There’s more than one way to have an experience when you travel around. I’m probably more in line with the backpacker identity than I care to admit. I travel around and see a lot, but for me backpacking is just as much about the journey as the destinations and being in transit.

Indonesia is a huge country. The flight from Bali to Medan takes 4 hours. The alternative is ferries, trains and buses over several days. I mostly lean toward the winding road. The plane ticket from Bali costs 1,500 kroner. A fairly large sum of money for me right now. The slow route looks cheaper and I get to see more of the country as I travel through it. With a few stops along the way I also get an overview of where I’d like to come back and revisit. And then I save some money on transport. Or so I thought.

To Java

After a wistful goodbye to my friends on Bali, I set off in the morning. I’ve booked a taxi to take me to Gilimanuk on the northwestern part of Bali, to catch a ferry to Java. The taxi driver arrives on time, even though I’m not quite ready and still have a couple of goodbyes left to say. After hugs and kisses I hop in and the trip begins.

We have 3 hours of driving ahead of us, so I start chatting with my driver. A man in his late 40s, with a big family, 4 kids and 2 grandchildren. He wants to talk football, which I do my best to join in on, even though I’ve followed the World Cup very little. We do manage a laugh about Denmark not qualifying, though. I learn a bit about his family, that he’d like to start a small business in his hometown, and that he, like every other Balinese person I’ve met, really doesn’t have many kind words for the state.

In the middle of our conversation we run into a queue of cars. Odd, since we’re right in the middle of a main road. On Google Maps I can see there’s been a collision further ahead, and both lanes are blocked. Together with the driver we manage to get onto some small side roads to get around the chaos. It’s always a bit of a gamble driving the small country roads in Indonesia. Especially in cars, since not all roads are made for that size of transport. And if you meet oncoming traffic on the shortcut, you risk having to back up for a kilometer.

But we manage to navigate through all sorts of small winding side roads, me with the GPS and him at the wheel. It becomes a little team exercise, where we’re both concentrating on finding the way. We end up taking a 45-minute detour. When we get back on the main road, though, we can see that the oncoming lane is at a complete standstill for many kilometers, so we’ve clearly made up some lost time.

We can no longer make the planned ferry. They run constantly though, so in the end I’m dropped off at the ferry and get aboard one fairly quickly. It’s a car ferry with a passenger deck. Unlike in Denmark, you can just sit in your car, so it’s fairly empty up on the deck. We set off in fairly rough seas. It’s a one-hour ferry ride. As we approach Java, the captain comes over the loudspeaker and says something in Indonesian. I assume he’s telling us we’re coming in to dock, but shortly after, the engine is throttled down to a minimum and we stop moving. People are calm, but I can also see several of them sinking deep into their seats. The seas are still rough, and now made worse by the fact that the ferry is just drifting with minimal engine power.

We end up waiting an extra hour before sailing in to the dock. It’s turned dark and evening. I still have 8 km to the hostel, so I find a taxi. Down a very winding corner of a residential area we finally find the hostel, after my driver takes a wrong turn twice. He still gets a tip. The hostel is super nice. Clean and well laid out. Good toilets, bathrooms, a shared kitchen and plenty of seating in the common area, which I practically have to myself. My roommates are asleep when I arrive around 8 pm. Later that night I find out it’s because they had to climb a mountain to see the sunrise. I still get plenty of sleep, though. I’m getting used to nighttime disturbances by now.

To Yogyakarta

The town I find myself in is called Banjuwangi and lies on the easternmost tip of the island of Java. My next destination is Yogyakarta, which I reach via an 11.5-hour train ride. The train leaves at 6:30 in the morning, so I’m up early and off.

I have to admit I had preconceptions about the train ride. So much of the infrastructure in Indonesia has been bare-bones and just barely usable. But the train was a fairly big step up in quality. Not luxury, but better than most Danish trains. Good seats with a clever function to rotate them so you can sit facing the direction of travel. A dining car with a small kitchen where you can get a meal. Fairly clean and comfortable.

I get talking with a German fellow passenger, and over the course of the many-hour-long train ride, we get to talking about the whole state of the world, and where we ourselves stand. When we arrive in Yogyakarta, we walk part of the way toward our respective accommodations together and say a polite goodbye when our paths split.

After a good night’s stay in a small family home turned into a hostel, I wake up once again in a new place. I have 2 days in Yogyakarta, which I use for a bit of quiet time to myself while I see the city.

Java is a predominantly Muslim society. Mosques sing hymns several times a day. Even if you’re not near a mosque, many Muslims have set prayer alarms on their phones. Between 5:30 and 5:45 pm you get a little prayer, no matter where you are. There are plenty of restaurants around town, but few advertise selling alcohol. It’s a bit reminiscent of how we treat smoking back home in Denmark.

While I’m wandering around on day 2, I’m stopped by a man and his family, who ask me to take photos. My assumption is that I’m supposed to take a picture, but suddenly half the family steps up beside me and gets ready to have a picture taken together with me. I’ve seen few Western tourists, and we must be rare enough to be an attraction in our own right.

After a couple of days of walking the city, sitting in cafés and a lot of reflection, I get ready to move on.

To Medan

The airport in Indonesia is surprisingly modern and professional. It feels completely strange to step into the airport area. A clean and polished building, with plenty of space, calm and orderly behavior, and lots of beautiful modern Indonesian-inspired art. Their tax-free area after check-in is likewise a modern, sleek, Indonesian-inspired interpretation of street stalls and marketplaces. And in true Southeast Asian style, every single flight is delayed.

I fly 1 hour to Jakarta, where I have to change terminals. From terminal to terminal there’s a nice skyrail that you just hop on. My luggage comes automatically with the flight, so I don’t have to think about that. The terminals themselves are unique, each with different architectural styles. The terminal I’m flying from reminds me of Copenhagen Central Station, with orange brick on the floor and walls, high ceilings, and a good flow of people streaming through the main passage from the street to the gates. There are also a couple of huge chandeliers that really underline the European style.

Here the flight is delayed too, so while I wait, I eat chili noodles. The lady at the stall asked me three times if I was sure about buying the hottest one they had. And yes, it was certainly hot, but no worse than biting into one of dad’s homegrown habaneros.

2 hours by plane, and then I’m in Medan. It’s raining when I arrive. From the airport entrance I cross the road and into a mini train station, where a train runs to and from Medan constantly. I hop on and get taken to the center of Medan. Here, though, I can no longer use public transport and have to call for a Grab taxi. Several records get set as we cross Medan. Fastest acceleration, most stop signs ignored, most near-collisions with scooters. He drives as if we’ve just robbed a bank, and I consider getting dropped off and walking in the rain instead. I arrive more or less intact at a small capsule hotel, where I’ve booked a neon-lit coffin to sleep in for the night.

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