Rolling out the red carpet in Bangka

I’m probably never going to be famous. 

The Paparazzi will most likely never clamor for a photo of me buying an iced mocha latte whilst in my pajamas. And I’m glad. I’m glad because I now know what it’s like to be adored and it’s not an easy job.

Our next stop after Belitung was Batu Beriga in Bangka, an unassuming little town that really doesn't have much going for it. The beach is okay, the water grimy, there aren't any UNESCO sites nearby, no endangered wildlife, no snorkeling to be done. Really there is nothing of note and it’s a bit ugly by Indonesian standards. Tin mining, while profitable for the locals, has ruined a lot of the area surrounding Batu Beriga  Land stripped bare of its brush and top soil now lays barren. If I were writing a guide book to Indonesia, Batu Beriga wouldn't warrant a mention. But I think of all the stops in Indonesia, our stop in Bangka will remain in my memory the longest.

We dropped anchor off the coast and hopped in the dingy to head ashore for lunch with the other cruisers at the local governor’s house. As soon as we stepped foot ashore we were mobbed by local children greeting us with “Hello mister”, clambering to shake our hands. Their parents handing over babies to be held while photos were snapped with cell phones. The mob followed us all the way to the governor’s house where we made our escape and enjoyed a nice lunch of local dishes, mostly fish based.

After lunch we inquired about finding a room to rent for the duration of our stay. There were no options. Like I mentioned before there isn't much to Banka, so we were surprised when one of the translators told us he had found rooms for us. Two local families had offered bedrooms in their homes to us. They insisted we stay, without paying a cent. So there we were, guests in their homes. They did our laundry, cooked us three meals a day, constantly offered us use of their showers (apparently we looked awful sweaty all the time), even a couple of the translators slept on the floor at night just in case we needed anything. They asked nothing in return except for our obliging them with photos, which was the least we could do. I’m quite sure they invited all their friends and family to stop by for photos as well, but their hospitality was unlike anything I have ever experienced, especially when you consider by Western standards they didn't have a lot to give. They had no issue giving it all.

There was one tour booked during our stay, a jaunt to see a nearby Banyan forest and have lunch. The next day we hopped on a bus, with our police escort naturally leading the way and headed to the forest. The forest itself wasn't much to see, but we did get to sample honey from a honeycomb taken out of a tree right before our eyes. It was amazing, excluding the few bees that were irritated by being smoked out of their homes and in turn lashed out at a couple of the cruisers. Omar took the worst with a stinger to the nose. Honey was followed by lunch in a scenic rice patty and then we returned to Batu Beriga for two night of a talent contest of sorts featuring local musical groups.

And lots of photos. I mean a lot a lot.

Things would get to the point where local security forces would have to move the locals away so that we could enjoy the talent show. The locals would subside for a bit and linger a while until they found another opportunity thrust babies upon us for another round of photos. This really continued for two days, almost nonstop. The only real reprieve was during evening prayers.

On our final day in Batu Beriga a mass wedding was held. It is an economical way for the less well to do families to afford the costs of a ceremony. I believe there were something like eighteen brides, which seems like a nightmare. Following the wedding police escorts were required for the cruisers down to the beach and their dinghies, where I would estimate no less than 500 people were gathered in hopes of capturing another photo and sending us off. There were even local boats running people out in the bay to see the sail boats and catch a glimpse of us aboard. It was crazy. It was flattering. It was exhausting. But overall an amazing experience that I will eternally be grateful for and will never forget. 

Swarmed by children as we came ashore

    

  Tour day

 

 

  

  

Photos from the music contest

 

Wedding day preparations

  A parting gift from our hosts

Christmas Day in Belitung (Part 2)

Bright and early the next morning Winda and Ezekiel arrived at our beach shack, a good half hour drive out of their way, to lead us back through their home town and to Batu Mentas. We hopped on our motor bikes and headed out in the sweltering morning heat. An hour and a half later we were at the Batu Mentas eco-lodge which was a stretch by definition. They had a few animals in sad cages and an obstacle course that looks like a group a boy scouts might have built it, without their scout masters help. We however were not discouraged since we were there to inter tube some wild rapids! We then found out it was dry season and the river was low. I guess our wild day of rapids was just turned into a day on the lazy river, which actually turned out to be quite nice. Cool, fresh water in Indonesian heat and humidity is always a welcome treat. A couple hours of floating and we were spent. Ezekiel and Winda invited us to head back to town with them but we graciously declined. Dinner and bed were sounding like the end to a great day. We said our goodbyes, showered, napped, had dinner and called it an early night.

Jungle sounds our lullaby we drifted off to sleep…and then we heard voices in the forest.

Winda, her aunt and uncle and Ezekiel had returned bearing more gifts. They brought sweet potatoes and corn to be cooked over a bonfire, a handful of other snacks and speakers so we could play some music and party in the woods. As tired as we were there was no way to turn our surrogate hosts down and it ended up being another amazing night thanks to the selfless generosity of the girl who chased us down the beach.

In the morning we woke and made our way back to the boat. Thankful for having met Winda but ready to set sail to our next destination, Bangka.

Little did we know Indonesian hospitality was about to be elevated to a whole new level.

Setting up cairns so other tubers won't get lost

Ezekiel, Winda and I drifting. It was actually really cool even without rapids.

Alison and Rhiannon pausing for a pic in our safari tent.

Omar and Winda chatting over late night snacks.

Christmas in Belitung (Part 1)

Two and a half days of good sailing with schizophrenic winds that required our tending the sails frequently, led us to Belitung Island, where we were greeted by massive boulders standing at attention in the water and speckled along the beach. It felt like Christmas morning and we didn’t even realize there were a number of gifts under the tree yet to come.

After a good swim and visit with some other cruisers, we headed ashore and landed the dingy in front of a beach hut serving food and ice cold Bintang, an Indonesian Pilsner. Bintangs in hand we strolled down the sandy white beach towards the town plaza where we could hear music rising above the surf, an event arranged for Sail Indonesia. We arrived to find a half dozen local Indonesian men dancing to ting tang sounds of traditional music, some of the men being restrained by multiple men, some strutting like chickens, some ripping husks off coconuts with their teeth.. Not your everyday sight unless you are a mental health worker, but we were told that they were in a trance and could perform great feats because of it. This was quickly displayed as one of the trancers crawled over to Rhiannon and I, on all fours, with a whip in his mouth. We were meant to whip him, so when in Rome..

Rhiannon went first and gave it a couple of wet noodle swings. I mean this isn’t something you see every day in the west, so you don’t really know how to prepare for such a thing. When my turn arrived I decided to channel my little league days and swung for the fences. I wound up for a couple of sharp cracks of the whip. This drew no reaction from our friend in the trance, only a couple of laughs from the local spectators. My turn over, no damage done, my whipping boy and I thanked each other and we were all good, or so I though. But the flow of Karma is strong on Belitung Island. My time would come.

We spent the evening with cruisers at the beach shack, eating good food and a few more Bintnags then we retired to our rented beach bungalow for the night.

Early the next morning Allison, Rhiannon and I went for a run on the beach, with the goal of checking out some large boulders we saw when sailing in. It’s pretty hard to gauge how far away something is on a curving coast line but Rhiannon and I reached the boulders in about 3 or 4 km, only to wish we had our rock climbing shoes with us. We were able to do a good bit of exploring the different nooks and crevices and swimming a bit before heading back for breakfast.

We decided to spend the afternoon snorkeling around a small island just off of the coast and set out to swim only to have our plans altered by afternoon thundershowers accompanied by uncomfortably close lightning. So instead we retired to our shack to relax and read while the storm passed over. 

Sufficiently rested we set out for the boulders again, this time to watch the sunset. As we made our way down the beach we could see that there were some organized events taking place in the main square. We decided to check it out. There we found local men engaged in a sport called Beripat. Beripat is a bit like fencing, but the men use a flexible reed like instrument, about 4 ft. long, with the goal of striking or more like whipping their opponents shirtless back. A strike on the back above the belt and below the head scores a point. These points are tallied at the end of the match by a referee who counts the raised welts, or open cuts created by the reeds. The man with the fewest marks on his back wins.

Remember Karma? As we sat watching the match one of the guides provided to help assist the Sail Indonesia fleet asked me if I wanted to try. I was hesitant. He was instant. So I agreed. I was handed my beripat bat and greeted by my opponent whose back was covered almost entirely in beripat scars. I think he was some sort of local beripat legend. I took off my shirt, as per the rules, was fitted with a traditional head band and began battle. The match began in good jest and the crowd of locals was getting a good laugh, at my expense. So I decided to step it up a bit. In return my opponent did as well. I danced and lunged, trying my best to land a good shot, with little success. He however easily landed a sharp strike to my upper back that left me jaw dropped, dancing on a twinge of pain, sharpened by the sweat dripping into my newly open wound. The crowd loved it and howled.

At the end of the match our wounds counted, I had landed four visible marks on my opponent’s back and he had struck seven times on mine. One of which I think might leave a permanent scar. A good reminder of the rules of Karma.

Now with slightly wounded pride and a sore back we continued our walk to the boulders to catch the sunset, we of course would never make it. One thing I’ve failed to mention up to this point is how much Indonesians in the less touristy areas, specifically anywhere outside of Bali, like white folk. Usually they’ll greet you with a “Hello Mister” regardless of your gender, accompanied with a huge smile and if they are not too shy will ask you to take a photo with them. This has been happening to us regularly, in temples, grocery stores, walking down the street, walking along the beach, you name it. Indonesian people just seem to love our white skin and protruding noses. They also all seem think I look like a member of One Direction.

Well we were about to meet our biggest fan to date. Running up on the beach behind us we heard someone yelling hello. I turned around to be greeted by Winda, an Indonesian from a nearby town, who was on vacation with her family. Her uncle had spotted us walking by the restaurant they were eating at and sent Winda to chase us down and invite us to join them. As usual we obliged, usually it’s a small price to pay to make someone happy. In this case our kindness was rewarded a hundred fold.

We met Winda’s uncle, his wife, their children, Winda’s boyfriend and few others. They insisted we eat some of their snacks and they poured us beers that were refilled every after every sip. We spent time with them taking photos and answering their questions about where we were from, our travels and how we liked Indonesia. We decided to give up on the sunset, high tide was blocking our walk anyways, and ordered dinner at the restaurant. Ultimately Winda’s family would eventually insist on paying for us. To show our gratitude we joined them in post-dinner karaoke and danced well into the night. Winda and her boyfriend Ezekiel also insisted on guiding us to Batu Mentas the next day where we were headed to do some river tubing and spend the night in an eco-lodge. 

Belitung Island anchorage

Our beach shack and waiting for the rain to pass

Sea turtle rescue on the beach

 

Belitung bouldering

Beripat legends

Relaxing in the shade

Groundhog’s day in Kumai

Sorry for the delay folks. If I have any excuses about not blogging in the last week I've forgotten what they might be. Actually internet has been scarce.

Upon returning to Kumai from visiting the orangutans Rhiannon and I set off to get her visa extended. “No problem” said Mr. Bayan the owner of the outfitter who we booked the river tour through. So we hopped in his car with him and zipped off to Pangklanbuun 15 minutes down the road. No luck. You have to go to Simpat for that, four hour away. “No problem” says Mr. Bayan, so off we go to Simpat, over some of the bumpiest roads in history since the invention of modern asphalt. Simpat, “So sorry.” The computer system is down. Can’t extend here. Have to go to Pangkalaraya, another four hours away. “Problem”.

I headed back to Kumai with Mr. Bayan, Rhiannon rode on to Pangkalaraya with two girls we met in the Simpat visa office, an American and German who were also extending their visas. We wouldn't see them again…for a couple of days.

Kumai isn't a tourist destination, it is really only a jumping off point for the orangutan tours. The town has about a dozen large, windowless buildings that play recorded bird sounds over massive public announcement speaker cones to attract birds for the manufacture of birds nest soup. The recordings NEVER stop. We found one internet café, a good fresh juice stand and a couple of good places to eat. So that is what we did for three days and it went like this… wake up on the boat at 4:30

am to the sound of the morning prayers blaring from the mosques (this may have been the only time the bird sounds stopped), breakfast on the boat, read until it got too hot to stay on the boat (can’t swim in the river due to crocs), go to town, get juice, internet café, get juice, lunch, internet café, get juice, more internet, more juice, dinner, juice, boat, bed, repeat.. I was Bill Murray and Kumai was my Punxsutawney, mango juice my groundhog.

Thankfully Rhiannon got the visa situation squared away after three days (“No problem”) and rejoined us on the Tropicbird. We set sail for Belitung Island immediately. 

The lone highlight of Kumai. I wanted to buy it but couldn't figure out how I'd get it back to Denver.

Plant a tree, feed some rats

On our way “home” from seeing the orangutans we stopped at Resort Pesalat, which was an organization working to combat the deforestation of Borneo by raising tree saplings for planting. We each did our part and bought a tree and planted them in an area that was decimated by a forest fire set by a local hunter. 

I was told my tree a Ben Kawang Tikus, or “Big Ben” as I dubbed him, will someday grow a lovely little fruit that would nourish many birds and rats. I guess all of God’s creatures need to eat.

       

Our arbor gang. Sophie, Rhiannon, Ali, me and Omar.

 (Written on 10/10/13 at 9:15 am, In port at Kumai)

Riverboat kings

In Kumai we arranged with a local tour guide to do a 3 day/2 night cruise up the river to visit a couple different orangutan rehabilitation centers. 

There is extreme deforestation occurring on the island of Borneo by palm oil producers. They are buying up massive swaths of land, cutting down the trees to sell as lumber and then planting palms for their oil. This all poses an incredible hardship on the orangutan population.

Our gang for the river cruise includes Omar, Allison, Rhiannon, myself and Shophia, a Brit we found wandering around Kumai looking for others to do the orangutan tours with. Our crew on the river boat include Jeffery our guide, the boat captain, our cook and a boat boy who was a personal valet of sorts.

Our boat, or klotok, named the Chaya Purnama 2 was a double decker with a wide open upper deck where we ate, slept, read, played cards, did seven minute workouts, pretty much where we spent the entirety of the 3 days when we weren’t in the rehabilitation centers watching the orangutan feedings. 

Heading up the river

Another klotok

Our riverboat gang: Alison, Omar, Me, Sophie and Rhiannon

Probably one of the biggest males we saw

Chilling on the bench with my relatives

Look close and you can see a baby peeking around its mother

This gibbon monkey was all arms

Rhiannon and our floating mansion.

Big old tree we saw on our jungle trek.

This old lady was following me down the road. (The monkey, not Rhiannon)

Taking it all in at feeding time.

We're the five best friends that anyone could have.

(Written on 10/10/13 at 9:02 am, In port at Kumai)

Up and down the river

After two days of strong wind, light cloud cover and good times with our expanded crew, we arrived in the bay at the mouth of the river to Kumai. We dropped anchor for the night and rose bright and early to sail up the river. Kumai is our jumping point for a two day excursion to Orang Utan where we will visit an orangutan rescue facility.

Traffic on the river is heavy, with local logging boats, cargo liners and other Sail Indonesia vessels, but we are slowly inching towards our goal.

(Written on 10/5/13 at 1:33 pm Lat: 02⁰ 44S, Long: 111⁰ 44E)

Idyllic Karimunjawa and crew +2

We only spent one day on Karimunjawa but it has the lure that tempts you to stay forever. It is a group of 27 islands, of which only 5 are populated. The entirety of the cluster is protected as a National Park and rightfully so. It is post card beautiful.

We took the dinghy to land a bit before noon to explore and hopefully find lunch. Lunch proved more challenging than we expected because the whole of the island only has power after 5:30 pm. As a result most of the shops were closed or the owners were found leisurely napping behind their counters, waiting for the midday’s heat to lift.

There was one beach front “warung” open so we settled into a table in the shade were we heard a familiar accent. At the table next to us we met two American girls who had been on the island a few days and were somewhat stranded. There is typically a fast boat that travels to Semarang daily but due to rough seas had been delayed at least three more days.

After lunch our new friends, Kaitlin and Rhiannon took us a picturesque “secret” beach, which ended up being a private beach at stunning resort. The caretakers of the hotel were incredibly nice however and let us spend the day, even giving us a tour of the hotel. We were incredibly tempted to rent a bungalow for the night but at almost $70 USD in a country where most rooms go for $10 a night we had to pass.

By nightfall when we were heading back to the boat both Kaitlin and Rhiannon had decided to join our crew. Kaitlin needing to get back to mainland to fly home to Minnesota and Rhiannon to renew her visa and then continue on with us possibly all the way to Singapore.

So now our crew of six is sailing north on strong winds to Kumai, home of the eagerly anticipated orangutans.

(Written on 10/3/2013 at 10:51 am, Lat: 05⁰ 45S, Long: 110⁰ 26E)

Semarang, the Borobudur temple and the magical infinite capacity Indonesian bus.

We dropped anchor in Semarang, thanks to the help of a university scuba diving club and no thanks to the harbor master who was nowhere to be found, which seemed strange for a large industrial port. We were the only cruising vessel among massive container ships, tankers and local fishing vessels.

An industrial port isn't the most scenic place to spend a weekend so we headed straight away to Borobudur to see the Borobudur Temple which is billed as the largest Buddhist temple in the world and is a UNSECOworld heritage site. It did not disappoint.

 

One of the hundreds of Buddha statues

 

Approaching the temple from the west.

 

Alison, Omar and I near the top. The uppermost stupa represents Nirvana.

There were Buddha statues inside each of the other stupas.

After seeing the temple we decided to buy groceries and return to Semarang on the local budget bus line. It only cost about $3 USD for the 3 hour ride. Groceries in tow we boarded the bus and headed out. These buses will stop occasionally to pick people up at various stops, and at about the third stop we sat and waited over an hour, apparently because our bus was having issues. So when another bus came along we were told to get off of our bus to hop on the other. We gathered our groceries and squeezed on the second bus that already had passengers. There were more people than seats so some of us had to stand. Back under way we continued back to Semarang, until a half hour later we encountered the hill.

Our new bus did not like this hill and was not shy about letting us know, groaning and puffing, jerking and shaking, finally convulsing to a stop mid hill. I entirely expected the bus to start rolling backwards down the hill and was fully prepared to dive out the back door if it did. Thankfully the brakes were more reliable than the engine. 

Once again we gathered our groceries and filed off of the bus to wait while they tried to get it started again, which they eventually did but determined that this bus had too many issues to continue. So after another hour a third bus came along and we were instructed to board. Keep in mind this bus already had passengers aboard, as did the second bus, as did our original bus.

If the second bus didn't have enough seats for everyone, this bus hardly had enough room to squeeze all our fleshy parts in. There were people literally hanging out both the front and back doors, the aisle way so packed that you could hardly shift your weight between feet and we still had two hours to go!

Despite the physical discomfort and the mental anguish of constantly chasing off thoughts of our impending doom, we managed to make it back to Semarang and our boat, exhausted but intact, groceries in tow, some 8 hours after beginning our journey home.

(Written at 7:17 am, In port at Karimunjawa)