English teacher Daniel Pope's 1997 nightmare journey from Bintan recalled to Jakarta.
It began with a motorcycle accident. I lost control of my rented bicycle during a cliff curve negotiating and landed in the road gravel, just short of a steep drop into the sea. The near miss was just a harbinger of future disasters.
The coastal roads of Bintan Island, less famous neighbor this sinful playground for Singaporeans weekenders were Batam leave, and should have provided not a problem for itself, the most unskilled of riders. I put my accident down to be unfamiliar carrying heavy luggage on the back of a bicycle. I also discovered how nasty can crush gravel with bare knees.
It was the shredded knee that led me the next day on a ferry from state shipping company Pelni for the three-day trip will be operated limping back to Jakarta, where I work as English language teachers worked. My job was to serve as an indication of why I do not fly. flown back in the mid-190s, in the days before the low-cost airlines in other cities and sometimes into the sea or on the side of a mountain, ships were the cheapest form of transport between islands. And teaching do not pay much. Especially not on the new to the game. This also explains why I was economy class on the go.
The prospect of spending on a narrow bed in the innards of a Pelni ferry three days, crammed with a lot of passengers to stare, is grim in the best times. While I was luckier than spreading their blankets in narrow corridors or areas I was constantly flying away from my suppurating knee swatting, and crushing underfoot cockroaches. My legs were not as sound against the swaying of the deck, as I had suspected. I soon had enough. I left the ship in Batam, just three hours later, was like the path dragged in.
I decided it would be more convenient to return home overland. This required a nine hour drive on a small air-conditioned ferry to Sumatra to get. When I limped off the boat, I caught a whiff of the sun. to be a novice in the tropics, I had never seen such glowing sunlight. The complete absence of shady shelter was unbearable and made me panic. As British, I was waiting in line patiently, which was more like a boulder mob, one of the minibuses on board, who had come to pick us up. To say that I would have jumped the queue wrong. In desperation, I have completely extinguished, the people leave to bring themselves and their scattered belongings.
streets in the city Pekanbaru, capital of Riau province, were not the best in Indonesia in those days. The bus ride was even choppier than seagoing vessels had I been. As our convoy lurched, swayed and bucked further, I was sweating profusely while clinging to the seat in front of me. Then I came across a bit of luck. I say this because it was the bus before, the tipped on its side, not ours. No luck for the boy in the dust with blood climbing or next to the wreck him dripping or bloodied girl from a broken window of the wounded soldier a desperate old woman to her feet to help. But we did not stop. We extended no help. Our bus lurched only by on. It turned out that the fallen were left on this track, where they dropped.
A stopover in Pekanbaru seemed sensible and The Lonely Planet Indonesia leader referred me to a backpacker hotel, promised the comfort, cheer and cold beer. To get there, I got into a public minivan. The vehicle was cramped and crowded, but the passengers were tremendously helpful, to concentrate on for me my bags, himself pressed back next to give me space and providing conflicting, but quite useful directions to the hotel. I found it heartwarming that people could be so useful to a stranger. I thanked them warmly, a coupling of the offered hands were shaking when I my stop, from the vehicle-hopping with my luggage. It seemed appropriate to wave when the vehicle is accelerated. Such magnificent people. It took a few seconds to discover that I had from my wallet waving.
After an hour on a public telephone spending credit cancellation, reporting stolen ID and get a friend introduced me to wire money (I had some money stowed separately, but not enough to bring me back), I finally reached the Hotel the cold beer for sale. Time to relax. Among the assortment of backpackers and holidaymaker skinflint, always Dutch, I speak with a German who was riding his motorcycle on Sumatra. Just why he did that, I never found out, but he had some fascinating stories, none of which are space in this story. At night, for unknown reasons, he fell through my door when I slept on my knees scabbing, trod, apologized for intruding and staggered out again. I did not really hear his apology. I was encrusted dirt from the sole of a German motorcycle boots.
My next night's sleep was aboard a bus for Jakarta, a 36-hour journey heading undone distracted by the agony of all healing. Lying in my seat, with the lights off, I began to drift off the gentle sound of crunching gear changes. But this was not a regular bus. This was a an "Executive". And as such he had certain fees. Unpaid in this case. Had I known that the bus company had not paid the bat, we ruled the area of transit, and so that our safe passage could not be guaranteed, I would not have been so relaxed. Glass was the abrupt sight of an asteroid shoot straight past customs to my left ear by the sound accompanied break and screeching brakes when the driver stopped the bus, then thought better of it and went to the nearest village. There was a hole where the window had been and a bloodied empty place, where the unfortunate passenger had been sitting. A brick is thrown at a Speeding do that. We spent two hours in the village police station.
I reached Jakarta without incident. Perhaps had helped my sudden return to prayer. I was a week late back to work from my vacation Bintan. I soon had problems the actual holiday to remember, but not for home. My knees hurt began to heal well, although for many weeks I was struggling with a scab an elephant kneecap similar.
And what I have learned from this series of mishaps and near misses? Nothing. As far as I am concerned, I have not set foot wrong. I made it through these slings and arrows. And I would still recommend a budget to Indonesia travel. You just have to learn how to be rough and happy. In earnest.
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