Christmas in Portstewart

This journal has nothing to do with cycling. It is about friendship we share with and the hospitality we received from the family friends in Northern Ireland. Why Northern Ireland? A place torn by and infamous for sectarial violence. Well, there are people who have come into our life by their kindness shown to Zahir the time he went boarding in Choleraine, a small town in on the north coast of Northern Ireland. But again, why go to school in Northern Ireland?  Well, its a long story, to cut short it was encouraged by my former teacher in Sultan Ismail, an Irish man, and he being Irish I now come to realise he was biased towards his home country and thus did not hesitate to exaggerate its fine points  in boardings notwithstanding the political situation then and now.

It is now fifteen years since we were last in Northern Ireland. We expect changes but surprisingly there were few, the most talked about was the rise in house prices. Asides from that and asides from the children who had grown up and the adults who had aged, we had come back to a place that stayed the way it was, the same friendly hellos, the green country side and the incessant winter rain.

It was quieter back then. After dark, people stayed indoors to be safe from the bombs and we had the streets to ourselves. There were roadblocks manned by serious looking soldiers with machine guns and automatics hiding from behind sand bags. The police stations were triple wired and bomb proofed. When we crossed the border into Republic of Ireland, we had to stop our car at a designated spot and instructions were given by loudspeakers ordering us to stay put while remote cameras whirred and scanned our faces. A kind of remote controlled vehicle slowly moved under our car presumably searching for bombs. All the checking were done without meeting a single person.

Ironically through all the heavy security we felt safe. Being visitors we were outside the gun sights and we were assured from talking to the local people, the killings and the bombings were purely acts of vendetta and retribution between the opposing sides. It would be extremely lucky to get caught in the cross fires. Statistically speaking we were told a tourist was more likely to die crossing the streets in London than from a bomb blast in Belfast. If it gave you comfort, it is false as similar claims are now being made in Baghdad and Kabul.

Today Northern Ireland is not as dangerous as the past. Things are more calm although the suspicion still clings heavily against real peace. The Protestants and the Catholics still go to different schools, drink at different pubs and play different sports. If you tell somebody you are going to Derry instead of Londonderry, right away you show your true religious camp. There is less violence but I wouldn't bet against a new conflagration breaking out any time in the future.

Politics asides we had a meaningful time in Northern Ireland and wish its people the best of luck. We went visiting old friends on both sides of the divide and especially felt the experience of celebrating Christmas in the country as something unique and memorable.

Easy Jet over the Emerald Isle, the 40 shades of green of Ireland, the IEDs of the IRA, but now, the cold weather has everybody indoors unlike summer when parades by both opposing sides are flash points leading to escalation of  more violence. 

Touch down in Belfast after flying from Paris. This international airport is comparatively small, may be the size of  Kota Bharu airport. Temperature is around 5C, it is cold because there is nothing between Northern Ireland's north coast and Greenland. The chill from the wind is from the original Arctic freeze. From the hats worn it is more likely we are cowboys from the Prairie, and yes, our teeth are chattering from the cold.

We pay a visit to Margaret at Castlerock, our old friend and former landlord, and are shown around the house and the new bathroom. We are always impressed by the high standard of bathroom maintenance, this is an ordinary house with ordinary bathrooms and it beats the 5 star hotels in our country anytime.

Obligatory visit to and obligatory pose at Giant Causeway, a collection of volcanic rocks formed by ancient volcanic activity. It is a miraculous work of nature that shaped the rocks into identical hexagon form, it mirrors the work of man.  The local myth attributes the rocks to giants on two sides of the sea having a stone throwing fight.

Joan and Stanley are kind and gracious to treat us to a  dinner  meal at a fine restaurant. I  have duck cooked the Irish way. Stanley is the former headmaster of Choleraine Academical Institution, the boarding school Zahir went to in his student days. Zahir is not able to join as he has flown to Holland to see his girl friend for Christmas.

We walk along the Strand, a sandy beach 2 miles long, in the blustering wind.  We are wrapped up to protect against the cold. Walking boots are necessary to keep out the sand and water. After the long and exhausting walk we retire to the pub for a taste of Irish conviviality and strong brew.

We golf at Royal Portrush, a famous course which once hosted the British Open,  though we are restricted to the par 3 pitch and putt.

Nice shot of the sky line showing the low afternoon winter sun 

That's what it costs to play a round of 9 holes. The beauty is you can drop in any time of the day to play. It's not too hot and member of the public are welcomed. Golf is an egalitarian game in this country. You play because it is a sport, not that you are forced to to advance your business ties, and there are not many shoulders to rub on, on the course.

Our old friend, Hazel and her husband, Howard. They are farmers and their house sits atop a high hill near Downhill, an eponymous settlement with the road plunging down from the hill to the beach. 

Christmas morning we attend mass at a church. This is the priest. He gives a sermon which I do not understand a single word due to bad acoustic and  hard to follow Irish accent though I  laugh along with other attendees, pretending the jokes are funny. Somehow I feel a sense of deja vu as the the way Christmas morning is celebrated in the Church is eerily similar to Id prayers in our mosques. First we sing the hyms ( takbir ), then there is the sermon ( khutbah ) and finally lining up for sacraments ( handshakes and happy wishes ).

All ready to receive the Christmas guests

Boxing day on the way to Dublin airport, the temperature plunged to sub zero

Jack Frost came last night to visit and left his call card.

The freeze in Ireland

Christmas tree decoration in Dublin airport. We fly by British Airways from Dublin to Gatwick and the train fare to London costs more than the air fare from Dublin

The taxi that takes us from London Bridge to our rented apartment in Surrey Quay.

Cycling In Bali

This journey was purposely done to atone for the failure to cycle the whole of Bali, attempted in June 2009. It was during the second day of cycling that my son was hit by back pain so extreme, that we had to abort the plan and stop the tour abruptly. It was like a medical evacuation as we had to call for a van from Denpasar  to transport us from Lalang Linggah back to the hotel near the airport. We then booked for an earlier flight and this meant giving up the tickets for original booking  Bali- KL for a loss. He was in acute pain all the time and on reaching Kuala Lumpur was diagnosed with a slipped disc and had to undergo an emergency operation on his lumbar. That was bad luck but it did stop me from harbouring a secret desire to complete the uncompleted maybe sometimes in the future. The chance came in 2010 and again it was with Mirza, my reliable cycling partner and youngest son, that I  leaned on to fulfill my wish.

Route of the Bali Tour

View Bali in a larger map

Equipment

1.              My trusty Merida Road with Shimano 105 groupset

2.              Brook 17 saddle

3.              Merida Road with mixed groupset for Mirza

4.              Bag with sliding bottom for each filled with personal items only as this was going to be a credit card tour.

5.              Puncture kit, one spare tyre, 2 spare inner tubes, set of Allen keys and no 15 spanner for the nut pedal

10^th. June 2010

 LCCT KL - DENPASAR

Ready to fly from LCCT KLIA with the bikes neatly boxed

We flew with Air Asia from LCCT to Denpasar.  At the boarding gate the No 15 spanner and set of Allen keys which were in the carry on pannier were confiscated by security.

We arrived at Denpasar at 10.00 pm and hired a van to to take us to our hotel in Seminyak. The driver claimed he was a native Orang Bali but even after managing to run a commentary about the significance of the statues along the way he  took quite sometime to locate the hotel. To newcomers Bali addresses look very confusing but no there is no excuse for a local driver to lose his way like our man did.

As it was still early I walked around the hotel and was quite surprised to see a gay club. There were many restaurants with live music which my mother would definitely disapprove.

11^th. June

 SEMINYAK - CANDIDASA

I was recovering from a flu, was easily fatigued and woke up with a feeling of rusty joints. The next  morning, I took a stroll around the hotel and decided to have breakfast at a corner restaurant. The toast, egg and coffee surprisingly add up to quite a lot of money.

 I could see the people were extremely friendly. They were easy to smile and never hesitate to enquire about where one was going to. One even took the trouble to ask my name and offered for R20,000 a pillion ride on his  bike  to a supermarket where I purchased  the replacement for the Allen keys and spanner.

However the spanner did not fit but we managed to screw in the pedals by hand although the Allen keys were crucial in assembling the bikes. We rode out of the hotel to start our journey and left the bike boxes for safekeeping at the hotel telling the staff we were coming back for them later. We thought by doing so there would a place after we had completed the tour but it was not so for when we came back 5 days later there was no vacancy for us. Coming back to them was not a booking, but being a budget hotel in Seminyak, where demands were high, we had only ourselves to blame for not being clear of our intention.

Unlike last year when we took the clockwise route, going west first, this time we shall try the anti clockwise way. Perhaps with this different choice, Lady Luck will bless us unlike last year when she deserted us prematurely.

Before we formally started out Mirza had his breakfast at a small but comfortable restaurant. I had coffee Bali and feeling confident we took north easterly into Denpasar with the aid of a map we brought with us. We failed to locate the new eastern highway starting from Denpasar through Nusa Dua which would take us due east, and instead drifted further into the city of Denpasar. I took the opportunity to test my Barclays cashcard at one of the ATM machine and felt happy with the success. I was feeling a slight bonk, and before it deteriorated we stopped for a small lunch but which Mirza did not participate as he had late breakfast.

There was heavy traffic into Denpasar but the shady trees lining the road lessened the effect and problem of afternoon heat. Amazingly, everywhere in Bali road lined trees were more the rule than exception.  One peculiar practice of the traffic flow we noticed that on approaching roundabouts controlled by traffic lights, instead of going left before going right, traffic here simply took right in the face of vehicles from the front which of course had stopped at the red light.

Light refreshment at a warong in Denpasar 

At last we got out of  Denpasar proper and headed east towards Kalungkung, the site of the puputan, mass suicide by the Balinese in their war against the Dutch occupation early in the last century. By this time the terrain had changed from flattish to undulating, the gradient was quite acute to necessitate the change into smaller gear ratios. Repeatedly we were climbing and freewheeling without any lengthy breaks. We gave Kalungkung a miss and took bypass towards Padangbai. The first flat came somewhere between the two it was Mirza’s that claimed the dubious distinction. The front went first followed not soon after by the rear. When we attended the punctures we had to perform before an audience of a crowd of inquisitive and curious children. For the second puncture we saved our time by making a replacement of the inner tube with a new one. We will repair the tube when we reached our resting place later in the evening.

We have appreciative audience whilst performing the action of tube repair

Before Padangbai we stopped for a coconut drink at a roadside stall. I had a helping of mangosteen and rambutan. They tasted very much the same with the fruits in Malaysia. Mirza said the soil in Bali being very fertile because of their volcanic origin, paradoxically the plants would not be able to give good harvest of fruits, as plants need some restrictions, like changes in seasons, in their intake of nutrients before they could flower. In Bali it was like a perpetual heaven for plants, year round sunshine and unlimited access to food intake, so much so that they did not need to invest too much for reproduction. Good theory Mirza.

At the junction to Padang Bai where we stop at a stall to try the local fruits and clove cigarettes.

When we reached the junction to Padangbai, it was still early afternoon and we decided to push on to Candidasa and gave Padangbai a miss. Entering Candidasa we started looking out for accommodation. The first one we inspected was not too suitable. Its theme was back to nature and we felt we wanted more modern comfort and amenity. The second one was a homestay sited next to a bay and the price was reasonable at IR80,000.00 with breakfast for two. It boasted the coldest beer in Bali and the tag was indeed justified. We parked our bikes on the ground floor and had to climb a staircase to reach the rooms. After a shower and doing the laundry, that night we had our dinner at a restaurant nearby. I had baked fish and although the waiting was a tad too long, it was worth the wait as the meal was simply fabulous. That night we had a good sleep and did not feel disturbed by the traffic, which passed right at the doorstep of the homestay.

The wonderful dinner at a cafe in Candidasa. The service is slow but the food is great.

12^th. June

 CANDIDASA - BESAKIH

Hard at work with the puncture carried from yesterday at Bob's in Candidasa

The next morning after breakfast we attended to the punctured tube. Bob, the Aussie owner of the homestay, thought that our journey by bike around Bali was a crazy job. I told him it was no big matter as we were doing it sitting down. Just as we were to start out, the heavens broke. It was already afternoon when the sky cleared. We stocked up our water bottles hit the road again. Immediately after leaving Candidasa there was a climb which was quite steep but it did not trouble us too much as the distance was not very long. After the hill, it was quite flat and for the first time we had a view of Gunung Agung, the highest volcano in Bali and a venerated and holy place for the Balinese. The original plan was to hug the coastal road but on reaching Amlapura Mirza said why not do the hills early in our journey instead of saving for the last when we may be too tired. This meant cutting west at Amlapura. The decision was quite correct but the timing was entirely wrong as we found out later. Amlapura was at the foot of the hills to Gunung Agung and we when started the climb it was already in the afternoon. We had a light lunch at a warong and I bought a bottle of wild honey.

We cycle with the majestic  Gunung Agung in view.

We stop to chat with the village wood carvers and also to ask for directions

After climbing for 2 hours we started having apprehension about our stay for the night. We found out that the next possible accommodation was not reachable within the daylight hours. Well, drastic problems required drastic solution. We stopped a bemo and inquired whether he would take us to Rendang, a settlement where we hoped to find accommodation. He agreed for IR180,000.00 and off we went  together with our bikes on board. The scenery was beautiful, there were Salak plantations hugging the hills and we regret not having the time to cycle this part of the country. We saw people doing the whitewaters somewhere along the way.

Terraced rice fields taken from inside the bemo

We reached Rendang quite late in the afternoon and asked around for accommodation. In Rendang there was one of a five star status and we were told there was another cheaper hotel on the way to Besakih. After finishing my salak I bought during the bemo ride, we started cycling in search of the hotel. Then Mirza’s pedals started to come loose, as some screws holding it had to be replaced. Luckily we found a bike shop and after trying to replace the pedals, the shop owner came to a solution by just taking the screws out of the new pedals and fixing them on the faulty one. When we asked how much, he said it was too little to charge. We were so grateful because the size of our problems was immense in this situation, as a bicycle without a working pedal would not be able to take us anywhere. For want of a nail, a kingdom was lost, if you know what happened to the fable.

While waiting for the repair of the bicycle we were told that accommodation was available in Besakih in the form of chalet and the price was IR250,000.00 per night. The cost was not what we were exactly looking for but looking at the time of the day and the lack of choice, we decided to sacrifice this splurge. A van from the chalet was available for us and we loaded our bikes to be taken on a steeply inclined road to the chalets in Besakih.

Our chalet in Besakih

Before we start I seek the blessing of the cycling dewa to give me courage in conquering the slopes to come

The chalets were very new and they were sited at the foothill of Gunung Agung just a walking distance to Pura Agung, one of the oldest puras in Bali. There were 10 chalets available and we were the only guests. After being shown our chalet we rode to the warong near the Pura and had one of the worst meal that I could remember. I did not know what we ate but we had to force the carbs down our throat in order to have fuels for tomorrow’s ride.

Coming back from dinner, a man was waiting for us. He was the caretaker of the chalet and introduced himself as Made, which was a common Balinese name. Every Balinese will either be a Ketut, a Wayan, a Made or a Nyoman, depending on the order of birth in the family. He was very friendly, a bit too friendly for my liking. He offered to take us up to Gunung Agung of course for a fee and we were told for IR500,00.00. That was a wee bit too stiff for us and we declined the offer. Next he offered to take us around Besakih on his bike. I should have detected the catch behind this ploy but I felt a bit reckless and let go. Riding pillion I was first taken to his relative’s home and there was served coffee. We chatted a bit and I gave IR20,000.00 to a baby who looked sick and was just discharged from a hospital. Next he said let’s visit the Pura and I said yes, even though I was quite wary of the situation.

Pura Besakih was one of the oldest temples in Bali being about 1000 years old. From the Pura there was a path that could take you straight to the top of Gunung Agung. When Gunung Agung exploded in 1963, it caused a lot of destruction to the area around it but miraculously the Pura was spared in spite of being on the path of the ashes and lava flow. Reaching the Pura I was taken around and then come the tourist trap that was forewarned in Lonely Planet guide. He said let’s pray for safe journeys and I thought why not as I was interested to see up close how the Balinese Hindus prayed. A pendita was fetched and he opened up one of the many prayer houses and we were told to sit down facing the temple and he chanted as he sprinkled holy water on us. The holy water was brought down from the summit of Gunung Agung and to them it had special properties. It reminded me of Zamzam water, which was equally holy to the Muslims. Being Muslims it was wrong to partake in non-Islamic ceremony but as the intention was to learn how people of other religion pray, I hoped God would grant me the exception.

After the prayer was over, sure enough, there was a request for donation. It would be embarrassing to quibble at this stage and reluctantly I parted with IR50,000.00. On the way down as part of the closing ceremony I had to drink water near the temple and to do so I had to purchase a bottle of drinking water. On reaching the chalet I felt cornered into giving a gift in the form of IR50,000.00 to Made for his time and the bike ride. So it proved right that Pura Besakih was one big tourist trap where even human kindness and god’s blessing were sold for a price.

However asides from the money taken from you, the Balinese were decent people. They tried hard to please and that night over numerous cups of coffee prepared by Made’s wife, we had long chats on the hut in the cool mountain air. In the end I forgave them. Their economic condition forced them to look to us their source of income. All the rupiahs were for basic sustenance of their life and almost everybody looked needy.

13^th. June

 BESAKIH – PENELOKAN – BATUR - SINGARAJA - LOVINA

We woke up fresh and eager and we hired for a van to take us to Penelokan, a town near Lake Batur about 15 kilometres away from Besakih. The reason we needed a ride was because we wanted to ensure we reached our next destination, Singaraja, before sunset. It was uphill from Besakih to Batur and if we were to average 5 kph we might not have enough time to reach our target.

At Penelokan where we were dropped, we had rice for breakfast where I learned lada was cabai, and then took a few obligatory photos of Gunung Batur an active volcano and the lake, a caldera. Touts and peddlers were swarming around tourists who were arriving by buses but we were left alone, as cyclists were unknown creatures, yet. Even then, one of them weakly attempted to pass on souvenirs to us but after showing the size of our panniers, they seemed to understand our limitations.

Gunung Batur in the morning mist

You can have meals while observing the cloudy volcano.

Gunung Batur and the crater lake

Clouds were enveloping the lake and the volcano obscuring their view. The morning air was chilly and the place was still empty of human activities. What an ambience but we had a date with our next destination. We loved to hang out longer and reluctantly we had to start cycling. And what a climb it was to be. Both us had done a few hills back in Malaysia, like Fraser’s Hill, Genting Sempah and Ulu Langat dam and had acquitted ourselves reasonably well in getting to the tops with something to spare in the tank. But we were facing a different monster here. In Malaysia the mountain roads generally hug the contours of the slopes and even though the climb may be long we did not worry too much about the gradients. Over here, forget about contours. From Penelokan onwards, we were cycling along the ridges, which was fine as the view was breathtaking and gradient was manageable. The killer came in getting to the next ridge where the road simply followed the slopes. First it plunged down a bit and next a wall was facing you. The climbs really sapped my energy and I had to stop a few times to catch my breath again. After having done the mountains many times back home I had learnt the trick in tackling the slopes. Pace yourself comfortably, do not exceed your normal cadence and most of all, stop when you felt you were gasping for air. Do not feel ashamed you had to stop. A fiver would help you to recover and continuing after would make all the difference.

The photo cannot really tell the steepness of the gradient.

The occasional fivers to rejuvenate the tiring body

We cycle along the ridges of the caldera

                                                         

The stops, besides from recharging our spirits, allowed to get closer to nature and absorbed the beauty of the area. The climbs took us pass Kintamani where there was a morning market going on at that time. After Kintamani the gradients got worse as we were nearing the highest point. We laboured on and just as Mirza was about to burst into tears at the sight of a huge wall of a road, we took a turn to the left into Penulisan where we stopped and took a rest in front of a pura. This place I found out from the people manning the provision store was the highest point and yes, to our immense pleasure, was downhill all the way to the coast. We rested and enjoyed the view of the pura, which was sited at a junction, and we saw many travelers stopping by paying their respect to the holy place and in return were blessed by the gods for a safe journey ahead. Inside my heart I found an agreement with this practice. I had successfully reached the summit after an epic struggle and I thanked whoever was in charge for this reward.

Constantly applying the brakes on the way downhill did cause tiredness to my finger muscles. This was the only complain but it was a very long downhill that I surprisingly felt the need to stop for all the silly reasons, just to rest my fingers. A cyclist with tired fingers was a rare breed indeed. I had too much of freewheeling, too much that the pleasures in the end turned to boredom, just like a golfer scoring holes in one in heaven or as the jokes went, a miser bringing gold to that place to find out that it was only paving materials.  Success repeated, took away the excitement as it became mundane and ordinary. The pleasures were actually in denials and in getting it when hopes were gone.

Anyway it was lunchtime when we hit the town of Singaraja. We stopped for a meal at a restaurant and I had rice with fish Eastern Java style, whatever that meant. The town was by a coast and it was flat. After the meal I inquired the girl the counter about the distance and the way to Lovina where we planned to find accommodation for the night. I was mildly surprised to be informed that Lovina was a very, very long way off and it sounded from her tone that it was destination that was beyond us to reach by bicycle. This could not be right as from the maps it did not look a long way off. May be from her point it was a long way for a cyclist.  If it was so, we decided not break her notion about cycling distance by telling her where we came from.

Lovina was actually about 15 kms from Singaraja, hardly a sweat for us and we found a home stay by the beach. It was about 3 p.m when we checked in and the first order was the laundry. After changing we rested on a hut by the beach and it was so pleasant that I dozed of and was awakened by a rain shower. It was light rain and I continued staying under the hut for the rest of the evening absorbing the view and the atmosphere. When night fell we walked along the shores to a restaurant where I had Greek salad. It was a memorable night as I had a good sleep resting the tired muscles that went overdrive early in the day.

Our beautiful hotel bed in Lovina, fresh flowers on the white bed sheet.

14^th, June.

 LOVINA - GILIMANUK

The morning on Lovina beach was quiet and lovely. A small breakfast was provided.  We checked out early after passing the offer for a dolphin sighting by boat.  I had actually been looking forward for a dolphin adventure but the guidebook told us that the finding the dolphin was not a guaranteed event. Taking the boat for a morning ride to sea and nothing else was not what I had in mind.

Grape vines near Lovina

I am told the grapes are turned into wine and exported, and this is tropical Bali, not France.

The route we took towards Gilimanuk was a coastal road hugging the shores. On our right was the seas and on the left the hills. The terrain was undulating and we rather enjoyed the ride, as the views were magnificent. Somewhere along the way we were greatly surprised to see grapes growing on the vines and we stopped to take photographs. I read somewhere wines were produced from this area and this explained the abundance of grape vines and fruits. There were a few stops for replenishments and short rests. Noontime we found a small restaurant by the roadside and we stopped for lunch. We ordered baked fish and it came with delicious sauce. After the meal it was too hot to ride and so we rested under a shady hut beside the restaurant and the heavy rice meal made us sluggish and both of us had a short nap. We woke up freshened and eager to continue. We next hit a small hill but it was not a big problem. Light showers started to fall but we did not mind and continued cycling. We passed through a forest reserve and the road was quiet and shaded by large trees. We reached Gilimanuk late afternoon and searched for accommodation. We were shown one that was very cheap. It was so cheap it came without running water and electric power!  A few minutes away we found a more suitable homestay with promise of breakfast and air conditioning.

We took our panniers into our rooms and Gilimanuk being a port town with ferry terminals, we decided to pop into the neighbouring island of Java. Java was a short ferry ride away from Bali across the Straits Of Bali and we cycled on to the ferry for an adventure. There was a strong current going from south to north and to cross the water the skipper of the ferry let his ship drifted to the north and only when she reached the middle of the straits, did he put on the power. The ferry then ploughed on against the current and was skillfully maneuvered to dock at Ketapang terminus. Hats off to the captain for the display of excellent seamanship! On reaching Java, the time was one hour later. We cycled to the town of Banyuwangi and on the way I stopped at Giant supermarket and tested the ATM for cash. By the way, this Giant was a similar brand to the one back in Malaysia. We saw election posters and I was amused to see a giant sized one belonging to Emilia Contessa. She was a famous singer in the 70s and I was her fan. I hoped she won this one and I remember one line from her popular movie, Akhir Sebuah Impian, that she was a simple girl from a small town called Banyuwangi. It was art meeting real life. Thirty years down the road the simple girl from Banyuwangi was running for a major position in the small town of the same name.

Looking west into Java

Hot drinks and steaming Maggee Noodles (from Malaysia) are plied by vendors when the ferry docks

Looking west into Bali

As we did not want to be caught riding in the dark without adequate lighting we decided to get back to Gilimanuk while there still was daylight. We made our way back to Ketapang the ferry terminus opposite Gilimanuk. On the way we stopped at restaurant to have an early dinner. We caught the ferry back and saw sunset over Java. It was 5.00 pm in Ketapang and 6.00 pm in Bali. Departing Ketapang we heard the Maghrib azan from a mosque and to be truthful, Maghrib at 5.00 in the tropics was quite on the early side especially if one was all the while used to Maghrib at 7.00 p.m. There were quite a number of tourists on the ferry making their way from Java to Bali. When the ferry docked at Gilimanuk it was already pretty dark. On reaching the land we cycled back to our hotel and used the new headlights to illuminate the way. Before reaching home we stopped at the town and bought salak fruits from a very pretty girl at one of the ubiquitous fruit stalls that lined the main road. I think her name was Linda.

That night the sleep was disturbed by the noisy air conditioning and I could not wait for morning to come. Midnight I went out of the room and sat in the lounge chatting with the man manning the reception. He was from Lombok and had married a Balinese divorcee and was planning to set up his own business one day but was having difficulties in leaving his present employer to whom he as heavily indebted for the kindness that had been showered on him. I mostly listened to his ramblings and hardly contributed to the conversation. Anyway, the listless monologue acted like a portent sleeping pill and soon I was yearning for the bed. Goodnight and thanks for the company.

15^th. June

 GILIMANUK – NEGARA – MEDEWI

The next morning we had kopi Bali with our breakfast. We started out quite early  and the riding through the forest reserve was cool and pleasant. Very soon we began to meet heavy traffic, as this route was the main road connecting the port of Gilimanuk with Denpasar. Buses, lorries and sundries of vehicles were jostling for space on the narrow single lane road. We were on extra alert all the time. We saw overtakings by the dare devils in the face of oncoming traffic. A few times we had to quickly get down on the road shoulders because of the imminent danger from the vehicles overtaking towards us and were encroaching on our way. Vehicles coming from behind was another source of danger, with only inches to spare. I did not feel very comfortable cycling in this part of Bali but if we kept to our common sense like giving ways without being forced to, there was good reason to complete this journey in one piece.

Initially I planned to stop at Kampong Malaya, a settlement of Malays who came to stay from the Malay Archipelago. They are different from the Balinese or the Javanese as they speak Malay and practise Malay custom. These people would not be able to understand the Balinese or Javanese unless they speak the lingua franca of Bahasa Indonesia. The planned visit was not realised as we missed a turn and soon were beyond Negara, the town that we were supposed to stop. It was then too far for us to turn, so we continued riding.

We stopped for lunch at a restaurant catering to bus pit stops and had Eastern Javanese meal, rice and tempe, not much of culinary delight but nutritious and at the same time filling. After a short rest we took to the road again. The scenery turned beautiful and even thought the terrain was now rising and falling we pretty much enjoyed the ride. We rode with the sea on our right and the rice terrace on our left. Lulled by the enchanting view we became complacent and momentarily dropped our guard. This was a serious omission as an overtaking truck took a swipe at Mirza and caught his helmet which rolled down the bottom of a ravine. That was one close escape. We regained our composure and thanked the dewa and our lucky stars we were still in one piece to continue 

By late noon we reached Medewi and checked into a beach hotel. There were two classes, the expensive chalet and the budget linked room and naturally we were drawn to the budget. Medewi is famous for surfing and there were surfers staying at the hotel who came here annually just to surf. We could see out in the sea surfers strutting their stuffs.

There were food stalls by the beach and there I had my first bakso, which surprisingly turned out to be good. Bakso is a Javanese noodle in beefy soup spiced by herb and made fiery by lots of chillies. It was so good I had my second helping just as the rain started to fall. It was quite a shower but I stayed on the beach under the shades of the stall, talking to the bakso man and another stall keeper about their trades. It surprised me that lottery draw was a passion in this country, the bakso man thought I was his lucky charm and ribbed me for the numbers that he will be buying. It surprised me because the bakso man was a Muslim as much as the his friend the other stall keeper who kept stocks of Bintang beer for sale. Apparently gambling and alcohol were no issues to the Muslims in Bali. It reminded me of Kota Bharu, my hometown forty years ago in the 60s and early 70s. Shandy was sold in the canteen of government office, beer and liquor in every cafe and restaurant, dancing and music in the hotels and clubs at night and the mother of all pleasures; chatting up with hostesses in low lights over overpriced nuts and overpriced drinks in Biaritz Park and if you caught their fancies, company for the night. Naturally there were drunken fights over the rights to the best girls. My conclusion was that Muslims in Bali were 40 years behind and in years to come perhaps they would be more religious than Muslims in Malaysia.

A cart drawn by a buffalo

16^th. June

MEDEWI - KUTA


This stage was approached by the sense of deja vu. I had cycled the same roads the previous year with my other son except that this time it was in the opposite direction. We stopped at Pekukutan to look for the lady who was kind enough to offer her van for hire to Kuta to transport my stricken son. She was not around this time although again  I had the addictive kopi bali at the same stall, now served by an old hag.

There were climbs and downhills all the way until Tabanan where we stopped for lunch and again I had bakso. After Tabanan, we cycled through villages and temples and by now the gradient was gently falling towards Kuta. It was very pleasant ride and in a short time we were in Kuta where while searching for the hotel Mirza had another puncture. After the repair we checked into the hotel in near the airport where we stayed the previous year.

Punture repair in down town Kuta

17^th. June

 KUTA - JIMBARAN


Our journey was now at the end and we had a few days to spare to catch the flight home. We spent the time lounging around Kuta and the surrounding places.

Jimbaran Bay

We come to Jimbaran for fish, you can have them grilled, baked, steamed, fried or any style as long as it is fish.

At a fisherman wharf in Jimbaran I see these newly caught tuna fish

18^th. June

 Around Kuta


Really I was hooked on bakso. Every afternoon I would repair to a stall to satisfy my craving and by now I know the best bakso in town.

Our hotel, we stay on the ground floor and parking the bicycles is very convenient

Around the lush garden of the hotel in Kuta

Mirza learns to surf.......

.......though not yet a master

19^th. June

 Around Kuta.

We sample upscale lunch in Seminyak

20^th, June

DENPASAR - LCCT KLIA


First we had to fetch the boxes from the hotel in Seminyak. Then we hired a motorcycle with a rider to carry the folded boxes back to our hotel in Kuta. We tried to carry them with our bikes but there were too unwieldy and we were afraid we would not be able to negotiate the traffic safely back to our hotel.

Ready to fly home from Denpasar airport, trolleys are hidden and we have to apply craft and stealth to secure one.

Useful Tips


1. Air Asia charged RM80.00 for the bike in the box under sport equipment. My box weighed less than 12 kilos so I am not sure what the charge would be in excess of the baggage allowance.

2. There is an exit tax on departure from Denpasar, so make sure you have enough Rupiahs to pay.

3. Along the coastal roads there are ample places to stay, in the interior  mountains there are less.

4. If you are tired of  cycling hire a bemo. It can easily accommodate your bicycles but make sure you agree on the price before getting in, just to avoid embarrassment at the end.

5. Traffic along the Gilimanuk - Denpasar is exceptionally heavy, made worse by the narrow roads. It is a bit dangerous but the scenery is to die for.

6. If you are on a road bike, I would suggest compact crank or better still triple crank for the climbs  in the mountain, assuming you are equipped with 20 speed.