Just a hellish Indonesian bus ride, and then some

Travel from Kupang,Timor to Bali in Indonesia

Transcript

Episode 2

“The first Indonesian bus ride.”

Hey there and welcome to episode 2 of my podcast, “Goin’ down the road with Randy”. Be sure to check out my brand new Facebook page – it still has that new Facebook page smell! You can see some pictures of the episodes.

So anyway, I thought it might make some sort of a weird reverse logic if I made this second podcast about our first three weeks in Indonesia to bookend with the first podcast  which, of course, was about our last two weeks in Indonesia.

And, I’m actually going to springboard into Indonesia by quickly talking about our last two weeks in Australia. In the spring we had bought a VW camper van while we were living and working illegally in Sydney. We named her “Stella Blue” and we paid $4000 for her. (Stella was actually registered in South Australia…somehow, even though I have never in my life been to South Australia - I was even able to renew the van’s registration through the mail.) Anyway, we had driven the van up almost the entire east coast of Australia from Sydney to Cairns, and then we turned to the interior of the country, perversely known as the “outback”, a made it all the way to Uluru, which most people know as Ayer’s Rock. From there we headed back north all the way up to Darwin, where we now were waiting to sell the van to get cash to get to Indonesia and the rest of southeast Asia.

In Darwin there is (or at least there was) a sort of unofficial car sale lot on Mitchell Street. Travelers leaving for southeast Asia were selling vehicles to incoming travelers to looking for work. (Darwin being the closest airport to destinations in southeast Asia and Australia being a Commonwealth country in which citizens of Commonwealth countries are allowed to work - legally.) Of course, the conflict is that the travelers coming in had no money and us travelers heading out were looking to cash out and get as much as possible to continue traveling into Asia.

My journal entry for Thursday, September 26th reads:

I’m going to skim over these last ten days in Darwin, mostly because NOTHING HAPPENED! Every day we went down to Mitchell Street to sell the van. Evenings, we’d party, drink some wine, see a movie, or…both, ya know? During this time of time killing we saw, “Terminator 2”, “City Slickers”, “Backdraft”, Naked Gun 2 ½”, and I also read, “The Songlines” by Bruce Chatwin, “A prayer for Owen Meany”, by John Irving, and, “The Fourth Protocol” by Frederick Forsyth.

We finally sold the van for $3700 (Australian) We immediately bought a thousand dollars’ worth of travelers checks each, mailed home lots of souvenirs and generally had a good ol’ time partying like drunken rednecks on payday.

On Wednesday, September 25th we had boarded Merpati flight 841 from Darwin, Australia to Kupang, Timor, Indonesia. We’ve met up with a Welsh couple, Phil and Karen, who had travelled in Africa before Australia and we kind of hit it off with them and in many of the places we were going there would be safety in numbers, they were going our way, so we teamed up.

We landed in Kupang and, as has been said, it hits you with all the shock of Asia. Australia was, of course, very first world but everything changes after a short one hour flight. Suddenly, whammo! “Oh hello, this is different.” I had the sudden realization that I had never actually been in the third world before. We clear Immigration with a 60-day visa after showing our travelers checks and then I changed money and got 2,000 Indonesian rupiah to the dollar for a total of 200,000 rupiah. If I changed half of my money, I’d be an Indonesian millionaire!

We leave the airport and are instantly pounced upon by a friendly horde of local lads all eager to take us someplace to stay. The taxi’s wanted 7500 rupiah – $3.75, but we hike past them to the bemos, local minivans, and get a ride to the Eden Homestay for 500 rupiah, a quarter. I felt like the “real” traveling had begun.

The trip from the airport to the Homestay assailed our senses as only Asia can. The gaily decorated bemos wind their way through streets crowded with other bemos, pedestrians, goats, chickens, children carrying water in buckets suspended from a pole, you name it, all while constantly honking in some kind of taxi morse code known only to them. Everyone smiles.

I mean, everyone smiles. And, suddenly wherever we go we are instantly the center of attention. I mean, “One of these things is not like the others.” And we were it.

We settled in through our rooms at Eden and then the whole group goes into town chaperoned by our new friend Martin, who is organizing a boat trip to Suveo for us. We go to some restaurant and order beers and bottled water and fried noodles and fried rice and the whole bill is less than 5 bucks for the two of us. A room is a buck-fifty with breakfast. A beer is relatively expensive at a dollar 75.  Meals cost maybe a buck or two! I can tell I'm going to love this place! 

After dinner we wandered about and then after we got tired of being on center stage we came home to search out that elusive bottle of arak or sophi or tuak or whatever the local homegrown liquor was called. We finally were led to it, just down the street. 50 cents a bottle. We sampled and bought. Greta said, "The stuff tastes like weak tequila." I think it's kind of winey-tasting, not like spirit. Fermented, not distilled. It's made from palm tree juice. It's not bad though and we enjoy it - especially when it's washed down by a cold-ish Bintang beer.

We carefully tuck in our mosquito nets, purify our water and go to sleep. 

Breakfast the next morning consists of a half of a fried banana sandwich and a glass of tea. We grab a bemo into town and go to the Pelni (ferry) office to book our boat out to Flores island on Monday. We get some food and go to the tourist office. Another bemo takes us to the Impesan Market. What a place! It is the slack time obviously. Half the people are crawled into little holes and sleeping. The other half are staring at us! There are live chickens for sale, dried and fresh fish, quail eggs, betel nut and lots of unrecognizable goods.

 Betel nuts are a fruit of the of a palm tree and they are chewed throughout Southeast Asia producing a mild narcotic effect and voluminous amounts of red spit that you see all over the sidewalk everywhere.

 A man demonstrates the use of betel nut for us, mixing it with a bit of lime and some leaf and putting it in my mouth while another tries to sell me a small live bird on a string for $0.50. I almost but it just to let it go and I’m pretty sure that’s what you’re supposed to do after wishing on it or something. I don’t really know but we wander about until the staring starts getting to us again, so we walked back down to the Eden guest house and had a swim in the lagoon. We watched the local women as skillfully, through dexterous use of their sarong, wash both their clothes and their bodies. They bang the clothes on rocks and soap extensively, and then bang some more. When washing themselves the women managed to cover themselves the whole time. How does one wash oneself while staying fully clothed? They do - it's amazing to watch. And I did. I kept hoping for a little peek but got nothing. What! It's hard-wired. I am not a perv! Anyway, that's what I call, "We spent the afternoon relaxing."

Tonight, we'll go in and have another great, cheap meal. What bliss to not have to cook or pay a lot of money. I think I'm really going to like this country. The people are so friendly and helpful and the countryide is so beautiful, if a bit unsanitary. I ask myself why did we spent nine months in Australia? Fools we were! A clogged mandi is a small price to pay for this type of traveling. Our thousand dollars will last us far more than two months in this country.

But the travel could be challenging as the trip to we took to a town called Soe the next day illustrated. Soe is a small village east of Kupang which is supposedly known for their ikat and since we have a couple of days before the ferry we decide to take a trip. Ikat is a locally woven fabric and is a primary source of income for villagers.

We caught a 4 lamp bemo to the bus terminal. (That's how you tell their route - by the number of lights or lamps.) Immediately upon descending from the bemo we were engulfed in a sea of shouting Indonesians all of them clamoring for us to pick them for the bus ride to Soe. 

Finally, we pick a bus and set off. It is only 110 km – less than 70 miles - to Soe, but it takes us three hours to get there. Not only are the roads very windy, but we also had to stop to let people on and off to sell us boiled eggs, apparently a secondary source of income for villagers. It is amazing how many people will fit on this small bus! There must be twenty. We're cramped between three other people with our knees basically up to our chins. A long 3 hours later we are let off outside the Losman (or, hotel) Anda in Soe. Here we are offered a room for 3500 rupiah ($1.75) per night. We accept and find that this price includes a local guide, Luce, the English teacher at a local school. He takes us to the local market and shows us around. Like the market in Kupang it is a kaleidoscope of sight and sound and smells. Orange-lipped men and women in ikat sarongs squat behind their meagre goods and eye us curiously. Once again we are the center of attention and are offered am "ancient Dutch" sword and an “Old Dutch” coin and other treasures. We decline to buy anything including the ikat we were offered, though it looks good. 

We try to eat but the restaurant was too crowded so we decide to come back later. We go back to the hotel Losman Anda and then go back to the restaurant. What a mistake! The food is now not only cold but the meat is the toughest stuff imaginable - inedible really. Cold food and warm beer and everything sucks. No one finishes their dinner. It puts quite a damper on the evening. But, then this is what travelling is all about, right?

If you think about it, true traveling is all about the suffering. And that means enduring the local transportation with all its heat and <ahem> lack of personal space. In fact, just dealing with the fact there is no concept of the concept of personal space. You eat what is available and often it is unimaginably fantastic and sometimes, it is truly inedible and you are faced with the ignominy of not eating food that other people are dying to eat.

When you step off a bus in a crowded, bustling market, and, like a scene in a movie, the minute you step off, especially if there are only 4 of you, all eyes in the market are instantly locked on you and all activity comes to a stop and you are standing there in really awkward silence, smiling and waving and saying, “Hi! Hello!” and thinking in your head, “We’re here!” and mumbling to yourself in your head, “I’m not sure why we’re here but we’re here!”

Also, please note here that I’m some kind of travel snob – anything that gets you out of your own country and out of your comfort zone is a good thing and a learning experience - but there is a difference between going on a short vacation or a trip and long-term, long-distance, in the hinterlands, traveling. Don’t even get me started on all-inclusive resorts, which in my opinion simply don’t count as traveling. But, hey, it’s just my opinion and like assholes, we all have one. Hell, I am willing to listen to evidence that I may even be one, an asshole, that is!

Anyway, on Monday, September 30th we leave Kupang,  on the island of Timor, Indonesia to travel by ferry to the next island over, Flores. We will be disembarking in Ende a town which sits about midway along the island on its’ southern shore.

We get let off at the harbor and enter the fray. Literally. There are thousands of people lined up to get on this boat. At 10 a.m. the shoving starts. We soon catch on that the gloves are off. There is no such thing as politeness or common courtesy. It’s every man and woman for themselves. That goes for getting onto the boat, then going up the gangplank, and finally finding an empty mattress inside. I am a rather large, if skinny, white male and Phil was a Welsh representative of the same type but we persist and manage to get 5 mats together on Deck 5. We resist repeated and persistent efforts to oust us and settle in for a long 10 hour voyage. 

It's not really uncomfortable, just boring. The meals are rice and cabbage and first fish then chicken. Blah. The most difficult thing is constantly being accosted by well-meaning Indonesians wanting to practice their English. They are friendly and helpful but seem to not know the meaning of privacy. I guess it's because they get so little. Oh well, in a few hours will be in Ende and on a new island Flores and we'll have some more adaptation to do. 

As usual there's a fantastic crush to get off the boat. When they finally get the gang plank down and the doors open hordes of people start piling into the ferry pushing against a great traffic jam of us going in the other direction. Somehow someone manages to stop the flow incoming and controls the situation and we weave our way through the throng. 

Off the ship we are funneled into another, no less numerous, teeming mass of humanity. Bemo drivers clamor for our attention as we run a gauntlet through them. We've already decided to walk to the Losman Ikhlass as the bemos here are a thousand rupiah for the short drive. The losman owner meets us as we emerge from the gauntlet and shepherds us up the road. Losman Ikhlass is very clean and brightly lit and they have an extensive menu. Unfortunately, they aren't actually serving any food right now so we have to content ourselves with a couple of San Miguel beers - not bad for a buck and a quarter. We have a chat around the table and enjoy being off the heaving boat. It seems like luxury to be offered a fan in the room for an extra quarter and so we luxuriate in the languished lap of luxury with our fan.

Flores is the second island we have been to in Indonesia. Some fun facts about Indonesia. It has over 27,000 islands – so we have a ways to go. It is also the 4th most populous country in the world behind the US, China and India. It is the most populous Muslim country in the world and yet, depending on which particular island you are on, there is often a different dominant religious majority. For example, Bali is primarily Hindu. Flores and Timor, where we have been, are mostly Christian. There are also significant Buddhist and Catholic populations. The Indonesian constitution stipulates religious freedom for all.

The thing to do here is to go to a little town called Moni and then hike to the Kelimutu volcano and marvel at the three different colored lakes in its caldera. They are a mystery – no one knows why the three lakes are different colors. One is almost red, another aquamarine and the other more deep green. So, the next day, the first of October, we get a group of nine of us foreigners to hire a bemo for 30,000 rupiah – yeah, divide that nine ways. 

Anyway, if we thought because we hired the bemo that we were going directly we were mistaken.

We drive around Ende an hour while the driver sorts out his affairs for the day so that he can leave. He also has to get gas and we stop by his house where his assistant practices chugging diesel fuel while attempting to siphon it from a small container. He makes an even bigger mistake when he tries the same thing with engine oil! There's not enough so we must go to the gas station where the typical mob scene is in full force. Diesel costs $0.15 a liter regular gas is $0.27 - not bad prices - cheaper than the US! With that done we are finally off up the windy, bumpy mostly unpaved road inexorably up to Moni. The scenery is magnificent. Symmetrically perfect volcanoes keep watch over lush green idyllic rice patties. It's a scene just begging for Kodak if anybody knows what that is anymore. The thatched roofs of the houses add to the pastoral quality. Flores seems so green compared with Timor - more like what I imagine Asia to be like. Steep, green hills and low valleys filled with rice paddies. 

Moni is a small village in the shadow of the triple volcano known as Kelimutu. We have missed the morning market but check into the Amino Moe Homestay and wander about the village admiring the ikat. I even buy a small scarf from a woman weaving in her front yard while her mother ties the threads to be dyed in the house behind. Chickens poke about in the yard while they work. We go on up and explore the waterfall and the hot springs and return to Amino Moe pay for a huge smorgasbord lunch for only $0.75 - all you can eat and more! In the afternoon we go up to suss out the shortcut up to Kelimutu. We walk up the steep hill, getting spectacular views over the valley and on our return Greta takes a dip in the hot springs. We enjoy another huge fantastic meal and a few rather tepid Bintang beers in the evening but we make it an early night. 

Wednesday October 2nd Don’t say

Because we have to wake up early at 2:30 a.m. to begin the hike up to Kelimutu. Personally, let me just say that I don’t get the whole “You must wake up to see the sunrise on the volcano.” I’m like, “How ‘bout we wake up late and catch it on sunset? Right? Like, how many people do that” We stumble past the waterfall in the dark and then up the hill which somehow seems to have grown not only steeper but also longer overnight.  We pass sleeping villages and finally reach the road where we stopped to have some water and a snack.

The sun comes up, first a rosy glow that quickly gathers strength and pushes a fiery red ball upward. But we're there! We leave the road and run up a steep shortcut. At the top we were greeted by the otherworldly sight of the lakes. They are different colors. The landscape surrounding them is very surreal as well - like the moon. We popped up across from the car park and look out, so we walk around the rim of the crater and get a cup of coffee from the enterprising young girls, Mary and Christina. (Makes me wonder if there was a car park why didn't we just drive up there? I don't know. I'm at a loss.) We go to the look out and see the spectacular black lake but there is a freezing wind and we soon turn to face the feet-numbing walk down to Moni. The checkpoint is open as we pass so we have to stop and pay the Rp400  fee. No worries. Exhausted we reach Amina Moe, waving off the ikat sellers everywhere. We have a nap until about 3 and then relax reading, writing and talking until dinner when we get some tepid Bintang and another bottle of a properly bottled arak and argue over the inclusion of albums on our top 100 list.

Thursday, October 3rd

We get up around 8 to pack. Our plan is to go to the village of Nggela today to look at ikat and check out the village and then return all the way back to Ende tonight. We wait around until about 10 for our “chartered” bemo and then we all pile on for the 14 kilometer 45-minute long trip Wojocitu and there we have to hike 6 km to Nggela. It's all downhill which, of course, translates into uphill on the way back. The landscape is beautiful. Green rice paddies, I mean, does Crayola have a green called rice paddy green because if they don’t they sure as shit should. Coconut palms swaying on steep volcanic hills. At one point we pass a very sulfur smelling hot spring. Water buffaloes and small horses are tied up at intervals along the path. We see Nggela before we got to it, on a steep hill above the sea. 

Some men are busy building a road at the beginning of town. The village is full of traditional houses on stilts. Sides are made from split bamboo as are the floors. The roofs are grass on palm thatching. Everyone wants to sell us ikat. As we pass the school several children ask me for pens. It so happens that I brought a fistful of color pens to give away. I pulled out four or five of them and they scrambled, no, they were fighting to get them. It was a portent of things to come.

Ikat was everywhere and after wandering the Main Street looking at it we ventured into the depths of the village to Mary and Joseph, a little tea shop set in a veritable Mall of ikat. Everyone implores us to buy THEIR ikat. From the main street to the little mall. First we have tea and bananas then the frenzy starts. Greta and I have been eyeing a blanket across the way as we've been drinking our tea and after a cursory look at some others we begin serious bargaining. The bidding starts at 75,000 we offer 20. She immediately drops to 50, we offer 25. She offers 45 we offer 30 she finally says 40 and we offer 35 but she won't budge from 40. We act like we won't buy it and she tells us she has to send her children to school. I hate this when they play on your emotions. We finally pay the 40,000 – it’s alot for us too – 20 bucks is a good days’ travelling. She immediately wants us to buy a shawl but we want to share the wealth and buy one that we have seen across the way finally paying 20,000 for it. Everyone is starting to leave now and the mood of the sellers is getting more urgent. This is an understatement by the way. Greta is looking for a shawl for her mother having bought another scarf already and we are separated, each of us surrounded by a sea of faces begging us to buy their ikat. They are literally throwing ikat on to us as we leave and shouting out the prices. Haggling has been dispensed with entirely. One woman put a shawl on my shoulders yelling 14 thousand I probably could have pulled out 10,000 and gotten it but we literally have more ikat than we can handle and the scene is becoming more and more scary.

Had we been of a much different mindset, in retrospect, we could’ve simply waited for this moment and then, ahem, capitalized on it. I’m sure others have long since figured this out. At least these folks hopefully have a way of selling their quality product – without being exploited.

I try to leave and become surrounded by kids saying, “Pen mister!” I relent and pull out some more pens with your promptly snatched from my hands with violence and a group begins fighting over them on the ground. It is starting to get ugly. Four boys are with me now begging for pens. I give them one each and then I pull out a cigarette. (I smoked at the time – profusely – and this was definitely a time for a smoke.) 

People who have appeared from nowhere to beg for pens are now asking me for a cigarette. “Tidak,” I say, “Tidak!” “No! No!” But they don't take no for an answer. Finally, in desperation I pulled all the pens from my bag and throw them into the crowd. They asked us for cigarettes, candy, even our water bottles. We beat it out of there, me looking like the Pied Piper with a crowd of small kids which I gradually leave behind. We start up the trail to Wojocitu with a bad feeling about Nggela in the pit of our stomachs. The sun beats down on us and the hill seems steeper going up than going down, a distinct and annoying trait that I have frequently observed in hills all over the world.

We are also pissed about the German guy who refused to pay anything for his tea and bananas on the theory that the seller gave her commission anyway. What an asshole you are! Surrounded by starving people begging to sell you ikat and the rich German bastard doesn't want to cough up a mere 500 rupees for his tea! Two frickin’ bits. Its sick. Really. And, to be clear, I don’t care what your nationality is, this particular guy just happened to be German, but assholer-y is international.

We make it back to the bemo which takes us to Moni where we all immediately pile out for the soup sold by the man in the roadside stall for 500 rupiah. Spicy and good with some sort of unrecognizable meatballs and two kinds of noodles. Good stuff for 25 cents. Afterwards we hang out at Amina Moe’s until dinner. Greta has lately been plagued with masses of bites which are probably from bed bugs. She's taken antihistamine, applied antihistamine cream, doused herself with DEET - nothing seems to work. This morning Amino Moe takes her by the hand and leads her to the witch doctor of the village.

A gnarled old woman, blind, her eyes clouded over from cataracts. She feels Greta’s arm and then goes and gets an old black sarong and what Greta described as a ring of bone or old polished wood. First, she rubs her all over with the black blanket, then she rubs her all over with the bone thing, which may be camphor. She instructs Greta not to sit in the sun and to wear a black sarong made from natural dyes. If she does this the itch will go away and never come back. Greta claims that they have now stopped itching - antihistamine finally kicking in, or witch doctor, who knows?

After one last meal at Amino Moe’s we hop on a truck going to Ende. It is open and cold but we huddle up on our newly purchased ikat and sing songs all the way for 3 hours. We check back in to the Losman Ihklass, get our fans and after a few beers decide to catch the noon bus to Bajawa rather than the 7 a.m. one. We turn in for the night exhausted mentally and physically.

 Friday October 4th 

We sleep in until about 10 and have a nice refreshing mandi and a large breakfast with the famous Losman Ihklass vegetable omelet for 500 rupees which if you don’t know by now is a daggone quarter. I find that I have a touch of diarrhea. Great, just great. 

We pack and wait for the bus to Bajawa. It's supposed to leave at noon and comes by at 12:30 finally leaving Ende at 1:00. Numerous stops are made along the way and we cross some bridges that look as though they're made for wagons and definitely not fully overloaded bemos. The road barely qualifies as one and at one point one of our backpacks goes bouncing off the roof to land in the road. Luckily it didn't roll down the hill to disappear forever like what happened to that German guy in Moni. (Honestly, I don’t remember that German guy but if he lost his pack off a bus, it must have been awful – poor bastard.) We stopped halfway at 4 for the driver to have lunch and we stretch a bit. Dominating the horizon is a large, perfectly symmetrical volcano with a bit of smoke wisping out the top. I mean, it looked like King Kong, or Land of the Lost or something. The people here seem poorer, with swollen bellies and thin arms. Everywhere we stop we are greeted with, “Hello mister!” and the usual curious stares. 

We finally bounce into Bajawa at about 7 and check into the Losman Kambera. Steve and Kath are here and we all have dinner upstairs. It's not cheap and it's not fast but it's not bad either. I still have the runs. The only room they have left here with a private mandi, which is crucial, is gonna be 10,000 rupees. Under the circumstances we take it hoping to move to a cheaper one tomorrow.

Saturday October 5th

I've still got the trots but we have tea and go to the bus station to get a truck to Bima. We buy water on the way and I find an English / Indonesian dictionary at a corner shop for 3500 – less than 2 bucks!. We go to the bus station and wait in vain for a truck to Bima. Karen doesn't feel good and Greta is not psyched to go, so they go back to the Losman. Meanwhile we got this guy, Alex, nickname, Sandro, who latches onto us. While talking with him I discover that a whole section is missing from my newly-purchased dictionary so I go to return it and he goes with me.  We meet Phil on the way back and he has found out that there isn't any truck to Bima until noon. By this time everyone is disgusted. Greta and Karen have the trots now too and he Losman Kambera seems particularly unfriendly. The food is almost maliciously slow. We're all sinking into the quagmire of a bad attitude. We order lunch at 11 have decided to take the day off. Lunch still hasn't arrived by 11:30 when the truck comes around picking up riders to Bima. Nothing is going right today and after finally finishing lunch at 1 we just curl up and take a nap until about 4. Tomorrow will be a long 10 or 12 hour day on a bus or a truck, so we want to relax. We have vowed not to eat in the stupid Losman restaurant again but it doesn't really matter. With my stomach now I can't handle much more than boiled rice anyway.

We wake up and went in search of a good place to eat finally finding a good “rumah makan” - in Indonesian that means “eating house” which served up an excellent fast, hot, meal for cheap. Predictably we were adopted by an Indonesian lad who took us to see some singing. 

Lots of people milling about a sort of career day fair with this singing as a sideshow. They're good but don't seem to really get rolling until 11:30 when the voices all sing together try to keep us awake. 

Sunday October 6th

 Not much to tell. We got on the bus at 7:15 that left Bejawa at about 8. The bus, of course, is packed to the gills and after a piss stop or 2 and a break for lunch we reach Ruteng at about 1:00. We let off a few people here and drive around looking for people going to Labuanbajo. Not many takers, so we stretch out and wait a while. The verdant volcanic landscape provides some relief from the heat and the boredom.

We pick up some stragglers along the way. A man gets on holding some live chickens upside down by the legs. Soon the winding bumpy road works its magic and the chickens start puking on my feet. I look in my newly-acquired Indonesian phrasebook and try to piece out how to say, “Excuse me sir, your chickens are puking on my feet.” When I finally piece it all together and tell him he just stares at me. God knows what I told him. Or, there is the off chance that he understood me completely. And just did not care. 

We dropped sharply down into Labuanbajo and arrived safely by some miracle at about seven-thirty. The Bajo beach hotel is full so we end up at the Sony Homestay, which I not just dark and dingy, but also friendly and cheap! We have some tea and go into town for dinner and meet with Steve and Kath who have been to Komodo today.

Monday October 7th

We Leave the Sony Homestay to go down into town and check into the Sinjai Losman. We get a double room with a private mandi and a little bargaining for $7,000 a night. It's big and clean as well. Luxury! I’m feeling very lethargic and everyone is psyched go out to Waicicu Beach for the day. My stomach just can't handle it, so I stay behind in the room and read and nap and mandi. Everyone comes back in the afternoon raving about the snorkeling there, and we go out for lunch across the road at a new place that has just opened up. Anyway, my stomach is still sending only liquid out of my asshole so I'm on a strict rice diet. After dinner, as such, Phil and I wander back to Sony to book a boat to Komodo for early tomorrow morning. The sunset over the many islands scattered in the bay is majestic. We find this dude named Remy in Sony and book a trip for the four of us for 15,000 each, 60,000, half up front. It's more than the going rate but we're going on the non feeding day and by ourselves. No one really wants to witness a goat sacrifice to see a Komodo dragon. 

Remy promises to meet us at the ungodly hour of 4 a.m. We have to wait for dinner and don’t get back before 10. We say goodbye to Kath and Steve who are leaving on the ferry to Sape at 8 tomorrow. We're booked for Thursday all the way through to Denpasar, following in their footsteps.

Tuesday October 8th

Waking up at 3 a.m. is a bummer, but an even bigger bummer is waiting outside the Losman for a Remy who never shows up. Finally at 5 a.m. we give up and go back to sleep. Remy knocks on the door at 7 saying, “Let's go!”, but we tell him to piss off and we'll deal with him later. We sleep until 11 and have tea and go to find Remy to get our money back. He's not at the Sony, so we wait. We go down to change some money. Still no Remy. We then tell his mother and she's mad because she knows nothing about his plans. She takes Greta by the hand and leads us in search of Remy. We find him on the street and after some discussion he takes us to the boat captain's house where after some more discussion we come out with our 30,000 deposit. 

Now we wasted most of the day on a wild goose chase but we did get our money back at least. We go back to the Losman where they placate us with a cup of tea and what  my journal says is “a wild banana concoction.” It must’ve been good! 

We go down to the harbor to charter a boat to the island opposite the beach at Waicicu for a couple of hours of snorkeling. The coral here is amazing and we see 2 crown of thorns starfish. Alien looking creatures! I mess with one trying to remove it – they are destructive to coral. 

We also see a feather star swimming and as some and some as-yet unidentified to worm-like thing. Good stuff makes me want to dive again. We get back on the boat for the short trip back to Labuenbajo. 

We book a boat Komodo for tomorrow with a captain named Augustinus. The boat leaves at 3 a.m. 

Wednesday October 9th

We are up at 2:30 and again find ourselves waiting for Augustinus, who is not appearing. Finally, someone who we've never seen before appears and leads us to the boat - still no Augustinus however. This means that we will have no breakfast or lunch either - no matter though - we're on the boat and headed to Komodo!

We sleep on the deck most of the way until Komodo comes into sight, the sun comes up, and our kind host serves us a hot cup of coffee. We anchor amidst the other tourist boats and get ferried over to the island on a dugout canoe. We pay our 1000 rupiah entrance fee and split the fee, for nine guides and a goat for the feeding, divided between us 52 tourists that amounts to 1250 rupiah each – with the entrance fee that’s less than a buck fifty. 

The assembled horde sets off up the track and a hot 30 minute walk later (it's only like 8:30 in the morning) we encounter dragons! The goat, which up until now has been happily jogging up the trail, begins to bleat most mournfully. I'm sure it now realizes the role it is destined to play in this scenario. The dragons for their part seem to know they are going to be fed. This we know by the way they are eyeing us! Really, they are going after us and we had been lagging a bit and had to run to the protection of the guides with their long forked poles, who are somewhat frantically pushing the dragons away. It's quite scary and the guides herd us into a small pen with a low fence separating us from all the dragons on the outside. Something of a reversal and I felt a bit like a cow in the pasture. The dragons mill about for a bit and then go down to the dry river bed below the pen. 

Some of the dragons are quite large, 4 meters at least, I mean like 15 feet! The goat is tied to a post and its throat is cut and while the guide's barely control the couple of dragons outside the pen the other dragons in the dry river bed below rush up the near vertical wall towards the goat. The goat is heaved into the seating mass of dragons and is immediately covered by dragons and disappears from view. The dragons fight for a good piece and have the poor thing pulled apart in less than a minute. 5 minutes later nothing is left of the goat and the last bit - the entire head - disappears down the neck of the largest dragon who had quickly claimed his prize and held on until it was the only thing left. The komodos are now quite sedate, lying in the shade. What a spectacle! One of the best pictures I have of this is one I took of the group of tourists witnessing the feeding with their mouths agape. 

The guides herd us down the trail and back to the cafe. We pass on the 1000 rupiah each postcards but Greta and Karen get Nasi Goreng - fried rice. Phil and I are still suffering gastrointestinal issues and are fasting. We pick up two Americans from Chicago who have been on Komodo for several days for the return voyage. 

On the way back we stopped off at Pintai Merah Beach (Red Beach) for some snorkeling for about an hour. Greta finds her first Indonesian nudibranch. (A nudibranch is a brightly-colored marine animal of the mollusk family but it looks nothing like a clam.) We sleep for most of the return voyage except when the boat tilts alarmingly in the mini rip currents and whirlpools. These are very treacherous waters. Check out a map of the sea between Labuanbajo and Komodo. It is studded with islands and islets and when the tide changes the currents are quite unpredictable. 

We reach Labuanbajo at about 3 p.m. and are greeted at our Losman with tea and cake. It’s a really nice touch. Sometimes, I love this place! Augustinius apparently showed up with the food and a hangover at 4:30 am. What a loser! 

We spend the afternoon relaxing in preparation for the long journey starting tomorrow. We have made a series of plans to meet Phil and Karen sometime after we meet Bill and Jen and/or AJ in Bali - hope they work out. An early night in preparation for an early morning.

Ok, so quick geography lesson. It is roughly 600 miles from Kupang, Timor - where we landed on September 25th – to Denpasar, Bali, where we had to be by October 12th. We had two separate friends coming in to Bali on or about that date. Our friends, Bill and Jen who had been recently traveling in Australia and my good buddy AJ coming in from the USA, smack dab into it. All these folks are old friends, co-workers and troublemakers from Colorado days.

Take a moment to imagine, if you will, the challenge of coordinating such a meeting. In 1991. With no phone, cell or otherwise. We sometimes gave our parents’ numbers to relay messages, but international calling was expensive. With no real mailing address – we used the American Express offices for mail and message drops – but we never knew if we left before messages arrived.

Anyway, 600 miles, and several islands to get across. The advantage of going by ferry was that you skipped over some islands. Of course, that was also the prime disadvantage of going by ferry. So, we went by bus across the islands and by ferry between them. We were currently in Labuanbajo on the western edge of Flores island. We would ferry to Sumbawa island and bus across Sumbawa to the ferry to Lombok island and then bus across Lombok to a ferry to Bali to arrive just in time to hopefully meet our long-lost friends. We had 48 hours to get there.

Thursday October 10th

The journey begins at 8 a.m. When we catch the ferry to Sape, on the island of Sumbawa, Indonesia. An uneventful but uncomfortable 10 hours later we disembark to the island of Sumbawa and board the Damai Indah bus that will take us to Denpasar in Bali sometime tomorrow night. Actually the bus we board takes us to Bima about an hour away where we get off to eat dinner and wait for the air-conditioned VIP bus that we will be on the rest of the way. They hustle us through our meal and then the trouble starts. 

They try to get us to go on the non-air conditioned bus but we refused and we are left sitting on our bags by the side of the road waiting for the air-conditioned bus for an hour. Finally, it comes and we pile on but it soon becomes apparent that this bus doesn't have air conditioning either, but because it is nighttime and cool we don't worry about it. We do worry when about a half hour later the bus pulls over and they start dumping buckets of water into a sieve-like radiator. We begin to wonder ,”Will this bus get us to Bali?”

But, too tired to really care  we try to fall asleep, periodically waking up to yell at the driver for stopping to pick up extra passengers. This is an express bus and they pick up extra people to make a little on the side. We sleep wrapped in our ikat blankets against the chill. At about 3 a.m. we stop in some little town to eat. I'm afraid as I've taken Imodium for my diarrhea. The driver has been working on the transmission while we have been eating. This bus is a wreck! Onward into the night. We awake to find ourselves pulling into the ferry terminal. We board the ferry to Lombok while they continue to pour more water into the hopeless bus. Is only an hour and a half to Lombok and by the time we get there the sun is really starting to broil.

 Friday October 11th

We are a barely mobile oven masquerading as an air-conditioned bus. The problem is compounded by the fact that the windows don't open because it's supposed to be an air-conditioned bus. The situation becomes desperate as, nearing heat stroke, the bus stops every 10 minutes to fill with water. We want to get off the bus and get a refund in Mataram on the other side of Lombok. But we can’t because they have taken our tickets and won't give them back. Can it get any worse? 

Why yes! Yes, it can, this is after all a bus ride in Indonesia. At one stop for water the transmission gives out. We are forced to go to the last 25 km in first gear! It takes like an hour. Some Indonesian guys who wanted to get off had to wait until the bus slowed down a little and jump off – it couldn’t stop or it wouldn’t start again. But, no, it gets worse. 

We finally reach the depot which is full of wrecks of buses, none of which has a hope of taking us any further. Apparently, the bus we are currently on is the best that they have. We're yelling at these assholes to return our tickets to us so that we can claim a damn refund for this bullshit bus ride. At one point I start frisking the guy who has them trying to find them. We are frantic to catch the 2 o’clock ferry to Bali.

Finally, a boss man-type who speaks good English rides up on a motorcycle. He says we can get our refund and make the ferry all we have to do is board this wreck of a bus over yonder with no windshield. Well, ok, sure, why the hell not? We do. 

The bus speeds through the crowded streets of Mataram, horn working overtime. I mean, if the horn gave out on one of these busses that would be it, have to park that bitch, but no windshield, no problem. Hey, at least we got a breeze! Speeding, for what? To hurry up and wait. The driver pulls into a side street and motions us off he bus – we are supposed to eat lunch.

I blow my top. “No!” I scream. “You fucking assholes are taking us to the ferry and we're leaving now!” A driver starts laugh and that sends me into a frenzy. I start pulling seats up and throwing them around. When everyone else gets off he starts up the bus and off and we go again. As it turns out though he doesn't take us to the ferry he takes us to the main bus depot where we find Mr. Motorcycle holding court with all of his touts. I am furious. 

Mr. Motorcycle says he'll give me a refund for the air conditioning. I say I want a refund for the Mataram to Denpasar part of our ticket plus the extra for air conditioning - something like 19,000 rupees. I also tell him I don't want to ride on his stinking shit ass buses anymore and we will find her own way to Denpasar. He hesitates, but I insist. Then he promises to get us on the 5 o’clock ferry to Bali. 

We're tired confused and hungry. We say okay, but we get the 10000 rupee refund for the air conditioning now. The plan is we have to wait around the bus station until 4 when the bus leaves to get 5 ferry to Denpasar, which we should reach at about 9 p.m. That'll put us 10 p.m. into Kuta Beach and we should be able to meet Bill, Jen and AJ. 

So, we sit at the bus depot sucking carbon monoxide and returning the stares of the people. Four o’clock rolls around and the bus comes. Amazingly it is the same bus that dropped us off here, only now it has a windshield in it! Actually, the windshield is a two-piece and it hasn't been quite joined together yet. They pick us up and we drive back to the restaurant where we pick up the people who had been dropped off there two and a half hours earlier. Meanwhile a crack team of highly skilled technicians swarm over the windshield squirting black goop into the joints with the aid of masking tape, etc. We begin to get antsy as this process seems to take forever but finally we are off! Back to the bus station again! Why? I don't know. And then we were off…back to the restaurant it's now 4:30 and after one more inscrutable trip to the bus station we are barreling down the road to the ferry with the horn blasting and swerving to avoid the horse carts, pedestrians and other assorted traffic on the road.

We make it in one piece. Just as the ferry is pulling away from the dock. I can't believe it. I'm done. We have waited 3 hours so that we could miss that ferry. It's too much for Greta and she loses it! She breaks down in tears as she realizes that we won't be in Bali tonight. We won't be able to meet our friends. Who knows how, or if, we’ll find them now? The driver turns around and finds her tears funny. 

This is when I lose it, except the opposite way. I started abusing the driver telling him to wipe the silly smile of his fucking face or I'll do it for him. I'm yelling, cursing, kicking, screaming, “Assholes! Ignorance!” I'm pissed. Greta sniffling, me fuming, we demand to go to the head office where wait for 10 minutes until motorcycle man comes back. He's all smiles and apologies. We're having none of it. He offers to pay for a Losman tonight. He promises that we will be on the 7 a.m. ferry tomorrow and in Denpasar by 11. 

I told him that I'd rather die than spend another second on his company's bus. I demanded that he refund the entire price of the tickets from Bima. All of it. All 37,000 and we will be on our way. He hems and haws but finally gives in because the look on my face and my fist told him that I was ready to punch his face. We get our money and our bags and go out on the street to find a nice hotel and a bemo to take us there.

This is when we start to splurge. We pick out a nice hotel, the Wisma Melati and charter a personal bemo there for a thousand each – extravagance! We look at a couple of very nice rooms finally settling for one for 38000 rupees - about the same price as that entire hellish bus ride. What luxury! It has hot and cold running water, shower, flush toilet – the first western-style bathroom in three weeks. There is even a TV! We have our own garden and they bring us tea in the room. 

We strip off our slimy, dirty, “sat-in-a-stinking-bus-for-36-hours” clothes and luxuriate in the first hot shower in a long time. We dressed for dinner in front of the TV. We go to the hotel restaurant for a delicious meal complete with several beers and karaoke on the tube. Karaoke is music sing-a-long with scantily clad asian women cavorting about on boats in exotic tropical locations with the words on the screen and is available in your room for a mere 10,000 rupees per hour. After a nice relaxing meal we bring a beer back to the room and watch TV. We plan to catch an early flight to Denpasar tomorrow.

 Saturday October 12th

We wake up feeling much refreshed. We have tea brought to the room and a good breakfast in the dining room. We check out flights at the Merpati airlines office next door and find that they go every hour until 12, then every 2 hours until 4. We pack and charter a bemo to the airport, which is the only place to buy the tickets, but it’s fine because hey, we’re going there anyway, right? We miss the 10 o’clock flight just barely, but our names and our high on the list for the 11 o’clock flight and we get on it for forty-nine thousand rupees about 25 bucks. This was a lot of money for us for a 30 minute plane ride but we felt like we deserved it. 

Before we know it we're on the plane hurtling down the runway and we're on our way to Bali. It is only a 25-minute flight - we don't even have time to level off. We go up, they give us some sweets and tea and water and then we go down. We get off collect our bags and go over to the international terminal to find out where Jen and Bill and AJ might be. It is now quarter to 12. It looks like they will be on an Air New Zealand flight due in at 3:20. We settle in and wait and greet every incoming flight because we think that they might be routed through Sydney or someplace. 

We pay an exorbitant price for breakfast. Then we wait. And wait. And wait. That’s the other thing travelling is – waiting. “He who waits best wins.” 

The ANZ flight is delayed to 3:50 but we are rewarded when it comes in because miracle of miracles, they are on it! It is good we were able to meet these guys after all we've been through. 

They have had something of a nightmare as well. They were packed onto a small overloaded plane and were forced to make an unscheduled fuel stop in Brisbane which caused their delay. We had no information on AJ’s flight other than it was from LA and there were none from LA that day – we had no way of knowing if he was coming through Hong Kong or someplace else.

We got a taxi to Kuta Beach which dumps us at bemo corner. We don't have a clue where we're going to stay but a tout approaches us and leads us too Beneyasa Beach Inn which is very nice with a walled courtyard and gardens. Private shower, flush toilets, 10000 rupees doesn’t seem bad for Kuta. This is the most touristy place we’ve been in three weeks. We're too hot and bothered to look any further so we stay. It is quiet and centrally located. We have a beer from the Losman and shower and then go out to TJ's for some long-awaited, but disappointingly mediocre Mexican food. 

It’s great to talk with old friends eat and catch up on new gossip and rehash old gossip and compare travel experiences. We end the night at the Mini Bar, which claims it is is “Maxi sized” with beer until Bill and Jen are falling asleep in their beers from their 13-hour odyssey. We call it a night. 

There is still no sign of AJ. 

As I read ahead in my journal, it was like two weeks later before we hooked up with him in a miracle encounter in a post office parking lot. I remember at the time that he was really pissed, but I don’t see what we might have done differently.

Anyway, that’s it for this one, thanks for listening, and we’ll see you down the road! Check us out on Facebook for pictures.