To Parapat
Medan isn’t my final destination. After I climb out of the sarcophagus, I gather my things and set off. Transport to Samosir Island was a bit of a puzzle to figure out. There’s relatively little help to be found online. I worked out that I had to take a bus for about 6 hours to reach Parapat. In Parapat I then have to take a ferry and find my way to my hostel. Another full day of travel.
From my hotel to the bus terminal I want to take a bus, but after 4 have passed me without stopping, I give up and call a taxi. Traffic in Medan must just be unpleasant, because my new taxi driver also drives as if we’re on the run. I get driven all the way to the entrance at the bus terminal, where the car door is opened and I’m guided out. 4 men are right up in my face, and when one of them reaches for my backpack, I have to ask them to take a step back. Even with some distance, that doesn’t stop them from offering cheap transport, almost no matter where in the country I’m heading. Unfortunately for them, I’m probably the worst person to try to catch off guard with quick offers. I’d rather wait and pay more than take an offer without understanding what I’m agreeing to. So I work my way through the group and into the bus terminal, where I find the information desk and ask.
One thing I’ve noticed in Indonesia is that there’s an unwritten rule that no one will give you price guidance unless you’re actually buying something from them. The same applies here — no one can give me a standard price for the bus. They can only tell me who to negotiate with. There are, however, posted prices here and there, so what I end up paying isn’t completely random.
At the ticket seller I’m told the bus leaves in 3 hours. Not quite what I’d hoped for, since that means I’ll arrive in Parapat after dark and have to find my way to a late ferry. But I ask around about whether there are other companies with other buses, and I’m asked to wait while he checks. He quickly comes back with another solution for me. There’s always another solution in Indonesia. Before I know it, I’ve been put on a bigger bus headed for Parapat.
It’s a big, nice, spacious bus. There’s room for 30+, but we’re under 10. I have a couple of seats to myself and my backpack. The biggest downside of the bus is that it rains inside. Along the right side of the bus, water drips down from the ceiling panel onto the outermost row of seats. It looks like the AC is leaking condensation into the panel. I’m initially placed on the wettest seat, but after a staring contest I’m allowed to sit on another, drier seat.
After 4 hours we stop in a bigger town by a bus company office facade. The bus driver leaves the bus without saying anything. I think the other Indonesians on the bus are just as confused as I am, because they look at each other. Some get up, but sit back down again. I get off and see the bus driver sitting eating lunch with a group of men who aren’t from our bus. I buy myself a bit of food and walk around the lot. An hour passes before we drive on. While we wait, a couple of guys come and tape plastic bags to the bottom of the dripping panel. It doesn’t stop the water at all, but it makes it gather and form a neat little stream of water instead of dripping over a larger area, so if that was the goal, they did a good job.
The bus continues until a guy suddenly comes and points at me. This has become my stop. When I get off, I find myself on a road up on a cliffside. My GPS says the harbor is 2 km away, which wouldn’t be a problem if it weren’t for the fact that it’s raining. I duck into an empty restaurant, where a young woman looks at me with a crooked smile. The rain intensifies, and there are no taxis nearby at the moment. In the end I give in and ask for help. The harbor is called Ajibata, which fortunately is enough. She looks out the window and starts shouting at a passing blue minivan with no door on the side. That’s apparently the public transport. They stop, and I squeeze in through the small door with my backpack. In the vehicle there’s a middle-aged man, an older but sprightly woman, and an 8-9-year-old boy. As we start driving, I can see that we’re rapidly moving away from the harbor. I try to ask if we’re going to Ajibata, and get a nod in response. But we keep going out of town and away. We drive 4-5 km before pulling over to the right, dropping off the man, and turning back toward Parapat. There wasn’t really any signage or anything resembling a bus stop, and I actually think the minivan just drives around, picks people up, and drops them off roughly where they need to go. While we’re driving, I explain that I need to get to Samosir Island. There’s a nod from the front seat, and before I know it, I’m standing on the pier.
To Samosir Island
There’s a shed and 2 fishing boats moored at the pier. On the shed there’s a sign with ferry departures. A man is sitting asleep in the shed. A call sounds from the fishing boat. A man jumps up onto the pier and starts waking the man in the shed. In no time at all, someone points me to a piece of paper where I have to write my details and pay a small amount. After that I’m allowed to board. The fishing boat has 3 small decks. There’s room for a good-sized group of people, but right now I’m one of 3 passengers. It doesn’t take long, though, before a bigger minivan pulls up at the pier, and a lot of people get out of it. A good mix of all nationalities, most with a big backpack, just like me. The little fishing-boat ferry quickly fills up, and we set off. It’s a quiet trip of a little over an hour across the lake. Even though it’s a lake, it’s big enough that we get a small amount of swell. The view isn’t impressive, since there’s both a light haze from the rain and heavy clouds hanging low over the lake and the shores.
It’s dusk when we arrive at Tuktuk on Samosir Island. The ferry pulls up to a broad concrete wall, which I’m allowed to hop onto. From here it’s a long concrete path up to a main road. I actually wasn’t sure how close to my destination I’d end up, but 10 m down the main road is my hostel. The rain has magically held off for a little while as I got off and found my hostel, but it comes back hard, almost the moment I step through the door.
The hostel is empty. The reception is empty, and the only other person I can see is a young man playing pool by himself. I ring the bell at the counter, which makes a small Indonesian woman crawl out from under the desk. She rubs sleep out of her eyes while she checks me in. My room is best described as a small chamber, with a bed and a window. The bedding smells, and sawdust falls from the ceiling.
I go back to the reception, which also doubles as a restaurant, and get a menu. I haven’t eaten much on the trip. The menu is big, with 5-6 pages full of options. It quickly becomes clear to me, though, that what’s actually for sale is a very small part of the menu. That makes sense, since keeping ingredients on hand for 2 guests probably wouldn’t be very cheap. So the result is that I eat the same as the staff. Not bad food at all, but after months of chicken and rice, I miss something else a little. But after a long day it’s just about getting some food and settling down before I go to bed. I don’t feel like making a bigger assessment of my surroundings until I have daylight and a fresh head. It was a long journey, and even with two days in Yogyakarta as a break, it was still a fairly tiring trip.
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