Bus Treachery/Wretchery

Warning: The following post contains graphic imagery of being on a bus.

Mimi at Mojo, looking how she feels

After our experience on Moyo Island, we were pretty eager to get away. We were in the mood to get to Labuan Bajo, Flores, where we would be able to board a tour of Komodo National Park. Flores was just four legs away, ferry from Moyo to Sumbawa Besar, bus from Sumbawa Besar to Bima, bus from Bima to Sape, ferry from Sape to Labuan Bajo. We assumed that after the slow, loud, two hour ferry trip from Moyo, our troubles would be gone and we would be away free.

Flying in to Sumbawa Besar, turn around and go home.

The ferry from Moyo left early in the morning, 7 am. We were already up at 5 from the usual hodge podge of Moyo, and so boarded with time to spare. After getting to Sumbawa Besar we made our way to the bus terminal – unsure of whether we would make the bus to Bima, but not too concerned as this was something out of our control.

Never thought I'd be so acquainted with a bus terminal

On arriving at the bus terminal, there were still several mini-buses sitting around with Bima written on their windscreens, as is the way for mini-buses here. We spoke to the ticket man for that particular mini-bus who told us it would be 240,000 rupiah. We thought it was a bit much but didn’t think too much of it, but we did notice something suspicious when the ticket man then put money in his pocket and passed money to the driver who did the same. The bus was to leave at 12 and would take eight hours to get to Bima. It was currently about 9, so we had time to spare. We figured we’d spend the hours getting money, buying water, and hopefully some food.

Waiting for a bus? Probably not.

Not too long after, we were speaking to a stall owner at the terminal who asked us where we were going, how much it cost us, and whether the bus had air conditioning. Realising that there might be an alternative for a better bus ride, we went to speak to the central authority of the bus terminal. In the office, we were told by terminal staff that at 3pm, there would be a “big bus” that would go direct to Bima with air conditioning, a toilet, tv, and would only take 6 hours to get to Bima. Everyone we spoke to told us how great the big bus was going to be! Having already had a mediocre experience on a mini-bus from Poto Tano to Sumbawa Besar with constant stopping and starting to pick up people on the way, a direct bus where we would only need to be on board for 6 rather than 8 hours sounded ideal. Not only this, the big bus would only cost 240,000 rupiah – the other ticket man had, in fact, pocketed 100,000 rupiah. The terminal staff were eager to help us out so had words with the first ticket man we dealt with and got our money back for us.
I think it was Oscar Wilde who said something like “When faced with two equal options in any decision, always take the one that will result in a better story.” I often try to stick to this, but in this case it was not obvious what would make the better story. Fate would have it that getting our money back from the mini-bus and opting to take the big bus would be somewhat awful for us, and so hopefully more amusing for you the reader.

This dog looked very loyal and had a collar. But it was severely malnourished and had major problems with its back legs.

We sorted out our food, money, and drink, and then continued to wait. At about 1, the 12 o’clock mini-bus left the station. This made us somewhat more happy about our decision to take the big bus. We waited. At 3:30 I spoke to the central staff again, who this time instead told me that there would be big buses to bima at 4:30, 5 and 6. At 4:45 the 3 o’clock big bus flew through the terminal with no sign or intention of slowing down, and then left. Looking somewhat shocked, we were told that that bus was full and we would have to wait for the next one.

Life at the bus terminal. These kids are growing up here and wanted to show off for the camera.

At 6pm, I spoke to the staff again, who this time told me big buses to Bima come through the station between 6 and 9 pm, and if no bus came by 9 we would have to go to a hotel or wait on one of the small buses that would leave to Bima at 4 in the morning. At this moment the next big bus flew in, and I ran out the door and to flag down the bus with all my might. Being more rational, we might have opted to stay in Sumbawa Besar another night, and take an early bus to Bima the next day. But with the desperation having already waited some 9 hours for a bus, we got onto the bus without too much thought of what was sensible. Frustrated and already tired from the long wait, we were finally away free.

Is this children's table the inspiration for Bojack Horseman?

Getting onto the bus, we could see that the bus was very crowded. As we walked down the aisle people shuffled around and we were ushered to our seats; two rows from the back, right next to the back door and diagonal from the toilet. As I moved along the smell of cigarette smoke was strong, but also with every breath in I could feel my lungs struggling under the aroma of musty armpits and cheesy feet – the same smell that can also be perfectly described by the smell of the durian fruit. But still, a bus is a bus, and we were away free.
As we began to drive away from Sumbawa Besar, the direct bus to Bima began making stops every so often to let people on or off. Every time this happened, people leaned heavily on my seat to get into the back “storage area” (see any empty space) to pull boxes and bags out. The effect of this was eventually my chair was almost completely horizontal, as the reclining seats had no stopper in them. No matter how many times I brought it back, the constant pushing and shoving would take it back down.
As we were leaving Sumbawa Besar, we caught glimpses of flooded terraced rice fields with stunning mountains in the background. Quickly these views, the sole reason we endure travel by land, disappeared into the night. Realising what getting onto the bus so late meant in terms of viewing the countryside, I was incredibly annoyed. I tried not to let this get to me, and let the swaying of the bus rock me to sleep – I had no choice in laying down, after all.
About an hour and a half later, I woke by almost falling out of my chair. Some combination of the fruitful stench, the insane driving, and the Pocarit Sweat – a sweet drink I had downed at the bus station earlier -  were not agreeing with each other and had left me with the all too familiar feeling that everyone loves to forget – the one of your stomach being upside down and its contents in your throat. The bus was now lurching around corners at an incredible pace. You see, we had thought the bus would save two hours by not stopping to pick up and drop off people along the way. This was not the case, and the bus was saving two hours by driving as if it were the protagonist bus of the movie Speed. After about 2 minutes of wondering whether I could stand any more of this, I made my way into the toilet.
In Indonesia, it is customary for bathrooms to have a big bucket of water with a smaller scooping bucket floating inside next to the toilet. Instead of toilet paper, there are just 3 small seashells you are supposed to scoop water out of the bucket and clean yourself, and then scoop water into the toilet to flush it. On trying to enter the bus toilet, I found that this bus was no exception, and there was a large bucket of water filling the entire floor space of the already cramped bathroom sliding back and forward, sloshing water onto the floor with every sweep and turn of the bus along the mountainous road. Facing the toilet, I put my feet up next to it and braced my back against the opposite facing wall. In this position I wretched and vomited a little, trying only to let it happen on the right turns to make sure I didn’t get covered in my on vomit. Getting a little out and feeling a little better, I made my way back to the seat. We were away free.
I sat awake, still feeling queasy, trying to make out what was going on in the night outside. We were now on a major uphill, and I was enjoying the slower speed of the bus. Right up until we slowed down to a stop, and began rolling backwards. I briefly thought we were going to die as the bus gained speed in reverse, but it eventually slowed and stopped. The driver and other staff got off the bus and I quickly took advantage of the stop to also get some fresh air. I went around the back to see what was happening, and found the staff pulling out pistons from the engine, cleaning all the gunky oil off with a toothbrush, washing powder, and toilet water. Knowing I couldn’t be of any help, I walked to the front of the bus to notice we were sitting on a blind corner. Wanting so desperately to be away free, I walked up to the corner with my headlamp and put the emergency flashing light on. I was glad I did this as many trucks and buses came the other way, all but one managing to slow to stopping speeds before passing our bus on the road. The one other? As I saw it coming it was cutting corners and driving in the middle of the lane. It missed our bus by about a foot, and I believe it would’ve collided if I wasn’t slowing traffic down. Finally the bus fired up, and with a toot of the horn all the smokers threw away their cigarettes and boarded again. We were away free, extra fresh cigarette smell on those around us.
The heat and humidity outside meant that as soon as the bus was turned off, the frost on the air conditioning started melting. We saw people in front of us reaching up to the vents above their head, often with the curtain from the window. After a big right turn we understood why when water started pouring out of the vents and speaker above us. We jammed the curtain into the vent to catch most of the water and Mimi sat on my lap for a while to get out of the line of fire. Eventually the air con unit had cooled down enough or the condensation had all run out, and we were again away free.

The bottom right sign should be in all public places

After about four and a half hours of travel, the guy across the aisle from me pulled a bag of durians out from under his feet and sat it on the box full of chickens between us. If you haven’t dealt with durians before, see my description of their smell above. But to really understand, you need more than a description of the smell, you need to understand the potency. Imagine you work in an open office space, and your coworker who sits next to you is having prawn head soup for lunch. They zap the hell out of it in the microwave then eat it in the chair next to you, slopping it over your desks and letting the aroma fill the air. This would be more pleasant than being near durians. The extra blast of their stench set me right off and I moved to an empty spot closer to the center of the bus – the bus that was previously packed full and is a direct bus with no stops to Bima. This didn’t last long and I was soon found myself back in the awkward brace position in the toilet. There was no holding back this time, spewing like a sailor, and unfortunately this round my timing wasn’t as well executed as previously - a large left turn sending me into my own stream, straight from the faucet. Feeling much better now with an empty stomach, I cleaned up as best I could and made my way out. Durian man had left the direct bus to Bima with no stops and I was able to have a sleep again. Finally away free.
After five hours on the bus, we started making even more stops than we had before. To make the end of the trip memorable, the air con was turned off to make the whole bus a hot box that smelled of a toilet ruined by more than just me. After six and a half hours, the direct bus with no stops from Sumbawa Besar to Bima that had left with more than a full load arrived at the Bima bus station with a handful of people on board.
We trudged over to the hotel conveniently right next to the bus terminal, ignoring calls to sleep on the bus that would allegedly leave for Sape early in the morning. At 12:30 am we crawled into bed, dazed and confused, beaten and bewildered by the turn of events.

Markets at Bima

Kids stopped playing for a photo

Nice scenery, hard city.

We agreed that we would sleep in the next day and make our way to Sape whenever we could, if we made the afternoon ferry to Labuan Bajo then we would take it, and if not we would just spend the night in Sape. After getting up at 8:30, we spent a few hours wandering the streets of Bima. The city was mostly awful, poverty and slums all over the place. We looked for food but couldn’t find anything aside from the usual dry spicy chicken that’s been cooked to death and sitting in a shop window for who knows how long. I was in no mood to eat, still nauseated from the day before, and Mimi was in no mood to eat dried out chicken. We headed back to the bus station at 12:15 as we had earlier been told a bus for Sape would leave at 1. At 1:30 the mini bus left the station and drove around the market area of Bima, picking people up and loading the roof and floor space with rice bags and chicken feed.

Sights from the mini bus

Sights from the mini bus

This guy loaded and unloaded everyone's stuff on the minibus, hurling big items up onto the roof. He picked up his daughter along the way.

We now appreciated the particulars of the mini bus, much nicer than the big bus – going slow over the mountains. The scenery was really pretty and the fresh air of the open doors and windows was much better than any air conditioning. We made it to Sape with time to spare for the 5 pm ferry and at the time of writing we are 1 hour in to the 6 hour trip.

The harbour from the dock

Taking selfies with other people is now my life. Everything else is second to people getting a photo with me.

The harbour from the ferry.

I’m not sure what we, or anyone, can learn from this story; but I hope you enjoyed it. We are certainly settled on what makes for better transport, and we probably won’t be valuing the advice of others regarding ideal transit too highly anymore.

The harbour from the ferry

Mimi napping on the ferry from Sape to Labuan Bajo