Mountainbiking Lovina

Surely the best way of seeing any new location is by bicycle.  The pace is relaxed, it's non-threatening to the locals, you can wave and talk to the kids, and it provides a welcome physical counterpoint to the long hours sitting stationary on your leadening butt.

So it was with some excitement that a brochure in the hotel lobby advertised "See Lovina by bike" - and my eyes lit up a bit more when it mentioned an "Extreme Mountainbiking" option.  Booked by lunchtime!

I picked up my bike around 1pm which enabled me to see the local sights, then at 3pm met up with my guide, Putu, for the trip proper.  This is when I started to get worried.  There I was in my sandals, thin shorts and drink bottle.  Putu shows up on a trick fully suspended mountain bike, cleated riding shoes, padded riding shorts and Camelbak!  Worse, he's in his late 20s with a physique that would do a Tour de France rider proud.  I wonder just how "extreme" this session is going to be.

Putu explains we're going to ride up into the rice paddies behind the town, going through lots of villages and stopping for lots of photos.  I ask if there's any single track.  He looks a bit puzzled, but then says we'll stay on quiet roads most of the time, but they're very rough.  Fortunately my bike looks up to the task with disk brakes and good quality lockdown-capable front suspension.  I'd noted before that the front brake was on the left lever, and made a mental note to apply both brakes progressively to avoid any heroics.

We set off and I'm reminded how clever the Indonesians are with their traffic lights.

Countdown timers!  No anxiously waiting for the green to appear - if you know you've got 60 seconds to wait you've got time to change a CD or check your lippy without being blasted from behind when you miss a light change.  Clever - give information to motorists and they know what to expect and can prepare accordingly.  How about it, NZ traffic engineers?

As in Vietnam, motos are everywhere, and are put to amazing uses, whether carrying loads of harvested rice, taking the family for an outing, or just kids hooning about.

We're making good time, and I'm comforted by the fact that I'm keeping up with Putu - or perhaps he's just being nice to me.  As the hills get progressively steeper Putu's also dropping into granny, so I don't feel too bad.

Fortunately he stops periodically to chat up his girlfriends or answer some text messages, which gives me a chance for a well-deserved breather.

As we ride through lots of little villages, there's inevitably a bunch of roosters in cages on the side of the road.  Just as I saw in Jakarta, sadly cock fighting is also prevalent in Bali, where the birds have knives attached to their feet to inflict maximum damage.  Men gather in a ring around the fighting birds, gambling on the result.  The losing bird ends up in the cooking pot, the winner may live to fight another day.

The higher we go the more spectacular the terraced rice paddies.

We're at the stage now where the steeper bits are first gear granny and I'm having trouble keeping the front wheel on the ground.  We've been riding for over two hours, and even though it's in the "coolth" of the afternoon it's still around 30 degrees and I've gone through nearly three litres of water.

Time for some downhill?  You bet!

It's a blast going down and we're typically overtaking the motos, but I have to stop for more photos.  This woman is carrying at least 20kg on her head, and Putu says they'll often carry much more. 

It's dusk as we hit the lower foothills and I have to shed my sunglasses to see where I'm going.  Unfortunately dusk is also the time the insects come out in droves, and I make a note to come a bit more prepared for cycling holidays in the future as I blink various carcasses from my eyeballs.

It's pitch black as we ride the main road back to Lovina, and I'm acutely aware my bike doesn't have lights - only Putu's bike in front has a flashing red light to the rear.  I draft on his left so motos and motorists roaring up behind us are aware of our presence.

We get back at 7pm - four hours of solid riding and we've covered 45km.  Putu's as fresh as when we started - I (the flabby old westerner) feel as though I've been through a ringer.  He grins as he gives me a plate of Nasi Goreng for dinner.  Here, he says, you'll need this.  No shit!

Bromo to Lovina

I've paid for a package from Yogya to Bali via Bromo, but now the plans start to fall apart.  The Dutch family are angry because their jeep was the last up the mountain and they didn't get a good view.  MarieClaire is angry because she paid a single surcharge, yet had to share with others when the accommodation was overbooked and wasn't going to be given a refund.  A French girl was angry at everything.  This was too much for the local agent in Probolingo.  He threw his hands in the air, gave everyone 50kR, put us on a bus to the ferry terminal on the Java side, and told us to make our own way from there before storming off.

Reluctantly we get on the bus, and accept that when traveling in Asian countries it pays to expect the unexpected!  MarieClaire and I settle in together for another long trip - we've both decided to go to Lovina on Bali's north coast.  At least this trip's a bit shorter and less congested, and after a while we're following the coastline with tantalising images of Bali coming into view.

I have a cunning plan to relieve the boredom when not chatting.  After watching numerous zoo programs it's clearly important to hide the animals' food from them - the intellectual stimulation of searching and fossicking for their food keeps them fit, active, and free from boredom.  And so it was that I settled in with my bag of raw peanuts still in their shells - the challenge of extracting those tiny kernels on a bumpy bus without dropping rubbish everywhere kept me entertained for hours.

We make the ferry terminal well before dusk, and I'm looking forward to a quick trip over to the other side - it looks so close.  Well, the slow boat to China is now in service between Java and Bali, and it's a good two hours before we finally reach the terminal.  In our rush to the exit I leave my phone on my seat, and an anxious five minutes ensues as I sprint back to find it, and finally meet up with a Swiss couple who had seen me leave it behind, taken it and were searching for me.  After thanking them profusely I curse myself for being so sloppy, and thank my lucky stars I threw that flower into Bromo's crater.

But more bad luck was just around the corner.  The last bus for Lovina left half an hour before, leaving the Dutch family, MarieClaire and me stranded without any idea of the standard of local accommodation in what seemed to be a poky little town.  But we have an option - for 500kR we can hire a local van and driver to take us the two hours to Lovina, and after negotiating down to 400kR we're on the road.  No wonder our Probolingo agent deserted us, and his compensation was severely inadequate too.

Accommodation sorted at Hotel Angsoka, and finally a shower and dinner with MarieClaire rounds off an eventful day, and Lovina looks promising.

Note to those concerned - only the dinner was shared with MarieClaire :-)

Yogyakarta to Bromo

My last evening in Yogya so time to sample more of the local cuisine.  I've been recommended to try Gado Gado, so venturing into the unknown the dish duly arrives in front of me.  I think I've found another Asian cooking style to inflict on friends and family back home.  Gado Gado is essentially a plate of al dente mixed vegetables and lemongrass accompanied by a hard boiled egg, served on a bed of lettuce, tomato and cucumber and covered in a curry satay sauce, topped off with prawn noodles.  And excellent it is too.

As you might be able to tell, I'm eating vegetarian on my travels where possible.  Not just because I'm generally reducing the meat content in my diet, but you're less likely to pick up tummy bugs by avoiding meat products while eating in some pretty dodgy restaurants and street stalls.  And so far so good - no problems at all and my "just in case" pills stay safely stashed in the bottom of my pack.

Sunday morning and it's off to Bromo in eastern Java, and while the west around Jakarta is predominantly flat, the east is characterised by more rolling terrain and a few towering volcanoes, of which Bromo is one.  We pile into the minivan and start the arduous trip to the northeast.  It's hard to tell where Yogya ends and the country begins - Java is so heavily populated along this route that cities, towns and villages segue into each other, interspersed occasionally with the ubiquitous paddy fields.  This also means the traffic congestion is diabolical, and we probably average around 40kph.  It's heartstopping looking forward out the windscreen - overtaking manouvers in the face of oncoming traffic are inevitable, but some unwritten law about who has priority seems to get us through, with no road rage evident at all.  A lesson for kiwi drivers!

I pass the time by chatting of course.  In the van are a Dutch couple (Marty & Wendy) with two impeccably behaved children aged 7 & 11, Sarah from South London, Sandra from Norway, a couple of boys from Zurich, and MarieClaire from Quebec.  I find myself sitting with MarieClaire, and amongst other things discover that at the age of 23 she speaks six languages, is completing a degree in anthropology, and on graduating will then tackle a Masters in comparative Indonesian religions, which will involve learning Arabic!  I feel suitably overawed until I discover she's absolutely hopeless at maths and science, and I feel much better.  But we swap stories of our respective travels, and discover she's on her way to Lovina in Bali too.

After 10 hours in the poorly aircon'd van we finally make the city of Probolingo, and transfer to another van to take us up into the hills to our accommodation closer to Bromo.  We're all exhausted with numb bums and flop into bed in preparation for a 3am start the next morning - well, we do want to see Bromo at it's best at dawn!

Now did I mention that Java is heavily populated?  This also applies to its scenic attractions, so we're just one of literally hundreds of jeeps grinding our way up to the viewing platform.  The road's not quite as bad as the one up Bokor Mountain in southern Cambodia, but it's pretty close.  The final 200m walk to the viewing platform has us jostling for space with thousands of other tourists, but MarieClaire and I find a little spot off to the side with no-one in front of us, and we settle in to watch the sunrise.  And spectacular it was as the sun progressively lit up the morning sky and Bromo and its companions sitting in a larger caldera came into view.

And the obligatry "I was there shot".  Yes, it is a bit cold on top of a mountain! Just as well I was warned.

But wait, there's more!  Back into the jeep and we're heading down to Bromo itself.  Just looking at it from a distance isn't enough - the visit isn't complete without hiking to the rim of the crater

and peering down into the steam vents below.  I throw a flower into the crater - everyone else seems to be doing it, so I guess it's supposed to bring good luck.  Things have been going pretty well so far, but every extra bit helps!

Borobudur and Prambanan

If Jakarta is the economic heart of Java, Yogyakarta is its soul.  The place is busy, but relatively laid back, and has two world heritage temples at its doorstep.

I've booked for the Buddhist temple of Borobudur, figuring that two temples in one day is just a bit much.  The tour leaves at 5am so we can see Borobudur at its best at dawn, and before the seething crowds arrive.  As we spill out of our minivan I meet up with Laura, an Irish girl from Londonderry, and we spend the next two hours chatting as we explore Borobudur together.  She's around Fiona's age, and is seeing the world on her own.  I give her some tips about Laos, and she gives me some tips about Bali.  This is one of the best parts of traveling - meeting people at random and sharing experiences.  She may even get to NZ one day - particularly if my sales pitch worked!

Borobudur is stunning.  Not as big as Angkor (fortunately), but every bit as impressive and intricately carved. 

You walk clockwise from the base reading the pictorial stories, moving up a level at a time representing successive rebirth until you reach nirvana at the top. 

Nirvana or not, the early morning views over the mist-filled valleys were spectacular, and an added bonus was meeting a couple of Muslim girls wanting to practice their English.  We had plenty of time, so chatted away about Ireland, NZ and our experiences in Indonesia.  At 17 their English was remarkably good, and we had no trouble making ourselves understood (even with Laura's broad accent).

The supplied breakfast consisted of coffee, a hard boiled egg, two pieces of jam toast and a small fruit salad.  Hardly unique to Indonesia, but it was enough to keep us going.  Next stop was a Buddhist monastery, and yet again I'm struck by the incredible sense of calm and peacefulness experienced as you wander around the grounds and buildings.  A little oasis of serenity in the middle of bustling earthly existence.

Back at the van the driver explains everyone else is going on to the Hindu temples at Prambanan and would I like to come too?  Well, why not - it pays to go with the flow in these situations.  And spectacular they are - three huge temples dedicated to the Creator (Brahma), the Sustainer (Vishnu) and the Destroyer (Shiva), with a number of subsidiary temples supporting them.  And wait - more groups of Muslim students are waiting to practice their English - but with plenty of time it's no problem doing it all over again.

 It's sad how in the west the word Muslim conjures up images of religious fanaticism and terrorism.  The reality is that most people and their religions share a common humanity with love and compassion as recurring themes.  These girls reinforced my world view that we all live together in a global village, and how we should continually strive to deny fanatics, irrespective of their views.  A special day.

Jakarta to Yogyakarta

The morning power cut had an unexpected consequence - no Visa facilities.  So I have to dip deeper into my limited Rupiahs and hand over 260kR for my Exekutif ticket to Yogya - Lonely Planet strenuously recommended against cattle class.  A good move too - my window seat was more than adequate, and I watched Java unfold as we headed southeast.  Railway lines often take you through the arse end of cities, and this was no exception.  The first half hour was a succession of slums, rubbish, graffiti and filthy rivers, with the lowlight being a group of men on the street circling a cock fight.  But eventually the squalor gave way to green rice paddies stretching as far as the eye could see across the plains.

Relatively few animals - a few chooks, goats and sheep, but no cows or buffalo.  Plenty of people working the fields though, with ubiquitous conical hats as common here as in northern Indochina.  And absolutely no mechanisation - why bother when over 120 million people populate the island?

Around halfway through the eight hour trip the scenery changed to rolling hills, so the paddies became terraced, but not to the same extent as Sapa in northwestern Vietnam.  Even the streams were terraced under the bridges - must make it easier to funnel water out to the paddies.

 A rickshaw gets me out of the station and heading to the backpacker area.  My two preferred options extracted from Lonely Planet are full, so I book into Hotel Jaya, and it's pretty basic.  The shared bathroom cubicle is typically Asian - a pipe from the wall supplies the cold shower, a trough full of water with a plastic bucket floating in it serves for ablutions and flushing the squat toilet.  Nik - I'll let Fiona describe the best way feminine hygiene is maintained in this sort of environment - she'll be well used to them.

Having booked the temple tour, the evening sees me wandering the street markets before finding a bar to watch the World Cup.  Bummer - they're playing the Italy/Slovakia game, not the All Whites!  After downing my beer I head back to the hotel, and as an honoured guest they let me watch the All Whites hold Paraguay to a nil all draw.  Go the All Whites - what a fantastic achievement to go undefeated in the first round of the World Cup!  Who'd have thought a team regarded as cannon fodder could actually beat Italy in its group - the team will be in for a heroes welcome on their return home.

Auckland to Jakarta

Hardly an auspicious start.  The Airport Bus slams on its brakes on K Rd to avoid an SUV swinging wide.  The trip's barely begun and my life's in jeopardy from crazy Auckland drivers.  Hopefully Indonesians are better.

The flight was good, and I was agreeably surprised by the mod cons that have made it on to planes these days - USB ports and movies on demand.  Speaking of which, I can now give 2 stars to Alice, and 4 stars to The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - definitely worth a rewatch.

My cunning plan of using my APEC card to get through immigration worked brilliantly, only to be frustrated by my bag being the last one off the conveyor.  Spurning the taxis, I found my way to the bus to Gambir Station - a mere 20,000 Rupiahs instead of the 150kR for a taxi.  Another 20kR on a motorised trike saw me at my Jalan Jaksa hotel.  Quite a salubrious room - I had a second bed as well as a fan.

Trying to get my body clock adjusted, I settled in at Memories Cafe with a Bintang (perfectly acceptable local beer) and a view of a big screen to watch England hang on against Slovenia.  I was nearly falling off my barstool by the end of the game, having gone around 24 hours without sleep.

Heavy rain woke me around 4.30am, and shortly thereafter the power went out.  No fan!  I tried to sleep with sweat pooling around my body, and got up at 6.30am to head to the station.  Fortunately my walk in the humidity was saved by a moto.  With my pack wedged in front and me on the back wearing a helmet with the strength of an eggshell we raced off - shades of Saigon all over again - a real blast!

Over a breakfast of Nasi Goreng (what else for my first meal?) I reflected on Jakarta, having spent all of a few hours there.  It's a typical Asian city - big, sprawling, hot, industrial, reasonably modern with lots of high rises, but with areas of abject poverty as well.  Not dissimilar to an amalgam of Saigon, PP and Bangkok.  The traffic's manic and congested, the smells are bearable, and the people are friendly.  They tout, but don't scam as overtly as the Vietnamese.  They also smoke like chimneys - everywhere.  Not sure if I could live here - my cousin Rod did for years, so I guess it's possible.

But now it's off to Yogyakarta for a more relaxed introduction to Indonesian culture.  Stay tuned.

On the road again

Or more precisely, on the plane again. My last stint around Indochina had two notable omissions - Indonesia and Malaysian Borneo. Now to make amends.

Flying out tomorrow to Jakarta, travelling overland through Java to Bali. On Sat 3 July I'll get to KL to meet up with Pauline and Nik before spending a week in Borneo (mainly Sarawak) together.

I must admit to not knowing a whole lot about Indonesia and Borneo.

Follow me in my voyage of discovery as I explore vast Buddhist monuments, scale smoking volcanoes, duck terrorist bombings, go face to face with orang-utans in the wild, and buy a nice pair of slippers.