A Bike Ride in Indonesia November 2007

When a boat first makes its way into an anchorage and there is another boat in that same anchorage, no matter where in the world those boats are, they will eventually meet and do a little gam. Usually they discuss the surrounding area, other anchorages, or fellow cruisers they may happen to mutually know. If there are many boats in that same anchorage, being the social group that cruisers are, usually a spontaneous potluck will break out on the beach or the biggest boat in the harbor will host a sundowner. The revelry of this life, sharing in fun, making solid friendships and memories to last a lifetime, has been rewarding while we cruise this big globe.

Having this connection, this valuable resource through the cruiser network is better than having a “Lonely Planet Guide” or an internet connection. Also the good-nature of this group can be intoxicating and tearing oneself away from all the festivities is difficult. However, while we enjoy this lifestyle and having met many fellow comrades of the sea, there are times we trap ourselves in this way of life. By mainly confining ourselves to the familiar routines we have established instead of taking a little adventure on our own and experience something new. This is why my husband and I decided to dig out the foldable Dahon bikes and take a land excursion on a little indistinct Indonesian island.

Anchored off of Nembrala, on Roti Island, next to a small village that makes it living off the sea by fishing, gathering seaweed and hosting a small luxury surf resort which caters to intrepid surfers was the starting point of our land bound journey. The plan was to bicycle 24 miles from sea level, through undulating hills, peaking at 500 feet in elevation, making our destination the town of Ba’a. Once there, we would use the few courtesy phrases we’ve learned to find a room or guest house for an overnight stay and then take a “bemo” (a small van used as a bus) back to Nembrala.

In the past, due to the small quirky stature of the bikes, the curious comes over for a closer look or pedestrians will take a second peak while children will laugh with delight as two foreigners peddle the miniature bike down their street. We don’t get this reaction when walking or zooming by in a bus, so we expect some attention when riding these bikes.

Instantly on the beaches of Roti, as we unfold the bikes, a few fishermen came by to inspect our contraptions. Explaining we were going to Ba’a, they were amazed, since it was a long way. After a few giggles from the crowd that formed around my husband’s display of unfolding our transportation, two locals asked to test them out on the beach, then our peddling journey began.

Overall the road was in good shape and followed the coast for a mile or so, then cut into the interior with long sections of flat dry terrain and areas of rolling hills. Along the way, we breezed through small farming settlements and would hear from the on lookers, “Hello Mr.!” and “Hello Mrs.! Many times over, we heard this greeting along our route, I assumed they must be English phrases taught in the schools and is the equivalent to “Buenos Dias, Senor or Senora” taught in the States.

Stopping at a village market to check out what goods were being sold when instantly we were surrounded, elbow to elbow with inquisitive teenage boys and a few older residents attentively checking out the bikes and using their limited English to ask, “Where are you going?” Answering the many questions and handing over one of the bikes to a father, he rode around the street with gusto and made a good show to his audience riding a strange little bike. Taking numerous pictures, which was requested by the boys, we were off again. Rounding the corner, women were carrying large bag of clothing and vegetables, yoke style. They were as surprised to see us as I was surprised to see these tiny women carry such heavy loads.

Finally reaching our destination of Ba’a, this busy town was buzzing with activity, a small vegetable market, odds and ends sold in tiny store fronts with the rear of the building being the proprietor’s home and two wheeled carts selling soups and grilled foods, lined the paved streets. Not sure where a hotel was, we did what most people do, ask for assistance and hope we stumble upon some one that knows just enough English to help us out. Fortunately the second person we asked had lived in Australia for a few years and escorted us over to the hotel he was staying at and helped arrange a room for us. This kind man’s name was Robert and he invited us out for dinner, his treat, at a local restaurant since this was to be his last night in town. He worked for the government as a trainer and was leaving the next day for Kupang. We agreed to meet him and a few of his friends later for dinner.

While relaxing in the lobby, another gentleman in a blue uniform walked by and out of the blue, gave me a traditional hat worn by men called, Ti’i Longga, constructed with a straw like material and shaped similar to a sombrero but with the left and right sides curved near the head and a swirl shaped horn on top. This hat was accompanied by an Ikai which is a colorful woven scarf. The encounter with this gentleman was very brief but his generosity with his gifts had left a favorable impression of him.

Later that evening we met up with Robert and his friends, they took us to their favorite restaurant in town and instantly after being seated upon plastic chairs next to a table adorned with a worn white and red checkered cloth, the karaoke machine was warmed up and Beetles music blared forth along with our host singing the first of many songs. The night progressed with food, enough songs for everyone to have a turn in singing and a spontaneous dance with Freddy, a man a head shorter than I. We ended the night with fond memories and good spirits. I distinctly remember Robert saying, “Tell your friends that Indonesia is a safe place to visit.”

The next morning we ate our complimentary breakfast of cake and coffee, said goodbye to the hoteliers and headed toward the wharf where the Bemos gather to pick up passengers off the ferry. Finding a van was easy; negotiating a price is another matter all together. My husband always is the one to bargain and with paper and pencil in hand; he had the driver write down a price for two people and two bikes. The bikes cost us a bit more, than we thought, so we folded them and settled on a better fare.

At first the two of us along with eight passengers plus the driver and his helper packed the van. Behind the driver’s seat, two wooden bench planks covered in vinyl wrapped foam ran down the length of the vehicle. Obviously the van was not at full capacity, since as we moved along on the streets, the helper would yell out our destination while the driver honked the horn thus we ended up adding two more people to the mix. This cozy little group was quite friendly and interested in our whereabouts and as the ride progressed, some people (I don’t believe they were acquainted) fell asleep on each other’s shoulders. An hour of contortionist sitting slowly dragged on, we eventually arrived back to the beach we came from, waved good bye to our fellow travelers and relaxed in the comfy confines of our cozy cabin, nursing our paralyzed bums back to life.

After 2 ½ years of visiting coastal villages, stepping out from the self imposed boundaries, we reached beyond what has become our norm of only sticking to the cruising group and opened ourselves up to new and at times, intimidating experiences. Yet finding when we expose ourselves to a fresh adventure, the rewards can be a fulfilling and one we hope to replicate often.