Well, after a week or so of orang utan spotting, island bicycle touring, visa hunting and general death bus from hell riding we were both knackered (the buses in Sumatra have bars on the windows so that should a crash occur, not at all unlikely the way they drive here, there would be absolutely no chance of us kicking open a window and surviving). Our tiredness was compounded by the fact that we still hadn't done anything substantial to help us get over our mammoth jungle trek, a day reading by Lake Toba just didn't cut it. So what, in our wisdom did we decide to do about it, how were we planning to recharge our batteries so we could again fully appreciate where we were and get the most out of our random wanderings?

Obvious really, we'd get on another death bus from Hell to Berestagi and climb the local volcano...

Not a very good idea clearly, and actually not what we ended up doing. But the thought was there. Sometimes we're so over focused on doing all there is to do and not missing a thing that we overstretch the limits of our already wracked and tired bodies, something we've been trying to remedy of late, but not today.

Berestagi town is completely unremarkable. Unless of course you were to remark on its dirty main street, its total lack of charm or charisma and its seeming lack of anything to endear it to the common tourist were it not for the close proximity of a nice climbable volcano 'Gunung Sibayak'.

I am too harsh, it does have one endearing feature. Those optimistic or stupid enough to make it to the very bottom of its busy, smelly and dusty main street are rewarded with the towns pride and joy, a giant green cabbage sprouting as if created by Roald Dalh from the centre of the town’s biggest roundabout. I know it speaks volumes, but this was far and away the best thing about Berestagi.

Perhaps not surprisingly we decided to stay in a nice little place on the slopes of the (hopefully not too active) volcano, the Sibayak multinational. It did indeed live up to its name, I counted representatives from England, America and Holland among its patrons before collapsing into bed that night. Up here in the highlands the nights are cold so we made sure to have a nice blanket, an indoor loo and best of all, hot water. This place was serious luxury.

In the morning we found ourselves singularly unable to get out of bed, completely unenthusiastic about climbing volcanos and desperately in need of some rest. So, clinging to our new creed that it's better to have fun and feel good than to see and do everything it is possible to see and do in a country we decided to skip the volcano, have another hour in bed and spend that afternoon in the local hot springs instead.

What a completely wonderful idea that turned out to be. Apart from a family of magically quiet and calm children and their non-stressed looking parents we were the only ones there that day. Our Bemo (local minibus) dropped us off at he door and we wasted no time dunking ourselves into our very own pool of almost too hot, sulfurous, milky spring water. The chemicals I was bathing in immediately turned my ring to a dull black, but my screaming muscles were in utter bliss. We could look up from our repose to a pretty impressive and unrestricted view of Gunung Sibayak, smoking angrily away and wonder where on its steep sides we’d be at this point had we decided to climb the beast. I for one was pretty glad we hadn't taken the opportunity to find out.

The following day was our last in Sumatra. We caught one last death bus from hell back to Medan and stayed a loud and constantly interrupted night right in the centre of town, next to the mosque. I should have remembered the 4am calls to prayer from our trip to the Middle East, I'm pretty sure they had never been quite so glass shatteringly loud as they are in Medan. Our plane was on time and sporting all engines in approximately working condition. With one last peek through the clouds below us we sped away to Java, Jakarta and the rest of Indonesia.

Sumatra had been probably my favourite part of Asia so far, great people, great culture, few tourists, incredible vistas and amazing wildlife... what else can a guy ask for except good food, which they had here by the shovel-full. Hoping that the rest of this crazy country would be even half as good I adjusted Amanda’s shoulder a little and settled into sleep, dreaming of orange hairy volcanoes, steaming gently on the plate, covered in sate sauce.