M-whY

But first things first. I needed to obtain some more Indonesia rupiah, as I had pretty much run out. The banks were only a few blocks away. I inserted my card into the ATM machine and punched in the maximum amount it would let me withdraw. One million rupiah, about the equivalent of US$100. I would've liked to withdraw more, since my bank charged me a fee for each transaction. The machine thought for a moment, then came up with the words I didn't want to see. "Unable to process transaction."

Maybe it's just this ATM, I thought. Across the street, I tried my luck again. Same response. "Unable to process transaction."

Before leaving home, I had called my bank to place a travel notice on my card. They shouldn't have frozen my account. This wouldn't cripple my trip, as I carry a wad of hard cash on me for situations like this, but it certainly would've been a pain in the ass to contact my bank while overseas.

There was one more bank across the corner. No hurt in trying one last time. The ATM whirred for a moment, and a stack of bills came out. Booyah! Show me the money!!!!

Despite still being early in the morning, the temperature outside had already risen to an uncomfortable level and I'd worked up a good sweat running around. I took a cold shower and returned to solving my original problem. The inn manager proved invaluable in helping me out.

To get to the Ubung (bus station), the easiest way was to take a bemo. He showed me on a map where I should wait. He told me how much the fare would be, and advised me not to talk after I got on, or I might be charged a tourist price. I took his advice and headed to corner he had indicated.

Before long, a blue bemo pulled up. I stepped in and took my seat. Blue bemos are everywhere in Denpasar. I really wasn't sure if I had gotten on the right one, but I couldn't really ask where this particular one was going, or I'd risk being overcharged. (Though I'm sure they knew right away I wasn't a local.) A few minutes later, the driver announced "Ubung," which meant it was time to get off. That wasn't so hard!

Now to get a bus ticket. I stopped at one of the many ticket offices and simply said "Yogya" (pronounced Jo-jah). Fortunately, the guy at the counter spoke a little english, and I was able purchase a ticket rather easily. All my earlier worries were unwarranted!

The bus wouldn't leave til quarter to four. It was only 10:00am. Carrying my bags around in this heat was the last thing I wanted to do, so I sat in front of the bus station and waited. For five hours, I watched the world go by. While I sat around, people tried selling me watches, trinkets, and even newspapers, which I found odd. I wasn't the only getting this treatment though. The bus station was packed with Indonesian people, and everyone got the same sales pitch. At noon, I ate lunch at one of the small shops across the street. It looked sanitary enough, and it had better be. My bus ride to Yogya would last 17 hours. Food poisoning would've been a nightmare.

The air conditioned luxury coach was nothing unusual. However, the driver was frightening. Even on single laned, winding roads, he had the guts to pass trucks he felt were moving too slow. In the US, he would've been jailed for reckless driving within five minutes. Nobody else on the bus flinched though. Apparently, this was normal.

They say travel is only glorious in retrospect, and for the first couple hours, this was definately true. I know I'm prone to getting seasick, but I've never suffered from motion sickness on a car or bus before. This was not the ideal place for it to rear its ugly head. I closed my eyes, hoping the roads would straighten out soon, or the driver would calm down and drive more carefully. The former seemed the more likely scenario.

Two hours later, we reached Gilimanuk, where ferries departed for Java every half hour. As soon as the bus stopped, vendors climbed aboard, selling snacks, rice, drinks, and trinkets. Figuring this would be my only opportunity for dinner, I bought a small brown bag filled with nasi, or rice. A group of young boys also appeared, playing the guitar, drums, singing Indonesian tunes, and afterwards asking for donations. Keep in mind this wasn't exactly a tourist bus. The bus was packed with Indonesian travellers. Back in Australia, travelling days were very boring. I knew exactly what was going to happen from point A to point B. Here, just getting from one city to the next was an adventure. A lot more fun than any of my previous bus rides.

The entire bus was driven onto the ferry, as were other vehicles. We were allowed to get off and look around the ship. The atmosphere was quite lively. There was even a karaoke machine on board!

I got to know the two other non-Indonesian persons on board. Ed and Marta, from Wales and Portugal respectively. Both had been in Indonesia a few months already, and were studying in the local language, Bahasa Indonesian, in Yogya. As we talked, a young boy came over and began cleaning my boots.

"Good thing we're wearing sandals," noted Ed.

I gave the boy a couple thousand rupiah for cleaning away the red desert sand that had still caked my boots. The ferry ride lasted only half an hour, and was calm enough. We got back on the bus and returned to our seats. Upon docking on the other side, more people got on board and the whole music and food selling business started over again.

The roads in Java were straighter than in Bali, so I didn't have to go through any more motion sickness. But the driver became even more bold. Even in the dark, when I couldn't see much, it was a bit unnerving. I imagine it would be terrifying in broad daylight.

In spite of the circumstances, I managed to fall asleep. Around 11:30pm though, someone tapped my shoulder.

"[Something something]" he kept repeating.

At first I thought more vendors had come on board and were trying to sell me stuff. I kept my eyes closed and just shook my head.

He wouldn't stop. He must've kept poking at me for a good thirty seconds. Finally I opened my eyes to see what exactly was going on.

Everyone was getting off the bus. The guy handed me a coupon and said something I didn't understand. Marta, who had been watching the whole scene, somewhat amused, explained what was going on.

"It's dinner time."

"Oh..."

"Yeah, he wouldn't have gone away no matter how hard you tried to ignore him," she smiled.

We had our complimentary meal in the middle of nowhere. Before getting on board again, I asked Ed and Marta, "No more distractions for tonight?"

They laughed. "No. No more."

"Alright then. Good night!!"

Thanks to everyone for their support and comments! Knowing people are reading keeps me motivated to continue the updates!