Day 15: Bus ride from hell (part 2)

1am
The ferry unloaded our bus into Java after an hour crossing the Bali channel. So far our trip from Denpasar was 7 hours long. We covered 60 miles and a channel crossing in that time. We still had 300 miles to go. I doubted we’d make the 16hr projection anymore. But I hoped it would be only a few hours over because of the ferry wait.

430am
We stopped at a roadside diner. They served us a hot, stale dinner. I ate all my rice and hardly any of the meat. I didn’t trust it. The meal was such a rip off; not to mention, we had to pay $3 each for it. Dinner should have been included.

We continued our journey. I used the onboard toilet for the first time. It was disgusting–definitely not first class. And I could rationalize the situation no longer–we had been duped!

But at least the bus was heading toward Jogja. So I couldn’t complain there.

10am
It’s getting hot in the bus now. It’s been 16hrs since we left Denpasar, and we’re not even close to Jogja. This is hell.

2pm
It’s been 20hrs now. We made it to Surabaya–two hours away from Jogja. The bus stopped at the main terminal. All the blue-collared men exited. Only the white-collared man, a woman and child, and Jameelah and I remained.

The white-collared man started yelling at the bus driver and lackey in Indonesian. He was infuriated. The driver was dumping the suckers (including J and I) off here. Perhaps it wasn’t worth his time or money to continue for only five people–and that he’s a greedy bastard. Or perhaps this bus was never going to Jogja, and the tout in Denpasar duped us. Or both reasons.

The enraged white-collared man persisted. The driver offered cash for an onward ticket, but not enough for all of us. That made white-collar man livid.

Finally, the driver gave in. He waved over a real 1st-class bus and negotiated for all of us to get on and continue to Jogja. It still seemed shady, as if there were an intercity ring of drivers in kahootz. But we all accepted.

I alerted the new, 1st-class bus driver that we’d continue on to Borobudur after Jogja. He understood. He said the bus’s final destination was 30 minutes past Borobudur, so he could drop us off on the way.

Excellent, I thought. We finally caught a break.

4pm
On the way to Jogja, I noticed the TV was showing a lot of clips of Michael Jackson. I wasn’t sure why. Did Indonesia have some infatuation with the singer? Or perhaps did he make some big news? Did he die? I wasn’t sure what to make of it. I did keep my mouth shut though. MJ was Jameelah’s idol, and I didn’t want to give her any reason to worry. We had plenty of problems already today.

Then bus got a flat tire. And it took about over an hour to fix.

6pm
The sunlight waned. It was now dark when we entered Jogja. The bus dropped off some people and continued onto Borobudur.

7pm
We neared Borobudur. The bus stopped on the side of the busy highway. And he told us to get off.

“Where is Borobudur,” I asked.

“Borobudur is there,” he said, pointing down a dark country road. “Catch a tourist bus going to town.”

Crap. It was too good to be true. He left us on the busy highway and expected us to complete the final leg to Borobudur.

Some men approached asking if we needed a ride. We said, yes, to Borobudur. We asked how much. $4 each, they said. And we’d have to split up on motorbikes.

I didn’t like the price nor the splitting up. I figured it was two or three miles away. The cab fare must be 50 cents to a $1 total–not $8.

We tried to flag down some busses, but it was no use. They were all tourist buses with strict agendas. And most were heading back to Jogja.

We waited until we saw a taxi and flagged him down. The men quickly approached him and spoke Indonesian to the driver. I could tell they were persuading the driver to overcharge us and share the pot later.

The taxi driver squirmed, but he gave in and told us it would be $8. I could tell he wasn’t going to overcharge us at first; but after those greedy men got to him. It was all over.

I asked him to open the trunk. We unloaded our bags. I wasn’t giving in to this bullsh**.

I started walking down the road toward Borobudur. I did not see any significant light in the distance, but I knew it had to be about two miles. We walked by a few homes, and I walked into the yard of one. And asked the family there, how far to Borobudur? 7km (5 miles), they said. And how much should taxi cost? $1, they said.

We walked to the other side of the road to another home/business. Some women were gathered. I asked to use the phone. Maybe we could call a taxi or get a free shuttle from a guesthouse in town.

A young man walked up to us and said he could take us into Borobudur. His aura was pure like an angel. However, he had only a motorbike. We’d have to split still, which I didn’t like. He then found and persuaded another young man to help us.

I was wary at first. But he seemed so pure. He insisted on taking us to Borobudur. I asked him how much, and he said for free. He just wanted to help us. He said he was studying Buddhism in college and wanted to help others. He was our Good Samaritan.

We all rode into Borobudur 15 minutes later. Another young man tailgated us.

He “is evil,” said the Good Samaritan. He wants to take you to a guesthouse and claim the commission.

I told the Good Samaritan our top lodging picks, and he took us to one. He warded off the Evil One from claiming a commission on us.

I tried to give him a few bucks for his help, but he denied it. He wanted to help us–plain and simple. A man of high morals, he was. But Jameelah succeeded in giving him a gift: the protective flowers from Gili Meno.

We went inside and took one of the rooms. The guesthouse was a great value. And its staff was warm and inviting.

9pm

The manager on duty entered our room and paused. He looked serious and somber.

“Excuse me, but I bring you bad news from America. The King of Pop, Michael Jackson, is dead.”

Jameelah was in a bit of shock and denial. But she took it well. I quickly came to terms with it, too.

930pm

We went out for dinner at a local restaurant.  We lightened the mood by realizing the uniqueness of the situation. A guesthouse manager in a small town in Indonesia announced one of the biggest American news stories of the year in classic, sympathetic form. What a way to catch the story.

And what a crazy day it was.