Riding A Motorcycle Is the closest thing to Flying
From that day on, every time I get on my motorbike, I remember doctor H.’s words.
Indonesia is motorcycle Country
Rumah Teh Ndoro Donker
(i must add that their job is difficult. Non stop. Poorly paid.)
«Hey why not go there for lunch», I said to Andan.
What the sign did not mention was that the narrow road would climb another 1000 meters and that I would have to negotiate hairpin curves while avoiding the oncoming trucks, buses and Sunday drivers.
Once we had reached the plateau, it was another harrowing descent to the lake.
This was Indonesia Independence weekend, so Sarangan was a bit crowded. Children were riding on small horses that were walked back and forth on the lakeshore and families were enjoying speedboat rides around the lake.
The lake is in a deep valley surrounded by pine trees and mountains.
The fresh, somewhat cool climate, reminded me of the Laurentides in Quebec.
To your health doctor H.
Andan and I hopped on the bike promising ourselves that we would be back at a quieter time.
That night in Solo, I rested my aching back and
lifting my cup of green tea sipping green tea of Mount Sawu,
I whispered: «To your health doctor H.»