CHAPTER 18 - INDONESIA PART 1

Th 6/3/99 - Singapore to Bandung, Indonesia

Exchange rate 8100 rupiahs to US$1 dollar

It wasn't for the political unrest but the temptation of Bali and the promise of a cheap month traveling. Certainly I wouldn't want to be at risk in a violent situation just for kicks or something to write in the journal. For more than a year now Indonesia has made the news with repeated clashing of ethnic groups, deadly demonstrations, and more recently a democratic national election. We had heard other travelers nervousness and of early departures from the country because of uneasiness but we had also heard of recent visits without complications. Brenda Brennan Mcleod's dad, Jack, was in Bandung and reported back via email that incidents around him were nil. The United States State Department and the Australian Embassy both elevated the potential risk in posted warnings of travel to Indonesia during the election period. Voting is this coming Monday.

We flew at noon from Singapore's big and clean and empty airport to Jakarta on Java. The Air India Airbus A310-300 was only half filled, all Indonesians and no other westerners. I moved back in the plane so John and I would each have more room. I continued my read in Wilbur Smith's, "Golden Fox", and I nearly forgot to personally celebrate crossing the equator into the southern hemisphere, my eighth lifetime entry - Kenya, Brazil, Southern Africa four times, and New Zealand on this trip. Most air traffic was out of Indonesia during this potentially violent political period.

Indonesia consists of 15,000 islands and is one of the worlds most populated countries (about 3rd). The predominant religion is Muslim except in Bali where Hindu dominates, even the government is Muslim.

On the curb outside Jakarta's airport we met two girls working for Internews, Katherine and Ada, Australian and Indonesian. After spending time explaining how we were to navigate through the Jakarta streets mobbed with campaigners, Katherine with a slight wisp of frustration nicely suggested to these two clueless tourists that we share their cab since they work within a couple kilometers of our train station. This proposition was better than great. The girls were well informed of the current political happenings and both have very interesting international work histories. The best benefit was a sense of security, a comfort since we only heard horrible estimates of the danger of Indonesia during this election period. From the airport we zoomed along the highways toward the city of ten million. I watched a few cars and trucks with campaigners in red and waving flags in the opposite lanes and I could only think of historic pictures in news magazines and newspapers of violent clashes in Asia and it chilled me. It was a strange unusual sight, this kind of outward proclamation was eye opening. As we neared the city, cars and trucks of supporters rose in quantity. I saw a young man on the top front of a speeding bus with arms extended to sides and body supported only by leaning into the wind, a scene reminiscent of "Titanic". As I watched more closely, the participants were mostly young males with wide smiles, singing, flashing a sideways "okay" as their party sign, dancing. Katherine likened it to Rio's Carnival and I immediately saw the comparison. We soon ran into stalled and crawling traffic. We spent hours inching along, watching the actions all around us.

There are 48 political parties running for 473 seats, the remaining 37 are given straight to the military. To avoid confrontations, campaigning in Jakarta is scheduled, the red shirts, banners, and posters were of the Indonesian Democratic Party for Struggle (PDI) headed by Megawati, daughter of Indonesia's first president Sukarno. There were an estimated one million packing the streets in party red color t-shirts blazoned with a figure of a horned bull.

The ride from the airport to train station normally takes one half hour rather than the three hours today We enjoyed the ride though, enjoying the company and gaining quick knowledge of the political status quo and what to expect as tourists. Endless numbers of cars and trucks and buses paraded past us and along with us. Young people in red were dancing and waving, smiling and laughing, beating drums and singing. and saluting with the parties sideways okay signal. The scene was wild and I couldn't resist snapping a few pictures. I worried about raising attention but Katherine assured me. The campaigners hammed it up for the camera and other times motioned for cigarettes and more rarely money.

We bought a train ticket and boarded a comfortable executive class train without issue. A taxi from Bandung station dropped us at the Naripan Hotel per Jack's suggestion (110,000 rupiahs - hot shower, phone, cable TV, very nice).

I called Jack at 8pm, and after many emails we finally personally met. Jack is a Physics professor from Central Florida University, living in Orlando, and is in Indonesia on job through his university to provide assistance to the secondary teaching programs here.

Fr 6/4/99 - Bandung

Our breakfast was Indonesian, tea and rice and tofu, that didn't please me, and John and I had a late start for Mt. Tangkuban Perahu per Jack's suggestion.

Mt. Tangkuban Perahu is a volcano with three smoking craters that last erupted in 1969. The journey there was not without effort. Our first confusion ended when John sussed out that the street signs run perpendicular to their respective streets That wasted half an hour walking. We then stood along a roadside and watched many green angkot (very small minibus) amongst the wild political party campaigners and tried to work out which to take. We stopped one of the ridiculously small lime green minibuses reading "Ledang" and we were finally on our way. John and I leaned over as we sat on the bench seats to avoid hitting our heads. We chatted with a man about the election and Bandung, then stepped out in Ledang to watch a line of ten kids in red PDI shirts stringing wooden carts like soap box derby cars together for a run down the hill. We jumped into a white angkot next and bounced along to Cihideung. Speaking to most people today about directions was very difficult. Although they smiled and were friendly and helpful as possible, there was a 100 percent language barrier. They'll continue on with Indonesian even though you don't speak a word. In Cihideung eight of us repeated ourselves in our respective language to no avail. It wasn't words that put us into another van to be dropped a short distance away, it was the hand signals and pointing at our map. Another short ride back down the road and we were presented with a gravel road and four men under shade offering lifts on motorcycles called ojeks. The first ride cost us 2000, the short ride 500, to Cihideung 1500, and our first ride 500, all totaling to 31 cents U.S.

There was more confusion trying to find the start of our walk, then a man led us through an expansive tea farm, drew a simple sketch and explained it to us in great detail but in Indonesian We walked between tea bushes to our chests and after ten minutes of uncertainty found a moving bush that was really a short tea carrying Asian. He directed us further up through the plantation. Pine forest bordered the farm to our right and north, and we eventually stumbled upon the path up the mountains. The path was an old road bed with occasional signs of asphalt. The lack of steepness almost compensated for our lack of physical shape, but not quite. We huffed and sweat on the steepest parts and one again I found I was wishing I was either younger or under a palm tree somewhere. We had stared our walk in the plantation around 1pm and not until 3pm did we get close to the cloud bottoms and near a few compounds protecting red and white transmission towers.

I half heartily expected our road to spit us out at a shinny cafeteria with a grilled ham and Swiss cheese sandwich, but instead we found a transmission block with two men, one old with a rifle and long knife at his side. Again, with total lack of communications and enough time we learned that the craters of our quest were accessed via a path somewhere back off the road, an arms length in width. That was our new directions. Damn, I thought we would never find our way and I certainly do not like returning from a hike unsuccessful. We resigned ourselves that we would return the way we came but then found a path to the east, an arm's length wide. "Oh, what the hell" and John followed but warned me about the time, 3pm, and that we had less than three hours of daylight left.

Our new trail, with spiderwebs at face level, led us quickly to Upas Crater. Success! We stood on the rim one hundred feet above the interesting smoking and sulfur smelling crater. The bonus was being able to see the other side of the crater - cars and the road that would bring us back to Bandung. Had we instead returned to our beginning, we would have had a much longer walk. Of course we really didn't know how to get around to the cars or how long it would take, but we assumed it would be quicker. Okay, the trail runs both right and left along the top of this crater, which way to go then? Right. We immediately fell into thick forest and lost our bearings to the cars. Damn. We found a smaller path heading downward and to the east in the direction of the cars and went for it. Down, down on slippery clay and roots. In a clearing we found ourselves closer but our last turn was wrong. John wanted to backtrack up the hill and follow the last trail, I thought hiking further into the crater then crossing along the inside crater wall to the road was a better idea. I said it was stupid to separate and we did.

As I descended I found myself above a saddle between two craters and leading across to the far side where I could easily skirt the perimeter around to the cars. My feet slid over the loose top layer colored brightly in a rainbow of reds, yellows, and browns. I was amused at the crater to my left. Kids had spent a lot of sweat carrying stones on the moist flat center to spell out their names and initials in large letters. I quickly walked up the far side, around the rim and to the hawker stalls and taxis, John was there.

We joined an angkot for Lembang full of workers leaving the volcano after a quiet day. The van let off the workers only a few kilometers down the mountain at various points and we were soon alone with the driver and one other who asked if we would like to charter the angkot for a total of 40,000 rupiahs ($5), up from our initial cost to Lembang of 4,000 rupiahs each. After consultation and hesitation we agreed and the van worked it's way through hordes of jovial bystanders cheering the dousing of partying colored party campaigners. Within Bandung limits a boy with guitar and his partner jiggling a plastic cup with change made our window at a traffic light. The guitar boy strummed and sang, "Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain, telling me just what a fool I've been. I wish that it would go and let me cry in pain, and let me be alone again..." For some reason his voice and small guitar and choice of song touched me, the ditty would stay with me for days.

Jack, and two girls, Norma and Tia joined us for dinner at Pizza Hut.

Sa 6/5/99 - Bandung

Today is Saturday, Jack takes weekends off, and he already had planned a walk in the nearby hills. We walked through farms and villages to the north of Dago with Jack, John, Norma, Tia, Dianna (de-anna), and Kevin. The three Muslim girls, all without the traditional jelbeb (head wrap), are in their twenties, sweet, and from Bandung. Norma bought a small locals restaurant on corner of Naripan and Braga from her mother and runs it along with her brother. Dianna, 23 and rambunctious, lost her job when the economic crisis struck a year and a half ago and now is heading for a third degree in English after economics and French. Tia who works for Telecom is the quietest and most reserved of the three. Kevin, from Chico, California, has been teaching English for seven months and soon will return for a masters degree.

The hill walking was great. Besides having chance to become better acquainted with Jack, we had the rare ability to learn of a local culture through the girls. The mountainside landscapes were magnificent - sharp rolling hills filled with small plots of varying produce. The patterns of the neat green fields were very attractive, artistic, and picturesque. Villages and some very pretty homes were scattered amongst the green.

For dinner the group went to a Sundanese (local) restaurant.

Su 6/6/99 - Bandung

Our hotel isn't bad, it's the most comfort we have had maybe since Kathmandu - telephone, cable, hot shower and loo with paper. It compares to a very clean American mid range hotel and we're loving it for 110,000 rupiahs ($14).

Today was another leisurely walk day, I was happy with that, John, Jack, Norma, and Tia were the group. Again we walked through cute patterned farms and villages near yesterday's walk, north of Dago. We came across a pretty state park with waterfalls and well managed grounds, then a group of men building a voting booth for tomorrow's election of bamboo and straw. Most of them wanted to be in the pictures Jack took, a few would walk back and forth to be in front of the lens, comical.

At night we went out to restaurant called Copacabana, expensive, steak for 35,000 rupiahs. Later John and I suggested ice cream, and desert was then at Swensens.

Mo 6/7/99 - Bandung

Election day in Indonesia! I wondered what would become of the stability that has graced the country and surprised outsiders thus far.

We met Jack, Norma, Tia, and Dianna at Jack's hotel pool. All three girls had a black left index finger, the sign of voting. We enjoyed lunch at the poolside, then Dianna drove me in her Suzuki minivan to hash (international running and social club) in Cikole ('chick-o-lay'). This was an opportunity to meet other locals and expatriates and to find some exercise.

The hashers were off five minutes before I arrived, Dianna had to shower and do the makeup thing in Jack's room while I mumbled about being late at the pool, and I went running off to catch them. Days earlier I had searched the Hash web pages for Bandung information and called someone nicknamed Ivory at the contact number who relayed directions.

I hadn't run in a long time, and this hash started through forest on a grade, so I was huffing and sweating quite well in the humidity. After fifteen minutes following the paper confetti marking the trail, and wrongly second guessing more than once, I caught the back of the pack, a man with baby on back led by six or seven others. I squeezed past and ran on, thankful to be on somewhat flat ground. I then caught others, first a pretty girl with makeup who I later found was a cosmetictian, then many others, mostly Indonesian. We ran through nice open pine woods, a large tomato farm, across uncultivated fields, and lastly on very narrow trails through thick forest that challenged my big feet and to the finish.

Before the down-down (post run silly social), people from various countries - Indonesia, England, Germany, America - were standing in the beams of headlights and drinking Bintang Beer. I talked with a small group of older men, two expats who worked for General Electric supporting the local Indonesian twin turbo prop plane manufacturing effort. One, long ago from Texas, has been working GE for thirty years, the other twenty years for GE and heading soon to another as yet unknown assignment.

Dianna insisted on waiting for me although I could have found a ride into Bandung with a hasher. She resisted when I asked her to watch the after run silliness, but eventually gave in only to rush off after being slighted by a Chinese Indonesian who asked me if she spoke English. I had missed the insult but she went back to her minivan pissed off.

Dianna's dad works in the government and they are comparatively wealthy. She pointed out a unusually large home, even by our standards, on the way into Bandung - once their home. Since the Asian economic crisis they have lost a lot of money and have sold their house and some cars. The Suzuki van is hers though and they used to own a new Landcruiser, BMW, etc. Dianna lives at home, until recently an only child when the parents adopted a one year old. Like the other girls we have met, Dianna has a curfew, but hers is later, 10pm, versus the others that range from 7pm to 9pm. Imagine a twenty four year with a curfew of 7pm?!

Tu 6/8/99 - Bandung

We accepted Dianna's offer from yesterday of a day trip from Bandung. She came by our hotel at 9am in her personal gold Suzuki passenger van and two friends Windy, and Ice ('echoo'). We drove south through heavy city traffic on rough streets and past even rougher housing. Many colorfully painted trishaws sat streetside, often the drivers laid out sideways and sleeping or lazily watching street life go by.

We drove for two hours to Mt. Patuha southwest of Bandung, a volcanic crater steeped in eerie rolling mist over a green lake. We didn't have a sun filled view, but the mist and colored water was a fine change of volcanic scenery.

Back in Bandung, Windy requested video games and on the top floor of a six story mall we went. We never met up with Jack, instead the five of us went to Pizza Hut for dinner. The girls dropped us at 9:30.

We 6/9/99 - Bandung

exchange rate 7600 rupiahs to US$1 dollar

The normal morning routine is to rise between seven and eight o'clock, shower, and pick up the Jakarta Post just inside our door and head for breakfast downstairs (a better buffet now - rice, eggs, and toast with New Zealand butter, jam, and peanut butter).

The election voting went well with a minimal amount of violence, although today's paper has only two percent of the vote tallied. PDI and party leader Megawati are in the lead with 40 percent of the vote, the incumbent Golkar Party is third with 14 percent. If further results are considered skewed then unrest could unfold, but President Carter heading an international observer team of 100, the Australian president Howard, and others are reported to be happy with the election thus far. The direct effect on John and I is that the confidence investors are placing back in the economy is resulting in a move for the rupiah against the dollar, about a six percent change since we arrived Java.

John and I met Dianna and Jack at his posh hotel for lunch where we booked tickets for the train south along Java to Yogyakarta. Following was email and other errands around Bandung, gee we were getting used to being here after a week. Dinner was the four of us at a nice restaurant overlooking the city lights from the northern hills.

I heard from Dianna that Windy was in the cuc since she exceeded her 7pm curfew by hours last night. Imagine a twenty four year old with such restrictions but the culture is very different.

Th 6/10/99 - Bandung to Yogyakarta

We were booked on a executive class train for the all day trip. Dianna and Tia came along to see us off, it was nice of Dianna to drive us at 7am, early by my standards but Muslims are normally up by 5am to pray.

The ride was wonderful, especially compared to the scary and uncomfortable bus rides, and we had plenty of space to relax and read and type.

In Yogyakarta we agreed to the first tout who pinged on us for a ride south across the city to one of the two areas for tourists, Jalan Prawirotaman, filled with middle class hotels. We checked Rose's, recommended through Kevin, and settled on another named Wisma Gajah at 4 Prawirotaman for 55,000. Wisma Gajah was not up to snuff with our hotel in Bandung, but it was half the price and had a pool, no complaints really.

From our hotel north is a series of interesting things, a night market, an old city, and then heading away to the north a long street of vendors and shops and galleries. We walked to the market to find a carnival with traditional powered kids rides except on an older and smaller scale, perhaps 50's American vintage. A high tent towered over all, we investigated, and waited out the performers for an hour. We bought expensive seats (3,000 rp, 40 cents), and had sat down ten minutes before show time, but we were misinformed and waited and waited. John swore, I ate bad roasted peanuts. Like I expected the show - acrobats, a magician, jugglers, a snake wrestler - was poor, but amusing. We laughed and didn't take it all too seriously.

Fr 6/11/99 - Yogyakarta

Yogyakarta, pronounced 'Joj-ja-kart-a' is also simply called 'Joj-ja'.

A major draw to the Yogyakarta area are the two nearby ancient archaeological sites, both temples.

The Hindu temple, Prambanan, is the biggest Hindu site in predominately Muslim Java. It consists of concentric circles rising to a platform containing six individual temples dedicated to Hindu gods including Civa (Shiva), Brahma, Wisnu, Ganesh, and Nandi. The Civa Temple is nearly fifty meters high. We entered the park, paid 10,000 rupiahs, and fought through the touts from the minivan to the gate and beyond to the temple. The site is very impressive, made of dark gray stone throughout. Within the outer square sits thousands of the rough cut stones piled onto bases of chedis, placed there during the reconstruction efforts. The top circle is a flat open area containing six individual temples that tourists can walk inside via steps and contain statues of various gods. Throughout the site are reliefs and statuary, nice for picture taking.

John and I were nearly the only bulais (white folk). A man with friends motioned and asked in broken English about taking a picture and I agreed to take their photograph, but no, they wanted me in the picture. I was somewhat honored and more confused but smiled and nodded and humored them. I walked just a minute when another man asked for my picture. This became a there for the day., it was to happen at least nine times. The younger locals would see us and throw unknown comments and laugh. We often heard 'bulai' amidst the giggling chatter. The young girls in jelbebs were very cute and shy about it all, but likewise, they all loved to have their picture taken with my camera. This made the day comical and only slightly annoying for the group comments ("Hey, Bulai ...") in a language we don't understand.

Both Prambanan and Borobudur were constructed around the ninth century and were given up to nature and pilfering soon after, thus becoming archaeological projects since the beginning of this century. Borobudur, is perhaps the largest Buddhist temple in southeast Asia, challenging even Ankor Wat in Cambodia. Borobudur is a huge mass of 2,000,000 gray stone, like sandstone, from the Progo River, outflow from the flows of Merapi.

For picture taking opportunities, I preferred Prambanan over Borobudur. Borobudur has reliefs on the lower walls, but lacks any statuary or other figures on it towering stupas.

On our minivan ride back I completed reading Wilbur Smith's "Golden Fox" while sitting comfortably in the large air conditioned car. We made a request to be dropped at Pizza Hut where we ordered salad bar (5,000 rupiahs each) and a large super supreme pizza (35,000). The pizza isn't quite the same as home, large is medium and the taste is not exact like so many imported food ideas in our Asian travels.

Between reading the guide book, searching the internet, and scoping postcards, the volcanoes of Java and Indonesia have stood out. Indonesia has more active volcanoes than any other country, 150, and looking at a decent map of Java, the island running east-west between Bali and Sumatra, you see very impressive contours of volcano after volcano. At the far western end, in the ocean strait between Java and Sumatra, sits the infamous Krakatau which erupted August 27, 18xxx, killing 36,000 people with a tidal wave whose effects were measured as far away as London. The surrounding sky was in darkness until the following day and weather world wide was effected for years. This was one of nature's most impressive acts, one of the most destructive to man. The volcano top was blown leaving an island a few hundred meters high but recently showing some activity and killing a tourist with a spew of ash and rock. Reoccurringly, the story of Krakatau has cropped up before me, often in glancing through "The World Book Encyclopedia", but not until Bandung did I realized it's location. Had I known before entering Indonesia we would have made a plan to visit that way.

Twenty kilometers straight line north of Yogyakarta is Gunung (mountain) Merapi, a very recently active and dangerous volcano. Merapi erupted a number of times last year and in 1994 an eruption killed 68 people. The lava flows have since ceased, had they not we would have ventured for a look. One of Indonesia's most impressive sights in Gunung Bromo (2392m), next on our tour. Bromo is one of three mountains residing within the 10 kilometer crater of the Tenggar volcano.

Jalan (Street) Malioboro is the main drag running north-south through Yogyakarta. Dingy Malioboro is a long wide sloping street of stores with eateries and becaks outside. Becaks are three wheeled transports with a bicycle seat for the driver who sits behind an open carriage that might fit two small people, although Indonesian families of four do fine. We strolled Malioboro, checked email, quickly glanced at merchants wares - quickly so as not to draw attention, and closely watched my pockets and backpack for pickpockets and snatchers.

We searched for a theatre away from the mainstream tourist areas, one man had said it wasn't a nice area, and after walking past it once, found he was right, but to visit a theater as the locals do would be experience enough. Alas, only "Another 9 1/2 Weeks" was playing at 9pm and John wanted to bail, so back to the hotel for another early night.

Sa 6/12/99 - Yogyakarta

This morning we had a hell of a time with becak drivers, one in particular who walked along with us from our hotel to a mile away, just south of the kraton, constantly badgering us, asking for 500 rupiahs for a one hour ride, endlessly hounding and annoying. The offer for 500 rupiahs meant he wanted us to visit silver and batik shops. This was clearly our worst experience with touts. We told him many times to leave. We told him, "jalan jalan", meaning we were walking aimlessly. He wouldn't leave. We ducked into a shop that we found filled with wedding cakes and he waited outside while more becak drivers gathered. He didn't go away. We laughed with the shop staff and motioned for a back door but they said no. Outside he continued to follow us yapping away, so I looked down into his face and strongly said, "go away, goodbye, go home", I turned and walked away. He followed and John pushed him with one hand, I heard the tout say, "this is my country", and he huffed off, but a crony followed. This guy pedaled his becak along, not quite as annoying, but still with the constant gibberish in broken English. We lost him in a post office, but a man on motorbike stopped and asked what happened. Damn, these people. He wasn't so bad, didn't ask for anything but to practice English, but hell we didn't want to talk to him either but put with him because he first appeared understanding. He explained that we needed to careful of becak drivers, they were like the Italian Mafia, organized amongst themselves and shop owners. "Hmm, the Yogyakarta mafia, and John pushed the guy...". When on such foreign soil you just don't know the rules.

We hesitated to follow the advise of how to enter the Sultans Palace from those offering it, maybe they would never let us alone, so we lost ourselves many times before finding the entrance.

Within the main palace is contained city of 5,000 people and a number of museum buildings with poorly displayed artifacts from the various sultan's days. A number of performance buildings, open air with ornate roofs, were about. One was happening with a shadow puppet play, I had never seen one before, and so we sat for bit and wondered what the plot was about. The play was spoken in Javanese. There were a dozen or so other western tourists walking the palace but most were Indonesian tourists, and again they wanted our picture. At one point we gave in, we always said okay, and in one instant we took the pic and parked our butts on a bench nearby. This group in front of us then snatched the opportunity to sit between John and I one at a time for more personalized photos with the big white guys, all we could do was laugh. Strange.

We walked back to our street for a civil lunch, then hung by the pool before readying ourselves for another go at the city. John wanted to buy a book and a T-shirt.

Outside our hotel we loosely contracted with two becak men for a ride to the north side of the city to a department store named Gramedia. We found that the two of us were a little too comfy together in one becak, so hired two. At Gramedia John found Ken Follett book from the thin English selection. I wonder how many books John has read in seven and a half months maybe one a week. I found a pocket English dictionary to help with the journal.

Patiently, our becak drivers were waiting outside and we agreed on a total price of 12,000 rupiahs ($1.50) for what would be three hours wheeling around the city. After leaving Gramedia we rolled into Dunkin Donuts next door. Something just wasn't right. I had just talked the hungry becak driver down 3,000 rupiahs ($0.40) but spent 8,000 rupiahs ($1.00) on an orange juice, brownie, and a doughnut. I felt guilty for eating at Dunkin Donuts and wondered if the becak driver saw us through the windows and wondered what I spent in Gramedia and DD.

We rode with our thin pedalers behind us to the Galleria, a mall filled with stores on many levels. We searched for t-shirts and I for sandals. I should simply give up on finding sandals, my feet are just too big, and this mall didn't help. John did buy a name brand T-shirt for a very pricey US$15, I thought that outrageous, and I found a pair of heavy cotton shorts for 80,000 rupiah ($10).

We went to a dinner place with traditional Javanese dance at Hanoman's down our street. There were three musicians on hanging gongs, a xylophone like instrument tapped with a mallet, and a man playing two rows of bells shaped more like bottom up open kettles. A women sang and three dancers performed in two sets. In the first set a middle aged woman in ornamental garb danced slowly with mostly hand and feet movements. A man joined on stage dressed in long golden pants and open breast, a head dress including long teeth and protruding fangs, this guy looked funky and could moved wonderfully. The act told a traditional story of want and murder.

Su 6/13/99 - Yogyakarta - Bromo Volcano

We left Yogyakarta at 7am in a full nine passenger van. Two young Indonesian girls sat near the driver in the front, in the back with us were a couple from Montreal, Eric and Noemne, and a couple from Paris. A couple of hours into the trip we started chatting and all got on well. Eric was especially funny and good with English.

The maniacal driver wove through traffic with apparent suicidal tendencies. He past trucks on narrow two lane roads with motorcycles passing toward us. There were many close calls of clipping bumpers and traffic jams in the passing lane but we made the journey in intact.

Our driver however, was in cahoots with a hotel near Bromo. At the drivers office I had asked two workers if the taxi would go to Cemoro Lawang and received confirmation, but there was an arrangement with the taxi company and the Hotel Bromo.

We arrived Ngadisari at 630pm, 3km short of our planned destination of Cemoro Lawang, the village on the crater rim. When the minibus driver hesitated when I asked about dropping us at Cemoro Lawang and motioned for us to stay at Hotel Bromo, hell broke lose between the driver and I. I followed him through the hotel, even in the kitchen, "Ok, let's go, your company said we were going to Cemoro Lawang and we paid 100,000 rupiahs. Let's go!" . I argued with a couple of others working the hotel and half an hour later John and I were walking up the hill. I was livid.

Three kilometers isn't far, but it may have been a bad estimate. We walked up the very dark road with only an occasional street light for half an hour before a van stopped to offer a ride to the top for 5,000 rupiahs. We drove a long way with him, up and up, and were glad we didn't try walking the whole distance. This driver brought us directly to Lava View, sitting directly on the crater wall, a very nice hotel.

Eddie at the reception looked high with glassy eyes. His English was good, and he and the other young staff members seemed glad to have us - we were the only patrons for the night in the sixteen room hotel. We booked into a nice room with hot shower and toilet for 66,000 then talked to 'Ackmed' about tours around the volcano.

At dinner, the food was terrific, Eddie sat with us and asked how we arrived Cemoro Lawang. When we said we minivan-ed from Yogya he asked if there were problems. I thought, "Oh oh, the Hotel Bromo people telephoned up here to tell them of the argument. They all are associated and we're about to catch some do-do here". But Eddie explained that most people coming from Yogya have problems because the van will only drop them at Hotel Bromo and then they try to force the travelers to stay. The taxi company is in cahoots with the hotel, and the son of the owner of the taxi company is a policemen who burdens anyone trying to start competition for the company. Damn. Nepotism and corruption runs rampant here and has gotten to us a few times.

Eddie seemed like a decent guy though. He gave us the straight and accurate story on all our queries. We talked about the different ways to see the volcano, and instead of trying to push us on to a tour, he suggested we simply walk to Mt. Bromo.

This area, Bromo-Tengger-Semeru National Park is a collective of features providing a memorable landscape. Tengger is a huge crater 10 kilometers across and within it lays Mt. Bromo, Mt. Batok, and Mt. Kursi. Bromo is an active volcano and a popular spot to watch sunrise over the incredible landscape (in Indonesia every volcano is to be seen at sunrise). From an overview, Tenggar Crater dominates in size over the other three mountains. The crater wall falls away abruptly to the crater floor, a large expanse of volcanic fallout called the Sand Sea. The best viewpoint, one that captured my attention on a postcard, is from Mt. Pananjakan just on the outer rim. The viewpoint provides a tremendous overview of the massif and vast crater. Providing perfect background in the distance is the areas most active volcano, Mt. Semeru, a large classic lava cone which erupts every half hour or so.

Mo 6/14/99 - Bromo Volcano

I woke to John rustling a few minutes before four o'clock. I held the sheet over my eyes and questioned the sanity of rising at such a ridiculous hour. I occasionally pinged on my watch, and at four o'clock I slithered out of bed and we were walking in the dark for the crater.

Following Eddie's directions we were walk along for 200 meters back towards the village to a road on the left that descends into the crater. There were sure to be horses also going down, simple follow them to Bromo. There were also markers along the floor.

It wasn't so simple. It was a new moon, the sky was cloudless, and brilliant with stars, but without a moon, the ground was very dark and to up the challenge we were without a flashlight. We tried hard to adjust as well as possible to the darkness. Before the road descended to the crater there were a few lights but only the dim light from stars helped us. We walked carefully down the steep grade, half laughing at our predicament, I was still not sure if I was awake or not. We could barely see our own outlines and the road appeared to be a dark hazy shadow. The territory was completely new to us, we had nothing to work on except Eddie's terse directions. The road changed surfaces, yet we could see nothing, only feel our way, then we passed into tree cover and everything darken more which I didn't think that was possible. I slipped my worn and stiff hiking boots along the varying surface for feel and worried for potholes and a twisted or broken ankle. There weren't any horses to follow, I figured the whole area was lacking for tourists.

At the road bottom the trees ended and the sky of stars opened up again and a faint outline of the crater appeared. White stone markers were just blurry shadows under the starlight but did help us along. I thought of the details of the map in my pocket and tried to recreate the fork with a tong for Bromo and one for the lookout. We were in a strange and unknown landscape, very exciting, but I wasn't keen on finding ourselves lost. I was very interested to see this crater the suggested and proper way, on the rim of Bromo, yet from here on we were never sure of our route.

We walked along in this dark majestic spectacle, across a broad plane within a volcanic crater eons old whose 100 meter high rim was a profile along the horizon. The openness revealed a dark sky blazing with stars. I picked out the Southern Cross, the Big Dipper, and Orion.

We saw a shadow - a man, or two men, or a man and a horse - and ventured to ask directions but the funny shaped rock said nothing.

Lightening from beyond the horizon shot intermittently across the sky as did occasional falling stars. The markers led us toward a bright light and voices in the far then left us at a rough coarse hill, difficult to navigate because of shadows and irregularities. The light was run by an old man with a stand selling water, tea, and snacks. We declined his offers and ascended toward the voices, they were Indonesian, laughing, were they drunk? The small group carried a large flag and laughed too much and too loudly. They moved on when we reached them while we held back to put distance between us. We were now on a course sand road, we still couldn't make out details in the darkness, and slowly gained on some unseen hill. The air became strong with sulfur from Bromo, so strong it stung our eyes and choked us. Ahead people were coughing. I heard somewhere the periodic sound of footsteps on stairs. The air thicken to become nearly overwhelming. Slowly the dawn light brought shadows a little bit into focus. From a sand platform started a very long two lane steep concrete staircase rising to the rim of Bromo. The acidic air subsided slightly but we still huffed from it's ill effects toward the top.

We when reached Mt. Bromo's rim, the morning light was still faint but strong enough so we could easily walk along. The sunrise was only a few splashes of red and orange and we wondered where on the horizon we would see the sun appear. The unfolding scene was spectacular. We strolled on the rim away from the dozen or so there to find quiet solitude. To our right was Bromo's inner crater with a strong thick white cloud bellowing from it's depths and spilling over the rim to both roll into the bottom of Derggan and dissipate upward in the sky. Ahead were dark colors of the coming dawn. Behind was Mt. Batok, a nicely shaped dormant volcanic cone, higher than Bromo. Below, across the main crater floor swept clouds of mist from Bromo. Our path ahead was atop a knife edge of scraggly volcanic falloff on Bromo's rim flanked by the Bromo's bellowing active crater and by the earthly debris from it's last eruption in 1981.

We found a seat for the sunrise on a far eastern side of the rim, high enough for maybe the best sweeping view of the crater floor below. The color in the sunrise horizon and low clouds there changed quickly and soon the bright orange ball of sun blared at us. Below we watched as sun rays pierced the mist of the crater floor and slowly moved shadows.

Four cheerful boys with knitted hats reading "Bromo" and heavy flashlights walked around the rim and asked if they could have a picture with us, our forth day in a row. After the photo we slightly separated and over their shoulder to the south was a strange purple and red cloud twisting up from over the far ridges. The sunrise was casting it's colors onto an eruption of Mt. Semeru.

John and I walked along the rim and then into grassy rolling hills to hopefully catch a glimpse of Semeru. The trail proved more difficult than the appearance from afar and we turned back unsuccessful. We tramped through the soft dirt along the rim back to the stairs and were shocked to see a mass of people, horses, and 500 meters away large yellow vans, and Toyota Landcruisers. There were only a dozen people when we walked through before sunrise. Even more surprising was a large temple that we had unknowingly walked past in the dark.

At the bottom of the stairs were men standing by their small horses to walk tourists back or in hopes of finding a client needing a lift. There we found Eric and Noemne and the Parisian couple. We chatted and heard of their adventure to the viewpoint of Mt. Pananjakan. Eric told of the view and how wonderful Semeru's eruption was. They had each paid an extra 5,000 rupiahs to the guide for a human sacrifice and resultant eruption.

The walk back across the massive Denggar crater and the Sand Sea was especially interesting for it's vastness. A flat expanse of dry grass crossed by a few 4x4 and horse trails reached round us to the high green vertical rim. It was now daylight and we could absorb this huge landscape with pleasure. Although we had seen many Landcruisers and horses at the bottom of the endless staircase and close to the temple, traffic on the return was very light to our satisfaction, and four horsemen riding side by side slowly came from behind and passed at the bottom of the rim.

From the Lava View Hotel we were now able to see the view we paid for. Our room didn't rate as having a view itself but the restaurant windows showed Mt. Bromo clearly. From the very edge of the rim was a 180 degree vista alone worth the journey. Breakfast was incredible and not because it was part of the room price or for our hunger from our early rising but for the quantity - hot chocolate, eggs, three slices of toast, chips, a slice of tomato, and fruit salad.

I walked from our hotel to the south along a small dirt road that bordered the rim. I looked for pictures of women carrying baskets of long grasses and failed but found a good view of the earlier evasive Mt Semeru, the most active volcano around. It has a perfect volcanic cone shape colored gray from overflowing mud and ash. I returned to the room for Spycam (Blacky Cam), told John of my find, and returned to sit on the edge and admire the panoramic view. John finished his shower and joined me. The vast volcanic floor was 100 meters below our feet and stretched to Mt. Bromo's run out in front of us. To Mt. Bromo's left was the higher inactive Mt. Batok, and over Bromo's left shoulder was the very active Semeru. Encompassing Tenggar's floor was it' rim, 100 meters high and 10 kilometers in diameter.

The remainder of our day was spent lazing in the room and having dinner while talking to the crazy laughing Eddie and two female workers. We arranged to charter a 'jeep', a Landcruiser at 4am (60,000 rupiah) for an early morning journey to the famous viewpoint.

Tu 6/15/99 - Bromo Volcano to Denpasar, Bali

Today marks my halfway point into the planned trip - seven and half months done, seven and a half months to go. John has planned on a ticket home for June 30th from Singapore. My thoughts so far - it's been great, we've seen and done a lot of things you just can't do back home. We've met very nice and interesting people, and spent nearly everyday in leisure activity - hiking, beaching, sightseeing, socializing, and picture taking. I'm glad to be going on and not returning home, this is an rare opportunity that may never happen again, not to be wasted. Of course missing family and friends is a sadness, but soon enough I'll be home a they'll all forget I was gone, hey, maybe that has already happened.

We woke to a knock on the door at 3:30am by Awkmed and our driver. We hadn't asked for a wakeup call and only needed five minutes to ready ourselves, so we slowly pulled ourselves together and walked out the door and to our driver at 4am.

His Toyota was typical of the dozens here, a very clean and older two door. John and I admired these vehicles and wondered why there weren't more in the States. I took shotgun, John sat a the small jump seat in the back, ad me bounced down the rim to cross the floor. In the distance ahead were other Toyota lights. Our driver did his best to bomb along as quickly as possible is the dark without damaging his car. We moved nicely along the dirt track and ran up the switchback-ed rim road to Mt. Pananjakan.

The road ends at tea and snack shops and below a bunch of radio antennas. More than a dozen Landcruisers were parked and their occupants already at the viewpoint shivering and talking in the dark. I oriented myself by the lights of Cemoro Lawang and the single lantern light at the tea stop below Bromo then stood in position facing the massif and never changed location while here. The others, about one hundred in number, were mostly Indonesia and some bulais, had spread themselves about then moved to the east wall of the lookout when the first signs of the sunrise were seen. We had arrived at 4:30am amidst the chatter and shooting stars and soon after there was a faint view of Semeru spurting in the darkness. I noted the time, 4:41am, so I may be able to estimate further spouting.

Ever so slowly the stars faded and the sky lightened. The air was cold and maybe we were anxious for the dawn, but the sun taunted us and threatened not to rise. An East German couple who I recognized as the only other bulais from the Lava View stood to my side. I exchange comments with the man who was busy earlier than most taking photos in the dim light. He had forgot his tripod at the hotel and used the low wall at our feet as a standby. When a little more light added pink to the sky I joined him, hand holding a camera at a normal focal length for less than 1/30 of a second is inviting blur, and here I was reading 1/6 of second.

The unfolding vista was incredible, a sight certainly never seen in Newport. Within the 10km Tenggan crater was the continuously belching Mt. Bromo, sedate Mt. Batok, and south of the rim Mt. Semeru that left a telltale trail of smoke after the last burst from it's cone. With the colors of the sunrise Semeru's trail was colored purple and red as was parts of the distance skyline. The sun rays slowly lit the tops of these volcanoes, showing the deep vertical cuts in the outside cones created during eruptions and overflows. Along with my German companion I blasted off most of a roll, handholding the camera only when the sun was fully above the horizon and starting to shed strong light on the magnificent dreamlike scene below.

Semeru had smoked at again 5:05, twenty five minutes since the last, too early for pictures. As I had hoped, Semeru belched again at 5:30am. I softly voiced my approval and excitedly snap away.

By 6am, as part of the typical morning mini-package, most people were away and in the 4x4's heading for Mt. Bromo, the sunrise event we witnessed yesterday, although they wouldn't have the time on the rim we had, their sunrise was with Pananjakan. It's best to do two sunrises, at Bromo and Pananjakan.

The Landcruiser snaked down to the floor, except with daylight I was now able to catch glimpses of the volcanoes through the trees, and once we were driving along the crater floor they stood before us strange and eerie.

With an hour and a half before our departure for Probolinggo, we were able to shower and again enjoy a hearty breakfast. I stared at Bromo through the restaurant window ad realizing my last opportunity I sat outside at the rims edge. At Bromo's base were 4x4's and horses, on the rim I could barely make out people standing in front of the smoking crater, the temple sat at the foot of Mt. Batok, and the sun now lit the Denggan's rim well. I stared at this green rim far off to my right and wished for a subject such as a 4x4 beneath it to emphasize the height. A small white figure barely visible carried a small dust cloud behind it, it was a horse galloping along, and I then realized that the immensity of the scene. I took a photo and specifically noted the horse in my photo description notes for it will only be a dot on the slide. A local man sat on haunches nearby on the rim and I quickly changed lenses but too slowly, he stood to talk with other guests at the hotel. Before I left for the van however I screwed up some nerve to ask him for a shot and had to twice pantomime his haunched sitting position before he understood. That should be a decent picture.

John and I had paid Eddie 47,500 rupiahs for a van to Probolingo and then a tourist bus to Denpasar (hey, we're going to Bali!). The van ride wasn't without incident however, once we boarded the bus in Probolingo we were confronted with paying an additional 20,000. Arguments over transportation now seem to be a daily occurrence, and this one was heated with two men, one from the agent who accepted us in Probolingo and a bus company man. The bus was already moving when this started. John went at them first, "No, let me ask you one question. If you got on this bus after paying the fare to an agent, would you want to pay another 20,000?!". Then I had a turn, "Well, why didn't you tell us the ticket was not good?! Show me someone else's ticket that says they paid 60,000!". Everyone was heated. It went on and on, and in circles, and back again. They gave us a choice to pay or get off and eventually John passed them 20,000. I wasn't sure if the additional payment was to be 20,000 each or 40,000 total, but that's all they got.

Pretty disgusted at the first few Denpasar hotels because of having only one bed in a room or broken or totally lacking shower facilities, we then walk a kilometer to the Natour Bali Hotel. At the three star hotel that rival Bandung and Kathmandu we paid 168,500 rupiahs including discount of 25 percent and tax. This extravagance provided us with hot shower, cable TV, separate beds, a swimming pool amidst a small by nicely kept garden, and breakfast.

We 6/16/99 - Denpassar, Bali to Senggigi, Lombok

The hotel staff were hopeless in helping us find the route to Lombok, "I've never been to Lombok, try the Office of Tourism". At the official tourism office a sullen service girl, like most in this bustling but hapless town of 370,000, gave terse directions for the cheapest way to Lombok. The normal tourist route would have taken us south to Benoa Bay and on an expensive (US$17) two and a half hour high speed ferry.

We walked five blocks past a nicely fashioned park and to a local market where we packed into a bemo, a minivan with emphasis on 'mini', with nine and a half others and our packs for Batubuca. We were charged double because of our large bags (2,000 rupiahs each total). I was squished against a pretty mother whose son wore a Hard Rock Cafe Denpasar shirt and to my right a boy wore a Puma emblem on his, I congenially commented on both without much reply.

In Batubuca is a set of five or six attached canopies for bemos and signs above for the respective destinations. The Padangbai stall was at the end with a beat old brown van with bald retreads and rotted exhaust. A worn faced cross eyed man with his wide eyed son were the only ones waiting and after being told the van would move when it was full with twelve people, and seeing that after half an hour this could be hours more, John and I offered to pay 50,000 total to get the deathtrap moving. The normal fare is 5,000, we were to be charged 10,000 because of our packs, so the total added expense was 30,000 or $3.90. The other issues were that we couldn't have fit in the seats had twelve people (or ten with our packs) boarded, our knees would never fit the Asian allocated space. And, we had to get to the port to catch a ferry, the way it stood we knew we would arrive after dark in Lombok and that adds difficulty finding other rides and a room.

So, we made Padangbai by 2:30pm, passing more pretty rice paddy fields, some terraced, many with workers in colorful clothing and the simple angled straw hats. Following were large cool coconut groves. This was the famous Bali that Westerners hear and dream about and I was especially interested in the scenery.

In Padangbai we declined a package offer from an agent for ferry and transport to Senggigi for 25,000 since the ferry alone was only 7,000 and instead bought our own tickets guessing a bemo wouldn't cost the difference. We then sat across the lot to eat nasi pectel (rice and peanut sauce).

The ferry had only one class of seating, economy, it was beat and unkempt - the ceiling was stained from water leaks, the paint peeling, and the plastic seat covers had probably never been cleaned. The one room of seating was huge, long green benches partition every three seats with a plain arm rest. We sat and read. I am reading yet another book John bought, Tom Clancy's "Rainbow Six".

Behind me sat a couple and small girl, they traveled with another mother and her small boy. The women had comments for me, I have no idea what, I smiled when we caught eyes, and I played with the little girl from afar making (can I admit this?!) stupid faces and gestures like an auntie. The little girl was a bit of a brat, crying and whining at length, annoying as was the fathers open mouth chomping of their meal.

The ferry was traveling east, behind us the sun was setting over Lombok Strait into beautiful streaks of color. Just north of the sun and dominating the skyline was Mt. Agung, a 3142 meter volcano that had a significant eruption in the early 1960's causing destruction and deaths. The evolving sunset and Agung captured my attention so that every few minutes I would turn in my seat to see.

The boat was to 20 percent capacity, comfortable in that way, the only other bulai was a large blond English girl a few rows ahead. Before enter port I talked with her to see if she was more informed than us with our lacking Lonely Planet "South-East Asia" guidebook (LP's "Indonesia" book is thicker than ours and they also have a "Bali and Lombok" book, so imagine how much detail we are potentially lacking). Chris had a package for the day including bus on Bali from Kuta, the major resort spot in Bali, the ferry, and the bus on Lombok to Senggigi, the major resort spot on Lombok. That was good, it gave us an opportunity to find a ride direct to Senggigi rather than taking a hop to Mataram and then to Senggigi by bemo. Or more accurately - I thought that was good.

The ferry arrived in Lembar an hour south of Senggigi and I still had all my belongings. I'm not convinced that there was a threat, but I worried a bit while on the ferry, sure not to leave my daypack alone and resisting the handheld. We walked the wharf through touts asking if we had transportation, Chris repeatedly replied, "I have a bus ticket", and I said I was with her. Off the pier were more badgers and one asked to see her ticket, then led us all to a Toyota van. Half way into placing our bags in I asked how much the ride was and the short young driver's reply was 15,000. It was dark and getting late and the price may have been too high but under some circumstances you don't worry about the buck or so.

Immediately the driver, who I'll call Aoh, and one of his two buddies seating behind John and I with our packs started in, "Where are you from?", "How long you here?", and then Aoh pushed his trip to nearby islands named Gilli, and suggesting we don't go up to Senggigi since the ferry leaves from Mataram to Gilli, and anyway, all the hotels in Senggigi are 200,000 because they're full. I told Chris to ignore him, that he was trying to extort.

Aoh pulled the van over, speaking Indonesian to the seemingly surprised friends and jumped out to check the Toyota's tires, and I thought of Bangkok and the tuk-tuk driver who faked a breakdown to get Sue and I out. He drove on though, but soon his friend behind asked that we pay now but I replied, "We'll pay we when arrive Senggiggi".

Aoh became agitated, "But I am stopping at my office, my boss needs the money".

"No. We'll pay you in Senggiggi", and to John, "Here we go again!"

"I will drop you in Mataram, and you can pay us then."

"No, you'll drop us in Senggigi with our friend, we don't want to be separated."

And so it went - around in circles, we refused anything less than we agreed to and Aoh becoming more adamant. When we were in some main part of Mataram he pulled over and asked we pay 10,000 and get out. We refused and said his boss should be happy, that he is making more money for the company, and the boss would like that.

A crowd gathered. A real bemo stopped, Aoh said he could take us so I checked with the bemo driver to see the price difference but Aoh broke between us to speak Indonesian and had the bemo driver replying the cost would be 5,000. I was tired and just wanted to get on with it, the three of us were agitated, the price was the same, I agreed for us all, it would only cost Chris 5,000, about a pound to come with us.

So, John passed the Aoh 20,000, we moved our bags through the crowd of short Indonesian men into the bemo along with Chris and .... the price was now 10,000 each. We were already aggravated and now!! At any one time two or three Indo's and either John or I were yelling. Aoh became very mouthy and defiant and cocky. John and I were outside the bemo and wanting so badly to sock him - he was calculating from the beginning and now refused to solve this problem, saying "Well, who do you think you are?", and with hand on hip, bouncing on one knee, "What are you going to do?". He couldn't have been five feet, one hundred pounds. There were twelve male spectators, also comparatively small men, three of who verbally support Aoh with bad English. I smelt alcohol from someone's breath.

We couldn't win. Had John or I grabbed Aoh by the neck and clocked him, there may have been a cloud of Asian's atop us, maybe one had a weapon, and perhaps even worse the police may have sided with Aoh. Aoh knew this, he was confident with his followers, probably confident from previous experiences. We all knew this and it pissed John and I off even more.

On my hand I wrote the license of Aoh's Toyota, it was DR1232AD, so if anyone sees him while visiting Lombok, belt him for us.

The bemo man was a pawn to Aoh. He was an old man who spoke no English and was convinced into originally saying what Aoh wanted. I asked him again how much, he held up two fingers, meaning 20,000.

I suggested to John we should leave, we couldn't get our money back, and it was a little amount really, but that wasn't the point... From the inside of the bemo I was surprised to see Lisa getting into Aoh's Toyota, what was that all about? I wish I had stopped her but they quickly took off. John said she started to cry and Aoh told her to get in. What did he really have in store for her, a visit to his office, just a ride to Senggigi, or more badgering and pushing her into spending money? I don't think we'll ever know the result.

The LP, thin on information for Lombok, suggested five places to stay in Lombok's most touristed village, Senggigi, and only one description included a pool. Our bemo driver may have been shaken by the incident, he asked where we were going and drove us into the front lot of Pondok Senggigi.

There 'A-o' was at the front desk, and showed us an "A" room and a "B", the only difference was white floors and nicer walls and 10,000 rupiah. We took an "A" room for 60,000 and never looked at a room with a/c for 120,000. Even at night, it was 9:00am, Pondok Senggigi's setting was nice - sculptured pool, lots of palms and other plants, the solid buildings carried a facade of woven straw and thatched roof. The dinning and entertainment area was also filled with natural woods and very pleasant.

Pondok Senggigi was quiet, only twenty people in the large restaurant eating or listening to a decent local band. We ordered dinner and afterward sat for an hour listening.

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