The Path Less Ridden

We had arrived in Kupang on Thursday night, having heard there was a ferry on Saturday that could take us to Flores, the next island in sequence. On discussions with the staff in the office, and the friendly locals running the hostel who went up to fact-check our discussions (my Bahasa is very very basic), PELNI (big state-owned line) would take the bikes, but only for 2 million rupiah (around $200 each), and since it wasn’t a roll-on roll-off car ferry, proposed to use a rope sling such as those used for cattle to load and unload our bikes – no thanks! The next local car ferry was on Sunday, so we killed some time in Kupang, mostly eating. The night markets in particular were great, with that day’s catch of fish on display.

 

 

After some frustration at losing time (I’m on a tight timetable to get to Malaysia), waiting at the hostel, we were finally ready to leave.

 

 

Although the ferry wasn’t due to leave until 1PM, we had been warned that it fills up fast and to get there early in the morning. So, after a false start in going to the wrong ferry terminal (turns out there’s three in Kupang!), we joined the queue of local bikes, bought ourselves a ticket (a much more reasonable 232k rupiah for the bike and person, around $25AUD), and settled in to wait.

 

 

The ferry dock itself had the same crystal clear water as the rest of Indonesia so far:

 

 

Loading was as chaotic as expected – as a multitude of trucks, cars, bikes, scooters and people all rushed on to secure space. Mixed in were the ferry staff and police checking tickets, hawkers selling drinks and snacks for the journey, and worryingly, even a few people selling rosary beads – thankfully we didn’t need those!

 

There were three decks on the ferry, the car hold, the middle deck which held some bunks, and the open air upper deck. All, however, were immediately swamped by a swarming mass of humanity, so we decided to stay near the bikes and claimed enough space to lie down (just). Note our two bikes and Przemek in the bottom left corner.

 

 

The next 14 hours were spent like that, unable to move more than a metre without standing on someone, listening to the latest Indonesian pop songs on repeat through people’s phones, and having to fight for literally 20 minutes through the crowds to access the one toilet on board. There was the added bonus of arriving at 3AM in a completely unknown port, Larantuka, having slept very poorly – after a quick discussion we rolled off the boat, into the carpark, and laid down again for a few more hour’s kip on the bitumen, waiting for light.

 

 

With the breaking dawn, a tropical paradise was revealed. All the clichés about Pacific Islands came together – jungle-covered volcanos jutting above deserted sandy beaches lined with palm trees.

 

 

We eagerly set about devouring the roads, which alternated between hugging the coastline, and climbing up and over ancient volcanos. Either way, the endless procession of tight and often blind corners meant that average speeds were low – typically 40-50kph.

 

 

Our goal for the day was the small village of Moni, one of the few vaguely touristy places on Flores. The nearby Mt Kelimutu has proven to be a drawcard, and was on my list of things to check out on the way through. With a dawn climb recommended, we took a guesthouse in town, and spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the sleepy hamlet, including the local waterfall.

 

The mountain awaits.

 

 

Another early morning was not terribly welcome, but a rare hot shower did help. Winding up the trail to the mountain took half an hour of riding, followed by a half hour hike, where we arrived at the peak just on sunrise – to a view completely shrouded by clouds.

 

 

Mt Kelimutu is famous for the three crater lakes surrounding its peak, where combinations of different minerals and elements result in three vastly different colours – which would be moot if the clouds didn’t clear. We drank coffee hauled up by enterprising locals and waited…

 

 

Finally, after around 90 minutes (and after more than half the tourists up there had departed), the clouds started to clear, and we could see the famous colours.

 

 

That morning I had planned to bid farewell to Przemek and try to cross the rest of Flores in one go – 450km, which is not a lot by Australian standards, but an extremely long day on Indonesian roads. Przemek was going to hang around Flores for a while, leaving after a relaxed breakfast, so we went our separate ways.

 

Flores is a spectacularly beautiful place, with steep volcanic mountains rising about the transparent ocean, threaded with picturesque valleys highlighted in the brightest emerald green.

 

 

My progress that morning was cut dramatically short when I hit the back of a tail of stopped traffic. On talking to the locals, it seems that a major landslide had cut the road a few weeks before. Although the worst of the blockage had now been cleared (for around a fortnight, the east and west halves of the island were completely isolated by road), the authorities were still conducting roadworks on this section, and were only briefly opening the road three times a day – 6AM, midday, and 6PM. Having arrived just before 10AM, I settled in to wait; sure enough within an hour Przemek had caught back up, while the queue of local scooters, buses and trucks grew and grew.

 

Enterprising locals had of course already constructed an ad-hoc market around the waiting area, profiting well off the impatient traffic.

 

 

Local chicken transport – still alive!

 

 

At ten to midday, everyone started getting impatient and pushing to the edge of the barrier.

 

 

Then once the barrier was raised, it was on for young and old – literally hundreds of scooters all jostling to squeeze through a single cleared lane, then passing all the waiting bikes, cars and trucks heading the other direction.

 

Finally clear of the madness, the road rejoins the coast and provides a different, yet somehow more spectacular kind of scenery.

 

With my plans to cross the island dashed by the delay, we got to Bajawa, a small town in the mountains that’s a frequent stop for trans-Flores travellers.