The Demon Masseuse – Jakarta

Day 7: The Demon Masseuse – Jakarta

On our second night in Jakarta, we were sat in a bar, sinking suds, watching the football. I returned to our table with a fresh couple of beers. “Hey Mike, do I look especially wretched, desperate and lonely tonight?” “No more so than usual. Why?” “Well, a fifth different prostitute has just offered me her

Sleeping in the back of Suwarno's lorry

Day 4-5: Suwarno – To Jakarta

We waited at the lights until they turned red and then stepped out into the traffic asking each car in turn if we could join them. “Turpan,” we’d mouth, pointing at our sign. It wasn’t long before our actions roused the curiosity of some local children, who, once they understood our intentions, geared up to

The Golden Ticket – Situbondo Police Station

Day 3: The Golden Ticket – Situbondo Police Station

We walked to the police station, took a deep breath and walked inside. We had no idea what we were hoping to achieve. I guess we were just bored of being cooked in the sun. “Do you speak English?” I asked one of the officers. “No,” was the expressionless response. He guided us into another

The Prayer room, Situbondo, Indonesia

Day 2: The Defacement of Fatty’s House – Situbondo, Indonesia

As time whittled away, and the evening turned into night, Fatty arose from his chair. He went inside and brought out a thick black permanent marker pen. He placed it in Michael’s hand and solemnly gestured to the outside wall of his house next to his front door. “He wants me to write on his wall?!”

Day 2: Fatty and one for the shudder bank – Situbondo, Indonesia

Anyone that could speak some English told us that people do not hitchhike in Indonesia. Everyone uses the taxi busses because they are so cheap and plentiful. Eventually, though, someone did stop. I was on my way to the toilet when Mike called me back. In retrospect, I realise it would have saved me a

Mambo - Ubung, Indonesia

Day 1: Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia

The taste of the city was on my lips. Our flipflopped feet were black from pollution, dust, dirt and grime. Another fleet of motorbikes zipped past us, like bullets in a warzone, and I took another breath of hot, smoky air. I looked over at Michael. He was holding our sign “GILIMANUK” behind him, as