A stopover in Kupang

I'll precursor this story with the reminder that I am a relative new-comer to this travel thing. Remember that in my adult life I've never really been on holiday on my own, and here I was in a country with nearly no comprehension of language, nature of people or anyone by my side. Though I'm not proud of the way I dealt with the situation, I did learn some lessons along the way.

I arrived on Kupang late on a Monday evening and it was really dark. At the airport was a mass of taxi drivers. I approached one and asked him to take me to the place on my pre-booked accommodation sheet - a £2.50 dorm room at Lavinon Hostel. The guy said yes and then told me to wait. He reappeared with another man and said he will take you. I asked if he knew where we were going. He said yes, so I put my stuff in the car and we set off. It became clear the driver had very little English skills and I was looking very closely (because it was so dark - I couldn't see) through the Indonesian phrasebook for key phrases. We eventually stopped outside a building with a lot of buses outside it - it didn't look like the centrally located hostel I'd booked, or much like a hostel, it looked like a tour bus depot. I looked at my piece of paper - it said 44 Sumatera. There was a sign that didn't say Lavinon Hostel either. The taxi driver had opened the boot and was getting my stuff out and I called to him to stop.

I showed him the address of the place I was staying at in Kupang, and initially he didn't know where I was going to stay. Then it dawned on him. He acknowledged the mistake and we set off again. I reckon we'd stopped a good 5 miles outside of the town. We headed toward the city of Kupang, and he dropped me off for the second time at a hostel called Lavinon. The hostel was a dingy looking place; like somewhere used by drug addicts, it looked deserted, closed, it looked uncared for and dirty from the outside. I gave the driver his money, and when I turn around and looked at the place for a second time it occurred to me the place had the numbers and words "8 Sumatera" written on the front. By the time I'd turned around the driver had gone. That piece of my brain that does "over reaction' went into overdrive. As far as I was concerned the place I'd been dropped off at was not the place I'd booked into.

I was in a street that looked dodgy, off the main stretch - a bit like Cranbury Avenue/ Bevois Valley (Southampton) or Bagshot Street (Walworth). It had locals sat outside a little kiosk smoking and drinking or worse. A man from that kiosk came and started to talk to me about where I was. He said this is the place and like a madman I kept saying, but I'm supposed to be in 44 not 8. He said his name was Tony - he then offered me a lift on his motorbike somewhere. I said no thank you. Tony repeated this was the place and went inside. All I was thinking was "am I going to get ambushed for all my money". With nowhere else to go I went in, with fist clenched and ready to swing my big backpack at the first person to run at me.

When I walked in I saw a pretty dirty, basic, and uncared for hostel. No reception, except for a half naked man, who I was informed, was in charge. On top of this when I spoke to him he had no idea I was due to arrive and to be perfectly honest seemed a little stoned. He showed me the room he had - it wasn't the room I had booked. It was actually better then the room I'd booked. But I still had the fact this wasn't 44 Sumatera, it was 8 Sumatera.

I put my bag down, went out to the communal area and asked Yoshi, (the half naked - now dressed, stoned person in charge) to get me a taxi. I was going to find 44 Sumatera.

I spent a minute or two looking at what information there was on display about the area. I found a map. But I couldn't work out where exactly I was. At this point a European couple came through. I asked where "the hell I was exactly" on the map. They pointed out on the map where I was and I went into my diatribe about number 8 and number 44. They said the best thing to do was go to speak to 'Edwin'. Who was Edwin - he owned the place apparently.

So I decided to see Edwin and then look for 44 Sumatera.

The taxi arrived and I grabbed all my stuff and went into the taxi. The taxi driver drove me 200 metres up the road onto the main stretch and turned left and travelled about another 50 metres and we arrived at Lovinon Bar. My brain was frantic at this point and I decided not to trust the taxi driver, so I asked him to come into the bar with to help with any translations. He dutifully came. The bar looked rough and ready for a fight (to my eyes). I asked people who appeared to live there if I could speak to Edwin. Edwin was a moustachioed man, with Mexican gangster looking tendencies, with no shirt and a waistcoat on. I told him my story and asked him about number 44. He told me that number 8 was the place I had booked. As he was talking a strange thing happen, several people in the bar started interjecting in the conversation - utterly uninvited, which annoyed the teacher in me. A woman, who looked a little 'street walker-like' asked if I'd eaten, and asked me if I would be eating here. I nodded my head, my mouth said yes, but my brain said no.

I took Edwin at his word - I had nowhere else to go, but promised myself I would look for my proper hostel tomorrow. I got in the taxi, we drove the 250 metres back to the hostel and the taxi driver told me the charge was 350,000 Rupiah. The drive from the airport had only been 60000. I laughed at him and told him to try again. He said 200,000. I told him to try again. He said 100,000. I said 50,000, which was still over the odds - but he had come into the bar with no questions, he hadn't stolen my stuff, and he hadn't beaten me up yet. He took the money and went home happy.

Once in the hostel I signed in, told stoned person in charge I'd definitely pay for one night but I was going to look for my proper hostel tomorrow morning. He looked at me like he didn't care or didn't understand.

I went to bed but was up at 4am the following morning -because of the barking dogs, crowing roosters and splashing water from the mandis.

I couldn't get back to sleep and it was soon light, so at 7am I went to Kupang for a walk. What I found was a city in decay by the sea. The potential for it to be pleasant was there but the town like the hostel, uncared for and dirty. Bemos and bike tooted and shouted for trade. They spotted me and realized I was money. I refused as I like walking around to see what's in a new town. The town was ramshackle, the streets broken, not fixed, graffiti everywhere, rubbish everywhere. It was hot and dusty. People stood around with no obvious intention - doing the strange neither standing, sitting position that seems to be adopted in countries like this. As I didn't look like a local I was stared at constantly, which added to my unease.

I'd left the hostel with the intention of;

Finding number 44 Sumatera - it didn't exist, they'd all been right. This was my hostel.

Finding a new hotel - they were all full

Finding food/ clean looking restaurant - success and fairly cheap

Find a ferry company/travel agent to arrange travel for Ende, Flores Island - no luck as it was Sunday, and maps/schedules I had were unreliable.

Find flu medicine - success

Finding a functioning toilet as the one at the hostel had no running water - success at the restaurant.

On my return, I promptly fell asleep. When I awoke there were some Dutch people who were having a meeting with some locals. The locals were helping out the tourist with arrangements. I took the opportunity to grab some time with them. I met a lovely man call Ony who listened to my plans, gave great advice and helped book a flight to Ende, as the next boat was for some time. I began to feel happier. I chatted to some of the other guests - the European couple (from Austria), a Hungarian and some local girls.

That evening, having sorted a flight for the next day, I went for another walk. I don't think it was entirely my frame of mind, but I suddenly saw a different Kupang. There was less traffic as the stretch of road into town had been cut off to allow for a street food market, selling mostly local food. There were shops open, there were lots of people around in a good mood, socializing, eating their evening meal at the market. There was a street performance of some kind that the audience was massively into. I began to like this side of Kupang. It was not the hot, sweaty, dusty and demanding city, as it had been 6 hours previously.

I was going to go back to the restaurant I'd eaten at earlier in the day, when I spotted "Edwin's bar". It took a few minutes to decide to go back into it, but, perhaps you'll be unsurprised to hear on am second glance in a less 'frantic' frame of mind. I found a friendly bar, with useful information. It was from this point onwards that I tried to remember to give this country more of a chance.