sleazy side of the port. I'm really very tired when some guy starts up a brief conversation. I head over the street to buy half a dozen 3-in-1 coffee mixes and a couple of liters of water for the bus again. I presume we are taking the ferry across. But it turns out we're going over the SuraMadu Bridge, new since I was last in these parts in 2003.
The bridge is about a quarter of the length of Penang's but Madura is bigger than I imagined. It takes hours and hours to reach Camphlong. It turns out to be a not-too-inviting stopover place. I'm the only foreigner on this local bus of course so 'where stay'. Most of the passengers indicate an expensive-looking hotel...for the tourists. There's got to be cheap places here but I decide to stay on the bus. What's the next town? Well it's the capital of Madura, which I manage to remember by thinking of cheese, Pamekasan. It's the best part of 8.30pm by now. The friendly guy back at Surabaya turns out to be an Islamic teacher on his way home. It's obvious to all that I have very little idea of where I want to go, but I tell him I need to find a losmen or cheaper hotel. So he suggests the Garuda, in the centre of town. Very reasonable he assures me.
He gets off before Pamekasan, but urges me to get an ojek costing about Rp.10k. Pamekasan terminal arrives. Off I get when a plumpish girl in cover-all student garb in her late teens helps. I never noticed her on the bus. She turns out to be a dental student in Surabaya. We ride with her uncle, who's come to pick her up...and they drive me right in to the Garuda Hotel forecourt and reception. And yes, they do have rooms, ranging from Rp.25k. for the standard to Rp.50k. for a bigger one with inside mandi/bathroom]. There's no TV but it's a 5 by 6 meter room, with a 14 ft. stud. The mandi is more than ample tub. The room has a couple of power points unlike the ones in Sumatra...so I can upload fotos, recharge and write up my journal. The dental student is long gone to her uncle's. Pamekasan it turns out doesn't have a beach, but hey, who's dreams come completely true! And that's the story! Bullshittinggi to Pamekasan, Madura in a whole, big, long day. Into the single bed and a deep sleep after a great shower.