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Published: July 18th 2015
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It was a journey of highlands, coast and endless turns. Blessed with curves, Flores doesn't trifle with straight roads. Her rolling hills, climbing peaks and plunging valleys have invited road builders to carve into her shapely body, working spaghetti magic from head to toe. With tight corners and snaking lanes, a journey through Flores makes for an exciting ride. You never know what's beyond the horizon or around the next bend. As climbs unveil specular views, descents bring new discoveries. Villages nestle in flattened lands whilst others spread over slopes. Cows, goats, chickens and dogs share the roads, which are lined by rice and nuts spread drying in the sun. Buffalo wade in paddyfields, vendors display watery petrol and children wave and call as you pass by. Every so often the road turns to dust, with large machinery and boulders blocking your way. 'Consider the difference between road works in England and Indonesia', Yusuf remarked, 'in England there are rows of cones and you don't know why, in Indonesia they're actually building the road!'
We shared a ride with two holiday makers from Java. Professionals in occupation and comfortable in wealth, they educated us on socio-economic differences in Indonesia. In
Java, they informed, technology is far more advanced, as they looked on in near disbelief at locals working paddyfields by hand. The spider ricefields are communal artwork at scale. Covering a valley in large webs of plots, farmland is sculpted into panoramic display. Designed in agricultural spiritualism, they now provide a stop over attraction for a new economy of tourists. As visitors drop by, local families switch their living to charging access to their land.
We parted company in Bajawa, a market town residing in the hills. Whilst sunshine heated the day, mountain air chilled the town by night. With temperatures plunging to ten degrees celsius, residents sat by fires in blankets and we huddled in bed with layers of clothes, ironically whilst Europe sweltered in a heatwave. Bajawa and its surrounds are home to the Ngada people, local communities of distinct ethnic, religious and cultural heritage. Traditional villages continue their ancestral way of life whilst opening their door to visitors interested to observe and willing to pay. The curiosity works both ways; in Bena we were welcomed with open arms. Invited to share a meal with Felix and his family, we conversed through the language barrier as he
questioned us with fascinated friendliness. Yusuf was a massive hit; dark skinned with a Muslim name, Indonesians are confounded when he informs them he's English. 'Ronaldo, Ronaldino, Obama, I love you', Felix cried throwing his arm around him, merry and over friendly on lunchtime arak (local liquor). We spent dusk at the hot springs, where cold river water met hot flow to pool into a pebbly bath. As we soaked and soothed, those around us brushed their teeth, shampooed hair and learnt to swim. I bathed according to local custom; although the natural pool brought men, women and children together, the order of affairs was marked by males' near nudity and women's sodden clothes.
Riung: gateway to the islands
The youth of tourism is evident in the approach to Riung. With potholes stretching the width of unsurfaced road, the continued novelty of visitors is clear. We experienced private transport the local way, running errands to deliver wares as we bumped and jolted our way to the coast. Reaching a sleepy little fishing village immersed in tropical greenery, it took a second look to spy the settlement. With an air of 'not much happens here', Riung offers a few
basic guesthouses and places to eat. Cafe Del Mare doesn't trouble itself with menus, it serves rice, chicken, fish and vegetables, fried or grilled, take your pick. If you fancy, add in a bintang or banana pancake. Their pet baby monkey plays around you, bouncing from chair to chair in attempt to flee bed time capture. 'She's tired from snorkelling earlier', informs the restaurant owner, who runs boat trips by day, juvenile primate in tow.
Riung is the gateway to what lies offshore. Twenty one miniature islands rise from mirror flat crystal water, which blends with pale blue sky. Coral and shells pepper beaches, mangroves intertwine in sand and salt, and fish swim amongst reed and reef. Small boats transport handfuls of visitors to scenic snorkelling spots where they swim, observe fish, stroll along sand and relax. As we rested and explored, our fasting guides built a fire and driftwood table and prepared us a fish feast. Prohibited food or drink until sundown during Ramadan, they resisted what they served and left us to gorge. On a neighbouring island flying foxes hung from trees, branches thick with furry fruit dangling in the sun. At dusk they woke to swarm,
featherless wings beating the air as their armies invaded the sky.
Craters and coast
The road from Riung led us to Ende, a bustling city with thriving local character. Pausing just a night we travelled on to Moni, a quirky little resting spot for venturers to her surrounds. Kelimutu draws the crowds. Rising high into chilled cloud fused with sun, her slopes give way to vibrant crater lakes. Mineral dyed in red tinged blue, aqua and green, they are the jewels in her volcanic crown. As Yusuf enthused on volcanology, I was taken with those around us; throngs of local day trippers enjoying their natural attraction. Families shared picnics, children explored, teenagers posed for selfies and old ladies sat drinking kopi (coffee) displaying their reddened teeth. Foreigner were few and far between so the fascination was returned. With my pale skin and bottle blonde hair the photo requests came thick and fast. I obliged in mild frustration, attempting to escape the mobs. As I submitted and posed, I reflected for how Indonesians might feel when I make the same request, often agreeing with reluctance and shifting to avoid my view. I sat watching the socio-cultural display whilst sipping
Yusuf making friends whilst peeling a grapefruit
The grapefruit was picked for him from a tree at our guest house that morning. As we sat having lunch children came to join us, they were followed by their parents and we spent a happy half hour chatting and being taught phrases in Bahasa (the official language of Indonesia) - it was the highlight of my day ginger tea and felt a parallel desire to record. In our fascination with what's different from us, I guess we're all the same.
We explored by scooter, riding highland to coast. It was a journey of scenic exhilaration with breathtaking views. Road sides plunged into wooded valleys, sunshine brightened horizons of hills and blue sky met distant sea. We passed those going about their business, washing clothes in streams, bathing in rivers, laying out beans to dry or simply hanging out by the road. Whilst Yusuf rode by unnoticed, discrete in his darkened skin, my presence attracted calls and waves at every twist and turn. Arriving in Paga we found what we came for, Restaurant Laryss, a simple beach side warung declared to be the best restaurant in Flores. The sensational tamarind fish soup and grilled tuna with hot sambal did not disappoint, not did the setting of crescented pale sand, soft on our toes, lapped by aqua sea.
Moving on
And so all good things must come to an end. With an unforgettable fortnight in Flores behind us we returned to Bali to part company; Yusuf destined for Balipapan and Australia and me bound for Britain.
Concluding my Indonesian adventure with one final bintang at Opy's and a sun drenched run along Seminyak beach, I reluctantly bid Bali farewell. Flying high as I write, clouded Europe below, glowing sunrise to my right, I'm mentally preparing for my return. Calm but energised from the joyous past weeks, I can feel 'real world syndrome', stuff to do stress and future planning creeping back into my mind, body and emotions. As I step back into England's green and pleasant land, settling into London's crowded, rushing grey, I shall ponder what has been and where I am now. My reflections, hopes and intentions, in the face of inevitable anxieties, will be the composition of my concluding post. Of my Indonesian adventure that is, for a new chapter's about to begin.
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