Hello adventure-loving family & friends:
Our last dispatch left us at Bira Beach on the southeast tip of South Sulawesi. This recounting completes our time on Sulawesi, starting with a 12 hour drive north to Tana Toraja, a unique region in that it is predominantly inhabited by Christians, living in harmony with a Muslim minority. Seeing the crosses on the Christian churches was somewhat jarring after a month of nothing but masjids, as overall Indonesia is 90% Islamic.
A poignant memory of the anomaly that Maggie and I have been for the Indonesians was encapsulated in a scene at a gas station where our driver needed to fill up with diesel petrol for the long day ahead. We had a 20 minute wait due to the lineup of a half dozen brightly colored dump trucks (red, blue, pink, yellow and orange), filling up several 5 liter plastic containers per truck, in addition to their gas tanks. Hilariously, locals would walk over to our van’s windows, push their faces against the glass and study our countenances, continuing to stare at us even when we looked over directly into their faces. Mind you, these are adults, with brown weathered faces peering at not-too-wrinkled pale ones, a novelty for them, it appears. There was no real malice, only a childlike curiosity, with bemused smiles. We now knew what it must feel like to be a zoo denizen, with ogling fascination by the paying public. The only difference, these folks did not have to pay!
On this long haul we were struck by the apparent disparity between communities based upon local industries, with better housing and well-tended properties reflecting prosperous ones. Rubber and salt were notable examples. One village dwelt near an expansive, multi-hectare rubber plantation, its trees being slashed as we were passing by, allowing their sap to spill into the small blue retaining cups attached to the trunk. Homes here were not the slipshod wooden structures we had seen elsewhere, but brick and other more substantial materials, e.g., painted masonry, along with trimmed hedges and brightly colored flower gardens. The other village surrounded nearby salt flats, that were broken into sections with bordering berms, on top of which were brilliantly white conical piles of salt drying in the intense sun. On the shoulders of the road were bags and bags of the completed product awaiting transportation to market. The “pile” dwellings here were made of much sturdier, well-crafted wood and built upon substantial concrete or wood “stilts” (columns), the unenclosed space below being used for animals, cars/motorcycles and hammocks for escaping the heat of the day. We later discovered even fancier homes with roof peaks sporting Buginese-style perforated metal curves a la Aladdin’s slippers.
We were surprised on more than a half dozen occasions, abruptly happening upon roadside weddings, a hint of their imminence being a chair placed in the lane nearest the affair to force traffic to slow down and detour a bit. These were colorful and lively events reflecting how life is conducted alongside these arterials which are the lifeblood of the community. In this case, even a very intimate affair was spilling out into the lives of all passersby.
From a landscape perspective, the first part of this long day saw flat, non-tiered muddied unplanted rice fields and straw-like grazing grasslands with horses and cattle which would soon be replaced, as we proceeded northward, by water buffaloes and lush green, tiered rice paddies. After 9 hours on the road, we were ascending rapidly into the highlands, with attendant S-curved narrow roads, a luxuriance reminiscent of a Shangri-La. We had a short stop for tea while viewing Buttu Kabobong Mountain (also known as Nona) straight across from us, the wonderful valleys below and an edifice on a distant mound in the foreground that defied its own existence relative to how one could get to it, never mind the building of it in such an isolated location.
We pulled in around 7:00 p.m., taking a late dinner on the porch of our “home” provided by Ms. Manaek Lande for the next 4 nights. It was a traditional Torajan house, with a red saddle-shaped roof and similarly appointed rice barns on sturdy wood pillars, several meters away. The house was quite the physical challenge for us, even with all our health club work outs! The bedroom was above the main floor, access via 10 1-foot high riser stairs, with a plank at the top requiring one to duck and crouch upon entering the upstairs space. Next was the approach to the sleeping quarters through some Japanese-style, opaque, wood-framed sliding doors which one had to pry open horizontally and then step up on a stool to crawl in and get to the mattress on the floor. To use the bathroom in the night, one had to reverse this process (using a flashlight to avoid plummeting to our demise), and from the main floor, go back from the indoor eating area and down a 1 foot drop into a ‘basement’, ducking again through another door space to access the toilet. Needless to say, we made every attempt to diminish the intake of liquids late in the day.
Our 1st sleep in Toraja was filled with a layered mayhem of country sounds rising up from the valley, dogs yelping and roosters crowing in see-saw battles and the lowing of a baby water buffalo next door, all commencing around 2:00 a.m. These sounds, however, were music to my ears (Maggie was wearing earplugs), given what we had been experiencing from the masjids. Our 1st full day began with a sumptuous breakfast prepared by our benevolent and cheerful hostess, Manaek, followed by an introduction to our English-speaking guide for the next 2 days, Imanuel, who lives in nearby Rantepao, a major town of 400,000.
This guided day was about the culture and traditions of Toraja. As we passed through Rantepao, we witnessed caravans of Torajans standing in truck beds, clad in black, on their way to a funeral ceremony we would be visiting later in the day. But first, we visited the touristy “traditional” village, a UNESCO site, where we saw replicas of the traditional homes, with their saddle-shaped bamboo roofs, which are now all constructed from metal and painted red. When the Indo-Chinese first immigrated by boat to the shores of Sulawesi, they converted their saddle-shaped boats into temporary land-based homes. Moving inland, they kept the boat theme as a part of the roof design on their new homes.
Walking through this village, Imanuel shared several superstitions, one of which was that parents living in their children’s’ home in their later years are relegated to a south-facing bedroom, south signifying the end of life. Maggie and I will be sure to demand a north-facing room if we ever end up under Jordan & Erika’s roof! We moved on to attend the 2nd day of a 3-4 day funeral ceremony for a 90 year old woman, which was well attended with over 1,000 family and friends and a few tourists.
The festivities were rife with the clamorous squealing of pigs strapped to bamboo pole configurations, laying on the ground, frothing at the mouth, the heaving of their bellies reflecting the rapid heart rate of fear, awaiting their ceremonial sacrifice. A water buffalo’s head lay about after its demise earlier in the day. One’s wealth is displayed through gifts of animals at these ceremonies, predominantly pigs and water buffaloes. Many times the recently deceased are embalmed and kept in the homes for years while monies are saved to cover the expenses for these affairs. For some perspective, an average water buffalo can cost 40 million rupiah ($3,400 USD), while the average individual earns 24 million annually. Pigs are cheaper, 3-7 million. Needless to say, many families may forgo the basics in life in carrying on this tradition.
We were invited to join a dozen or so attendees in a low-ceilinged bamboo platform area, more ducking and crouching, then lowering ourselves rather ungracefully down into a cross-legged position, struggling to find adequate space in the crowded circle. They embraced us completely, sharing their palm wine and betel nuts. My job was the easiest. Males drink the wine, women chew betel nut. Maggie took the honors with her newest age-friendly womenfolk, allowing them to teach her the art of chewing, spitting and then putting a tobacco plug in her cheek! She reported to me that she would not be taking this up as a pastime at home.
There are many different types of entombment, i.e., house, rock, tree and cliff. This day we visited cliff burial sites, one at which “carpenters” were working 25 feet up, on a bamboo platform, chiseling into the cliff. Access was from a notched bamboo pole ladder, which I started to climb barefoot, like the carpenters do, and quickly jumped down from the sharp pain. The family that is contracting this work will pay 50 million rupiah, over a 6 month period, using 4 workers to complete this 3’x3’x3’ cave for a future body burial. While there, I tried my hand at forging the chisels used for creating the cave, holding them fresh from the fires, using tongs, and pounding them with a hammer. It was pretty amusing, being sent back to the fires several times to redouble my efforts and, still failing miserably to get the necessary sharpness for the chisel to do its job, my employment was finally terminated. Where was my union rep???!!!
We later sat on our porch to vet the pictures of the day and were quickly surrounded by ten village children. When we demonstrated what we were doing, deleting and saving pictures, they caught on and told us the words for each, delete=‘hapus’; save=‘simpan’. They were delighted to be part of the process, yelling out hapus! simpan!, clapping when a really good photo appeared and booing when one was a hapus+++. One of the pictures we all clapped for was of a water buffalo wallowing in his mud hole, his hide glistening a shiny grey. The kids were eventually called to their homes, leaving us to dine on grilled snapper, squid, papaya, rice and vegetables, with a fruit dessert. Manaek blessed us with the best breakfasts and dinners!
Imanuel related to us that, although Bahasa is the universal Indonesian language, places like Toraja have their own. ‘Thank you’ in Bahasa is tirame kasih, while it is kurret sumanga for Torajans. We made attempts to use the latter while in Toraja, although with great difficulty, as their language includes tonal qualities. Our last day with Imanuel included a tour of the buffalo market where, every 6 days, they have up to 1,000 available for purchase. This day, several hundred were led by nostril rings, getting washed down, having their hair cut and generally being fussed over. When standing idle these buffaloes have a rope tied to this ring, attached to a bar, which is positioned to stretch their neck upwards, creating stronger throats and a more ‘macho’ look, which brings higher prices. For a human, doing that might only result in a bit of a snobbish appearance I would think.
Our afternoon was filled with several hours of walking down from the highlands and through rice fields and villages displaying cacao and coffee beans on burlap bags, drying in the sun. We passed many rice barns, rock graves (huge boulders in the fields enshrined with effigies and/or pictures of the entombed and a small wooden entry door), bamboo groves, tapioca plant gardens and medicinal plants lining our path, their uses being described by Imanuel.
Our final adventure in Sulawesi was carried out on the Maulu River, rafting in our rubber craft with Medi & Denny for 11 km over 3 hours, after a 1.5 hour drive on the narrowest roads yet. There were steep inclines, dangerous curves, yet stupendous panoramic views from this elevation, especially from the bed of the truck taking us. Maggie was in the cab while I was standing in the truck bed with the guys, Medi’s sidekicks, holding onto the front rail abutting the cab’s roof. Arriving, we still had to walk 45 minutes down a steep, loose dirt trail covered with slippery dry bamboo leaves, using the river paddle s a walking stick. We had barely put in the river when our guides were pointing out iguanas sun bathing on rocks in the river or scampering up the cliff sides. Kingfishers would dart about, eagles soaring high above us looking for yummy baby iguanas, as we passed under bamboo bridges connecting communities across the river with 3 pole-wide footings.
As we came down in elevation, we were now closer to villages, with water buffaloes and their personal egrets alongside the river or submerged in the river shallows, one buffalo lovingly being washed by his owner, both of them in the river up to their knees. These animals are treated as well as family members, maybe better. We definitely caught the attention of one of these majestic creatures when we came off a nice Class III set of rapids whooping and hollering. He fixed on us, turning his head, watching us until we were out of sight, leaving us with the feeling we may have ‘harshed his mellow’!
When we returned to our homestay we set up shop on the porch for more picture vetting. The adorable village children spotted us and stormed the porch, breaking one side of the railing system, filling the chairs, surrounding us with anticipation for what was to be our last round of their favorite game show we will call “Is it Hapus or Simpan?” The round was well played and then we had to tell them we were departing in the morning. We were sad, as this was probably a highlight of our stay here: the kids’ curiosity, innocence, smiles, shouting and laughter.
Our last night on Sulawesi was spent at a nice Makassar hotel, with a swimming pool on the 16th floor overlooking the harbor and promenade, a nice contrast to the physical challenges in Manaek’s traditional Torajan house! An early flight in the morning required a 6:30 a.m. shuttle to the airport, which they had forgotten about, quickly directing the bellboy to bring around a car. He looked to be no more than 15 and the next thing we knew, he was our driver, in a ride that was far more dangerous than anything we had previously encountered! We were being honked at (not in the normal friendly way), as he was swerving, straddling lanes, going well below the speed limit, yawning. We finally shouted at him Hati-Hati! (careful!). He seemed then to come out of some trance, making it safely to the airport, where we quickly grabbed our bags and ran to safety! Up, up and away to Ternate and our 12 day voyage through the Raja Ampat islands aboard the Bugi schooner, Ombak Putih (Indonesian for ‘white wave’), which will be the subject of Dispatch #5.
Your faithful wanderers, Stan & Maggie