From Flores to Lombok

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

Padang to Bogor

From Kericini we took a car with a Dutch couple back to Padang. A few days earlier I had been quite convinced that I was going to overland it to Java. The journey from Lake Toba had changed my mind instantly. On arrival I wondered around travel agents and airplane shops hoping to secure a ticket for the following day. At first it wasn’t successful, the prices were high and availability low. To my rescue however came a travel agent that might as well have been shut with how it carried itself but somehow it found my a great price on the correct day of departure.

With tickets in hand we wondered over to Padang beach which doesn’t exist outside of a few rocks being bashed by waves full of rubbish. The market closer to it was a little more interesting with horse drawn carriages and frantic atmosphere.
The next day I flew to Jakarta as Paul returned to England. It was the first domestic flight I have ever taken and was incredibly smooth. On arrival in Jakarta I got a bus straight from the airport to the town of Bogor an hour and a half away. Jakarta is the definition of urban sprawl. I had absolutely no intention of spending any time there at all.

Not that that much more can be said for Bogor. It has almost been engulfed by Jakarta and its traffic seems to standstill most of the time. That said there is a reason for coming, a reason that I imagine made my parents wonder what has happened to their son over the past year. At the center of Bogor with chockablock roads surrounding it lays one of the most impressive botanical gardens in the world. With the help of Kew it covers a substantial amount of ground and is very impressive. When George Bush visited in 2006 the only site he saw in Indonesia were these gardens.

I have little interest in plants beyond thinking they look nice, or oh that’s pretty tall, so apart from seeing the world’s tallest plant, my time in the gardens consisted of a pleasant stroll for a number of hours. It was made all that more enjoyable by going on a Sunday. The lonely planet warned against it because of the huge numbers of locals who flock then, but frankly it made it that much more fun. There were family gatherings everywhere, playing sports and having competitions such as the egg and spoon race. It was a joy seeing so many people making the most of the gardens.

I left Bogor that evening. I hoped to go all the way to Yogyokarta, but as is typical with local bus services nothing ever works out the way you understand it should.

Gurung Kerinci

The Kilimanjaro of the tea estates? Gurung Kerinci is Indonesia’s highest non-Papuan peak. It’s also one of the most active volcanoes in Sumatra having last erupted in 2009. Kesik Tua, a small village in amongst the hills and tea plantations was our base. Looking out from our homestay I was struck by how imposing the volcano looked. It sticks out like a sore thumb shooting up towards the sky amongst fields of tea plantations and cabbage plants. Frequently hidden by cloud, when it was revealed in its full glory it was hard not to be humbled by just how isolated it actually is.

There wasn’t a lot to do on the first day other than rest after the thirty six hour bus journey. We did break at one point from the books to indulge in a first taste of a Durian fruit. Frequently controversial because of its smell, I thought its taste was utterly addictive. It was like eating fruit custard out of a fruit!

It was a first in terms of organising a hike. From waking up in the morning the owner asked why we were in Kesik Tua. There are three possible answers to this. Bird watching, flower hunting or hiking, there are no hang abouts here. It is a place not frequently visited and has no hotels, only a couple of homestays. We were of course after the latter of the options and pointed out of the window to Gurung Kericini. The next day we had sleeping bags, roll mats, torches to add to our already considerable warm weather gear and a personal guide waiting at eight in the morning. Neither of us have ever organised our own personal hike before.

Our guide was Duri, one of the sons of the owner. Another son drove us in his jeep through the tea estates and to the park entrance. I say park entrance although I mean where the road became impassable. A small hut may once have been home to a park ranger but few people pass through here. The hike up to base camp two where we would stay the night was initially a gentle stroll uphill through the forest. Clambering over fallen trees and avoiding encroaching plants it was all very pleasant as birds sang as we passed by and gibbons played up in the trees. A few shelters down the path began to get more technical. The flow of water down the volcano over the years has produced deep channels. Increasingly it was a case of scrambling and swinging from tree to tree to tree.

One of the joys of Kericini is that it does not mess around. It’s all up. As the hours slipped by so did the scenery. From thick jungle to ferns and shrubberies the trees began to disappear the higher we got. After around six hours we got to where we would be staying the night. The tent went up as the rain came down, good timing was an understatement. At around 3,200 meters it was cold. The down jacket was once again out, proving it’s worth every few months. With no watches the rest of the day and night was sat around chatting unsure what the time was. It eventually got dark and the three of us crammed into one tiny tent!

At some unearthly hour, Duri brought us coffee and roti. It was cold, very cold. Torches on we headed up towards the summit. The climb was brilliant fun, plotting our route up a path in absolute tatters, in pitch darkness. Dangerous but highly entertaining, the greenery finally gave way and as the sun came up, the rock and scree infested volcanic peak came into view. It was a torturously slow ascent; many steps were taken only to find ourselves back to square one.

Beautiful views of the landscape a million miles away from the world we were now inhabiting peaked in and out of the clouds. It was an ugly last hour, it was everything that you would want from a volcano. Bleak, bare and violent. At 3,800 meters the air was noticeably thin. At the top it was made that much worse curtsey of the plumes of sulphur that pumped out of the crater. As we sat, with our coats over our mouths, coughing at times uncontrollably we began to estimate how many years we were losing of our lives inhaling the smoke.

We didn’t stay up top too long, the smell and smoke made it almost unbearable, but it felt brilliant to have conquered such an imposing structure. The descent of some two thousand meters was full of all the fun of the ascent. It was a challenge and at times made me think that I was the luckiest man alive having access to such a fantastic theme park. The sight of several varieties of carnivorous plants only capped it off further. Eventually we made it to the bottom, cloaked in mud.
Gurung Kericini in terms of its contrasts and its challenges made for an unforgettable walking experience. Off the beaten track and surrounded by so much natural beauty its one of those places that will live long in the memory.

Lake Toba to Kericini

The journey down to Lake Toba was similar to Berastagi. Read: triple the number of people to seats and Paul unable to get his legs in between the seats and his head from popping out of the roof. Oh how good it is to be of a smallish height. As we approached the ferry I listened to one of my many podcasts, ‘from our own correspondent’. It brought a smile to my face to hear one of the radio four news reporters doing a piece on why people in Cambodia find foreigners cycling so funny! They were specifically focusing on Kampot province, the area where I did my three days on a one speed bike.

Danau Toba is the largest lake in Southeast Asia covering 1707 square kilometers. It is big. The ferry into the center took close to an hour. Tuk Tuk, attached to a lager island, with over a one hundred kilometer circumference is the tourist heart. In days gone by it was one of the major stops on the traveler’s itinerary, championing a party scene that Hat Rin on Koh Phan gan, Thailand now holds. These days the island verges on a ghost town, with only a sprinkling of foreign tourists.
It’s a real shame that this is the case as the area is absolutely stunning. Renting bicycles and cycling out into the countryside was one of my finest cycling experiences to date.

Mountains to one side, glistening blue waters to the other, locals called out hello at almost every house we passed. We didn’t seem to find any of the noteworthy sights but it didn’t matter, with nearly thirty miles covered, up and down hills, it was a joy to see such a beautiful area of the world.
It would have been nice to have stayed there a couple more days although I’m not entirely sure what else I would have done. Unfortunately Sumatra is not kind in terms of getting from place to place. Our next stop, Kericini lay some five hundred kilometers away.

We started what turned into the most epic journey of my travels at two in the afternoon where we caught a ferry to the mainland. From there we walked to the clearly marked bus station, large and well organized, just with no busses. One travel agent sold us a ticket on the one bus going anywhere that by luck, happened to be our bus. The problem was it was a Sunday; that meant lots of locals on the move. We got given ‘extra’ seats or in other words a plastic seat in the isle. Considering the journey was overnight this was not great news but sometimes needs must. As luck would have it, someone upstairs intervened and two people failed to make the bus on time hence giving us…two seats!

I sat next to an English university student which was nice. She practiced her English and taught me some more Indonesian although I had to give up on how to ask for a room because the vibration on the final word was just impossible for me to say. It surprised her that I had never heard of England’s greatest export, Mr Duncan, and frankly alarmed her when I said we don’t eat rice three times a day.
The rest of the journey was a typical night bus affair, bumpy, sometimes slow, sometimes fast, the barest of sleeping times. Considering we were on the wonderfully named Trans-Sumatran Highway, finding ourselves on mud tracks and roads only just big enough for a car, with two busses attempting to pass each other, the journey was hard going. Unlike most night busses it was not over at first light. No, we didn’t make it to base until two in the afternoon, that’s twenty two hours, with only two fifteen minute breaks and a couple of packets of biscuits.

Actually it wasn’t all that painful, what was, was when we arrived at the bus office in Padang. Now the Lonely Planet has a lovely piece on Padang, with a good map and plenty of information. Except then it contains a box which states that just before going to print there was an earthquake that destroyed much of the city. With no reference points, no one speaking English and worst of all no form of transport, we were stranded in the pouring rain.

Eventually a couple of students passed by. One was Indonesian, the other Malaysian. With their help we navigated a number of oplets before arriving at a different office which could book us on a bus to Kerinici. I can’t explain just how stuck we would have been without them. We went over the road and had a taste of the famous Padang cuisine. The waiter puts around fifteen dishes on your table and you pay for what you eat. I enjoyed the beef rendang, a morning glory dish, omlette, oh and a whole dish of cow intestines. No one else wanted to help me out with that one. At one point an older lady came over and sat a chair away. She starred at us continuously whilst at the same time holding an in-depth conversation with our new found friends. She looked bewildered and confused. Was it the white skin? The language? The handling spicy food? No it was confusion over why we were eating rice with a fork and not a spoon.

After lunch, the first proper meal for twenty four hours we collapsed and waited for the bus. Alex and James disappeared at various times and brought back local snacks for us to try. By far the strangest was chicken feat in a curry sauce.
Approaching zombie status it was time for the mini bus to leave for Kericini. We got in and then the driver did. Finally a chance to sleep. But wait, no! We were in for a treat. Unknown to us the mini bus that we booked happened to have the best speaker system in the whole of Asia! Cue dance and then local music throughout the night at a near deafening sound volume. My tolerance levels were tested to their absolute limits. But the whole grin and bear it approach did just about work as we were dropped off in a tiny village at around three in the morning. It was all very picturesque with the volcano dominating above the tea plantations but my zombie status renders that image nearly defunct. Rather my enduring memory was Paul knocking on a homestay’s door and a wonderful if sleepy man greeting us and ushering us into a room. We hit the hay almost instantly.

Thirty six hours, the next day was a right off.

Brestagi

It was one of those Indonesian mini buss hopping adventures to get to Brestagi. Constantly crammed and made for smaller people than me (how Paul coped I will never know) they were a constant fascination as well as moving torture mobiles.

Brestagi is what I have come to understand as a typical Indonesian town. Ugly, busy and a little bit dirty. We weren’t here to admire the town however; we were here to climb a volcano, Gurung Simayek. The following day we set off with a hand drawn map and a lunch box and began to walk towards the entrance to the park. We were soon lost. Not to be deterred and a couple of waving hands from locals later we were back on track and began the winding ascent up the paved road. At one point we came across a group of Indonesian students wondering down with a guitar. I asked them to play a song. They ushered us into the road and began strumming along. We talked a little bit and then scarpered as a mini bus swung around the corner. Laughing we parted and continued up the hill.

The road soon disappeared and we got to play a game of can you find the mud path up to the volcano. After a while it turned out we could, latching onto the most indistinguishable path possible. It took us up into the mountains. The beautiful greenery soon gave way and the top of the volcano was in view. It’s hard to remember what hit first, the sight of it, the smell of it or the noise of the sulphur escaping from the vents. The crater itself is dry and now covered in peoples messages made out of stones. Surrounding it however are green glows, with smoke pouring out and loud hissing noises. I put my hand over one, it was boiling hot! I’ve never been on an active volcano before. The experience was quite something.

We spent some time around the area and then began our descent down. It was smooth enough until our ‘not to scale’ map decided to take us on a walk far beyond what would be seen as acceptable considering we’d just climbed a decent amount already. After goodness knows how long (at least an hour I’d suggest) we finally hit a main road. We sat down. A motorbike taxi asked us if we wanted a lift into town. “Us! No, we’re hikers, and pretty good at it, we’ll walk it, it’s not far anyway, just look at the map!” He didn’t attempt to persuade us, which was strange considering after a while we passed a sign saying eight kilometers to Brestagi. Considering by this point we had been walking for six odd hours that’s no mean distance. Determined we polished it off in impressive time. It had been a great day although I was quite happy to be back at the hotel and with no more than ten steps to navigate between the room and the restaurant.

Bukit Luwang

Just the twenty two hours to Bukit Luwang via Medan. After various changes of vehicles we arrived, just about in one piece surrounded by the lush jungle of the Gunung Leuser National Park. Bukit Luwang prides itself on being one of the most accessible places in the world to see orangutans. For a number of years now it has been rehabilitating orangutans back into the wild; a project which has been recognized by the WWF as a total success.

Arriving in the early afternoon we made our way up to the feeding platform where twice daily they provide food for the semi wild orangutans, yet to take the full leap to independence. We had met a guide called Eddie on the mini bus in and had agreed to go on a trek with him into the jungle for the following day along with two other people. Somewhere along the line in our conversation with him both Paul and I left with the impression that the feeding started at two in the afternoon despite everything else saying three.

The walk up the hill was pleasant. Huge numbers of locals from Medan tubed down the river and ate food next to it. There was such an un-spoilt atmosphere to the place. Everyone was out to enjoy themselves against a backdrop of spectacular dense jungle. After a short walk we came across a canoe tied to a zip line. The entrance to the park lay across the river. A couple of people hung around but there seemed very little activity, strange considering we were so close to feeding time. We got in the canoe and started to pull ourselves across. A local jumped on and helped with the work. He then paddled back.

We wondered in through the gates and past the park rangers office. Two men lay asleep in hammocks. We didn’t wake them up. We were in a rush to get to the feeding deck in time after all. Another short walk up hill and a couple of turnings later and we arrived at what we assumed was the feeding area except nobody was there. We sat on a log and waited.

After a while I got bored and headed down another path to see what was around the corner. I returned shortly after and Paul pointed up into a tree. There above sat a mother and her baby. It was a special moment seeing these incredible creatures up above us. We watched for a long time before Paul decided he’d go and find out what was happening about the feeding time. He returned to see me in a state of laughter pulling poo out of my hair. After a steady stream of urine minutes earlier that I had successfully dodged, I was caught by surprise by the dropping of excrement from above. It sure did smell.



It was then that we turned around and saw a large adult male sat on the feeding platform with a bunch of bananas in his mouth. I didn’t know that orangutans could grow so big, he was massive! The facial expressions he pulled as he watched us, the mother and baby and the bananas he was trying to eat was hilarious. Minutes later a local guy appeared and the male went back into the overgrowth.

Shortly after that the hundreds descended on us. Led by a number of park rangers it was time for the feeding circus. The lead guide walked up to the platform and looked back on the watching crowd. Seconds later he was running back towards us as the male orangutan crept up behind him. It took a long time and a lot of negotiating before he went back up to drop the food!

As this was going on another guide sat down with us and expressed surprise as to how we got there. Telling him we navigated the canoe over the river seemed to confuse him even more. After a short lecture as to how dangerous it was to be alone in the jungle with the orangutans we went back to watching the chaos of dozens of locals in a peaceful jungle. Not that I would ever want to encourage people to flout the parks rules but the feeding time was a nightmare, whilst the hour before, magical. A few bananas later and we left back down towards our hut to prepare for the following day.

We awoke early and wondered over to where we had arranged to meet Eddie and the other two in our group. Unfortunately Sumatran journey time had not been to kind to the other two who had to postpone their trip due to arriving so late in the evening. Instead we were palmed off onto Erwin and Johnny. We joined with a very brave French family, taking their kids out of school for six months and navigating a six year old through the terrain! There was also a couple of Australians which provided plenty of banter on route.

Within the first two hours of trekking into the jungle we had seen eleven orangutans. Of all different sizes and plenty of mothers and babies it was wonderful seeing mans closest relative up close in their natural habitat. Normally animal sightings are fleeting but not these. The orangutans seemed just as interested in us as we were in them.

Not long after that we came across ‘white gloved’ gibbons high up in a tree. Huge ants ran across the floor (and sometimes in Erwin’s mouth) the jungle was full of life. It was all going perfectly to plan until Erwin stopped us in our tracks. He uttered one word, “Mina”. Almost as soon as you step foot in Bukit Luwang you hear about her. Responsible for sixty five attacks on tourists and guides she truly is the queen of the jungle. As our guides rushed ahead to divert her we eventually had to change our route and crossed the small river at a different point. Soon after we settled down for a snack and began to come to terms with how lucky we had been with the animal sightings so far.

“Quick, Mina, go!” the guides suddenly shouted and everyone grabbed for their bags. In the distance branches moved. An orangutan and its baby were swinging in from the distance. It was a majestic sight to see how quickly they can move when they want to. As it landed in front of us you could feel the relief as Erwin identified it not as Mina. Everyone could relax. Except some relaxed too much, choosing to ignore the whole, keep your distance, they are wild animals. I stood a distance away, hesitant to get as close as some of the children were. Next thing I knew, I had a orangutan running at me. I grabbed my bag and moved out of the way as it charged on through and into the bushes. There wasn’t a lot of time to think before we were moving again as the real Mina had found us and we needed to get going. A short flash of orange was all I saw before being motioned up the hill and away.

The rest of the day was uneventful, but thoroughly enjoyable, if a little tiring in the heat. We admired centuries old trees and enjoyed such ‘delicious’ snacks as jungle ice cream. In the late afternoon we arrived at camp. Sitting alongside the river, it was a simple set up with a mat to sleep on and some tarpaulin over the top to keep the rain off. Our guides started to cook up tea and we all went for a swim in the river, battling against the strong currents that attempted to pull us back down stream. After another superb meal we played various games with matchsticks into the night. Erwin and Johnny win the prize for the most amusing and entertaining guides I have had. They have provided plenty of games to take back into schools when I return.

We awoke to monkeys looking down upon us and enjoyed another morning swim. A little later we went up and visited a couple of waterfalls, set back within the jungle. Then it was time to return back to base. A large monitor lizard made its home in our camp whilst we attempted to get our belongings in order. Eventually it moved on and the guides began to strap together four rubber tubes to form a raft. Armed with two wooden poles we rafted the rapids back to town. It was a great way to end a very special and memorable trip.

Docking on shore we made our way up to the so called bat cave. It was amusing trying to find it, passing the swallow cave, the new cave etc. Success followed slowly and we went in with one fading head torch. The cave itself was fairly uninspiring but for the gaps where sunlight filled the cavern and everything became very green. That was all rather Indiana Jones.

After another well deserved sleep we left the following day for Berastagi. Bukit Luwang was one of those places that will stay with me for a very long time. So far Sumatra is outdoing herself.

Pulau Weh

We caught a taxi out to the ferry and one hour later we were on the small island of Pulau Weh. I say small, it was still another hour to get to the beach of Iboih, but in comparison to Sumatra it’s a mere pin prick.

Iboih is a small collection of huts strung out mostly along the hillside. It didn’t take us long to have our sea side real estate secured. Sure a Jenga tower looked far more stable than the rickety mess that we agreed to rent but it came with two hammocks, a large balcony and only five steps to walk down until your feet touched the ocean. Two more and we were underwater dodging schools of fish ranging from the miniscule to the frighteningly large. Lion fish, sea snakes, trigger fish, the cast of Finding Nemo and thousands more that I could never hope to identify.

Most of the time on the island was spent in-between a hammock and the ocean. We broke the trend on one afternoon and hired a canoe. The owner looked excited when we pointed at the sign and he pointed at the canoe. A traditional thin boat made out of wood and outriggers made out of piping with a finishing coat of Rastafarian colours. It was entertaining if the distance covered was minimal. Paul got the short end of the stick by getting into the boat at the back and hence forth became the paddler. I perched at the front attempting to keep the balance of the boat.

Initially we directed the boat around the small island that hovered just off Pulau Weh. We soon discovered the open water that was revealed was no place for a traditional canoe. Steering went out of the window as the sea got choppy and the currents cut in. Before we knew it we were back near our accommodation. Instead we rowed over to the small island and pulled the boat as far onto the beach as we could. Just in case we tied it to a rock and wedged it in between another one. Who says Bear Grills is not one of England’s finest educators?

On the far side of the island was a coral garden. After a couple of photos with visiting local tourists we were allowed into the water and swam between them floating aimlessly with the waves in their life jackets. The coral wasn’t in its best shape but some parts were living. There was a typical abundance of fish and a sea snake which was all rather exciting. Getting back in contained the typical problem of not standing on the coral as the tide had an altogether different idea.

Upon getting back to the beach we were relieved to find the boat as we had left it, on the beach, not in the ocean. Unfortunately however it seemed to have lost all buoyancy. The first attempt to launch it was hastily called off as it began to sink. After an investigation and minor fixes we took to the ocean and paddled as fast as possible to get it back to the restaurant without it sinking. It was touch and go, a lot of bailing out took place!

We left Pulau Weh the following day. If there is one problem with the island it is that it is in the middle of nowhere. Neither of us dared to think just how long it would take to reach Bukit Luwang.

Banda Aceh - Indonesia

The moment I saw that we could fly into Banda Aceh, Indonesia, I jumped at the opportunity. Firstly its close proximity to Pulau Weh appealed but in many ways it was its fascinating if traumatic recent history that made me change the flight plans instantly.

For much of the 1990’s it had been under martial law and after failed peace talks in 2003 it had witnessed the largest military operation by the Indonesian army since 1975. A tiny tourist quota existed, but largely it remained a place outside of the radar of the west. It all changed in 2004 and the Boxing Day tsunami killing around 200,000 people. Sixty per cent of the city was destroyed. Banda Aceh had no choice but to seek the support of the outside world. More recently amongst the huge rebuilding success it has courted controversy by implementing Sharia Law in 2009. It is not uncommon for stonings to occur and alcohol is banned amongst many other things. A couple of days before we arrived I read in a Malaysian newspaper how a Muslim extremist training camp in the province had been infiltrated and its leaders arrested. It promised to be like a place that I had never visited before.

On getting off the plane, amongst the paddy fields and mountain range in the background I was struck by the queue that soon developed around immigration. It was huge, nearly stretching back to the plane. Above the desk read ‘Indonesian passport holders.’ To the right sat a desk, with two officials and no one in sight, ‘foreign passport holders’ this one read. Despite first and only in queue it still took a lengthy time to get through with the officials seemingly perplexed by the two month visa I held. Eventually I was allowed in and Paul soon after thanks to a relatively smooth visa on arrival process.



We made our way to our hotel which had had a makeover in recent years converting itself into a residential block awash with Indonesian families and us. The first thing that strikes you about Banda Aceh is the incredible rebuilding work that has taken place in the last six years. If you were just passing through you would be none the wiser as to the tragedy that struck. There are though a few signs still left. One was a 2km walk from our hotel. A large fishing boat sits precariously on top of a house, a long way from the ocean. It’s become one of the enduring images of the tsunami and helped to put into context what happened on that day.

Very recently Banda Aceh has completed its tsunami museum. One of the finest museums I have been to, it’s very avant garde. Upon entering you pass through a darkened room, along a narrow path, with two waterfalls spraying water over you from a great height. Wet, you enter into a room of mirrors with computer screens showing images taken during the tsunami. Harrowing, they told their own story. The rest of the museum was dedicated towards videos, many more pictures and selected information. It really was a very good museum made that much more sobering by the realization that most of the people we were sharing it with had lived through it.

Indonesian is the most populated Muslim country in the world. Aceh in many respects Indonesia's most devout. To gain a greater understanding we visited the Masjid Raya Baiturrahman. The mosque is spectacular, so dominant in the city it is a wonderful example of architecture. We didn’t get to see much of the inside other than peering in through the odd door, but it looked every bit as good as the outside. As we walked around we were greeted by families and others asking for us to appear in photos with them. The warmth and friendliness of the place was infectious. After reading the lonely planets ten things not to do in Banda Aceh it was amusing at one point to find myself posing for a photo with a Muslim lady surrounded by a group of watching local men with the mosque as the backdrop. It was the only moment in my time in Banda Aceh when I thought to myself ‘have I just gotten myself in trouble?’I needn’t have worried, they found it hilarious.

If there was to be one negative it would be the general sleep disturbances which I am sure will become the norm in Indonesia. Firstly you’ve got the expected morning prayers from the mosques. It’s actually quite a nice way to wake up and I always enjoyed it in India, just shame it’s not a little later. Then there are the mysterious men and their whistles paid to help cars park and get back out onto the road. It’s a job that I can think of no comparisons. Mind boggling and enough to drive a man insane when trying to drop off to sleep to the sound of the repeated blowings of a whistle.

Banda Aceh is one of those places that the perceived negatives put off many from visiting. For us however it was an absolute pleasure. The sights were interesting and the people just lovely. The city never felt unsafe. A great start to Indonesia.

Cameron Highlands to KL

To break up the journey to Kuala Lumpur we stopped at the Cameron Highlands for a night. Set in the mountains, it not only offers a good climate but also many paths through the forests and the surrounding tea estates. As soon as we arrived we dumped the bags and set off on one such walk. The Rough Guide did warn that finding the starts of the paths was notoriously difficult but that was an understatement. After nearly an hour of searching around apartment blocks we found the path leading through a garden center. As soon as we were on the path we were off it due to a signpost pointing us in completely the wrong direction and back down onto a road. We gave up.

The following morning we tried again this time on a different path. Another hour passed until we met an American and a Scottish walker coming down a road from behind the hospital. We quickly shared our failure to find the path and that it was strange how a hospital could have been emitted from the Rough Guides map. After consulting a local gardener we were pointed in a new direction which led to the desired entrance. Success! The path was a superb three or so hour walk through the forest. We didn’t meet anyone on the way up and although the view was hampered a little by the sun lights haze it was a great way to spend a morning. On the way down we passed around forty school children being led up by some hardy adults. Nearly everyone said hello and despite a very steep climb, bits of which we had to scramble up, they did it all with a huge smile on their faces. In a general sense it is amazing how different the kids are out here to back home.



In the afternoon we caught a coach down to KL, which had by far the best leg room I think I have ever had on a coach. Malaysia is surprisingly developed and modern compared to other countries in South East Asia. The one day we had in KL we met up with one of Paul’s friends from university, Sebastian, a Malaysian national now back working in his country. We met at the Petronas towers, once the highest towers in the world. They were mightily impressive, even if I could not fully appreciate the shopping center it contained.

One problem (although I might say fantastic) thing that I have encountered in Mayalasia is the dominance of Indian food. A superb reminder of just how much I enjoy it, it has stood in the way of appreciating any local dishes. Sebastian helped to take us on a whistle stop tour of a few dishes before we made our way to the KL tower. I think I am right in saying that it is the third largest tower in the world and in terms of the viewing platform is the tallest. The view from the top was slightly obscured due to the weather but still it was interesting to look out over KL.

In the evening Paul and I ate again in Chinatown. Much amusement was had when ordering baby octopus. On a stick they came, the real deal, tentacles and heads. I could feel it crawling around my stomach for days to come.

The following day we flew to Sumatra, Indonesia. It was a very whistle stop tour of Malaysia but Indonesia has captured my imagination and the sheer size of it has meant that something had to be sacrificed.

Koah Sok to Georgetown Malaysia

From Ko Tao we took the night ferry back to the mainland. It was noticeably more busy than the one I had taken over to Koh Phan gan but bearable despite the rough seas. The crowds were soon left behind to hop from island to island as we headed down to the National Park of Koah Sok.
I had heard a lot of good things about Koah Sok but other factors were at play that hampered the enjoyment slightly. With the monsoon season upon us the park had closed many areas out of fear of flash floods whilst the rest of the village was deserted making any sort of expeditions out to other areas vastly inflated.

We spent one day in the park, an afternoon walk through the primary rainforest. It would have been an unmitigated disaster if we hadn’t chosen to ignore the park closure signs and carry on anyway. The waterfall in the allowed area was dire to say the least. The walk into the closed area was far more fun, with rivers to cross, banks to scramble up and vines to play Tarzan with. I won’t say that we came across anything worthy of any merit, but the walk along the ‘paths’ was much fun. Eventually we lost it and had to turn back. Arriving back into the village we compared leeches counts, I think I was into double figures and booked our bus out the following day. The park itself has a lot to offer, but not in the monsoon season.

From Koah Sok we mini bus hopped all the way down to the Thai-Malaysian border. It was an epic day of travelling made all the easier by very comfortable transport. Thailand is rather wonderful at that. The border crossing was easily done and we reached the island of Pendang in the evening.

The name Georgetown, the city on Pendang evokes a lot of images of merchant traders and pirates. The reality disappoints in this regard. It’s now a very developed city with sky scrapers the norm. I can’t particularly speak of any highlights in terms of the sights. We toured the city for a good day but found everything to be pretty miss able. Fortunately we could rely upon India to come to the rescue and save a wasted trip. The little India was a treat, with the local restaurants that I love so much, I got reacquainted with eating with my hands and spending little in return. South East Asia has not been able to meet the Indian subcontinents ability to make you feel welcome wherever you eat. It was a joy to be welcomed in with relish rather than trepidation.

There was something much amusing on how efficient and modern Georgetown is and then you enter littler India and find the roads gridlocked, horns blaring as numerous music shops blast out differing Bollywood offerings. The only thing that was missing was rubbish on the floor and more shouting and I could have been back on the streets of Delhi.

Georgetown also went up in the standings as it delivered me a two month Indonesian visa. Type it into the internet and people are fraught with tales as to how they have tried and failed. We woke up on the morning of Visa day and set to work. I’d researched as many of the tricks as I could and hoped for the best. First was a silly amount of documents to photocopy including credit card (with blanked out numbers). Then we went for the brilliant passport photo with a red background because Georgetowns embassy has an old photocopier! Last was the smartest clothes I could dig out and finally a shave and a comb of the hair. It was highly amusing to be dressing up for an embassy.

It worked as well. Paul got turned away for not having a flight out, despite having one from Malaysia back to UK. Not good enough. I however got through and picked my visa up the following day.

Ko Tao

We arrived in Ko Tao to a thunder storm. The ocean was choppy and Koh Tao seemed to emerge suddenly out of the fog. It’s a small island famed for being one of the cheapest places in the world to do a scuba diving course. I decided not to do one on the principle that I couldn’t ever see myself making the most of it but many do.
The beach we stayed on suffered from the same problems as those on Koh Phan gan, that being it’s too shallow!!! There were some good fish to be seen off it though but in many ways the snorkel mask acted as much as a guide through the reefs than anything else.

The standout of Ko Tao was the snorkeling trip we did for the day. First stop was so called shark bay. Aptly named because it’s a place where you can often see the vegetarian black tip reef sharks. I made the mistake of doing some research the previous day when I read that it has been recently discovered that some of the reef sharks have been miss labeled and are instead Bull Sharks. These are not Vegetarian rather are responsible for more deaths per year than the Great White. So it was with slight trepidation that I jumped over-board into the ocean. My heart jumped straight away as the underwater setting was so apt for what we were searching for. Three meters deep all I could see was a graveyard of dead coral. There can be no scarier place to swim. Despite searching the sharks were not around the bay which was a shame because although riddled with fear, it would have been a cool thing to have done.

From there we went to a number of other bays and snorkeled the coral reefs. Bits were dead but other parts were very much alive. The colours of a living, breathing reef is spectacular, a real highlight of my time in Thailand. Swimming through schools of fish, watching different varieties feeding in their hundreds, fighting and playing was a joy to behold.

The boat tour ended a little prematurely when we arrived at the Ko Nang Yuan islands. The weather took a sharp turn for the worse and it bucketed down. Everyone sought shelter in the restaurant and looked out on the thundering rain. A short break allowed Paul and I to make a run to the so called ‘Japanese Gardens’ reef for a quick snorkel but as soon as we were in the rain came down again. Such was its force that the only relief from the near hail was to stay under the water battling against the waves.

On return to shore Paul and I be be-lined away from the group and visited the mini golf course. Eighteen wonderfully designed holes including a three tier castle it is far and away the best mini golf course I’ve played.



The following day we went for a walk through the jungle. After an hour or so of steep uphill and quite simply a disastrous road, long destroyed by the tsunami or flash floods we found a secluded, empty beach. Well it did have a resort attached to it but that to was deserted. A bowl and mug still lay on the table and a 2009 magazine perched on the balcony. It was one of those places that begged to tell you what had caused its demise. Whilst the location and scenery was lovely, a swim in the water revealed rubbish and made for a hasty exit.

In the evening we caught a night ferry to the mainland. Initially the waves were huge and flung the ferry about like a toy but thankfully calmed down after a few hours. We arrived on the mainland in the early hours and journeyed to Koah Sok, one of Thailand’s National Parks.

Koh Phan gan

From the west coast I diverted over to the east. A few buses and a night ferry later, which strangely takes six hours longer than the regular one, I arrived on Koh Phan gan. I wanted to arrive early before the monthly movement of people onto the island that can rival any refugee crisis around the world for the full moon party.

Koh Phan gan is not as picture postcard as Koh Phi Phi. It doesn’t have the same knock out views but it benefits from being far more low key. It is a backpacker island, suiting all levels of budgets. I stayed over on Hat Yao beach. In slight contradiction to what I have just said it is probably the second best beach I have visited. A clear ocean, lots of white sand and surrounded by hills covered in trees. It was quiet, with only the birds to be heard signing when sat on the beach. No trance or techno here.

The first couple of days represented the feeling I had when first setting foot in Goa. There was no incentive to do much other than lay in a hammock that looked over the palm trees through to the ocean. Prime sunset real estate. I of course ventured down to the beach but not much further. It’s a strange thought that travelling gets tiring but it does and those couple of days were much needed.

On the third day I wandered over to the main port to meet Paul who is joining me for a month or so. Five Kilometers my lonely planet said. My hostel owner told me half an hour (much to her embarrassment later). It took me just shy of two hours. I got there eventually and took Paul over to Hat Yao. It was great to talk to someone again which does not require the traditional, where are you from? What do you do? Where have you been travelling? Etc questions.



The following day we visited Koh Mai an island on the tip of the North East corner. It’s supposed to have the best snorkeling on the island but visibility was not great when we were there. Instead it will be remembered as the place when I developed a fear that has continued throughout the rest of Thailand. With snorkels and masks all set we ventured into the water to where the sign pointed. A reef runs close off the shore and a sandy path helps you to get out to it. The problems came when the waves kicked in and the water did not get any deeper than knee height. It’s been a problem in Thailand at this time of year that the water is just not deep enough to swim in.

With the current pulling me away from the path through the coral I became disorientated and found myself trapped on the reef with no idea where the way back in was. Standing up I was at times in ankle deep water but the waves would not relent in throwing me forward and pulling me back out. Reefs are sharp things.

I was quite concerned when I caught Paul part swimming, part walking out towards me. He stopped and we both asked at exactly the same time where the path back in was. On finally finding it we shared cuts and went to nurse the wounds in the café. It was surprising at just how the farcical could be so punishing.

When I arrived on Koh Phan gan I was the only guest staying at my accommodation. A number of days later and the place was booked out, most paying close to double the price. Why? Well the full moon was up and ready setting off the catalyst for one of the worlds premier parties. The full moon parties on Koh Phan gan are legendary. It was certainly a sight with thousands of people partying on the beach to tons of bars pumping out music. Fire limbo and skipping ropes provided entertainment as everyone danced away the night. I met by chance various people who I had met on Koh Phi Phi which was good fun. All in all the night turned out to be much more a spectacle in terms of numbers than a great night but was well worth going to.

Getting off Koh Phan gan was a slight chore as thousands of others had the same idea. We succeeded the day after we intended and headed with many others to the tiny island of Ko Tao.

Back to Thailand - Koh Phi Phi

One airplane, four buses, one mini bus and one ferry later I arrived on the island of Koh Phi Phi. I left Hanoi at five in the morning and got to the Thai island eleven in the morning the following day. The best part of it was skipping through Bangkok with only enough time to eat at my favourite restaurant before jumping on another bus!

Koh Phi Phi is on the Andaman coast, it is often ranked among the most beautiful islands in the world. It certainly is striking. A large land mass of limestone cliffs covered in trees. Secluded beaches hide amongst the rocks. It has a downside as so many places seem to in Thailand and that it is the development that has shot back up since the tsunami. Fortunately the shape of the island has made sure that it can only go so far leaving most of the island untouched. Busy yes, but with clear turquoise waters and enclosed by the cliffs it was a beautiful site. Walk a few minutes out of town and it becomes rugged, a different world and yet everything you could want to make your life easy is within reaching distance.

It’s possible to walk around the island but I have to admit I didn’t do very well. Signposts were not at the best and whilst I found myself on a couple of lovely beaches a lot of the island was out of bounds to me. The best day that I spent was heading out on a morning boat trip. I had enquired when booking my ticket why an old fashioned long tail boat was cheaper than a larger ferry like boat. The long tail was far more preferable in my book but it’s normally the case that the bigger the mode of transport the cheaper it is. I didn’t get a clear answer and left none the wiser.

Ten minutes on the long tail and I found out why. As calm and still as the sea is around the beaches, in open water it’s a different game altogether. Our boat was thrown all over the place by the waves. At one point it even gained a hole and water flowed in needing a very urgent repair job! Luckily we made it to the island, home to Maya bay safely. The bay itself is revered not only in Thailand but around the world. Why? Because Leonardo Di Caprio swam to it in Danny Boyle’s film ‘the beach.’ He went there after being told that it was the closest thing to paradise that you could get. I watched the film in Goa along with Tom, Alex and Nick. We almost died of laughter and declared it as the worst film any of us had ever watched. Meeting up with others later on in the evening we were mystified to see many of them utterly convinced it was brilliant. It’s a film that polarizes opinion. After my visit I think the island does too.



First stop was a little cove hidden away between jaw dropping cliffs towering above. It was Thailand of the postcards. The seas colour was the clearest I have ever seen it. We swam and enjoyed the warm waters. Second stop was a coral reef which we snorkeled. I’ve never swam across a coral reef before but will certainly be doing it many more times.

From there we sailed to the poor mans entrance to Maya bay. It was one of the more dangerous entrances to a tourist attraction I have done. After swimming to the rocks you had to cling onto two poorly tied ropes as the waves pull you out and then throw you into the cliffs. A number of people had to be taken back to the boats injured. I managed a couple of cuts, but by other peoples standards I came out pretty well. As for the beach itself? Well it’s gone a little astray. A national park, the sheer popularity of it has meant that every man and his dog are on the bay at the same time as you are. I had expected that so it didn’t bother me too much. Back on the boat we paid a visit to monkey island, an island with monkeys on it. I got off the boat and then promptly got back on again. I’ve seen enough monkeys. I’ve grown to love them so it hurt to see them being paraded in the way that they were. They are very fat with the amount of food thrown at them. Tourists tease them for the perfect photo and then get angry when the monkey retaliates. For some reason it has also become a dumping ground for rubbish. I saw a monkey fending off another over a medicine bottle. A very sad sight showing how Thailand often puts the idea of what a tourist wants ahead of what is best for its own country.

That said it didn’t detract too much from the overall trip. After the first two stops, I was more than happy with what the tour had given. In the evening I went out with the people on the boat for a night out on Phi Phi’s party beach. Fire dancers, live DJ’s, acrobats, it was all there and capped off a great day.

Phi Phi has restored my faith that Thailand can deliver as a good tourist destination. Sure it’s built up beyond belief but there is a reason for that. It’s called unrestricted building permits with the help of an odd bribe. Oh and also the place is outstandingly beautiful.

Hanoi

Hanoi, like Kampot in Cambodia became a sort of home for me. Outside of enjoying it in its own right I also used it as a base to get to both Sapa and Halong Bay.
Hanoi is smaller than Saigon in population number (still manages over six million) but in many respects a little more hectic. The roads contain everything and anything whizzing around in crazy numbers somehow avoiding accidents. On the paths and the streets however things seem to go a little bit slower. The contrast of people sat around drinking coffee on the streets whilst bikes roar past them was striking.
At the heart of Hanoi is the old quarter. A lake is the center piece enjoyed by many, always with a bride and groom having a professional photo shoot. The rest of the old quarter is a maze of lanes taking you deep into traditional Vietnam. Whilst obviously having its fair number of tourist shops, the narrow alleyways still contain the life and blood of Hanoi. It’s a wonderful place to just stroll and see how people are making a living. I’ll never forget the man I passed every evening who parked his bike on the road with a cage on the back full of rabbits. Amongst the chaos of the roads, motorbikes would race across the lanes to see him, many bought a rabbit, held it in their arms before speeding off. In fact many of the more noticeable sights seemed to happen on the road. I thoroughly enjoyed watching an elderly man push his bike amongst the thousands of motorbikes and scooters. What made it unique was that attached to his bicycle was a huge billboard advertising boatd. Ludicrously dangerous but a superb way of catching everyone’s attention.
In terms of sights I remember two in particular.



The first was Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum. The moment I heard that I had an opportunity to complete my collection of dead people by seeing someone embalmed; I couldn’t resist…could I? Stupidly I chose to visit it on a Saturday which meant a huge queue had gathered. It took around two hours of standing in the heat of the day to arrive at the entrance. I had to smile at the two armed guards outside the entrance. Similar to the Queens Guard they were under instructions not to smile. That seemed to have passed by one of the poor guys who was having a terrible time stopping himself from bursting out laughing.

When inside I was told off for having a hand in one pocket (something’s don’t change) before being literally thrown by several guards around the walkways and out of the exit. Two hours queuing for ten seconds at best inside. Uncle Ho’s body was partially orange due to the lighting. Some people say that Madame Tussaud has done its works on the body. When looking at him you can understand why the rumors have spread. It was quite interesting to see how basic everything was inside. The flag of Vietnam and Communism hung from the ceiling and four armed guards stood at each corner of the see through coffin but other than that it was a dark stone room. This is no accident as it is designed, as everything about Vietnam’s favourite son is, to show him as a man of the people, having apparently lived a very basic and modest life. It’s a shame the government ignored his desire to be cremated rather than put on public show!

On another day I went to the Hanoi Hilton where American POW’s were kept if they were captured in the North. It wasn’t very interesting other than in terms of propaganda with most of the photos showing the wonderful conditions the American’s were kept in. Something told me a few pictures and information was missing from the wall.

Hanoi probably moves into second place behind Phnom Penh in terms of my favourite city that I have been to. It’s small and compact meaning you can walk everywhere with ease. The roads and more money orientated shop sellers put off some people but for me added to the enjoyment. As I left for the airport we drove past the Mausoleum. The grass area was filled with locals doing individual and group stretching. I remember how in Bundi I was taken aback by the strange exercise phenomenon I witnessed. In South East Asia it is such a common scene. To westerners it’s a comical site but I can’t help but wonder if everyday stretching and brisk walking is far more successful to paying vast amounts of money to a gym to only visit it once a week.

Sapa

My first night train in Vietnam was uneventful. The bed could have been slightly bigger but other than that I rode in style arriving into Lao Cai station at six in the morning. There I was herded onto a minibus and taken a further hour up into the mountains to Sapa. On arrival I had to take the drivers word that we were indeed in Sapa as the clouds had long closed in and rain thundered down. It was a very English mountain range.

The first day was a write off. Despite the train being good, I wouldn’t go as far as to say I had a great night sleep. Jaded and with the weather so bad, I passed the day walking around the small town and sitting in cafes. On the second day the weather was not much better but feeling much fresher I strolled down to the village of Cat Cat. A six kilometer walk in all it’s hardly demanding but was nice enough. Occasionally gaps in the clouds appeared showing glimpses of the mountain range that they hid. Those sightings were by far the highlight as the village itself is very touristy with the Hmong people having turned everything into a shop. Fortunately I had little interest in coming to Sapa to visit the villages because if I did I think I would have been very disappointed. Rather I was here to walk in the mountains and I looked forward to the following day to go on a longer hike.



There is a feeling in Sapa that everything has to be done with a tour. All sorts of rumors spread in Hanoi before I departed. ‘They won’t sell tickets to tourists at the train station you must buy them at travel agencies’. No, you can, it’s a lot cheaper and was probably the most organized train station I have been to in Asia. ‘You can’t hike independently, you must have a guide and permits.’ Wrong again I’m afraid. I set off around nine o’clock and tailed a small group down the mountain. I met various Hmong women on the way one carrying her three month old child with her on her back. Considering it was tipping it down with rain at this point I felt a little for them as they walked around attempting to peddle their handcrafts. As the group stopped to take photos of the view over Sapa town I nipped past happy to be free of the conveyer belt.

I was immediately brought to a halt and beckoned over by a Hmong lady who pointed to a mud track heading away from the road. The guide from the group chipped in saying it was one way to go but was too muddy so they would be taking the road. I’ve discovered a trait where I don’t like being told what I can’t or shouldn’t do when it is perfectly possible, so I went for the mud track.



Considering the amount of rain that had and was falling it was not a surprise that the path was a mud slide. I had to walk very small zigzags to stop me slipping over. After a while we reached another t-junction. Another lady pointed at me to go down the steep slope and waved goodbye as she went the other road. I’ve mastered walking in snow, got on alright on ice, handled cliffs and rocks but a mud slope with water pouring down it was a new one. An older Hmong Lady appeared. She laughed at me looking at the slope and then proceeded to offer me her walking stick. Being the gentlemen I am I bought it off her for twenty pence and used it as a mud axe to lever me down. I couldn’t have done it without that stick. It was a case of pushing it into the ground then letting my body slide as far as it could become catching something then changing the stick positioning. It took me around half an hour to get down it. As for the lady, well she showed all the agility and skill you would expect of someone who walks the path everyday of their lives.

She didn’t speak any English but she could point and soon became my unofficial guide. I don’t know whether it was deliberate but she had a knack for taking me along tough paths, whether it was across flowing rivers or using poles to volt across overflowing paddy fields, she could find them. It was all worth it. When the rain finally ended the views were spectacular, with the clouds clinging to the peeks and sunlight attempting to break through. A few hours later and we made it to a local village where I gave the lady a small tip much to her delight. She had wanted me to buy some of the handicrafts she was carrying but it proved hard to communicate how purses and handbags were not high on my shopping list.



I walked back up to SAPA by the road. There I passed minibuses by the bucket loads heading down the mountain. It did annoy me how the tours went down the mountain but were not willing to come back up again. That’s not hiking!

The next day I caught the night train back. It was all a bit of a disaster as the air conditioning had stopped working. Now before I endure criticism of being pampered and losing touch with the riff raff spirit I will say that it was not so much of the air conditioning turning off, it was the fact that the windows would not open, nor the doors. It was a sauna. All around me Vietnamese people were attempting to break the windows, we were approaching a near riot. That was until on one of the stops a railway worker got on with a butchers knife. Everyone went back to their booths and miraculously the air conditioning came on, much to the carriages delight.