Being a small village the only option to get out of Moni is by hailing a bus from the road. If you’re going to Maumere (wrong direction) or Ende (right direction) then no problem, there are lots of them. I however caught wind that there were two buses destined for Ruteng. The only problem was there was no telling when they’d pass through Moni.
It took three hours of standing, then sitting by the side of the road normally accompanied by a local or two playing spot the bus in the far distance as tiny dots emerged around a corner. Most times it wasn’t the Ruteng bus and when it was, it was full. The second one however could fit me in…just. I got given the ‘special seat’ crammed into the isle on a stool made of metal with no padding. Within minutes of starting off the woman next to me was violently sick out of the window and later into a sick bag. Flores is the first place I have been where every bus carries sick bags, whether by sea or road, locals really do not travel well.
As fortune would have it, whether she was at her destination or for health reasons, she decided the bus wasn’t for her. The lady departed after half an hour allowing me to squeeze into her seat that offered only a minor improvement in comfort.
Ten hours passed and I arrived in Ruteng relieved to find that the guest house I stayed in previously had rooms available. They were apologetic however only having the ‘economy ones’ left. Flores is good like that; it seems to attract people with money which means that none of the cheap rooms are ever taken.
The next morning I took a minibus to Labuanbajo and ran the accommodation circus once more. The next day I took an eight hour ferry to sape, a bemo bursting at the seams to Bima and then a wonderful AC nowhere near full bus which carried on over the ferry to Lombok finishing in Mataram. It was by all accounts a fair old haul. That leg took over twenty two hours and that’s not factoring in the fifteen hours down from Moni to Labuanbajo nor the journey after from Mataram!
Because it wasn’t over. From Mataram I caught a bemo to the town of Praya. To say it took an age to get there would be an understatement. In traditional bemo style it crawled agonisingly around town picking up punters before it would leave for Praya. It took over an hour for mine to get full. He was a lovely driver though, frequently running across the road to guild old ladies, balancing all number of goods on their heads to his bemo.
At Praya I was meant to catch another two bemos to get to Kuta Lombok but called it quits. Instead I called upon a motorbike/moto/ojek to run me the rest of the way. It cost more but was a lot of fun. My driver took to the roads like he was participating in the world championships. It would be my last ojek ride and by far the most fun.
I was almost sad to stop but upon stepping foot into my room I collapsed and saw very little of Kuta until the sun rose the next morning.
Saturday, 1 October 2011
Tuesday, 13 September 2011
Getting to Moni and Kelimutu
If Labuanbajo looks like a port town it acts like one to. Accommodation is in relatively short supply so it was time to embrace huge marks up on prices much to my dissatisfaction. The town is small with nothing particularly of any merit. In the evening there was a ‘party’ on board the boat which consisted of another corking meal and then horribly loud music that would struggle to grace the worst pub in England. I didn’t hang around for long choosing instead to go internet café hopping in the hope of getting a good enough feed to watch Bristol Rovers first game of the season. It wasn’t hugely successful managing only the most jumpy of connections but the result was well worth the effort!
Labuanbajo does not have a bus station which means that travel agents and hotels have all gathered together to fix stupid prices. With this in mind I decided to take a one man stand and was up on the main street at five in the morning hoping to find a bus myself. After a while I got talking to a couple of locals who seemed to admire my determination and suggested I tried to catch one out of the port. Fine advice it was to, there were a number of mini busses. After initial confusion (mostly due to me not caring where I ended up) I found myself onto one going to Ruteng.
It took another four hours until we finally got going. In that time I watched as conductors and drivers wrestled people off motorbikes to get them onto their bus before the competition snapped them up. It was all rather feisty. Eventually when we had enough people to go we spent another hour or so trawling slowly through villages in case there was someone else who they might have missed.
The journey was incredibly beautiful. I will struggle to hear of a finer piece of road in the world. Going up and down mountains , through banana plantations, past rice paddies and weaving around volcanoes it was unbeatable in terms of scenery. An occasional settlement of wooden houses lined the road but mostly it was just rugged natural beauty that I have come to associate Indonesia with.
On arriving in Ruteng the journey all went a little Sri lankan when another mini bus carved ours up and three men piled on. They firstly started an argument with a woman and then proceeded to demand five thousand rupee from certain people. I was not impressed in their methods and forgot how to speak English. They eventually gave up and allowed the bus to continue. I asked no questions.
Ruteng is an unattractive town. True. But the countryside around it was lush. I walked out of town, through small villages and up a hill for a lovely view of the surrounding area. There I met a couple of kids and kicked a football around a bit. They should have been in school. The younger one, maybe seven years old took great pride in the lighter he had. I considered confiscating it for the greater good but realised it he wasn’t far off smoking age by Indonesian standards so let him be. On this trip I have become so used to the amount of respect shown to religion. It was hence strange to be in the world of Catholicism with my two little friends holding the lighter a high and pulling faces alongside a statue of the Virgin Mary.
The following day I took a ten hour bus to Ende another grubby town situated in extraordinary beauty. It is on the coast with a dirtied black sand beach but alas it didn’t matter. Look past the buildings and litter and the jaw hit the floor. It really is impossible to explain how naturally stunning Flores is.
Ende was an overnight stop. Early the next morning I took a heaving bemo to the bus station. It was full of old ladies on their way to the market. These quiet, reserved ladies you rarely see can sure talk when there are enough of them. I heard way too many mentions of ‘orang’ in their conversations to leave me in no doubt as to the main subject of their talk.
From the bus station I arrived in Moni; a small village set within, yes you guessed it, amazing scenery. If I had been knocked unconscious and woken up disorientated I would have been forgiven for suffering a heart attack on account of seeing everyone walking around with machetes and huge smiles dripping with blood. A zombie invasion? Possibly although for most I am sure the machetes are to do with farming and the bloody smiles? Oh that is the old mystery that is chewing paan.
Moni has some wonderful walks into the rice fields but the main reason to come is to see Kelimutu; a natural wonder quite like any other.
I was up at four in the morning and took a bemo up to the top, some thirteen kilometers away. From there it was a short walk to a place called inspiration point from which you can look down on the three crater lakes a novelty in natural creation. It is still a mystery as to why each lake is a different colour. The general consensus is that it is to do with the minerals but why these lakes change colours over the years is more controversial.
At first only two were visible. The other was shrouded in cloud. A number of people left just after the sun came up. A huge mistake. It was not until a couple of hours later that Kelimutu dazzled. With the full force of the sunlight the dense colours became visible. It feels not so much as a lake but rather a huge pool of paint. One was a bright turquoise. The second one was supposed to be a rusty brown but is seemingly in a change of colour at the moment and its colour undecided.
When the clouds finally cleared the third one was the best, solid black! It really is quite a sight looking over beautiful Flores with these three natural phenomenons. It had been quite a trek to get there but was well worth it. The rest of the day I spent searching out hot springs that I could not find. It didn’t matter, Kelimutu was always going to overshadow everything else.
Thursday, 1 September 2011
Komodo
The island of Komodo captured my imagination a long time ago. In part the mystic behind it but largely because of those giant lizards that make it, Rinca and the Northern part of Flores its only habitat. It was only in 1910 that Dutch explorers confirmed their existence, shooting dead two and taking their skins back to the shock of many who had dismissed it all as a legend. If Borobudur was what convinced me to stay in Indonesia for two months, it was Komodo that made me want to come in the first place.
To get there I opted for a three day boat trip from Lombok through to Flores. I would be sleeping up on deck as the boat sailed through treacherous waters that have claimed many ships in the past. Forty or so other people joined me on the boat. It was a typical Indonesian affair really with most being French, a number stereotypical finding themselves continually apologising for rudeness (I kid you not), Dutch, in this case nearly all families and a couple of other nationalities. There was a very short term holiday feel to the passengers so I was relieved to meet Keith, whose stories of ice climbing in the Himalayas and the Andes as well as most of the routes up Ben Nevis’s North face kept me entertained.
Despite the volume of people, the sometimes bumpy ocean and the ever changing moods of the French contingent it was a superb trip.
We set off at eight in the morning and boarded a bus heading for the port of Labhuan Lombok. It was a slow start stopping off at a pottery village and later a boat building village. The pottery one was interesting up to the point of the numbers of people intruding on the villager’s daily life. But I guess they are used to that.
As soon as we took to the waters everything changed. First stop was around an hour or so away. I can always judge a good tour by the food they serve and in the intervening time the buffet that appeared was delicious, as I should say was every other meal. Arriving at the small island it took some time to shift everyone off of the main boat and onto a small rickety motor boat to shore. However people dispersed quickly finding their own patch of sand on this deserted island. That evening we had a wonderful fish barbeque before retiring to the boat to sleep.
I got lucky in my position on the boat. Others didn’t with water splashing in through the windows. Alas I slept well and awoke to find us nine or so hours further down the line. Breakfast was on the boat before we went onto another but this time much larger island. In the middle was a salt lake. There was also a very nice walk up a hill through a forest. The snorkelling off the island was brilliant with a huge range of fish and good quality coral. I am very glad to report that not only did I find Nemo, he has also had a family since the end of the film.
Back on the boat we sailed for much of the afternoon. With the sun beating down and the beautiful island of Sumbawa to admire from afar Keith and I made the prow of the boat our home. Book in hand I lost count of the amount of times different people said ‘it’s a hard life.’ or something similar.
Before the sunset we made our way to another stop, this time on a beach on Sumbawa. It was the only disappointment that I can think of but at the same time a nice break from the boat. That said despite the murky water and poor beach, the sunset was rather nice.
The next day it was all about Komodo. I awoke early and took in the sunrise over the various islands. The captain appeared at my side and told me about that a boat by the same company had sunk here only a few months ago. For such a big boat it was slightly concerning that the staff set about organising all those who were awake onto different sides of the boat to help with the balance! We arrived boat in tac.
Komodo is the largest island in the national park. It also has the biggest number of dragons with 1288 on last count. The approach is dramatic with big mountain peaks dropping down into the ocean. A wide sandy bay sits in front with a wooden dock.
We were greeted by a number of rangers and walked through to a couple of wooden huts where we split into groups. Our rangers picked up their long wooden sticks and took us on the start of a two hour hike on the island. I was incredibly lucky to be in the group that went first. Purposely I made sure I was right at the front and within ten minutes of the walk starting I stopped and pointed further along the path. ‘Dragon!’ the ranger said and we picked up the pace.
It was a male dragon, estimated at around thirty years old. He strolled down the path without the least bit of interest as to the crowd that were beginning to gather. The size took me back. I had expected to be a little disappointed after seeing a number of large monitor lizards but this thing was massive. Its claws were vicious, the forked tongue and the long tail, I found myself shaking at the thought of being in its presence.
The dragon was truly a king in his domain. I can think of few animals that would show such little fear in the presence of human beings. The guards however were far more worried, keeping everyone back and following it slowly. The dragons may only have been responsible for two known deaths of humans on Komodo but they were not taking any chances. Eventually the dragon got tired and laid down. Then it was time for photos and a chance to look at it head on.
Not long afterwards we spotted another. It had a gaping wound and was laid by a mud pool. Slightly smaller but no less mesmerising I began to think just how lucky I was to see these unbelievable beasts in their natural habitat.
The rest of the walk was beautiful; the landscape never boring; baron, with rolling mountains marked by bare and dried trees. On the way back into camp we saw four more dragons including a younger one who showed far more fear, pelting it into the bush, than his peers. These were slightly cheating because unlike the first two there was a certain human intervention as to them being easy to spot. Unavoidable the smell from the ranger’s kitchen attracts a few every day who stop by out of hope that they may get a scrap.
Outside of the dragons we saw numerous colourful birds, wild deer, antlers and all, and wild pigs. The ranger told me that it is currently mating season, so to see so many dragons, especially the ones earlier on in the walk was very lucky indeed.
We returned to the boat and took off to another part of the island. When at sea you realise the stunning white sand beaches that line Komodo. We stopped at a popular one called Red Beach. Its sand was pristine, the waters crystal clear. In an hour and a half I had three snorkels, coming out for only the briefest of breaks. It was by far the best coral reef I have snorkelled. So much colour and life. And then there were the fish, thousands of different species ; from the very small to the very large. It just capped off the time spent on Komodo brilliantly.
From there it was a three hour trip into the port of Flores. From a distance Labuanbajo looked every bit of a far out port town. Tin roofs and lots of wooden structures, many of the buildings looked as if they were going to flop into the ocean. Boats old and new lined the harbour. Touching the ground again I thrust the bag back onto my back and started the long search for accommodation. The chores of the oncoming hour were soothed by the memories of the wonderful adventure that I had just come from.
To get there I opted for a three day boat trip from Lombok through to Flores. I would be sleeping up on deck as the boat sailed through treacherous waters that have claimed many ships in the past. Forty or so other people joined me on the boat. It was a typical Indonesian affair really with most being French, a number stereotypical finding themselves continually apologising for rudeness (I kid you not), Dutch, in this case nearly all families and a couple of other nationalities. There was a very short term holiday feel to the passengers so I was relieved to meet Keith, whose stories of ice climbing in the Himalayas and the Andes as well as most of the routes up Ben Nevis’s North face kept me entertained.
Despite the volume of people, the sometimes bumpy ocean and the ever changing moods of the French contingent it was a superb trip.
We set off at eight in the morning and boarded a bus heading for the port of Labhuan Lombok. It was a slow start stopping off at a pottery village and later a boat building village. The pottery one was interesting up to the point of the numbers of people intruding on the villager’s daily life. But I guess they are used to that.
As soon as we took to the waters everything changed. First stop was around an hour or so away. I can always judge a good tour by the food they serve and in the intervening time the buffet that appeared was delicious, as I should say was every other meal. Arriving at the small island it took some time to shift everyone off of the main boat and onto a small rickety motor boat to shore. However people dispersed quickly finding their own patch of sand on this deserted island. That evening we had a wonderful fish barbeque before retiring to the boat to sleep.
I got lucky in my position on the boat. Others didn’t with water splashing in through the windows. Alas I slept well and awoke to find us nine or so hours further down the line. Breakfast was on the boat before we went onto another but this time much larger island. In the middle was a salt lake. There was also a very nice walk up a hill through a forest. The snorkelling off the island was brilliant with a huge range of fish and good quality coral. I am very glad to report that not only did I find Nemo, he has also had a family since the end of the film.
Back on the boat we sailed for much of the afternoon. With the sun beating down and the beautiful island of Sumbawa to admire from afar Keith and I made the prow of the boat our home. Book in hand I lost count of the amount of times different people said ‘it’s a hard life.’ or something similar.
Before the sunset we made our way to another stop, this time on a beach on Sumbawa. It was the only disappointment that I can think of but at the same time a nice break from the boat. That said despite the murky water and poor beach, the sunset was rather nice.
The next day it was all about Komodo. I awoke early and took in the sunrise over the various islands. The captain appeared at my side and told me about that a boat by the same company had sunk here only a few months ago. For such a big boat it was slightly concerning that the staff set about organising all those who were awake onto different sides of the boat to help with the balance! We arrived boat in tac.
Komodo is the largest island in the national park. It also has the biggest number of dragons with 1288 on last count. The approach is dramatic with big mountain peaks dropping down into the ocean. A wide sandy bay sits in front with a wooden dock.
We were greeted by a number of rangers and walked through to a couple of wooden huts where we split into groups. Our rangers picked up their long wooden sticks and took us on the start of a two hour hike on the island. I was incredibly lucky to be in the group that went first. Purposely I made sure I was right at the front and within ten minutes of the walk starting I stopped and pointed further along the path. ‘Dragon!’ the ranger said and we picked up the pace.
It was a male dragon, estimated at around thirty years old. He strolled down the path without the least bit of interest as to the crowd that were beginning to gather. The size took me back. I had expected to be a little disappointed after seeing a number of large monitor lizards but this thing was massive. Its claws were vicious, the forked tongue and the long tail, I found myself shaking at the thought of being in its presence.
The dragon was truly a king in his domain. I can think of few animals that would show such little fear in the presence of human beings. The guards however were far more worried, keeping everyone back and following it slowly. The dragons may only have been responsible for two known deaths of humans on Komodo but they were not taking any chances. Eventually the dragon got tired and laid down. Then it was time for photos and a chance to look at it head on.
Not long afterwards we spotted another. It had a gaping wound and was laid by a mud pool. Slightly smaller but no less mesmerising I began to think just how lucky I was to see these unbelievable beasts in their natural habitat.
The rest of the walk was beautiful; the landscape never boring; baron, with rolling mountains marked by bare and dried trees. On the way back into camp we saw four more dragons including a younger one who showed far more fear, pelting it into the bush, than his peers. These were slightly cheating because unlike the first two there was a certain human intervention as to them being easy to spot. Unavoidable the smell from the ranger’s kitchen attracts a few every day who stop by out of hope that they may get a scrap.
Outside of the dragons we saw numerous colourful birds, wild deer, antlers and all, and wild pigs. The ranger told me that it is currently mating season, so to see so many dragons, especially the ones earlier on in the walk was very lucky indeed.
We returned to the boat and took off to another part of the island. When at sea you realise the stunning white sand beaches that line Komodo. We stopped at a popular one called Red Beach. Its sand was pristine, the waters crystal clear. In an hour and a half I had three snorkels, coming out for only the briefest of breaks. It was by far the best coral reef I have snorkelled. So much colour and life. And then there were the fish, thousands of different species ; from the very small to the very large. It just capped off the time spent on Komodo brilliantly.
From there it was a three hour trip into the port of Flores. From a distance Labuanbajo looked every bit of a far out port town. Tin roofs and lots of wooden structures, many of the buildings looked as if they were going to flop into the ocean. Boats old and new lined the harbour. Touching the ground again I thrust the bag back onto my back and started the long search for accommodation. The chores of the oncoming hour were soothed by the memories of the wonderful adventure that I had just come from.
Gili Meno
The journey from Bromo to Senggigi was epic, if uneventful. I took a bus from Bromo to Probolingo then from there a bus and ferry over to Denpassar Bali. I holed up for a couple of hours in a nearby hotel before hopping on another bus and ferry to Mataram on Lombok. All that was left then was a bemo to Senggigi and I was ready to sleep. I had departed at seven in the morning and arrived in Senggigi at five in the afternoon the following day.
In truth the journey was not over. The next morning I was up early and on a bus to Bagsal where I caught another boat to Gili Meno, one of three islands that make up the Gili islands. Each island seems to have its own niche. The Lonely Planet described Meno as an island where you can live out your Robinso Crueso fantasies. It sounded like the one for me yet being peak season and with the Gili islands being relatively close to Bali I thought fat chance.
Sometimes though you land on your feet. On my walk up the coast I bumped into a builder. He said his friend had a hut. Normally that corresponds to commission galore but the price he quoted was under what I had budgeted so I took off after him. What he showed me was not hidden a mile away from the beach, nor was it a chicken coop, it was one of three well designed huts, ten meters from the sea with nothing in the way to spoil the view. The sight of a hammock only added to my smile.
Digging out my book I was struck by the silence. The three huts were isolated from anything else. There is also no motorised forms of transport on the Gili islands. The only means of getting around is either on foot, bicycle or horse drawn cart. Sounds idyllic? It certainly was. My days on the island quickly found routine. Up by seven, snorkel, breakfast, snorkel, write, lunch, read, dinner, bed. Time flew by at the expense of doing very little. I’ve been on the move for such a long time that a week of doing nothing in such a beautiful and relaxing place was just wonderful.
I thought that the above would be enough for me to remember Gili Meno in a very positive light but one experience dominated all others.
Four out of the five days that I snorkeled I swam with turtles, directly outside my hut. The only day I failed was because I overslept. At seven thirty I would get up and go straight to the water. They lived around fifty meters out, over sand and then onto the coral reef. Against the currents it would take a while before spotting one of those magnificent animals swimming with such grace. On the third day I swam with one for twenty minutes, it was a real treat. On my final snorkel I swam with three different turtles, one of them was huge, I dread to think how old. It had another decent sized fish attached to its underbelly. A truly unforgettable experience.
The reef on my patch was vast if not in the greatest condition. There were spots of blue and some noticeably living parts but the best was around the other side of the island with some good patches. The fish too were smaller than I had seen on Koh Tao or Pulau Weh. There were a couple of Trigger fish but none of those huge fluorescent fish that I had gotten used to seeing in other snorkel spots. It didn’t matter though; it was all about the turtles!
Meno wasn’t quite Robinso Crueso. It had a restaurant within a couple of minutes but that was good for breakfast. The three main restaurants which formed the busy area of the island was a good fifteen minute walk along a sandy path passing very little on the way except trees and empty land. It had enough amenities to make life easy and such was the island that despite nearly every piece of accommodation taken, the island was beautifully quiet and peaceful.
If there was to be one drawback it would be that come midday low tide would kick in and the ocean would become un-swimmable. But in some ways that was nice. I didn’t want to much physical exertion! On a couple of evenings I would take the hour long stroll around the island as the sun was setting. That was all rather nice and whilst the beach that circles the whole of the island is scarred with dead coral, it is still far better than most I have been on.
I stayed for seven nights. That was about right. By the end of my stay I felt recharged and ready to go again. Upon leaving however, I found it hard to pass over the key to paradise.
In truth the journey was not over. The next morning I was up early and on a bus to Bagsal where I caught another boat to Gili Meno, one of three islands that make up the Gili islands. Each island seems to have its own niche. The Lonely Planet described Meno as an island where you can live out your Robinso Crueso fantasies. It sounded like the one for me yet being peak season and with the Gili islands being relatively close to Bali I thought fat chance.
Sometimes though you land on your feet. On my walk up the coast I bumped into a builder. He said his friend had a hut. Normally that corresponds to commission galore but the price he quoted was under what I had budgeted so I took off after him. What he showed me was not hidden a mile away from the beach, nor was it a chicken coop, it was one of three well designed huts, ten meters from the sea with nothing in the way to spoil the view. The sight of a hammock only added to my smile.
Digging out my book I was struck by the silence. The three huts were isolated from anything else. There is also no motorised forms of transport on the Gili islands. The only means of getting around is either on foot, bicycle or horse drawn cart. Sounds idyllic? It certainly was. My days on the island quickly found routine. Up by seven, snorkel, breakfast, snorkel, write, lunch, read, dinner, bed. Time flew by at the expense of doing very little. I’ve been on the move for such a long time that a week of doing nothing in such a beautiful and relaxing place was just wonderful.
I thought that the above would be enough for me to remember Gili Meno in a very positive light but one experience dominated all others.
Four out of the five days that I snorkeled I swam with turtles, directly outside my hut. The only day I failed was because I overslept. At seven thirty I would get up and go straight to the water. They lived around fifty meters out, over sand and then onto the coral reef. Against the currents it would take a while before spotting one of those magnificent animals swimming with such grace. On the third day I swam with one for twenty minutes, it was a real treat. On my final snorkel I swam with three different turtles, one of them was huge, I dread to think how old. It had another decent sized fish attached to its underbelly. A truly unforgettable experience.
The reef on my patch was vast if not in the greatest condition. There were spots of blue and some noticeably living parts but the best was around the other side of the island with some good patches. The fish too were smaller than I had seen on Koh Tao or Pulau Weh. There were a couple of Trigger fish but none of those huge fluorescent fish that I had gotten used to seeing in other snorkel spots. It didn’t matter though; it was all about the turtles!
Meno wasn’t quite Robinso Crueso. It had a restaurant within a couple of minutes but that was good for breakfast. The three main restaurants which formed the busy area of the island was a good fifteen minute walk along a sandy path passing very little on the way except trees and empty land. It had enough amenities to make life easy and such was the island that despite nearly every piece of accommodation taken, the island was beautifully quiet and peaceful.
If there was to be one drawback it would be that come midday low tide would kick in and the ocean would become un-swimmable. But in some ways that was nice. I didn’t want to much physical exertion! On a couple of evenings I would take the hour long stroll around the island as the sun was setting. That was all rather nice and whilst the beach that circles the whole of the island is scarred with dead coral, it is still far better than most I have been on.
I stayed for seven nights. That was about right. By the end of my stay I felt recharged and ready to go again. Upon leaving however, I found it hard to pass over the key to paradise.
Bromo
Textbook. I arrived in the village of Cemoro Lawang mid morning for a cost of less than I would normally pay for a night’s accommodation. Sure I was tired but the Dieng effect kicked in as I looked out over the sharp drop below and across the Laotian Pasir (sea of sand) to a smoldering Mount Bromo. Tiredness immediately evaporated and I reached for possibly one last time for my much abused walking shoes.
The activity around Bromo appeared to be something that happened during the morning. From my vantage point I could see that the clouds were not in and hatched a plan to head up to the crater after lunch when I guessed it would be noticeably quieter. Over food I met the first English traveler in Indonesia. We talked for a while and I convinced him as to the merits of my idea. We cleared the bill and set off.
To make it a little more interesting (and as it turned out avoided the ticket booth) we scrambled down a small insignificant path that ran down the cliff to the plateau below. By the time I had reached the bottom I had become covered in ash. The whole surrounding area to Bromo has become cloaked in volcanic ash. It creates a landscape that is so unique that it is the definition of breathtaking.
From above the Laotian Pasir appears relatively flat and covers a couple of kilometers until the foot of Bromo. On the ground it is indeed flat for the most part but then changes and becomes far more reminiscent of the Sahara desert, except there is no sand here just layers and layers of ash. I couldn’t help but recall Hampi in India. Not because they shared any similarities in how they looked but rather in just how different both places are to anything I had seen before. In Bromo I found myself continuously stopping and surveying the mountains that surrounded me, the volcanoes in the distance and this layer of ash to battle over. It was just incredible.
A closed off Hindu temple stands at the foot of Bromo where it is then a hundred or so steps to the top. Mount Bromo’s collapsed crater was very quickly reached. The top precarious, it looked as if there once was a fence that has long fallen away. Sitting on a ledge, dangling my feet over the crater; the wind was blowing the right direction keeping the smoke well away.
Not as active as Kericini, the crater was far more easy to observe. It was a long way down and quite frankly a little unnerving. We made our way back both lost a little for words as to the landscape. Chris asked whether it was the best volcano I had seen. I couldn’t say. They’ve all been very different, each one special in their own way.
The following morning I was up at three in the morning and began my solitary walk up to Gunung Penanjakan. Chris had pre booked himself onto one of the dozens of four by fours that appear from nowhere shepherding people up the mountain in time for sunrise. I can’t think of a moment on this trip where I have felt so smug. It was a true triumph both for the local business men and for the three or so people and me who walked it.
After half an hour of walking I noticed the string of four by fours had ground to a halt. They could go no further. People had paid incredible sums of money to not have to walk half an hour! I skipped on ahead of the early arrivals and reached the view point in just over an hour. Looking back to the road it was alight with queues of these four by fours. I still have no idea where all these people came from, although it did make me laugh to see the car park stretching almost as far back as I had started walking from.
Expecting a lot of people I scrambled up the mud bank and continued walking up the mountain. Finding a good ledge I awaited the sun to rise. It was as beautiful as expected. The sea of sand, Bromo and various other more dominating volcanoes completed one of the most iconic images of Indonesia. Walking back, photos snapped I saw the viewing point and couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have enjoyed such a special moment in peace and quiet without the hoards below. I had heard of some people finding the area disappointing, I now understood why some would feel that. I however loved the place, all I had to do was use some common sense and stay away from the tours!
It might be strange to read that after Mount Bromo all I wanted to do was stand up and shout in anger but it was strangely the case. Indonesia appears to be able to do nothing wrong. Every country needs a Jaipur, a Pai, a Hikkaduwa but so far Indonesia seems incapable of throwing up a disappointment. Not that that should be a bad thing. It just all feels a little unreal. Every place I have visited has been on a level of beauty that I did not know existed. It really is an incredible country.
The activity around Bromo appeared to be something that happened during the morning. From my vantage point I could see that the clouds were not in and hatched a plan to head up to the crater after lunch when I guessed it would be noticeably quieter. Over food I met the first English traveler in Indonesia. We talked for a while and I convinced him as to the merits of my idea. We cleared the bill and set off.
To make it a little more interesting (and as it turned out avoided the ticket booth) we scrambled down a small insignificant path that ran down the cliff to the plateau below. By the time I had reached the bottom I had become covered in ash. The whole surrounding area to Bromo has become cloaked in volcanic ash. It creates a landscape that is so unique that it is the definition of breathtaking.
From above the Laotian Pasir appears relatively flat and covers a couple of kilometers until the foot of Bromo. On the ground it is indeed flat for the most part but then changes and becomes far more reminiscent of the Sahara desert, except there is no sand here just layers and layers of ash. I couldn’t help but recall Hampi in India. Not because they shared any similarities in how they looked but rather in just how different both places are to anything I had seen before. In Bromo I found myself continuously stopping and surveying the mountains that surrounded me, the volcanoes in the distance and this layer of ash to battle over. It was just incredible.
A closed off Hindu temple stands at the foot of Bromo where it is then a hundred or so steps to the top. Mount Bromo’s collapsed crater was very quickly reached. The top precarious, it looked as if there once was a fence that has long fallen away. Sitting on a ledge, dangling my feet over the crater; the wind was blowing the right direction keeping the smoke well away.
Not as active as Kericini, the crater was far more easy to observe. It was a long way down and quite frankly a little unnerving. We made our way back both lost a little for words as to the landscape. Chris asked whether it was the best volcano I had seen. I couldn’t say. They’ve all been very different, each one special in their own way.
The following morning I was up at three in the morning and began my solitary walk up to Gunung Penanjakan. Chris had pre booked himself onto one of the dozens of four by fours that appear from nowhere shepherding people up the mountain in time for sunrise. I can’t think of a moment on this trip where I have felt so smug. It was a true triumph both for the local business men and for the three or so people and me who walked it.
After half an hour of walking I noticed the string of four by fours had ground to a halt. They could go no further. People had paid incredible sums of money to not have to walk half an hour! I skipped on ahead of the early arrivals and reached the view point in just over an hour. Looking back to the road it was alight with queues of these four by fours. I still have no idea where all these people came from, although it did make me laugh to see the car park stretching almost as far back as I had started walking from.
Expecting a lot of people I scrambled up the mud bank and continued walking up the mountain. Finding a good ledge I awaited the sun to rise. It was as beautiful as expected. The sea of sand, Bromo and various other more dominating volcanoes completed one of the most iconic images of Indonesia. Walking back, photos snapped I saw the viewing point and couldn’t believe how lucky I was to have enjoyed such a special moment in peace and quiet without the hoards below. I had heard of some people finding the area disappointing, I now understood why some would feel that. I however loved the place, all I had to do was use some common sense and stay away from the tours!
It might be strange to read that after Mount Bromo all I wanted to do was stand up and shout in anger but it was strangely the case. Indonesia appears to be able to do nothing wrong. Every country needs a Jaipur, a Pai, a Hikkaduwa but so far Indonesia seems incapable of throwing up a disappointment. Not that that should be a bad thing. It just all feels a little unreal. Every place I have visited has been on a level of beauty that I did not know existed. It really is an incredible country.
Friday, 26 August 2011
Yogya
Yogyakarta is a critically endangered species in Indonesia. With close to a million people it is a big city but unlike most in Indonesia it is relatively pleasant.
The biggest shock upon arriving was that so much of the tourist accommodation was full. So far in Indonesia tourists have been few and far between. Yogya however was bustling at the seams. I eventually bumped into an owner of a place hidden within the alleyways and gladly accepted. It was a great little find with a very sociable crowd.
Yogya has a little tourist enclave but it is very tastefully done. It almost reminded me a little of New Delhi in that the guest houses sit within the community as a whole unlike in Thailand where they dominate over them. Normal life continues around them. That said it was still a place where I got to go all a bit Western.
On arrival I crossed over the main road and went to MacDonalds. I make no excuses, no fast food since Sri Lanka, it was a craving I could not deny. By the next morning I had handed over my washing and been for a shave and hair cut. Entering back out onto the streets I felt hideously exposed. I always feel very vulnerable when not sporting a well seasoned traveller look. Hawkers and scammers who would normally pass me by seem to latch on thinking that I’ve just arrived in their country.
Yogya is seen as Java’s artistic and intellectual heritage. I visited the Kraton, the home of the sultans of Yogya. It was a nice stroll through the complex but nothing remarkable. Thorough enjoyment was hindered by the lack of any noticeable information. Far more interesting was the enclaves that surrounded it containing twenty five thousand people, a thousand of which are directly employed by the sultan on all sorts of things such as puppet and batik making. It was very easy to get lost in the maze of streets and simple houses.
I then took in the Taman Sari, the private water park of Sulatans of old. It felt very Mediterranean and was a pleasant if short walk around. The bird market that was supposed to be nearby seemed to have finished which was disappointing but a few shops remained with various birds chirping from within their cages. It’s very common for houses to have at least one bird inside their house in Java.
The following day I was tempted to head to the temples of Prambanan but tiredness from the non-stop journeying meant I took it relatively easy knowing I had another night journey to complete come the evening. Instead I did a very unlike Rob thing and wondered around the markets and shopping malls.
A couple of souvenirs later and I was ready to get a bus to Surabaya. With the influx of tourism to Yogya, it has decided it needs tourist busses to get people to destinations because of course tourists cannot be expected to travel on the very friendly and fairly efficient local busses. With a little Indian side to Yogya there are a number of scams in the city and that extends to the tourist busses. I was having no part in that and so concocted a right old plan that would get me to the volcano of Bromo in no more than three changes. Oh and around another thirteen hours on busses. Joy.
The biggest shock upon arriving was that so much of the tourist accommodation was full. So far in Indonesia tourists have been few and far between. Yogya however was bustling at the seams. I eventually bumped into an owner of a place hidden within the alleyways and gladly accepted. It was a great little find with a very sociable crowd.
Yogya has a little tourist enclave but it is very tastefully done. It almost reminded me a little of New Delhi in that the guest houses sit within the community as a whole unlike in Thailand where they dominate over them. Normal life continues around them. That said it was still a place where I got to go all a bit Western.
On arrival I crossed over the main road and went to MacDonalds. I make no excuses, no fast food since Sri Lanka, it was a craving I could not deny. By the next morning I had handed over my washing and been for a shave and hair cut. Entering back out onto the streets I felt hideously exposed. I always feel very vulnerable when not sporting a well seasoned traveller look. Hawkers and scammers who would normally pass me by seem to latch on thinking that I’ve just arrived in their country.
Yogya is seen as Java’s artistic and intellectual heritage. I visited the Kraton, the home of the sultans of Yogya. It was a nice stroll through the complex but nothing remarkable. Thorough enjoyment was hindered by the lack of any noticeable information. Far more interesting was the enclaves that surrounded it containing twenty five thousand people, a thousand of which are directly employed by the sultan on all sorts of things such as puppet and batik making. It was very easy to get lost in the maze of streets and simple houses.
I then took in the Taman Sari, the private water park of Sulatans of old. It felt very Mediterranean and was a pleasant if short walk around. The bird market that was supposed to be nearby seemed to have finished which was disappointing but a few shops remained with various birds chirping from within their cages. It’s very common for houses to have at least one bird inside their house in Java.
The following day I was tempted to head to the temples of Prambanan but tiredness from the non-stop journeying meant I took it relatively easy knowing I had another night journey to complete come the evening. Instead I did a very unlike Rob thing and wondered around the markets and shopping malls.
A couple of souvenirs later and I was ready to get a bus to Surabaya. With the influx of tourism to Yogya, it has decided it needs tourist busses to get people to destinations because of course tourists cannot be expected to travel on the very friendly and fairly efficient local busses. With a little Indian side to Yogya there are a number of scams in the city and that extends to the tourist busses. I was having no part in that and so concocted a right old plan that would get me to the volcano of Bromo in no more than three changes. Oh and around another thirteen hours on busses. Joy.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
Dieng Plateau and Borobudur
After finally finding my way to the ticket office and a highly amusing conversation with the lady behind the desk who spoke about as much English as I do Indonesian, I discovered that the bus to Yogyokarta had left. I sat down and started to scan the board outside of destinations. I find it’s always best to be moving rather than sitting around and waiting. I saw a bus to Wonsobo; that was the closest I could get. I bought a ticket and was on a delightful bus with a beaming conductor and driver.
In near Indian fashion the buses on Java seem to run to strange times aiming to dump you as close to two in the morning as possible. There is a reason for that though I quickly discovered. Java contains something like seventy per cent of Indonesia’s population. That means lots and lots of traffic. My bus didn’t arrive until five hours later than expected. That gave me plenty of time on the bus to find out where I was heading. Great news, I was almost within walking distance of the Dieng Plateua. Plans changed I was no longer aiming for Yogyakarta it was all Dieng from here on in.
The journey up to the village of Dieng was beyond belief. Climbing up the mountains, with volcanoes all around and rows of crops it was stunning. The village is small and quiet, at two thousand one hundred meters it is noticeably colder. Normally after night busses all I feel like doing is go into zombie mode and sleep out the day. Not here however, the hiking shoes were straight away on. I scoffed down breakfast, grabbed a map and raced out of the door. I couldn’t wait.
The three hour walk I did was just lovely. It took in various sites, the first of which were some ancient Hindu temples. From there I went up to a volcanic crater with bubbling mud ponds. It was bizarre seeing so many random spots boiling away. I watched where I placed my feet carefully! I then wondered over to a lovely lake with its distinctive turquoise colour. By then the clouds had begun to drift in and I headed back and rested the rest of the day.
I was up at three thirty the next morning. The owner of my guest house pulled up his scooter and we motored off into the hills, a car followed with another couple of people and a guide. After twenty of so minutes we went on foot up a mountain and prepared for sunrise. It was cloudy. But then, the clouds started to disappear.
Volcanoes appeared, including the recently erupted Merapi. I think Everest sunrises excluded, this was the finest of the trip with the fog clinging to the forests below and the volcanoes dominating tall. The dutch couple I was with asked our guide whether the tiers running up the mountains were tea plantations. “No” he said “they are potatoes, lots of potatoes.” He paused, pondering that comment and then said “but we don’t eat potatoes, we eat rice.” He looked confused by the revelation and started off down the hill. On arrival at the bottom I went around on the bike to a few more sights all of which were just as good as the others before arriving back in time for breakfast!
Dieng Plateau was superb, scenically it was one of the most beautiful places I have visited. I not only struck gold on by chance arriving here but also on getting out. My guest house owner got me into a private taxi, although I must say I felt sorry for its two French occupants considering they had not booked the taxi to go to where I was going! But alas, it made things easier and quite possibly cheaper than any other way.
I was heading to Borobodur, one of if not the largest Buddhist monument in the world. I had seen a picture whilst in Cambodia. As soon as I saw it, I latched onto the idea of wanting to go to Indonesia for two rather than just the one month. I had always thought of Indonesia as beaches. Sumatra showed me the rainforests and volcanoes, Borobodur showed a historical aspect I had not expected.
The town itself was uninspiring but I wasn’t here to see that. For the second day in a row I was up before sunrise and first at entrance gate. When walking up to the monument it looms over you. It’s huge. Square, with six square terraces and three circular ones you walk around each one clockwise. The carvings are by all accounts the best I have seen. Each one tells a story and they are in remarkably great condition. Unfortunately the top was closed due to the cleanup operation after the eruption of Merapi had left the monument covered in ash but it didn’t matter, it was still darn impressive. I spent around an hour and a half admiring this incredible feet in human craftsmanship. People pale in comparison to it. It was only relatively recently discovered in 1815, it amazes me how something like that can go missing.
Just like the temples of Angkor it is on a different scale to pretty much anything else. Whilst visiting I had to keep reminding myself that it was built around 750AD. It’s a mind boggling thought. That afternoon I left after a great couple of days for Yogyakarta, apparently a nice Indonesian city!
In near Indian fashion the buses on Java seem to run to strange times aiming to dump you as close to two in the morning as possible. There is a reason for that though I quickly discovered. Java contains something like seventy per cent of Indonesia’s population. That means lots and lots of traffic. My bus didn’t arrive until five hours later than expected. That gave me plenty of time on the bus to find out where I was heading. Great news, I was almost within walking distance of the Dieng Plateua. Plans changed I was no longer aiming for Yogyakarta it was all Dieng from here on in.
The journey up to the village of Dieng was beyond belief. Climbing up the mountains, with volcanoes all around and rows of crops it was stunning. The village is small and quiet, at two thousand one hundred meters it is noticeably colder. Normally after night busses all I feel like doing is go into zombie mode and sleep out the day. Not here however, the hiking shoes were straight away on. I scoffed down breakfast, grabbed a map and raced out of the door. I couldn’t wait.
The three hour walk I did was just lovely. It took in various sites, the first of which were some ancient Hindu temples. From there I went up to a volcanic crater with bubbling mud ponds. It was bizarre seeing so many random spots boiling away. I watched where I placed my feet carefully! I then wondered over to a lovely lake with its distinctive turquoise colour. By then the clouds had begun to drift in and I headed back and rested the rest of the day.
I was up at three thirty the next morning. The owner of my guest house pulled up his scooter and we motored off into the hills, a car followed with another couple of people and a guide. After twenty of so minutes we went on foot up a mountain and prepared for sunrise. It was cloudy. But then, the clouds started to disappear.
Volcanoes appeared, including the recently erupted Merapi. I think Everest sunrises excluded, this was the finest of the trip with the fog clinging to the forests below and the volcanoes dominating tall. The dutch couple I was with asked our guide whether the tiers running up the mountains were tea plantations. “No” he said “they are potatoes, lots of potatoes.” He paused, pondering that comment and then said “but we don’t eat potatoes, we eat rice.” He looked confused by the revelation and started off down the hill. On arrival at the bottom I went around on the bike to a few more sights all of which were just as good as the others before arriving back in time for breakfast!
Dieng Plateau was superb, scenically it was one of the most beautiful places I have visited. I not only struck gold on by chance arriving here but also on getting out. My guest house owner got me into a private taxi, although I must say I felt sorry for its two French occupants considering they had not booked the taxi to go to where I was going! But alas, it made things easier and quite possibly cheaper than any other way.
I was heading to Borobodur, one of if not the largest Buddhist monument in the world. I had seen a picture whilst in Cambodia. As soon as I saw it, I latched onto the idea of wanting to go to Indonesia for two rather than just the one month. I had always thought of Indonesia as beaches. Sumatra showed me the rainforests and volcanoes, Borobodur showed a historical aspect I had not expected.
The town itself was uninspiring but I wasn’t here to see that. For the second day in a row I was up before sunrise and first at entrance gate. When walking up to the monument it looms over you. It’s huge. Square, with six square terraces and three circular ones you walk around each one clockwise. The carvings are by all accounts the best I have seen. Each one tells a story and they are in remarkably great condition. Unfortunately the top was closed due to the cleanup operation after the eruption of Merapi had left the monument covered in ash but it didn’t matter, it was still darn impressive. I spent around an hour and a half admiring this incredible feet in human craftsmanship. People pale in comparison to it. It was only relatively recently discovered in 1815, it amazes me how something like that can go missing.
Just like the temples of Angkor it is on a different scale to pretty much anything else. Whilst visiting I had to keep reminding myself that it was built around 750AD. It’s a mind boggling thought. That afternoon I left after a great couple of days for Yogyakarta, apparently a nice Indonesian city!
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