It's not spelled Indon-easy-ia

Today might have been my most frustrating day travelling, but I also experienced some genuine positives as well.

Here's what my plan was today: take train from Yogyakarta to Surabaya, getting in at 1215, then take a cab from the train station to the bus station to catch a bus to Probolingo, where I'd hop on another bus to get to Cemorro Lawang, the base for Bromo.

Here's what actually happened: I took a train from Yogyakarta to Surabaya, actually had the race card played against me on the train (keep reading for more details...), and got in right on time at 1215. Got a cab from the train station, but was forced to hop out at a gas station to change cabs (again, keep reading for more details). Hopped on an air conditioned bus to Probolingo, and got in at 4pm, thinking I would be right in time to catch a bus to Cemorro Lawang (the guide book says get there before 43opm, and you will be fine). I'm typing this from Probolingo where the local mosque has been broadcasting chants for about the past hour, and will not be heading up to Bromo until the early morning (again keep reading for reasons why).

Generally speaking, my train ride was just fine. I booked eksekutif for a little over 10 bucks US, got my own assigned seat in an air-conditioned cabin, and enjoyed the nice view on the five hour ride.

Between Yogya and Solo, a commotion breaks out behind me. The 4 letter English word that rhymes with truck is tossed around quite frequently, as well as the 5 letter term that refers to females of the canine species. These two words are thrown about with "i don't speak bahasa, doesn't anyone speak english." To my dread, the lady involved in the incident and responsible for educating the fine Indonesians sitting around me in the art of insulting people via the use of English, comes up to me and asks me how much I paid for my ticket. Considering this woman hadn't exactly been the most peaceful and rationally acting person, I inquired as to the reasons for the query. She told me just tell me. And I told her how much it cost.

Something was fishy about the entire situation-- Indonesian train operators don't get involved with foreigners unless there is a significant reason to do so, and even then, in my albeit brief experience with railway related workers, all were either extremely helpful or tried to be extremely helpful.

I look to the Indonesian woman sitting across the aisle from me and give her the universal signal for "I have no idea what just happened" and "I have no idea who this crazy person was." As we pull into Solo, the next stop, she gets off, and the woman returns to me.

That's when the real truth came out.

"They are kicking me off here because I don't have a ticket." I give her a look that basically says, "and what were you expecting to happen?" Then she asks me to give her some money to help pay for the ticket. I simply tell her "no," to which she responds "its because I'm black, right?" and storms off the train.

I was sitting in a state of shock for a good ten or so minutes afterward, not believing what actually just happened. I just had the race card played against me on an Indonesian train. Lady, whoever, and wherever you are, the reason I didn't give you any money isn't because of your race, it is because you created a scene and basically insulted a ton of Indonesians by losing face, and claiming that they should speak English, rather than you knowing how to speak Bahasa (Indonesia, by the way, was a former Dutch colony, so there wasn't a past historical use of English like there are in other parts of the world). I also don't usually give money to people when I am confronted to do so (unless I am paying for a service rendered), especially when there is little chance of me getting that money back.

Fortunately, the train ride improved after that, as I started talking to an Indonesian lady travelling with her daughter, son, and nephew to see her husband (and her children's father) in Surabaya. The 7 year old son could speak surprisingly good english, and after we had chit chatted for a little bit, the mother went to go get drinks and brought me back a bottle of water. I was pleasantly surprised, and somewhat embarrassed by this show of hospitality, but when I reached for my wallet, my seatmate, a lombok native visiting his child who is studying in Solo, told me not to worry.

Instead of money, however, I returned the act of hospitality by offering up one of my own. I opened a can of pringles that I had brought with me, and offered it to every member of the family. It was a really nice time, and it shows just how truly generous and kind Indonesians as a whole are to foreigners who respect their culture and behave properly (these kids, by the way, cheered "yay" when the train started to pull out of the Yogyakarta train station). We exchanged goodbyes at Surabaya, and I complimented the mother for having such a nice family.

Unfortunately, just moments later, I experienced the other side of how Indonesians can be towards tourists.

I went to the information desk to ask how much a taxi would cost to the bus station, and they said 7500, and a cab driver who stalked me was all to eager to take me there for that price. About ten minutes into the drive (the bus station is about 10 km outside the city), he tells me he needs money to pay for petrol. Alarm bells start going off in my head--this has to be a pretty common scam--quote the bule (white person) one price, and have an empty tank that needs to be refilled. As we pull into the gas station, he tells me he wants 70,000 for gas, and that the ride will cost 75,000, not 7500. I immediately get out of the car, grab my stuff and head inside to the service station, where I get the manager to call me a "blue bird taxi"--a reliable and honest taxi company, whose drivers, unfortunately, wait by their cars in train station parking lots, rather than accost you as you leave the station like so many other touts do.

The taxi pulls up, and I offer the manager a tip, which he politely declines. I hop into the taxi, and make it to the bus station right on time (the cab cost about 40,000--still cheaper than taking the other guy).

I hop on the bus to Probolingo, and while the bus is in the station, it is swarmed by touts offering all sorts of goods for sale, some literally handing stuff to me even as I look away and tell them no. Anything that is handed to me is promptly returned, and I am ready for these touts to be kicked off the bus as we start to move.

We get to Probolingo at around 4pm. Being a bule in Probolingo is like being chum in shark infested waters. You suddenly develop a thousand new friends you never knew you had, all chanting Bromo? (at the train and bus station, it was either Bali or Bromo?) Some literally follow you around even though you tell them that you are not interested. At that point, I was about ready to lose it, as I made it clear I didn't want what they were selling, and they just didn't get it.

Lonely Planet says that if you get to Probolingo by 430pm, you are fine to grab a shared bus to Cemorro Lawang. As I soon discover, they are only off by about an hour and a half or so, which means that the only way for me to get to Cemorro Lawang is either by motorbike (80,000), or by taxi (250,000). They also say to go the tourist office at the bus station. They forget to say that the tourist office is owned and operated by a private company that looks out for its own interests, and while it is indeed the place to go to book a bus to Bromo, the guy basically told me and the Hungarian couple there that we were S.O.L. We had three options--motorbike, taxi, or stay the night in Probolingo. I was the only one with a tight schedule, and the Hungarians wanted to stay the night and go in the morning (the strength with which the tourist info guy was pushing the hotel indicated that he was probably getting a commission from it).

I decide to take a motorbike. My first inkling that this isn't the best way to go is when the guy decides to pull out his cellphone and answer a phone call. The second is when something random hits my face. As it gets darker, and the road isn't well lit, I say screw it, and get the guy to head back to Probolingo--I wasn't about to risk being in an accident over some silly view--and Indonesian roads aren't exactly safe in the daytime, let alone the night, given the amount of random traffic on them--people who walk along the roads can't exactly afford to buy reflective gear.

The guy at the tourist office tells me he will take me to Bromo early tmw morning for 300,000 roundtrip. I'm too exhausted and fed up to argue, so I just agree, even though I know I am getting ripped off.

So, I check into this fleabag hotel, joining the euros there, and thank god I'm only staying here for the night.

Of course, as I am on the internet, a guy comes in and tells me that he is willing to share a car with me for 50,000 or 100,000 roundtrip. I want to puke.

If its cloudy tmw morning, I think I just might lose it.