Contact Riki for a tour of Bukittinggi. We meet at 11 am on a Sunday morning in the park in the middle of town at that time crowded with strolling families and children chattering. My new friend insists on a visit to his home, located in a small town a few km from Bukittinggi. I agree.
'm dating When they got there the family and soon I find myself a plate of rice and fried fish in his teeth: Indonesian hospitality. The house 'consists of three rooms, a kitchen and living room. There are few pieces of furniture (in the living room there 's just the TV ...) and eat the lunch sitting cross-legged on a mat. After a cup of coffee 'let's take a walk around the village and visit an uncle Riki who lives in a beautiful traditional wooden house with a roof that reminds me of the hull of a sailboat. The whole family e' al lavoro nelle operazioni di restauro del vecchio edificio.
Tornati a Bukittinggi visitiamo un'area della citta' dove i giapponesi, nel corso della seconda guerra mondiale, hanno costruito una estesa serie di bunker e gallerie sotterranee. E' ormai pomeriggio inoltrato e avrei bisogno di un break, di un attimo di riposo in albergo, ma non riesco proprio a svincolarmi dalla compagnia di Riki ( mollami! ). Chiudo la giornata invitando il mio nuovo amico a cenare in un ristorante all'aperto del mercato notturno. Il clima e' ora piacevolmente fresco (Bukittinggi si trova a 1500m di altezza) e le strade si sono riempite di gruppi di ragazzi che suonano la chitarra.
Il mattino successivo, alle 10, I board a bus at a time of Bandar Lampung, the city 'on the end' southern island of Sumatra. On paper the distance from Bukittinggi seems to be around 1000km. I'm for syrup, in length, nearly two-thirds of Sumatra. The timing of the trip are unpredictable.
An hour after the start we are already 'stopped for a mechanical failure. The bus and 'too came violently into a hole and you must be wrecked something. We leave after an hour and a half smartellamenti in front of the axle shaft.
On the bus my position is not 'the best and I am in the row immediately before the bath, means having a seat that reclines and foul-smelling air. I am the only foreign travel and, therefore, the center of attention. Towards evening, the central corridor has become a garbage dump: a day of meals and snacks have left their mark. We stopped at a restaurant for dinner and discovered with surprise that nearly all passengers take advantage of the break to wash and freshen up, soap, towel, change of clothes and go back in as new coach, what is gradually tainting it's just me. .. During the break someone and 'even bothered to clean the corridor, thank goodness.
The night proceeds to jolts, like those of the street, interrupting sleep already 'slightly off the seat. Sumatra and 'giant island, where the cities' are separated hundreds of kilometers from each other, in between there are hills, lakes, volcanoes, forests and fields. It 'a wilderness area, even if the integrity' of nature and 'put in constant danger from logging and drilling for oil.
the morning of the second day we arrived in Palembang, a big city 'in the south-east. The stop and 'short, just long enough to bring down some people and to load new passengers, the bus and' always full. The trip runs slow. In Sumatra there are few roads and motorways passing through the territory are very busy and somewhat battered. Around noon we take a break, the coach and 'stopped along the road next to some stalls selling fruit. My traveling companions insist on me to try the durian, a fruit with a thick skin and sharp, the size of a melon pulp and smelly, something that looks like a rotten egg or the smell of feet. E 'sweet, not bad after all, but' to eat with your nose plugged. Before leaving, give me a bag of duku, fruit slightly larger 'than a walnut, this one to peel, the flesh transparent, sweet and juicy.
The bus now crosses a broad flat plain. Fields in the eye and the yellow of the long ears of rice, which contrasts with the dark clouds of a storm that roars away, the horizon line. A column of trucks in front of us raises waves powder. It 's a hot afternoon. No City 'in sight. I will arrive 'Why?
dusk the bus stop again, this time for dinner. The driver tells me that Bandar Lampung and 'not far away, a couple of hours and here we are. While passengers are washed I eat a plate of fried rice, probably the only one who is starting to stink.
21 Hours: houses and shops are becoming more 'common along the road. We are about to arrive in town '. The second driver approaches me and tells me who will stop at the station: the bus continues on to Jakarta. He asks me where I want to get off. I do not know, I answer, then add close to a hotel is fine.
Ed and 'so that the bus stops, at 21.30, after 35 hours of travel, near a big hotel. I have not the faintest idea what my position, if they are in town 'or in the suburbs. Later addocchio prices: too high. I call a taxi that brings me to the center, in a cheaper hotel. Upon entering the room collapsed on the bed. I really need of hanging lie at least ten hours.
Rene '
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