April 19th: Rest Day in Ubud

Day 188

With a little research online I found a bike shop in Ubud. Cher and I walked the 2.5 km to get there, hoping that this wouldn’t be another false lead. The bike shop was there. It was a local bike shop and a hive of industry. In the small gated entryway, 3 men were assembling, disassembling and painting bikes. With heaps of used parts they allowed me to scrounge around until I found an old mountain bike tension shifter. They found another one and for 22,000 IDR I had some parts to at least give Cher more than 3 gears.

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Back to the hotel, I hooked it the new shifter and was only able to get 7 speeds out of it. But 21 gears is better than 3 and Cher seemed quite happy with it. Even though it was probably from the 80’s, it was easier on her small sweaty hands than her twist grips. I would really like to find a pair of bar end shifters for her, but I had been in at least a ten shops and haven’t seen a pair.

We also met a lovely couple, Joe and Marilyn, from Christchurch who were attracted by our trikes, they assured we would have no problem in finding local people hosting us for the night. We walked around the town together and coincidentally ran into a royal wedding ceremony.

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Our friend Topi, whom we met on the ferry from Batam to Jakarta was also in Bali, and he was staying at a hippie community boarding house right around the corner from us. Cher spotted him on the road as we walked back to our hotel from the bike shop and flagged him down. It was good to see him again. Some people you just met somehow feel like you’ve known for years and Topi falls into this category. He had just returned from Gili Meno, a small sparsely populated island off the coast off Lombok that Cher and I will visit as soon as we get our Indonesia visa extension. We invited him over and utilized our porch and finally got to be the noisy tourists sucking down big cold beers. Much to my relief, the Finnish can get loud when they drink, so I wasn’t the only noisy American.

April 18th: Baturiti to Ubud – 49 km

Day 187

A long climb always means a long descent. Since we were still in the crater of the volcano we would have a short climb out before our long descent.

Ready for the downhills ahead!

Ready for the downhills ahead!

On our way out Cher’s rear shifter locked up again, and I had to manually tighten her rear derailleur into the highest gear, leaving her only her 3 front gears. Fortunately for almost 30kms we descended.The scenery is this regions as we made our descent and crossed over to Ubud was beautiful. Terraced fields that although man made gave a feeling of organic evolution. I imagine that many of them have occupied the same area for hundreds of years, slowly bending and rising to their current configuration.

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We passed multiple fruit stalls and stopped for a durian. When I first tasted it 5 years ago I was repulsed by the smell. When I met Cher in NYC she had stored some in our fridge and I thought it was rotten chicken, now I become to love it. As we ate it I asked if this was something different. It couldn’t be the fruit who’s smell almost made me wretch. She assured me it was the same. After 4 years of living in Hong Kong and smelling it regularly I have become accustomed to it. It was juicy, fruity and full of flavor.

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We eventually had to cut east to reach Ubud and we we met some lightly rolling hills and flats. Cher had to peddle like a maniac to maintain a speed of 12 kph. In support I pretended my trike was afflicted with the same problem, but after 10 km of spinning I couldn’t keep up with Cher and I had to cheat by shifting gears.

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Making our way into town we hit a traffic jam, not even a scooter could squeeze through. We never imagined that this town would be so crowded. We were in the low season and many people give this town a glowing review. Being the art and culture center of Bali, the streets were lined with art galleries, fashion stores, wook carving workshops bearing local culture signature.

Soon we turned off on a side street, and Cher’s research paid off. The hotel she chose, Rumah Roda Homestay, was a quiet little sanctuary off the beaten path. Our room had a lovely little porch with a large couch to lounge on. Our bed was a large 4 poster with a bug net stretched over top. The large tiled bathroom looked out over the rooftops and was open to the outside. Although there was no air-conditioning we were able to open the windows at night and since the room was in the shade most of the day, the concrete kept the temperature cool even in the afternoon. This was the most homey place we had stayed in a while and our deep sleep that night confirmed it.

April 17th: Lovina to Baturiti – 39km

Day 186

My original plan for crossing the island was through Lake Batur then heading south. However, after reading many negative reviews on the region (accommodations are pricey, the lake water is murky, etc.) we decided to cut across from Singaraja, which will take us to Lake Buyan and Lake Beratan. From Lovina, Ubud was only 80 km away.

As soon as we started heading south, it was continuously uphill. We were inching forwards in the heavy traffic, hoping it would be less crowded once we were in the mountains. I was in high spirit, enjoying the tropical garden view along the way.

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Before noon it was hot, but later we climbed towards a rain storm. Unfortunately my twist shift gear decided to go on a strike and refused to give me the easiest gear anymore. We made several stops trying to fix it, but in the end I settled for not shifting once I managed to get into the easiest gear. Good news was the uphill was not gonna end anytime soon.

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It started raining soon after we put on our bag covers. The rain provided temporary relief from the heat, but before long the gentle cooling rain turned into horrendous downpour. The climb was unreasonably steep, at several points I couldn’t help but cursing the engineer who planned the route. And much to our dismay, the traffic didn’t lighten up at all. So here we were, peddling on a very steep climb at the speed of 3kph in a storm, with cars, scooters, trucks trying to go around us on narrow roads. When we looked back, we could see the sunny coast where we came from. How I miss the sun now!

Heading into the storm.

Heading into the storm.

Mountain stream? Looked like a perfect dumping spot for me!

Mountain stream? Looked like a perfect dumping spot for me!

20kms in, every turn started to look like the end of ascent, but we were disappointed every time. We were completely drenched, cold, tired and hungry. We stopped at a roadside snack shop, and all they had for a meal were instant noodles. I was ready to settle for the cup of noodles, but Chopper insisted that at the price of 5,000 rupiah it was a ripoff. So we were back in the rain, with empty growling stomach. Another hour passed and 3km further, we stopped at another snack store. Again, Chopper claimed everything to be overpriced, but I insisted on having a sprite soda for 5,000 rupiah. Either the overpriced soda or I drop dead on the spot, I threatened. We finally settled for some buttered bread and some pastries, and of course I shared my overpriced soda with Chopper. She did try to charge us 10,000 for a 3,500 soda, and even though that’s only a difference of 50 cents in USD.

Another hour later and 3km further, Chopper had to make a coffee stop at a coffee stall. I was not in the mood for stopping in the rain again, but the hot coffee was good for the moral on a climb that seemed never end. (From Chopper point of view: initially Cher didn’t want to stop and refused my offer to buy her her own coffee, but she willingly accepted my offer to share. As long as I served it to her while she moped on her trike in the rain. It was a hard day for both of us.)

At the 28km mark, we finally saw the light at the end of the ascent, which was marked by a mass gathering of fluffy monkeys, it was already 4pm.

Almost there!

Almost there!

Monkeys begging for food.

Monkeys begging for food.

Luckily the rain stopped, but we still needed to put on our rain jackets to block the wind on the downhill. As we shivered in our wet clothes and our fingers went numb, we swore we would stop at the first hotel with a hot shower and not care about the budget. The first hotel we stopped at was cheap, but had no hot water. We turned to the other down the road, which upon initial inquiry was 1,000,000 IDR per night. After some bargaining, we could get a discounted room for 300,000 IDR. When we were showed the room, it was a fancy cottage overlooking the lake. In the hot tropical weather carpeting was a bad idea and along with an indoor fireplace, the room smelt like wet burned wood and mould. We turned away and kept on searching. It was getting dark and another hotel sign lead us onto an unpaved bumpy road. It didn’t take us long to give up searching and go back to the cheap hotel without hot water.

Most of the time, the cold water is warm enough to shower with in Southeast Asia countries. However, this was not the case with the cold water on the mountain top. The tap water was icy cold, and we were already shivering and numb from our wet clothes we had been wrapped in all day. We went to bed that night without a shower and neither of us had the energy to wash our clothes. What happened to our swearing that we would find a nice hotel with hot shower? We are more dedicated to our budget than we know.

April 16th: Pemuteran to Lovina – 50km

Day 185

Waking up fully rested, we were served our breakfast on our porch. We were very glad that we stuck it out after the struggle in Java. Now we were eager to press on and see more of Bali.

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We were treated with more stunning views on the road again. We only encountered heavy traffic when we were getting closer to Lovina, apparently a touristy destination.

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We stopped at a guesthouse to check out the room. A simple but clean beach front cottage cost only 150,000 IDR, but when we looked at the beach we understood why the place was empty – garbage scattered around on the narrow beach, sewage pipes sticking out the adjacent building; the watered was scattered with garbage and covered with a sickly coating of algae along the shore. How could they build so many “romantic” beachfront getaways but have no time to clean up the garbage?

When I went further to find another cheap guesthouse, Chopper was harassed by a local who tried to sell him tour packages. After his overly nice greetings, the local then went on boasting how fun the snorkeling off the coast could be. Chopper first responded that we couldn’t afford the 400,000 IDR per person snorkeling tour, but then guy wouldn’t have none of that kept on selling trying to convince him he could snorkel in front of the hotel. Eventually Chopper had to drop the sugar coating on the matter: “We saw the water and it’s filthy. All the sewage and garbage go directly into the water.” Knowing this was a fact, he ceased his sales pitch and walked away .

After we settled in a cheap guesthouse, we went out to find some grub. Restaurants were so expensive that one dish would easily cost as much as a meal for two from a local warung. We decided to walk further away from the tourist trap, and found a road side stall selling nasi bungkus (originally wrapped in banana leaf packages but nowadays wax brown paper, it is a mixture of rice and various dishes such as chicken, vegetables and roasted coconut) for 10,000 rupiah each. Later we found out we still got charged with tourist price for the nasi bungkus, as the usual price is only 5,000 rupiah for one package. It was very hard to be mad, since the meal was very tasty, and two over charged packages cost exactly the same as 2 fried eggs from a restaurant.

April 15th: Ferry from Bangyuwangi to Gilimanuk, Bike Ride from Gilimanuk to Pemuteran – 34km

Day 184

We assembled our trikes at the Bangyuwangi platform and were ready to go before 5am. The ferry terminal was only a 5 minute ride away, and much to our relief, we could ride our trikes onto the car ferry, which runs every 20 minutes. It was the easiest ferry ride so far, and it cost only 8,000 IDR each for our non motorized vehicles.

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The ferry took almost an hour to get to Gilimanuk, and I of course passed out on my cozy trike seat. Chopper diligently recorded the ride with his camera during this time and took some photos of our approach to Bali.

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Once we rode out of the Gilimanuk port, the differences between Bali and Java became instantly obvious. Quieter, smoother roads, less traffic, less people, and less garbage. We briefly discussed if we should take the shorter route on the south coast to reach Denpasar where we will get our chest x-ray for our Australian visas, or take the north coast route and do a bit of touring. We quickly agreed on touring.

It was not a bad decision. It turned out to be one of the best decision we have made. For the first time in a long long time, we were under the canopy of lush tropical forests again. It was absolutely rejuvenating to cruis along the smooth roads, following its gentle curves to uncover the stunning views around each bend. Steep mountains on our right and blue ocean on our left, we rode eastwards like Don Quixote and his squire Sancho.

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Happy days!

Happy days!

We found a little guesthouse called Tri Jaya along the road, and much to our surprise the adorable bungalow only cost 250,000 rupiah, a price that would only get you a grungy budget room either sans hot water nor air-con on Java. Not having slept for more than 30 hours, we moved in happily. Our host Komang was beyond hospitable. His extremely out-going personality made him a very good spokesperson for the Balinese culture. Soon we would also find his genuine kindness was a rarity in other touristy areas.

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Tri Jaya’s outdoor shower, inspired by waterfalls

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April 14th: Train Ride from Purwokerto to Surabaya to Bangyuwangi

Day 183

In order to catch our 6am train, we were on the road before 5am. Of course, exactly at the point we stopped cycling, the road was perfect – zero traffic and the weather was nice and cool.

We arrived early at the train station, so we would have plenty of time to pack up our trikes into their bags. All three wheels off and folded up, our trikes fit perfectly in our bags. We hired 2 porters for 15,000 IDR each to carry the trike bags up to the train as they have more experience in fitting large luggage in the train, and can communicate with the train staff if there is a problem. One bag found its place in the walk way between the two carriages, and the other was stowed away next to the toilet. The process was much easier than we imagined, and before long we were on our way.

When the conductor made his rounds, our luggage, suddenly became a problem – he requested us to pay him an extra fee for the bags. Pointing at another big bag owned by a local, Chopper asked if he paid for the big luggage as well. He replied that the passenger had paid and when chopper asked to see the receipt, the conductor moved on without the extra fee in his pocket.

Traveling across Java in the train offered us an alternate reality – sitting in the air-conditioned carriage, we could only see large patches of rice fields zooming by. Riding on the train takes you through mainly agrarian areas and only makes brief stops in the cities before whisking you away from the major roads and back into the natural splendor. Unlike in many areas in the states there were no developments along the railroad tracks. No more decaying garbage, no more concerns for drinking water safety.

While I entertained myself with some pod-casts, Chopper made friends with a young guy next to him. After the usual formalities, Chopper started an uneasy conversation. Instead of being a good tourist who only has compliments and doesn’t ask sensitive questions, he started asking the young guy’s opinion on environmental issues in Java. Driven by his undying curiosity, Chopper forgot the number one rule in Asia: must not lose face under any circumstances. Most of the time, people really don’t want an outsider to point out the ugly truth. I eavesdropped on the last part of the conversation and decided to go back to my podcast.

Chopper here, yes it wasn’t the most polite conversation but I did change the conversation when it became apparent that he was uncomfortable. I just had to know what people knew or thought about the water problems. Multiple internet searches turned up nothing. So here was this young man who spoke fluent English returning to his university where he was studying psychology and he was sitting right next to us. I couldn’t resist. From our conversation I learned that this young man believed that the water wasn’t a problem as long as the government provided vouchers for locals to get cheap bottled drinking water. He also believed that the ground water pollution wasn’t a problem as long as clean water was coming from mountain springs. I asked him about the young men throwing garbage in the water and then fishing, and if he found this alarming. He flatly denied that anyone threw garbage into the river in Purwokerto and that if they did there wouldn’t be any fish there. I then stopped the conversation. Cher and I didn’t eat any fish during our stay in Java.

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After we passed Yogyakarta, the train track took us to the back roads we had dreamed about. In fact, we were no where near any roads. And the view was stunning – farmers working on the rice fields, kids riding their bicycles and flying kites, all with the dramatic Mount Merapi as the backdrop. We caught a glimpse of Route 15 between Madiun and Jombang, and surprisingly there was much less traffic and even a shoulder.

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Before we got on the economy class train, we braced ourselves for the worst – chain smoking, no air conditioning, crowds, etc. But it turned out to be as pleasant as one can ever expect from a 4 USD train ride. It was a fully air-conditioned, non smoking train and it was not crowded at all (at least not by Chinese standards). The food sold on the train was surprisingly not over priced, a box of nasi goreng or nasi ayam cost 25,000 IDR and the complimentary fresh pink guava juice was very tasty.

We had to wait 8 hours at Surabaya for our next connection at 10pm to our final destination Bangyuwangi. After a quick bite from the convenience store and a hobo shower at the toilet, we double checked with the security if we could put our trikes on the train, and left our trikes where our carriage would stop, we settled in and watched Dallas Buyers Club on our tablet.

This picture explains why we didn't want to put our trikes in the cargo carriage.

This picture explains why we didn’t want to put our trikes in the cargo carriage.

Chopper let me carry all my bags across the platform, just to demonstrate I am a useful team player.

Chopper let me carry all my bags across the platform, just to demonstrate I am a useful team player.

Soon, it was time to board the train to Bangyuwangi. The order of operation was both of us carried our bags onto the train and found the seats, while I stayed with the bags at the seat Chopper went to pick up our trikes, one by one. We had to rush because the train would only stop at the station for a short period of time. When Chopper was painstakingly carrying our trikes on to the train, a conductor tried to get his attention: “Excuse me sir…” Unfortunately Chopper really had to rush so he replied “just a moment.” and kept moving. It was just enough time for him to carry the bags onto the train before the train started moving. 10 minutes later, the conductor came over, and told us we had to put our bags in the cargo carriage. We argued that no one had told us that our bags need to go to the cargo carriage during the 8 hours we waited on the platform, and that we came from Purwokerto to Surabaya with our large bags in the same train carriage. The conductor finally threatened that if the train got crowded, we would have to move the bags to cargo carriage. Looking around, the carriage was half empty. It was a late night express train, I doubted it would get crowded. We promised to move the bags if other passengers needed the space. We didn’t have to move anything before the train reached Bangyuwangi at 4am next morning.

Before we entered into Indonesia, we did our research and could barely find any practical information on cycling in West Java. Most cyclists recorded their journey through central and east Java, and we only found two blogs that gave a very brief description of their incomplete journey. How did they know to skip the congested west Java? It is still a mystery to us.

April 13th: Rest Day in Purwokerto

Day 182

The railway system in Indonesia is indeed very good. Not only do they have an extensive railway network throughout Java, the customer service counter is very helpful as well. They answered all of our questions we had before lining up at the ticket counter and verified that we could bring our trikes on the train as long as we put them into bags. Only one small caveat when dealing with the customre counter. If you are a foreigner they assume that you will take the first class train and didn’t tell us about the ecomomy train until we asked.

We found that the 10pm train was first class only, and a ticket would cost more than 400,000 IDR from Purwokerto to Bangyuwangi. We asked for economy class, which was apparently a different train departing at 6am and would only cost us 50,000 IDR from Purwokerto to Surabaya, and another 90,000 IDR in business class to transfer to Bangyuwangi. So instead of spending more than 800,000 IDR on first class train tickets, we decided to wait for the economy class next morning and spend a comfortable night at our hotel, which was still much cheaper than the first class tickets. Not fully recovered from the diarrhea, Chopper was more than happy to have a rest day.

We were told that bicycles are allowed on the passenger train, as long as they packed in bags or boxes. This news was almost too good to be true, since cargo trains run on a different schedule and we have been carrying two large bags for packing up our trikes for the last 6 months. We repeatedly asked if we can carry very large bags on the passenger train, and after several confirmations from the security and the customer service, it looked like we would be able to bring them on without any problems.

On the way back to our hotel, we witnessed some teenagers throwing a bag of garbage into the river, and then fishing in it immediately afterwards. Along the way, we constantly found locals bathing in rivers overflowing with piles of garbage and raw sewage. It was hard to sugar coat the consequences of the lack of waste disposal system. At least we could escape to our hotel rooms or hop on the train to a different location, but for most local people there is no escape.

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Back in our hotel, we received emails from Australian Immigration, requesting a chest x-ray examination in order to process our visa. We plan on staying in Australia for at least 6 months. Our travels from Darwin to Townsville and from there down the east coast to Melbourne will be longer than our total distance to date. And there are 3 great climbing spots which we will stop at for at least 3 weeks each. If you plan on staying in Australia for 6 or more months and have been in a high risk tuberculosis country for 3 consecutive months, you will need to get a chest x-ray at a hospital approved by Australian immigration. We soon found that the closest hospital was located in the extremely touristy destination of Kuta, Bali. We booked our appointments and braced ourselves for the crowds.

We spent the rest of the day stuffing our faces at the 15 Rupiah bubur (Indonesian congee) buffet. It will be a long 28 hours of train ride tomorrow.

April 12th: Bumiayu to Purwokerto – 36 km

Day 181

Indonesians are the warmest and sweetest people that we’ve met. We were once again treated to a free breakfast of buttered toast and chocolate spread sandwiches and glasses of sweet hot milk. Thankfully I kept it down as we were assaulted by black exhaust from trucks, white exhaust from motorbikes, shaking from the pot holes, and a 5km steady climb first thing in the morning. We’ve come to accept that there is not rush hour just rush hours all day every day.

Cher put it perfectly today when she said, “the scenery would be great if it weren’t for all the traffic and I didn’t know all the rivers were polluted.” Today we had glimpses of terraced fields and mist covered mountains, in between dodging potholes, trucks, buses and motorcycles, some of which drive head on into traffic. Despite being an annoying optimist, much of the beauty was lost on me, as I was still recovering from some lower intestinal free flow.

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Since we decided that we had had enough, we went straight to the train station once we arrived in Purwokerto to inquire about tickets. While I went to the customer service window, Cher entertained the local crowds gathered around our trikes as usual. One old man quite taken with her drew her picture and made her a fighter plane out of a tin soda can.

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I found out that we could take the train to Bangyuwangi where we can catch a ferry to Bali, and bring our trikes on board as long as we have bags to put them in, which we do. Otherwise you must go to a separate ticket counter and buy tickets for your bikes and load them onto a separate cargo train. I asked multiple times if it mattered that the bags were enormous and I was assured it would be ok. The customer service ladies insisted on filling out my train reservation form and as I waited in line I almost passed out. After leaving the line and buying a sports drink, I decided that an overnight train ride in the state I was in would not be wise.

We checked some local hotels and found that prices were quite high but ended up in a swanky one anyway for 300,000 IDR, or 26 USD. We have been surprised at the number of nice hotels in Indonesia and the relatively high prices. These posh hotels are in great contrast to the impoverished towns around them.

We are extremely fortunate to have the ability to skip over anything we find undesirable. Initially I wanted to see the real Java no matter how uncomfortable it was. After 360 km, we have seen a great deal and unlike the locals who have such incredible resilience, we have been worn down by the constant assault. We are constantly amazed by the warmth and honest concern that Indonesians display towards strangers, despite a grinding daily life that would make the people of many other cultures cold and isolated.

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April 11th: Rest Day in Bumiayu

Day 180

My bowels didn’t let up but thankfully I still had an appetite. Even though we were told that our cheap room didn’t include breakfast, the ladies who work at the hotel delivered two dishes of fried rice with eggs on top and two cups of tea in the morning to the room. I mistakenly wolfed down my breakfast and soon decided that we wouldn’t be going anywhere today. As for the culprit, we think it was dinner the previous night. We ate at a local mall because there weren’t any restaurants in our vicinity. We’ve been fortunate so far but I still hope this passes quickly.

On a side note, I am a complete convert to the butt gun. Basically what in the west we would use at the sink to rinse dishes is attached to the water line next to the toilet. You just grab, squirt and pat dry, no wiping needed. This has saved my a great amount of discomfort and I’ve never been cleaner.

April 10th: Tegal to Bumiayu – 64.3 km

Day 179

I woke up today and had a giddy melt down and admitted to Cher that I didn’t want to get on the road. Heading south, we entered the mountains with still a glimmer of hope and soon found that although the traffic was lighter the lanes were narrower. We still had to avoid huge ruts. Since there was no shoulder, we had to pull over regularly to let buses and trucks pass and of course dodge the kamikaze motorcyclists driving the wrong way into traffic.

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As soon as possible, I pulled over, opened my map, and located the nearest train station in Bumiayu. We were done with cycling in Java. However when we got to the station, we learned that this one didn’t allow us to take bikes on the train. When I told Cher the bad news she looked stunned. I was afraid that the news had broken her. For several seconds she was staring off into space until I called her back to reality. She was holding onto the hope of getting a train then and there probably a bit too tightly.

Storms clouds began to gather and we hurried to find a hotel. Stuck in yet another traffic jam, a women on a motorbike must have read our expressions with magic power and simply asked, “can I help you?” “Yes! Is there a hotel in town? “1 Kilometer on the right,” she answered. We were overjoyed, since the only hotel we marked on Google Maps never materialized and the next one seemed to be another 18km away.

1km later, we moved into an average room with a bucket shower. Basically a waste high tiled basin filled with cold water that you scoop out with a bucket. But this was good enough for us to throw a victory party: we survived!

Soon after our shower, I got diarrhea and every twenty minutes I was compelled to get out of bed. It’s going to be a long night, and we still have one more day before we can get a train.

April 9th: Cirebon to Tegal – 75.16 km

Day 178

Our dreams of cycling in a less crowded area had kept us motivated to push on despite the lack of scenery and choking exhaust. We would be able to turn southwards into the mountains after Tegal. We’ve heard that the areas away from the north coast aren’t nearly as populous and as a bonus a few degrees Celsius cooler. However, while researching our route we noticed that most cyclist started in Central or even Eastern Java. Arriving in Jakarta, they would hop on the train and skip much of Western Java, and we were starting to understand why.

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Our dread of getting on the road was well founded as there was more of the same choking exhaust and lack of scenery. More crazy naked people, constant traffic, no shoulders, enormous pot holes, hot and humid, and overall assault on the senses. Physically the cycling hasn’t been too difficult, but remaining constantly vigilant is draining. There just wasn’t a point where we could escape and recoup. We stopped at local convenience stores to get a cold drink as we watched the river of traffic flew by, knowing we would have to wade back in. We just kept moving until we get to the hotel, our only sanctuary.

Cher picked our sanctuary for the night – Alexander Hotel by Google Maps reviews and photos, which featured a half-naked lady in the room, local men squatting gambling in a parking lot and a selfy of a purple haired man or woman. We were disappointed not to find a raucous party but just another enormous, once grand, but now defunct hotel. We slept like babies.

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April 8th: Jatibarang to Cirebon – 45.28 km

Day 177

Cher took over as the social member of our team and accepted the invite to go on a tour of the property at the hotel we stayed at, while I was in a food coma after the breakfast buffet. The hotel was owned by a family of 6, and the 70-year old grandpa is a cyclist himself. The conversation was limited by the language barrier, but Cher was well-trained by me that she managed to mumble a monologue. After several pictures with various family members, she was free leave with a bag of banana chips and 2 ice-cold coffee drinks.

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It was great that for once she got all the attention. Being a white guy I get a lot of stares while Cher just blends in. People yell regularly as we pass, “hey Mister!” with their exceptional ability to roll a long “r” at the end. Never did we get any “hey Misss!”

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People also regularly request a picture with me. From what I’ve read, people see very few white foreigners and even call them bule, which means albino. Most curiosity is good-natured, but some days I just have to put on my imaginary blinders and ear muffs. If I were a celebrity, I would be the type that occasionally punch a camera man.

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Today we had air, and fields and farming. For the first time we saw people harvesting and drying rice. However, as we approached Cirebon, we were once again in a scruffy area where the majority of shops are tire repair or mechanics. In the middle of this we saw an enormous new white hotel jutting out of the grey landscape. We knew we couldn’t afford it, but it had free wifi we can “borrow” to find a cheap place to stay. After explained our plans, I paid the wifi with many handshakes, group photos and fielding the same questions we get every time we stop. Where are you from? Where are you going? What’s your name? I can be a bit of a cynic, but even though I often enter into these conversations begrudgingly, they always end with me smiling. Indonesians really want to know about you and take the time to really listen. Not only are they genuine, but they are extremely polite which always makes me regret initial brusque responses. Needless to say we came out of the fancy hotel with hotel search results, along with recommendations based on our price range and directions on how to get there.

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We stopped at another very nice hotel, and even though it was out of our price range I rationalized that we needed a good Wi-Fi connection to plan for the following days and to watch Game of Thorns. Cher was willing to go check out a cheap guesthouse, and even though I didn’t admit, I was spent and didn’t want to go another meter.

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