Exploring Madura's Backroads
Originally published in Venture Magazine, April 2011
It
is 8am and Surabaya’s morning rush hour is going at full tilt. A turbulent
maelstrom of bikes, bemos, buses and SUVs is grinding through the heart of the
gargantuan East Java capital, Indonesia’s second largest city. I, astride my
motorbike, am in the thick of it, and I’m looking for a way out. Fortunately I
know exactly where to find one.
I
weave between the wobbling commuters and head north along hectic streets. Soon
I’m riding along a new highway. Two years ago this was a road to nowhere,
petering out amongst the fishponds and kampungs, but now it’s a mainline to
fresh air and green fields.
The
Suramadu Bridge rises ahead, a great hump of concrete and reinforced steel
vaulting across a five-kilometer-wide channel. I pause at the toll gate to hand
over the Rp3000 fee, and then hit the throttle and blaze across the spans. To
the left an expanse of pale water opens. I can see the great fleets of cargo
ships at anchor off Surabaya’s Tanjung Perak port. The sky arcs overhead; I
cross the apex of the bridge, the breeze whistling in the orange suspension cables,
and drop down into Madura.
I
whizz past the ranks of new gift stalls that line the approach road, make a
U-turn to access a little side lane I discovered on my last visit, and am soon
riding through rice fields. Glossy banana plants line the ditches and ranks of
palms and bamboo march towards the distant ridge of limestone hills. The air is
clean and full of the smells of fresh vegetation.
Beyond
a small village in a shady grove of trees I park my bike at the roadside and
scramble up a steep rise to the top of a stony outcrop where I sit back in the
rough grass and breathe deeply. Insects whistle softly and birds are singing. A
warm breeze carries with it a whiff of salt and freshly tilled soil, and green
treetops expand in all directions around me. There is not another human being
in sight. I smile and glance at my watch – 9.30am. Only an hour and a half has
passed, but I am already deep in Madura’s tranquil countryside, and Surabaya is
nothing but a distant smoggy smudge on the southwest horizon…
***
I
first visited Madura more than four years ago. I was living and working in
neighboring Surabaya at the time and it seemed like an obvious place for an
out-of-town weekend adventure by motorbike. It was only when I told my
Indonesian friends and colleagues my plan that I learnt about Madura’s
atrocious reputation.
The
island is Java’s closest neighbor, a 140 kilometer-long hulk of low hills,
forests and fields riding offshore like a ship at anchor, but no other place in
Indonesia has such a negative reputation. According to my friends Madura was
hot, dirty and disgusting. The local specialties sate (miniature kebabs) and
the soto (hearty soup) were tasty, but those were the only things that counted
in its favor. The Madurese people, they said, were rough, rude, aggressive, and
quite possibly dangerous. I’d be lucky if I made it back in one piece.
When
I discovered that none of them had actually been to Madura, I was all the more
determined to go and see for myself. And how glad I was that I hadn’t listened
to the slanderous stories! I soon discovered that Madura was a beautiful
island, a tranquil retreat from big city chaos, and a place where sandy
back-roads through the palm trees led to deserted beaches. As for the local
people, they were warmly welcoming and full of humor. The only thing my friends
in Surabaya had been right about was the sate and the soto – they were
delicious!
Before
long this much-maligned island was my first choice for an escape whenever the
heat and noise of Surabaya wore me down. I would ride my motorbike to the
Tanjung Perak port, drive aboard the rusting car ferry to Kamal, and then blaze
away for a weekend of exploring.
I
tried to convince other people that they should cross the Madura Strait and see
for themselves, but no one would listen. Negative prejudices about the place
run deep in Java, where rebel princes and mercenary armies from Madura caused
headaches for the rulers of the ancient Majapahit and Mataram kingdoms, and
where Madurese migrant workers in modern cities are often viewed with suspicion.
But
now it has become a whole lot easier to reach Madura, and for the first time a
few other inquisitive explorers are discovering the truth about this
misunderstood island…
***
On
10 June 2009 the monumental Suramadu opened to traffic. Long planned, long
delayed, and costing Rp4.7 trillion, it is the first major interisland bridge
in Indonesia and a feat of engineering to boggle the mind.
The
idea behind the bridge was to boost the economy in Madura, but the bridge has
had another side effect. There is no more waiting at the ferry port, no more
traffic jams; getting to Madura is suddenly quick and easy, and inquisitive
Surabaya residents and travelers from further afield are starting to visit.
Most don’t get much further than the end of the bridge where a mass of souvenir
stalls and cafes has sprung up to serve this unexpected tourist trade, but
there’s a whole island waiting to be discovered.
My
own favorite Madura journey – one that I repeat whenever I get the chance – is
a full circuit of the island. I ride first along the main southern road through
the towns of Sampang and Pamekasan. In the dry season the countryside takes on
an ochre-tinted dustiness, but after the rains it is overwhelmingly green. The
road passes through open, airy forest, winds over the knuckles of the limestone
hills, and bends along the stony foreshore.
The
best place to be based for an exploration of Madura is its most easterly town,
Sumenep. People in Java will tell you that the Madurese are uncultured and
crude, but this little royal city is a refined, charming and friendly place. It
was once the seat of a Sultan, and is home to a kraton, a palace, the last one
still standing in East Java Province (of which Madura is a part). There are
Dutch-era villas in the backstreets, a mosque with the most striking and
unusual gateway I’ve ever seen (it looks like a pyramid of yellow and white
icing), bustling covered markets, and a hilltop royal graveyard full of sacred
tombs. The whole place has a sleepy charm, with the rattle of the becak
(pedicab) still ruling over the roar of the motorbike once you leave the main
roads.
But
it is the countryside beyond Sumenep that shows Madura at its very best.
Tobacco fields and dense forest give way to sprawling stands of palm trees and
the road finally stutters to a stop at a huge, empty expanse of yellow sand
backing a blinding blue ocean. This is Lombang Beach. On the weekends families
from Sumenep drive out to drink fresh coconut juice and to dip a tentative toe
in the ocean, but on a weekday you’ll have the place to yourself.
Beyond
the beach the countryside is wilder and more rugged with stony fields running
right down to the shore. This part of Madura looks more like the Mediterranean
than Indonesia, and as I travel along the bumpy lanes here I can sometimes
imagine that I’m on some sun-bleached Greek island.
There’s
softer countryside and another beach at Slopeng, due north of Sumenep, and
villages hidden in the trees where they still make traditional carved masks for
wayang topeng dance performances. This is where some of the very best pieces on
sale in craft shops in Bali and Yogyakarta are made.
I
love to ride my bike along this north coast road, past fishing villages with
brightly painted boats jostling in narrow inlets, empty beaches and
white-walled settlements where they make fine batik. Eventually the hills on
the left fall back to wider, broader rice fields with pale mosques standing
knee-deep in the greenery, and the road turns south through Bangkalan, the main
town in western Madura. And from there it’s just a short hop back to the
bridge.
I’ve
been doing my best to champion Madura as a travel destination ever since my
first visit. It’s always been a hard sell, but thanks to Suramadu’s bridge over
troubled waters there’s no longer any excuse not to make the journey along the
island’s unbeaten tracks to empty beaches, quiet corners and warm welcomes. One
day soon the world might catch on to Madura’s potential as a travel
destination; you might want to get there first, before everyone else…
***
Today
I have no time to make the journey east to Sumenep. This is just a
spur-of-the-moment coming up for air, of the kind I’ve often been making since
Suramadu opened. I scramble back down the hillside and climb back into the
saddle, passing on through more shady villages and open fields where farmers
are plowing with yoked brown cows, and then turning back onto the broad
approach road to the bridge. But before I pay the toll and return to traffic
jams and diesel fumes I have one more stop to make. It’s 11.30am, almost
lunchtime, so I pull over at a roadside warung for a bowl of soto – it is
delicious, after all…
©
Tim Hannigan 2011
1 comment:
This is incredible story
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