Doshisha Days

Below is the first entries from my journal recounting my trip to Bali and Sulawesi.

26 February

I’m sitting on the deck outside my room in Kuta Beach, Bali, Indonesia, Planet Earth. I’ve traded on volcanic archipelago for another. The buildings before me are brick with clay tiled roofs, palm trees are everywhere. My room has a fan and only cold water, which is fine as it is hot and humid but not unbearable. Below my third floor vantage point there is an assortment of rust-colored roofs, but all comprised of different materials – metal and clay- and of different heights.

Alex and I arrived at five and made our way to Kuta, one of the more touristy communities in Bali. It’s like Thanon Khao San with less people (this place has an off-season) and more sand (due to the adjacent beach). We checked into some guesthouse that Alex had stayed at before and we headed out to check out the main drag. I dined on gado-gado, which is basically boiled vegetables with peanut sauce. It was tasty, but I look forward to sampling other dishes. Stuff here is cheap, damn cheap and this should be even truer when we go further afield.

… Ok if these flights [to and from Sulawesi] are gonna be paid in cash, I will have to be pretty frugal with my money from here on out…

…I think any doubts that Alex is anything less than what he says he is has been put to rest…

27 February

Our first full day was not much different than the first evening. Wandering around Kuta, getting a feel for things. Indonesia is cheap, cheaper than either Thailand or Cambodia. Today we are still working out logistics, flights to Makassar, etc. Should buy some postcards today.

28 February

I’m on my own for most of today, which is fine as I can use the time to write postcards, write about the trip and handle some of the remaining logistical questions about Sulawesi at a much more efficient clip than I would have otherwise. On the main agenda are doxycycline [malaria prophylactics] and air tickets…

…tasks complete…

I truly find sitting on the beach to be boring. Unless I am with someone and wrapped up in books, it seems like some sort of time-warping activity, as in time just drags. Makes me look forward to getting the hell off Bali for some weeks. It’ll make a nice bookend for this trip, that’s all it really should be…

… I think Bali is like going to the Epcot Center version of Indonesia, controlled and fabricated…

…I feel that I haven’t written a profound thing for a long time in this diary. Gonna take a breather until I do.

29 February

Alex’s brother Daniel arrived this evening. We had just come from Ku De Ta, a really swank bar in Seminyak, which is the more upscale settlement north of Kuta. We had intended to get massages, but Alex went diving and got back later than anticipated and so we opted to grab a drink and some Indian before meeting Dan, who had been stranded in Singapore for 2 weeks. He apparently read a lot, and is now something of a SAS expert. Interesting guy…

…Happy Leap Year! Absolute madness. It’s the only phrase that can describe today. I’ve never been anywhere like this ever. Rampant problems yet the people are noble and kind. It’s like a totally screwed up version of America. But I’m drunk and tired, and rambling to boot so more tomorrow.

2 March

The madness continues. Last night we arrived in the Mamasa Valley after a 12 hour drive up-country into the interior of South Sulawesi. The night before we spent drinking on the only expat bar in town, recounting the day in Makassar. After accidently going for a beer in a brothel where we were accosted by some of the most vile whores ever, who even worse than being hags, had the gall to drink our beer, we escaped and proceeded down to the pier where we reunited with a couple that we had met before our iniquitous side trip at Fort Rotterdam. Our reunion was short-lived however because we were mobbed by street orphans and others who wanted to talk with us. A group of Muslim school girls interviewed us in English; one asked me my opinion on Islam and Christianity, which left a strong impression on me that they were so willing to speak with us. They seemed thrilled to have had the chance to speak with us. We continued for over an hour, conversing with dozens of random people who approached us on the pier, before heading to dinner where we again ran into the head madam of the brothel, whose cackle was either sinister or deranged if not both.

The next day we left early and took a pete-pete or bemo, the ubiquitous blue van that serves as an Indonesia tuk-tuk, to the bus station to arrange our transport to Mamasa. We jammed ourselves along with 8 other people into a mini-van, 3-5-3, 6 hours to Polemass, where we switched to an all terrain vehicle, 3 in the front and 4 in the back. which we took through a series of switchbacks on a dirt/mud road that wound through the valleys below. It took well over 5 hours to go 100km – probably less – to Mamasa, a rather large settlement considering its location. The windshield wipers on the SUV died a few hours in and so we were effectively driving blind the last hours which was slightly disconcerting considering the road condition and the long way down to the bottom of the ravines that the roads tortuously wound through.

We finally made it to this town after dusk and were anxious to explore - as we were to leave on a 3 day hike the next morn - and hopefully drink some beers after the long, sore ride. We wandered around the city center, and upon approaching a building on a hill that looked promising, but what turned out to be city hall, we met two men, one of whom introduced himself as the chief of police. Smoking a (quite potent) Indonesian cigarette, he recommended a place down the road just outside of town for drinking. He also mentioned that it was a good place to buy the company of women, and before we could graciously thank him and find a non-brothel for once, he offered to give us a lift there. Trapped. And so one by one we got on his motorcycle and he drove us down out of town, dropping us off at this ramshackle building that looked like a small barn, with another building (for the more iniquitous side of the business) behind it. We walked in the barn, which was replete with disco ball and a bunch of karaoke machines - we offered to sing a song, but the English songs were few and unheard of by all. We sat down with a few girls and got our long-coveted Bintangs. The only other thing that really stood out about the place was that it was dark. Very very dark. After taking a few pictures, I realized why. All the girls had - in Cockney rhyming slang - very moody boats. In normal English - they were quite hideous. Not the Pretty Woman type. And so we drank. About 10 minutes later, a guy got up, had some sort of paroxysm, picked up a plastic chair and brought it slamming down on a table, shattering the chair and making a huge commotion. The guy was dragged out of the place by his friends, and normalcy - by rural Indonesian standards - resumed. This was once again interrupted (which may actually be normal in these parts), by the arrival of a few new patrons, whom the women around us said were police. A few minutes pass and then the more noticeable police show up - the kind that wears military-type uniforms and carries assault rifles. They start yelling, stomping on the ground and haranguing some of the people there, for what, I have not the slightest idea. The guys at the place all lift up their shirts, as to show that they are not packing heat. A bunch are rounded up and taken outside and away. The police with the big guns don't even look in our direction. One of the non-uniformed officers assuaged our concerns, telling us that all is fine. They all leave. Queue up the Saturday Night Fever, the place turns into a disco. We do the logical, get another beer. Turn down some drunken bike rides back to our guesthouse and walk back instead, under the moonlight, recounting the bizarre experience to each other.

It was a bit strange, looking back. A guy acts up and the SWAT team gets called in – or at least that was what it appeared to be – it seemed a bit like overkill to me. Still an interesting night. Looking forward to what’s coming next.

5 March

It’s been a few days since I’ve been able to write down what’s transpired. We left Mamasa a little after midday on 2 March. We stocked up food and water, got pointed in the right direction, and headed off towards the east and Rantepao, our final destination. About 3 km in, we stopped at one of the traditional Tana Torajan houses, wooden with an ornate elongated roof, for tea and coffee. While the people were sincere and friendly, we signed their guest book and gave them some money; in the end this had the feeling of a financial transaction. Fortunately for us, it began to rain as we entered their house and as we finished the rain had ebbed, and we continued on through village after village. Around 4 the rain resumed and we made the final push toward the peak of Tadokalua where we hoped there would be a place to rest our heads. The clouds came and the sky darkened and the sky opened up in a maelstrom, so we didn’t exactly pause to take it all in. I finally arrived at the top where shelter did indeed exist, and was long into my coffee when the Jenners arrived 20 minutes later. We met a very nice family, who gave us both dinner and beds. We spent the evening trading Indonesian and English phrases and laughing, happy to be in from the storm. Most of gear was wet and we were not too successful in drying it off by the time we left the next morning just after dawn.

We planned to get an early start and boy did we. The rooster began to crow before 5 am, and I did not go back to sleep. Since we had only done 15km the day before, we had some distance to make up, and so we trekked 27 km to make it to where we needed to go. Alex and Dan destroyed their feet, covering them in blisters. We finally made it to Paku, broken men, drenched from yet another downpour in which the entire trail was completely deluged with water. After a brief respite at a family’s house shield us from the rain, we forded a river on foot and had to avoid some rowdy water buffalos. After eating some less-than-mediocre food that tasted like the Chez Panisse, and cleaning our wounds, we slept like the dead.

The next day, we decided to forgo trekking the final 16 km to Bittuang and so I arranged transport, a Toyota land cruiser that slowly ground itself up and down the boulder-strewn path, bouncing me around in the back bench as I held on for dear life. After 90 minutes, we arrived in Bittuang, where we negotiated transport to Rantepao. We were royally ripped off, paying far more than we should have for both rides. Finally we arrived in Rantepao, ate lunch, were shown a few places to stay by Sri, a 50-ish woman who was quite awkward. In the end, we found nice lodgings; a nice German girl named Anya, and are now awaiting the arrival of Dries, who hopefully will be able to find us despite the utter lack of internet in this place.

The food in Indonesia has been quite good, albeit not as good as Thailand or Cambodia. I’ve eaten a lot of gado-gado and tempeh, both of which have been quite tasty. The food in Bali was fantastic, with some excellent Italian and Indian food. So far the food in Sulawesi has been serviceable, but not always great. On our hike it was good enough but then again it could have been anything and we would have enjoyed it fully. We had an excellent lunch today at our hotel with the owner and Anya.

A bunch of high school students have followed us around, one told me that America was his favorite country, much to the chagrin of my companions from across the pond. We are treated like full celebrities in this town, everyone knows us, I’ve not experienced anything quite like it, even when I was on JET in Kochi. Rantepao is nice except for the crazy amount of tour guides who are a constant source of harassment, even when we eat out. Luckily, our hotel is not too friendly to them and they stay away.