This is the last part of the fascinating four-part series on Sulawesi (which means I'm almost done writing about Indonesia.) Nicole and I split from Matthew and Scott on July 13, after our day in Tentena together. We left in a shared van headed to the town of Ampana while the guys got a bus to the town of Poso, from which they would get the first of many flights heading back to the US. Even though we had only been travelling together for two weeks, I felt like I had gotten to know them both pretty well and was sad to see them go (all the more so for Nicole.) The whole getting-to-know-you process moves along at a lightning speed when you travel with people, so I felt like I was saying goodbye to friends as well. It was certainly fun to travel with them for a while.
On our morning journey to Ampana brought us over more of the same bumpy, potholed, washed-out, twisty turning, awful mountain roads (are you getting the idea I really didn't like going over these roads? Nicole tried sleeping in the backseat, only to be violently bounced out of her seat awake.) The other travelers in the van were a German guy and a couple from Connecticut - she originally from California, he from Italy. We had met the German guy, David, the day before at the waterfall. By way of introduction, he had told us that he was interested in animals, primarily seeing them and eating them. He recommended a warung on the main street of Tentena where you could try nice, spicy bat dishes. Um... er... yes, thanks for the tip, but... no. And I learned that this really isn't something you should tell people when first meeting them, because although I knew his name was David, thereafter I always thought of him as "The Bat Eater." The couple, Karlyn and Roberto, were very agreeable and we just so happened to see them later at our guest house as well. (By the way, I feel like we've met a lot of Americans and Canadians on this trip. More than usual. It's very weird.)
After arriving, we spent the day in Ampana, as well as the next, as the ferry we needed to take came only on certain days. There wasn't much to do, expect we did have a bit of an adventure going around town trying to run errands. The travel agent who worked at the place where we stayed was a very friendly guy who took us around town by motorbike. (He was a also bit of an amateur palmist - for lack of a better word - who - with our permission - would feel pressure points on our limbs, backs, heads, and tell us about things in our lives, sometimes with a surprising amount of accuracy. He told me I was a "middle" person, very well balanced in my life, and that I wouldn't get any major sicknesses for a long time because I was so inwardly calm and balanced. I could believe it. I'd like to, anyway.) Anyway, he and his buddy very kindly took us to the bank and post office. Of course, nothing ever works the way you expect it to. The bank gave us a crap exchange rate - for absolutely no good reason - and we had to leave awkwardly out the back door because they lock the front door when they're getting ready to close. Have I every mentioned that Indonesians may be the least logical people ever? This is not any sort of bigotry, it is simple fact. The post office was also closed very early because of Ramadhan. But, with our travel agent friend's help, we simply walked around to the back and bought stamps directly from the manager in the backroom office. When you're living in the land of the highly illogical, you need an inside connection to get out of the bank and into the post office.
On the way back, we ran into some shady-looking characters demonstrating at an intersection. This is when the violence in Israel and Gaza had broken out in a spectacularly bloody way. Indonesia, being a mostly Muslim country, supports Gaza and Palestine very strongly. (According to Yulius, from Tana Toraja, many Indonesians mistakenly believe that Israel is a Christian country, which goes to show that people everywhere can be ignorant about world affairs.) The young men on the street corner were wearing the black and white scarves that you typically see young, militant Middle Eastern men wearing (a Google search informs me that it might be a "keffiyeh.") They were shouting their protests and collecting money. One guy had his hood obscuring his face, and walked with hunched shoulders, filming everything on his phone. Of course I think they had a right to protest and raise money for their cause, but we didn't appreciate the look they had given themselves, as if they were trying to intimidate more than inspire. They weren't very scary - they were just a few guys in a small Indonesian town - but all the same, they were bit of an unsettling sight.
On Tuesday morning we got on our ferry to head for our guest house, Poya Lisa, which is on it's own little island in the Togean Islands group. It wasn't a tourist ferry: mostly it was other Indonesians heading to various islands and a lot of supplies. The gangplank up was a horribly steep, single plank which we somehow managed to climb up. Once the three hour journey began, the sun beat down on us, which felt nice at first, but after an hour or so, we found ourselves covering up in sarongs and just wishing we would arrive. We stopped at a sea-gypsy village (because apparently some of them are not totally nomadic anymore) and unloaded most of the supplies. Of course, none of the supplies were conveniently grouped together at the front of the boat, but scattered all around so that a long, tedious game of searching and delivering ensued for about half an hour while we continued to bake under the sun. (Remember what I said about the land of the illogical? That cultural relativity only goes so far when you're hot and sweating and just want to arrive at your destination.) But arrive we did on the gorgeous little island where Poya Lisa is found.
Poya Lisa has a kitchen and common area on a rocky island only about three times bigger than the kitchen and dinning area itself. The 16? 17? or so bungalows were connected by to it by a stretch ofsand that was just a narrow path during high tide. A handful of bungalows were on the beach and another handful were on a hill overlooking the sea for both beautiful sunrise and sunset views. Our bungalow had two beds, a squatter toilet and mandi (bucket shower), a couple of chairs on the porch and a regrettably not-so-comfortable hammock.
I really can't give a day by day account, because I don't remember. The general routine for the next five days consisted of eating breakfast around 8 AM, lounging around for a while, going snorkeling in the afternoon, coming back to wait around for dinner, enjoying a communal dinner with all the other Poya Lisa residents, and usually enjoying some card games or chatting for a few hours until we went to bed and repeated the whole thing again the next day. It was blissful and lazy and wonderful.
The Togean islands are stunningly beautiful and the waters have the most amazing light blue and turquoise hues. We went snorkeling on our first full day and I was blown away by the clarity of the water. When we hopped of our little boat (propelled by an extremely loud and dodgy looking motor and driven by a wizened and very capable old man) I was shocked by how far down I could see. It just went on and on. I feel like I could see for 40 or 50 meters! I don't know if that's actually accurate, because it's hard to judge distance underwater (for me, anyway) but surely it was some of the
During that first-day snorkeling trip we got to know two Spanish girls who had come over on the boat with us, a Slovenian couple whom we liked a lot, and three British travelers. Two of them left the next day, so we never got to know them, but the other one, Max, had already been there for about a week and planned to stay another week, and he became one of our Poya Lisa friends.
The sense of community at Poya Lisa was great. I especially loved the communal dinners when everyone came together at the end of the day. The tables sat together in three groups and we usually self-segregated by language. There were so many French people there. Actually there are tons and tons and tons of French people everywhere in Southeast Asia. In Myanmar, ils sont partout, comme d'habitude. Nicole and I have a lot of evidence pointing to the distinct possibly that there aren't actually any French people left in France, because they are all in Southeast Asia! Anyway, the French table was always the largest. Next we had the Spanish table and the English + Others table, which were about equal in size. English + Others included American, English, Belgian, Slovenian, etc. Karlyn and Roberto showed up a day or two into our stay and we immediately started to hang out as a group. A little community formed quickly which included the two of us, Max, another English man named Tom,Karlyn and Roberto, a Belgian girl named Analise, a Spanish man named Ceasar (proudly pronounced "Theasar,") the Slovenian couple, Mattaya and Tibor, and sometimes the Spanish girls (whose names I never really leared.) People came and went in the group, but we tended to stick together: during the day we snorkeled or hung out or tried - mostly unscessfully - to walk on the slack line someone had tied between two trees. At night we played cards and talked. Nicole and I taught Karlyn and Roberto "Crazy Eights" and our variation of it, "Crazy, Crazy Eights" in which the winner of a round gets to add a new rule. Max taught us a variation of Yatzee. The friendship among the group was easy and pleasant and very enjoyable. The other member of our little group was Sammy, the adorably awkward puppy whose owner was coming back for him in about a week. His feet were too big for his body and he was in a teething stage, which meant a lot of muzzle-grabbing:"No biting, Sammy!" Poor puppy didn't have any chew toys. We tried, with inconsistent success, to teach him fetch, so he would start to chew on sticks instead of us, or the tables.
The other great thing about Poya Lisa was the food. It was simple and delicious. As in Raja Ampat, we were back to a fairly strict fish-rice-vegetable diet. At breakfast we had a real treat: banana bread and fresh fruit every day! Lunch and dinner were always a variation on the same theme. The variety and tastiness was much better than in Raja Ampat, we got such nice things as tomato salad and the occasional vegetable curry. But once again, we were eating quite low-calorie meals. I began to really savour the available sauces: the saltiness of the soy sauce, the molasses-like sweetness of the kecap manis, the combination sweet and salty tang of the ketchup. The sauces became a very important part of each meal. Simple, good, tasty, communal meals. It all added to the simple, lazy, social pleasure that was Poya Lisa.
After nearly a week of lazing around and getting eight or more hours of sleep each night (how very luxurious!) we left on a public ferry headed back for Ampana. We killed time in Ampana before a crazy 24-hour travel blitz to our next destination, Labanbajo on the island of Flores. That, however, will be a different blog post.
Look at me! I actually finished up two blogs in as many days! Don't mind me if I congratulate myself and give myself a gold star. One more blog for Flores and Bali, and then we'll be in Myanmar. Any last things to say about Poya Lisa? Not really. I think I've covered the basics: terrific snorkelling, great company, lazy days, a nice relaxing time. Nicole and I have often said that we are spoiled when it comes to get beaches. We probably will never get such nice beach experiences once we're back in the US. It's ok, I suppose. We've got memories, pictures, and of course, blog posts.
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