500kms? How hard can it be?

And it continues…

The public bus that I had arranged to take me on the first long part of my journey out of LBJ of course never showed. Shocking , I know. So with the help of several lovely people, I was put on another crammed (but nowhere near Africa crammed) bus and the long ass journey began. At one point several hours in, we stopped in a town for lunch and the bus driver started to insist that I get out as he had arranged for a private car to take me to the town I wanted to go to. He wasn’t going to Bajawa, but this car would take me. For a price. No, no, no. You said you would take me. I’m not getting out. He tried to involve the other locals, all of whom quietly kept to themselves, so he kept driving. And the bus got emptier. Don’t worry miss, Bajawa, Bajawa. Damn straight Bajawa. You’re not dropping me off on some random side of the road.

Then the bus was empty. We were in some small, strange town, and another big surprise, this wasn’t Bajawa. Oh for f**k sake! You WILL find me transportation to where you said we were going. Sorry, holiday, no bus. I don’t care. Find someone. Something. Do it. Now. I had been on his bus for 8 hours by this point. So we drove, and we drove, and we drove. And he got crazier and crazier and crazier. He swung from … screaming, ranting angry… no bus! no bus! to … you stay with me? at my house? we can be friends. to… spitting, slurring, crazy tourist! no bus! holiday! to … please, come sit beside me, I need you to help me stay awake, I want to be friends. I (thankfully) had stayed in my seat behind him, out of arm’s reach and made no moves to join him in the front. Did I mention it was pouring rain by this point and I was in the middle of a jungle mountain road on this side of nowhere? With no phone credit? Yeah, smart.

FINALLY, after a couple of hours and several mood swings, he drops me in another random small town on the other side of nowhere where he had convinced a semi-truck driver to take me to where I was going. So up I hopped, into the big cab, smushed between the sweet driver and his two co-drivers, while his wife and son were perched up in the sleeping area behind the cab. Okay. It’ll do. We did not exceed 20 km/hr, it took us an hour and a half to go 35kms. I kid you not. Oh dear GAWD!

I roll into the town I had set out for 12 hours after I began and although it was only 7pm, I was done, out, ready to call it quits, and I think, slightly traumatized. I took a walking, orient myself cruise through this tiny town, in the dark, and saw the NYE party preparation in full swing. One shop, all invited. Chatted with a few local tour guides at my guesthouse who were all on driving trips with other travelers and said I was going to take a nap and be up to see midnight. The random fireworks had already started, it was going to be a gong show. *** side note*** fireworks are legal here, the bigger, the better. Buckets and buckets and buckets of mass amounts of fire power at the hands of every man, woman, and child. Ummm… yeah, that’s a great idea!

Needless to say, as WWIII exploded outside of my room, I let midnight pass me by, curled up in my bed, avoiding injury and probably a much better story to tell. The first time ever I was not up to ring in the New Year. Shame on me. Shame. Shame. Shame.

And my plans of moving on to the next town the next day? Yeah, it was January 1st. No chance. One of the tour guides from the night before had arranged to take me on a motorbike trip to see some of the local villages, yeah, he didn’t show either, (are you catching the recurring theme, here) and so the other two guides still hanging around the hotel bantered back and forth with me and some other travelers about plans for the day stuck in Bajawa.

I went with one to see a couple of local villages and love, love, loved it. What I imagine parts of South America might look like, these incredibly bizarre, exceptionally well thought out small areas cleared and cut out of the side of thick, jungle-filled mountains. Gorgeous, ancient, and very, very poor. On the tourist circuit so hopefully some money coming in somewhere but very, very poor.

Resigned to staying put for the rest of the day and was quite happy wandering around town. Until the rain started. And it started. As is the season, early afternoon until early evenings then again overnight, it pours and pours and pours. So I walked when I could, read when I couldn’t and hoped I would catch a break in the weather at some point. That was a silly, silly hope.

The next morning, a lovely French couple and I made arrangements with one of the tour guides, who didn’t have guests, to take us to our next destination. Another long, slow day in the car. The roads we were travelling were narrow mountain switch backs. I don’t think we ever got above 40 kms/hr. Oh so painful. But we arrived, in the rain, and settled in for the evening, in the rain. Lovely, strange town of Moni, very, very quiet.

French couple decided to stay a couple of days, I was, as always, undecided. Tour guide said he had to get to the town I was going to, regardless of tourists, so he would take me to see some volcanic lakes I wanted to see and to Maumere for a very reasonable price. Okay. Deal.

Got up the next morning, he’s nowhere to be found. Why, why, why do I bother? Wandered around a fabulous morning market until he was ready to go. We were going to see these three coloured volcanic lakes at Kalimutu then would come back to get our stuff and head to Maumere. No problem. Oh yeah, one problem. Rain. Big rain. So we drive, painfully slowly up this wrecked road in the pouring rain in a vehicle with terrifyingly bald tires. Arrive at the entrance to the path for the lakes, wall of rain. I don’t care. I want to see this. Down side, no pictures as it was chucking it down, good side, there wasn’t another person in sight.

Don’t know how to describe Kalimutu, you’re just going to have to google it. You follow a path up and along the ridge of a volcano where you can peer down into three different lakes of three different craters, all three of them different colours. One was a turquoise green, one was a milky white/blue, and the third was jet black. Strange, beautiful, amazing. As I’m hiking up above the treeline, following a dirt path that leads up a rocky trail to a peak that overlooks all three craters, it is dark, very, very dark. Thunder is crackling and lightning is flashing all around me. The rain is coming down in straight sheets and there is no one in sight. Local folklore has it that when someone dies, their souls come to rest in these lakes. I swear, this was a horror movie in the making. I could almost see the ghosts rising out of those coloured lakes as the misty rain clouds drifted around me. I was sure I was going to be lifted up by some unseen spirit and chucked into one of those murky pools, never to be seen again, left to haunt the hills of Flores for all of eternity. Yes, yes, it sounds ridiculous but you should have seen this place! You’d believe me if you could have seen it.

I was standing on the top of the world, nothing but rock and dirt and volcanic craters sloping steeply all around me as the thunder got louder and the lightning more frequent. Half in jest and half in fear I said out loud, “Okay! Okay! I’m going! I’m going!” and started hauling ass down the slippery steps. I kid you not, the rain eased off, the thunder stopped and the lightning disappeared. I AM NOT LYING!!! So I stopped, just inside the trees, to take a look back at where I had come from; standing alone at the top of that rocky peak, three craters falling to the sides, could have been on another planet, when !!!CRACK!!! the sky ripped open with an ear-splitting rip of thunder. Yep, didn’t stop moving until I got back to the car.

Dry clothes and we’re on our way to Maumere, my final destination. By this time, it has been 4 days of slow, nausea-inducing driving and heavy rain. Done, done, done. 4 days to cover 550kms. Kill me now. Get to Maumere, check in at some dingy guesthouse, driver is waiting around. I know what’s coming, I know it, I know it, I know it. I ask him if everything’s okay, and remind him of the money I gave him in the morning. He says, no, that was only for taking me to the lakes. I laugh, sit down, and shake my head. I tell him with a smile on my face and an edge to my voice, that HE had asked me to come on the last leg of the trip that he HAD to do so that he could return the car, and HE was the one who told me how much it would cost to see the lakes and get to Maumere. I would have been quite happy to take the public bus. His face falls. No, no, do you remember that conversation? Do you remember saying those things to me? Oh, yes, well, I forgot. Thank you for getting me here but I have already paid you, right? Oh, yes, right. Okay, now I have a plane ticket to book to get the HELL out of Flores!!!

I struggled with my journey through Flores, as most people told me I would. Indonesia has some very poor regions and this entire island is exceptionally so. Travelling places not set up for tourism is most often something I seek out, local life is what I want to see, but here, it’s rough. While not set up for tourism, they see foreigners coming through so I was often approached with aggressive, rude, or obscene intentions. They want money (understandable) but seem to feel that you have it so you should give it to them. Lots of swindling, outright lying, and demanding attention interactions. I haven’t had to feel “constantly on my guard” in a long time but this trip re-ignited that sense in me. Every little gesture was done with hand out and insistent glare. Very disappointing. Of course this wasn’t the whole trip and I did meet some lovely folks along the way but for the most part, it was a hectic journey. I’m glad I did it, I’m always thrilled to see something new, but I don’t think I’d do it again. EXHAUSTING!

So two hours after my eternal road trip ended, I had a plane ticket booked for the next day to go back to quiet, peaceful, sunny Meno, island home of the friend I went to see in October. Get me outta here!

Darryn had no idea I was coming as I had no idea I was going so despite a few snags (like getting stuck overnight on the mainland and sleeping over at the house of a friend of a person I met on the plane. Yes, things you would NEVER do at home are commonplace here) I showed up at the dive shop as he was heading out, SURPRISE! hugs and smiles and high fives, and I did nothing but beach and sun and chilled company for the last two days of my holiday. Much needed, much loved, much perfect. Two weeks travelling in Indo, please don’t make me go back to work. Oh, what’s that? Only two and a half more months until my next holiday? Oh, okay then. Thanks!