I am waiting on the jetty at my guesthouse for the ferry. The agent that sold me the bus ticket has kindly come here to make sure I get on the ferry and as it passes by he gives them a beckoning wave. Now they know to come and pick me up on their way back and soon enough they pull up and I hop on for the 30 minute ride to Parapat and my rather longer 16 hour bus journey.
The ferry stops a couple more times to pick up passengers and then at another jetty we have to wait a little. Normally the passengers are ready and waiting when the ferry pulls up, but not this time and I wonder who is so important that we have to wait. The driver honks the horn a few times and then the reason becomes clear, a few school children rush up from the nearby school and hop on.
The ride across the lake is just as breathtaking as when I arrived a few days ago and I’m first off the ferry as I think time is now a little tight. There is a small van nearby pretending to be a bus and after a quick word with the driver I hop in for the short ride to the bus terminal. It’s no more than a mini van with a couple of bench seats and for a few moments I have it all to myself. I enjoy it for a few seconds and marvel at the enormous speaker on the rear panel that takes half of it up. Then every other westerner from the ferry arrives and piles in with all their rucksacks, as well as the aforementioned school children. By the time we leave it is more than cramped inside.
The proper bus station is a good 10 minute drive and around the corner from our ‘station’ where our ALS ticket office is situated in a small square. It’s very run down, there are numerous kids playing in the square, several shops and a restaurant or two, but it has an air of decay and quite a lot of debris lying around.
We are informed that the bus will not be here until 6pm, meaning an additional hour and a half wait. I am given seat 7 by the ticket clerk, so I am almost at the front. I wander around the town a little and chat to some of the other westerners. One of the women asks me if I know if there is a loo. I say ‘yes if you are brave’, because I have seen it and it is incredibly dirty and horrible. She looks at me with and says with a smile ‘I’m a girl travelling on my own, of course I’m brave’.
The bus, when it arrives is already almost full, having come from Medan and I grab my noise cancelling headphones, spare battery, snacks etc and sit down. I think luxury bus is a generous description, there is no seat pocket for your stuff or any other little touches and the bus is quite old, although it is a Mercedes. On the plus side they give you a neck pillow and the guy sitting directly behind me shows me how to recline my seat all the way back, that must be a first! There is a loo as well, but otherwise it is fairly cramped. We soon head off and I am grateful for the air con that I can aim directly in to my face, because all the smokers come and sit next to the driver and light up! This means that there is a steady stream of people constantly coming and going and apart from a few hours in the middle of the night someone is always there smoking. I found out a few days later that you are not allowed to smoke on air conditioned buses, so they were naughty allowing it.
The road is narrow, very twisty and the journey is long and slow as we creep ever south towards the equator. We stop for dinner and to let those that have to pray, do so. My headphones do their job and most of the sound around me just vanishes. They really are brilliant, especially for travelling.
Many hours later, around 6 am, we stop again for breakfast and for more prayers, I just have a coffee and some fruit I bought yesterday evening. I think it has fermented slightly, but never mind. Before long we approach the equator and although we don’t stop, which is a shame, I can see the museum and monument and the line as we cross into the southern hemisphere.
A couple of hours later we finally arrive in Bukittinggi and I book a grab bike to take me to my guesthouse, which is called the Copenhagen. When I ask the owner why, he tells me that he lived in Denmark for 28 years, but came home a couple of years ago.
It’s too early to check in so I leave my bag and walk up to the main town about 5 minutes away, but not before the owner whistles me up a snack of egg on toast and a coffee. It’s nice of him, but he puts caramel on the toast which spoils it a bit.
There are loads of shops in the centre selling everything you can think of. There are watches, bags, bolts of cloth, food stalls, fruit and veg, jewellery, clothes and much more. The market stalls snake their way down various side streets in several directions and it is easy to get lost. Luckily standing tall in the town square is the clock tower that serves as a focal point and landmark. I walk past a tiny shop selling satay, the chef is busy cooking large numbers of skewers of beef on a big barbecue grill at the front and the smell wofting along reminds me that I am hungry, so I stop and go in. There are no westerners I have seen here since getting off the bus and this mini restaurant is no exception. I find a table in a corner and order the satay. It arrives quickly and there are half a dozen or so skewers, smothered in their satay sauce and underneath is some sort of tofu type stuff that bulks out the meal. It’s not much to look at, but it’s tasty and authentic.
The main mode of taxi transport here appears to be horse and carriage. You see them everywhere, clip clopping along the streets and there is the equine version of a taxi rank. These are very definately used by the locals, I saw no tourists in them although no doubt you can hire them for a tour around the town. They had a few in Berestagi, but nothing like as many as here.
Back at the hotel, I find my bag has been put in my room and feeling a little weary I sit on my balcony for a while and watch the world go by. I also have to listen to the world as there is quite a lot of calling to prayer going on and general chanting. Western Sumatra is more religious than the area I have come from and Ramadan is now only a day or two away.
Refreshed I head for the Japanese tunnels, which are deep underground and were built during the war. There are a lot of steps to go down, but the tunnels themselves are not particularly interesting. A grate at the end of one tunnel gives a nice view out over the Sianok canyon, which is another natural wonder to see here. The best views though are above the tunnels where I came in and there are several viewing platforms that give a superb view. There are quite a few monkeys around too and they are apparently not shy about mugging you for any food you have. Luckily I don’t have any, so they take little interest in me.
Sadly this venue does have the dreaded dual pricing, the cost is peanuts, but it’s still 40% more for foreigners. It is the only time I have seen it here.
Tomorrow, I will hire a motorbike again and the owner has written me a list of places that are worth visiting. The bike is more expensive at 150,000, but he assures me it’s a nice new bike and reliable.
That evening after dinner in town, I head for the Bedudal cafe. One of a few places in town that serves alcohol. The cafe is lovely with a chilled ambiance, low lighting, comfortable chairs and friendly staff. I have a couple of beers and a chat with the owner, who speaks quite good English. When I hear the call to prayer blasting out again, I look up at him thinking he’ll probably be off to pray. ‘Oh no I’m not going, I’m not a good muslim’, he says taking another swig of his beer!
The bike is indeed quite new, but the right wing mirror has been snapped off and there is definately something wrong with the balance of the bike. At slower speeds or if you turn rather than lean, the bike fights you, over correcting and wobbling. It’s really quite disconcerting and a bit dangerous. I almost take it back, but as I have many years motorcycling under my belt I can compensate for it and I really want to get off and explore the area.
My first stop is the Harua valley. It’s fair way and it takes a while to get out of Bukittinggi, which is quite sprawling. Once on the open road the views are great, with small villages, rice fields and distant hills making up the scenery.
The valley is beautiful and is part of a national park. You have to pay to get in, but I don’t know how much it is as when I pulled up to the ticket window, he waved me on with a smile, despite me seeing other riders paying. I guess that offsets the dual pricing at the Japanese tunnels, we’ll call it a draw.
The valley is dramatic, with towering cliffs rising above picturesque paddy fields dotted with coconut trees, but I feel too many guesthouses have been built, which spoils it somewhat. At one waterfall, I stop for an ice cream from a little cart and the ice cream seller mixes in different flavours, all for the princely sum of about 12p. I sit near the falls with the spray occasionally cooling me and eat it.
Another waterfall is much busier and ends in a large rocky pool. It is hidden from the road and fronted by a lot of stalls and eateries. The pool is full of locals laughing and playing and others sitting at the edge having picnics. A lone guitarist wanders around busking. I’ve clearly stumbled upon a local hang out. There are no westerners here apart from me and I soon slip quietly away.
Next up is the kings palace, but on the way the heavens open. Fortunately the owner of the guesthouse thought to pack wet weather gear, stored under the seat, so I stop and put it on. It smells musty to say the least, but the rain is really coming down hard and it keeps me dry unlike the other day crossing Samosir island in Lake Toba.
The kings palace is an impressive building, although there is not much to see inside. It looks like most people use it for photo opportunites, dressing up in traditional, olden day clothes and being followed around by a photographer.
There are some decent views from the second and third floors, which are really high up. The windows have no glass and the sills are not much more than knee height. It would be easy to fall out and certainly in Europe it would be immediately closed to the public by the health and safety brigade, until the danger was rectified. On this very rare occasion, I might even concede that they would have a point!
My next stop is supposed to be an old house with traditional architecture. I drive along smaller and smaller roads, until I’m practically on a dirt track, but I can’t find it. I stop and ask a lady drying rice on the road and she points me down the hill, but I still can’t find it. Eventually I am literally on a dirt track and I park up beside a couple of other bikes that belong to a family working in the fields. They shout hello and invite me to drink a coconut with them. They don’t know about the house and find it hilarious to see a westerner here in the middle of nowhere.
In the end I give up on trying to find the house and head for a my next stop which lake Singkarak. It’s a beautiful place and ideal for a stop at one of the many lakeside cafes for a coffee, which I do. It’s nice to get off the bike too, as I have done about 150km so far.
Just before I stop, I see a van that has gone off the road into a ditch. There are half a dozen men unloading the numerous boxes and crates that are now hanging precariously from the back or that have tumbled into the ditch. I take a few photo’s, but I don’t get too close as I imagine they aren’t in a great mood.
The ride back from the lake to Bukittinggi is around 40km, the traffic is horrendous in parts, especially on the steep hills. I join in with all the other motorbikes weaving in and out, racing past slow lorries, darting through tiny gaps and generally enjoying myself enormously. My GPS thinks I am in a car and can’t understand how I am not affected by the traffic. Regularly commenting that I will arrive sooner than expected.
Once back at the guesthouse, I mention to the owner that the bike is basically rubbish and he sends one of his sons out to test it. He rides it in a circle in the drive and says it seems alright to him. I tell him to go out in the town and ride around. He is soon back and in full agreement with me that there is a problem. It later transpires that one of the staff knew about the problem and didn’t bother to tell anyone.
In the end I did about 190km so I saw quite a lot, but it hasn’t been quite as good as I hoped. I headed out to the town again, which was very busy and found a little restaurant where I had some rice and chicken soup, but the main thing I wanted to try was the Kopi Luwak. This is the very famous coffee that is made with the ‘help’ of a Civet cat. It is the world’s rarest and most unusual coffee and is made by the following process:
Civet cats eat ripe coffee cherries, then the civets’ digestive system partially digests the coffee beans, leaving them intact. The civet then excretes the beans, which are collected, cleaned and roasted to create kopi luwak or ‘cat poop’ coffee as it is sometimes called in the vernacular. Honestly it just tasted like normal coffee to me, although maybe a bit smoother. Perhaps I should try it at a specialist coffee place to get the full effect. Either way it can be anything from £250 a kilo in the west, up to a crazy £1000 per kilo, if opting for the rarest wild civet cat treatment, but here where it is made it costs almost nothing.
I wandered around a bit longer, but it started raining again, so I headed back to the hotel via the Bedudal cafe again.
The next morning I was thinking of getting a grab taxi for 290,000, when the owner said I could take a mini bus from a private company that is only 100,000. He rang them up and although it is now too late for them to pick me up at the guesthouse for the 11am bus, I can still go from their depot and the owner offers to drive me there.
On the way he tells me that many Indonesians don’t have driving licenses and even if they do, it only takes about an hour to get one, plus a payment to the police.
He was particularly annoyed as he has a European driving license, which of course means he learnt to drive properly. His local insurance company were very happy about that too when he bought a new car. However when it got some minor damage they suddenly insisted they wanted his Indonesian license, which he didn’t have. So they used that excuse to wriggle out of paying. He was not happy, but following a quick trip to the police station, he now has both!
The mini bus has 10 seats and is clean, new and comfortable. There are only 3 other passengers, all locals. We do stop and pick up a couple of other passengers on route, but it is still not crowded at all and the journey is enjoyable watching the scenery and the crazy antics of some of the other drivers.
As usual the bus drops everyone off at their desired destination, leaving me to last, of course! What was good is that the first stop was at Padang Minangkabau airport, where I will be in a couple of days when I fly to Singapore, so I know where it is and where to go.
Well, I am a bit disappointed again as Padang, in my opinion, is a rather a dump. My hotel is nice and is a bit retro. The room is fine although the desk next to the bed is covered with goodies that I can buy if I want to. Needless to say there is no beer and only a few square cm of desk space remain that you could actually use. On the wall is a large picture of a cassette with the words, ‘life is not a dress rehearsal, go enjoy’ written on the front. I’ll do my best, but probably not in this town.
It’s ok though, I am getting tired of Sumatra now and in a couple of days I’ll be back in Bangkok. In the meantime I intend to explore Padang as much as possible.
I head for the mosque nearby as Sasipa has asked me to try and source a talisman for traders. I guess a sort of St Christopher’s for selling. These sort of items are widely available in the buddhist faith, but not here it appears. I have asked around and visited several mosques, so far without success.
This mosque is on the beach and there are numerous signs advising you to be quiet, not sell anything and definately not cosy up to your boyfriend or girlfriend. I had to double check the translation on the sign, but it was clear enough. I wonder if it’s in the highway code over here too?
I walked all the way along the river which has numerous houseboats, all the way to Chinatown. There were some interesting shops and a temple of two, but not the hustle and bustle I was expecting. The main bridge over the river is interesting and is all lit up at night.
Ramadan is in full swing now and the prayers and long periods of singing and chanting at heavily amplified volumes are a backdrop to my wanderings. I’ve walked a lot of miles today and my feet ache a bit, but I have not seen anything much worth reporting. One shop I passed had a big bintang sign on the front, but both the staff were asleep in hammocks. Not many takers I guess and a few doors down there were lots of ferocious dogs, fortunately on chains and in cages as they did not look or sound friendly.
I ate in a restaurant packed with locals and then headed for, as far as I could see, the only bar in town, called the Bat and Arrow. What an amazing place, half inside and half outside and surrounded by a high wall on three sides There are big trees growing in the bar, old stone statutes and chairs are dotted around and it sits on the edge of the river. It’s big and there are actually a few westerners here as well as several young local couples. It’s a really nice place, but is only over the water from a mosque and almost the whole time I was there there was one solo, heavily amplified chanter praising their main man. You could hardly hear yourself think!
Next day determined to find something more interesting I discovered the central market. This was a brilliant place with hundreds of stalls indoors and out, selling all sorts of things. I bought some oranges watermelon and dates and ate at street food stall, despite the fact that is was lunchtime. As it’s Ramadan all these places should be shut, as generally no one is allowed to eat during the day. In reality quite a few are open, but what they do is to drape curtains across the doors and windows, so that you cannot see inside. It was a bit disconcerting not quite knowing what the deal was. but they waved me inside and I was soon sitting down at a dim table.
There were a fair few locals tucking in or drinking tea, so clearly there is a market for it. I spent a few more hours wandering around, but I am struggling to get enthused by this town. Maybe I’ve just run out of steam after ten adventure filled and energetic days and I’m looking forward to heading back to Thailand now.
I am flying back via Singapore on Scoot airways. The same situation was in play at the airport with the restaurants open, but with hastily adapted curtains and drapes covering the doors and windows. If it looked odd in the town, it feels ridiculous here in a modern airport.
The first leg of the journey went smoothly and I was soon at the famous Changi airport in Singapore, with a few hours to kill. So I enjoyed a little bit of luxury and western food for the first time in a long time and then, an hour late, we took off into the late afternoon sun and Thailand.
I could have headed north from Lake Toba to Bukit Lawang, famed for it’s jungle trekking and orangutans. Then gone yet further north to Banda Aceh at the tip of Sumatra, where the Tsunami on boxing day 20 years ago did it’s worst damage and caused the greatest loss of life. The waves reached 30m high and hit parts of Sumatra at speeds of up to 800 kilometres per hour, causing catastrophic destruction and 167,000 casualties out of a total of around 260,000 in total.
Being me, I chose the road less travelled and headed south. I’m glad I did, but maybe I’ll come back one day to visit those other places. For now though, my adventure in Sumatra is over.
Very interesting. Thanks for sharing your adventure. xx