English teacher Daniel Pope recalls his nightmare journey Bintan 1997 in Jakarta.
He started with a motorcycle accident. I lost control of my rental bike while negotiating a bend cliff and landed in the gravel roadside, a little less of a sharp drop in the sea. This near miss was just a harbinger of future disasters.
The coastal roads on the island of Bintan, less known neighbor of this playground for weekenders Singaporean sinners, Batam, were deserted and should not have been a problem for even the most inexperienced runners . I put my accident to be used to carry heavy luggage on the back of a bike. I also discovered how nastily gravel can shred a bare knee.
He was the shredded knee that led me to the next day hobbling on a ferry operated by the shipping company owned Pelni state for the three-day journey back to Jakarta, where I worked as an English instructor. My Occupation should serve as an indication of the reason why I was flying. In the mid 190s, in the days before budget airlines flew to other cities, and sometimes in the sea or on the side of a mountain, ships were the cheapest of inter-island transport. And teaching did not pay much. Especially not to those new to the game. It also explains why I was traveling in economy class.
The prospect of spending three days on a narrow bunk in the bowels of a Pelni ferry, packed with a crowd watching other passengers is dark in the best of times. Although I had more luck than spread their blankets in corridors or cramped stairs, I am constantly swatting flies away from my purulent knee and crush cockroaches underfoot. My legs are not as sound against the lurching deck as I had assumed. I soon enough. I abandoned ship in Batam, just three hours later, as the bridge was pulled in.
I decided it would be more comfortable to return home by land. So we had to go to Sumatra via a simple trip of nine hours on a small air-conditioned ferry. As I limped off the boat, I took a little sun. Being a newcomer in the tropics, I had never experienced before as the light from the burning sun. The total absence of a shaded shelter was unbearable and made me panic. Being British, I would have had to wait patiently in the queue, which was more of a crowd stampede aboard a minibus that arrived to pick us up. To say that I jumped the queue would be incorrect. In my despair, I totally obliterated, leaving people to pick themselves and their property scattered.
Roads to the city of Pekanbaru, capital of Riau province, are not the best in Indonesia these days. The bus ride was even choppier that seagoing ships I was on. As our convoy lurched, swayed and stood in front, I was sweating a lot while clinging to the seat in front of me. Then I met a good fortune. I say this because it was the bus before tilted to the side, not ours. No chance for the boy standing in the dust beside the wreckage with blood streaming out of it, or the bloody girl climbing a broken window, or the wounded soldier helping an elderly woman in distress at his feet. But we do not stop. We extended no help. Our bus lurched through. It appeared that those who fell on that track were left where they dropped.
A stopover in Pekanbaru seemed reasonable and Lonely Planet Indonesia guide directed me to a backpacker hotel that promised comfort, joy and cold beer. To get there, I boarded a public minibus. The vehicle was cramped and crowded, but the passengers were extremely helpful, group my luggage for me, shaking more back to give me food, and provide opposite directions, but quite useful for 'hotel. I found it heart-warming that people could be so useful to a stranger. I thanked them warmly, shaking hands proffered a clutch that I got to my stop, hopping off with my luggage. It seemed appropriate to wave the vehicle drove off. These wonderful people. It took me a few seconds to discover that I was saying goodbye to my wallet.
After spending an hour on a public phone to cancel credit cards, report a stolen ID and get a friend to transfer me money (I had a little money hidden separately, but not enough to get me), I finally arrived at the hotel selling cold beer. Time to relax. Among the assortment of backpackers and vacationers Skinflint invariably Dutch, I got to talk to a German who was riding his motorcycle through Sumatra. Just why he was doing this, I have never found, but he had some fascinating stories, none of which there is room for this story. During the night, for unknown reasons, he fell through my door I slept, walked on my knee scabbing, apologized for the intrusion, and staggered again. I'm not really heard his apology. I'm distracted by the agony of all healing defeated by the sole of the dirt of a bunch of German motorcycle.
My sleep was next night on board a bus to Jakarta, a trip of 36 hours. Reclining in my seat, with the lights off, I began to drift to the sweet sound of crunching gear changes. But it was not a regular bus. It was an "executive". And as such, he had certain rights. Unremunerated in this case. Had I known that the bus company has not paid the thugs who ruled the country through which we passed, and consequently our safe passage could not be guaranteed, I would not have been so relaxed. The steep for a shot just inches past my left ear asteroid was accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and screeching brakes that the driver stopped the bus, then changed his mind and began the next village. There was a hole where the window had been bloodied and empty seat where the passenger was seated unlucky. A brick thrown at a bus speeding will. We spent two hours at the police station in the village.
I arrived in Jakarta without incident. Perhaps my sudden return to prayer helped. I was a week back in late to work from my vacation Bintan. I soon had trouble remembering the actual party, but not the return trip. My injured knee began to heal well, but for many weeks, I had to deal with a crust-like ball of an elephant.
And what I learned from this series of incidents and near misses? Nothing. In my case, I did not put a foot wrong. I did it through these slings and arrows. And I would still recommend traveling around Indonesia on a budget. You just have to learn the hard and get lucky. Seriously.
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