Indonesia 2: Motorbike Happy
* Pictures courtesy of Johann Annuar
Most third-world countries tend to have an excess of two-wheeled vehicles: bicycles in China, scooters in Thailand, rickshaws in India, etc. In Indonesia it's no exception - even in an idyllic place like the village of Maninjau.
In Maninjau, the vehicle of choice is the motorcycle. Not the full splendor of the Honda Goldwing, or the stylish hipness of the Vespa, but a rag-tag collection of nameless spindly contraptions that have some kind of engine, no mufflers and barely enough brakes. One helmet was a courtesy, two helmets would be a dream come true. But they were only $5 a day to rent, so in the interest of not having to hike 70 km around the lake, we went for the bike.
Maninjau in the day was like a pretty but slightly moody lady in her prime, a study in greens, browns and yellows. The prettiness was evident - a bucolic setting of lake, mountains, quaint houses, people - all welcoming visitors with open arms. Everywhere we passed on the motorcycle, with every speed bump and little dip and rise, the mountains greeted us with a different face, the foliage turns into another village, we see a different set of people. I was delighted with how life goes on in such simplicity and purity. The bike more than paid for itself in the pictures we could take along the way - nothing like trying to catch a shot of foliage while on a moving swaying bike, one hand preoccupied with holding the camera steady and the other clutching the rear to keep myself steady.
Lady Maninjau was also slightly moody because the mist and clouds never completely go away. Even at the peak of midday, the sun's rays penetrate through the clouds but never burn them up. The air alternates between a pleasant cool and a sticky humidity, and the sky could be a periwinkle blue or an impenetrable grey that lets loose rain of such gentleness that you barely feel it on your skin . Which made for some interesting biking, as you could most definitely feel the rain under the bike's wheels. Seeing as how there was one helmet between two riders (with no rain cover) and muddy roads, this was all a good reason to stop at coffee shops along the way for snacks and drinks.
Maninjau felt like a woman in her prime (not to be sexist or anything) because of the amazingly lush and verdant feel of the place. Not just a thousand shades of green that we saw in the grass, the rice stalks, the bushes and the trees, but also the profusion of flowers that are not seen anywhere else, the abundance of fruits, dogs and cats and chickens having puppies and kittens and chicks, shapely women delicately balancing grainloads on their heads, kids with younger kids in tow. There was such an overwhelming feeling of luscious fertility that everything seemed to resonate on a different wavelength than normal. Greens were greener, water was clearer, yellows were brighter and light was sharper. Basic instincts awoke and became more attuned to the change in temperatures, the purr of the motorbike engine, the tear of the wind in my hair, the smell of damp earth, burnt wood and cut grass. I wanted the bike to keep going and carry me deeper and deeper into this strange parallel universe.
Oh yes, the motorbike was most definitely worth it.
Go to Indonesia 1: Where Time Stopped
Most third-world countries tend to have an excess of two-wheeled vehicles: bicycles in China, scooters in Thailand, rickshaws in India, etc. In Indonesia it's no exception - even in an idyllic place like the village of Maninjau.
In Maninjau, the vehicle of choice is the motorcycle. Not the full splendor of the Honda Goldwing, or the stylish hipness of the Vespa, but a rag-tag collection of nameless spindly contraptions that have some kind of engine, no mufflers and barely enough brakes. One helmet was a courtesy, two helmets would be a dream come true. But they were only $5 a day to rent, so in the interest of not having to hike 70 km around the lake, we went for the bike.
Maninjau in the day was like a pretty but slightly moody lady in her prime, a study in greens, browns and yellows. The prettiness was evident - a bucolic setting of lake, mountains, quaint houses, people - all welcoming visitors with open arms. Everywhere we passed on the motorcycle, with every speed bump and little dip and rise, the mountains greeted us with a different face, the foliage turns into another village, we see a different set of people. I was delighted with how life goes on in such simplicity and purity. The bike more than paid for itself in the pictures we could take along the way - nothing like trying to catch a shot of foliage while on a moving swaying bike, one hand preoccupied with holding the camera steady and the other clutching the rear to keep myself steady.
Lady Maninjau was also slightly moody because the mist and clouds never completely go away. Even at the peak of midday, the sun's rays penetrate through the clouds but never burn them up. The air alternates between a pleasant cool and a sticky humidity, and the sky could be a periwinkle blue or an impenetrable grey that lets loose rain of such gentleness that you barely feel it on your skin . Which made for some interesting biking, as you could most definitely feel the rain under the bike's wheels. Seeing as how there was one helmet between two riders (with no rain cover) and muddy roads, this was all a good reason to stop at coffee shops along the way for snacks and drinks.
Maninjau felt like a woman in her prime (not to be sexist or anything) because of the amazingly lush and verdant feel of the place. Not just a thousand shades of green that we saw in the grass, the rice stalks, the bushes and the trees, but also the profusion of flowers that are not seen anywhere else, the abundance of fruits, dogs and cats and chickens having puppies and kittens and chicks, shapely women delicately balancing grainloads on their heads, kids with younger kids in tow. There was such an overwhelming feeling of luscious fertility that everything seemed to resonate on a different wavelength than normal. Greens were greener, water was clearer, yellows were brighter and light was sharper. Basic instincts awoke and became more attuned to the change in temperatures, the purr of the motorbike engine, the tear of the wind in my hair, the smell of damp earth, burnt wood and cut grass. I wanted the bike to keep going and carry me deeper and deeper into this strange parallel universe.
Oh yes, the motorbike was most definitely worth it.
Go to Indonesia 1: Where Time Stopped
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