Cycle sumatra Blog

I'm cycling for two months through Sumatra. I plan to spend most of the time in the north and west, then head down along the coast and perhaps visit a few islands.

Calang to Blangpidie via Meulaboh April 29, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 5:33 am

The plain between between the mountains and the coast widened, the road  inland and rolling through a land of palm plantations and marshy  grassland. Despite the slight breeze from the sea, the sun was burning hot, the palm plantations taking away the natural shade of forest and mountain. Numerous rivers, some small meandering creeks, others wide tracts of flowing ochre water thick with silt headed towards the sea. Many of the villages scattered roadside are terraced facades with overhanging second floors shadowing the shop fronts beneath. I have a strange sensation that I’m cycling through the wild west, albeit one with a deep green flora saturated by the the daily rains.

Before Meulaboh, the largest town to the epicentre of the Tsunami, it’s old harbour and seaside neighbourhoods now surviving merely as broken foundations of houses and ruins of walls, a huge expanse of burnt wasteland stretches towards the mountains. Butchered trees, razed grass and blackened stumps that form strange, alien shapes carpet of what was once forest. The sound of chainsaws rang from afar.

After manouvring around a herd of buffalo, caked in mud and standing stubbornly in the road, I once more joined the sea, passing fishing villages, wooden boats hauled up on the beach and river banks.  With the threat of rain coming, I again relied on the hospitality of a local man, Erson, for a place to stay. In the evening I met his uncle, an old man with sucked in cheeks from a lifetime of hard smoking and leathered skin from a lifetime farming. He has a big nose ( as I have, which apparently is a compliment) and western features, a descendent of an early portuguese colonialist. He’s pleased to meet me; I am, it seems, a way in which he can connect with a culture and world far from his own but to which he feels some sense of belonging. As well as farming, he practises traditional medicine, able to heal a broken leg using purely traditional techniques. I’m sure he can, but doubt whether I’d travel from England to Sumatra with one limb hanging by a strand to find out.

I woke at 5am feeling sick with a queasiness in my stomach. I looked around me, feeling disorientated and nervous, sitting up and trying to get a sense of what was happening. After a short time, hazed by my semi-consciousness, I once more fell asleep. Woken by a phone call from my family, they told me there had been a big earthquake, 7.3?, out at sea not far from where I stayed. There were Tsunami warnings, but with the quake deep underground, nothing manifested.

The next day continued with more palms and banana trees, heading inland, towards to the mountains and thick cumulonimbus clouds above. As it began to pour, I shared a shelter with a couple of guys on bikes, baskets either side full of small, silvery fish. I decided to continue, the rain refusing to abate, and cycled through a strange air of rain, mist and the smoke drifting from the late afternoon fires that everyone burns. I stopped for some melon and watched a man rolling cigarettes for some kids who looked under 10. Unsure of my place, I left, feeling it best to leave my shock and dismay behind in the puddles surrounding the soaked shack.

 

Sabang to Calang cont April 27, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 1:17 pm

bit of an internet issue before! anyway, as i was saying….

Mostly the road has a great surface, except for thirty miles where it becomes an offroad surface of rock and mud. At parts, diggers  hacked away haphazardly at the rock and earth, creating an orange  maze of tyre tracks all leading in the same direction. In other places, the road has been left unsurfaced, snaking through small inland villages, wooden bungalows and stilted houses  tucked amongst small plantations and forest. Bouncing through these highlights the utter devastation nearer the coast where all the towns are NGO sponsored redevelopments, some bright blues and reds, others a dirty white already stained by the frequent rain and thunderstorms.

The whole western coast is scarred by the Tsunami. In places the coast is like a graveyard; the tall, leafless trunks of palm trees protrude from the sea like antennae, stumps of mangroves lie mangled by the beaches, wrecked huts sit with roofs collapsed inside.

The air of many small villages was pungent with the smell of seafood: flattened octopus and large, dried fish hanging and twisting in the breeze like decorations. As dusk approached, farmers burnt grass and villagers their rubbish, a choking smell of melting plastic replacing that of the fish. Buffaloes wallowed in paddies and lagoons with yellow beaked birds hopping across their backs, picking at their hide.

In Calang, the police scrutinised my passport without really knowing why, then got together for a brief photoshoot. As they guided me to a cheap losmen, they wondered if i wanted to met some Calang girls, but I declined.

 

The West Coast (Sabang to Meulaboh) April 26, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 2:19 pm

Sabang to Meulaboh

My early ferry back from Sabang to the “mainland” meant enduring the usual photoshoots, printing a false smile across my face whilst teenagers grinned inanely beside me. Most photos so far have captured me at my most radiant best; saturated in sweat, bright red and with drooping eyelids having cycled up a mountain. On this day I  was as fresh as a daisy but still stood reluctantly as the camera phones recycled hands in front of me. Perhaps I belong in  Bukit Lawang, the famous Orangutan rehabilitation centre. As the boat slowly moved through the water, the distorted shadows shifting from the passing clouds made the sea look like marbled glass, the beautiful pink sunrise had turned into a hot, burning glow.

A dry road led south west from Banda, the sea breeze whipping up dust and swirling it into my eyes. This was short lived, however, and soon I was cycling next to the sea, the waves crashing onto the white, sandy beaches adjacent to the road, newly made after the Tsunami. Large signs advertised USAID who financed the project. It seems as much as helping redevelopment itself, NGO’s want their efforts to be remembered, and as such a competitiveness seems to appear in the size and frequency of the signs.

The large, dark mountains that had ushered me into Banda Aceh on a wide plain now squeezed me to the coast, at times creeping straight down into the sea. I climbed through the path cut deep into the rock, some parts blocked and already cut up by landslides and tumbling boulders.

As the sagging clouds became too heavy and shed rain, I met a local guy who invited me to stay with his family. He showed me around the local villages and introduced me to the locals. As we sat outside a small cafe, the sky dark and broody, still raining, hundreds of dark shadows moved through the sky, heading to the mountains. Fruitbats, brought by the blooming durian fruit. From where they came I don’t know, but they fitted the ominous atmosphere of the now depressing day. Later, I was introduced to the local Shamen, which was not quite the mystical experience I imagined; wearing jeans and t-shirt he stopped briefly, smoked a strong clove cigarette, and hurtled off into the darkness of the village.

The next day I continued along this scarred

 

Hello April 15, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 2:17 pm

Finally updated, but still well behind. Haven’t really come across many internet connections in the west, and where i have they’ve usually been really bad. This is third time i’ve written the last post, and each time my enthusiasm dies! I’ve also been in a few really small villages, and have just spent three days in a village without power (they have it, but the government just cuts them off!) so communication is hard.

As before, sorry if mistakes/boring etc!

Oh, and photos are so hard to get on a computer, i’ll probably have to wait til i get back and stick them on the web then.

ta

 

Banda Aceh/ Pulau Weh

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 1:40 pm

Banda Aceh 24th-29th Mar

The centre of Banda Aceh bustles with becak (motorbike taxis), market stalls selling the usual fake brands and food stands with local cuisine. In the middle stands the grand mosque, built in pristine white stone, blurting out readings from the holy book and call to prayer. It’s beautifully decorated, the black tiled domes glinting with the sun and gartered with ornate frills. The surrounding grass seems creates an escape from the surrounding activity, and accordingly t’s here the waters of the Tsunami stopped, at the doors of God. For many people this confirmed their faith and the strength of the lord. Five years ago, at the mosque, bodies were laid out to be identified, and those needing help converged on the area for assistance and organisation. Longer ago, when the Dutch colonialists were attempting to subdue the Acehnese, there was huge battle; the Dutch were defeated and a grave signifies the resting place of one of their commanders. It’s steeped in history, and marked with death.

I met an aid worker who’d been here since the disaster and he explained the faith in God has at times created problems for the development and reconstruction. A previous national cleric stated that the Tsunami was God’s way of expressing his will, which cannot be questioned. Trying to encorporate this belief whilst encouraging people to believe that it’s also necessary to redevelop and prevent a future disaster was one of the challenges.

Much of the city nestles next to the sea, and I cycled around the surrounding lowlands, past small fish farms and waterways, all rebuilt in the aftermath. The neighbourhoods were almost completely constructed by NGO’s, creating strange little settlements of uniform houses, like toytowns. It struck me that not only are lives taken and families broken by such disaster, but culture and heritage is also ripped away from us. These are houses, rather than homes, built quickly, without the personality and familiarity that makes ones home so special, that allows it to develop over time, to become an extension of us.

During my time in Banda I met many interesting people who shared their experiences and knowledge of the area. They told me more about the Tsunami, about the local drugs trade, about the history of Acehnese indendence, and religion. Whilst some people appear jaded by the presence of foreigners, by the rapid inflation they’ve caused and their different customs, the vast majority are welcoming, as with the rest of Aceh.

Pulau Weh 30th- 3rd Apr

I left Banda, cycling to the port area of Ulee Lhee, often referred to as “ground zero”. The whole area was destroyed, and most of the 6000 community killed. The area is still recovering and appears quiet compared to other parts of the city. Nearby, 2km inland, is a huge power generating ship slung in by the wave, it’s massive steel frame impossible to move, another permanent reminder to survive along with those that live in the memory.

Sabang is about 1.5 hours from Banda Aceh, a beautiful island at the far tip of Sumatra. Except for a small uninhabited island further into the Indian Ocean, the most western point of Indonesia, km nul marked by a strange monument that at first appears like some kind of religious building in a sad state of repair.

I headedto the western tip of the island. The road winds along the coast, around the numerous little bays, past small villages and beaches, rising steeply up into heavily forested hills that drop straight to the sea. Skittish wild boars darted into the dense foliage and angry macaques mock charged me as climbed alone on the quiet road. “Monkey hill” was aptly named, and I once more found myself searching for a stick to waft at those who came too close.

The island is renowned for the diving and snorkelling and is free from the crowds of other small Asian islands, perhaps because of the awkward access, perhaps because of Sharia law. The waters are indeed beautiful, lovely seascapes with coral and rock, looking like a naturally created history of modern art. Some look like henry moore sculptures, others giant portobello mushrooms fanning out across the bed. Yet, in other parts, the coral disappears, lying merely on the bottom of the ocean, grey and dead, a graveyard of sealife. Much damage was done by the Tsunami, but it could also be the remains of the destruction of dynamite fishing, now outlawed, but that continues at times much to the consternation of local divers.

Whilst the western island is quiet, to the east is Sabang, a leafy town with many old colonial buildings and monuments. There is unfinished harbour, stopped amidst a corruption scandal and many locals are happy this hasn’t developed into the free port it was intended. The eastern coast is scattered with old Japanese bunkers still looking out to sea, searching for any enemies invading Sumatran shores.

 

Bireuen to Banda Aceh March 27, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 2:31 am

22nd Mar – Bireuen

Whilst pottering about Bireuen I met a local called Noni, middle-aged with a fantastic smile and moustache. He was a member of the bireuen classics bicycle club whose members cruise around on original classic frames, some up to a hundred years old. He proudly told me the Dutch soldiers used to cycle around on these bikes, only to be ambushed by local Acehnese who’d shoot them.

We visited the local beach with his friends which was destroyed by the Tsunami, bringing the shoreline in by around 200metres. He showed me his fathers shrimp farm, now just a smashed warehouse with huge concrete tanks lying upside down in the sand. Quite hard to imagine the force it takes to tear such huge objects up and displace them.

A section of the coast had been redeveloped, a large sea defence with groynes stretching into the water, but it was only small, and was intended to be built along the whole shoreline. Unfortunately, the money dried up, redirected to other areas. It could be a beautiful beach, but the mangroves have been replaced by mounds of sand and stones, waiting for the unlikely continuation of rebuilding. Some things are just forgotten and lie to ruin.

23rd – Bireuen to Sigli

I’d joined the National highway treading the length of the country, but the road is little more than a wide single carriageway following the flattest parts of the country.

I passed the usual towns and villages: incomplete buildings with bamboo scaffolding, colourful facades with ornate shutters, dreary concrete buildings like empty tombs, advertising banners flapping in the breeze, goats and cats picking through piles of rubbish. There were many timber workshops, men sanding wood presumably logged from local forests.

As you approach towns, mosque domes rise above the buildings and plantations, often glinting under the bright sun. Like churches, they are often beautiful constructions, built to emphasise their power, to dominant the landscape and to make people aware of their presence. You are always in the presence of religion: it pervades life.

I notice a number of projects set up by NGO’s: Save the Children, UNICEF and “the people of Japan” sponsored housing, school and farming schemes. I also experience a few more people (usually just children chancing their arm) asking for money, something I hadn’t experienced before. Is this the unwanted side affect of aid projects, whoever much they’re centred on development?

I spent a night in Sigli, another quiet seaside town en route to Banda. I watched the small fishing boats trawl the waters, weaving amongst the rickety, stilted huts with suspended nets like giant trampolines, sunk at night and pulled up in the day. It’s hard to imagine that such a peaceful scene would suddenly have changed as the huge waves rolled in.

24th Mar – Sigli to Banda

Leaving town, there are more plantations interspersed with paddies. After a day flat cycling, I start to climb again, struggling with the burning sun and uphill. The forest returned and a troupe of angry macaques stood their ground roadside, barking loudly, making mock movements of aggression. I found a stick: I don’t fancy their sharp canines digging at my legs!

Mount Seulawah is 18oom, heavily forested and clad with white cloud. The rest of the sky is blue, dotted with wisps of cirrus high up. I started to feel anxious. Skirting the mountain, I head towards Seulimeum,the town where a couple of weeks earlier police and Al Qaida affiliated terrorists had had a shoot out.

I can see why terrorists come to Aceh to hide within the cloak of the jungle, but the people, as with everywhere else, are either friendly or uninterested. After previous conflicts, and recent relative stability, it seems the terrorists had a lack of support and were isolated by the Acehnese. News coverage of terrorists might prevent people travelling here, but I can truly say the Acehnese are the friendliest people I’ve encountered on my travels, and the terrorism is unrelated.

The road continued north, a large ridge of mountains to my left and Seulawah to my right. The sky darkened and rain spat down on the yellowed fields, farmers harvesting grass and piling it into sacks. The traffic increased, more greetings, and a couple of motorbike stalkers (building the courage to say hello!). Finally, Banda.

 

Takengon to Bireuen March 25, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 11:06 am

Sun 21st Mar – Takengon to Bireuen

Spent the previous day in Takengon, exploring the town and neighbourhoods. The lake, Tawar, is incredibly picturesque, situated amongst a ring of mountains crowned with huge, cumulus clouds. Men in narrow dugout canoes paddled slowly in the shallows, dropping their lines into the rippling water. Below the mossy green mountains paddies stretched to the water’s edge, plastic bags and t-shirts fluttering on poles to ward off the birds. The water appeared both dark blue and turquoise as the sun sporadically broke through the clouds to brighten the lake.

Islam is definitely more adhered to in the town, all the women wearing Gilbab (scarfs) and the men dressing conservatively. As I walked through narrow back streets I was invited into someone’s house for coffee. Through broken English I discover that one of the men fought against the military when the trouble erupted in Aceh over independence. I take a photo of him and his friend standing proudly next to their Aceh independence flag. Then, they hauled me to a traditional longhouse where young local men and women were practising a traditional Gayo (the local culture) dance, full of heavy chest beating and clapping.

Cycling to Bireuen, I first climbed high over mountain with great vistas of the lake before cruising through bustling market towns. Women in scarves beat flies from the shimmering fish, others sold a multitude of fruit, both familiar and unfamiliar. I overtook a man on a stalling motorbike, chickens craning their necks out of the wicker cages into which they were stuffed.

I cycle up and down in this undulating countryside, the larger mountains receeding behind me, replaced by smaller ones. To my left the sky was clear blue, to my left an ominous dark grey.

I sensed change, and felt the first part of my journey had finished. The high, steepling peaks and ridges of the Gayo Highlands, through which I’d cycled for the past week, were fading. Now I was surrounded by huge palm tree plantations, grown for oil, and banana groves. I passed numerous military barracks, orderly set out like the schools. Some soldiers called out the usual remarks, others just eyed me suspiciously as I cycled through the dusty, hot road to Bireuen.

 

Blangkejeren to Takengon March 20, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 2:14 pm

After a day in Blangkejeren helping Mikele, an Italian guy, organise a project to clean schools in the area, I left towards Takengon. These two days cycling were both the most difficult but beautiful of the trip so far.

Thursday 18th – Blangkejeren to Lumut village

I was slightly nervous having been warned the previous evening about tigers, lions and ghosts by a local. Tigers were unlikely as their numbers have plummeted so badly that most people have never seen one, lions actually being in Indonesia made me laugh, but ghosts! In forests, apparently, waiting, with their serrated teeth and twisted bodies (so I gathered from her impression).

Again I followed a river from Blangkejeren, cycling flat through a valley of rice fields and buffalo. It confirmed cycling as one of the best ways to travel, bar walking. The smell of the flowers, the clicking of cicadas, birdsong, and a closeness to people that buses and cars merely prevent (unless sitting in someone’s armpit on an overcrowded bus).

The mangy dogs and cats were replaced by goats and their kids lying exhausted in the sunshine, keeping me guessing as to whether they were living or dead. After a steep climb I passed a large sign promoting the acceptable and unacceptable manners of Islam. It appears the only acceptable thing is that women wear a tight headscarf- all else is marked off with a large cross. I’m stopped by the police who offer me a glass of water, then request a present from England. I have nothing. “Money?” was the follow up, but the officer appeared sheepish and I laughed him off. They let me go, wishing I take care.

I started to climb, first under the blazing sunshine, then through the shade of the trees. The jungle closed in around me. I could hear the whoops of gibbons somewhere nearby and the raucous bleating of insects hanging to the trees. Metres in front of me a huge bird of prey swept across the road, diving into the thick vegetation. I got paranoid, thinking of the buzzard that attacked people in south England last year. I don’t want to be scalped, I thought.

A steep descent over broken roads and incomplete bridges took me into another fertile valley with ochre soil and green plantations. Farmers were razing fields and occasionally the air was choking. I stayed at the house of a village chief and who spoke broken English. A wrinkled old man with an incredible chain-smoking habit, we talked about deforestation, hunting, transmigration and other such topics

Friday 19th – Lumut to Takengon

Having eaten wild deer (or goat, wasn’t too sure), I climbed away from the crystalline river that ran through Lumut into parched alpine forest. The scent reminded me of the American national forests I visited when I was younger, the sweet pine drifting in the breeze. The soil was baked dry, sometimes dull brown, sometimes fire red. I kept going up and once more was in fairly dense forest, alone, free from the sounds of cars and people. I heard barking from the trees and saw a troop of macaques squabbling in the branches, peering at me cautiously from high above.

The road fell, then continued into another valley with another river, this one seemingly an oasis with palms and huge ferns. People looked shocked to someone on a bicycle, sweating profusely in the sun and glowing like some mythical beast. The valley was so beautiful, so peaceful, the gardens of the houses bright with flowers and trees. I wonder why some villages look so luscious and fertile whilst others on the same river can look poor and badly kept, scattered with litter and dirt.

I felt as though I’d been going up all day, and I still had the final climb, 14km up before descending into Takengon. The late afternoon was chilly and as I climbed higher I had to put on extra clothes. My reward was a brilliant 10km downhill towards the town and the picturesque lake Tawar. The lake is 1200m, so I must have climbed over 2000m in total.

I felt shocked as I arrived, once more surrounded by people, by cars, the noise and soot of motor vehicles. I’d spent two days in such peaceful surroundings, and indeed I hadn’t been in a town this big since Medan. I arrived as the mosque’s call to prayer blared out over the speakers, feeling the eyes of town-folk watching me cycling in circles to find my hotel!

 

March 17, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 1:05 pm

hi all.

apologies if the blog has mistakes. The internet is so bad and I can’t really be arsed to check carefully after pissing about for two hours. Also, I want to upload some pictures, but wait til I get to Aceh for the same reasons with speed and generally bad computers.

If you have any questions, think it’s boring, or want to suggest anything, please let me know.

hope everyone is well.

x

 

Berastagi to Blangkejeren

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 11:54 am

13th March – Berastagi towards Kutacane

Recovered from a day spent nursing fever, stomach cramps, headache etc (result of beginning to take Malerone) and left the Karo highlands towards Kutacane. Unfortunately, I missed the traditional village I intended to go to, but have the opportunity to go to others when I come back to the region in a few weeks.

The road out was quiet, sweeping through more fertile farmland and and skirting the cumulus embedded Mount Sinabung. It’s one of those perfect conical mountains that rises with symmetry and cuts into the sky.  The land is full of rich terracotta  soil, occasional bamboo groves and fruit plantations. At points the surface cut up badly, leaving the stone foundations precariously loose in the road. After lunch (I’m finally getting better at shovelling food into my mouth without cutlery, Indonesian style) the road climbed out of the flat and wound around the mountainside, before eventually guiding me to the river valley heading north to Kutacane.

The villages sandwiched between road and river seemed poorer than before, squeezed tighter into space, caught up in the dust of the dry road. Yet, so far in Indonesia, I haven’t seen absolute poverty like in Africa, India or even China. Subsistence farming and basic trade allows survival, and whilst their wealth might be virtually non-existent, this doesn’t necessarily mean the same for happiness, friendliness and apparent contentment. Indeed, a local village Pastor’s hospitality and kindness stretched to giving me a place to stay as darkness drew in. We chatted religion, football, and as payment I had to entertain the local village kids ( albeit fairly badly)

14th March – Pastor’s village (don’t have name off hand) via Kutacane to Ketambe

I left early in the morning, cycling before the sun was at it’s strongest and the heat too much. The mountains either side got higher as I headed towards the Gunung Leuser National Park. Whilst all of the valley is deforested, as soon as the foothills start the forest becomes dense and dark. As I enter villages, either people look bemused by the sight of a white man, especially on bike, or a ripplinf effect takes over the village and people bellow hello from all corners.

I reached Kutacane after 40km, but was happy to leave the heat of the open streets as quickly as I could. The road ducked amongst the trees briefly, before sitting right next to the river, a refreshing breeze following the water as it gushed over small stones and large rocks. The mountains enclosed me, falling down roadside and creating a steady series of small climbs and descents through more villages with small farms. The breeze had gone and the heat was becoming unbearable.

Ketambe appeared earlier than expected, a haven from the heat on the river. Clouds rose from the high forest like chimney smoke before being quickly engulfed by dense raincloud. Everything vanished, and would have been possible to believe all those high peaks that hid the remaining tigers and orangutan didn’t even exist.

I fell asleep to the croaking of frogs and the faint, gushing of the river Gurah.

16th March – Ketambe to Blankjeren

Spent one day hiking in the forest. Was great, though didn’t see any Orangutan. It’s possible to go to a feeding centre called Bukit Lawang on the other side of the mountains, but I don’t know if it really constitutes seeing them wild. Anyway, it was great to hike through the trees and be sucked by leeches, but really I need to continue cycling and I decided against a multi-day hike.

Leaving Ketambe was awful, a brute of hill straight away forcing me to get off and walk. I felt defeated, but the gradient was too steep and my bags tugged the bike backwards. The valley continued in much the same way as a few days previous- few cars, small villages, shocked faces, confused faces, and a changing, Acehnese dialect. The hills were relentless- small but every five minutes or so, tiring my legs and making my progress really slow. There was more deforestation, some on impossible steep slopes, large swathes of land burnt and cut, the greying tree lying like corpses in the burnt cinders. So sad that a century of growth can be culled in minutes by a buzzsaw.

Unfortunately as the valley widened, revealing small gulleys and streams heading straight into the dense forest, I lost the shade and river breeze and began to bake once more in the sunshine. the ride soon became the hardest so far. Again I had to push my bike as I ascended high in the mountains, the noodle soup I ate accompanied by karaoke T.V having little effect on my energy levels. It almost becomes chillt, but this drop in temperature did little to ease the climb. Objects became strange shapes- fallen trees looked like dead snow leopards, dried twisting branches looked like serpents. My lips drying, I thought of the final scene in Beau Travail where the soldier is left for dead on the salt pans.

Just as my heart began to really sink, two guys stopped to offer a cigarette (a familiar, friendly greeting). I turned it down, though they didn’t seem to understand that after climbing what felt like nearly two thousand km in a day and looking like shit, I wouldn’t want to relax with a fag. As it transpired, the worst part so far quickly became the best, I’d reached the top, and as I swung east in the shade of the mountain, I descended for about 15km through alpine hills and glorious panorama, to Blangkejeren, a beautifully situated town nestled amongst high peaks like a Swiss village (albeit a very dirty, Asian one!)