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When you look one in the eyes for the first time, it happens.
In the wild; in their home…
It’s like looking into the eyes of a friend, or some long lost relative that is elated to make your acquaintance. A sense of connection bridges the gap of species difference, and millennia of evolution and biodiversity are summed up in one moment, by one feeling. And one look deep into a mother’s eyes tells you an instant story of hardship, happiness, and life. This mother’s name is Jackie. She is a person of the forest.
“Orangutan” in Malay means “person of the forest.” However, to the local Sumatran people, they are known as “mawas,” meaning “free.” Sadly, this has become an outdated and thus ironic term. Orangutans once flourished throughout all of the Southeast Asian jungles. Now, due to heavy deforestation and lack of concern for environmental impact by us humans, these beautiful creatures only live naturally in the wild in TWO places on Earth: Kalimantan in Borneo and Bukit Lawang in Sumatra. There is a rehabilitation center that nurtures and feeds semi-wild orangutans and protects the wild ones as well. As you would expect from us two
noble world travelers, we had to visit Bukit Lawang for our initiation into Indonesian culture.
We made the crossing via ferry boat from peninsular Malaysia to Sumatra, through choppy seas and heavy rains. The collective mood on the ferry was shared; “get us off this damn boat already!” Arriving in Medan, Sumatra was nothing to boast about. A crummy little harbor with an onslaught of touts offering transportation to nearby destinations was our welcome committee. We knew what to expect in advance, so we took it in stride, and hooked up with another American traveling to Bukit Lawang—a solid five hours north of the harbor. I did the nasty deed of bargaining (very hard) for our minibus ride, and we were on our way. Well, that is, after two drivers almost got in a fist fight over our business. Shotty start, yes, but did it hinder our initial impression of this awesome country? Hell no.
Sumatra is famous for a few things, including: lush hundred plus million year old rainforests, diverse and abundant wildlife, and terrible roads ridden with potholes. Our eighty kilometer journey took upwards of five hours, not including our stop to gather ourselves after witnessing
a gut wrenching motorcycle accident. Strike two? Not even, just a little bump in the road—no pun intended.
About an hour to go with the drive, a friendly man is picked up by our driver whom happens to be a licensed Bukit Lawang jungle trekking guide. His name is Sinar. He tells us all about the treks, and all about the history of Bukit Lawang. In 2004, the riverside village was hit by a massive flash flood which killed 300 of the 1000 inhabitants and destroyed most of the buildings, including Sinar’s guesthouse and restaurant. Hard to believe considering the treatment we received upon arrival.
Walking through the village with our massive backpacks, skirting along the river on the narrow path, locals emerged from their restaurants and shops to greet us with warm “hellos” and smiles and waves. We felt like celebrities (or much needed tourists) because we couldn’t go a minute without someone saying hi, or asking us our name and where we are from. And every time we said America, they would erupt in a cheer and say “America! Obama!” Indonesians love Americans now that Obama is in office. He was schooled in Jakarta and the
country now takes great pride in his presidency. “He bring change!” And, “more better than Bush,” they say. They’re right.
Although our original plan didn’t include a jungle trek, we learned that it was the best way to experience the orangutans, so we booked a two day/one night excursion with Sinar. He gave us a money back guarantee that we would see orangutans. Sold. We set out early in the morning. It was overcast and grey, and the heat of the jungle was beginning to radiate through a warm blanket of moisture that hugged your skin. Eight a.m. and I’m sweating already. Good thing there was a break in the rain, because here in the jungle it rains a lot.
Our group consisted of me and Meg, the other American, Scott, and a French kid named Frederick. Meg called him Frederique. On our way now, we slowly breached the threshold of the jungle—the rain forest—the real deal. Lush and wet, an everlasting display of kill-or-be-killed ecological processes. Vines, trees, and creepy crawlies galore. Noises, calls, and things scurrying through the bush. That overall feeling of being in the belly of the beast in another world. Awesome.
Just
forty five minutes into it and we saw them— a family of four cruising gracefully through the trees. Seamlessly and effortlessly, they meandered through the canopy of the forests like gymnasts performing a well rehearsed act. We were all awestruck at the beauty of these animals simply living in their natural environment. Sinar belted out a series of calls to get their attention and instantly they were hovering over us, as if they were planning an attack. Fortunately for us, they were pretty friendly. Next Sinar took out a bundle of bananas and established our friendship and trustworthiness. My camera was on overdrive as the excitement raced through my veins. Meg got to feed a large female by hand. And by hand means literally handing off to her hand. Those weird, fleshy, sticky, hairy fingers taking the fruit with an inexplicable humanness. She retreated up to safe distance in the trees and socialized with her other family members. Then Sinar yells, “Oh no- hot shower!” The standard jungle trek joke when a monkey of some kind decides to urinate near the group. We observed the orangutans for a while longer and when finally retreated, we continued on our way.
After hours of trekking through the dense jungle, with seemingly no end in sight, and with a seemingly lost guide, we approached what would be our camp for the night. When an Indonesian says "tent," they mean a plastic tarp roof-like structure with no sign of a zipper door, and no sign of pillows. But, the camp was set along the banks of a beautiful river that cut through the jungle. And there were plenty of swimming holes for us to do a "jungle shower" with my handy bar of soap. The real magic happened just after our first swim after the long trek that evening.
When we got out of the water and returned to our camp area, a mother and baby orangutan were sitting on a rock together, in our camp site. We were absolutely blown away. Sinar was sitting with her and told us her name was Jackie, and the baby was Obama. I told you they love that guy.
Jackie was friendly and curious; she let us sit right next to her, and she gently touched us before we touched her. Sinar insisted it was okay, and suddenly it was like she was part
of the group conversation. It was just like being with a real person and her baby. Eye contact, touch, feelings, and emotions were all part of the cross-species conversation going on. Little Obama clung on tight with wide-eyed wonder toward us. Jackie was comfortable in our presence and there was no tension or fear displayed at all--nor her or us humans. It even felt like she was trying to act funny at one point by playing with a piece of plastic, then pretending to hide under a fallen branch. It was an unreal experience. A highlight of the whole trip for sure.
We let Jackie leave on her own and watched her disappear into the thick forest.
The rest of the evening was spent eating fantastic food prepared over an open flame and drinking ginger teas. And those damn mind games with the sticks! This time we were a bit wiser and even managed to stump our hosts a couple times. Ahh revenge is sweet.
The next day we did an easy trek to the launch off point of the river. A few sweet rock jumps and a jungle meal later, we were off on the teathered rafts
toward the village. Down the roaring rapids we went, and sooner than we wnated, we arrived where we started--a little four room guesthouse in the jungle with an owner who wears her heart on her sleeve and charges a cool $3 a night for her basic rooms. Not to mention her food was off the charts delicious and (not) nutricious.
Bukit Lawang was one of those amazing surprises that greeted us- just a couple of travelers with some good karma racked up and ready to redeem. Indonesia's first adventures were memorable and serendipitous, the way spontaneous travel always tends to be. I am sad to say that I write this from the Gili Islands on the 3rd of May and our flight home is the 9th. Besides Jakarta, this is the last stop on the adventure. We have done alot since the Gili's, including Bali and Lombok, so there will be blog as soon as possible.
Cheers!
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natanoja
Astrid Leoni
nice
great blog! it's smart to take a picture of the raft before you put the camera on the plastic bag :)