Tej Turner

Travelblog#20: Pelni boat to Makassar – Indonesia

25^th-28^th October, 2014

The Pelni boat was an interesting experience. Definitely not the most comfortable mode of travel I have ever been on, but it was a necessary step I needed to take to reach the next stage of my journey.

I was heading to Sulawesi; the land of post-Wallace Line jungles, and the Tana Toraja tribes, with their peculiar funerary customs and fairy-tale landscape of megalithic monuments. There is even supposed to be some of Asia’s best scuba diving there.

But first I had to get there. On a Pelni boat. It was either that or spend a small fortune on a domestic flight from Flores. And, anyway, I kind of felt that I should take a Pelni boat at least once while I was in Indonesia, as it was just part of the experience.

Roy, Kate (my two travelling companions) and I left bright and early in the morning, having been advised to turn up two hours prior to planned departure time. The departure time is, apparently, an arbitrary thing for Pelni boats. I have heard first-hand stories of them leaving so early people get left behind, on occasion.

On the day we were sailing it was, however, late. Very late.

It was hot on the dock of Maumere. When we got there there was still no sign of the ferry on the horizon and the heat was starting to get to us, so we set ourselves up for a long wait. Kate and Roy arranged their sarongs as a makeshift sun-shade.

We waited like this for a few hours, but at around midday the heat became unbearable so we retreated into one of the waiting rooms.

After seven hours of delay, the Pelni boat arrived in the mid-afternoon.

There was a mad scramble as everyone fought their way to get on board. Some of the local youngsters had a slightly different approach:

The interior was dark, musky, humid, and slightly resembled a concentration camp, but it wasn’t too bad. I had been expecting much, much worse.

It was a bit of a dog-eat-dog world in there. When we first arrived two men were sat in our spaces. They pretended to not understand when we showed them our tickets, and it took us a while to get them to move. Our sleeping mats had already been taken by other passengers. The conductors, who occasionally wandered around to make sure there were no stowaways, didn’t seem interested in restoring order.

There weren’t many white people on board so for the first hour or so we were stared at, a lot. They eventually grew bored of this though, and resumed normal activity. Some of them became quite friendly and made conversation with us.

I slept most of the journey, aided by my last bottle of arak I had smuggled on board from Flores. In the morning I went for a little walk around the upper decks just before the boat pulled into Makassar. It was a relief to finally leave.

I am not a big fan of cities. As a traveller I generally see them as transport hubs I have no choice but pass through to reach the places I love; jungles, tribal villages, temples, mountains, and beaches. I can count very few cities that I have actually liked. Taipei, Kuching, Luang Prabang, Chiang Mai, Phomn Pehn – maybe.

That said, I actually found Makassar quite pleasant. It was fairly clean, it didn’t feel overcrowded, and the people were friendly. It was, admittedly, a little short on sights to see – Fort Rotterdam took me all of ten minutes to walk around before I got a little bored – but Makassar definitely had something.

We stayed there for three days. Kate had a spider bite on her leg which went a bit nasty and needed treatment, and Roy needed to get his laptop repaired. While I waited I caught up with things on the internet and took the odd wander around the streets.

When this was all done we decided it was time to head north on the night-bus, so we caught a bemo to the station. After buying our tickets we took a wander. Roy and I bought a beer each, and we found a nice little outdoor restaurant to eat dinner.

The mood was quite merry. Kate’s leg was on the mend, Roy’s laptop had been fixed, and the three of us were about to venture to Tana Toraja; one of the places which had inspired us to come to Indonesia in the first place.

And then Roy realised that, while we had been eating, his bag had been snatched.

Laptop, money, three cards, an e-reader, and – most critically – his passport. We ran around frantically, trying to find it, asking people if they had seen anyone running off with a bag. It was useless. I think we all knew that Roy wouldn’t see any of those things again.

It also became obvious that Roy could not board the bus. He had to cancel his cards, make a police report, and he was probably going to have to make his way to the nearest embassy (which was in Jakarta).

Kate and I were both tempted to stay and help him, but he told us that we should go because there wasn’t really anything we could do. He was right: he’s perfectly capable and staying behind would have just felt like sympathy. I think he would have hated that.

So, we gave him a hug, wished him luck, and boarded the bus.

Travelblog#19: Mount Kelimutu, Maumere & Wodong – Flores, Indonesia

20^th-24^th October, 2014

In the early hours of the morning we were driven up to the summit of Mount Kelimutu to catch the sun rising over the rim of one of Indonesia’s most prestigious volcanoes.

We ended up staying there for four hours, and I spent much of that time sat near the edge of one of the craters with a book, occasionally staring down at the three volcanic lakes. Each one was a different colour and rumour has it the shades often change. On the day that we were there they were blue, turquoise and black.

It was by far the most impressive sight we had seen so far in Indonesia. As the sun rose higher into the sky the lakes started to glow from the reflected light and we saw some peculiar, almost psychedelic, streaks of yellow in one of them. We could have stayed there all day if it wasn’t for the fact that there wasn’t any food up there and we began to get hungry.

We strolled down the mountain at a steady and relaxed pace, enjoying the mountain views and passing through a few villages along the way. We actually got a bit lost. It wasn’t until late that afternoon till we found our way back to Moni (the town we were staying in).

When we walked up the driveway of our guest house we were pleasantly surprised to find that Gilles and Bertrand had just arrived and, by yet another fortunate coincidence, checked into rooms which neighboured ours. It wasn’t that surprising, really; this must have been the fifth or sixth time we had crossed paths with the two French bikers, and they were starting to feel like old friends.

I hopped onto the back Gilles’s bike and we went for a quick trip to a local waterfall which was, thanks to the fact that it is partially fed by a hot spring, lukewarm and great for swimming.

After that we went to a restaurant which had a decked seating area with great views of the highlands, and Roy and Kate joined us. We drank arak: a locally made palm-based alcohol – the natives seemed to like it, so we thought we would give it a try. It was nice. A little bit too nice, perhaps. By the time Roy and I had finished a bottle of it each it was well into the dark hours, he had his guitar out, and I was singing (or attempting to, at least).

Roy, Kate and I got on a bus heading east the next morning, but before we left we told Gilles where he and Bertrand could expect to find us later that day once they had caught up on their bikes. We were on our way to Wodong – a beach on the northern coast – but first we had to make a quick stop in Maumere to book tickets for a ferry we were intending to catch later that week.

We got into a spot of trouble on our way out of Maumere. A group of bemo drivers didn’t like the fact that we weren’t gullible enough to fall for their hiked-up prices, so they followed us around and intimidated all the other drivers we tried to approach. When we did finally manage to escape them and get a ride out of town, our driver was forced to pull to a stop by a car which had been parked in the middle of the road.

And then dozens of men crowded around us.

They were clearly trying to make both us and our driver feel threatened. Our driver got into a shouting match with them which we didn’t understand because it was all in Indonesian. It was clear though, that they were trying to convince our driver to make us get out of the bemo. Probably so that the three of us would be trapped in the middle of nowhere and be forced to pay for more expensive rides with them.

One of them stepped into the vehicle. I could tell by his calm and self-assured, but yet somehow intimidating bearing, that he was the “leader” of this gang. And probably a psychopath, too. Leaders of these mafia-like cultures usually are, and there was something about him… his eyes were cold – there was nothing behind them.

“Hello,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Where are you going?”

I think we all knew that we had just entered a situation which we were going to have to tread our way out of very carefully. None of us said anything, at first. Who the fuck do you think you are? I was thinking, but I didn’t let out any of my anger because I knew that this was not the sort of person who would take being shouted at lightly. One does not stay leader of a rabble like this for long, if they lose face by letting others get away with standing up to them.

Eventually we just simply pointed to the road ahead, and then to our driver, questioningly. I think Roy mumbled something, but I can’t remember what it was – only that it was calmly assertive. We then turned away, breaking eye contact and making it clear that we were not interested in getting out of the vehicle or conversing with him.

In the end our driver had to bribe them before they would let us past. And he drove away very fast.

It is not very often that I feel unsafe while travelling around Asia, but that was definitely one of them.

Despite all the hassle we went through to reach there, Wodong was a very nice place. The sea was calm, the beach was sandy, and there were just a scattering of small villages nearby, so it was quiet. It was also low season, so we managed to haggle for a pretty good price for one of the larger bungalows.

And this was the view from our balcony:

Gilles turned up later that afternoon and, by virtue of being on a bike, managed to get past the bemo-mafia without any hassle. Bertrand didn’t catch up with us till the next morning though because he drank little bit too much arak the night before. When the five of us were reunited the next day we arranged to be taken out on a boat trip with one of the local fishermen.

We were taken to Babi Island, where we put on our snorkels and explored an ocean wall which had lots of coral and fish, and then to another island which had a stunning white sand beach.

Apart from that, the rest of our time in Wodong was spent playing games of chess, reading books, drinking the occasional beer, taking the odd dip in the sea, and getting to know our new friends better.

After four days in Wodong, we eventually had to part ways though: Roy, Kate and I had a boat to Makassar we needed to catch, Gilles was heading to Timor, and Bertrand was going to stay in Wodong for one more night before continuing further east. As a parting gift, Gilles taught me how to drive a motorbike with manual gears – a skill I thought might come useful sometime in the future (until then I had only dared to drive automatics).

Our next destination will be Sulawesi, the land of exotic wildlife and the Tana Toraja tribes, where the next chapter of our adventures will begin.

For more photos, please go to my Flickr account, here.

Travelblog#18: Lubuanbajo, Ruteng & Bajawa – Flores, Indonesia

12^th-19^th October, 2014

At the end of our four day journey at sea we were dropped off Labuanbajo, a charming little port town on the west coast of Flores.

Not long after stepping out onto the streets I bumped into a familiar face; Gilles, a French guy who was staying in the bungalow neighbouring ours when we were in Gili Trawangan a week before. He had a new friend with him; Bertrand – another French biker he met along the road – and the five of us went for a beer at a restaurant which had a great sunset view.

We took a day to get acquainted to being on dry land again and rediscover forgotten luxuries such as fresh water showers and wifi. The three of us still felt a bit like we were still swaying for our first few hours we were off the boat – I believe they call it “land sickness”.

During our journey at sea we had snorkelled around some spots around Komodo Island and Roy and I were so impressed with what we saw then that we ended up returning there with tanks of air strapped to our backs for some scuba diving. Gilles and Bertrand joined us.

“Manta Point” was definitely the highlight of the three spots we were taken down under. It is a cleaning station for manta rays; where the creatures go to let other little fishes nibble them clean. The currents were very strong so it was classed as a “drift dive” – it was very fast-paced and exhilarating.

Note: Unfortunately, I do not have a dive camera. This is just a photo of a manta ray I lifted from the internet for illustration purposes only.

I also saw four bamboo sharks, a grey tip shark, a white tip shark, dozens of parrot fish, lion fish and many other species, as well as lots of turtles, some exotic-looking crabs, and forests of beautifully preserved coral. Komodo Island has some of the best marine life I have ever seen.

The next day we hopped onto a bus and began to make our way east. The locals became nicer and atmosphere began to change, like it always does when you get away further away from the tourist trail.

Ruteng was our first stop and it was a predominantly catholic mountain town. We were a bit confused at first because the place seemed to be swarming with an implausibly high population of school children who all had biblical names like Lazarus, Paul, and John. They kept stopping us to ask random questions such as; “where are you from”, “where are you going”, and “how many brothers and sisters do you have”, and we eventually found out it was because many of them were studying tourism and their teachers were encouraging them to speak to foreigners so they could practice their English.

We also eventually found out why there were so many of them: most of them are actually from surrounding villages and were sent to live in boarding houses in Ruteng to get an education.

On our first morning in Ruteng we went for a little trip to a nearby village so we could see the Spiderweb Terraces.

We originally planned on venturing out on a trek and overnighting at a village called Wae Raebo we had heard good things about, but a quick search online quickly put us off that idea. Wae Raebo has already been institutionalised and formally converted into a “destination” by some bigwigs in Java, who, by aiding the villagers in setting the place up for tourism, now insist that all visitors must pay 250,000 rupiah for the privilege of sleeping under a blanket on the floor.

It wasn’t just the money that put me off – I have paid much larger sums in the past for things I have wanted to do – it was more that I doubted how authentic an experience like that would be. The three of us eventually agreed to give it a miss.

It was Kate who ended up finding an alternative for us: she got talking to one of the local schoolboys who said that he would give us a free tour of his village if we liked, because he was aspiring to be a guide one day and wanted some experience. It seemed like a good opportunity to catch a glimpse of rural life in Flores so we accepted his kind offer and chartered a bemo. Just as we were about to leave two motorcycles pulled up outside our hotel – it was Gilles and Bertrand.

“Hello again! Where you going?”

“Some kid is taking us to his village. You want to come?”

“Sure.”

They quickly dropped their bags off at the hotel and a few minutes later the five of us – with our guide, Patrick – were on our way.

Patrick was notably nervous and didn’t quite know what he was doing, but he was young and definitely had enthusiasm so we were patient with him. He ended up taking us on some crazy climb down the mountain to see a “cave” which didn’t quite live up to our expectations, but the village was nice and the people were very friendly. They were obviously not used to seeing foreigners there because we ended up with a whole entourage of children following us.

Patrick also took us to see their church which had a rather interesting interpretation of Jesus.

When I asked about it, he simply referred to it as, “Jesus with strength of bull”, but I am guessing that his tribe may have once had some kind of bull-like deity before they converted to Catholicism, which they have now forgotten.

When we gave Patrick feedback at the end of the tour we told him that his village was interesting, so he didn’t need to rely upon gimmicks like wild climbs up and down the mountain for people to have a positive experience there. We also tipped him with some money and wished him luck on his future endeavours.

Our next destination was Bajawa, and the journey there was full of twists and turns as we were treated to sights of Flores’ volcanoes and rice terraces from the windows of the bus. Bajawa itself was a quaint little town nestled between forested mountains. It had a cool climate and was a great base from which to explore nearby Ngada villages.

Bena was the first village we visited and, despite the fact that fronts of many of the houses are now souvenir stalls selling ikat, it is still fairly traditional and picturesque with its thatched houses and megalithic structures.

There was also a view point just behind one of their shrines which had wonderful views of the surrounding valley.

We tried to hike from there to a village called Tolelela, but the initial sign we saw at the turnoff might as well have said, “Ha ha. Good Luck!”, as the rest of the trail was not marked and we got lost for a couple of hours. We did see some stunning views along the way though.

On our way back to Bajawa we called in at a couple of other villages. They were not as visually impressive as Bena but they were a bit less touristy so we managed to meet some locals who weren’t trying to sell us something, which always makes for a slightly warmer experience.

Go to my Flickr account if you would like to see more photos!