navigation equipment, cooking gas,
cans of diesel, the skipper’s passport,
bank cards and money had been sto-
len. We were then in trouble for be-
ing in a country illegally, as the police
told us the next day almost causing
the skipper to almost explode with
frustration. We would have to make
an unscheduled stop at Jakarta to pick
up his new passport. I’d had mine
with me when the boat was robbed,
trusting we wouldn’t be mugged. We
bought more fuel and set off for Jakar-
ta. Turbulence continued without and
within the catamaran. He found fault
with everything I did.
After fisherman pirates came
alongside and demanded food and
fuel which we’d only just replaced,
and we’d had to beg diesel, water and
bread from an offshore oil rig, I vowed
that should I ever make it to land alive,
(which was doubtful because if the el-
ements and pirates didn’t kill me, the
skipper might), I would throw myself
on the mercy of the Indonesian au-
thorities. I’d even languish in an In-
donesian jail but I would not get back
on that boat with that man.
Which is how I found myself whoop-
ing for joy about a week later as I rode
away from the catamaran in Jakarta,
Java. Inasmuch as an Enfield can go
like a bat out of hell, we did. Customs
had given me temporary import doc-
uments and the police broke all the
rules and rewrote new ones for me by
allowing safe passage anywhere in the
country. Heading south-west because
I liked the sound of the names of the
places such as Chickalong and Chill-
inx, it was just me and my bike and I
was ecstatically happy to be back, on
two wheels. Riding until unable to
see where I was going in the dark, I
plunged into a deep pothole and fell
off. I was given overnight accommo-
dation sleeping on a desk in a country
police station and next morning was
given breakfast by the officers.
I liked Java already.
It’s like a great big garden. Hilly
TRAVERSE 90
rice paddies and sometimes volcanoes
fill the landscape outside the towns.
Strange and exotic fruits fill the co-
lourful markets. People were friend-
ly but they didn’t crowd or hassle me.
They were curious about a woman
travelling alone on a dinosaur of a
motorbike and asked to see the pho-
tos of my grown-up daughters. Indo-
nesia is an Islamic country with more
Muslims than anywhere else in the
world and although this didn’t involve
women wearing head-coverings, the
mosques still duelled with each oth-
er at the calls to prayer. In one small
town my guesthouse was at the central
point between three mosques. It was
impossible to miss the dawn reminder
to pray.
The Enfield seemed as relieved to be
back on dry land as I was but there was
a noise coming from the front wheel
and spying a workshop I stopped. A
beaming young mechanic in Maja-
laya had the wheel apart in seconds,
cleaning the brake pads and tighten-