43. Togian Islands

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one of the Togian Islands (one of the smaller ones) - no wonder Indonesia has over 17,000 islands!

one of the Togian Islands (one of the smaller ones) – no wonder Indonesia has over 17,000 islands!

Paradise islands of sun, sand and sea, as well as corals and fishes, and pretty much nothing else.

What can I say about the Togian Islands? One of the islands is a volcano – still surrounded by reefs – but most others look the be raised coral only, densely packed with tropical forest. All the stereotypes apply: pristine, picturesque, paradisiac. Fringed with white sandy beaches. Surrounded by turquoise blue water, where darker spots give away the location of the reefs. Which are made up by a fabulous collection of corals, in multiple shapes and colours. Which, in turn, are loaded with a splendid selection of fish, in equally many colours and shapes.

one photo of beach, turquoise water and island

one photo of beach, turquoise water and island

without an underwater camera, we are limited to photos from the jetty; here a needle fish

without an underwater camera, we are limited to photos from the jetty; here a needle fish

luckily, visibility is very good; a small blue fish

luckily, visibility is very good; a small blue fish

here a dotted fat fish, official name unknown

here a dotted fat fish, official name unknown

and another blue fish, again name unknown

and another blue fish, again name unknown

Activity level is pretty low. We are staying on one of the islands, called Kadidiri, together with probably 20-30 others in total, distributed across three lodges. Lots of people go diving, but we are content with snorkeling only. For hours we float on our stomachs, head in the water, watching fishes that one normally only sees on exotic post stamps chase each other, or feed off coral, or just hang around doing nothing, looking at us, equally curious. We take a boat to another snorkeling place, same fish, same reefs. We take a kayak to another island, same beach, abandoned lodge.

on tour with an outrigger canoe

on tour with an outrigger canoe

the outrigger

the outrigger

a Sea Gypsy village, on stilts

a Sea Gypsy village, on stilts

even here, laundry country

even here, laundry country

and the inevitable open window

and the inevitable open window

A boat trip provides some alternative scenery, like nearby villages, inhabited by what is called the Sea Gypsies, a semi-nomadic indigenous people officially known as the Bajo, who – surprise, surprise – live from fishing. Houses on stilts, build over the water. Small canoes with or without outrigger. And laundry, of course.

There is really not much to do but sit back and relax. With only two boats per week to Gorontalo, there is also not much discussion about how long we stay, two days is too little, so it becomes six. For 50% of our team that is perfectly OK. The rest reluctantly conforms. It is quite a while ago that I didn’t wear socks for six days in a row. And that I got sun-burned on my ankles.

next: our hotel here, the Black Marlin Resort.

more fish, feeding off the bottom

more fish, feeding off the bottom

an eel wiggling towards the jetty (we temporarily took our toes out of the water)

an eel wiggling towards the jetty (we temporarily took our toes out of the water)

another fish, strangely shaped and coloured

another fish, strangely shaped and coloured

more blue fish, this one quite big

more blue fish, this one quite big

not all fish stay in the water all the time - a swarm flying fishes

not all fish stay in the water all the time – a swarm flying fishes

38. the jeep

Blog entries
our Jeep

our Jeep

Somewhat unexpected, and adventurous journey across the mountains from Mamasa to Tana Toraja.

Moving on from Mamasa, we had hoped to find transport directly to Tana Toraja, tantalizingly close as the crow flies. Ponding, the first village of any proportion in Tanah Toraja, is only some 40 km away, and there had been some reports on a new road being built, and jeep transport between Mamasa and Ponding. But everybody we spoke to in Mamasa – the tourist office, our guide, our hotel owner – assured us that there was no such thing: the jeep had broken down 6 months ago, and a new road, that was still a faraway dream.

So we had already resigned to back tracking to Polewali and Pare Pare, to catch a bus there to Rantapao, the cultural center – read: tourist capital – of Tanah Toradja, when we met Pak Agussilam, who spoke quite good English, and assured us that on Mondays, market day in Mamasa, there was a Jeep going to Ponding. He could arrange that, and indeed, Monday morning a little past 10 am a Jeep pulled up in front of our hotel. So far only four people inside, two women and with a small child each, and plenty of space for us. Suitcases on the roof, with a range of other bags, we in the back, which was covered but for the rest open, no windows. Still close enough to the promised departure time, of 10 am, and with a three hour drive ahead of us, allowing us plenty of daylight on the other end to find ongoing transport to Rantapao – and a nice hotel again, hot shower and good food, something we had missed a bit, in Mamasa.

But first we needed to pick up somebody else, and 10 minutes later we arrived at a house in Mamasa’s outskirts. We understood that we would be seven people; not counting the children, that looked about alright. Wrong. There were seven more people boarding the Jeep here. Now we were eleven, still not counting the children. We returned to Mamasa, to the local football pitch that also serves as bus terminal, near the market, where we stopped for another 15 minutes, took in some more people, and some more goods, before we finally set off for Ponding, now close to 11.30. I counted: 18 we were, including driver and four children. Women and children inside. And me. And the other men outside, one on the bonnet and three on the loading plank for the back, which was left down to fit a few sacks of something, on which the three stood, sat, hung – literally, hangers-on.

the hangers-on

the hangers-on

and the guy on the bonnet

and the guy on the bonnet

Inside you cannot imagine the situation. Somehow, everybody had found a place to sit, but in between was far too little space for everybody’s feet, which were thus stacked on top of each other. The open Jeep has its advantages, some fresh air whenever there is a breeze, but for most of the time there was no breeze, and we were inhaling diesel engine fumes. Combined with the smell of dried fish – what is it with Indonesians and dried fish? There is always dried fish somewhere, and its smell. It turned out that one of the passengers was transporting two sacks of it, tied to the front bumper.

The road to Mamasa had been bad, but this was bad road from a different order. Steep, with deep ruts, and pretty wet in places. Everybody got badly shaken, and we were glad that we were packed so close to each other, at least nobody could fall out, or get hurt from sudden moves – apart from the ones outside, of course, but they managed to hold on.

After half an hour, emergency stop. The bags on the roof, including our suitcases, started moving and needed to be tied down again. Fifteen minutes later, another stop. It transpired that we had lost the two sacks of dried fish from the front bumper. Obviously, nobody noticed, but we must have driven over them, just another bump in the road; more amazingly, nobody had noticed the lack of fish stank, either. It took 45 minutes to find them back, to the extent that the driver made everybody get out – a welcome opportunity to pee, and for some to throw up. Also good for the bonding process, something inevitable amongst passengers on this type of transport.

view from the pass

view from the pass

Jeep repair

Jeep repair

By one, we were on our way again. I did start to get a little worried about onward transport; after all, Ponding to Rantapao is another three hours. Half an hour later we reached the pass, between the Mamasa Valley and the Toraja area, with sweeping views in both directions. And plenty of time to enjoy them, because we stopped for lunch here. Well, instant noodles was all there was on the menu, but never mind. And when we were about to leave again, the Jeep broke down. Right. I started to get less worried about ongoing transport, and more worried about reaching Ponding at all.

Did I mention the cock? People here are very keen on cock fights, and the betting associated with it. One of our fellow passengers, the one on the bonnet, was taking a cock to Ponding, which had been put in a large sack and tied to the side of the Jeep. Every so once in a while he decided it was time to assert his presence, which he would do so loudly. Next to my ear. At the lunch place he was let out of the bag, for a stroll around, which upset all the other cocks here. Entertainment of the first order, which helped passing the time.

How he managed I don’t know, but our driver fixed the problem, and by 3.30 we finally left the pass. One worry less. We hadn’t had torrential rain yet, but the skies were getting darker and darker, and if the previous days were anything to go by, it would not take long anymore. And with our suitcases on the roof. But with so many motorbikes every shop along the road sells ponchos, rain capes, and they proved a good fit to our suitcases in. Another worry less.

And without more incidents – or it must be that one of the hangers-on lost his slippers – we arrived in Ponding, close to five in the afternoon. Far too late to arrange onward transport, but definitely an experience richer.

And this is when the trouble started, really. Our driver offered to put us up for the night, he conveniently also operates a homestay. For, initially, an exorbitant price. And he explained that the next morning, he could bring us to Rantepao. Again, for an exorbitant price. Feeling a little uncomfortable with being entirely dependent on our driver, and the rather skewed demand and supply situation, we decided to continue, together with most of the other passengers, to a village called Bilau (?), from which it was only a kilometer to Paku, a larger village, with more transport opportunities. Well, a kilometer was underestimating it, and the demand and supply situation hadn’t changed much, but to cut a long story short, we ultimately managed to arrive in Paku on the back of a motorcycle driven by a 15-year old who hadn’t done this before. Where we found a very nice homestay – never mind that homestays are even more basic than anything we have experienced so far this trip. And much more reasonable onward transport to Rantepao, the next day.

By the way, I know I am the luckiest man in the world, to have a wife who puts up with this (and who actually enjoys it, or at least some of it).

next: Rantepao itself

through the window of the restaurant at the pass

through the window of the restaurant at the pass

37. Mamasa Valley (2)

Blog entries
the verandah of a house in Tondok Bakaru

the verandah of a house in Tondok Bakaru

More photos from traditional houses in Mamasa Valley, just because they are so nice, and authentic. And because I love them.

Obviously, there is much more to Mamasa than just a walk to Taupe and Loko and back. Our third day, a Sunday – streets were abandoned, everybody was in church, even the motorbikers -, we walked north of town, to a village called Tuson, where we could have seen the whole traditional house thing, complete with rice barns, at less than half an hour from our hotel. More houses, and a view over rice paddies, came in Tondok Bakaru, another half an hour, or so, further. But none of this gives the same sense of achievement that we got after climbing up to Loko. What it did give, however, is a few more nice pictures. South of Mamasa, there are more villages, more graves, and more hikes to be done. We had all the intention to do so, but our plans changed with an unexpected transport opportunity, the next day.

the traditional houses in Tuson

the traditional houses in Tuson

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one of the old houses in Tuson

another front, with windows to spy through

another front, with windows to spy through

and a carved door, my favourite

and a carved door, my favourite – we should have made a bid

the bull at the front pole comes in handy

the bull at the front pole comes in handy

other decorations include what is called a dragon's head

other decorations include what is called a dragon’s head

which comes in various forms

which comes in various forms

an often returning subject is the buffalo's fight

an often returning subject is the buffalo’s fight

wooden window

wooden window

another village lady

another village lady

and the kids

and the kids

rice paddies and parasol - don't ask me why

rice paddies and parasol – don’t ask me why

baskets to keep the cocks in, so they don't attack each other outside the fights

baskets to keep the cocks in, so they don’t attack each other outside the fights

36. Mamasa Valley

Blog entries
decoration on the pole of a traditional house

decoration on the pole of a traditional house

A walk in the mountains north of Mamasa, to Taupe and Loko, provides brilliant views and lots of traditional houses.

First things first: the Mamasa Valley is of outstanding beauty, is sparsely populated, and allows for innumerable longer and shorter walks to hilltop villages that have been adorned with traditional houses – rumah adat in Bahasa Indonesia. Given the village locations, we opted for the shorter walks.

the rickety bamboo bridge, strong enough to hold the haphazard tourist

the rickety bamboo bridge, strong enough to hold the occasional tourist

At a relatively early hour – delayed by a change of hotels, and the destruction, to provide access, and subsequent repair of our new room’s lock – we set off for the village of Loko, northwest of Mamasa. Glad we had been so smart to engage a guide, this time, because on our own we would never have found the way. We crossed the Sungai Mamasa, the Mamasa River, by way of a rather flimsy suspension bridge, best to be tackled one by one instead of all together, and after a short track through the rice paddies, we started to climb, along a completely deserted track. Every corner provided yet better views of the rice padis below along the river, and in each and every narrow valley where people could create the slightest flat area. Initially, we walk through fast-growing pine forest, planted to provide for wood, but further up the flora changes into jungle. But best was the silence, no motorbikes – no noise from shortened exhaust pipes that provide a perceived boost to the macho-feeling of young male with a testosterone surplus (Mamasa, and every other town in Indonesia, has many such young males).

and one of the graves, in the form of a miniature house

and one of the graves, in the form of a miniature house

the Taupe cemetry

the Taupe cemetry

the entrance to Taupe village

the entrance to Taupe village

Just outside the first village, Taupe, we encountered the local cemetery, spread over two hills above the road. Burial is extremely important in this area, which combines Christianity with lots of local traditions and believes. Graves are lined up in the same direction, and many are covered with a corrugated iron-roof, under which offerings of cigarettes and bottles, and sometimes whole bags with I-don’t-know-what have been placed. When I climb up to take a closer look, one of the roofs, loose at one side, rattles in the wind; it really sounded as if somebody wanted to escape from there, and the look on the face of our guide was priceless.

under the cover of a traditional house in Taupe

under the cover of a traditional house in Taupe

support pole extensively decorated

the support pole is extensively decorated

the front of the house is also decorated

the front of the house is also decorated

this Taupe lady has seen it all before

this Taupe lady has seen it all before

a window in a traditional house

a window in a traditional house

Taupe itself provided us with the first good look at the traditional houses, of which there were a few in the village. A rumah adat is a long wooden construction with tall poles in the front and the back, supporting a roof in the shape of a saddle, overhanging on both sides. Thatched roofs have been replaced by corrugated iron a long time ago, it seems. Opposite each house is a rice barn, a raised smaller wooden house without windows, above a bamboo platform – often replaced by concrete, these days. Apparently, the houses represented class, a carved one being of nobility, a black one, without carvings, being middle class, and the simple, unpainted ones for the lower classes. Wealth is further demonstrated by the number of buffalo horns attached to the front pole, the remnants of funeral celebrations. The more horns, the more important the deceased was, and thus the more buffalos needed to be slaughtered during the burial ceremony. Of course, the older the house, the more burials it has seen, which also adds to the number of horns.

Many people have abandoned the traditional house for a more efficient, and no doubt more cost-effective structure, but it is good to see that there are still quite a few houses around, and that many of them are well maintained, keeping a tradition alive – although not to the extent of Tana Toraja, the neighbouring area.

the view from Taupe, rice paddies

the view from Taupe, rice paddies

and more view, more paddies

and more view, more paddies

on the approach of Loko

on the approach of Loko

From Taupe we followed a good, broad track, only to be summoned by our guide to leave this path for a steep, slippery scramble down the slope towards the bottom of the valley, where we made our way across rice padis again, and wading through a shallow river too broad to jump, before we were forced up another steep slope, to the village of Ne’ke. Once again, without guide we would have been completely lost. From Ne’ke it was a somewhat easier walk, mostly flat, to Loko.

When we arrived in Loko, the rainy season decided to arrive, too. With buckets. Which somewhat reduced the enthusiasm for exploring the many traditional houses here; instead, we took shelter under one of the rice barns, where the owner of the opposite house served us strong coffee, precisely what our soaked bodies needed. Our guide refused: she was from another village, and she had been told by her parents, who knew from their parents, that the people from Loko applied some form of magic to the drinks they serve outsiders. Really. College degree, fluent in English, nine years working experience in Bali. But scared of inter-village rivalry expressed through magic potions.

traditional house in Loko

traditional house in Loko

decorated with the horns of slaugthered buffalos

decorated with the horns of slaugthered buffalos

this seems a really old decoration panel

this seems a really old decoration panel

With the rain not showing any intention to stop, we enjoyed the absolutely splendid view from Loko, high above the rice-paddied valley floor below, through a bit of a haze, and made our way down to Mamasa, and into the hot sulphur spring next to our hotel. Brilliant day!

but there is more to the Valley!

much of these dark clouds had emptied themselves already, but this water is actually for the rice paddies, with new plants

much of these dark clouds had emptied themselves already, but this water is actually for the rice paddies, with new plants

35. Mamasa

Blog entries
Mamasa lady spying from the window of a traditional house

Mamasa lady spying from the window of a traditional house

Little-visited Mamasa, offers unspoilt mountain walking and friendly people, but only for the hardy, who can handle the limited facilities.

Mamasa doesn’t get many visitors. A board on the wall inside the tourist office does not yet have the statistics posted for 2012, but in 2010 and 2011 some 150 Europeans, 20 Asians, and 5 Americans came to Mamasa each year, in addition to around 500 Indonesian tourists. No Australians, and no Africans, either.

the Mamasa river, which we follow upstream

the Mamasa river, which we follow upstream

the view from the car

the view from the car

There are two obvious reasons for this. One is access: the road from Polewali is bad, it takes a 4WD five hours to cover the 79 km. The first hour in the Kijiang we traveled in, everybody tried to politely leave the others space, but gradually all decorum evaporated; I began to feel the knee of the lady next to me, devout muslim with head scarf, in my thigh and her elbow – I think it was her elbow – in my ribs, and not much later she almost landed on my lap after yet another particularly deep pothole. It was rough going. After another hour she quietly took a black plastic bag from the seat pocket (they are part of the standard equipment, obviously) and just as quietly threw up in the bag, closed it, and chucked it out of the open window.

The only other road to Mamasa, which comes from Tana Toraja in the north, is much worse than the Polewali road.

Mamasa marker from above

Mamasa marker from above

wooden church near Mamasa: 80% of the population here is Christian

wooden church near Mamasa: 80% of the population here is Christian

The second reason not many people come to Mamasa, must be the, shall we say, limited facilities in town. The only good hotel, 3 km outside Mamasa, closed some years ago, and what is left, is rather basic. Our Kijiang dropped us at the Mantana Lodge, described as the most sophisticated dig in town, but that must have been some time back. Now the place was a dark, run-down affair, rather filthy, with a malfunctioning toilet flush and no hot water – we found out later than none of the hotels and guesthouses here have hot water. We investigated a bit around town, and settled for the combination of washing basin and views from the cute balcony in front of the bamboo-mat-walled rooms of one guest house, over the flush toilet of another, and the cozy lobby of a third. The hot sulphur spring bath 50 meters down the road also played a role in the decision making, but for most of the time turned out to be full of men trying to get a glimpse of a woman’s skin, rather disturbing for my travel companion. Add to this the few, very basic restaurants, which serve fried food only, and the fact that the only public transport is the back of a motorbike, and it is understandable that most tourists opt for Tana Toradja.

a woman in Mamasa, on market day

a woman in Mamasa, on market day

Which is exactly the charm of Mamasa and its surroundings. In a comparable setting to Tana Toraja, with its large saddle-shaped traditional houses, albeit less focused on death and burial ceremonies, you have the world for yourself – there are no other tourists. The local people are not yet spoilt by overexposure to tourists, and are still genuinely friendly and curious, as elsewhere in Indonesia.

After our arrival we explore the town centre, all five streets of it. The small market, the local monument. A friendly greeting here, a brief conversation there. Within 24 hours everybody knows that we are from Argentina. Or from Holland, which makes it a little confusing. And we establish contact with a guide who can accompany us on some of the walks to distant villages. Because that’s the thing to do here.

so, next is the Mamasa Valley

chicken's lunchtime

chicken’s lunchtime

a typical traditional house in the Mamasa Valley

a typical traditional house in the Mamasa Valley

34. Polewali

Blog entries
fishing nets in Polewali

fishing nets in Polewali

Another coastal town, with fishing boats and a beach, and at the cross roads to the Mamasa Valley.

Our next travel target is Mamasa, a town in the mountains of West Sulawesi – so far we have been in South Sulawesi province only. To get there, we decide to overnight in Polewali, a small town at the coast, from where the road to Mamasa starts.

houses on the southern edge of town

houses on the southern edge of town

large outrigger canoe fishing boat close to the beach

large outrigger canoe fishing boat close to the beach

another one, near the jetty at the south end of town

another one, near the jetty at the south end of town

one of the older ladies in the fishing community

one of the older ladies in the fishing community

woman handling simultanuously coconut scrapes and dried fish, mmm

woman handling simultanuously coconut scrapes and dried fish, mmm

We have the afternoon to explore the town. We first stroll to the beach, where we have seen some magnificent ships, outrigger canoes, on our way in. The boats are still there, and so are some 50 children, who are all terribly excited about the fact that two bule – foreigners – visit their community. For the next hour or so, we are being trailed by the group, which increases in size the longer we stay.

Next, we move to the Polewali boulevard, to take in the sunset, together with a fresh coconut juice and a martabak, a kind of omelet with filling. This is where the towns people seem to get together late afternoon, a gathering anticipated by many of the food stalls. The rainy season keeps threatening, however, and soon after dark the food stall operators start taking down their tarpaulins and collect their plastic chairs. The wind picks up. We just make it to a corrugated iron shelter, before the rain comes thundering down. If it rains here, it really rains. But the shelter turns out to be a restaurant, where we enjoy the Indonesian form of Kentucky Fried Chicken whilst waiting for dryer times.

the central jetty, preparing for sunset

the central jetty, preparing for sunset

There is not much more to Polewali, except transport to Mamasa. For hotel suggestions, click here.

next: to Mamasa, in the heart of another interesting minority area

33. Sengkang

Blog entries
heron at the Danau Taube

heron at the Danau Taube

Exploring the lake, Danau Taube, in an engine-powered canoe, a delightful activity with a variety of attractions.

Sengkang itself is a bit like Pare Pare, there is nothing to do and the town is, if possible, even more run down. The market, apparently, burned down not so long ago. There are hardly any restaurants. The hotel is pretty basic, and vastly overpriced.

the engine-powered canoe is the preferred form of transport

the engine-powered canoe is the preferred form of transport

But they have the Danau Taube, a vast expanse of shallow water which is screaming to be explored; two ladies from the tourist office, pre-warned by our friend the tourist officer from Pare Pare, manage to find us within ten minutes of arrival, and helpfully arrange a tour of the lake for us.

and fishing uses inflated tubes, presumably to keep the fisherman afloat

and fishing uses inflated tubes, presumably to keep the fisherman afloat

one of the houses in a floating village

one of the houses in a floating village

bamboo poles are placed to tie the waterplants

bamboo poles are placed to tie the waterplants

In fact, Danau Taube is rapidly silting up, and occasionally it even dries up at the end of the dry season. But not this year, there is still plenty of water, and in our engine-powered canoe we make our way through several canals, past fisherman, to the lake itself. There are several floating villages in the lake, where everybody, obviously, survives with fishing. Nets are everywhere, and next to the houses stacks of metal fish traps are stored. Bamboo constructions have been placed on the shallower parts in the lake, apparently to stimulate the growth of water plants. What is also does, is providing a perfect place for birds to sit, who do make active use of this opportunity – to the further enjoyment of the tourist, of course.

lots of birds, including these weird-looking ones; anyone?

lots of birds, including these weird-looking ones; anyone?

and a more colourful version of bird

and a more colourful version of bird

especially if it takes off

especially if it takes off

and a rare, but impressive, bird of prey

and a rare, but impressive, bird of prey

Sunset, once again, is obscured by clouds. Perhaps the rainy season is approaching. But it doesn’t diminish the pleasure of the boat trip, a relief from the heat, as well as from the busses and Kijiangs and becaks and bemors. Bemors? Ah, this is the preferred form of transport around Sengkang, a motorbike with a seat for two in front, a bit like a becak, but far more comfortable – the seat easily sits two Westerners, and the sun roof is tall enough to fit under. Brilliant invention, almost as cool as an engine-powered canoe.

next: to Polewali on the coast

fishing traps are everywhere

fishing traps are everywhere

and herons in flight, against a colouring sky

and herons in flight, against a colouring sky

32. Pare Pare

Blog entries
fruit stall on the way to Pare Pare

fruit stall on the way to Pare Pare

A town located at an important intersection, but that’s all; except for the exceedingly nice and friendly people here.

There is precisely nothing to see in Pare Pare. The smaller sister of Makassar, three hours to the north along the same coast, is somewhat run down, as so many Indonesian provincial towns, and however much we tried, we saw nothing of interest. A night market, the water front, the odd statue. Some nice wooden houses, mostly outside town. Fishing platforms offshore.

one of the fabulous wooden houses in the area of Pare Pare

one of the fabulous wooden houses in the area of Pare Pare

fishing platform

fishing platform

And yet, as so often, the sights are not what makes the town. I have been talking about the Indonesian people, and how nice they are, but time and again they do beat expectations. In Makassar, a man stopped his car, came up to us to ask what we were looking for, and then insisted on giving us a ride – no charge, no charge! – to the shopping mall. Here we meet the same kindness. Not being a tourist town, Pare Pare probably doesn’t see a lot of foreigners, which does mean a lot of “how are you, mister” and  “where are you from”, but besides, people go out of their way to help, to find something specific in a shop, to choose our food in a restaurant, or direct us to the tourist office (they have that, here, God knows why). There is no socket in the hotel’s restaurant, where I want to write some of this blog up: somebody rushes off to get an extension cable. Somebody else walks me to the shop where I can get a pencil sharpener.

fish being dried

fish being dried

It is almost a pity that there is nothing to do here, we would have loved to stay longer. (If you do visit Pare Pare, our hotel and restaurant suggestion is here))

next: to Sengkang, at the Danau Taube, a lake

I have said it before: this is a laundry country

I have said it before: this is a laundry country

31. Makassar (2)

Blog entries
dried fish outside the Makassar fish market

dried fish outside the Makassar fish market

Makassar is ethnic Bugis territory, which shows in some of its history, and in its harbour and fish market.

As I said earlier, there is more to Makassar than just Fort Rotterdam.

the wooden Bugis palace

the wooden Bugis palace

The southern part of Sulawesi is ethnic Bugis territory, a people adept at fishing, but even more so trading – and its occasional offshoot, piracy. But they were far from a united front, and at various times western and eastern Bugis states competed for power; ideal for the Dutch, who, in their quest to dominate especially the spice trade, occasionally interfered in local politics. To the south of Makassar is the tomb of one of the victims of such divide and rule approaches, Sultan Hasanuddin, who died in 1670, a year after he was deposed by the combined forces of eastern Bugis and Dutch. And not far away from here is an eastern Bugis palace, built entirely from wood – quite impressive, even though the present building is only some 60-70 years old.

ships in the Paotere harbour

ships in the Paotere harbour

and more ships, densly packed

and more ships, densly packed

Present-day Bugis activity is concentrated in the Paotere harbour to the north of the city centre, where the traditional Bugis boats are being loaded – legitimate stuff, I would like to think that piracy is a thing of the past. Lots of atmosphere here, lots of impressive boats, many with sails, too. Although we have seen this type of harbours now several times, in Jakarta and Surabaya, too, it remains attractive.

the fishing community behind the harbour

the fishing community behind the harbour

narrow passages between houses on stilts

narrow passages between houses on stilts

plenty of room for rubbish, here

plenty of room for rubbish, here

fisherman mending his nets

fisherman mending his nets

Behind the harbour is a fishing community, with houses on stilts, and narrow passage ways in between, made of wooden planks. Rather than walking all the way around, we enter from the harbour area, over a rickety bamboo platform. Nobody objects. We wander in between the houses, where people are going about their day-to-day business. Nobody objects. Instead, people welcome us, friendly and inviting as always. Soon, we are being accompanied by the children of the neighbourhood. Nets are being mended, fish is drying in the sun. Kids are playing in the water. Rubbish is everywhere. After a while, we climb back into the harbour area. Nobody objects.

the boats deliver the fish straight to the market

the boats deliver the fish straight to the market

a cart full of packed dried fish

a cart full of packed dried fish

everybody guarding his own catch

everybody guarding his own catch

and catch it is!

and catch it is!

this was the biggest sting ray on display

this was the biggest sting ray on display

the most wonderfully colourded fish

the most wonderfully colourded fish

or just red

or just red

A few streets further is the fish market. This is how fish markets are supposed to be, directly next to where the boats land. No tables, just a concrete floor, and Styrofoam boxes filled with fish and ice. The smaller traders make do with plastic baskets, or even smaller bamboo ones. But everybody is equally proud of their ware, and want us to take pictures of their fishes. The selection of fish is overwhelming, from sharks, barracudas and enormous sting rays to fabulously coloured smaller fish, no idea what they are called – but I have seen them in the past, whilst snorkeling. Like in the port, and like in the fishing community, the atmosphere here is so nice, so friendly, so relaxed. Football is a big thing, and our mixed origin – Argentinian and Dutch – sparks a lot of speculation about the abilities of our children. And we happily feed that – why disappoint?

Reluctantly, we move away from the market. The rest of Sulaweswi is waiting to be discovered, too.

next stop is Pare Pare

luckily, somebody is doing something useful with the fish

luckily, somebody is doing something useful with the fish

buildings in the harbour

buildings in the harbour

 

30. Makassar

Blog entries
garment factory in Makassar

garment factory in Makassar

A vibrant city, geared to shopping along the coast or in the market, and to good eating and drinking.

There is precisely one tourist site in Makassar. Fort Rotterdam – indeed, an old Dutch fort built on the remnants of an even older fort – is a rather uninteresting affair, a few of the crumbling ramparts still present, surrounding a heavily restored set of buildings which are being used as equally uninteresting museum.

the few original remains of old Fort Rotterdam

the few original remains of old Fort Rotterdam

but some nice old houses still exists, with wooden windows

but some nice old houses still exists, with wooden windows

they have started smarting up the boulevard area

they have started smarting up the boulevard area

Makassar shopping street near the coast

Makassar shopping street near the coast

But Makassar is much more than a lonely tourist site. It is a sprawling city, the biggest on Sulawesi, and the central part – the only part we ever see, of course – is a pleasant, tree-shaded collection of broad avenues, turning into a set of narrower shopping streets closer to the coast. With absolutely fabulous seafood restaurants around every corner – what is it, that Indonesians can present a steamed fish in such a way that you don’t have to worry about the bones? And with friendly, helpful, inquisitive people – but inquisitive in a nice way, curious rather than showing of their three words of English.

Despite the heat, I took a walk on a Saturday afternoon, first trying to locate the Medan Karebosi, according to my 10-year old guide book a scruffy patch of green where youth play the occasional football match, but now turned into a thriving sports complex, with fancy tennis and basketball courts, football pitches, all well maintained – or just very new. It is just that it is not being used, none of it – the heat, perhaps?

although Makassar Mall doesn't exist anymore, cappuchinos are still being served

although Makassar Mall doesn’t exist anymore, cappuchinos are still being served

head fashion in the market

head fashion in the market

The other landmark in town, according to the same guide book, was the rickety Makassar Mall, which, however, has now been pulled down for reconstruction. Around the building site, there is a busy market, mostly for cloth and garments, which may well have been made in the factory – Bangladeshi-style, it looks like, no escape – and in the small sewing ateliers nearby.

A little further Diponegoro is buried, a 19th Century rebel who mobilized an army to fight a five year war against the Dutch on Java, only to be tricked into peace negotiations, where he got nipped in the bud by the treacherous Dutch (you expect this from ancient Chinese potentates, not a European power…), and exiled to Sulawesi to be imprisoned for the rest of his life in Fort Rotterdam. The tomb is nothing special, but it is good to be reminded that not everybody loved the Dutch colonial rule, at the time.

Makassar sunset

Makassar sunset

and another Makassar sunset

and another Makassar sunset

Back on the coastal stretch, time for Makassar’s famous sunset. The place to watch this is one of the upmarket hotels with sea view, and the one I chose was, coincidentally, also the one that has draft beer, a rarity in the land of bottles. Wonderful, seeing the sun disappear, whilst sipping from a cold beer. Only to be shocked afterwards when it came to paying: beer is always comparatively expensive, in Indonesia, but in a fancy hotel at a prime location, it is really expensive!

the other fish market

the other fish market

plastic bags filled with water and aquariun fish

plastic bags filled with water and aquariun fish

each bag contains another colour

each bag contains another colour

After dark, walking back to the hotel, I came across Makassar’s equivalent of a bird market, the fish market, but not the usual type. Along the street a range of well-lit stands expose thousands of little aquarium fishes, in water-filled plastic bags. Which makes for a nice scene, although I am not exactly sure about animal rights here.

next: there is more on Makassar to come, still!