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.

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 It could be a beautiful beach, but the mangroves have been replaced by mounds of sand and stones, waiting for the unlikely continuation of rebuilding.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!)

 

Sibayak/ Karo Highlands March 11, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 9:38 am

Wed 10th

Hiked up the Mount Sibayak (2300m), a volcano spewing out sulphur and staining the rocks illuminous yellow. Was so nice to just hear the sounds of the surrounding forest, the clicking insects and chattering birds, after the constant growling of motorbikes on the roads.

Sadly the top was engulfed in mist so it was impossible to see the valleys below, but it was still incredibly beautiful at the top. Bumped into a guide on the way down who seemed to be an expert at cockney rhyming slang, though not sure how useful it is in the middle of Sumatra. He told me about the fighting between the military and terrorists in the north, but it is only isolated. I should be able to go much further and just bus the last bit (if necessary).

Thurs 11th

Went on a fantastic 50km round trip through the Karo highlands. The soil, enriched by the volcanoes, is amazingly fertile, the land a constant green of fruit and vegetables. Fields tumbled into gulleys, dogs lay flattened in the sunshine, small, colourful churches and tombs dotted everywhere, chickens pecking around the road.

Some of the villages were really pretty, the houses with lovely gardens and the road fairly clean, others dirty with litter and garages. Always, the two volcanoes (Sibayak and Sinabung) stand tall in the background.

I wonder what these villages would be like if the missionaries didn’t go and try to impale people with Christianity all those years ago. Still, I’m not wishing for some “authentic, primitive experience” as some do; that’s just impossible!

Tomorrow I’m heading north towards Ketembe, a great place to enter the jungle and hopefully see a variety of wildlife. I have been warned though, if anyone says they’ve seen a tiger, “they’re telling porky pies!”.

 

Medan to Berastagi

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 9:14 am

Tuesday 10th

Finally cycling, though on a rather unpleasant road from Medan to Berastagi. Did about 75km and climbed over 1300m.

Despite the heavy traffic leaving Medan, the heat and humidity were yet to rise and a low sun cast a nice, golden light over the Grand Mosque as I left. Hard to know when the city finished and the villages started, small shops and buildings lining the road for many kilometres, gradually thinning out among plantations and forest.

By mid-morning the sun had become strong and burnt down for the rest of the day. A gradual climb started after about 25km which continued up through small, sooty villages with more roadside stalls. In the distant I could see the peaks of the mountain range towards which I was heading looming ominously ahead.

The traffic was bad, though holding my line and ground forced the maniac bus drivers to give me space. Almost felt safer cycling, the buses double overtaking each other, even on corners. I passed a petrol tanker tipped sideways with another sucking out it’s fuel as I began the steep climb into the mountains.

After countless hairpins, and false dawns, I finally broke over a kind of pass, and into the highlands. The air seemed fresher, the occasional plumes of black exhaust smoke became less irritating, farms re-appeared and the cloying humidity of the lowland dissipated, replaced by a cool breeze as I arrived at Berastagi.

 

March 8, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Kieran O'Mahony @ 1:06 pm

Currently in Medan, but am going to leave tomorrow for the hill-town of Berastagi about 80 km away, although up a fairly steep hill (more a mountain, 1300m). Slightly worried about my bike as the rear derailleur got mashed on the flight and I had to sit through the ordeal of watching two, leathered mechanics beating my bike around with spanners and hex keys. Still not very well tuned but am hoping it will get me up the mountain at least.

Medan is a typical S-E Asian city- sweaty, noisy and hectic. When I arrived the rain was absolutely torrential and even the Becak taxis  ground to a standstill. I love the smell that the rain brings and the sound as it smashes down on metallic rooftops, but this time it filled me with dread at the prospect of being stuck halfway up a mountain and half the side sliding towards me! Since friday, though, it hasn’t rained (I’m sure it’s building up for the next couple of days)

Walking around the city, ignoring the toots from taxis and rickshaws I’ve found the people friendly and welcoming. Not just the giggling,excitable school children, but also older generations. I’ve found it difficult to get any natural photos as everybody wants to pose for the lens. My intention to count the number of “hello mister” greetings hollered from vehicles and buildings didn’t really get off the ground after I received what felt like hundreds within a few hours!

Have been having the usual, bizarre dreams because of jetlag. One in particular keeps infiltrating my head as I near sleep. Slowly, as I near unconsciousness, a head bulges from the soil (a kind of clay, Jan Svankmajer head), pushing into a tight, coarse, sack-like material. Some hands appear, holding the cloth taut, forcing it back into the mud. Before the head disappears I kick my foot and snap to (apparently, a throwback to when we were apes and were about to fall from trees!). It’s actually a bit freaky (I haven’t even started taking my anti-malarial medication yet).

That’s about it, so, after walking round and round a choking city, I can finally get on my bike and start pedalling.