Well, today was pretty exciting. With some apprehension (on my part at least), we decided that the best way to see Sirosam, the massive island in the biggest lake in Southeast Asia (Lake Toba) on the third biggest island in the world (Sumatra) was by motorbike. This island in the lake on the island is so big that there is a pretty sizable lake right in the middle of it. A tad confusing, I realize, but I have a high opinion of the deductive logic of my readership. So, as you can imagine, to see the island a motorbike was a far superior choice to, say, a real bike, or heaven forbid, walking.
So, this morning we rented our bikes (they gave us the keys, told us how to start it, asked “Do you know how to drive? Yes? Good.” and then told us “LEFT, LEFT, LEFT” because Indonesians drive on the wrong side of the road. They then told us about ten times that there was no insurance so we shouldn’t get in a wreck. Thanks…). We had three destinations in mind, the furthest being 45km down the road, and we had seven hours to accomplish it. No problemo.
We started off (a little shakily) but we soon got the hang of it, and the drive was STUNNING. The only road on the island circles it, never more than about 200 yards from the lake edge with its turquoise water and crystal clear depths (this lake is about 1500ft deep, a half a kilometer), while the other side of the lake is ringed with volcanoes and lush vegetation. The people here are Batak, a people famed for their highly advanced culture and the fact that they didn’t stop eating each other until 1825. They ceased their cannibalistic ways because, after killing the first 30 or so missionaries that wandered into their villages, a German Protestant arrived, achieved boy band fame status and now Samosir Island is literally filled with sober protestant churches.
Of course, some beliefs die hard, and at the first village we visited, next to the massive Stations of the Cross garden were the stone chairs where just over 100 years ago criminals sentenced to death were cut, chili and garlic was rubbed in their wounds before they were finally beheaded. Hallelujah.
Surprisingly, we are three of about 30 Westerners on this massive island so every little kid (literally EVERY LITTLE KID, and there’s a lot of them) says “Hi! What’s your name?” even as you’re zipping by at 40km/hr. One older lad even came up next to me on his motorbike and said in good English, “Hi! My name’s Franz. What’s your name?” I think I got out my name and where I was from before he correctly deciphered the look on my face that said “Terribly sorry, but if we keep carrying on this conversation at speed on a winding road, I’m quite sure I’m going to kill us both.” He sped off after attempting to shake hands with me (attempt failed).
Lunch was an interesting affair as well. We stopped at a little wood lean to that looked like it might contain food, went in and performed the international signal for food, the hand to mouth while saying “food, food?” A vigorous nod and a big smile from our hostess and her older neighbor who showed us some pots simmering in the back (I think we might have stumbled on family dinner rather than a restaurant). Anyway, it was a big bowl of noodles and some veggies and red things on top, served with 5 hardboiled eggs. The younger lady showed us how to unshell the eggs and, of course when I’m finally presented with a food I recognize, I immediately managed to rip the egg in half and get egg yolk pieces all over the table. My sheepish grin and “whoops” delighted our hosts and the old lady very patronizingly opened another egg and plopped it into my noodles. It turns out the soup was REALLY spicy, a fact I didn’t appreciate until I had already inhaled it. The sweat pouring from my face (it’s been a cool day) and the tears on my cheeks were about the funniest things I think these two ladies had ever seen and they just laughed away. It took a hot water and a sprite to quench the flames. Not bad for a $1.80 meal for three!
We finally reached our destination, after seeing some traditional Batak houses, boats, dancing, and obstinate water buffalo that just won’t get off the road no matter how much you honk. The destination was some volcanic hot springs, but we were so hot and tired and rain threatened so we left the deserted springs and began the long trek home. Long story short, we made it, but I can barely sit and my forearm muscles are still vibrating.
Moral of this story: motorbikes are not comfortable vehicles.
No comments:
Post a Comment