Parapat to Bukittingi
Elevation: 900 meter
Monday 5 December 2011
Elevation: 900 meter
Before I start with the ride report, a friend requested for me to post the difference between the road conditions of Malaysia and Sumatra Indonesia. See pictures below.
Malaysia superb backroad with a motorcycle lane and mostly free of big trucks and buses
The Trans Sumatran Highway. Broken road, mostly very tight and all long distance vehicle traverse on this road
Time Check: 1.00pm (Singapore time: 2.00pm):
After giving myself some time to think it through the advise I got, I decided the best option was to bus it to somewhere near the equator crossing after Padang Sidempuan. It was going to be expensive (S$30.00 and additional S$15.00 for the bike) but I think it was the best as it was the closest I could get with the locals. I would really love to hang around Parapat for another day or two, ride my bike on Samosir Island but there are people I needed to meet in Bukittinggi before the week ends.
Got a briefing from a local friend of the road to Bukittinggi and around it
After withdrawing cash from the Automated Teller Machine (ATM) for my Parapat – Bukittinggi stage (I do this, withdrawing cash for each stage for security reasons), I rode back to the lodging quickly but carefully on the rough road. Once at the lodging, I got everything down from my room and loaded it on my bike. If I am fast, I could catch the last bus and get out from Parapat by 5.00 – 5.30pm (Singapore time: 6.00-6.30pm). I managed to get everything down from the room upstairs, loaded it all on the bike and did a last check. I knew there were eyes watching my movement from earlier at the ATM outside and along the main Trans Sumatra Highway. I knew that the eyes that followed me were in a small Dutch era (6-8 footer) old truck when I rode back to the accommodation.
When in unfamiliar places and when I get a feeling of uneasiness (like a feeling that I am being watched or followed), there are ways for me to find if there's someone following. It is not that easy but I do not need to be a rocket scientist to know if someone was following me. What I did on the way back to the lodging usually was to check my side view mirror and when I am very near my lodging, instead of heading straight into the compound, I would continue forward for about 600 – 800 meters (this depending on the road configuration, location and if it was safe to do so). I stopped alongside a small road, dismounted from the bike and take some pictures (not to make if obvious that I was checking my rear and looking out for suspicious characters).
When in a town i am not familiar, i will stop regularly for "phototaking"
The truck was some 800 meters or so behind me and it too stopped along the side of the road. I could now confirm someone has been following me. I made a turn and rode slowly to the lodging and observed closely what the next action of the driver in the truck would do. No movement. I was not sure why the truck followed me, but I suspect something is up and told myself to be wary.
Since I now knew someone was watching my movement, I needed to look for a different route out from my lodging. After two days of riding around, I knew where the next exit to the main thoroughfare from Jalan Tiga Raja, Parapat to the Trans Sumatran Highway would be. Just when I was about to mount my bike outside the lodging, a man came out from behind a pillar and stopped me abruptly.
”Mau kemana ni, pak?” (Where you going, sir?) In a friendly unassuming way.
Still in a little bit of shocked (and a little angry), “ke kantor polisi di luar, kenapa yea?” (To the Police post at the main thoroughfare. Why?) I replied.
”You want to go Porsea or Balige?” The man offered me. Still communicating in Bahasa Indonesia.
”How do you know I am leaving?” I asked.
He smile and told me he overheard my conversation at the tailor shop, when I was repairing my panniers. See that is what happens if I go out and talk to people. News travels fast here. However, I am not here in Sumatra to be sitting in a hotel room protected by the invisible fence of comfort. I want to go out, meet people and discover new places. Whatever comes I will handle it accordingly. For this situation, I will needed to be sure that my safety in not compromised in anyway.
”How much?” I asked.
”No, no money. We talk English. I learn English.” This time he replied in English. It sounds like a good proposition. Not that English is my first language, but I can handle it. One, is Satu. Two is Dua. Three is Tiga. I can speak basic Javanese too. Yeah, I could do that.
I was told in Medan and am aware now that it is common to get a lift from truck drivers (doing cross country cargo deliveries). Some of them do not mind it at all as long as they can speak and learn some English. I calmed down and gave it a thought. Being a Singaporean, whatever is cheaper than the other one, take it. “It’s free, for god sake!” I hear my conscience screaming.
”Alright, so it’s free and no money.” I gestured money sign to him and continued, “How about eating and drinking? Must I pay for it?” I asked using the hand sign for eating and drinking. Just to be sure. Not that I mind paying, I just wanted it to be clear.
”No pay. I drive to my home, you eat at my village.” I am not sure what that meant but it sounded like a good intention. I asked him if it was ok for him to wait for me at a designated location and time outside the main thoroughfare towards Balige. I wanted to go do something since I now have my transportation sorted. We agreed, shook hands and introduced each other. The smile on his face was priceless. All the years of smoking ‘kretek’ showed in his dentures.
Time Check: 2.00pm (Singapore time: 3.00pm):
Now that I got my transport out from Parapat arranged, I can do the one little thing that I wrote in my notebook, ‘Look for children collecting firewood’. I know, I should not be changing my plans just like that. However, this is an adventure; sometimes we do things at the last minute just so we can see more and along the way and maybe save that extra rupiah. (In my case, I have been spending more than I budgeted. About S$20.00 per day) I should stop doing this to myself. A truck out from Parapat? What am I thinking! I should be in an air-conditioning executive bus, touring the whole of Indonesia in comfort, just like normal people. Then again, what’s the point of all that? I shook myself out from all the guilty comfort and put on my game face again. I do not have much time and I am not even sure where I could find those kids.
I quickly rode more into Parapat inwards to Ajibata to look for the place where the kids work collecting firewood that I heard at the Javanese makan place. I had about 2 hours to find the place, take a picture and give the kids souvenirs from Singapore. My GPS could not locate the place, and so far the locals that I asked do not know what I am talking about. How do I go from here? Keep riding? 60 minutes inwards and 60 minutes back out, then straight to the Trans Sumatran Highway to meet my contact for my pick-up. That would not cut it. I needed to see them; at least I would know what it’s like if I see them for myself.
Before going into Ajibata village down below
After a disappointing hour of being on a “War zone” like road, climbing up rolling hills and coming out from Ajibata, I saw another tailor while climbing up a small hill. I decided to stop to ask her for directions. Well, I forgot I was on a hill and parking the bike on a hill takes a lot of patience – balancing it and sometimes praying that it would not fall. While doing that, balancing and praying, kids started to gather behind me. I heard giggling and laughing. I knew now I was being watched again, this time by a friendly bunch of kids. I refused to stop since the kids were having a good time. “I would entertain them a little”. I whispered to myself. It was not that I wanted to prolong the process of parking my bicycle, but it was just no way the bike would stay upright with a 50kg load while attempting to park it on a slope. In the end, I stopped doing whatever I was doing and turned very slowly towards the small mound where the kids gathered. I got a small applause from my little audience. How do you re-act from it? I release my grip of the handle of my bike and bowed to them saying, “Terima Kasih”. My bike cames crashing on the ground and those kids roared with laughter thinking I was doing it on purpose. All that happened so quickly. I did not even think a camera was necessary.
I left the bike lying on the ground and walked towards the tailor – a woman. As I was walking towards her shop, she slowly lifted both her hands and gave me a soft clap and a smile.
“You are good”. In Bahasa Indonesia.
”You’re too kind” I replied and asked her where I could find kids working as firewood collectors.
She shook her head and told me that I needed to be more observant. Those kids behind me earlier, laughing at my “mini show” were in fact the working kids. I quickly dashed out from where I came from but they had all gone. I went back in to the tailor, puffing for breathe and asked her where they went too.
”Gather firewood”. But if you continue riding from here up the slope again, on the left, you’ll find some of them”. I thanked her profusely and quickly got out to my bike and rode towards the direction I was given.
Time check: 3.00pm (Singapore time: 4.00pm) :
I’ve had exactly less than 60 minutes to get to the kids, do my stuff and get out to the main thoroughfare and meet my contact for the trip out from Parapat at Five. I found the place, exactly where I was told to go. I even saw the kids working sorting firewood. However, when I stopped and parked my bicycle, all of them rushed into the building. Strange, they were all laughing and having fun earlier. I walked towards the firewood collection area and saw some of them looking at me through the window. I motioned to them to come out, but none stepped out. I reached for a small bag in my pocket and showed it to them. No takers. Nobody came out. I stepped closer, and one brave boy came to the door and I told him I wanted to take a picture. He says “Ok” and stepped out. He posed for me to line up my shot but just keep looking at me. I could see the curiosity in him. I came closer to him, squatted in front of him and got the goodies out from the bags then ask how many friends he had inside. I gave him two lion badges for being brave and one each for everyone inside.
This boy work collecting fire woods to supplement his school expenses
“Terima Kasih, Om” (Thank you, Uncle) He muttered. I thanked him too in return for coming out.
We spoke a little and I told him to be good and study hard, and promised I would be back. We shook hands and I taught him the “give me five” thingy. The ride out towards Parapat was a rushed and horrible one. I kept going until I reached a familiar place again, about 2km from the thoroughfare and I slowed down a little. All this time, my mind was still with the ’firewood kids’. After seeing them, I am now thinking of staying for a few days more but unfortunately, there were people I needed to meet and things I needed to resolve in Bukittingi. I reached the pre-arranged spot for my pick-up ahead of time and continued riding around to get a last look at Parapat. (Also to see if any strange character was following me). So far so good. I am clear.
Time Check: 4.00pm (Singapore time: 5.00pm):
As expected, no sound, no picture of the truck and the driver at 4.00pm. I kept my position and managed myself a stick of the local ‘kretek’ for Rp1,000 (how much is that in Singapore $?) How was the kretek? I thought it was awesome. I now look like a local bicycle bandit on a mission and with my style of clothing; no one dared to come closed to me. I thought I looked terrifying by now after 10 days of pedaling up and down the mountain. Twenty minutes has gone by, nothing showed up and it was very frustrating to see all the inter-town buses pass me by and I was not going to be on it.
Typical inter town bus full with cargo and livestock's
Damn, this ‘rubber timing’ had to stop. I continued inhaling in the ‘kretek’ to help me calm down – it worked. As I was blowing the smoke in a slow motion, the described truck came towards me very slow. In the front, I recognized the driver, next to him a person that looked like he had not eaten anything for a few days, and behind, thereweare three more people. They looked more bandit than I did. Suddenly everything becomes blurry and fuzzy. I felt like I was in a the dream and was trying to get out of it. This is not happening.
I froze and asked myself, “What am I going to do? What if they bring me to the mountain takes all my things and throws me down the deep gully? Should I ride away now?” I left the ‘kretek’ in my left lips and stared at the driver, name Johnson as he walked towards me with a smile (as if he hit the jackpot) and greeted me very happily.
“Hello pak…Are you ready to go?” What I am hearing was his blurry voice. My mind was working overtime thinking of ways to get out of there as soon as possible.
”Who are those people behind?” I asked and by now, I was a little nervous. I was concerned actually because most of my gear will be place behind with those people.
”Ah… they are my friends…” Johnson replied happily. “My good friends.” If he ends his sentence with, “Don’t be afraid.” It only means the opposite and I will scoot immediately. At this point of time, I had no idea what this whole set up will end up to be. What I wanted to do now was to terminate the arrangement nicely, excuse myself, ride back in to Parapat, and have another nights rest.
If I am going with them, I would have a serious problem. I had not reported myself to the police that I was leaving town (it’s critical now that I know I am leaving town with probably local bandits). Next, I was not sure what they had in mind. So what’s my next plan? Screw plan B, I did not have plan B. I should not have let my guard down. I should have stuck to the ‘bus plan’ or leave early in the morning the next day pedaling. Not taking chances with strangers. Nevertheless, what choice do I have now? Really. I took one more puff of the ‘kretek’ and blew the smoke out in the air, looked at Johnson and let it out smoothly, and spoke like I am in control of everything, no one is going tell me what to do.
”You know Johnson, I would love to talk to you more in English and hang out with your friends, but I promised the kids in Ajibata that I would stay with them for a night”. The idea came just like that. It was unreal that I thought of that. I wanted to stay with them another day or two. In this circumstance, I think I am privileged to give that as an excuse.
”No, come, I show you my village. Very beautiful. My friend cook, we drinking. Very happy.” Johnson sounding very convincing and a little bit like the salesperson I encountered throughout my journey along the mountain ranges. I needed a gateway plan now and fast. How do you deal with salesperson? If they tell you one “yes”, you will tell them “no” ten times.
”No, I think I should stay here for another night. I am sorry”.
”Ok, we stay here. We wait for you.” Johnson decided just like that. It was as if the “friends” were under his command. No consultation needed. This was enough to make me feel suspicious.
”No problem. You wait at the ‘warung makan’ there.” I pointed to him, “I go report Police I am staying here for another night”
”Ok, Ok, come back here. We wait for you”.
I mounted my bike, checked my side view mirror, I was clear to make the u-turn, rode straight back towards the direction of Parapat and never looked back. Along the way, I did a quick stop at the police post and saw about 6 officers busy playing pool (Yes, playing pool – Parapat is very peaceful). I told one officer I was leaving town tonight to Porsea, Balige or possibly Bonjol on a bus and will report in when I arrived there. I also pointed to the police there are five suspicious men at the ‘warung makan’ with a black / dark grey 6-8ft old Dutch truck. I hoped that they stop playing pool and go check out the ‘rumah makan’ scene. I continued riding into Parapat and I knew I could get out from Parapat through Ajibata town / village but decided against it. My best bet was to stop a mini van, and get them to bring me to the bus terminal and pray that I could get the last bus out. I had about 10 minutes left before the last bus departed town from the terminal. Back to Jalan Tiga Raja, I rode towards the jetty from where I could easily get a van. I met a local to help me and promised the van driver Rp20, 000 if he could get me out, reach the terminal quickly in 20 minutes and stop one bus along the way out from Parapat heading towards Porsea, Balige or Bonjol (All along the way towards Bukittinggi). He agreed and I was on my way.
Time check: 5.00pm (Singapore time: 6.00pm):
Everything went forward so very slowly and it was getting dark soon. Bad roads, the driver wanting to earn more money so stopped along the way to pick up strays. I was in a rushed to get out, but it looked like it was not happening. We were only 2kms from the jetty and the van was almost filled up with villagers. My bike was physically abused. I think there would be a lot of work when I reached my next destination. Would I be able to get a bus out of town? Looks like it was not going to happen too and the prospect of me meeting Johnson at the station was now high. The driver stopped along the road side, took his cigarette out, light it up and chased two passengers in the front away. It was actually hilarious how he did that. Why? Because his favourite passenger was going to sit in the front and she was walking very slowly and smiling. I kept looking at the watch mounted on my handle bar. It touched thirty past five and we still had not moved far. After we got out from the village’s broken roads, we were back on the Trans Sumatra Highway thoroughfare but not passing the ‘warung makan’ where those five strangers probably were still waiting for me. I could see the bus terminal concrete arch and the sign. The van driver saw the last bus getting out from there and suddenly the frantic honking began. He stepped on his accelerator and chased the last bus. I saw the bus slowing down and I told myself, “Shit that was one old bus I am going to be on”. However, I do not have much choice. I need to get out and get out as far as I could. I gave the van driver Rp20, 000 even though he did not honour his word. Another Rp200, 000 to the bus driver (including the “bike fees”) and everything was sorted nicely.
The "long distance" bus i was on. No license or registration number. Fill up to the brimmed with livestock's and more cargo along the aisle making it impossible to walk
I could not get down at Balige, as I believed Johnson frequents between Balige and Parapat regularly. Porsea is too near a town from Parapat. I asked the bus driver where the bus is heading; he turned to me and said, “ Jakarta. You want to go there, another Rp300, 000”.
”I want to be near Bukittinggi. I want to cycle on the Equator crossing” (Bonjol). By now, I am communicating in English, as I do not want the rest of passenger to know my next destination.
”Ok, no problem. I know.”
After spending painful time clearing this space from other cargo, I managed to secure my bike while the bus is moving
I thanked the driver and struggle myself amongst the cargo along the aisle to get back behind to my seat. I was in no mood now to think. I looked out the window and saw how bad everything was. I now realized what my contacts tried to describe to me about the journey out from Parapat. Kids walking around aimlessly along the small road. Adults gathered at what seems to be a temporary shade staring blankly at the passing vehicles heading to the next town. Confused buffalo running across the road without any sorts of control from the owner and almost being hit by the bus I was on. The honking from the driver went on relentlessly. I counted something like 10 honks per minute.Oh and the road conditions is just as bad as the first ten kilometers out from Parapat.
Satellite dish can be seen everywhere in the villages
For most people up here at 1200 meters above sea level, the lifestyle now was what the way it has always been, subsistence. I believed that whatever they grew behind their houses or caught was what they would eat. If there should be any extras, I witnessed it would go to the market for sale or traded the next morning. I do not see the people up here as poor, I know they were used to living like this for hundreds of years, I see them as in need of outside help. The infrastructure needs improvement. Communication link between villages and towns needs upgrading, schools in need of new coat of paint, new roofing, or perhaps a proper sewage system for every home and proper electricity supply. What baffled me was, for a village without proper clean water supply and electricity most houses had at least a giant satellite dish. That was how important entertainment was in the mostly poor Sumatra highlands. It was ok if they have no proper clean water, but each night coming back home, they would make sure every family member gathered around the TV for some together time and entertainment.
Basic accommodation (rest area) on the highland
As the bus got further up the highlands and into what seemed to be a beautiful bright orange background setting over the mountain ranges, I saw homes and whole villages unchanged for at least a decade of so. This place would be timeless if motorbikes and modern machines were removed. Here in the highlands, home were built using the simplest materials they could find. It is all very basic; from whatever they could get in the scrap yard if the price was right. Animals like pigs and goats were common up here. I even saw one old woman walk (what possibly could be hers) her humongous pigs along the small road. Dog meats was also popular up here.
This was the first time in Sumatra I was looking at the villages from inside a bus. Yes, I am bumped out not to be out there cycling, smelling and feeling the elements. Nevertheless, I had done that prior to this bus ride. Most towns or villages on the highlands I cycled too or passed through resembled the 40’s black and white documentaries, which I had in my computer. The town centers were basic with not much to nothing to see. Mainly provision stores selling dry goods and everyday basic needs. Usually a main thoroughfare ran through it with rest and relaxation areas on the side selling anything edible that can bring that income for the day. Mostly the ‘Rumah makan’ were poorly maintained. The leftovers were thrown just outside the kitchen floor and some in the “sewer”. Do not ask me where they washed the plates and cutlery, you do not want to know.
The bus kept climbing to higher elevations on a tiny winding road. I did not know how to continue this journey anymore. Where to alight, where to restart. I was in a situation where I just did not know what will come next. I did not have enough water, no food for probably the long bus journey ahead of me and I was not even sure which route the bus would be taking. I only knew that I would cross the equator soon when the bus reached there. Welcome to Sumatra, welcome to the land of Adventure.
It is common to see buses climbing up the mountain road like this in Sumatra
I fell to slumber an hour after the sunset and looking at nothingness outside. At about midnight, the bus stopped by the side somewhere in Padang Sidempuan (what looked like a truck and bus rest and relax area) for a coffee and smoke break. Was this going to be my stop? I took out my laptop and connected it to my GPS to check my position; I saw Bukittinggi was some 280km away along what possibly could be a small winding road up the mountain. That was one long way to go, at this hour.
Sumatra’s vast distances, dense jungles, and mountain ranges already mades land travel difficult. I was traversing it on a loaded bicycle. There were just no words to describe the toughness and ruggedness of the terrain. My entire training and warm-up stage ride in Malaysia prepared me very little for this. It was not just riding up mountainous roads, it was also poorly maintained, small and dangerous roads. Cycling in this part of the world involves staying mentally strong, pacing myself, know when to stop and rest even when my momentum was already formed, and the most importantly for me from my little experience was to stay alert always. At anytime if I feel that I was not 100% alert that is when I would call for a break. It was hard here, even to drive a motor vehicle. I once sat with a group of motorcyclist and had the chance to chat with them. I gathered that even riding a motorcycle was very tiring. There was no such thing as “extra space” for a bicycle on the roads. Most times, I would be riding with the big boys. So far, I had about five near misses with either trucks or the buses. One got so closed I thought that my adventure would end on the Trans Sumatran Highway.
A glimpse of Sumatran dense jungle and road
In the earlier stages of the bus ride, I experienced what was waiting for me. The bus gears and clutch was working overtime climbing up the steep mountain road, made worst with the road being small, with no guard rails (we would be in the gully if the driver made one mistake) and at some points, only one bus could pass through. In some areas, the roads just disappeared into muddy broken patches. This I found out later was caused by the annual wet season. This was the best I could describe the Trans Sumatran Highway. By the way, it’s not actually a highway, it’s just an old road connecting one town to another town, one city center to another city center. Some roads have been in existence before the Dutch rule. Time to time, work needed to be done patching the potholes and resurfacing of the badly damage road. There was not any real work like laying a concrete foundation beneath the asphalt. It was the cheaper way – resurfacing it, but over the years, that also became costly to be repairing it every year.
Once, I saw an abandon long stretch of newly repaired road with proper concrete foundations. I do not know why it was closed to traffic for sometime now. I rode on it and wondered why.
Abandoned road foundation for miles
I got myself ready for the long ride. My handle light and my headlight were fully charged before I left Parapat. I also had my ‘high visibility vest’ for riding in the dark. What I needed now was to unload my bicycle and panniers and I would be on my way to Bukittinggi. I stood up and stretch some muscles after what felt like a very bumpy bus ride.
Looking out into the darkness, I felt a shiver in my bone. I was tired but I was game to try this on the Trans Sumatran Highway, before I decide to get out from Sumatra.
Note: The content of the video below might contain extreme graphic. A short video to show how dangerous the road and users are in Sumatra (or Indonesia, in general)
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