Gobsmacked by nature

After having eaten up a day at the homestay in Denge, I had two days left to get back to Labuan Bajo for my Friday ferry. I decided to go visit a little place called Sano Ngoang, and check out another waterfall. I didn't have any expectations, as there was limited information about these destinations in the tourist brochures, but I'd been informed that the road was OK, so off I went.

Back along the highway again, but this time it was a wonderfully blue sunny day with nary a cloud in sight. Quite a change after the last few days, when afternoon showers put paid to doing much outdoor activity, or else getting absolutely drenched in a downpour. I climbed the hill at Cancar to see the spider web rice fields, the colours not so pretty once the rice has been harvested, but still worth the climb. Then it was further along the highway for an early lunch before heading south on the road to Werang.

There are two roads from the highway to Werang, and neither of them are particularly good roads. They are narrow, winding, and frequently the asphalt has washed away and it's only stones or mud beneath. Given how steep some of the descents are, it's pretty challenging riding, but I took my time, applied my brakes evenly, and arrived at Werang unscathed. From Werang, once you are through the village, the road is pretty smooth all the way down to the crater lake of Sano Ngoang.

The area is surrounded by forests, and is a popular spot for twitchers, so Burung Indonesia (the national birding association) has helped set up a number of homestays in the village of Nunang, which is on the southern aspect of the lake, where there are also hot springs. I just turned up, and an English speaking lady called Anna sorted me out somewhere to stay, then offered to take me for a little walk around. What she didn't explain was that she was offering me a guide service...

It was a pleasant couple of hours spent with Anna and a few kids, some hers, some just neighbours'. We went down to the lake, skimmed a few stones, then went for a swim in the mildly sulphurous water (no fish live in the lake). Later we went to the hot springs, where we picked the young shoots from a bush which only grows on the gravelly ground nearby and cooked them in the hot water bubbling up. They tasted a little like asparagus.

Then we hopped in to a small pool for a soak, and Anna gave my legs a massage, then we used clay to defoliate our skin and washed it off in the gloriously hot water. When I later discovered that these pleasant few hours would be charged to me as guide services, I was a little annoyed at the lack of transparency, but as the price quoted was very reasonable, I didn't mind.

The overnight stay in the homestay was comfortable, the food simple but adequate, and the next morning I headed back to Werang because I was off to see another waterfall.

Cunca Rami isn't heavily publicised in the tourist brochures, because the road from the highway is pretty dodgy. But from Sano Ngoang to Werang it's fine, and from the turnoff it's a pretty easy ride through another village or two to the end of the track where it crosses a river. I parked the bike and continued on by foot.

The walk takes less than 30 minutes, and involves crossing 3 rivers to get there. well the same river twice, and then a smaller feeder river is the third crossing. I really had no idea what I was going to see, so after crossing the smaller river I turned right on the foot track because it would join me up again with the main river. I noticed that the left fork seemed a slightly more used track, but it's difficult when walking along in the countryside, as these tracks are often also used for getting to farms and rice paddies. In fact, right in front of me were some beautiful rice terraces, with a man spraying some chemical over them. I was about to ask him which way the waterfall was when I just so happened to spy my quarry…

By far the most spectacular waterfall I'd seen in Flores, or anywhere for some time. It had a gorgeous pool for swimming in, and the spray formed beautiful rainbows.

After the waterfall I retraced my steps back to the bike, and took the road back to the highway. This road is closer to Labuan Bajo, and was in even worse condition than the road I'd taken yesterday, with large sections being just stones. I was glad to be going uphill rather than down, as braking on uneven slippery ground is much scarier than controlling one's speed going uphill. I made it unscathed, and was soon whizzing along the highway and back in to Labuan Bajo.

I met one other tourist on my walk back from the waterfall, but otherwise, in the two days in the area, I was the only tourist. It's an incredibly rich area for flora and birds, and natural beauty like the crater lake and waterfall, but because of bad roads, it doesn't get much tourism. I was so happy I'd gone.

But now I was back in Labuan Bajo, it was Thursday afternoon, and on Friday I was taking a ferry to Sumba. But first I had to buy a ticket.

That's next….

Ecotourism from a village in the clouds

This is the story of Wae Rebo, a small village of traditional beehive huts perched on a ridge in the middle of a forest, surrounded on all sides by steep mountains, with the only access in via a narrow path from the south. It looks like a film set, but it's a real living village, maintaining its traditional culture, and obtaining a very healthy income by welcoming tourists amongst them.

Ecotourism tends to make me very suspicious, because it usually denotes a tourism experience considerably overpriced and a bit manufactured, where the visitors are welcomed warmly, but the people maintain a distinct distance from the gawkers with their cameras and curious intrusions. The concept is to share the spoils of tourism amongst the entire community, giving everyone an income, and encouraging the villagers to therefore maintain what it is the tourists come to see in the first place.

Thankfully, at Wae Rebo, once you get over the shock of the inflated prices for visiting or staying in the village, plus a religious tariff payable on arrival before photographs can be taken, and finally another fee for a song and dance exhibition complete with a question and answer session, it's really quite a wonderful experience. But anyone on a tight budget, don't bother.

The story of the founding of Wae Rebo is quite interesting. The original ancestor, a man, came from the Minangkabau region of Sumatra. He arrived in Flores, and after trying to set up villages in various locations in the region and being forced to flee, he at last arrived at the current location. I make a note that he was a man because in the Wae Rebo culture, men are everything, and women are very much secondary citizens. In fact men are encouraged to marry outside the village, so the women born there leave, whilst new wives arrive. This contrasts markedly with the matriarchal society of the Minang, where women own the property and the men move in with their wife's family. I suspect the original Wae Rebo ancestor of being one very disgruntled misogynistic chap!!

Getting to the village requires a walk of about 6km through the forest, on narrow tracks along the side of steep mountains, and in through a gap to descend to the village. Before arrival we must ring a bell to let the villagers know we are visiting, and first stop is the main house, where we meet one of the village leaders and are formally welcomed. This formal welcome is part of the villagers' adat, or local animistic culture, which in days past would have involved offering a chicken or some other animal for sacrifice. Now you just need to offer money, the fixed price depending on the size of the group. For one or two people, it's 20,000Rp, for 3-6 it's 50,000Rp. As Bruno, Mariana and I had teamed up to hire one guide between us, we now had to pay the 50,000Rp adat fee. It would have been fun to arrive with a chicken or two instead, just to see their faces. Mind you, chickens are expensive to buy in Indonesia, that adat price is a good deal!

Once we were welcomed as family to the village we were escorted to the visitors' hut, where we deposited our bags and were given a cup of coffee to drink. The villagers used to grow a variety of crops, but now mostly concentrate on growing coffee, as it commands good prices. There are wild civets in the forest, protected from being hunted within their culture, so they collect their faeces for the kopi luwak. But just the normal coffee is excellent, in fact the best coffee I've tasted in all of Flores. Unfortunately they only sell it in powdered form.

After coffee we were free to roam around the village, talk to anyone, and take photos as we pleased. I still ask before I take portraits of people, it's only common courtesy, but everyone was genuinely happy to interact, to chat, and to welcome us warmly. We weren't the only guests, by the end of the day there were about 15 people staying the night. Last week, during the Indonesian holiday weekend, the village hosted 200 in one night!!

There were a lot of kids in the village, all keen to play football, so a number of the westerners joined in. We were lucky, because most of the kids live down in the village at Denge during the school week, returning on Saturday for the weekend. But this week there are examinations for the higher school grades, so the younger students are exempt from attending. In fact most families have a second house in the village, and commute up and down on a regular basis.

Each house is a communal house, and may house up to six or eight families. There is a central hearth where cooking is done, and then there are 4 more levels above the main living area, where food and supplies are stored. The uppermost level is reserved for adat, for storing sacred objects and sacrifices to the ancestors. There are six houses plus the visitors' house, plus a number of non traditional houses built to one side, therefore not spoiling the surreal vision of the seven huts perched in the clouds. According to the official history book, the houses were all renovated in 2006 with money donated by the lady who owns the bottled water company Aqua. And the villagers were educated about ecotourism, and the rest is history.

At 325,000Rp per night, including meals, the village is earning a tidy income. Despite being quite an effort to get there, the place gets well over 5000 visitors a year, and apparently the money is distributed equitably throughout the entire community. There are also handicrafts, coffee, spices and sarongs for sale, displayed tastefully in one area of the visitors' hut with no effort at hard sell. Everyone treats you as family, even inviting us back to their place for another coffee. The women, meanwhile, take turns cooking in the attached kitchen for the guests, the visitors' house not having an internal hearth like the others. Us westerners wouldn't tolerate sleeping in a smoky environment, though these huts are considerably better ventilated (they have cute little hobbit windows) than the huts in Timor.

The sleeping arrangements are simple bamboo mattresses on the floor of the hut. It's quite comfortable, once I snaffle a warmer blanket, but I sleep fitfully, as my knee is giving me a bit of bother for the first time in a while. The cocks crowing at 5am in competition with each other puts paid to a sleep in, so I get up and wait for some colour to fill the sky. I am not disappointed.

After breakfast and fond goodbyes, we leave the village and make our way back down the path. We pass a large number of villagers' on their way up, bringing supplies bought at the Monday market. Huge bags of rice, chickens trussed on poles, a very reluctant goat, and a slightly cantankerous pig. Apparently there is a ceremony planned in a few days' time and the goat and pig will be sacrificed. The chickens are to feed the tourists. Each villager, despite the heaviness of his load, stops, shakes our hand, and introduces himself. We do the same, overwhelmed by the generosity and completely real warmth of these people.

Mariana develops a blister, so we are all grateful for the lift down the last bit of asphalt to our homestay offered us by a german couple equipped with a car! And then we jump on our bikes and drive back to Ruteng.

Back at the Rima, I plan my next adventure: a crater lake and a waterfall. That's next.

A week until the ferry leaves

Eastern Nusa Tenggara has reasonable connections between the islands, but they aren't exactly frequent. There's numerous daily flights between Denpasar and Kupang that route through various cities on Flores and Sumba, making it feasible to do a few short hops, but direct flights between Flores and Sumba are non existent. This leaves my best option to be a ferry, and they go neither frequently, nor from many ports. There are weekly ferries from Aimere and Ende in the middle of Flores, and another goes from Sape on the island of Sumbawa, but from Labuan Bajo there is only the fortnightly Pelni ferry, and the next ferry doesn't leave until the 20th. Funnily enough, it would be the Wilis, the same ferry I'd taken a month ago from Kalabahi to Kupang.

Having collected my visa extension, I had 8 days to kill, so decided to hire a decent motorbike for the week and go explore the Manggarai region in Western Flores. I'd flown over from Bajawa to Labuan Bajo, so it was all virgin territory to me.

I packed my bag, wedged it in front between my legs, and headed east to Ruteng. With only one main highway across Flores, although there is a second road to the north from Ruteng to Maumere, it gets all the traffic. However, it's surprisingly uncrowded, and at no time did I feel unsafe. The bike I hired has good mirrors, so I kept an eye on the traffic coming up from behind, and let them pass so I could enjoy the scenery at my leisure.

The road heads up into the mountains soon after leaving Labuan Bajo, and continues to wind around the hills for most of the 125km to Ruteng. It's extremely scenic, looking down on river valleys ripe with rice, and terraces extending up the hillsides. Small, very poor, villages perch on the ridges, hugging the road as it corkscrews its way eastwards. At last a large plain opens up, allowing rice production on a grand scale. Small hills give the necessary elevation to view the way the rice fields are divided into individual fields for family members to tend. They radiate out from a central point, where sacrifices are made at the beginning of planting. These are commonly called in the tourist brochures "spider web" rice fields.

I arrived in Ruteng in time for a lunch of Bakso, and then got caught in a downpour whilst trying to find a hotel. I opted for the quirky, and cheap, Rima Hotel, where I ran into my two Dutch friends again, and we all went out to dinner with a Swiss bicyclist travelling the world the slow way!

Emma and Jorn took a bus to Bajawa, and I grabbed a mudmap from the hotel and headed south to the coast, and along a rocky, pebble covered coastline, to the town of Dintor. Opposite is a pretty island called Pulau Mules, which has a couple of villages and some sandy beaches, and an interesting volcanic cone at the western end. It looks like a place that could host a bit of tourism if anyone put their entrepreneurial hat on.

From Dintor, the road then headed inland, straight uphill to the small village of Denge. There's an option to stay at a very nice ecolodge in Dintor, with great views across to the island, or at Blasius's Homestay in Denge. Since both charge a similar price my recommendation would be the ecolodge which seems better value for money. It is further from where the walk to Wae Rebo begins, but with your own vehicle, that's inconsequential. I, however, opted to stay at Denge, which at 200,000Rp per person per night was overpriced, particularly for couples or groups sharing a room. Lunch was charged as an extra, mainly because many people only stayed overnight en route to the village, or stopped through for a meal before continuing on.

I arrived at lunchtime, so I unloaded the bike and sat down. Then the heavens opened! It rained all afternoon, and all night, including a splendid thunderstorm. I was joined in the homestay by a group of 3 Indonesians from Java, who had walked down from the village that morning, and were taking the daily truck back to Ruteng the next morning at 3am. They were shocked to discover they needed to pay 200,000Rp per head, and they weren't even staying the whole night! The meals, however, were very tasty, if quite simple.

The next morning I woke to more rain, and clouds so low you couldn't see the nearby house 20m away. I was scheduled to leave for the village at 7am, hiring a local guide/porter for a path that is well used and requires no help to negotiate. However, ecotourism has been taught to these villagers, and there has been much capital donated towards creating an authentic experience for tourists visiting a traditional village. This means prices are fixed artificially high (mainly because the money is shared within the community) and there is an expectation that you will hire a guide, at 200,000Rp for the return trip.

So, what is this village I was about to visit? It's called Wae Rebo, and is a traditional village perched on a hilltop in the middle of nowhere. There's no road in, you have to walk there, and all produce, including the food for the huge numbers of tourists who visit, must be carried up to the village. But I wasn't going that day, it was raining too much, and I've walked up too many mountains in the rain, with no views from the top, to choose to head out in bad weather. So I spent another day in Denge, and in the afternoon the weather cleared enough to go for a walk around the village. I was joined by a Portuguese couple, Bruno and Mariana, who had had a terrible time getting there through the rain and had had to backtrack after finding the road unpassable due to the rivers having risen over the road. I was glad to stay put for an extra day, I was in no hurry.

The next day the sun was shining, though there were a few clouds around, and we headed off around 7:30am. First we walked up the road a couple of kilometres, crossing one river, and thinking all the time that we could have taken the motorbikes up this section. But then again, we all needed the exercise, travelling isn't exactly the best activity for keeping oneself fit.

And then we walked in to the forest….

That's next

The waterfall trip with the Dutchies

I love Dutch people. They are great adventurers, but they're also practical people, and most of them speak great English. A young couple, Emma and Jorn, were staying at the same accommodation as me, so we decided to go together to visit Cunca Wulang, which is a river canyon with a waterfall, about 30km from Labuan Bajo. Recently, a Malaysian national had died jumping off rocks into the canyon, and we heard conflicting reports from various people as to whether the canyon was open or not. Others had visited only a couple of days previously, so despite the warnings from some tour operators, we stocked up with water and snacks, and headed our motorbikes out of town.

Initially, we took the main Transflores Highway towards Ruteng, which soon begins to climb up into the mountains, around countless blind hairpin bends with stunning views back down to the coast. There's little traffic, and we take our time. We both top up our fuel tanks before leaving the highway at a well signposted turn off.

Then the road descends, along an asphalt road in good condition, all the way to the tiny village of Wersawe, where the office for tickets to the waterfall is closed, perhaps confirming that, at least officially, the canyon is closed. That never stopped anyone here in Indonesia, so we continue on. One local offers to guide us, but we don't feel that is necessary, so the chap informs us to head up the hill. This turns out to be a misdirection, but results in a new discovery: another waterfall.

We head up the hill to where the road forks. We ask a couple of locals which way to go but they are unhelpful. We take the left turn into another small village, where we meet a young man who speaks good English, who says the canyon is indeed still closed, but that we should visit a smaller, nearby waterfall called Cunca Lawar instead. We backtrack and take the right hand turn uphill and along the road for less than a kilometre, to a small river crossing. There we meet some young schoolkids on their way home for lunch who show us where the waterfall is.

It's just off the road and has only a small drop of a couple of metres, but there is a cave with bats and it's possible to stand right behind the waterfall. We have the place to ourselves so we splash around in it for a while.

After our first waterfall, we are hungry for more, and knowing that friends had visited the canyon only a couple of days ago, we determined to go anyway. We drove back to the intersection, turned right through the village, and at the last house we parked the bikes and prepared to walk along the stone track. It was then that the house owner came out and told us we were on completely the wrong road, that we needed to go back to just before the ticket office at the other village and take the road downhill. That's when we realised we'd been misdirected in the first place.

Back we went, found the correct road, and then parked up the bikes rather than drive along a road made of stones. These stone roads are common in Flores, because they resist being washed away during the wet season, but are very painful to ride on. They aren't much fun to walk on either!!

At last the stone road finishes, and a walking track continues, which descends quickly through rainforest, to the river. There we make our way upstream, to another waterfall coming from a stream entering the main river.

After crossing the incoming stream we see the canyon up ahead, with a large and powerfall waterfall at the other end of it. But to get closer we must cross the river. And there's the rub.

It's no freaking wonder people die by slipping on rocks and hitting their heads, because there's no safety infrastructure, despite it being a recognised tourist spot. There's a filthy disused toilet block, and a pavilion next to the river, but no bridge or safety rails for crossing the river. Instead, there are two large branches roped together over one rushing chasm, whilst the others require very careful leaps. Crossing that river was so much more scary and hazardous than riding a motorbike there….

On the other side we carefully make our way up to the canyon over slippery moss covered rocks. It's not possible to get close to the waterfall, unless you jump into the river, something many people do, despite being ignorant of submerged hazards. We carefully slide into the water where it's safe, and swim against the current as close as we dare. It's too big a drop, and too much water, to get too close, but we enjoy the float back down the canyon instead.

I opt to swim across the river rather than attempt to return the way we came. I'm wet anyway, and it's an easy swim. Jorn helpfully takes my backpack across for me and Emma bravely also returns via the terrifying leaps over rushing water. We then head back uphill to the bikes.

On our way back to the highway, I realise my bike has a flat tyre. There's nothing I can do but keep going, and once back on the highway we quickly find a place where the tyre can be repaired.

Then we descend down the hairpin bends, with glorious views of the sun setting on the islands around Labuan Bajo, and return to our homestay.

A grand adventure indeed.

Exploring around Labuan Bajo

With a few days to kill until I could pick up my visa extension, I hired a motorbike and went exploring nearby. Getting around by motorbike gives you the best flexibility, as public transport to outlying villages is usually only once or twice a day. I'm keen to improve my bike handling skills, so rather than hire a driver (which is expensive), I chose to drive myself. And with fuel being heavily subsidised by the state owned petrol company Pertamina, it's also extremely cheap.

First up I tried to head to a town on the north coast called Terang. This required heading up into the mountains, where it rained heavily, I got wet, and then I started to worry whether I'd have enough fuel as the increasingly deteriorating road continued through heavily forested, uninhabited terrain. So I returned to the highway, refueled, and tried a different road. I took the road south of town, past Pantai Pede local beach, which is nothing special, and past some new resorts. The beaches aren't particularly pretty through this stretch as they are mangrove lined and swampy, but there were some fine looking water buffalo taking advantage of the puddles.

Further along again were some rice paddies and then a moslem village with stilt houses, and then the road got really bad, deteriorating to a track of churned up dried mud. I persisted for a while, finding a few nice photo opportunities, but in the end I gave up and returned to Labuan Bajo.

Pantai Pede looked a little better on my return.

Another day I explored the peninsular just north of town where there are a number of pricey beach resorts and private villas. The road deteriorates after a few kilometres, but the scenery is spectacular.

With most beaches on the mainland being mangrove swamps rather than palm fringed sandy oases, I bought lunch at one of the resorts then spent the afternoon reclining on one of their sun lounges and going for a swim or two.

The next day I went on an adventure with a young Dutch couple also staying at my homestay to some waterfalls.

That's next...