You probably just need to fart

Yesterday our bikes were both hit from behind by a motorbike. We were on a busy and fast but straight and relatively wide main road, heading for the Java ferry. By wide we mean there is a lane in each direction wide enough for a car (but not a bus) to pass us without crossing the central line. As usual oncoming buses and cars were overtaking each other without regard for us, causing us to have to dive off the road quite frequently. Zoe felt uneasy about the road, but Hannah felt ok because the road was straight, saying 'you can see it, you can hear it, you can predict it and you can deal with it'. As usual Zoe was cycling four or five metres behind Hannah. With no warning – and for reasons we will never know – a boy on a motorbike slammed into Zoe's back right pannier (we think), knocking her off her bike sideways and a second later slammed into Hannah's back wheel, knocking the wheel out of its dropouts and sending Hannah (we think) up into the air to land on her back.

Zoe: I was feeling that the road was dangerous so I was alert but at the precise point of the accident I don't think anything big was oncoming and I wasn't aware of any specific impending danger. I heard a motorbike coming up behind me so when it hit me I think I knew what it was. I jumped up, kicked my bike off the road and then saw Hannah running back to me. We grabbed each other, and over Hannah's shoulder I could see the motorcyclist lying face down in a ditch. I think I said 'someone's f*cking dead'. I didn't realise that Hannah had also been hit until she said that it was difficult for her to breathe and I saw the state of her back. She went very pale and sweaty. Amazingly I have a few nice bruises but not a single cut.

Hannah: At the point of the accident I was also unaware of any specific impending danger. I heard a crash behind me and then within a second my bike was hit from behind quite silently but with incredible force. The next thing I knew I was lying on my back thinking 'whatever has just hit me had already run over Zoe and I am about to see her injured or dead'. I jumped up and ran back to her and she was on her feet swearing like a trouper so I knew she was ok. It was then that I realised it was hard for me to breathe and speak, so I sat down on the verge to concentrate on breathing and Zoe told me that my back was cut.

Everything that followed we could have predicted absolutely. The motorcyclist turned out to be uninjured, and sat near Hannah with his head in his hands. A fascinated crowd gathered within seconds, their vehicles bringing the busy road to a standstill. Fortunately two people stopped who spoke English. A young man squatted with Hannah and said nice things and suggested she might like to pray (Zoe was sarcastic to him about this but generally he was more helpful than not). A policeman turned up and directed the traffic. Zoe went into teacher mode and, with the help of a local English teacher, eventually managed to get a passing oplet (minibus) to take us and all our stuff to the hospital in Kalianda (about 15kms on). This was not as easy as it might sound, as Indonesians aren't very logical and members of the crowd were keen on a. taking us to the police station first, b. taking our bikes back to the nearest village and c. separating us from each other and from our stuff.

On arrival at the small hospital Zoe handed 20,000 rupiah to the oplet driver (probably a little over the going rate) but he said he wanted 100,000 from us. Staggering.

Hannah was taken into casualty in a wheelchair (unnecessary) while a crowd gathered to watch Zoe lock up our two bikes and carry (unaided) our ten bags inside. The crowd (including some children and several policemen) then proceeded to the trauma room to watch Hannah having her back cleaned up and five stitches put in whilst lying face down on a back copy of the Lampung Post. Other members of the public looked through the windows to enable them to continue smoking. Fortunately the female doctor and male nurse both spoke reasonable English and whilst the facilities were basic we had confidence in them. On hearing the crowd in the room described by Zoe, Hannah said 'this country is amazing' and the doctor said 'oh thank you'.

Next Zoe was interviewed by the first of a series of policemen (were you cycling two-abreast, was the motorcyclist speeding, what is your job, etc) whilst Hannah was wheeled elsewhere for a chest x-ray. (HD: I remember that a child followed me and the nurse and the jolly flip-flop-wearing radiographer into the x-ray room, which also contained an incubator. I had to remove my top, which was painful to do, and then I had to stand for the x-ray at which point I think I almost fainted. Whilst waiting for the x-ray to be processed I had a momentary cry thinking about the instant before I knew Zoe was ok. The radiographer brought me some water in a cup and saucer and the nurse asked me if I'd like to listen to Celine Dion on his mobile phone. Unfortunately the doctor said she couldn't read the x-ray so I had go back to have another one done. A surgeon was consulted about the x-rays, which showed no broken ribs and no burst lung. Apparently the pain all around my torso is probably muscular, which makes sense.)

Then there was some sitting around and more police arrived to ask more pointless questions. (HD: A very young policemen asked me 'where do you want to go now?'. I replied 'to my mum' and we both laughed. Then he said 'no, I mean, if this hadn't happened'. I said we had been heading for Java but that now we just needed to get to a clean hotel at which point he suggested we go to his house. The English teacher turned up again and after considerable discussion the police started acting a bit more appropriately. They asked us to write a statement, in which Hannah expressed our views about Indonesian road safety in general terms but stated that we do not know how the accident happened and do not intend to pursue the motorcyclist. The police tried to insist on fixing our bicycles, which we firmly declined. Then they said they would take us to a hotel for which they would pay, and that they would drive us to Jakarta if we wanted them to. (HD: In the midst of all this I said to Zoe that I hurt, and she made me laugh by replying 'you probably just need to fart' which is exactly what I always say whenever either of us is ill.)

At the hotel the manager was briefed with all the relevant details such as our jobs, and instructed to look after us. (HD: Since then I have been lying uncomfortably on my side letting the air-conditioning dry my back out whilst being waited on hand and foot by Zoe. Last night she went out to get some really nice fried rice and chocolate and phoned Dr Farmer for advice about the painkillers I'd been given. I can breathe and talk properly now and after a decent night's sleep had some bakso (meatball noodle soup) and mangos for breakfast then rice with tofu, marinated aubergines, green beans, cucumber and lemon mint for lunch. No loss of appetite to report. I'm taking antibiotics (to prevent infection) and painkillers and feeling sore in a rather weird way but otherwise ok. By the way the stitches, dressings and drugs cost us about $10 but we didn't have to pay for the x-rays.)

Last night the parents of 'the boy' – as he is referred to – turned up at our hotel looking worried and asked Zoe to write again that we do not intend to pursue their son. She wrote simply that we were hit from behind so we do not know what happened and we do not have any trouble with this man. This morning his uncle turned up wanting more written statements from us to this effect, which Zoe refused to give, pointing out to him that it might have been nice to ask how Hannah was feeling. We think the police will probably hassle this family considerably (which we do not want any part of) along with the oplet driver who took advantage of us (who we reckon deserves to be hassled).

We’ll be heading to Jakarta tomorrow with police assistance. We'll hang out there for a few days, get Hannah's stitches taken out and then probably figure out a reduced itinerary for Java using trains if possible (with a little cycling on quiet roads only*) and then proceed to Bali for our Christmas 'holiday'. Hopefully Hannah's back will have recovered sufficiently to enable her to wear a diving tank.

Our predominant emotions are a. relieved that it wasn't worse and b. gutted that it looks as though we'll probably have to forgo several hundred kilometres of cycling in Java. But (as other cycling bloggers have also observed) it's so dangerous here it's pretty much impossible to enjoy the landscape from the roads anyway.

Stay tuned for the next thrilling installment in our Indonesian adventure and check out Flickr where we've uploaded some new pics.

*It looks as though the force of the impact on Hannah's rear tyre split the inner tube on an inside seam and blew the valve clean off. Our first puncture! The wheel may need a small amount of truing and one rim is slightly scratched, but otherwise the wheel looks alright!

Tis the season to be jolly, tra la la la la...

Thanks for the many kind comments and emails. During the final month of our trip we're thinking of publishing a Q&A on our blog. We've thought of a few questions for each other and we'd like to invite you to send us some. Please specify whether your question is for Zoe or Hannah or both. Also, we fancy singing Christmas carols as we cycle, to entertain ourselves and the locals. If you'd like to nominate your favourite carol (and- better still - email us the words) we'll be happy to dedicate our rendition to you!

HELLO MISTERRR!! Worlds collide in Sumatra

We'd love to be able to say that things have looked up since we last posted, but we continue to be at a low ebb here in Sumatra. The blatant sexual harassment and stone-throwing have not resumed since we left the province of North Sumatra, but the sense of being absolutely alien and alone persists.

Partly it's that whilst the scenery is exceptional we're bored with villages. Indonesian ones aren’t photogenic like Cambodian ones; most of them are just a bit grimey, dull and depressing and populated by little children who scream at us, bored bigger children who follow us on motorbikes photographing us on their mobile phones and bored men who grunt and shout pointless questions at us.

Yes, mainly it's that we've absolutely had enough of being stared at and shouted at all day every day. You'll recall that Hannah in particular has struggled with this since Day 1, but by now we both feel completely oppressed by the incomprehensible, inescapable attention. We do try to understand it. We talked this morning about the time we spotted a dugong in the Red Sea; we followed it and wanted to keep staring at it until our air ran out. Maybe that's what it's like for the people here, some of whom may never have seen a bule (white person) in the flesh. Except we aren't dugongs. We aren't even famous. We're just a couple of cyclists.

And partly it's also that there's a certain low-level unpleasantness to much of the attention we receive and to many of our direct interactions. This is hard to describe and it varies. People demonstrate zero empathy; they just stare and/or shout, often without smiling. Often there's a sexist undertone to our interactions and there's xenophobia too, or at least a sense of 'them and us'. Zoe says she recognises (from her work) the feeling of having to find the maturity within herself to face up to a pack of immature human beings some of whom need to score points at her expense. Hannah accepts she doesn't yet have this maturity and isn't motivated to develop it just now.

On top of this we feel homesick, for the lovely people in our lives back home, and also for our own identities. Here (unlike the other countries we've been through) we're acutely aware of the bullshit people think they know about us. We can sometimes gain an ounce of respect by saying we're in our thirties and we're married (it's clear people assume otherwise). To express anything of our true identities (independent, feminist, the list goes on..) is unthinkable.

We're still clinging to the advice some of you sent us in response to our 'cry for help' from Vietnam: we try to draw strength from the smiles of genuinely welcoming people; we try not to beat ourselves up; we seek respite when we can (though the laughable quality of accommodation doesn't help with this!).

Being the control freaks we both are (different kinds of control freak, mind!) all of this is putting us both right on the edge. We’re up and down like mad and occasionally wonder what the hell we're doing!

And there's one more thing. We selected our current route down the west coast of Sumatra because the road is quiet and therefore relatively safe to cycle on. But Indonesian driving is APPALLING, so the exciting prospect of arriving in Java – the world's most densely populated island and the cultural heart of Indonesia - in a few days' time is tinged with foreboding. Whenever we are in real danger (and we will be) we'll put our bikes onto a train or a bus, though the latter mode rarely feels any safer than staying on the bikes!

To end on a positive note we're thankful for each other, we're thankful for the fantastic trip we've had so far, and we continue to appreciate how lucky we are to have such a good life to go back to in January.

P.S. Sorry for the lack of photos from Indo. Internet connections aren't fast enough to handle the size of Zoe's files.

I'm a feminist, get me out of here!

Since arriving in Indonesia a fortnight ago we've experienced some real highlights. Sumatra is beautiful, and it's been really sad to observe that tourism has reduced to a trickle since the Bali bomb and the various tsunamis, flash floods and earthquakes of recent years. We've been cycling through the biggest and most exhilarating (and exerting) landscapes of the trip so far, around the cool shores of Lake Toba (the largest crater lake in the world), past volcanoes and waterfalls and through immense jungle- and mist-filled valleys.

At Mount Leuser National Park we hired a guide (and his sidekick) to take us on an overnight trek into the jungle, where we saw wild orangutans at very close range as well as macaques, Thomas leaf monkeys and black gibbons. We returned to our starting point by way of three truck inner-tubes lashed together to form a hair-raising but hilarious white-water raft!

Yet paradoxically we've had the hardest two weeks of the trip to date: to our complete surprise and horror North Sumatrans display both an oppressively male-dominated culture and an unexplained hostility to tourists. Plenty of individuals have been nice, of course, but the prevailing atmosphere in the province is intimidating. The first thing we noticed was that many people (both men and women) stared right through or seemed to glower at us. Then as we cycled through villages we noticed that amongst the expected barrage of friendly and curious calls of 'hello mister', 'where you go?' etc there was a lot of deliberate taunting: jeers, grunts, roars of 'buleh' (lit. 'albino', though nice Indonesians will tell you it translates as 'tourist') right in our faces as we passed, aggressive laughter, hisses (tsss-tsss), kissing noises, wolf whistles, sexual gestures (licking their lips, holding their crotches) and so on. Boys tried to grab onto the bikes as we rode past and, worst of all, each day we had at least one instance of boys throwing stones at us from behind.

Most North Sumatran men appear to be lazy, chain-smoking, disgusting, misogynistic, neanderthal brutes who sit around all day while the women do the work. A handful did things like walk up and stroke our arms without the slightest invitation. Others invited themselves to sit with us as we tried to eat meals (their minds clearly full of movie-inspired notions about what we represent!). And every single one of them, it seemed, felt he had the right to sit and stare at us and/or interrupt our privacy and interrogate us menacingly with the predictable 'where you go?', 'where you from?', 'you not have husband/ children?' etc. In short they were absolute ****s [insert the rudest four letter word you find acceptable], from the age of about ten onwards.

Lest it has not been clear from previous blog posts let us stress again that not once were we made to feel intimidated by men or boys as we cycled through Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand.

For the first time in the trip we have frequently invoked the power of our fictitious 'husbands', Matt and Adrian, who we say have gone ahead to the next town. When one slimy bloke (who thought he was it because he was a 'kepala desa' or village head) suggested a night-time trip 'to the hill to take photographs of the town' Zoe responded without hesitation: 'oh no, I don't think my husband would like that'.

We're using the past tense because just when we were starting to think we might have to change our plans (we could not bear the idea of six more weeks of constant intimidation: 'if I never see another village in my life it'll be too soon' said Zoe) suddenly everything changed. What happened? On Sunday night we crossed the provincial border* into West Sumatra. Literally overnight normal, gentle, smiling South-East Asian service resumed. How bizarre! We can only assume tribal cultural differences are at play: the northern Bataks are deeply patriarchal, whereas the western Minangkabau are a matrilineal tribe. If we uncover any further explanations for why it was so grim oop north we'll let you know.

*The story about how we crossed the provincial border is worth telling. Throughout Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand and Indonesia it has consistently been the case that towns with a hotel have been situated at 90-100km intervals. In Vietnam, Cambodia and Thailand that meant we often cycled 100kms per day. Here in Indonesia the mountainous landscape means this won't usually be feasible. As cycling in the dark and staying with villagers are no-nos for us (and camping doesn't really seem like an option) we have started making use of the excellent public transport and throwing our bikes on the top of buses for the last 20-30 kilometres some days. Sunday was one such day. We were aiming from a town called Lubuksikaping over the provincial border. Hannah had found the website of an interesting new, Australian-run hotel on the edge of that town. The first bus we hopped could only take us to a filthy intermediate town (called Panti of all things). We stood in the rain and dark in Panti for over an hour as realisation dawned that the service to Lubuksikaping had finished for the day. Flagging down yet another bus and seeing yet another driver shake his head Hannah tried some proper hands-clasped pleading and it worked: the young driver/conductor team spotted an opportunity and what those bloody awful management consultants call a win-win situation took shape. The bikes and their cargo travelled in comfort inside the bus. We had agreed a price of 100,000 rupiahs for the 1hr+ journey (less than $10). The two guys seemed absolutely thrilled with the deal, which they supplemented by taking on four other customers and picking up two of their mates for the ride. So there we were charging along in the pitch dark in our chartered bus with eight men. Given everything we've described above, what was most striking was that all of them were completely delightful (apart from one who sat very quietly and then threw up on the floor, much to the disgust of the driver). We got chatting to a religious studies student who helped to convey to the bus team that we were aiming for a particular hotel in Lubuksikaping. Faint alarm bells started to ring when not one of them had heard of the hotel nor even the road it was on, but on arrival in Lubuksikaping (where we were expecting to be dropped at the bus terminal) it was clear they had collectively resolved that we should be taken right to our destination.

A young woman on a moped thought she knew the place and was able to direct the bus driver. He drove some distance to the very edge of town and turned up a pitch dark lane. A resident confirmed this was the road. As the bus bumped its way up the tiny gravel track Hannah had confidence in her research, but Zoe (and the rest of the bus) were clearly skeptical. The conductor hopped out to ask directions at a house. A woman came out of the house and got into the bus. What was going on? Soon afterwards the bus headlights illuminated a half-built hotel behind a locked gate. The woman seemed to be associated with the 'hotel' and said there were rooms available, but the bus driver looked askance and said to us 'there are no lights'. After some discussion it was decided that we should be taken back to a hotel in the town, which we had passed a good half hour earlier. At that place the conductor hopped out again to enquire about a room for us; a veiled woman came out to have a look at us and to explain the hotel was full due to a local government convention. After driving around the town a bit more a room was finally found for us on the fourth attempt. We gave our chaps a 50% tip, they shook our hands warmly and back they went to Panti. We went out for a late supper at a street stall where all the staff and customers were men; not one of them bothered us.

Though we're relieved to have escaped the north and optimistic that the rest of Indonesia will be as great as anticipated we're both feeling a bit flat. Our next destination is a beautiful place that Hannah has been to before – a crater lake called Maninjau – where we hope to pick ourselves back up and get ourselves in gear for the final six weeks of our Asian epic.

Obama!

Returning from a jungle trek in north Sumatra we had barely finished saying goodbye to one set of apes and monkeys when we discovered it was also time to say goodbye to the world's most powerful ape and say hello to America's new president. Congratulations Obama.

By the way, is anyone (apart from our parents) still reading our blog and looking at Zoe's lovely pictures? We're feeling a bit unloved...