Home | Hobbies | Books | Mutiara Laut | Website Projects | Links

• Previous

Sumatra 1984

In 1986 we ( Dolf and Carin )
made our second trip together:
8 Weeks, starting in Thailand:
via Bangkok and Koh Samui
to the Golden Triangle,
On to Malaysia and via Penang
to Sumatra:
Medan, Lake Toba,
Bukittingi, Menangkabau,
Padang
and with the Pelni Line to Jakarta

For eighty-five dollars we could take a one-hour flight to Medan on Sumatra andwe landed around noon at Polonia Airport, Medan.
First we went in a sidecar of motor-bike over dirty, very hot, bumpy roads to a crocodile farm, where about thousand of these monsters were sunbathing. It is unadvisable to meet these dead tree-trunks with their mean, black eyes in free nature…

After this, we were squeezed with thirty-five other persons in a mini-bus and arrived, blasting horns, with loud music and in stifling heat, lurching over mountains and through valleys, in the afternoon in cool Berastagi, situated high up in the mountains of the Batak lands. It resembled a Dutch village with a church in the centre. A new adventure had begun and we fell from one surprise into another.

It was my second visit to Sumatra, but the first for Carin. I had told her that the Batak tribe was considered as the most savage of Indonesia and used to be headhunters.
We stayed in Wisma Dieng, a guesthouse, here called “losmen”, which once had been  Dutch Villa.
Berastagi lies high up in the mountains and has a cool climate so many people who used to work at Shell (Established in 1890 in Sumatra), had built villa’s here. The present owners still spoke a bit of Dutch and the “salon” still looked like in the old days. With mini-windmills, wooden shoes, a painting of a Zealand woman, curtains at the windows and yellowed photographs on the walls.
We went into town for dinner. Babi panggang is the local specialty as is the rennet-stomach of a cow, but we decided on the former…
Carin was surprised to see people eating with their hands, using the right hand only because the left is being used to clean your bottom after toilet use.
There were hardly any street lanterns and everybody shuffled through the darkness staring at us. Carin kept close to me and so we walked “home”. That night we had to use blankets since a long time and it was raining cats and dogs, it being the rainy season.
The next day we visited the market. The stalls were standing amidst muddy water and we felt like walking over a refuse dump.
The exchange rate was two hundred Rupiahs for one guilder and now – twenty-five years later- you’ll get two thousand Rupiahs.

Carin could not keep her eyes off the fruit stalls: all these beautiful, strange fruits. At the vegetable stalls they sold all sort of Dutch vegetables, such as leek and cabbages, but at the meat stalls she shuddered. Flies everywhere so you could hardly see the meat.
People sat cleaning each other of fleas and we felt itchy allover when we saw it. 
We visited Linga, an authentic Batak village with big, threatening-looking old Batak houses, made of wood and hold together with pegs. No nails were used. They were beautiful, sturdy buildings on posts. About eight families lived in one house, but outside it was a mess with remnants of old cars and garbage heaps galore.
That evening we slept again under blankets in our small Dutch house and the next morning – after check-out – we went on to Kabanjahe. First by mini-bus and later walking the two kilometers to the Si Piso-Piso waterfall. Why are these things never just in the middle of the town and is it so strenuous to see them, walking over slippery mountain tracks? But this one was worth the effort. It resembled a big wave, sprouting from a hole in the mountain side, thundering down. And the view! Far beneath us we saw Lake Toba and the island Samosir: our destination for the coming days.
Lake Toba is half the size of The Netherlands and is the largest lake in the world, created by a big bang. The island Samosir is fifteen by fifty kilometers and lies eight hundred meters above sea level.

On the way back we lorry-hopped and sat comfortably amidst green cabbages. We lunched in Kabanjahe on Mie Goreng and then waited for half an hour until our lorry had enough passengers for the journey to Barusjahe. What the driver considered as “full”, we noticed on the way, when he stopped regularly to take in even more passengers. After a while we sat with thirty-five men, women and children in and on the bus. Women were breastfeeding their kids, having a bloody red plug hanging from the corner of their mouths. This was spit out once in a while just between our legs. The men sat smoking their kretek cigarettes, happily hawking up. Everybody had children on their lap, including us and was friendly and eager to oblige.

died a year ago and now his daughter, eleven years old, prepared a meal. In a corner sat very old woman. She turned out to be his mother-in-law and – according to the “adat” (tribal custom) - he was not allowed to speak directly to her, but had to speak via his daughter, he told us. So there the four of us sat by the light of a candle, on a mat and Grandma sat eating alone in her corner. In the dark we were later taken to his sister who owned a batik-shop, had to buy a cloth and finally could go to bed.

He offered us his own double-bed with a single-bed mattress on it, whilst he and his daughter slept on the floor in front of our bed.

I had had a whiskey with him and – probably by this – he got a nightmare. The hut was filled with his lamentations, cries and screams and when that was finished, the dogs begun. They convened with friends and started a massive concert, barking and whining.

We arose at six, had breakfast with coffee, served on a saucer. I offered him a fag and – as a souvenir – he took the last of my supply…

BUKITLAWANG, THE ORANGUTANG REHABILITATION CENTRE

The journey would take four hours by bus, but it became seven. After one hour the floor of the bus was covered with all the rubbish, dispersed of.
It was stifling hot, the video blasted on full strength and we stopped regularly for even more passengers. We felt dirtier and dirtier, because we could not have a bath at the village-chief as there was no water and no privy.
“Don’t take offence, just be astonished…”
We only had some biscuits and liquorices to chew on and – at a stop – Carin couldn’t resist the temptation to buy a pineapple. It was neatly prepared for her and then cleaned in a bucket with brown water…Afterwards, Carin had diarrhea and how…When we stopped for a while in a small market town, she asked in a warung for the toilet and they showed her a corner in the kitchen. She couldn’t see anything resembling a toilet, but she couldn’t hold up. The floor was covered with dishes with vegetables and stinking fish, but she really couldn’t hold up. She had to let go and came back, crying and sobbing…On we went through ugly rubber plantations.
God certainly had a purpose to mix all sorts of trees, so why does mankind put one sort together?
Thankfully, the landscape variegated with jungles and covered streams, where people were bathing, shitting and washing vegetables.

Finally we arrived at five o’clock and had to register at the office of the sanctuary. We bought a permit and were forced to spend the night at the place, sharing a room with a Swedish boy. That night it was raining heavily.
At six we went to see the apes, the purpose of our visit. We slithered over a steep mountain trail, accompanied by a guide. Although we had gotten some experience in Thailand, so steep and slippery we hadn’t been through yet.
Later we had to cross – one by one - a rough and fast-flowing river in a hollowed-out tree trunk that was tightened at a cable, spanning the river. Then a half hour climbing and we had arrived at the apes-paradise, which was very disappointing. We had rally looked forward to this. There were about ten apes in the trees and when the guide threw some bananas on a platform between the trees, the apes jumped down, started to eat and even got something to drink out of a cup. Carin found it ridiculous. These animals were supposedly being prepared for a new life in the jungle and were given a cup to drink from…”They probably will be allowed to take the cup with them” I let slip.
I went for about one hour with the guide into the woods to see the elephants, rhinos and other apes. When we came back, Carin asked if she had missed a lot, but all I could say was that we were beleaguered by ants…

MEDAN

 Back we went, to Medan, the capital of Sumatra, with two million inhabitants and all were out on the streets.
We had enough of all the dirt and chose the best hotel in town, The Granada, the former Grand Hotel. It is situated opposite the station, in the centre of the old town and paid for by American Express.
The room had airco, nice and cool, e real toilet, a television and a bath with hot water. I immediately soaked myself for one hour, with a cigarette, a whiskey and a book. And in the mean time Carin had made the room cozy again.
Because there were no other guests, the staff had occupied some rooms, put on all televisions on full strength and – to be able to understand each other -were talking loudly because of all that noise. They kept chattering through the night, so we were at least not alone…
The diner: from afar, the tablecloths looked immaculate, but closer up, less clean. There were twenty stylish tables, each with four chairs, illuminated by crystal chandeliers. The floor was covered with a handmade carpet and a large staff was lounging about or

watching television. Another eight persons came into the dining room to join the television viewers and there we sat, being stared at by the kitchen staff, watching us through the service hatch.

The menu: we salivated to read the exciting descriptions of the western dishes, so well known to us and I ordered immediately a sirloin steak, costing fifty guilders (two weeks wages here). Carin ordered a tomato soup; she wanted to see my steak first… The soup was colorless, but tasted well. We joked about my ordered steak, while in the kitchen pots and pans were taken out with a lot of banging and the staff was going nervously hither and thither. Finally the waiter brought my steak tipping the plate somewhat so the gravy ran off. Our expectations were running high after seven weeks in the jungle and – judging the waiter’s nervousness and pride – it might have been the first time he served such a meal. 

This dish look also colorless and we suspected that neither a cow nor a buffalo had attributed to this meal, but hunger is the best sauce and everybody can make a mistake. The next day I was covered with soft hairs. Could it have been a sheep???

LAKE TOBA

 We went by train to Pemantang Siantar, taking the scenic route to the lake. I had read that they still used steam, but it turned out that only freight trains were driven by it. I saw them at a few stations, some under steam, but our train was pulled by a diesel locomotive.

The scenery was beautiful: sawah’s, palm trees and lovely villages and on numerous stations all sorts of goods were offered for sale, carried on the heads of the sales women. One could reach the merchandise from the windows. Sate’s.,shrimps, cookies, various fruits, cigarettes, sticky rice in a palm leave, corn on the cob, peanuts, mie goreng and reading matter.

To kill the time, Carin was learning the Indonesian language from a booklet:” What and How in Indonesian”. All this sort of books has the same, standard questions with the translations and Carin was splitting her sides laughing. She readout the questions and answered them herself.

“Can you switch off the heating? Answer: the sun”.
“Where is the garbage can? Answer: the river”.
“Where is the washing machine? Answer: also the river”.
“And the dryer? Answer: the sun”.
“Can you watch my luggage? Answer: don’t ask, it will be gone in a jiffy”.
“This is not clean. Answer: how is that possible?”
“Is there an Automobile Association here? And do you have antifreeze? Answer: Sorry??”
“Where is the toilet? Answer: never heard of”.
“The bath and the toilet are blocked. Answer: so what?”
“My room hasn’t been cleaned. Answer: no problem, you will not notice the difference”
We had quite a few laughs about all this, sitting amidst peanut- and egg-shells,
Mothers nursing, children crying and gobs flying around us…
Outside the train station a beautiful Harley Davidson with side-car was waiting to take us to the bus-station and there the bus stood also ready. And two hours later is was still there…
In Prapat we crossed over to the island Samosir, in the middle of the lake and rented a small Batak house at Hotel Carolina.
The house was a “droll” as Carin called it and a more idyllic place you couldn’t imagine. Rugged mountains behind us, the immense large “sea” directly in front of us, little villages nearby, a large balcony on poles, made of coconut stems, papaya trees, banana trees and a bougainvillea as decor. There were two reclining chairs, an enormous bathroom with a real toilet and a shower and the garden was full with flowers, everywhere. Enough to bring tears in our eyes.

An old Dutch map of the island hung in the hotel and I remarked that one could go around the whole island on a motorbike, but – when we asked – it became clear that no local had ever done it, so we decided to have a try the next morning. It turned out to be a trip of hundred kilometers, but that we didn’t know then.
We rented a motor-bike and I made a test-drive for about a quarter of an hour, as I had never sat on one. After fifteen minutes I had mastered it. Driving on the left was no problem because there was hardly any traffic. So we set out, stocked with cookies and water. The roads were hardly paved, but we enjoyed ourselves tremendously, going from one village to another, where the men were playing chess, the women and girls were weaving; along mountain sides and rice-fields with ploughing oxen with birds on their backs, the men behind them up to their knees in the water. Scattered everywhere we saw the statues, the tombs, the Batak houses and in every village a Protestant church.
Enormous waringin trees with aerial roots that reached to the ground starting new trees. Most of the villages were surrounded by three meter thick walls, two meters high, made of clay and stones and everywhere the women were cleaning each other of fleas like little monkeys. It resembled an open-air museum and we shouted “Horas” all the time, this being the greetings of the Bataks, meaning:”God bless you”. Around noon we had done more then half the distance, according to my memory of the map, because we passed a small harbor village that I had seen on that map. It was situated at a bridge over a small river, but that bridge was broken and here we discovered the secret unknown to any traveler: Samosir is a peninsula, because there is a narrow stretch of land, connecting the island with the mainland. So the small lorries from the island crossed here. We were writing history…

Here all the men were playing chess or snooker. How lazy they were and the women had to do all the work: they walked with heavy loads on their heads, one child suckling at a breast and another one on their backs. Even the small children were carrying a little brother or sister. Most couples had about ten children, because the only thing the men did was propagate, while the women had to work.
We drank a bottle of hot cola and continued, with the villagers staring dumbfounded at us. We were the first strangers ever to have been here and that was noticeable; they were more curious than friendly.

We were exactly in the south now and had only a quarter of the trip to go. The road was now a trail through low bushes and looked very dry and barren so we didn’t expect more rivers. We made good progress, not driving along the coast but more inland, which made the route shorter, but gave me no more points of orientation. At the little farms along the road we called “Horas” and “Tuk Tuk” and were pointed to the direction we were taking, so we were on the right way.

The whole island was swamped with antiques we had never seen before. They were so unique that we decided to buy some for our shop in The Netherlands.
We were nine days on the island now and had reserved a lot of stuff since the first day, got informed about the prices, made pictures and had simply put stickers on with a piece of paper and glue, but we had not yet haggled about the price. The merchants got nervous and followed us the whole day long, afraid that we would spend our money elsewhere.
When we revisited a shop, the doors and shutters were closed to prevent the neighbors seeing us inside, with the result that we ourselves couldn’t see a thing because of the darkness.
I had made a list of the items and the price in dollars and guilders and behind that the price we were willing to pay, which was about one third; very cheap according to us. But we run the risk that it never would arrive and in Rupiahs it was still a hefty price.
The eye-catcher for us was a wooden coffin with a doll on it that could stick out its tongue and could laugh. It came from high up in the mountains. Further a magic staff, two meters tall, with a finely carved head; two large wooden rice bowls made out of one piece and one meter in diameter. And a lot of ancestor- statues, sirih boxes and some

other small stuff. Enough to fill the whole shop. It was all taken to the man where we had “ordered” most, because he owned a large shed and was prepared to take it all in his van to Jakarta. There he had family who could arrange the transport to The Netherlands.
Now we had a complete idea of our collection and day and night a watchman was guarding it. Everybody came to us to offer more and more, which drove us crazy, but – knowing now what we had bought already-, we could easily say yes or no.

Then the great bargaining began. We had told that Damal, our middleman, only would get his money after arrival in Jakarta, to avoid that he would disappear with all the merchandise and everyone had agreed
In and around the shed it was crowded with people, breastfeeding mothers and many old women with their gaping red mouths, only there because they didn’t trust their own sons.
Restless, they started to yell that we should begin with the “tawarring”, nervous with tension. The shed quickly was filled with the smoke of the kretek cigarettes.
They all knew that I would offer less then half the price, so they were prepared and I suspected that a few men already had bought a motorbike …
We started with the smaller objects to make some space, because it was stifling hot inside.

We had decided to go back to Medan to take the boat to Jakarta, but when the bemo came, it was overloaded already and Carin – rightly - didn’t want to get in. So we looked for a Travel Agency and there were many, because when somebody starts some business in this country and is successful, everybody starts with a similar one and after one year all are finished...
All the Agencies were open and all the experts were asleep, but one, who even spoke English. He made it clear to us that those ships were not cruise-ships, but ships, built in East Germany, now sailing under the Pelni name, the Indonesian State Company, formerly KPM. They owned seven ships and those plied fixed routes, fast, efficient and safe. Two came to Sumatra: one from Jakarta to Medan and one from Jakarta to Padang in the South. The last journey took two days and sailed by the Krakatau which I found attractive.
How to get to Padang? Simply, by bus to Bukittinggi and then a short journey to Padang. A Mercedes bus was leaving in two hours, air-conditioned; with aircraft seats and the trip would only take seventeen hours. Carin had been listening carefully and asked if there would be high mountains on the way. Indeed, there were, but the journey would be easy, because of the comfortable and spacious seats.
We bought a ticket for seven Guilders and Carin prepared the luggage for the trip: sleeping stuff, crackers and a lot of water in the hand luggage. We went for a drink because the bus would arrive soon and would stop in front of the Travel Agency and the boy knew that we were passengers. We awaited anxiously our new adventure.
Then a bus stopped, but it couldn’t be ours, because this one was an old wrack. “It is!” the boy said friendly and when Carin protested, the story came out: our bus had broken down and this bus was its replacement. But he had reserved two splendid seats in the back for us, next to two foreigners. As it was the last bus for the day, we had no choice and got in. clearing a path through the mess. The bus had departed from Medan, was already eight hours under way, the floor was littered and all luggage racks full so we had to stow our luggage under our seats. We sat in the back with two white persons and the

We entered Bukittingi (High Hill) at half past nine and went looking for a “losmen” with Vera and Bill, our new friends.
We were too tired to look far and ended up in Hotel Benteng, Economy Class for fourteen Guilders.
Bukittinggi was a clean city with friendly people. Nobody was obtrusive, but very helpful without wanting anything back for it. Less aggressive and less warlike than the Bataks.
Even the beautiful houses looked less threatening. More “feminine”, with curtains and all and that was indeed the case, because we had arrived at the only Matriarchy in the world: women wear the breaches here…
The man settles in the house of his wife and has no voice. And they worked, that was immediately clear.
We were lucky because it was the big market day. We drank coffee in a real coffee shop that was a gathering place for travelers, so we got a lot of information about the region. As we still had one more day before taking the boat from Padang, we organized a guide for the next day.
We knocked about the market and saw charlatans with a lot of creepy things, snake-charmers with huge snakes in boxes and a real “surgeon” with his chair, a mirror, a few pincers and a bottle of arak (spirits), ready to pull out teeth, but - unfortunately – no patients yet.
A row of barbers with a splinter of glass and a stool for clients, all occupied, and so on…
We stared our eyes out and became very tired, so: dinner and to bed. The next day we took a tour, squeezed in a mini-van with nine people and into the mountains. We had nine points to visit. The first one was “a nice mountain view”, but it rained cats and dogs so we saw nothing. The next: a sugarcane mill, driven by a blinded buffalo, very nice. Then to a mill, driven by water, where rice was being ground, very picturesque; to a woodcarving shop and to a place where they made beautiful cloth by weaving silver- and gold threads through the material. A Titan job as they could finish only four centimeters per day.
Further, to a lovely lake, a smaller version of Lake Toba, but what impressed us most were the villages with their beautiful houses. Three we could visit. They were very large with only one hearth but with separate bedrooms, hanging as a kind of balcony behind the houses.
We passed a canyon and above it large birds glided, so called “flying dogs”. At the end of the day we bought provisions for our coming boat trip, because we were told that the food on board was not of “cruise-ship” quality. The guide had secured a bottle of spirits for each of us. Quite difficult in a Muslim town where women are the boss…
We dined in the coffee shop and again made the mistake to order beefsteak. I had – for the first time – seen clean meat so was very curious how the steak would be. It turned out to be a sort of sausage in a gravy of strange color. We had had visions of lovely food, but – obviously – had to wait a bit longer.
Allah woke us at four o’clock by shouting over the entire town. We were used to crowing cocks and didn’t enjoy this, what could one do…?
At half past six we drove, the four of us, by bus to Padang and from there by another bus to the harbor.

Here the fight for a ticket started. First we had to line-up for a form, which had to be filled up. Then back to the turmoil. The boat lay in the harbor, showing off its newness, but the booth to reserve the tickets was built in the Middle Ages: a wooden shed of two by two meters with two ticket-windows for two thousand persons…
We were told that this was the only Indonesian transport that would leave on time. The departure would be at ten and we were there at seven, so we thought we would have plenty of time and went for a coffee before venturing into the battle. We joined the queue when it was still a few meters hundred long and were more surprised than angry when we saw how everybody was trying to jump it. To prevent them to push forward we made ourselves broader, but even then they pushed through the gap.
Slowly, very slowly we made progress. We joined the queue by turns to be able to stand it and the sun made our feelings run high as it was getting hotter and hotter. It became half past ten and because there was only one boat per week I got angry. I knew that one never should get angry here, but for the first (and last) time in my life I did as they did, but I was much larger and bigger. I mowed through the last ten meters, arrived at the ticket office and screamed for four tickets, while hitting on all hands that tried to go around me to put money in the ticket window. Immediately I got what I wanted from the scared staff.
The first whistle sounded and thousands stood already on shore to waive goodbye to their families. Now we quickly filled up the forms and went to ticket-window number two, where they helped me immediately, because they had seen my fury at number one.
We ran fast to the boat and as we reached the staircase, the second whistle sounded. The staircase was hauled in just when we had arrived on deck, but many were left behind, desperately waiving their tickets

We had arrived in a Western-alike world. At least with regard to the ship that was only four months in use, because at the check-in all the keys to the hundred of cabins were lost already and when we inspected the huts, all the wardrobes were also gone.
We shared a cabin with six others, including two girls we had already met in Bangkok. During our travels we often met the same people; obviously we had the same guide books.
We agreed to keep watch by turns. Twelve hours divided by six was one-and-a-half hour per day, which sounded reasonable.
Vera and Bill had booked the second class, but we – real travelers – the fourth…
A few hours later we met amidst the chaos and went on an inspection tour. It was a beautiful ship, well painted and clean, at least in the beginning, when we departed.
They wanted to show us their cabin for two, but we were not allowed onto their deck, so we showed them ours. This was also quite neat, but with four berths. Then we went downstairs to the Economy Class and there were two-thousand persons, laying on the floor the size of a football field on an allotted space of two by two meters, staked out with chalk-lines and with gangways of half a meter wide. We felt embarrassed to walk about, because everybody stared at us as if we were coming from another planet.
They were all eating and it was already a big mess. How would it be tomorrow…?

The horn sounded for the boat-drill: all hands on deck. The loudspeakers were blaring and everybody hastened to go to those decks where they belonged. There you had to go to your sloop, only nobody knew where to find it, because nobody was informed that the number was on your ticket, which nobody had taken with him. It was already a madhouse now, so what about if something really would happen at night?

• Previous