Indo-bouleh-nesia

Sumatra 5 Feb-27 Feb 03

Gamal in denial
Let's just imagine that we have never been to Jambi in south east Sumatra.
...Let's also just say that we have not been mistreated and misinformed and misguided and mislead and misdirected from the first moments we entered Indonesia.
...Let's further presume that all the touts in Pulau Batan have not cheated us, ripped us off, duped us and hoaxed us in every possible way.
...Let's likewise presume that the taxi who drove us to the nearest ATM has not charged us 80 times the usual fare and that the boat salesperson has not tried to swindle a 30% commission from us.
...Let's furthermore speculate that nobody- not even the smiling ticket-window lady- has lied and tricked us in taking a boat that was going to a harbour in the middle of nowhere, 5 hours away from where we were actually supposed to go.
...Let's consider too that the money exchange agent has not asked for a 40% fee to change our euros in rupiah.
...Let's even dream that the hundred chain-smoking, sleazy-looking, fuckall-doing men hanging about the stations, harbours, streets and shops have not staringly drooled over Sil nor tried to touch her and harass her.
...Let's assume that the 9am bus ticket we bought was indeed for the 9am bus, and not for the 4pm one.
...Let's finally suppose that the bus ride was indeed the promised 10 hours in a VIP bus, and not 18 hours in a suspensionless old piece of junk, that the journey from Singapore to Bukitingi that should have taken us a total of 12 hours did not take us 48, and that we, at no single moment, seriously thought about getting out of Sumatra, or even of skipping the whole country altogether just to be away from all those annoying unscrupulous lying sons of b's!...
...And let's just say that we immediately felt at home in Indonesia, that we miraculously smoothed our way to Bukitingi, that shit-hole-Jambi did not even exist and that everything was hunky dory...

Gamal in Limbo
Bukitingi was actually not much of a happening town. The October 12 bombing in Bali, the bad Islamic-fundamentalist-related publicity, the on-and-off negative travel advice and the ongoing conflict in Aceh, the northern-most province of Sumatra, had all had their share of responsibility in bringing the Indonesian tourist industry to a standstill, and ensuring that all tourists stay in safer countries or at home, hiding under the kitchen sink, or getting hammered at the local pub...
The streets were empty, the guesthouses deserted and the trekking guides seemed to be the only bar customers. It was all a bit sad.
While there was supposedly quite a lot to do and see in East Sumatra, we were preoccupied about when, where and how we were going to meet up with Ben who had sent us a cryptic email from Dubai saying: "I am coming tomorrow to Sumatra. Where do we meet? I want to see you and the Orang Utans. ps: the first beer is on me.”
Sumatra being 100 times the size of Holland (400x Lebanon), it was not the easiest thing for us to find a convenient meeting point. Sil decorticated the Lonely Planet of Sumatra, read it twice from cover to cover, highlighted every single thing to do, every interesting sight, studied the timetables of all buses, all planes and one ferry company, and came to the difficult conclusion that we'd meet in Padang, East Sumatra, go trekking in the jungle around Bukitingi, chill on the shore of a small volcanic lake and then visit a few Minakabau villages. The plan was presented to Ben by sms. The reply came fast and hard: "I am in Koala Loempia (KL), the travel agents are all closed and flights to Padang all full. Can arrive via Jakarta in 3 days". Shock, horror, disappointment, panic!! Sil dives back in her books and draws attack plan B.1.1 in less than 16 minutes: we would meet up in Medan, West Sumatra, 1600km North of Padang.
Having just one afternoon left in Bikitingi before having to take the bus to Padang and then hopefully the plane to Medan, we prioritised the things to do, decided to skip the trekking, the romantic walks, the cultural villages and the beautiful lake sides, and we headed towards the nearest attractions: the Bukitingi Fort, the adjacent zoo, a typical water buffalo fight and some folkloric dances. The Fort turned out to be such a waste of time that we felt compelled to reclaim the 20 euro-cents entrance fee we'd paid: there was no fort, no view, no animals; just a patch of grass of 5x5, a modern tower in construction and one broken rusty old cannon. The 3.5-minute short visit left us with some time to kill before the fight, so we had a fast walk, a quick lunch, a speedy drink, and a long long wait for the bill. And so we missed the buffalo fight.

Chicken Gamal
Bright and early the next day, we boarded a bus for Padang for what was advertised as a 3-hour scenic journey. But no, our kretek-chain-smoking driver had decided otherwise and was determined to make the trip in less than half the time by driving 100 on the narrow winding mountainous roads and playing chicken with anyone who dared be in his way. There was not a single car we flew by who did not, in some way or another, honk, swear, damn him, or just give him the finger!
We were, as per the Indonesian tradition, dropped at a bus terminal 20km out of town, where we knew we would have the pleasure to bargain with sleazy thieving taxi drivers for a ride to the city.
And while Ben was initiating some good-looking local papitas to the art of bridge in his luxurious 5-stars hotel room in Kuala Lumpur, we were walking in the boiling heat with our heavy packs looking for a travel agent, were finding out that our flight had just left, that the first one out was on the following afternoon, and that we'd have to sleep in yet another boring place for the night.

Totally Gamaled out!
By that stage, the weight of travelling - not to mention our 24 kilo backpacks! - was starting to show. We'd been on the road for 5 full months, seen 7 countries, done something active every single day, packed every morning, unpacked every evening, never spent more than 3 nights at one place, ate out for breakfast lunch and dinner, did our laundry in small leaking basins, showered with freezing cold water, wore the same clothes day in day out, told the same stories over and over again, were forced to consciously plan every minute...We needed a break! We needed some stability, some rhythm, some continuity, a cosy little room to call home for a few days, a kitchen to cook, a TV to fall asleep to, a cupboard to hang our clothes....
So we decided to take it a bit more easy. And from then onwards, Sumatra was a blessing!

Bulshit Gamalang
Ben thought that the instructions he received to book a room in Medan for anything less than rp60,000 (U$6) was a joke. So he went ahead and got us a bed in a simple, bare, old hotel for 80,000, and even had change left to brag about his "negotiation skills".
As anyone with any sense would do, we left Medan as soon as we could, and took the loco-loco bus to Bukit Lawang, a cute riverside village surrounded by jungle and rubber plantations.
We had been on the bus for less than 10 minutes when Ben deprived the young bus conductor of his headscarf, his money belt, his jacket, his little hammer, and took over his job. For the next 4 hours, Ben was hanging out of the rear door, hailing potential passengers, taking money from disembarking ones, commanding the driver with his little hammer (2 knocks on the roof for stop, 1, accompanied with a loud 'hoooooow' for go), and amusing the crowds by being the energetic entertainer that he always is!
Once in Bukit Lawang, we treated ourselves to a big beautiful bungalow amidst a grand garden, overlooking the river, the village and the lovely surroundings, and we rested our sore bums in the local restaurant.
Bukit Lawang is one of those villages that grew to become totally dependent on tourism: every other house either a guesthouse, a small souvenir stall or a mini market; every woman over the age of 8 works in a shop and all men are trekking guides - or drunks.
And while the village has retained its special charm and character, with its narrow muddy paths winding between the houses, its many fragile bridges and its wonderful views, there was something that did not feel 100% right and that kept annoying our energetic Ben: tourism being down, trekking guides were not in huge demand, yet, all those super able, super fit, healthy looking young men did absolutely nothing the whole day but hangout all together, smoke, drink, listen to their greasy hair grow even longer, sit around, play cards and look bored; while their wives, daughters or mothers were sweating their ass off cooking, serving, washing, cleaning and balancing three kids under their arms and two on their back. The comments of Ben to "do something", "paint the walls, fix the roof", "go build a new house" or "work on the field" did not in any way make them feel self-conscious or stop them from complaining about the lack of tourists, the bad economy and the difficult times they are living!. One could not help but to sympathise with them, and want to scream "Get off your fat ass you lazy bum!".
The next morning early, we tightened our boots, packed our daypack, and started our 2-day trek in the bush bush just out of Bukit Lawang. Whilst walking in the super dense jungle, we saw many cute Thomas Leaf monkeys, 2 wild adult Orang Utans with 2 babies and lots of macaques. We arrived at camp at around 3 after a very steep - and very very slippery- descent from the jungle heights to the riverbank, we got rid of our gear, and rushed to the river for a cooling dip and a challenging swim against the strong current. By 4 it was drizzling, by 5 raining, by 6 it was pouring, and by 7 we had given up any hope of ever being able to see the stars or to leave our makeshift camp which was a simple piece of plastic hung across 4 wooden poles: it was wide enough to put the 7 sleeping bags in a row and stay (kinda) dry.

No need to mention that the night was cold, wet and terribly uncomfortable, that the 8mm camping mattresses did not provide any protection from the stones and rocks underneath us, and that we slept early, and very little.
But the food was terrific (how could they possibly cook such a wonderful 4 course meal in the middle of nowhere with just 2 pans and a wet fire?), the company was great and we made the best of it by playing cards and silly games (Sil is however now adamant that this was her last jungle camping ever, and that if Chris ever - and she means ever - tries to lure her into another one of those uncomfortable windowless, door less, rain-prone tents, she would get Richard, her 2m-wide bold bad brother take care of him once and for good!)
With 15 hours of non-stop rain, the river had risen 2 meters. We could not trek any further, and had to go back to the village on a truck-tire raft.
The inflated huge tires were brought in the morning by 2 very brave young lads who walked along the banks, bare foot, crossing the wild river 13 times, walking against the current. All the tires were tied to each other, we sat in a train, hanging our feet on the sides of the 6-tires raft, pushing our bums in either the centre of the tires or in the joint between 2, and went in the wild river for what was the best ride of our life. Forget about wild water rafting, forget about grade 4 or 5 rivers... these babies gave the best sensations ever: You sit so close to the water that the raft shakes and flies with the tiniest wave, and that you really have to hold on well in order not to be thrown overboard. It was excellent, the best!

A Gamal on a tree
Wet, tired but ecstatic, we had a small siesta in our cute little bungalows, and then rushed, under the rain, to the Orang Utan rehabilitation centre just in time for the afternoon feeding.
This centre is one of three in the world to rehabilitate injured, orphaned, captured or domesticated Orang Utans with the aim of teaching them all the necessary ape skills (jumping from tree to tree, hunting for berries in the jungle out there, peeling bananas with two toes, hanging upside down in front of tourists, getting rid of cheeky macaques, doing nookie 15 times a day...) and then reintroducing them to the real jungle. (if any of you lazy people had read the story of Borneo, you would know all about this, won't you now?). The centre in Sumatra was a lot nicer than the one in Borneo: there were far fewer people, the platform, in the heart of the jungle, feels much more natural, and the apes come much closer to the mere mortals that we are (though when a 50kg male Orang Utan tries to rip the camera out of your hand, you usually know that they've come a bit too close for comfort). After two hours of ape-watching (nota bene for the uncultured ignorant amongst you: Orang Utans and Gorillas are Apes, Chimpanzee, Macaques and Donald Rumsfeld are monkeys) we went back to the village for a drink and a bit to eat, resisted once again the many offers to eat magic mushroom pies, skunk spaghetti and marijuana marinated chicken, and got ready to leave the next morning for an island on the world's biggest volcanic crater lake: Pulau Samosir.

Gamal in Bliss
Lake Toba was exactly what the doctor had ordered: a quiet, beautiful, relaxed place where we were able to do precisely what we wanted: ...nothing at all!
As the weather was gorgeous and Ben was still with us for another 2 days only, we rented 3 motorbikes and went crossing around the coastline, intending to circle the whole island in a day. But things dragged on, and between lunch, drinks, inland side trips and Chris taking ages to shoot a photo, it was 3 pm when we got to the halfway point: it was too late to continue, and too much of a shame to go back the same way. So after consulting our walking atlas/travel book (i.e. Silvia), we opted for a short cut across the island through the mountains. A few locals stopped us to warn us that the road was not in the best of states, but we laughed at them and thought: "You bloody fool! We are die hards of bad roads, we live to see the day we'll experience worst than what we have seen (and - oh so much! - felt) in Nepal, Laos or Cambodia". So we continued and the road was just fine, the scenery was stunning, and Ben, who had not ridden a motorcycle in 15 years, was doing pretty ok. Sil was her cheerful self, driving like a maniac on the winding roads, grinning at the naivety of the locals who think that all boulehs (coloc: designation for white people, literally: albinos) can't handle a bit of bad road!. Two minutes later, the zigzagging asphalt road became a dirt track, then a collection of lose stones, large rocks, deep holes and now and then a trace of what could have once been a derivate of asphalt. And just when we thought that it could not possibly get any worst, the road simply disappeared. We were left with no other choice but to continue for 20km on the slippery, muddy, wet grass-covered 40cm-wide forest trail. Then it started pissing down with rain!
As we were struggling to keep our balance in extremely difficult driving conditions, two men, walking in the middle of the forest, miles and miles away from the nearest farm, asked us for a lift. "Hop on" said Ben, "It can't get any worst than this". The hitchhikers were certainly a blessing in disguise: they were able to indicate the correct turns in the forest, and thus prevent us for being totally lost in the falling darkness, and to have to camp in the scary woods for the night.
At night, Chris was able to take his revenge on Silvia for Christmas Eve, when Ben and him left sick-feeling Sil alone in the room to have a great night out on the town till 4.30am.
When Ben left, we shifted into 'do-nothing mode", and spent 4 fantastic days lazing around, swimming in the lake, reading, eating the wonderful food of the Romlan Guest house and playing with the adorable dogs and cats. We didn't even mind the never-ending horrible weather, on the contrary, it motivated us to be real travel bums!

Fish and Ships
Many people had warned us about going to Aceh, the northern most province of Indonesia, due to the secular violence and independence guerrilla operations. But a cease-fire had just been signed, and things seemed quiet enough to try our luck with what was often described as one of the most amazing diving in Asia.
Arriving in Pulau Weh with only 5 hour delay (because the charming gentlemen of the Indonesian army suddenly decided, 30 minutes before the scheduled departure, to use the Ferry harbour to unload their own ship instead of docking it 500m further!), we were quiet surprised at how big it actually was - one never gets used to having things that are less than half a centimetre on a map in Indonesia actually be the size of small countries.
Having decided to go diving with the Dutch-run Lumba Lumba school, we settled in the "red roof bungalows" on Gapang beach., the quieter and more "luxurious" of the 2 beaches.
The island was yet another opportunity for us to do very little. And apart from the great diving (the best by far till now, with wonderful corals, fantastic fish, eagle rays, sharks, turtles, puffers, box fix, tuna, barracudas, colourful triggers... and extremely strong currents that were quiet difficult to manage at certain times!), we relaxed, read, caught up on our travel stories, chatted with travellers, ate delicious fried tempeh, rode around the island on a motorbike and generally lazed around in our hammocks
Six days later, when we were ready to leave Sumatra on which we had spent the last 3 weeks to join Marianne and Aad in Jakarta, we had forgotten all about the events of the first 2 days, we were relaxed, calmed down, energized and back to our enthusiastic let's-do-something mood!

Gamal at a family reunion
Our arrival in Jakarta was blissfully relaxed after our "holiday" on Sumatra and we were looking forward to meeting up with Silvia's mum and uncle, Marianne and Aad. We were also pleased to see that we didn't think Jakarta was the disgustingly filthy dump a lot of people made it out to be ("Jakarta would only be nice if it was totally nuked down to the ground and rebuilt" told us Jerome when we left Singapore). We spent quite a while looking for decent accommodation (read: walking for 2 hours with our souvenir-food-and-junk-filled packs, sweating like Eskimos on weekend in the Costa del sol) as we didn't want our "guest's" first night to be too much of a traveller-junkie-culture-shock.
We decided on a reasonably nice family style guesthouse, with ensuite bathroom, mothballs-smelling towels, flushing toilet, bed sheets and many other luxury amenities. But after having been kept awake the entire night listening to a choir of rats performing all 14 versus of the Wilhelmus (NB: that would be the Dutch National Anthem) on the roof, we quickly moved to a decent hotel at the end of the street. Since Marianne and Aad were only arriving at night, we had planned to do lots of highly cultural and touristic stuff, but it was all pretty much ruined by the not-so-quick Qantas bimbo who took a good three hours to make oh-so-very simple changes to our tickets. So instead, we quickly had lunch, did some Internet and ran to the train station to book our seats on next day's train to Bandung. But the train was already full, and so was the next, the one after that, and the one after that... That was 7 full trains, pre-booked and gone. Wow! Our culture-shock-o-meter jumped to level 10 (the "get-the-hell-outa-here-while -you're--still-sain" level): who would have ever imagined that Indonesians were so proactive!
We booked tickets for the following Monday and only just about made it to the airport on time (ok, ok, we were late, but Marianne knowing us so well, was waiting very patiently for us to arrive at the gate.). -"It was fabulous seeing them again. My mom... Aad... Not in the least as they were carrying lots and lots of candy and presents from our friends and family in Holland" said Sil between two cries and a nose blow.
On the way to the hotel we decided to put the plans (or ruined plans) on the table and decided what we were going to do in Jakarta for the next two full days, as it isn't exactly Rome....

Gamal says: don´t nuke Jakarta as yet
Of course we managed to enjoy ourselves thoroughly, went into the city the first day, strolled around the harbour and had a fab lunch at the stunning Batavia Cafe, a former Dutch colonial house in the old city. At night we ate at the little stalls on the streets selling beautiful Chinese and Indonesian dishes, after which we wandered along the tiny shops where Marianne succumbed to buying an obscene number of cheap, fake, copied and totally illegal CD's....
The next day we spent at a place called mini Indonesia which is like an aging fairground without rides (if you know what I mean). It is an area where a lot of locals (and some tourists) go to see the different Indonesian architecture by visiting real-scale model houses. Some of the places were absolutely amazing and very photogenic (or at least, Marianne seemed to think so, seeing the number of rolls she went through in 3 hrs), so we decided to go into the cable cars to have a good view of the whole place, especially this wonderful Cinderella-style palace which Marianne was determined to get a shot of. As we were moving up to it in our little gondola, all three of us were guiding her into taking that once in a lifetime picture: - "Yes zoom in a bit" "No, no, not so much", "Yesyesyes, out of the window, now, quick",. "Go in a bit further... no mum! <screaming.> open your camera first!!", "Go!! Yes! take take it!, now!, now!, NAAAW!", "Careful.. the pillar in front", "Wait, wait, wait...", "No mum, noooooo! not the bloody pillar Marianne!, not the pillar!". We haven't actually seen the picture yet, but can only imagine how great the big grey rusty poll will look!....

Bad Belly Bandung
On Monday we finally made a move to Bandung via a gorgeous 2,5 hours train ride through greener than green rice fields. In Bandung it was again a bit of a struggle to get nice accommodation as everything we looked at was either closed or crap (thank you Lonely Planet!). In the end we stayed in this gorgeous 19th century mansion which has last been renovated in the 1930s and boy it showed (they even still proudly display the yellow b/w pictures of the renovations at the front office!).
Unlike any other town we had visited up till then, it turned out to be really difficult to try and organise transportation or a tour to visit the pretty hilly surroundings, the tea plantations, the volcano’s etc. After a desperate half-day surge we finally came across a taxi driver who was happy to take us around the next day (no wonder he was happy! With the money we were paying, even Bill Gates would have been thrilled!!).
Bandung at night is not exactly a happening place but we had a ball going around "Jeans street" browsing around cheap clothes and buying souvenirs for way too much (Marianne & Aad, definitely keep practising those bargaining skills), before sitting down to a scrumptious dinner of far too many sate's. Unfortunately there must have been something wrong with the dinner as Sil woke up the next day feeling absolutely terrible. She didn't want to ruin the day however and so bravely got in the car to join in with all the sightseeing. However at the first spot, a bloody freezing volcano top, she had been up and down to the toilet about 20 times, and was now crouching behind the car, thinking that it was probably not the brightest of ideas to have come along after all. She also politely declined to climb the mountain leading to the top of the Tangkuban Prahu volcano, a beautiful 1,5 hours walk passed active geysers, boiling sulphur springs and fantastic panoramas, and preferred to stay behind the car, head down, checking the quality of the tires.
Once everyone had made it up in one piece we went to the nearby hot springs in Ciater and had an absolutely heavenly time. They had made large swimming pools from the thermal water and although it was very very hot - and smelled like rotten eggs - it simply felt blissful. Next stop was supposed to be a tea-packing factory, but after confirming it was definitely closed, we just went and drank tea instead at a small teahouse with a stunning view over the valley. By this stage Sil was feeling slightly better again, but Marianne, in a courageous effort to prove her solidarity with her daughter, took over the burden, and decided she would be the one feeling horribly bad... for the next 4 days! Aaah, such a brave gesture! Aad, not wanting to let the girls completely down, also decided to join the party soon after, but, as any rational-thinking pain-averse man would do, hurried and visited a local medicine man who prescribed a miracle remedy to all his pains, worries and monetary problems: -"Just take two of these daily, and eat normally" supposedly said the man with the green hair. Aad took the guru to the letter, and continued stuffing himself with greasy food, peanut sauce, salads, citrus fruits and juices. -"Are you sure you can eat 3 portions of French fries with mayo when you have a bad stomach?" would ask Marianne worriedly? -"Of course I can! The doctor said I can eat whatever I want" would reply Aad with a certainty that could only come as the result of the fact that he had been on his 15th tablet that day.

Gamal and organised tours: episode MCXII
At night we got in contact with a bus travel company who would collect us the next day at the highly asocial hour of 6.15am to go to the beach town of Pangandaran. At 6am, all packed and ready to leave, we gulluped our breakfast down and rushed to the gate. One and a half hours later, we were still at the hotel's porch, and still no f.... bus!. World travellers as we are, we just hailed a bemos (converted pickup truck), went to the bus station and jumped on the first available local bus instead (sounds familiar no??).

Gamal in Panganda-what??
In Pangandaran we were driven on a beca (pron betcha: A tricycle with 2 narrow seats in the front ) through the tiniest streets of the peninsula to a great guesthouse right on the beach and had a huge seafood lunch at the local seafood market where we got stuck for about three hours due to the pissing rain (that's what you get when you travel in Indonesia in March: rain, rain, and lots more rain!).
It had rained so much that we had to walk up to our knees in puddles of murky water on our way back home (thank god for those Teva sandals). But the weather improved and we had a great time in Pangandaran: we rented motorcycles for a day, went around the sights, sailed on a long-tail boat to the not-so-green-anymore-green-canyon, ate delicious grilled seafood and took the sun at a stunning black lava sand beach, taught Marianne how to drive a motorbike (and she turned out to be a very gifted fearless speed devil), had a fantastic long tough jungle walk and introduced the vandenberg duo to the often played and by now well known game of Shithead.
Although our guesthouse did not appear to be located too close to the village mosque, we were woken up at 4:30am by what seemed to be a muzzennin chant coming right out of our bathroom. The enthusiastic local mufti most probably thought that by singing this loud -and false- he'd actually manage to wake the old man up and receive a heart-warming clap in recognition for his ardour and devotion.

Gamal les p´tit bateaux...
We were advised by our travel guide to take a boat through the backwaters of Pangandaran. from Kalipucang to Cilacap and then the bus onwards to Yogyakarta, our next destination. But this turned out to be a bit of a waste of time: the boat ride was pretty boring, and in our case wet and cold as well. A better option would have been to just take the bus all the way to Yogya, just like all the locals do, so this is for all you future travellers: do not believe the boogie man, specially when he has long greasy hair, lots of tattoos and calls you "my friend" all the time!...

And now Gamal takes a short break for a culural interval
In Yogya we checked into the Wisma Ary, a great japanese-owned-japanese- homy feeling guest house with the zenest garden and the funkiest bathrooms we have ever seen. We immediately started exploring the surroundings, but did not get further than the ViaVia, a cosy Belgian run restaurant with a good menu, good tourist info and great tours..
Like us, Aad had really hoped to eat delicious Indonesian "rice tables" (rijstafels) but unfortunately very soon found out that they were hardly served on Java (or any other island for that matter, at least no in the simple sub-5dollar restaurants that we went to), and he had to settle for good, but different, Indo food. The next day, as we were doing all the not-to-be-missed sights in Yogya on our 2-dollar a day chartered beca, we got the chance to see some typical Javanese dancing at the Kraton, the Sultans's palace. Listening to 30 musicians each playing a different - and oh so inharmoniously awful! - tune and watching headache-inducing neck-stiffening boring dances for 20 minutes made us realise just how much traditional Indonesian dances were not our thing, that we could easily skip the usd25 a pop "temple dancing" evening that we had planned, and invest the cash on equally entertaining food and drinks instead.

The second day we went to visit the Borobudur (Boudhist) and Prambanan (Hindu) temples which were both truly spectacular. We arrived at the Borobudur for sunrise (well a little after actually as the gate only opens at 06.30, while the sun rises at 05.45... but hey, that's Indonesia for you!) but managed to get some great shots in, and spent a lot of time talking to really nice school girls who were trying to practice their English. Aad was very quickly overwhelmed with the amount of japing around him and escaped to the safe and quiet grounds around the Borobudur where we all followed him after we had our picture taken about 100 times and signed as many books complimenting the girls on their English skills.
We later regretted not having taken the address of the school they were in, as our guide at the Prambaran temples could really have used a few hundred lessons. He was virtually impossible to understand, but nevertheless quite entertaining with his not-so-discreet sexual innuendos when describing the Hindu kama-sutra-inspired murals. Out-cultured for the day, we spent the afternoon soaking our tired bones in the swimming pool of the hotel next door and drinking awful (but complimentary) "teh botle" a sort of - but really only sort of - local ice tea.

Gamal says: At Last!!!!
At Viavia we booked a half-day cycling tour through the rice fields of the countryside surrounding Yogya. for the next day This turned out to be by far the best and most interesting organised tour we have ever made, and the only one we would ever highly recommend

:
our guide Vita took us around all the villages and showed us how rice is planted grown, harvested, beaten and cleaned (a 100% manual process so uncertain, time-consuming and tiresome that it is a real wonder that there is so much rice eaten in the world!), she guided us in making traditional red bricks by hand and showed us the very demanding business of making krupuk and tempeh (soya-been cakes which we were all very quickly addicted to; eating them that is).
In the evening, we gave our first (and last) rice table a try, but after the first few bites, Aad came to the sad conclusion the only place to go for good Indonesian food is Holland.
Our last day in Yogya was supposed to be some quick souvenir shopping session followed by a luscious lazy afternoon by the pool, at the massage parlour, the pedicure and the hairdresser; but as so many presents still had to be bought, and so many shops to be visited, we found ourselves still shopping at 5pm, with dozens of bags filled with great bargains, cheap gifts and a wood-warm infested crumbling 40 year-old toy horse.

Gurung Gamal Bromo
The 10-hour journey to Gurung Bromo, the most famous volcano on Java, in our private mini-bus (after all, even backpackers have the right to treat themselves to some decadent luxury) was an absolutely stunning trip, especially the last two hours of the journey that took us to the heart of positively breathtaking luscious mountains surrounding the area. As we had left for Bromo with very little time left on this part of the trip we had to get up the next morning at 2:30am to climb up the slopes of Gurung Penanjakan (2770m) to see the sun rising over Bromo. Despite the few "Are you sure it's the right path Chris?", the "What if we have missed a turn?" and the "I think we have gone too far... let's just stay here and wait for the light to come..." it was a great climb, in complete darkness and on unmarked trails. As we had not been the luckiest so far in regards with views, panoramas and sunrises, we feared the worst. but this one made up for a lot of previous disappointments.: it was just stunning! The sun started rising at 6am just as we had arrived at the top and we stood there watching it illuminate the smoking crater of Bromo (2392m) in the foreground and the cloud-spitting tallest active volcano of java (3200m) in the background. When it became positively too cold to stay immobile a second more, we walked the remaining 3 hours down and up to the top of Bromo, with the last 260 steps taking the last of our strength. The view however was again marvellous and it was a great ending to our trip. As we had used every mode of transport possible in Indonesia so far (boat, train, car, long tail, minibus, bus, bemo, taxi, beca, bike, truck, motorbike and plane) bar this one, we decided to take horses for the hour walk back to the Cemoro Lawang village and our hotel.

Although it was lots of fun for everyone (except for the horses maybe), Sil was in absolute agony for about two days after, screaming 'awww" and "aoutch" every time she moved. To make things worst, she also started feeling ill again, and was definitely not up to the 15-hour bus-boat-bus-taxi trip to Bali that we were supposed to take. So we joined Marianne and Aad at the airport, having plenty of time for our goodbyes before jumping on a comfy flight from Surabaya to Bali, excited at the thought of having 7 heavenly nights booked at the Bali Hyatt and looking back at two fantastic weeks.

Bali Beauty Bali
-"Look!, they have clean sheets"... "and fresh smelling towels!"..."Oh my God!, there is a carpet, without any stains, and flowers, real ones!"... "and there, come look... they have bathroom amenities, soaps, shampoo, a plastic thingy for your head, conditioner, wow!! even q-tips!"... "and here, come babe, see; a mini-bar... and they have cable! CNN, BBC, star movies, the whole shebang!... Ohh!! this is so great!!, HOME, we are finally HOME, where we belong!". These were the wise words of Sil when she entered the room at the Bali Hyatt, her third welcome drink still in her hand, her upset stomach and headache totally forgotten

.

By then, we had been on the road for 6 months minus 1 week, and we figured that a bit of exaggerated "old-time" luxury was not going to kill us: we spent three days at the Hyatt, barely left the property, monopolised chairs at the gorgeous pool, used every facility they have, drank all the free wine we received at the regency lounge, ate all the snacks they presented us, ordered sushi and pizza in and watched series and films until we got sick of it.
Sanur, the stretch of beach we were in was pretty quiet, although, surprisingly, much busier than the rest of Indonesia. For the action, the surf dudes and the night life we needed to go to Kuta., 15 minutes away. We did, and Kuta turned out to be just like any other beach town in Greece, Spain, California or even Scheveningen: lots of bars and terraces, lots of restaurants, sunglasses stands, T-shirt shops, half dressed tomato-red tourists cruising on mopeds and cool locals with long hair, nose rings and fancy tattoos. It was just what we needed to convince us that it was time to move and explore the rest of the island.

Artyfarty Gamal
So we went to Ubud. And we loved it!.
Ubud is the "cultural" capital of Bali, with many artists, galleries, handicraft factories, fancy souvenir shops and stunning traditional Balinese houses. The people are even nicer than in the rest of Bali (which is a lot to say, as the Balinese have been by far the most charming, kind people we have met!) and the little village just has a beautiful atmosphere. You cannot help but fall in love with it.
We rented a motorbike to see what's around, and were flabbergasted by the incredible beauty of the rice terraces in Pujung, and the peaceful mountainous scenery as we crisscrossed up to Rendang, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bali's highest volcano, but instead assisting to a superb procession where the whole village, dressed in colourful traditional clothing, marched to the sound of drums and blow pipes, holding caskets of flowers and gifts, to celebrate the money festival.
Everyone had warned us that the local police loved to stop boulehs riding motorbikes and charge them 10 to 50,000 rupiah (eur 1-5) for the offence they have not committed. Luckily we had no problems, although we did commit an offence, and we did drive the wrong way into a round about.; we did, in our panic, take a one-way street against incoming traffic; and we did flee as fast as we could when the cops started whistling and shouting at us, and when the taxi drivers signalled to us that we'd better go - and fast, or else...

"Chris, Chris, how far is China?" "Shut up and bike!!"
Not being allowed to drive a motorbike anymore, Chris dragged Sil into renting mountain bikes to do some shopping "just out of Ubud", and go around the nearby sights. What he had failed to tell her is that everything was uphill, and that more time would be spent pushing the bike up steep roads than actually riding it (which brings us to the conclusion that the so-called 'universal law' that says that everything that goes up must come down is total bollocks! We rode in a circle for 4 hours, and did not have a single descent). We nevertheless managed to buy beautiful photo albums and a couple of useless knickknacks, and had a romantic pick nick in the green fields by the river.

Rowing is fun
In some obscure forgotten page of the Lonely Planet, Sil had read that Candi Kuning, on the shore of the Danau Bratan lake was a nice place to visit a Hindu temple and row around the lake at sunrise. What the Lonely Planet did not mention is that hardly anyone ever spends the night there, so we found ourselves in a deserted place, in a shitty guesthouse, with only one little road-side snack bar as place to eat. And whilst the war in Iraq was raging and the world panicking at the fierce resistance of the Iraqi troops, we sat on our red plastic garden chairs watching karaoke video clips of songs such as 'me and you and a dog named boo'...
We ticked the boxes of the temple visit and the 6am rowing session, then hurried on the bus to Lovina beach, in the north west of Bali.

Love in a Gamal
Lovina, contrary to Kuta, turned to be very charming and picturesque. We stayed at the spacious Padang Bungalows (eur 6) and ate lots of broodjes, croquettes and frikandellen met mayo at a Dutch run cafe next door, whilst watching the first days of the war in Iraq unfold live on BBC and CNN.

When, at 6am the next morning we went dolphin spotting, we were treated not only to a superb multicoloured sunrise, but also to the sight of dozens and dozens of dolphins swimming in groups all around our boat. The "captain" of our little fishing boat had money-back-guaranteed us a good sighting, still we had never dreamt to see so many dolphins, and certainly not from so close. Unfortunately, Chris, who was in control of the camera, was not even capable of taking a single good picture of these beautiful moments, which makes him a greedy loser and the only one to blame for not only this, but also for world hunger, the escape of Bin Laden and the fact that Celine Dion is still singing freely.

Gamal Banana
From charming Lovina we booked a diving trip to the wreck of USS Liberty in Tulamben. Just as Kiko had described it in her sms-tip all the way from Dubai, it was a fantastic experience: diving in the wreck of this US navy ship sunk by the japs in WWII was like entering a three-dimensional haunted house which you could see from all sides, in all positions, even floating upside down, amongst uncountable colonies of trigger fish, box fish, parrot, puffer, flute and trumpet fish, the odd napoleon, blue-spotted sting rays and a huge 2m yellow grouper. When we started peeling the bananas that we had brought down with us, some 30 starving parrot fish piled on us, attacking the poor banana as if there was no tomorrow. It did however become a bit iffy when aggressive-looking trigger fish started munching on our hands rather than on the banana.
We had left Lovina in the morning not knowing exactly how we would get back to Sanur, on the opposite side of the island, after the dive. We had figured that it would be no problem arranging a lift back with one of the many dive schools from Kuta or Denpasar. But no! The "Indonesian" side suddenly came out in the Balinese driver, who, out of sheer greed and stupidity, refused to take us back in his half empty van unless we paid him the exorbitant price of Rps 100,000 - ok, ok, it is only 11 euros, but that's almost what a private taxi would take for the ride, and 2 weeks' average pay! We certainly were ready to pay something as a token of our gratitude, but not that! Especially that it would have all gone in his private pocket!. Pissed off, disappointed, Chris greeted him politely (yeah right!) and we went back to the Hyatt the "difficult" way; by public transport.

Four more nights at the Bali Hyatt was all that separated us from Australia and South America. We relaxed, indulged by the pool, went to Kuta for dinner, helped a Danish couple find a name for their baby and reminisced at the wonderful time we had spent in Asia for the past 6 months and 5 days.

Gamal draws a line
Indonesia feels like a continent of its own. With so many cultures, so many sights, landscapes and different people, it is impossible to form a single opinion of the place.
In two months, we have only managed to see six of the eighteen thousand seven hundred and sixty islands that make up the archipelago - and two of them were tiny, and the last one was in a lake...
It is impossible to underestimate the hugeness of the country and the variety it offers. We spent three weeks on Sumatra, two and a half on Java and almost 2 weeks in Bali.; but none of it was enough; and we had to skip so many things we had originally planned to do: see the dragons in Komodo and Rinca, go diving on the shores of Flores, take a peak at the traditional burials in Sulawesi or see the corals around Monado that everyone talks about...
To see and feel Indonesia properly -though not completely - one needs at least a year: It is a land of too many contrasts, with poor opposing rich, vast open lands and jungles contrasting with jam-packed city centres dumps, the kindest people clashing with the biggest assholes on the planet, and a strong sense of religion, practiced and interpreted by each one in such a different way.

Our best moments were:
- The visits of Ben and Marianne+Aad
- The Orang Utan Rehabilitation centre
- The stormy off-roading in Lake Toba
- The bicycle tour in Yogya
- The morning views of Mount Bromo
- The "coming home" at the Bali Hyatt.

Autralia...South America...here we come!!