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Down and Out in Makassar

Thursday, January 5th, 2006

My backpack has been stolen.

I was waiting for the (delayed) Awu to Maumere at the harbour terminal at 3am, having a smoke, when some guy started talking to me and when I turned around again, it was gone (and so was he). I have only just come from the police station (at 10 am) but the ship is so late that I can still catch it.

The whole story (written up later) has been told in the previous entry, if you’re following this in the ‘SE Asia’ category.

There will be no more pictures, I’m afraid: the camera was in the backpack where I thought it would be safer.

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Down and Out in Makassar

Wednesday, January 4th, 2006

Makassar, Sulawesi, January 4th 2006

I woke up with a start. It was 3:30 am and I’d overslept the alarm.

Everything was ready to go, so I quickly stuffed my wet towel on top of the backpack and closed it. Sweeping the room one last time and seeing nothing amiss, I hurried down the gloomy corridor in my socks. The guy from reception came up to me when I slipped into my flip-flops at the bottom on the staircase (a quick feel had confirmed that my boots were still wet from the monsoon rains—within and without).

“Ah, you’re ready! You need to catch the ship!”

It gave me a warm glow that he was making sure I got up in time, even though the hostel—in a dark alley close to the harbour—was somewhat impersonal, to say the least. I smiled and bade him good-bye, then hurriedly stepped out into the street. I was late. There wasn’t time to worry about getting mugged or otherwise dither.

The street was almost deserted. A few lone revellers passed by, nodding when they made eye contact. Once past the container port and through the gate to the passenger terminal, all that changed. I could see the milling crowds from afar. Again, it looked as if an exodus was in progress, but I took heart. There would be plenty of room for everyone and their households on the ship. But where was the ship? It was now almost 4am.

I turned around to ask at the police post, only to find it deserted. So was the information counter inside the bustling hall. Somebody mentioned a departure time of six. That made sense— perhaps four o’clock was the check-in time. Still, it would help if the ship was there, as it would take a while for everyone to board.

I put down my backpack next to a family group and tried to stretch out on the smooth, warm tiles, but I couldn’t relax. Besides, dozing off would not be advisable. So I sat down on some stairs for a smoke, a few steps away from the sleepers.

Time passed. Eventually, the family upped their belongings and left, perhaps to enquire when the ship was due. I took a last swig from my can and made to get up, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

I turned around and stared at him irritatedly for a moment. Just some bloke trying to make a pass, or perhaps wanting to practice his English. But if it was the latter, no further word passed his lips.
[read on]

Posted in SE Asia, Travel, Travel tales | 1 Comment »

Washed up in Makassar

Tuesday, January 3rd, 2006

The Awu might only call in Makassar every two weeks or so, but I was in luck. The next departure to Maumere on Flores was due in three days time.

Perhaps I was out of my mind to contemplate taking a Pelni ship after my last experience, but at least I knew not to travel ‘Ekonomi’ this time. I went to the office by the harbour to enquire about a bunk. Third class was full. So was second class. Oh, what the heck.

“First class?”

“Fuuul!”

That couldn’t be—on the ship to Pantoloan, there had been nobody in first class! But then again, this was Makassar, a much busier route.

Unsure what to do, I retreated to the internet café. As always, it took me a while to calm down from the attention I received every time I stepped out onto the street. It was all too much. One thing that was for sure was that I had to get out of here.

So what were my options for onward travel? A part of me, frazzled from the stress, wanted to go straight to Bali, but that was ridiculous. John wouldn’t be due there for another two weeks. And I was meant to see Indonesia, not hide away in some tourist spot. I wanted to experience the spectacular beauty of Nusa Tengagara, even if it was a little inconvenient getting there.

Another part of me still wanted to go to the Moluccas, but with my poor knowledge of Bahasa, it wasn’t really an option and flying there would be risky as foreigners tend to be turned away at the airport. Flying felt like cheating anyway. No, I would go on that ship. I was almost certain that I could upgrade on board, although I would feel better with the right ticket in my pocket.

Even after spending several hours surfing the web, I actively dreaded walking back outside. This wouldn’t do—an agoraphobic backpacker? I bit down a curse and left the internet café. After about five minutes, I was on the verge of bursting into tears. But where to go? It was just after four in the afternoon, and the hostel room wasn’t particularly inviting. I consulted my map and walked down the seaside boulevard, away from the harbour. And the miracle happened: the traffic and throng of pedestrians grew thinner. The surroundings became more pleasant. Most of all, I was left alone. A few kids waved at me, but that was all. I waved back at them with a happy smile. This was much more like it. The side streets were charming and quiet, so I went for a pleasant walk.

There, across the street, was another Pelni agent! By some miracle, it was still open. Luck was on my side.

The clerk shook her head. “Fuuul!”

“Really?”

“Really!”

—Then again perhaps not.

I made some more detailed enquiries. The Awu was due to leave on the fifth on January at 4 am, but the hostel was practically in spitting distance from the passenger terminal, so the time wasn’t a problem. I could catch some sleep beforehand. It would be a 22h trip, perhaps I could stay alert the entire time.

I bought the ticket.

Back at the Torajan bar, I began to formulate a plan of how to deal with the men. If you can’t beat them, join them. I would keep my mangled language books in my bag and enforce a language lesson! They would teach me Bahasa, I would teach them English. This would ensure that the obnoxious element filtered away soon enough, and their place would be taken by friendly, bright guys I could latch on to.

But 4 am is a hell of a time for a language session.

I pushed the thought from my mind and tried to enjoy Makassar. As nice as it was by the seaside, scarcely half an hour later the heavens opened again and rain washed down in thick curtains. I was really not meant to do any sightseeing.

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Entries backdated!

Tuesday, January 3rd, 2006

Entries from 21/12/2005 are being added to the blog now, backdated accordingly. If you want to see what I’m doing right now, read ‘The Pelni Experience’. I’m about to go for another one!

Posted in Travel | 1 Comment »

Rantepao to Makassar

Monday, January 2nd, 2006

Since I picked up on last year’s journal entries, I might as well continue. Alas, there are no more photos.

I left Toraja with a pang of regret, but I knew that I had stayed for long enough, given the season. Hanging on for longer would only dissipate the magical start to the year. It was time to move on.

Besides, it wasn’t getting any drier.

My stuff was still damp. I piled my clothes on top of a plastic bag, tied the wet boots to the outside of the backpack and went in search for a bus to Makassar.

One regret I have was not tasting pa’piong, the fabled Torajan delicacy: meat or fish—often prepared with coconut milk—is steamed with vegetables and young banana stems in open bamboo tubes over a slow fire. It has to be ordered in advance and I didn’t have the time. I contemplated staying for another day, but my taste buds were still compromised by the great Indonesian flu, which seemed to have struck down everyone in Sulawesi just before Christmas. At least I had managed to taste a little of the distinctive and delicious Torajan cuisine: stir-fried vegetables—usually mixed with bits of meat—are garlicky and salty enough to blast open anyone’s sinuses and the earthyness of the black Pamarrasan spice mix is rather pleasantly offset with lemon grass.

But I digress again. Catching a bus to Makassar wasn’t difficult, I just walked down the street until I came across a Segeri Indah bus that still had places. It filled up soon enough with people returning to Makassar from visiting their families. Mostly they were couples—and all the women had toddlers and babies in tow. Soon, the bus was converted into a rolling nursery, and every half-an-hour, we stopped—for half an hour—in a cacophony of crying babies and hassled mothers shushing and changing nappies.

I figured that, at this speed, we wouldn’t get to Makassar before 4 a.m., but it was just possible that things would change once we were out of Tana Toraja. And so it turned out. As soon as the last dramatically curved roofs disappeared from sight, the bus picked up speed and zoomed through the spectacular mountain scenery with no further intent of stopping. The toddler in the woman’s lap next to me picked that moment to violently throw up. Warm sick trickled down my trousers. And it didn’t stop.

It wasn’t actually too bad, baby sick doesn’t smell much. But the child could not hold down any water. Aside from brief periods of sleep, it continued to be sick. I stared to seriously worry about dehydration. If only we would stop again! But we did not for four more hours. And after a short reprieve, the poor boy had to make it all the way through to Makassar. He did.

As we approached the city, I caught a newspaper headline: KORBAN BOM PALU KE MAKASSAR. Now, ‘korban’ means sacrifice. Was this some threat to plant bombs everywhere from Palu to Makassar? Or were the Palu bombers targeting the Sulawesi capital next? ‘Korban’ also means victim. Maybe the headline merely referred to the transfer of one of the bomb victims. So it turned out, but for a while, I was worried.

The sky opened again when we finally rolled into Makassar, late in the afternoon. There was no bemo from the out-of-town terminal to the centre. By now, I had developed a devil-may-care attitude, jumping from one bemo into the next while trying to vaguely align my guide book map with the surroundings. It would serve me well in my onward travels, but I was stressed. And, I realised, I was back in the real world. People were staring. There were no other foreigners. The only recommended backpacker hostel—as I found after walking past it repeatedly—was closed and boarded up, festooned with placards.

Oh dear.

Thankfully, I found a place for the night, but it was considerably less pleasant than the beautiful and downright luxurious accommodation I had enjoyed in Ampana and Rantepao. It was in a dark back alley, not far from the harbour. I felt uneasy.

At least there was an internet café and a Torajan-run bar nearby. But the weather did not invite any sightseeing and I had no desire to linger.

The ship to Flores, I heard, ran every two weeks.

Posted in SE Asia, Travel | 1 Comment »

New Year in Tana Toraja

Sunday, January 1st, 2006

Actually, Tadley did manage to throw a good party. We were let in the pub despite not having collected the tickets, and while there was drunkenness, there was no fighting. We all hugged each other. John and I toasted the New Year with Lagavulin and there was a nice fireworks display outside. It didn’t rain. For the first time in many days, we could see the stars.

But I digress. I want to write about New Year’s Day 2006.

Toraja, rice shed

Toraja rice barn (Lumbung)

[read on]

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