Category: Indonesia

As the sun dips onto the tropical forest roof top the street wakes up and blossoms with life. There are people barbecuing chickens over smoky medal pits, giant elderly rice pots are being washed on the side of the street and the children are walking home. I peddle along hungry as usual taking in the scene. I have become accustomed to ignoring most of the hi misters, hello misses and the occasional I love you as I peddle and sing to my new favorite song “Crash Into Me” by the Dave Mathews Band. A twisted ironic anti-manifested choice of favorites I still don’t fully understand.

As I peddle along, ear phones beating away, feeling more like a mutant then a Madonna from all this attention, I make an exception for children and wave hello at the little people, all of whom love Facebook and have camera cell phones. Selawesi, Indonesia is full of contrast between old and new, with blackberry cell phones at every turn in the village, homemade petrol stations and unique toilets. Regardless of the wonderful medley of contrasts I have been making great time because when I stop I am surrounded by groups of curious folks, groups of up to 30 and if I hang out too long they multiply because they call each other on their cell phones to let their surrounding neighbors know there is a lady on a magic bicycle at their shop. I now stop only for water and on occasion I take a rest in the trees out of sight. I would stop to eat as well but those opportunities have become limited. Or so I thought.

Facebook mobile is offered free with a new cell phone

Unique Toilet

Homemade Petrol Station

Are you hungry? I hear called out from the street at dusk in the small town of Morissa, Sulawesi, Indonesia…I laugh and say YES! A big ole yes, the biggest yes I have said in some time. Other then my tiny ailing jar of expensive Skippy peanut butter, some crackers and hydration salts from my first aid kit, it has been a few days since I have eaten a meal. I quickly peddle towards the setting sun and into a small shop. I am offered everything that I smile and nod at as my stomach jumps with anticipatory jubilation. I am not in a restaurant but rather a family’s living room/small coffee shop. They are eating cucumber and fish salad, rice, donuts and green and brown jiggling jelly slices and therefore, so am I. I top off my wonderful feast with ridiculously sweet milk coffee and jelly slices to go. I profusely thank the kind family, offer them some money and peddle on.

As the night begins and the sun fades farther away the cooking festivities begin. Every other family I pass has set up a giant picnic of sorts out in front of their house. The food and laughter is plentiful for another day of fasting from sun up to sun down during Ramadahm has commenced. Ramadahm is also a time for doing good deeds, I am grateful to the family that just fed me, they will no doubt be scoring mega points with Allah for their kind gesture.

I don’t normally cycle at night but Pandemic The Magic Bicycle is now fashioned with some super bright front lights. A combination of a head lamp, small torch and two taped together cigarette lighters equipped with single led light bulbs, a collage of lights bright enough to lead the way for I will be peddling in the festive nutritious dark as much as possible from here on out.

It is the middle of the night and I am hungry. The sounds of ocean waves crashing closer fill my right ear. A strange medley of bugs and lizards screaming away at the stars occupy my left ear. The bugs and lizards sound like chain saws with broken carburetors, an auditory casserole of sorts that is giving my ears indigestion. I am glad that something has indigestion because my belly has barely eaten all day. I had to push Pandemic The Magic bicycle up a switch back mountainous road today which is a rare occurrence. My belly was hungry and was all out of fuel to tackle the mountains. This morning in the hotel all they had ready was coffee or cobe which is sugar with coffee grounds floating in the bottom. I left early figuring I would stop for breakfast at the first place I saw. Food opportunities are usually plentiful and every other house seems to have fashioned their porch into a little shop. I peddled for 7 hours on empty in search of a greatly needed nutritious breakfast. All the usual food stalls and little shops were closed. The people in the villages were dressed in beautiful Muslim attire. All white robes decorated with hand embroidered trimmings and white head dresses. It took me 7 hours (110 km/75 miles) of starvation to realize that the month long Muslim holiday of Ramadham had began.

Ramadhan: It is the Islamic month of fasting, in which participating Muslims refrain from eating, drinking and sexual activities from dawn until sunset. Fasting is intended to teach Muslims about patience, humility and spirituality and is a time for Muslims to fast for the sake of God (Allah) and to offer more prayer than usual. During Ramadan, Muslims ask forgiveness for past sins, pray for guidance and help in refraining from everyday evils, and try to purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds.

More about Ramadhan is available here
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramadan

I now lie here in my tent hungry wide awake smiling at my timing of when to cycle here listening to the chain saw chorus of tropical forest critters and approaching ocean waves. My body feels like I have been bathing in orange juice, Tropicana brand, the pulp from the juice well that would be all the mosquito and spider bites that litter my orange juice sticky body. The ocean bath I just took seems to just increase my stickiness. The humidity in the air is at about 110% and I do believe the chainsaw chorus is calling for rain.

Despite heavy night rains I am dedicated and motivated to sleep in my tent because a few nights ago in a hotel I watched The Rat Rockets show. A half dozen rats of various sizes performing a dance show up and down the walls. The largest rat dancer I swear was my childhood cat Morris reincarnated, big and furry with a little bit of charm, charming for a rat that is. My sweaty head is tucked under a blue camp sheet inside my warm green tent as I type this in an attempt to not attract any attention. Regardless of my efforts my tent now looks like a blue green light bulb speckling the tropical ocean side. My arm is a bit sore for today I waved at hundreds of people most of which were yelling hi mister as I peddled by too preoccupied by hunger to do much more then toss a lame wave.

Tomorrow 55 km from here I will arrive a little bit thinner in Gorontolo, the provincial capital. Christians form a substantial minority at 17% of the population of Selawesi,Indonesia. Here’s to hoping that at least one of them owns a grocery store so I can stock up, peddling for a month while fasting sounds like a great way to emerge at the bottom of this Island an Indonesian skeleton that converted to the Muslim religion and barely survived the first right of passage the month long fast called Ramadham. Unfortunately fasting and cycling don’t go very well together because normally I am very open to experiencing new cultures. But this time I will have to take a pass. And in the end, a pass is a whole lot better then a pass out which is what will happen if I don’t find some food soon. Said with the up most of respect, so far Ramadham is making me very hungry.

As I peddle through rain drops the size of toy poodles I begin to grin. A giggly grin I haven’t felt since leaving Asia late last year. This region of Indonesia has a mini rain season in the midst of the dry season just to keep things as green as possible, a green so bright that it could make Kermit The Frog blush from racial paranoia. I left Manado, Sulawesi, Indonesia this morning, Manado is known for being the city of smiles but I do believe that that smile is big enough to encompass the surrounding region as well. A smile so big it could knock the ball out of bounds on an Olympic size soccer/football field. Every pedestrian is smiling at me, every person on a motorcycle is giving me the thumps up and the guy driving a two cow cart full of things for the market chuckles as he motions that he wants to pull me up the hill. The spirit of which these folks are shining can only be described as beautiful Indonesian hospitality. I have laughed several times today while peddling and thinking of how many people have looked at me as if I have two heads and pretty much questioned my judgment concerning my safety. If only they could come peddle with me someday they would get to experience why I love this, I keep thinking to myself as I peddle on. 50 kilometers (about 34 miles) later I stop at a store in search of lunch. I meet the shop owner who used to work for an American oil company in Papua and is trilingual. The shop owner says there is a Bahasa word, Indonesians widely spoken language, pronounced breyana, the spelling I am not sure, the word is said in response to how it is going, in reference to working, driving, eating etc. It means whether it is raining or any other hard time, no worries, I will carry on. The man sits with me as I eat odd fluffy bread stuff and drink a coke and he says that because I am smiling about the rain, legs and face freckled with dirt next to a wet bicycle that I am trying to peddle to the end of the K shaped island that that is my word. I spend the rest of the day peddling in the rain while practicing the pronunciation of my new word and hoping that someone will stop and ask how I am, so that I can say breyana. Breyana! The greatest word I have learned in some time and one I will be using as much as possible from now on. Breyana! At the end of the day, 90 kilometers (about 60 Miles) I roll in from the rain and the women who owns the hotel says hello how are you and I smiled so hard a giggle popped out and I got to say Breyana!