Bali and Borobudur

Travels in Bali and Java

Transcript

Episode 13 – Bali and Borodubur

 Hey everybody and welcome to the lucky thirteenth episode of my podcast, Goin’ down the road with Randy. Thirteen truly is my lucky number – my wife and my second son were both born on Friday the 13th. The first episode of this podcast was published last year on August 5th so I am averaging what I consider to be a rather remarkable episode per month. I knew I had a bunch of stories to tell and it heartens me to think that there are people who enjoy listening to them!

I did have one loyal listener provide some feedback recently, particularly about the Thailand episodes. They said, “You all were drinking and partying every day! How did you do it?” I’ll tell you in three words – practice, practice, practice. No, but really, I’ll admit in Thailand and Viet Nam especially we did go off the rails a bit. It takes willpower to control oneself when presented with excess and I pretty much fail at that, but in my defense, I am not alone in that regard. I guess, it is what it is – or, more precisely, it was what it was. Aaanyway…

Tonight, we will be picking up in the Indonesian island of Bali, way back at the end of episode 2. After that horrendous bus trip, we have somewhat miraculously met up with our dear friends, Jenn and Bill, and are ready to kick back in the island paradise that is Bali. We are keeping an eye out for another old friend, AJ who flew in the same day Jenn and Bill did, but we missed his flight and are having trouble connecting.

So, Bali. Even the name is exotic. Ask the average person to name an exotic tropical island and I’ll bet the answer will be either Fiji, Tahiti, or Bali – maybe Bora-Bora. It is a very special place. Indonesia is predominantly Muslim, some of the eastern islands are Christian, but Bali is distinctly Hindu. It is also part of the Coral Triangle, an area encompassing Indonesia, Philippines, Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands. This area boasts the highest biodiversity of marine species, especially fish and turtles, and over 500 reef-building coral species. By comparison, this is about seven times as many coral species as in the entire Caribbean.

Bali is home to a unified confederation of kingdoms composed of 10 traditional royal Balinese houses, each house ruling a specific geographic area. This confederation is the successor of the Bali Kingdom. The royal houses are not recognized by the government of Indonesia; however, they originated long before the islands were colonized by the Dutch and date back to the 10th century, so you can just imagine the rich culture to be found here. Bali is renowned for highly developed arts, including traditional and modern dance, sculpture, painting, leather, metalworking, jewelry, and music.

The island of Bali is shaped somewhat like a chicken, with the feet in Denpasar and Kuta to the south. The volcano Agung is the chickens butt and the chicken’s beak is only a couple of miles from the eastern end of the island of Java, which is the most populated island in Indonesia.

We’ll pick it up from Sunday, October 13th, 1991. We are in the tourist mecca of Kuta Beach which is full of Aussies on holiday. After breakfast at the losman (which is the local term for a hotel or guest house) we hit the beach. There seem to be a thousand touts on the prowl selling everything from watches and jewelry, to braided friendship bracelets. We push through them to the beach which is carpeted with topless Australian girls – now this is more like it! There are more touts here but they are selling massages, umbrella rentals, and beach mats. It costs 200 rupiah to go on the beach – remember it’s 2,000 rupiah to the dollar so, a dime.

There must be an unwritten rule that the touts are restricted to the rear of the beach so once you get onto the sand you are free and left alone. The water is clear and beautiful and the waves are just perfect. So far we have not found Bali to be the cheap travelers haven that we thought it would be, but then again, we are in the most touristed part of the island. Here the food and lodging are about double what we have been paying.

After the beach we wander into Made’s Warung for lunch. Now an actual warung is a small restaurant, more like a food stall, but this place is a full-on, giant restaurant, so it is a warung in name only. Also Made is someone’s first name. Bali has an interesting tradition of naming children in the order of their birth. So, the first born is named Wayan, Putu or Gede. The second born is Made or Kadek, the third is Nyoman or Komang and the fourth is Ketut. If there are more than four children, you start over again with Wayan. So, there are a whole lot of people with the same first names in Bali. I think there is something to do with the caste system as well, but I’m not sure because no one really wants to talk about that. Is this a wise system? I doubt it. Imagine. “Hey, I’m going to Made’s house.” Made who? 

After lunch we wander around, shopping for toiletries and sundries and engaging in what locals call “cuchi mata” – my favorite phrase in Indonesian, or Bahasa Indonesia – literally means “washing your eyes” which is what we call people watching or just checking things out. We stop for a late afternoon beer and then go back to the Beneyasa Beach Inn to shower before dinner. I buy two bottles of arak, a distilled palm sugar rum with fermented rice wine. 2,000 rupiah each. Arak is anywhere from 30 to 50% alcohol and the quality varies greatly. Usually you are safe with the bottled and sealed stuff but often you find some locally-produced, moonshine-style stuff that you have to be careful of.

We have decided to try the famous Poppie’s restaurant for dinner but we have a bottle of arak and some beers to pre-load. Poppie’s is very crowded so we have a beer at the bar while waiting for a table. We finally get seated but we don’t find anything we like except the huge lobster on display that is going for 104,000 rupiah. It’s not that we can’t find anything we like – we aren’t that picky – but everything is very expensive and the place just is not our style. It is full of obnoxious, loud Aussie’s on holiday and that is nobody’s scene but theirs. They are nearly as bad as Americans on holiday in foreign countries, but there is no way we’re giving up that crown easily. So we leave to the amazement and amusement of the other guests. We wander around looking for another place among the hundreds on Legian Road and finally settle on a sate place that was excellent. Then we go back to the room for a nightcap.

The next morning is Monday and we have errands to do. We charter a bemo to Sanur and back for 10,000 rupiah. We finally find the AMEX office in the Bali Beach Hotel. I have no mail, no message from AJ so I guess we’ll leave Kuta tomorrow.

We go back to Kuta and have a disgusting lunch at Burger King. It is interesting, as far as American fast food goes, you are always good with McDonald’s. The menu may vary but a Big Mac or a Quarter Pounder will always be the same wherever in the world it is offered. This particular Burger King made us nauseous.

So, feeling nauseous, we do a bit of shopping and then go down to the beach. I finally succumb to the constant pleading old Masseuse #85 and after bargaining her down to 5,000 rupiah I attempt to relax and enjoy her manipulations. I am thwarted in the endeavor as I am instantly surrounded by a mass of people who assume that if I want a massage I also want a manicure and my hair braided or a pair of shorts, or whatever they are selling.

I mumble, “No. No, thank you.” As many times as I can. Somehow I let slip that I might be interested in one of their carved chess sets. This brings Charlie, who shows me his chess sets, his carved wooden bong and an elephant, etc. I am not interested in anything but the chess set so we start bargaining for that. He wants 60,000. This guy is a professional bargainer. I offer 10. We go back and forth and I end up finding myself offering 45,000. He is not budging from 50. As I walk away, he accepts my offer of 45,000. Reluctantly, I buy it. I am officially a goddamn idiot.

It is a nice chess set but later when Bill and I are on the beach a guy comes by selling a chess set and shows 5 fingers – 50,000. I shake my head and he keeps going down until he is only showing 2 fingers – 20,000. Oh well, live and learn young grasshopper.

It puts me in a bit of a funk – could have saved 25,000 and even though that is only 12 bucks or so, it bugs me. I go back to the Beneyasa while the others go shopping. Greta brings me back a new pair of shorts which cheers me up a bit.

We shower for dinner and drink the other bottle of arak. We go just down the street for dinner but Jenn has to leave as the arak has made her stomach upset. We have a nice dinner and go back to find her passed out. The three of us drink beer and play pigs and we meet a very bubbly young lady from Singapore who challenges our so-called mastery of Indonesian.

Then the others go to bed, but I foolishly venture out with a half-bottle of Bintang beer to the public phone at the end of Poppies Lane 2. It is midnight, but the town is hopping! It is a very different, very decadent, late-night crowd.  I get propositioned by a prostitute. I am 30 years old and this is the first time that has ever happened to me. But it is not long before it happens again. Damn! 2 in one night! The phone is an obvious target point.

I can’t get through to the States, so I stagger back. I must look like easy pickings to the whores of Kuta Beach. One young lady of the night jumps onto my back piggyback-style and I stagger on. She grabs at my dick and whispers in my ear, “Fucky sucky, Fucky sucky.” I mean, I’d be lying if I said the thought didn’t cross my mind but hell, I couldn’t even see what she looked like! She jumps off at an entrance to an alley and pulls my arm and is upset, or at least pretends to be, when I pull away and stagger on to my own bed.

Tuesday, October 15th, 1991

I have a pounding headache but I take the chess set to the post office and mail it off – 57,000 rupiah – damn thing ends up costing me 50 bucks. We haggle over a bemo back to Denpasar. We thought we’d take a public bus to Bedugal but we end up chartering the bemo all the way there. I am too ill to deal with the bullshit today.

We look for places to stay in Bedugal and Candikuning but we are not impressed so we charter the bemo further to take us all the way to Lovina Beach, just west of the town of Singaraja, on Bali’s northern shore. Beaches in the south of Bali have white, coral sand while beaches in the north have black, volcanic sand. On the way we stop briefly at the temple of Ulu Danu which is one of the most picturesque sights we’ve seen so far.

A gut-wrenching ride though the mountains takes us to Lovina beach and we find Nirwana where we get a seaside bungalow for 12,000 rupiah a night – 6 bucks. The shower is open air, but private, which is just how I like them lately. As per usual the touts are hassling us to buy dolphin tours, snorkeling trips or whatever it is they are selling.

Dinner at Nirwana is salty and disappointing so we learn, stay at Nirwana, but eat elsewhere.

The next day we chill out on the black sand beach. It is quite exotic, but a bit mucky and, on the whole, I prefer a white sand beach any day! After breakfast we pay a local boatman 3500 rupiah to take us out to the nearest reef for a snorkel.

We go 2 to a small outrigger canoe, known locally as a sampan. The snorkeling is good, not great, but pretty darn good. (And you can take that comment with a bit of salt because we have recently been on the Great Barrier reef and East Nusa Tengarra in Indonesia so we have seen some very spectacular snorkeling and we might just be a bit snobbish as far as snorkeling conditions are concerned.) After all we see 2 cuttlefish as soon as we dive in!

We go back and after lunch we check out the scuba possibilities. We finally settle on Barracuda Bali Dive. They will take us to Menjangen Island for 75 dollars for two dives. And, they will take Bill and Jenn on a discover scuba dive for 85 dollars each. Not too shabby, so we sign up for 8 am tomorrow.

That done we visit the local weed and mushroom purveyors on the beach and meet Made, a local fisherman, who offers to take Phil and I out fishing – for a small fee, of course. But, he says, we will take our catch back to his wife and she will cook dinner for all of us. We are always a sucker for being invited to the locals’ homes and we thought that sounded like a really nice, quaint way to see life on a local level so we agree.

We go out in his dugout canoe with outrigger until Bali is hazy in the distance. We are fishing with handlines and the hooks are suspiciously small. The water here is incredibly deep. I drop one to the bottom and then Made tells me to reel it in. I tell him I can’t feel a fish but he says to reel it in. This is easier said than done. I’m reeling. And reeling. And reeling and reeling. Reel some more. Almost there! Keep reeling. You’re not tired are you? Then reel that line in would ya? When the hooks finally break the surface there are two, small, 4- or 5-inch-long fish. Made is very pleased and I am wondering what the hell we are doing here.

After three hours we had a grand total of 5 fish. I told Made to just take the fish home and feed his family, he did not have to feed us. But he was not having any of that and said his wife got some fish from the market. Now, I realize that he knew we would come back with a few small fish and they went and got some nice fish from the market to supplement the meal.

So we get the girls and wash up a bit and go to Made’s house for dinner. We sit on a blanket on the bamboo floor beers in hand and are stared at by Made’s family. There is a lot of smiling and nodding. Finally the food comes. A giant bowl of rice is centerpiece. Made’s wife prepared a curry-style fish stew with the fish we caught which was delicious but there isn’t a lot of it.

There is some type of fried green spinach-like vegetable. Then she brings in the fish that she bought and it is a stew of really tiny 2 inch long fish with heads, guts and all. Bravely we dig in and I think we do a passable job at least of being polite. It really is not that bad, it’s just not what we are expecting.

After dinner Made shows us his son, who has a big red lump on the back of his neck. This happens sometimes to westerners but usually only in the hinterlands somewhere, not in Bali. Folks sometimes feel all foreigners have medical training or something. We tell Made that the boy needs a doctor, but he shakes his head. We tell him we cannot help.

We finally say goodbye and thank you and once outside I feel I have to say that if that meal doesn’t give us the shits, nothing will. Of course, just about everything gives us the shits so, meh, at least we got to hang out with some local folks. We go back to Nirwana and I try to give Bill a crash course in scuba diving. Jenn has dropped out due to her ear problem.

Thursday, October 17th, 1991

We are and at ‘em, have breakfast and then to the pool so Bill can do his scuba thing. The divemaster chucks him into the water, teaches him how to clear his mask, recover his regulator and some basic buoyancy skills. The instructor pronounces him ready and we all load up on the minivan. There is another American girl, Jenny, diving with us as well. She works on a cruise ship going from Bangkok to Singapore to Hong Kong with stops in Java and Sumatra. She is currently on holiday.

An hour and a half later we exchange the minivan for a boat and we’re chugging over to Menjangen Island just off the northwest coast. We announce that we’d like to go deep at first – to about 90 or 100 feet. The divemaster says, “Oh, we’ll all go!” So it happens that on Bill’s very first open water dive he goes to 100 feet! I start out, leading the way down. We go off the beach down a crevice and come out onto a spectacular wall. We are at 100 feet and I can’t see the bottom though the water is gin clear.

There are tons of sea fans, some black coral, soft corals and loads of fish. We can only spend 10 minutes at 100 feet so we come up to 60 feet for awhile. This, of course, is where Bill has trouble – he doesn’t stop at 60 feet. He just keeps rising and rising. Thankfully he is going fairly slow, and he seems to be trying to empty air from his bcd but the more he goes up, the more the air expands, demonstrating a practical application of Boyles Law.

We all hover and watch him go up and up until he reaches the surface. The divemaster is looking at me and shaking his head – like I am somehow responsible! I point to him and to Bill telling him to go get him. But Bill is coming back down. Thank goodness! The divemaster gives him an extra weight and the rest of the dive continues without incident.

The divemaster does not use a safety stop but we do anyway – though we have no timing device so I count out 180 seconds. The boat has followed us along the wall and we climb in and go back to the beach for lunch. We all laugh over Bill’s lucky escape and mishap but I make a mental note to detail to Bill how close he came to disaster that morning.

We go back for a second dive going the other way along the wall. Bill has better luck this time but uses his air quickly. We let them both surface and keep going along the wall. When we finally ger back in the boat everyone is beaming as they often do after doing a couple fantastic scuba dives in a tropical paradise.

Back on the mainland we stop for some cold beers and we check out the monkey temple in Pulaki where we feed the adorable creatures peanuts while another group of them are in the car stealing our cookies. Cheeky fucking bastards.

One of them grabs my fanny pack with my camera, passport, money – you know, no big deal. I am freaking out chasing this goddamn monkey all over the place. He is up in a tree with my life’s valuables and I am standing helplessly below yelling at him. I am reminded of the children’s story “Caps for sale”. The monkey eventually gets bored and, since there is no food in it, he throws the fanny pack down. Another monkey almost grabs it before I do. Thus is born my aversion to cute little monkeys. I still think this is the reason my camera develops a light leak later on.

We get back to Kelibukbuk after dark and shower and have dinner at the KhiKhi restaurant with Jenny. We are all – minus Bill – going diving tomorrow at the wreck off of Tulamben so we must go to bed early but not before Bill and I check out the very loud band at the Badai restaurant – they’d be pretty good if they only knew the words.

Up early again for breakfast and then we’re off. There is less confusion today as there are only the three of us and we know what we’re doing. Jenny is driving her own car. The Tulamben wreck is on the far northeast coast near the village of Kubu. She will drive back to Denpasar from there. This arrangement gives us plenty of room to sprawl and doze in the back of the van on the way there.

An hour and a half and one police checkpoint later we arrive at a rocky, pebbly beach where a small army materializes to carry all of our gear down to the dive site. The wreck is in 30 meters of water, about a hundred feet and it is only 15 meters- 50 feet offshore. The wreck is quite broken up but it is host to vast array of fish which follow you around looking for a handout. I mean, even the fish?

We come up for lunch and hang out degassing.  The first dive was outside the wreck so the second we’ll do inside. We swim through underwater rooms and holes on the side. We see lots of nudibranchs and a small ray. We feel like we were diving into deco territory and without a watch or a computer we play it safe. We take an 8-minute stop at 10 meters in addition to the standard 3 minutes at 5 meters. When we came up my tank has maybe a hundred psi in it but I don’t care, not my tank no more and it served it’s purpose. I make note to buy a dive watch if we are going to continue diving in Asia.

We surface, rinse gear, and nap during the drive back to Nirwana. We arrive earlier than yesterday, settle our bill and get our free Barrakuda Bali Dive t-shirt. Sadly, I have long since lost that very cool shirt.

We go to find Jenn and Bill and we meet Made’s wife – whom, I’m ashamed to admit I apparently never got her name – and she wants us to come look at, and buy her sarongs and shirts and stuff. I go get Jenn and Bill and we buy some stuff and pay a little extra and make her promise to take her kid to the doctor.

We have dinner at Bali Ayu and watch the Balinese dance. The dances are intricate and interesting made more so by flying cockroaches. After dinner we go see the loud band again, but soon retreat to bed.

Saturday, October 19th, 1991

We check out of Nirwana today. It has been a good 4 days on Bali’s north coast but we’re going to Mount Batur today and after we summit that volcano we’re going on to Ubud, an artsy village in the mountains. Of course, by the time we get our shit together it is one o’clock and after much haggling we get a bemo for the four of us for 30,000 rupiah. On the way we stop at the Pura Beji temple in Sangsit. One thing about Bali, it does not lack for temples! This temple dates to the 15th century and sports beautifully manicured gardens and intricate carvings based on Hindu epics.

All Balinese temples require the visitor to wear a sarong to cover the legs below the knee and also a waist sash. Don’t point the soles of the feet towards the altar and shoulders must be covered. Temples generally do not charge admission, but donations are appreciated, and it is frowned upon to not donate.

We also stop at the Pura Madume temple in Kubutambahan and then it is up into the mountains along the crater rim village of Penelokan and then down to Kedisan, in the crater of Mount Batur on the southern shore of Lake Batur. The volcano towers above all. We find a room at Segara Bungalow which provides a room for 10,000 rupiah after some haggling.

We settle in. I have a cheese jaffle while Bill, Jenn and Greta wander about. A jaffle, by the way, is a sandwich made in a press between two iron plates that are clamped together and then toasted. They are quite cheap and yummy! The thing to do here is, of course, scale Mount Batur so we have an early night to get an early start. 

We are up next morning before 7 to have breakfast. We start off on the road and turn off it at the temple – Pura Pasar Agung – you can’t swing a cat in Bali without hitting a temple – not that I advocate cat-swinging anywhere, mind you. After the temple we cross the lava fields. We pick up a follower, an Indonesian lad lugging a bucketful of cold beverages up the hill behind us. We assure him that we won’t want any drinks at the top, but he ignores us.

Up, up, and up until there’s no more up to up. We are on the rim of the crater and there is steam issuing from the crater and from various vents and smaller holes on the sides. The ground here is very much alive! We go around to the lower part of the crater rim and down the other side to some hot springs.

The trail becomes less defined and diverges and then we lose it altogether – ah, the pitfalls of not hiring a local guide. We bushwhack our way down through a small village and down a sort of road and finally reach the hot springs somehow. The water is extremely warm, but very relaxing to tired muscles.

We meet a Canadian guy named Daniel who comes to Bali to buy crafts for export back to Canada. He offers us a ride to Ubud in his jeep. We always gladly accept any offer of free transport and pile in. He takes us back to the hotel where we pack up and pay up and pile in again for the short ride south to Ubud.

Ubud is an arts and crafts center located in the rice paddies and steep mountain ravines of central Bali. It rivals the beach-centered Denpasar and Kuta as a tourist destination.

Once there he generously drives us around to various losmen while we search for the perfect room. We finally settle in at his friend, Made’s (wouldn’t you know it?) place the Argasoka on Monkey Forest Road. We get a huge room with a spectacular view for 12,500 rupiah. We thank Daniel profusely and arrange to meet him later to treat him to dinner. We also learn that Phil and Karen are here and staying at a place called the Frog’s Pond.

We settle in and have a shower and go to meet them at about 6. We have a beer and catch up and then look for Daniel, finally locating him at the expensive Café Wayan. We can really not afford such luxury and go find a cheaper alternative and arrange to meet him later at Bendi’s where we promise to buy him drinks. 

While at Bendi’s we arrange for a traditional Balinese roast duck dinner for tomorrow night. Daniel shows up with his buddy Jack, maybe Jake, we’re not sure but he is a riot. We close Bendi’s and order a bottle of arak to take back to the losmen. It is poured into a bottle from a red jerry can. We also get a couple of bottles of Sprite. This particular batch of arak is particularly vile and tastes of gasoline, but we persevere and choke it down somehow. We pay for it the next day.

Monday, October 21st, 1991

After an excellent omelet prepared by Made, Bill and I depart with the goal of making some calls to the US. Bill gets through, but I do not. I leave him at the telephone office while he attempts to locate his elusive FedEx package. I attempt to locate the elusive Greta and Jenn. I bump into them on the corner of Monkey Forest Road and we wander down in the direction of our room. Bill catches us up and says he wants to go to Sanur to locate his package. I want to go there to see if AJ has left any message. We are tracking shit down today!

So we decide to rent a moped rather than charter a bemo for the journey. Bill goes to get what he needs and I arrange a moped for 8000 rupiah and it is ours until 7:30 tonight. We hop on and enter the hectic flow of traffic. It is hair-raising, with trucks passing our elbow and people constantly pulling out in front of us but we make it to Sanur without incident and find the package at PT Pacto with no problem.

We continue on to AMEX and AJ has left a message, I have a note to call my mom and a slip for a package at the post office. Bill cashes a check at AMEX and then we are off to find the post office. A thousand misdirections and several kilometers later – no such thing as Google maps people – we finally find it and I get my package which contains a copy of Lonely Planet’s guide to “Southeast Asia on a Shoestring”.

On the way back we discover that the post office is actually only a few kilometers from the AMEX office. By now we are starving and low on fuel. We look for a café but find nothing. We do find a shortcut to Ubud on a bumpy back road. We go down Monkey Forest Road and Phil and Karen direct us to a place to eat. Greta and Jenn show up too.

After eating, I go back to the telephone office to call home again and I get through to Mom. I can barely hear her. It seems everyone is worried. There has been violent unrest in East Timor which is one of the places they knew we were going to and apparently AJ has been in touch with my family and told them he can’t find us and no one knows where we are or if we are safe.

I reassure her that we are as fine as a frog’s hair and try to learn where AJ is but they don’t really know. By now it is late and I have to return the bike and have some trouble finding the shop but I finally do and drop the bike off to hurry back to the room to find everyone having a beer without me – Daniel And Made too! Phil and Karen have also relocated here so it is quite the gathering.

I also find that I have missed the really big event. The reason Bill was so worried about his Fed Ex package was that it contained a ring that has been in his family forever and Bill proposed to Jenn. He has been planning all along to ask her in Bali while we were all here together. How absolutely fucking romantic! (For the record – she said, “Yes!”)

Now we really have something to celebrate and we all go to Bendi’s for the traditional Balinese roast duck feast and it is the most tender, delicious, not-a-speck-of-fat, slight smoke flavor, duck that I have ever had the pleasure to consume. Bendi makes a portrait of Jenn and Bill and we enjoy a bottle of Bali Brem – black rice wine - to celebrate. Unfortunately, I don’t feel well and pass out as soon as we return to the room.

The next morning I wake feeling very shitty and can’t even think about moving. Everybody goes to see the festival procession but I am not moving. Apparently it only happens every once in ten years but I cannot attend at this time. I hang out drinking water, taking aspirin and shitting. At about 3 I venture out to see what’s up.

Well, there is no procession but Karen and I walk down to the temple – a really long way for me – and meet up with Jenn, Bill and Greta. There is obviously something going on but no crowds, no procession, no buffalo sacrifice. I feel weak and try to eat some miso soup and then leave the group to hurry back to the room to shit yet again. I nap.

I awake to find everyone enjoying beers on the terrace. Everyone is worried about me and Jenn produces a thermometer which confirms my fever at 101.4 and I feel every bit of it. Everyone goes out for pizza for dinner but I stay back. They return with a pizza and I devour the whole thing. Probably not a great idea but I am starving. I try listening to the shortwave for world series news but have no luck.

Wednesday, October 23rd

I wake feeling a little better. The thermometer registers 99.2. The others plan to rent a car to drive around the very picturesque countryside. I decide not to go – I don’t want to get too far away from a toilet just yet. I’m going to hang out.

When everyone comes back I rally to take a shower and join them for dinner but I am drained by the effort and come back to read – Wilbur Smith’s ‘Rage”.

The next morning I feel progressively better so I decide to go out for a bit. I’d like to mention another interesting thing about Balinese society. It is self-policing. This works something like the honor system and each citizen is expected to report or stop any crime that they might see. Thus, the crime rate in Bali is incredibly low.

We spend the day hanging out in the pool. Later we go to the temple to see a display of traditional Balinese dance. The gamelan orchestra and the costumes are most interesting as the dancing itself is inscrutable. We meet up with Phil and Karen at Café Wayan for a farewell feast. Jenn and Bill must leave tomorrow to go to Kuta to catch their scheduled flight to Singapore on Saturday.

The next morning, we decide to rent motorbikes for a couple of days. We want to explore the countryside and the temples of Besakih and Tanah Lot. Our first stop is the telephone office. Yes people, back in those days, to call internationally you had to go to a place to make the call. This one is particularly fancy as they have a one button option to reach an AT&T operator. I finally get a good connection and call Mom and Dad.

Afterwards, we meet Phil and Karen and Jenn and Bill for a final, for real this time, farewell lunch. Well, not really. Phil and Karen are a hard no on the motorbikes, and they rent a car instead. They are probably wise, but we are cheapskates and risk-takers. This decision changes everyone’s plans – except ours - and Jenn and Bill decide to stay one more night in Ubud and we will go to Besakih today and then they will go down to Denpasar tomorrow morning to catch their flight in the afternoon.

So, after lunch we follow the four of them in a jeep and us on a bike, to Besakih temple on the flanks of Mount Agung in the east of Bali. The way there is through a lush, verdant countryside of terraced rice paddies built on steep mountain ravines, pastoral vistas up green gorges all made exhilarating by the winding roads and the maniacal traffic.

A few butt-numbing hours later we pull into the parking lot, pay our fees, put on our required sarongs and sashes and walk up the hill to the temple, passing a quite obviously rabid dog along the way. Besahkih is the mother temple of all Hindu temples in Bali -the holiest of them all and is a complex of 23 separate, but related, temples built on six levels.

The entrance is marked by a distinctive split gateway. The complex is quite large and very well-manicured. We spend a good hour wandering among the various temples and on the way out we are escorted by a group of schoolchildren with whom we exchange high fives and assorted hand tricks, smiling until our faces hurt.

We mount up for the ride back to Ubud and are lucky enough to be stopped by a procession of people on their way to the local temple with offerings. Let me tell you, religion in Bali is a daily thing. They live their religion every day in some kind of way, from offerings, to feasts, to dancing to processions, or all three at once.

Further on, the landscape is even more – if it is at all possible to be more beautiful than on the way in – it is. Bali is truly a paradise island and that is the reason it is mentioned amongst the first when listing tropical island paradises. The last half hour of the ride brings us back to reality as it is nearly dark and we are on the main road going through Gianyar. We finally pull into Ubud completely exhausted.

Saturday, October 26th

Early nights lead to early mornings and we are off early to motor down to Sanur and the AMEX office to check for mail. Still no word from AJ either. I call his mom but she doesn’t know – I don’t know why I thought she would. I call mom and she and Don order 5 chess sets. I am determined to get revenge on my “deal”.

We go to the post office – just in case. The others go into Kuta for shopping. And wouldn’t you know it, we pull into the parking lot for the post office and there is AJ, trotting up the steps! Serendipity.

We find out where he is staying and arrange to meet him later. He is back from Yogyakarta, on the island of Java – our next planned stop. No wonder we hadn’t met up with him – he was on a whole other island! He is on a chartered bemo, all to himself. We marvel at the ostentatiousness but he doesn’t know – it is cheap to him. He’ll soon learn you can do it way cheaper though it might be quite a bit rougher.

We ride back into Kuta somehow getting there just as the others are getting out of the car even though they left a half hour before us. They all go shopping. I go back to get AJ and we plan to meet for lunch at Made’s Warung. Thankfully we are all on the same page when we refer to Made’s Warung.

I’m off to find AJ and after a few wrong turns, I get him and bring him back to lunch, after which Jenn and Bill have to leave to catch their redeye out of here. Phil, AJ and I take the jeep and drop them off at the airport and pick up AJ’s bag on the way back. He’s coming up to Ubud.

The original plan called for visiting Tanah Lot – the waterside temple – but it is too late now. We will still have to ride the main road to get back but I don’t want to do it in the dark. So AJ and I ride up to Ubud and Phil, Karen and Greta will hang out and drive the jeep back.

Actually, as it turns out, they came back right behind us. We all go to Warsa’s for dinner and buy some more gasoline can arak on the way back. The boys drink the arak while playing cosmic wimpout. AJ chops some fresh pineapple into a cup and adds arak, takes a sip and dumps it into the garden, and he’s right, it tastes like gasoline but we paid for it by God and we’re gonna drink it.

The next day is Sunday and we celebrate the day of rest. AJ helps me shop for the 5 chess sets. We don’t find any but he buys a shirt and I buy 2 pairs of shorts. Afterwards we meet Phil and Karen at the pool and the day is so hot and the pool is so cool it soon  degenerates into beer drinking. This further devolves into aquatic Cosmic Wimpout which is a delightful twist on the game as we watch in anticipation as the dice descend to the bottom of the pool. It adds immeasurably to the excitement, at the expense of the speed, of the game and I’d highly recommend it to any dice game that you’d care to play, as long as you’re not in a hurry. We degenerate further to arak drinking and creative dice throwing – we have discovered an upwelling of current in the pool due to an input jet. 

By the time we leave we have given the locals quite the show, are thoroughly waterlogged and more than half drunk. After dinner we get some more arak and play some more Cosmic Wimpout, on dry land, before crashing and wimping out.

The next day is Monday, October 28th and we have decided to leave Bali today, minus AJ. He has decided to go to Lombok as he feels a bit like a fifth wheel amongst all these couples. (A “gooseberry”, as the English would say.)

We spend the morning mailing packages and arguing with bemo drivers to take us to Gilmanuk where we will catch a ferry to Java but apparently they would rather sit there on the sidewalk than negotiate a reasonable fare so we end up back at our friends, the Three Brothers car rental place, where we strike a deal.

We rent a car and a driver to take us to Gilmanuk for 54,000 rupiah – 6,000 less than the lowest bemo offer. So we have a farewell luncheon with AJ and make plans to meet either in Yogyakarta, Jakarta, Sumatra, Singapore, or Koh Tao in Thailand – we’ll see. Then we pile into the mini bus and catch the 4 o’clock ferry to Java where we arrive before 5. And just like that we are on another island!

I covered Bali pretty damn well, spending a solid two weeks there. About the only place I didn’t see, besides Tanah Lot, was the chicken’s butt – the far eastern end of the island but otherwise, I circumnavigated and sliced and diced the interior. I’d go back again in a heartbeat.

From Ketapang harbor we get an air con bus to Probolinggo and arrive at 930. Now we have to somehow get up to Mount Bromo but the touts who surround the bus as we get off, solve the problem for us. Udin, who speaks fluent English, arranges a bemo for 17,500 rupiah and books us onto a bus to Solo, also known as Surakarta, for tomorrow night for another 18,000.

So, we get on the bus for a hair-raising ride up the mountain, hair pin turns in the darkness – thankfully we can’t see down – and get to a place where we take a jeep for the last leg. The jeep deposits us at the Cermai Indah Hotel on the rim of Bromo crater at 11 o’clock. We get a room, have a beer and sleep well. It has been a long day.

And it is an even earlier morning. We are up at 5:30 for a quick breakfast and then we are off, trekking across the “sea of sand” to ascend Bromo mountain, arriving at the top of the “stairway to heaven” 45 minutes later. The view is fantastic with the crater belching steam below while the sun rises above.

It is the wind that drives us off. It picks up the fine dirt underfoot and creates a sandstorm and thus negates any more fantastic views. Plus, it hurts. We beat a hasty retreat across the unforgiving sea of sand where we have a snack and nap until about 2. That’s the good thing, I guess, if there is one, of waking up early. You can do something and be back for a nap just about the time I’d normally be finishing breakfast.

We wake up again for the second time today and get a jeep down to Yoshi’’s and have lunch and make the last bus to Probolinggo at 5. We get in by 7 and have to hang out for our bus to Solo at 10. All this traveling is a bit too damn efficient – we had like 24 hours here – including sleeping, and then we are off again. After basically hanging out for 2 weeks, we are in travel mode. Honestly, travel mode sucks. Best you can do is drink, and smoke ‘em if you got ‘em. Barring that, a Zen meditation on how suffering is life on earth sometimes helps.

We go across the street for a few beers. At one point they tell us that the bus is going to be late so we should go on this other bus leaving now. Surprise, surprise, it turns out to be a scam. Another pitfall of travel mode. Buying and bargaining for transportation is a primary main expense and timesink and it’s the first place you’ll get ripped off while traveling. I say this, writing it years later as one who has jumped out of a moving taxi – for very good reasons – while exiting the Manila airport. And that is definitely another story!

Of course, at ten, the bus shows up. I say that matter-of-factly and indeed, it is true, but a timely bus is something of a miraculous anomaly in Indonesia. Off we go and I try to sleep with marginal success. At 3:30 the bus stops for food and we are roused out. We get back on the bus, only to find, somewhat, sheepishly, that we are already in Solo! Well, how the hell would we know?

We get deposited at the bus station at 4 a.m. and it is a beehive of activity. If you are going somewhere in Indonesia, by god, you go before the sun comes up for some godawful reason that I don’t know about. We sit on our packs somewhat dazed before a becak driver takes us to the Westerners losman, which only has a 10,000 rupiah room available, but considering the hour they let us stay for 1,000 each.

We get up at 10, feeling very groggy and realize that we don’t really want to stay where we’re at so the girls go and find a new place while Phil and I stagger about looking for some tea. They find a place at Remaja Homestay, which is owned by the same family that owns Westerners but the price is only 6,000 rupiah, a 40% discount!

The room is small but it is clean and secure and ticks all of our boxes. We settle in and mandi and go off in search of lunch. We find the Warung Baru and fall in love. Delicious food, low prices and they are friendly too, tick tick, tick. We wander around Solo marveling at the bustle and the becaks – bicycle rickshaws.

sWe wander about, stopping at the tourist information office. We try some gamu – traditional herb medicine and get some cold beer before going back to our losmen. We think we are invited to a Javanese wedding ceremony but the guy never shows up so, I really don’t know what happened there but it was probably a good story whatever it was. We have dinner at Warung Baru and go to bed.

Thursday, October 31st, 1991. Halloween

After breakfast we visit the Kretak, or Sultan’s, Palace of Solo. You have to pay to enter and pay extra for a camera, then a guide latches onto you and you must pay them as well. We are disappointed. We learn a bit about the culture and some Javanese history but the palace is decidedly run-down and tatty and in dire need of renovation and so is the museum. We had planned to go to the other palace and museum but skip it based on our experience with the first one.

Instead, we take a becak to the bird market which is sad – because of all the caged birds - but at least a little interesting. Our becak drivers let us drive around on their becaks – probably glad for a chance to stop pedaling. Then we hit the Warung Baru – where else – for lunch. We have ice cream and then, after fruitlessly haggling with the becak drivers, Phil and I go to the travel agent to check airfares. We are in initial stages of planning to do a very ambitious trek across the island of Borneo from Pontianak, up the Kapuas River as far as we could go, then trekking across the mountainous jungle from West Kalimantan to East Kalimantan to meet the Mahakam River and down it to Samarinda. It will be an incredible journey if we can pull it off.

Our becak driver, named Robin, asks us, in perfect English, if we have ever seen becak dancing. We admit that we have not, so he gives us a demonstration. Phil gets out and I give him my camera and Robin proceeds to drive me around in circles on two wheels. I get out and Robin does it without a passenger and then Phil takes a turn. Then, somehow, he talks Phil into driving us down to the tourist office while he sits with me in the becak. I mean, Phil doesn’t even like two wheeled travel in traffic but he does it, no problem. Indonesians must have read Tom Sawyer too. We go into the tourist office and suss out flights to Sumatra and Borneo and then, guess what, I drive the becak back! We end up paying 1,000 rupiah and we did all the work, but it was great fun!

We invite Robin in for tea – or does he invite himself – and we talk about becak driver economics, Javanese culture and language. It is interesting to hear the opposite perspective of what, to us, is a daily hassle. We learn that three quarters of the becak drivers rent their becak for 1500 rupiah a day. The other quarter are owned by their operators. We learn that the drivers might make 10,000 rupiah a day – so, like 5 bucks a day – minus the rent if you are renting. The becak drivers who own their rides often sleep in them at night.

We learn some Javanese such as “Mongo–mongo” which can be used in any situation but I still don’t know what it means – something like, “No problem.” Or “whatever”. He also gives us insight into how corrupt Indonesian, or at least Javanese, society is. For example, he is well-educated – unlike many Indonesians – but he cannot get a “good” job because jobs are not given on merit – they must be bought. To land a good job costs between a million and 500,000 rupiah. Even though that is only like 250 to 500 dollars it represents a fortune to Robin. This is crazy!

Robin leaves and we start hashing out what it will mean to do the Borneo trek - timing, flights, visas and preparation. For example, we have shipped back our hiking boots, tent, and camping gear. We continue the discussion over dinner and beers. It makes my head hurt. We stagger back and sleep.

Having decided last night to head for Yogyakarta we get up and pack and mandi and go down to Warung Baru for a last delicious lunch before boarding a minibus to Yogyakarta for 2,500 rupiah and an hour and a half later we are led down Gang II to the Hotel Bagus where we get a room for 4,500 rupiah – 2 dollars and 25 cents! It is small but it has a fan and it is quiet.

One thing we have learned about finding a losman in Muslim Indonesia is to not stay anywhere near a mosque if at all possible. This is often quite difficult and sometimes impossible but if you fail you will be rudely awakened at 4 a.m. by the amplified call to prayer that goes on seemingly forever. This happens 5 times a day but the 4 a.m. one is particularly harsh.

We spend the afternoon making the rounds to Garuda / Merpati / Bourag and Sempati – all the major Indonesian airlines - getting quotes on flights to Sumatra and Borneo. It looks like with our student discounts we can fly from Jakarta to Padang (in Sumatra), Medan to Penang (in Malaysia), Batam (basically, opposite Singapore) to Pontianak (in Borneo) and Balikpapan back to Batam all for about 300 US, so this may actually be doable. The tricky part, and the great unknown is, of course, from Pontianak to Balipapan which is a considerable distance of over 500 miles as the crow flies, but no crows fly between those two places. We will need most of the two months we hope to get and we will be amongst the very few Westerners to even attempt such a journey. It is not to be undertaken lightly. The deal breaker for us may be coming up with a thousand dollars in cash for a two-month visa, but we might be able to supply a ticket out of the country and avoid that requirement.

 We look at the many things for sale on Marioboro Street and we like the rubber stamps the best. They will make any custom design for you. I find a place that will – hopefully – fix my camera – it didn’t want to load film this morning.

We got for dinner to the Losmen Jaya restaurant and meet a few other travelers – Phil and Karen are excited to meet a fellow Welsh traveler. They are rather rare. Then we head back to the room where I stay up until the wee hours catching up on my journal.

Saturday, November 2nd, 1991

I try to fix the camera again but have no luck – I’ll have to take it to the shop today. We’re also sussing out the various batik classes offered around town. In a stroke of luck, it turns out that all the camera really wants is a fresh set of batteries and it seems to be working just fine now. This is a relief because we need a camera and a new one would be a big expense.

We book a batik course for Monday, I mail off a few postcards and leave a message for AJ at the post office. Phil and Karen move down the street to Prasthajaya Losmen but we stay put because they are doing our laundry here.

Later we go down and order special “Impecunious Peregrinations” stamps – the phrase has become our motto. (If you don’t know, it means, “Penniless Travels” in English.) We also order a “Trans-Kalimantan” stamp for our proposed expedition. They said they will be done tomorrow.

We have dinner at Losmen Jaya and then go to visit Phil and Karen at Losmen Prasthajaya where we sit on the roof and drink and listen to the Rugby World Cup final between England and Australia on the shortwave. Australia wins 12-6. Meanwhile, Phil and I play a couple games of chess and he beats me both times – badly the first time and I nearly force a stalemate on the second which finishes about 2 a.m. It’s going to hurt because we have to get up early tomorrow.

The next morning, after getting our laundry, we check out and move down to the Losmen Prasthajava with Phil and Karen.

Then, we set off to explore the biggest Hindu temple in Indonesia and second, only to Ankor Wat in southeast Asia! Dating from the 8th century Prambanan is a UNESCO world heritage site. Rule of thumb while traveling, if you are nearby a UNESCO world heritage site, go check it out.

We haggle with the bus drivers to take us there for 400 rupiah – they want twice that to start! We stop for some soup at a warung along the way and before we know it we are in a horse cart which is taking us around to the widely-scattered temples – some are 5 kilometers away.

We all pile in and the poor, frothing horse takes us to Plaosan Temle and then to another one that is covered in scaffolding and we really can’t see it. Then it is on to the main Shiva temple complex. Shiva is the main temple but it is flanked by temples to Brahma and Vishnu. They represent the Hindu trimurti, the three gods responsible for the creation, the upkeep and the destruction of the universe. Shiva is the destroyer god, Brahma is the creator, and Vishnu is the preserver. As an aside, my personal favorite Hindu god is the elephant-headed Ganesh, remover of obstacles, patron of wisdom and learning.

We make it past the hordes of souvenir sellers and pay to enter the temple complex and pay more to be able to take a picture and once we were inside we had to pay to use the bathroom. Admittedly, not much, but it was a point to note for us who pinched every rupiah. I mean, after all, we need it to buy beer, right?

We fight off would-be guides and make our way around the temples which are very impressive. The stonework is amazing and was created over a thousand years ago! The carved panels depict scenes from the Ramayana. The complex was damaged in an earthquake in the 16th century and is still slowly rebuilding from that event.

We haggle for the ride back to Yogyakarta where we pick up our stamps and we are very pleased with them. I need to find those damn things, I’m pretty sure I have them, somewhere.

The next morning is Monday, November 4th and we get up early to go to the Sempati Airlines office in the Garuda Hotel – what? - and buy tickets from Jakarta to Pedang in Sumatra. We will fly on Friday

After a quick breakfast we go to our batik course down by the water palace. Phil and Karen decide that they don’t want to go, although, it is a bit awkward as it seems that Phil wants to go but Karen does not, so they both don’t go. It was all very weird but they had been traveling, as a couple, for going on 3 years so I give them credit for that. Hey, whatever works for them.

Anyway, we go to the batik class and meet Kerry, the Welsh girl there. Oh, hold on. I just got it. The whole Phil and Karen thing makes perfect sense now. But anyway, we start our batiks and I create a rock climber. We draw our designs and then they demonstrate the waxing technique. There is a flexible beeswax-y type that is meant to not crack and a brittle more paraffin-like wax that is meant to crack and let the dye through.

The wax hardens and then you strategically crack it. Then, dye and wax, and wax and dye and by the end of the day – voila! – batik, made by yours truly. I have no idea where that particular piece of fabric is right now and I don’t have a picture so you’ll just have to trust this unreliable narrator enough when I say, it was badass.

The batik process is somewhat magical because you really don’t know what the final product is going to look like until you boil the wax off. It is a really fun day where we create something and the time went by really quickly.

We all come back and get set for dinner. Kerry joins us, making a quintet (where the hell is AJ right now?) and halfway through the meal she reveals that it is her birthday. Like, we just spent all day together dying fabric and that subject never came up?

So, we arrange for a candle in honor of her solar circumnavigation and use the excuse to begin to drink heavily – as if we need one. We end up in the wee hours playing “Pigs” on the roof of the losmen so as not to disturb the other guests. Our efforts are in vain and at 2 am we are kicked off the roof and have to go to bed.

The next morning we find that Kerry has left on the train to Jakarta in the early morning – the same train that we will be on tomorrow. But today we are going to Borobudur, the largest Hindu temple in the world and, you guessed it, a UNESCO world heritage site. It is Indonesia’s most-visited tourist destination.

We take a becak to the bus station and pay 800 rupiah for the 42-kilometer ride to Borobudur. We are psyched when we arrive because we expect a mob but there don’t seem to be many people here.

It looks quite impressive from afar, sitting on a small hill and it is even more impressive up close. From Wikipedia, “Borobudur is built as a single large stupa and, when viewed from above, takes the form of a giant tantric Buddhist mandala, simultaneously representing the Buddhist cosmology and the nature of mind. The original foundation is a square, approximately 118 meters (387 ft) on each side. It has nine platforms, of which the lower six are square and the upper three are circular. The upper platform contains seventy-two small stupas surrounding one large central stupa. Each stupa is bell-shaped and pierced by numerous decorative openings. Statues of the Buddha sit inside the pierced enclosures.”

“The monument's three divisions symbolize the three "realms" of Buddhist cosmology, namely Kamadhatu (the world of desires), Rupadhatu (the world of forms), and finally Arupadhatu (the formless world). Ordinary sentient beings live out their lives on the lowest level, the realm of desire. Those who have burnt out all desire for continued existence leave the world of desire and live in the world on the level of form alone: they see forms but are not drawn to them. Finally, full Buddhas go beyond even form and experience reality at its purest, most fundamental level, the formless ocean of nirvana.”

It is a three kilometer journey up the staircase and around the circumference of the various levels. Along the way are beautiful bas relief panels in the walls. Finally we reach the top and touch the Buddha to make our wish come true. By this time there is a misty drizzle and we descend to have a late lunch and then the ride back.

I buy 9 rolls of 35 mm slide film for118,000 rupiah – about 60 bucks. Yes, people and that doesn’t even cover the considerable expense to develop the film after it is exposed. You folks out there snapping away on your cell phones for free will never understand the anguish and expense of carefully framing each shot.

We have an early night because we have to catch the train to Jakarta at 7 am.

We get up at 5:30 am to catch the train which has large, comfortable seats and it is not full at all so we can stretch out and sleep some more. We alternately nap and watch the central and west Javanese countryside roll by the windows. We have an over-priced nasi goreng, or fried rice, for lunch and roll into Jakarta at about 4 in the afternoon.

As usual, mass confusion reigns here at Gambir station. As a rule of thumb when traveling, transit hubs are where you must be most vigilant and absolutely not in any hurry to do anything. Question everything and go slow. We push our way through the aggressive taxi, tuk-tuk, and bemo drivers to get lost on the street trying to find Jalan Jaksa where the cheap hotels are.

We walk about 3 times farther than we have to but we finally find it just as the hotel touts find us. We look at a couple that are dark and overpriced before dropping our gear with Karen and Greta at Annie’s Café while Phil and I venture out unencumbered by baggage to find a suitable place.

We soon discover that it is dark because the whole area is without electricity and it is also apparent that all the rooms are overpriced. Welcome to Jakarta! We finally settle for the Hotel Djody where a room with shower sets us back an outrageous 24,000 rupiah. At least the room is large and clean and there is a security guard out front. We are a little paranoid having heard horror stories of robberies in Jakarta.

By the time we settle in it is 6 pm and there is still no power. At 7 or so we go in search of dinner. No power means no water, no nothing. We are looking for a Mexican restaurant and finally find it across the street from McDonald’s!

Jakarta so far has shown us nothing but smog, crowded streets, crazy drivers, dark pathways, and exorbitant prices. A large beer is 12,000 rupiah – half the price of our room. We back out and say, “No, thank you!” and go back to Annie’s Café where more normal prices prevail – probably because the electric bill is so low – we dine by candlelight but at least we dine.

We go back to the hotel and still no lights, no fan, no water. It’s pretty hot and miserable. The mosquitos are having a field day. I go to the front desk and make sure we can get a rebate if the power doesn’t come on and ten minutes later it comes on. The fan works and drives the mosquitos into the corners and a much-needed shower feels marvelous and after a little bedtime reading we have a long, blissful sleep.

Until 3 am when the power goes out and the mosquitos re-emerge. I am bathed in sweat. I look around and the rest of the hotel has power so I find someone at the front desk where they flip the circuit breaker.

Trying to sleep, Greta complains about the noise the fan is making and as I fumble in the dark I dislodge the fan from its perch on the wall and my pinky finger slips through the guard and gets badly chopped. I doctor it as best I can and try to sleep with a now-throbbing pinky.

We wake up and it’s late, like 10. Phil and Karen go to the post office for mail. I go to the Sempati office for a timetable. Greta is not feeling well. Around noon we go to McDonald’s and have a delicious lunch. American fast food is comfort food here.

We spend the rest of the day nosing around the big department stores with their fancy, big city prices and hordes of people. Later we all go down to the Hotel Indonesia – the setting for “The Year of Living Dangerously”, a 1982 film starring Mel Gibson and Sigourney Weaver, loosely based on an Australian journalists’ romantic endeavors during the decline of the regime of President Sukharno in the 1960’s, but we just look around and then find a bookstore and buy a guide to Kalimantan.

By the time we come out it is dark and raining and we go have an Indian food dinner and return to the hotel to pack. We have to get up early to catch our flight to Sumatra tomorrow.

Friday, November 8th, 1991

We are up at 5 am to check out and walk to Gambir station to catch the bus to the airport for 3000 rupiah. An hour later we are at Sukarno-Hatta airport and have tea and cake for breakfast before boarding a Fokker 27 aircraft for the 2 ½ hour flight to Padang in western Sumatra. From there we head up into the hills to Bukittingi where it is raining.

This is right about where episode one of this podcast kicked off and it’s where I will end this, the thirteenth episode. Thank you so much for listening. I hope you enjoyed it and, as always, be kind to one another.