Lake Toba

      Bukit Lawang

I finally succumbed to the jungle trekking in Bukit Lawang – against my better judgement. The paths are steep and treacherous, in places slippery from the previous day’s rain, in places interlaced by networks of roots with holes between them. Trees blown over by the high winds frequently block the paths, forcing us to climb over them or scramble under them. The jungle is dense with huge lianas that wriggle along the ground until they find trees to climb, and then they shoot up them like giant snakes. Some of the trees are massive, with buttress roots standing out from the base like huge wings. But I was disappointed that there were not more big, old trees.

Bukit Lawang is famous for its orang utangs, which make nests out of branches and leaves at the tops of the trees in the national forest where they are protected, and the whole purpose of the trek is to see them. Our guide knows all the orang utangs by name and he seems to recognise them when they are at the tops of the trees. One called Sandra, with long, soft, orange fur and a black face, came down with her baby and rolled around on the ground, playing with her baby. There is a breeding programme for orang utangs, and medical help is provided if they get sick. Sandra’s first two babies died, which apparently is normal, but her third baby, which clings to her fur as she swings through the trees, is already two years old.. There are other species of monkey in the forest, but they are very shy and move very fast. As I was climbing over one of the fallen trees, it collapsed under me and I hurt my shoulder. Our guide was very careful after this to help me over all the difficult places. I think he had visions of me twisting an ankle and him having to carry me back to Bukit Lawang on his back, which, he told us, he had done on occasion, when a tourist had injured themself.

We arrived back before the four o’clock torrential rain storm – you can practically set your watch by it, it’s so punctual, leaving all the more intrepid trekkers, who are going on two day treks, even seven day treks, still in the forest, in the rain. I was immensely glad to be back, went to wash the mud off – I was coated from head to foot – and went straight to sleep for several hours.

Next day I caught a local bus to Medan. About half an hour into the journey, ominous clonking sounds came from under the bus, which stopped. The driver climbed under the bus, while the passengers all got out and hung around, wondering what to do. I decided to try my luck hitching and headed off with my luggage. I failed miserably. Bus aft.er bus came by, too full to stop. One indicated the roof. Did I want to cling to the roof for three hours? I thought not. Finally a bus stopped and squeezed me in to the front seat, already occupied by the driver, two women and two children. I managed to get half one buttock onto the edge of the seat. Half the other buttock was on the door handle, which was a couple of inches higher than the seat. So I was at an angle, one leg on top of the other. Just when I reached the limit of what I could bear, one of the women got out. When we reached Medan  I handed the bus conductor a fifty thousand note. “OK” he said. “Not OK” I said; “the fare is twenty thousand. Give me my change.” He handed me ten thousand. “OK?” “No. Come on. Give me more change.” He handed me five thousand “more” I said. Another five thousand. Eventually I managed to extract all but one thousand (about 7pence) from him. It was like pulling a tooth.

Medan is a horrible, mafia infested, ugly town. I had been warned not to go there on my own. I don’t know what people thought would happen to me – rape, murder?? In the end the bus from one bus station to the other ripped me off (about a pound) and somehow my sunglasses, which were on my hat, managed to disappear. (oh well easy come easy go – I found them on the ground in WOMAD festival).

The local bus from Medan to Lake Toba is full of men who smoke continuously. I had been warned about this. But I had also been warned that people smoked in the air conditioned buses, which I thought would be worse. At least the local buses have windows. Indonesian men smoke everywhere and Indonesian women, who don’t smoke, put up with it uncomplainingly. What I hadn’t bargained for was that the windows were high up, so the smoke just blew back through the whole bus. By the time we got to lake Toba I had a sore throat and a headache.

The bus got to Lake Toba too late to catch the last ferry, so the bus conductor said

“No hotels here. Last ferry gone. Get in bus,” hoisting my luggage back onto the bus, and off we went back up the hill. The bus stopped. “Plenty hotel here” he said, hoisting my luggage down. The first person I asked suggested I try the hotel opposite. I dragged my luggage with difficulty across a piece of rough waste ground, to be met by a child who spoke no English, but who indicated with signs that she had rooms. I asked her how much and eventually managed to persuade her to write the price on a piece of paper – 200,000! (about £15). I left. Round the corner I found a place for 30,000 (just over £2).

Lake Toba is inside an ancient volcano. Sheltered by the steep sides of the volcano, the water is glassy calm.

Next day I caught the ferry across the lake to TukTuk, a small town perched right on the edge of a circular peninsular. TukTuk is full of hotels, guest houses and homestays built in the traditional manner, but with corrugated iron roofs, which have been left to rust. It was difficult to find anywhere to stay because the place was inundated with Chinese people, who had come here for the Chinese new year. Everywhere had hiked their prices. It seems that the Chinese are considered very rich. It also seems that they are prepared to pay.

I found a room – actually a traditional house. It looks nice from the outside but is very dark inside and has the most uncomfortable bed I have encountered yet in my travels. Hard mattresses I can cope with but hard lumpy ones that dip in the middle are a bit more of a challenge.