Hello Mister!

Sumatra is just a short flight across the Strait of Melaka, but it is a whole world away. I read somewhere that new arrivals in Medan tend to experience one of two things - those coming from somewhere else in Indonesia think what a pleasant city it is, full of the joys of air-conditioning and middle class suburbs. Those arriving from elsewhere tend to think it is bedlam - which is exactly what I thought.

Culture shock doesn't come too easily to me, but I thought this might be a good place to explain a few of Indonesia's most obvious features to the uninitiated.

• "Hello Mister"

The universal greeting taught to all Indonesians over the ages of 6 months, this is usually cried out as you walk/bike/drive/float (and even possibly fly) past, along with a great big grin. An accompanying wave or, even better, high five makes it even more friendly and amusing. If the Westerner responds (or even if they don't), continue by asking "where you from" and "where you going", and falling over laughing when you give a response.
For those Indonesians with a little bit more English, you can now being a more in-depth conversation before working round to the reason they are talking to you. If it's a school-aged child, this reason is to ask you searching questions about your religion, government and opinion on Indonesia, before having a photo taken with all their friends on someone's camera phone. If the Indonesian is anywhere close to being an adult male, the reason is that, apart from being your new best friend, they can offer you some kind of service for just a nominal fee - usually expressed as "for you, I make very good price".

• Smoking

Virtually all Indonesians smoke. Very occasionally there are boundaries about where smoking is allowed but these are usually ignored in favour of allowing everyone to passive smoke in case they have run out of cigarettes. The cigarettes are usually infused with cloves, resulting in a unique sensory experience that is appreciated sometimes as it drowns out the smell of sewage, warm meat in a market, diesel fumes or burning plastic (more about that below). The cigarettes are, also, much more dangerous than ones on sale in the West - the average pack of 20 contains enough tar to surface a sizeable portion of the M25.

• Litter

Once you've finished your cigarette, simply through the butt on the floor, along with the rest of Indonesia's unwanted items. All rubbish - everything bar none - is simply jettisoned where you sit/walk/drive etc, to join the other piles at the side of the road, in the swimming pool, or wherever. The lack of municipal rubbish collection in many places means that much of the rubbish simply lies there until blown elsewhere; occasionally a team may come along and sweep the worst up. The lack of collections means that the easiest option for disposal of rubbish, in the rare circumstances people care about it, is burning. Burning rubbish is good because it is is a)easy and b)quick. It is usually most convenient to do so next to a restaurant (full of diners), and having lots of plastic in the fire helps get it going quickly. As you inhale the fumes whilst you eat, a tar-laden, clove infused cigarette looks like a great option.

• Driving

Quite unlike Thailand, most Indonesians drive slowly a lot of the time. This is because most people live in the cities, and in cities the roads are kept deliberately poor in order to keep traffic slow. Pot holes 2 foot deep are not uncommon, as are bridges that are being demolished whilst traffic continues to drive over them and speed bumps made of boulders. In the rare event that the road is in a reasonable condition, it is recommended you drive as fast as humanly possible (or faster) whilst honking your horn every 3 seconds. Having a comedy-sounding horn is even better. Even so, it is a good idea to watch out for potholes, as severe pot-hole related suspension damage will prevent recycling of the car parts after you have crashed.

• Transport

Intrinsically linked with driving in general is public transport in Indonesia. As a rule, you will end up paying over-the-odds (sometimes double, sometimes quadruple) what a local pays for the identical and dubious pleasure of sharing your seat with a family of four, two of whom are vomiting. The others are, needless to say, smoking to cover the smell. You have to accept the fact that a rip-off is inevitable, especially if you buy your ticket from an agent or tout; you also have to accept that only once the number of passengers is roughly double what you think the vehicle can safely hold, will you set off. As per usual, anything not needed once en route is jettisoned out the window - I have yet to establish whether the amount of tar-laden phlegm and cigarette butts actually makes a difference in filling the potholes.

• Eating/Sleeping/Washing

Without wanting to go into detail about toilet etiquette over here, it will suffice to say that a)there is no toilet roll and b)never eat with your left hand. In bathrooms there is typically a squat toilet and a mandi -that is, a large tank full of water with a small scoop. There is rarely a sink, and only occasionally a shower. The scoop should be used for everything washing related, whilst trying your utmost not to contaminate the mandi with soap or dirt. In bed there is rarely a sheet except covering the mattress; in colder regions there may be a couple of blankets to keep you warm, although it is probable these blankets have never been washed and more than likely have fleas or bedbugs. It goes without saying that smoking is acceptable in all rooms.


Once in Medan, I passed the queues of taxi drivers looking for becak to take me to a hotel - I had heard they were cheaper but, given that I hadn't really established what they looked like, ended up taking a taxi to a guesthouse. My taxi driver was a friendly fellow - within minutes I had his mobile number and he was suggesting I could do some business with him. He suggested a girl for a massage (with a "happy ending". no doubt") or the disco that evening; after I declined, he suggested maybe it was two girls I was after. We arrived at the guesthouse not a moment too soon, to find it levelled to the ground. I eventually made it to another hotel, despite my taxi-friend's objections that it was a "clean hotel" that didn't allow girls for massage.

I have yet to hear a positive word uttered about Medan. In the late '80's and early 90's, Sumatra was a major spot on the backpacking trail and tourist infrastructure existed. After the 1997 Asian financial crisis, the Bali bombs and the tsunami, Sumatra had almost been wiped off the map as a destination, replaced by Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam. Medan is a prime example of why tourism is failing - or maybe it was like this because tourism was failing. There was a constant, mostly friendly hassle, but trying to acheive anything without being completely ripped off was a challenge. I stayed the night and the following morning headed up to Banda Aceh, at the northern tip of Sumatra.

Banda Aceh leapt to unwanted global fame after the Boxing Day tsunami in 2004. As the closest large city to the epicentre of the earthquake, many buildings were damaged before the tsunami hit. Arriving by air it was clear that there would have been little escape possible as the surrounding land is all flat. Notably the large mosque in Banda escaped almost unscathed, interpreted as a sign from God by the locals.



The province of Aceh, confusingly situated north of "Northern Sumatra", has also witnessed a separatist conflict lasting years, that ended only in 2006 with the signing of a deal to allow a large part of Aceh's export revenues to be kept within the province.



From the airport I hooked up with a couple of French travellers and headed directly to the brand-new port, past countless new concrete buildings and shiny blacked-put NGO vehicles. An express ferry for Pulau Weh, an island a few kilometres off the northern tip of Sumatra, soon after - my final destination was Iboih, a laid back village on a quiet bay with friendly locals and excellent diving.





The next week passed quickly; it was bliss not to have to worry about the usual transport rip-offs or hassles from locals. I stayed in a run-down chalet with a shared saltwater mandi - that grew tiring after a while, as did the electricity cuts for most of the daylight hours and the huge numbers of sea urchins among the rocks where I was staying.



In Iboih the locals and tourists got on in a way that I have not seen before, probably due to the small numbers of both and repeat (and extended) visits paid by many Westerners - though this generally excluded the NGO crowd who arrived at weekends. My daily routine was simply - eat, dive, eat, dive, eat, sleep - with the odd snooze or beer at various points. In Iboih there is a well established trend of Western guys marrying local girls (with variable success) - I soon became the target of Eka, a lovely 29 year old who was already divorced from her Austrian husband and had 3 kids. I steered clear.




After a week I was running short of money, and headed back to Banda Aceh to see the sights before returning to the dreaded Medan. In truth, without knowing that a huge tsunami had struck just a few years ago, you would be hard pressed to tell. Most services work as good as, or better than, other places and buildings are either rebuilt or repaired. It didn't really hit me until we left that on the night bus; our becak driver took us via the "tsunami boat", a 100m long and 20m wide barge that had been lifted up and dumped across a road, several hundred metres inland - it was a sight that left me feeling overawed and a little shaken.


The tsunami boat

The (unfinished) tsunami museum

Back in Medan I met a group of tourists heading to Bukit Lawang, my next destination, and we chartered a minibus to take us. The road was predictably appalling although there was no smoking or karaoke onboard - I slept after a bumpy night from Banda. In Bukit Lawang I was already prepared with a place to stay, so I walked past the various guides and touts, ignoring the incorrect directions and offers of jungle treks, and headed to a guesthouse called Sams.



Bukit Lawang sits on the eastern border of Gunung Leuser National Park, and is home to Sumatra 5000-or-so remaining orangutans. Another previous highlight on the backpacker trail, the town had been all but swept away in 2003 by a flash flood that killed a large number of villagers. It was slowly recovering but still hosted fewer tourists that 15 years before - all the better for me. Bukit Lawang is also home to the visible side of Sumatra's orangutan (in Bahasa Indonesian, "forest man") rehabilitation programme. Here orangutans are reintroduced to the wild, taught how to climb and find food, and are eventually released. In practice the "semi-wild"apes are still fed twice daily with milk and bananas - only a few tend to come, but the majority of reintroduced apes live close to the Park headquarters at the edge of Bukit Lawang.





My guesthouse tip was a great one - situated right by the river, with superb food and beautiful rooms, and only a stones throw from Park HQ. Orangutans were visible in the trees on the opposite bank as well as long tailed macaques and the occasional monitor lizard. I met Debra and Pilar, 2 girls who had been staying at my guesthouse on Pulau Weh, and we agreed to do a 3 day jungle trek led by Sam, our guesthouse owner who had also been recommended.



By this point we had all received unrelenting sales talk from a variety of guides who all offered their services for a jungle trek; the girls suffered worse than me as single girls tend to be targeted by amorous Indonesian men.It was amazing how quickly word spread that we had booked a trek - the hassle dropped to nothing within an hour.

The first afternoon I headed up to the feeding; it was incredible. There is little you can say about being so close to an orangutan - albeit a semi-wild one - they have grace, power and a look in their eyes both questioning and saddening.



The next morning was the start of our jungle trek - Debs, Pilar and myself headed up to the morning feed, a different experience to the previous day as 30 Dutch tourists (and there 50 or so "helpers") were there in comparison to 4 opf us the day before. Even so, the orangutans showed up, including a huge wild male, who sat on a platform and observed proceedings with interest. He was fully aware of his power and possible threat to the people there, and happily accepted some bananas from the rangers in exchange for staying quiet.


The wild male

After the rest departed, Sam, his helper Pete-Pete, Debs, Pilar and myself headed into the jungle. Sam took us on a short, very steep path to start - a test to see how well we coped with Gunung Leusers sheer-sided, jungle-clad hills. We passed with flying colours (Sam was especially surprised by how quick the girls were!) and he opted to extend his planned route for the day. We came across Mina, a semi-wild orangutan with baby who had honed the art of blocking the path of trekkers until fed some fruit. Fortunately we were too quick and were past her checkpoint before she arrived; she followed us somewhat grumpily for a few hundred metres before heading off to find another victim.



Gunung Leuser has 6 species of primates - long tailed and pig tailed macaques, Thomas Leaf monkeys, black siamangs, gibbons and orangutans. The semi-wild orangutans didn't really count in my book, but by the time we reached our camp by the river that evening we had seen both Thomas Leaf monkeys and a close-up view of a black siamang family group. As we swam in the river a rhinocerous hornbill flew down (huge, and looking rather stupid) and perched nearby, and a small wild orangutan made a nest up on the opposite river bank. It had been a tough day of walking - despite sticking to the ridges of the hills most of the time (these were usually quite dry but only a couple of yards wide) we had made a couple of ascents and descents into valley bottoms, where leeches abound and things get wet and slippery.


Black siamangs


Lunch, day 1


What we had expected was the huge quantity of delicious food prepared at camp by 2 more helpers. We went to bed tired, stuffed and looking forward to the next day. The camp was comfortable, our open-sided shelter by a river and there were thankfully few mosquitos; my only complaint was my little toe that I had stubbed and damaged the nail.


Camp, day 1

The next morning the orangutan opposite was feeding it the trees - we had our first good look but it was still at a distance. After a great breakfast we started on the trail again, and after a couple of hours spotted a wild orangutan and baby feeding in trees close to us. Sam was very pleased, especially when she stayed eating the fruit in the tree rather than moving away, as is usual. We watched her for half an hour before moving on to tackle steeper hills and be sucked on by leeches.


Wild juvenile orangutan


Steep climbs....

That evening it rained; we camped at a spot close to the river where there were clear signs of elephants - Gunung Leuser has both wild elephants and approximately 60 Sumatran tigers within it's 900,00 hectare area. With the rain came more leeches, and all of us found more as we sheltered under plastic playing cards.


Striking camp on day 3


There are other things apart from monkeys in the jungle.....

The next day we had a short walk before the easiest part of the trek - floating back down to Bukit Lawang on a raft of inner tubes. Despite almost flipping the raft in one rapid, losing Debs, Pilar and some cargo in the process, we made it back in one piece and gratefully returned to the tranquil calm and dry of Sam's guesthouse for yet more delectable food and some well deserved showers.



Debs and Pilar headed off the next morning; I stayed another day to see another feeding (Saza, one of the newer rehabilitation candidates, was brought back after turning up at a guesthouse close to the village) and did some much needed laundry. The following day I moved on myself- initially to Medan then up to Berastagi in the Karo Highlands of Northern Sumatra.

Island Hopping

As is pretty usual, my plans made a left turn on the evening of my last blog post, and the following morning I was on a bus heading to Mersing, south-eastern Malaysia, intending to go to Tioman island, a tropical idyll made famous by the film South Pacific.

I was traveling with Tim, a fellow Brit, and we were following on the heels of Ben, Katie and Rich who had caught an earlier bus. Tioman sounded like an ideal place to relax for a few days before heading to the bright lights of Singapore. The trouble began even before we arrived though.

The Lonely Planet has specific warnings about certain scams - one being at Mersing, where tourists are turfed off the bus early at a travel agents and harassed into booking accommodation on Tioman before they get there, paying well over the odds in the process. That is exactly what happened.... almost. What we hadn't banked on was the national May Day holiday and nearly full accommodation nearly everywhere in Tioman and Mersing; in the end the travel agent saved our bacon (without overcharging us) and we enjoyed a couple of relaxing days in a resort, although the 5 of us shared a family room that became a little snug at times.



Three days later and after a night in an upmarket hotel in Mersing (the rest being full) we headed to Singapore on the only bus that was not packed out with weekend tourists. We reached Johor Bahru, the jumping off point in Malaysia for Singpore, to change buses.... which was where I realised my passport was missing.

The dawning realisation that you have no passport (and are also missing a couple of credit cards) is a uniquely sickening experience - there is a knot in your stomach and your hands start shaking just a little bit. I realised that it must have fallen out my pocket on the bus (or else was pickpocketed) - so after a few anxious minutes the bus was traced (filling up with fuel) and I was asked to wait for almost an hour until it pulled back to the stand. I wasn't having any of that - I started searching the huge parking lot in Johor's bus station, eventually finding the coach The driver was on board and evidently looking for my passport, but shook his head and waved his hands when I asked to have a look. Heart sinking, I had a look anyway.... and found my passport and cards in their little ziploc bag, down the side of my seat. Phew.

We crossed the causeway into Singapore and into Asia's cleanest and most Western city. There was a quick trip through a thermography imaging tunnel, to check for Swine Flu symptoms (still left over from the SARS outbreak) and then we were allowed in. It was a lot different to how I imagined - there was a lot more greenery and I was prepared for (but a little unbelieving) on the absence of litter.



We checked into our out-of-town hostel in Joo Chiat (also known as little Vietnam we discovered) and went wondering.

Singapore was first founded by Sir Stamford Raffles in 1815 as another Straits Settlement in addition to Penang and Melaka on the west coast of Malaysia, essentially to try to improve and control trade through the Strait of Melaka that runs between Sumatra and Malaysia. There was huge and rapid expansion of the city - it quickly surpassed Penang in terms of size - and hasn't really stopped since. After it's fall in World War Two and Japanese occupation, the British were welcomed back, but the fusion of Chinese, Indian and Malay cultures quickly found it's own voice and within a couple of decades Singapore became an independent city state with an economy relying on it's busy port and cheap exports.



Nowadays Singapore is a little bit of the West in the East - there are huge, air conditioned shopping malls by the dozen, an excellent metro system (also aircon), taxi drivers who don't overcharge and more ethnic districts than you can poke a stick at. Our first night there we celebrated in customary fashion with a Singapore Sling at the Raffles Hotel, trying to get our moneys worth by munching our way through the mountains of free peanuts.

Over the next couple of days we looked around little India, Chinatown and mall after mall. We headed to the Battle Box in Fort Canning park - from where the doomed defence of Malaya was orchestrated by General Percival in WW2 - and ate more fast food than I care to remember.... in a city like Singapore, it is the cheapest option often.



We quickly discovered that, during the evening, the area around our hostel was full of karaoke bars and pretty Vietnamese girls looking for men to "talk" to. We had a fantastic night in a karaoke bar (we declined the offer of girls to accompany us) and never did discover exactly what goes on in those private booths where the singing is usually terrible beyond words (ours was).

After 4 days I had had enough time (and spent enough money) to be leaving Singapore. The rest of the group had departed, and after procrastinating about whether to get an Indonesian tourist visa in advance, I took the plunge and booked a flight to Medan, Sumatra for the following day.