I've been day dreaming about going to Indonesia for years. I'm not really sure why - maybe it's because it's so diverse and not as well travelled as my other destinations. It always feels a bit odd when you're finally on your way somewhere you've been particularly excited about. You tend to feel almost proud that you had the drive to come away at all. Who cares if I'm going to be a bit behind on the career ladder? I'm bout to spend two months in INDONESIA, home to 200 million people from just about every religion possible.

Checking in for my flight to Bandung in West Java, the Malasian Airlines employee informs me he's never seen a Westerner go to Bandung and expresses surprise at me going there, especially by myself. Leafing through my Rough Guide to try and establish why I decided to fly into Bandung rather than Yogyakarta other than the fact it saved me £15 on airfare, I notice I am one of three white people on this plane. First time for everything. Apparently there's a volcano crater near Bandung that I've circled in my Rough Guide. As if there aren't enough other volcanos in Indonesia.

I swiftly become a big fan of Malaysian Airlines as I'm served a lunch I didn't expect. It really is kind of pathetic how free food can make my day sometimes. I also break my eight days no booze detox because, well, I'm not supid enough to ever turn down free wine, let alone between two Muslim places (Java is a Muslim island), where booze is rare and costs the majority of my daily budget. On the plus side, back to another country where you get to claim yourself a millionaire every time you go to an ATM.

Bandung is famous for its shopping as it's the Indonesian home of factory outlets. Could be a slight problem for someone as self controlled with shopping as Ryan Giggs is with leggy Welsh brunettes. It's something like the fourth biggest city in Indonesia, yet it feels very quiet when I go out to explore. I decide to put the effort in to going to this volcanic crater and as instructed by the hostel owner hop on a bemo - a little van with an open door that serves as transport around the city, following a particular route. It's basically the Indonesian version of the bus but more confusing as there are no bus stops (you hail a bemo as you would a taxi) and no printed routes anywhere. The journey to my destination on the other side of the city takes around an hour and costs me around 35p. It gives me a great opportunity to suss out the city through the open door of the bemo and take it all in. My next bemo charges near on ten times the price as the first one. Convinced I'm being done, I refuse and wait for another one, who tries to charge pretty much the same thing. I bargain him down and just go with it - I've come all this way I may aswell carry on the further 45 minutes or so to the crater. I'm joined by a group of school girls who basically spend the whole time pointing at me and giggling; I'm pretty sure at one point they are discussing my nose, which I'm well aware is no cute little Indonesian button nose, thank you very much. They are quite amusing though and when I notice they each have a phone which resembles mine at home but says in familiar font 'Blueberry', I can't help but crack a smile. You have to love Asia.

I spend all of half an hour at the top of the crater, take some photographs, wonder around the little shacks serving as shops and get cornered into taking some photos with some Indonesians. I cannot not begin to imagine what it must be like being blonde in Asia, being a white brunette is a bad enough novelty to most South East Asians.

On our way back down the mountain, my bemo driver stops to check out a half full plastic bag discarded on the road. It's when this happens - with his son leaning out of his window to see if there's anything good up for grabs - that I have absolutely no qualms about getting ripped off on my journey. £6 is nothing to me compared to what it is to this man and his son, who should be in school. You quickly forget when you're bartering that you're bartering people's livelihoods; it's just the way it's done in Asia. But every so often things get put in perspective.

On my day wondering around the town I see only one other white person after six hours of being out and about; starting to understand what the Malaysian Airlines employee was talking about. It turns out there isn't a great deal to do in Bandung so I enjoy a cheap as chips massage in an incredibly posh looking spa, resist the factory outlet stores and book a train down to Yogyakarta. I love getting the train where possible when travelling as you see so much that you wouldn't otherwise and have more of a chance to interact with and observe the locals.

My train journey to Yogya (as shortened by the locals, pronounced 'Jogja') is amazingly scenic. Houses made of woven panels closely line the train track through Bandung as we pull away from the city. Men line the track smoking cigarettes watching the train go past and a woman is doing some washing by hand, obviously so used to the trains' frequent disturbance that she has learnt to ignore the locomotive charging its way past her humble abode, merely getting on with her daily tasks. As we leave the city behind the scenery switches to rolling rice paddies; men and women farming below the blue sky dotted with the odd birght white cloud. Lush green mountains, palms and banana trees frame the mature rice paddies, which remind me how much I miss grass.

The temperature gradually rises as the day grows and we descend the height of Bandung. At each stop locals selling all sorts of snacks and refreshments pile their way down the aisles of the carriages, hoping to make a few sales. Poor children look at me through the window and hold out their hand, arms outstretched. I don't think I'll ever get used to begging children, I hate it just as much as the first time I saw it and it leaves me with a horrible feeling in my stomach. Thank God really, because if you become hardened to that you've got some serious problems.

And after nine hours of beautiful Javan scenery and friendly smiles from the local passengers, we arrive in Yogyakarta.