A day to celebrate

Cai’s birthday was one of the truly great days of my life. However, no matter how hard I strive to view it as a time of celebration, my heart keens to share it with him in person. It can’t all be about loss though, there has to be a time celebrate the magnificent times we once shared, and what better day than the one that marks his birth. This year I came so close to bailing out of participating in the day at all. I had a restless night, disturbed by awful dreams concerning a nightmare scenario between Cai and myself. None of it was based on reality, but it sure rocked my boat. Since his death I’ve not had a single negative dream involving him. There’s been plenty, but they’ve been a joy to have, of a nature that could easily lull me into eternal sleep. Hardly surprising then that this one hit me so hard! Awake by 4am, I convinced myself to make excuses and refrain from the planned activities for the day. I’m glad that option shamed my inner self, from somewhere I found I had a bit more gumption. (Photo: Dive livaboard – Flores, Indonesia)

OK, it wasn’t quite that simple, my sleepless night was worsened by fretting about the diving on the day’s itinerary. This area is renowned for the current that sweeps through between the islands, and it worried me. My limited experience of snorkeling since my accident had seen me getting cramps all too quick. Using my normal fins in Cuba was murderous, a pair of short fins in Cambodia allowed more time before my hamstrings clamped tight. I used to be a relaxed diver, taking little effort to propel myself where I needed going. There are times though when more forceful finning is required, like in a strong current. I don’t mind admitting I was concerned, the last thing I wanted was to get into difficulties in such circumstances. Again, from some unknown depth (if you’ll pardon the pun) I found a need to face my fears. The worst that could have happened was that I was swept away from the boat, I’m sure it wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. (Photo: Nature’s own fisherman – Amongst the Islands off Flores, Indonesia)

Practicing what you preach isn’t always the easy way through life, but it’s a damned good ethic to follow. So bleary eyed and with slight trepidation I met the gang and away we went. Leaving open the option of one or two dives seemed wise, there was meant to be good snorkeling to be had anyway. So with the usual delays of getting a large group coordinated we set off an hour later than planned, and sailed out into a beautiful sunny day. Everyone was in high spirits, and I kept my worries under my hat. It’d been a joy sharing past diving experiences with the others, I secretly wished I’d played it down a touch, though was honest in admitting I’d not dived for four long years. I buddy-ed up with Michelle, one of the Italian instructors. Who kindly reminded me of many small points, all of which were of little concern to me. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten anything, but I did warn him I tended to get cramp easy. (Photo: There be dragons – Ritu Island, Indonesia)

Our first dive was off Manta Point, and yes, we were expecting to see Manta Rays. The plan was to drift with the current, if we saw Mantas we’d stay put by staying low, thus avoiding the main drag of the current. Sounds easy and generally it was. A few minutes of relaxing into the dive and everything felt cool, finning was largely unnecessary, until we saw our first Manta. Hanging back a bit to keep in touch with my buddy I didn’t get the best of views of it. Not that you could miss it, visibility was fair, simply that I didn’t manage to get as close as some of the others. By then my buddy was fading into the distance, while the main group were getting a fair way ahead. I hung back to play the responsible diver, never lose sight of your buddy. But when I realised he was off exploring with one of his fellow divers from home I left them to it and caught up with the rest. We saw two more Mantas, both of which I had a grandstand view of. I was one of the last group to surface, my sir consumption had been one of the better ones of the whole group. I also got to snorkel around another Manta for a prolonged time at the end of the dive. (Photo: Komodo Dragon in threat mode – Ritu Island, Indonesia)

(Photo: The gangs spells KOMODO - Ritu Island, Indonesia)

The second dive was deeper and much more colourful. Again I was one of the better ones for air consumption, not the best, but far from the worst. We saw turtles and a fantastic array of colourful fish and coral, yet again the snorkeling after was wonderful, spending a protracted time free diving with a turtle. And then it was off the see the Komodo Dragons, unfortunately that was a slight disappointment. Not a waste of time, but not really to best of natural events. A group of fat lazy dragons hung around at the village, we were told to take as many photos of them as we felt like, there’s be little chance of seeing any on our hike. To be honest it felt like a set-up, though the rangers claimed they weren’t fed. I can’t for the life of me imagine any other reason they’d hang around people, or be so placid, they were obviously well fed. But it was worth seeing them, they are an impressive sight, even in sluggish mode. (Photo: Your's truly, Lotty, a 78yr old local, and Greg – Aboard the dive boat, off Flores Indonesia)

Island hopping

Ok, I now admit that not all of Bali is a filthy dirt infested hellhole. Leaving the place took me across the central region and it was much improved. A long steady climb took me to the volcanic spine that divides the country in two. The drive up was through pretty rugged terrain, steep wooded slopes led up to the crest of the volcanoes. The roads were a lot quieter than on either of the coastlines, and the land was very natural. Not a lot of agriculture appeared, what did was bits and pieces of rice terracing. Generally though it maintained a natural, undisturbed, look. Housing in villages were largely of modern materials, block and concrete, whilst in the country more were of unadorned wood. So not the whole of the island is a tourist wonderland, this did change once we crossed the crest of the ridge and started to descend into the southern half of the island. (Photo: Fishing ketches – Off the Bali coast)

The island transformed itself almost as soon as we started to descend. Terraces of rice paddy filled the frame, while the distant hills remained wooded and natural. The road is the lifeline of the island, there aren’t many other ways to travel. I’d see small dirt tracks in villages but little sign that they went very far. At first an occasional shrine would sit at the roadside. These weren’t the little personal ones seen everywhere, but small complexes that looked old and interesting. It would appear more people than me saw them in this light because to attracted a steady stream of foreign visitors. As we got ever closer to Ubud the number of tourists increased, along with the number of apparent ancient shrines. However their authenticity might be in some doubt, it seemed that many manufacturers specialize in producing moss and lichen covered replicas. (Photo: Sunset on the ocean – Strait between Bali and Lombok)

Ubud itself filled me with a sense of revulsion for the town’s complete sellout to the flood of western tourists. There’s a glut of Hindu iconography, and I’m sure much of it is very old. But why the residents add to it with mockups of the original shrines is beyond me. What attraction is there to see fake turrets and statues atop modern stores and private garages? I’d like to say who wants to stay in a town that is predominantly filled with hotels and restaurants. If you can’t sleep there or eat there you can buy a profusion of tourist trinkets or ethnic clothes made in Thailand. I had high hopes as we approached the centre, unfortunately they were soon dashed as the reality hit me. Don’t get wrong, if you’ve got a limited and little energy to seek out the real flavour of a place Bali will suite you. But it is busy, it smacks of commercialism, and you will be approached by a relentless deluge of hawkers and touts. (Photo: Lombok countryside – Lombok Island)

So in all honesty I was glad to watch Bali slowly dwindle into an obscure blob on the horizon. In fact the scenery from the ferry was rather splendid. Watching the sailing boats scudding across the water, ragged fishermen plying their trade, was quite enchanting. It was a view of unspoilt life, life as it has been for centuries, and it filled my heart with wonder. I felt privileged to watch these honest fisher folk going about their daily task of handling their lateen sailed vessels under a dying sun. For the first time in weeks I bumped into other travelers, at least people who were taking the more complex routes by public transport. It sort of happened coincidentally that four Italian divers were heading along the same route as me. It proved to be the start of some great experiences, both good and questionable. Once established, our group seemed to attract a growing number of very like-minded people. (Photo: Where rain doesn’t stop play – Sumbawa, Indonesia)

There’s two sides to travelling in a group. First there’s an advantage in bargaining power, second you attract so much more attention to the sharks of this world. I’m sure big bucks ooze from the presence of four or more tourists, it certainly seemed the case where transport was concerned. As we were all heading for Flores, it made sense to share transport costs or use higher numbers to increase our bargaining power. It was partially successful. At a fairly dingy guesthouse, close to the port in Lombok, we took every available room. It didn’t get us a discount but deciding to use a Bemo (shared minibus) for our exclusive use wasn’t exhorbitant. We drove such a hard bargain they first took us to the nearest city and tried getting us onto a bus across the island. We refused and stuck to our guns, so they eventually honoured our original deal and took us the whole way. And that’s how Lombok passed for us, a blur of heavy traffic as most of it overtook our very slow driver. (Photo: Fishing launches with outriggers – Sumbawa, Indonesia)

Having come to severely question the decision not to catch a ferry straight from Jakarta to Makassar, in Sulawesi, I’ve ploughed through the islands between Java and a suitable ferry port further east to catch an ocean liner to Makassar. Each island has held a veritable treasure of promise, every one is different, each holds its own particular attraction. But you largely miss this when skipping through one after another. The strongest experience found island hopping has actually been the company of those I’ve met along the way. Ferries are frequent, if not entirely reliable, between each island. It’s provided a perfect meeting ground for like minded people, using public transport to island hop is by no means the easiest means of travelling here, so it takes a slightly more adventurous type to bother. That suited me fine, by the time we reached Flores our group was nine strong. We consisted of Italians, Swiss and Brits. (Photo: Leaving Port – Sumbawa, Indonesia)

Our last ferry crossing started as a scorching hot day, it frazzled me within half an hour. But then the rain came down, and didn’t it just pour. Luckily the sea didn’t get any rougher, the crossing remained relatively calm and we simply huddled under the captain’s awning to avoid a thorough soaking. And that’s the weather that welcomed us to Flores. As we shivered and sheltered on the dock hiring a minibus between us was a logical choice, it was only 15p each. At least we all saw the funny side as the vehicle stopped after only 30m, “Gardena Hotel” called the driver. Now for the tricky part, procuring enough rooms for us all, what if they couldn’t accommodate such a large number. They could though, just. Then the advantage of the group came into effect, it wasn’t a large discount but it was a discount all the same. All of us had experienced fairly harrowing times on the way here, despite being dirty and tired our first impulse was to order a large round of beer, sit down and begin a long night of merry making. (Photo: Oceanic Volcano – Between Sumbawa and Flores, Indonesia)

And so began a few days of absolute mayhem and drunken enthusiasm. With he addition of another three girls we booked two seperate days of boat trips, but thats another story altogether.

And lastly, Last but by no means least: A very HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAI. It's proved as difficult as ever to accept the loss of his life. It's been four and a half years now but I still miss him as much as ever. (Photo: A rather charming smile, dimples and all

Paradise Lost

Gleeming crescents of golden sand, crystal clear blue tinged sea, fringed by swaying palm trees. Quiet tree lined avenues, through green and fertile land, leading to such idyllic coves are the pictures conjured up by myths of Bali. These would be my perfect picture of paradise, what a shame the reality is so far from the legend. Luckily I’d been warned, I hadn’t expected too much. In fact I had little intention to linger overly long, without flying the only easy passage was skirt around Bali. Every person I’ve met with recent experience of Bali has warned me off the place. They told me it was overdeveloped, the people tended to be lazy and more interested in your money than you as a person. It’s a party place I was told, banging music and drunken crowds of young Aussies prevail. Despite all this I couldn’t bring myself to pass through without giving it without seeing for myself. So forewarned I did some research and chose to restrict myself to the quieter north coast, thereby missing the crowds, avoiding the noisy hub of tourism here. (Photo: Approaching Bali - Bali ferry, Indonesia)

Mist laden volcanoes arose through the distant haze as the ferry approached the island. Wooden slopes descended towards a coast lined by narrow bars of golden sand, it provided an enchanted vision, the promise of paradise. Disembarking at the port was onto an orderly dockside, intricate stelae gave it a lovely old world type charm. Friendly smiles from port security greeted us, welcoming us warmly to Bali. And as I’ve found in the rest of Indonesia everyone was polite and helpful, “please sir, the bus terminal is that way”. I was even lead to the bus by a very obliging guy, who also acted as interpreter for me, he only skimmed 5,000 rupiah off the fare for the privilege. But it was only 35p, which is little in the grand scheme of my travels, it often helps to lessen the hassle. All that was left for me to do once on the bus was to explain exactly where in Lovina I wanted dropping. That I can easily do in Indonesian, so I was on my way, comfortable in the knowledge I’d be notified when we got to the right place. (Up to his neck in fish - North coast of Bali, Indonesia)

The north coast is renowned for being the quieter route in Bali, so I’m really glad I chose that one. It was busy, to say the least. Most villages caused a traffic snarl-up, and there were plenty of them. Motorbikes would weave in and out of the heavier vehicles, into the path of oncoming traffic, down the verge on the wrong side and through pedestrians on the sidewalk. On the open road traffic thinned slightly, but the impatience honking of horns accompanied us all the way. I’d imagined the road to provide constant views of coastline, which it rarely did. Trees formed an impenetrable barrier between village at first, after an hour or so they thinned out and more could be seen of the terrain. Maize was the common crop, with virtually no sign of rice until halfway round the island. Even in coconut groves it would be grown between the palms. But most the land stood bare, a rough wasteland with an occasional cow grazing. In fact there were actually more cows in evidence than I’d seen in Java, which is strange because Bali is predominantly Hindu whereas Java is Muslim. (Photo: A long way from paradise - Lovina beach, Bali)

All I can say about the beach area of Lovina is negative, if this is the better part of Bali I don’t want to see any more. At the head of the beach it’s wall to wall guesthouses, 50m deep. It’s off-season so they aren’t too expensive yet, but food is still far more than in Java. When the tide is in there is nothing left but 3m of sand between the water and guesthouses. Of the water itself, it’s a garbage dump; bottles, plastic bags, household items, even bags full of rubbish floating half submerge. I walked miles today litter is strewn everywhere, I can only assume the whole island is the same. The people are very friendly, but the hassle to buy, ride, eat, drink, etc, etc is nonstop. I maintain my ethic of not ignoring people, giving them the time of day, but it’s trying my patience. I don’t want to go anywhere near the beach area, I can’t even sit and read in peace, not even for five minutes. (Photo: Hindu deity - Anturan, Bali)

There are plenty of interesting Hindu deities depicted in cement, lots of very ornamental arches and gateways. I also know of some worthwhile sites inland. But it isn’t enough to make up for the constant drone of traffic, the hassle from hawkers and touts. If you can classify this as paradise you need to broaden your horizons. On second thoughts, no, enjoy it. That way it leaves the truly wonderful places for those who are more deserving. Maybe if I felt I had more time I would explore further rather than write off the whole island, but Sulawesi beckons and that is where I most want to spend time.

Succour for Sukamade

However relaxed Yogyakarta may have been, it was still a relief to leave. The train there had passed through a lot of green and fertile land, and I do love watching the peasants up to their knees in mud, hard at work in their conical hats. This time the backdrop was mountain peaks shrouded in mist, or I should really say volcanic peaks. Unfortunately it was mist not sulfurous outpourings, that would have added a touch of excitement eh? Yet again I was impressed by the enormous variety of crops grown in any one place. Whilst I can recognize many of the crops I’m by no means an expert, some I thought were beans from a distance turned out to be cucumbers close up. At least my sometimes pitiful attempts do manage to give an indication of the diversity in agriculture here. Flat land is invariably dominated by rice, but only just in East Java, and large areas are by no means flat. (Photo: Dracula out in daylight - Suragang, East Java)

A jumbled uneven land limited distant views within a short time of leaving the city. It was too rough to create sweeping terraces of rice, what was grown was in small flat plots, between lumpy mounds. Not much land was wasted though, however rough the land became someone was managing to grow something there, if anything there was even more diversification. Smallholdings seemed the order of the day, wooden homes nurtured individual compounds, growing such a wide ranging assortment of fruit and veg it’s hard to see how they could fail to have a rich and healthy diet. However rough the terrain became someone was successfully growing one form of food or another. OK, there were more natural areas of woodland, which in itself is quite valuable. Wood is the main source of fuel to cook with, so a local supply is essential; it gets to be prohibitively expensive if shipped into the area. There was no evidence of wholesale clearing of the woodland though, everything appeared well balanced. (Photo: Caught in the open - Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Before too long the land settled down, becoming either flatter or more uniformly hilly, therefore more suitable for rice terracing. There were large areas of paddy but it didn’t dominate to the extent it generally does, maize and sugar cane were grown a few acres at a time. Rarely did I see unbroken swathes of mature rice heavy with grain, always a significant part of the arable scene featured corn or cane. Little of the work is yet mechanised, and there was no sign of animals either. It’s the wrong time of year to see oxen ploughing, but I saw a tiny tractor harvesting rice. There were a a lot groups of peasants cropping huge areas by hand, that was being done communally, so I assume they help each other out. Depending on which country, or even which region, the ethics of harvesting change. Of course in the farming collectives of China everyone pitches in for everything, there is no private ownership, of land or the produce. That isn’t the case in Java, it could be a case of receiving a portion of what you help harvest, or giving others the same sort of help they give you. (Photo: Heading back to sea - Sukamade, East Java)

For the first time the concept of a modern housing estate has been spotted. Modern as in western looking, and of uniform construction, row upon row of them, each group may have been slightly different but within their immediate environs exactly the same. More individual, bigger, and more elaborate houses flanked these. Like in the UK, where exclusivity wants to make a show of that privilege, which it can do really well by being within sight of the mundane and boring. And then there are the newly built village houses; rough and ready, of sloppy construction with no paint or even render. They’re not made to look good or impress anyone, they’re made to live in, fullstop. Which is a vast improvement on the shitholes many others live in, the railtrack dwellers, in their unbroken chain of grubby, grimey hovels. Coming into Surabaya city are some of the worst I’ve seen, it is terraced housing at it’s most terrible, if you lean out the train door you could almost knock on their windows. (Photo: Second nest of eggs for the night - Sukamade, East Java)

A nine hour wait for a connection in Surabaya was a drag, but had to be done; at least it gave me a 5am start from Banyuwangi. From there I was faced with a convoluted journey by minibus, bus, truck and motorbike taxi. At the end of that I’d hoped to finally reach the Merubetiri National Park, and a turtle project at Sukamade. This is off the beaten track, getting there is pretty much a hit and miss affair. At first my luck was in, I managed to find a bus going directly to Pessangaran. The hope from there was for a truck which goes into the national park once a day, and I got there in plenty of time. Trying to jump the gun I found another minibus going half the way there, I figured I could still get the truck from there if nothing else turned up. Sure enough, on reaching Suranang I was still hours ahead of the truck and in a position where I could afford to turn down the extortionate quotes for a bike taxi. With a four hour wait I was too restless to sit still for so long, so decided to start hiking in. (Photo: Odd looking critter - Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Boy was it hot, and the first 5km was out in the open sun at mid-day. My presence pounding the broken tarmac at the heat of the day raised more than a few eyebrows. It also raised many a smile, and enquiries as to where I was going. They were kind about it, but obviously thought I was mad. A park ranger kindly gave me a lift the last km to the park gates; damn I thought he was going the whole way. He did offer to, but at a rate even more extortionate than the privateers from town. So with my full pack on, and daypack strapped to my front, I stubbornly set off again. It was bloody tough going, and that was at the start. Ironically I couldn’t have chosen a better method to get through the park. Not a single man made sound reached my ears, I heard nothing but the chittering of monkeys, bird calls and various insect noises. Before I ever saw them the monkeys would leap between trees, only the crashing of brush alerted me to their presence. Expert at hide and seek they stay perfectly still behind a cluster of leaves, peeking out now and again to check me out. If I pointed my camera in their direction they were off, as quick as a shot. Often the whole tree would awaken with a flurry of movement as a large troupe took flight. I got to thinking they were merely playing games with me, but in truth they are so shy it seems plain how unused to humans they are. (Photo: Caught in mid-jump - Sukamade, Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

By the end of the 20km hike I was fit to drop, my calves were knotted lumps of muscle, my knees creaked in protest, and my hamstrings were as taut as bowstrings. I could barely find the energy to eat I was so knackered, after an unappetising bowl of plain fried rice I slumped and fell fast asleep. Only to be woken at 8.30pm by the guide for the nightly hunt for turtles on the beach. Sukamade is a special place, it’s renowned for high numbers of turtles coming to lay their eggs. There’s an astonishing amount, we sat and watched two excavate a nest and lay their eggs. The following day I wandered the length of the beach and lost count of the trails left by visiting turtles. How well run the project was impressed me, there is plenty of evidence of disturbed nests, but almost every night the staff collect hundreds of eggs for their hatchery. I do have thoughts on whether artificial hatching and release interfere with the natural process for the turtle to imprint the beach’s location and successfully return. No-one knows such things yet, and the crux of the matter is it’s better than leaving them to get predated, whether by animal or thieving poachers. (Photo: Hauling out the boat - Rajegwesi, Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Being an issue so close to my heart I gave a hefty donation when I left after two days. I had a great time there, though the food was atrocious and the facilities basic at best. The whole park is damned near deserted, and a pain to get to, unless you hire private transport. Neither on the way in or on my way out truck never actually turned up. Rain stops play apparently, though in all honesty the track in is so murderous it had me tripping and stumbling on my own two feet. Leaving, two local guys took me, and my overweight pack, out on their bikes. Our combined weight was too much for one bike, it kept bottoming out and lacked power to climb the steep cobbled trail. I’m glad they offered though, their price was so cheap I nearly doubled it, I could hardly believe they’d made it.But they did in amazing style, and dropped me in the very capable hands of a guy called Poer, the co-ordinator of a newly developing eco-tourism project in the village of Rajegwesi, not far into the park. Spending a few hours there was too little, but gave me enough of a glimpse to see it’s potential for anyone who wants to see a part of unspoilt Java. So far there is no tourism there at all, they’re in the process of preparing their first five Homestays in time for April. The beach is wonderful, it stretches endlessly away from the village. A variety of trips can be arranged and you’re more than welcome to visit the backyard sugar factories, wander through the paddy fields or help the fishermen haul their boats onto the beach (though I wouldn’t expect the same fee as the locals for doing so). I know this place isn’t easy to get to, but I’d recommend it to anyone, it’s worth the effort. Their emphasis is on charging normal prices and opening their arms in welcome to foreign tourists. There is as much or as little as you’d like, the national park is perfect for hikes, distant beaches can be reached by boat, and you can even camp there in total privacy. (Photos: Village life - Rajegwesi, Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Jubilant in Java

With great pleasure I escaped the mega mayhem of Jakarta, I can’t understand how various friends have put up with living in that place for prolonged periods of time.But it does hold a certain interest, and the people are unbelievably friendly. Wherever I went I was greeted with pleasant words and friendly smiles. For a city of over 10 million people that’s saying something! It’s so unlike London, where you’re lucky to even catch someone’s attention, let alone get any response from them. An interesting difference on public transport in Jakarta is the areas designated for “Ladies Only”. On buses and trains they tend to be the front end of the carriage, while the rear section is for mixed occupation. It raises some interesting questions on the topic of sexual equality, especially considering the views towards women in Muslim society; they have the best of both worlds in this one aspect of life. I didn’t realize the first time I boarded a bus and wondered why the hell I was being ushered to the rear of the bus. It’s Ok, I can handle being a down trodden male! (Photo: Ridge and furrow method of growing mixed crops - West Java)

Leaving the city eventually relied on public transport yet again. After making enquiries it didn’t seem a straight forward matter of finding a used bike dealer and buying a cheap machine. The only advice given was to walk about and ask people, motorcycle hire shops for example. And the only price bracket I was given was in the region of £600, way too high for a what I wanted. Maybe I could have found a cheaper deal, but I wasn’t prepared to loiter any longer than absolutely necessary. I wanted out of the mayhem, to get back on the road again, by whatever means. Of course the temptation was to get as far away as possible, yet I wasn’t ready to do one continuous long haul journey, straight through Java. Picking a few suggested destinations the choice was made, Yogyakarta, halfway down the island and within striking distance of some highly recommended religious sites. (Photo: A well earned rest - Rural East Java)

Once more I plumped to go by rail. For me it’s a soft option, you have freedom of movement and your own allotted seat. There’s few means of travel that give the excitement of hanging out an open door at 60mph or so, snapping photos of unspoilt countryside. Of course it does depend on the areas you pass through, but even if it’s grotty areas you aren’t subjected to direct confrontation with the grime and filth, which is somehow pleasant too. And that was the case leaving Jakarta, the city and its suburbs went on forever, I was so glad not to be on a bike sat in the noisy, polluted midst of it all. Miles of corrugated iron shanties lined the tracks, the roofs had no break between structures, there were acres of unbroken rusty iron facing the sky. Now and again their frontage would boast ponds of standing water, choked with pondweed, oily from the residue on the surface. It was a far cry from the scene found in tourist-ville, open sewers were still the norm and piles of waste littered the trackside. (Photo: Pristine rice terracing - Entering Central Java)

The first sight of rice paddies brought hope that the urban degradation was over, but these proved little more than brief corridors between more urban squalor. My assumption was that successive towns were gradually spreading out as the populations of each grew in size. All were industrial towns, commercial compounds surrounded residential areas, intruding upon the agricultural boundaries, no doubt at the expense of fertile land. For a long time it looked as though it was one continuous metropolis, but I don’t think so. A thin ribbon of dilapidated housing lined the tracks, as seems the case in many poorly developed countries. Behind would be little more than a road, maybe supporting a ragged line of stalls scratching a meagre living from passing traffic. Most of these houses were dirty and squalid, surrounded by bare earth scratched clean by chickens in their endless pursuit of food. There wasn’t any room between them for personal vegetable plots, though occasionally bananas grew close by. In fact trees were common, my ID skills are severely lacking but mangoes, lychees, rambutans and tamerind are fairly ubiquitous. (Photo: Country lanes on the bike - Back track between Yogyakarta and Borobudur, Central Java)

Even when we left the large towns behind houses tended to be clustered together in tight groups, at the edge of large expanses of ride paddy. And they large, flat, verdant green expanses, stretching to the far horizon, under an azure sky. How quick that lifted my spirits, an empty landscape of vivid colour, the only sign of life peasants in conical hats, often up to their knees in mud. Unlike the urban corridors these were not unbroken fields of paddy, smaller plots being segregated by boundaries of earthen banks. It’s easier to maintain a controlled and equal level of water, though here there were no signs of shortage. Irrigation canals carried a steady flow of water, breaches in the earth defenses kept each individual paddy field at the desired level. Of various sizes and shapes it wasn’t easy to tell the basis of ownership, it didn’t look communal. Individuals tended their own fields, yet the irrigation must have been a communal effort, it was evidently dredged by hand and fed everyone’s paddy. (Photo: Hello ducky - Back track between Yogyakarta and Borobudur, Central Java)

Far from being a monoculture the crops varied significantly. Beginning as single bamboo canes, planted in the narrow dividing walls of the paddy, beans were grown as a by-product. As we progressed into the heart of Java separate plots were given over solely to beans, grown on ‘A’ frames. Patches of maize put in a regular appearance, as did sugar cane and a few unidentified grains and pulses. Grains tend to be grasslike, whilst pulses grow with leaves, stems and flowers (at the appropriate phase of growth). Of greater interest was the mixing of other crops with the rice paddy. Broad strips of ridge and furrow would have rice growing in the furrows while maize, cane or any variety of other food would be planted in the ridges. One foodstuff there was a noticeable absence of was livestock. I only saw ducks, which serve a triple purpose. As well as meet they lay eggs, but I think they also help keep the paddy clear of snails. (Photo: Borobudur temple - Nr Yogyakarta, Central Java)

Central Java is much more hilly, so the rice paddy was grown in narrow, steep terraces. It makes for a particularly beautiful landscape.

I guess there’s no keeping off motorbikes for long, when I discovered bikes for hire in Yogyakarta I needed no excuses. I plumped for the biggest on offer, a nearly new Honda, yes a genuine Honda, GL150. The highly recommended Buddhist site of Borobudur is some way outside the town, it can be done in a day but I decided to make an overnight trip of it so I could get in a couple of days riding. Of course I wasn’t about to ride straight there and back, instead a number of small lanes were chosen at random so, I could meander my way between the surrounding volcanoes. That raised a few eyebrows, and smiles. Everyone was utterly charming, the kids bashful but cute, their parents amazed but welcoming. I never realize how many Christian areas there were in Indonesia, before I thought it was restricted to the Lake Toba area of Sumatra. Here it isn’t so much one or the other, it’s mixed, everyone lives within the confines of the same villages, and as far as I could tell happily so. (Photo: Watching for volcanic eruption - Borobudur temple, Cetral Java)

Being reluctant to diss the Buddhist monument I must say I wasn’t overly impressed. It’s a UNESCO heritage site, and probably deserves the designation considering where it’s situated. OK, I’m totally spoilt; I’ve seen the best of the Mayan ruins, wonderful ancient Hindu monuments, gorgeous temple dedicated to Buddha and even the Potala Palace. Borobudur is claimed to be the single greatest Buddhist temple, I can only say they shouldn’t hype it so much. It’s worth seeing, it is not worth paying the extortionate price to stay at the associated hotel, nor the added cost of a sunrise or sunset viewing. If you took both of these on top of the hotel you’d be paying over £100 for 24hrs access to the site. I don’t know who writes some of these travel guides, personally I think they’re out of touch with the whole ethos of travelling, they’re writing more for the casual tourist. Horses for courses I think the saying goes. (Photo: Top level of Borobudur, each bell structure houses a stone Buddha - Nr Yogyakarta, Central Java)

It was interesting, I enjoyed wondering round the multilayered monument. Seen from afar it’s more impressive, but still not anything as dynamic as viewing Tikal from the top of Temple 4 (look it up). The reliefs are badly degraded and often mismatched, I’d still recommend seeing it if in the area, but look at the cheaper option.

Jacked off with Jakarta

A rather sudden departure from Kuala Lumpur was in itself a good thing. I’d got to wasting away the days, achieving little, seeing less. In fact the intended delight of a shopping frenzy never fully materialized. And it wasn’t for the lack of opportunity! The place it packed full with enormous shopping malls, too many in fact, you’re spoilt for choice. I couldn’t have even touched the surface, whatever the goods I had in mind. Neither was it difficult to get around, the monorail and metro systems are quick and efficient ways to get around; they’re also dirt cheap. The main drawback is the crowds, it seems that anywhere worth shopping in are packed. While the western world is undergoing a recession the east is in a spending frenzy. The amount of money I see people pulling out their pockets is unbelievable. Every bank of ATMs has a steady stream of eager shoppers punching in their number and drawing out their piles of paper. Huge wads of cash are produced when they make even quite small purchases; sometimes I wonder if it’s the show that counts. (Photo: Future of the Islands - Batam dock, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

Jakarta is no different, it’s just busier, which I didn’t think possible. Has the world gone mad, consumerism has taken over. What the west had the east is now desperate to have even more of, western goods are in high demand. The crafty thing is naming goods with similar names to quality western brands, but originals are the most desirable. They aren’t cheap either, many clothes I looked at I can buy as cheap at home. Europe may have curbed its spending spree, but Asia seems more than capable of taking over. The tide has turned, if any of you had any doubt about the up and coming financial clout of previously third world countries forget it. The decadence of architecture here is phenomenal, big shiny monstrosities litter the skyline. There’s no shortage of investment in capital cities. Transport systems are improving rapidly, mega bucks are being poured into developing the financial centre’s of these countries. And why not, we've had our chance and it seems that we failed to maintain our ever expanding capitalist ways. Who are we to deprive the rest of the world their opportunity to learn that expansion can only go so far? Remember our worlds resources are limited, it has to stop some time. (Photo: Clearing the last few loads - Batam dock, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

Having gone from one gargantuan city to another I’ve definitely had enough. Of course this is the problem of backpacking, relying on public transport, being taken from one transport hub to the next. No wonder I’ve always gone out my way to avoid cities, and it was so easy on a bike. I had half a mind to buy another bike on reaching Jakarta, I’ve given up that hope, simply because I can’t face staying here long enough to track down a machine. Second hand availability is elusive, and prices are stupid, I can buy a decent bike at home for less. Being quoted $800 for a five year old 125cc is more than I’m willing to consider. That is not a throw away machine, and I can’t face the rigmoral of trying to resell at a reasonable price. So my journey will have to continue relying on whatever transport is available. It’s time to lighten my load even more, I’m tired of carrying so much weight on my back. Out go my favourite, but ragged, teeshirts, in the bin go my faithful, but torn, Animal trousers. (Photo: As close as I wished to see Singapore - Leaving Batam, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

With the Indonesian Archipelago spread before me I’m on the last leg before I turn around and consider returning home. It may be a few months yet, and my mind isn’t exactly contemplating being back in North Wales, but I do feel the end is in sight. I’m getting even more critical of where I am and the people I meet, that’s not a good sign. Each new place I encounter takes a bit more to settle into, it’s easy when faced with beautiful beaches and relaxing amidst natural delights, or it should be. The tendency now is to notice the negative before appreciating the positive, that isn’t how I wish to travel. I’m still happy enough meeting the various people who cross my path, at least the locals anyway. It’s nice to meet other travelers now and again, but they seem to be wherever I go recently. A few days here and there with no other white face in sight, but it’s not enough. Maybe a bit more effort to get off the beaten track is needed, or maybe a better appreciation for whatever the world around has to offer would do just as well. (Photo: Training homing pigeons - Jakarta, Indonesia)

The dulcet tones drift across the rooftops, a soothing, melodic call to prayers. It beckons gently to the faithful, enticing one to enter a tranquil world, to escape the harsh realities of modern life and lose yourself in prayer. Who could resist the temptation to slip into blissful rapture? This is the promise carried on the non-existent breeze. It eases the mind, opens the heart and cleanses the soul. Suddenly an abrupt staccato shatters the peace, piercing the reverie achieved. Shouting, threatening, in direct competition with the peaceful overtures, a new crackling voice demands obeisance. Come to prayers or be damned is his message. I know which I would be drawn to, if I were so inclined. I thought worship was meant to be a heavenly endeavour, I thought it was meant to sooth the soul. How lucky that the second attempt at beckoning people to the mosque has only been heard once! It’s a pleasure to be lulled into the realms peaceful contemplation at regular intervals during the day; maybe the other Imam couldn’t handle the stress levels he invoked and blew a gasket. (Photo: Beauty within the beast - Jakarta cityscape, Indonesia)