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Sumatra - November 2003

The old Chinese monks used to say that “life is a journey” but in many respects, it’s more than that, much more. Living life, making journeys is a bit like strawberries and cream, they just go together hand in hand. For me though, the memories that myself, and Sarah, take away are what its all about. Amusing, indifferent, frustrating, enlightening, rewarding or what, I like to think they are all worthwhile, that somehow they mould us into the person we become.

Medan to Brastagi

After a night in Medan, North Sumatra’s capital city, we made our way, in a decrepit old taxi, to the outskirts of town. Through the grimy taxi windows I watched a typical Asian city pass me by. There’s no reason to stay in Medan, a city significant only for it’s jumbled up little shops, chaotically over-crowded roads and two million people competing to scratch out a living from what seemingly isn’t there.
At the bus park, we were immediately swooped upon by a number of gesticulating noisy young men, all vying for our custom, and a seat, on their respective bus. We had been advised not to travel by bus but after discovering a taxi would cost 150,000 rupiah and the service bus a mere 10,000 rupiah, we thought we should give it a try. Afterall, the journey was a relatively short one, less than two hours. However, once seated on the bus, we soon realized the wisdom of our friends advice. Our heads rested against the rusting old metal roof, the space between seats was so minimal it made it impossible to stretch your legs and the vehicle was ridiculously over-crowded. I counted 33 people onboard a vehicle I suspect was originally designed for 20 if you took away the extra seats that some ingenious person had bolted in.
But, we set off in a cloud of smoke like Schumacher in a grand prix, musical horns blaring loudly and the drivers assistant brazenly hanging out of the side door, of the now speeding bus, shouting to all and sundry that stood at the roads edge.
I thanked my lucky stars for managing to find a window seat. Only a few minutes into the journey and half the male occupants of the bus were already smoking, a young teen-age girl was wailing loudly, a noise which somehow only her mother managed to ignore, old women, packed in like sardines chatted loudly whilst happily chewing beetle nut, open-mouthed as if they were following some golden rule that required them to show the world the startling effects the dye has on their lips, gums and teeth. The relatively clean city centre streets of Medan were well and truly left behind as we sped through a seemingly endless sprawl of concrete. Now the streets were anything but clean. Rubbish of all denominations appeared to be thrown at will onto the street. The sour decaying smells that drifted through the window on the hot midday breeze was repugnant, we were soon reaching for our tiger balm.
We stopped yet again, this time I watched six young men climb onto the roof, wondering if they had to pay for the indignancy of an open air bus ride home. Through the window the sad sight of unkempt cemeteries flashed me by. Ridiculously overgrown, one could just see the tops of the gravestones poking out from the mass of weeds, bush and rubbish. At last the pokey little shops and their upstairs living accommodations finally gave way to old style wooden houses, plots of land and the welcome sight and smells of fauna. As I watched woman after woman after woman, all dressed in their traditional attire, sweeping a verandah or patch of hard bare patch of sun-baked earth that we would call “a yard,” it struck me that the less people had the more they appeared to look after it, values like these should never be lost. One wonders if in time they will be though.
We stopped again. The noisy sound of people chattering and pointing drew my attention to the window and beyond. I watched, dumb-struck as I saw two dogs, tied together in a rice sack, being passed up, onto the roof, then another two, and so on until twelve in all had been squeezed onto the roof.
“For fighting” the man next to us said in bahaasa with a broad toothless grin. We set off again, now climbing uphill, the views and scenery spectacular, Medan just a grey speck in the far-off distance now.
“Its started to rain” I told Sarah, as I now sat with my head half hung out through the window, a situation caused by five large adults been crammed onto four narrow seats.
Sarah looked slightly puzzled. I looked again. How odd I thought, golden rain, warm and so unusually smelly, a bit like….
The dogs. Oh no. This isn’t meant to happen, this isn’t fair. I’m on holiday, and there’s probably another hour to go.
Sarah was laughing like a drunk.
“Move up” I said as I squeezed myself back into the bus, making sure the window was firmly shut. “And pass me some tissue.”
She laughed for at least another thirty kilometers I reckoned.
So, I sat, window closed, hot, annoyed, smelling like a dog, and a bad dog at that, thinking to myself, “Life is a journey.” And this one won’t be forgotten, not for a long time, that’s for sure.

Brastagi
Brastagi is a small town, high in the Karo Highlands with a pleasantly cool climate which you need to be prepared for, jumpers and a coat are definitely a must. The town itself has little going for it bar the two volcanoes that most people visit Brastagi to climb. Sibayak, being the easier of the two, was the one we chose first to climb.
The three of us, we took a guide due to five deaths and a number of disappearances being reported over the last ten years, left base at 8:00am and reached the crater just over two hours later. We passed through dense jungle, thick scrub and primrose lined paths till finally we neared the peak, and a place where nothing grew. The sound of steam bursting noisily from the ground and the strong smell of sulphur permeated the air. It was a great experience to climb our first volcano but the crater itself was a tad disappointing. However, the views just before the clouds rolled in and reduced visibility to near nothing but a few mere few feet, were spectacular.
A two hour climb down the other side took us to the hot springs where egg- smelling water had been tapped to fill small swimming pools in which we could rest our weary bones. By now my leg muscles were permanently twitching and beginning to cramp. The bath temperature water was welcome, though Sarah was a little displeased when it turned all her silver jewelary black, something that the guide forgot to mention.

Sinabung
Our second volcano and a daunting challenge, it proved to be nothing but a three and a half hour slog to the top. Sadly, by then the clouds had rolled in and visibility was near zero. Now we realized why ten people and a handful of others had either died or disappeared on Sinabung. The wind cut through us and a not so gentle rain began to fall as we stood staring at the craters edge. All we could see was a swirling mass of thick grey cloud, a sight that looked like hell itself, if there is such a place. Our guide suggested a short cut, along the craters edge, I declined. I couldn’t believe he’d even try it. Ten feet away, if that, you could see nothing, only thick mist and cloud.
If nothing else, we had learnt what a real volcano was like, inhospitable, unwelcoming and a place definitely not for the faint-hearted.
We made the long and arduous climb back down the volcanoes side, fighting our way down sheer rock-faces, through thick prickly fern and scrub and eventually into the dense dark stillness of the jungle. Other than the sounds of us slipping, sliding and crunching our way through it, it was deathly silent. Eventually the jungle cleared and we could see our pick-up destination ahead, the small rural village of Garang in the distance. We walked through fields of corn, rice, onion and cabbage, tomato, coffee and groves after grove of orange too as I name but a few of the crops that grow easily here on the fertile land. In the village we met children who were fascinated by us, the guide explained that seldom now do they get to meet a boulet (Westerner)

Bali’s premier beach destination is the bustling town of Kuta, just a stones throw from the islands international airport. Kuta is a great base for your stay in Bali and a place that many departing tourists proclaim has it all- an impressive beach, an abundance of quality boutique style shops, an interesting market selling locally produced handicrafts, jewelry, artwork and clothes to name but a few of the things you can buy here. Good restaurants are aplenty and there’s a bar scene varied enough to keep anyone happy. In a nutshell - there really is something for everyone at Kuta but Bali is much more than a one stop town.
The island is packed with places of breathtaking natural beauty, historical buildings and countless exciting areas to explore. A number of these can only be described as “not to be missed” and can easily be organized by booking day trips or excursions through the Islands many tour operators. It’s an easy and inexpensive way to do it but if you prefer a little bit more independence and a bit of a challenge then do what I did and simply hire a car.
Day One
Not far north of Denpasar lies the large temple of Pura Taman Ayun. It dates back some 350 years and sits amid immaculately kept grounds surrounded by a moat. The temple buildings are quite unique and amazingly well preserved. It’s certainly well worth a visit but is also a pleasant stop-off on the way to another popular tourist destination lying nearby -Sangeh, the monkey forest.
Here, in an unusually thick clump of giant, protected, nutmeg trees lives a large colony of monkeys. Guides will happily lead you along the short woodland walk, not to be bothersome but to ensure your safety- some of the larger primates are a tad intimidating but in retrospect, they were just as curious as me and feeding them is a lively experience. Some jump off the old moss-strewn walls and clamber along your shoulders whilst others sit expectantly at a safe, and more respectable distance, waiting for monkey nuts, available in bags at the kiosk, to be thrown their way. It’s a great experience as is seeing the old dank temple in the heart of this ancient copse.
The last recommended stop on my first days itinerary was Tanah Lot, Bali’s most famous temple. Perched atop a craggy, surf-beaten out-crop of rock that can be reached on foot at low tide, this temple is a photographer’s dream at sun set. As is common with most tourist attractions in Asia, the temple grounds are surrounded by a huge, but interesting, market where bargains can be found.
A cocktail on the cliffs with a pleasant breeze blowing through whilst watching my first Balinese sunset proved a great way to unwind before heading back to Kuta for what would prove an excellent meal and a relaxing stroll around the shops.
Day Two
A longer drive today but a memorable one for many reasons. Heading north towards Gunung Batur, I chose to drive through Ubud, not really knowing what to expect. What I discovered was a town whose narrow streets were packed with gallery after gallery displaying fantastic Balinese style arts and crafts. In between these were countless open-fronted shops selling staggering amounts of wood carvings in every imaginable form. It really is a purchaser’s paradise running for miles and miles up the long straight tree-lined road towards Gunung Batur. I honestly lost count of the times I stopped to look at “just one more shop” but all of them proved worthwhile.
Gunung Batur is a volcano rising at the side of Danau (lake) Batur. The balcony view from The Lakeview Restaurant and Hotel is truly breathtaking, don’t forget your camera, it’s more than worth the two and a half hour drive from Kuta which does pass amazingly quickly with so much pleasant countryside to see. The buffet style lunch made it doubley worthwhile too. A forty minute drive took me to Pura Besakih, a temple complex on the side of Gunung Agung. It’s worth a visit but doesn’t take long to see.
From here I headed south back to Kuta, a journey that somehow proved the highlight of my day. Driving along quiet, open roads that cut through patchwork quilted meadows of paddy fields where villagers, young and old, lovingly and dutifully tended to the rice amongst a laughable sea of scare-crows, buffalos and ducks was a fantastic and unforgettable spectacle, just like stepping back in time.
Quaint little villages with their intricate and ornate little temples, huge sacred trees with their thick trunks wrapped in sun-faded orange cloth came and went, I was truly astonished how remarkably clean, and well kept, central Bali is. The real highlight of my journey happened near Bukit Jambal where at last, I managed to find my much sought-after rice terraces, brimming with water and reflections of an amazing blood red sky; a very good day indeed.
Day Three
Nusa Dua is Bali’s upmarket beach resort. A number of posh hotels cluster on this east coast peninsula of Jimbarans headland, south of the airport. Unless you’re staying at one of these hotels you may well be asked to move from these “private” beaches by one of the many security guards. However, the beach south of Pura Bias Tugal is a far better place to relax with its lack of tourists, pristine waters and distinct, but most welcome, lack of security guards. It’s one of the best beaches on the island and a great place to kick back with a good book, a tub of high factor sun-cream and a large bottle of drink. As it was my last night I decided to head back mid-afternoon and hit the streets of Kuta early doors in search of a bargain or two, an act which wasn’t hard to achieve. Starting at Kuta Square, I headed along Jalan Pantai Kuta popping in and out of the countless shops along this street then back along Jalan Bakung Sari which bought me back safely to exactly where I’d started, only now I was carrying about five bags of gifts, eaten a great local curry at a roadside restaurant and purchased an alarming amount of jewelry. Well, it was my last night and so after returning my excellent array of new purchases to my hotel room, I decided to take a closer look at Kuta’s night scene along the lively Jalan Legian. There’s a couple of nightclubs playing the usual trance-like techno music, plenty of decent bars with live bands or a DJ on the turntables as well as chill out style restaurants serving good Italian, Asian and Western fayre plus the obligatory fast food outlets one comes to expect. It’s a good street with plenty of life, a testament to the people of Bali and their determination to prevail in the wake of the Bali bomb which occurred a few years before on this very street.
However, my short stay was drawing to a close but, I discovered, our guide book, tourist comments and local feedback proved right. Kuta does have something for everyone but I personally felt that Bali, as a whole, has so much more.