put away out of sight.
Chapter Four
T HERE WAS A DISCUSSION before we set off about the policy to be followed with Andy. Our short stay at Weh seemed enormously to have improved him. He had given up locking himself in the car at night and occupied a room in the losmen in which we stayed. Snorkelling, with its revelation of sub-aquatic marvels, had given him something to talk about, and he spoke of the possibility of training to become a diving instructor at Lake Toba as soon as the tourist industry revived. We were all agreed that he suffered while with us not only from fear, but from boredom. It was clear that given the chance he was an active and energetic man, but so far there had been little for him to do but sit in the back of the car, awaiting the time when his services as a guide would be required, and this moment was about to arrive.
We took advice from the manager of the Sultan Hotel where we stayed while in Banda, who told us that so far as he knew buses still went to the small towns at the northern end of the west road, but after that no one could say. Much of the road was under repair, and unrepaired stretches before Tapaktuan were in extremely bad condition, and quite impassable in rain. Bridge replacements in some areas had been suspended as a result of the troubles, necessitating detours through swampy terrain in which anything but a powerful four-wheel-drive vehicle (which our Toyota was not) could expect to get stuck. Against this, although the rains were only a week or two away, the route was as dry now as it would ever be. This was what we wanted to hear, and we threw our odds and ends into the car and made a start.
Our first stop was the lively township of Lhoknga, which had something about it, both in appearance and atmosphere, of Dodge City in the 1860s as depicted in nostalgic old American movies of the western frontier. It was Dodge City in all but the hitching posts, though with the addition, as one turned a corner, of a spectacular but confusing vista of the sea. Lhoknga was full of shops, advertising for the benefit of those who felt like chancing the west coast road that this was the last place for two hundred miles where provisions of almost any kind could be obtained. The general store to which we were taken to stock up was an Aladdin’s cave of essential supplies and domestic bric-à-brac run by a family in a mean street. These people had on display a greater variety of goods, from decorated enemas to masks worn by line-fishermen to deceive the fish, than I had seen in a shop of this kind anywhere in the world.
All round the main cavern ran twelve deep shelves upon which thousands of items were crammed, and passages led off in all directions to stock-rooms under neighbouring premises. Above all there were thirty varieties of washing powder upon the abundant use of which advertisers have been able to persuade Indonesian country folk that their prestige depends.
As so often happens in the case of successful shopkeepers, the people running this emporium were morose. The wife, who served me, although fat and sad was incredibly beautiful. We had to buy spare five-gallon cans to carry petrol and these were instantly produced. Gawaine and I had a small bet as to whether they could supply a funnel. The wife pointed to a notice in Indonesian on the cluttered counter which said: WE HAVE EVERYTHING. IF THERE IS SOMETHING YOU DO NOT SEE HERE WE WILL GET IT IN FIVE MINUTES, and a funnel was produced.
We inspected several tins of canned foods nestling among elastic knee-supports and electrical machines that delivered a therapeutic shock, and decided against them. The owner thought we would be unlikely to find much to eat before Tapaktuan and recommended a good square meal of nasi goreng at a restaurant he owned before we left. Instead we laid in a supply of biscuits and stale but excellent cake.
Fortunately enough, Andy was not present at this time: we had bought him cleaning materials, and he was
Chapter Four
T HERE WAS A DISCUSSION before we set off about the policy to be followed with Andy. Our short stay at Weh seemed enormously to have improved him. He had given up locking himself in the car at night and occupied a room in the losmen in which we stayed. Snorkelling, with its revelation of sub-aquatic marvels, had given him something to talk about, and he spoke of the possibility of training to become a diving instructor at Lake Toba as soon as the tourist industry revived. We were all agreed that he suffered while with us not only from fear, but from boredom. It was clear that given the chance he was an active and energetic man, but so far there had been little for him to do but sit in the back of the car, awaiting the time when his services as a guide would be required, and this moment was about to arrive.
We took advice from the manager of the Sultan Hotel where we stayed while in Banda, who told us that so far as he knew buses still went to the small towns at the northern end of the west road, but after that no one could say. Much of the road was under repair, and unrepaired stretches before Tapaktuan were in extremely bad condition, and quite impassable in rain. Bridge replacements in some areas had been suspended as a result of the troubles, necessitating detours through swampy terrain in which anything but a powerful four-wheel-drive vehicle (which our Toyota was not) could expect to get stuck. Against this, although the rains were only a week or two away, the route was as dry now as it would ever be. This was what we wanted to hear, and we threw our odds and ends into the car and made a start.
Our first stop was the lively township of Lhoknga, which had something about it, both in appearance and atmosphere, of Dodge City in the 1860s as depicted in nostalgic old American movies of the western frontier. It was Dodge City in all but the hitching posts, though with the addition, as one turned a corner, of a spectacular but confusing vista of the sea. Lhoknga was full of shops, advertising for the benefit of those who felt like chancing the west coast road that this was the last place for two hundred miles where provisions of almost any kind could be obtained. The general store to which we were taken to stock up was an Aladdin’s cave of essential supplies and domestic bric-à-brac run by a family in a mean street. These people had on display a greater variety of goods, from decorated enemas to masks worn by line-fishermen to deceive the fish, than I had seen in a shop of this kind anywhere in the world.
All round the main cavern ran twelve deep shelves upon which thousands of items were crammed, and passages led off in all directions to stock-rooms under neighbouring premises. Above all there were thirty varieties of washing powder upon the abundant use of which advertisers have been able to persuade Indonesian country folk that their prestige depends.
As so often happens in the case of successful shopkeepers, the people running this emporium were morose. The wife, who served me, although fat and sad was incredibly beautiful. We had to buy spare five-gallon cans to carry petrol and these were instantly produced. Gawaine and I had a small bet as to whether they could supply a funnel. The wife pointed to a notice in Indonesian on the cluttered counter which said: WE HAVE EVERYTHING. IF THERE IS SOMETHING YOU DO NOT SEE HERE WE WILL GET IT IN FIVE MINUTES, and a funnel was produced.
We inspected several tins of canned foods nestling among elastic knee-supports and electrical machines that delivered a therapeutic shock, and decided against them. The owner thought we would be unlikely to find much to eat before Tapaktuan and recommended a good square meal of nasi goreng at a restaurant he owned before we left. Instead we laid in a supply of biscuits and stale but excellent cake.
Fortunately enough, Andy was not present at this time: we had bought him cleaning materials, and he was
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