Cycle touring Indonesia: Jockeying through Java

Hello from Yogjakarta and Merry Christmas

Even in Java Christmas is coming. First something to be resisted and ignored then suddenly tripping you up as it sweeps by. There's tinsel in the shops and prices are going Down! Down! Down! There are familiar Christmas carols in unfamiliar Bahasa Indonesia and the local church choir is warming up for its biggest day of the year.

If we are lucky we will be Bandung for Xmas. Maybe we'll spend the day cycling. Maybe we'll cruise along Bandung's "Jeans Street" for a second look at the giant airbrushed effigies of King Kong, Superman and the like that used to grace the front stoop of Bandung's warehouse clothing shops. I guess it will be just another day on the road.

It all depends on our state of well being though. Between us, Guido and I have had just two days of good health during our two week stay in Indonesia. Our sick days are gradually catching up with our cycling days so we are not getting very far very fast.

Luckily the cycling thus far has been a joy. We like Java much better on a bike. We like not having to fight off vicious old grannies for a seat on the bus. We like not having to sit between a sack of rice and a scrawny chook while the aforementioned granny sleeps drooling on our shoulders. We especially like not having to hold our bellies and clench our sphincters as the bus swerves from town to town and the scenery blurs in the windows.

People are patient with cyclists here. You are one of a throng rather than a bizarre aberration. Trucks wait behind you as you grunt up steep narrow roads. Their occupants give you the thumbs up and big smiles as they accelerate past.

Motorbikers draw alongside for a chat; "Halo Mister. Where are you going? Where are you from? How long you stay in Indonesia?"

Other cyclists and becak drivers slowly pedal across your path without a backward glance. Like them you quickly find yourself pulling blindly out into the stream of traffic. You find yourself trusting to the swerving prowess of your fellow road users and the will of Allah to keep you safe from harm.

"Farang! Farang!" The call goes up the village street. Out come the families to stare. Many drag along their children, wagging the poor wide-eyed tot's hands at us and encouraging them to say "Halo Mister". And so the plague of Halo Misters is passed down from generation to generation...

Older children giggle and joke at our expense. Young men in their early twenties call to Guido; "Halo Mister. I love you Mister!" Guido doesn't deign to answer.

People hang precariously out the backdoors of buses to take our photos with their mobile phones. They always take them on an uphill when we are at our reddest and sweatiest and least attractive.

Despite being on bicycles, buses are still our biggest hassle. On the flat or on the uphill they drive the fastest and come the closest. On the downhills they are much too slow for us. They stop frequently and suddenly ahead to pick up or drop off livestock laden passengers. We often have to veer out onto the wrong side of the road down corkscrew descents so that we don't end up mashed into their rear end. It can be a perilous business on a blind corner.

Lots of love, Claire xxx