My two-hour trip from Medan to Seberaya was one of the most memorable of my life. When I arrived at the bus station, I was a little confused how the system worked. Do I buy a ticket? Do I have to wait in line? There just seemed to be a mass of people roaming about with no apparant order or purpose, but with a definite sense of jumpiness and anxiety. I soon found out why. The colorful buses showed up every half hour or so, and its important that you're not napping when they do. I was busy talking to a older man when the first one showed up. I finished my conversation politely and moved toward the bus, only to realize that it was already being swarmed by about 3 times more people than it could hold. I finally got to the door of the bus, only to realize it was far too packed full of humanity for me to squeeze my way inside. A self-appointed director asked if I wanted to ride on top of the bus. It sounded fun to me, but I declined when I realized what my parents would say if they knew I did. Despite my refusal, a good 10 or more young men climbed up on top to enjoy the ride from the second deck.After another 30 minute wait, a new bus showed up. This time I was ready - but too polite. I let several old ladies go in front of me, only to have one of them later yell at me and push me out of the bus when I tried to get in. The scene was crazy. Well over 100 people were pushing and shoving to try and enter the same bus (that holds maybe 35 tops). Indonesians prefer to make their lines wide rather than long. One mother opened a bus window from the outside and started throwing her young kids in through the window so that they could save her a seat. People climbed over top of each other trying to get a seat. Being the confused American only led to scowls, not an empty seat. I retreated and waited til the next bus came along.
Fortunately the third bus was a charm. I was one of the last people on, and ended up sitting on my bag in the aisle, wedged between the two seats on either side. The curvy, narrow, and steep road up into the mountains was taken at full speed, and our bus often passed other cars on blind curves, only to barely miss the oncoming macro-sized truck that was screaming down the road. In Indonesia you don't need Worlds of Fun or 6-Flags for thrill-rides. Just take an 80 cent bus ride for 2 hours and you have all the thrills you need for a few days.
The rain began when we showed up the first afternoon, and didn't stop until the next morning. We discovered a few leaks in our tents, but 3 out of the 4 at least held out a majority of the rain. On the second day we were refreshed by sunshine and a light breeze. It felt like a spring day in Kansas. But by 4:00 pm the skys were darkening, the rain began spitting down, and the wind started to blow a little harder. We all took shelter in tents, played guitar and cards, ate nuts, chatted, and relaxed to the sound of pattering raindrops on the tent rain-covers. By 5:00 pm the rain was picking up, as were the winds. By 6 pm the wind was howling through the trees, the rain was coming down in sheets, and our tents were threatening to collapse or fly away, depending on the style of tent. By 6:30 pm the winds were roaring. Trees were swaying back and forth, threatening to snap over under the force of the winds. At this time two of our fellow campers were literally scared to death, and so without telling anyone else, suddenly bolted from their tents and hightailed down the trail toward the village, seeking refuge in the a local prayer room. By 7:00 pm the winds ripping and roaring through the trees was deafening, reaching an conservative estimate of 80 mph. Rain pelted down without mercy. Tents stakes started pulling out of the ground. The decision was made to abandon camp and flee for our lives down to the nearby village to find shelter. I was actually grinning from ear to ear and reveling in the experience, and so volunteered to stay behind with my friend Mitch to guard our belongings and try to keep the tents from taking flight. We took shelter on the windless side of a large tree that appear that it wasn't too likely to snap over on top of us. The intensity of the storm only increased, and by about 7:45 the decision was made to hightail it out of there. Mitch, who plans to get married when he goes home from Indonesia, decided he'd rather not die first. We rapidly decended with one eye on the trail and another on the ominously swaying trees above us. On the way down the trail to the village we came across 6 large trees that had snapped off or uprooted and fallen over. This was apparently fiercier than the average storm faced by those trees, some of which were 50 years or more. Like true, hardcore campers we stayed the night at a small hotel, arising at 5:30am to return to the site of our destroyed campsite, were 3 out of 4 tents lay flattened, and equipment laid wind-blown and scattered across the ground. We gathered up our stuff, cleaned up the sight, and around noon headed home, still a little soaked but feeling a close-knit bond of having made it though a near-death experience to camp another day! 
