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Published: December 11th 2009
The train left exactly on time, and was only about a third full, which made the doubled price even more mysterious and annoying. Nevertheless there was plenty of room to stretch out and try to sleep. Thankfully the film playing on the video screen was inaudible where I was sitting. There were only a handful of stops, and the night passed uneventfully. One of my armed friends occasionally wandered through the carriage, and once stopped to warn me to be careful with my laptop if I fell asleep. I must have got some sleep, for the night seemed to pass fairly quickly.
We had a surprise breakfast of rice and chicken, which was handed out from a trolley about an hour before we arrived at Surabaya. Some people declined the meal, and I only found out half-an-hour later when a steward walked through collecting money that it wasn't part of the fare. I didn't quite have enough rupiahs to cover the cost, but that didn't seem to bother the steward. I bothered me though, as it meant, when arrived at our destination 45 minutes late, I first had to find an ATM, then pay a taxi driver to take me
across town to the train station for the next journey, then buy the onward train ticket. This proved impossible in the 20 minutes between trains, especially as the ATMs the taxi driver and I eventually managed to find would not give me any cash. In desparation, with the taxi meter still ticking, I remembered I was carrying 45 euros for such an emergency, so was able to change those. Fortunately there was a money changer open on Friday.
When we arrived at the station, much too late for the connecting train, the taxi driver leapt out of the cab to make a fuss of getting my backpack out of the boot, leaving the meter ticking while he 'struggled' with the keys. I, however, found the button on the meter marked 'stop' before I alighted, and halted the meter right on 50,000. Strangely, rather than thank me for making up for his forgetfulness in not stopping the meter himself, the driver became a little sulky. I walked well clear when another taxi then reversed into his cab and a big argument kicked off. What I had seen of Java's second city was not overly impressive, although my eyes had been searching for banks and train stations, and had little time for sights or culture.
A helpful local - who also turned out to be a taxi driver - volunteered information about the possible alternatives for me in the absence of my missed train connection. His main suggestion, and one which he felt was by far the most sensible, was for me to fly to Bali. Not tempting. Next was the tourist mini bus that would call at that very station at 5pm - it was then about 10am - and drop me right at a hotel door in Bali at 3am. Slightly tempting, but quite expensive and seemed to promise meeting tourists rather than locals. The option I accepted was a trip in his taxi to the bus station, then a local bus which he said left hourly and would take about seven hours to Banyuwangi, for the ferry to carry me over to the island of Bali. From there he said it was a three hour bus to Denpasar bus station (or the airport - I couldn't remember what he said), then a taxi to the beach resort of Kuta, which was my destination. This seemed to be an earlier and cheaper solution with more local content.
The first part worked well: there was a bus pulling out just as we arrived, and I leaped on board - as much as one can leap with a 17 kg bag strapped onto the back and an eight kg bag strapped on to the front. This bus had the romantic feel of real travelling that a mini bus of tourists could never match. The vehicle itself was like an old school bus, with benches for five people to sit across its width on torn vinyl seats. I was the only foreigner, and was duly stared at for a good portion of the trip. No air conditioning of course, not even a fan, but there was a man carrying a live chicken - always a sign of a genuinely local travel experience. The fare was a couple of dollars, and the procession of sellers of canned drinks, cigarettes and cooked rice was continuous. There were book and stationery sellers on this bus too. Their technique was to walk down the bus and give everyone a book or wrapped-up collection of pens and mini plastic set squares, then make a return journey and either collect the goods from the disinterested passengers, or, very rarely, some money.
Then there were the minstrels! At each stop a boy of about 17 and a one or two of his mates would board the bus and serenade us with a song in Indonesian, accompanied by guitar. Sometimes there were three of more of the groups on board, waiting their turn. Then a plastic bag or simply a pair of cupped hands would be presented before everyone on the bus, and most people gave a small coin. I enjoyed this entertainment, although hearing was often difficult over the roar of the bus gears (especially the low gears as we charged over the hilly parts of Java) and soon ran out of 1,000 rupiah notes. I must admit I did stop one young guitarist before he got going too far into his song. He sounded promising, but the guitar was woefully out of tune. He did thank me in English for pointing this out, and tuned the guitar. But he then said something I couldn't understand that made everyone else on the bus laugh. I don't know what he said, but it seemed to be very funny, so I couldn't help laughing too.
In between performances I listened to my iPod, and coped with the otherwise long and monotonous journey by telling myself, "One fifth of the journey there", "One third there", and so on. Three quarters of the way, however, I was told to get off and catch another bus, as this one was turning around and not going to Banyuwangi after all. This seemed ok, as the bus I was directed towards was going all the way to Denpasar, so it was like changing buses earlier, rather than an extra change. Our ETA, however, was now 2am. That meant a new journey of ten hours beginning. The novelty of local travel was becoming a little tedious, and I began to look out on the road for a tourist mini bus to hail. I was not sure how the bus trip happened to be lengthened by so much, but we did seem to make many lengthy stops on the way.
The ferry trip from Java to Bali started off swiftly too. I impressed that we didn't wait for the boat to be full, but must have left according to a schedule - how quickly I had accepted that alternative method of calculating departure times, which began with the bus from Albania to the Greek border. I say started off swiftly, for about twenty minutes into the crossing we simply stopped and drifted for half an hour. Bali was in sight, as was midnight, but we were drifting. Fortunately there was a raucous Indonesian karaoke DVD playing from the little coffee bar on board, so the whole boat was able to be entertained (and crew kept awake).
Eventually we got to the bus station, and I caught a cab to Kuta. My watch said 3am, but Bali is an hour ahead, so local time was 4am. Following the previous night's poor sleep on the train, and none so far this night in question, I was struggling to compose myself. I had chosen a hotel from Ben's guidebook, and was confident - from locals' comments about the lack of tourists - that I would find a room easily. Not so! I eventually found one, four hotels and a very near miss from a flying scooter down the narrow alley way that is Kuta's famous Poppies Lane 1, later. (Oddly the European driver and passenger both shouted out "Ow!" as they zoomed past, feeling my startled breath on their helmetless faces, rather than a more conventional "Look out!" or even an acceptable "You idiot!")
I wasn't the only late arrival. Two Canadian men were negotiating a room, but they were obviously slightly more awake than me, as they convinced the night porter at the hotel to look after their bags for two hours, while they went off to have a drink in a very late night bar, before being able to check in to the hotel for the following day at 6am. It meant that I virtually paid a whole day and night's charge for two hours. It was needed, though - and when I awoke the hotel looked quite dirty, so I left and found another place anyway.
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mary hutcherson
non-member comment
About Java
It has been most interesting reading about your brief visit in Java. In the 1920s -- 1924-1926 -- my father had an appointment as vice consul in Soerabaya, and his two years there really was one of the highest points of his life. He wrote innumerable letters home, to his mother and to his fiancee (my mother); and about 15 years ago I transcribed his letters to his mother and collected them, along with numerous pictures that he had sent home (and his negatives from the old Kodak camera that he bought over there were still good enough for making prints) into a book that I gave to family and some friends. And, in doing the book, I learned so much about my father and about life in Java those two years. Your travels have been a source of great enjoyment for me because I will never visit any of the places you have visited. I understand, from what Stephen Mitchell told the choir, that you are back home in Australia, but I look forward to the final accounts of the trip.