Jul 08

Two long bus rides later, I went back to Banjarmasin. A town full of old coal trucks, Banjarmasin can feel suffocated during daytime. I decided to escape to the nearby Loksado area for a day of trekking to get some fresh air.

To save money, me and my 50-year-old senior trekking guide, took yellow minibus taxi, then changed to long-distance minibus, then another truck, all packed with passengers, to get out to the mountains. By the time I reached Loksado, I had inhaled a few tons of exhaust fume which made my coughing and sinus much worse.

We started trekking from Loksado village on a trail, also used by the villager's motorbikes, for little more than two hours, finally reaching a small village with an old empty longhouse. Another 30 minute later took us to another village, then the supposedly famous waterfall. My guide, Alexander, was excited to show me their treasure, while I was a bit disappointed at the height of this fall. I, however, pretended to be quite glad that we made it and refused to walk out on the slippery log for photos because of my shoes. Alexander assured my safety so I braved myself but almost fell into the roaring river after my shoes slipped. Luckily, I was saved by my guide and avoided a tragedy.

We motorbiked through the secondary forest back to the Loksado village and had tea with some elders. Since the sun was about to set, we each took an ojec through the winding roads in the mountains back to Kandalgan. It was quite an exhilarating feeling speeding up and down these limestone hills. Another three hours of torturing inhalation of exhaust later, I was never so glad to reach my hotel room for a hot shower.

The next day, I took an overnight bus to Balikpapan with a New Zealand couple. Here we changed a few minibuses from the outskirt of Samarinda, to Tenggarone, to Kota Bungai, where we took a boat to the village of Muara Muntai along the mighty Sungai Makaham.

Muara Muntai is a relatively clean, beautifully-constructed and organized village on a swampy island with wide broadwalk and satellite next to almost every house. Some houses are as elaborated as large houses on land. We checked in a simple losmen for $5 a night.

After breakfast and morning walk, we took a cez across Danau (Lake) Jampung to the first Dayak village on the Mahakam called Tanjung Isuy. After checking into another losmen with beautiful view, we went for a walk and were invited by the local to the first night of the Ceremony for the Dead celebration.

Traditional ceremonies were always quite boring to be honest, especially after a few hours of mourning songs. Luckily, besides the 'singers' on one side of the longhouse, there are also a large number of very young children playing chess in the middle and another group of men gambling on the far end. Each oblivious of the other group.The highlight of the ceremony is the dancing or the circling of the skull box seven times by men and women separately. I joined in to the action, learned some new steps and was glad to finally retreat back to my room for the night.

Next morning, we rode along Sungai Ohong, a tributary off Sungai Mahakam, into another village called Moncong. While most exposed land were logged and farmed in the beginning, after an hour, our cez slowly took us into a territory with thick forest and large trees where kingfishers, herons, monitor lizards and proboscis monkeys roam freely. This is how I always imagine Borneo, at least the images on TV, not the polluted towns and plantations. Our cez driver, Yani, skillfully navigated through fallen logs over the next few hours while we enjoy the wildlife Borneo was so famous for.

On our return trip, the sky turned dark and the daily downpour began. Our boat kept moving along the narrow river with millions of raindrops hitting the river surface - a true rainforest river experience, I told myself and then dozed off shortly after with the soothing sound of rain.

15 hours, 150 small towns, 1500 villages and 15000 potholes later, I finally arrived at Pangkanlanbun at 3am. This is the gateway town for Tanjung Puting National Park where the famous Camp Leakey Orangutan Rehabitation Centre is located in south Kilimantan.

After all the sitting, I decided to find the police station in town for the letter I needed for the park permit, instead of hiring an ojec (motorbike taxi). I need to photocopy my visa but most of the fotocopy shops in town has no power at mid-day. I kept walking quite aimlessly on a large road until the large police station appeared on my right. A small fotocopy shops had a small line of people. I made my copy and was directed to a room where the park letter can be obtained. After 20 min, I obtained my letter from a friendly policeman.

My next stop is the park office. I kept walking in midday sun on the large road. 15...30...45 min... Finally after almost 5km, I reached the road lead off a traffic circle where the park office is supposed to locate. Once I walked inside the office and stated my purpose of coming, I saw surprising look on many faces. 'Why did you come by yourself?', Inten, a friendly officer asked me. Later, I realized that most tourists obtained their permits from their tour guide or agency. I ended up befriended and met up with Inten a few times.

After a few arrangements, I finally found a local guide from Kumai, Andy, who took me and two Holland couples in a Klotek into the park. I then find homestay at the village of Tanjung Harapin for less than what the Lonely Planet rate include three huge meals of mie goreng and nasi. We headed off the next day to visit the much anticipated Camp Leakey.

When my cek, motorized canoe, arrived at the pier, a mother orangutan with a baby and her young son was entertaining the tourists who were having lunch on their klotoks. I sat down with Andy with a glass of Nescafe in our hand. The mother orangutan wasted no time to come over and took Andy's glass, then finished mine tasty drink as well.

After registering with the camp officer, we started trekking in the forest behind the camp. I asked if Andy can locate Kusasi, the legendary orangutan king who ruled this area for over 10 years, the longest reign of any orangutan. Kusasi's mother was murdered when he was a baby. He was sold to someone in Kumai. Luckily, the new endangered specie was enacted in time and he was brought back to Camp Leakey when he was under 3.

While most orangutan babies seek human care at this age, Kusasi disappeared into the jungle and reappeared more than one and half year later at camp. No one knows how an orangutan at this young age can survive by himself in the dangerous jungle environment without any guidance. Once he returned to camp, Kusasi continued to refuse human contact but followed the dominant female orangutan as his adopted mom although she had never completely accepted him. He was expalled by her after her new baby was borned a few years later.

Alone again, Kusasi's strong determination to be on top enable him to climb up in rank and after increasing his hormone level and obtain his cheekpals, he began fighting off fellow males with brutal forces and ruled his territories with fear during the most devastating 10 years in Borneo current history. Behind his toughness, he also showed a tender side with his female and mated with all of them during his reign. Unfortunately, the great fire of Borneo in 1997 slowly forced male orangutans from other territories into the national park and this created great challenges Kusasi. Over 30, Kusasi braved his kingdom for as long as he could but was finally took over by Tom, the current ruler.

Andy, who is the oldest guides in the park, grew up watching Kusasi. He made the familiar call while we trekked. Fifteen minute later, I could not believe my eyes. The old king appeared in the trees only a few metres from us, almost oblivious to our presence, searching for termite nest in the ground. He continued while we watched patiently. After 15 minutes, I asked Andy if it is possible to give him the apple in my bag, a rather insignificant offering to the king. Andy agreed and gave my apple to Kusasi.

After finishing the apple, Kusasi slowly moved forward to closeby the trail where we are. Only a metre away from him, I can see that the once mighty king now has wounds on the lips, half-bitten ears, cut off finger and large incision on the forehead which he constantly touches, as if to ask us for help and welcome us to his home. Like an old man, Kusasi started yearning after playing host for another 10 minutes. Andy and I understandably said farewell and moved on. My brief encounter with Kusasi was a tremendously humbling experience.

Feeding time started around 2pm. Over 30 tourists crowded in front of the feeding table for the 'eating show' with cameras of all sorts. Numerous orangutans show up, mostly nursing mothers with babies. While I enjoyed watching their behavior interacting with each other, I could not help but felt uncomfortable with this setup. However, the fact is that these human care orangutans can never be completely wild because of the continue logging and destruction of their habitat.

Over a long conservation with a volunteer at the camp, I realized that there are currently over 300 orphans residing at a small and overcrowded centre in Pangkalanbun. Are we finally going to realize our selfishness and greed when this magnificent specie becomes extinct in 10 to 20 years?

A short flight took me from Suyabaya in Java to Bajarmasin in South Kilimantan (Borneo). Being the largest city in Kilimantan, the third largest island in the world, Bajarmasin is criss crossed by a system of canals inhabited by residents on both sides, with 17 different ethnics. Along the urban developments like many modern cities, these inhabitants had been living for generations along Sungai Martapura and its tributaries. They live on these land for free but have to leave if government take the land for development.

Daily life such as bathing and shopping involves around this river. You can find river cafes, ministore, mosholla (small mosques) along the canal and children jump in and out of river hitching a ride from cez (motorize canoes) passing by.
Every morning, there is a floating market where their river residents sell their produces and fruits in the traditional way. I met my guide at 5am, had breakfast at the river 'Starbuck' and made our way to the floating market. To my surprise, the presence of me and other local tourists did not seem to bother their traders a bit. It is also much less touristy and more peaceful than the floating market in Bangkok.

After the floating market, we made our way to Palau Kembang where large tribes of long-tailed macaques congregate and reside close to a a Chinese temple. The dominant tribe stationed close to the pier in the morning where tourists get off and feed them with peanuts. The less dominant tribe come to the pier after the dominant retreat for the day.

Located an hour out of town, Cempaka's diamond mines are owned by a handful of landowners and managed by a few decently-dressed men patrolling around large holes of muddy water local diggers spend entire day in waist high water filtering wooden baskets of silt hoping to find tiny speck of the precious stones. These diggers are paid Rp 25000 ($2.5-3) per day and shared a tiny portion of the profits if a diamond is sold.

During the multiple transit from colt (small and packed minibus) to small open trucks, my guide (ex-english teacher), Mukani, told me amazing stories about Australian and Arabic businessmen coming to Bajarmasin for cheap rough diamonds, ended up being cheated or mistrusted by the local people. We talked about health system and economy over mie goreng (fried noodle) at the local market after a long day.

That night, a very strange thing happened. A cat that look exactly like my long time companion (only with very short tail), Michigan, appeared in the lobby of my hotel just when I was about to head back to the room for the night. Michigan had passed away 20 months ago. I could not help but gave her some affection. When I asked if she'd like to stay in my room, she followed me and we spent a cozy night together, with her never more than two feet from me. The next morning, she waited for me to bring sticky rice with fish. When she saw me packing, she slowly walked outside the room, disappearing from my sight, the same way she came into my life the night before.

A 13-hr minibus ride took me from Jogja to Probolingo. Of course, this include our bus breaking down. Luckily, our driver found a mechanic shop and found the parts he needs to fix the carburetor. We passed by many villages and towns in central and east Java. Since it is Saturday night, traffic was quite bad in some towns with families cars and motorbikes everywhere in a lively atmosphere. Because of all these, we arrived a few hours late at Probolingo, where we get another transfer to our hotels up on the mountain close to Gunung Bromo (~2300m). The French tourists impatiently complained about the delay and the dangerous driving practice of our excellent driver and demanded compensation. Without him, we probably would not even make it to Bromo for sunrise. It is completely normal for cars to pass others on the opposite side of the road here. Drivers here seldom honk except for signaling and gladly yield to one another during passing.

Gunung Bromo is not the highest, but has the most dramatic scenery of all volcanos in Java. Crowds of tourists wake up before dawn and make their way up to a viewpoint for sunrise every morning. After only a few hours of sleep, I dragged myself out of bed and got into our Jeep. Within 30 minute, we were brought close of the summit of another mountain and was completely mesmerized by the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen. Even more magnificent than Mt Sinai because of the surrounding volcanoes and sea of clouds.

After sunrise, we were taken to the bottom of Bromo and had to walk on the sea of sand to the staircase led to the crater. The scenery here is equally breathtaking. Shadow of horses scattered among the foggy mist form a perfect picture. I slowly walked up to the crater while most others hired horses. A smoky crater reminds me how meniscus human being are. Longing to admire this natural power in its resting stage, I decided to trek around the enormous crater. It took me some time to follow the trail behind the crater to the lake and hilltop behind and another good hour to climb up and down along the narrow trail around crater edge. Without doubt, this experience is more satisfying than simply trekking up a volcano.

After my adrenalin was gone, my body yearned for rest. I took a slow horse ride back to the simple hotel next to the volcano, had quick breakfast, showered, checked out and sat next to the horses to do some sketching before heading down the mountain back to Probolingo. Another bus to Surabaya where I would fly to Borneo, or Kilimantan early next morning.

Although Indonesia is not as diverse as Malaysia or advance as Singapore. Nevertheless, it has a unique population with an older generation that is proud of and clanged to their history and a split younger generation that either embrace or silently revolting the conservative value of Islam in this society.

I took a short flight and landed at the gateway city, Padang, on the island of Sumatra, from Singapore. Without much touristic attractions, I learn to best spend my time people-watching and visiting local markets. A friendly local took me on his motorbike to find a homestay/guesthouse when the airport shuttle dropped me off somewhere with no taxi in sight. I wasted no time to walk to the public park close by. Before sunset, children and family crowded the go carts and old video arcades corner while others practice football. Adults gather for volleyball and badminton. Being in the vicinity of families is comforting to me when I am traveling alone for a long time. There is also a very lively and crowded market with motorbikes and horses in between locals shopping everything from food to clothing. What a great way to be introduced to this unique culture. I had a traditional Indonesian dinner with over 10 single dishes with rice and tea for less than a dollar(us).

The next morning, I took a local bus to a hilltop town called Bukittinggi, a popular local resort town. Coincide with the two-week Indonesia holidays, it took me a few tries to find a 1-star hotel. With cooler and dryer weather, it was a pleasure to walk around this beautiful town. After stopping by the panarama where rice fields populated in a deep canyon and a large tunnel city built by the Japanese during WWII, I headed to the local market for a local snack - satay on top of rice cake with peanut and curry sauce, then wandered around and watched local tourists and families enjoyed themselves in the large square in the lazy Saturday afternoon.

A two-hour minibus ride took me back from Bukittingo to Padang where I would catch my next flight to Jakarta, the capital. From the train station there, I took an overnight train and headed straight to a medium city in central Java called Yogyakarta (Jogja). Arriving on a Saturday morning at 5 am during local holidays means virtually impossible to find accommodation. After walking around with my backpack for over an hour, I finally found a room to sleep.

Since there are 57 universities in town with Jogja, it is the history, art and cultural soul of Indonesia. Galleries and cafes lined the busy streets next to local shops and restaurants. I felt in love with this rich and diverse atmosphere. History and modern society almost seem to exist in harmony in this quiet yet lively town. Unlike Vietnam, motorbike and motor cars share the streets with no honking. Traffic jam disappears before any agitation set in.

The major tourist attraction here is the Borobudur Temple located about an hour ride north of Jogja. I took an hour of motorbike on winding roads through villages. Built about 1000 years old, it is a symmetrical structure carved with reliefs of stories of Javanese Buddhist lives. Local tourists carry umbrellas for the strong sun added touches of color to an otherwise monotone canvas of latticed stupas of headless Buddha on the six terraces. I reached my hand into the Buddha inside one of the lattice on the top terrace and made a wish.

I visited the Mendut Temple close by which has a Buddha sitting on a chair, instead of the traditional crossed lotus position. Next, we rode to Gunung Merapi, an active volcano that erupted two years ago causing considerable damages to nearby villages and covered many ancient sites with dusts. Viewing the panorama from Kaliuburg only increase my thirst to hike up this magnificent volcano. While heading down the mountain, my motorbike driver stopped by a rusty house where groups of students stay for two months and work as volunteers to educate local villager handicraft, art, music or other fields of their discipline. It is a program that all university had to go through before graduation.

The next morning, I visited an unusual place where most tourists rather stay away from – the hospital. The past few days, my arms and legs were bitten by insects and became very swollen. Instead of putting antibiotic cream, I decided to confirm with a doctor. The local hospital has a spacious waiting room with cafes and friendly staff registering each patient their information according to queue. Then we went up to a corner on the second floor especially for skin problems. I waited for a good 45-minute before seeing the doctor who confirm my suspicion and prescript me both stronger oral and exterior medication. I then went downstairs to pay for the doctor and administration fee (US$5), and medicine (US$25). After my bedbug episode in Malaysia’s jungle guesthouse two weeks ago, this is my second encounter to the blood-thirsty insects in this part of the world, targeting fresh and tasty tourist blood. It is just part of rough travel.

Next I visited the local Bird Market, where not only all types of singing birds and pigeons are for sale, cages of lizards, monkeys, rabbits, even cats, snakes and bats are all over the floor. My heart became very heavy when I look into the eyes of these frightened and neglected animals. But this is also local culture and tradition that cannot simply be eliminated, even with authority and connection. I could not help but pray for the fate of these animals and hope they find a good owner.

After the depressing stroll in the bird market, I passed by a Batik painter’s studio. Batik paintings, made with wax and special color chemical found mostly in nature, are famous in Java and sold all over the world. Batik artists acquire their skills over a lifetime. I sat down and talked to the artist for over an hour. While most paintings feature traditional patterns and subjects, more and more young artists use this traditional technique to express abstraction in the last 20 years, creating a large artistic community here. That night, I visited a neighborhood where families made sandals, handbag, and wallets for a living. Every Javanese welcome me with smiles and hospitality I could not find in large cities. That evening, I visited a couple who designed traditional Javanese dress. Of course, I took the opportunity to put on a wedding outfit and became a Javanese bride for a short time.

On the next morning, I visited the sultan’s residence, Kranton, a small but elegant house for the 10th sultan and his family of five daughters. It also housed some of the international gifts and traditional batik from the beloved 9th sultan and his wives. Outside the palace, a very vocal prisoner gibbon was kept in a small cage inside a courtyard where the gift shop located.

My day continued with a visit to the Hindi Temples at Prambanan. All the temples were built in the middle of the 9th century, around 50 years after Borobudur. With the main temples of Candi Shiva, Vishnu and Brahma and courtless smaller structure dedicated to even the vehicle cow Nandi, this complex looks surprising similar to Angkor Wat. Me and my driver, who happened to be also a history student, strolled thru the large complex, discussing colonial politics and modern Javanese religion. That evening, I enjoyed a wonderful performance at the open air theatre here for the love and war story of Rama and Sita, with live musicians, singers and the magnificent Candi Shiva in the backdrop.

My last day in Yogya was spent in galleries. Among them is the famous Affandi Gallery in the outskirt of town. The eclectic complex includes his galleries, studio, residence, cafes. He and his wife were also buried among their beloved home and artwork. Affandi's work are mostly impressionism on portraits. His excellent use of colors reflect the atmosphere of the painting and mood of the artist at the same time.

Then I visited the Clementi Art Gallery and a few other artist homes. Each with a unique style, it is a pleasure for me to be introduce into Javanese art. I love all of Jogja.