Arrival

January, 2014

I arrive in Sumatra by air at the provincial capital in Padang (pronounced Padong) and grab a taksi to take me straight to Bukittinggi, a town 100 kilometers north, and one of only two towns of any size – aside from Padang – in this region of Western Sumatra. I’ve chosen Bukittinggi hoping that instead of hopping from town to town on a Sumatra survey tour I can focus on one area and branch out into the surrounding countryside and villages without having to pack, unpack, schlepp, check-in, arrange transportation, etc. It’s always a bit of a gamble to focus on only one venue, but I seek depth more than breadth, and, remembering my extended stay in Pyin-Oo-Lwin, Myanmar as being very successful and comfortable, I’m hoping to repeat that in Bukittinggi in Sumatra.
What humbles and frightens me first, though, is the road to Bukittinggi itself. You’ve been on these roads in third world countries. Yes? There is no highway. There is only one lane in each direction. The traffic is snarled and dangerous. Whole families with two and even three kids under five are zooming in and out of traffic on motorcycles. No one is wearing a helmet. Or perhaps the driver is. Horns are blowing as if one could discern what is being specifically communicated in the cacophony. The roadside is littered with garbage and trash, some burning in small smoky fires. The houses are tumbledown. There isn’t a road sign, a traffic signal, or a roadside restaurant. On the sides of the road are swampy ditches and swampy fields that I’m sure are the traditional homes of millions of breeding mosquitos just waiting to transmit some abominable tropical disease to me personally. And these conditions are repeated for mile after mile until, of course, they get worse.
One side of the two-lane bridge across this only north/south road over a river gorge has crumbled.
Beyond the bridge live electric wires have fallen across the road and are being held up in the air by a short man with a long bamboo pole – sufficiently high for cars and motorcycles to pass under, but not for buses or larger trucks.
There has been a traffic accident.
Ambulances with their sirens blaring are going nowhere.
Our line of northbound traffic is barely inching forward, but nothing is moving in a southerly direction.
There is no other road north or south. I said that, right?
My driver doesn’t speak English.
The guesthouse I’ve planned to stay at is noted in my cell phone, but I have no Internet connectivity.
It has started to rain. Hard.
I need to pee.
Then, finally, emerging from the muck – well, actually, a continuation of the muck – is Bukittinggi, and then the guesthouse. Both are initially underwhelming.