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Togean Temptations

Tuesday, December 27th, 2005

And here is one of the highs:

Imagine a land where it is always summer. Where green islands are dotted in turquoise waters, surrounded by coral gardens. Where dolphins weave through the silvery tapestry of the sea in shouting distance from shore. Where looking into the clear water you can see neon-bright fish darting among the blue-green coral. Where the sultry air is heavy with the scent of flowers.

Always.

Occasionally, brief rain storms lash at the beaches, ruffling the palms and reminding me what the weather is like back home, but here the rain is like a warm shower and the grey sky is incongruous; the tropical sun quickly boils away the clouds like so much steam.

But paradise had not been easy to reach.

After nearly a week of hard travelling, I shouldered my backpack and stepped off the boat, walking along the fringe of golden sand between the sea and the wooden chalets in front of a verdant wall of the jungle.

I had arrived in the Togean Islands with a runny nose and a scratchy throat—great timing, as always.

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Christmas Day in Ampana

Monday, December 26th, 2005

Marina Cottages, Ampana

At 5:30 in the morning, the sun painted the sky pastel pink. It looked to be a wonderful day with a mirror calm sea and clear sky. I mimed throwing a stone at the dog whose howling had woken me up and went back inside the hut to sleep.
[read on]

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Palu to Poso

Saturday, December 24th, 2005

Rant warning; the following (backdated) entries up to January 20th are a largely uncensored account of my experiences in Indonesia. Solo travel in Sulawesi drove me to the verge of a nervous breakdown (yes, really) and isn’t recommended for the feint-hearted. There have been many downs, but also some spectacular ups. This, my second day off the Pelni ship, was one of my lowest points until I got to Makassar:

It’s nearly Christmas and I considered going to Manado in order to spend it in civilisation. However, Manado is the gateway to the Moluccas and it is too early for me to go there—I’d miss all of Sulawesi. The Bunaken Marine Park is no longer worth a visit if I am to believe the officer I spoke to on the Tidar. In short, there is nothing that should draw me to Manado right now.

On the other hand, looking at the map, Poso seems to be a better option. From there it is easy to get to the Togean islands (via Ampana) and to Tana Toraja. So after a good night’s sleep (and being woken up by a pesky child banging at the door with a cup of tea at bloody 6:30 am) I changed my plans and decided to head to Poso to resume my adventure. So what if the town is a backwater—it can hardly be much worse than Palu. Supermarkets, washing machines, internet access and (sadly) restaurants—let alone those that serve beer—are a thing of the past: from now on, my social life will resolve around wooden sheds which sell soft drinks and shampoo in one-portion sachets, screaming children (and sometimes adults) and honking horns from every car or scooter that passes me.

Might as well dive straight in.
[read on]

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The Pelni Experience (1)

Friday, December 23rd, 2005

(ca. 1500 words)

I had my adventure back.

The smell of fried plantain mingled wit diesel fumes as I pushed my way through the throng of taxi-touts. There were buses going to Manado, but I had decided to base myself in Poso and from there explore the Tama Toraja in the Southern heart of Sulawesi and travel to the Togean islands and from there up north.

The intended highlight of my trip, Pulao Bunaken Marine Park near Manado with its staggering diversity of coral, had apparently been turned into a rubbish tip—according to one of the junior officers on the ship and a fellow diver whom I had no reason to doubt. He’d also told me that the best diving was in Kalimantan. Too late.

Eventually, I was grabbed and rescued from the throng by one of the minivan drivers who turned out to be a friend of another man I’d met while talking to the ship’s officers. He smiled serenely and sparked up a Kretek as I threw my backpack into the van.
Pantoloan Harbour, Sulawesi
Ïndonesia very beautiful! —Tchch…”

He was right. As we rattled out of Pantoloan harbour and into Sulawesi in a smoking, hooting convoy of minivans and scooters, I saw blue mountains reaching into the clouds, palm trees grabbing at the sky with feathery tendrils and gaudily painted buildings in verdant fields. I felt exhilarated, as if the volume of all my senses had been turned up a notch. In these moments, immersed in sounds, colours and smells, travelling is like a drug.

Indonesia is beautiful, but getting there had not been so easy.
[read on]

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The Pelni Experience (2)

Thursday, December 22nd, 2005

The guy at the information counter, when it finally opened, confirmed that the ship was due to arrive in Pantoloan, a port 22km north of Palu which wasn’t on my map, at 10 o’clock the following morning. I could not change my ticket and that upset me a little, until I figured out the value of the rupiah—it cost just over 80 RM. It was alright.

The steward gave me a locker for my camera and PDA. I went pack on deck and sat in the balmy breeze. On the horizon, ligtning painted the sky with orange strobes; each capturing a snapshot of a false sunset. There was no rain and no sound except for the distant humming of the engines and the gentle rush of water against the hull. The ship’s teeming underbelly semed miles away, and even the men who had been yelling “Hey Missis!” at me left me alone.

Indonesia is no place to have a nervous breakdown. I stopped snivelling. I’ve had worse trips—unless the ship should start to sink.

A double flash lit up the sky in rapid succession, like a frantic celestial paparazzi clicking away. It was quickly followed by more lighting sweeping horizontally under the clouds. It was far away, but I could feel the electricity in the air.

Of course, the peace didn’t last long.
[read on]

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The Night of the Southern Cross

Wednesday, December 21st, 2005

I blinked at the unfamiliar constellations. It wasn’t a full moon, yet the fans of the banana leaves and the feathery bushels of oil palms stood out as clearly as if they had been drawn in crayon.
[read on]

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Kota Kinabalu

Tuesday, December 20th, 2005

This may have turned into a bit of a city-trip, but when the cities are as nice as Kota Kinabalu—the state capital of Sabah—I don’t mind.

The lashing rains and grey skies have finally given way to sunshine, the better to show off KK’s waterfront with little islands scattered across the bay.

On wooden jetties, fishermen get on with their work.
KK waterfront.jpg

The area around the harbour is dominated by the extensive market where traditional wheeling and dealing takes place in the shadow of modern high-rise buildings.
KK market.jpg

The market is divided into different areas. There is a meat market, a spice market and, in one dark hall, countless stalls displaying souveniers and local crafts.

But it was a hot day and thus time to relax at the coconut bar…
Coconut Bar
…before making my way back to the hostel down the main street. KK may mainly comprise concrete buildings, but a splash of paint gives them a gaudy appearance.
KK street

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Flying in Circles

Monday, December 19th, 2005

Time for another rant. I’m beginning to think I’m not very good at this travelling lark.

Despite the late night, I snapped awake 30 seconds before the Palm started bleeping. When I got out of the bathroom, the main lights in the corridor came on. I had settled the bill, but one of the girls from reception had gotten up all the same: “Want Taxi?”

“Thank you, but it is all arranged. Taxi comes at 6:30.”

She got on the phone anyway. The service at ‘Highlanders’ is superb. It was just as well.

“No taxi—come at 6:45 perhaps?”

“No taxi?”

“Is busy.”
[read on]

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Surf ‘n’ Turf, Jungle Style

Sunday, December 18th, 2005

I don’t dig the food here. The flavours are weak and poorly balanced. There is no heat, no tangyness and too much sweetness and I don’t care to acquire the taste of the dried fish with wich nearly everything is abundandly seasoned. Seems I’ve done nothing wrong when I tried to cook Malaysian/Nyonyan food from a recipe book—it just isn’t very good.

After a few weeks of this, I started to crave Western food; yesterday I almost walked into a KFC. So when I instead found the Indian restaurant which I had passed on my first day in Miri but never located again, I was overjoyed. Sheesh Kebab, alive and kicking in a fragrantly spiced chilli sauce, fresh Naan, sour Lassi—things looked up considerably, despite the drab weather and unreachable beach. And no rice! The owner hadn’t even suggested it—it seems he knows his clientele as well as his food. In the street cafés here, you’ll get a bowl of rice with your soup.

It’s amazing what difference a good meal can make. Body and Soul ‘n’ all.
[read on]

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Magical Morning

Saturday, December 17th, 2005

On my last day in Kuching I managed to catch the 7:00 am bus to the Sarawak Forestry reserve at Semenggoh, home to the state’s botanical collections and to an Orang Utan rehabilitation centre in a 630 ha rainforest reserve. 22 of the apes have been rehabilitated in this centre after being rescued from captivity or confiscated from poachers and a group of them are now breeding there. They still depend on humans for supplementary feeding (the site isn’t big enough to support them) but during the rainy season, one of the keepers at the information office said with a shrug, I would be lucky to see them: “Many trees are fruiting.”

No sooner had he spoken than a rustling in the trees announced the arrival of a mother and her one-month old baby—the park’s youngest resident. And she wasn’t over at the feeding platform but right in front of us at the visitor compound.

Nursing mothers need feed, I thought even as she was joined by two juveniles, hanging in the branches above us like benevolent apparitions, with the sunlight glittering through the leaves around them. I had to rub my eyes to believe it.

Semenggoh1
[read on]

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