Papua and Sulawesi, Indonesia

10/25/05
Currently, I am traveling into China at a good clip. Today I leave the remarkably well preserved and picturesque town of Pingyao after having enjoyed 5 days in Beijing where I did a 7 mile hike on the Great Wall, visited the Forbidden City and Summer Palace, and ate Scorpian. I was clear about not wanting to sample the goat's penis and testicles that were on offer. These Chinese sure do seem to have a thing for "alternative" meat types. Incidentally, I have done some excellent vegetarian dining enjoying delectibles such as vegetarian duck intestines, lol. I will then continue on a southward journey to Luoyang and Kaifeng while enroute to Xi'an. After that, I will explore a bit of Sichuan Provence and then perhaps take a three day boat trip through China's famous Three Gorges along the Yangzi river (before they disappear due to the worlds biggest dam being built). Then I will travel south west towards Yunnan Provence where I will likely then fly somewhere else yet to be detemined. Maybe Nepal, maybe Myanmar (Burma)???
In Singapore I sent my larger rolling luggage and many belongings back to Boulder; 2/3rds of my stuff. I'm now traveling with a small day-backpack and a fanny pack; about 14 kilos!

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OK, here's my travelogue from months two and three in Indonesia.

I started my stay in Indonesia with a month on the island of Bali. I wrote about this prior so keeping this part very short; my time there was spent learning how to surf on Kuta beach and enjoying the nightlife (when I wasn't too exhausted froma day of surfing). After 20 days of that, I then rented a motorbike and spent 9 days touring the rest of Bali, and doing some diving around the coasts.
Next a booked a flight to Papua, Indonesia on the island of New Guinea. My intention was to explore remote and tribal culture there and attend a festival in the Baliam Valley. The flight sucked, departing at 1:00 AM; the only flight available. I arrived in Papua at 7:30 AM, flying forward in time by 2 hours.
Once I arrived and supporting my eyelids with coffee, I hired an "ojek" (motorcycle and driver) to deliver me to the immigration office where I was required to get a special travel permit from the government; a Surat Jalan. This piece of beaurocratic hogwash was a pain in the butt. Basically, it forces foreigners to make choices in advance regarding exactly where they might go so that the government can keep close tabs. I had been warned that there was considerable tension in Papua due to the native Papuans wanting independence from Indonesia. Likely this travel permit had something to do with this internal resistance from the Papuans. Throughout my travels in Papua I got a real sense that the government wasn't all that happy with foreigners traveling there. Anyway, I got the darn piece of paper and returned to the airport hoping to grab a spot on a partly converted cargo plane in order to fly to the Baliam Valley. After some time waiting, I was informed that there was a last minute seat available for me, so I paid up and climbed onboard, arriving in Wamena an hour later at about 1:30 PM.
I spent the afternoon wandering around town orienting and looking at my hotel options (none of which were impressive). I wound up in an overpriced place but it was the best option. At least it had hot water, and running water for that matter. Later by necessity I had to stay at a different hotel that didn't have either hot or running water, drawing cold water from a washbasin in order to flush the toilet and to bathe. This was actually a common level of accommodation, unless I felt like spending large amounts of money for a "top end" place.
Regarding that, I really don't see much point. Firstly, it requires spending an amount of money as if one was in the west because the hotels figure that if you want and can afford a "top end" level of comfort and cleanliness, then you are capable and willing to pay a western price. Secondly, it has been my endeavor to spend less rather than more time in my hotel room, really using it mostly for sleeping. And finally, my extended travels have influenced me to go a bit more on the budget side and less so on the mid-range side.
Anyway, on my third day I went to a local market and spent a few hours hanging out in the scene. This wasn't particularly easy to do, as the Dani people are rather shy and not particularly jovial. All eyes turned as I entered the small but congested market area, making my way down the isle between the rows of women sitting on the ground with piles of produce and such displayed in front of them. And the eyes didn't really stop staring at me. It was an awkward feeling, but one that I've had before on many occasions.
I wasn't really there to buy anything, just to check out the scene. But this was not so easy. It required hanging out and standing out which is a given when you're the only white person. I took a position against a wall at the edge and viewed the proceedings of the local daily market. And the locals took their positions in ever growing numbers and ever-encroaching proximity around me. Before long a crowd of 25 or so men had gathered, quietly staring and staring, and not smiling. It's not that they were upset or anything, they are generally just a shy group of people not prone to smiling initially. I eventually came to know the native Papuans to be sincere and warm.
Eventually I figured I'd try to stir things up a bit. What the heck, if they were all going to hang out staring right in front of me I might as well spice things up a bit. Reaching around my back and pulling my fanny pack to my front side, I reached into the small pocket, all eyes intently watching my every move. I grabbed my trusty harmonica and started to play some blues. Immediately the energy stirred and more gathered. I really hadn't planned on what to play so I just made up some blues lyrics on the spot. "I got the blues in the morning, I got the blues in the afternoon. And when the evening comes, I got the blues, blues, blues comin' down on me." I played a wicked solo, sang some more and when I finished not a single sound from the now huge crowd. I clicked a couple of pictures of them all as they stared at me and hung out in the unbelievably intense energy.
Eventually the crowd dispersed some and I headed off for a small hike down to the river. I saw people bathing in the river; washing clothes...you know... the usual Asian routine.
As I walked down a long road, heading back into town I bumped into a couple from Switzerland; Renat and Inga. They were heading into a restaurant for a bite to eat and invited me in to join them, so I obliged. We all totally hit it off and before long we were talking about treking together into the remote regions to the south of Wamena in order to explore the traditional culture that still existed there.
The next morning, I invited Renat and Inga to come over to my hotel as I had prior arranged for a guide to come there and meet with me to discuss trekking possibilities. The day prior I had gone to the tourist office on the way to the market to get referrals for "approved" guides. So, Renat, Inga, myself and the potential guide all met at 10:00 AM. The Lonely Planet had warned to be ready to bargain long and hard for a fair price. Getting a fair price, I had read, helped to prevent an artificial inflation from happening due to loose walleted tourists all too easily spending too much money for services hired. The problem was that the guide I had arranged to meet with already had become spoiled by ill-informed tourists giving him whatever he asked for. His price was 300% higher than the Lonely Planet had recommended as a correct price.
The bargaining began, and all of the details were being discussed. The guide was adding in extra days and wanted us to hire additional porters and on and on. Renat, Inga and I convened for a private meeting in my room during the proceedings to discuss our feelings. Inga suggested that we just pay whatever he asked for, after all these people are poor and even if the price is high it's still not too much for us westerners. I suggested that we follow the Lonely Planets advice and bargain hard while at the same time making a considerable price concession. Renat kind of hung out in the middle.
The bargaining continued except the guide really wasn't bargaining at all. Yes, he dropped some of the unnecessarily added porters and days, but his price hadn't budged despite my outright saying that this price was way steep. For me, honestly, I had been traveling in Asia already for almost 6 months, and absolutely everywhere the locals where more than happy to extract as much money as they possible could if I wasn't well informed about the appropriate local market value for whatever I was spending my money on.
Eventually we had to take a lunch break. So, Renat, Inga and I walking down the street to catch a quick bite. On the way, I bumped into a Dani man, Francisco, that I had become acquainted with on my second day in Wamena while taking a hike into the countryside. Francisco was interested in guiding or portering for us but spoke very little English and wasn't "professional". But the problem now was that the guide we had been speaking with had sent one of his hired hands to follow us. When this hired hand saw me speaking with Francisco he approached us and gave a very clear message to Francisco that he had better not "get in the way" (holding a piece of metal for a weapon in his hand). This was then the beginning of the end for this so called "professional" guide.
Renat, Inga and I decided to trek independently without a guide, perhaps just picking up a porter along the way. This really felt better. The pro guide wanted to pack every last bit of food and such, but we felt that since we would be staying in villages, and since we were willing to "eat as the locals do" (which in this case would be the sweet potato, their staple food), why not just head out and trust in the process that would unfold. Additionally, Renat spoke fluent Indonesian so we all figured that would help us get along without a guide.
That night we went to the market and shopped for a couple days worth of dry food and snacks just in case we needed it. Synchronistically, earlier in the evening Renat and Inga were approached by another Dani man who offered to porter for them. This man said that he lived in Karima, where we were heading, and could also act as a guide (for the cost of a porter, that being 5 dollars a day). I was a bit unsure of yet another offer, but nonetheless the next morning we all met, including this porter/guide by the name of Asman. We dropped into a local market for some last minute items. I bought a sweater and a blanket.
Taking a bemo out to the market, we then chartered another one to take us out to the trailhead where we commenced our 5-day trek into very steep and rugged terrain. Adding spice to the trails were the occasional suspended bridges that had to be crossed. These bridges were homemade…. shall we say “rustic and natural”. They had no bottom support whatsoever and where put together with elements from the environment plus some less than trustworthy cables. Boards missing, bridge swaying, stories of collapses etc. You get the picture. Personally, I loved them! But for sure you take your life into your own hands using them, not that there's much choice otherwise.
We had a blast. Each night we stopped in a different village to eat dinner and sleep. Asman wound up being a total gem so we hired his son the next day to porter as well. We ate as the villagers eat; mostly vegetables and sweet potatoes cooked over a fire in huts, supplimented with the noodles and rice that we had brought with us. We slept in huts and rustic wood cabins, often without a mattress.
We spent a night in the small town of Tangma. It had a small grass airport and a larger than typical population for the area; probably a few hundred people. There was a conspicious lack of motor vehicles or motorcycles as there wasn't a single road. This is where Asman's family lived. We stayed in one of his huts and hung out with his family, sitting on the earth in the kitchen hut by a candle's light eating dinner. We dined on fire baked sweet potatoes, white rice and beautiful freshly harvested vegetables, as well as a some packs of flavored noodles that we supplied. That night they all played some traditional Papuan music for us. Afterwards, Renat, Inga and I retired into our own little thatched roof hut and slept on the floor (as they all do). As I drifted off to sleep I couldn't help but reflect on the fact that while the Dani villagers that I was meeting were in fact very poor financially, they seemed to live satisfying simple lives with their families and neighbors. All of their basic needs seemed to be met quite well, by their own doing.
The hikes were rigorous and steep indeed. Each day we came across many local villagers whom were making their way along the trails as well. Many of the men still were "dressed" traditionally, i.e., naked with only a penis gourd. The elder Dani women were present as well; gardening on dramatic inclines, the clouds hanging just overhead. One naked Dani elder whom we crossed paths with was returning from a funeral ceremony and was wearing traditional face and body paint of smeared ashes and pig fat. We hired him to carry some more stuff...why not, he was there and asking to help.
I enjoyed snacking on a local culinary treasure called Forest Coconuts. These small narrow tubular brown tidbits were fiberous and did indeed have a flavor reminiscent of coconut. This was a highly valued staple for the Dani People as it provided a good source of protein. In fact, so valued was this Forest Coconut that our naked Dani porter whom had joined our entourage decided to discontinue his jouney with us because of our traveling into a less than friendly neighboring village's domain. Apparently there was a conflict (which could involve bows and arrows) over whose land was whose. There was a river that divided the land geographically but members of either side were crossing the boundry secretly in order to forage the highly valued Forest Coconut. Along our journey I had repeated opportunities to buy the coconut, which I did in large supply figuring that it was a wild foraged highly nutritious edible.
In addition to the Forest Coconut I went crazy over the Sugarcane that was also availible. Our naked Dani porter had some that he sold to us and introduced me to the art of eating it by taking a bite himself and after partly masticating it in his own mouth quickly removing it and putting it into my mouth! I was a bit surprised by my own willingness to allow this, but I thought to myself while it was happening- "wow, he really wants me to chew on this sugarcane that he has already chewed on, fascinating". What I learned was that the Danis are not at all squeemish about sharing oral fluids and such, readily finishing what was left on someone elses plate or in one case I saw a mother chew some corn and then put it into her young child's mouth from her own mouth. Anyway, I learned quickly and thoroughly enjoyed munching on the Sugarcane the way the locals do; ripping the outside bark away with the teeth and then chomping on the fiberous juicy interior before spitting the remnants out. Yummy, enyme rich and sweet!!!
The Dani people are very interesting indeed; They still predominately live off of the land, gardening at high altitudes and collecting as many pigs as they can. The pigs are their bank account and more pigs typically indicates the particular family's community importance. The men sleep in one hut and the women another; never together. The pigs often share the same quarters as family members. Polygamy is still practiced. The elder women amputate a finger for each family member that dies! This was difficult to see as many of the older women barely had any fingers left!
One of the topics that seemed to keep coming up during our hiking was the native Papuans desire for independence from the Indonesian Government. I had heard about a large protest that was scheduled for August 15th, so I was quite interested in the details. My being attracted to large crowds and intensity as well as authentic local experience, for sure I was considering attending the protest, especially since I figured that I would be in Jayapura around that time. But I didn't want to be there if it was going to erupt into large scale violence, and I had some concerns that the Papuans might target foreigners for publicity. Renat was a gem and translated/forwarded many questions I had as we bumped into various villagers. We all discussed whether we thought it would be safe for me to be there. Ingar advised against it, and Renat warned that the government might not be happy to see a foreigner taking pictures. The Papuans felt that this particular protest was going to be the one to bring them independence because apparently the U.N. was going to be in the country simulataneously.
Speaking of Renat's willingness to translate my at times seemingly endless questions, one such evening came on our first night out. We were staying in the schoolmaster's cabin. Here we had one room to share, sleeping on bare wood floor. That night we all congregated in the kitchen hut and watched dinner being prepared over a fire. We all ate together (sweet potatoes, veggies, rice, and noodles -without MSG I would always ask; they all love the stuff) and after dinner the schoolmaster spent time with us. I had many, many questions about this unique culture that we were soon to discover intimately. Renat was happy to play the go between, and had questions as well, and seemed to really enjoy my line of inquiry as did the schoolmaster. Well, and you know with this receptivity I couldn't help but probe into the more risky questions.
I asked questions about why they collect pigs, and do they become attached to them. The answer was no they don't and one of the main reasons to collect pigs is so that the man can afford to have more than one wife! When a man marries a woman he must offer the wife-to-be's family a dowry of pig/pigs. Interesting, I thought that doesn't seem to be a very positive reflection on the value of the woman. A pig for a woman, lol.
"What if a man doesn't have a pig"I asked?
"Then he won't have a wife" was the answer.
"OK, so how is it that a man can have several wives? Can a woman have several husbands?" I asked
"No".
"Hmmm, ok,only one husband for the wife. Is that because the men own the pigs?"
"No, it's just how it goes, but true the women don't own pigs."
"OK, " I said, " but it doesn't seem fair that the women don't get more than one husband. Do the women ever have secret love affairs? Do the men?" I asked?
The schoolmaster replied, "Well, if a man wants to be with a woman he must have a pig or three, otherwise the women won't enter into an intimate relationship at all."
Hmmm I thought, no pig, no nookie. I'm glad I don't have to play by those rules, LOL!
He continued, "and a woman would never, ever enter into an illegitimate affair because if she got caught her parents would have to pay in pigs a fine that would last repeatedly their whole lives to the family of the man! The women don't ever risk this."
I'm not sure I got this part.
"OK, so what about same sex relationships" I asked with Renat's translation assistance and willingness.
"That never happens," said the schoolmaster. "That's a sin."
I left that one alone.
"OK, so how does polygamy manage to blend with the over whelming popularity of Christianity here" I asked?
¨Well, it's tolerated because it has been a part of this culture for so long. But the younger generation isn't practicing polygamy because of the Churches influence" the schoolmaster said.
It was a really interesting and fun interchange. The schoolmaster seemed to really enjoy answering all of the questions.
Another interesting dynamic that continued to come up during our trek and wound up being a bit of an ongoing joke of sorts between Ingar and I (and Renat) was at what point should the bargaining stop. Ingar's point was that, again, look , these people are poor...give them what they ask for, stop being so cheap! I really appreciated the Yin/feminine perspective that Ingar brought into our group dynamic. Indeed, everything would have been quick and easy if we had simply said yes to anything and everything. For sure there was something to be said for that. And no doubt all whom we would do business with would be absolutely over the top friendly and helpful.
Needless to say, Ingar became very popular with all of the locals wherever we went because for one; she was interested in buying jewelery and bags and such and secondly; because she paid them whatever they asked for. And for a while there, she actually had me feeling like a bit of a cheap skate..LOL. But what we all saw as the trek went on was that they were totally taking advantage of Ingar and she begain to see this as well. At one point she was looking at a piece of jewelry and the local woman said the price was 20,000 rp.. Ingar agreed and the woman left the room briefly and when she returned she insisted on 30,000 rp!
Ingar did remind me of the softness that I had for the Indians in India during my intitiation into Asian culture 6 months earlier, so I softened a bit with her help. And Ingar learned the value of bargaining and insisting on a fair price, especially as she saw them taking advantage of her and their being willing to simply take and take with no end. We all had alot of fun with this little mini-drama of sorts that was going on.
All along our journey we had been hearing about a large group of Italians whom were doing the same route as we were. They were about a half day in front of us. None of us were particularly interested in in merging with what felt like would be a huge touristic entourage but nonetheless we soon met up with them.There were 11 Italians whom had hired 1 guide, 1 cook, and 21 porters!
We came up upon a part of their fleet at a resting point on a ridge. There I went over to introduce myself to what turned out to be he guide, a female from Jayapura and a friend of hers that was doing the trek for fun; Belinda and Anne respectively. A large group of male porters were nearby semi-quietly encouraging me to take advantage of the female company I was getting aqcuainted with. But really I was just interested in finding out about how the whole dynamic was going with the Italians. We had seen some of them very slowly climbing up very steep inclines and I wondered how the group was doing? Belinda filled me in, telling me that all they do is complain and that they were having a very difficult time with the difficulty of the hike, complaining about the food, etc. etc. Anyway, I commended Belinda for taking on such a big group and acknowledged the big responsibility she had.
Later my group met up again with some of the staff of the Italian group and Anne. The porters called me over and told me that Anne wanted to "get together" with me, laughing and encouraging me in a masculine fashion. And apparently one of the porters fancied me as well; he positioned himself in a place where he had a clear view of me. I picked up on his vibe quickly. But really, I really wasn't interested in Anne or the porter in that way. But I did like making friends.
That night, the Italians stayed in the church and we stayed well removed in a small cabin down the path quite a ways away. After dinner I decided to venture out and check out what was going on with this huge group of Italians and their staff. Additionally, Belinda had informed me that the Italians had plans to do another trek in the famed and remote Asmat region, so part of me felt like there might be a window of opportunity with this group. I took the 15 minute walk in the pitch of night, the stars brilliantly shining, down to the church where I met a few of the Italians outside after they had finished dining.
I spoke with the organizer of their whole group, interested in getting the perspective about this trek from the other viewpoint. I guess I'm just interested in group dynamics in general and this was driving my interest in finding out about their trek. He said that in fact, all of them were experienced mountain hikers from the Italian Alps and that they were very satisfied with the guide, staff and organization. They all seemed nice enough and interestingly they conveyed quite a different message than that of Belinda and Anne's. Soon the Italians were off to bed and I went off to try to find the staff and Belinda and Anne. Eventually I found them all in a long hut with a small fire burning. They enthusiastically invited me in, happy to see me. Anne and the porter whom fancied me sat next to me and we all chatted and had a few laughs. I busted out the harmonica and played them all a tune. It was a good, low key time. We agreed that we would all meet again the next day on the trail and I returned to my cabin.
Renat, Ingar and I had started to become a bit tired of the bottomless wanting of the people whom put us up (and our staff). They expected a constant flow of cigarettes and asked for ever-increasing and variant expenses to be paid for. For instance after having full access to the cigarettes that were expected to be supplied, when they smoked through them all with no regard for how quickly they used them, they then strongly expected that we would promptly buy them more. For sure, we had already supplied way more than enough. It just got tiring to have a host of the local villagers show up wherever we arrived and hang around in order to score smokes and snacks, or pens, or sell us things; whatever they could get. This was the damaging affect of our tourism, and yet at the same time, for sure it was clear that we benefitted them all. Especially the way in which we decided to travel, opting to buy potatoes and veggies and such along the way, dirEctly from the villagers, and thus giving money straight to the source rather than a greedy guide who would no doubt underpay the porters and cooks that he would hire and over charge us for the food purchased etc.
On the last day of the trek, we crossed paths with the Italian group. Belinda and Anne where very friendly to me and wanted me to join their group. Belinda paid me a nice compliment saying that when I was around everyone seemed to lighten up and have more fun. (Actually it was probably she and Anne that lightened up the most- I think Belinda had a real problem with projection). And Ingar was so sweet giving me permission to stay with them as she saw the large group of male porters that seemed to groove on me as well. But I was having too much fun with Renat and Ingar and wanted to complete our journey as the great team that we were..
Anyway, after 5 days of living in villages without running water or electricity, high in the mountains, and having eaten more than our share of sweet potatoes we returned to Wamena and dined at a restaurant with Asman and his son joining us. We paid Asman a good price for both his portering and guiding. He and his son were very pleased. I bumped into Asman a couple of days later, after Renat and Inga had left for Bali, and he informed me that the very next day he went out and bought a pig with the money we gave him, spending 600,000 of the 1,000,000 rupiah he had earned!
I felt so blessed to have had such great company with Renat and Ingar. They were both a delight to travel with and we continue to stay in contact via email.
The day after returning from the trek was the start of the Baliam Valley Festival! I had really sculpted my travels to accomodate the occurrance of this event so I was looking forward to it.
During the two days of the event I witnessed hundreds of Dani men and women dressed traditionally, performing traditional dance, handi-craft making, potato baking and the main feature was certainly the large mock tribal warfare that the men staged. Hundreds of them would charge each other, shooting arrows and throwing spears (safely of course). It was quite dramatic and really was about as close as one could come in this modern age to actually experiencing what it was like back when the tribes still engaged in warfare.
Not that the Baliam Valley or Wamena for that matter were very modern...they weren't. In Wamena one of the main modes of transport after walking was cycle rickshaw, a three-wheeled bike with a carriage for transporting passengers.
I attended the second day of the festival with the Italian group's guide Belinda's friend Anne. She and Belinda had hunted me down the night before and had just caught me arriving back at my hotel after a painfully slow internet session at the only pathetic cafe in Wamena. We hung out that night a bit and Anne and I made plans to meet the next day for the festival. Belinda was too busy being the Italian group's guide to hang much. At the festival I also bumped into a swiss couple Anne and Eric whom I had met briefly on a high mountainous ridge on my prior five day trek with Renat and Ingar. The three of us roamed around the fairgrounds and hung out for a while, hitting it off naturally and easily. They had been traveling in Indonesia for 6 months, part of their 16 month journey.
On the first day of the festival, I positioned myself on the ground in front of the bandstand for a good close view of the proceedings and to click photographs. The MC came over and introduced himself sitting on the ground next to me. We made a nice connection. On the second day, he approached me again and asked if I would like to participate in a competition for foreigners involving archery and javalin. I hadn't really intended on participating but following his lead I signed up.
Really the whole competition was for fun; the local Papuans getting a big kick out of the white westerners trying their hands at indigenous weaponry use. (Swiss) Anne had signed up for the event as well. She and I had a blast and many laughs while the crowd watched on. The MC seemed to be more invested in my doing well than I, so I did my best to fulfill his expectations and took first place in the Javalin throwing competition. Anne, Eric and I hung around the grounds and commuted back to wamena together, having dinner together and striking up a good natured friendship.
A couple of days later I left Wamena, flying to Jayapura. I bid fairwell to Eric and Anne earlier as they were heading out for another trek in the valley. In Jayapura I planned to spend a few days in the city and explore one of Indonesias's largest lake, Danua Sentani before booking another flight to the island of Biak for some S.C.U.B.A. diving.

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Jayapura is really not much to write home about so I won't. It's a beat up, poorly maintained city that's over priced due to the more affluent and exchange-rate advantaged New Guinea folk who would arrive there to shop or do business..
My first morning there I hired an Ojek to take me out to a traditional market in a Muslim neighborhood outside of the city. Pretty interesting, though I got there after the peak. It was a blistering hot day and I no longer enjoyed the benefit of milder temperatures in the higher elevation of the Baliam Valley. I caught another Ojek back into the city and when I arrived there was a very large crowd that had gathered. I had the driver drop me off as I was excited to see what was going on. I really didn't think anything of pulling out my camera and clicking some pictures. The thought crossed my mind that the event might be the protest that I had heard about during our trek, but it was only the 12th and the protest was scheduled for the 15th. Whatever it was there were plenty of police and Papuans around and I wasn't trying to hide anything. I tried to find out what was going on, but none of the people I asked spoke English.
I moved into a good viewing position and a procession surged through the street. The front of the crowd had a large red banner and they were singing a chant energetically. At this point I thought perhaps this was the protest, but repeatedly I had heard it would be on the 15th, 3 days later. Anyway, I selected my video option because the crowd was pumping and the chant was compelling, and proceeded to take a video clip. I stepped down from my position to follow the crowd and a man stopped me. He had a cell phone in his hand and said that a man was calling me from a hotel and wanted to speak with me. That's strange, not possible I thought, there's no one here like that who would call me, relaying this observation to the stranger. He said that I needed to come with him. After a few questions and lack of cooperation on my part the man told me that he was an undercover policeman. I asked to see his badge promptly which he discreetly showed me, and subsequently escorted me over to a few police vehicles. I was then asked to get into a car, which with resistance and complaints I did. I was then sped over to the police station.
I was interrogated in a rather unorganized way and informed that it is against the law for any foreigner to take pictures of a protest. I told them that I didn't know that it was a protest and that I was merely a tourist attracted by the commotion. And frankly, this was the truth. Well, a few minutes turned into a few hours, but soon the Police Chief, whom apparently I was waiting for, arrived at the station. My camera and passport had already been confiscated and the police had sent an officer over to my hotel to retrieve my bags for inspection. Anyway, the chief asked the same series of questions. I was confident about my innocence (of course) and felt clear that the Chief and everyone else for that matter knew that I wasn't a spy or an agent or whatever. Nonetheless, the process dragged on and on and on.
I won't bore you with the boring details much. The police Chief was a total jerk; in love with his power more than anything else (surprise,surprise). It took the better part of 2 days to get my camera and passport returned. The main thing that was stressing me in the station that first day wasn't my possessions being held hostage. Rather it was that I knew that soon all of my photos would be viewed and um....let's just say that there was some rather personal pictures and a "private" video clip that I had saved onto my memory card of some fun with my friend from India, Anoop. For sure it was only a matter of time before the files would be opened and ALL would be revealed to who knows how many policemen. What would be the result if this happened? Would I ever get my passport and camera back? Would I get out of there alive?
Overall, the police were pretty friendly, just following orders and all. Anyway, after a few hours of sitting there (for no good reason), there was a window of opportunity that came. My camera was sitting on the main desk and one of the main officers had stepped into the next room to question another foreigner (a Dutch Man) that they had detained for the same reason. I quickly grabbed the camera and had just barely enough time to open the photos and delete the "sensitive" files. The policeman came out and saw me with the camera and approached me....... I said I was looking at pictures I'd saved for Laos, turning the camera for him to see. He walked off and that was that!!!!!!!!!!
Later, the police finally loaded my memory card contents into their computer and a crowd of them huddled around the screen viewing my photos over and over again. I reveled in the fact that I had succeeded in deleting the X-files! Oh man, oh Man was I lucky.!!!!!!!
On day two of this hassle, I spent the bulk of the day wandering back and forth to the station, hoping that the chief would return. He had broken his promise of being there that morning and returning my belongings. I played an incomplete game of chess with one of the officers, and finally at sunset I began a half naked Yoga routine right there in the middle of the station on the balcony outside of the chief's office. It was then that the chief returned and shortly there after he artificially apologized and ordered his cronies to give me (and the Dutch man's) camera and passport back (after deleting the all important "sensitive" files). Fortunately, I had been singing that Papuan protest song in my head so that memory will remain.
I stayed and extra night in Jayapura and the next day got up early to explore Danua (Lake) Sentani and catch a flight to the island of Biak, in Papua. There I mostly intended to do some diving.
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In Biak, Papua I had a fun time S.C.U.B.A. diving for a couple of days. A quick note here; many times a local somewhere will ask me how my "holiday" is going. I always think to myself what an incredible journey I'm on and how blessed I am to be on it. But it really doesn't feel like a holiday, I gotta work for this. And all along I have confirmed the very quote that I coined myself, that being ..." The only thing that's real is what happens, everything else is just a thought". And for sure I am a traveler and this is very, very different from being a tourist.
Often times, and sometimes it seems more often than not, what one thinks will be simple and easy in fact turns out to have complications. My experience in Biak will demonstrate this quite well. The main issue here was that the manager of Biak Diving, Lexi, did not have his shit together at all. It took me an hour and 1/2 just to find his relocated office that had no sign indicating its presence. I had hired an "Ojek" (motorcycle and driver) from the airport to drive me around for this. In fact, in the end I actually never found him or his office. He actually found me after I dropped into another hotel to see if they might have info to find this elusive Biak Diving Company. Lexi raced up behind us on his motorcycle calling out to me, asking if I was looking to dive; subsequently delivering me to the dive office where a big Biak Diving sign was tucked away behind some chairs in front of the building.
Lexi and I spoke about dive trips and the need for enough divers in order to go out to sea while I got fitted with a wet suit and such. He convinced me to check out of my current hotel and travel down island in order to stay in a guesthouse right at the boat's launching point. This would have been fine except for the fact that I told him I wanted A/C and needed email, also prefering my own bath, all of which he promised was there. The problem was that upon arrival, none of these things were in fact available/functioning. I rolled my eyes as I turned the lame-ass archaic AC on in my potential room and caused the entire establishment to lose it's power! I could have probably lived without what I was promised, but what I couldn't live with was his blatant dishonest. The Guinness Stout beer that he eagerly bought me and opened in the moving vehicle while enroute (before I really wanted it) gave me an advanced indication of what was coming. I did enjoy the beer but for sure it didn't yield the result that Lexi was hoping for. I asked to speak with Lexi privately, moving him off to the side away from all of the eaves droppers and dive guides whom were eager to listen in. I told it like it was to Lexi while he wiggled around and attempted to make lame excuses while the dive master and others shamelessly encroached on our "private" space. I told Lexi that I wanted to return to my prior accommodation and he obliged.
But now I seemed to be a bit on Lexi's black list. When I convinced him to let me dive he told me that both he and the dive master were concerned that all I would do is complain. I assured him that I would be no problem provided the service was professional. This was the only dive company on Biak, so there were no other options. This dynamic put me in a position to somehow provide constructive feedback to Lexi and be honest, and at the same time stay on his good side so that I would be able to dive.
This was the first of numerous " talks " that Lexi and I had to have. My last talk with him I confronted him on the lack of professionalism on his part, his poor listening skills, his dishonesty, no first aid on the boat, leaking tanks that were never filled as a result to the correct pressure etc.etc. Incidentally, this resulted in my nearly running out of air at 20 meters depth and needing to share air with the dive master for the last 20 minutes. He definitely heard about that. Interestingly, Lexi seemed to actually want to hear what I had to say and did his best, despite his appalling listening and my frank feedback, to listen.
On the first day of two days of diving that I was able to schedule, the dive master and crew seemed a bit cold with me at first, or at least that's what I thought. So I assured them that all would be fine and good-naturedly said that I would be a good boy. But what wound up happening was that for some reason they all really liked me. As a matter of fact, on my second day of diving, the dive master from the day before had been assigned to another group. He told me that he didn't want to go with the new group because he wanted to spend another day with me! I was touched and flattered. Probably, aside from the dive master and crew apparently liking my company, they may well have been privately cheering me on and applauding my having the nerves to call Lexi on his shit. But for me honestly, speaking with Lexi didn't involve having "the nerve" to tell him the truth. I just feel that there isn't much use in my having a private dialog with myself and not sharing it should the situation warrant it.

The two days of diving were very good but not unbelievable, though the final dive was outstanding with exceptional coral table forests.
Incidentally, now apparently Biak Diving Company has gone bankrupt and closed shop. My Swiss friends Eric and Anne got wind from a traveler friend that a few days after I left the biz folded. They thought that it may well have been catylized by my taking the time to be honest with the manager, resulting in his facing the truth.
Aside from the diving, my meeting a friend, Adi, at an Internet cafe rounded out my stay very nicely on the Island. I might have stuck around longer on the island to keep his company (I think that Lexi and I had run our course by then and thus no more diving) but I had the time pressure of my 60 day visa expiring soon and I really wanted to experience more of Papua. I flew to the pretty and garbage strewn port city of Manokwari.

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Arriving in Manokwari, the usual song and dance commenced. I hired a taxi from the airport but it took a while to find a room as many establishments were full do to a conference that was taking place. I did secure a room soon enough and subsequently went to the Merapati office to make a reservation for a plane back to Jayapura in order to renew my visa in a few days. Anne and Eric, the Swiss couple that I'd met and spent some time with at the Baliam Valley Festival were staying at a "Loseman" across the street and hailed me over when they saw me! We were happy to see each other! Eric had spent much of the day procuring a special permit to adventure in the protected marine park in Cenderwasih Teluk. He suggested that we all travel together. This was perfect for me as I was planning to attempt something similar one my own.
Later that evening, we all met up for dinner, and headed out across town to a Warung (small cheap food shack) in the night market. We eat the usual grilled Ikan (fish), Nasi Goreng (fried rice) and Sayur (vegetables). The three of us did our best to continue to preach about the evils of M.S.G. On the way a local guide had approached us, introducing himself. We told him that we were heading south to Ransiki, so he gave us a referral for a captain and a boat; one of many synchronistic moments.
The following morning Eric, Anne and I met up and did some errands for the yet to be actualized outing. By late morning we went to the local market for a quick bite to eat and to catch a bemo (taxi). Packed like sardines with 12 Indonesians and assorted cargo in the back on wooden benches and facing across at each other, we commenced our journey to the small town Ransiki, 4 hours south. The taxi crossed rivers and jangled over an often barely present road much of the way. Enroute, I studied Bahasa Indonesia, working diligently on memorizing a list of 20 essential verbs. Anne attempted to help by quizing me but with mixed result over the aural domination of the muffler corroded, emission spewing bemo/taxi.
Once we arrived in Ransiki we checked into the local Loseman (guesthouse). We then hunted down the lead we had gotten in Manakwari and chartered a boat and 2 crew/guides after considerable premeditation and subsequent bargaining. Eric and Anne really made this possible as they both spoke Indonesian. The guide/crew had one night to get organized; the plan was to depart the following morning.
In actuality, the "captain" that we hired the night before now was not going on the journey with us, he said that he was coming down with Malaria (yeah right). Instead his son would be the captain. Additionally, they weren't ready until early afternoon and upon setting out to sea they were barely able to get the second engine going. And still additionally, we had two of their friends now on board with us, to our surprise. Regardless, the three of us were intent on pulling this off and exploring the seldom visited marine park and frankly the boat was easily big enough to accomodate us all.
It wound up being an incredible 5 day trip! We stopped in many places to snorkel. The four men whom were our guides had fun with us and caught us all a lot of food from the environment. I did my best to swim around the waters we were exploring and "herd" the larger groups of fish towards Arnold who would then dive deep down with a home made spear gun in hand and attempt to spear our prospective Makan Malam (dinner...lunch or breakfast for that matter).The culinary tastes went from too much fish, huge coral lobster, and to boiled bat (really). How did we come to eat bat you ask? Well, we had anchored the boat near an island to do some snorkeling and the guides, Hendrick, Arnold, Henky, and Asnu pointed to a large cluster of tree tops at the top of the island. There we could see hundreds of black spots in the treetops; bats! So, as Anne, Eric and I commenced to snorkel, plunging off of the side of the boat into crystal clear, tepid waters, the boys grabbed a B.B. gun and headed onto the island.
Eric, Anne and I knew they were having success because a large swarm of bats had left their once peaceful perches and were now flying above us. When the boys finally returned they had 4 large dead bats and a baby bat that was alive, it's mother having just been killed. Arnold put the baby upside down on the inside roof of the boat and we now had a pet bat. Later for dinner, they chopped up the bats indiscriminately (as the Indonesians do with all meat) and stuffed everything into a big pot, boiling until ready, wings and all! Fortunately, Eric, Anne and I dined mostly on noodles and fish 'cause I gotta say that pot of boiling bat really, really didn't look very appetizing. However, with in trepidation, we did sample the "local cuisine" and I can attest it was pretty tasty; kind of like gamey pork. The baby bat late in the night escaped:(.
The days were filled with hours and hours of swimming in tepid waters, hanging out on remote tropical islands and tooling around on the boat, sometimes passing by large schools of 100 or more dolphins. The boat would amber along while we would gaze into the waters, stopping the boat to jump in and see if the underwater world struck our fancy. Often it would, and often it wouldn't.
The problem here being that because we were in a "protected" marine park, what that really meant is that few if any people lived there. And what that then meant was that illegal fishing by means of "dynamite fishing" was common as no one was there to complain. These, "fishermen" merely set up an underwater explosive and when a school of fish is near CABOOM, blasting everything, coral reefs included, to smithereens.The poachers use high speed boats with three engines so that even if the police, which barely exist, were to find them they would simply speed off with faster boats. If they got caught, they would simply pay off the police and at worst risk a mere three days in jail. We had spoken with a marine park official when we returned and got all of the dismal details. Needless to say, snorkeling around destroyed coral graveyards isn't exactly an ideal environment.
Anyway, we slept in shacks and make shift tents on the beach and enjoyed the sound of gentle waters lapping up on the beautiful white sand beaches that each night became our home. It really was one of the great adventures of this mind boggling journey I'm on.
Later I returned to Manokwari, leaving Eric and Anne to hike up and visit the Anggi Lakes to the west of Ransiki. I would have liked to have joined them but I had (and still have) a hyper-flexion strain on my left ankle from my prior trek in Wamena so I figured it was best not to push it with a strenuous hike. We didn’t have to make it one of those goodbye forever goodbyes though because Eric and Anne had the same travel plans as I did from here. We made plans to email each other in a few days and subsequently hook up in Manado, Sulawesi before taking a boat out to the island of Bunaken where we would spend about 5 days SCUBA diving in arguably what was said to be some of the best diving in the world!
To my surprise and delight after I had left for Manikwari two of the guides, Hendrik and Arnold had looked for me in Ransiki. They went to the Loseman where Eric, Anne, and I had slept in pursuit of me. There the guesthouse owner told them that I headed to Manokwari earlier. They immediately caught a bemo, traveled 4 hours, and hunted me down at the night market in Manokwari! So sweet they were. Very surprised to see them, I asked why they came? The one I became closest to, Hendrik, told me that when our prior boat journey was over and Eric, Anne and I had departed, it was very difficult for them to say goodbye to me. I agreed and felt the same. So they traveled all that way to spend more time with me! I was impressed and flattered. These guys really had no idea whether they'd find me but felt compelled enough to make the long and (for them) costly journey.

It was then an awesome couple of days with these two young men and a great friend that came along with them as well. Our first day together Hendrik and his friend Eddy and I took a small boat across the bay to a small island. There I was in hot pursuit of a couple of Polish travelers whom I had been told had rented a house there in order to SCUBA dive around the island. There are a lot of wrecks in the sea as a result of WWII. I was hoping to score a couple of dives with them but they had departed a month earlier. So, Hendrik, Eddy and I snorkeled all day long. I had bought them each a mask and snorkel earlier in the day, to their delight! Later in the day, the swimming turned into swim lessons from Dan. During our prior boating trip, apparently they had conveyed to Anne and Eric that they were very impressed with my swimming and underwater abilities, so I knew that they would be eager learners. We had too much fun. Giving the swim lesson brought back old memories of my giving swim lessons at Camp Jewell in Colebrock, Ct. every summer when I was younger.
That night we walked around the night market and I fed the whole gang for under $3.00. Walking around the market, Hendrik was so sweet; looking after me, carrying my water bottle and holding my hand affectionately as we walked around as is common for male friends throughout Asia. He innocently asked if he could crash in my room and I obliged. On day two, Hendrik and I met up with Eddy and Arnold and we all took a hike up a small mountain in the rain and returned to my room for naps and hanging out before going out again for another dinner together. That night Hendrik asked if the whole gang could sleep together in my room and I obliged again. Arnold, Eddy and another friend shared one small twin bed and Hendrik and I spooned innocently in the other twin bed.
The next morning I awoke early to take my flight back to Jayapura in order to renew my Visa. The boys got up with me, accompanying me to the airport and carrying my bags. It was very difficult to say goodbye knowing that it would likely be forever. I gave them enough money to cover their taxi back to Ransiki plus have lunch. I boarded the plane, took my seat and watched out the window as my friends walked away; out of the parking lot and out of my sight.
This indeed seems to be one of the challenges of this journey I'm on; to constantly be letting go and moving on to the unfamiliar. I actually look for that ache in my heart as a measure of the success that I've had with connecting with the land, the people and the country and I know I've stayed long enough if it's difficult to leave.

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Later that day, arriving by flight back to Jayapura, the journey for the new visa was time consuming, complicated, and costly. I did have fun though (mostly). At that point pretty much anything I did was an adventure and fun, especially since studying Indonesian language. And more generally, apparently I really like a challenge.
To get the new visa it took a full day of work just to get an exit stamp and entry visa and shop for a boat with a truthful price. Following a lead from the New Guinea Immigration Office, late in the day I went to a small village on the coast near Jayapura . I arrived at a shack built on stilts above the water and hired a speedboat from the people who lived there in order to cross the border. I then traveled to Vanimo in Papua New Guinea the following morning, um…well…no…it was early afternoon because the captain wasn’t ready to depart on time. And speaking of the captain, well, he sent his son and friend with me to do the job (sound familiar ie. The prior 5 day boat trip?). Anyway, we arrived in New Guinea too late for me to apply for the visa that day so I got up early the next morning and went straight to the immigration office.
Unfortunately and frustratingly the immigration worker would/could only issue me a 30 day visa...not happy...I wanted 60. He was a short-tempered man whom really didn't want to hear much of anything from me or my complaints. I stooped over in an attempt to make eye contact with him in the only way that was possible; by peering through a little slot that was only meant for passing back and forth documents and money. Apparently the Immigration office preferred that the office workers be concealed and anonymous behind a whitewashed plywood board, leaving the powerless applicants feeling quite powerless.
I received the visa and returned via my chartered speedboat after two days in just enough time to then get an entry stamp in downtown Jayapura, grab a quick lunch, email my Swiss friends Eric and Anne, and make it to the airport with little time to spare in order to fly to Manado.

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Banokan Island was a divers dream! I spent 5 days there, again hanging out with Eric and Anne whom I met easily at their favorite bakery in the city center before traveling to the island. I avoided the low-end doughy treats, but Anne ate enough for bread-products for both of us.
We spent five days there, diving three dives a day and relaxing. The waters were clear and warm, the coral walls were massive and spectacular and the marine life was diverse. Everyday was an exciting aquatic adventure and I felt lucky to have these two good friends to share the experience with. After a long day of diving we’d all gather for dinner and reminisce about what we saw; Anne diligently paging through pictorial aquatic creature and fish guidebooks in order to identify our discoveries and log them in our dive logs.
I think my favorite dive here was a night dive. We came across some truly spectacular creatures. A few of the sights that come to mind were a HUGE Nugibranch (basically a psychedelic aquatic sea slug). It was white with big brown blotches; about the size of a football! Also of note on this dive was a strange creature called Branch Coral. This thing blew my mind. Looking at it, it looked like a plant. But then the branches began reaching out and recoiling, then it walked away. I couldn't believe my eyes. I felt like I was tripping. Anne and Eric pointed out a crab that was on a coral wall that was perfectly camouflaged with the coral outcroppings. Huge crabs, shrimp, stingrays, flounders, lobsters and scorpion fish... the list goes on.
After five relaxing days of stay on the island the three of us headed onto the main land to journey towards a national park to see a small rare indigenous variety of monkey called Tarsier. Their eyes are so big that they cannot be moved in their sockets. There was one tree in particular where it was possible to get close enough to take a few pics (along with other tourists). We had taken a public bus, jam packed of course, and then transferred to a small pick-up truck with planks for seats in the back. I leaned back against the pile of bananas. The truck wound and sped around mountainous terrain while the parents sitting next to me barely caught their little girl’s vomit in a clear plastic baggie. Finally we arrived and checked into Mama Rose’s Guest House. We quickly heading into the park and hired a guide to take us the “the” spot and arrived just before dusk and just before about 10 other tourists came to photograph the cute little monkeys.
Early the next morning the three of us got picked up and delivered to a live aboard boat where we had reservations to do more diving. Eric and Anne had done considerable legwork to hook us up with this next plan. This time we would be diving in Lembay Straits, an area where it’s said that only one other place in the world has some of these strange underwater creatures. The nature of the diving was called "muck" diving due to the muddy bottom conditions, and in this case accented by a garbage strewn ocean floor. We lived on the boat for two days/ nights and did 3 dives a day plus a night dive. The creatures were spectacular and half the fun was hunting for them and turning each other on to what we each found. Large Morey Eels, Pygamy Seahorses, large Sea Horses, many bizarre Frog Fish, Mimic Octopus, Bat Fish, Ornate Ghost Pipe Fish, Ribbon Pipefish and more. We all had a blast.
After this adventure, Anne and Eric bid farewell after having spent almost 3 weeks together with me. They were heading home after 16 months of travel! Definitely got me thinking about my return home (whenever that may be). And I wondered how I would do after having so much good companionship. Anne and Eric were great comrades in adventure. We continue to stay in contact by email and presently they are gearing up for an intestinal and body cleanse with my encouragement and coaching.
I then rented a motorcycle out of the city of Manado and toured around the North for three days. I stayed in a small bungalow and visited a water fall, hiked up a small volcano, practiced my Indonesian with locals everywhere, and for dinner dined on Stewed Bat, Grilled Rat and veggies (really). Earlier in Manado I had "Air Wes" (dog) and rice for lunch. The bat was OK, including the black skin-like wings, but the rat was bitter. The dog was prepared traditionally; very spicy and there wasn't much meat. I had to really dig around with my teeth around the poor hounds chopped up bones to get any good bites at all. I was hoping that I wasn't eating Black Lab or Duck Tolling Retriever, (thinking of Buddha and Iko; sorry Debbie, Rebbie and Matthew).

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In three days I returned to catch a flight to Makassar in the very far south and subsequently flew the next day to Rantepau. It was here where I would explore the traditional culture of the Tana Torajans; reputed for still building homes the traditional way and in this case very ornately adorned with the horns of many sacrificed buffalo. The landscape was spectacular and mountainous with rice fields and remote villages. But the main attraction was for sure the Tana Torajan people’s funerals.
The Torajans believe that the soul of the sacrificed animal travels with the deceased and that the more possessions the dead have in "heaven" the less likely the soul would come back and cause problems on earth. The tradition funeral is so important to this culture that often the families go into financial ruin in order to have a large ceremony. They proudly display the horns of the buffalo on the fronts of their “Tonkanan” houses.
It really is quite an elaborate undertaking for these people. Firstly, immediately after the family member dies, those present have the first funeral. The corpse is preserved and then held in the family home until the extended family can all arrange and return for the main funeral. The family members that are present take “care” of the deceased by visiting it everyday and bringing it food, which they believe the corpse still needs. This waiting period might go on for quite some time, in some cases even as long as 5 years! What are they waiting for one might ask? They’re waiting until the entire extended family, each and every one of them, can return home from wherever they are with enough money to offer an expensive buffalo. I say jeese, let the poor deceased soul go to heaven already, LOL! In the meantime they build large temporary housing and a ceremony area where the much anticipated funeral will one day take place.
My guide for the first funeral that I attended (where I saw many pigs being stabbed in the lungs and bleeding to death / my second funeral I went without a guide) was currently upset with his brother for keeping his family’s funeral in limbo. My guide felt that his brother should have been planning for this before the death but because he didn’t, now the whole family must wait for him to save millions of rupiah (as much as $2,000. US worth) and make travel arrangements before they could have the funeral. He hoped that the funeral would happen within a year after his mother’s death! Meanwhile, the mother was wrapped in blankets and residing in his home!
At the first funeral I attended there were a steady stream of tourists dropping in to catch the proceedings. My guide filled me in on a bunch of details and answered my questions. I was asked to bring a carton of cigarettes as an offering for my being there but I just could not do this. The Indonesians already smoke so excessively and besides my giving cigarettes would be like a vegetarian giving veal steaks as a gift. I gave cash instead. I wandered around the ceremony site and mostly just cuaght the vibe of the event. Mostly it seemed like alot of folks dressed in black and sitting around socializing and drinking "Tuak" -a Torajan palm wine, while many pigs met their death and subsequently were chopped up publicly, divied up and distributed to attendies.
After a couple of hours I felt like I had seen all there was to see there so I went on a day tour with my guide. He and I toured the surrounding area on a motorcycle that he had acquired at my expense. I saw “hanging caskets” perched on the edge of cliffs with human remains stacked up in piles and the newer resting places of the deceased; that being expensive hand excavated graves inside the faces of massive rock walls, outcroppings or boulders. The guide did a good enough job, but he kept to easy to reach predictable sites and finished the day with me at 4:00pm, two hours before I figured we’d return to town. I decided to tour independently the next day, renting a motorbike to tour the northern part of the province.
The next day I acquired my motorbike and hit the road, touring into the remote north country side. I had checked into a nice guest house with sweeping views over the valley below in the town of Batutamonga and returned here for a quiet night. I hadn’t planned on attending another funeral but had been told that in fact there was one happening right down the road and that the next day would be the climactic day three of the five day ceremony.
I woke up the next morning, and after doing my morning breathwork and meditation (as usual) I headed over to the ceremony. Arriving just at the right time, about 9:30 AM all heads turned as the sole white man arrived just as a herd of buffalo were being inspected and selected for the upcoming offering.
Before long the sacrificing began. Young men welding large and razor sharp knives proudly performed the task at hand. I had been told that many Torajans practice black magic and that the effectiveness of their death blow to the defenseless buffalo was an indication of their magical power. I don’t know…… if I call it as I saw it I saw a poor buffalo getting his head nearly wacked off with a machete sized blade…don’t think there’s too much magic there. I asked my prior guide if he practiced black magic and he responded no, he didn’t. I asked him if that left him feeling vulnerable and fearsome of those that had developed this so called magical power. He responded that no, it didn’t make him feel afraid because, he said, he didn’t practice black magic and that meant that those that did practice black magic wouldn’t have any ability to work their spells on him! I though well heck…that’s a useful belief, LOL.
Anyway, for sure a point in Sulawesi that will stick out in my memory is going to this second funeral and witnessing 16 water buffalo being slaughtered in front of 200 villagers! This involved a swift slice into the throat followed by blood spewing out of the neck while the buffalo stood stunned and lunging about before collapsing into convulsions (often splashing blood on the crowd). The mother with her infant in the front row casually wiped the splatters from her babies cheek. The buffalo would stumble and collapse ontop of prior victims and somehow manage to drag itself back onto it's feet, blowing blood on huge bursts from out of the gaping hole in it's neck. Meanwhile, other buffalo continued to convulse, repeatedly smashing their heads into the dirt; writhing in pain.
After the blood bath I sipped some local palm wine and coffee with some of the men and ate freshly butchered and cooked intestine and meat from one of the buffalo while the crowd and I watched the slaughtered animals being skinned, gutted and butchered. I figured that with this crowd I wouldn’t push my luck and let them in on all the details of who I was and what I thought. I really just wanted to get inside of their world…I think I did! Plus, I had already learned that most all of them are Christian and were fond of G.W. Bush. I asked why they liked the president and the usual response was because he was against the Muslims.
One of the men I was sitting with said "You save your money to travel, we save our money for the funeral". I asked someone if they ever get attached to their buffaloes and not want to sacrifice them, after all many of them are 10 or more years old? His response was a resolute "No". I asked why not? He said, "It's the animal’s time." Another man said “God put animals on Earth for us to eat."
Later I was speaking to another man in town about this tradition. I said that in the States we have huge movie theaters with violent movies and computer games that feature killing and blood. It seemed that here in Tana Toraja the killing and torture of pigs and buffalo was this people's form of entertainment. Certainly everyone seemed to be enjoying the show, I said, myself included (in a strange way). The man responded quickly, "No, this isn't entertainment, this is tradition and providing meat for our friends and family."
I found it strange that a group of people would celebrate death with killing.
The next day, before checking out of my peaceful mountain room, a friend that I had met and I went back to the ceremony grounds to witness day four of the event. On this day the menu featured cock fighting.
When we arrived, men were sitting in circles engaged in gambling while the owners of the cocks meticulously compared the potential cocks for weight and wing span. After the pairing of cocks was agreed upon the owners then (to my surprise) strapped razor-like knives to the left foot of each of the birds. Needless to say, after the bets were laid out, it wasn’t long before blood was drawn and the winning bird proclaimed. The owner of the unfortunate losing cock then cut the left leg off of his bird while it was still alive and gave it to the winning bird’s owner. I wondered what the Pope would think about these gambling, cock-fighting animistic Christians.
This event didn’t keep my attention for long and besides I needed to return to town in order to buy my air ticket back to Makassar before the agencies closed. My intention was to leave Rantepao the next day.

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Mission accomplished; I traveled in a shuttle bus to Mamasa Valley the next morning, caught a plane to Makassar, ate lunch at a café nearby, hired a taxi to take me an hours drive away to the main bus and taxi terminal and then finally paying handsomely for a front seat of a public bemo that would then make the three hour drive to Pantai Bira; my next destination. I made it clear that I was looking for a direct and express trip and was promised as such. However the trip was neither, so when we finally arrived at my destination at 9:30 PM, I confronted the driver and payed him less than what was agreed upon. Yes, he did make a fuss about this, but I made it clear that it wasn’t the money, it was the dishonestly (which he couldn’t deny).
I then walked around town and finally found a room that would due. The selection was slim as every weekend many locals from Makassar arrive and fill the town for a weekend at the beach. Unfortunately, my Pantai Bira experience was dominated by recovering from Strep Throat of all things. By day three I knew exactly what I had and immediately sought anti-biotics from a local nurse whom over-charged me due to assumptions associated with my skin color. I spent most of my time laying around and studying Indonesian language on the beach. I actually recovered quite quickly and throughout this illness managed to keep my energy level functional.
Laying around on the beach, I became quite familiar and fond of the sand there. The incredible quality of the white sand I do believe the best I’ve seen ever. It was for sure the finest, almost clay-like consistency, without being muddy at all!
On one day I rented a motorcycle and took a day trip out to a small town, Tamen Beru, where villagers are renowned for building boats the old fashion way. That was an interesting glimpse into the past. The boats they build are often HUGE and can take up to a year to construct. All hand built with wood and minimal electric tools. A few of the bigger boats brought forth images of pirates sailing the seas. I was able to hang out with a few of the builders and watch for a while. The women in the village were involved in farming Agar Agar, a form of seaweed that is processed and used as a thickener in cooking. The ocean near to shore was full of aquatic fields of Agar Agar.
Another interesting thing to mention was my meeting a gentleman whom gave me a lift on his motorbike after I had traveled outside of town to see the nurse to get those anti-biotics that I mentioned. He had lived in London for 3 years so it was a unique chance for me to speak with someone whom had lived both as a native Indonesian as well as a “westerner” in London. He had returned to his home town here because his fiancé was quite ill. I asked him which he preferred; London or Pantai Bira and he responded that he was fond of both. When I pressed him to make a choice if he could only pick one, he said he would choose London. Elaborating, he said that in Indonesia “there is no justice”! He said that if a man calls out to someone and accuses him of theft, a crowd will often take the matter into their own hands and maybe even kill the accused! Also, he said the police and politicians are totally corrupt.
A young gent from the guesthouse next door and I became friends as well and enjoyed some time together. His name was Superman (really). I would have liked to have stayed in Pantai Bira longer, but unfortunately my freaking measly 30 day visa was about to expire and I needed to return to Bali to catch a flight that was also about to expire back to Bangkok.

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I was fully intending on returning to explore more of Indonesia but wound up deciding instead to head into China. This was a very difficult decision for me to make. I had had so much fun, done so much work and made such good progress regarding speaking the Indonesia language. And after 3 months, frankly, I really only scratched the surface of these diverse and fascinating islands. My friends Eric and Anne had spent 7 months of their 16 month of travels in Indonesia.
I spent the first few days of my stay in Singapore, having made a spontaneous choice to go there as opposed to returning to Bangkok, slowly absorbing the fact that I was moving on. I never really said goodbye to the country while I was there. I struggled with this. Ultimately it was a combination of things, not the least being the bombings that happened in my much loved Indonesian home of Kuta two days after I had left. I met a Malaysian man in Singapore, Azmi, outside of a bookstore. We went out for tea and enjoyed each others company. He informed me about the Bali tragedy. I could not hold back my tears. Additionally, the weather south of the equator was heading into the rainy season making Indonesia less enticing. China was calling me, but winter was fast approaching there. I had to push myself out from the familiar and into the unfamiliar. And with this change I knew I would be going from a country where I could now speak the language and into China, where I had heard that it can be difficult for the independent traveler, especially due to the language gap.
Ultimately, my drive to see more diversity and have a broader scope of experience catylized me to head on and leave behind Indonesia.
While the bulk of my journals have detailed external events and destinations my internal process has been strong. A part of what I'm currently working on deepening is what I experience as a subtle connection between the quality of my breath and a deeper state of presence and release. I experience that when thoughts arise this results in an energetic contraction internally as well as subtle constrictions in the breath. Through deepening the"habit" of unrestricted silky smooth breath it is my feeling that the ability to rest in bare awareness/beingness with a quiet mind will be greatly enhanced.