Backpacking with the 'Rents

I knew we were in trouble after going through Singapore immigration. As we descended on the escalator to catch the bus that would take us across the Strait of Johor and into Malaysia the crowd before my eyes was huge. Alli and I have done the jaunt between Tioman and Singapore numerous times, mostly for visa reasons and work, but it never looked this bonkers before. We had a bus to catch in less than two hours and boy did this look hairy. The whole scene would have made me sweat and utter a few curse words under my breath if I was just with Alli or some friends, but this jaunt was quite different.

The Lady wasn't there, as the cast of characters on this journey was a novel one for me in SE Asia. I was rolling with the 'rents. My Dad (Tom) and his wife (June) were there, plus Alli's parents too (Ken and Barb). I had scooped them all up at the Singapore airport about 12 hours before. After not seeing anyone from home for almost a year and a half, since late July my Mom has visited along with everyone else above getting here in late August. It was all pretty surreal. But first I had to make it through that damn bus ordeal with the four of 'em.

Raft up! Bout to get down on the Ayung River north of Ubud, Bali, Indoneisa. *** All photos can be enlarged by clicking on them.***

The standard route from Singapore (SG) to Tioman goes like this: bus from SG to their border, get off and get stamped out of the Lion City; back on the bus to cross the Strait of Johor, ending up at Malaysian immigration where they stamp you in; hop on the bus again to go to the long-distance bus terminal in Johor Bahru. From there you catch another bus (2-3 hrs. depending on the driver's enthusiasm) to Mersing, the laid-back port town with ferries to Tioman, which also randomly has the best tiramasu cake I've had in Asia.

If you're lucky you can catch the ferry the same day of your bus journey, if not then a night in pleasant Mersing will do (remember: they do have bomb tiramasu), and the boat will shove off in the morning. The ferry terminal is a shining example of incompetence, complete with late ferries and the most asinine boarding process I've ever seen. Whew, I'm beat from just writing all that. There's a few more cogs to the whole machine, but I think you get the point. It can take more than an entire day to rock this slog. Yup, it sucks. And for some reason we thought it was a good idea to have our parents experience all this.

Above two photos: Having fun in the downpour at Asah Waterfall, on the south end of Tioman. Notice my Dad's snazzy hairdo.

With my Mom it was no trouble as the crowds were non-existent, but not with the other four. One problem planning for traveling with the parents is that Alli and I have been in backpacker mode the last 1.5 yrs. Now, I kinda have beef with that term since it usually implies that I like full-moon beach parties and culturally making an ass of myself, but truth be told we do roll with backpacks. In my case an external-frame (you heard right!) Kelty from the early 90s. I think my bag is older than Offspring's breakout album 'Smash.'

Anyway, that means we're usually roaming around on the cheap. Buses here and there; hotels/guesthouses/homestays with shared bathrooms, maybe even a wee bit of mold and water damage; sweat-stained sheets; you know the usual trappings. And when you gotta carry it all on your back, in a region that loves sunshine and endless humidity, you like your bag light too.

Buchanan Christmas card maybe? Kayaking Juara Bay.

Unfortunately, everything was stacked against our parents. The sweaty heat combined with bulky rolly bags did not mix. Their belongings were pushing over 20kg (44+lbs). And they don't let you stow these bags in the cargo bays on the bus, you gotta haul 'em in and do it fast. Another annoying fact about the border crossing: people are in quite the rush, and why, I'm not so sure. A lot of the time it reminds me of those who love to speed up when they can see the red light ahead.

And the cherry on top? People in SE Asia really don't like to wait in orderly lines. To put it lightly, people will cut the hell out a line. Usually lines become amorphous blobs reminiscent of cramped rock 'n' roll shows once the band hits the stage. I've had everyone from young punks to elderly ladies butt in front of me, even whole families. So if you're living here then you gotta buy into the practice. Cut, butt, do whatever. If you don't, you're gonna get left behind.

Might be my favorite photo. Ken enjoying this strange sight: the king of candy characters in the West, meeting the king of fruits in the East. Singapore airport, always full of surprises.

As we waited to board the bus to Malaysia the amorphous blob was in full swing. So I did what I always do now, pushed forward. But I'm not gonna lie, I kind of forgot the parents were there. When I looked behind me, they were way back and I realized I hadn't gave them the low-down on SE Asia lines. They looked quite perplexed. People were cutting left and right. It was hilarious, in a we-might-miss-our-bus due to this craziness kind of way. A sort of grand welcoming committee to SE Asia for my Dad, June, Ken and Barb! But alas, we boarded all the buses and were stamped in. The journey to Tioman and Juara was finally completed by lunchtime the next day, complete with late ferries, scamming taxi drivers and some delectable roti canai in the morning.

Yeah, the day we went to Asah Waterfall it rained a little bit. Maybe an understatement.

The four parents spent about 4-5 nights in Juara, before my Dad and June moved on to New Zealand with a quick stopover in Singapore. Having the four, plus my Mom earlier in the summer, in Juara was wonderful. They got to see where we've spent a year of our lives since leaving the USA last April. They all got the grand tour of the village, and surrounding ocean and jungle, whether on foot, in a sidecar or via kayaks. Rolling through a rainstorm with my Dad and June in the JTP sidecar definitely put a smile on my face. I even got my Mom and Dad to separately try scuba diving.

Ken and Barb stuck around SE Asia much longer, visiting KL and two locales in Indonesia: Gili Meno for scuba diving (Ken was so relaxed on holiday that for the first time in his diving career he forgot to put on his dive computer before heading underwater) and the rare opportunity to visit somewhere in SE Asia where motorized land transportation doesn't occur, and Ubud for Balinese culture, kick-ass rafting, and at least for me, the crispy duck. Barb even got to have a Singapore Sling at the bar that invented the drink on her birthday.

Ken and Barb in an ox cart on Gili Meno, Lombock, Indonesia. No motorized transportation exists on the Gili's, so the only way to get around is on your feet, by bicycle or ox cart.

My Mom's visit was a winner too. Celebrating Hari Raya with her was an incredible experience and she even got to see Alli and I in action since an international school trip was taking place when she was in town. Nothing like dinner time with 60 insane 6th graders! And I'm almost certain the talent show she witnessed that we always have at the end of our trips was the most bizarre of the whole season.

Sadly the only photo of my Mom and I the whole trip. In an office in Mersing. At least we got one of us! It's cause she's always taking incredible photos. Click the Hari Raya link above to see for yourself.

After not seeing family for so long, it was darn strange to suddenly be offering them their first bite of sambal chicken or explaining how to say 'thank you' in Bahasa Malaysia. But overall, through all the hiccups (transpo issues; pooping geckos and inquisitive monitor lizards; torrential downpours; new foods; lack of numerous American amenities), I'd say they nailed it.

To be honest, I was quite nervous having to host family, but I'd do it again, no questions asked. Just a few things would be different. Did I mention Pulau Tioman has an airport? All four were surely thinking of it at some point on our overland journey to Juara. But all along part of me new that bus/ferry route was gonna be a doozy, so that's why my Dad, June and I flew off the island when we left (a first for me). As my Dad said after landing in Singapore: "If I ever come back, we're flying. We're old and we like doing things the easy way. And that was easy." Fair enough.

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More photos below:

Bali Rafting on the Ayung River

Somewhere there's a Barb in that helmet and PFD combo.

Our raft guide photo bombing like a G.

The Buchanan ladies aren't having any fun at all.

Tioman

The always lovely waiting hall for the ferry.

Ken, looking ever so regal, in front of the Bushman, their home for a few nights in Juara.

We got dumped on. And what can I say? SE Asia has made me a wuss with the cold.

Kuala Lumpur

Trying all kinds of new weird foods. I'm sure there's some weeds in there as Ken would say.

Celebrating Merdeka Day (Malaysian Independence Day) right, in front of a giant Malaysia One made up of pineapples and small flags.

KL Tower.

Gili Meno

The three Gilis on our flight in. We went to the one in the middle.

Scuba logbook/happy hour time.

The Buchanan's home for the week.

Lots of both Hawksbill and Green turtles in the Gilis.

Bout to head on down.

Barb and I conducting a very serious buddy check before getting into the water.

Bali (Ubud)

All Aboard the Pelni Pandemonium

I've just watched the Pelni employee dump a full trashcan of garbage over the side of the ship, into the ocean, for the third time. As it stands, we're not even halfway through our seven hour boat ride. This behemoth of the sea has around four or five floors of decks with railings all around, and plenty of more people generating plenty more trash. I think you get the point. 

Easily the biggest boat I've ever been on. Pelni's are custom built in Germany specifically for Indonesia. Frickin' huge.

These aren't the little wastebaskets in the bathrooms at doctor's offices or posh restaurants. These cans are roomy, the ones some of you probably filled up with leaves as a child, and then with ice and a keg of beer during your formative years. Alli and I watch the rubbish fly, my stomach tightens, and we can't help but think: what a damn shame. Hours later, we witnessed one of the most stunning sunsets we've ever seen leak out of the sky, like a cup of technicolor tea that just tipped off its saucer. Up and down, watching highs and lows, there we went, along the Pelni paradox I thought. 

We sat on the right side of the ship because the sunset out there in the open was glorious.   

The boat we were on is part of Indonesia's largest ferry line (Pelni) with connections all over this geographically sprawling country. These cruise-ship-size vessels usually travel fortnightly or monthly to a myriad of destinations. Currently the easiest way to get to the Banda Islands (our destination) occurs only every two weeks. The Tidar leaves from Kota Ambon, the biggest city in Maluku, easily Indonesia's most forgotten region. That's how the Lady and I found ourselves on one of these ships, in economy class sitting on the third flood deck, sandwiched between humongous bags of laundry detergent and stacked-up cardboard boxes. Next to my head sat a pizza-box-size array of chilis, getting some fresh air as they cruised through the Banda sea.

Our space for the journey. On the far left are bulky bags of laundry detergent and closer to my head was a spread of chilis on top of a plastic bag.  Alli and I rotated on and off our dirty laundry bag to sit on.   

Pelni is no American-esque cruise ship experience. There's no prime rib, swimming pool or ventriloquists. The boats exist to move thousands of Indonesians from here to there on a regular basis because when your country is comprised of 18,000+ islands, the water route oftentimes is the only route. And it's usually cheaper than flying. 

The lovely smelling chilis next to our set-up.

People are everywhere on the Tidar and have set up shop on any available space. I think the legal maximum capacity was in the middle hundreds, but after doing a few tours around looking for a place to plop down, this number was laughable. Even if that many people were actually enforced, the combined weight of goods on the boat easily exceeded human kilograms. While the economy floors have cushioned seating inside, it was very claustrophobic in there, with folks (from infants to the elderly), boxes, suitcases and goods laid about all over. Territory was claimed by the time we got on, as no space was left inside. That's alright we thought, the absence of any natural light and heavy presence of cigarette smoke wasn't selling it anyway. People sit on floors, in the aisles and staircases, and outside, where we ended up. This was the largest and zaniest boat I've ever been on. 

People are everywhere on the Pelni's decks: sitting on the floor, atop cardboard boxes and luggage, and, of course, gazing overboard.           

The on-board economy is a bustling one, as the staggering diversity of items sold included: food (rice dishes with chicken or fish, fried noodles), NBA basketball jerseys (I'd say the Chicago Bulls have a dominant edge in the Pelni market), hot coffee and tea, baby clothes, bottled water, juice and soda, tarps to sleep on, sticky glutinous rice (I bought some of this yummy stuff), dried fruits, pineapple-on-a-stick, cigarettes, Pop Mie (Indonesia's version of the Cup O' Noodles), top up for your cellphone and probably a few I've forgotten. 

Looking east up Ambon Bay, with part of Kota Ambon on the right, from the Pelni port.

While I'm not sure the word impressive is the best adjective to describe the litter seen flailing overboard it surely was a striking sight to see. Carry out plastic food boxes, orange juice and water bottles, styrofoam, candy wrappers, plastic bags, cigarette butts, single-serving instant coffee packets (including the ones from our vendor who immediately tossed them over the railing after she dumped the powder in), chip bags, fruit and popsicle sticks, and soda cans all ended up in the ocean. Plus whatever was in the previously mentioned trashcans. 

Alli waiting for the boat to leave. Across the bay is the green coastline of Pulau Ambon, home to the capital city of the Maluku region of Indonesia.

Sitting on the third deck's floor got me thinking though. First, some of these people are on tough slogs. In economy class what you see is what you get. The photo of me sitting on the tie-dyed sarong is also a photo of our space. Some people take these boats from Java to Papua, a journey that can easily last a week or more, in basically the same set-up I'm sitting in. There is no privacy to speak of. If it rains and the wind isn't friendly, tough luck. I'm not squeamish at all when it comes to squalid bathrooms, but the ones on hand were not pleasant. There are first, second and third class rooms, complete with beds and your own attached bathroom, but the majority of people are in economy. I'm a tourist and, yes, it might be uncomfortable for me to make this journey, but I'm on holiday. Most of these folks aren't. They're just trying to move from point A to B, and take care of business. 

Our neighbors took a snooze quite early.

What's to complain about really? Everyone was friendly, as they usually are in Indonesia. Alli and I had broken conservations here and there since our Bahasa Indonesia is still comical. People definitely got a kick out of seeing us playing cards in economy. It was nice to chit chat to others though. I'm not sure most Americans are aware but President Obama lived in Jakarta (Indonesia's capitol) for four years starting in 1967. Contrary to many other internet blogs, he didn't spend his time there in a radical Islamic school, plotting to take over of all branches of our federal government almost 40 years later. 

Regardless of your opinion of Obama, most Indonesians smile proudly when you say you're from America (“the U.S.” response sometimes gets perplexed looks). They love the fact that someone who lived in their country and had an Indonesian stepfather eventually became president of the U.S.A. “Obama bagus” they say, meaning he's good. Now, Obama has joined the famous roster of other Americans Indonesians like to talk about when we say we're from there: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jean Claude Van-Damme (who I think is Belgian?), Sylvester Stallone, Steven Seagal and Bruce Willis. The Action and Adventure section of Blockbuster circa 1994 is alive and well is the world's largest archipelago.

What sitting on the Pelni floor meant most of the trip: being neighbors with butts, old rambutan skins and discarded food containers.

My second thought was, watching all the rubbish rain down is an obvious downer. Alli and I have spent so much time in Indonesia because of its dazzling natural beauty and boisterous biodiversity. Just like in so many other parts of the world Indonesian's waters are in trouble too: coral is bleaching, reefs have died due to cyanide poisoning and dynamite explosions, sharks are finned, it goes on and on. Sure there are some healthy and bumpin' parts (we've seen a few), but many areas are hurting. Heap loads of trash thrown on top of it all doesn't help.

But I admire the honesty in throwing rubbish overboard for all to see. Trash is pretty prevalent in Indonesia as no central waste management services exist. When people are done with something they toss it. Alli and I, and I assume most Americans, as well as folks from other “developed” countries, aren't used to this. We have regular trash pick-ups, recycle bins, re-usable shopping bags, car engines converted to run on french fry grease, compostable chip bags, etc. However, we pollute thick as thieves too, it's just invisible right? Alli and I have flown all over Malaysia and Indonesia, with a leap to Nepal as well, plus our initial flight over a year ago from Phoenix to Singapore. 

Sunsets on the Banda Sea did not disappoint.

So far to date our carbon footprint (from flying alone) is a little bit over 15,100 pounds (6.85 metric tons) of carbon dioxide (CO2). On a per capita basis Americans emit 17.22 metric tons of CO2 compared to Indonesia's 1.90. We spew crap out into the atmosphere and it just trickles down to the ocean slowly, out of sight. I can't help but love the contradiction: I'd never think to toss my chicken rice container overboard, but I've taken seven flights in Indonesia alone. I get pissed when I see plastic disposed of in our oceans, but I've driven thousands of miles in cars over the years, many more than any Banda islander can. And if the sea level rises just a smidge those folks are in the crosshairs, not I. It's a tough nut to crack without splintering it a bit. Watching the trash fly overboard and feeling pissed is a reminder that nothing as complicated as climate change, environmental stewardship, responsible tourism and the dumping ground that is our world's oceans, is ever simple. Or a black and white issue, right and wrong. It's a funky grey area that I'm partly responsible for.

Heading down out of Ambon Bay toward the Banda Sea.

The whole ordeal lasted around 11 hours: three waiting in port before departure, seven on the seas and a little under one getting off; it was a cramped-to-all-hell exit, reminiscent of a tightly-packed OutKast concert I attended oh-so-many years ago, when “Ms. Jackson” lived on the radio. Thinking about the Pelni outing beforehand made it sound fun, a way to scope the open ocean, peep a few islands and have one of those “experiences” travelers are always yapping about. 

Lots and lots of people filing on for the 6am departure.

Overall I enjoyed the Pelni pandemonium, but truth be told after so many hours I got sick of sitting on the floor next to extinguished cigarettes and rambutan skins. My butt hurt, but I was all smiles as we pulled into Bandaneria around 11:15pm, with the volcanic outline of next door neighbor Gunung Api illuminated in the night sky. Twenty days later when we left the Bandas to return to Ambon I was still all smiles, but this time we opted for first class. It was nothing fancy, but passing out on the bed, surrounded by quiet, was a real treat. I didn't have to hear Maroon 5's “Payphone” played endlessly by our deck neighbor this time. And I didn't see any pollution drifting out to sea. None of it was visible through our cabin porthole, whether on the Pelni or during our multiple flights back to Malaysia. 

Our first class cabin on the way back. No economy class again.

When a Pelni ship comes to town the area around the port pulsates. Motorbikes, people and vendors galore. An awesome time to have an appetite. During the rest of our time on Bandaneira when no ship was there this street was practically deserted, with a shop or two open.

Tidar docked up before we took it back from the Banda Islands to Ambon.