Slow boat to Java

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According to the official Indonesian ferry service website (PELNI.co.id) there was a ferry leaving from Batam Island, near to Singapore, for Jakarta this afternoon. The ferry went about every four days, so getting the day right was important. And catching a ferry rather than the easier option of flying was important to me too. Ben and I left Little India at 7am and caught the clean and efficient MRT train to the Singapore ferry port, in order to catch a ferry to Batam in time for the 1pm Indonesian ferry. If that is beginning to sound complicated, keep reading and pay attention.

The Singapore leg of the morning’s journey was relatively straight forward, including going through customs and immigration - although Ben unexpectedly had to pay a charge for excess weight in his backpack: a little surprising for a half-full ferry. Once we landed on the Indonesian island things began to unravel. Firstly we were surprised there were not more people arriving to catch the ferry to Jakarta. Our suspicions were confirmed when everyone we asked about the ferry denied its existence. “In dock” was the only reply we could get. I am still unsure what this meant or why the ferry did not sail, but I assume it was because a week before another Indonesian ferry had sunk with loss of life. I imagine our ferry was less than fit for service, and thus was put into dock to effect some repairs (or until memories of the ship sinking faded).

We managed to find out that there was a PELNI office on the island - although bafflingly not at the port. Too far to walk we were told, and got quoted a taxi fare. This we accepted, not having any alternative, and keen to find out if there was an alternative ferry, especially as Batam had two ferry ports. All this was very annoying, as we had spent the previous week planning things according our knowledge that there was to be a ferry at 1pm. This was 10am on Wednesday: Ben was a little more relaxed than me, as his aim was Jakarta by Sunday. My aim was Bali - an island at the other end of the massive island of Java, where Jakarta was - by Friday evening.

The PELNI office was actually only a short walk from the port, in an isolated building on the side of a hill. Stepping inside was like time travel. Half-a-dozen wooden desks faced each other in a large room; three of them were occupied with men who gazed at us and around the room, as if to say, “There is nothing for us to do here.” Except to smoke, obviously. Instead of the computers I expected, there were a couple of electric typewriters. We seemed to be the main business for the day, as all staff turned out to help us.

One PELNI ferry was not in dock, we found out. If we caught a taxi (how far this time?) to the other side of the island, then a ferry to another island, then a taxi to the other side of that island, we should be able to catch a ferry to Jakarta that left there at 4pm. I doubted whether we would make that many connections in less than six hours, but we had forgotten the time difference: surprisingly our watches needed to go back an hour as we entered Indonesia, even though we were travelling east. So maybe we could just make it. The bad news was that ferry would take two days to get to Java, which would make my timing very tight.

Our first cab ride, for which we negotiated a lower fee with our great bartering skills, took about 45 minutes, including a stop for fuel, for which we had to give the driver money to pay. He had little English, but we heard about his young family and out of politeness smoked some of his clove-tasting cigarettes. When we got to the next port, in time to catch a connecting ferry, he denied knowledge of our fare discussion. We were gradually realising that Indonesia was different from other parts of Asia in this respect: bargaining was not as regular an occurrence. On board the ferry, about twelve rows of three seats on either side of a central aisle, we were the target of various salesmen. The sunglasses salesman was perhaps the most persistent, followed by the donut man and then the drink salesman, called Eddie. The donut man won, and we had a brunch of half of our nine brightly coloured donuts.

On this unexpected series of little journeys we were enjoying seeing parts of coastal Indonesia. This included beautiful bays and groves of trees, but they were obviously very poor areas, certainly in contrast to Singapore, but to the parts of Malaysia and Thailand that I had seen, too. Our next taxi ride we shared with Imam and his wife and baby - and their four large boxes. We all managed to squeeze into the cab somehow, and saved a few cents by not having the luxury of our own private car. Imam and family were planning on catching the same ferry as us, so at least we were confident that we would catch one, and we would be well in time for the 4pm departure.

The waiting area for the ferry was an amazing sight. I was immediately reminded of refugee camps you see on TV news. Maybe three hundred people sat or lay on the concrete ground under a long, open shelter, beside a long shed which was next to a narrow strip of water. The people seemed to be in groups of about half-a-dozen, and dozed or chatted, or bought food and water from the salespeople who wandered through, carrying baskets of cooked rice and large water bottles with make-shift string handles. I excitedly approached a man who was wearing a Tottenham Hotspur shirt, and spoke to him about that great football team. He had no idea what I was talking about, and looked a little nervous that I kept pointing to his chest, where the club emblem was, and made kicking motions with my right foot. This made me wary enough not to wink at a man wearing a shirt that said ‘Ronaldo’, or pretend to head-butt a man with a ‘Zidane’ shirt.

It was oddly quiet, and Ben and I were the object of much disinterested staring. Nobody seemed to speak English, but we were welcomed into little groups, and invited to share mats that were improvised from cement bags. These bags were sold by enterprising locals. At one stage two men, who had generously invited us to sit on their mats with them, disappeared. At that point a mat seller came up and asked us for money for the mats, that the generous men had not paid.

There were also dozens of little stalls set up, to sell more food, drink and cigarettes. These kept moving to keep out of the sun, which soon crept under the shelter. At this point an official had arrived and unlocked the waiting area inside the main shed, so most people went inside that hot and smelly area. All the while we were trying to find out if the ferry was running on time (or running at all). There were some ambiguous signs up, and everyone we spoke to, who had a little English, would give a different answer. There was obviously going to be a ferry, but no-one was certain when it would arrive, leave, or get to Jakarta.

An area under the shelter was cleared of sitting passengers at about 5pm. Into this space was marched an orderly group of about 80 young Indonesians, with no luggage, who were made to sit on the ground in rows, men and women separate. Every now and then a man with a megaphone would shout at them, and they would shout back some reply in unison, like a boot camp. We had no clue as to what was happening; they looked like prisoners, but there were no police or handcuffs, and they did not seem to be in very low spirits. We gave some young women our mats to sit on, which were eagerly received. On board, where the ‘prisoners’ mingled free, I was able to find out that they were people who had been deported from Malaysia for illegally working or over-staying their visas. They had been given a no-frills trip (of the same standard we had bought) back to Jakarta, where they would be free. As they were in Indonesia they didn’t need to be shackled on the boat, but seemed to be treated with just enough scorn to stop it being a holiday. Some of them had been locked up for three months, and most blamed the lack of work in Indonesia for their plight. Some were from Bali and Lombok, and claimed that tourism had dropped off there and so had the work.

In the end the ferry arrived about 9pm and set sail again at 11pm. We knew its arrival was imminent, when the numbers of motorbike taxis had reached plague numbers. Ben and I had enjoyed ourselves waiting, loudly singing along to Indonesian Karaoke in the waiting shed, and clutching our bags when the fuses tripped and lights went out for about ten minutes. When the ship docked there was a big rush forward, as if it would only stop for a minute and after 12 hours of waiting, for some people, they might miss their ride. The ferry was huge, and unloaded one then loaded another vast cargo, via dozens of scurrying porters who appeared from no-where. We watched in amazement as what appeared to be the entire contents of someone’s house - stainless steel kitchen appliances included - were carried on board and into she ship’s bowels.

We had bought our tickets around 3pm, and were encouraged that they included a bed and cabin number. We had bravely opted for the cheapest fare, and had resolved to sit up all night, but it looked like we were going to be able to sleep after all. There was even a rumor that meals were included in the cheap fare (about $30). Once on board we followed the signs to our cabin and discovered the truth: in large, hot dorms, at about the waterline, were arranged hard, flat surfaces, about a foot off the ground. They looked like wide table-tennis tables, and were designed to sleep about eight people side-by-side. I use the word ‘sleep’, but the ‘beds’ were so hard it seemed a little far-fetched.

Ben and I had made friends with a Chinese-Indonesian called Donnie, who secured us berths at the far end of the cabin, near the toilets. I thought a bed nearer the exit would be preferable - for easier escape when we sank and the possibility of a breeze instead the smell from the toilets. In the end I wimped out and upgraded to hire the bed of one of the cooks for the two nights we were at sea. This was hardly luxury, but it means to this day my spine is in good shape. Ben and Donnie slept on deck, with the slightly cooler sea breeze and quicker evacuation possibility. During the day they took it in turns to nap on my bed, so I didn’t feel that bad about our different classes of accommodation.

There was food included in our ticket prices, which was a container of mostly rice, with a small piece of an unknown vegetable and a boney piece of fish or meat. My upgrade entitled me to first class meals, which meant a spoonful of gravy on top of my economy-class rice. On board was a mosque, a cinema (apparently screening mainly ‘adult’ movies), a couple of little shops and a restaurant with a dance floor. This was always closed when I went to look, but I imagined exotic entertainment and lavish meals and cocktails.

On the first night I was awoken by an announcement over the PA, in Indonesian, which encouraged me up onto the deck. It was 4am, and I was convinced, by the evidence of the rolling feeling onboard, that we were in 20 foot waves and about to sink. I rushed upstairs to find a pre-dawn calm sea, and a regular rocking of the ship as we cut through the water. I nearly stepped on Ben and Donnie, as they slept by the entrance onto the deck. By 9am there were black clouds, and it looked like there may be a storm, but apart from some heavy rain for an hour, sailing remained smooth. After the rain I sat on the hard deck, thankful for my preparatory meditation practice to help me sit cross-legged, and read David Copperfield.

Occasionally a shout would go up, and we would rush to the side to see dolphins or flying fish, or maybe a lone fishing boat. Otherwise it was sitting, walking, chatting, making new friends, and trying to find out what time we would arrive in Jakarta - many different ideas, from crew and passengers. It was fascinating to watch the changes in the sea. There were so many different kinds of blue in the Java Sea. A one point the water was so calm it really did look like glass. One of the highlights was seeing the sun set over Sumatra. Ben pointed out that all the colours of the rainbow were present in the sky, which they were, including some amazing greens. Centred over the island was an amazing golden orange sky that slowly changed to purple over about two hours. It really made the slow, at times very tedious, trip worthwhile.

The closer we got to Java the more boats we saw, and the more rubbish appeared in the sea. The latter was not surprising, as I had watched an onboard cleaner meticulously sweep the deck of every cigarette butt and grain of rice and put them into a plastic sack. These sacks he would then fling overboard, where they would explode on impact with the tropical water.

For our final meal onboard Ben and I both produced tins of tuna to add to our rice, which we shared with Donnie and a young Indonesian man called Arya. This luxury meal was complete when Ben produced a tin of peaches to help ward off the scurvy. By now the sea was dead calm, the air the hottest I had felt on the whole trip, and the ship had slowed to a crawl. I’m sure I could have swum faster. We could see the massive, sprawling skyline of Jakarta on the horizon - it looked immense. Despite the slow progress there was huge excitement on board, as passengers lugged their bags and cases (and washing machines, in some cases) up to the deck. Eventually a smaller vessel came up to the side of the ferry, and I joked to Donnie that it was a pirate. “Yes,” he said in his Chinese-accented English, “Pilate.”

Barely had the boarding-steps connected to the ship when a wave of porters rushed on board, sweeping everything - including people trying to get off - out of their way. Passengers likewise were in an amazing hurry to get off the boat. After 40 hours of a very slow rate of living, this was very entertaining to watch. The house contents were off the ship and into the back of a truck before I had a chance to get my pack onto my back and stand upright. In a way it felt like we were still at sea when we climbed down the steps, as the vast tide of eager taxi drivers washed around us to welcome us back to the busy world.

It was mid-afternoon, and as my next step was to catch a train at 9.30pm, I went with Ben to help him find a hotel, and have a meal and a drink. We caught a taxi then a local train to an area near to Gambir station, where my train was to later take me to Surabaya. We had a good cheap meal of noodles, and Ben (rather reluctantly) made a new friend of a charming ladyboy. I took a picture of them together, and showed them the picture, without looking at the screen on the camera. I didn’t realised Ben had pulled such a face, but the ladyboy thought it was hilarious!

My train cost me double what I had expected to pay - no reason, except that it was a weekend - which meant I needed to re-visit the cash machine. This refused to give me any more cash, and I thought I would be stuck in hot, busy Jakarta for a few days. The next machine I tried was alright though, but I only withdrew enough to cover the ticket, assuming there would be a meal included in the price. At times of pressure like this the rates of exchange are difficult to remember, and I was not sure momentarily if I should be withdrawing hundreds of thousands or tens of thousands of Rupiahs.

On the platform were young guards, carrying threatening-looking machine guns. I was very tempted to ask them if I could take their photo, but thought better of it, as I knew that these things are usually very sensitive issues, and I did not want to be arrested as a spy. I was therefore quite surprised when the guards approached me with their mobile phones and they asked if they could have their photo taken with me! Of course they could, and please take a photo with my camera too!

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Photos

Refugee camp?
No, just waiting for the ferry.

On dry land in Jakarta
Tanjung Priok port

Ben and friend
That picture!

My machinegunned friends
Look closely

Comments

[ian ivory]

nice blog !
THIS BLOG WAS REALLY FUNNY , I AM IN SINGAPORE RIGHT NOW BUT UNFORTUNATELY DONT HAVE THE TIME TO TAKE THE BOAT TRIP . SORRY ABOUT THE CAPS IT SEEMS TO BE STUCk !ah !