Bukittinggi

I have been drawn to Bukittinggi by what is its reputed astonishing natural beauty, and by the Minangkabau, the matrilineal culture and people who predominate in the Bukittinggi region and are reported to have made the transition into the modern world without losing many of their values and traditions. My first, second, and even third impressions are that I’ve made a serious miscalculation, but by the end of the first full day I’m feeling that the guides have been good to me, and that I’ve been very lucky once again.

Yet in very short order I’m having an amazingly good time here and think I am a travel idiot savant.
One small but significant matter is that the internet at the guesthouse is actually fabulous … and I can stream the Pats versus the Colts game in real time … and the Pats win. Isn’t that why everyone comes to Sumatra?
Secondly I have my own bathroom for the first time in weeks.
On the next day I have arranged for a guide, a driver, and a car – all for fifty dollars, 9 to 6, gas included. We visit half a dozen outlying villages where we walk around as my guide points out coffee and chocolate trees, cassava, mango, jackfruit, and papaya trees, long beans that are really really long, corn, hot red and green peppers, fish ponds, the biggest spiders you have ever seen, rice paddies, traditional house styles, oxen and baby oxen, butterflies the size of sparrows, and medicinal plants. We talk with people. They want to know where I am from, am I really travelling alone, why, and how old am I? We visit tapioca chip and manioc “factories” that are really just long, hot, dirt floor sheds with squatting workers who earn six dollars a day, a noodle factory, a sawmill. It is all very engaging, very revealing, the architecture unique, the enthusiasm of the people contagious.

There is so much to see – an old fort, a sad zoo, the pedestrian bridge across the main thoroughfare, restaurants, street food vendors, funerals, weddings, children playing, motorcycles and scooters which go back and forth in either lane of travel and even on sidewalks. Sidewalks! A clock tower. Parks. One whole block has more than two-dozen peanut vendors competing for business. I mean, how many peanut purchasers can there be in Bukittinggi? And besides, at ten cents for a good-sized bag that you’d pay at least three dollars for at home, what can their margin of profit be?
I eat things I shouldn’t eat. I drink things I shouldn’t drink.
On Sunday the main town square is filled to the brim with bands of roving students from outlying villages and towns here to find tourists, especially English speaking ones, to practice their English on.  To say, “Excuse me sir, may I disturb you?” “May I ask, sir, what is your name?” And “What country is sir from?” The answers to thesequestions they dutifully record in little notebooks and then request I sign my name beneath their entries, which I do, once, twice, a hundred times, two hundred times. I’m not exaggerating. No baseball player leaving any American major league ballpark has ever been more thronged … or more cooperative I expect. Every one of the students wants a picture with me. Two young girls are so charming I invite them for ice cream sundaes outside the square … and when their teachers find them an hour later, it leads to a round of delightful conversation, ending with an invitation from the teachers to visit their village, which I accept, and to sleep over their house, which I decline.