We are sitting in a café in Yogyakarta, Astrid is chatting to our new couch surfing friend and host, Irma. Outside our shaded courtyard I can hear the passing traffic, a cassava seller walks by, his distinctive call advertising his product. Above us clouds are gathering, promising relief from the daily increasing humidity. The weather is encouraging us to go north, over the equator and away from the impending wet season. Still, our hearts have been captured by Indonesia and we are reluctant to leave.

It’s been a little over two weeks since the ferry bought us to the world’s most populated island, Java. I wasn’t sure what to expect, I think both of us were a little apprehensive.  Java however has surprised and delighted us. From awe inspiring volcanic valleys, the mystical tradition of the wayang, delicious coffee, street art and hidden vegetarian cafes surrounded by gardens, we love the many faces of this island. So, let me take you on a journey of the last two weeks.

 After the relatively quiet streets of west Bali, Banyuwangi on the eastern tip of Java was much busier. We joined the throng of trucks, cars and scooters and headed towards the address of our first Indonesian couch surfing host, Rini. What a wonderful woman Rini is. Not only did she come find us when we got lost, but for the next two days we were treated with such incredible hospitality and kindness, way beyond anything we expected. She took us out for dinner, showed us around her town and assisted us in many logistical tasks that were made so much easier with her help. Rini is a doctor, so we got to see the hospital she worked in and it struck us both, that no matter where you are in the world, instantly familiar characters appear in all emergency departments. It made us smile. I think anyone who works in health will understand what we mean. After just one afternoon with Rini, she had convinced us that we needed to stay another night, so we could visit Ijen Volcano. The following day, thanks to the kindness of one of Rini’s colleagues we had ourselves a scooter and were speeding through the streets of Bunyuwangi towards the beckoning mountains.

We soon left the city behind, the air became cooler and coffee plantations began to appear. It’s always nice leaving the heat of the lowlands behind. Being Indonesia the gradients soon became incredibly steep and even our poor scooter couldn’t cope with both of us on it. We alternated between one of us riding and one of us walking, until we reached the top. From there it was a 3km walk to the crater rim. Ijen is still active and also famous for its sulphur. Many men work at Ijen and it is rather disturbing to witness. They trek into the smoking heart of the volcano to mine the yellow sulphur rock by hand, which they then carry in two heaving baskets on their shoulders. Each man carries up to 100kg for the 6km trek out, earning the equivalent of 7 cents (Australian) per kilogram. It looks indescribably hard. As we hiked up to the rim, we passed many of these men coming down. Once we reached the top, the view was quite astounding. The towering, sheer rim, smoke billowing from below, the wind whipping it around, giving us views of the blue, hot acidic crater lake. Occasionally too, we could see glimpses of the men working amongst it all, far below.

After Ijen we went with Rini and her colleague and relaxed in the town square, drinking es campur (mixed juice with ice) and eating fried treats. All around us were food stalls selling a variety of different fare and locals relaxing on mats and chatting. Something like the equivalent of after work drinks in Australia. It was a glimpse at how culture is fundamentally the same, gathering and socialising at the end of the day, just its context varies. I find couch surfing so valuable because it really gives you a glimpse at how people live and go about their day. Of course you can argue it is usually restricted to the middle class, to those that know English, but it’s ability to facilitate cultural exchange cannot be disputed. We found it fascinating to talk to Rini about Indonesian society, gaining valuable insights and understanding.

We bade farewell to Rini and Banyuwangi the following day to catch the train to Pasuruan, and then to cycle the remaining 60km to the city of Malang. The reason for the train trip, and in fact the visit to Malang was our expiring visa. We needed to extend it because the ferry we want to be on only leaves once a week and the date is either too late or too early for us. Unfortunately it’s just bad timing and we just have to suck it up and deal with Indonesian bureaucracy. The cycle to Malang was long and full of noisy, stinky traffic. Still, at least the traffic is slow moving and I almost never feel unsafe. We arrived just before dark, it was chaotic and busy, we were tired and no one could tell us where the guest house we were looking for was. The GPS on the i phone was telling us somewhere between 13-20km away but it’s not always accurate with addresses and we were skeptical. Astrid’s knee was hurting and there was no way we were going to cycle all that way just to see if it was right. We tried calling the guest house but the lady couldn’t speak English and hung up on us. At the end of a long, hot day our tempers were beginning to fray. All I can say is thank you Tanja for giving me that i phone for my birthday! We were able to google a hotel in the lonely planet, make a few educated guesses about the whereabouts of the guest house we wanted and find out that it was only 2km away. An hour later we had had a hot shower (OMG hot water!) and were eating delicious nasi campur.

 The following day we found what may be the best hostel in Indonesia. It was on the roof of a hotel, overlooking the city and the mountains. The buildings were made of breezy bamboo, there were plenty of places to lounge, have a beer, play chess, plus free wifi. We moved in and spent the best part of a week there, in between visits to immigrasi and Bromo volcano. The best times were watching the afternoon thunderstorms roll in over the mountains, while sipping hot Javanese coffee. The visa extension was the beauracratic web we had anticipated. We required a local sponsor and all up 5 visits until we were granted the extra month. Because part of our time fell on the weekend, it took even longer. Not to matter, we had an excellent time in Malang, a city we both liked very much. First of all there was the amazing street food on every corner. We soon established our favirotes and could literally eat dinner and dessert (rice with 4 different kinds of vegies/tempe/tofu, ice tea and a chocolate/banana pancake like treat) for $3 for both of us. As well as this, across the road from the hostel was a small café that sold delicious tea and coffee as well as waffles. It was a little bit of Fitzroy in Indonesia and was frequented by Indonesia’s equivalent of hispters.

Aside from slowly eating our way around Malang we decided to visit one of Java’s greatest attractions; the active Bromo volcano. The done thing from Malang was to take a tour, which left town at 1am or so and returned you around noon the following day. Tours are not really something either of us like much, we find they take away from the sense of adventure. Instead, we hired a scooter, packed a small bag and headed for the mountains on our own. The first thing that happened was getting caught in torrential afternoon rain. A kind lady let us shelter in her shop and served us tea and cupcakes, so it wasn’t all bad. Once the rain ceased, we wound our way slowly upward, through villages, forest and into the clouds. Again it became too steep for the scooter and required bouts of walking until we finally reached the top. From here we dropped into a magnificent valley, along a road littered with huge holes, sand and rocks. It was tough going, but once in the valley it was truly stunning. A wide grassy plain gave way to a sheer volcanic rim on either side of us. It was like something out of Lord of the Rings. As the light began to turn pink, Astrid and I decided that it was too beautiful a place not to camp, even though we only had biscuits with us for dinner (we were initially going to camp somewhere else). We pulled off the track and found a place to put up the tent as the light faded into quiet darkness. Here we were on the world’s most populous island with not a soul around. It was the first time we had experienced such silence since the Australian outback. We fell asleep under the full moon.

At 2.45am our alarm went off. Already we could here scooters heading towards Bromo for sunrise (which is at 5am). It was very cold and we were both glad for the down and fleece jackets we still had with us while we packed up. Now the real challenge began. Navigating a scooter with poor lights through a sandy, barely visible track in the pitch dark. There was much skidding, swearing and walking but with patience we eventually made it to the foot of the road that lead to the look out. Here we left the scooter and began the hike up the road (it was way too steep with both of us on the scooter). Many locals offered us rides on their scooters for the equivalent of $10 – get real! They seemed astounded that we would rather walk. As we walked, the greyness of dawn approached and many jeeps packed full of tourists passed us. We were glad not to be in them. For sunrise we found a spot to ourselves, although not at the top, it was peaceful. We had a view of smoking Bromo and surrounding volcanoes as the sun made it’s first appearance for the day.

Afterwards we trekked with the masses to peer into the smoking mouth of Bromo volcano. One thing we will never get used to is the amount of people that want to have their photo taken with us. Walking back to our scooter we were stopped many times by giggling locals who were delighted to have us in their photos. The ride home showed us stunning vistas of impressively steep, cultivated hills that we had been unable to see due to cloud on the way up. We arrived back in Malang filthy and exhausted but on a whim decided to go to a free punk rock concert with some German travellers we had met.

The concert was a short walk away and a real eye opener. Firstly, everyone stood for the national anthem and secondly the whole event was sponsored by multinational cigarette company. This seemed completely bizarre for a punk concert. The cigarette advertising was rammed down our throats every chance they got. In between all the bands a highly irritating woman and man came out and talked incessantly about the benefits of their product, going as far as trying to get the crowd to chant about it. Coming from somewhere where cigarette advertisement is banned (not to mention having first hand experience of seeing the health impacts of smoking daily at work) this was also very weird. It goes without saying that every man in the crowd of several thousand was smoking (women generally don’t smoke ‘cos it’s ‘bad for the baby’), although it did not appear to be the brand they were promoting (I have blocked out what it was). The four of us were the only foreigners in the crowd and even got singled out by the bands playing and the irritating woman from the cigarette company. Furthermore, Astrid, Sabine and I were the only women anywhere near the front. Sadly, in the whole place of several thousand there would have only been a handful of women. The ones we did see were rockin’. One woman in particular, impeccably dressed, colourful hajib and all, rocking out hardcore to the music. Eventually after the three of us being groped and pick pocketed (poor Sabine got her camera stolen, we had our money in our bra’s and were fine) a very awesome lady (who appeared to have her own body guards) ushered us over to her area where we were more protected. It’s a sad reflection on Indonesian men and society that this needs to happen just for women to go to a concert.

Earlier in our time in Malang we had met some locals, Devi and Oggy who worked at an English school. They had asked us to come and talk to an English class and we had agreed. I have always been a little apprehensive about the ‘teaching English’ thing, but there is nothing like being thrust in front of a class with no preparation to get you going! The kids were great, really enthusiastic and there was much laughing, drawing bad maps of Australia and even some dancing. After the class we posed for endless photos before bidding farewell to everyone. Another great experience in a city we had grown very fond of.

Finally however, our visa extensions were granted and we hit the road again, pedaling west towards the cultural and artistic centre of Yogyakarta. We anticipated it would take us about 4 big days to make it there. However, things don’t always go to plan and after 75km it became clear that Astrid’s knee was still not 100%. We pulled over at a roadside stall in the town of Blitar and discussed our options. To push on, or to give the knee a good rest. As frustrating as it was for both of us, because we really just want to get cycling, we opted to rest the knee till Singapore. There is no point in damaging it so early on, plus Java is relatively  well serviced by trains, our second favourite mode of transport. We found a cheap hotel in Blitar, with plans to catch the train to Yogyakarta the following day.

Blitar is the birthplace of Sukarno, or ‘bung karno’ who lead Indonesia to independence from the Dutch in 1945. We decided to embrace a little bit of the character cult surrounding this notorious and in the end, rather mad dictator. It cannot be disputed that uniting a diverse nation such as Indonesia was an incredible feat, and it appeared that Sukarno began with the right intentions. However in later years it was said he spent much time womanizing and building penis like monuments while his people starved. Never the less it was interesting to see the house he grew up in and visit his mausoleum. We were the only foreigners around and many of the local tourists appeared delighted that we were there. We also managed to visit some temples not far away. All in all Blitar was an unexpected quirky stop for us.

The train took us to Yogyakarta in the afternoon, a city full of artists and musicians, and a place we felt an instant connection with. I will let Astrid continue with our time there.

With love

jude

ps apologies for no photo descriptions – i cant get them to work.

Ceremony takes centre stage in Balinese life.

In the heat of the late afternoon Jude naps in the hammock, while I burn ‘excitement’ energy getting my gear ready for tomorrow.  Washing is done, bags are packed, and the bike is given a thorough clean and tune up.  The honeymoon is over and now the adventure continues.  Scotland is calling and it’s time to head west.  Our first destination: Bali. 

A nap on the hammock before the journey continues.

 The journey from Gili Air to Padangbai is the reverse of what we did a month ago, but now Lombok feels familiar.  This time the local ferry to the mainland is not over packed with people and produce, and we don’t have to bribe our way on to it.  From Bangsal we ride the coast road back to Sengiggi, we enjoy the bike lane through the tree-lined streets of Mataram and four hours later we are in Lembar boarding the ferry to Bali.  It feels great to be back on the bikes, although after a few weeks of fine living my body does cry out on the steep hills and we are able to drink 2 litres of Pocari Sweat in 10 minutes due to the heat.

The only bike lane we found on Lombok – in Mataram.

 It’s a five hour ferry ride to Padangbai.  The locals nap or chat to each other, while the tourists watch movies on their computers and play board games.  It’s fun to people watch and the slow pace is broken only once by a few huge waves.  They are big enough to rock the ship and to have the locals running to check that their motorbikes are still standing.  We pull into Padangbai just after sunset and accept the offer of accommodation from one of the touts at the port.  As always, food and sleep are at the top of our agenda for the night.

A roadside stop, for a snack on bananas.

 The next morning we cycle out of Padangbai, hoping to get as far west as we can.  There are various options for our route and after the un-rideable gradients of some of the hill roads in Lombok, we choose to avoid the central highlands of Bali.  Instead we head towards the black beaches and seaside towns of the north coast.  Once out of the tourist areas the riding is lovely.  Gunung Agung is the constant backdrop of the changing landscape. 

Gunung Agung is our constant companion.

Hindu inspired architecture is everywhere.

 It’s marvelous how the Hindu religion permeates all parts of life on Bali.  Houses incorporate shrines and religious statues into their architecture.  Incense and small offerings made with banana leaves, flowers and rice are placed daily outside all houses and on the many little shrines that dot the countryside.  Chanting, bells and drums are heard when we cycle past a Putra that has a ceremony being attended to.  Ceremonies abound, and little did we know that in a few days we would be a part of it all.

Offerings and prayer are a part of daily life in Bali.

 Luckily for us Bali has not drugged or shot their civil engineers.  We took a few back roads and slowly climbed up into the lower foothills of the east.  Life was peachy until my left knee decided that it had had enough.  A sharp stabbing pain seared through it on every push down of the pedal and after an hour of gritting my teeth and bearing it, I had to admit defeat and stop.  We rested at a warung and feasted on nasi campur and gado gado.  What to do?  The small village of Tirta Gangga was nearby, so using only one leg to pedal, I climbed the last kilometre and we were greeted by the smiling face of Bapak Ketut and the hospitality of his family.

The banyan tree where the spring for Tirta Gangga lies.

The water palace at Tirta Gangga.

 Tirta Gangga, meaning holy water of the Ganges, takes its name from a fresh water spring that pours from the base of a banyan tree.  The locals believe that the water comes from the same source as that of the Ganges River in India.  It’s nestled amongst rice terraces and is the home of a stunning water palace built by the king of the region in 1948.  We spend the afternoon exploring the gardens, marveling at the water features teeming with fish, swimming in the cool water of the pools and reading by the edge of the ponds.  We watch swifts dip into the water as the sun sets and are grateful for another day in paradise.

More water loving.

Walking on water.

 The next morning I test my knee on a short ride up a hillside.  The pain is still there and we decide that another day of rest would be best.  We also need some time to plan.  Visa extension time is upon us and we need to decide how we are going to get to mainland Asia.  With our first access to fast(ish) and reliable internet in months, we devise a new plan and are excited to say that we will now spend a few weeks exploring Java and then catch a ferry from Jakarta to Singapore. 

Is that an emu in the tropical garden?

The sunset reflected in the rice field.

 The rest of the day is spent relaxing and reading, in the hope that my knee will heal quickly.  I know that I shouldn’t, but I do worry.  I wonder if my body is ready to cycle the world.  Then I remember that while cycling in Australia, besides a sore bum, my body had never felt better.  It’s just adjusting to life in the saddle again.  My spirits are lifted further that evening as Bapak Ketut’s extended family gather at the restaurant and we sing songs, play guitar and drink arak together.  We are told that the spiritual men have requested rain for that night, and soon enough it starts to fall.  As the night wears on, English language songs mingle with Indonesian.  We are told stories of the area and about Balinese culture.  Tomorrow is a day of ceremony in Tirta Gangga and we are invited to join the family and many others on a spiritual cleansing pilgrimage from Tirta Gangga to the beach.  We accept.

Music and song make the heart lighter.

And arak makes the head lighter.

 We rise early in the morning and put on ceremonial dress – a white shirt with a sarong and sash.  I top mine off with my new straw hat and am asked by a cousin where my horse is.  By 7 many people have gathered and soon enough we hear excited voices and music coming from up the road.  Hundreds of people pass us carrying offerings, flags, umbrellas, boxes on wooden poles that represent gods and the procession is followed by a band.  We join the excited masses.  The music is captivating and lifts my soul.  We watch as the boys carrying the boxes dance, move, run and jostle with each other, and I imagine the gods being frisky and playful. 

Everyone is in ceremonial dress, including us.

Thousands make the pilgrimage from Tirta Gangga to the sea.

The gods get frisky and start to dance.

The 16kms to the beach passes quickly, and by the time we get there our numbers have swelled to the thousands.  The locals burn incense, put out offerings, chant and pray facing the sea.  Jude and I sit on the rocks and meditate, the spray from the waves cooling us.  The morning has become crazy hot and everyone begins to fade.  The pilgrimage then turns to climb back up the hill.  People start to straggle, thongs break and the once jovial masses break into little groups that help each other cope with the return. 

Music keeps everyone’s spirit up.

We have made it to the sea.

Chanting, prayers and offerings are made at the seaside.

 By this time Jude has developed some pretty serious chafe and her walk has become duck like.  We are befriended by some ladies and they offer her some cream for her legs.  Unknowingly she puts it on the chafe and at the same time I smell the unmistakable fragrance of deep heat.  I’m sure I don’t have to go into detail about how much it initially hurt her.  Seeing her reaction, I am transported back in time and laugh at the memory of male friends screaming and running around in pain after putting deep heat on their scrotums.  For future reference, Jude does assure me that it does help – eventually

Time to head back.

It’s all uphill from here.

The return journey takes us through the rice fields.

 We slowly make it to the next village and jump into a bemo that takes us the rest of the way back.   It has been a wonderful morning and we spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing in the tropical garden.  That evening we share beer and sweet treats with our new family, and toast to ‘good health, good life and good journey’. 

The lush greenery of east Bali.

 Our ‘good journey’ continues the following morning.  We finish cycling the foothills and whoop in delight as we speed down to the coast.  The difference is palpable.  The lush greenery of the east gives way to the semi arid zone of the north and west.  Fishing villages, private villas and dive resorts dot the coastline.  The seaside town of Lovina, 80km to the west, is our destination for the day.  The last 15km is spent cycling through the city of Singaraja.  While waiting in traffic we are offered a guest house in Lovina and we are guided the last 8km by motorcycle.  I feel sorry for the guy as we are slow after the long hot day and the pain in my knee is crazy bad.  But soon enough we are drinking ice tea and watching the sunset while floating in the sea.  We get some local takeaway food for dinner – martabak telor, nasi campur and a sweet pancake with banana and chocolate for dessert – and settle down to watch ‘The year old living dangerously’.

The black sand beaches of Lovina.

It’s a beautiful morning to be on the water.

Sunrise over Gunung Batur.

In a moment of fatigue-induced weakness, we agreed to join a dolphin watching and snorkeling tour the following morning.  Heading out to sea on a small fishing boat we watch the sunrise over Gunung Batur.  Pastel colours glow on the water’s surface, which is as smooth as glass.  The tranquility is soon broken when 40 other boats start the daily chase of dolphins that pass through the region.  I am always blown away by how graceful dolphins are and we watch them jump and dive for 30 minutes.  The snorkeling is refreshing and it’s the small stuff that interests me today.

A lone dolphin jumps and dives.

Then a few more appear.

Such graceful animals.

 By mid morning we are back on the road and after a few hours we are starving.  It’s a full moon tonight, which means ceremony day for the Balinese, so most food places are closed.  Jude spots one that is open, and it is a vegetarian’s nightmare.  Rice with six different meat dishes.  We eat only the rice.  Nearby we seek out a small store and go on a paddle pop eating binge.  The variety of paddle pops here is astounding and at 25c each we can binge all we like.  Sugared up, we cycle on and towards the end of the day we pull off at Banjuwegan.  We cycle around and find a public shower block that is fed by a natural hot spring.  For 30c we have our first hot shower in months.  We pitch our tent nearby and watch the sun set over Java and the full moon rise over Bali.

Easy riding along the north coast of Bali.

A great lunch of nasi campur and es campur.

Let the paddle pop feast begin.

 Not long after dawn, while drinking peppermint tea, we watch the moon set over Java.  It’s our last day in Bali and we are sad to leave so soon.  As always, the more we explore the more we want to experience.  In a couple of hours we will be on a ferry to Java, and from what we have heard this is where the craziness begins.  So we take our time.  We enjoy the quiet roads, breathe the fresh air, watch everyday life going on and feast on nasi campur at roadside stalls.  The riding is easy and by mid morning we are in Gilimanuk, the ferry port to Java.  Standing on the coast and you feel like you could almost swim (or paddle on a lilo) to Java, it is that close.  We take the ferry and as usual we are soon speaking to people about life and our adventure.  It’s a wonderful world.

Our great camping place.

The moon sets over Java.

All my love,

Astrid xx 

On the ferry to Java.

When we rolled into Kuta hot, sweaty and tired after cycling 85km in the tropical Lombok heat, we just wanted a cold shower and an even colder beer.  We cruised around town a little hypoglycaemic and a little dazed, and on our second lap around Bembet literally jumped out in front of us.  The universe could not have provided us with a better sign of where to stay.  Bembet is the awesome owner of Enjoy Café and homestay, the place that became our home for the following two weeks.  Our dream of a cold shower and colder beer was fulfilled in no time.

Our home is one of three large rooms, less than 50 metres from the beach, placed in a quiet cul de sac and surrounded by locals, goats and chickens.  Life is simple and relaxed, as we joined the flow of life in Kuta.  Every day begins early with Ibu Surkaji’s most delectable banana pancakes.  They are that good, Jude is already dreaming of them the night before.  For an hour we laze around, eat pancakes, drink tea and learn Indonesian.  Then we jump on our scooter, surfboards strapped to the side, and cruise along the coast to Selong Blanak, the beginners surf beach.

It takes about 35 minutes to ride there and the road provides spectacular vistas of the surrounding coastline, beaches and surf breaks.  It rolls through small villages surrounded by fields of tobacco and food produce.  Chickens, dogs, children, goats and herds of water buffalo meander along the road.  Women sit on the edges selling food or fuel, breaking rocks or tying together freshly cut straw to feed the animals or re-thatch roofs.  The drivers here remain either unaware or uncaring about traffic safety.  Some think nothing of stopping on the opposite side of the road on a blind corner to smoke a cigarette.  Add to this a handful of inexperienced foreigners on scooters with surfboards strapped to the side, and it sure is one interesting ride! 

The beach is a curve of white sand, surrounded by mountains and blessed with aquamarine beach breaks that are perfect for the surfing novice.  Little bamboo warungs line the beach and sell everything from nasi campur to barbequed corn.  For days we were offered ‘surfing lessons’, which basically involved local guys pushing you on to a wave and calling out “stand up”.   Not our style, so we continually declined and over the next few days, with constant practice, we found our groove on our ladies – Betty and Mellow Yellow aka the Flying Squid.  We also found ourselves a little surfing posse who we hung out with everyday.  It was so great to be in the water for hours, catching waves and then chilling out on the beach.  Yes we can stand up now and ride a wave, and wow are we addicted!

Late afternoons were spent doing a variety of things.  One was returning to the surf shop to get the dings in our boards repaired.  In one spectacular incident Jude and I almost ran head-on into each other on the same wave and my board went over hers.  One broken fin, two dings and $75 dollars later we were laughing the incident off and thanking our lucky stars that it was only the boards that were damaged.  Other outings were to the beach for a swim, to the Gorengan lady for tasty stuffed tofu treats and to Boom Bakso for Yuni’s amazing banana juice.  In between we would laze about our home, reading, watching the goats, playing with the local children or chatting to Bembet, Ibu Surkaji or fellow travellers about life, love and surf.   The evenings found us eating sasak food at our favourite warungs and sharing beers or the local bram (rice wine) with newly made friends – even another cycle tourist who was pedaling around Indo with a board on his treadlie (amazing!).  Our love goes out to you all and we hope that your journeys are continuing with joy and wonder.

The two weeks passed quickly and it was sad to say goodbye to our newly adopted family and friends.  Presents and heartfelt goodbyes were shared and everyone was out to wave us off the morning of our departure.  We are sure we will return!  Sampei jumpa nanti!

All my love,

Astrid xx