Dieng Plateau - you win some, you lose some

Sometimes it’s just not worth getting up in the morning. Literally. Our 3-am ascent of Gungung Prau in Central Java’s Dieng Plateau was one of those times. But you know, if everything was 100% predictable, the wins just wouldn’t  be the same.

The saga began, as usual, with a 4-am Uber ride to the Jakarta airport at the beginning of another long weekend here in Bogor. We have definitely dialled-in early-morning rides to the airport and getting out of town quickly and efficiently – no easy feat in this 35-million mass of humanity. Arriving in our target city of Yogyakarta (AKA “Jogja”) after a quick 50-mins flight, things were looking good.

That came to a screeching halt upon a call for the ground transportation I had pre-arranged. Our real target was the small enclave of Dieng, a collection of houses about 80 kms northwest of Jogja. Now, here again as has been explained in previous posts, 80 kms in Canada….what?...45 mins maybe. In Indo, could take you most of the day, depending on your luck. Our luck was bad today. Our “prior arrangement” went sideways and we were informed that they could only pickup at 2 pm this afternoon, maybe. It was 8 am. OK, plan B.

Plan B was asking someone at the airport about buses. Our wishful thinking that there might actually be “a” bus to where we wanted to go, were instantly dashed. We were directed to a city bus stop, and told this would take us to a bus station, where we could then find a bus in the right direction. Well, OK, this is going to be “fun”. And you know, it kinda was!

The first bus actually took us to a transfer station, where we got on another city bus that took us to the bus station. From there we did indeed find a bus going in the right direction, and onto another bus, another, and yet another two more. All told, we took 6 buses for our epic 80-km journey. The last one was particularly “interesting”. Upon entering the second-last bus, we were assured that it was going to Dieng, our final destination. In classic chicken-bus fashion, after 30 mins +/-, the bus comes to a halt on the side of the road, whereupon all passengers with their chickens and coconuts, promptly and briskly exit the bus and collect outside – the two stunned Canadians left wondering: er, WTF?!

After some initial chaos, and no idea where we were, or what the h was going on, we start walking with our roller bags, because that’s what everyone else was doing.  And then we see it. Ahhhh. The bridge is out. Of course! OK, we get it now. Walk across the bridge, then get on another bus. All makes perfect sense. Interestingly, there was no talk of the bus fare we had already paid to get us to Dieng, and now the new bus guy wants money for the final leg of the journey. But you know, for 50 cents, I didn’t make a stink (very big of me, I know J).

All in all, 6 buses, about 7 hours, at a total cost of 4 bucks each, it turned out to be a fun day! Just like the old days really. Ah, it was good to be back on the road in the middle of it all. J

The bus dropped us off at the door of our accom, which turned out to be a backpacker dump. You know, dumpy, dirty, smelly, and noisy. Basically a firetrap. The part of dirt-bag travel we could do without. Course, after a couple beers and some soup, life was good again. The staff were remarkably friendly, and gave us everything we needed to know for a self-guided hike up our ultimate target on this mission: Gunung Prau (translation: Mt. Boat). So beers and soup done, recon info in hand, we settled into our smelly room for the night.

In keeping with the Indonesian tradition of getting up in the middle of the night, the alarm was set for 3 am. The plan: hike up the ridge with headlamps, to arrive at the summit for sunrise, and thus be rewarded with what is supposed to, one of the most spectacular views in Indonesia: the Dieng Plateau at sunrise.

This is the “not worth getting up in the morning” part. Upon stepping outside in the dark, there was a very obvious wind situation. The metal sign across the street that was blown off its hinges and flailing in the wind was….wait for it….not a good sign (ha!). Anywhoooo, we trudged on with our headlamps, up the rain-soaked ridge, listening to the wind break branches off trees. Sensing a completely failed mission, we hunkered down at the first exposed ridgetop location, and waited for first light.

Amy at this point had her down jacket on, my down jacket on, and a gortex shell on top of it all. She was still freezing. Remember, this is Indonesia….where you could literally live naked on the beach without the slightest discomfort. However at 2600 m, and dark and stormy, it was maybe 7 degrees C. It was just plain miserable and stupid up on that ridge. Unbeknownst to us, the rangers had actually closed the trail, and we had somehow just slipped through. I was wondering why we were the only fools out on the ridge that morning. Stupid bules!

Anywhooo, it got light, and hey, guess what, no view! In fact, it was hard to make out the tree beside us that was bending in half from the wind. OK, enough of this stupidity, back to base. We climbed back down the ridge, licked our wounds, had some breakfast, then hit the road back to the big smoke of Jogja. We arranged a driver this time, which was infinitely more civilized (although we still had to walk across the bridge).

Getting back to Jogja actually saved the weekend. Amy loves Jogja. As Indonesian cities go, it’s way above par. Lots to do, good restaurants, and great high-value accom. We checked into our boutique hotel, chilled by the pool, went out for a fantastic dinner of pizza and wine (a treat for us coming from wineless Bogor). The next morning, before heading back to the airport, we had time to take in the traditional Javanese music and dancing at the Sultan’s palace (AKA, Kranton). All in all, a good 24 hours relative to the previous 24.

Ahhh, but hey, it’s all part of the fun. No regrets!

West Java Weekend

While flying around SE Asia is kinda fun, it gets on your nerves after a while. Taxis to the airport, the stress of having to be 3 hours early, do we have all of our documents?, where the h is my passport!?, getting pulled over at security because you forgot peanut butter is considered a plastic explosive, wondering if we’ll get through immigration with the 10 litres of wine we have in our bags…..you know, things like that. So, it’s kinda nice when a local “we can drive there” mission rears its head.

Although, the craziest thing about living in the Jakarta/Bogor zone is that everything on a map appears close – especially to us Canadians who think nothing of driving 3 or 4 hundred kms for a weekend outing. So when one does the math here in West Java, something like Bogor to the nearest coastal area with surfing, comes out at about 85 kms, or “close” in Canadian. 85 kms in Canada….hmmm, once we’re on the highway, I won’t even have finished my Timmy’s double double before we get there. We can go for breakfast. 85 kms in West Java…..hmmm, an hour to get to the highway through wall to wall traffic, trying hard not to run over the guy with the chickens strapped to his motorbike, then at an average speed of 26 km/hr down a traffic-choked road that was never designed for automobile traffic, let’s just say, it’s not an enticing offer.

However, full disclosure. Almost always, when a bule here says “driving” it means “driver”, i.e., almost no one drives themselves. We’re in that group. That takes a lot of the sting out of a 4-and-a-half-hour drive to go 85 kms. So ya, I arranged to have our company driver (yes, our company employees 2 full-time drivers) whisk us away from the office on a Friday afternoon and drop us at our destination. The G&T’s in the back seat were quite enjoyable actually J

The destination was the Ocean Queen resort, a mid-level family-oriented place on the coast just south and west of Bogor near the town of Pelabuhan Ratu. We were participating in another hiking weekend organized by the Jakarta-expat hiking group “Java Lava”. This wasn’t our first rodeo. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, it was my 5^th, and Amy’s 3^rd time to this area. It’s pretty much the closest decent beach-coastal area to us.

In fact, the actual hiking mission was a repeat of a hike we did last year with the same group. Although, last year’s mission was a bit of cluster-fudge. In standard Indo-hiking style, Java Lava had hired 3 “guides” for last year’s mission. The loyal followers of the blog will know what Amy and I think of local “guides”. “Guide” here means the guy lives somewhere in the area, hopefully. Whether or not the guy likes walking, or has ever been to where you want to go, is not a requirement. So, last year, right about the time the sky hemmed itself in and unloaded a year’s worth of rain by anyone’s count, our guides got us nice and hopelessly lost. Back then, we were actually surprised by this situation. Now, it would be expected. i.e., “so I wonder how long until we are lost…I dunno, maybe another hour”.  We got back to the vehicle just before dark.

Needless to say, Amy was not impressed, and angered not so much by slogging through jungle and rice paddies during a monsoon, but because we had spent a weekend on a beach, and she hadn’t even gotten her bathing suit out. So, this year, the arrangement was: I go on the hike, Amy hangs out in a bikini, lies on the beach, and does yoga. Unbeknownst to either of us, there were no guides this year, so needless to say, the hike went swimmingly and perfectly according to plan. Although, I did return from the hike, just in time for the afternoon rains that you can set you clock to around here. Amy had a good day in her bikini though. Everyone’s happy! J

The hike itself turned out to be fantastic. A 20-kms loop that took us about 8 hours, and travelled through a nice mix of forested hills, kampungs (villages), rice paddies, and traditional villages. The area is sparsely populated (extremely unusual for West Java), and borders up against a National Park called Gunung Halimun (Misty Mountain). In fact, it could be among my favourite Indo hikes thus far. We had lunch in a traditional village and chatted up the local ladies who served us “kopi lokal” (local coffee).

Hiking in Indo (West Java anyway) is a mix of getting out into some forest, walking around rice paddies, saying “pagi” (hi/good morning) to the locals working the fields, getting mobbed by school children out in the kampungs, and maybe getting to the top of a mountain somewhere. The trails are footpaths that thread together the maze of rice paddies and kampungs that, no doubt, were burned in by the locals before the beginning of time. Hiking in Indo is also about sweating like a toilet, and trying to maintain your body temperature below boiling point. Imagine riding a stationary bicycle in a sauna, wearing a rain coat. J

The familiarity of it all is becoming nice. It’s nice to know that bringing a sweat towel is critical, along with a fresh t-shirt for the ride back, and that you really cannot bring too much water. I have also figured out that a waterproof pack is essential for me. Not so much for the rain, but to keep my sweat from soaking the entire contents of my pack! It’s also nice to actually know the area, and have some idea of what you are in for. Our fearless leader, Nick, a Brit who has been here forever, and one of the Java Lava organizers and owner of the Ocean Queen, is now a familiar face and a fantastically fun guy to chat with over a few cool Bintangs. 

All in all, great weekend! Now, back to the grind as the say.

Back to Margaret River

Well it’s been a while since the last post. A bit of writer’s block I suppose, or perhaps just writer’s fatigue. Life has definitely become “normalized”. Same ole’ same ole’ as they say. Just goes to show you, you can get used to anything, regardless of how many bowls of rice you have for breakfast and how many times a wailing Imam wakes you up at 4:30 am.

But hey, all of that came to a screeching halt last week. Amy had a week off (teacher’s eh….do they ever actually work? J), so the quintessential first-world problem of “where to go, what to do” was upon us yet again. Seeking a break from this wineless land of nasi goreng (remember: fried rice), we decided on busting a move to the nearest straight-line point of contact with western culture: Southwest Australia (Jakarta – Perth: 4-hr direct flight). We had completely run out of wine at the time, so that made the decision that much easier. Life without wine….it’s an inexplicable world of darkness and despair (OK, it was only 2 weeks, but it seemed like a post-nuclear apocalypse).

losing count of how many planes this box has been on

The loyal followers among you will know that SW Australia was not a random choice. In fact, it was only 10 short months ago that we were on a 2-week cycling mission from Perth to Augusta, Western Australia (see past post). On that trip, we passed through, and spent 3 days (Christmas day, in fact) in Margaret River. So taken by it, we vowed to come back and spend more time there.

Margaret River, AKA Margs (pronounced “mawgs” in that ever-so-interesting Aussie accent), is a very cool place. We’re a tad bias given the uncanny parallels to our home base of Nelson, British Columbia. The parallels are striking. Both are small towns (MR population = 5K, Nelson = 10K), in relatively out-of-way places, that one must really want to get to, to get to. Once there, both offer disproportionate levels of culture, great food, good coffee, and most importantly, blue sky, fresh air, and outdoor recreation. It was like coming home.

Margaret River’s claims to fame are diverse, making it the cool place that it is. Top of the list for most Aussies is probably the surfing. Mawgs is a renowned, world-class surf break. Not for the faint-of-heart though, it’s a serious, cold-water, reef-bottom, big surf situation. If you want to be in a surf movie, good place to come. If you are two Canadians who have spent a total accumulated time on top of a surfboard of under 5 minutes….not so good. We didn’t come for the surfing, and never went in the water. J

So why did we go? Two words (well, actually three): mountain biking, and wine. Mawgs is ground-zero for the burgeoning southwest Australia wine area, known as, wait for it: The Margaret River wine region. Reminiscent of all wine areas in the world, the area boasts a Mediterranean climate of hot dry summers, and cool winters, complimented by that iconic rolling landscape of sun-drenched hillsides covered in vineyards. Where wine meets the ocean…what’s not to like?

What really drew us back was the prospect of doing some real mountain biking. While our default go-to on the weekends in Bogor, is biking, with our mountain bikes….no self-respecting mountain biker would actually call it true mountain biking. Of course, coming from British Columbia – god’s gift to mountain biking – pretty much everything everywhere falls short. However, Mawgs is giving it her all, and a respectable mountain biking scene is emerging. Nice!

The riding is dominated by well-organized and maintained, x-country, single-track areas, that can be done in sets of one-off trails, or in a series of consecutive trails strung together for a longer ride. Everything we rode (and we pretty much hit it all) is beginner friendly (i.e., nice smooth single-track) but interspersed with enough non-mandatory stunts and downhill sections that anyone could have tons of fun. Our fav was a place called “Middle Earth” – a fantastically flowy 28-km single-track about 30 mins outside town littered with log rolls, skinnies, and ramps. In the words of one guy who whizzed by us while we were taking a break: “heaps of fun mates!” If yer going to Margaret River, and have yer bike, download this app: www.margaretriverfindthefun.com.au. This indispensable app tells you everything you need to know about Mawgs (click on “mountain biking”).

So ya, a week in Mawgs. We landed at the Perth airport, grabbed a rental car, threw (i.e., squeezed) our bike boxes into the boot, and headed south (3-hr drive) to our Airbnb just outside town. Amy’s internet skills found us, yet again, a kick-ass house, walking distance to the ocean, and complete with hot tub on the front deck. Sweet!

The daily routine evolved into waking up, first wake-up coffee, second coffee in the hot tub, nice breakfast, pack up the bikes, shred the trails for a few hours, hit a winery or two on the way back, back to the hot tub for winery wine number 1, walk down to the beach for sunset, back for winery wine number 2 and a gourmet dinner. We rode every day, drank as much delicious Australian wine as we could, and ate nothing but Australian beef, cheese, prosciutto, and gourmet appies. Could get used to that sched! I had to kidnap Amy to get her back into the car to head back to the airport J

There was one hiccup though. Both of us had colds! Amy brought hers along and suffered through the first few days. She then passed me the baton and I was sick for most of the rest of the week. Sinuses be damned though, we forged ahead with our heads full of snot! Pretty hilarious at one point. At one of our favourite wineries (been there twice, therefore it's our fav), Cape Mentelle (www.capementelle.com.au), after the first couple tastings of 80-dollar Sauvignon Blanc and Chardonnay, I realized I had lost my ability to taste, along with my ability to smell (or breath through my nose). Hmmm, I was thinking….the Chardonnay tastes exactly like the Sav Blanc….and really, they both taste like nothing. I’m not paying 80 bucks for this crap! Amy assured me they were both delicious, and we settled on the 20-dollar rosé. Apparently, it too was delicious J

 

 

 

 

Singapore – bring yer wallet!

A weekend in Singapore. Sounds like a movie. And it kind of was with a quick flight on a Friday afternoon, followed by a return flight on the Sunday. Two nights in the big smoke. It’s that Asian hub thing. People down here jump on planes like Canadians load up the SUV for the weekend. I’m already on my second carry-on roller bag – a critical piece of gear here that must be in top shape at all times.

So ya, another long weekend was upon us. Idul Adha – festival of the feast – here in Indo. The premise of this stat holiday is a celebration of Abraham’s sacrifice of a goat to god….or whatever. It’s an intensely sacred holiday for muslims (although, is there anything that is not sacred here?). Along with the ritual slaughter of cattle and sheep just outside the mosque (er, dude, are your hands clean?), the festivities include all-night ranting and raving via our neighbourhood mosque’s audio system, which, I can assure you is fully operational and as loud as any air-raid siren (so we’re good if North Korea decides to nuke Indo). So after a night of little to no sleep (however, fully blessed by Allah I’m sure), we set our sights on yet another Uber ride to the Jakarta airport, destination: Singapore.

The main reason behind the mad dash to Singers for the weekend was banking. For those in the international banking biz, Singapore is well known as one the world’s big financial hubs, i.e., good place to stash your money. So that was the central purpose of the mission: to get a US-dollar, off-shore account (contrary to common folklore, off-shore accounts are entirely legal). Since that takes about an hour on a Saturday morning, we decided to roll the banking mission into a long weekend trip to see what all the hype is about.

What really sweetened the deal for us, was making contact through the magic of the internet with a dear friend from a former life, Andrea Macdonald, a long-lost friend from my uni days. Last contact: late 80s. She now lives in Singapore with her dude Simon, and has been for about a decade and invited us for a visit. So hey, giddie up….we’re going to Singers!

Now, the “free place to stay” thing cannot be overstated. Unbeknownst to us prior to reading up on Singers (coolio term for Singapore, if you haven’t caught that), is that it is, interestingly, shockingly, and painfully, the world’s most expensive city (really, it is, hit this: www.cnbc.com/2017/04/11/the-10-most-expensive-countries-in-the-world-.html). Hmmmm, I thought that was Vancouver J  Nope, Vancouver is Boliva prices compared to Singapore. A night out in Singers can buy you a decent mid-sized used car in most countries. Speaking of cars, price for a standard economy car in Singapore: 130,000. Dollars that is. No, it does not come with house. Just the car. It is indeed a whole new scale of daily spending, where a 50-dollar lunch is a snack, and a happy-hour beer is more than a night out in Indo.

OK, Singapore…what’s the story. The story, is yet another British colony that has risen from the ashes of colonialism to become the world’s leading trade, commerce, and banking center. Those Brits eh? The horrors of colonialism aside, they seem to have done something right in these edge-of-the-empire outposts. Singapore proudly boasts one of the highest per capita incomes in the world, a smokin’ hot economy, and one of the highest standards of living on the planet. If you’re not making six figures, you’re living below the poverty line.

Singapore is definitely unique. It is quite literally an island of prosperity in the middle of the chaos of southeast Asia. i.e., it actually is an island 20 km wide x 30 km long, located off the southern tip of the Malaysian Peninsula. The real head-spinner is that it is a short boat ride away from Indonesia, which, as we know, is a full member in good standing of the southeast-Asia-chaos club. Jakarta – Singapore is a 1-hr flight, but it might as well be the moon.

As a city state, Singapore is a fully independent country with it’s own everything. Population: 5.6 million +/-, mostly of Chinese descent, but also Malay. Everything is perfect, including the streets, which you could eat off of, if you had to. Get this: chewing gum is a banned substance in Singapore (again, really: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chewing_gum_ban_in_Singapore). Importing gum is illegal, and only doctor-prescribed gum is legal. Spitting it out gets your knees removed (OK, not really, but it will set you back 700 bucks for the fine).  

Obviously a population of go-getters. Slackers are no doubt rounded up and unceremoniously dumped in the ocean. Joking aside, Singapore is pretty much the team to beat to beat in Asia, and everywhere else for that matter. On the education stats, Singapore school kids appear to be smarter than everyone else on the planet, which probably explains a lot.

OK, the Singapore Sling. We had to do it. We had to get to ground-zero of one of the most famous drinks in the world. The Singapore Sling, a tasty gin-based cocktail mixed with a variety of tropical juices and topped off with a slice of pineapple, was invented in 1915 (ish) by Ngiam Tong Boon, a bartender at the Raffles Hotel in downtown Singapore. On the way to Raffles, I joked to Amy that this was going to cost us 20 bucks each just to have a drink. I was wrong. It’s about twice that. With the mandatory tax and gratuity, 2 Singapore Slings at the Raffles Hotel in downtown Singapore will set you back 72 bucks (Sing $ =  Can $ +/-). Free peanuts though! Ah….hey, sometimes you just gotta say, what the hey, and hey, the best thing is that where ever we go from here on in, whatever we’re paying for, it’s going to look like a deal!