Too Fat For Asia & Adventures in West Sumatra

I always enjoy the little reminders that show me how Asia is designed for people at least 5 inches shorter than myself and 50lbs lighter. Fortunately there was no repeat offense of crushing a plastic stool underneath my thunderous loins for this latest excursion. I was only subjected to the former reminder that suddenly struck me as I crawled into the third row of our derelict minivan transport.

Laughing is the only reaction one can have when, after asking several times to repeat, you are told the journey will be three hours and your bum is already numb after a wee five minuets and you’re already choking on your knees. My thoughts become a guessing game of which hour in the journey I will reach my breaking point and walk home. This seems like a great opportunity to describe how we came to this point.

Naz, the two guys from the photocopy room, and myself were waiting under a tarp covering a bakso stand in an absolute downpour, the kind of downpour only find in countries that have seasons wholly devoted to the word ‘wet’.  We are here after a brief bus trip from the train station in Bogor to the, and I use this next word extremely loosely, bus terminal.  The bus terminal is this guy selling bakso (a cart that sells hot soup and meatballs, who worked under candlelight mind you) on the side of a busy street and another dude hanging around shouting the names of cities that one could venture to for an easy buck-fitty.

Public transportation in Indonesia is always a lively adventure and our train ride does not fail to disappoint. A casual two hour trip takes you from Jakarta to Bogor. The train has seats that run parallel with the tracks, leaving plenty of open space for soft fleshy bodies to mash into each other. By the second stop the train is so full I am touching four people with my waist alone. Phish concerts in the pit have more personal space than this train, Europeans give you more personal space in conversation than this train. If there was music playing I would swear I was at the hawk/X2/timepiece or whatever club people go to ‘twerk’.

Despite the bumping and grinding (of the old train on the tracks) I don’t feel terribly violated, in some ways I feel cultural and pretty stoked were doing this the Indonesian way.  So after standing for two hours with strangers pressed upon me, we reached Bogor and ultimately find ourselves sardined into this…. Bus.

Thanks to a frightening yet ultimately hilarious whatsapp message the journey passed by quickly and without extreme scares. Worthy to note, by western standards the entire trip would have been cause for worry but for Indonesian standards it was, well, standard.  The bus had three benches in the back and one up front with the driver. If you can fit three people in each row, you surely can fit four. So myself and 15 other souls embark, knowing that any accident would mean a slow agonizing death.

The last leg of the trip was an exhilarating ojek (motorcycle taxi) ride through the mountains. The kind of ride where you can’t help smiling and chuckling to yourself at how awesome life is. Me and my mates just cruisin’ in the lush Indonesian countryside after dusk. There were a few arms extended upwards shouting ‘woo’ as well as a few ‘hati-hati pa! pelan-pelan tidak ada helm, gue suka hatiku’.

The journey was well worth the destination. Mountain camping with stunning views and chance to hike in the jungle. I took a dump in a river. I ate the same rice from a cookie tin for two days. The first time you do something in Indonesia that you have done one way your whole life is always a great experience and nice reminder that everything is relative. Camping was just one of these instances.   I learned how to start a fire using an old sandal and that you can also hike in sandals (a different pair).  Camping wasn’t sort of the ‘get back to nature’ vibe it so often has in the states, I’m not entirely sure what it is here. Still figuring that out, but I do know it was beautiful.

The best part of the trip was being cold, the kind where jacket and hat are required. I miss that.  

The return journey was just as exciting as when we headed out but slightly better after Naz and I discovered the most amazing martabak vendor on the street.  Fresh banana martabak can soothe even the most cranky oversized traveler. 

That’s a good line to end on.

God bless.

-Cheecky Sumatra Adventure Update!

Not surprisingly, I am atrocious at actually posting the bits I write. I do write, I just never find the time to put them online.  So Instead of having two posts, I’ve combined the previous story from a couple weeks ago with this brief one.  Last week my good friend Greg joined me for a week of riding motorcylces through West Sumatra. It was fantastic.

• ·      Fed a live chicken to a live crocodile in an abandoned amusement park in Harau
• ·      Ate peanuts with police officers on the side of the road during a downpour.
• ·      Stepped into a elephant enclosure because a 3ft. section of the wall fell down in a zoo in Bukitttinggi
• ·      Patiently sat through an explanation of the ‘new world order’ by a Hungarian on a trash filled beach in Padang.
• ·      The sordid condition of the 5 dollar hotel room we stayed in is hard too hard to put into words.
• ·      Ate nasi padang in Padang, and was disappointed.
• ·      Sang the Indonesia Raya with group of kids, teenagers, and parents alike at a bakso stand on lake Singkarak
• ·      Logged approximately 350 miles and 25 hours under my arse on a rented moped
• ·      Tried to shoot a squirrel climbing a cocoa tree with a pellet gun at lake Minanjau because the man with the gun suggestively placed it in my hands and pointed.
• ·      Played with baby sea turtles at a soon to be turtle farm in Pariaman
• ·      Regretfully did not purchase a green chicken for 50 cents.
• ·      Crossed the equator on foot.
• ·      Ate several meals with my hands while not wearing shoes.
• ·      Got lost.
• ·      Saw the richness and fullness of God’s beauty in one of the most spectacular countries on earth with one of my best mates.

It was a great trip, my next goal is to throw some pictures up. Here's to hoping. 

Having no breaks and no accident is better than having breaks and having an accident.

   A couple months ago or so I wrote an entry about how the breaks on my vespa decided to stop working while I was using them. In the interest of not causing unnecessary worry to my family I chose to quietly file it away until a later day when we could have a good laugh about it.  All in all it ended up as a really solid experience, in fact I’m glad it happened. Today, despite better judgment and almost certain worry of my mother, although I’m still not sure she knows how to use the internet (sorry mum! I still love you) I will now share the bold tale of a different motorcycle mishap.

    By the grace of God I managed to walk away with little more than a scratch on my hand and a bumped knee. It is really quite awesome that was it, although the scratch on my hand now makes a hot shower most unpleasant.  The other guy in the accident appeared fine before he fled the scene.

   Merrily bounding down the tree lined Jalan Panjang humming along to a dispatch tune in my head I was relishing my time on my Kura-Kura ijo (green turtle, as I call my vespa. It also goes by the name of teal steel, but that’s for another day). I would have fit in quite nicely in any European scene, motoring along in collard shirt and cardigan, messenger bag slung casually over my shoulder, just cruising on my 76’ vespa.

   They have traffic signals in Indonesia, I’ve seen them. Now if anyone else has seen one is a completely different story and  perhaps that’s where things really start to get interesting. I had the green light, even had 15 seconds left on the green light, as the flashing green number below the green light indicated in all its ignored green glory. As a line stopped cars turning right in that intersection began to grow I approached the crossroads.

   Just as I get to the chorus of ‘Bats in the Belfry’ I see it. It is happening, I’m keeping up with the flow of traffic, which is fast but not reckless. He’s hidden behind the cars turning right crossing the wrong way through the intersection . Im no more than 20 feet away when I first notice he’s driven out from behind the car and right into the way of me and my charging turtle. I slam on the nearly forty year old brakes (thankfully now working-ish) which seemed to have done a better job of heightening the experience with noise than stopping me. 

Crash...

  I weigh 210 pounds, the vespa is an easy 300 pounds, the two of us together are carrying a lot of mass and moving fast. He is a little Indonesian guy on a Yamaha scooter that is mostly plastic, with very little brain mass given he is blindly crossing an intersection with fast moving traffic. I T-bone him, thankfully he tried to stop and I made contact just behind the front wheel under the handlebars. We get knocked to the ground, and the front of his bike was pretty decently wrecked. The Kura-Kura with mighty shell is dented and chipped. Completely surprised, and now full of adrenaline shaking, we stand in the intersection and look at each other. There is a swarm of motorcycles waiting at the crossroad staring. Not sure what happens next, all I could think to do was shake his hand.

    Perhaps it was a measure indicating ‘I’m alright’ he looks me in the eyes and appears ok. I turn to the crowd as if they would tell me what to do next when they start shouting. The guy has jumped on his motorcycle and is quickly driving away. I’m not sure what they are saying, but some motion for me to follow him.  Bewildered and unsure, I pick up Kura-Kura and walk it through the intersection to take a seat outside a makeshift convenient store.

   It was definitely a scary experience. I was pretty jumpy for the remainder of my drive and approached intersections with excessive caution. The best part was getting caught in a tropical downpour when I was driving home a couple hours later. This was then followed by me blowing out my flip-flop on the way to dinner. I was a little frustrated yesterday.

    I’m alright and I’ve adjusted my perception to 'the rule of self preservation' as the sole guide to the functioning chaos of Indonesian traffic to leave room for those who go rogue. There will surely be more close calls and accidents, hopefully none major. All you can do is learn from the experience, thank God, and get back on your horse, or in this case… turtle.