It took us 48 hours and all our energy and patience to get to our room on Lake Toba.
And within seconds of closing the door on our great host at Romlan Guesthouse, a bird flew into our window. Ryan thought it was dead, but it got up and flew right away along with all of our stress of getting here.
Flying from Denver to Medan was pretty unremarkable. We paid to upgrade our seats (totally worth it). My feet became more like meat rectangles than feet. Malaria meds still make me sick. Nothing really new.
The patience and energy were tested as soon as we got off our plane in Medan. First: Ryan has head hair and no facial hair in his passport photo. (This had previously caused a problem in Morocco, resulting in a short stay in the port’s jail.) While I breezed through to get my passport stamp, Ryan was stopped and had to speak with the sergeant on duty. They took a picture of him now and used facial recognition software to verify it was the same dude. (In Morocco, the sergeant asked Ryan to smile and said, “Same guy.”)
Second: The moment we stepped out of immigration, a man said he would take us where we were going. For 600,000 IDR (roughly $45). Ryan heard 60,000 IDR, and said yes. When he discovered the mistake, we tried to step away from the guy, but he kept following us around the airport. I told him he was too expensive and countered with 400K IDR (still really too expensive as we knew the average trip was about 300K). He countered with 500K and really we just wanted to be on our way, so we accepted and got out of the airport.
Ten minutes later, he conveyed to us that for 700K he’ll drive just us to Parapat, the same trip we’d just agreed to pay 500K for. He said for 500K he has to pick up 7 more passengers to make the trip worth it (each paying 250K per person). Once this sunk in, we asked him to drop us off at the local bus station and we’d take that. “No no,” he said. “Bus will take six or seven hours. I drive you for 600K.”
To be blunt, I was pissed. I was tired. And really being cramped on a slightly air-conditioned bus sounded better than some jerk trying to sell us on things we’d already booked: a hotel in Tuk-Tuk, a hotel in Bukit Lawang, treks into the jungle, etc… And are you sure you don’t want to rent a car? (Answer: After five seconds in the car with him, and five hours on the bus, I have zero desire to have myself or Ryan driving here.)
So he dropped us off at the bus station, asked way for too much money for the trip from the airport, but we were rid of him. And the bus station crew didn’t try to cheat us, and they were really very nice to us. So while it was a bit more cramped, I felt better taken care of. (We also got a fair number of high fives for toughing out the bus.)
After five hours on the bus, we arrived in Parapat–a tourist town on mainland at Lake Toba (think St. Ignace to Mackinac Island). The bus dropped us off about a hundred yards from the ferry we’d take to Tuk-Tuk on Samosir Island.
Our nerve had grown since the taxi incident, so when people tried to stop us, we said no and walked away.
Which brings us to number three: After being approached by a guy who was pitching a different hotel in Tuk-Tuk, I think we were made out to be rubes. So another bloke came up and said he’d book a taxi for us to Bukit Lawang (the place where we’re spending the majority of our time in Sumatra). Tired and really hating his experience thus far in Indonesia, Ryan agreed to pay 500K, just to get the guy away from us. Wisely, Ryan refused to pay him. But said he would make good on the arrangement.
Fast forward to the next morning… We discovered that in our travel-addled hate-phoria, he’d arranged the taxi for a day earlier than expected. AND (surprise, surprise) it was more than 70K above what our host said was the cost.
So our host, Rachmont (no idea how to spell him name, but he’s great), called and cancelled our reservation yesterday, telling them we planned on taking the public bus (a thing tourists rarely do) because they were too expensive.
This morning, Ryan received a call from the taxi company wondering where we were. He told them we cancelled yesterday, so no need to wait for us. Then the guy who ‘sold’ us the deal of a trip called; Ryan repeated that he had got his days mixed up and we didn’t need the taxi. He demanded Ryan pay him for half; Ryan said, “Hell, no.”
After all that ugliness, though, Tuk-Tuk has been beautiful. We’ve spent hours on our deck, reading, napping, eating great local food, and just listening to the dozens of birds that haven’t flown into our window, but live in the tree a few feet from the deck.
This morning, we took a small walk through the town. It was early yet and the streets were quiet. I had a cappuccino at a hotel where one night’s cost of their cheapest room equaled our entire stay at Romlan. The coffee was really good. We stopped because they advertised a German bakery, but we were too early for brown bread.
The other guests here are from Germany, Belgium, and Ireland; and are all of an age nearer our parents than ours. One gentleman has been very talkative and helpful with tips on how to travel in countries observing Ramadan and what to do in Kuala Lumpur. And our balcony neighbor, John, gave us the name of an Irish pub we can hide in while we wait for our flight in Medan.
But that’s stress for another day. Right now, we’re just here to listen to the birds in the tree and the thunder roll over the lake.
At some point there will be a picture to compliment this, but until then… Use your imagination.
love,
ril