IN WHICH WE GET BORED IN KUALA LUMPUR, STAY TOO LONG IN MELAKA, GET BACK INTO GEAR IN TIOMAN ISLAND, SUFFER THE SHOCK OF COSTS IN SINGAPORE AND GET BLOWN AWAY BY AN ACTIVE VOLCANO
1-10-93 | Friday | Day 46
Set off in search of the Garuda offices to get my next flights reconfirmed. They had subsequently moved since the Lonely Planet last visited and were twice as far as expected, which, with my insistence on being able to walk it – well, it didn’t look far on the map – took up most of the morning just to find them. The changes were confirmed, much to my relief, the tickets were amended, and a fresh itinerary issued – all very efficient.
Found myself in a shopping mall so took a browse around trying to suss out what kind of camera I might buy. This only increased the already vast degree of confusion as one shop pushed one model and the next pushed another. And I didn’t know if I should trust any of them – unreasonable paranoia again? Even if I could have decided upon a particular make of camera, they each have a multitude of ranges, and within each range there is a multitude of models. Should I buy here or should wait until Singapore? High street or duty free? Threw caution to the wind…and did nothing.
Visited the Karyaneka Handcrafts Centre which had loads of things which would make interesting souvenirs or gifts but did’t warrant carrying them around for a while. Back to the hostel absolutely shattered, and watch The Firm on video. It was a dodgy copy made by someone sitting in the back of the cinema with a hand held camera. The guy sitting in front of him got up to go to the loo half way through and the people sitting next to him had unprompted hysterics throughout.
2-10-93 | Saturday | Day 47
Had a wander around KL. Watched a snake charmer for a while until he stopped being a mystic and became a salesman, putting his snakes away and dispensing some mentholated tonic that smelled like Deep Heat or Ralgex – I didn’t hang around to find out what it was for but the locals were certainly snapping it up. Took a look at the impressive colonial architecture of the Railway Station and Rail Headquarters, visited the National Art Gallery which is okay but not really my cup of rosy, and the Muzium Negara (National Museum). The natural history section is pretty good but the stuffed creatures all looked a bit tattered and wholly un-lifelike (which is hardly surprising seeing as they are stuffed but…well, I know what I mean).
Phoned home to make sure that someone somewhere wished me a happy birthday. I know I always try to play down my birthday but I guess I overdid it this time. Still, get news of a £600 present from the taxman and a bank deposit from Ma and Pa, and all seems well again. The power of money.
Had dinner in Chinatown washed down with a few beers, then wandered round the night market to pick up a few fakes; a Gucci watch for 15 ringitt and a Hard Rock t-shirt for 15 ringitt. I don’t even know if they were a bargain or not. Got back to the hostel to find two guys who had a short wave radio and – lo and behold – Toon beat Villa 2-0 at Villa Park.
3-10-93 | Sunday | Day 48
Sunday in KL. Plans to watch a game of cricket were thwarted by lethargy and bad weather. It was like a wet Sunday in London – without lunch in the Grange pub, the footy, take-away pizzas and The Simpsons.
Went to the pictures in the evening with a couple of fellers from the hostel to see Jurassic Park which is a complete load of tosh. Joined some others from the hostel to go to the Hard Rock but it is a wee bit out of our price range. Had one beer and fucked off back to the hostel.
4-10-93 | Monday | Day 49
Newcastle are 7th in the Premiership! My pre-season pessimism may yet prove to be unfounded.
Attempted to find the Immigration office today again with my usual belief that wherever it is, it is within walking distance, only to end up getting completely lost and having to take a taxi. Naturally, getting a visa extension was not the simple process one would hope it could be, so by the time I got out of there the day is almost over, and it was certainly too late to make plans to move on. Took a bus back into town (which I should have done to get out there in the first place) and saw quite a bit of the landscaping of which the tourist leaflets seem so proud. Also saw many styles of contrasting architecture, old and modern, and the Malay equivalent of Five Star looking acutely embarrassed as they shot a dance routine for a video in the middle of a very busy street.
These uneventful, and rather lonely, days in KL are a far cry from the fun of Samui. This isn’t what backpacking is about is it?
5-10-93 | Tuesday | Day 50
Visited the Batu Caves today, a series of Hindu temples some 13km out of KL, and which are very grand but spoiled somewhat by the concrete floor, the steps, the handrails and the electric lighting. I had been hoping for something a little more gritty. There are many Hindu shrines in and around the caves which give them an air of sanctity, but what is apparently the most interesting cave was closed to the public as it had become dangerous. The caves are home to loads of monkeys which run around taking scraps from the hands of the equally plentiful Japanese tourists (pot, kettle).
Also went to the British Council to read the newspapers only to find that they were over a week out of date. Finished reading Bram Stoker’s rather excellent Dracula, and swapped it for Martin Amis’ London Fields.
A good crowd assembled in our dorm made for an enjoyable night in playing cards and chatting; two Swedes, Isabel and Helena; two Aussies, Peter and Den; a Welsh girl, Michelle; and myself. It’s a shame we hadn’t all come together before now or the stay in KL could’ve been a bit more lively.
6-10-93 | Wednesday | Day 51
Time to move on to Melaka, a two hour bus trip from KL, and to Shirah’s Guest House, as recommended by Den. There are probably better places in the vicinity but as the guy picked me up from the station and gave me a free lift, I could’t complain.
It turned out to be very good, if a little quiet. There’s a spacious lounge for guest’s use with a stereo, telly, video, books and comfy chairs. It is like staying in someone’s house which, I guess to some extent, it is. The owners, Hanisah and Mansur, are very friendly and hospitable and Hanisah cooks an excellent, traditional Malay meal. Spent the rest of the evening talking to an American, Marc, who knows a lot about cameras and managed to confuse me even further, which is not difficult. He was okay but a little over the top and said ‘funky’, ‘groovy’ and ‘cool’ far too often for my liking. (You can take the boy out of Newcastle, but you’ll never take away the cynicism.) There was an English girl, Jill, who was quite normal in comparison. We had a good chat about US politics, sport, travelling, and Marc even enquired about the UK’s North-South divide. We probably confused him more than enlightened him. Cool. Groovy.
7-10-93 | Thursday | Day 52
Hired a mountain bike for the day although the heat and the condition of the bike were hardly conducive to serious mileage. Still managed to achieve a fair degree of sight-seeing though.
Visited the Stadhuys (Dutch State House) which houses a pretty good museum in a bright red clay building; Christ Church, another bright red building (Dutch – okay); St. Paul’s Church (Dutch – average); a historical cemetery (Dutch/British – average); passed the Baba Nyonya Heritage (Chinese – didn’t go in); Portuguese Square (Portuguese – crap); St. John’s Fort (crap); Bukit China, a massive graveyard spread over a huge hill – that’s the ‘bukit’ bit – which looked fascinating but was far too large and disorganised to even consider exploring; and finally Sam Po Kong Temple which I didn’t even bother to pause at. Seen one temple…
Having written it all down it looks like I must have crammed a year’s sightseeing into one day, but most of those places are all really close together. I reckon I could have done more and cycled further if the bike wasn’t such a heap of shit. In the end, I just got frustrated at the fact that I had only two gears to choose from and the discomfort caused by the knackered seat.
Spent the evening in the hostel talking to Hanisah, watching Let Him Have It and then trying to explain about miscarriages of justice whilst feeling guilty about the improprieties of the British judicial system, and being patriotically defensive at the same time. Also watched some dodgy version of The Scarlet Pimpernel during which Northumberland’s Lindisfarne (the island, not the band) popped up masquerading as the northern coast of France.
Hanisah went on to tell me about herself and her family; the subservience of Chinese women which she can’t accept; Chinese wives’ tolerance of their husbands’ extra-marital affairs which again she can’t accept; and how she caused family rifts, first by converting from Buddhism to Christianity, and then by marrying Mansur and becoming a Muslim, as a consequence of which she was disowned by her father, some of her sisters and by her then best friend. Wow. I couldn’t think of much to say in response to that.
8-10-93 Friday Day 53
A fairly quiet day, slept late, then took a wander around the town with the idea of doing some shopping. The old shops in and around Chinatown are interesting but largely full of junk, and the others contain Malaysian souvenirs and gifts which are okay but not exactly what I’m after as Christmas presents for the family. I ended up buying a length of batik and leaving it with a tailor to make a shirt for my sister Jane, although I have a feeling it will never fit her as the only thing I could use to estimate measurements was my own t-shirt. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Also visited the Porta de Santiago and the replica of the Malaccan Sultanate Palace, neither of which I could recall being of any interest.
9-10-93 | Saturday | Day 54
Another quiet day, again delayed by oversleeping. Sorted out things for moving on to Tioman Island via Mersing, and visited the football stadium to try (unsuccessfully) and determine when the next match is scheduled to take place. Discovered instead the People’s Museum which displays how enthusiastic Melaka is to become another over-developed, industrialised, polluted, economic powerhouse just like everywhere else. Shame.
With the help of an elderly Indian gentleman, I managed to find a good curry house where a selection of things were served on a large banana leaf which doubled as a plate and place mat. I was unsure as to whether the banana leaf was part of the meal or not, so erred on the side of caution and ate it to avoid causing any offence. Only kidding, the banana leaf remained on the table, although I was confused for a while.
10-10-93 | Sunday | Day 55
A very quiet day – spent eating and drinking and slobbing around the empty hostel. Finished London Fields.
Found myself a football match to watch, albeit a rather uninspired one and not the spectacle one had hoped for. It was free to get in, I had no idea who was playing, and the crowd was tiny. I didn’t know what level of game it was, but I suspect even I have played in games of greater skill, technicality and commitment – and that is saying something given how shit my football career has been. No disrespect to Ealing College Fourth’s of course.
As I walked back through the town I was accosted by a group of young Malay blokes. My first thoughts were passport, travellers cheques, cash, life, kidneys and anything else that could be stolen. But it seemed that all they wanted to do was talk about English football. Rather apprehensively – and possibly downright foolishly – I got into their car to be escorted to a café, where they bought me dinner. And while my suspicions were on red alert throughout, their hunger for English football was insatiable. One of them had apparently been on the verge of a professional career when he lost an arm in a car crash.
Their friendliness and generosity surprised me no end. I was waiting all night for an ulterior motive to emerge, and felt so guilty when they paid for dinner, gave me a lift home (and even then I had them drop me a couple of blocks away), wished me well and disappeared. No nastiness, no greed, no threats, just a love of footy. Tremendous.
Got back to a totally empty hostel. Hanisah’s wee laddie was unwell so even she hadn’t been in today. There was a frisson of excitement at having the whole place to myself, like when your folks go away on holiday, but that was soon replaced by the rather sad fact that it was quite simply boring and lonely.
11-10-93 | Monday | Day 56
Exchanged London Fields for Grapes of Wrath, collected Jane’s shirt which is expectedly large, and that was the excitement for the most boring day imaginable. Having stayed here too long already for no good reason whatsoever I can’t wait to move on.
12-10-93 | Tuesday | Day 57
Finally got out of Melaka aboard the 9am bus for Mersing, a five hour journey for the last two hours of which there was only one passenger – me. Two questions sprung to mind; one, how do they justify running a bus service for so few people? And two, where the fuck is everyone?
Got talking to two Americans on the boat to Tioman who have a novel approach to travelling. To avoid paying accommodation fees they sleep rough (beaches, benches, porches, anywhere). To avoid travelling expenses they hitch as often as possible and very successfully so far, including one ride in an air-conditioned Honda Accord aboard a car transporter. And all they need is carried in a small shoulder bag each, which seems a marvellous idea with the increasing weight of my pack.
Checked in to Rinda’s which is a very inconspicuous place, no sign, no restaurant, no office, but the chalet is new, has ‘leccy, a toilet, shower and mozzy net, and is cheap. Note of barely significant interest: Tioman is the island where South Pacific was filmed in 1958, as the tourist brochures so proudly proclaim. Fascinating eh?
13-10-93 | Wednesday | Day 58
Rose late, then walked to Tekek Village to find some antiseptic ointment for a strange sore which was launching an audacious bid to conquer the north face of my right nostril. Lay on the beach for a while, swim, and generally took it easy. The island seems very quiet at the moment; hardly any travellers around.
Saw some enormous lizards that managed to scare the crap out of me – which is probably not very difficult. These buggers manage to stay perfectly still and camouflaged until you are virtually on top of them, then finally lose the game of chicken which only they are playing and make a sudden break for it amid a startling rustle of leaves that sounds like the entire jungle is on the move.
England play Holland tonight in the final qualifier for the World Cup Finals; whoever wins qualifies, whoever loses, doesn’t; the most important game in Turnip Taylor’s reign as manager… and can I find a frigging telly on which to watch it? Disappointed or what?
14-10-93 | Thursday | Day 59
Bed. Beach. Book.
15-10-93 | Friday | Day 60
Got up early with the aim of making the walk to Juara, on the other side of the island, before it got too hot. Fat chance.
It’s about 4km to Tekek and 8km to Juara, and the first leg of it is bloody hard work. Ill equipped, without a backpack and with minimal water, my best effort at keeping cool was to fill my baseball cap in the adjacent stream and pour it over my head every 20 minutes or so. But once the initial steep killer-walk-from-hell was over, the rest was very pleasant, and the beach at Juara is lovely although there is fuck all else to do there. “Yep. That’s a beach all right.” It’s strange in a way – you half kill yourself getting there and when you do the only thing to do is turn around and head back. Saw lots of butterflies, and birds, lizards, a snake, and heard, but didn’t see, lots of monkeys.
It is only today that a newspaper bore the all-important football result. England lost. So we are not even in the Finals for USA 94. Disgraceful.
Sat in the ABC bar in the evening with Pete from Yorkshire, and Billy from South Africa. To raise the funds for a years travelling, Billy spent 14 months working on South Africa’s meteorological research centre…in Antarctica. There must be easier ways…
16-10-93 | Saturday | Day 61
A terrific storm throughout the night meant precious little sleep, and thwarted todays plan for walking and snorkelling as it remained wet underfoot, overcast, and the sea looked too rough. Or too rough for me anyway. So it was a bit of a bugger-all day.
Spent the evening in the bar again with Pete and Billy, playing a card game they taught me, and in which I beat them comprehensively. Shame I can’t remember what it was called or what the rules were.
Billy is a good laugh and managed to get several other people involved in our games, so we were joined by two American girls, Wendy and Susan, and an Anglo/Italian, Gio. Together we managed to drink a not insubstantial amount of brandy and get thoroughly slaughtered.
Which begs the question, what the hell is this stuff we’re drinking? Last night’s spirit was labelled brandy but tasted fuck all like any brandy I’ve had before. Mekong is labelled whisky, but it certainly isn’t Scotch, or Irish, or even bourbon. And the shite we had in Perhentia was supposedly rum but old Captain Morgan wouldn’t have been ‘Yo-ho-ho-ing’ on the taste of that shite. The effect maybe, but not the taste.
Toon lost 2-1 at home to QPR – mighty relieved not to be working in W12 now.
17-10-93 | Sunday | Day 62
Nursing a stinking hangover that would have rendered a lesser man prostrate, walked to Salang with Wendy, Peter and Susan. It was a pretty tough walk through jungle, up and down hills, and around headlands, with last night’s booze coming out in a deluge of malodorous sweat. But it was worth it.
The beach is beautiful, the weather tremendous, and the company tip-top. Lay on the beach for a while and did some snorkelling which was very good – loads of brightly coloured coral and tons of big fish. The thought of the walk back saw everyone reaching for their wallets and a unanimous decision to take a boat back.
Spent the evening in the same company as the previous night, plus a friend of Susan’s and a Brazilian called Jose who was…er…slightly eccentric. Oh alright, he was fucking mad. Repeated the cards and brandy of the previous night but not to the same excess.
16-10-93 | Monday | Day 63
Opted out of a trip to Coral Island for financial reasons and later regretted it as the snorkelling turned out to have been even better than the previous day. Went instead for a walk towards the posh resort with Gio and Billy, and although we got absolutely drowned in a tropical downpour, it was an enjoyable day out as we set the world to rights hitting on the social taboos of religion and politics and just about every other topic under the sun – or the clouds as the case may have been.
Gio has been here on Tioman for three months trying to sort his life out. He and his missus had been living in Japan and doing very nicely thank you, when (according to Gio) she got her hands on his money, drove him half mad, then left him. The poor sod lost his money, his wife, his mind and his job. So he’s been here on Tioman for three months trying to get his head round things. Being in the company of Billy and Gio makes me feel positively ordinary; “School…college…shit job…got bored…went travelling.” Full stop. No dramas, no traumas, no hardships, no story.
Went to the ABC in the evening for lots of brandy as many people were leaving in the morning so it was a bit of a party. Played several drinking games, most of which were orchestrated by my usually shy and retiring self, and a most amusing game of ‘Truth or Dare’, which was most certainly not orchestrated by my good self. With no history and no skeletons in the closet, everyone was so incredibly open and honest it was both very scary and very funny. Some of my ‘truths’ would never have seen the light of day in front of Pete or Rich.
Wendy’s revelations were brutally honest and bordered on psychotherapy. I was described by one of the girls as being ‘a 90’s man’ – which I assume is a good thing? Pete had to go and kiss a total stranger (male). He also had to go and borrow the local’s guitar and while they may have expected some Claptonesque virtuoso solo, he gave them Hickory Dickory Dock instead. The locals were too stupefied to react in any other way than tolerant amusement. It ended up in a mass sing-song accompanied by some French geezer and loads of locals all on one guitar.
Whilst talking to Wendy she asked me if I knew a guy from the North East (“Er…one or two, yes.”) called Tim Storey. Well, bugger me with a fishfork. I must confess he was not someone I ever anticipated getting a mention in here, but there you go, and there he is. If I ever see him again I shall mention it to him; Wendy Youngblood, Trinity School, Virginia, Goddam US of A.
At 3am it all comes to a halt in what is becoming an all too familiar round of farewells. No offence to anyone I’ve met prior to now but this lot are the best crowd since I last saw Will and Mel. I suppose it’s the downside of meeting so many people – you have to say goodbye to most of them as well.
19-10-93 | Tuesday | Day 64
Everybody else left early this morning so it was a very quiet day, which was probably just as well considering the hangover I found myself nursing.
My remaining ringitt will get me through the day and on to Singapore tomorrow, which means spending slightly longer there than intended, which, as it’s considerably more expensive in Singapore, is not particularly good planning.
Today would appear to have been National Flying Ant Day. At least I think they’re ants. I remember seeing a tv documentary once about these flying ants that live for only one day a year. And in that one day, they have to live an entire life, and lay loads of eggs (or whatever ants do) so that they will all hatch and fly about and lay eggs on next year’s flying ant day. Well, today must have been flying ant day. Their numbers increased noticeably throughout the day, buzzing around and pissing you off, although their presence was most evident when they died. By early afternoon there were a few stiffs lying around, but by early evening it was raining dead ants. You couldn’t even eat a plate of rice without some kamikaze ants crashing into it. They were a complete pain in the butt, and then the following morning…they were all gone.
20-10-93 | Wednesday | Day 65
Caught the 8am ferry to Mersing and the 12.30 bus to Singapore (M$15). And so departed Malaysia. On reflection, it would be fair to say that I buggered up the timing a wee bit. More time should have spent in the north, thus avoiding having three weeks in KL, Melaka and Tioman, which could have been done in half that time. But, a fair whack of the country was visited, and all thoroughly enjoyed. I regret having missed out the Taman Negara, but I guess you can’t see it all.
Arrived in Singapore and checked in to Lee’s Travellers Club. By sheer coincidence, Will and Mel also stayed here so there was a note telling me how to contact them. The ‘Club’ is one of Singapore’s infamous ‘crash-pads’; dormitory rooms into which as many bunk beds as possible are squeezed. There is no room whatsoever. Each person has their bed space and that is it.
(Speaking later to Will and Mel they claimed it wasn’t coincidence that we both went to the same hostel, and that someone had recommended it to us. But I didn’t have it written down anywhere and did not purposely head there. I just stumbled across it and thought ‘that’ll do’. Or so I’d thought. Maybe my subconscious was more alert than the rest of me.)
21-20-93 Thursday Day 66
Collected a generous amount of mail from the GPO, including six letters from me Ma, and a letter from Sooty containing a load of clippings from the sports columns of the English papers.
Met up with Mel and Will and spent the day wandering around with them, and attempting a fresh camera hunt. They’re staying with a Singaporean friend of the family whose brother-in-law owns an electronics shop and he was very friendly and helpful. Something which couldn’t be said for other places visited. It was amazing how rude and flippant they were. As soon as they sussed out that you may not be about to make a purchase there and then, they weren’t interested. One place even told me that I had obviously shopped around and therefore knew the price of things so why was I asking them. Well, fuck you. It all became rather tedious.
Went out for some beers in the evening with Will and Mel, and a girl they met in Sumatra, Bridget. She took us Number Five in Emerald Hill, an expat hang-out with what appeared to us to be extortionate expat prices. I think it was S$18 for a jug of beer (that’s about £8-9) and that was in happy hour. I’d hate to see what their miserable hour was like.
We then took the MRT up to the Newton Food Centre to get some nosh. The MRT (Mass Rapid Transit, or Singapore’s tube) was incredible – so clean, modern, and efficient. The platforms are lined with glass screens to prevent anyone chucking themselves in front of the trains, and when a train pulls up they align perfectly with the screen doors. I’m sure the designs have more to do with saving money than saving lives but there you go. It’s all super-modern and makes the London Underground look like the filthy nightmare that it is. Then again I daresay even the London Underground could be like this if it were only five years old.
The Food Centre was also a new experience for me. A central seating area surrounded by a miscellany of cooked food stalls. You order your food, give your table number, and, Hey Presto, it all appears in front of you, including a gorgeous chilli stingray. One tank contained a very large and seemingly lifeless frog. Lifeless that is until it got fed up with me pressing my nose up against the glass, and decided to try and mount my face. He bounced back off the glass, as I bounced back off the floor.
Mindful of not having a clue whereabouts in Singapore I was and not wanting to pay for a taxi, I said farewell to Will and Mel and took the last train back to Bencoolen Street. They are off to Bali in the morning so next time we meet will be in Sydney at Christmas.
22-10-93 | Friday | Day 67
Bumped into Terry and Rachel walking down Beach Road but had only two hours with them before they were heading back into Malaysia. The last time Terry and I saw each other, dengue fever had stripped me of a few pounds, but he still surprised me by saying that I looked a lot fatter. Either he’s losing his marbles or I must have been painfully thin at the time. But seeing as I haven’t seen a pair of scales for over two months, I wouldn’t have a clue. And couldn’t really give a shit either.
Visited Raffles Hotel which is very grand and seems to be the antithesis of everything else Singapore; low rise and sprawling as opposed to the cheek-by-jowl high-rises and skyscrapers. The shops inside are all very prestigious and the whole place has an air of calm and elegance…and cash. I didn’t even dare find out how much a room was.
Had dinner at another food centre – the Satay Club – down by the harbour and finished Steinbeck’s masterful Grapes of Wrath.
23-10-93 | Saturday | Day 68
Singapore is supposedly a shopping paradise…to me it’s bloody murder. So many shopping malls, so many shops; some prices set, some negotiable; some items openly fake, others genuine; some sales people helpful, some utter bastards; and all bloody hard work to someone who hates shopping as much as me.
Manages to finish off the rest of the Christmas shopping, courtesy of the shops in Raffles and some dodgy geezer on the street who led me into a lock-up to look at his fakes. Also managed to spend S$950 on a camera – body, lens, flash unit, case, a filter and a micro lens. I think I’ve done quite well getting the whole lot for just over £400, but I’m still not sure. For all I know I could’ve been ripped off left, right and centre. I’ve spent far too much money in only three days in Singapore so a degree of prudence will be required for the next few days.
Had some dinner at the Satay Club again, talking to an English couple who are here for the first time since he served here in the war. I’d like to say it was interesting, but…
For the last few months, a half decent game of footy to watch has been high on the agenda. Tonight Singapore won the Malaysian Cup right here in Singapore…and I didn’t even know about it. Mustn’t be looking hard enough.
24-10-93 | Sunday | Day 69
Spent the day wandering around by Singapore river trying to figure out how this here camera works.
Watched a cricket match at the Singapore Cricket Club in the company of a Brit, Ben, who is working here as part of a university placement, then had some food and a few beers with him – most of which he very generously paid for.
25-10-93 | Monday | Day 70
Things-to-do-type day; postcards and letters sent home, a Christmas-gift parcel sent home, stocked up on films and batteries, got more cash on Mastercard (after considerable difficulty), and got the papers – Toon lost 2-1 to Southampton.
26-10-93 | Tuesday | Day 71
Flew on to Jakarta today and into Indonesia for the first time. I’m still not sure why we booked tickets to go to Jakarta. Even the guy in the travel agent in London had said “It’s a shit-hole…don’t go there.” But here I am.
Torn between spending the night in the airport before flying on to Jogjakarta tomorrow, and going in to the town, I figured I may as well become qualified to say what a shit-hole it is. So left most of my luggage at the airport and took a bus in to Gambir Station. Wandered around Jalan Jaksa to get some food and decide what to do.
Met a guy called Mulyanto who was very keen to show me around town for a while so that he could practise his English. I had by now missed the last bus back to the airport, so the decision was made for me. Walked around for about three hours but had precious little idea of where I was or what I was seeing as Mulyanto’s English needed an awful lot of practising. He did manage to tell me that he works in the head office of a department store for 100,000 rupiah a month. I have just exchanged £50 for 145,000 rupiah. He was fairly delighted when I bought him a Coke, but by that stage I was rather keen to be shot of him. What started out as a pleasant cultural interchange became rather tedious and I was relieved to escape and find a bed in the immaculately clean Nick’s Hostel.
It amazes me when travel writers tell us what great local people they’ve met on the road, with whom they’ve subsequently shared life-changing experiences and become life-long friends. I find myself quickly irritated by stilted conversation, misunderstandings and incorrect perceptions. Either the travel writers are bullshitters or I must be one of the most unapproachable people around. No prizes…
27-10-93 | Wednesday | Day 72
Rose early to return to the airport. It was with no regrets that I left Jakarta – it’s unbelievably hot, incredibly busy, and stinks intolerably. Even one of the rats I saw had given up the ghost and drowned in an open sewer. (Mind you I arrived with negative perceptions and didn’t really give Jakarta much of a chance to change them.)
Flew on to Jogjakarta, which instantly appears to have more to offer, but no relief from the poverty or the beggars. It’s rumoured to be a haven for thieves so an irritating degree of vigilance is called for. Having said that, one night I left my bag, with my precious new camera, in a cafe and the staff chased me half way down the street to give it back, God bless ‘em.
Stay at Bagus Hotel for 4,500r a night, for a basic room with fan. It’s back to the old squat toilets and a mandi for a shower, i.e. chucking a bucket of cold water over your head, which can sometimes be okay, but in this place they seem to have some secret arctic source for drawing their water – fucking freezing. And if there is one thing I cannot stand, my Room 101, it’s a cold shower.
Wrote home for the first time since Kuala Lipis, and started reading Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
28-10-93 | Thursday | Day 73
Visited the ‘huge palace of the Sultan of Yogya’ which was very disappointing. The first building, costing 300 rupiah, had nothing in it, and the second building, 1,500 rpiah, was a bit better but still rather unimpressive. The guide books give the impression of it being a ‘city within a city’ but whether or not this is so is difficult to judge as you don’t get to see half of it. A waste of time and money (all 60p of it).
Also visited Borobudur which, if the huge palace of the Sultan of Yogya is at the low end end of the scale, is at the opposite end of the scale. Fuck me, it’s magnificent. It’s an ancient Buddhist temple over 1000 years old, and it is colossal. Tier upon tier of bas reliefs, hundreds of Buddha statues, and a main dome or stupa. Apparently it’s the world’s largest Buddhist temple and one of the greatest Buddhist monuments in the world. Although it does beg the question “Why?”.
Met three guys on the bus on the way there, Graham, Simon and Dave, who, being from Loughborough, are familiar with Will and Scott and some of their mates. Subsequently spent the day with them, which was all highly amusing, not least the unusual experience of being almost mobbed by a crowd of Indonesian schoolgirls who wanted to take our pictures, have their pictures taken with us, and become pen-friends. The near adoration was at first surprising, then became amusing, and eventually annoying. (I can be a grumpy bugger can’t I?)
Went out for dinner with these three and another guy, Nick, whom they’d met. One of the Loughborough fellers had been with a lady of the night the night before and was none too amused, first of all, when his mate told us all, and secondly, when we bumped into said lady on the street that night. It gave the rest of us a good laugh though.
29-10-93 | Friday | Day 74
Woke up early for no apparent reason and tried to decide whether to fly on to Bali or go to Mount Bromo with Nick. It’s a hard life.
Having missed trekking in Thailand, the Taman Negara in Malaysia, and orang-utans in Sumatra, I’m a bit keen to ‘experience’ more things, so decided to blow out the flight to Bali and go on the train to Bromo, via Surabaya and Probolingo.
Met Nick at the station in time for the 7.30am train. We somehow managed to pay differing amounts for the same ticket, and on departure the train was not too busy and didn’t seem too uncomfortable. But things changed as we progressed. At each station more and more people got on board, and the train became increasingly overcrowded with people and their wares occupying every available space. Seats, under seats, floorspace, luggage racks, every minute bit of room was occupied with someone or something. Each time the train stopped a horde of hawkers boarded shoving everything from rice dishes to stuffed animals in your face, and the seat which I dared not leave for fear of losing it, became increasingly hard and uncomfortable.
Nick (Squires) is a journalist who has worked for, amongst others, The Daily Telegraph, and is currently travelling on his way to Hong Kong to look for work on one of the papers there. I’ll bet this epic train journey never made it to print.
Arrived at Surabaya around 4pm and discovered that the train actually goes on to Probolingo – news which got a mixed reception. We were both eager to get as close to Bromo as possible that evening, but also anxious to get off the sodding train. We opted to press on, and the next leg was made slightly more tolerable due to a stunning view on the horizon of a line of volcanoes with the sun setting behind them.
When we arrived in Probolingo the relief of getting off my arse was immense. I’ve a feeling I’ll be bearing the bruises of this journey for a while to come. We joined a Dutch couple, Robert and Inge, to hire a Land Cruiser to take us right up to Mount Bromo, and a nearby hostel, at a cost of 5,000 rupiah. This took a further one and a half hours, giving us a non-stop travelling time of 12 hours, all in considerable discomfort – the train because of the hard wooden seat and the jeep because the driver was a fucking lunatic.
But it instantly seemed worthwhile as the hostel is perched on the lip of the outer crater and by the light of a full moon Bromo looks like a moonscape (not that I’ve ever seen a moonscape, but…). It all looks white and ghostly, and very eerie.
So it was early to bed ready for a 3.30am awakening to appreciate Bromo by sunrise. After the hellish journey it had better be worth it.
30-10-93 | Saturday | Day 75
No doubt about that. We were recommended to take an hour’s brisk walk to a mountain viewpoint which overlooks the whole crater. And with the sun rising over the valley away to one side, the views were truly spectacular; the sky incredibly clear and the sunrise beautiful. We were actually above the cloud line so we were looking down on the clouds settled between the hills as the sun rose. It was like looking down on the world as it wakes up. (And I bet Nick Squires describes it a damned sight better than that.)
Took a load of photos, now with a camera that can actually capture the beauty of the landscape. Whether or not the photographer can use it properly remained to be seen.
After an hour of corny superlatives, and phoney pensive moments, we descended for breakfast and then head into the crater itself. Bromo is a crater within a crater, surrounded by a ‘sea of sand’ plain, and a couple of other craters to boot, i.e. the sort of thing that is damn difficult to describe. I bet Nick Squires…
We walked across the dry and dusty plain and ascended Bromo itself – not difficult courtesy of a flight of steps – and the sight that greeted us is amazing. A perfect, inverted cone, descending deep into the earth. Smoking, steaming, hissing. The bottom of the crater is actually deeper than the surrounding plain and is so steep that it made us step back for a second before timidly approaching for a closer look. There is a steady stream of steam and sulphur pouring out of several vents in the crater which colours the rock a bright yellow and gives the air an acrid smell. We’re standing on a ridge of ash and scree that feels like it could give way at any moment.
After marvelling over this sight for a while – and of the names written in the ash at the bottom of the crater – we walked around the crater to look at the adjacent Mt. Widodaren, which is much larger than Bromo, but not as deep and no longer active. We then attempted to walk along a ridge which appeared to have a path along the top of it, only for this to go horribly wrong as it soon became evident that there was no path at all. In our attempts to just get back down we were left scrambling up and down ridges of volcanic ash that had an alarming ability to disintegrate under our feet. After getting part of the way down the undergrowth then became so dense that we had to climb back up again and try to find a different way out. We eventually emerged, cut, bruised, absolutely knackered, and filthy, looking more like we’d been lost in the desert for weeks rather than having been for a wee stroll.
But there was no harm done and it only added to the Bromo experience which was altogether amazing. To be sitting on the crater-rim of an active volcano while it spewed out gases and smoke over a hundred feet below was completely unique and something I should imagine I shall never forget. (Do you get the idea that I was quite impressed?)
And all this was before 11am. The rest of the day was fairly inactive which was not surprising bearing in mind the early start, and the sunset was very unspectacular. And it was bloody cold up there as well.
31-10-93 | Sunday | Day 76
Up early (again) this time to arrange transport first to Probolingo and then on to Denpasar in Bali. Took a (supposedly) air-con bus which was luxurious compared to the previous modes of transport. The whole journey took about eight hours including the ferry journey from Java to Bali. The view from the ferry looking back over Java was pretty spectacular, with yet another volcano looming large in the frame.
Begging became performance art as the ferry passengers awaiting departure chucked coins into the sea for the local boys to dive after and retrieve, storing the coins in their mouths until they can hold no more. And there was plenty of it being thrown about.
The crowds at the ferry port threw up another question – where is everyone going? Everywhere in Indonesia it seems that all forms of transport are jam-packed all the time. Buses, trains, bemos, ferries, everything – choc-a-bloc, all the time. But where…? And why…? Do some folk just spend their days fucking around on buses?
Got to Denpasar and had our first unwelcome experience of bemo drivers, who must be the biggest con-artists around. It was a substantial argument/ negotiation before we achieved the fare we believed we should be paying for a ride to Kuta. We were joined for the journey by Lee Clay, from Hong Kong, and checked into some hostel in Kuta which seems rather smart compared to some places I’ve stayed in. Went out for a few beers but it was a quiet introduction to Kuta – if a quiet introduction is possible. Kuta is like Torremolinos for the Aussies. It’s full of bars offering cocktails, happy hours, drinking games, and competitions. Loud and flashy nightclubs; video screens everywhere; and it can all become rather hard work, what with the heat and the hawkers. No, I don’t want a fucking copy-watch.