Travelling across Nusa Tenggara

Nusa Tenggara is the name of the set of islands east of Bali. I set off last week from Mataram, on the west side of Lombok, headed for Kelimutu on the island of Flores. The first 17 hours took me across Lombok by bus, a ferry to Sumbawa, and a 12-hour overnight journey across Sumbawa to Sape, the port on the east coast. I was supposed to catch a ferry to Flores from Sape, but the ferry didn't show up, so I ended up stuck for a day in a small town. Actually, I would call it a village with a ferry terminal. The ferry ride to Flores was about 10 hours long, and I arrived in Labuanbajo, the western port on Flores, on a rainy night. I was pretty exhausted and had a runny nose from the overnight bus trip. I rested up in Labuanbajo for a day, missing out on an opportunity to go see the Komodo dragons on the islands of Rinca and Komodo, just a couple hours by boat from Labuanbajo.
After a day's rest, I took a hellish ten- hour bus ride to Bajawa. It was a windy trip through mountainous terrain with spectacular scenery, that I couldn't be bothered to enjoy as I struggle to keep from vomiting. Bajawa was a small village in the mountains (it was actually kind of cool at night, a big change from the wet heat on the coast) surrounded by other smaller traditional villages. I didn't get to see any of these villages, because I got on a bus for a seven-hour trip to Moni, the village next to Kelimutu.
Kelimutu (1600 m) is a volcano with three lakes in its crater. The lakes are all different colors due to soil composition. They are currently brown-black, turquoise, and dark green. Apparently they change colors over time and with the weather. They are pretty spectacular to see at sunrise. The weather started off windy and rainy, but an hour after sunrise, the clouds and mist blew away I had good visibility to see all three lakes. Kelimutu is the main attraction on Flores, but the journey there, was the best part.

Shacks and farm animals
It was rainy weather off and on all week, starting with my bus trip across Lombok. The bus terminal in Mataram was full of hawkers selling their wares (books, clothing, and snacks). I saw these guys balance huge sacks (as large as an adult) on their shoulder and climb up ricketty ladders to the roof of the buses. Like I said, Indonesians are hardworkers (like the Hasty-variety).
The bus passed ramshackled villages on its way through Lombok. Outside of the city, folks live in thatched or tin-roofed shacks, with walls made from panels of woven fiber and flax. They have dirt floors and no running water or electricity. People light oil lamps in the evening and cook over fires. There is no indoor plumbing, and their running water is a stream, which is sometimes pretty murky, but that's where they bathe and wash. They have goats, pigs, and chickens running around. There is an occasional cow that is tied up to a tree, which I am told, like the goats and pigs, is meant to be sold for celebrations or festivals. A cow is worth about 900 MRp or $1000. I've seen some wild stuff they do to the animals. At a midday market, I've seen them throw a pig on to a truck, by its ears and a rope around its hooves. It'll be a while before I forget the sound of a squealing pig. We were on a bus, and someone said there was a goat under our luggage on the roof. I didn't believe until four hours later, as we watched the bus pull away, a huge goat wobbled to its feet, standing on a moving bus. You will see enormous sows roam the streets looking for food during a midday siesta on Flores.. I watched chickens peck each other while tied together at a morning market. This place is totally wild. You know, it's uncomfortable to watch, but when you eat meat, you've got to face reality.

Indonesian "corruption"
On the ferry from Lombok to Sumbawa, I spoke with a Sumbawan living in Lombok. We talked about the economy of Indonesia. I have heard from Indonesians, that the thing holding them back from getting out of poverty is government corruption. The Jakarta Post has a few articles on corruption everyday. I couldn't get a sense of how this was different from any other country in the world. I'm of the opinion that the entire country operates with kickbacks and under-handed deals. Maybe it's because Indonesia is so poor and has so little in reserve that the waste and inefficiencies of corruption are felt much more. Many Indonesians point at government corruption as their biggest problem, but none of them bat an eye at charging foreigners more for goods and services. This is an accepted fact for tourists coming to Indonesia (and, I expect, most countries in the region); you have to bargain for almost everything from bemo rides to accommodations and sometimes even food. It is sort of fun going around bargaining for things, but I've come to accept that as a tourist, I will be paying more than Indonesians (I just don't want to be paying too much more). I learned from a Chinese-Indonesian dude (born in Indonesia of Chinese ancestry) that he never got to pay the local's price, even though he was from Indonesia. I believe in capitalism, but without fair prices and business practices, how can a country expect their government leaders to behave any differently?

Travelling through Indonesia for a Taiwanese-American
So anyways, if Indonesians can tell that a Chinese-Indonesian person is not of Indonesian heritage, then they certainly can tell that I'm not Indonesian. In fact, the only people that confuse me for being Japanese are tourists. And I don't just mean Westerners, because even Japanese tourists confuse me for being Japanese. I remember hiking at Mt. Cook, and passing a bunch of older Japanese tourists, each one greeting me with a "konichi-wa!" which I happily returned. A problem with this is that the Indonesians don't expect the Japanese to bargain with them. I think many Westerners, can't tell the difference between myself and an Indonesian local, but I haven't been at any resorts where I could be mistaken for the hired help (this happened to me once in Thailand).

Toilet training in Sape
I arrived at Sumbawa at night. The remarkable thing about my trip across Sumbawa at night was the darkness. Except for a few villages we passed through, the island was dark, and I could only see the looming silhouettes of mountains nearby. When the bus stopped, hawkers would come through, selling snacks. When I got to the big city of Bima at 0330, they ushered me off the bus (but wait, I'm supposed to go to Labuanbajo!) and put me on a shuttle to Sape, the eastern port on the island. Two hours later, with drifting sleep, breathing secondhand Indonesian clove cigarettes ("kreteks"), I arrived at Sape. Jam berapa bakal? (what time is the boat?) jam tujuh (7 o'clock) Tiga puluh minutes? (30 minutes?) Tidak, duapulus jam (no, 12 hours) Doh! (Doh!)
I met some Finnish folks also stranded who spoke Indonesian and found out that the ferry didn't show up for one reason or another. We were stuck in Sape. We all checked into a guesthouse next to the ferry terminal, so we could rest from the sleepless bus ride.
At the hotel, I had my first encounter (at least on this trip) with the Asian squat toilet. I have seen them before, in Japan and Thailand, but I have never used one for, um, number two (if you don't count the outhouse in Mongolia). I knew I would be faced with the squatter eventually, and that day had arrived. The squat toilet is sort of a toilet bowl sunk into the floor, with two grooved foot steps on either side. You basically squat to use the facilities. The complicating factor on top of this is that there is no toilet paper, but there is a spigot of water with a bucket and a scoop. This is why some cultures don't shake or eat food with their left hands. Awwwwwwesome. After a week of travelling, I can say I am comfortable with the squatter. I feel like someone who just got potty-trained.

Cultural Realities
There was nothing to do in Sape. I had dinner in a warung and spoke with a Taiwanese dude who had been living and working there for the past year. He told me that Indonesia was basically like Taiwan thirty years ago.I also spoke with some Indonesians who had been stranded in Sape too. Where I paid 120 kRp to get from Mataram to Labuanbajo, they paid 60 kRp. Tourist prices. At least I didn't pay 200 kRp.
There was also a tranvestite at the hotel. It was wierd, to say the least. There was a wierd looking woman watching tv in the lounge, and she had too much makeup on, so I thought she was just an old prostitute, but then some Indonesians told me she was a he. Yikes. Even though, I was freaking out of my skin, sitting five feet from he/she/it, the Indonesia guys sat down next to the he-she thing, like it was no big deal. Ha! And we think we're so open-minded in the States. We are lead to believe a lot of nasty things about Muslim cultures. They are oppressive toward women because they wear burqas (is that any different from the latest Cosmo or teen mag making American women and girls feel fat and inadequate?). Would it surprise Americans that Indonesia had a female president from 2001-2004? (I was surprised.) I don't see a woman in the White House any time soon.

The Finnish
The Fins I met were pretty interesting. They were still working in Finland, but they spent their holidays in Bali. The couple actually spent up to five months each year in Bali, where they rented a five-room apartment for about $50/month. Apparently in Finland, to battle unemployment, the government will pay a worker 30% of his or her salary to take a leave of absence so someone else can work his or her job temporarily. I'm not sure how smart that system is, but it's great if you want to spend your time away in Indonesia where you can still live like a king. These Fins actually learned to speak and read Indonesian. They were not your typically travellers. They were grandparents, and they had not travelled much elsewhere, but they liked Indonesia and adapted well.
So, anyways, the next morning, we all got on the ferry for a ten-hour trip through rain and rough seas. That was fun. I didn't eat or drink very much because I didn't want to visit the toilets. One of the dudes, got splash-back on his arm. And no running water or sinks to wash it off. Nice.
I met up with a Canadian dude on the ferry. He ended being one of folks I travelled with through Flores, but not for another couple days.When we got to Flores, it was dark and rainy. I spent the next day resting and getting over a runny nose. If I had felt better, I might have gone to Komodo or Rinca islands to see the Komodo dragons, but it was not to be. Next time.

Other travellers
From Labuanbajo, I parted ways with the Fins and took the hellish journey to Bajawa. In Bajawa, I met up with the Canadian and a couple of British dudes. They were all solo travelling across Flores, and we sort of teamed up to continue onward to Kelimutu. In Bajawa, we had a dinner conversation, I could only imagine on the backpacker circuit. They were all finishing with their Southeast Asian travels and headed to New Zealand and Australia in the next week, and I was just starting that portion of my trip. They talked about places they had each been to in Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. They spoke of these places with the familiarity you would use for your home town. ("Where did you stay?" "Oh, that place with the blue elephant? That was a cool place." "I was in Hanoi for ten days." etc.) It was awesome to listen to.
The Canadian had been travelling and working in Asia for the past 14 months since graduating from university. He had worked in Seoul, Korea teaching English (an apparently lucrative gig with no experience or formal training necessary) to save up some money, and was going to find work in Australia in a few weeks. One of the Brits had spent the last eight years working in the computer industry (five years with IBM) before quitting and hitting the road two months ago. He too was headed to Australia for a year (actually to Cronulla, where I stayed south of Sydney). The other Brit had been travelling off and on since he was 18. He had been to South America twice, Africa twice, Australia, the States, and Southeast Asia twice. He had just finished saving up money for the past four years, before setting off on his current trip. And this is normal amongst the travellers I've met on Flores. They are folks who have "taken the red pill", so to speak, "to see just how far the rabbit hole goes." It is amazing.
So anyways, the four us headed off on a seven-hour bus trip to Moni, the village at Kelimutu, where we stayed for a couple of nights. We chilled in the quiet mountain village, happily dumping money into the local economy (it's the slow season around here). We met up with a couple of Dutch guys and a Quebecois at Kelimutu, and we all hungout at a hot spring in the middle of a terraced hill of rice patty fields. It was awesome. The weather was hot, and we were trading travelling stories when a bunch of locals wandered down to share the spring with us. They washed their clothes, and themselves, and the two groups sort of just looked at each other. It was pretty amazing.

Maumere is a traveller's Bermuda Triangle
From Moni, we headed to Maumere, the biggest city on Flores, to find a flight back to Bali. The airline booking system is horribly inefficient. No one knows what the actual schedules are, because you will get a different answer from everyone from the ticket office to travel agent to the airport. I bought a ticket to leave in a couple days, but the guys went to the airport and were able to bribe their way on to a flight for the next day (I think some people found themselves cancelled). Good on them, for doing so, but it started a whole black market ticket sale, where all previously sold tickets were disregarded, and you had to bribe your way on to the flight. Angry customers had to bring the airport police in to intervene. So it goes in Indonesia. (And they complain of corruption. It all starts with the individual.)

Hello, Mister!
Anyways, we spent one of the days in Maumere wandering around looking for the beach. The town is on the north side of Flores, but as with many port towns, the water is pretty nasty. We wandered around through villages with throngs of kids screaming and laughing, "Hello, Mister!" I have found Indonesians to be some of the friendliest people I have ever met. They are full of smiles and ever non-threatening. There have been no anti-American threats or demonstrations or graffitti. Are you sure this is a Muslim country? Even when I was travelling with three six-foot-plus white dudes, I never witnessed anything but cheerful greetings. Sure, sometimes your "new friend" at the hotel or bar might be angling to make some money on the side, but that's to be expected. These people are poor and they look at tourists as money-bags. But certainly the rebel activity in the northern state of Aceh in Sumatra is real, as is the paltry two-year sentence the purported leader behind the 2002 Kuta bombing received, but to use this as a representative of a nation and a culture is to equate the Ku Klux Klan with Americans and Christianity. Crime and extremism exists in a lot of places, and they make good newscopy, but it's easy to make the mistake of treating the news as something it isn't. If it were "new", it wouldnt be in the "news". Just like people don't write about the nice folks in Biloxi, Mississippi, people don't write about the friendly Muslims in the, well, world. To not travel the world, in fear of anti-American terrorism, is like like not swimming for fear of shark attacks.
Speaking of swimming, we eventually got to a nice beach with clean water and soaked in the perfect temperature. The sun was setting behind the mountains. It was perfect. As we headed back to the main road, the sky turned an red-orange, and there was music coming from the shacks on either side of us (of the bongos and guitars-variety). Some kids had followed us, and we started dancing, which cracked the kids up. Pretty soon there were about twenty kids all laughing and giggling. The sky was orange. The music continued playing. Flores is a magical place.