Behold the Birds!: 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.