Entry Two:
The next day we caught a metered taxi
to the taxi travel group recommended by our jungle trek guide. We
handed the driver the printed out email from our guide with the taxi
travel information and the driver said he could take us there. The 20
minute ride to our destination ended up taking 40 minutes. The
crowded, chaotic, and overwhelming traffic in Medan was the icing on
the cake. We came to the conclusion that we hated the city of Medan
and that at all costs we would find a way to avoid going back as we
leave Sumatra. After a while of driving around and stopping for
directions, we learned that the place we were looking for had changed
locations. Not wanting to be in the car any longer we told the driver
to take us to our second option of taxi service which was in the
area. When we were dropped off at the taxi service we were greeted by
a toothless man with a beer belly. The Taxi service looked like a run
down mechanic shop. The wet cement floor, ripped couches that looked
like they came from the dump, and the darkly lit room with the strong
smell of urine, made the place less than pleasing. If it wasnt for
our jungle guide recommending the taxi service I probably would have
tried to find a more professional smelling establishment, but our
time was limited and our main goal was to get out of medan anyway we
could. Our driver told us he would take us directly to our guesthouse
in ketambe and that we would leave within twenty minutes. After two
hours we finally left the rancid taxi shop and started the drive for
ketambe. Our taxi was a 5 passenger mini suv, the driver and an
Indonesian man in front, and an Indonesian woman with her toddler,
Ryan and I all crammed in the back seat. After a couple of hours into
the drive we stopped for lunch at a roadside muslim cafeteria eatery.
It was at this moment that Ryan and I began to have some serious
culture shock. When we arrived I had to use the bathroom badly, so
ran into what I thought was the bathroom at full force ready to pull
down my pants and do my business, until I realized I ran into a
muslim prayer room where I caused a few heads to turn and disrupted
the peace. When I finally saw the bathrooms they were marked “Wanita
and Pria”, I had no idea which one was man and which one was women.
Usually I would have chosen one not caring which was which, but in a
Muslim country you dont want to make the mistake of walking in to the
males bathroom. So I stood by, and luckily the Muslim women and her
daughter came up behind and walked into the bathroom labeled
“Wanita”. When I came out and joined Ryan and the table there
were two tall glasses of water each one was sitting in its own small
shallow bowl of water. I thought to myself, this is a strange way of
serving water. Is the bowl suppose to be a saucer? If so good thing
they put it under the cup because they spilled a lot of water in it
already. Like a novice traveler I grabbed my cup of water and brought
it to my lips, before I could take a sip Ryan stopped me and said I
just had a sip and it is warm, I dont think it is for drinking. I
looked around the cafeteria at the other Indonesians for clues on
what to do. Their glass was out of their bowl, and they were dipping
their fingers into their shallow bowl to wash their hands, then they
would eat their food with their hands, and refill their shallow bowl
with the cup of warm water and continue. Ryan and I both looked at
each other and laughed, we felt stupid for our mistakes but at the
same time found it comical, we are definitely not in Thailand
anymore. Who would have thought that an hour and a half flight south
to Indonesia would feel like a completely different world. After
lunch we continued our 7 hour ride to our guesthouse in Ketambe. The
drive was not an easy one, the roads had massive potholes, some were
larger than the car, their were mountain slides that blocked half the
road, and the drivers were absolutely crazy. In Indonesia there are
no rules to the road, the only common principle that people seem to
practice is honking. Everyone loves to honk for everything. Around
every turn they honk before approaching the curve, during the curve,
after the curve, they honk every time they pass someone, or drive
around a small pothole. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that
all times while driving on the road you can hear the blasting of
horns from at least a dozen different cars at once. The drive to
Ketambe was long, but it was a great way to get the true essence of
Indonesian living Thailand is considered a third world country but
after living in Thailand and visiting Indonesia, I think a more
accurate description would be that Thailand is simple country living
while Indonesia is truly a third world country. We drove through many
towns where women and children were walking barefoot in the street
with pots of water on their heads, Women were doing laundry in the
river with their babies tied to their back. The houses were barely
standing, propped up by bamboo posts, palm leaf roofs, and dirt
floors. Children ran in packs, barefoot through the streets,
entertaining themselves by having rubber tire races, and girls
weaving baskets. Driving through these towns brought a sense of
authenticity to traditional life. There aren't many places in the
world where you can go without seeing the affect of modernization and
technology. It was refreshing and wholesome sight to see. Some of the
communities we drove through were in the middle of the country side
tucked away from any store or business. Seeing these communities, and
the people in them gathered together sitting in circles working on
tasks like weaving, or unshelling cacao beans, made you really see
how technology distances people and simple living is communal.
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