Bali Hai

Bali was never high on my list. Yeah, I’ll go anywhere, but there were a lot more interesting places to visit than a place that I saw as a quasi-hedonistic party scene. I’ve never done well with those situations. I’m just totally clueless and I don’t get it. And so when we were planning the trip I was relatively surprised to hear Carol say she wanted to come here. She said her interest was piqued when she read Michener’s “Hawaii,” even before Angela was born. Much to my pleasant surprise, there’s a whole lot more to the place than the party scene, which is certainly healthy and thriving in parts of the island. Landing in Denpasar was a real eye opener. It could have been SFO. Planes stacked up on each other, and tarmacs full of a veritable rainbow of colored tail fins for the various local budget travel that has exploded, sometimes literally, onto the Asian air market. Inside the terminal at immigration processing there was one open kiosk for Malaysian passports and there were a dozen or so for foreigners. Long lines went fairly efficiently, but it was obvious that this was, indeed, going to be a different breed of cat. The immense variety of humanity within the baggage claim where flights had come in from literally everywhere was staggering, not only from an ethnic and cultural aspect, but also just for the variety of alternative lifestyles that a lot of people who come to Bali seem to exhibit. It certainly gave the appearance of being a place that tolerated a lot of individuality. And this was at 10 p.m.. We didn’t want to stay in the party area and I had found the small town of Ubud in my reading. It is a fiber area for Carol and has a lot of activities for the non-party types like us. The hour drive was nothing we had not seen before, tons of traffic, end to end shops all shuttered for the night with their metal garage type doors locked down and very little empty space since it seemed to be another one of those endless city urban sprawls where one village leads into another and you can’t really tell when one ends and the other begins. Literally thousands of shops selling everything imaginable lay hidden behind the doors. The shops are almost always single garage door sized and are end to end mile after mile. However, in the morning when the light shone on Bali interior, it took on its quintessential picture postcard feeling. Out the balcony of our hotel is a rice field backed up by the graceful coconut palm trees stretching to the sky and just daring anybody to walk underneath lest it drop with a thud a green coconut. The coconut palm is so much more picturesque than the mile after mile of the stubby, thicker oil palms all planted with precision in an “orchard.” Now, with this vision at my doorstep, it felt like what I had envisioned to be Bali. A woman in a red sarong cut the weeds and grass with a hand sickle from the established path lest the greenery take totally over. Everything is done by hand here, we saw no machinery of any kind in the fields.. Later she gathered it all up into a bundle, placed it on her head and walked with her flip flops flapping down the rows to a path like she has probably done a thousand times before, seemingly totally oblivious to the world, she still could manage a smile and a hello when I said good afternoon. Whereas in Borneo, we saw little of the traditional dress on men or women, now we see it everywhere. The men wear little turban-like head coverings, but they are really nothing more than thick colorful strips of cloth wrapped around the head with the center left open. The men and women wear the traditional sarong, simply a floor length piece of cloth wrapped around the waist and tucked in at the top around the waist. The women, young and old, wear these along with the men. Flip flops are the standard footwear and there are shops selling such an array and variety of them that it boggles the mind. I had no clue that they could come in so many ways. This is, surprisingly to me, a very heavily Hindu area. I’m finding such a broader level of culture. I had no clue. I just knew that Indonesia was a heavily Muslim country so was surprised to find a majority of Christians in Borneo and now a majority of Hindus here in Bali. Shrines and temples abound on every street and each morning and each night people carry trays holding offerings on mini-trays and placed in doorways and various other places as a symbol of good luck and blessed offerings. Banks, schools, shops and houses all seem to have a small shrine adorning the outside of the buildings and temples are to be found in abundance as well. Java with over half the population of 250,000,000 is heavily Muslim while the other 17,000+ islands have a wide variety of culture, religion and traditions very different from Java. One thing that became very evident upon first light is that Balinese look, well, they look Balinese. Unlike Borneo where the ethnic Chinese register about 50% of the total population and the intermarriage with ethnic Malays form a lighter skinned population, Balinese have a beautiful light olive sheen to their skin. The lack of facial and body hair gives the skin a sleek look and they are a lovely people. They smile and are a joyous lot and are said to be one of the most patient of people. This is good since the roads and traffic require that in spades. The women are petite and beautiful and the men are shorter than average but with nice features as well.

The roads are really narrow and are two-lane only because somebody painted a white line down the middle. The best way to drive them is to point the hood ornament directly along the white line for as long as possible until a car, seldom, or the mass break out of motor bikes come your way. If a car is approaching it means getting one set of tires well onto the limited shoulder and praying that he/she will do the same in the other car. It is also exacerbated by people who simply stop and leave their cars on the road without even the semblance of pulling as far off as possible. We passed a man happily washing his car in the middle of the road while traffic in both directions looked for an opportunity to get around him. The real fun is when the big dog of the road, the tour buses come towards you. They seem to have little compunction to pull over and this makes for some hairy moments. Another curious habit is that oncoming traffic seems to have the right, or at least the practice to turn in front of oncoming traffic. But everybody seems to understand the rules and as crazy as it seems to my western prejudiced driving habits, it all works without any semblance of anger or impatience. An interesting feature that Carol noticed on our map is that there are 9 major roads that go north and south in the island from the bottom to the top, there is not a single one cutting across the middle of the country or a major road connecting the parallel north/south roads. Any road that goes laterally across the Island heads directly for the coast and then skirts the island on its rim. Primary in our interest in visiting Ubud was a place called “Green Village,” which our ex-student Shane Liem told us was amazing. She was right. Comprising several aspects such as a school, a planned community and a production plant, The “green village/school is made entirely out of bamboo. They discovered a process to eliminate the sugar inside the bamboo so that the bugs don’t like it any longer. They’ve done some amazing architectural building using just bamboo. Pictures can be seen at: http://edition.cnn.com/2013/12/16/world/asia/bali-green-village-bamboo/ They also operate a “green” school for children of the area. A full k-12 program teaches all subject matter in a “green” process and environment. The classrooms again are all made from bamboo and everything is approached from a basis of sustainability. We were told that tomorrow is “Earth Day, “ and at the school it’s like Christmas. With over 300 students a fifth of them are Balinese and the rest are foreign students who live both at the school and/or are dropped by parents/drivers. At a cost of $8,000 for the elementary programs and $14,000 for the middle and high school students, it ain’t cheap, but they have Montessori type approach to learning in an environmental setting.

The number of restaurants, guest houses, hotels and home stays in the area are stark testimony to the heavy influx of tourism in the past few years. With a population of 30,000 my feeling is that a vast majority of them are involved in the tourist trade. But it is a beautiful area where one can go on all kinds of adventures from white-water rafting, visiting monkey sanctuaries, do elephant touring, rent motor bikes (Carol flatly refused to even consider it, probably wise) and have a wonderful and fulfilling cuisine experiences. Here’s the website for further exploration. http://greenvillagebali.com We decided that in spite of my initial objections to the party scene, it seemed somewhat strange to come to Bali and not at least see the beach and coast line. Asking what was a particularly beautiful beach near the airport, we were pointed to Nusa Dua. The trip down in daylight confirmed what I had thought on the nighttime run to Ubud. Mile after unending mile of shops and villages. One village is especially known for working with the wood from the forest making beautiful furniture, another for using the lava rock (there are two volcanoes on the island) into Hindu statuary while another one is the silversmith village which gets its silver from Papua, a province on the island of New Guinea. It also has the world’s largest gold mine. So, although they all run together and seem the same, in fact, there is a lot of individuality to them. Curious how the maps looked with the vertical highways I googled Bali and looked at the “earth” view, and there I could see the parallel strings of roads easily identifiable with the wall to wall buildings I mentioned. We stayed at a comfortable but cheapy hotel, having met the requirements of our stay, AC and WI-FI. We were able to make a pilgrimage to a beach and it was just as lovely as one would suspect from looking at the travel brochures. The water a turquoise blue, the coarse sand beaches from countless volcanic rock being pulverized into small bits, and the rocky outcroppings which give the beach character with the waves crashing into the reef and spilling white water closer to shore. The water in the lagoon was bathtub warm, literally warmer than the tepid showers we’ve had in the hotels. It might be refreshing, but it’s not gonna cool anybody off on a hot day. But still I’m glad we did it and I now have a better idea of why I wouldn’t want to stay here in spite of the beauty.

Gringos everywhere. Old and young, singles and marrieds, hipsters and hippies, they come from around the world to partake in the beach nightlife. They laze around the pool or at the beach all day and then party at night. I once was given a compliment by a fellow travel agent who meant it as a put down “You like to travel, and I like to vacation,” she said. And it’s true. Probably the only accurate thing I ever heard from her. So we came, we saw, we got out of Dodge. Glad we did it, glad we only gave it one night.

The Land Below the Wind

Flying between the two provinces of Borneo, Sarawak and Sabah, on opposite ends of the island, I could look down upon an overwhelming density of life. The Indonesian rain forest is so immense and so thick that only the rivers, and there are lots of them, break up the sameness of the ground below. Towns will pop up along the shore line and then disappear as the rain forest once again becomes dominant. The rivers snake their way to the South China Sea and form a brownish alluvial fan as they spread their carried sediment into the water. There are so many rivers that there are often three of them running more or less parallel to each other even in their snaky curves. It’s fascinating to see from 30,000 feet.

A little further on, the sea suddenly became dotted with ships, then the oil rigs came into view, and I realized that the ships were oil tankers and below was the Sultanate of Brunei, a separate nation in a “U” shaped piece of land which juts inward from the coast and just happens to have enormous oil and natural gas reserves. The entire scope of the window on the plane was all oil platforms and oil tankers. We reached Kota Kinabalu, the capital of the Sabah province, so-called “The land below the wind.” This name comes from the fact that Sabah doesn’t have typhoons (hurricanes)…we were told they never have had one, but I haven’t checked the veracity of that, but it sounds reasonable. Looking at a map, the province is sitting in a little protective bowl. Surrounded by big land masses and limited (on an oceanic scale) open water. The vast Pacific ocean can’t get there and crushes the Philippines first while the Indian Ocean hits Sumatra…they say they just get tailing winds.. If Kuching was the button-down commercial center of Borneo, Kota Kinabalu is the vibrant, pulsing heart of sea-faring environment and the rain forest. Kuching has access to the ocean through it’s rivers and estuaries, but KK as it is known locally is right smack dab on the water and that seems to dominate the entire city. There are long bike and running paths which reach out to the suburbs, and the waterfront in the city proper is all about fish. Rusty hulled fishing trawlers push out to sea every morning and return in late afternoon to unload their catch and the city turns out to buy fresh fish. They drop anchor in the harbor about 100 yards offshore, lining up like cars at the mall. Along the waterfront, dozens of stalls all hawk their seafood for the locals who come to decide what is for dinner. The variety of seafood is amazing. Everything is available from sea slugs to foot long prawns which are more than a meal by themselves. For those not wanting to cook, dozens more stalls cook the variety over wood chip fires with the red pepper marinade coating the outside of the individual pieces. Some of the fish are grilled, others are batter fried. All the stands seem to sell exactly the same things so the verbal enticements to the passerby are necessary to show that theirs are the best.

We opted for something indoors – in re, something with AC. It’s necessary for our bodies, not to mention our mental state to find area when and where we can to cool off for a while before hitting the streets again. Our choices were myriad. Australian, Italian, Japanese, and of course, that quintessential tell-tale sign that we are in a tourist area a Hard Rock Café. Our daughter and son-in-law collect the shot glasses and are quick to point out where we will be able to find a new collectable. I looked before we left and saw that there was one in Jakarta, the Capital, and Bali, no surprise, but my daughter quickly wrote back and informed us that Kota Kinabalu also had a Hard Rock. Now, that was a surprise until we got here and saw how many

Timing was excellent as we left the restaurant to be greeted by a wonderful South China Sea sunset. The tropical thunderclouds towered high into the sky and the sun gave everything a brilliant golden hue. As it sank closer to the horizon, the gold turned to a reddish orange and we truly felt we were in a tropical paradise. The kind of setting you see in travel films, but this was reality, not fantasy. But KK is all about the jungle. Whereas Kuching is basically a flat tidal basin with some tall peaks in the general area, KK is all about coastline and mountains. 100 yards off the shoreline, the hills start abruptly upward with the jungle seemingly right out your doorway. Lianas drape from the trees like spaghetti strands, all reaching for the nutrients of the earth. No matter what direction you head other than to sea, the rain forest is right there. Row upon row of tall ridges form a seemingly unending line of high crests. Each one steeply descends into some form of river or creek. As you turn you are faced with another set of ridges going in different directions, but all the same – covered in the vast biodiversity of Borneo and all seemingly unending. It is said that in 6 square miles of the Borneo rainforest there are more species than in all of Europe and North America combined. Sounds amazing, but I’ve learned not to be skeptical of the wonderment of the area. There are Orangutans in the area, more feeding stations, but since we’ve seen them in two locations we opted for something different. We traveled to see the proboscis monkeys and some botanical demonstration gardens where they have brought the various varieties of plant life into one area for better understanding. We crossed a long and rickety canopy walk where the footing is a one inch by 8 inch board all roped together to long cables. Actually very safe, but also with a lot of movement..It reminded me of how I used to drive my sister nuts by making the bridge swing from side to side as we crossed the Feather River in the little PG&E camp we lived in when we were kids.

The only things seemingly more abundant than the varieties of orchids were the skinny dogs and the even skinnier chickens who walked along the highway with cars whizzing ever so close and scratched the ground with little chicks scurrying around mom looking for the morsel of possible food. Some things that piqued my interest: As we went deeper into the rainforest, we kept seeing signs for Catholic churches. In KK they are big churches a la Western civilization. In the deep rainforest, they may just be a single room with a cross on then, but there are ever present. In Sabah, the province, Christians are a majority in an overall very Muslim country and Catholics the vast majority of those. The Portuguese brought Christianity to the area in the early 1500’s. Carol noted that the name for church seemed very similar to Portuguese, and that is the reason. Driving is different in Borneo. In Sumatra, it’s everybody for themselves. The motor bikes and pedi-cabs all stick to the shoulder of the road and everybody passes without a thought for them. Here in Borneo, motor bikes ride down the center of the lane and people pass only when it is safe. There are NO horns blaring their presence or their driver’s frustrations. It is a very peaceful and sane driving experience. The major highway is one lane each direction and many drivers go at 25 miles an hour, yet there is no road rage at motor bikes not moving over or slow traffic, no epithets being cast about at slow drivers and there are plenty of those, and no clenched fists or pointed fingers jabbing the sky. There are lots of Chinese tourists, but not nearly as many, apparently, as before the flight of MH370 went missing never to be heard of again on a flight from Kuala Lumpur to Beijing two years ago. Ben and Jerry’s ice cream in the stores….what’s not to like about a place like that?

A Tale of Two Cities

I noted last time some differences in Medan in Indonesia and Kuching in Malaysian Borneo. After spending a couple more days in Kuching, the differences became even more obvious than just traffic patterns. The main difference is a between a frenetic way of life and a more sedate one. First of all, because Medan doesn’t have any high rises, the tallest building we saw was four stories and in Langsa they were only two, that means that the city spreads out in a lateral, horizontal plane, whereas Kuching has a plethora of high rises reaching 30 to 40 stories high. Office buildings, apartment complexes and hotels all dominate the skyline and that give it a vertical appearance. That means that with one fourth the population, Kuching is much more organized and less frantic. The multi-level malls with an eclectic mix of eastern and western shops with L’Occitgane, Esprit, Levi’s and others taking their place alongside Asian shops more indigenous to the area. Rugby goal posts and playing fields give credence to the holdover of the Brits in the area, but today the city is a balance between ethnic Chinese and Malays who now are a larger percentage of the population than the Chinese. Throw in a few percentage points for local tribal people like the Sarawaks and you have a mixture that blends well in this city. In fact, the city has two mayors – one for the Chinese side of town and one for the Malay quarter, and heavens to Mergatroid, they actually cooperate and get along blending policies that benefit the whole…..now what’s that all about?

Secondly, Kuching seems to be a business center, a place of commerce for north Borneo while Medan is just neighborhood lapsing over into other neighborhoods without any distinctive flavor to any of them. Architecture in Medan is basically simple and utilitarian. Concrete block buildings abut against others of the same mold. Only the color changes. In Kuching, there is stylish and modern architecture and it gives the place a far more sophisticated feel. Everything just seems to move at a slower place in Kuching…green spaces and parks give it a tranquil feel and people just seem not to be in such a big hurry in all that they do. As the sun lowers in the sky men sit in the sidewalk cafes and drink their tea and coffee, lovers walk hand in hand down the street and women walk the street holding a multitude of shopping bags from the upscale stores and malls. It just feels good… if the sun didn’t bear down and beat you into submission it would really be a neat place. Our hotel filled our needs, free wi-fi and AC…for once, the AC was more important than the wi-fi. We’ve noticed in some of our hotels a arrow on the ceiling in the corner of the room. Carol finally figured out that it was pointing to Mecca for a proper prayer setting in the rooms for Muslim guests. The history of this whole area is one of colonial exploitation by the Brits and the Dutch, an effort to control the rubbe trade and petroleum industries. It didn’t pass to Malaysian control until 1962 when independence was gained as the Brits slowly began to unwind the empire upon which “The sun never sets.” Japanese occupation of the area was, as usual, vicious and deadly. Several WWII POW camps were established here, and the most famous one was Sandakan where only 6 of the 2,500 POW’s survived the war. On the flip side, the Brits bombed Kota Kinabalu, our next destination, and at the end of the war only three buildings were left standing. The whole area reeks with the stench of war and its inhumanity and it consequences. The island is the 3rd largest in the world after Greenland and New Guinea and is now split into three countries. Malaysia occupies the top quarter with Brunei, an oil rich sultanate enclave splitting, the different provinces of Malaysia, and the bottom ¾’s belonging to Indonesia who call their portion of Borneo, Kalimantan. However, we came to see the Orangutans. In Kuching our options were for a wildlife refuge where the primates are re-introduced back to the wild. They come to the refuge as orphans whose mothers have been shot or captured, or as adults who have been captured for domestic zoos. It was great to see them totally wild in Sumatra and there is lots of criticism of the “feeding Stations” where the animals are slowly re-introduced back to nature, but the fact is that if they were not there, the shrinking orangutan population would shrink even more drastically. They have a fine track record of success and keep a board of the status of the animals from quarantine, rehabilitation, to semi-wild, to totally wild. There is never any guarantee that you will see them at the feeding stations which put out food twice a day. In fact, since this is the season where fruits are in abundance in the jungle, it is actually a good sign when you don’t see them because it shows that they are finding sustenance on their own.

We were fortunate on our visit because there was a big male who came to the call of the attendant and then a mother with a baby clinging tightly to her side. Babies stay with their mothers for up to five years and this one was a three year old. She ventured out of her mother’s embrace as they scaled the long ropes that went from the various trees to the feeding platform where the ranger distributed food….The big male wanted more than his share and got into a pulling match with the ranger who wisely let go and let him have his way. Another difference that became quite obvious to us when we arrived at the wildlife center was the number of western and other tourists. In Bukit Lawang, there were a few pasty-faced visitors scattered out along the narrow walkway on which dozens of hotels and guest houses faced, but here in Kuching’s wild life center we saw just how many more there were here. Sumatra is not one of the top destinations within Indonesia, but here in Malaysian Borneo we are right in the middle of crossroads which makes for easy access to all destinations and cheaply so, since Air Asia has over 263 flights per week to all the destinations in the area, and they are just one of the many discount, low-cost airlines servicing the area. The other excursion that we wanted to see was a Sarawak cultural village. Established to promote the indigenous population, it is a well done replica of a village of the past. The students who work and study there are learning traditional arts and crafts. These places can be very hokey and have a phony feel to them, but this didn’t seem that way. The young kids were warm, friendly, informative and seemed truly appreciative of the visitation.

Borneo always seemed like such an exotic destination. So far away, so alien in culture, and full of lore about head hunting and lost expeditions. In fact, it is all of these, but it is also a place where in the modern world, conveniences in travel and the blessed and life-saving air conditioning make it a place that allows the traveler to enjoy the practicality of the place while still being fascinated by the exotic nature of the island. The rain forests are unique and are some of the oldest in the world. The huge island still has areas which are unexplored for any practical purposes, and I can only hope that it stays that way.

It started off well

Indeed it did. We were up at 6:00 for our 7:00 a.m. ride to the airport. We had a quick cool water shower, it was an eco hotel, after all, and the porters came to take our bags to our waiting car and driver for the 4-5 hour ride to the airport. We walked the half mile or so along the narrow bricked path listening for the sound of a motorbike from behind so that we could step aside. The “street” is just wide enough for the motorbikes to pass without hitting anyone and the locals seem to have the ability to just believe that they won’t get hit and keep on walking…the gringos, however, step aside.They had suggested that we didn’t need to leave for the airport until 8:00, but I wanted a little flexibility…just in case….Little did I know. The car was a nice comfortable SUV and even in the morning “coolness” the AC was appreciated. We passed the ever present oil palm trees and the little parade of students getting to early classes…smart to start the day early and finish before the stifling heat kills any intellectual curiosity. The motor bikes and pedicabs were, of course, everywhere, and the de rigueur single honk of the horn from the car basically said: “I’m passing, don’t deviate from your established path.”….amazing that we have not seen a single accident. About the time I’m settling in nicely for the relaxing ride, everything went silent in the car with the exception of the curious groans from the driver…no power….The car rolled to a stop at the top of the hill, far away from any village. The driver attempted to fiddle under the hood, but to no avail. He tried to use his mobile phone but no service either. Carol and I looked at each other with words unspoken but understood. “Now what?” “What’s plan B?” The driver walked down the road and apparently got some reception because he came back to say: “no problem. Another car is coming. We can make it.” Easy for him to say. Then he hitched a ride on a motor bike that had two baskets used for transporting the oil palm seed clusters and with a leg in each basket they went down the road. With nothing to do except wait, I strolled over to the two homes where the women were mercilessly chopping away at some oil palm clusters not full enough to go to pressing. Nothing gets wasted. I passed an old, reed-thin lady who looked at me with disdain and then looked the other way as if I had been invisible. My “Selamat Pagi,” (good morning) was met with stony indifference. This was most unusual because Indonesians are remarkable friendly and sociable. From rich to poor we have been met with near constant warmth and amiability. The two ladies whacked at the clusters of oil palm and I was impressed and amazed at the viciousness of their hacks while holding the cluster in one hand and whacking with the other. I’d be known as “Three fingered Jim,” if I used such force. I can’t even chop kindling for the stove without the threat of imminent impairment.

About 20 minutes later the driver showed up with a younger man, who we discovered was his son, and another vehicle…gone was our comfy Air conditioned SUV, replaced by a beat up utility van with hard seats and NO AC…..The road went from fair to terrible and each bump left my butt wishing for some extra padding on my skinny bones. The drivers must have permanent crooks to their necks from continually craning them to the left or the right to see if they can get around the trucks carrying who knows what. The single beep of the horn announced that we were coming around. We made it to Medan with the hub-bub of Indonesia’s third largest city and traffic is a real zoo….It took us over an hour just to get across town and this wasn’t rush hour, just late morning. It was the nearest thing to India’s traffic I have seen with everybody trying for that ever-so-slight advantage in getting one car length ahead. Even in a city of two million motor bikes out-number the cars by 50-1 it seemed….Two lanes of traffic were expanded to five when there was the space to create a new lane previously unoccupied. Adding to the chaos was the constant parking of trucks to unload sacks of goods, forcing everyone to somehow squeeze into a lane where nobody wanted to let you in. Basic rule….if you can get even an inch ahead of the other vehicle, the space is yours….all this and no road rage. Amazing. By now after four hours of riding in the heat with little relief, our nerves were fried as was our patience. There was little Carol and I could do but to give each other those unspoken looks that said: “Yeah, I’m miserable as well.” At last we got to the airport in time for our flight to Kuala Lumpur. Having left at seven without breakfast, you’d have thought that we’d have been starving, but the heat and fatigue sapped our appetite as well as our spirits. Carol was fighting the bug ungraciously given to her by drinking pure cane juice freshly squeezed and poured into what we ultimately decided were the culprits….unclean glasses washed in unclean water. So, while she is not eating because of the turkey trots, I just wanted something in my stomach….I forced down some French fries which were the only thing my stomach could possibly tolerate. We flew to Kuala Lumpur where we had a two-hour layover and then on to Kuching, “cat city,” The last flight on Air Asia was so cold that I asked for a blanket. They told me they only sold blankets. I guess when you only pay $25 for a two hour plane ride you can’t ask for too many amenities. Carol had a rain poncho in her backpack and so we huddled under it like some poor waifs waiting out a rain storm. The Indonesian and Malaysians seemed to revel in the coolness of the cabin while I froze. Finally it all ended and we reached our hotel…..a perfect place, cheap, good wi-fi, hot water, and a real shower. My stomach was in turmoil and that night I spent much of it with my head in the toilet getting up close and personal with my present reality….I think my system just more or less checked out from the physical and mental stress of the day.

But we are here in Kuching which means "Cat City in Malay, Sarawak province, Island of Borneo, Malaysia and the city is an oasis of calmness and driver civility compared to Sumatra. Drivers stay in their lanes, there are no pedi-cabs or tuk-tuks, the cars outnumber the motor bikes by the opposite numbers of Sumatra 1-50 now. If Medan was a city built for 500,000 people but has a population of two million, Kuching seems like a city built for two million with half a million population…lots of green spaces and parks. Something we just didn’t see in Sumatra where every corner is covered in some form of building or another. So it’s a much calmer place that we are in now, both physically and mentally. Our bodies and minds need that. Bottom line….in spite of the difficulties, it’s travel…shit happens…it’s all still good and worth it. on">

The Trek

We got a fairly early start for our trek into the jungle…we left at 8:00 and were thankful that it wasn’t any hotter than it was…not cool by any means, but tolerable…that changed quickly as we climbed the steep side of the mountain across the river. Certainly, no self respecting orangutan would be caught near the tourist area. In reality, this is what has happened to many of them close to civilization and so they have moved deeper into the rain forest. They have been captured for domestic zoos and for those rich enough to afford having their own private, exotic animal confinement. I was feeling a little wimpish since we had booked a three hour trek instead of the all day one that the French couple at the hotel had booked…They were younger, I told myself and we’d take our chances in seeing the orangs in the limited time…plenty of opportunities in other places along our way this trip. By the time we reached the crest of the mountain, I was awash in sweat and sweating like a hog, which actually doesn’t sweat. Caro had sweat dripping of her nose and running into her ears as well…made it difficult all the way around. The weather has been so hot that I’ve not eaten as much as normal and had lost a few more pounds than I started with and so my pants kept sliding down and I was continually pulling them up so that I didn’t “flash” the orangs. I must have been a comical sight with one hand on my pants to hold them up with the other firmly grasping my camera for the potential photo I wanted. Our guide came to me with a long, thin vine which he laced through the loops of the pants and that worked well. We passed rubber trees which they were tapping and the thick ooze from the tree. A leaf placed at the bottom of the diagonal cut directed the raw rubber where it dripped into a coconut shell at the base of the tree. It is similar to what we’ve seen done with maple trees for the syrup that we enjoy so much. We passed the ever present oil palm trees which are quickly devastating the Indonesian rain forest. Over 25% of the rain forest has been lost as they now have over 1,500,000 acres, twice the size of Belgium, in production. With 17,000 islands to the nation and 250,000,000 people, it is difficult to control ecological disasters. We’ve seen the same thing in Brazil as poor people are far more concerned about the immediacy of their lives than they are about the future of the planet. The effect upon wild life has been particularly painful as encroachment is a slow, but steady march into what was previously unattainable areas.

HUGE ants, termites, various interesting little creatures of the forest gave us an opportunity to stop and observe life in the jungle. What it actually did as much as anything was give us an opportunity to catch our breath an take a short break before climbing ever higher before we reached level ground where we could then just walk and not climb. Reaching the crest, one of our two guides returned to tell us that he had found some orangs and our spirits and energy levels were raised immediately. There climbing and swinging through the trees were a mom and baby. We watched in fascination and awe as she so easily glided amongst the trees with baby trailing behind. Precious moment of the experience was when baby stopped while mom seemed out of reach and she looked down upon it for a few moments sort of saying: “You can do it, “ and then reached out with her hand to which baby grasped firmly and mom pulled it up to her side. A gentle gesture and a learning experience for all primates involved.

Soon, other groups which had not gotten quite as early start as us began to arrive. The French couple and other nationalities oohed and aahed just as we had. There is something very special about these animals. They say that they are our closest relatives, and I wish we had the same gentleness that they displayed. They took notice of us but seemed unconcerned and just went among the trees, moving ever so slowly, but steadily as they munched on the food abundantly available to them. I could have sworn the mother looked at me and said: “Hello, cousin.” We could have gone further, but we were truly spent from the heat now really building and the climb that left our legs rubbery. We still had to descend the mountain which in some ways was more difficult. I was afraid that if I lost my footing I would bing, bang, boom my way down the mountainside like some out of control pachinko ball. We had seen what we had sought and didn’t need to keep looking for more at this point. Safely at the bottom it was time for what has become my favorite meal of the day, a chocolate milkshake. It’s made differently in every place we order it, sometimes with ice cream, sometimes with just ice, milk and chocolate syrup, but always cold and refreshing. Upon our return to the hotel we once again climbed the 115 deceptive steps to our room and wondered why we did this to ourselves. A “nap,” of sorts in the heat was little compensation, but lying flat was glorious. At dinner time, the French family was there and we asked them about their day. It turned out that after going an hour further, they too succumbed to the heat and I felt a little less wimpish. We opted for an easier day for our last in Bukit Lawang and had a guide with limited English but a sweet disposition to take us around by pedicab to see the surrounding territory. It was interesting to get off the main drag onto smaller roads. We passed little groups of smiling faces all headed to school .The girls in their red floor length skirts, white tops which came almost to their knees and the ever present white head scarves so that only their sweet little faces shone out to the world. The boys wore the same colored pants and white shirts and looked as impish as the girls did innocent….it made for some wonderful photos as they were all only too pleased to pose. In what was one of those: “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” moments our driver stopped for a cool drink of cane juice, freshly squeezed before us and poured into glasses. We sat in the shade and enjoyed our drinks while we could because later on we realized the folly of our actions. We both got ill. Each of us in our own way, but the toilet got a lot of usage in the next 24 hours. Carol surmised that the glasses were probably washed in unclean water and that was the culprit. You’d think that seasoned travelers would be more cautious than we were, but, it looked so refreshing our brains went on hold and we swigged it down.

Our time In the Sumatran rain forest ended and we headed to Borneo…A 4-5 hour ride to the airport, and then two flights would take us to Kuching, Borneo. Cat city in the Malaysian language. An easy ride in an air conditioned car would be a treat and relief from the stifling heat. Oh, if had only been so.

Graduation Day

After many phone calls from someone who knew someone who could call someone who could make the decision, permission by the police was granted for us to attend the graduation at Eka and Ervita’s school Under a typically hot Sumatran sun, we arrived by pedi-cab and watched the participants and observers filter in. It was held outside under a large canopied covering to protect us from the sun and as guests we had a front row seat with Eka and Ervita. Since it was a nursing high school and most of the students would be going into that profession there was a large disparity between male and female graduates. There was also a large number of inordinately tall girls, which Eka told us was a necessity for nurses here. I didn’t get the answer to why that was. There were four different groups of students, each with their own distinctive attire. The groups represented different classes, or homerooms, which the students belonged to and each with approximately 25 students comprising the group.

The boys were dressed without fanfare, a rust colored shirt with subdued matching tie, or white coats with black ties but the dresses that the girls wore were totally amazing. Each group selected the color and style of the dress, but they were all floor length and bright in color. The individuality came in the girl’s headdresses. All were turban types, piled high up above the forehead with the face fully exposed, but that was the only skin shown besides the hands. Each girl had a slightly different shape or adornment to the turban reflecting their personality and taste. They all looked magnificent. Iridescent reds, pinks, greens, and blues gowns shimmering and giving the girls the appearance of Indonesian princesses.

From a distanced of 20 feet or so, I could only think how lovely they all looked. Up closer all I could think of was how miserable they must be so totally bundled up without any escape from the building heat underneath the garments. They were also very heavily made up and Carol commented that made it even more difficult for them. They carried little tissues with which they daubed their foreheads and eyes, trying to ensure that their make-up didn’t smear. I could only feel empathy for their discomfort, but Eka said they are used to it. They seemed miserable to me, but they never showed any discomfort.

A welcoming dance in the traditional provincial style was performed by one of the under classes, various performers sang or did skits, and other dance routines were performed in traditional Indonesian and Aceh (the province) style. After all the dances and skits, the students lined up by class and received their sashes showing them as graduates and went down the long line of teachers and other officials receiving their congratulations and giving them their thanks… because this is a new school it was the very first graduation for the school. It was all quite poignant and impressive. Again, we were somewhere between an anomaly and rock stars as we were continually asked for photos with the graduates. We posed and tried not to look miserable in the hot sun while they smiled and seemed unaffected by the stifling heat. Eka told us that since the eclipse of a couple weeks ago, the weather has been much hotter….don’t know the meteorological basis for this but I’ve learned not to question local knowledge on such things. After two hours, we returned to the relative comfort of our hotel with AC while Eka and Ervita remained to finish up their duties. Later in the afternoon, we went by motorbike to a swamp-like nature reserve, and, since the tide was out, the mangrove trees roots looked like tangled masses. The houses along the channel leading to the adjacent ocean were wooden structures on stilts and plank walkways leading from the road. I asked Eka if these people were poor and she said that they were not. I’ve learned that my version of poverty doesn’t always fit with other’s view points. Another example of how and why I have to check my cultural stereotypes at the door when I visit a place. We stopped for some roasted corn. We had two options, sweet or spicy…we choose sweet, which it was not, but certainly better than spicy. Ervita put hers down beside her for a second to check her phone and zip, it was gone…monkeys abound in the area, and they are slick and quick thieves….her corn on the cob was quickly in the tree being munched on. I hope they enjoyed the spicy cuisine. The following morning we left for Bukit Lawang and the national park where we were to visit the jungle and search for the orangutan. Eka had reserved a car and driver for us and she and her dad wanted to go with us so it was decided on an early morning departure for the five hour drive. When the car arrived, it was packed with people…In addition to Eka and dad, mom, brother, sister, and auntie all decided they wanted to come with us. Auntie was the only one who had been there and so this was a great opportunity for the family to have an outing for something new. Bukit Lawang is only 120 miles away from Langsa, but it might as well have been a foreign country. None of the family has been anywhere, for all practical purposes. So the nine of us packed into the SUV and off we went. As we crossed the border into the next province, mom had to buckle up and didn’t know how to do it. In Aceh province you have to wear the head scarf, but don’t have to buckle up. In Medan province, you have to buckle up but don’t have to wear the head scarf. Such is the variation in culture within short distances. In fact, a majority of women here did not wear the scarf and that seemed very different since we were used to the practice just a few miles away. We reached our hotel in Bukit Lawang after five and a half hours of driving and were greeted by porters who offered to carry our bags for the equivalent of $2.50 per bag. Not knowing what how far it was, it was tempting to just dismiss the idea and take them ourselves, but since we were tired, we agreed. That was a VERY wise decision since it was about a half a mile to the hotel over very uneven terrain. The family came with us to have a last picnic lunch. When researching the room type at the Orangutan Hotel, I saw a 3 story building and the comments were that it was great to book the top room for the view, even though it was a climb…..so I did…Only when I saw where the actual room was did I realize that we were in for more of a climb than we had expected…what the photos didn’t show was that far above the building where most of the rooms were located was a little chalet HIGH above. 115 steps we were told, but even that was deceptive since most of the steps were almost double steps and could be taken only by planting both feet on the step before getting the energy for the next one. We again opted to have porters carry our heavy suitcases up to the room for an extra $1.50….I’m liking more and more to be able to buy my way out of difficulties. Certainly the view was great, but it really affected our decisions about how often we would go out to explore….much better to sit on the patio, fight mosquitoes and relax. It’s an “eco-friendly” area, as it is more popular to say when they don’t have true facilities. Which in this case meant no air conditioning in the stifling heat and since the nights were still in the high 70’s, there was little relief from the heat and sleeping was problematic at best. A ceiling fan did cool things a little bit, but the mosquito netting prevented any real relief. The air movement was negligible and we, shall I say, “suffered.” Choice between being bitten by mosquitoes or trying to sleep in an oven didn’t present any real positive options…after one night in the pressure cooker, we opted to “cover our body up with oil” as Dr. Hook said at the Freaker’s Ball and raise the canopy netting. It’s a sign of my aging, I guess, that these types of things bother me a lot more than they did when I was younger and tougher…Now, I’m all about paying the freight for more comfort in my life….my “eco” days, I fear, are well behind me. Tomorrow into the jungle to search for the elusive orangutans in the wild.

The Nose Knows

The day was a time for visiting families…Eka’s coworker and best bud, Ervita, wanted us to come to her home. Her family wanted to meet us…after Friday prayers. Eka told us that we could not be on the street between 12-2 p.m. because the Muslin police would make us return to the hotel. When noon hit, the busy, noisy streets basically became empty with only a few motor bikes zipping down trying to get where were supposed to be without getting in trouble. The Muslim police enforce the rule that ALL women in the province wear head scarves and Friday prayers. At 2:01 the streets again had their usual buzz and Eka and Ervita showed up a few minutes later to take us to Ervita’s home. So off we zoomed with the motor bikes/scooters, wove our way through traffic and onto small side streets and into a small path where her home was situated. They had never even met a foreigner, much less had one in their home and so you would have thought it was the royal couple paying a visit….everybody lined up for handshakes in the traditional manner….they take your hand and then press it to their forehead as a sign of respect to elders. As always, food and juice were provided and the buzz around the room left me confused and curious…Eka explained that they thought I was very handsome because of my pointy nose. She pointed (No pun intended) out that Indonesians have a very flat nose and a pointy one is seen as much more attractive. Well, that was certainly a first….my nose has not been a source of pride, and while it isn’t Jimmy Durante sized, it isn’t a tiny little thing either. Questions were asked and the oohs and aahs that accompanied Eka’s translations over even the most trivial detail made us realize how far we had come besides the obvious distance in miles involved. The house was a simple one, but not a poor one…It was a brick one and spotlessly clean, a feature we have noticed throughout our travels. No matter how poor the people are, they take pride in keeping what part of their lives they have control over clean and tidy. The living room was about the size of a master bedroom in a tract home and a few photos hung on the walls and when I inquired as to whether they were the parents, the answer was “Yes, the heads are the parents”. The photos were photo-shopped with a more affluent couples dress and surroundings forming the main part of the photo….these people couldn’t afford to have weddings like the ones in the photos, but their dreams were not lacking. The main living room was bare with the exception of a wicker sofa, just big enough for Carol and me to sit on, while the others all sat or stood….there were about 20 or so individuals checking out the visitors…..aunts, and lots of kids, but no men (they were all at work), filled the room. One door led to an outdoor kitchen, covered, but open to allow heat to escape and not fill the house with any more heat than was already present. Certainly a benefit in a land where air conditioning is a luxury most people could not afford. They just deal with it. There were a cluster of four homes with various family members occupying the individual houses. After the chit-chat, photos were a mandatory process with each person wanting a photo and a little discord occurred when someone bogarted the queue.

After a couple of hours of interplay we headed to Eka’s house for the same ritual….she is one of four siblings, and with the exception of the brother who works in Medan, all were present for the ritual which was repeated as it was at Ervita’s. An aunt came by, as did a neighbor, then another neighbor and still another one and another aunt…They could not believe that people would come all the way from America to visit Langsa…that was beyond their conceptual experience. As we settled in on the floor, the buzz started again over the nose and this was repeated every time a new person came to the house to see these exotic creatures, the foreigners and the one with the pointy nose. They were in no way insulting about my nose. I say that because it certainly would be in most places, but these people are as warm and friendly as you will find anywhere in the world, and the thought that they were giving offense is beyond their capacity as hosts. We had brought gifts for the family….scarves from India for the ladies. Eka has somewhere between 70 and 100, so this was certainly a needed gift. The brothers got tee shirts that I purchased…Oregon and Oregon State are the big schools in the area and were an easy find. The brother who was in attendance was absolutely delighted with his shirt, while the sister commandeered the bright yellow of Oregon. They, of course, reciprocated with a lovely purse for Carol and matching Indonesian design shirts for the two of us. Cousins began to arrive with babies and husbands filtered in to fill the room with laughter and the conviviality that these extended families personify. The weathered face of an old woman who turned out to be 77 years old was the most fascinating to me…I asked her about the changes she had seen in her life, and the response was that her husband had been in the military and that they had lived in many parts of Indonesia. In the end, I thought, the question was beyond the conceptual process of her brain…she wasn’t ignorant, but the lives of Indonesian women didn’t lend to concepts of changes in society and culture over the course of a lifetime…It was just not how her mind worked.

Food was bought out for all. Indonesian dishes spicy enough that they could melt metal if left too long in the pots. Tasty and filling, we ate and talked for a long time before saying our goodbyes to return to our air conditioned room after a day in the heat. It was a wonderful day to see two families and a small snippet of their lives. It is a simple life, but a pure one….people loving each other and just trying to get from one day to the next with joy in their hearts. As dusk fell, Eka told carol that she needed to be excused for a few minutes. As devout Muslims, she and a few family members needed to go off to a separate room for even prayers. In the end, it was all about family. I slept well thinking of the great family that I have as well, even though our lives are not so simple and our goals don’t always match up, still they are family. I also slept well thinking that my nose wasn’t as big or pointy as it seemed earlier in the day, and other people can even see beauty in it. Life is good.

I am the orangutan

As the sky brightened, the blue sea spread endlessly below , the cotton ball clouds dotted the skies like anti-aircraft bursts I’ve seen a thousand times in WWII movies, and on the horizon the dramatic tropical thunderheads stretched from sea to the heavens. As we approached Jakarta, I was given pause to think of the many and varied forces that bring/take me to a given locale in the world, and Indonesia was no different.

“You are the Orangutan.” Or so I was told by a girlfriend when I was in college. She gave me a framed picture of one which she hung over my bed and called me “the Orangutan.” My moniker came from the Simon and Garfunkel song: “At the Zoo,” in which the animals are described by their behavior…it seems that “Orangutans are skeptical of changes in their cages.” And that, apparently described me as well…. So I have had a long fascination with my behavioral as well as genetic cousins and when this year’s trip possibilities began to percolate in our heads, Indonesia just kept working its way to the top. My 75th birthday was coming up and I always love to celebrate my birthdays traveling to special places. I have a “granddaughter” who was going to be married in Sumatra and that would be special to see a traditional Indonesian wedding. (The wedding plans were changed so we didn’t get to include that experience.) But Indonesia had taken form in our brains. Garden planting and family considerations just seemed to indicate the timing But Indonesia was the place and the timing was now. So there it is. We left on the 4th , and will return one month later. We will be in Sumatra, Malaysian Borneo, Bali, Lombok, Java and Indonesian Borneo, which is called Kalimantan, which I didn’t know before this trip. Indonesia has much to recommend it to all travelers…warm (hot) climate, warm,(amiable) people, colorful, inexpensive, and with 15,000+ islands there is a huge variety of things to see and do from the teeming jungle of Jakarta to the tranquil jungles of Borneo. Throw in a beach-lovers paradise, world class diving and indigenous cultures that stay traditional and Indonesia is perfect….that is if they would just move the place a little closer so that the 25+ hour transit didn’t wrack the old body. Our stay in Jakarta was short-lived…a city of 14 million doesn’t pique my travel mentality, so we immediately got out of Dodge at 6:45 the following morning and flew to Sumatra to celebrate my birthday with ,” Eka….Choo-Choo, meaning favored granddaughter in Indonesian. She had her father meet us at the airport with the driver who would transport us 4 hours north to Langsa. The ride through the Sumatran “countryside” was nothing of the sort…from the air you can see the ribbons of villages and homes stretching in long lines. It was seemingly one continual stream of houses, shops, and other assorted edifices with nary a mile of simply empty undeveloped space. The roads range from good to fair but the traffic is horrendous…..It seems that everybody is on the move and it’s all done by wheels, two, three or four…I never saw anybody walking…I mean never….120 miles of petrol/diesel powered mechanisms and nobody walked. The two-wheelers were most commonly motor bikes, certainly speedy enough with a few bicycles sprinkled in for those not able to afford the zippy motor bikes. These were nothing like the old putt-putts that we called motor bikes…these are just one short step below a motorcycle and they are ubiquitous. Eka’s is a new Honda, quite sporty and cost in the range of $1,500. The three-wheelers, pedi-cabs, were the Indonesian version of the Asian tuk-tuks, but with a twist. Instead of being a single confined vehicle where driver and passengers are under cover and the driver steering a handle bar, the Indonesian variety is a is a covered or uncovered cart attached to a motor bike with the driver on the outside, more similar to a sidecar. On the open road the four-wheeled vehicle cars and trucks formed a wall of traffic that is daunting when attempting to pass the slower “pedicabs,” and motor bikes who dart like bees in and out of the line of traffic. Although it seemed that we were screaming down the road, we never hit 50 on the speedometer. We wove in and out behind the trucks and motorbikes and it was nerve-wracking to see kids younger than my 9 year old grandson, no license required, riding with two or three friends as passengers coming at us in the opposite direction, or peddling unsteadily on bicycles, with cars whizzing only inches, literally inches, by them without a flinch on the part of anybody…. The mainly two lane road is in actually, anything but. It is at least four with the two and three wheelers occupying the outer part of the road and the four wheeled varieties the inner part, closer to the oncoming traffic. The general rule seems to be if the mirrors don’t touch, there is no problem….and there isn’t any road rage at all…everybody seems to understand the rules and accepts that Allah will take care of them. We arrived in Langsa and since Eka was still at work we checked into the “best” hotel in town, a probable 3 star under some skewed rating system but with severe limitations on the rating system. After settling in, we wandered around for a few hours looking for a place to get out of the 92 degree, humid heat, but with little success…everything is al fresco. Since we were going to have dinner with Eka and ONE other friend at eight, we wanted a bite to eat since we had had breakfast at 4:00 in the morning. Our walk was greeted by continual smiling faces and warm curiosity, based on the fact that we were walking and that we were pasty-faced Washingtonians. This is obviously not a tourist town and we felt that we had entered a town fairly unfamiliar with western tourists. Checking out menus in several street-side eateries, I hesitate to call them restaurants, was no help because of the language barrier. “Sandwich,” met with puzzlement or a smiling“no.” Eventually we were pointed to a little place where they had photos of the dishes…woohoo. A pizza looked good since we knew we just wanted a bite, not a meal…trying to decipher the size, however, proved more problematic than finding the restaurant…making a circle with our fingers to describe possible sizes brought curious looks, followed by a motioning to another worker to come over and see what we were trying to say. Repeat the process a couple more times and still no result…we tried to make the circle small then expand our fingers into bigger circles to determine the size of the pizza…at one point, one of the girls literally collapsed on the floor in hysterics. Obviously, we weren’t getting through…”Big?” “Small,” met with the same results…so at a price of $1 a piece, we decided they couldn’t be too large, so we ordered two…indeed, they were about the size of a saucer so that was a good decision…imagine a pizza with a very hot spiced tomato base and little dots of corn and pepperoni that was so thin it would float and you have our individual pizzas…

Eka showed up with not one, but three, friends, and so the six of us piled onto three motor bikes and roared down to a restaurant. This one actually an indoors one, but again, alas, nothing to take away the heat which had all day to build to a melting point of several metals. Shortly after settling in, four other friends arrived carrying a box of cupcakes with “Happy Birthday, Grandpa Jim” on one side and “Welcome to Indonesia Jim and Carol” on the other.

It was a very sweet gesture and the 10 of us engaged in banter which was mostly translated by Eka, the only true English speaker of the group. We’d had a very early departure from Jakarta, a two hour flight, a 5 hr 30 min ride to Langsa all to get to this point where I was celebrating my birthday with my dear granddaughter and seven of her friends…It was all worth it, and made a wonderful introduction to Indonesia….