"AM I EVER GOING TO SEE MY BIKE AGAIN?"
Day 29
Start – Dumi Finish – Service station, Malasiya Distance travelled – 179 km – none on our motorcylcles Words by - Swells |
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After an averagely awkward breakfast buffet at our hotel, we quickly packed our gear and headed down to our bikes. We milled around for a short while generating nervous energy then right on the agreed 7 AM a gentlemen on a scooter pulls into the car park - Introduces himself, turns his scooter around and motions for us to follow.
As of yet we have not seen the boat which our bikes are going on, or the port where the boat is kept. We follow our man out of town until we find ourselves on a seemingly random well used dirt track with old timber buildings on one side and dense low river scrub on the other. Rounding a small bend we discover a small river and tied to a wonky pier is our boat.
There are men everywhere and they keep arriving on scooters. It’s not clear who is in charge until a man steps out of a car and starts asking in fluent broken English for the bikes paper work, everyone else is busy yelling, pointing and laughing. Within the commotion I appraise the boat with a critical eye. Treated hard wood sleepers serve as the boats strong skeletal structure while the armour plated skin is taught in hard wood cladding. In places along her deck structural timbers have been cut to size from fallen trees to incorporate the natural strength characteristic found in a trees buttress roots giving the illusion that the boat has simply grown in an organic fashion. It’s hard to pick the age of the boat - the fresh coat of paint suggest that it was recently birthed out of the slips while the beaten appearance of the timber gives her the character of an battle harden sea vessel. Whatever the age is I am confidant that the boat is a capable ocean going machine.
As the boats main cargo of maize was safely secured in the boats hull loading the bikes started immediately. Teams of men swarmed over a bike at a time. In a clear case of too many Indians not enough chiefs Dan stepped in to insure each bike was safely loaded and securely tied down.
Basking in the glory of a task well accomplished, whilst ignoring the slightly modified version to the Angel’s song playing on my minds cassette player, we gratefully accepted the ride back to our hotel. Without time to spare we grabbed our bags and headed next door to be the last to board the bus which took us to the passenger ferry terminal. The wait in line for immigration was hot and stuffy, the communal heat of human bodies sweating in a small dirty room pushed the line forward. Only after immigration did we realise that for a second time we were entering a new country without local cash money or a working phone Sim. Scratching the remainder of our Rupiah together we exchanged the small amount with a friendly enterprising money exchange gentleman stalking the pier for last minute traders.
The ferry ride across to Melaka, Malaysia was an adventure within itself. Having taken the free upgrade to the VIP section I shouldn't have been as surprised to find myself surrounded by giggling school children's. The TV on the far wall blasted inaudible volume into the crowd, a Spanish guy emerged from down stairs walking the isles stooped over to avoid the low ceiling height and found his way to the vacant seat adjacent our own. Explaining he was escaping the chaos downstairs we soon fell into an easy flowing friendly chat which saw us through over half the 2 hour trip.
The difference between Indonesia and Malaysia was evident as our ferry made for port. The clean bay water soon became clean river inlet water which lapped at the well maintained and otherwise healthy shore line. Tall modern buildings stretched into the sky, flexing healthy economic muscle. The ferry terminal building which housed immigration was a proud testament to the Malaysian investment into public infrastructure. The large air conditioned room with friendly Malaysian customs people came as an itch to a scratch I had previously been unaware I carried. Back in the modern world I found everything fresh and new again. We chose to jump in a well maintained Nissan Cederic from 1985 and negotiated our way to the port 50 k's away where our bikes would land in the morning. After successfully finding the port we asked the cab driver to drop us in a local sea side street full of accommodation. A quick reccy in and out of the various accom options yielded a reoccurring problem - we had to pay in cash. With our only stash of Ringgits destined to the depths of our cab drivers pockets we were in a pickle. The cabby kindly agreed to taking us back the way we came in search of an ATM. Arriving in a small town to find the only two ATM's didn't work with our cards, the pickle got bigger. A shell service station on the outskirts of town became our final hope, finding another ATM which didn't work we attempted the old buy something and get cash out chestnut. Turns out we couldn't get cash out. With the pickle threatening to transform into a pineapple the adventure gods smiled upon us - strangely enough EFTPOS worked and we were now in possession of 5 glorious chocolate bars. Unfortunately though the cab drivers patience run empty and he drove off leaving us behind with chocolate eating grins.
Doing what we are taught not to in every horror movie ever - we split up. Luke remained with the bags while Dan and I walked back into a not so spooky town in search of answers or a Sim card. The Sim card experience in Indonesia was a simple 2 minute affair involving pointing, payment then standing by while the giggling girls behind the counter got the phone working. Malaysia however was a complete mission which involved passports, 5 shops, spending more money in order to use EFTPOS, Dan leaving me and what felt like an epic battle with one of my childhoods computer games hard core level bosses. After two hours I returned under the cover of darkness to the service station still unsure of victory. Finding Dan and Luke intact I was disappointingly relived. Luke feeling like he needed to stretch his legs embarked on his own adventure and took off in search of a possible camp location for the night. Now enjoying a bag of dinner chips Dan and I took our position guarding the bags. This is when our prospects for the night turned... Approached by the store owner we were asked if everything was okay, after explaining our financial difficulties to her she opened her arms and invited us to adventure camp anywhere on her servos property. At that moment my Sim card fired up after completing some far of magical gigabyte process and I could phone home. Soon Luke returned with tales of friendly locals and possible camp spots but the metaphorical beds had been made and we retired to a quite spot out the back and snuggled into the service stations warm embrace.
As of yet we have not seen the boat which our bikes are going on, or the port where the boat is kept. We follow our man out of town until we find ourselves on a seemingly random well used dirt track with old timber buildings on one side and dense low river scrub on the other. Rounding a small bend we discover a small river and tied to a wonky pier is our boat.
There are men everywhere and they keep arriving on scooters. It’s not clear who is in charge until a man steps out of a car and starts asking in fluent broken English for the bikes paper work, everyone else is busy yelling, pointing and laughing. Within the commotion I appraise the boat with a critical eye. Treated hard wood sleepers serve as the boats strong skeletal structure while the armour plated skin is taught in hard wood cladding. In places along her deck structural timbers have been cut to size from fallen trees to incorporate the natural strength characteristic found in a trees buttress roots giving the illusion that the boat has simply grown in an organic fashion. It’s hard to pick the age of the boat - the fresh coat of paint suggest that it was recently birthed out of the slips while the beaten appearance of the timber gives her the character of an battle harden sea vessel. Whatever the age is I am confidant that the boat is a capable ocean going machine.
As the boats main cargo of maize was safely secured in the boats hull loading the bikes started immediately. Teams of men swarmed over a bike at a time. In a clear case of too many Indians not enough chiefs Dan stepped in to insure each bike was safely loaded and securely tied down.
Basking in the glory of a task well accomplished, whilst ignoring the slightly modified version to the Angel’s song playing on my minds cassette player, we gratefully accepted the ride back to our hotel. Without time to spare we grabbed our bags and headed next door to be the last to board the bus which took us to the passenger ferry terminal. The wait in line for immigration was hot and stuffy, the communal heat of human bodies sweating in a small dirty room pushed the line forward. Only after immigration did we realise that for a second time we were entering a new country without local cash money or a working phone Sim. Scratching the remainder of our Rupiah together we exchanged the small amount with a friendly enterprising money exchange gentleman stalking the pier for last minute traders.
The ferry ride across to Melaka, Malaysia was an adventure within itself. Having taken the free upgrade to the VIP section I shouldn't have been as surprised to find myself surrounded by giggling school children's. The TV on the far wall blasted inaudible volume into the crowd, a Spanish guy emerged from down stairs walking the isles stooped over to avoid the low ceiling height and found his way to the vacant seat adjacent our own. Explaining he was escaping the chaos downstairs we soon fell into an easy flowing friendly chat which saw us through over half the 2 hour trip.
The difference between Indonesia and Malaysia was evident as our ferry made for port. The clean bay water soon became clean river inlet water which lapped at the well maintained and otherwise healthy shore line. Tall modern buildings stretched into the sky, flexing healthy economic muscle. The ferry terminal building which housed immigration was a proud testament to the Malaysian investment into public infrastructure. The large air conditioned room with friendly Malaysian customs people came as an itch to a scratch I had previously been unaware I carried. Back in the modern world I found everything fresh and new again. We chose to jump in a well maintained Nissan Cederic from 1985 and negotiated our way to the port 50 k's away where our bikes would land in the morning. After successfully finding the port we asked the cab driver to drop us in a local sea side street full of accommodation. A quick reccy in and out of the various accom options yielded a reoccurring problem - we had to pay in cash. With our only stash of Ringgits destined to the depths of our cab drivers pockets we were in a pickle. The cabby kindly agreed to taking us back the way we came in search of an ATM. Arriving in a small town to find the only two ATM's didn't work with our cards, the pickle got bigger. A shell service station on the outskirts of town became our final hope, finding another ATM which didn't work we attempted the old buy something and get cash out chestnut. Turns out we couldn't get cash out. With the pickle threatening to transform into a pineapple the adventure gods smiled upon us - strangely enough EFTPOS worked and we were now in possession of 5 glorious chocolate bars. Unfortunately though the cab drivers patience run empty and he drove off leaving us behind with chocolate eating grins.
Doing what we are taught not to in every horror movie ever - we split up. Luke remained with the bags while Dan and I walked back into a not so spooky town in search of answers or a Sim card. The Sim card experience in Indonesia was a simple 2 minute affair involving pointing, payment then standing by while the giggling girls behind the counter got the phone working. Malaysia however was a complete mission which involved passports, 5 shops, spending more money in order to use EFTPOS, Dan leaving me and what felt like an epic battle with one of my childhoods computer games hard core level bosses. After two hours I returned under the cover of darkness to the service station still unsure of victory. Finding Dan and Luke intact I was disappointingly relived. Luke feeling like he needed to stretch his legs embarked on his own adventure and took off in search of a possible camp location for the night. Now enjoying a bag of dinner chips Dan and I took our position guarding the bags. This is when our prospects for the night turned... Approached by the store owner we were asked if everything was okay, after explaining our financial difficulties to her she opened her arms and invited us to adventure camp anywhere on her servos property. At that moment my Sim card fired up after completing some far of magical gigabyte process and I could phone home. Soon Luke returned with tales of friendly locals and possible camp spots but the metaphorical beds had been made and we retired to a quite spot out the back and snuggled into the service stations warm embrace.
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