Ooooh Taiwan

Saturday March 3, 2012

Taiwan had been off my travel radar for decades. It would take a lot of nudging even to even consider landing there, say when crossing the Pacific, which was an even rarer occurence. But my how times and things have changed. In a pinch, how does one resist a meticulously planned 5 day ride up and across the island’s highest road topping out at 3275 m? Followed by an almost 90 kms of downhilling right to sea level, the next day? Resistance was futile. Even my better half succumbed.

A proposal one night by a cycling friend who frequents the island many times each year, sealed the deal. Before we knew it, and it was just in a matter of days, a handful of those who expressed interest in the trip soon snowballed into a group of 20 adults and 2 toddlers and 17 bikes of all shapes, sizes and persuasion. Air tickets were snapped up on JetStar, 20 kgs into Taiwan and 30 kgs and more on the return leg.

Sounds like fun ? It was. Waiting for the D date, that was excruciating, so much so that, even I had to be ‘sedated’ of sorts and orgainsed a short trip into Thailand as a precursor to this trip.

This much delayed write up can also be blamed on time, or a lack of it, being spent elsewhere, like rediscovering my road bike, and researching our next trip to Formosa in the coming months, but it’s going to be worth it.

A lot has happened since …..and with beautiful memories nicely captured by master videographer Joeel Lee and friends

A more complete analysis here,

http://www.crazyguyonabike.com/doc/virgintaiwan

Crappy rooms to crash in

In all my life, I’ve experienced many a crappy hotel, rather guest house rooms, whilst on the road with a bicycle.  What actually constitutes ‘crap’ depends really on one’s comfort levels, tolerance and expectations at the end of another day on the road or trail. Looking at many many photos over the years, I’d dare say that my ‘crap tolerance level’ or CTL is pretty high. I rate it 8.5 out of 10. 1 being total luxury and 10 being, ‘I can’t wait for sunrise to check out’. Thankfully my lovely wife, Coleen has not tolerated anything beyond a 6 or 7 and thus we are still married.

Now while some rooms and establishments approach a 8 to 10 crap rating, I must add that their locations on a mountain top or along a pristine lake or river might make up for a great stay or experience. Who knows, the person you’re tolerating all this with, might just make the stay more tolerable. I’m talking easy going good friends, with similar interests and a high CTL. (Conversely no amount of luxury and pampering will make a hotel stay bliss if your room mate is ‘intolerable’  Another plus for solo travel, as you can only blame yourself for stinging and getting a crappy room)

No doubt in time someone will build a nice resort with 5 star rooms/villas to elevate comfort levels, but then the crappy room wouldn’t cost $5 a night. This brings to mind the eternal question of,  ’How much is too much?’ for a certain level of comfort. Another subjective subject to ponder over till the cows come home.

These rooms are definitely one nighters, but I’ve been known to deviate where necessary.

I’ve also seen $300 rooms close to 2 metres away from the resort fence where when you add another 2 metres, you get a dusty major highway linking 2 towns in Laos. I’m sure the spa, the infinity pool and restaurants and even the rooms are nice but……so here goes some photos, toilets not spared, and comments from staying in rooms from $3 to $800 plus 21% taxes. The CTL 1 rooms / villas / resorts deserve their own post, somewhere down this blog.

$6 / Phay Boun GH, Nong Kiaw, North Laos

The minimalist Phay Boun really looks better than it is. My flash reveals a shiny linoleum floor, tight bed sheets and even a new waste basket, but my friend Paul and I didn’t stay here, we arrived late and got the back room with a cement floor, which makes this triple look like a suite. The bathroom was dark and infested with fruit flies, well better than real flies anyway. What the camera flash doesn’t show were the three noisy China men who just vacated this room, and the girl whom they ‘had company’ with that night. She then proceeded to ‘reset’ this room to it’s CTL level of hmmm, 7.  Same sheets, same blankets, same pillowcases, all fluffed up. I did not check the bathroom. I must say she did quite a good job, with a just a broom and bare hands.

$8 / Xieng Kok Resort, Xieng Kok Village, Laos

The balcony at XK resort was so nice I laid out my Thermarest and slept outside in 15 deg C temps. Paul was inside and snoring louder than the resort’s power generators.  The mighty Mekong River in the background leads to Yunnan in China, while the opposite bank is Burmese territory. Location, location, location, though the village at the end of a 70 km dirt road, is a few wooden shacks and not much else. We took a 3 hour speedboat ride back to Thailand from here.

$6 / Duangvichit GH, Kuikacham, Laos

This is even better CTL 9, as we had to deprive one of the staff here from ‘her’ bed ! Needless to say she was not happy and we had to do our own housekeeping ! Stuff like making the beds, checking for bugs and throwing someone else’s trash into the hall way. It was a long night in the mountains of Laos, but good company and my I Pod made up for it. Thanks Alvin

One of 2 bathrooms shared by you or 20 others, depending on occupancy and of course your luck

If you thought this was bad, this bathroom was pitch black and un tiled when they first opened. Not much water also in the holding tank till the village truck came and rubber hoses were forced the slots in the wall and fresh brown water flowed. At 1200 m, it was icy cold too, but the owners will get a kettle or two of boiling water and mix it with the cold, in a pail if you’re fussy.

RM$50 / US$15 @ the Princess Hotel, Pontian, West Malaysia

A typical 4 decade old hotel in a small Malaysian town in all it’s 4 decade splendour. Non LCD TV, ancient but cold AC and hot water. I wait patiently as everything is wiped down with wet wipes. It’s like a SWAT team checking every room in the perp’s house before shouting “Clear! Clear!”

Tadapani hovel, Nepal

Keen eyes will note that this room was once a balcony, so I had a nice view of the snow capped mountains beyond the green curtain and of some other hiker through the window panes. She was blonde.

Italian Nepalese tonight !

Views making up for the dismal room

An average Nepalese village on the Annapurna trail. It would not exist without tourism, so maybe 6 lodges with say 2 dozen rooms each, meaning 144 rooms, sleeping 288 or more tourists plus Nepalese guides and porters who might sleep in the warmer kitchens, will populate a hill slope such as this one. Toilets and bathrooms? 2 of each max, per lodge. I went au natural in the forest, just before sunrise.

Tourist tent at Bhoti Koshi, Nepal

I cannot remember the price for this one but, the tent was cosy at 16 deg C. Close to the Nepal Tibet border. The Bhoti Khoshi area is a prime spot for river rafting and hosts Nepal’s highest bungee jumping site. Looking at the trails and dirt roads in the hills, a moutain bike here will be loads and days of fun.

Tourist food at Bhoti Koshi, Nepal, always get hungry looking at this

Wonokitri Wisma, East Java, Indonesia. Sure the colors look pleasing. Wait till it fills up at night with a rowdy crowd and nicotine.

We made a quick mistake of checking into this colourful rat hole and paying Indonesia Rp 100,000 / $10 upfront. A dirty room and dirtier bathroom. Of course the caretaker said that this was the better place to stay here, of course he was lying or loyal to his boss, of course he did not give us a receipt, and no of course no refunds whatsoever, even half a refund, (after we found this place below while walking around the village) And he got angry after we left. It took no effort to repack everything and move here. Out came another Rp 100,000, which the owner said that we could pay when checking out. He had to attend to a patient as he was the village doctor.

This is more like it, new sheets, new bed and what a view. Can you see Paul’s joy ?

Early morning views from the balcony @ Wonokitri. East Java, Indonesia

One of 3 rooms at Subandi's Homestay, Kerisik Tuo, Jambi Provinve, West Sumatra, Indonesia

In 1998 this room would be a 10+++ on the CTL, but as I age, I re rate it a 7 or 8 not because of it’s old but decently kept run down state, but as Indonesian homestays go, it’s sleep here or out in the open. A saving grace here is that behind that dark door the owners had just retiled the bathroom and squatting toilet, so that was in a better state than the room. Switch off the 25 watt light bulb and it’s so dark I can’t see my hand in front of me. Thankfully I had good company for 3 nights here, as the owners were so jovial and heartwarming, wondering why I did not want to go trekking, but ride my mountain bike all day in the endless tea plantations at the base of Mt Kerinchi, Sumatra’s highest volcano. This $3 per 24 hrs room takes the cake for the best views from the front porch of a crappy room / guesthouse.

Mt Kerinchi, 3805 m West Sumatra/Jambi Province

Sometimes the crappy room is a Godsent, especially when mountain biking in the mountains, all day without water or food, ie we were totally lost. Beggars can’t be choosers, so the Thai Border Patrol’s mountain resort will have to do. They were even kind enough to offer dinner and breakfast, and there was a late night party with the village girls, and I suspect some boys who were aspiring to be girls !

My friend Paul did not bring any bedding. I brought my trusty 15 year old blue Thermarest

Breakfast with the Border Patrol. True to form I slipped a Thb 500 note to the Captain in charge of the place

Crappy or not, after 90 kms of cycling in the mountains, the Piang Luang gulag guest house close to Burmese border with Thailand, seemed like paradise, at that time. The orange bulb lights up room and loo at the same time !

Day 14: A solo circle trip to the mountains and back

Saturday May 20, 2006, 109 km (68 miles) – Total so far: 672 km (418 miles)

I did this solo ride from Ubud to the Batur caldera and back by another small road because,

1. We didnt ride all the way to the crater rim road courtesy of heavy rains on the 3rd day of our trip 2. With the thick fog and mist 1/we didnt really see anything much that day 3. Because the mountains are there. 4. All that fine dining in Ubud had to be expanded into some fine cycling 5.The womenfolk are going to be in their element today – shopping, getting massages, shopping, lunch followed by shopping….. 6. No more cycling with the panniers since we got back to Ubud. 7. I had cycled up to Penelokan let’s see, in 1995 and was just wondering whether my body was still up to it 8. Once I reach the maximum height at a pass that at 1640 meters, the return ride to Ubud would be a downhill of about 40 to 50 kms. Should be back in time for a dip in the pool before dinner. 9. Cycling is fun. 10. Cycling in Bali, even better. Pardon the 10 reasons, only No 9 is relevant.

The route from Ubud to Kintamani is 35 kms of uphill tarmac.

I was clipped in and headed out by 6.45 in the morning and find some form of breakfast along the way. Unlike our climb up to Batur last week, this was a longer and less steeper route up Bali’s central highlands. It’s less populated with lesser traffic and the bane of all smaller vehicles, the big white 44 seater tour bus. I took my own sweet time spinning up this road in the cool morning air with distant views of Bali’s blue mountains in the distance. The 35 kms translated into almost four hours including many photo stops and a couple of caffeine fixes. I had forgotten even about breakfast relying on the reserves last night to pedal until the final 4 kms of switchbacks at which time any breakfast would have been good. It was times like this when brow sweat is smarting in your eyes and your lungs are about to burst from freshly scented pine in the cool air, that I’ve got to ask myself, do ya, well do ya feel lucky today? No, 1 km on the speedo is still 1 km on the road. Then some schoolgirls on a motorcycle will pass, screaming TOO-RIS !! giving the thumbs up and suddenly the wheels will start slowly spinning again.

The last 4 kms to the crater’s edge was just climbing bend after bend. I think I saw a cobweb on my brake pads.

Reaching the top was slightly anti climatic as the weather seemed gloomy as the faces of the mountain people here. Then there’s another 12 kms of cycling on the crater rim road before the actual turnoff heading south begins. As the road levelled out I was able to pick up speed till I heard a dreaded hissing sound from below. It was no snake. Changed the tube in a flash and took a leak, pun intended in some bushes.

A sign of things to come, wide sweeps of gravity friendly asphalt.

Time to get the cobwebs out of the brake pads. It was even more chilly as the wind hit my sweat soaked helmet and jersey. These back roads with no traffic are like a widened bike path with sufficient far enough views to ensure no surprises. Even in the remote mountains, there was some form of commercial faming. From the scent of what seemed like chicken sh*t ha it was. ‘Untuk Kentucky’ or for Kentucky some guy told me. Moving on I felt some rain drops which then turned into a full blown storm lasting a whole 5 minutes As I was Bali’s prime coffee growing district, I decided to get a beer glass sized coffee and pulled into a mom and pop shop filled to the brim with all the necessities for a life in the mountains. The road was broken and getting a bit rough for a rigid bike. Just as well as the potholes here were flooded and after the flat, the one and only on the whole trip, I did not want any more surprises.

Descending a few hundred meters in to a ravine is good until you have to ride or crawl out of the same on the opposite side.

The ravine at Plaga must be one of the deepest in the whole of Bali crossing a crumbling concrete bridge over an even deeper chasm where I could only hear the sounds a rushing river. The slippery moss covered bridge must get only 2 or 3 hours of sunshine each day. Looking at the bent and twisted cast iron pipes used as rails, it wouldnt be a good idea to be here during heavy rains when a wall of water hits it. I didnt stop too long as I wasnt making good time and knew what awaited, switch back after switch back climbing out the other side. When a motor cycle passes by and you can still hear it struggling uphill for 10 minutes,there’s still a long way to go. Somehow all that coasting without much pedalling puts the legs to sleep and the climbs seem just a bit harder.

A solution to deep dark ravines, but why connect two relatively remote and hamlet laced hillsides? The theme song from The Apprentice was going on in my head, money, money, money……

After almost three quarters of the downhill ride done, it seemed that more pedalling was needed. No more sudden bursts of gravity assisted speed up to 50 kmph. I was savouring every minite of this ride but still needed to hustle up since the sun was going down at a faster pace than I could ride. I pulled out my map and took a few short cuts heading east back to Ubud even though it meant cycling in and out of some deep ravines. Funny thing about shortcuts, there’s more pictures to take – a stud farm for pigs, some more wood carving villages, more bucolic ricefield scenery and kids on their bicycles wanting to start a race. I must have ‘wasted’ another 30 minutes, even longer if it was evening bath time in the rivers. While I almost, if not exclusively ‘prefer’ that the bathers were women, its not uncommon for men clad only in their briefs or nothing at all, to suddenly stand up in all their god given glory to greet and wave at tourists. Most are usually covered in suds or wave with just one hand. We havent met any two handed wavers, thankfully.

I knew the girls would be worried since I was 3 hours overdue. Somehow as wives go, Coleen knew that I’d turn up late as usual and didnt seem too worried. There was still 20 minutes of daylight left too, after which I’ll start to worry. I pull up into the gardens of Adi’s Cottages to find them on their way out to dinner! Hey, I’ll join you for breakfast, lunch AND dinner. We planted ourselves at the Jazz Cafe for the next 3 hours. Me with a tingling feeling in my over stretched leg muscles. I think the stairway to our room might be a slight bother tonight.

 

 

Day 7: Amed and the Mt Seraya solo circle trip

Saturday May 13, 2006, 55 km (34 miles) – Total so far: 250 km (155 miles)

Bali’s far east is fast becoming the place to tour. If fishermen are making wooden toy replicas of their fishing boats and small plastic packets of sea salt are being sold by the road side the white tour busses will soon follow. Thankfully the narrow roads and steep inclines limit their numbers and to small minivans of scuba divers at that. It’s the driest part of Bali and across the deep blue straits lies the island Lombok. I must add that the largest village of Amed is just the first of six or so other villages tucked away in hidden bays strung out over 10 kms of narrow coastline. Sometimes the whole area is mistakenly referred to as Amed.

The straits form the Wallace Line, an invisible demarcation where noted British zoologist Sir Alfred Russell Wallace claims that this is where Asia ends and Australia begins. While the Indonesian government will most certainly object, Wallace was referring to flora and fauna. Larger mammals and lush greenery found in Bali are scarce in neighbouring Lombok which has many smaller marsupials common in Australia but dont count on seeing any kangaroos in Lombok. East Bali in the long dry season is a hot and parched landscape of eucalyptus shrubs and elephant grass. Some of the bone dry and barren off road trails we rode here in October were unrecognizable in May, shrouded in a canopy of green. Though we are 4 months past the wet season greenery still abounds and its quite pleasant until the sun starts beating down after 10 in the morning.

This trip to Bali seemed to be one with the unfinished business of cycling routes that were abandoned before or just cycling in a different direction. Do I need another reason? Oh yes, I was suffering like a dog riding anti clockwise fully loaded around Mt Seraya in 1991 when the ‘road’ was just a rocky dirt trail. Come 2006 it’s a smooth black top with dotted white lines, drink stops and wide sweeping bends. I figured 5 hours to ride 50 kms but many stops extended my ETA and saw me riding home in the sunset. I started quite late at 9 in the morning delayed by Bayu’s spectacular breakfast of fruit, toast, bacon and eggs over easy and lots of steaming black coffee. Coleen opted to stay in and give her bike a break from all the intense UV rays today. In fact, she had ordered breakfast at 11 am and had it at 2 pm in the afternoon. Talk about a slow day.

Starting from Bayu which is actually in Lipah Bay the road twists and turn for 18 kms before reaching the largest hamlet here, Seraya. Another road climbs even steeper before turning back to the coast. I’m sure the views at the turnoff on a day like this will be stunning. Somehow the 38 degree C temperatures put a damper on that idea and I decided to claim my reward, a 7 km downhill to another water palace right by the sea side. Totally destroyed in the 1963 eruption of Agung and subsequent earthquakes, it has been rebuilt many times and then left to flounder. With many shady trees and secluded pavilions, it makes for a real make out spot as I found out, stumbling upon or rather almost riding over two teenagers who did not quite head home after school.

Soon enough my breakfast was gone and after 30 kms I reached the town of Amlapura circling it twice before finding lunch. Nothing much seemed to be moving in the blistering heat and I had to end this matron’s siesta to get some fried noodles and a coffee. It was just one of two shops open for lunch. Bayu was just a 20 km ride away but I decided to take a short cut which by passed Tirtagangga. As short cuts go, this was shorter but steeper into the hills which did not go well with a recent lunch at all. The dirt track behind town climbed steeply for 3 kms and with my lunch defying gravity and wanting to come out the wrong way, I stopped to walk my bike and chat with two village girls heading to their riverside bath. They told me that a lycra clad foreigner on a bicycle was a rare sight. I returned the complement by saying that if they were to stroll on a Singapore street barefooted in their tightly wrapped batik sarongs with a pail of toiletries in hand, I’d fall off my bike too.

While coasting down hill on the same road in two days, I came across a blue road bike in the shade. Coleen is always surprised at me being able to spot a bicycle and the type of components it had from, say riding in a bus or train on a rainy day or cycling by at 40 kmph. I stopped to chat with Cameron from Aberdeen who was taking a ‘breather’ from climbing uphill for most of the day. Yeah, its tough going when you’re cycling uphill with Mr Marlboro for company, so I showed him the road towards Tirtagangga and its maiden-less royal pools.

 

 

Day 6: Candidasa to Amed, 2 beaches in a day and more to come

Friday May 12, 2006, 65 km (40 miles) – Total so far: 195 km (121 miles)

The little kilometer long beach strip of a village called Candidasa is as old as tourism in Bali itself. Old as in some of the businesses here date back to the seventies. Some still look like they belong in the seventies. That was in its heyday when finding a room in the high season was difficult for those who had enough of Kuta in the south. As tourism grew, someone had this grand idea of pillaging all the coral offshore to be used as building material. Soon enough without a reef, the beach became heavily eroded and in some parts right up to the one and only road here. The locals got their building boom but the white sandy beach was gone. What remains today are a dozen or so T shaped concrete breakers that deflect the thundering waves. The village has had its share of boom and bust times, mostly bust. Some big hotels have been boarded up for years. Smaller operations like the 10 room Golden Coconut seem more resilient and have rebuilt most of their beachside bungalows and we had a restful fan cooled night snoozing to the sounds of nearby waves. Like most other guesthouses here, the bath rooms are open roofed and you can enjoy a shower or two with a towering coconut tree and blue skies above.

The elusive summit of Mt Agung 3712 m, is a choice address for Balinese Gods. We will see more of it in the coming days cycling around its base

Gunung Agung can be seen along most of the ride to Amed at least before noon when the high clouds roll in. We rode by small little cross road towns nestled in the foot hills of Bali’s highest mountain for the next 30 kms. The sleepy district capital of Amlapura was all but levelled during a1963 eruption that left half the island in shambles and thousands dead. In the remoter villages ruins from that year can still be seen among the undergrowth. Before we knew it the long, slow incline we were on had climbed almost up to 300 metres from sea level. By now I think we were conditioned to cycling longer distances and as with most roads in Bali what goes up, will certainly go down.That would come after lunch. Under the shade of lush road side trees even the false flats seemed easy. We were even carrying less water as every few kms we could find a warung with a chiller of cold drinks or ice cream.

I had timed our lunch stop just outside one of East Bali’s must see attractions, meaning having to navigate through a parking lot, souvenir shops and paying to see a bunch of decorated pools at the Tirtagangga Water Palace. The Rajas or previous kings of East Bali had a penchant for building these large ornate pools presumably for their many wives and harem to cool off in. There’s another Romanesque looking one near the sea at Ujung. An extra clean tourist pool with changing rooms has icy cold water fed from a nearby mountain spring, making it is a good way to spend a long, lazy afternoon. Just watch out for its resident freshwater crab and shrimp waiting to nibble on your toes. A few guesthouses are spread out among the rice paddies if water palaces are your thing but life generally shuts down by 9.00 pm here. Life in the real Bali is an endless cycle of early to bed and early to rise. Might as well have a bicycle handy.

We spent almost two hours on lunch and chilling under the shade of the trees by the royal pools.It wasnt easy getting on our bikes with eyes half opened or closed, yawning as we rode off. It was time to descend the 300 meters we had climbed earlier and that was an eye opener. All we could do for the next 15 kms was to overtake slower cattle, cars and motorcycles along the winding road down the other side of Tirtagangga braking and stopping for a while when greeted by scenes like these.

Bali’s far eastern coast is dominated by Mount Seraya, a baby compared to Mt Agung. The narrow coast is a series of steep hilly ridges and ravines jutting out into the Straits of Lombok. In the secluded coves and bays local fishermen eke out a living from their colourful outriggers. A dozen or so hidden bays are now home to little boutique hotels which in recent years have out numbered the backpacker beach huts that initially made the area popular. As the clear blue waters here are popular scuba diving spots, I’ve seen more and more hotels like the Anda ( which means ‘Yours’ yes if only) mushroom over a span of 12 months. And the more enterprising of the fishermen here are now running snorkelling or just plain sailing trips for visitors while still bringing home small catches for the family.

We settled into an old favourite with friendlier rate www.bayucottages.com

The new owners and management at Bayu Cottages seem to have their work cut out for them. The cottages were well maintained and luxurious for this part of Bali and were full even in the rainy season. Other choices in the area were charging $60 or more. Truth be told, running a 6 room B & B in the boondocks requires an almost constant hands on presence. That presence leaves 5 rooms to rent out, and we booked the last one a month ago. I had known the past management, a young couple from Singaraja town in north Bali since 1998. They were quite laid back, since the Californian owners were teachers in Japan staying in their patch of paradise just 3 weeks a year. Made and Anik are great hosts and cooks even sitting down to dine with guests and plunging into the pool fully clothed, which depending on one’s mood might seem too intrusive. Most Balinese are naturally curious as to what lies beyond their shores and the world’s fascination with their island so long chats into the night are de rigueur here. With the demand rising for small hotels in the craggy hillsides here, Bayu was put up for sale in 05 for $315,000. We didnt meet up with Made and Anik this time but found out that they were starting a new guesthouse and restaurant up the road with a partner from New Zealand. Meanwhile our new hosts were kept very busy pumping out a clogged kitchen outlet pipe way past midnight.

 

Day 5: Cycling from the mountains to the sea, Batur to Candidasa

Thursday May 11, 2006, 70 km (43 miles) – Total so far: 130 km (81 miles)

Gossip

We ride much longer distances today and some of it doesnt even involve pedalling. Today’s ride from the mountains to the sea is a mix of 10 rolling kms on a crater road, 3 kms hitching a ride out of the main crater, 20 kms downhill, 25 km cross country, another 10 km down hill to sea level and 5 kms to the beach at Candidasa.

We rode out on the 10 kms on the winding road carved out from the lava beds of Mt Batur to the next village of Kedisan. It’s here that the road starts it’s steep 3 km climb out of the main crater to Penelokan. From the crater’s rim you have a choice of cycling or rather freewheeling downhill one of 5 roads to the south of Bali. All too soon I heard a familiar voice shout out ‘Transport!’ It looked like one of Daddy’s relatives, a mechanic who got a bunch of kids to push start his pick up. After we loaded up, 3 kids jumped in. There was a 2 week school break and today’s lesson in economics is, there’s money to be made when you convince bike tourists that the road is long and steep. I know. The speedometer goes up to 60 km per hour on the longest straight here, going downhill that is. We didnt start off that early today so some cheating was in order. Besides it is not much fun cycling next to those dump trucks belching black smoke each time they change gears passing you by. For $3.50, we can get our own fresh exhaust fumes sitting in our pick up. On one nasty switchback, most vehicles will be spinning their rear wheels, crawling uphill a few feet at a time. When an engine stalls, I’ve seen some drivers hop out, large rock in hand ready to be stuffed behind a rear wheel. The process repeats itself until they reach a flat spot and gun their engines again for the final few metres. The lifespans of engines are quite short here.

This is the harbour (well they call it a harbour) where boats go to Trunyan It didnt take long before someone came by, expounding the wonders of the village and its odourless corpses. From the general state of the boats here, it looked like business was as flat as the lake’s surface. We had our clearest views of Mt Batur and its smaller cones thus far and we were glad that we did all our mountain climbing in previous years. It takes about 2 to 3 hours to reach the summit where the views are nothing short of spectacular. Guides will prepare a breakfast of boiled eggs and steamed bananas. Just find a hissing, steaming vent and put in the eggs and bananas and wait a few ninutes. The mountain does the rest. I like to climb just after daybreak as I like to see where I’m going.

Usually a few village kids will tag along and soon enough there’s a platoon of villagers ‘guiding’ two or three foreigners on an open trail where you ‘might get lost’ and all will expect something from you. Some will carry a pail full of bottled drinks and bottled water where the price at the summit reaches new heights. How do you not buy a drink from a 5 year old shoeless kid who does this every other day? Whip out your Camelbak and offer him a drink for his efforts. Opening a wallet just creates a mob scene. I usually fold some Rupiah and pass it on quietly. If you buy bottled water look closely at the seal and bottom of the bottle. Some crafty buggers are real good at quickly opening the plastic seal with a covered hand and if the clear water tastes funny, you’ve just paid $2 for water, fresh from the lake. If you need to deal with officialdom like the Association of Mt Batur Trekking Guides, a big name for the local trekking mafia, stick to your guns and bargain hard. Rates range from $30 to $200 per person! depending on how rich you look. They’ve got all the trailheads covered, scuffles have broken out and parked rental cars damaged if you decide to climb unguided. According to Daddy with all the bad press from Looney Planet guidebooks (yes I know it’s Lonely P, but Looney sounds more accurate) and the many bad experiences from climbers in the last few years, the trekking mafia have actually mellowed. No more verbal threats and rates in US dollars. Yesterday I saw camera flashes going off from the hundred or so climbers at the summit of Batur.

Leaving Penelokan we took a final look at the whole crater before turning our wheels downhill to the crossroads town of Bangli. This is quite a major road with large white tourist buses heading uphill to Batur. It was still early and we had our lane to ourselves, chatting and overtaking slower traffic at 50 kmph. Most were women on motorcycles coasting in neutral gear presumably to conserve some petrol. Never had that problem with our bicycles. Just numb sleepy legs when the odd incline appeared. We reached Bangli in about 40 minutes and were already more than halfway to the coast as the crow flies. The island’s only mental hospital is in Bangli and the people here are usually the butt many jokes, crazy or otherwise. The cool climate here is supposedly calming for frazzled minds. It was almost mid day and we stopped to get some rubbery hamburger and a hot dog from a bright orange mobile bakery. Dessert was a couple of Lemon Zest Cliff Bars from a dozen or so that I was carrying.

Happy

What lies after the road disappears into a steep ravine? It’ll cross a bridge and the climb out the other side always seem steeper. This went on for about 15 dizzying kms from Bangli to Rendang. I think our tandem (meaning I) would probably under steer into some of the 180 degree hairpin bends here.

A Kodak or rather Canon moment that shows up every time we ride this inland cross country road from Rendang to Amlapura, the district capital on Mt Agung’s southern flanks. 25 kms of the real Bali in different shades of green. This road also passes through a few sleepy villages, but mostly through shady salak (a small, scaly skin custard like fruit) plantations, going downhill with wide sweeping bends almost like a Moto GP racetrack for another 20 kms or so, but we’re turning right at Putung where a more direct and steeper backroad will bring us closer to a small beach village at Candidasa on Bali’s south eastern coast.

There was a little bit of drama when Coleen used the restroom at the Putung guesthouse, a supposedly local government run establishment. While she was in the ladies, she saw an eye peering through the door’s keyhole. Stretching out her hand to cover it and then removing it the eye was still there! She was more amused than shocked at this guys persistence or stupidity, and as I showed up I saw someone running away. Looking through the keyhole I saw nothing more than a narrow view of its rusty insides. Peeping is a minor pastime in some Indonesian hotels. If you happen to see a band aid or crumpled tissue stuck on your bedroom or bath room wall check again. It’s there for a reason! I went in next leaving the door wide open so Coleen could peep all she wanted. The gents just smelt too funky for me. I did say it was a government run/ruined place.

Candidasa

Tonight’s rest stop is the ages old Kelapa Mas or Golden Coconuts Homestay right on the beach or what’s left of it. Boy was it hot and humid here after leaving the cool mountains. It was also our cheapest room thus far at Rp 100,000/$9 with 2 breakfasts. We decided against the Amankila Resort just a few kms before Candidasa. Hillside villas starting at $600 a night before taxes will just get you a private plunge pool, indoor jacuzzi, rose petals on fine thread Egyptian cotton bedsheets, personal butler to polish your bicycle, a spa therapist, all sorts of pampering and  definitely no peepholes.

Medan

Medan is Indonesian for field or open space, or venue in Malaysian. With 2,5 million people, it’s more like a very crowded field, where everyone and everything competes for space. We see palatial homes next to the airport runway fence, shanties and card board homes hugging the river banks and traffic jams throughout the day.

Armpit of Sumatra? It’s what you make of it really. Yes, traffic is bad, but they do go with the flow, so start cycling early and quit before lunch. Hit the showers, and take a cab to the malls in the afternoon. Stay indoors till the day cools in the evening. I cannot stress this often enough : Buy something for the wife. Do dinner and see what else amuses you. Smuggling our dirty bikes into an elevator and into our room to pack them was our coup de grace. That was our day anyway.

we were going for the illegal immigrant dormitory look

We skipped the nightlife to pack our bikes and gear. Angels we are, because Medan’s nightlife, for those in the know, and I know cos I Google, read and hear a lot, of all sorts of shenanigans and debauchery. A moment of pleasure, a lifetime of regret, remorseful friends tell me. OK, I’m getting there, it’s Paid Sex. No self respecting Indonesian city can exist without it.

It isn’t even good value for money. You’re spending $$$, even more than say back home, (which I categorically dont, ever) expecting silky smooth Shimano XTR quality and if Lucifer is smiling, you might just get ahem, pre loved and many times over, Shimano Deore gear with squealing brakes and bad shifting. But what do I know, I spend so much time writing this journal and cleaning my camera equipment, I’m comparing the fairer sex with bike parts. I’m putting the blame on 10 days of second hand smoke that’s clouding my judgement. Someone please get me some fries.

Carbo at midnight after packing bikes helps me relax

Ours is a naughty hotel. It had a previous life as a not so naughty hotel. It’s the Pardede International* Hotel. You can’t tell at the reception. You check in, pay Rp 280,000 up front and follow the bell hop. Then you spot things out of the ordinary. At the back are individual buildings with shuttered parking lots. Rooms with no numbers. Tight security. Suggestive massage information on the room desk. If you go see the chief (ie.retired) massage madame, you can choose your own ‘terrorpist’ from a photo album. Chambermaids and waitresses are also extra comely.

For those interested in bike packing, as in packing to check in and fly, read on. Dont pack hungry. As you can deduce, I left my crank on the minibar, after sealing the box. Not cool. Try to get the best box you can find/buy. As you can see, ours suck, but it’s a step better than no box at all. Money grubbing bike shop owner, and I apologise on behalf of all non Indonesian Chinese bike shop owners reading. He insisted that it was a mountain bike box, with ’20 inch wheels’ clearly printed on the side. So it was small, but at least it was wide about 20 cm.

As Alvin panicked, sorry bro, and wanted to do the sandwich the sides of the bike thing, in the early hours of the morning at the smoky airport curbside, after riding in the rain, I knew that the frames, with wheels removed would fit in. As long as the box’s length covers the length from the fork’s dropouts to the rear dropouts. To make more space, all tyres were totally deflated. Our frames are 17.5 inch and 46 cm respectively. Larger ones, keep a measurement of it’s size, length and height wise, handy. Front racks might have to be removed too.

Our last supper in Sumatra at 12.30 am. Coffee, carbo and a fiery chilli sauce does help me relax

We then went out for a midnight coffee, the icy restaurant was shockingly smoke free and some waitresses made eyes at us. Wink, wink.

we made this just for Sleepy Al

 

 

 

Sibolga – Medan: Backtracking

Tuesday April 22, 2008

the calm before the storm

Today we will have the dubious honour of getting back to Medan by public transport, a mini bus or taxi. It’s about 350 kms of inter city and provincial roads that we have avoided, by cycling lesser roads. My mind and body has set aside 7 hours of tolerance for this, 8 at the most. And we have our back ups in the boot, just in case. I feel better already.

Erase last sentence. It took 15 minutes short of 12 hours. 9.15 am to 9 pm. We are alive and that’s what matters. Bikes survived too. Hilarious delays and one very sleepy driver, initially nick named Al Pacino, with profuse apologies to the real deal. We’ll stick with Sleepy Al for now.

Name later changed to ‘Sial’ or Malay for idiotic or damned, with some near misses with an oncoming police car of all things, and a couple of trucks. Jerky gear changes to go with his half opened eyelids and nodding head. The grand finale was the last 3 hours in the dark, wondering if any 2 oncoming headlights was a car or 2 motorcycles, side by side. Or if a single headlight was a motorcycle or a car with one good headlight.

Then there are cars and motorcycles without any lights. Lastly, the grim reapers of the road, inter city buses and trucks, with enough lights to light up the Starship Enterprise.

We hired a nice new Suzuki APV for Rp 700,000 or $75 for the 350 kms back to Medan. Mainly backtracking to Siborongborong, and then through rubber and palm oil plantation roads. Boring for cycling but a trip that should take about 7 to 8 hours, on a ‘normal’ day with an alert driver.

Rubber time dictates that our scheduled departure from the lovely Pasar Baru Hotel in Sibolga at 9 am, be stretched, like rubber to 9.45 am. Packed the bikes and drove to the taxi office 2 minutes away. To wait for the cashier to arrive. She starts work at 9 am it seems. At 9.45 she arrives with Sleepy Al, they rib and tease each other. We pay up and get a reciept. OK we have lift off, but Al heads south to the bus station, to drop off a letter. I get some bus station mayhem pictures. Fine.

We drive into the mountains to Tarutung, with Al gingerly taking each bend and pothole at cycling speed. What a careful driver, it was as if this was his very own car. We like him, and speculate that he might have gotten into a crash recently or just not this week.

After a nice lunch stop with a few sweet nothing calls to his girlfriend, and a few cigarettes, Al’s driving skills fell on par with Mr Magoo’s.

We asked him to stop and take a nap, sure, he says, but at the next view point and rest stop an hour or two away. I told him in my best threatening Indonesian that a split second of diverted attention could change our lives forever. He smiles and turns up the music. The music was pretty good, a slow rock compilation from the best of Led Zeppelin, the Eagles, Scorpions and Bad Company. Repeated 20 times over 12 hours.

our hearse / taxi

To show off his other skills, Al lights up, drives, opens peanuts, works his cell phone with either one or two hands. He even clears the peanut shells off his jeans and too small a black tee shirt, by looking down of course. He drifts into the opposite lane a few times and traffic behind us does not over take for a while.

Meanwhile, the other Al, Alvin that’s next to me demonstrates the best brace position in the event of a head on collision at 100 kmph.

Just for fun I ask if he would let one of us drive. He agrees immediately! Inda Taxi couldn’t affford our rates, just as we couldn’t afford the ‘tax’ at the police roadblock that appeared 3 minutes down the road, but Al was awake for that.

Finally he takes a long siesta at a great viewpoint facing the lake’s southern shores. After a few good shots, the rain came pelting down as if to say, it’s time to move on or go keep Al company for a while. We slam both rear doors as we got in. Talk loudly like the country bumpkins we have become. I ring a bike bell. Al’s still out like a light even with Stairway to Heaven at max volume. 30 minutes of this.

Al’s phone rings. He wakes up, takes a quick glance behind and starts the hearse. As he accelerates, I tell myself to be more positive and trust in the Lord.

Maybe we should just drive of without Al when he uses the toilet at the next stop.

Just when Al turns into Alert Al, (more sweet nothing phone calls at rest stop No 3) we come across one of Inda Taxi’s Kijangs in distress. Helpful Al struts out of his hearse like the real Pacino going into a gunfight. The Kijang’s got a flat and has some rusted and dead bolted nuts that wont budge. Some passing cars and vans stop, but none carry the elusive ‘pipa’ or a long pipe, needed for more leverage other than the puny and worn out tools they had.

If not for the nice 20 deg C temps in this wet jungle near Prapat, I could be fuming and harbour thoughts of driving off without Helpful Al. It was an entirely workable idea. The Kijang wans’t going anywhere. It would take too long to catch up with us, even after it had a tyre change. We could leave at some 5 star hotel in Medan, give the Sibolga office a call, while we check in somewhere else. The taxi company would probably have look outs on the road into town, waiting to bash us up once they spot us. We wont stoop to their level.

Even Helpful Al was getting agitated when the Kijang’s driver, Ol Chubby tried in desperation, again and again to force and let the tool slip for the umpteenth time. He was really flogging a dead horse or rather Kijang, or deer in Indonesian. Lighting a cigarette, Ol Chubby had this great idea of removing our bikes and locking them in his Kijang, and yeah, all 8 of us could proceed to Medan 175 kms away. I prefer my hearse less crowded, thank you.

Gobloks !

I had a better idea. Be a man, drive that flatted beast to the next town. Ol Chubby took me seriously and managed about 20 feet of Sumatran jungle highway before grinding to a halt.

That must have loosened up some bolts, as a bemo with a small pipa stopped, Ol Chubby did the job, and yes, we might see Medan tonight.

Traffic got very heavy close to Medan, but that didnt deter Al from barreling down the road in total darkness, passing 5 trucks at a time while squeezing aside any God forsaken oncoming motorcycle. He did slow down and even stop for fleets of Battlestar Gallactica sized trucks and buses approaching us.

At our hotel in Medan, a sob story poured out that he had just drove the Medan Sibolga route last night and got zero hours of sleep. That explains it. Back to back 12 hour Sumatra highway driving. As he eagerly awaited a big tip, Alvin relieved him of his slow rock CD for Rp 10,000.

My tip for Sleepy Al was : GO GET SOME SLEEP!

Rubber time dictates that even in the most trying of times, and if you’re not on a stretcher or in an ambulance, it’s better to just grin and bear it. Jokes aside, this seems the ONLY way of coping with delays, breakdowns and life on the road in Sumatra.

On the flipside, you can get cold, hungry, horny or donate all your blood to the mosquitoes, in the jungles of Sumatra, but If you’ve run out of cigarettes, you’ve only got yourself to blame.

 

Tarutung – Sibolga: Indian Ocean at last

Monday April 21, 2008, 68 km (42 miles) – Total so far: 486 km (302 miles)

only 66 kms to Sibolga

Somewhere in our 66 kms on the Trans Sumatra highway today is a downhill stretch with a thousand bends, even through two very tight tunnels cut through solid granite rock. It’s fun to see the larger trucks and buses squeeze forward, then back up and repeat the manoeuvre again, inching their way through. Didn’t really have this problem, cycling by in 94. The occasional landslide can cut off villages and even towns from each other, but this road wouldn’t be the Trans Sumatra, if it didn’t.

The day started with a 10 kms climb out of Tarutung, which made us wonder, aren’t we suppose to be down hilling to the coast? Oh that’s the last 10 kms, so just enjoy the rolling hills in between. The road with a thousands bends can wind uphill too. We did get some fast 50 kmph downhills of course and had to decline a free ride in a truck whose, smoking driver took pity on us.

Rolling. rolling, rolling

As the road to Sibolga narrowed through some spectacular jungle with ferns as big as bicycles. I wondered how people in these seemingly harsh places get by on a daily basis. They probably did as their forefathers did. Scream and yell at passing bicycle tourists. Then there’s the daily rains, slime, mossy walls, broken, run down, muddy homes and always a faint to strong smell of chicken sh*t or worse, something man made.

A common sight were the women who seemed to be doing the bulk, if not all of the work, marketing, child minding, laundry, running the shops and food stalls. The guys, you know, when not farming or procreating, would be just hanging around, having a puff or two or three.

I was looking forward to Sibolga on this day when we seemed to be at our fittest, after riding all the mountain lake. It was great to be able to ride out of the saddle on small climbs without the body complaining, too much.

Kanak kanak Gila

Sibolga’s claim to fame would be it’s location and a staring off point to the Nias Islands offshore. Surfing’s big there, with the next landfall being the Indian subcontinent. Getting to Nias entails a 10 hour overnight ferry ride to trek swampy jungles, to see and stay with megalithic stone age tribes on the islands. Their manhood being proven by jumping over 10 foot high concrete walls. Near misses usually result in broken limbs.

Last year in stormy seas, an overloaded ferry took a dive and some 120 people perished. Think I’ll stick to rolling rubbe

Sibolga is actually worth two days for chilling out. There are some clean, by Indonesian standards, white sand beaches to the north and south of town and surely great sunset pictures among all the fishing boats down by the harbour. Intoxicating smells like drying fish and clove cigarettes. It would also be great to stay overnight on one of the floating fishing kelongs or platforms just off shore and soak in the salty air.

At the town’s night market, the hawkers we spoke to told us that the December 2004 tsunami had a minimal impact on Sibolga as the islands offshore shielded it from 3 deadly waves that decimated other coastal towns in Sumatra. One lady though lost a relative when he walked out about a kilometer, to an island off shore, picking fish off the sea bed, as the sea receded, before a killler wave returned.

There’s a stereotype in Indonesia that all Chinese immigrants are filthy rich. Though only 3% of the population of 200 million, they control 90% of the economy. During our rides, we see that a majority do not own tobacco, mining nor petroleum conglomerates, but happily run mom and pop stores, small eateries and motels. Most run honest businesses, but there are always a few mavericks to make life interesting.

The flash Wisata Indah (beautiful surroundings) Hotel in town has built an island resort offshore where else but on a private island, where according to it’s management, ‘you can do anything you want with whomever you want’ Cant find someone, they’ll arrange that too. Let’s see them arrange a no smoking island. I’d go.

Indian Ocean surf at sunset

Pangururan – Tele – Tarutung: The long ride

Sunday April 20, 2008, 120 km (75 miles) – Total so far: 418 km (260 miles)

the dim lights of Pangururan

24 kms of granny gearing in 3 hours! And a land slide to haul bikes and gear to boot. Makes for very empty roads. Just great. Another 60 kms cross country before deciding to support the local buses for another 40 kms to Tarutung.

Visitors to Indonesia, forget about bringing an alarm clock. In any small town, you’ll get the sounds of life stirring from 6 am onwards. If you like sleeping late, you have my condolences. It’s tough, with traffic, horns and engines starting, or trying to, noses and throats doing the same, doors slamming and people generally shouting for no apparent reason. We got all these in Pangururan, including cigarette smoke from the room below, so what else is new? If you’re falling asleep in the spa of a 6 star resort in the Balinese countryside, then lucky you!

The sounds of nature are better, roosters crowing and birds chirping are my favourites. I wake up at 5 for those. But I digress, we have a long day and I had a sneaky feeling that riding a van the last 2 hours or so was imminent. 120 kms with a 20 km plus hillclimb at the start was a bit ambitious. I rode the same in 94 and was wondering if I could do it again. I didnt have any doubts on reaching the top but at what price? Fatigue, cramps, a migrane? What are those? A pizza and Coke at the top would be nice. Alvin was content to take a bus all the way up, but gosh, the shame of it all, where would we hide our faces, if we did.

I had to put myself in ‘Paul Mode’ a common friend of ours for whom the ride to Tele would a ride in the park. He would just ride faster as the distances became longer or stand up when the hills became steeper. Wannabe Floyd Landis.

Besides, I had just rain, mist and cloud in 94 for company and probably took six pictures on that miserable day. But I did meet Emi Yatagai, a sweet as Hello Kittty Japanese girl, cycling on this hill climb, whose husband was always a few hundred metres ahead of her. We rode the next two days to Sibolga together, as her husband, Koji Kubo was always way in front, and that was a good thing, for me. They’re happily settled in Osaka, having cycled round the world, for a few years.

Today’s weather was glorious and technology dictates that I take 250 pictures. Cycling seems secondary.

about a third of the way up to Tele

A small landslide gave me a hint that we had lo ride this.There were no public buses nor motor cycles for a while and from everyone I asked they told us to turn back. They had to make a huge detour around another mountain only to start at the base of the last hill to climb the 900 meters in 24 kms.

Seven landslides in the same spot over the wet season meant that this was not prime real estate for a tombstone. We had to hike over broken tiles and brick. remnants of graves, not houses. Three helpful locals who helped us carry our stuff about 100 metres, glanced wearily towards the hillside, just in case. We gave them a small tip for their help, saying have a good meal but nicotine would probably take precedence.

Surprisingly, the ride was not too streneous, as I was distracted by the Jurrasic Park like scenery every pedal crank of the way. Had the camera slung over most of the ride and paced myself gulping heaps of pine scented air. Our daily intake of 3 to 5 eggs each amongst other food must have played a part. Power Bars and Hammer Gels too. Passing traffic were either shocked or astonished at seeing 2 cyclists on the road and gave us a lot of space. A couple of oil tankers were slow enough for me to spot a driver lighting his cigarette with 5000 litres of oil behind him. That was as hilarious as Alvin telling me that he just saw a dog’s rear end, full of piles. Ouch! And who rides looking at dogs asses??? Well……….

more switchbacks into cool air

I knew Tele at 1800 meters was just a truck stop with half a dozen rusty shacks. Lunch was going to be dicey. Biscuits and coffee or something more exotic, but not combs please.

chicken head curry

There was even some gentle climbing of 20 kms along the main road passing by busy and messy market towns like Doloksanggul and Hutagalung. The rewards were long sweeping downhills for almost 40 km. We threw in the towel at Siborongborong, or rather threw our bikes up a minivan for the last 40 kms of heavy traffic to Tarutung. No point pushing it when dark rain clouds that were chasing us since after lunch were ready to burst. The heavens opened up once the driver turned on the ignition as we settled into the rear seat. Sumatran weather does have perfect timing. I’d like to think we’re being watched over every step of the way.

Just had to try another style of breathing by putting my nose through a six inch gap in the window for cool mountain air, as you might have guessed that every one of the eight men in front was bloody smoking.

Getting soaked or getting smoked. Tough choice.

Nap time !