Travelling in the night, part two

Ketambe to Brastagi, 16-17 January 2009

A feeling of intense happiness floods over me, total bliss as I am hurtling through the night again, music blaring, driver honking and smoking, little houses flashing by, people walking along the side of the road with their checkered clothes around their bodies against the cold. Endless trees and potholes full of water, and then again some houses and warungs. People all piled into one room or porch watching tv, the rest of the village dark and without electricity.

What makes me feel so happy? I don’t really know, just feel it, some sort of travelers’ happiness, like that song: on the road again, oh I just can’t wait to be on the road again…

At some point the potholes are driving me crazy, every time I fall asleep my head bangs against the side of the window. In the end the three of us just all lean into the middle, into Chiara, and manage to get some sleep. My ipod saves me again, music lulls me into some sort of stupor that I can pretend is like sleeping. It isn’t, but it is at least bearable to be one a bus for seven hours. There are no peeing stops, as I have learned from the last trip on the bus from Banda Aceh. All we get is stops for eating and you have to be quick to rush in a trip to the kamar kecil or kamar mandi (bathroom). So I learn not to drink while on the bus, even though I want to really bad.

Just in the middle of my stupor we unexpectedly stop. It is 3.30 am and we are at a roadside warung (restaurant) where whole families are stuffing themselves with elaborate meals of rice, meat, vegetables, bakmie, etc. It is an unbelievable sight, my stomach turns with just the thought of food. Carolien and I order some tea without sugar, we first get just hot water since they don’t understand the concept of tea without sugar…. Indonesians like everything sweet, really sweet, and everything has standard sugar and condensed milk in it. We manage to explain we like tea and the waiter manages to make it, without sugar. It’s too hot and we have to go again, which might be a relief, since the whole restaurant is looking at us like we are zoo animals and we are not ready to face the constant stream of questions: Where are you from, where are you going, are you married, have children?

These kind of questions, together with the unavoidable “hey mister” (to both men and women) are the only downsides to the incredible openness and friendliness of the Indonesians. I like them, I really do, and I try and appreciate these questions, but sometimes it really, really gets to me and really drives me a bit nuts. Privacy does not exist, I don’t even think there is a word for it in Bahasa Indonesia.

Just after our crazy night dinner we arrive in the town of Brastagi at 4.00 am. This bustling market town, in the fruit and vegetable rich area of the volcanic highlands, is deep asleep. We are dropped off like sacks of potatoes, with the backpacks on we look like that too, and clamber up a quiet hill to find a hostel named Sunrise View. It is cool, almost cold, and a bit rainy. I like it, and our nightly hike is appreciated too by all the watchdogs who bark and yell and follow us along. This is not the only time I have been happy with those rabies inoculations I got before leaving home.

We have to wake up the hostel owner but he is nice enough about it and shows us two rooms. We collapse and sleep, even the loud praying at the mosque next door can’t keep me out of my sleep now.