hitchhiking

Selimut Debu 94: Parade Gunung-Gunung

Seperti keledai tua dengan bawaan berat di punggungnya yang terengah-engah, truk Kamaz perlahan mendaki pinggang gunung. Truk merayap perlahan menyusuri tebing curam. Jalan berbelok ke kanan, naik sedikit, balik ke kiri, naik sedikit lagi, berbelok ke kanan lagi. Setiap belokan truk harus berhenti. Perjuangannya sungguh tak mudah. Matahari membakar, debu halus membungkus rapat-rapat. Bahkan di dalam badan mobil pun aku merasakan mesin truk sudah begitu panas, seperti hampir meledak. Keringat menetes di pelipis Jaffar. Gas sudah ditekan keras-keras, Kamaz tak mau juga merangkak naik. Kendaraan ini mengeluarkan bunyi keras menjengkelkan. Semburan asap hitam bercampur dengan debu halus beterbangan. Sekarang jalan pun tak terlihat, tertutup rapat oleh selimut debu dan gas beracun. Kenek berlari ke arah kepulan debu. Dengan gerakan tangannya, ia menunjukkan ke mana truk harus membelok. Jalanan ini sangat curam sehingga Kamaz harus berhati-hati mendaki. Sedikit halangan saja, kendaraan raksasa ini bisa meluncur kembali ke bawah. Di dalam badan truk, kami gerah. Mesin truk ini sudah luar biasa panas sehingga udara pegunungan yang sejuk pun terasa begitu membakar. Setiap tikungan truk harus berhenti beberapa menit, mendinginkan mesin, persiapan untuk tanjakan berikutnya. Setapak, setapak, setapak… pendakian ke puncak Gazzak seperti tak kunjung berakhir. Jaffar berjingkrak kegirangan, dua jam kemudian. Emosinya [...]

March 6, 2014 // 3 Comments

Selimut Debu 93: Jangan Baca Buku

”Jalan Lintas Tengah” bagaikan parade bukit-bukit debu yang membentang antara Herat sampai ke Kabul, melintasi daerah kekuasaan dinasti kuno Ghorid yang tenggelam oleh ratusan pegunungan. Hanya mereka yang tangguh mampu bertahan di sini. Garmao terletak di tengah jalan utama antara menuju Cheghcheran, ibu kota provinsi Ghor. Tetapi jangan bayangkan ”jalan utama” ini adalah jalan raya yang ramai dilewati segala macam angkutan. Sama sekali tidak. Ini adalah jalan sempit berdebu. Lumpur di sana-sini. Yang banyak melintas adalah keledai, kawanan domba, dan gembala padang. Tengah hari, aku mulai bosan menghitung keledai lewat. Baru ketika aku berbalik ke arah warung, dari kejauhan terlihat debu mengepul. “Truk datang! Truk datang!” bocah-bocah berlarian, berteriak kegirangan, seolah disiram debu yang beterbangan tergilas roda truk adalah hiburan di tengah kebosanan dusun sepi ini. Aku pun sama riangnya dengan mereka. Aku memanggil pemilik warung untuk berbincang dengan sopir truk. Ini adalah barisan dua truk. Sopir dan keneknya meloncat turun untuk makan siang di warung seberang jalan. Kakek pemilik warung bermata satu juga bergegas menghampiri mereka, membujuk sopir untuk mengangkutku sampai Cheghcheran. “Empat ratus Afghani!” kata sopir tegas. Delapan dolar. Sama sekali tak murah. Dia beralasan risiko mengangkutku yang orang asing ini begitu besar, ada Taliban yang mengincar orang [...]

March 5, 2014 // 5 Comments

Selimut Debu 92: Peradaban yang Hilang

Hidup itu ada naik turunnya. Begitu Nassir Ahmad menyimpulkan perjalanan panjang dirinya. Demikian pula perjalanan peradaban bangsa Afghan. Sebuah negeri megah pernah berdiri di puncak kejayaannya, dan kini yang tersisa adalah debu-debu tanpa makna. Terpana. Nyaris aku tak percaya menyaksikan ini. Di tengah kepungan gunung-gunung cadas dan tandus, tiba-tiba muncul sebuah menara menakjubkan—kemegahan yang muncul dalam kekosongan. Badannya kurus, menjulang setinggi 65 meter. Bentuknya yang tinggi ramping, sedikit doyong, namun justru memancarkan aura karena daya tahannya melintasi zaman ratusan tahun di tengah bebatuan cadas yang mengurungnya. Menara itu muncul tiba-tiba, tak terduga, tepat ketika Nassir Ahmad membelokkan mobilnya ke arah lembah. Siapa sangka di tempat terpencil seperti ini ada bangunan kuno yang berdiri dengan anggun? Siapa sangka setelah perang puluhan tahun yang menghancurkan Buddha raksasa Bamiyan dan gua-gua Buddha di seluruh penjuru negeri, minaret ini masih tegak tak terjamah? Minaret Jam, dindingnya diselimuti ukiran ayat-ayat Al Quran dan puja-puji terhadap Sultan Ghiyasuddin, sang raja Dinasti Ghorid, yang menaklukkan kekuasaan Ghaznavi dan pada saat bersamaan mendirikan masjid kuno di Herat yang masih gemerlap dan agung hingga hari ini. Lalu mengapa menara ini berdiri merana, sendirian di tempat sunyi ini? Di sekitarnya tak ada reruntuhan bangunan yang menemani. Kalau ia menara masjid, [...]

March 4, 2014 // 4 Comments

Selimut Debu 91: Bukan Saat Berkeluh Kesah

Barangku yang hilang telah menghebohkan seluruh warung. “Peida misha. Peida misha. Pasti ketemu…” begitu kata mereka berulang kali untuk menenangkanku. Tanpa sepengetahuanku, pemilik warung kembali lagi ke ruangan. ”Saudara-saudara! Barang yang hilang itu besar sekali artinya bagi si orang asing itu. Siapa yang melihat, tolong kembalikan!” Semuanya ikut mencari, tanpa tahu apa yang mesti dicari. Pemilik warung melangkah lebih jauh. Ia meminta semua penumpang yang menginap di warungnya untuk berbaris membawa barang masing-masing. Semua akan digeledah untuk memastikan tidak ada yang mencuri barangku. Sepuluh menit berlalu. Keringat terus bercucuran walaupun udara begitu dingin. Sopir kembali lagi memeriksa ke dalam mobilnya. Ia keluar dengan senyuman. Hard disk-ku ada di tangan kanannya. “Barangmu sudah ketemu!” Kecerobohanku sudah mengobrak-abrik kedamaian malam di Garmao. Hard disk itu rupanya jatuh dari kantong waktu aku berdesak-desakan di dalam Falang Coach, terguncang-guncang melewati jalanan penuh lubang. Pemilik warung membisikiku, sebenarnya ada penumpang yang mencuri dari kantongku dan menyembunyikan di dalam mobil. Entahlah, aku tak peduli. Yang jelas setelah mendapatkan kembali barang berharga ini, hatiku dipenuhi bunga-bunga. Suasana di dalam warung pun penuh kebahagiaan. Dua puluhan penginap bertepuk tangan dan merangkulku, penuh haru. Seheboh itukah? Sopir Falang Coach sangat khawatir kalau aku harus tidur di dalam penginapan ini [...]

March 3, 2014 // 3 Comments

Selimut Debu 90: Pasti Ketemu

Kerusakan yang dialami truk Kalandar kali ini teramat parah. Sekarang, giliranku untuk berjuang sendirian. “Tak ada harapan,” kata Kalandar, ”Maaf, kami tak bisa membawamu lebih jauh lagi. Malam ini kami pun terpaksa tidur di sini. Kamu cari kendaraan lain saja. Kamu sebaiknya berhenti sampai Garmao, bukan di Kamenj. Kalau tidak ada kendaraan, berhenti saja di desa berikut.” Aku melangkah gontai menuruni bukit. Hati kosong. Bagaimana kalau mesti terjebak di jalan pegunungan ini? Tak ada listrik yang menerangi kegelapan malam, tak tahu harus melangkah ke mana. Bagaimana kalau desa berikut penduduknya tak ramah? Bagaimana kalau diserang perampok atau serigala di tengah jalan? Bagaimana kalau terpaksa tidur di jalan? Dinginnya malam pegunungan sungguh tak terbayang, apalagi aku tak punya cukup baju hangat. Setengah jam berjalan, tiba-tiba sebuah Falang Coach melintas. Berlalu begitu saja. Lalu sepeda motor, juga tak menghiraukanku yang berjalan sendirian. Aku terus berjalan menuruni bukit. Aku melihat bayangan mobil berhenti di tepi sungai di bawah sana. Ah, pertanda baik. Sekarang waktu salat Magrib, dan orang Afghanistan tidak akan mau terlambat barang semenit pun untuk mendirikan salat. Aku bergegas ke arah mobil yang sekitar setengah kilometer di bawah. Semoga mereka belum berangkat. “Tolong… aku orang asing,” aku merengek memelas di hadapan [...]

February 28, 2014 // 3 Comments

Selimut Debu 89: Kebakaran

Kalandar adalah jenis orang yang kucari-cari sejak tiga hari terakhir—sopir truk. Dia sedang sibuk memperbaiki truknya yang rusak. Truk miliknya itu adalah jagoan, Kamaz, truk berbodi hijau buatan Rusia yang terkenal ketangguhannya di medan berat, sangat cocok untuk jalanan Afghanistan yang bergerunjal di lintasan pegunungan. Entah sudah berapa puluh tahun umur kendaraan ini. “Jangan khawatir,” katanya, ”kamu boleh menumpang.” Ia hanya meminta ongkos seratus Afghani untuk membawaku sampai ke Kamenj. Bukan basa-basi, semoga. Sejam berikutnya, aku sudah duduk di badan truk di samping sopir dan rekan-rekannya. Ini adalah tempat kehormatan karena para penumpang lain harus duduk di bak terbuka bersama tumpukan barang yang berkarung-karung. Kalandar orang Tajik. Ia membawa tiga awak. Yang satu mekanik, dalam bahasa Dari disebut masteri, tetapi semua orang di sini memanggilnya dengan lafal Misteri. Namanya sudah tenggelam oleh profesinya. Masteri kami adalah orang Tajik, bertubuh tambun dan berjenggot kriwil-kriwil. Kalau mobil rusak di jalan, ia bertanggung jawab memperbaiki karena dia yang paling mengerti soal mesin. Dua awak lainnya adalah kenek, asisten sopir. Kenek bertugas mengangkut atau menurunkan barang, membantu sopir dan mekanik kalau ada kerusakan, memasak makanan, menunjukkan jalan waktu menyeberang sungai atau mendaki tebing terjal, dan segala pekerjaan tetek-bengek lainnya. Umumnya mereka masih muda dan [...]

February 27, 2014 // 1 Comment

Garis Batas 17: Padang Gembala

Anak-anak Kirghiz bermain di dekat truk Kamaz. (AGUSTINUS WIBOWO) Semalam di Alichur, tidur di dalam stolovaya, di atas lantai dingin dan dibungkus selimut tebal yang kotor, mungkin bukan idaman semua petualang. Supir-supir truk yang tidak saya kenal dan saya ingat wajahnya, kecuali satu dua orang saja, tidur berjajar seperti ikan yang digelar di pasar. Dalam kegelapan total, suara dengkuran sahut menyahut, seakan bersaing dengan lolongan anjing-anjing gembala di luar sana. Tak bisa tidur, saya membuka mata. Yang terlihat hanya hitam. Tiba-tiba sebuah tangan merangkul saya. Di warung yang sempit ini memang tidak banyak tempat. Saya berbagi tikar dan selimut dengan Dudkhoda, pria Tajik yang menjadi teman bicara saya. Tak tahu apa artinya pelukan ini. Mungkin dia sudah pulas. Tapi, tidak terdengar dengkuran dari mulutnya. Ada hembusan napas yang lebih cepat dari biasanya. Saya diam saja. Tiba-tiba telapak tangan asing itu meraba-raba tubuh saya. Aduh, apa lagi ini? Bau vodka tercium kuat. Dudkhoda tidak sedang tidur lelap. Sepertinya ia butuh sesuatu untuk pelampiasan hasratnya. Suara dengkuran supir-supir Kirghiz masih bersahutan tanpa henti, seperti konser orkestra. Perjuangan Dudkhoda pun tidak pernah berhenti. Berkali-kali saya mengembalikan tangan itu ke tempat yang seharusnya. Berkali-kali pula tangan itu mendarat lagi di atas tubuh saya. Malam [...]

June 9, 2013 // 0 Comments

Cosmopolitan Men (2006): Menapaki Sejarah Panjang Negeri Afghan

December 2006 COSMOPOLITAN MEN 2006 ADVENTURE Lintas Tengah Afghanistan: Menapaki Sejarah Panjang Negeri Afghan Sebuah jalan membentang sepanjang 1000 km antara Herat dan Kabul. Jalan ini sepi. Jalan ini bisu. Tapi dia menyimpan lebih banyak cerita dari pendongeng terbaik di dunia. Mari kita berjalan dan mendengar ceritanya. Ada sebuah jalan di Afghanistan. Jalan yang sepi, berteman debu, panas dan matahari. Tanpa aspal, berbukit tandus, bergunung tinggi, tanpa peradaban dan tanpa hidup. Kontras dengan kenyataan bahwa jalan ini menyimpan 800 tahun cerita. Cerita tentang Hulagu Khan yang membawa 120 ribu pasukan dalam perang. Yang bertanggung jawab atas pembunuhan peradaban Islam di Irak. Atau legenda tentang si Pincang Timur Lenk, keturunan marga Khan yang mencoba ulangi kejayaan leluhurnya. Herat, Angin Sejarah yang Berlalu Kota Herat di bagian barat Afghanistan dulunya adalah ibukota kerajaan Timur Lenk. Di kota ini kebudayaan Persia berharmoni dengan indahnya dengan kebudayaan Afghan. Arsitektur Masjid Jum’at-nya, kolosal. Benteng lkhtiyaruddin berdiri dengan angkuhnya di atas pasar-pasar tradisional yang sibuk, yang hampir semua orangnya mengenakan surban. Dinasti-dinasti yang dulu berkuasa di sini banyak membangun menara-menara megah atau kompleks bangunan religius seperti masjid dan madrasah. Namun sayang, perang berkepanjangan sejak zaman Inggris hingga era Taliban telah menghancurkan hampir semua kekayaan Herat. Yang [...]

December 20, 2006 // 0 Comments

Osh – Goodbye Tajikistan

Finally… the truck. And a new country Maybe it was because of the falling stars. When I woke up very early, about 7, as I couldn’t sleep at all the whole night, I saw two trucks were having custom check in Khurshid’s border post. These were trucks owned by Kyrgyz drivers from Kyrgyzstan. My Kyrgyz host helped me with a negotiation (‘chakchak’ in Tajik) with the drivers, and they agreed to take me as far as Sary Tash for 20 Somoni. Sary Tash would be the first Kyrgyzstan city to be approached from here. I was not the only passengers of the trucks. There was already an old Kyrgyz man with his family. The trucks were taking sheep and yaks. The drivers didn’t have document to transport these animals to Kyrgyzstan, so the numerous checkpoints along the road had to be really fuelled by money to smooth up the way. This is the way the business done. Tajikistan’s Pamir region is famous of its animal products, raised by the Kyrgyz and Pamiri Tajik herders. Animals are brought from the mountain areas in GBAO to the bazaar city of Osh in south Kyrgyzstan, where they may gain profit. Then to return [...]

November 4, 2006 // 0 Comments

Kara Kul – Get Me Outta Here!!!

It;s beautiful. It’s surreal. But I wanna leave! I really regretted to refuse yesterday’s offer to take the truck lift to Kyrgyzstan. My Tajik visa is going to expire tomorrow (November 4) and I just found on Fridays (like today), transport is extremely difficult. The day is very cold and windy. I have to stand next to the main road, waiting for any vehicles. The first truck passes at 12 and it was full of passengers. The next two hours there was no vehicle at all passing the highway. Khurshid takes me to local stalovaya (canteen) and asks the girl to give me the best food. Khurshid promises to treat me, ‘a poor spion (spy) without money who has to travel on trucks’. I asked how much. The girl said, “Beker! Beker!” I jumped as I was surprised. This happened to be a fatal language misunderstanding. In Tajik Persian, the language which I understand, it means ‘no penis’. I explained to the girl that I had, but she only speaks Kyrgyz, and doesn’t understand my Tajik. Later I understood that it means ‘free of charge’ or ‘no cost’ in Kyrgyz. Khurshid laughed and ridiculed me, “I paid already with my [...]

November 3, 2006 // 0 Comments

Murghab – The Dudkhoda’s Family

Boys of Murghab, in front of Tajik banner with the tricolor flag and coat-of-arms, of which important element is a snow mountain “Pamir will be better…. Pamir will be better….” – Dudkhoda My first impression of this 39 year old Tajik man was really not so good. this man tried to hug me and kiss me when I was sleeping next to him under the same blanket on the floor in the Kyrgyz restaurant in alichur packed by the Kyrgyz drivers. He also made me to pay his bills in the restaurant. But later I found that he had story worth to tell. He arranged for me a seat in the Kyrgyz truck, along with him, who returned to his home in Murghab. He was actually a passenger of the truck, not being able to pay the ride with money but offered the drivers a dinner in his hosue in Murghab. I came along with him, sitting along the way to Murghab (100 km) for free. Just near Murghab, there were two military checkpoint. The Kyrgyz drivers failed to do registration and they became easy target of the military man in the small dormitory. “Hey, brother, you should follow the [...]

October 29, 2006 // 0 Comments

Lal o Sar Jangal – Coach Day

They promised to take me along with their trucks Cheragh was his nickname, literally means ‘lamp’. I don’t really know why he was called like that. He was a fat Hazara truck driver whom I talked with yesterday. He was agree to give me a lift up till Panjao, in Bamiyan province. Cheragh had interesting history. He spent 2 weeks in an island near Jakarta, of which he ever didn’t know the name. North of Jakarta, there are hundreds of small islands which are called as ‘thousand islands’. He, together with other 400 Afghans, was in a ship to Australia from Malaysia, their adventure for getting a better life, a dream from their warring country, 6 years ago. “The Indonesian government didn’t give us permission. Australia also didn’t give us permission,” They failed to get refugee visas even from Indonesia, and the archipelago government just allowed them to stay in an isolated island for two months. The government provided them food anyway, and the Indonesians they saw were only army who sent the food to the island. Thus Cheragh had not much other impression of Indonesia but its good weather and abundant water. Cheragh was a truck driver, who got [...]

September 18, 2006 // 0 Comments

Chekhcheran – The Capital of Ghor Province

A boy from Chekhcheran selling bushes for fire. “We are the center of Afghanistan. But why we are so poor?” – a villager from Chekhcheran The capital of Ghor province was a famous arena in Afghan history pages. It was mentioned many times by Babur, the great Moghul emperor. It was also expecting to prosper much further in 1970’s when there was a plan to build road through the Central Route of Afghanistan, thus connecting the Europe as far as to New Delhi. But Chekhcheran today was an isolated town, far from both Herat and Kabul, suffering Taliban attacks in few years back, and now was desperate for further development. The road in the whole province was unpaved, and it was not lit by electricity at all. The whole province had to rely on private generators to produce local electricity to watch TV (no radio signal in the whole province), light the rooms, listen to Indian songs, and run businesses. At night, it was a complete dark. “We are the center of Afghanistan,” said a local man, “but why we are so poor? Why our life is so difficult?” Chekhcheran, geographically, located exactly at the center of Afghanistan. The man [...]

September 17, 2006 // 0 Comments

Chekhcheran – The Journey to Chekhcheran

Other passenger hitchhiking together with me “This is not the place for humans. This is place for animals” – a driver from Chekhcheran The one-eyed hotel owner of Garmao was a very good man. Not only he conducted body search (taloshi) for the passengers sleeping in his restaurant to find my lost harddisk, he also helped me to get a truck lift from Garmao to the provincial capital of Chekhcheran. There were only two trucks passing the lonely village that day, after I had been waiting for more than 24 hours. The owner, a slim, bearded man, was reluctant to take me. He quoted 400 Af price which was very expensive, as he said, he was afraid that Taliban would specially targeted foreigners. It was only an excuse. The hotel owner, with his big voice, insisted him to take me. He was very authoritative, even the truck owner was afraid of him. Traveling by truck was far more interesting, comfortable, and cheap way of traversing the mountainous area of Afghanistan. It was slow. It broke often. The average speed was less than 7 km/hour. And it had comfortable seat. It was comfortable if you didn’t get the open air seat [...]

September 16, 2006 // 0 Comments

Garmao – The Minaret of Jam

The legendary Minaret of Jam “What was illegal has to be legal now, but what is legal is still illegal.” – Mohammad Yousuf Nassir Ahmad, a driver from Heart, owned a Mazda truck. His Mazda served as a public transport to the villages along the Central Route of Afghanistan, especially for those in Heart and Ghor provinces. From Garmao, some traders from the Jam village hired his car to transport their trading goods, and Nassir offered me a ride to the historical minaret of Jam. We departed from Garmao at 5:30 in the morning, delayed an hour from the initial planned time. Garmao, literally means ‘hot water’, seemed got its name in mistake, as the morning was extremely freezing. The truck had been loaded by goods of the traders, from rice, wheat, until strawberry jam and carbonated drinks Zam Zam from Iran. We, the hitch-hikers, sat on the open truck on the trading goods. The wind was very strong, and chilled. The rugged hills of Ghour province. Transport in this province is difficult and its isolation prevents this province, which has played an important role in Afghan history, from further development. Jam is located 10 km away from Garmao. There [...]

September 14, 2006 // 0 Comments

Garmao – The Journey to Jam

Travellers (musafirs) sleeping on the floor of restaurant along the central route of Afghanistan. The restaurants also serve as hotel for passengers. Along the isolated Central Route, the most common way of travelling is by hitchhiking a truck, like these. “Peida misha (it will be found)” – a passenger from Herat Same quote as a previous post from Iran, same story to be happened (again). After waiting for two days for transport heading east from Chisht, at last I found these two trucks. They were repairing the broken trucks when I came there out of the Chisht bazaar together with Abdurrahman, a boy from the village. Kalendar, one of the truck drivers, agreed to take me. But I had to wait 2 more hours until they finished repairing the broken truck. The night before, I had talked with another truck driver in the Iqbal restaurant to take me to Kamenj. The driver quoted astronomical price of 500 Af for the ride (normal price was 100 Af by truck). I bargained it down until 150 Af. He agreed and told me to be prepared at 8 a.m. But this was a Persian taarof culture, refusing but avoiding saying ‘no’. The truck [...]

September 13, 2006 // 0 Comments

Chisht-o-Sharif – The Journey through the Central Route

With s0 many locals with Mongoloid face, no wonder they also think I am part of them “Where in Afghanistan Indonesia is?” – a passenger from Obey My today had nothing to do with the remembrance of the September 11 accident. So was the life in this part of Afghanistan. Everything was just the same as it was in any other days. I started my journey to Kabul through the Central Route of Afghanistan, passing through the mountainous areas from Herat, Ghor, and Bamiyan provinces. I had heard that the bus to Obey, the first stop of the Central Route, departed from Darb-e-Khosh near the Friday Mosque. When I was there, there was no car at all. There was another old villager with big sack like that of Santa Claus, as confused as I was. After asking around, we found that we were waiting at the wrong place. The old man told me that we should take a rickshaw to the bus terminal. There was a mini bus going to Obey, 2 and half hours away from Herat. The ticket was 90 Af. The old man was still thinking I was a Hazara from Ghor province, as I told him [...]

September 11, 2006 // 0 Comments

Hunza – From Sust to Karimabad

The icy road of Hunza Today decided to go back to Karimabad. During the stay in the Upper Hunza area, there is a very big problem: electricity. Due to failure of generator in Khyber, a village next to Pasu, the villages in Upper Hunza has to wait for its turn for electricity. One in 4 days the electricity comes to a village. I missed both in Sust and Chapursan. So that my memory cards are full, my batteries are finished, my harddisk couldnt start, completely I cant take any more photos. The main reason to leave is that actually I missed the food and hot in Karimabad. Before starting, my Sust friend and I had breakfast together in Sust. Practising my Urdu, I was joking with them that I was very poor, but I could earn money when I didnt have enough, by sleeping with Pakistani men for 150 Rs (1 US$=60Rs). It was merely a joke. But apparently it was an offer for the restaurant owner. When my friends left for work, I was still having my breakfast. And the restaurant owner came, whispering to me in Urdu, offering me 250 Rs to sleep with him. I refused, the [...]

January 7, 2006 // 3 Comments

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