Indonesia | Julie Mollins

I grew up thinking a cottage was a small, cosy house in Britain or a rustic cabin in the Canadian wilderness, but in Indonesia’s West Java province it turns out it is something much more grand.

The Center for International Forestry Research (CIFOR) has a four-bedroom house — a structure billed as a cottage — in Puncak, an area near the volcanic peak of Mount Gede-Pangrango about 30 km from the city of Bogor.

Employees can book the cottage, which sits on the terraced and forested mountainside not far from a tea plantation, for a nominal fee.

The winding road to the cottage is lined with restaurants and shops. Notably, on each side of the road is a Cimory franchise, an Indonesian dairy-restaurant, which provides a convenient place to stop en route.

On the way up the mountainside, Cimory’s balcony seating offers views of the surrounding landscape and on the way down the mountainside, Cimory’s riverside seating offers views of the Ciliwung River.

The road is so narrow and crowded with traffic that the police convert it to one-direction during peak travel periods, turning a short distance into an epic journey rumoured to at times take as long as nine hours.

I went to the cottage with two colleagues and a neighbour in mid-October. Bedding and basics are provided, but guests must bring their own food and drink.

A housekeeper lives in a small satellite cottage below the villa and can provide information about local services and hiking routes through the forest.

He likely also oversees the maintenance of the grounds and the spring-fed swimming pool.

After we arrived and did an initial exploration of the house and grounds, we went for a walk down the road to find salt to improve the flavour of our food.

We came upon a holiday resort with a shop and restaurant, but we ended up going to a local toko.

We ate barbecued burgers and feeling full, I walked up the outdoor stairs to a covered look-off point to get a bit of exercise.

A massive beetle-like bug about four or five inches long and several inches wide was flailing around on its back trying to turn itself over.

Terrified, I went rushing back down the hill in horror and told the others about the giant insect. Naturally, they wanted to see it, so up the stairs we traipsed. One of my friends decided to flip it over with a stick — and it flew.

First it flew away from us, but then it made a wide u-turn and headed back straight towards us. We started screaming.

Wen Zhou spun around to avoid the insect as it buzzed towards her — as she did, I ducked, her head crashed into my forehead and I fell to the ground from the impact.

We all beat a hasty retreat down the steps to the villa and I iced my forehead for a while.

The following afternoon, we decided to hike up to the tea plantation, despite the obvious signs of rain. The housekeeper provided us with walking sticks and led us to the path in the forest where he left us, warning us to hurry and avoid getting caught in the inevitable afternoon downpour.

It was tough going in sweltering midday temperatures on a narrow mud path on a 30-degree angle.

We got to the plantation after about 45 minutes and wandered about amid the mist from the clouds.

We tarried too long and it started bucketing with rain.

We hastened back down the path, which quickly turned into a torrential stream. Our clothing was drenched and our shoes filled with water making walking difficult. We slid and tumbled down the hillside clutching at trees, branches and at times each other — futile efforts to avoid falling.

After about half an hour we were back in the CIFOR villa. I brushed what I thought was a leaf off of my shin and drew blood. I had attracted a few leeches.

The drive back to Bogor was a long one. When we got to the main road, it turned out traffic had been changed to one direction. Our driver suggested we “go with the flow” away from Bogor and head to the top of the mountain for a spectacular view, which we did.

It took us about four hours to get home.

I had no idea what to expect as I travelled in a bright green angkot toward the starting point of a cycling tour through the congested streets of Bogor, a city of almost a million residents 60 km (40 miles) from the Indonesian capital, Jakarta.

I had set out from the home of ecotourism enterprise Bogor Mountain Biking in the leafy expat neighbourhood of Taman Kencana.

It was early in the morning. During the day, temperatures soon rise to 30 degrees Celsius (86 degrees Fahrenheit) or more in Bogor, and afternoons are often ruined by torrential rainstorms. In my rush to leave home, I’d eaten no breakfast.

Ade Erwin, my guide, sat in the back of the angkot keeping a watchful eye on the bicycles while I sat scrunched in the front passenger seat with my feet on the vehicle’s spare tire – nervous without a safety belt as we bounced over potholes and careened through the traffic.

An angkot is a convenient and inexpensive mode of public transportation in Bogor, resembling a gutted green minivan with seats arranged around the perimeter of the interior and a door in the side allowing easy passenger access.

We were en route to “Gn Salak” according to an email received from company owner Doreen Biehle. Afraid to cycle alone in the madness of Bogor traffic, I had messaged her to find out about cycling tours and signed up right away without knowing what it meant. I was eager to go cycling despite the humidity and heat of Bogor.

I’m an urban commuter cyclist. A British-Canadian citizen, I learned to ride a bike in downtown Ottawa, but I’ve ridden in Washington, Toronto and London regularly in all kinds of weather — from frigid to sweltering temperatures — in ice, snow, rain, and sun.

For years, my transportation of choice was a beautiful black Bianchi road bike until I moved it to London. It was first sabotaged, and some months later stolen from the street outside my flat.

I replaced it with a small Mini Fixei, which I had converted into a free wheel rather than a fixed gear bike. I chose it because I could carry it up the steep stairs and into to my tiny flat.

We journeyed in the angkot for half an hour up narrow streets and along rocky roads through rice fields, where I thought we might wind up actually needing to use the spare tire. We disembarked on what turned out to be Mount Salak — Gunung Salak, in Indonesian.

I donned the provided helmet, knee and shoulder protector pads. Ade gave me a few quick tips on how to use the brakes and change the gears on the borrowed mountain bike and we were off.

“I can’t see!” I cried out, as I rolled down the slope on the bike with my feet slithering over the rocks in several directions. I had no idea how to ride and balance a mountain bike – the brakes were opposite to what is customary in North America.

Ade remained calm, suggesting I disembark and walk my bicycle over the rocky part of the trail. He switched the brakes to the opposite sides of the handlebars. He taught me how to use the gears while we were riding through an open, flat field.

The rest of the tour was an amazing journey by foot and bicycle through forest, rice paddy fields and small villages. Some of it was on mud trails and some on paved roads.

Local people shouted out “hello” or “bule” — a word I think means “white foreigner” — as we rode past. We stopped in a field and bought corn from men who were picking it from the stalk.

Ade carried first his bike, and then mine across a broken bamboo bridge we encountered, returning to help me cross too.

“Hold my hand and don’t look down,” he said, as we sidled across.

I had to walk my bike up a couple of hills – one was very steep and the other very long.

We cycled back down into the city. Revived by a break and some delectable fresh strawberry juice at a warung, we rode past Kebun Raya, Bogor’s famous historic botanical gardens.

I was shattered by the heat, but it was worth it.

It was a real thrill to cycle through the traffic with Ade in the lead, his hand held out to ward off the motorbikes and cars.

So much so, that the following week, I went on another outing – a tour that involved mainly road cycling with an Australian family.

Two other guides for that tour – Bugi Permana and Juheri, (Heri) joined Ade. Each guide took turns leading the pack.

At one point I had to disembark and walk uphill, and Ade not only pushed his bike, but he also pushed mine.

After a long, hot climb upward through some of Bogor’s wealthy neighborhoods, we went through narrow cantons and fields to a dam on the Ciliwung River, which runs through Jakarta.