A Journey to Well Known Places

I am in Kochi taking computer classes. It is a coastal town in the state of Kerala. Kerala is one of the richest and most advanced states in India; which means there are no dead bodies or cows in the streets. The literacy rate is close to 98% and the state government is communistic. My classes are from 7:30am to 9:30am. Those who know me, know that this schedule is contrary to my convention and my constitution. Yesterday at the end of class my instructor told me that tomorrow there may be a bus strike. If there is a strike then there will be no class. “How will I know if there is a strike?” I asked. The reply was that if the offices are closed when I arrive then I will know there is no class. “Hmmmm, how do I tell if there is a strike without taking a shower, getting ready and coming all the way down here.” Oh, if there are no rickshaws there is a strike. If you see rickshaws there is no strike. OK, easy enough. Last night I went to bed at my usual time of 10:30, but I did not set my alarm. I woke up at around 8, put on some shorts and went into the hall way to look down onto the street. As I did I saw a rickshaw speed by. Thinking I was now late for class I got ready quickly and headed downstairs. It was immediately obvious that something was amiss. All the shops along the street were closed. Even the restaurants were locked up…..so no breakfast. I hailed a rickshaw and had him take me to my class; which was also closed. On the way there though it was like passing through a ghost town. There were a few people here and there, but the usual chaos and cacophony of my morning commute was non-existent. When I got back to the hotel I asked where I could get breakfast. “No, all closed” then man said. “Because of the bus strike?” I asked. “No, a general protest” he replied. It seems that things like food and raw materials have been getting more expensive in Kochi and the people got mad. So they shut it all down for the day. Restaurants, movie theatres, optometrists, bus service, everything but the airport and train station is closed. I have never seen the like. I am not sure what good it will do, but it is interesting to see the political process at work in foreign lands.

Well, after traveling together 24X7 for 7 months Erica and I have parted ways. It was a great journey together. I lost my credit card in Yogyakarta and the Indian airline would not let us get on the flight without the original credit card used to buy the tickets. Never mind that we had our passports; which are good enough for foreign countries but not for the airline it seems. We had to cancel our tickets are repurchase with another carrier. Since Erica really took to diving and I was going to be holed up in a class room for several months we decided that it would be a good time for us to pursue different paths. Erica went to Thailand and is now in Costa Rica visiting her father.

The island of Java was not exactly as I was expecting it to be; not that my expectations were far reaching. Java is by far the most populous island in the 6000 island archipelago and it shows. It was not Bali with coffee plantations and quiet towns. It was a bustling active place with chaotic traffic and sprawling cities. We flew into a city called Surabaya. The plane had invocation cards with Muslim, Catholic, Protestant, and Buddhist prayers all asking God to please help us arrive at our destination safely. Whatever the intention it made me think of the plane that went down in Indonesia a few years ago that took them weeks to find. I was not comforted. Surabaya in Indonesian means shark and crocodile. Sounds like a pretty inhospitable place to found a town. The view from the air was of a large metropolis surrounded on three sides by acres of square ponds. I learned later that the ponds were for farming crabs and catfish. The city itself did not contain a lot to do or see and we spent much time trying to make new flight arrangements resulting from the loss of my credit card. The Indian airliner we book said they would refuse to let us board the plane without the original credit card. I told them I had my passport; to which they replied “So? What good is a passport in identifying a credit card?” Whatever. I ended up cancelling my reservation with them and booking with another airliner. Since we were flying out of there we only stayed a few days before heading off to Solo. Solo was nicer than Surabaya in many ways. It was a smallish town that was easy to navigate by foot. The district of Solo has its own royalty and we spent one afternoon touring the palace grounds. We also caught a glimpse of the special coronation anniversary dance, which was interesting for the first 15 minutes or so but went on for an hour and a half. In the evenings the main street was lined with little carts selling sweet little pancake like treats. We ate well in Solo. From Solo was went to Yogyakarta; the cultural capital of Java. If there is one thing that really sticks in my mind about Yogyakarta it is batik. So much freaking batik. Everywhere. Shirts, sarongs, artwork, and more all on display in countless little shops and galleries. Yogyakarta also has its own royalty. The king of Yogyakarta is also the elected governor of the region. His father was the right hand man of Suharto. One of the nights we were there the Japanese princess came to visit and there was a large procession of official vehicles down the main street. We found delicious ice treats called es campur that Erica couldn’t get enough of. Though we liked it here we after a few days we were ready to move on. And move on we did…to Bromo. This was my first active volcano experience. It was an eight hour minibus ride to the small town near the ring of mountains and volcanoes. The view was great. It was really neat to see all the people farming the volcanic soil as they have probably done for a long time. One day we hiked up a trail to the top of a nearby mountain to see the view from on high. It was really pretty. The next day we woke up very early and set out in the pre-dawn light to hike to the rim of the volcano. It was quite an experience to see the smoke rising out of the earth. The smell of sulphur was strong. The most memorable thing about that trip though was all the little ponies from the village that the local used to ferry people across the ‘sea of sand’ for a small fee. They were not very big ponies and they were carrying big westerners across uneven terrain and up steep hills. We took some ponies back from the volcano to our hotel. It was very cheap and while Erica loved it, I was happy to get off my little pony.

Gili Meno was everything as person looks for in an isolated tropical paradise. We rented a bamboo cottage with an outdoor bathroom off a bit from the beach. It had a fresh water shower and 24 hour electricity so it was actually pretty upscale. We spent four glorious days sitting in various cabanas or on the beach reading and staring idly at the splendor around us. The island was so beautiful. The water was clear and blue. I went snorkeling off the coast, but came back in after I passed two feet over a 4 foot sea snake. The area is a breeding ground for sea turtles. One man started a conservation project to save the eggs and hatch them in captivity because the locals go looking for the eggs and make omelets with them. Pretty sad. He did say about 90% of the eggs he saves end up in eight month old turtles that he releases back into the wild. He had a whole bunch of little turtles swimming in plastic kiddie pools. We met another couple and spent most of the evenings socializing with them. The rest of the time we did almost nothing. We went diving again. It was alright, but not the best diving we have experienced. Erica went again, but I abstained and spent the time reading on the beach. As I type we are in the Mataram airport on Lombok waiting for our flight to Surabaya, the second largest city in Indonesia. Time to go to the big island of Java.

Amed was just what we needed. We arrived a little weary from our public transport experience and we shuffled to a hotel, not the hotel we asked the driver to take us to, near the start of town. The manager came out and invited us to take a look. Stuff like this happens all the time. The rooms turned out to be two story cottages set in a lush garden with a fresh water pool. After a little haggling we got the price down to a comfortable $8 a night and settled in with a coffee before exploring the town. The ‘exploration’ took about 15 minutes. Amed is about 9 km long, but the main town is three streets with a general store and a few restaurants. Our hotel was across the street from quiet a black sand beach lined with little fishing boats. We spent three nights in Amed and went diving again one of the days. One of the dives was in the American freighter Liberty; sunk by the Japanese in WWII. It was covered in coral and packed with bright fish and other wild life. It was nice to sit around and do nothing for a while. We have gotten pretty spoiled with that. Anyway, after a few days we were ready to move on and took an 11 hour trip to Gili Meno off shore of Lombok.

Lovina beach was not exactly the black sand beach paradise we thought it was going to be. The sand was indeed black, but we got suckered into an expensive dive package and it all went down hill from there. The diving was good, but the company was shifty to say the best. We signed no waivers, got no life jackets, the equipment was old, and the boat was rickety. Oh well, we did see some cool stuff down there. I had a sea food basket for dinner; mmmm, I love the sea food basket. Disgusted by the days experience we decided to get out of town the next day. Not, however, before we went on the dolphin watching tour that came with our expensive dive package. That was insult added to injury. What a shame and waste of time. We awoke at 6am. Seriously, on vacation awaking at 6am is something reserved for necessity, but we did it anyway. We packed into a very small wooden boat with supports on either side to keep it from tipping over and headed towards the open sea. A half hour and several gallons of splashed sea water later we saw the dolphins surfacing. There were no fewer than a dozen boats in the area with us waiting for the poor little dolphins. As they broke the water all the engines roared into action and headed in their direction. They dolphins swam with all they were worth away from the noisy and dangerous engines and the chase was on. This carried on for another 45 minutes, then it was back to the room for more sleeping. When we got up with haggled with the bimo and public bus again and headed for Amed. A sleepy little town on the coast that was much more our speed.

We took a bimo (Balinese semi-public transport) to the city of Ubud and found a nice room overlooking some rice fields. Our experience with the bimo has been so so at best. It seems that while these green and blue vans do provide low cost local transport to the Balinese locals, they also are available for private hire by foreigners. We cannot simply jump on the ‘bus’ with everyone else and get off in a couple stops. No, when we approach a bimo the driver stops the vehicle and starts the bargaining process. It usually goes something like this……
Driver: “Where do you go today?”
Us: “Well, we would like to go to . Is this bimo going there?” (Note: there are usually also other passengers already on board waiting while this exchange occurs)
Driver: “Okay, I take you. One hundred thousand (Rupiahs) for two.” Again bear in mind here that this may or may not be where the ‘public’ bus was originally heading. Regardless, you should be able to ride from one end of the route to the other for around 5000 rupiahs. Also note that the preceding question of where the bimo was previously headed is completely ignored. It has no relevance what so ever. The bimo is going, white rich foreigner, wherever you want the bimo to go. The only relevant question is how much are you going to pay to get there.
Us: “Hmmm, one hundred thousand seems high (Our room last night was 70000). We will give you 15000 for both of us”
Driver: Looking insulted and frustrated. “No, that is not possible. Okay, 75000” By now the passengers are a mixture of bored and annoyed because they know how this will end.
Us: “We will give you 25000 for both. Final offer.”
Driver: “No, it is very far and gas is very expensive. I drive there just for you. Okay, 50000.”
Us: “Nope” and walk away.
Driver: Waits until the count of three. “Okay 30000.”
Us: “Fine” and at that the driver basically tells the rest of the passengers to get off and wait for the next one as the driver puts our backpacks in back and drives the usually not very far distance to where we wanted to go.
It is a frustrating process and for that reason there is a whole separate tourist travel infrastructure that is more expensive, but relative hassle free. The tourist bus, however, does not transport wicker cages with live piglets and you really can’t put a price on that.

Anyway, transport aside, Ubud was great. We really liked it. Despite its distance from the coast it was my favorite place on Bali. The rice fields were emerald green and the temples all around the city were beautiful. I had roast suckling pig there; much to Erica’s disapproval. There is a sacred monkey park with fat monkeys. People sell fruit at the entrance and the monkeys go nuts when you brought it in. They would follow you and climb all over you. The monkeys are cute unti they start grabbing on you. That’s when you remember their long sharp teeth and strong little monkey hands. Erica is just plain frightened of them. It is a great place to buy paintings. Local artists, sometimes generations of the same family, get shops and sell their stuff. It was a neat scene. We stayed for three days. From there it was back to the beach.

We arrived in Bali very tired after a night in the airport and after some confusion checked into our vastly overpriced hotel in Sanur for a nap. The near by beach was a little disappointing after all the hype, but I assumed there would be better around the island. At the airport we had shared a cab with another couple from California and later that day we met up with them again. Drinks ensued and plans for the next night, New Years, where made. That morning we changed hotels, had a seafood basket for lunch, and spent the day doing very little. As evening approached we set out to meet our new friends. The four of us took a taxi to Kuta to find the party. Luckily there were no disco bombs this year. The streets were packed and it seemed like everyone had a noise maker of some kind. We started on the beach with the rest of the Balinese and eventually moved to an ex-pat bar with a live band playing classic rock. There was drinking and dancing and fun was had by all. The next morning we changed hotels again to something more suitable to our budget and made plans to move on.

After the disappointing trip to Mount Kinabalu we headed to Semporna to learn how to dive. This was the cheapest place in Asia we had found to get our PADI open water certifications, which may make it the cheapest place in the world. It was about $230 a person….certainly well over our budget, but hey, it was Christmas. The town itself is nothing to rave about. Previous visitors have described it as an eye sore and a dump. Yeah, it sort of is. It has it’s own charm I am sure, but none that I wanted to take the time to discover. The course, however, went well. Most courses do your first day of the course in a pool and on the second day they take you out into the blue sea. Well, there was no pool in Semporna so we headed for the beautiful island of Sibuan for our training. Wow. We saw sea turtles, snakes, parrot fish and all sorts of other sea life while learning the basics of diving. We were looking forward to doing a couple more dives off of the world famous Sipadan island. Unfortunately, it was not to be. First I got sick. Then all the dive shops booked up for several days in advance. Already sick of Semporna and not wanting to wait we said good bye to Borneo and Malaysia. We had to fly all the way back to Kuala Lampur, spend the night in the airport, and from there fly into Denpasar, Bali.

After many months on the road we are starting to slip a little. The latest whirlwind attempt to enjoy one of Malaysia’s world heritage sights ended in a total bust. Partially (mostly) due to poor planning on our parts. We booked overpriced accommodation about 6 days in advance while we were still in Kota Kinabalu. We stayed the first night in a dorm room and the second night in a very nice private room. We had dorm spaces available to us close to the summit of the mountain for the third night. We got up on the morning of the third day and went to the park headquarters to store our bags. They wanted $3 a bag to store them over night. It was high, but we paid it. We then booked a place on the bus for the day after so we could hike down and go. As we were waiting for confirmation of our seats we decided to go ahead and pay for the park permit and the mandatory insurance. We found out we needed a guide to hike to the top and the guide was another $20. OK. Then found out the park fee was $30 a piece and another couple dollars for insurance on top of that. Oh, and we had to rent gloves at the top for $3 a piece because the last quarter mile is a steep climb with ropes and you need the gloves to hold on. Well, the cheap in us really came out. That was close to $100 for the privilege of hiking up a mountain. No way. We have mountains in America and we can hike them for free. So we decided to stay another night at the base camp and spend the day hiking to the midway point and back. After hours of waiting we transferred our already paid night from the mountain to the base camp. Then we headed off to the shuttle stop for a ride to the trail head. It was going to be $10 for a ride there and back after even though it was only 2 miles away. Mind you, we paid $3 for a shuttle from a neighboring town to the park that was 10 miles away. Again, no way. So we decided to walk it. Half way there the sky opens up and thick sheets of rain pour down. We got soaked. The temperature dropped to around 50 degrees in our damp nonheated dorm room and we spent the rest of the night shivering. What a bust. We are on the bus again back to Sandakan to search for my lost glasses and make plans to get our PADI open water diving certificates.