Tour de Desa.

Wednesday, the 4th of August 2010 and my turn to choose the P-Day play. So yesterday it was to the bike shop to get our cycles serviced and then early this morning we took to the hills, in search of sawah (rice fields) perfection. Which isn't all that too hard to find, Indonesia-speaking, but what we came home with today goes above and beyond the mark.

First, there was the ride out. Out past the city streets and into two hours of mountain climbing, passing houses and homes and markets and mosques until pretty soon there wasn't anything to pass anymore but wide, open spaces. I kept most of the Phil Liggett commentary to myself, but just couldn't quite keep it in once we hit L'Alpe d'Tumpang and Miller was playing the perfect draft to Martoyo's climb. Something maybe they didn't appreciate? It was rough and it was ruthless, but right past the summit we knew it had been worth it—this was it. This was sawah at its most spectacular.

So we took a sharp left and down into the dirt, balancing our two-wheels along the foot paths between the padi until we hit a sound patch of good ground and then left our bikes locked up against a bamboo bay for further exploring. The boys had already pulled out the kites (the favorite of any village kid, twenty cents at your local warung) and Marno and I set to trekking, picking our way out past the palms and chatting with the farmers along the way. And then, suddenly, what ho? Who's this? Mas Sumariono?

A former investigator I hadn't seen in the last three months, way back when Clancy and Miller had to stop visiting him since he wasn't progressing much and his house was far too far away to justify the weekly ride. But then here he was now, knee-deep in a newly-sown sawah and more than happy to see us. He remembered my name and asked after the Elders and when we told him they were just around the corner and a little bit to the East, he jumped right up to join us—and within the hour had become our de facto tour guide extraordinaire. Because isn't God funny like that sometimes?

With Sumariono at our side we saw a whole new side of sawah we could have never managed on our lonesome; we hiked ravines and crossed rivers and drank coconut milk fresh off the palm tree and chewed on sugar cane right out of the field. We discovered a natural mountain-water swimming pool resort long overgrown from years of disuse and abuse, hitch-hiked in the back of a cow truck, and sat pretty atop an age-old Hindu temple with panoramic views out to the mountains beyond. Spectacular much? We were on top of the world.

And also two hours from home with only one hour to get back there. But here's the happy thing about going up a mountain: heading home is all downhill. And so head home we did, our flying shadows long across the open fields, Elder Martoyo in time-trial mode as he crouched low along the long runs and off into the sunset. E voila! One hour and fifteen minutes later we were back within city limits and with a quick shower out on the streets again. In the kind of rush that leaves you wondering wait—did that just happen?

Though I'm sure we'll have no doubt of the reality come tomorrow morning—all said we did a good fifty miles today, and I can already feel my upper thighs protesting. Ya, sudahlah. Would do it all over again.

love you lots—

E.

*We took this photo with the intent of showing off our rehydration techniques a la coconut milk, but missed the actual coconuts. Oh well. My hat's still cool. I stole it from Mas Sumariono after he asked me to hold it while he climbed the palm tree to retrieve said coconuts with his handy-dandy hand machete.