And now for Sumba

Sumba.

Some people get it confused with Sumbawa, the island east of Lombok, but the island of Sumba, sitting on its own in the Indian Ocean south of Flores, is one of the poorest and more traditional islands in the Indonesian Archipelago. Aside from intrepid surfers who come to ride the huge ocean swells that pound the south and west coasts, and a few ikat hunters, there's very few tourists indeed. Which is a pity, because a bit more competition for the tourist dollar might lead to more realistic accommodation pricing.

I took the Pelni ferry, Wilis, from Labuan Bajo to Waingapu, on the north east coast. To get my ticket the day before I'd had to knock on the window of the ticket office in order to get the chap to open up and sell me one. Of course I didn't know this, so I pestered the port officials a few times before they came over with me to the closed up office and found my man.

The next morning, the Wilis arrived, docked, loaded and departed, though this time not within 15 minutes. I found a seat on deck in the shade, and for the next 12 hours whiled away my time whilst we oh so slowly crossed the Sumba Sea to Waingapu.

In Waingapu I was met at the port by my hosts Karel and Rosa, a Dutch/Indonesian couple I had met in Kupang, and we drove to their little oasis north of Londalima beach, where they've lived for 8 years. There are two houses, one a traditionally built Sumba house, the other an approximation of one, filled with antiques from the previous owners, pigeons perching on the rafters, and numerous geckos. Also there were an English couple, Kevin and Sylvia, similarly plucked from the same place I'd met Karel and Rosa.

The property is by a beach, dissected by a river, with mangroves each side. Rosa and Karel have planted hundreds of trees to create a lovely shady retreat in what is mostly a dry treeless landscape. The original house, purchased from an antique dealer along with all the antiques, contains the kitchen, an open air bathroom, 2 verandahs where we take our meals and have long stimulating conversations, and sleeping quarters for guests. The second house, which was built by Rosa and Karel to a traditional design, following traditional marapu rituals, is their private retreat.

Marapu is the name of the traditional religion of Sumba. It is a form of ancestor worship, is animistic, and in the not so distant past involved head hunting. Villages were built on the top of fortified hills, and there is a very long history of royalty, polygamy and slavery, which are said to still exist today. Marapu is usually blamed for why Sumba is so backwards, why all the money that the Dutch and subsequently the Indonesians poured in to the island hasn't improved people's lot, that Marapu resists change and technologic improvement. However, I question whether either administration ever invested heavily in the region, and only now, as foreign investors buy up beachside land to build resorts, are roads being built and basic infrastructure being upgraded. Catholicism has brought a semblance of education, but there is little economic growth or opportunities on the island, and many people, women in particular, go overseas to work as domestic servants in Malaysia, Singapore and Hong Kong.

I stayed a few days at Taparoka, returning again prior to flying to Bali after exploring the rest of Sumba. I mostly relaxed, read books, ate wonderful food cooked by Rosa and their maid Tina, and enjoyed some great conversations with my hosts and other guests. I also went on a couple of day trips to see traditional villages and be amazed by the beautiful natural dyed ikats that East Sumba is so famous for. But that is quite another post.

OK, 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

How I missed my ferry

I had gone to considerable effort to confirm the date and time of my next ferry crossing, from Kalabahi on Alor to Atapupu on Timor. My research prior to leaving Australia indicated that it left on Tuesday evening, but, as I'd discovered during my previous island hopping all the way from Larantuka, ferry timetables change, so you need to go down to the port and find out for yourself.

Kalabahi has 4 ports: the one I arrived on from Lembata with the ADSP ferry, another that serves the government mixed cargo Perintis ships, the Pelni Port, and a fourth that seems to be for larger commercial ships. I started with the port I'd arrived at, because Pak Khris at my Homestay said it was the same ship that I'd arrived on that continued on to Atapupu. Atapupu, by the way, is on the easternmost tip of West Timor, just before the border with Timor Leste, and is the shortest ferry crossing between the two islands. The only other ferries going to Timor taking the much longer route to Kupang, on the western tip of Timor. I'd chosen Atapupu not only because of its proximity, but because I wanted to see Timor from east to west without having to do a round trip from Kupang.

Pak Khris told me the ferry left on Wednesday. This didn't make sense to me as it arrived from Lembata at 1pm on Tuesday. It didn't make sense to sit around for a whole day before leaving again, so I headed down there to find out.

Pak Khris was wrong. The ADSP ferry didn't go to Atapupu, a Perintis cargo ship went there, from the next port up, so I walked up there to ask again. The chaps there told me it left on Wednesday around 8pm, but it was best to turn up around 6pm to get a good position. See Perintis isn't really a ferry, they just take paying customers willing to find a spot amongst the cargo to take advantage of the short 8 hour crossing. I asked very pointedly, are you sure it's Wednesday not Tuesday? I'm quite adept at days of the week in Bahasa Indonesia, there was no communication breakdown, they insisted it was Wednesday.

So on Wednesday I happily went on my little adventure to the backblocks of Alor with Mika and Om Hary, had a shower, packed my bags, grabbed some food and water for the crossing, and took an ojek down to the port at 6pm.

To find out the freaking ferry left yesterday!!!

The Indonesian word "sudah" can be a very painful word to hear when you discover that your weekly ferry has already left, a day ago. What the hell to do now? I did, for a short while, contemplate the idea of whiling away another week drinking Sopi cocktails on Alor, and maybe actually try to go scuba diving, but I was given an alternative. A Pelni ferry heading to Kupang was scheduled to turn up around midnight, and I could take that instead.

Going to Kupang first wasn't the plan, but with good roads on Timor (courtesy of a large Indonesian army presence for all those years they were fighting the insurgents in East Timor) I knew it wouldn't take long to cover the distance by land. But first I had to wait for that ferry.

So for six long hours I waited for the ferry to turn up at midnight. It didn't. But more people turned up planning to catch the ferry, so at least I knew it was expected, if a bit late. 3 hours late!!

Yep, nine hours waiting for a ferry to turn up in the wee small hours. We boarded, and the ferry promptly departed 15 minutes after it docked.

There was maybe 15 other passengers on the ferry, and it was a big ferry. We all found places to sleep in the big bunkrooms on the lower deck, and all promptly fell asleep.

In the morning we were first awoken by the call to prayer, and then by an announcement that we could pick up our breakfast from the crew. I lined up and explained I didn't have a ticket and the purser simply took my name and 100,000Rp ($10) and gave me a boxed breakfast, a bottle of orange juice and a carton of flavoured milk.

The ferry very slowly steamed its way across the Timor Sea towards Kupang. I spent a few hours up on one of the outside decks where it was a little cooler, but unfortunately a bit noisy due to the crew doing rust remediation with hammers and chisels. We were fed lunch, and, when it was obvious we weren't going to arrive in Kupang at the scheduled time of 5pm, dinner as well.

After you've spent almost a day on a boat, people lose their reserve and become quite friendly, so the afternoon was spent chatting with fellow passengers (all from Alor, mostly going to Kupang to visit family or for study) and the crew. I watched the crew lower a rope ladder down to the pilot boat, and the harbour pilot board the boat (and shake my hand). I got to see another sunset from a boat, but I was mighty relieved when at last we docked in Kupang.

I grabbed an ojek to a hotel in central Kupang, and slept!!