Dancing Divas and Volcano Vistas

20/6/2007 - 27/6/2007

After I'd finally finished my last posting I rushed back to meet Dave at the hotel, got all tarted up (for once) and we headed out to Hemlock (my favourite restaurant in Bangkok) for a fancy last night out. Dave seemed to like the restaurant as well - they had pig's neck on the menu. Thankfully it didn't come intact with the head attached, otherwise it'd have put me right off my food.. After we'd stuffed

ourselves to wafa-thin-mint point we headed for one last wander down the Kho San Road. I suddenly realised that after returning to Bangkok 7 times on this trip, I was unlikely to return, and became quite nostalgic as we wandered past the fake ID stall, the dreadlocks stands and the shop that sells rather terrifying looking machetes and tasers. Just 5m from the end of the road, when we were about to head back to the hotel, we suddenly ran into Roy, a friend from the Gibbon Experience.

After lots of very excited hugs and cheek kisses, Woody (another Gibbon Experience veteran) suddenly appeared, both of them having just arrived in town on seperate buses. We decided that this was clearly fate's way of telling us that we had to go to the pub, we headed back down the Kho San Road and managed to squeeze ourselves onto the already packed table filled with Matt and Roy's friends.

After a couple of hours of catching up loudly over the din of the pub, I managed to persuade a couple of girls (one of whom had been making some very ill-timed foot-in-face comments to Dave and myself) that we should find somewhere with a dancefloor, because I hadn't been for a dance since Australia, 3 months ago. When we got up to leave, the whole crowd decided that this sounded like a good plan too, so we all headed en masse to "Le Club". As soon as we got in, Dave took my bag, bless his heart and I hit the dancefloor with Roy, Matt and Christine, and with the complete lack of dignity of one who hasn't danced for far too long. I was loving it. Dave seemed quite happy to sit there taking photos of me making a complete arse of myself, but after a while I started to feel guilty and took my bag back. Dancing with it on my back eventually proved quite inhibiting for someone who throws their weight around on the dancefloor as much as me, so I reluctantly let it out of my sight for once and handed it in behind the bar.

As it turned out, Dave was excellent fun to dance with (except for the moment when Prodigy came on, we both started doing the same - admittedly rather obvious - interpretative dance, and there was some confusion as to whom was whose bitch).

We lasted until the club closed, dancing constantly, and then said our goodbyes and staggered back to the guesthouse in the early hours of the morning.

The following morning, after some last minute leaving-Bangkok-for-the-last-time type jobs, Dave accompanied me to the train station and kept me relatively calm while the taxi inched its way through traffic. We made it in time, I grabbed some food from my favourite fast-food stall and then Dave and I said our goodbyes through the doorway of the train and waved through the window as the train pulled out of the station, until Dave was out of sight.

The nice lady sitting opposite me noticed that I needed cheering up and handed me the Thai equivalent to Heat - I couldn't read a word, but judging by the pictures it was filled with stories about Thai celebrities flashing their knickers while getting into limos, celebrity Mums voicing disapproval of their child's choice of partner, and Paris Hilton going to jail. It's funny how some things are the same around the world.

After reading for a while and taking pictures of a stunning rainbow coloured sunset (none of which were any good, as photos taken through train windows rarely are), the nice lady opposite me showed me pictures of her family and friends. When we got to a picture of Johnny Depp taken from a Pirates of the Caribbean poster, we established through mime that we both truly believe that we are the love of Johnny Depp's life, he just doesn't know it yet. I decided that it would have been bad form to scratch her eyes out given how nice she'd been to me, and decided to pity the poor delusional woman instead.

The following day we made it to the border early and went through the usual customs bollocks. I was saddened to discover that Malaysia don't use the big, satisfying, whole-page-of-passport-taking-up visa stickers though. I established how to say thankyou in Malay, repeated it to myself with decreasing accuracy, and got back on the train to Penang.

When I arrived I left my bags at the train station and went off in search of an atm in order to stock up on ringgit, crossing an insane 6-lane road on the way. I tried my card at two different banks (both of which displayed the cirrus/maestro symbol), and was alarmed to discover that it didn't work at either. I went back across the crazy roads, fetched the last of my travellers cheques, decided to go and check my account details online and prayed that my card would magically start working in KL. The nice cashier at the bank informed me that there was no internet cafe nearby, but one of her regular customers (a nice man, she assured me) overheard and offered to drive me across town to a cafe that he knew. After a few hours on the internet I was none the wiser as to why my card wasn't making money appear as it usually does, so I located a restaurant that sold me a lovely onion dosa and then the guy drove back to pick me up, decided he was going to take me round town to see the sights, took me to another restaurant and, despite my protests that I had already eaten, made me sample more culinary delights of Malaysia. He dropped me back at the train station in plenty of time for my train, insisted on teaching me how to say "I love you" in Malay, which he then said to me, and then enveloped me in an unnecessary spontaneous hug while he sniffed my hair before I had the chance to protest. Why do I always get this from the wrong people?

I made my way to the train, feeling a bit creeped out, and got chatting to a couple of very friendly Malaysian guys and an Iranian grad student on the platform, then got on the train when it appeared, and passed out.

I arrived in Kuala Lumpur sometime shortly after dawn, managed to locate the elevated train line that would take me to chinatown (pretty impressive, given how poorly I'd slept), crawled to a hostel that Dave had recommended - the Red Dragon - found a room that had gone up in price dramatically since Dave stayed there, couldn't be bothered to find another cheaper place, showered (aaaaaaahhh, bliss) and went for a wander.

Worryingly, I still couldn't use my cards. No-one in the bank could help me, they told me I should speak to my bank in England. I was verging on panic now.

After hyperventilating for a few minutes I realised that there was nothing I could do until the banks opened in England in a few hours, that panicking would accomplish nothing, and besides which I was fed up of worrying and pining for Dave at the same time, so I decided to have a fun, manic, but cheap day seeing all the free sights of KL and taking as many photos as I wanted along the way - Dave would have hated it.

On the way back to the elevated train I popped into the Sri Mahamariammam Temple - a typical modern Hindi temple with brightly coloured deities everywhere - and then I made my way to the Petronas towers to book tickets to watch the sunset on the tower bridge (for free!). I couldn't wait until the early evening, so I headed to the KL telecommunications tower, asked if I could walk to the top, was laughed at (what, I'm climbing mountains for the next month - I need the practice), and took the elevator up to the top to admire the views of KL with a very informative audio guide.

I decided to wander back to Chinatown and see the sights along the way. I wandered through the bazaar in little India and watched the brightly dressed people haggling nineteen to the dozen over sari material. I resisted the temptation to buy 3m of beautiful silk chiffon for a dress that I don't need, and that would, lets face it, look better on someone who was actually thin.

I ambled through the city to Merdeka square, where Malaysia's independence was first declared, and then decided that I fancied a quiet moment and went to the beautiful Jamek mosque where I donned a headscarf and covered my shoulders to wander the grounds. Lots of curious people asked if I was Muslim, but no-one seemed to mind my being there when I replied honestly. I went to the women's prayer room - mainly because I wanted some quiet time alone to think about Steve and it seemed as good a place as any in a mega-city of mayhem like Kuala Lumpur.

When I felt ready to venture out and brave the world again, I found a sidestreet with alleyways going off it filled with cheap food stalls - mostly vege - and decided to try the mee soup, whatever that is. Fire soup as it turns out. I managed about two thirds of the bowl before the temperature of my tongue reached torturous levels, and I had to leave the rest.

I took a long wander to the butterfly park, stopping to take pictures of the beautiful Islamic architecture (with which I've had a love affair since Morocco in 2001) along the way. Sadly the butterfly park eluded me and I ended up at the orchid gardens. Entrance was free, so I wandered around for a while, looking at flowers and watching a lightning storm gathering

momentum in the distance.

Eventually I left, got directions to the butterfly park, and was just crossing the road when I spotted a troop of monkeys crossing the road a few metres away from me. I, of course, grabbed my camera and took a few photos of monkeys on the fence, monkeys jumping and mummy monkey with baby, and was so engrossed in what I could see through my lens, that I didn't notice that there were now dozens of them all around me, until one (possibly the father of the baby) hissed at me loudly in an I'm-going-to-bite-you-and-give-you-rabies kind of way from far too close. I backed off.

I made it to the butterfly garden, but sadly just as they were closing early due to the thunderstorm, so you can all breathe a sigh of relief that you've been spared yet more butterfly photos.

I went back to the Petronas towers, hung around in the lobby waiting for my turn and found out that not only are the towers 290 times my height, but that I'm 2cm smaller than I thought. Maybe I'm shrinking...

We were taken into a side room and shown a nauseating corporate PR video for Petronas oil (but I didn't give them any money for the tower visit, and didn't have

any warm fluffy thoughts about them or buy into their PR bollocks in any way, so it's ok), and then we finally went up to the bridge. Sadly by then, the lightning storm had ended and the sunset wasn't up to much, so I took a couple of uninspired, dusky photos and took the elevator back down and went to Sentral station to sort out my ticket to the airport early the next morning.

When I arrived back at my hotel I gave my bank a ring, and then watched the clock as my available funds dwindled while I was on hold at extortionate rates. Unfortunately Natwest were no bloody help whatsoever, implied that the card must be damaged in some way, and that I should take better care of it in future. I hung up feeling pretty bloody pissed off, and went to get the cheapest food for dinner that I could find (egg roti with Dhal for 20p - bargainous and delicious). I took it back to the hostel and then spent the evening watching yet more Prison Break (by the time I went to bed, half the hostel had congregated around the TV - marvellous, I love it when I get other people hooked).

The following morning started far, far, far too early when I got up at 3:30am to pack and rush to the airport (when am I actually going to get a decent, uninterrupted night's sleep?). I took the KLIA (KL International Airport) train to KLIA, LCCT terminal, and was told by a taxi driver when I got there, that I was in the wrong KLIA, that LCCT terminal was at the other side of town, and that I was now at the original KLIA. I checked with the information desk and they confirmed this. I restrained myself from screaming at them for naming two different airports in two different places with the same name (because that's not remotely confusing), and then jumped on the airport shuttle bus as I didn't have enough money for a taxi, and my cards STILL weren't working.

I arrived at the airport with 50 mins to spare before my international flight departed. Thankfully (and amazingly) they still let me check-in and I made the flight. I slept through most of it, filled in the the visa card, and then filled my pants when I noticed that I needed 25 dollars for the visa - I only had about 20 dollars in two different currencies, neither of them Indonesian rupiah. I started having all these nightmares about being trapped at the airport for weeks on end because I didn't have enough money to get my visa, leave the airport and attempt to use my card at Indonesian atms, or failing that, get my long-suffering parents to Western Union me some money.

I ended up swallowing my pride and my dignity, and doing the only thing that I could think of - I approached the only other white person on the plane and resorted to begging to borrow money until I could get to an atm. The only other white person was a Dutch guy called Arno, who, thank fuck, agreed to help me, after a short lecture on always carrying emergency money. I swapped my various forms of cash into rupiah (at shockingly bad rates), paid for my lovely, satisfyingly large visa sticker, and Arno and I shared a taxi to the nearest atm, where to my intense relief (and that's understating it somewhat) my card worked. The most sensible course of action from there seemed to be to share a taxi to Solo town where Arno was heading, and where I could catch a bus to Yogyakarta. Conveniently, Arno speaks fluent Bahasa Indonesian (amongst many, many other languages) and he gave quite clear instructions to the driver, who then proceeded to do the opposite and start driving us to Yogyakarta. Arno and I were so busy chatting that we didn't notice until an hour or so later, when we were almost there.

Suddenly the taxi drove past a magnificent Hindu temple, so Arno and I decided to stop there, paid the taxi, ran the inevitable gauntlet of hawkers and vendors outside the gates, paid the exorbitant UNESCO entrance fees and wandered around the grounds. Two uniformed girls stopped us and explained that they were trainee guides and did we want a free tour? Bonus. Nur and Tri did a wonderful job of explaining the history of the temples, the destructive effect an earthquake in 2006 had on them and ways of identifying the different Hindu gods and their consorts, most of which I've now forgotten. Sadly, because of the recent earthquake, the temples were too unstable to get close to, so it was only possible to go inside if you bribed the guard, which I couldn't be bothered to do. Arno and

I left the temple and got drinks at a stall where Arno got chatting to a vendor. After buying various Buddha statues and gradually becoming surrounded by other vendors, all of whom were too busy being charmed by and falling about in gales of laughter at Arno to remember to sell him anything.

Suddenly he burst into the Indonesian national anthem and was quickly joined by everyone (except of course me, the only one there who didn't know the words). We left with Arno doing a comedy Ramaya style dance and my wondering if it would be rude to pretend I didn't know him after all the help he'd given me that morning.

We went for a delicious lunch in a lovely restaurant on site, with the most beautiful toilets I've seen in months, and then had a wander round some smaller ruined temples. I was reaching my temple limit, so I wandered off with my camera to take photos of a family of deer that were wandering the grounds.

Arno changed his mind and we hopped onto a rickety deathtrap bus to Yogyakarta, then hired cyclos to take us to the main backpacker area, with Arno calling out "Hello", "Good evening" and all sorts of stuff I didn't understand in bahasa to random passers-by. Without exception every last one of them waved back with a smile and more things that I didn't understand. This is one friendly place.

We found the guesthouse that we were looking for eventually - a charmingly run down place with four poster beds and decorated with batik and statues for one pound fifty a night. Conveniently there were two singles left, so I took the smaller, cheaper one, we dumped our things and then went for wanders in seperate directions.

After an evening of facebook procrastination, burning photos to cd and batik browsing I went for dinner with Arno, and then had to desert him with beer and live music because I was so shattered that I could no longer cope.

At 4:30am my alarm dragged me kicking and screaming from my dreams, I threw clothes on (and a few around my room too) and staggered out to the bus. Arno and I conversed in moody monosyllables for a while and then tried and failed to sleep on the bus. Gradually the sun rose, revealling glorious views of Mount Merapi smoking in the distance.

Eventually the bus pulled up outside the inevitable tourist hotspot market selling some surprisingly wonderful handicrafts. I did my best to ignore the stalls and walked towards the temple, gasping when I turned the corner and grasped the scale of Borobudur. We climbed the

temple steps, pausing to examine the incredibly lifelike bas reliefs (I consider myself something of a temple masonry expert after the last few months, and these were far, far better than anything else I'd seen, the faces

didn't look like cartoons carved onto stone, they actually had character). When we reached the top we were rewarded with sunrise views of Merapi smoking in the distance, seen through a myriad of stupas, and seen over mist shrouded palm groves. I got my camera out, and the pictures took themselves.

Arno and I somehow got separated as the temple gradually filled with Indonesian tourists, all of whom wanted group shots followed by individual shots with us. School groups of kids ran up to me waving and screaming. Luckily it turned out that most people's English vocabulary was identical to my Bahasa, so I replied to their "Good morning"s and their "Thank you"s with "Shlama pargi"s and "Teremacase"s.

After a pretty thorough wander I dragged myself away from the temple intending to race back to the bus, but got sidetracked by shopping instead, spending a small fortune completely by accident.

I made it back to the bus with my bags considerably heavier and my wallet alarmingly lighter, and we headed back to Yogyakarta, where I rested for a while, then booked myself tickets to go and see the Ramaya performed that evening at Prambanan temple (where I had been the day before).

I ate a power dinner of crisps and chocolate on the bus there in order to avoid the expensive restaurants outside the temple, found my seat, had a read of the flyer, pulled faces at the toddler sitting next to me (the whole family had travelled all the way from Jakarta to see this) and then settled back to watch the show.

I could try to explain the plot to you, but it would double the length of this posting (and that is saying quite a lot, as I'm sure you're aware). It involved love, betrayal, death, deception, kidnapping, arson, magic and some very strange costumes. I was bloody glad that I read the leaflet beforehand, otherwise I would have had no idea of what was going on! The dancing was pretty impressive and the choreography suitably dramatic.

After the performance I went back to my guest house and went out to the pub to find Arno, have a quick bite to eat, and then collapse. Things didn't work out according to plan, largely due to a rather good live band that actually did some really good covers of various soft rock songs.

Pretty soon I had dragged a lovely Indonesian lady (Zelda 2???) to dance, and various other people at the pub had joined us. They ended on Sweet Home Alabama, and by the time they finished I was very much in the mood to continue dancing. Zelda 2 took us (my new friends Matt, Ian, and a whole crowd of their friends whose names I'm not sure I ever new, so I don't have to feel bad about not knowing them now) to the nearby club Republic, and managed to wangle getting us in for free, despite the fact that we didn't conform to the dress code of the club (our shoes weren't up to scratch - I tried explaining how fucking cool my velcro sandals were - I'm not sure that helped). The club had another live band - this one even better than the last. In fact, I'd go out on a limb and say they were outstanding. They mostly did covers in English of various poppy numbers that had virtually everyone there dancing, the two female singers were dressed like pop stars from the eighties and bounced around on the speakers with so much energy, you'd be forgiven for thinking they were on pogo sticks. In the break between sets, I ran back to the hotel to get my pois, as I hadn't used them for a while and I was getting really into having a dance. The staff said it was ok for me to have a go on stage before the band came back on, so I did my best whirling dervish impression for a few minutes, and then relinquished the stage to the band. Their second set was even better, ending with Muse, Guns'n'Roses and then Killing in the Name Of by Rage Against the Machine. I would never have believed that an Indonesian band fronted by two women dressed like early Madonna would manage to pull off any of the last 3 songs. Especially not Killing in the Name Of, which I danced to religiously every Thursday night for two years, but it was spot on. Damn I was impressed. So much so that I showed my appreciation by headbanging.

At the end of the set the band cleared off the stage and people went to dance on it. One of the bar staff fetched me and pulled me back onto the stage with my pois, and when I tried to leave after a few minutes (fatigue from sleep deprivation over the last 5 days was finally setting in), they started bringing me free drinks to get me to stay. I was bloody flattered, but could barely stand anymore, so Matt and Ian walked me back to the hotel, and I crashed.

The following morning I got up far later than planned, said my goodbyes to Arno, who had kept me laughing for the last 2 days, and caught the local bus to Surabaya, ten hours away. The journey was nothing short of bizarre, with a succession of people sitting next to me, most of whom spoke some English and were keen to practice, and the rest of whom just seemed to want to look at me and smile. I don't think many backpackers opt for the local bus on this route, as the train's much faster. Every time the bus stopped, salesmen would get on selling books, fm radio and screwdriver sets, novelty lighters and an all manner of other crap. They would give one of whatever they were selling to everyone on the bus, to give them a chance to decide to buy it, and then they'd go round collecting money, or the products back. The real highlight of the trip was the buskers that appeared at odd times, played a song or two in Bahasa, and then went round the bus collecting about 1-5p from each passenger. There were two that stood out by miles. One woman who played a dinky four-stringed instrument similar to the guitar and who sang with such a raw, striking voice that was so beautiful it just made you want to cry. This was Indonesia's answer to Tracey Chapman. I wanted to take a photo of her singing, but she said "no" sadly. The other outstanding musician was the other woman - her songs were more melodic, poppy and uplifting, and her voice was so sweet and assured and she left you bouncing around in your seat. This was Indonesia's very own KT Tunstall. Given that she was about 5 months pregnant, her clothes were threadbare, and she was busking on a moving bus with a string missing from her 4-stringed guitar, and yet despite all this she managed to sound so amazing that several people were listening open-mouthed (me included), I decided to give her the equivalent of a pound. I think everyone on the bus at that moment thought I was a clueless idiot who had no understanding whatsoever of Indonesian money.

The quality of the music performed in this country is amazing - at this point I had been in Indonesia for 3 days, and I had already seen two bands and two buskers that I would happily pay to see in London. I really wish I had a recording of the two buskers now so that I could hear them again and describe them to you with greater accuracy. I'd love to record some of these people and give them cds to sell to tourists - they'd make loads more money. Perhaps there's an NGO project in that. Or maybe a book (Round Indonesia with a Four-track???).

Eventually I arrived in Surabaya, changed buses and travelled to Probolinggo, found an overpriced hotel near the bus station and collapsed.

The following morning I got up, booked my flight to Lombok in a couple of days time, and then caught the bus to Cemoro Lawang close to the active volcano Gunung Bromo, and the surrounding crater of the Tengger Massif.

On the bus I caught sight of two gingas - Jesse a fellow Brit, and Joel an Aussie guy. Both were in Asia on university exchanges, and were now doing a last minute bit of travelling before heading home. I chatted to Jessie for most of the journey. Unfortunately, because he was sitting behind me, this exacerbated the sore neck that I had developed while headbanging the other night, and it was sore for the next couple of days.

Eventually, after winding through mountain roads surrounded by stunning scenery that was virtually impossible to photograph given the poor state of the roads, we arrived, found the hotel with the best views, found cheap rooms and went for a wander down into the crater, and then up Bromo to get close-up views of the smoking crater. A little old man kept trying to sell us flowers to throw into the crater to pacify the volcano spirit. Since he was only asking for about 10p and he looked quite desperate I bought some flowers and attempted to lob them into the part of the crater that was venting sulphurous gases. Yup, I still throw like a girl - I wasn't even close.

We sat around outside the hotel watching the sunset until it became unbearably cold and then we hid inside with hot chocolate, mulled wine (amazingly, it was actually really good) and card games.

The next morning we got up at about 4:30am to climb the 500m to the summit of Gunung Penanjakan. In order to see the sunrise from the summit we should have got up 2 hours earlier, but none of us could face doing that, and the general concensus was the fewer hours walking in the pre-dawn cold, the better. The walk was flat at first for a couple of miles, taking us to the base of the mountain, and then it became steeper as we tackled the mountain. I realised with some alarm just how out of shape I was compared to 4 months ago when I was in

NZ, and started to worry about how I was going to cope with Rinjani and Kinabalu if this was causing me to pant like a dog on heat and guzzle water like a famine was coming. At some point we missed a turning on the path and ended up taking a much more perilous route than necessary, with some proper scrambling, and terrifying drops. A couple of times I got hit by mild vertigo and the boys had to encourage me on with promises of nice clear concrete paths. It was good fun though.

The views on the way up were stunning, but from the top they were unsurpassed - you could see all the way across the mist-covered floor of the crater to the smoking peaks of Bromo and Semeru, and in the east you could see the sun rising over the mountains, highlighting the rugged relief of the area. Absolutely breathtaking. It's a good thing we didn't get up earlier to see the sun rise from the view point - apparently there were over 100 people there at dawn. Two hours later when we were there, there was no-one.

I refused to walk down the path we'd come up on the grounds that it'd be far more dangerous, as well as scary, so I organised a motorbike to take me down, while the boys set off down the path again. My motorbike

driver didn't seem to mind stopping for me to take photos as the scenery gradually changed as the crater became more verdant in areas where the prevailing winds don't sweep the sulphurous gases over the land, but I think that he didn't mind because it gave him the opportunity to tell me he loved me repeatedly and ask me for a "kiss kiss?".

I was quite glad to arrive back at the hotel, pay the driver and watch him leave, about 2 minutes before Jesse and Joel arrived back. They had managed to spot the infinitely easier correct path on the way down - daylight always makes these things easier. I decided to leave on the bus with Jesse and Joel, as I couldn't face another night of sub-zero temperatures without people to play cards with. It was a shame as I had to cancel the dawn horse ride I had booked for the following morning, but it wasn't worth 24 hours of shivering.

We arrived back in Probolinggo, just missing the train we had hoped to catch back to Surabaya. We waited around for a couple of hours for the next one as the niggling feeling that had been at the back of my mind for most of the morning gradually came into focus, and I realised that I hadn't seen my Molskine diary - one of Steve's last gifts to me just before I left last year, and an extremely thoughtful and well used one at that - for a few days. I turned my luggage upside down - I found my passport in the wrong place, having not even noticed that was missing (if it came down to it, I'd rather have lost that), but no diary. I wandered off and found a quiet spot round the side of the station to go and have a good cry, as Jesse and Joel looked a bit at a loss for the right words to say.

At length the train came and I dozed while using the last of my battery power on my mp3 player (I haven't been able to charge it since) to block out thoughts I didn't want to have while in public.

We arrived in Surabaya, found a hotel, cleaned ourselves up and then spent the evening wandering around chinatown, looking for somewhere to eat, and playing cards with Jesse who was under strict instructions to cheer me up. He succeeded - I can't remember the name of the game we played, but it involved slamming your hands on top of the pile of cards at certain times, and tended to make us both erupt into giggles, which was definitely an improvement.

The following morning Joel and Jesse left for Yogyakarta and I spent the day in an internet cafe, killing time until my flight to Lombok so that I could tackle Gunung Rinjani, the second highest mountain in Indonesia.

I 'm not up to date yet, but will post this now and intend to post the rest in a few days - keep your eyes peeled.