Getting to Bukittinggi, Indonesia

When my plans to head south overland from China into the Southeast
Asian peninsula were held up by my poor planning and China's
American-hating visa regulations, I found myself at a crossroads--Hong Kong. I could either fly to Thailand, or go somewhere else altogether. Ever since my scholarship application to study Bahasa
Indonesia in Jakarta was turned down 2 years ago, I have had a burning
to visit this diverse, enormous, and somewhat forgotten country. So I
walked down to the YMCA's English bookstore in Hong Kong hoping to find a guidebook. Luckily, in addition to 100 or so Joel Osteen
get-your-ass-in-gear motivational guidebooks to life, there was one
single overpriced Lonely Planet guidebook for Indonesia. I bought it
and immediately went and bought a ticket to Singapore-- my gateway to
Sumatra.

In
deciding to go to Indonesia, I never really considered where in
Indonesia I would go. It is an absolutely monstrous country, with land
scattered
across 17,000 islands stretching from Sumatra in the Northwest (a
stones throw to mainland Asia) , all the way Southeast toTimor
(100 miles shy of Australia). I planned on starting out in Sumatra and
making my way down to Java, possibly beyond. I tired of Singapore after
a few days and hopped a morning boat to Batam , an Indonesia island 10
miles from Singapore. I ended up having to spend the night there and
made arrangements for a taxi to pick me up at 5:00 the next morning.

As soon as I stepped off the dock in Batam
I was bombarded by cries of, "Hello Mister!" and, "Where are you
going?". The latter is actually a typical Indonesian greeting, much
like "What's up?" in the States or "Have you eaten?" in China, but it
is often used to insert oneself to provide a service that is not really
needed. Thus was the case early the next morning.

Me: "I am going to the boat."
My new best friend: "I will help you."

He
shuffled me through a maze of docks, onto the boat, through the cabin,
to a poop-deck where a dozen men sat smoking clove cigarettes-- my home
for the next 6 hours.

"You give me tip. 50,000 rupiah."

I pulled out 7,000 to give him (about 80 US cents) for his 5 minutes. This would certainly buy him dinner and maybe lunch too.

"No, 50,000."

I
grabbed his hand and stuffed the 7000 into it. He took it and walked
away. One of the things I have learned is that it is good to be
generous but not good to be pushed around, people lose respect for you
when that happens.

The boat ride was horrible: a cocktail of
diesel and cigarette smoke, and the early morning sun hitting us from
behind. My ticket included a bus from the port to Pekanbaru , an inland
city and transport hub of sorts. The bus, in addition to being crowded
and slow, got two flat tires, the second of which required hitchhiking
into town to get it repaired. Great trip so far.

Things started to turn up for me though. I made a friend on the bus, Afice, who invited me to stay with his family in Pekanbaru.
Of course, I accepted and we were picked up by his sister at the train
station. She owns a gift basket business and this is the busiest time
of the year for that sortfo
thing-- Ramadan. We spent about an hour driving around town delivering
baskets, which I thoroughly enjoyed. At times, the recipients were more
amused by the strange white guy in the car than they were the baskets.Afice
treated me to dinner and an avocado shake and then took me to his home
where at least 3 generations were living. It was grand house though. I immediately fell asleep. Like most Indonesians, Afice's
family is Muslim and when I woke for a tinkle at 4:15 A.M. I found
about 6 of them eating a feast that rivals Thanksgiving. They were
gorging in preparation for the daytime fast. (During the month of Ramadan, Muslims
fast during daylight from food AND DRINK.)

Afice took me to the bus station in the morning and refused any payment for his hospitality. I was bound for Bukittinggi,
a small town at the foot of an active volcano.

No flat tires on this trip though, just one half-hour stop at the mosque to pray.