Woke up early to catch a ride from a local upscale resort to the mainland. After an hour in the boat we were back to the city of Manado. As aforementioned in day 12-13 blog, Manado was not our favorite stomping ground. Unlike the rest of Indonesia where people stared at you funny until you greeted them with a “Selamat Pagi/Sauri (good morning/evening)” in what probably sounded like garbled Indonesian, but they would smile and the girls giggle and whisper to each other. But in Manado, they just keep staring. With the town slogan “world class tourism city by 2010”, I think they may have a lot to work on. Anyho, we arrive mid morning and hit the travel agency to get tickets to Papua. The only flight out to Papua is 2am, and leaving from Makassar (city on the southern point of Sulawesi). The flight for Makassar leaves at 4 and arrives at 6pm. With 6 hours to kill our narrator once again hit the internet for work and swears (in Spanish, so no one will understand, as some know a little English) loudly at the impeccably slow internet access. With not all the work need to be done, done, we head out to the airport. Funny side note, the local transport in Manado, called “Micro” , are all these Vans that have been pimped out individually with different things. Some have blacklights and stuff, or disco balls, spoilers, or mega speakers, that blast non-stop. Since the city is literally crawling with thousands of these vans, the locals say they chose which one to take depending out music/style preferences. With all these things added to vehicle, they’re still barely running. Most of them stall out if the vehicle comes to a complete stop and need a push by the passengers to start up again. Hence, when its your stop, they slow to a roll and you exit with a running start. Getting on none-the-less is more awkward. Especially with a hiking backpack through your balance off. Anyho, back to me, as Adam always insists on arriving in the airport more than 2 hours early we arrive in Manado airport with 2 ½ hours to spare. Now 2 hours in a US airport, I might agree with, but the airports in Sulawesi are vacant. I do not exaggerate. There were maybe 12 people in the airport 2 hours before our flight. They security is a quick bag scan and through a metal detector that was not plugged in. In all, security may add 3 minutes to your trek to the departure gate. And in smaller airport, you don’t have a gate, the plane lands where it wants and you go there. Also, there is no concept on lines or waiting in turns. Literally people stuck behind me would throw their tickets past me at the gate agency and shove past. But back to Manado airport, seeing how I needed internet still for work I tried their executive lounge, for $7 there’s a buffet, coffee, tea, soda, and internet, but good thing I check first. Modem internet that you need software loaded on your computer to use. Hence I didn’t partake. $7 you say is a good deal? Well in Indonesian terms that would buy me 2 nice dinners out, or pay for a hotel room for the night, and I’m Jew to the max. I make sure every Rupiah is spent at maximum efficiency. So finally the flight leaves, we decide to board the right plane (as you can hop on any plane on the airport and go wherever its going as no one checks you ticket and you have to walk down the runway to get to your plane). A short 2 hours later we’re in Makassar with 6 hours to burn before our 2am flight. The executive lounge there was not nicer than Manado, as we were told. The food looked terrible, and when I asked about internet, they responded “No”, and when asked to elaborate “no”, explained more fiercely “NO”. So we decided to walk through dark streets asking for internet cafes and finally get one that works and finish my work tasks. Don’t worry about us walking down dark street in the middle of night as we’re both a foot taller. Haven’t really felt threatened here at all. After returning heckles to Taxi driver who don’t take no thanks as an answer (3 or 4 in a row, not 5 feet apart all ask), we get back to Makassar airport and finally at 2:30 am head off to Papua, with wild ambitions of what primal craziness await us.
Day 17- Flying
Flying is terrible in Indonesia, as it’s so warm outside you forget to bring warm clothes for the plane. They crank the AC and most flights don’t have blankets or pillows. Needless to say, the 6 hour flight was very uncomfortable. WE arrive in what we thought was Jayapura ( as that’s what the ticket sez), but is actually Sentani, a town 15 minutes away. Confused, at first, we buy tickets to the Baliem Valley, to the city of Wamena, which is smack dab in the Dani, Yani, and Lani tribes. The second we leave the airport, we are rushed by people trying to sell us their guiding services, shoving papers in our face, and telling us “we go now, yes?” While aptly avoiding any question about price. We have no intention of staying in Sentani, but before we can go further into Papua we need to get permits. We go to the police station, as the guide book directed, they didn’t speak English. We gather from sign language its another police station we need to go to. They draw us a map that lead nowhere, and locals point us back to the same station. People are really strange. As its mostly indigenous population, their skin is much darker than other Indonesians. Their teeth are terrible, and no matter where you are, there’s someone that to me resembles a DC Crackhead following close behind you. If you stop, the person stops too a couple feet away and pretends to be doing something there. Kinda creepy. Anyho, we finally get directing and take a bemo (taxi) to the police station. We agree upon 25,000 rupiahs for the price, but the driver doesn’t give us back enough change, claiming we agreed upon 40,000. As we were at the police station, we didn’t want to make a scene, and a local officer mediates to 30,000. Although it doesn’t amount to much, it set the pace for Jayapura and Papua for many more to come. The Permit we find out has to have 2 passport pictures and a photocopy of your visa and passport. This seems easy enough, but when no one speaks English, even an easy task is very difficult at times. We wait in a non-existent line at the photo-center and finally gesture what we want. They snap our picture (with option of 10 different backgrounds, although we chose white) and we catch an Ojek (moto-taxi) back to the station. The office, luckily, speaks decent English, and we get the permit for Baliem valley all set. He warned us to make lots of copies as everyone and their mom will need a copy for us, and cant really explain why there is so much bureaucracy here compared to the rest of the country. Come to find out the indigenous tribes here say they are occupied by Indonesians, and resent their military presence. All this redtape makes it easier to keep tabs and control the population better. It seems that the locals do not really understand how to work a proper business, and so most decent opportunities are snatched up and staffed by Indonesians. Hence, due to high local unemployment, people will follow tourists anywhere, but generally with no services to offer. Simply follow you uncomfortable close.
We decide to attempt getting back to the airport on an ojek, which the driver insists can be done with luggage. If you didn’t know, an external frame works much like a sail at 40 mph. After a 15 minute ab workout to keep from being blow off a moving moped we arrive tired at the Sentani Airport. After losing half a day chasing the permit, we catch a cargo plane to Wamena. The second we land, twice as many people are trying to sell their guiding service. We also realize we left the travel guide book behind somewhere. Big loss, that book was our lifeline until now. We decline, but a group follows us around and point out hotels that they get commission to bring people to. Being picky about price, we travel back and forth to the hotel comparing each. Most of the following possee drop off after ½ hour, but 3 remain. They offer their services as a guide and we finally agree to at least talk logistics. The “guide” claimed that it was impossible to get maps of the area, but he had one (although we acquired a map the very next day at a café), and told us a little about the area. He deftly wanted us to head off without talking prices. When we forced it out of him he wanted over 1 million rupiah per day. The guide book had quoted 200K rupiah as average. Later in the day we discover everyone here is a guide, and will follow you around and highball you. They all state that the local primitive tribes MAY be be unfriendly and that maps we find in town are inaccurate, that the trails are impossible for a non-guide to find, only they know certain paths, that that its impossible for a Bule (gringo). If they didn’t know how to insult me, its to call me a hiking pansy.
After being stalked and harassed by several people, decide to head off by ourselves. The “guides” are not happy. So far, we have not met a single nice person in Papua, who was not trying sell of steal something. Not a promising start.
Day 18- Mummy
We head up north to Jiwika to see one of the tribal mummies. The elder men in the tribe are naked except for a gourd around their “wedding tackle” and points straight up and is tied with string around their chest or waist. The women are all older and topless, and resemble what I remember seeing on national geographic. Everything about them is very saggy, and they are often missing digits on their fingers. All the tribes here are now used to tourists as a source of income, upon demand of 50k Rupiah ($6), they bring out the mummy. It’s a corpse in kneeling position that has been smoked to be preserved. They claim its 300 years old. They all ask to be in photos and then demand 1-5k rupiah afterwards.
After a few pics we head off behind the village to do a short hike in the picturesque mountains. The only lady knowing any English tells us its 3k per person to have the elder guide us up there for an hour hike. We decline any guide, but an old man follows us and eventually we let him lead us. He picks up a younger man from the surrounding huts and we head up the mountains. The hike is nice, and the young man knows a few words in English, so we struggle some sentences out of him. All questions he doesn’t understand he answers “yes, yes” (which we find out all people do here). And every person here has learned “Hey Mistah (mister)”. We hike up the small summit (they originally took us to a small pool of yellow water in the woods, and though that was enough). The old man struggled to keep up, but did well for his age, and for wearing nothing but a penis gourd (the chaffing must be unbearable).
Non-the-less, letting him lead the pack is not good, as being downwind from the fellow is very unpleasant. They smelt of pig Poo as they walk and sit in it all day and sleep in huts right next to the animals which sometimes venture in and leave small coils of presents in their hut, to which they don’t seem to mind. Plus staring as some old mans naked butt for over an our, not my cup of tea. The decent is a steep trail straight down and Adam falls halfway down and bruises his knee pretty bad. By now he has been dubbed “pokey” for being so slow at everything, and I have been dubbed “petuh” (meaning first in Indonesian) by some dude on the street of Bali, which had trouble with Benjamin, and like how I sported the Sarong, and “fish ball stew” by Adam. I guess when I ate some local cart fish balls meat thing that was really gross and sitting in the cart window all day to keep food from being wasted, it made an impression on him. Adam has a habit of leaving scraps on his plate, and I have a habit of “you gonna eat that?” which he finds funny.
Anyho, the wounded Adam makes it back to the village and we go to pay the guides. They want 50k…each. Much higher than the quoted 6k total. We decide to haggle, as we liked them more than most so far, and agree on 25K. After paying the guide , the other guide quickly demands that we pay him 25K now too. Incredible. My Indonesian is bad, but I have numbers down flat. When you try to “us” a jew, they know it. The Indonesian store clerk comes out finally and scolds them for changing their prices as 3K is the normal price for the trek and we ended up paying 25k. We also start to realize that the primitive culture here is changing to meet tourist needs. For the most part only the old people are decked out in traditional drab, but the other members were western clothes except to do a pretend ceremony, or mock fight for tourists willing to pay. Kind of a disappointment for me, but I would probably do the same in their shoes. To which, nobody uses shoes here. Its all bare feet, calloused as hell. Makes my little pansy feet embarrassed. So all those Sally Suther aid commercials about how no one can afford shoes, don’t believe, they just don’t need them, so they don’t use them. They’d be much happier with the money than shoes. Also, the villages are mud, but in almost every one there’s a giant pristine church. I actually started to feel they were mainly responsible for the decline of the traditional culture, as the ministers look down upon traditional clothing, and all the younger generation has stopped their traditional garb (until a tourist pays them to do some pseudo traditional dance/feast/fight). The churches are such a contrast from the traditional villages, its an eyesore. Such opulence next to such modesty, offering aid only to those who join their flock.
Anyho, enough ranting about religion for me, We head back to Wamena, check into a cheaper hotel, and plan out our 3 day hike for tomorrow. After seeing how easy it was to get directions from the locals, we decided to go guide-free, to which they told us was close to the impossible, due to the unsurpassable cultural/geographical/physical barriers that only they could pass. As we came to find out, this was all bullshit. Out of the entire Papua trip, there was only one adult person we met, that didn’t want anything from us. One of the tribe leaders of the village of Ugem, we would grace a mere 2 days further.
Day 19- Begin Trek
We woke up late, had a casual breakfast at the usual spot in Wamena, and decided some supplies would be a good thing. 3 days of hiking in mountains: 6 Ramon noodles, 5 rice cakes (taste like apple jacks), 2 cans tuna, 4 clementines, one kilo of peanuts, 4 liters water (not enough we would find out). After packing up the carb intensive diet, we hit the becak (bicycle taxi) to the Nisma market to catch the Bemo to Kurimo. We packed into a deteriorating van in something that resembled a bad joke punch line. One pig, several half naked kids, several mostly toothless parents, and a naked old man with a gourd on his “one eyed python.” They all talk to us and we talk back despite neither of us understanding a simple word. The bus squeaks along what may be called a road, and eventually stops in the middle of nowhere where a river had broken through the road. End of the line. I guess we were the only one who didn’t know that no vehicles could make it into Kurima, our destination. We hike through a mud slide , several stream breaks, and about 3 miles of road and finally reach the town. Not too much to look at. Some military men yell at us, and we give them a copy of the permit which seemed to appease them, that or it was too much trouble to yell at someone who didn’t understand you, and we crossed a small suspension bridge and started our 3 day journey up small mountain winding paths.
The day started out well, Adam had stopped bitching about his knee hurting and the kids throwing bamboo spears didn’t try to test out their accuracy on us. We headed east towards Ugem and saw naked gourd old men and lots of children and women along the way. Funny side note, all the women have large knitted bags that you hang against their forehead, and fill with loads of heavy things. The men generally carry…nothing. Similar to a lion tribe, it seems the women are supposed to tote around all the goods. Its always funny to see some strapping man followed by some small female carrying huge loads of stuff and not helping one bit. Adam and I only had one hiking bag. I was the one carrying the bag on the trip. I guess it was decided that I was the woman.
Every village we passed, a stream of 7-10 year olds would come running at us and follow us for the next mile or so like some kind of possee. After ½ a day of continuous uphill, we hik out into the jungle and pitch the tent just before dark. Despite being two mountain men, our fire is less than a miracle of nature. As it rains 2-3 times a day, all the wood is saturated, and the measly flames we produced fell far short of being able to boil water for soup. We decide to eat a cracker for dinner and call it a night.
Day 20- Long wet day.
After a unrestful night in a soggy tent, we set off bright and early. Quickly a swarm of kids picks up our trail and follows us. The all chirp and giggle around us, watching us like some sort of pasty giant. If you look directly at them, they retreat, but the second you pull the camera out, they forget about any precaution. I wondered if this could work in America. Tell your kids to sit outside and follow some stranger around for several miles to take pictures with and take candy from. Strangely enough there will also be some crackhead looking fellow waiting for you in the middle of nowhere. Some overly-smiley guy missing most his teeth and dressed in a down-trench coat during the midday sun decided to follow us for a while too. We the next town Hetugi, where a topless old lady and her pigs chased us around yelling “foto, foto”. Every picture you take, it is customary for you to give them money, so everyone wants a photo of them taken and ask for 5-20 thousand Rupiah for each shot. After trudging through some slippery mud, shaking hands with countless people (some used the left hand which is the butt wiping hand and a big no-no), and several naked men with Penis gourds peddling stone knifes, we arrive at Yaurmina. Again, we a re accompanied by a gaggle of young onlookers, and the local old naked man, who kindfully shows us a shortcut to the next town. Straight up. Literally a 5,5 climbing grade hill. As its all mud, its very slippery and not so fun with a 50 lbs bag on your back. I snipe some lovely ass-shot pictures of your guide going up the hill, and finally make it to the top. Despite being close to our midday goal of Yogoshine, we decide to take a loop back down due to the waning sun.
We purchase some sugar cane from the local gourd penis dude, pay for some pictures, and start the muddy trek down. Luckily the trail is much less steep than our shortcut up. WE hike through the afternoon, through the rain and arrive at our night detination of Ugem. We get permission from the tribe (for 50k Rupiah) to set up a tent in their village and partake in the ancient Dani ritual of volleyball. The game is intense, and the whole village surrounds our empty tent watching it like it about to run away. The little kids cry when My Bule (white) face get to close, the girls giggle and laugh (not sure if its with us or at us…but probably at us) and the men blankly stare until we say “selamat sore” (good evening) and then they smile. This was the only time in Papua, where the people were genuinely interested in us and not wanting something from us. There is one young leader would speaks decent English, and we chat and make ramen, and eventually hit the tent. Something that sounded exactly like a zombie kept on running outside our tent all night. I’m pretty sure it was humanoid, but really didn’t want to find out.
Day 21- painfully last day out- sore/soaking feet- damn 7 year old pick-pockets –
After a night of listening to what sounded and acted like a zombie, we uncomfortably arose in the dawns early light, packed up our stuff, and gave away the pans and Alaska postcards to the tribe. We said our farewells put on our soggy shoes and with blistered feet (as your feet were always wet making them soft) we headed back to the town of Kurima. After half a day of hiking, we arrived at the town and began our 2 hr journey up the road, through the mud slide to where the bemos (public buses) hit the impasse in the road (middle of nowhere). As usual there was a gaggle of young kids that started following us once we hit town. We had been so used to the primitive villages where the children behaved well, that we forgot about city kids. The swarm ineptly tried for our backpacks zippers, but luckily the shadows were on our sides and we could see when they would make attempts. As they were probably only 5-7 years old all we could do for punishment was yell in English, lock our bags the best we could and persevere. Even after many red handed attempts, they continued. You know what they say, practice makes perfect, lets hope this is the exception, or 10 years down the road there will be a lot of unhappy hikers passing through the town.
We finally arrived at the Bemo’s and crammed into an overloaded rusted van that seemed already past its last leg. An hour later we were in Wamena. We cruised through a crowded market and looked for someone chewing pitang (a fruit when chewed looks like red staining chewing tobacco) and luckily got a room in the cheap wartel (indo hostel) were some shady characters were portioning off very large amounts of cash in a dark corner of the main room (where it falls silent every time you enter the room and they all try to hide what they are doing). Anyho, I figure drug dealers in the hotel would almost guarantee that no people will try to break into the room when we left for dinner. Having not eaten much in the last 3 days, we gorged ourselves at our usual joint (seems to be the trend with Adam, he finds his spot and becomes a “usual”. Not a bad thing as we tipped big there in a country where no tipping is the norm, so they slipped us big portions and free donuts and stuff…mmmm warmed donuts).
Afterward we did some tourist gift shopping where locals would follow us around with stolen stuff and slowing move their price down as we walked to more and more places. For example, a necklace started at 350K rupiah, but after a half an hour ended at 50K. I bought myself the finest of the fine of the penis gourds, and we headed home to sleep somewhat before our flight the next morning.
Day 22- Senati Again…. Our 7am flight ended up leaving at 10:30am. We arrived, of course, over 3 hours later than planned, so all the connecting flights to Bali or Flores (for Komodo island) had already left. For some reason at that airport, if you’re not gone by 10am, you’re stuck in that town for the day. Already disillusioned with the town from the fiasco we went through for the permits, we were not excited. So we decided to spend our last day in Papua sniping photos of people who had chewed Pintang, and looked like they had blood drooling from their mouths, or had severely cut gums,….or were zombies who just ate some brains. No luck though…too dark.
Day 23- Zombie John-
Lucky for us, we found the most zombie of the bunch….Zombie John. John had the nastiest dreads, dried red spittle down his chin and in his beard, bloodshot eyes, tattered clothes, and a strange lump protruding from one cheek. We chatted for him for a bit, asked for some pictures. John was actually the nicest city person we met and second nicest person we met in all of Papua (one of the Ugem tribe leader was first place).
We hit our flight back to Bali, arrived, and started searching for a flight/boat/rickshaw that could take us to Lauban Bajo which is the biggest town closest to Komodo Islands. Without the Guidebook, we were like illiterate kids in a pictureless library. We finally found that only one flight was left open in the next couple of days (as time is running out for our hero) was tomorrow, so we decided to grace our old stomping grounds of Kuta for a bass throbbing, techno blasting, whiskey soaked night. After much time going from bar to bar and talking with other Bules (Kuta was now saturated with them, in contrast to Papua where we only saw a handful the entire time).
Day 24- Spent traveling
And in the wee hours of the morning after gracing the steps of a Circle K (like a store 24) that illegally sold booze, we called it a night as we had to now leave again for the airport to catch our 9am flight. We cleaned up, groggily caught a taxi to Denpasar airport, and hit up our flight. We landed in Lauban Bajo, caught a taxi to town, and searched around for the best deal to see a dragon on one of the nearby (2-4 hour boat-ride) islands. We found out that Komodo really didn’t have that many large dragons anymore, and that Rinca (pronounce “rincha”) was the better place by far, and closer so therefore cheaper. We paid a little too much for the boat ride (as we later found out) to the middle man who was our taxi driver and had a huge-ass fro, but that was okay as it was agreed that we would stop on the way there and back to go snorkeling at the prime places. As that didn’t leav until the morning our fro-guide leads us to his friends hotel who we find out charged us 15,000 extra. At about 3 am some thugs try the door handle to get in to our room, but Adam woke up with their noise and uses his “man voice” and scared them away. They claimed they thought it was their room. Funny as this is the very last room , on a corner, and is a single, while they had at least 4 people. Anyho, Adams “man voice” did the trick as they didn’t return.
Day 25- Boat to Rinca
We had breakfast, slept the first full night in a long time, and headed on the 3 hour boat ride to Rincha. The snorkel spot was very sub-par as the coral was mostly dead (due again to dynamite fishing), and we arrived at Richa camp, paid the huge entrance fee, and took the one hour free tour into the forest to see the dragons. Funny enough, no dragons on the tour, only a gree tree viper (poisonous) and some scrub foul, but once we got back to the camp there we 5 large dragons hanging out right next to the camp (cabins on stilts). They had just eaten a deer the day before nearby and so did not feel like moving. We took a lot of pictures, but they were in the same position all the time, (lying down) so nothing national geographic-worthy. We snorkeled again, ate the only thing on the menu (ramon noodle soup) and called it a night.
Day 26- Komodos n stuff
We started bright and early at 630 am (which in local time ends up starting at 7am) for a 2 hour trek through the forests and fields of Rinca. Funny enough the same green tree viper was in the same tree as yesterday. We spotted some komodo in their habitat, poked them with sticks, and saw water buffalo and deer (but did not poke with sticks). Rinca has some really diverse rock formations, fossils, quartz, and petrified wood, so we spent awhile snagging some samples of each. We found the large dragons back at came and “big daddy” decided he liked me and with wild rage in its beady eyes, slowly clambered at our hero. I did what any monkey would do, climbed the closest tree and stared right back at it. It sat below my tree and just looked right back at me.
After about 10 minutes, one of the locals came out with his poking stick and poked the dragon away. Made me feel kionda foolish as the locals have no fear whatsoever of these animals, that could have easily killed its poking aggressor without a second thought. Free from my branched cage, we dined and splurged on more ramon soup and around noon decided we had seen the island and to depart a day earlier than planned. Plus the Office rangers kept on trying to screw us out of more and more money. We packed, hit the dock, and started asking boats leaving how much to bum a ride (as they were already heading out to Lauban Bajo, so really it’s a win-win with us paying for the gas). We first tried the local boats and they tried some outrageous prices. They didn’t quite understand the concept that they were going there already, and it would cost nothing extra really to take on 2 more Bules (whiteys). Finally we met a bule captain of a scuba vessel , Kat, and she graciously decided to let us bum a ride for a reasonable price. There’s something about locals here that if they feel you are looking for something were you have to go, they try to majorly screw you and refuse to negotiate. I mean they quoted prices more than a trip there and back would cost.
The scuba boat agreed to give us lunch, and stopped off at 2 locations to dive. The first was an underwater mountain would peak barely penetrated the surface. Adam and I snorkeled above the group and saw giant Trevales, Morey eels, white tip sharks, and a bunch of other gnarly fish I don’t know what they were. The scuba group didn’t see almost anything further below. It was a awesome snorkel spot. We then ate some donuts and papaya, and hit a second site. Not as much life below but a killer current. As Adam didn’t have fins he used mine and I went barefoot. Hard work I tell you. We picked up the boat again and headed back to town, and for almost $15 less in total than w
hat we were paying our local boat just to pick us up and bring us back. We call the boat captain that was supposed to pick us up tomorrow and explain to him we don’t need a boat and that we already are back in Lauban Bajo. Just in case we ask a translator to confirm all this so there is no confusion. The boat captain seems mad, but tough titties. Really a great use of a day. We checked into a hotel much better and only $2 more a night, and Adam hits the sack. I head down to the weekly carnival that looked abandoned. Its really ghetto. You know the ride that people get in a circle and it uses centrifugal force and spins you around. Here it’s a metal frame and the carnees push the thing around and jump up and down to get it in a funky motion. Really looked like fun, but one day one of them will get smushed. I see the boat captains brother, whom we made the cancels return trip for tomorrow and say Hi. He looked confused.
Day 27- Mosque “music” at 4am, caves, spiders, and arak making/car mishaps
At 4 am the muslim prayers started. And if being miserable at 4am by themselves wasn’t enough, the muslims of the island sound their prayers through giant speakers from the ground from something that looks like an outdoor preschool theater. I guess it pisses off all the islanders, but the rest are mostly hindu and keep the peace complaining only to themselves. We slept a little after prayers, and headed off to the nearby town of Melo where the locals make a moonshine out of palm sugar called Sopi (or Arak for general Indonesian moonshine term). We hired a local transport van to take us there, and they had to stop and ask for directions a couple of times. Although only 20 kilometers away, half of it is on a super sloped and windey mountain road. Going around one sharp 180 turn, the driver accelerated as usually to get enough speed for the van to actually make it up the pass, but the corner had sand on it and the van slide sideways toward the road edge, which abruptly ends with a steep cliff to the valley floor. We all lump out of any orifice we could find in the van, but the van stopped short and didn’t go over the edge. They piled some rocks under the wheel and gave it a push, and we started off again to Melo. When we got to Melo, the local told us that they make the moonshine in the neighboring town, which inhabitants told us the opposite. Halfway back to Melo we ask a woman carrying a batch of Sopi. Her family brews their own, so we stopped at their house and got the tour. Basically if you were stranded in the woods you could still make this stuff. The cut off a limb of the palm and drip out the sap/sugar water into a big bamboo shell. They then add some bark to it (I assume for yeast or flavor) and let it ferment. They add the now palm wine to what looks like a old tin gasoline container (the rectangle kind) which has been fitted with a bamboo pipe sticking straight up. They add another bamboo pipe at the top sloping down and alcohol comes out the end. The stuff they make is about 35% and did not make me blind. Not the smoothest stuff ever, but not back for moonshine made in old cans and bamboo. We buy some of their Sopi and head down the mountain road back to Lauban Bajo.
When we arrive we eat, They guys that were supposed to be picking us up a Rinca today, that we called and canceled and saw in the carnival, arrive at our lunch and give us some sob story about how they went to Rinca this morning to pick us up and we weren’t there. They were originally supposed to pick us up at 10am, and it is now 11am. The boat ride back is a 3 hour ride. They explain the phone call we gave them to cancel was a prank and because they did not see us (which they did see me a carnival) in the town, that we must still be in Rinca, and how they valiantly went out to pick us up in their boat (uphill both ways)….and we don’t buy it. As they are friendly with some of the hotel staff and others around town we decide to keep a closer eye on our bags. After lunch we head out to Buti Cermin (caves) driven by some 10 year old kid. Guess his father was passing down the family trade. After about 15 minutes we got a guided walk through a primitive caves that had some nasty spiders, giant crickets, cool fossils, loads of bats, and lots of bat poo. I get to finally use the night vision function on my video camera, and we catch a ride in a local transport back home.
Our local guides are still hanging around and giving us the stink eye. They had asked what caption had brought us back so they could issue a complaint, and we told him Petuh, which is what almost everyone tells us to call them (means first and as far as I can tell is like the local john doe-esk slang. Moral of the story, if you want a uninflated price in the islands of Flores, try to find the Bule. The locals have kept any mass transit from being able to use the port and help people getting to the islands and so therefore have almost successfully created a monopoly and have been horribly overcharging tourists. I think this is part of the reason that such a cool tourist spot as komodo, it still an underdeveloped and ratty town. Most people use a tourist company to avoid having to deal with the locals directly. For example for a 4 hour boat ride out to Komodo, the locals tried to con us for the price that the Bule boat was charging its guest for a total of 3 days of diving and tours of Rinca and Komodo, with lunches included.
No comments:
Post a Comment