Lockers on the Loose World Trip

November 6th

We got to the ferry port in Melaka (Malaysia) at 9am for our 9.30am ferry to Dumai in Sumatra (Indonesia). Given that I am writing this at 1.30am (after putting our watches back an hour) on a bus, on the same journey, with my notebook balanced on my lap, my rucksack between my legs and my knees touching the chair in front, you'll appreciate that I'm not feeling the most perky and there may be some spelling mistakes. Robbie has just told me that he's been saving the banana chocolate bread he bought at lunchtime to eat at 3am because it will be a reward for surviving most of the journey (we are meant to arrive at our destination, Bukittinggi, at about 6.30am.) There's no point in even trying to sleep anymore so let me just go back a few hours to share the experience fully with anyone who can be bothered to read this.

We were confused about the boat's departure time for it was 10.23am when we set sail into the Straits of Melaka which surely isn't the scheduled slot. We had the choice of sitting on the seats at the side of the boat, with a view out of the window but with the air conditioning units blowing out freezing air (honestly, nobody would have felt comfortable without a big jumper on), or in the middle in front of a TV where an announcement for Honda spare parts was being repeated every five minutes or so. We chose the left hand side so consequently, after finishing reading the leaflets which I've been carrying around with me from the Mosque in KL about how to be a good Muslim, I spend a good part of the three hour journey on the deck being blown around by the wind but loving the warmth of the sun on my face once more.

When we disembark, it is all a little bewildering. The woman at customs insists we cannot pay for our Indonesian visas in dollars and writes down a figure in Indonesian Rupiah which we quickly calculate is more than the $25 fee which she has written on the visas on her desk. I tell her I simply don't have Rupiah (although I did) and eventually can pay in dollars. I then ask for a toilet and get pointed in one direction with a man calling after me “you have no waiter”. I am confused but follow the hand to the door where the smell and unpleasant sight makes me realise the man had been warning me that there was no water for the squat toilet. It's a warm welcome.

We step out of the port area in Dumai into the heat and wondered what was awaiting us. To sumarise what we had read about Sumatra before arriving: it is the sixth largest island in the world and, to put it mildly, seems a little prone to natural disasters and disorder. It was just off Sumatra's coast, in the Indian Ocean, that an earthquake on Boxing Day 2004 produced the tsunami which killed more than 170,000 people in Indonesia alone, most of them in Aceh, north Sumatra. There was a flash flood in 2005, killing over 200 people in the Bukit Lewang region and subsequent earthquakes in 2006 and 2007. No doubt they won't be the last ones. On top of the natural disasters,there has been tension in the northern part of Aceh for a number of years with the Free Aceh Movement (GAM) fighting for independence. Ironically, there was something good which came from the 2004 tsunami as apparently the attention from the world's media and aid organisations triggered a peace agreement between Indonesia's government and GAM. Still, travel guides and web pages encourage you to check out the current state of affairs before you go. So all in all, it's no wonder that Robbie and I felt that we were getting a lot of attention when we started asking around about how to get to Dumai's bus station.  

Our intention was to get straight on to a bus to Bukittinggi but there were no clues on how - no information desks, no tuk-tuks eagerly awaiting to transport us for $1, as we are accustomed to. Soon we had several taxi drivers arranging themselves around us, all eager for our business. The promise from one guy that there was a courtesy minivan from his company if we then booked our onward ticket with them was enough for us to wait patiently for the free lift to arrive. For all we knew, the onward ticket could have been twice the normal price but we thought we could always walk away and the taxi drivers didn't look any more trust-worthy.

The minivan eventually arrived and took us and the only other 2 Westerners from the boat, Nick and Sam from London, to a small travel agency where we were told the only way of getting to Bukittinggi was on a night bus departing at 4pm. The price of this was, today, 110,000 Rupiah. The page of “our” Lonely Planet 2008 (just a few pages is all we have on Indonesia, snipped out of a book at the last guest house by Robbie, may Allah forgive him) indicated the price should be 90,000 Rp so we settled at 100,000 Rp, later finding out the locals pay 75,000 - but no grudges born as it's only a couple of dollars' difference which the people of this hard done by country surely deserve. We had a couple of hours to spare before the bus's departure which was perfect for getting some Nasi Gorang Ayem (fried rice with chicken) which is meant to be the national dish although from what I have seen from the other South East Asian countries we have been in so far, everyone is a little fond of it. Whilst waiting for our food, an Indonesian man approached us and started telling us that he was an English teacher and could he possibly go and fetch some of his pupils to come and chat with us as they rarely get the opportunity to speak to natives. Of course we didn't mind and surprisingly quickly three pupils shyly appeared and sat with us, soon coming out of their shells to talk with us about the recent elections in America, James Bond and earthquakes. We had to decline the teacher's request to accompany him back to the school and stay the night in his house (for free), all for his love of English. It was nice that he was so passionate and cared so much about helping his pupils. We did wonder, however, if all was connected to the man from the port who had then sold us the onward ticket and recommended the restaurant we were eating in. There have been fewer tourists visiting Sumatra in recent years but I have a feeling that this English teacher can usually be found at that restaurant with some bewildered travellers most afternoons.

So there we have it. At 4pm we then boarded our bus, not really having planned to do a night journey but seemingly there are few other options for getting out of the delightful port town of Dumai. We're disappointed that there are not enough free seats to get two each so Robbie and I are suffering alongside each other. Robbie thinks Allah may be teaching us a lesson for having been out clubbing in KL. We can reflect on this in the remaining 5 hours of what's turned into an unexpected 22 hour journey.

Saving this now, 1.30am on November 7^th. Looks like we missed Bonfire Night. Hope everyone in England had “a blast”.

* * *

It's now 1pm on the 7^th and I'm sat in our hotel room. After throwing our bodies off the bus and into the dark at 5.30am, we went for a cup of tea at the first place we found open as it was too early to look for accommodation. We then found a hotel and got a fried rice breakfast and coffee by about 9am. I've just slept for about three hours but have been awoken my Muslims wailing (it's that time of day again) so might as well add a couple of extra things to finish this story so that the agonies of our journey are fully communicated and I can put the ordeal well and truly behind me.

I had been planning to read on the bus but the main lights went out at 8.30pm and of course those above our heads didn't work. I settled for listening to some music and then tried to sleep but any attempt to rest was in vain as the bus made frequent stops throughout the night. The first was the customary stop five minutes after setting off to get petrol. Then two hours into the journey, we stopped at a town, if you can call a row of shanty shops and stalls a “town”. We didn't know where we were and it was dark so when we were told we had an excessive two hours at this stop (I assume it was to allow Muslims to go and pray as we had pulled up next to a mosque as the calls were beckoning the devout) we were just thankful that there was at least four of us (Nick and Sam who we'd met on the minivan, Robbie and myself) as it would have all been a little daunting alone. We strolled down the street and back in about 10 minutes, tried to make drinking a soft drink last an hour and then Robbie and Nick bought some fried rice and chicken in a place which soon lost its electricity so it was dinner by candlelight. We had further stops, varying in length, at around 11pm, 2am and 4am. Each time lights and music were turned on about half an hour before pulling in to make sure we were all awake. I tucked into some fried rice at the 2am break, more for something to do than satisfying any hunger as my body was half shut down anyway, trying to survive the journey in its own way.

Just after the 2am stop, I did begin to sleep a little but Robbie was soon tapping me to share in a confusing moment he was having. He had found a small black plastic bag by his feet with his mobile, sunglasses and ear plugs in. As he has not had his sunglasses out of his rucksack since the day I met him at Heathrow airport in July and he had no recollection of having a black plastic bag in his possession, he was stumped. I asked him if he had left his small rucksack at all throughout the journey and he replied that he had left it on the bus when he had stretched his legs but hadn't strayed further than the piece of ground next to his seat's window. As soon as he said that, we realised that somebody must have been into his bag despite his proximity and was either caught in the act so just dumped the stuff quickly on the floor or was hoping Robbie wouldn't see the black bag and it would be collected after we got off the bus. The ear plugs had been in a little blue tube and must have been swept up by mistake as it would have been a foolish man who took them on purpose. Luckily, Robbie had his money and cards in his money belt attached to him and I had brought my rucksack with me when I had gone for some rice. Our suspicions were further increased when the man sat on the other side of the aisle from us saw us looking into the bag and got up and went to the back of the bus. It made us suddenly a lot more weary of the people around us who had seemed all smiles before. It was probably the best lesson we could have had on not getting complacent.

So, there we have our journey to this somewhat forgotten land. Sumatra, we have only been on your soil 24 hours and have painfully felt the bumps in your roads, eaten your national dish three times and have been deafened by your karaoke music. I guess you could say we have arrived, just about safe but certainly less sound; in fact somewhat drained by the experience, some might say the achievement, of simply getting here.