Bitung is the main port in the north east of an island you probably have not heard of; Sulawesi. Even Microsoft office has not heard of it. But it is a major island and is in-between Borneo and New Guinea. We have been working around it for the past month, looking for oil and interesting geological data. We have found a new volcano, and a major fault line previously unknown.
And all the time sailing within site of this glorious rain forest covered island made of steep cliffs, hills and ever more volcanoes.
Bitung itself is overshadowed by no less than three volcanoes; one of them the most active in Indonesia; and that is with some competition. The port is situated on the thin strip of fairly flat land at the feet of two of the volcanoes.
It is a wonderful site, to be sailing into port after four weeks at sea working. The weather is glorious; in the triple digits, and those unwary were to get badly burned standing on deck as we made our way into port.
As soon as we docked; the SUVs carrying our replacements arrived, and the process of refuelling and taking on stores began. These are always hectic times, as us ‘old timers’ show the newbies around and go over the details of the job and the foibles of the ship.
A final meal is taken before we move our luggage out of our cabins and the newbies move in. And then the shout goes out that the wheels are here to take us away to the hotel for the night, and so the first leg of the journey home.
The Lonely Planet guide had nothing nice to say about Bitung; it being a working port and busy with the bustle of life. It did warn of the road to Monado, where our hotel was. It described the road as being akin to a race track and to be avoided, doubly so at night.
All Bitung had to offer in the way of tourist interest was a model of the Eiffel Tower at the busiest roundabout in town; which we passed after turning through the gates of the port.
We were in a SUV, along with our luggage. The first thing we noticed was that there was no rules on the road. Being in an SUV, we were top of the pile and the driver expected; no, demanded that everyone else get out of the way. And most of the time everyone did. To make us feel at home, the driver put on some western music for us; Phil Collins! Phil Collins playing live his own brand of bland rock. Although the sounds of the audience suggested tens of thousands there thought otherwise.
The driver muscled his way though the narrow streets downtown, and gradually we climbed up into the more affluent areas of the town. No matter how run down and shack-like the houses were, the children going to school were perfectly clean and dressed in uniforms. We passed shacks selling apparently home distilled fuel and fruit; the fuel because most people use mopeds and ride them until they run out of gas. Or so it seemed anyway. Some shacks were shops, and bedecked in brightly covered advertising, with the usual international brands mixed in amongst unfamiliar local ones.
Soon, we were out of town and safe from death by traffic; or so we thought. The road climbed up onto the shoulder of one of the volcanoes before dropping down the other side of the island to Monado, to the hotel and tomorrow the airport. Overtaking was done in what can be best described as a cavalier attitude, sensing a gap, or most of the time just going for it, the driver just went of over the white line in the middle of the road forcing whatever was coming to make room for us. I sat in the middle of the back seat and was always thinking, at least he’s not going to overtake now as we approached a bend in the jungle; but he always did. Slow, ancient trucks laboured to climb the hills, but we sailed past these as whole families on a single scooter coming the other way were forced into the undergrowth.
Half way up the volcano, we stopped for gas, and the four us looked at each other and laughed that nervous laugh. I was told in no uncertain terms that it was worse being in the front, as he was the first person over the white line as we were in a right hand drive car.
If we thought it bad then, it began to get dark. Not that this slowed our daredevil drive down any. He just carried on as before.
And Phil Collins sang on, unaware of our fate.
And then the road disappeared. Seems this is the way when they do road repairs, they just take the road up and at some point they will lay new surface down. But not yet.
Apparently, the main road into town was not good enough, and we turned off down a narrow road through a poor residential area. Children and chickens scattered before our headlights, and scooter riders made the best of things by pulling off the road into ditches.
Thankfully, we soon came back onto a main road and jumping the lights turned towards downtown. Right on the waterfront was our hotel, the Comfort Inn, and quite the best hotel I have stayed in, ever. And that is no joke. It was wonderful. I was shown up to my room with a huge double bed; best of all was the walk in shower all finished in black marble. This was especially welcome as the showers on ship only gave out a trickle of water; these on the other hand were like a waterfall in full flow.
After a half hour shower and lay on the bed, I made my way down to the lobby and the bar. As I was the first one there I thought I would try the local brew, Bintang. Bintang means red star, and if cold enough you can almost miss the formaldehyde taste. Almost. Anyway, it had been a month since my last beer, and it went down ok. The others joined me, and after another it was decided to head out into town to see what sort of nightlife there was.
Not that we were party animals, but something to eat, and look at some ladies would be ok.
We went outside the hotel onto the side of the six lane highway and held up our hand shouting taxi. It worked, although the cab was going the other way. We thought nothing of crossing the traffic. The traffic thought something of us, however.
We made the driver understand we wanted to eat satay and so he whisked us in his suspension-less taxi to where the action was. It was an ok place, and the satay was god; I had chilli chicken satay and it was hot; damn hot. All washed down with ice cold Bintang.
The owner told us of a night club in the shopping centre down the road, and also there we could get more money. After several attempts in using the ATMs, we were now millionaires, as there were 17,000 rupiah to the pound. We headed up into the deserted shopping centre to where we hoped the club would be.
Club Ha-ha is without doubt the largest night club I have ever been in; you could have parked a 747 in there and had room to spare.
We were also the only ones in.
We had a bartender each; or so it seemed.
And a band of talented local teenagers went though carbon copy versions of recent hits; mainly ones by Black Eyed Peas and The Feeling. They really were very good, and they seemed to be playing just for us.
As the band wound their set up, other people began to arrive; including the smallest but prettiest girls I have seen. But for me, the evening was over, and along with a fellow Brit we made our way outside to hail a taxi to take us back to our hotel.
Just to be different he took us though the back ally way back, a warp factor nine, in a thunderstorm. But, as everyone else was in bed by that time, we were safe.
Just had to remember to wake up at seven in the morning for the flight to Jakarta.
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