The REALLY good stuff:
The kids. The children on this island were in imminent danger of being snatched and stolen by me at any given moment. A group of little boys entertained me daily as they hung out on, around, or under my porch always having a lovely chat even though none of us could understand each other. As I did endless laps around the island, walking in the rain or the afternoon sun after the day of rain, so many sweet faces with shy smiles and brave babes with eager grins ran up to greet me or peeked and waved from the shadows of their homes. And they played. Played, played, played. A game of marbles was happening every few meters, coconut husks were kicked around, bikes were being raced, random bits of this and that were providing endless entertainment. The kids were happy, healthy souls. Oh how I wanted to take them all home.
Turtles. Big ones. Massive. When we tied banana leaves to a rope and let them float in the water off the boardwalks, enormous beauties would arrive and munch until there was nothing left but the rope. Clambering up and over each other to get to their happy snack. Saw a pile up of 5 at one time. Gorgeous.
These aged beauty queens were the mamas who were coming up to the beaches at night and laying their precious eggs. WWF has invested here and it is paying off. Sort of. Every 12 days for 3 months, a mama turtle lays around 100 eggs. That’s A LOT of eggs. A lot of eggs in danger. The locals ON THIS SAME ISLAND, still eat turtle eggs and kill smaller turtles so that they can stuff them and sell them to other Indonesian tourists. So.Much.Rage. Thankfully, each night, 3 rangers patrol the beach, wait for the mamas to lay their eggs, snatch the eggs, count and label them, then bury them in secret locations where they will hatch two months later. The same rangers who rescue them as eggs release them as brand new babies into the sea.
I was lucky enough to be part of both the egg snatching and the baby releasing. And yes, there were tears. Steaming warm turtle eggs in my hand one night, squirming, squishy soft new hatchlings in my hands the next. Oh heaven, heaven, heaven. These rangers are doing incredible work and are scoffed and ignored by the very people they grew up with, live with, on the same island, fighting their work every single day. The thought process, or lack thereof, in this country makes me enormously sad. Only one in 100 baby turtles will survive the rough seas and here, they also have to contend with the locals eating them before they are out of their shells, or catching them in nets if they do survive and slaughtering them for sale.
Example: as four of us sat for a drink after coming back from rescuing turtle eggs, one of the girls showed the shop lady a photo of the pile of turtle eggs. The lady got so excited. She wanted us to take her to where the eggs were buried because turtle eggs taste so good! Noooooooo! The completely horrified reaction she got from all of us caused her to retreat but you can be sure her opinion is shared by many.
I am not getting any better at dealing with this.
Case in point… as I emerged from my shack one afternoon, I looked down to the sand under the next door boardwalk and saw two boys who had pinned down a turtle and were tying it up. A young turtle, maybe a half a meter long and still fairly strong. They were tying up its neck and flippers as it was trying to escape. Cue crazy woman Janice. At full screech and sadly without thinking, I jumped down off my boardwalk and launched into a ranting tirade, shouting and shaking my fist at all the people who were standing around watching, until the boys flipped the turtle on its back and moved away. With wild grey hair flying and English profanities spewing forth, I ripped the ropes from this poor turtle, heaved her upright and carried her back into the sea where she thankfully swam quickly away. As I cursed them all to the depths of hell, trudging huffing and puffing back up the sand, I saw another turtle, tied and upside down in a small boat beside a hut. Again, the rage. When I picked her up, she barely moved. Sputtering with hatred at this point I got her to the water where she needed coaxing to move, to swim, to fight. She eventually swam away but my heart was heavy … she may not have made it. I could have killed someone.
As I retold this story to the rangers, they were thankfully concerned but somewhat disappointed in me. Why hadn’t I taken any pictures of the culprits and the turtles? What could they do if they didn’t have pictures? *sigh* Defeat. Note to self…. Think! Think! Think! I’m so sorry turtles. Lesson learned.
Jellyfish. Google Kakaban Island. Seriously. Do it. It is one of only two places in the world where jellyfish have evolved in a freshwater lake to have no sting for lack of prey or predators. Bizarre. Creepy cool. Alien. Want to go back. Speedboat out and ended up at this uninhabited, white sand, paradise island. Walk a well worn boardwalk ten minutes into the jungle and stumble out to this enormous opaque green lake. I had seen some pictures of what to expect, so snorkels on, head under water, let’s go! *GASP!* Sputter! Squeal! Oh my GOSH! LOOOOOOOOK!!!!! By the pier, there are a few brownish, transparent bobbling jellyfish that you tentatively touch; do they REALLY not sting?! They really, really don’t! You keep swimming and the further you get, the more there are. Big ones, small ones, upside down ones attached to the sea grass at the bottom, their fuzzy bottoms outstretched to the sun above, and slimy transparent dinner plate ones. Not one single sting. You push through them, like swimming through a ball pit, definitely not of this world. Mangroves surround the lake and there is brightly coloured CORAL growing under, around, and on the roots of the trees! It was absolutely unlike anything I have ever experienced in my life. Unbelievable. There were a few incidents of jellyfish tossing, making them into wigs, and general childishness but there were SO MANY! True underwater highlight, for sure.
Mantas. On the way back from visiting this alien homeland, we stopped for a casual snorkel with my favourite love, those magnificent mantas. Let’s just hop off the boat here and snorkel around with a few beauties, shall we? Yes, we shall. A small, curious picture of perfection kept circling back for closer looks and a little company. Please take me with you. Please. Oh so fabulous. Yes, life is good.
I did manage to convince a different guide to take three of us out to the island that I really wanted to dive but it took an enormous amount of effort. When we did get out there, he wouldn’t take us to the site where I wanted to dive, telling an assortment of lies each time I pushed him, from not enough time, to not enough fuel, to currents too strong, etc. I was furious. We had spent $100USD on this boat and he wanted us to dive the same site twice and refused to take us to where I wanted to go once we arrived. Complete jackass. Did two dives, he knew we were really upset with him, but again, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to work anyway. Jerk. (The dives were VERY nice, by the way).
Sad side note of sea life in and around Derawan. The water is FULL of fishing huts and boats, full. What I noticed on my dives wasn’t so much what was there, but what wasn’t. We were in the middle of nowhere, channels running though far off islands. We should have been swarmed by fish. There was very, very little in the water. The site, the coral, the landscape was beautiful and wild but empty. Dynamite fishing and mass overfishing has emptied these waters and there is no turning back. Indonesia is a critical contributor to marine life destruction and it is escalating. No logical thought processes. Now is all that matters here. Mass swaths of the rainforest have fallen to logging and mining; I had no idea how gigantic the scale was until I flew over it. Life, on land and in the water, is being eliminated at an alarming rate in this part of the world. Complete devastation.
Sorry. Soapbox.
The majority of people who live on the island were lovely. I was away from the noise and the hassle of Surabaya where people stare and harass and insist on trying to take your picture when you’re not looking so the quiet, small island life was much needed. The locals who were in the business of the travelers weren’t interested in working, they dismissed you before they said hello, and lied as easily as they took a breath but the day to day interactions of those who simply lived on Derawan were just perfect. All good.
My return to the mainland was relatively hassle-free as I had become wise to the ways of the deceptive demons and simply told them how it was going to go. No questions asked.
Despite the shit show that was my week in Kalimantan, this is a place NOT to be missed. To avoid the anguish of wanting to stab your own eyes out on a trip to Derawan, simply do the exact OPPOSITE of what I did and you will be fine. Absolutely fine. I wanted a trip on my own, at the end of rainy season, to a place not many people visit, and figured I could sort it out once I got there. Should you go in the future, go in the dry season, with many friends, and book ahead. It’s worth it. I promise!
So yes friends, I survived thoughts of suicide as a way to escape the alternate universe I was temporarily trapped in and managed to wrap another bunch of unique experiences firmly around my full, full heart. Time is ticking away here in Indonesia and although there are countless things I still want to do, I think I’ll leave with a pretty good checklist of a year well spent. Don’t you?
Saturday, April 14, 2012
Kalimantan you're KILLING me!
Yes, another holiday, yes, more holiday stories. As often as I hang my head when people ask me what I do for a living, my photos and these stories remind me that yeah, my life isn’t quite so bad. Middle aged and still roaming; I haven’t found a good enough reason to stop yet. March 2012 destination… Kalimantan, Indonesian Borneo.
Despite several attempts to gather information or prepare myself for this journey in some small way, I continued to come up more or less empty handed. Little info on the internet, even less in books, and word of mouth was questionable, at best. That’s fine, that’s fine, I had resigned myself to accepting that this was going to be an “adventure”. Diving was the focus, getting there was the challenge. Pffft. I’ve clawed my way through stranger places, how hard can this be?
Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s Indonesia.
Let’s start with…
Rage. So much rage.
I know, I know, it’s pointless getting frustrated and angry, I should be more in control and just roll with it, but unless you’ve been here, unless you’ve experienced it, there is just no way to control the rage. Fellow Indo inhabitants, I know you can relate. We have all been there.
I spent the first two days of my holiday walking and driving in circles. Literally. Arrived in the town where I was to stay the night before heading over to the island and was greeted in each and every hotel and guesthouse with “full.”. I’m sorry? “Full.” Full? There are hardly any people on the streets, what the hell do you mean, “full”? “Yes. Full.” Oh for shit sake. Each place gave me directions to another hotel to try because of course, even though you own 3 cell phones by the time you are 5 years old here, no one actually has any phone numbers. Oh and directions? Yeah, directions in Indonesia consist of having you walk in a circle until you end up back where you started then try to figure it out on your own. Good fun. Thumbs up.
While searching for a place to sleep, I stopped into no less than 5 travel agencies to inquire about transportation to get to Derawan, the island I was heading to the next day. Not one single person in the first four TRAVEL agencies knew of any way to get there. The only reason tourists come to this town I was in is to get to this island, but apparently yeah, no one knows how to get there. There must be cameras on me somewhere. This has to be a joke. Fifth stop was a success, sort of. 3 lovely young girls who spoke surprisingly good English helped me find a place to stay, made phone calls about how to get to the island, and let me wait out a massive rain storm. How to get to Derawan? No, nothing. *bangbangbang* (me slamming my forehead against the table).
Holed up in my room and attempted to collect my fragile composure. Went for a bit of a nighttime wander which reinforced just how small this place was so was able to convince myself that it was just a bad travel day and it would all come together tomorrow. Easy Peasy.
Yeah. I’m so dumb.
The next morning I walked for no less than TWO HOURS in circles and circles and circles as random people said yes then no then yes then no about transport to the island. Rage re-ignited instantly. Eventually found something, negotiated an outrageous price then plopped down to wait. And wait. And wait. Then we were on the move. Yes! Okay, we’re going. This is it. Oh wait, no, I’ve seen that before, oh wait, hey, that’s where I stayed last night, hold on a minute now, that’s where we were just parked… what the hell is going on here???? The driver spent the next TWO HOURS driving around, answering phone calls, and picking up random people and parcels to load the car up full before we even started our journey out of town. We visited houses, stopped on street corners, and pulled up to shops. I sat in the front seat, sunglasses on, palms of my hands bleeding from nails dug in, lips bitten shut to contain the boiling inferno. Dear Indonesia, someone is about to die.
The driver laughed as he sped through sinkholes the size of buffalo and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he scraped off several inches of the underside of his car each and every time we were launched into the air. When I pointed out a significant dent/smash on the bottom of the body of his vehicle that he had caused, he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Yessir get me away from this lunatic.
Onto the boat. Thankfully was aware of what the price SHOULD be and despite the attack at the harbor front from the same slime that seem to exist the planet over, I managed to secure boat transportation at the right price and no one had to die. Be careful, Indonesia, the rage is on a very thin leash.
Derawan looked lovely upon arrival. Outstretched boardwalks and brightly coloured houses. I think this is gonna be okay. Again everyone, let’s say it together…
I’m so dumb.
I proceeded to spend the next hour walking and walking and walking (it takes less than half an hour to completely circle the island). Full. Oh COME ON!!! It was an Indonesian long weekend, so everything was full. *muttermuttermutter*swearswearswear*wimperwimperwimper*. It’s fine. I can do this. I am pretty resourceful. I will sleep on the beach, no big deal. Just as I had resigned myself to a night of outdoor adventure, I was directed to a restaurant that had a room out back along the boardwalk, perched over the water. I’ll take it. Done.
It was bare and basic, buckets for toilets and shower that I shared with the family who owned the place, but there was a porch that looked out over the sea, the water was below me and out as far as I could see, so yes, I’m in. This will do just fine. Now off to sort the diving.
I can feel the burn of anguish and frustration building behind my eyeballs even as I type this. This twilight zone of a place was pushing me to my very limits. The one “dive shop” had no one around and when someone was able to be reached by phone she quoted me the highest price on planet earth with a very serious tone. $50USD for one dive PLUS renting the boat at $200USD. For one dive? Yes. One? Yes. Again, looking around for the hidden cameras. This must be a practical joke. No cameras? No? This is real? Holy hell.
I had heard that there were a few dive guides who took people out but they weren’t connected with any shops so they charged half the price. I was now on a mission. Found a cowboy after much searching and was able to convince him to take me out the next day. Showed up the next day and was happy happy joy joy to get in the water just off the island. Seemed that the dive “guide” was just some local guy who knew how to dive, no real idea of safety or concerns, but meh! I just want to be in the water and figured I was good to take care of myself. Let’s go!
Through chit chat and lots of inquiries, it seemed that if I wanted to get to the good dives, where I really wanted to go, the going rate was $100USD to rent the boat plus the more reasonable dive price. So find friends fast or forget about it. I quickly discovered that this was a wealthy island and people here didn’t need the money so they charged outrageous prices, didn’t care if they got business or not, and really couldn’t be assed to work, regardless of the demand. And oh yeah, it was still rainy season up that way. Absolute defeat.
Night number 2 brought the biggest, wickedest, loudest storm I have ever encountered. Ever. I was in a wooden shack, with a tin roof, over the water. The storm raged for over 6 hours and I was 100% convinced that the entire island was about to be wiped out. Thunder that didn’t stop and start, it started then rolled and roared and shook the ground for solid minutes. Lightning that didn’t strike but flashed from every point in the sky illuminating the wildly whipping sea for up to 5 seconds at a time. Count that folks. Think about it. Lightning usually strikes for less than a second. This was like someone had turned on the lights. The waves were crashing and tossing all the small boats around, my shack was shaking, rattling, and rolling from the wind, waterfall of sheet rain, and ginormous waves that were pounding the supporting stilts underneath me, and I was waiting for the world to end. The tin roof amplified the elements to such a volume that when I actually spoke out loud in an attempt to calm myself down, I couldn’t hear my own voice. Yes, I have lived a good life. This isn’t how I planned to go, but hey, it’s a story to tell. This is the end.
But gasp! Surprise! It wasn’t the end. The storm eased off, the sky lightened from ink black to fuzzy grey, and I poked out to see what was left of the shredded island. As locals emptied their flooded but still afloat boats with well-worn buckets and scraps of plastic, all seemed right with the world. I expected devastation, flattened houses and trees stripped bare. I saw a few puddles and closed doors. That’s it. No damage, no devastation, no doomsday. Obviously these knock-you-out storms are common place here (as I would experience first-hand over the rest of the week) and this island, this place is built to withstand. Absolutely amazing.
There’s no need to go into the remaining struggles of the week, as there were many. Trying to convince someone to take us out on a boat, making them boatloads of money, was infuriatingly effortful. No one seemed interested, or they’d say yes and then not show. Couldn’t care less if travelers came or not. I tried to change my flights to leave early but shock upon shock, couldn’t get a hold of anyone on the phone. THAT’S how done I was with this place.
So as I felt sorry for my pitiful self through several more stormy days and zero diving on the horizon, I became slightly crazed (or MORE crazed to those of you who have spent any time with me lately). The island is swarming with cats, a gazillion cats; I think I made friends with and had lengthy conversations with a good 50% of them during my week there. Maybe more. They were FAR more friendly than the locals so I figured it was fine. I felt myself slowly unraveling and knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.
Thankfully a few events occurred that saved my remaining threads of sanity and will be stored in the lifetime memory bank. Tune in to the next entry for the REALLY good stuff.
Despite several attempts to gather information or prepare myself for this journey in some small way, I continued to come up more or less empty handed. Little info on the internet, even less in books, and word of mouth was questionable, at best. That’s fine, that’s fine, I had resigned myself to accepting that this was going to be an “adventure”. Diving was the focus, getting there was the challenge. Pffft. I’ve clawed my way through stranger places, how hard can this be?
Oh yeah, I forgot. It’s Indonesia.
Let’s start with…
Rage. So much rage.
I know, I know, it’s pointless getting frustrated and angry, I should be more in control and just roll with it, but unless you’ve been here, unless you’ve experienced it, there is just no way to control the rage. Fellow Indo inhabitants, I know you can relate. We have all been there.
I spent the first two days of my holiday walking and driving in circles. Literally. Arrived in the town where I was to stay the night before heading over to the island and was greeted in each and every hotel and guesthouse with “full.”. I’m sorry? “Full.” Full? There are hardly any people on the streets, what the hell do you mean, “full”? “Yes. Full.” Oh for shit sake. Each place gave me directions to another hotel to try because of course, even though you own 3 cell phones by the time you are 5 years old here, no one actually has any phone numbers. Oh and directions? Yeah, directions in Indonesia consist of having you walk in a circle until you end up back where you started then try to figure it out on your own. Good fun. Thumbs up.
While searching for a place to sleep, I stopped into no less than 5 travel agencies to inquire about transportation to get to Derawan, the island I was heading to the next day. Not one single person in the first four TRAVEL agencies knew of any way to get there. The only reason tourists come to this town I was in is to get to this island, but apparently yeah, no one knows how to get there. There must be cameras on me somewhere. This has to be a joke. Fifth stop was a success, sort of. 3 lovely young girls who spoke surprisingly good English helped me find a place to stay, made phone calls about how to get to the island, and let me wait out a massive rain storm. How to get to Derawan? No, nothing. *bangbangbang* (me slamming my forehead against the table).
Holed up in my room and attempted to collect my fragile composure. Went for a bit of a nighttime wander which reinforced just how small this place was so was able to convince myself that it was just a bad travel day and it would all come together tomorrow. Easy Peasy.
Yeah. I’m so dumb.
The next morning I walked for no less than TWO HOURS in circles and circles and circles as random people said yes then no then yes then no about transport to the island. Rage re-ignited instantly. Eventually found something, negotiated an outrageous price then plopped down to wait. And wait. And wait. Then we were on the move. Yes! Okay, we’re going. This is it. Oh wait, no, I’ve seen that before, oh wait, hey, that’s where I stayed last night, hold on a minute now, that’s where we were just parked… what the hell is going on here???? The driver spent the next TWO HOURS driving around, answering phone calls, and picking up random people and parcels to load the car up full before we even started our journey out of town. We visited houses, stopped on street corners, and pulled up to shops. I sat in the front seat, sunglasses on, palms of my hands bleeding from nails dug in, lips bitten shut to contain the boiling inferno. Dear Indonesia, someone is about to die.
The driver laughed as he sped through sinkholes the size of buffalo and didn’t seem the least bit concerned that he scraped off several inches of the underside of his car each and every time we were launched into the air. When I pointed out a significant dent/smash on the bottom of the body of his vehicle that he had caused, he shrugged his shoulders and laughed. Yessir get me away from this lunatic.
Onto the boat. Thankfully was aware of what the price SHOULD be and despite the attack at the harbor front from the same slime that seem to exist the planet over, I managed to secure boat transportation at the right price and no one had to die. Be careful, Indonesia, the rage is on a very thin leash.
Derawan looked lovely upon arrival. Outstretched boardwalks and brightly coloured houses. I think this is gonna be okay. Again everyone, let’s say it together…
I’m so dumb.
I proceeded to spend the next hour walking and walking and walking (it takes less than half an hour to completely circle the island). Full. Oh COME ON!!! It was an Indonesian long weekend, so everything was full. *muttermuttermutter*swearswearswear*wimperwimperwimper*. It’s fine. I can do this. I am pretty resourceful. I will sleep on the beach, no big deal. Just as I had resigned myself to a night of outdoor adventure, I was directed to a restaurant that had a room out back along the boardwalk, perched over the water. I’ll take it. Done.
It was bare and basic, buckets for toilets and shower that I shared with the family who owned the place, but there was a porch that looked out over the sea, the water was below me and out as far as I could see, so yes, I’m in. This will do just fine. Now off to sort the diving.
I can feel the burn of anguish and frustration building behind my eyeballs even as I type this. This twilight zone of a place was pushing me to my very limits. The one “dive shop” had no one around and when someone was able to be reached by phone she quoted me the highest price on planet earth with a very serious tone. $50USD for one dive PLUS renting the boat at $200USD. For one dive? Yes. One? Yes. Again, looking around for the hidden cameras. This must be a practical joke. No cameras? No? This is real? Holy hell.
I had heard that there were a few dive guides who took people out but they weren’t connected with any shops so they charged half the price. I was now on a mission. Found a cowboy after much searching and was able to convince him to take me out the next day. Showed up the next day and was happy happy joy joy to get in the water just off the island. Seemed that the dive “guide” was just some local guy who knew how to dive, no real idea of safety or concerns, but meh! I just want to be in the water and figured I was good to take care of myself. Let’s go!
Through chit chat and lots of inquiries, it seemed that if I wanted to get to the good dives, where I really wanted to go, the going rate was $100USD to rent the boat plus the more reasonable dive price. So find friends fast or forget about it. I quickly discovered that this was a wealthy island and people here didn’t need the money so they charged outrageous prices, didn’t care if they got business or not, and really couldn’t be assed to work, regardless of the demand. And oh yeah, it was still rainy season up that way. Absolute defeat.
Night number 2 brought the biggest, wickedest, loudest storm I have ever encountered. Ever. I was in a wooden shack, with a tin roof, over the water. The storm raged for over 6 hours and I was 100% convinced that the entire island was about to be wiped out. Thunder that didn’t stop and start, it started then rolled and roared and shook the ground for solid minutes. Lightning that didn’t strike but flashed from every point in the sky illuminating the wildly whipping sea for up to 5 seconds at a time. Count that folks. Think about it. Lightning usually strikes for less than a second. This was like someone had turned on the lights. The waves were crashing and tossing all the small boats around, my shack was shaking, rattling, and rolling from the wind, waterfall of sheet rain, and ginormous waves that were pounding the supporting stilts underneath me, and I was waiting for the world to end. The tin roof amplified the elements to such a volume that when I actually spoke out loud in an attempt to calm myself down, I couldn’t hear my own voice. Yes, I have lived a good life. This isn’t how I planned to go, but hey, it’s a story to tell. This is the end.
But gasp! Surprise! It wasn’t the end. The storm eased off, the sky lightened from ink black to fuzzy grey, and I poked out to see what was left of the shredded island. As locals emptied their flooded but still afloat boats with well-worn buckets and scraps of plastic, all seemed right with the world. I expected devastation, flattened houses and trees stripped bare. I saw a few puddles and closed doors. That’s it. No damage, no devastation, no doomsday. Obviously these knock-you-out storms are common place here (as I would experience first-hand over the rest of the week) and this island, this place is built to withstand. Absolutely amazing.
There’s no need to go into the remaining struggles of the week, as there were many. Trying to convince someone to take us out on a boat, making them boatloads of money, was infuriatingly effortful. No one seemed interested, or they’d say yes and then not show. Couldn’t care less if travelers came or not. I tried to change my flights to leave early but shock upon shock, couldn’t get a hold of anyone on the phone. THAT’S how done I was with this place.
So as I felt sorry for my pitiful self through several more stormy days and zero diving on the horizon, I became slightly crazed (or MORE crazed to those of you who have spent any time with me lately). The island is swarming with cats, a gazillion cats; I think I made friends with and had lengthy conversations with a good 50% of them during my week there. Maybe more. They were FAR more friendly than the locals so I figured it was fine. I felt myself slowly unraveling and knew that there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it.
Thankfully a few events occurred that saved my remaining threads of sanity and will be stored in the lifetime memory bank. Tune in to the next entry for the REALLY good stuff.
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