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39. Rantepao

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buffalo at the Bole market in Rantepao

Tana Toraja’s cultural capital has a lot to offer, like a unique buffalo market and plenty of outsized traditional houses, so-called tongkonans.

Rantepao is the biggest town in Tana Toraja – land of the Toraja people. This is where the hotels are, the travel companies, the long distance bus companies, the tourist guides, in short, all the infrastructure that was lacking in Mamasa. Tana Toraja is fully prepared for the tourists. And it shows in the people, who are, unusually for Indonesia, indifferent, not particularly helpful, or forthcoming with information. The tour guides are the worst. They will spot you, probably smell you, from far away, and besiege the car as soon as it stops near a hotel. They are a strange lot, all look like 1970s hippies, long hair and the lot – although walking on sandals equally fits 1970s hippies and Indonesians -, and we recognise them just as they recognize us. Somehow, they are also very assertive, in an aggressive and confronting way, for instance if you tell them that you are not interested in their services, and very sensitive about jokes, or anything they perceive is being said to them – equally un-Indonesian.

more buffalos, relaxed

two pigs, equally for sale

sold pigs, prepared for transport

any form of transport will do

any animal market will also sell ropes

and these are bamboo footballs

Every six days there is market in Rantepao – why they don’t settle for a weekly schedule beats me -, and the day we arrived was such a day. So off to Bole, the northern suburb and the location of the market, mainly to view the spectacle of hundreds of buffalos for sale, many tied up to a rope overhead; to make sure they don’t lie down? I don’t know, some do anyhow. A full-grown buffalo costs around 16 million Rupiahs, more than a thousand Euros. The market had been going on for the whole day already, and it showed, especially on the ground, where the buffalos had left their mark. Glad we were not wearing slippers. On the side, large cots contained lots of huge pigs, too, also part of the market process. Those sold – 2 million only, or less than a 100 dollars, a bargain, really – were being transported in many different ways, mostly tied up, and they were loudly protesting their fate. Animal rights, anybody? Not a pretty sight.

at least the fish stalls are a little more colourful, in front of the tongkonan structures

and even the fish is!

the proud fish seller

Rantepao itself has not much to offer, except for a comfortable hotel – and an internet connection -, which we thought was well deserved after the previous few days. But outside the center we do get our first glimpse of the Torajan houses, even more extravagant than what we had seen in Mamasa, and also far more numerous. Here, it is obviously a status symbol to have a traditional house – here called tongkonan, and equally positioned opposite one or more rice barns, like in Mamasa -, it reflects wealth. Many tongkonans are new, and many modern houses have a traditional roof extension in the form of a tongkonan, or a carved and painted gable, and people value their cultural heritage. Except that, here too, the thatched roofs have long been replaced by corrugated iron.

tongkonan in a Rantepao suburb

lots of buffalo horns, lots of past funerals

nicely worked front facade

regularly returning motif

Torajan culture centers around ceremonies, of which the burial ceremony is the most important. It is said that the Torajans work their entire lives only to send their dead to the next world as comfortable as possible, and that includes a huge farewell, with as many guests as possible – number of guests indicates importance of the dead person -, who all have to be seated, which is why they are continuously building platforms for ceremonies everywhere, and who all have to be fed, for which buffalos and pigs need to be slaughtered. And the horns of those buffalos, they once again adorn the houses, so everybody can see how important the family is.

the mobile supermarket, coming to you

Not being too keen on the slaughtering process, we didn’t attend a ceremony, but we did spend a few days around Rantepao, to explore the villages, the graves, and the breathtaking scenery of Tana Toraja.

44. the Black Marlin Dive Resort

Blog entries

outboard engine protected by a beer crate

Paradise Island comes with certain limitations.

Before you all go out and book yourself your next holiday to the Togian Islands, there are a few things you need to know. I already said they are rather difficult to reach, with the need to either get to Ampana, from which there are five or six ferries per week, or to Gorontalo, with only two ferries per week.

Once you have reached the islands, you need to decide where to stay. We opted for Kadidiri Island, with the choice of three lodges, less than half an hour away from Waiki, euphemistically called the capital city of the Togians. Other islands are further away, and involve much longer travel from Waiki – and presumably still have the same fishes and the same reefs. But it is low season, which also means less effort: some of the people we met on Kadidiri have been elsewhere, too, and mention an overdose of cockroaches and rats in their rooms there. We decide to stay on Kadidiri, instead.

the Black Marlin cabins, and the dogs in characteristic position

the Black Marlin lodge

The Black Marlin Dive Resort is the fanciest of the lot, with a thin veneer of professionalism. Rooms, little cottages on the beach, are pretty basic, but come with balcony, hammock, mosquito nets, ceiling fan and flush toilet. But with electricity limited from 5 to 11 pm, fans are of little use, and with water limited to one hour in the morning and one in the late afternoon, the flush mechanism of the toilet is also superfluous. The rooms are not being cleaned during occupancy. When we ask for at least the rubbish bin to be emptied regularly, one of the staff picks up our bin from the balcony, and turns it upside down behind our cottage, just like that. And obviously not for the first time.

view from one of the lodges on Kadidiri

the jetty of one of the lodges, with more threatening weather

the same jetty at the best of times

There is no internet. Phones are clustered around a the edge of the terrace, where occasionally there is signal reception. Whenever a phone beeps, somebody is running towards it, keen to have some outside contact. Often, it is just advertising, one of those annoying characteristics of the Indonesian mobile phone network.

supplies?

sunset, every day again

Food is spectacularly variable. One day, we have fresh barracuda, superbly grilled, and fresh vegetables, the next day we have white rice and mie goreng with fish heads, nothing else – my birthday dinner. And no choice. The wine, the sangria, the fruit juice, all on the menu, they are unfortunately not available. Tomorrow? No, not tomorrow either. Day after? They do get fresh supplies daily, from Waiki and further away, right? I give up, it will just be another beer, and a big bottle of water. No choice.

The people are very friendly, and they try. But not very hard.

next: with time at our hands, there is room for a little history, for some examples of crabs, or skip this and continue to Gorontalo

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!

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

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

here a dotted fat fish, official 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

the outrigger

a Sea Gypsy village, on stilts

even here, laundry country

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

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

another fish, strangely shaped and coloured

more blue fish, this one quite big

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

38. the jeep

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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

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

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

37. Mamasa Valley (2)

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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

one of the old houses in Tuson

another front, with windows to spy through

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

the bull at the front pole comes in handy

other decorations include what is called a dragon’s head

which comes in various forms

an often returning subject is the buffalo’s fight

wooden window

another village lady

and the kids

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

36. Mamasa Valley

Blog entries

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

the Taupe cemetry

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

the support pole is extensively decorated

the front of the house is also decorated

this Taupe lady has seen it all before

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

and more view, more paddies

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

decorated with the horns of slaugthered buffalos

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

35. Mamasa

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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 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

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

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

a typical traditional house in the Mamasa Valley

34. Polewali

Blog entries

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

large outrigger canoe fishing boat close to the beach

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

one of the older ladies in the fishing community

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

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

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

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

one of the houses in a floating village

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?

and a more colourful version of bird

especially if it takes off

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

and herons in flight, against a colouring sky

32. Pare Pare

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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

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

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

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first-hand travel experiences and impressions of travel destinations

39. Rantepao

Tana Toraja’s cultural capital has a lot to offer, like a unique buffalo market and plenty of outsized traditional houses, so-called tongkonans.

44. the Black Marlin Dive Resort

Paradise Island comes with certain limitations.

43. Togian Islands

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

38. the jeep

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

37. Mamasa Valley (2)

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

36. Mamasa Valley

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

35. Mamasa

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

34. Polewali

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

33. Sengkang

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

32. Pare Pare

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

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Tana Toraja’s cultural capital has a lot to offer, like a unique buffalo market and plenty of outsized traditional houses, so-called tongkonans.

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Paradise Island comes with certain limitations.

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

Share this:

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

Share this:

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

Share this:

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

Share this:

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

Share this:

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

Share this:

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

Share this:

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

Share this:

Translate

The Categories