Sulawesi...

...what an amazing place. Truly. Too spectacular to even begin to describe.

Paradise Found

Picture this: turquoise waters, emerald green islands swaying with coconut trees and dense jungle, clean, white sand beaches with no one on them. Ah the Togeans, perfectly paradisical, but an adventure to reach. After we left Tanah Toraja, it took us three days of buses, minibuses, pickup trucks, and ferry boats to reach these beautiful islands. One of the buses we rode on it was raining inside of the bus. Oh but it was worth it. We met some interesting people along the way, including a Canadian man who works for 9 months a year and travels for three every year for the last 18 years, and he is on a backpacker budget even though he doesn't need to be. We also met a family from the Netherlands who seemed happy to be taking this grueling 3 day voyage to reach these perfect islands.

Once we got to the island we found a bungalow for $10 each including full board, and hung out with our neighbors for a little while. At this resort, Lestari, everyone eats communally and so we all get to talk and socialize. This was one of the best parts about staying on these islands. We had Canadians, Austraians, Germans, English, Spanish, and Indonesian people all represented at the tables here. Every night we ate amazing food and sometimes we got arak, or palm wine to drink for after dinner.

One day we decided to go diving. The dive site was interesting: a sunken B24 US bomber plane from WWII. The ride out to the site was beautiful, as the Togeans are as lovely from far away as they are up close. We passed by sea gypsy villages where the only access they had was by water, with children fishing off of the docks and cats jumping from house to house over the water. The lifestyle there is so different from what I am used to. We dove underwater where the plane was, and we found an interesting underwater world where we were flying above the plane! All around it fish were swimming, including some juvinile batfish, and beautiful corals were growing on the metal. Right on the tip of the machine gun sprouted a burst of vibrant purple coral that was serving as a home for some rainbow-hued fish. A perfect symbol of peace for our tumulous world.  When we arrived back at our island we saw a rainbow, and I slipped into the crystal clear lagoon to look joyously upon this spectacle. It was unreal.

The next day we went on a boat trip with some other people from our guesthouse. We rode for an hour and got to a beautiful uninhabited island, the beach was amazing and only for us! We froliced in the warm, clear tropical waters under the equatorial sun. We donned our snorkels and swam out past feilds of underwater coral to another part of the island. We walked over some sharp volcanic rocks and found a lagoon. In the lagoon were hundreds of jellyfish, but these jellyfish had no stingers, so we swam all around them, poking and playing with them. It was strange, but cool. Like you go on those tours that are like "swim with sharks" or "swim with dolphins" but this one was "swim with jellyfish". Haha. We swam back to the beach and had lunch. The rest of the afternoon we spent in the ocean, having chicken fights and playing frisbee. Sadly, Travis's faithful camera that he has had for our whole trip broke this day by getting salt water inside. RIP Sony Cybershot.

One day we rented snorkels and decided to hike to a beach across the island. With our entheusiastic canine escorts we set off on the trail. The going was lovely, through green jungle peppered with coconut trees, butterflies, and wild mushrooms. Our hopes were high about finding our own private deserted beach to snorkel on. We marched past a big hole filled with water and some little campsites with hundreds of discarded coconut shells nearby. The paths began to branch off and we made sure to remember which ones to take. Soon, however, the paths became too numberous and we decided to head back. We eventually did reach a beautiful white sand beach, it just happened to be the one we started from. We spent the rest of the day marveling at the gorgeous coral fish we found just off the beach in front of our very own hut. In the evening we watched the sun set. After dark we could see so many stars in the sky, and in the water were so many bioluminescent algae! We stomped on the pier and it was an explosion of light as the organisms responded to the movement in the water. 

On our last night we had a birthday party for Randy, an Austrian man who was staying at Lestari. A fruit platter was prepared, a tray of sweets, and the arak was flowing. At midnight, an amazing home-baked cake materialized. We all sang (or stumbled through) "Happy Birthday" for Randy. I must admit I felt a little jealous, as my birthday only a week earlier had been spent on a bus. We all got a peice of cake and began eating. We were all a little toasty by this time, and we were playfully smearing icing on each other's faces. Then someone threw a peice of watermelon, and someone got cake in thier hair. Call me a nerd, but I realized that it was time to leave at this point. Party was over. I ran away as a raging food fight erupted behind me. Travis and I went to the long pier and relaxed away from the rowdy crowd.

Oh Togeans, how did we ever tear ourselves away? These islands are surely one of the most magical places I have ever been, and will only get more magical in my memory, as places like this tend to. We are now on to other wonderful things, such as my parents being here to visit me in Thailand!

Hell Rising

"Then said the king to the servants, Bind him hand and foot, and take him away, and cast him into outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth" (Matthew 22:13).

That's right, we've fallen from the grace of largely Islamic Indonesia and furiously plummeted to the dark depths of a Christian hell. "New torments and new tormented souls I see around me wherever I move, and howsoever I turn, and wherever I gaze" (Dante's Inferno, Canto VI: Third Circle). Searing heat radiates from above and a furious cacophony engulfs your being in the confused and terrified heat. Shrieks and squeals echo off the nefarious swirling red huts and men with enormous pointed horns dance in frenzied cyclones of unknown ritual. The stench here is overpowering. It is the burning flesh smell of bacon.

Last I checked before we fell through the map into the flaming core of damnation, we arrived in Tanah Toraja, South-Central Sulawesi (the crazy big "K" shaped Indonesian island between Borneo and Papua). Tanah Toraja is a mountainous area where the houses have bowed roofs like a ship (or the horns of a buffalo) and life revolves around death. In the former half of the 20th century the Dutch missionaries introduced Christianity to the local people, who incorporated it into their extant complex animist beliefs and ceremonies. Nowadays much of their old religion is dead and gone but some ceremonies live on, particularly their enormous funeral celebrations, where it seems we fell into that abominable hell realm. 

People will save up their whole lives preparing to die and when they do, their families have a small funeral immediately but then embalm the deceased and plan a massive ceremony, in which they invite friends and family who may have dispersed the world over and they construct a veritable village of open-walled "temporary" bamboo buildings (nearly as solid as many homes, also with the typical corrugated tin up-curved bowed roof). But until they have the big shebang, they don't bury the dead. So families might have their dead grandfather in their living room for as many as 10 years before they get around to burying him. And until he's buried he's not quite considered dead. If you go visit them, you must request permission from the deceased, as your host, to depart.

They believe the dead can take their possessions with them into the afterlife so they spare no expense. Hundreds of people are in attendance, each bringing gifts for the celebration that range from a carton of cigarettes to a whole stable of buffalo. Some have these highly sought-after albino buffalo here that can cost over $8000 each. Then they kill them. Pigs, too; lots. At really rich people's funerals they might sacrifice two dozen buffalo (or more). You can see the remains in vast rows of mounted horns on the front of their traditional houses, painted in swirling tribal designs of red, black and yellow. I can't imagine how they could eat the ridiculous numbers of buffaloes and pigs they ritually slaughter but I hear they put in a mighty effort at the celebratory/memorial feast that can last for days. 

We found the pigs writhing in the baking sun to be horrifying. One pig was so desperate for water that, despite its legs being bound together, it thrashed and flailed over to the decapitated buffalo head and lapped up the bloody mud. Truly horrifying. Though I suppose it's no worse than what goes on in any slaughterhouse in America. Plus, as we discovered trekking around the countryside, the animals here live happy lives in the great outdoors, romping in mudholes in the bucolic rice terraces and generally living the way animals are supposed to, which is far more than can be said for the Nazi-concentration-camp-esque factory farms we Americans (indirectly) use tax-dollars to support (through corn/soy subsidies, although ruminants shouldn't be eating these things in the first place).

The Torajan funeral ceremony is pretty much the most important remaining ceremony in their culture. There used to be far more rituals and practices that have faded into the darkness of Christianity. Until this generation, the Torajan people would cut holes in massive trees to bury their unfortunate dead babies, that their souls may unite with nature and reach for the sky. The people aren't calloused to the suffering they're inflicting through sacrifice either (unlike us typical Westerners), as they gave a lengthy eulogy for the animals to be sacrificed, eliciting tears all around. Sarah didn't was struck with manifest horror at the abominable suffering that pervaded the event, which led to her spontaneous decision to run away crying all the way to our hotel. The Lonely Planet Guidebook (aka "The Bible") aptly says, "It's like walking into a National Geographic Special." They then bury the deceased in special cave-graves, dug out in the rock of cliffsides, with tau-tau (wooden effigy statues) standing guard. Death is very much alive in daily life here as these graves are ubiquitous in this region. 

After all that highly culturally enriching violence we went on an overnight trek (with no guide but on usually clearly discernible village roads) to see some more rural living and generally soak in the beautiful mountainous landscape. Bahasa Indonesia's word for "countryside" may be a bit less romantic "daerah luar kota" (lit.: region outside city) but I fail to see how they couldn't be more inspired by the incredible tableau of mountainside rice terraces dotted with happy buffaloes, white egrits sitting on their backs. 

We got lost briefly whilst braving a vague forest path where we saw the BIGGEST butterfly ever! I kid you not, it was bigger than my two hands put together, thumbs meeting, in the shape of a giant butterfly. We also saw some spiders that fantasy movies would omit due to total unbelievability. One had crazy horns on its back (like everything else Torajan: the buffalo, dancing men, and traditional houses), another was white with black polka-dots on a strangely disc-shaped body with radial spikes, and another was a fearsome symmetrical yellow pattern that screamed VENOMOUS!

That night we stayed with a wonderful Torajan family in their traditional house, under their massive bowed roof, red swirls covering the fascinating building on all sides. We stayed up talking to the 8 adults and some 10 kids that live there and had a wonderful time playing with the animal toys we brought for them. Well they may have a different way of celebrating death, but one thing can certainly be said for the Torajan people: they are beautiful and hospitable.

Gods of the Volcanoes - Bromo

Once again we have found our way to a cold place, even though we are so close to the equator. We left the temperate and colorful Yogyakarta on a tourist bus, shelling out the extra 6 bucks each for the sanity-keeping promise of not having to switch buses more than once. It was worth it, basking in the air conditioning, talking to Dutch and Swedish people as the rice paddies backed by magestic volcanoes rolled away past our window. Keeping with Indonesian cultural traditions though, the bus ride that was meant to take 11 hours actually took 15. When we arrived at 10 PM in the town near Bromo Volcano, we scurried to put on our coats.

We checked in to a budget hotel and went to sleep for 3 hours. Our plan was to go to the famous viewpoint for sunrise. At 2.30 AM our alarm went off, and we dragged ourselves out of bed to hike up a mountain (crazy I know). The landscape was lit by the moon and very peaceful, something I'm not used to in Indonesia. It reminded me of my late night walks with friends when I was younger. I could hide in the darkness, independent and adventurous. We bought some hot tea from a drinks vendor as a cold mist dampened us near the base of the viewpoint.

The hike up was thigh-burning, but short. At the top we were part of a small crowd who had the same idea as us, but most of them had taken a jeep instead of walking like us. The sky began to gray and all at once the sun drew a brilliant red brushstroke in the sky. As it rose, more quickly than you would think, everyone's face was glowing golden and happy and cold. The clouds broke and below us we saw a surreal landscape: The wide, smoking crater of Bromo, a green conical volcano right next to that, and in the distance the tallest peak in Java towering up above it all. All of this was set in a massive sand pit, presumably another gigantic volcano cradling these other three gods.

 The sun burned higher in the sky and we went back to town for lunch (breakfast?). The walk back was amazing, it was like being transported 150 years into the past and into Eastern Europe or something. The green quilt of onion and cabbage feilds were peppered with spindly pine trees, rustic cottages, and little old ladies with bandeu style head scarves tilling the feilds. Later we realized something that added to the beauty and timelessness of this world: there were no power lines. These villagers had no electrical power. There was also an eerie but wonderful lack of plastic trash littering the roads. I saw a man on a cute gaited pony riding down the road and stopped to watch. He offered to rent the pony to me and I agreed.

After lunch we started for the volcano, me on Ponee the pony, and Travis on foot. The flat, open "Sea of Sand" was a fun place to be riding, so open and beautiful, I felt so free on my steed. Ponee was a joy to ride, light to the touch, responsive and happy to be ridden. As we approached Bromo a few men tried to sell us flowers as offerings for the Volcano God. We climbed up the steps (Ponee stayed at the bottom) and I gasped a little as I looked into the pit. The crater was wide and billowing out smoke, and around it the rim undulated with jagged gray peaks and curves. It was like something from Star Wars. I was seized with a fear of falling into the crater that didn't leave me until we were back on the stairs an hour and 1/2 later.

We walked around the rim, way out to the other side. Unsurprisingly the smell of sulphur was thick in the air and seemed to be emenating from the rim and the pit ubiquitously. In some parts the "path" was quite narrow and slippery, although I made sure to orient myself to fall out of the volcano rather than in to it if I lost my footing. It was still rather terrifying. You just never know if you're afraid of volcanoes until you're there sometimes you know? Travis encouraged me on and we reached the top of a high peak on the rim. We were totally alone here except for the beetles, and it felt like we could be the only people in the whole world. Once we got halfway around, I decided I didnt want to go all the way and so we turned back (I know, it sounds ridiculous but to go the same way woud have been harder and more trecherous).

We got back to the stairs and I was finally able to relax a little again. I rode Ponee back to the town, leaving Travis a bit behind, but no matter. I fed Ponne the carrots I had been saving for him and he left with his owner. We ate a well needed lunch and went to the hotel. It felt like it should be the evening but it was really only 2.30 PM, 12 hours after we had left for the viewpoint. We decided to take a quick little nap and didnt wake up until 9 PM. Surprisingly, we fell back asleep at midnight and woke up feeling very nice and refereshed for our travel to Surabaya the next day.

We are now couchsurfing in Surabaya, thanks to www.couchsurfing.org which connect travelers with people who have couches to stay on. Its a great way to meet people from other places and totally rewarding and safe. I reccomend signing up for this site if you haven't already! Our hosts here are so kind, they feed us every day and are even taking us to thier nephew's traditional Indonesian wedding in a few hours. Speaing of which, I'd better go get ready!

On a sad note, my dog died this week. Poor Reuben. If any of you would like to read his eulogy just ask me and I will send it. On a happier note, it is my birthday in 2 days! If you would like to make me happy for my birthday please donate money to the World Wildlife Foundation. You can do that here:

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