Whoop! Friendly local kid Biel hollas via text: Funky Reggae Party today at 2pm. 10,000 at the door. Sounds promising. Haven't seen much live music around since getting here. I'm looking forward to it. Get some chores done early, throw on my ear-goggles and my cop glasses and I'm ready to see what Bogor's rastas have to offer. Biel meets me at the park where I usually run into him and we make our way to the venue, a sort of small scale outdoor amphitheater. Along the way he entertains me with his predictions of how the night will progress in his broken English. It's a pleasure to hear, kinda flattering to be described as a visiting guest star from hollywood. He promises loads of girls. I like girls.
Along the way we run into more of Biel's crew, a posse of scooter modification enthusiasts. I should'a brought my camera to document this gnarly beast they were sporting. Ancient Vespa murdered out matte black with welded side car and spacious trunk, complete with roll cage and various animal bones and skulls lashed to the frame. What a sight to see. Everyone is all smiles and broken English. Biel is acting as interpreter for the most part. They introduce me to Cheul a local brew of fermented flower/herbal extract (not entirely sure which, or maybe both?) and sugar. It's a bit sickly sweet and rubbing alcohol strong. I have to cut it up with some green tea as the stuff is simply too vile straight. We sit about drinking on the street for a bit before venturing to the venue.
But wait, more friends. We must congregate, drink some more. I start to see a few Indos sportin' dreads, we share that knowing nod that all dreadlocked folk do. One dude, looks a bit like Lil' Wayne without the tats, joins the crew with a posse of his own. Here are the girls as promised. To my dismay they are indeed girls, the underage kind, yeah jailbait. Like sixteen. Bleah. Apparently they all like my nose. The sharp ridge stands out in stark contrast to their soft asian type. Well that's nice, but being cute to a minor is so much less appealing than being attractive to an adult. Perhaps in the future I should indicate a preference for women when the inquiry is made.
It begins to rain. We hunker down under shelter and proceed to drink more of the vile liquor. Allegedly the music won't start until the rain stops so we're left with little choice. Somehow during this time a plan is hatched to get me on stage with a dJimbé and a guitarist to offer a rendition of Bob Marley's Redemption Song. Oh dear, what have I gotten myself into?
Rain lets up, and we surge for the gate. Somehow someone in our clique has a way with people. We all walk past the guards without paying the cover. The sense of pride and mischief gathers in a thick cloud above my companions. Well enough. Let'em enjoy their brief status while they got their youth. Truth be told these young bloods may not have much else in their years to come. Sorta sad when you look at it in that light but I can't help but feel their joy. Happy peeps, these Indos.
The crowd is going nuts and it's rad to see so many youngin's feeling the One Drop. I can tell the tropic island vibe is global. You can see it in their smiles, in they way they move they bodies, slowly skankin' to the upstroke. Singing One Love! and World Peace! and Legalize It! One natty on stage delivers a speech and Biel interprets for me, it's about how weed is of the earth and good for the soul and you can't take it from us 'cause we're strong and we're rude, rude people! What a trip. After months of hearing voices of submission willingly comply with unnatural restrictions it's refreshing to see a crowd of energized youth joyously voice their opposition. Perhaps there's hope to this struggling nation yet. As always, only time can tell.
Biel and I split during a break for some Nasi Goreng (fried rice.) Wondrously cheap and absolutely satisfying. Back at the stage their holding some kind of dance contest. They're pulling volunteers from the crowd. Biel gets their attention, sends me up. I don't have any idea what I'm doing up there. At one point the music drops and all the others start grooving so I just go at it. Let the dreads fly. I guess the crowd loves it. Wouldn't you know it I've won a CD! How about that? Was I really the favored dancer through, or just a welcome oddity? Who cares.
Back to earth and the show carries on for a couple more artists. It ends well and the people slowly drain from the park. I make my way back with Biel and some of the crew. People keep peeling off along the way until there's only a few left. I split with Biel and new friends to roll home, exhausted, feet hurtin'. That was fun while it lasted but damn was that a young crowd. I suppose everyone else around here that's my age are settled down with spouse and family. Seems that's how they do this side of the world. Me I'ma stay untethered for as long as I can handle it.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Sick Daze
Took some time off work this last week due to brutal bought of fever. I think it was the chicken. Damn thing is I cooked it myself so I pretty much just shot myself in the foot. It wasn't until after pulling it from the fridge that I noticed the "keep frozen" label. Ah, just fry the hell outta the bird, can't be too bad. Twelve hours later I'm feeling dizzy and weak. I make the trek to work regardless, thinking I'll pull through. An hour in the office proves otherwise. I opt out of a doctor's visit thinking a bit of Tylenol/rest will do the trick. Sleep all day. Wake up after the longest night in a while drenched in sweat with soreness in the eyes and joints. My thighs are inexplicably sore. Ok. Doctor it is. Vea from work comes to fetch me and we pay Dr. Sawbones a visit. I was so out of it I forgot to ask him his opinion as to the cause. Just answered the questions as best I could and bee-lined back to the air-conditioned car, feeling the pits. Back at home I eat a bowl of fruit, my first food in 36hrs. Then down go the meds. More hellish sleep awaits. My body reacts harshly, I'm still sweating bullets but now I've got a brutal case of the chills. I bundle up in sweat pants and hoody under a now damp blanket and ride it out. Shaking uncontrollably for a solid half hour. Eventually it subsides and I strip again. By morning I'm feeling much better, but not yet sure if I can handle a day of work. Call it off again, see what this day brings. Much better. Return to work on a friday after missing three days. Makes the weekend feel so much less earned. I make friday an early night, not really feeling the urge to get the led out. Need to hang on to what little cash I got anyhow. What's more, tomorrow promises a funky reggae party.
Sunday, April 15, 2012
No Clear Exit Strategy
So, after three hours hard trekking I came upon a cozy little spot deep in the thickness. Off to the left the ravine dropped hard, nearly vertically to the raging river below. I could continue upwards but at this point I'm thinking what's the point? I came out this way in search of a bit of solitude. You see I've been holed up in crowded Bogor for nearly two months. Even my trip to the beach was marred by constant human presence. I just want to get away from that, and I've found it. So, bust a squat here. Get low. Dig the life as lived by the ill jungle residents. Afore arriving in the tropics I had always had this perception of the jungle as a place of fever and sweat and diarrhea and hordes of insects, nearly every unpleasant thing imaginable. I am pleasantly surprised to find a place of peace and relative quiet. Life goes on in the jungle as it has for millennia.
The mist in the valley below is rising rapidly. Thick whisps are clearly visible, flitting past my eyes. Before long I'm in a cloud. The temperature drops perceptibly and my sweat drenched shirt begins to gather a chill. Falcons are dive bombing the ravine. Out over the valley a carrion hunter soars and swoops. I need to be a bird in my next life. I must know the feeling of splaying the feathers out to catch swirling drafts of thermal rise. A small flock of sparrows filter through the gathering fog. By now the tree tops are obscured in the mist, and suddenly I'm transported to a mystic space. No shit it begins to rain.
I packed no tent with me. The morning had been so clear. I allowed wishful thinking to skew judgment. Hunkered low in the bush with only rain jacket and pants, I've got my bag pulled tight against my chest under my coat. Please don't permeate. Too many valuables within that may be damaged from exposure to moisture. As the night carries on I'm shivering and thinking about death by exposure. Is it possible in these conditions? Not likely. Can't possibly be cold enough. However, this must be the most uncomfortable sleep of my life. Ironically this blog has easily chronicled the top three. A cramped night in Jason's truck and one hunkered under tarp over deflated air mat come to mind.
At first light I'm off. Gotta get off this mountain. The jungle heats up and before long steam is rising from my soaked clothing. Last nights chill rapidly fades. I've lost the way back immediately, from here on out it's all marginal orienteering skills (follow the river's direction, head down), logic, guesswork, and a bit of luck. To mister Drake: I'm sorry I didn't purchase that compass you requested. My pride and confidence over rule such necessities. In the distance the trees shake with monkey acrobatics. Not close enough to catch a good look but good to know they're alive and well. Funky flowers and colorful toads cross my path but no time to take the camera out. Besides I've lost the lens cap and I fear the bush will scratch the vulnerable glass. Unnecessary risk. Needn't record all things. Save them in my memory alone.
Watersheds I'm following trickle out or become overgrown. Progress is ridiculously slow. I know I'm not going in circles because I'm continuing downwards but I've been crisscrossing the ridges in search of familiar territory. I've decided I need to cross the ravine, which means going down through it. Watershed gets too steep, now I'm sliding down slope on my ass. SwipBam! and my butt is wedged between two rocks in the stream. That could've gone so much worse. Sweaty, muddy mess. In the gully I'm crab walking over rocky stream. Straps on my sandals break, now I haven't a choice. Barefoot it is. Take the ridge. I follow it for a bit but it's becoming clearer and clearer that I'm indeed lost. Settle down a bit. Reassess the situation. Don't panic.
Allright. I'm through trying to find familiar ground. It just won't work. Now I must follow a water source out of this jungle. Back down the ravine. It becomes steeper and steeper as I go. A rocky ledge followed by a drop off. Too steep to return, my only choice is down. In all my back country experience I'm beginning to genuinely fear for my life. Fuck this. I have to go down no matter what. Bemoaning the situation simply won't do. I have to lower my barefoot self onto uncertain ground. Hold fast to strong trunks and lower slowly. Bare feet seek stable ground, hands holding tight above. Fortune favors the bold, I'm stable. But this is no river. Only an overgrown, rocky stream. The hits just keep coming. Crab walk again over slippery rocks. How much longer must I travel so? This could take hours, days in fact. Can I last another night? No way to contact the boss, "Jason, can you find someone to cover for me? I can't make it in on Monday, I'm lost in the jungle." I was warned that this place eats the unwary alive. Have I finally met my end?
I'm having to rest every five minutes now. My feet are battered. The strain of crab walking is taking its toll on my thighs. No end in sight. I comfort myself in the notion that at least I'm in a beautiful place. Much worse way to go, or so I must convince myself. Wait. What's that sound? Oh, fuck now I'm done for. I'm at the top of a water fall. It's a sheer drop with no way around. Curses! But wait! A new hope! The opposite side of the ravine bears a watershed traversing the slope laterally. Not so steep. With renewed vigor I ascend and Eureka! I've found a proper trail. This is no watershed. Colored ribbons clearly mark a path. Can't be long now. Yes we must be close to the camp. But trails keep intersecting each other and meandering in what seems the wrong direction. Intuition tells me to take the ridge. Onward!
My gut is both right and wrong. No the ridge doesn't yield camp but I've found familiar ground. Now it's just a matter of time before I make my exit. Rest a bit. Finish the rest of the duku. Won't be long now. However, my feet are so battered at this point, every step is pure agony. I need shoes. But where? Finally I take out my knife and go to work on the empty water bottles I still have with me. Cut the tops and bottoms off, split down the length. Miraculously they actually function. Unbelievable. I limp my way back to camp. A man sees my condition, points to my feet "Apa?" (What?) I mention sandals and make weird gestures which I hope indicate breakage and discard. He seems to understand. I ask him "Sukamantri masuk apa?" (Sukamantri, enter, what?) I'm trying to ask where? but haven't the vocabulary yet. He seems to understand, pointing behind him and sure enough, my exit. I meander down the hill in agony. A man steps out and yells something at me, looking peeved. Busted. Another man comes out and gives me a stern scolding about hiking alone in the jungle, but other than that there is no real reprimanding. I like that. I prefer the freedom to choose my own way regardless of how reckless it may be.
After that the people were actually quite kind, offering me a chance to purchase refreshments, a place to change clothes, and an ojek to take me back. The ride down the rocky trail was excruciating and the subsequent angkot rides back to town arduous. Normally I would've walked the way from the angkot back to my home but my devastated feet wouldn't allow. An ojek took me the rest of the way and I promptly passed out. I was completely worthless Sunday and limping gingerly all of Monday. Thankful to be alive and deeply sore from my ordeal, I think I'll be a homebody for a few weekends to come. Enough adventure for now.
The mist in the valley below is rising rapidly. Thick whisps are clearly visible, flitting past my eyes. Before long I'm in a cloud. The temperature drops perceptibly and my sweat drenched shirt begins to gather a chill. Falcons are dive bombing the ravine. Out over the valley a carrion hunter soars and swoops. I need to be a bird in my next life. I must know the feeling of splaying the feathers out to catch swirling drafts of thermal rise. A small flock of sparrows filter through the gathering fog. By now the tree tops are obscured in the mist, and suddenly I'm transported to a mystic space. No shit it begins to rain.
I packed no tent with me. The morning had been so clear. I allowed wishful thinking to skew judgment. Hunkered low in the bush with only rain jacket and pants, I've got my bag pulled tight against my chest under my coat. Please don't permeate. Too many valuables within that may be damaged from exposure to moisture. As the night carries on I'm shivering and thinking about death by exposure. Is it possible in these conditions? Not likely. Can't possibly be cold enough. However, this must be the most uncomfortable sleep of my life. Ironically this blog has easily chronicled the top three. A cramped night in Jason's truck and one hunkered under tarp over deflated air mat come to mind.
At first light I'm off. Gotta get off this mountain. The jungle heats up and before long steam is rising from my soaked clothing. Last nights chill rapidly fades. I've lost the way back immediately, from here on out it's all marginal orienteering skills (follow the river's direction, head down), logic, guesswork, and a bit of luck. To mister Drake: I'm sorry I didn't purchase that compass you requested. My pride and confidence over rule such necessities. In the distance the trees shake with monkey acrobatics. Not close enough to catch a good look but good to know they're alive and well. Funky flowers and colorful toads cross my path but no time to take the camera out. Besides I've lost the lens cap and I fear the bush will scratch the vulnerable glass. Unnecessary risk. Needn't record all things. Save them in my memory alone.
Watersheds I'm following trickle out or become overgrown. Progress is ridiculously slow. I know I'm not going in circles because I'm continuing downwards but I've been crisscrossing the ridges in search of familiar territory. I've decided I need to cross the ravine, which means going down through it. Watershed gets too steep, now I'm sliding down slope on my ass. SwipBam! and my butt is wedged between two rocks in the stream. That could've gone so much worse. Sweaty, muddy mess. In the gully I'm crab walking over rocky stream. Straps on my sandals break, now I haven't a choice. Barefoot it is. Take the ridge. I follow it for a bit but it's becoming clearer and clearer that I'm indeed lost. Settle down a bit. Reassess the situation. Don't panic.
Allright. I'm through trying to find familiar ground. It just won't work. Now I must follow a water source out of this jungle. Back down the ravine. It becomes steeper and steeper as I go. A rocky ledge followed by a drop off. Too steep to return, my only choice is down. In all my back country experience I'm beginning to genuinely fear for my life. Fuck this. I have to go down no matter what. Bemoaning the situation simply won't do. I have to lower my barefoot self onto uncertain ground. Hold fast to strong trunks and lower slowly. Bare feet seek stable ground, hands holding tight above. Fortune favors the bold, I'm stable. But this is no river. Only an overgrown, rocky stream. The hits just keep coming. Crab walk again over slippery rocks. How much longer must I travel so? This could take hours, days in fact. Can I last another night? No way to contact the boss, "Jason, can you find someone to cover for me? I can't make it in on Monday, I'm lost in the jungle." I was warned that this place eats the unwary alive. Have I finally met my end?
I'm having to rest every five minutes now. My feet are battered. The strain of crab walking is taking its toll on my thighs. No end in sight. I comfort myself in the notion that at least I'm in a beautiful place. Much worse way to go, or so I must convince myself. Wait. What's that sound? Oh, fuck now I'm done for. I'm at the top of a water fall. It's a sheer drop with no way around. Curses! But wait! A new hope! The opposite side of the ravine bears a watershed traversing the slope laterally. Not so steep. With renewed vigor I ascend and Eureka! I've found a proper trail. This is no watershed. Colored ribbons clearly mark a path. Can't be long now. Yes we must be close to the camp. But trails keep intersecting each other and meandering in what seems the wrong direction. Intuition tells me to take the ridge. Onward!
My gut is both right and wrong. No the ridge doesn't yield camp but I've found familiar ground. Now it's just a matter of time before I make my exit. Rest a bit. Finish the rest of the duku. Won't be long now. However, my feet are so battered at this point, every step is pure agony. I need shoes. But where? Finally I take out my knife and go to work on the empty water bottles I still have with me. Cut the tops and bottoms off, split down the length. Miraculously they actually function. Unbelievable. I limp my way back to camp. A man sees my condition, points to my feet "Apa?" (What?) I mention sandals and make weird gestures which I hope indicate breakage and discard. He seems to understand. I ask him "Sukamantri masuk apa?" (Sukamantri, enter, what?) I'm trying to ask where? but haven't the vocabulary yet. He seems to understand, pointing behind him and sure enough, my exit. I meander down the hill in agony. A man steps out and yells something at me, looking peeved. Busted. Another man comes out and gives me a stern scolding about hiking alone in the jungle, but other than that there is no real reprimanding. I like that. I prefer the freedom to choose my own way regardless of how reckless it may be.
After that the people were actually quite kind, offering me a chance to purchase refreshments, a place to change clothes, and an ojek to take me back. The ride down the rocky trail was excruciating and the subsequent angkot rides back to town arduous. Normally I would've walked the way from the angkot back to my home but my devastated feet wouldn't allow. An ojek took me the rest of the way and I promptly passed out. I was completely worthless Sunday and limping gingerly all of Monday. Thankful to be alive and deeply sore from my ordeal, I think I'll be a homebody for a few weekends to come. Enough adventure for now.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Good Friday 2012
Daaaaaaaaaamn! It's only 11:30am????!!!!!!!
I've been hauling ass up-mountain through thick jungle growth for what's been apparently the last three hours. Feels like five. Bushwhacking. Scrambling over rock faces and finding purchase against the steep muddy slope by the aid of manifold sturdy vines (a fly has alighted on the leaf next to me. His body is deepest iridescent ultramarine. Shocking.) I've packed away my sandals long ago. The surface between foot soles and sandal has become wet with mud and my feet slide about inside. Can't have none of that. Stow them for later. Well enough. Naked feet find superior purchase. Toes wrap around and grip roots and rocks, dig into mud, splay out when necessary to assist balance. My focus is narrow with purpose. Escape.
Another short week of work as the Easter holiday looms. You see, here in Indoland religious tolerance means you may claim one of five theisms as your religious philosophy, as long as you have some form of belief in god. This means you may be Muslim, Catholic, Christian (Protestant), Buddhist, or Hindu. Not really sure how Buddhism relates to belief in god, but, you know, not my country. Anyhow, the government in all its generosity provides national holidays for all the major observances. Hence Good Friday is a paid holiday. Therefore, three day weekend.
I'm eager to go for a hike but most of my colleagues have to work on Saturday. One of the Indo teachers has promised to show me a prime hiking spot but backs out for fear of rain. Not sure if I really understand why rain is such a deterrent to hiking. I'm packing my rain jacket, 'nuff sed.
I've decided to try spending the night on this ridge. I don't know, take advantage of the long break. Enjoy the solitude. I think it's a totally attractive idea and completely within the bounds of plausibility. Don't need much, and what I need I've got, namely some water, a change of clothes, some rain gear. I haven't had much of an appetite lately so I think I can manage with a few local fruits. I've got a little bag of Duku (doo-koo) with me. These little gems come packed in segments within a robust brown husk. Each segment peels away from the other, not unlike an orange, producing a translucent white fruit. The best segments are still in development, lacking the bitter seed that more mature segments contain.
As per my colleague's advice I catch an Angkot outta town, saying only "Sukamantri" to the driver, a place name. All the other passangers nod and murmur in concurrence, apparently this is a good choice, or perhaps they're meerly agreeing that this is indeed the correct transport for reaching my stated destination. I got up early for this in an effort to beat insane traffic, an effort that paid off as a half hour later I was dropped off at a narrow road leading towards my adventure. Immediately upon exiting the vehicle I was solicited a ride from an Ojek, an offer I gladly accepted and which worked out to my benefit as the the road proved steep, rocky, and long. By and by we entered the forest as the path continued to climb. Now we teetered on the edge of the slope as the bike fought for purchase in the loose fist-sized gravel. I feared for the safety of mountain bikers we haphazardly passed along the way but we made it without incident.
At the top was a quaint little gate marking the entrance to the park. Large flats spread out to accomodate pit fires and tents. Looks like a nice campground. Not what I came for. End of the line, bogus! I find a little path and dip off into the jungle. Before long I'm barefoot rambling up watersheds that trickle off and I'm making my way through jungle bush with no apparent destination other than up. It's always easier to climb than to descend and the narrow mind looses sight of future challenges. My determination drew me through some hairy terrain and truth be told I'm not sure if I'll find the same route back. Not to worry though. The rushing river below points towards civilization.
I've been hauling ass up-mountain through thick jungle growth for what's been apparently the last three hours. Feels like five. Bushwhacking. Scrambling over rock faces and finding purchase against the steep muddy slope by the aid of manifold sturdy vines (a fly has alighted on the leaf next to me. His body is deepest iridescent ultramarine. Shocking.) I've packed away my sandals long ago. The surface between foot soles and sandal has become wet with mud and my feet slide about inside. Can't have none of that. Stow them for later. Well enough. Naked feet find superior purchase. Toes wrap around and grip roots and rocks, dig into mud, splay out when necessary to assist balance. My focus is narrow with purpose. Escape.
Another short week of work as the Easter holiday looms. You see, here in Indoland religious tolerance means you may claim one of five theisms as your religious philosophy, as long as you have some form of belief in god. This means you may be Muslim, Catholic, Christian (Protestant), Buddhist, or Hindu. Not really sure how Buddhism relates to belief in god, but, you know, not my country. Anyhow, the government in all its generosity provides national holidays for all the major observances. Hence Good Friday is a paid holiday. Therefore, three day weekend.
I'm eager to go for a hike but most of my colleagues have to work on Saturday. One of the Indo teachers has promised to show me a prime hiking spot but backs out for fear of rain. Not sure if I really understand why rain is such a deterrent to hiking. I'm packing my rain jacket, 'nuff sed.
I've decided to try spending the night on this ridge. I don't know, take advantage of the long break. Enjoy the solitude. I think it's a totally attractive idea and completely within the bounds of plausibility. Don't need much, and what I need I've got, namely some water, a change of clothes, some rain gear. I haven't had much of an appetite lately so I think I can manage with a few local fruits. I've got a little bag of Duku (doo-koo) with me. These little gems come packed in segments within a robust brown husk. Each segment peels away from the other, not unlike an orange, producing a translucent white fruit. The best segments are still in development, lacking the bitter seed that more mature segments contain.
As per my colleague's advice I catch an Angkot outta town, saying only "Sukamantri" to the driver, a place name. All the other passangers nod and murmur in concurrence, apparently this is a good choice, or perhaps they're meerly agreeing that this is indeed the correct transport for reaching my stated destination. I got up early for this in an effort to beat insane traffic, an effort that paid off as a half hour later I was dropped off at a narrow road leading towards my adventure. Immediately upon exiting the vehicle I was solicited a ride from an Ojek, an offer I gladly accepted and which worked out to my benefit as the the road proved steep, rocky, and long. By and by we entered the forest as the path continued to climb. Now we teetered on the edge of the slope as the bike fought for purchase in the loose fist-sized gravel. I feared for the safety of mountain bikers we haphazardly passed along the way but we made it without incident.
At the top was a quaint little gate marking the entrance to the park. Large flats spread out to accomodate pit fires and tents. Looks like a nice campground. Not what I came for. End of the line, bogus! I find a little path and dip off into the jungle. Before long I'm barefoot rambling up watersheds that trickle off and I'm making my way through jungle bush with no apparent destination other than up. It's always easier to climb than to descend and the narrow mind looses sight of future challenges. My determination drew me through some hairy terrain and truth be told I'm not sure if I'll find the same route back. Not to worry though. The rushing river below points towards civilization.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
Passage to Pelabuhan Ratu
Three day weekend approaches (March 23rd-25th) I'm stoked. Don't have to work Saturday. Time to explore. On a whim I ask the new girl, Yuli, if she will join me. I'm surprised at her affirmative response. Originally I had intended to jump onna bus early Friday morning, however she's willing to drive her motorbike Thursday night. Score! More time to chill at the beach. Short week can't end soon enough.
The day of departure I'm anxious all day at work. Can't wait to get outta town. Pelabuhan Ratu promises black sand beaches, massive waves, nearby hot springs, and surfer culture. Eager anticipation dominates my day. Finally classes come to an end. Time to rally.
Yuli is concerned. I don't have a bike helmet. Never occurred to me this would prove problematic. I've been on the back of many a bike round these parts, helmetless. Police never seem to mind. Actually they keep a low profile around here. Hardly ever see'em. What will happen if we get caught? "Because you are Boulé and I'm a girl, and this bike is really too big for me, they will charge a lot of money!" Even in distress she sounds cute. I assure her we can catch a bus the following morning as per my original plan but she insists we'll find a street vendor to sell us a helmet instead.
None materializes and before I know it we're rocketing outta town, driving dirty some may say. The streets are choked with traffic, again. An hour and a half on the road and my arms are disorientated from vibration, my ass is numb, and it seems like we've gotten nowhere. Yuli pulls over for a rest. Let the traffic spread itself out. Eat some Martabak a sort of thick, greasy pancake I've come to like. We agree to carry on a bit farther before hunkering down in a hotel until the next morning. Traffic is clear now. Off into the night! Once again she defies logic and previous plans, turning off to catch the high ridge west towards our final destination. The road here is patchy and by now the night is pitch black. Dangerous. Clearly she's eager to get the trip over with, risking life and limb in the darkness. No place to spend the night out here. Soldier on. I cling to the bike's rear rails, bracing myself against frequent potholes and the sporadic acceleration that manifests at Yuli's whim alone. I admire her spirit and sing songs in the dark, if only to keep her awake.
Since we both were clueless about the actual route as well as the trip's duration our travel seemed to stretch on forever. In reality we pulled into a hotel in Pelabuhan Ratu just four short hours after departure and promptly passed out, agreeing to sleep in late before attacking breakfast the next day. Oddly, that morning Yuli wants to return. I adamantly refuse to accompany her. There's no way I'm gonna depart after one night in some dingy hotel. I came to explore a beach and that's what I intend to do, so help me God. She complains that the way back is dangerous, that thugs abound on the road. If her bike were to break down or worse she wipes out things could get really bad quickly. With no life line out there she could be victim to muggings, violence, worst of all rape. Holy shit, I can't take this guilt trip. Now she's calling me selfish, can this be true? I thought I made my intensions perfectly clear. I can catch a bus back if need be but I wanted a weekend out here and we hadn't even made it to the beach yet. Finally she acquiesces though she has no intension of swimming. So we find a sweet little villa directly on the coast a little ways northeast of town with a couple available rooms. Sure enough she passes out immediately. Unbelievable. Oh well. I hope she finds what she came for. Meanwhile I'ma check out the surf.
Sure enough the waves are large as promised. I spend an hour or two intermittently between body surfing (read getting pummeled by waves) and baking in the sun. Loving it. Finally I return to rest. Yuli steps out her room, beaming. Her boyfriend has agreed to meet her the following day. She will depart next morning. I was hoping my companion would've proved more willing to join me in exploring the area but apparently her mind is elsewhere. Fair enough. Sun down approaches. We walk the beach a ways and find some grub in a little shack. Storm's a brewin'. The surf begins to growl. Legend has it that in these parts a certain witch cast herself into the sea and is now known to draw the unwary down to her watery depths to dance with her forever. People are warned not to wear green, her favorite color, nor swim alone. Indeed a number of people have disappeared without a trace over the years. Science might credit the notoriously strong undertow but superstition deems otherwise.
Nightfall and I return to the beach. Yuli is concerned, I've expressed a desire to swim in the darkness. Again I'm being selfish in her mind, so she accompanies me and we just sit in the sand instead, watching the stars glitter and blink, the galaxy's arm spread wide overhead. There's too many people around anyhow, too much light pollution. I won't tempt fate this time, not tonight. Just rest.
Sure enough, Yuli takes her leave the next morning. I see her off and go back to bed. No need to over exert myself. I'm on vacation. Around noon I set off again in search of less populated shore. No avail. Human activity abounds all the way up. Some cliffs jut out over the sea, interrupting the beach, forcing me to climb rough hewn stone stairs. A swarthy gentlemen with a quick smile and celestial bodies tattooed on his face greets me in Indonesian. He gestures up the steps and leads the way. I'm not sure if he's trying to sell me something or what but I follow. At the stair's peak a large flat rock sticks out over the crashing surf below. Incense burns and young Indos take pictures with their girlfriends. Later I would learn that this was the spot the Sea Witch allegedly jumped off into the waves. Seems plausible at least. One has to wonder if the story bears any historical fact.
Ahead the beach turns rocky, difficult to traverse and I spy settlements as far as the eye can see. Just give up on seeking seclusion. Relax a bit, grab a drink from a seaside shack, reset. I jump back into the water, this time I go farther out and I swear the waves are taller. At one point I try to hold my ground against the ocean's mass only to be rocked off my feet and slammed into the ground. I briefly feel weightlessness and allow my limbs to flail like a helpless rag doll. I've succumbed to the powers of nature and damn it feels so right. Not long after this relentless beating I limp back to shore to pass out on the sand. A young Indo man wearing life guard's attire comes up next to me and sits uncomfortably close. His eyes are furrowed with concern. He asks my name and where I'm from but doesn't seem to know how to say much else. I offer him some water. I ask him if he's ok. Eventually he seems satisfied, smiles and points to the sun "Panas" it's hot. I nod my agreement, smiling. I like the hot sun. Apparently he doesn't, and takes his leave. I wonder what he was thinking. Probably thought I was a risk to myself but eventually felt reassured. I may never know.
According to my Lonely Planet guide there's a hot springs in the area where a river flows over volcanic rock, still hot from lava flow creating jets of steamy water spouts. I've got to see this. I hire an ojek, motorcycle/taxi/guy, a relatively easy affair in these parts. He takes me right up to the entrance of the place which is quite populated with locals and tourists alike. The man asks if he should stick around but I don't know long I'll be so I just shrug. He seems content to accept my offer of 10,000 rupiah (roughly 1 USD) and I get the feeling he would've taken any payment without protest. Curious behavior. I make my way to the river and am greeted by a strange sight. Sure enough water spouts are shooting off in a constant stream of steam and mist but somehow it just looks fake. It even sounds mechanical. I feel the victim of some clever ruse, mosey over to the bank and enter with suspicion. However it turns out to be all quite real. It's crazy, the river's bottom is all slippery rocks but some of them are damn hot! The cream colored ones are clearly the most recently melted, they burn flesh at the slightest touch. These are the one's that have water jettisoning out of little blow holes, I'm not sure how this works, has water worn it's way inside to become super heated and blow it's way through the cooling rock? I suppose it's plausible but I don't fully understand the science. As for the mechanical sound, that's just the noise of water attaining a rapid boil as it blasts off several meters into the air.
The place smells of sulfer which at first is off putting but eventually the odor becomes like aroma therapy and I can understand why people flock to such places for healing purposes. Though small crowds throng around certain areas I find a spot where I can submerge myself as heated water bubbles downstream. Dipping my head under the current I can hear the water boiling off to my side. Marvelous. And truly relaxing.
Eventually I've had enough. I make my way back to the shore over slippery rocks. It's dangerous as it's too easy to lose balance and the flailing hand that seeks purchase risks a deep scalding on super heated rocks. I can't walk in this manner, so I lay flat and drag myself against the current. At one point I'm passing a jet of water. I didn't understand how hot it actually was until the drops hit my back. The scalding spray causes me to roll out of the way, accidentally bumping against a young woman's legs. "Sorry," I call to her, followed by "Ma-ahs," my attempt at using a new word, only to realize later that while I had intended to say maaf (Indonesian for "sorry") I had accidentally yelled the word for "boy." I imagine the Indos were like "WTF?! Why is that damn boulé calling out 'boy'?" *facepalm*
By this point I felt I had exhausted all the available attractions in the area, and began thinking about where to find some grub and a place to hunker down. My guidebook suggested some joints that offer American food and I figured what the heck, why not a little comfort food to top off my little vacation. However all the suggested places were closed down. Even the hotels that sounded of interest had discontinued. I scoped some other places but they didn't hold much interest. Eventually I decided to catch a ride back to Pelabuhan Ratu, get a cheap hotel there, catch the bus in the morning. I jumped aboard an angkot, a sort of van that frequent the streets of Javan cities, and asked the driver to steer me towards a cheap hotel. However when we got into town sure enough we parked right next to the bus depot where a bus to Bogor awaited. Well, shit, may as well save a few and ride back now, right? I desperately needed a shower, the smell of the surf and sand was dense in my dreads and experience would presume the odor would linger long after if not washed out soon. Oh, well. The bus took off momentarily and I was relieved to find the fare was a slim 20grand (about 2 bucks.) Though the road was again pocked with holes and the bus un-airconditioned the ride wasn't so bad. Four short hours later I was back in Bogor and trekking back to my shoddy little kost (boarding house.) All in all a nice little get away, all to be followed with the adventure of moving into a new, spacious home. Good to be here.
The day of departure I'm anxious all day at work. Can't wait to get outta town. Pelabuhan Ratu promises black sand beaches, massive waves, nearby hot springs, and surfer culture. Eager anticipation dominates my day. Finally classes come to an end. Time to rally.
Yuli is concerned. I don't have a bike helmet. Never occurred to me this would prove problematic. I've been on the back of many a bike round these parts, helmetless. Police never seem to mind. Actually they keep a low profile around here. Hardly ever see'em. What will happen if we get caught? "Because you are Boulé and I'm a girl, and this bike is really too big for me, they will charge a lot of money!" Even in distress she sounds cute. I assure her we can catch a bus the following morning as per my original plan but she insists we'll find a street vendor to sell us a helmet instead.
None materializes and before I know it we're rocketing outta town, driving dirty some may say. The streets are choked with traffic, again. An hour and a half on the road and my arms are disorientated from vibration, my ass is numb, and it seems like we've gotten nowhere. Yuli pulls over for a rest. Let the traffic spread itself out. Eat some Martabak a sort of thick, greasy pancake I've come to like. We agree to carry on a bit farther before hunkering down in a hotel until the next morning. Traffic is clear now. Off into the night! Once again she defies logic and previous plans, turning off to catch the high ridge west towards our final destination. The road here is patchy and by now the night is pitch black. Dangerous. Clearly she's eager to get the trip over with, risking life and limb in the darkness. No place to spend the night out here. Soldier on. I cling to the bike's rear rails, bracing myself against frequent potholes and the sporadic acceleration that manifests at Yuli's whim alone. I admire her spirit and sing songs in the dark, if only to keep her awake.
Since we both were clueless about the actual route as well as the trip's duration our travel seemed to stretch on forever. In reality we pulled into a hotel in Pelabuhan Ratu just four short hours after departure and promptly passed out, agreeing to sleep in late before attacking breakfast the next day. Oddly, that morning Yuli wants to return. I adamantly refuse to accompany her. There's no way I'm gonna depart after one night in some dingy hotel. I came to explore a beach and that's what I intend to do, so help me God. She complains that the way back is dangerous, that thugs abound on the road. If her bike were to break down or worse she wipes out things could get really bad quickly. With no life line out there she could be victim to muggings, violence, worst of all rape. Holy shit, I can't take this guilt trip. Now she's calling me selfish, can this be true? I thought I made my intensions perfectly clear. I can catch a bus back if need be but I wanted a weekend out here and we hadn't even made it to the beach yet. Finally she acquiesces though she has no intension of swimming. So we find a sweet little villa directly on the coast a little ways northeast of town with a couple available rooms. Sure enough she passes out immediately. Unbelievable. Oh well. I hope she finds what she came for. Meanwhile I'ma check out the surf.
Sure enough the waves are large as promised. I spend an hour or two intermittently between body surfing (read getting pummeled by waves) and baking in the sun. Loving it. Finally I return to rest. Yuli steps out her room, beaming. Her boyfriend has agreed to meet her the following day. She will depart next morning. I was hoping my companion would've proved more willing to join me in exploring the area but apparently her mind is elsewhere. Fair enough. Sun down approaches. We walk the beach a ways and find some grub in a little shack. Storm's a brewin'. The surf begins to growl. Legend has it that in these parts a certain witch cast herself into the sea and is now known to draw the unwary down to her watery depths to dance with her forever. People are warned not to wear green, her favorite color, nor swim alone. Indeed a number of people have disappeared without a trace over the years. Science might credit the notoriously strong undertow but superstition deems otherwise.
Nightfall and I return to the beach. Yuli is concerned, I've expressed a desire to swim in the darkness. Again I'm being selfish in her mind, so she accompanies me and we just sit in the sand instead, watching the stars glitter and blink, the galaxy's arm spread wide overhead. There's too many people around anyhow, too much light pollution. I won't tempt fate this time, not tonight. Just rest.
Sure enough, Yuli takes her leave the next morning. I see her off and go back to bed. No need to over exert myself. I'm on vacation. Around noon I set off again in search of less populated shore. No avail. Human activity abounds all the way up. Some cliffs jut out over the sea, interrupting the beach, forcing me to climb rough hewn stone stairs. A swarthy gentlemen with a quick smile and celestial bodies tattooed on his face greets me in Indonesian. He gestures up the steps and leads the way. I'm not sure if he's trying to sell me something or what but I follow. At the stair's peak a large flat rock sticks out over the crashing surf below. Incense burns and young Indos take pictures with their girlfriends. Later I would learn that this was the spot the Sea Witch allegedly jumped off into the waves. Seems plausible at least. One has to wonder if the story bears any historical fact.
Ahead the beach turns rocky, difficult to traverse and I spy settlements as far as the eye can see. Just give up on seeking seclusion. Relax a bit, grab a drink from a seaside shack, reset. I jump back into the water, this time I go farther out and I swear the waves are taller. At one point I try to hold my ground against the ocean's mass only to be rocked off my feet and slammed into the ground. I briefly feel weightlessness and allow my limbs to flail like a helpless rag doll. I've succumbed to the powers of nature and damn it feels so right. Not long after this relentless beating I limp back to shore to pass out on the sand. A young Indo man wearing life guard's attire comes up next to me and sits uncomfortably close. His eyes are furrowed with concern. He asks my name and where I'm from but doesn't seem to know how to say much else. I offer him some water. I ask him if he's ok. Eventually he seems satisfied, smiles and points to the sun "Panas" it's hot. I nod my agreement, smiling. I like the hot sun. Apparently he doesn't, and takes his leave. I wonder what he was thinking. Probably thought I was a risk to myself but eventually felt reassured. I may never know.
According to my Lonely Planet guide there's a hot springs in the area where a river flows over volcanic rock, still hot from lava flow creating jets of steamy water spouts. I've got to see this. I hire an ojek, motorcycle/taxi/guy, a relatively easy affair in these parts. He takes me right up to the entrance of the place which is quite populated with locals and tourists alike. The man asks if he should stick around but I don't know long I'll be so I just shrug. He seems content to accept my offer of 10,000 rupiah (roughly 1 USD) and I get the feeling he would've taken any payment without protest. Curious behavior. I make my way to the river and am greeted by a strange sight. Sure enough water spouts are shooting off in a constant stream of steam and mist but somehow it just looks fake. It even sounds mechanical. I feel the victim of some clever ruse, mosey over to the bank and enter with suspicion. However it turns out to be all quite real. It's crazy, the river's bottom is all slippery rocks but some of them are damn hot! The cream colored ones are clearly the most recently melted, they burn flesh at the slightest touch. These are the one's that have water jettisoning out of little blow holes, I'm not sure how this works, has water worn it's way inside to become super heated and blow it's way through the cooling rock? I suppose it's plausible but I don't fully understand the science. As for the mechanical sound, that's just the noise of water attaining a rapid boil as it blasts off several meters into the air.
The place smells of sulfer which at first is off putting but eventually the odor becomes like aroma therapy and I can understand why people flock to such places for healing purposes. Though small crowds throng around certain areas I find a spot where I can submerge myself as heated water bubbles downstream. Dipping my head under the current I can hear the water boiling off to my side. Marvelous. And truly relaxing.
Eventually I've had enough. I make my way back to the shore over slippery rocks. It's dangerous as it's too easy to lose balance and the flailing hand that seeks purchase risks a deep scalding on super heated rocks. I can't walk in this manner, so I lay flat and drag myself against the current. At one point I'm passing a jet of water. I didn't understand how hot it actually was until the drops hit my back. The scalding spray causes me to roll out of the way, accidentally bumping against a young woman's legs. "Sorry," I call to her, followed by "Ma-ahs," my attempt at using a new word, only to realize later that while I had intended to say maaf (Indonesian for "sorry") I had accidentally yelled the word for "boy." I imagine the Indos were like "WTF?! Why is that damn boulé calling out 'boy'?" *facepalm*
By this point I felt I had exhausted all the available attractions in the area, and began thinking about where to find some grub and a place to hunker down. My guidebook suggested some joints that offer American food and I figured what the heck, why not a little comfort food to top off my little vacation. However all the suggested places were closed down. Even the hotels that sounded of interest had discontinued. I scoped some other places but they didn't hold much interest. Eventually I decided to catch a ride back to Pelabuhan Ratu, get a cheap hotel there, catch the bus in the morning. I jumped aboard an angkot, a sort of van that frequent the streets of Javan cities, and asked the driver to steer me towards a cheap hotel. However when we got into town sure enough we parked right next to the bus depot where a bus to Bogor awaited. Well, shit, may as well save a few and ride back now, right? I desperately needed a shower, the smell of the surf and sand was dense in my dreads and experience would presume the odor would linger long after if not washed out soon. Oh, well. The bus took off momentarily and I was relieved to find the fare was a slim 20grand (about 2 bucks.) Though the road was again pocked with holes and the bus un-airconditioned the ride wasn't so bad. Four short hours later I was back in Bogor and trekking back to my shoddy little kost (boarding house.) All in all a nice little get away, all to be followed with the adventure of moving into a new, spacious home. Good to be here.
Massive Arachnids of Bogor
This Guy Gets Rather Splashy With His Web, Doesn't He?
Gonna Snag Me Some Cars, So I Am
Saw This Dude From Across the Road, Just Had To Take His Portrait
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