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This log runs through September 18, 2001 August 12, 2001 in Kanchanaburi, Thailand
If you are interested in our expedition statistics, today is our 609th day of continuous travel. This 30 hour trip increased our average miles per day by 14, to 151, and our average miles per hour since late 1999 from 5.5 to 6.3. The incredible flurry of preparations in the USA and the subsequent ten hour time zone change has taken its toll, however, and today we can barely find the energy to pick a day for the six hour bus ride to the little hospital on the Burma border to deliver medical donations. In addition to the supplies, Dr. McDaniel and his staff will be pleased to learn that we collected significant additional cash contributions for his work in the jungle.. August 14, 2001 in Kanchanaburi, Thailand The political situation in Indonesia has calmed and we feel confident to travel into the remote areas of an island called Sulawesi northeast of Bali, and the islands immediately east of Bali, such a Komodo (home of the "dragons"). The electric Farberware coffee pot we bought in America almost electrocuted both of us this morning. We'll never again put our ears near the thing to hear if it's working. Sunday, August 19, 2001 in western Thailand: Good News and Bad News Now the bad news: While hiking to a beautiful area of rice paddies surrounded by lush jungle to take photos, our Kodak digital camera broke! We've been on the Internet and phone, hoping for a warranty repair or replacement, but we won't know the outcome for several days. Confident that we have a better chance of repairing or replacing the camera in Bangkok than in Indonesia, we're delaying next Tuesday's departure for Bali. Dell computer story. We have friends who were living in remote NE Thailand when the hard drive on their Dell laptop failed. Dell shipped a new drive from Singapore to Bangkok, had their representative take a 12 hour bus ride to our friends' village, where he fixed the computer and hopped back on a bus for the 12 return trip to Bangkok -- at no cost to our friends! How about THAT for fabulous product support? August 22, 2001 in Kanchanaburi, Thailand We'll fly to Bali, Indonesia on Sunday, with a scheduled return to Thailand October 16. Before we go, we'll pare our mountain of stuff down to two 20 kilo bags (the limit in economy class on Garuda Air), but it won't be easy. August 25, 2001, preparing to depart Thailand August 28, 2001 -- the Expedition has reached a new country Even though the Indonesian currency (the Rupiah) has strengthened 26% against the dollar in the past two months (reducing our buying power by that percentage), one needs exchange a mere 120 dollars to feel rich. Bali is beautiful, and so are its dancers -- individually and in groups -- but already we are turning our attention to the eastern islands. Transportation choices are many, but solid schedule and cost information is difficult to come by unless one wants a package tour -- which we avoid. We spent hours walking and hiring private boats between ferry and shipping companies in the hot sun before determining our options as (1) small, slow ferries (2) large slow ferries (3) large fast ferries (4) freighters of all sizes and speeds (5) chartered powerboats (6) commercial sailboats (7) crewing on a private sailboat, and (8) airplanes of all sizes, speed, dependability and mysterious scheduling. (As a spinoff of a famous American song from the 60's, the unofficial song of Merpati Airlines goes, "It's Merpati and I'll fly if I want to....").
We plan to leave Bali and island-hop eastward for several weeks, visiting places like Komodo Island, which is home to the famous dragons, which locals call "Oros"). Internet access (which is 5 times more expensive here than in Thailand), ATMs, AC and basic comfort will be harder to come by as we reach areas where outsiders are seldom seen. August 29, 2001 in Bali, Indonesia Life expectancy in Indonesia is 62.5 years, ranking 128th of the 190 countries in the world. This compares with 76 years in the USA , which ranks 32nd (Andorra is number 1 at 83.5 years). Infant mortality is 59 deaths per 100,000 live births (the USA reports six deaths per 100,000 births). People from around the world flock here for the weather and beach resorts, and to strap into parasailing gear and lift into the air for a couple of minutes before scampering off in search of other touristy things. That is nice for them, but isn't our style, since we're not on vacation. Because this is a resort area, we find it difficult here to live like the locals, learning their customs and values. We have met some wonderful people here, but it is difficult to discuss things of significance when most conversations turn into sales pitches. We are constantly accosted by loud street hustlers and touts, who shout, badger and follow us around with irritating persistence. Beyond the annoyance of being shouted to, whistled at, and begged day and night, a bigger problem is crooked money changers. Lonely Planet guidebook estimates the chances of being ripped off by an "official" money changer in Bali at 50-50. Invariably, their signs say "no commission." But one way or another, in the confusion of exchanging money at rates like 8,650 to one, you'll likely walk away with less than the promised rate. It's one more frustration in a country already suffering image problems. Not wanting to be viewed as human money dispensers, we'll head to the remote islands ASAP. After as much research as seemed possible, we have purchased ferry tickets to the island of Flores -- a 16 hour trip beginning Saturday evening, September 1. We stumbled onto the ticket office by accident, and a nice young lady sold us tickets for 300,000 Rupiah (about $35) each. August 30, 2001 on Bali, Indonesia That place is 435 miles south of the Equator; 520 miles northwest of Darwin, Australia; 645 miles east of Bali, Indonesia; 1,600 miles SSE of Manila, The Philippines; and precisely 10,000 miles from where we used to sail on the Chesapeake Bay and dream of living in faraway places. We have beefed up our first aid kit, exchanged dollars for four million more Rupiahs, begun Malaria prevention medicine, and are nearly ready for this biggest adventure yet. August 31, 2001 preparing to leave Bali Today we're packing all the electronics in plastic and starting on anti-malarial drugs in preparation for tomorrow's departure on a crowded ferry to Indonesia's most remote islands. How time changes things. Remote islands, here we come. Updates when they're possible. What an incredibly great life. August 3, 2001 on Flores Island 500 miles east of Bali They were, however, too simple. They lacked hot water, AC, window screens and running water (instead using a 'mandi' or open tank of water for dipping a ladle), which we can sometimes survive, but we must at least have a fan. Because it has electricity only at night when they fire up the recently acquired portable generator, they never installed fans. For us, this climate is just too hot without one.
Does this bother us? Not at all. Only one other room is rented. It's fabulous. Not only do we have the place to ourselves, but they ask where and when we want a meal, such as by the pool or on the beach, and a formal dining table magically appears there. Beyond that, the views are great and the food good. This entire resort was rebuilt after an earthquake in late 1992 killed 3,000 people in the area, totally destroying most buildings. Today, rebuilt, it's a great buy for $12.50 per day, including breakfast. Travelers: Don't believe what the Lonely Planet guidebook says about the Flores Sao Resort. It's very comfortable, mellow, and lovely here! Except for the tour guides and lodging promoters who flood the boat dock every other day when a boat comes in (and even hunt you down at your hotel), local people don't quite know what to make of outsiders. Often the best information about a place comes not from official publications, but from local people. We learned a great deal about the complex political situation in Timor and elsewhere around Indonesia from a man who plants crops for a farmer and sometimes works as a driver. The resort manager and his employees have also answered our endless questions, and made ferry reservations for us at an extremely remote town 250 miles further east, where we'll be in a few days. It's as if every place we have been and everything we have done in the Expedition's 630 days before now have been a prelude to our arrival here. In the morning, a public minibus heading east will stop here to pick us up, and we'll join the locals enroute to Larantuka. August 5, 2001 in Kalabahi, Alor Islands, Indonesia The day began well enough as a public bus (a van, really) pulled into our hotel and the driver tossed our bags onto the roof for the 90 mile scenic ride east to Larantuka, at the east end of Flores Island. It was very cramped but not terribly uncomfortable, except for the cigarette smoke and the beetlenut chewing. We stopped at roadside stand for food, drink and bathrooms, and a visit with a local or two.
There are three hotels here with the same name (Fortuna 1, 2 and 3), and naturally the driver tried to dump us at the nearest one. Becky protested and they finally took us to the right place, where we found that the hotel was a dump, had no water of any kind, and hadn't had water for a week. We consider this a serious drawback, so we continued our search for lodging and/or ships. The next set of taxi drivers overcharged us by a factor of five and then mocked us for having been so gullible, but soon we were at our second choice, the Hotel Tresna. There, the stifling room with no AC was filthy and filled with mosquitos, but having no choice, we decide to stay only as long as it took to become disgusted with the entire town and go somewhere else. "When is there a boat heading east?" we asked the hotel manager. "Six more days," she cheerfully answered. Resigned, we paid for the room and started a search for boats going anywhere, hoping to escape this steaming pile of stinking Larantuka Lo and behold, Becky quickly discovered that a ship would be departing for our destination, Kalabahi -- this very night. When we mentioned to the hotel owner that a huge 1,000 passenger ship would be leaving from the dock only three blocks from her hotel that very night, just as it has every Tuesday night for years, her memory was suddenly refreshed! Oh, THAT boat! But no refunds on the hotel room, sorry. It's all a part of travel, so just grin and bear it, right? So we tossed our bags into the hell hole of a room, and with ten hours to wait for the boat, checked out the waterfront and downtown. We located the Pelni ship office and bought tickets for a midnight departure -- a first class cabin ($13 each). But when we showed up at the dock early to kill some time, we were faced the single biggest irritation for foreigners traveling in Indonesia. Indonesians, especially young men, have an absolutely maddening tendency to make every sound humanly possible to get your attention, and then shout, not as a question but a demand, "Where you go!" If they speak any English, they follow up with "Where you from! What you want to see! What you do here! What you name! How old you are! Are you married!" Hour after hour, these shouts lose their charm. Travel books and seasoned travelers will tell you that the behavior we see as rude and intrusive is simply curiosity and friendliness. Actually, whether the approach is abrasive or subtle, almost every conversation with someone met in a public place is a prelude for them to offer some kind of service. Fair enough, but you can't politely say "no thanks" and have it end there. In America and much of the western world (a place where, we readily concede, we are not!), we value our "personal space," into which we don't like intrusion. Imagine this scene: Exhausted, you are sitting on a concrete curb in a dark shipyard, painfully out of place as the only two outsiders among a thousand locals, butts aching, waiting hours for a boat long overdue. You can't get up and walk around because if there is ever a scenario where something might be lifted or a mob scene would be created, this is it. So you sit there, as scores of people gather and, for 20 minutes at a time, stare directly at you, observing and discussing your every move, their focus interrupted only to light cigarettes, spit, hack violently, shout at each other and smoke more cigarettes. Suddenly a man approaches within one foot, squats down in front of you, face to face, lights a cigarette, blows smoke in your face (not to be offensive, but because that's what everyone does), spits, and from a position uncomfortably close, says threateningly, "Where you go?" If you say something, anything, you're in for a barrage of increasingly personal questions. If you politely shift your attention elsewhere, he'll again plant himself right in your face. You can totally ignore him, but he's likely to sit there an hour, talking nonstop (making a sales pitch) directly into your face. Meanwhile, dozens of people become interested and move closer, soon bumping into you on all sides. Soon hands are on you and your luggage, and you are surrounded in the dark of night. This happened repeatedly, until we dragged our things to an area normally closed before ship arrival (from which we were later ejected). Even then, as we sat endlessly on a curb as everyone nearby stared with great intensity, a man approached from behind us, squatted and talked at his new "friends" for nearly an hour, even though we never even looked directly at him. Wherever we go, whatever we do, people shout and demand answers to increasingly personal questions -- all without the slightest hint that it's desired or appreciated. Okay, we've been in sixty countries and have seen a lot. We have often been objects of curiosity, which we understand and doesn't bother us. But Indonesia wears you down. It's relentless. It's as if the national sport is a staring contest. People who aren't shouting, whistling, or waving to get our attention are sitting a few feet away simply staring, expressionless -- we mean sitting as close as possible, staring directly at our faces, and staring by the hour. It's unnerving and irritating. The ship was hours late, but finally arrived at nearly 2:00 a.m. What happened then is a tribute to the worst crowd control management imaginable. It was like a scene from a horror movie. As arriving passengers carrying huge loads began descending the ship's steep gangplank, hundreds of passengers waiting to board, and porter-wannabees looking for jobs, freight handlers, snack salespeople, and sightseers -- men, women and children alike -- were allowed past the barricade and rushed the ship as if their lives depended on it. Bedlam ensued. People carrying luggage and refrigerator-sized bundles down the ship's steep stairs were met by a wall of people going up. Ship employees were screaming at people rushing the gangplank, ramming directly into the people coming down and pushing and shoving as if in a rugby match. It was as if everybody had gone totally insane, clawing their way through the crowd, even climbing the stairway scaffolding as if the last boat to eternal salvation was about to leave without them. We were swept into the midst of it.
Waiting until everyone else was aboard, we finally made it to our cabin. It showed signs of long neglect, but we were delighted to have two of only 14 first class berths, while 900 people four decks below struggled for floor space to sleep on. We fell asleep at 3:00 am -- only to be jarred awake 90 minutes later. We were astonished to realize that the ship's loudspeaker system was blaring Muslim prayers throughout the entire boat at incredible volume. One more thing we learned about life here. Our blurry arrival in the beautiful Kalabahi area in late morning produced a similar but more subdued embark-debark scramble, which we unfortunately do not have on film, due to the failure of a camera memory chip purchased in Bangkok. We do have a photo of the hotel van that showed up just when it appeared all transportation options from the dock had vaporized. Our day here so far has been laced with the same staring and demands for personal information that the locals describe as being friendly. We are trying hard, and often not successfully, to understand. It's tiring to be constantly under "assault." Escape to the best room in the only hotel in town is not much comfort, given the frequent outages of water and electricity. When we began our search for the world's nooks and crannies, we tried not to presuppose what we might find in them. Here in Indonesia, out beyond the end of most travelers' roads, we remain fascinated by the history and beauty of this place. We are occasionally charmed, and often highly irritated, by the people we have met. Becky said it all. "The weird thing is that what happened at the ship in Larantuka happens every time a ship comes in -- the panic and chaos is normal to them. Everybody seems to think it's the appropriate behavior. Indonesia is giving me a greater appreciation of the grace and comforts of Thailand." September 6, 2001 in Kalabahi, Alor, Indonesia On the street (literally) we checked out the drying, unshelled cashew nuts, took pictures of spices on the street, ran into some nice people at the market, the school, on the street, and one lady who wanted us to buy her chicken. We wandered into the police station to ask whether boats of any size leave this town to return to the extremely remote islands west of us. Becky, ever the charmer, gathered a crowd of officers to explain our problem. Before long they had collared the captain of a tiny wooden boat, the "Diana Express," which plies between small ports in the islands, transporting freight and as many people as can cram themselves aboard. It's small for ocean voyages, but at least its an option. The harbor police worked up a schedule for us to leave on the boat early September 8th, two days from now. The fare: $1.90 each for the six hour ride to Wairiang, on Pulau Lembata. From there we'll continue by bus and another ferry to Flores. These islands are home to 57 indigenous tribes of people who speak 60 different languages. Communication is therefore a continual problem. After arriving in Wairiang, we'll take a bus on a two hour ride to Lewoleba, where we'll check out the smoking volcanoes before continuing via boat and bus back to Larantuka and then to Maumere, on Flores Island. We have a free day before departing Kalabahi, so we'll hire a guide, rent a motorcycle and spend tomorrow checking out the culture and sights of the island of Alor. Yes, we're hot and sweaty, owing to another water outage at the hotel. NOTE: We are going into more detail than usual at this point because we are now in the extremely remote locations we have sought from the beginning of the Expedition. Only 1,500 people come to this town per year, only 250 outside of organized dive trips or cruise ships. This area sees an average of only five outsiders a week who arrive independently. Little wonder we're a curiosity. September 7, 2001 at the ends of the earth: South 8 degrees 13.1 minutes; East 124 degrees, 30.9 minutes. We hired a local guide named Achmed and set off to explore the area beyond the end of the trail. After several days here, unable to communicate in English with anyone but ourselves, we were thrilled with the arrival of Doug who is an American married to an Indonesian. He's the only other outsider of any kind who is in this island chain right now, and we really welcome his companionship -- and his Indonesian language skills.
We moved down the treacherous road, visiting people along the way, stopping at rice fields, and finally hit some rocks and crashed the bike. We were driving very slowly, and weren't injured. Don got things fixed well enough to carry on to the very end of the trail, where we found a Yellowstone Park-like geyser. By then our motorcycle, overheated on the steep hills, was becoming hard to start, and our guide's bike was immobilized by a clutch problem. This left us stranded at a tiny, remote bamboo home. The family was delightful despite their obvious extreme poverty. One of the boys whipped out his homemade ukulele to play a welcoming tune, as another climbed a coconut tree and hacked down some coconuts to give us some delicious coconut milk to drink. We finally got Don's motorcycle running again, so the guide took Doug and Becky to a village, where he found a short rope and came back for Don and his broken motorcycle. A half hour later, Don arrived at the village on the running motorcycle, using the rope to pull Achmed and his broken bike. You had to be there, but it was a hilarious sight. A village man fixed Achmed's bike and we took off to a beach for a swim before visiting the home of a family with many mokos. A moko is a metal drum used as a wedding dowry. No moko, no wedding. Legend has it that these mokos were made 500 years BC (make what you will of that). They were buried all over the island during various invasions to hide them. Now, any family owning more than one is considered rich. September 8, 2001 still in Kalabahi, Alor Islands, Indonesia Planning to be at the town dock by 7:00 am to catch the Diana Express back toward Bali, we ordered breakfast in the restaurant in advance (the only way to do it here) for 6:30. Naturally, the cheery hotel manager beat on our door at 5:45, breakfast in hand. Still groggy, we jumped in a "bemo" and made our way to the Diana Express -- only to learn that the engine was broken, but will go for sure tomorrow. Back to the hotel we went, dripping in sweat and dragging all our possessions. Late in the day we thought it might be good to check on Diana's repair progress. Good thing. "No go tomorrow...broke." We never knew about the ferry in this photo, until it was gone. So we're now seeking transport on some other overloaded ferry, and will shoot for a possibility in the morning. There is no way to make a reservation, or even know for sure if it's going. We're running out of money and don't want to cash traveler's checks here at a horrible rate (as low as 6,000 to the dollar while the official rate is over 9,000). Late evening update: There has been violence -- mostly Christian-Muslim (and government-separatist) -- in some parts of Indonesia in which many people have been killed, but tonight's conflict in front of our hotel was the first problem near us. We don't know the details, but when young men with knives began fighting in the street just after dark, the hotel closed its gates and turned off the lights. Shortly after, gunshots were heard. We're staying inside tonight. September 10, 2001 leaving Kalabahi The tiny Diana Express ferry remained broken and because printed schedules don't exist here, people were left to scramble about in search of alternative transportation -- and it appeared at a dock a mile down the coast. Loading trucks, freight of all kinds, motorcycles, animals and people down a rocky embankment, the beaten up, rusty old boat "Inerie" was about to depart for Larantuka, on our way back west toward Bali. The heavily laden boat lumbered away from the Kalabahi port, affording stunning photos of local ferries and small towns. We finally arrived in the afternoon at Baranusa on the remote island of Pantar (which Lonely Planet describes as "as far off the beaten path as you can get"). Cargo was loaded and unloaded, people scrambled around the docks and harbor, and soon we crept off to sea again at all of six knots per hour, arriving at Balauring, Lembata in time for a sunset photo. We continued west in the darkness, people sitting, squatting and sleeping wherever they could wedge themselves in, or perched on the floor playing cards, arriving in the land of volcanos, Lewoleba, at midnight. An uncomfortable night sleeping on the deck ended with a spectacular view as the sun illuminated huge smoking volcanos. September 11, 2001 Lewoleba (lee-woh-lee-bah) to Waiara It is tempting to look back on our time at interesting places in the Alor islands and unrealistically romanticize the adventure, making it sound like a terrific time nobody should miss. In fact, we may be guilty of sometimes discussing only interesting cultures, beautiful sights and historic sites, to the exclusion of the challenges and frustrations involved. Because that's unfair to those who use our accounts in planning their own travels, we are compelled to tell the other side of the story. We are not naive or new to travel. In this current adventure of nearly two years, and in many years of travel before, we have visited more than 60 countries and lived in all kinds of conditions. We do not seek discomfort for its own sake, but we do whatever it takes to reach remote locations where our discoveries may inspire, educate or amuse. Over time, our tolerance for ways other than our own have increased, our own living standard has decreased, and we have come to accept conditions that many Americans would find deplorable -- all in a good faith effort to understand the world and its people. But Indonesia's diversity, culture, physical beauty, and potential notwithstanding, we have been seriously disappointed and frequently offended by the people here. While we have met a few delightful individuals, we find ourselves becoming increasingly defensive, irritated, frustrated and even angry in our interactions with many local people.
A better example: we sat on the boat in disbelief as mothers, rather than using the provided facilities, took their children to the edge of the seating area to pee on the floor -- even knowing that on that very night their fellow passengers, including us, would be sleeping there. When people weren't smoking, it was because they were busy hacking, coughing and spitting on the floor, as huge roaches scurried everywhere. Later, our 12 seat bus was crammed with 24 people, their huge bundles, and a few animals. Most people were chewing beetle nuts and spitting the red juice on the floor of the bus. Most were smoking cigarettes and the air was thick, as there was no proper ventilation. The overwhelming stench of body odor was unavoidable. Because of that, the inability to see out any darkly shaded windows, and the way the bus wallowed around corners under the tremendous load of luggage and people on the roof, a lady in front of us had her head out of the window, throwing up most of the way. The man to our left was barfing into a small plastic bag provided by the bus' crew -- which they also handed to several passengers behind us. The live chicken under the seat constantly pecked Don on the feet, but we were so crowded, we couldn't get out of the chicken's pecking range. We have no pictures of such scenes because we were busy guarding our possessions against theft and projectile vomiting. Still, most of these things were anticipated as a price to be paid. Our real problem involved individuals. We know we're an oddity out here and that people are curious about us. That's fine. We've been objects of curiosity in many countries. But many of these people are offensive in ways we have never before seen. We have been hooted, whistled, shouted and screamed at incessantly, day and night -- rarely in a friendly manner. Wherever we have gone, and no matter how we have handled each situation here, there has been no way to keep people out of our faces, badgering us with the most unbelievably personal questions, or grabbing at us and our possessions, or simply putting their faces inches from ours and staring....and staring....and staring. There's no such thing as "personal space." If ever there is an Olympic staring contest, put your money on Indonesia. You can be sitting in a small space with a dozen people, and every one of them will be staring directly at you, expressionless. No flinching, no turning away. It's impossible to ignore them, and impossible to stare them down. Many people lack any form of shyness, or even the most basic social graces -- you can be sitting on a curb waiting for a boat or bus, and likely as not someone will squat in front of you, put his face inches from yours, stare directly at you, light a cigarette and blow smoke in your face, spit a couple of times, and in a booming voice demand to know, "Where you go...what you do...where you from...how old you are...you are married?" You can turn away, walk away, or talk with someone else, but he is likely to put his face by your ear and continue the monologue for another 10 or 20 minutes -- or until, as has happened, he is finally shoved forcefully away. Nothing we have experienced in any country begins to compare with this. It is withering and exhausting. True, in this cobbled-together country with so many cultures, religions and languages, our experience may not be typical of the whole country. But from Bali to Kalabahi, we've found ourselves enjoying only a single day of the past dozen.
Here in Maumere, transportation options are slim. The next plane to Bali is 6 days hence, the next boat twelve. The plane costs three times more than the first class, high speed boat, but still we'll try to book the flight to Bali and then catch the first plane from there back to Bangkok. September 12, 2001 in Waiara, Flores Island, eastern Indonesia Knowing that if Don's condition worsened (hardly possible from his perspective!) AMEX would need a doctor's certification before transportation could be provided, Becky set off to find one. A coincidence: even though we have gone days without spotting a sole who spoke English, Becky immediately ran into a group of Norwegian and British sailors whose two sailboats had just dropped anchor in front of our hotel -- and lo and behold, one boat owner was a doctor! At this writing, British doctor Kiko Rutter has approved of Don's determination to force the issue (pun intended) by drinking more than two gallons of water within a couple of hours. We're cautiously optimistic because the pain has passed, as have, hopefully, the kidney stones. The doctor, his wife and a Norwegian couple are sailing Hygeia Of Halsa, a beautiful 42-foot Hallberg-Rassey sailboat, in tandem with two other delightful Norwegian people in their boat, Mazey. When the medical emergency seemed to have passed, we all had dinner together. The whole group welcomed conversation with other English-speaking people, as each of us has been isolated from talking with people other than our spouse. September 13, stunned in Waiara, Flores, Indonesia
When we saw a video of the entire World Trade Center collapsing in a heap with thousands of people inside, we broke down in tears, in shuddering shock, unable to comprehend the enormity of what we were watching. It was a nightmare come true. And part of it occurred in our former 'backyard,' at the Pentagon. It doesn't seem possible. We have so many questions, but there are no answers. And throughout the day, we were continually frustrated at the lack of available information, as the only news channels in English are Singaporean Business News channels. We don't want to hear another word about this crisis' economic ramifications to Singapore Airlines. What horror and shock we feel! We needed more information, so we rented a motorbike to go into Maumere, to access the Internet at the Post Office (the single location of public access in this entire part of the country). It was a surreal feeling to read victims' names from the Washington Post website, praying not to find the names of close friends. (We didn't.) Our deepest thanks to so many friends and family members who have sent e-mail messages expressing concern for our safety, worrying about us here in a largely Muslim country where existing tensions have risen further as a result of this latest terrorism. Of course, the extremists among Muslims are few (as with extremists among Christians around the world), but the CIA reports that there are some Muslim fundamentalists in Indonesia. We are fine, but will leave Indonesia as soon as we can. Even here on this Christian island of Flores, there has been Muslim-Christian violence in recent years, and these new tensions won't improve the situation. We feel lucky to have stumbled into a Christian area of Indonesia at this initial time of international crisis, since only 9% of Indonesians are Christian. Our next departure option on any form of transportation (we've checked them all, including driftwood on a westbound current) is a five days hence, a flight to Bali. We will be on it (at a budget-busting cost of 1,852,000 Rupiah), continuing on to Bangkok as soon as possible. We don't feel that we're especially unsafe here in this Christian area, but we know of no other Americans in this area right now, and would feel more comfortable elsewhere. These are tragic times that we fear are changing America forever. Tears stream our cheeks as scenes of senseless and unconscionable mayhem and hatred against innocent American people are played out on television. May those who would plan or execute such a thing, or harbor those who did or would, be mercilessly hunted down in whatever disgusting, barbaric recess in which they lurk and dealt the same kind horror they have sown. This day ended on an even more discomforting note. It involved a serious exchange that nearly came to blows between us and four people who are here from Australia. Regardless of the pain and grieving we were obviously suffering as shocking news updates came in from America, these oblivious freaks couldn't have been more uncaring. Endlessly laughing, shouting jokes, flirting with each other in ways as subtle as wildebeests, carrying on amongst themselves so loudly, that we could scarcely hear televised updates. They are here on Australian government business and are the ONLY other guests in the entire resort, so it seems odd that they couldn't move their inappropriate party to a place other than where we grieve over the murders of thousands of our countrymen. When Don couldn't take it anymore, he approached them asked how they could be so insensitive, given that thousands of people had just been senselessly murdered in the worst assault on our country ever. One of them responded, "So what? Thousands of people die every day...besides, it's YOUR problem!" A full, frank and rather ugly exchange followed, nearly ending in violence. We intend to share these individuals' comments with the Australian government office responsible for their being here as representatives of that country. We will do more research when we get internet access, but these savages were with some organization called Aus-Aid, and were sent here on a mission of compassion to help Indonesians. Go figure. September 14, 2001 in Maumere and Waiara, Flores Island, eastern Indonesia Later: Rats! After renting a motorcycle in order to get to the computer at the Post Office, we could get to, but not into, our website server in order to upload to the website. Might be just as well, at the Internet speed we had for e-mail today the 4 MB upload would have taken more than five hours. September 15, 2001 in Maumere, Flores Island, eastern Indonesia While we are addressing these questions as new entries in the "Questions and Answers" section, we summarize it like this: through satellite television, we know a great deal about what happened in America, and friends in the DC area have provided more detail (text in Q&A). Through conversations with locals here in Indonesia, we have also learned a great deal about tensions in this country -- religion-based and others. We have learned disturbing facts that encourage us to stay quietly close to our hotel, and to the Christian Indonesian friends we've made here among the staff. We are increasingly eager to leave Indonesia. At the same time, we are relieved that we no longer work in Washington, DC or live in the buildings where we owned a condo in northern Virginia, as the changing resident demographics in those specific buildings primes them for possible ethic conflicts in the wake of the New York and Pentagon disasters. We feel sorry and stress for all of our friends there, and around America. After leaving Indonesia, we will post a summary of our thoughts specifically crafted as advice for American visitors. Speaking of "hot spots" even though the AC has been running all day in our room, the temperature is 89, only one degree cooler than outside. Swimming pool, here we come. It helps for a few minutes, but it's uncomfortably hot here this time of year, constantly. September 18, leaving Maumere, Flores, Indonesia....we think
We're checking out to the hotel (where we'll miss the great staff) and hope to fly from here to Bali on a twin-engine Fokker -- hope to, given Merpati Airlines theme song (It's Merpati and we'll fly if we want to.....). It's a long shot, but when we get to Bali, we'll try to catch a flight later today to Bangkok. PREVIOUS LOG or |
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By 4:00 A.M. we were 9,000 miles from Salt Lake City, in Kanchanaburi, the town at the bridge over the River Kwai (photo at right), where we lived earlier this year -- and by mid morning were pseudo-awake and visiting old friends. By nightfall we had seen nearly 20 people we knew from before (including our good friends at Jumbo Travel guide service) and had attended two get-togethers.
An aside: Two days ago an American couple arrived on their Tayana 37 sailboat. Having left Deltaville, Virginia in 1997, they intend to complete their circumnavigation next year. Not only are they from the Chesapeake, where we used to sail our own boat, but their boat is one of the manufacturers we're most interested in buying someday. And, their boat (in the center of this photo) has the exact name we intend to use when we do buy another boat -- Pura Vida (pure life or living life to its fullest, in Spanish). In a sense, seeing them was like seeing ourselves.
We opted instead for the Flores Sao Resort, a fine place with a swimming pool. It's right on the beach and closer to town. Still, this is still not an American style resort, as evidenced by the goats that run freely on the grounds. There is no hot water, even in the deluxe rooms, and some people might be put off by the huge colony of land crabs (they live on the left in this photo) occasionally venturing from their holes near the restaurant.
Before long, we and SIXTEEN other people were packed into a little van, with four more people riding with the bags on the roof. After four hours, we found ourselves at dusty "bus station" a couple of miles outside Larantuka negotiating with taxi drivers who took turns grabbing at our bags, and were soon off to the best hotel in town. We were looking forward to the only hotel here with AC.
At one point, Becky, who was carrying a valuable laptop computer, was awash in the scrambling humanity, unable to escape as huge crates jostled from carrier's hands tumbled down ramps and onto the throngs below. Even then, people behind her shoved forward and muscled others aside in an insane fury to ascend. Becky finally worked her way out of the chaos as Don, who is twice the size of an Indonesian man, ran interference.
After Becky bought a hat (which caused quite a stir), the four of us headed off on two highly used motorcycles, first riding up a steep hill to the Takpala village to meet the headman and the village children, and to check out houses on stilts with fireplaces in the enclosed upstairs, sign the guest book, buy a few things, and take photos of the children and families. As late as the 1950s, this tribe, one of almost 60 on these islands, were still "hunting" human heads. We gave the village "headman" (no pun intended) some cigarettes (the first pack Becky has ever opened) and no heads were taken today.
The above account of our 28 hour ferryboat trip through the Alor Islands focused on the uniqueness and beauty of the experience. Now: about the people we encountered. Almost without exception, they were crude, offensive and selfish to a degree we have never before seen. Even though our tolerance and ability to accept standards and cultures different from our own are extremely high, the Indonesian people in this area have finally succeeded in thoroughly repulsing us. The people in these first class seats (photo) weren’t so bad. They only stared at us hour after hour.
On the other hand, it’s worth paying some price to see the amazing sunrises in the eastern Indonesian Islands. This one is nearly Lewoleba.
We thought he must be mistaken, but he did seem adamant. We ran to the lobby, where the only television in the area is found.
We've had a very pleasant time here at the Flores Sao Resort (photo: staff) and checking out villages and rural houses. And we have learned a great deal about Indonesian politics from a great guy, the resort manager, Heri. His stories are fascinating, and very revealing. We'll soon weave some of them into these logs.