Over breakfast we met some ex-pat Brits who thought I was from Yorkshire or Lancashire and that Beth was my wife. Wrong. The bemo down to Probolinggo was almost as hairy as the journey up and it seemed to put Oz into a state of shock. When we arrived at the travel office it soon became apparent that something was amiss. They'd booked us on a bus that didn't exist. Somebody did some organising and we caught a couple of becaks to the bus station. We were shown to the bus and it left at 12 noon. Everything seemed OK.
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| Leaving Yoshi's for another helllish minibus ride |
We were initially sat at the front but after several minutes of Javanese bus driving we decided our lives were safer at the back. The buses are generally the biggest and fastest things on the road so they just overtake whenever and wherever they want, horns blaring as they go. Blind corners and hills made no difference. We had many close scrapes with petrol tankers and other buses and I decided the best way to stay sane was to look as little as possible.
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It started to rain, the bus leaked all over and we seemed to stop everywhere. It soon became obvious the journey was going to take longer than the 7 hours we'd been told. We arrived at Solo and were told that we'd have to change buses. In the confusion of dragging our bags off and finding the right bus our conductor grabbed Beth's breast and then ran off laughing. She was very upset but we all tried to ignore it. Unfortunately the bus journey from Solo was crowded and uncomfortable which seemed to make us all the more angry.
At Yogya there was only 1 person trying to sell his accommodation so we hired a minibus and went there. The Metro was almost a hotel and by far the best thing that had happened all day.
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