Across South Sulawesi

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The pouring rain has stopped and it’s a beautiful morning. We enjoy the luxury of a lie-in – to 6.40! The unexpected pleasures of Rumah Saweh continue, with a “Dutch” breakfast of homemade yogurt, smoked salmon, pastrami, cream cheese, fresh passion fruit and excellent coffee.

We wish we could stay another night, but sadly we have to move on. Yusruf takes us on an easy walk through the countryside to a nearby village, with some 400 year old houses, and he points out different plants and their medicinal uses, which he learnt from his grandma. As we set off, the villagers shout at him, he tells us “Oi Yusruf, why are those foreigners walking with ski poles there is no snow here hahaha”. So rude. We see durian, cocoa and mangoes growing on trees which we have never seen before. He tells us his mates have given him the nickname “Chang” and he is therefore familiar with Everton FC and wonders if Rooney should go to play for DC United. He likes to follow Fulham FC and Crystal Palace. He’s just 20 but speaks excellent English and is already an imam, following in his uncle’s footsteps. He tells us he is soon off on a 4 month trip to India and Pakistan for the “world congress of imams”. Hmmm, sounds a bit dodgy.....David is further disconcerted that he wears an Arabic style kefiyah headdress just like Osama Bin Laden. We walk for an hour and half then visit a waterfall. He parts giving us a message of world peace while singing his favourite Westlife song. An interesting lad.

That’s the fun part of the day over. Next we face a 6 hour drive to our next destination, Sengkang. We set off down narrow roads that wind up and down through the mountainous countryside. For the first half hour we pass a series of tiny garden centres, including a series of stalls selling strawberries, which seem somewhat incongruous. Up in the hills there is a huge variety of crops. There are the ubiquitous rice paddies, but also coffee trees, nuts, bananas, cabbages, carrots, squashes and all manner of fruit. It’s hard enough to get past oncoming traffic at the best of times, the roads are so narrow, and the task is made harder by the villagers laying out tarpaulins with rice drying out, that stretch onto the road. The roadsides are full of people turning rice over, children going to school and people just sitting and talking. But the storm clouds gather once more and after an hour or so the heavens open. The tarpaulins of drying rice and coffee beans are hastily gathered up and suddenly the roadsides are all but deserted. Early on in the journey we encounter a road closed sign, and have to take a detour. We hope it won’t add much to our journey, but as the hours pass, ever so slowly, it becomes clear that it has. Along the way we encounter frequent signs saying “Hati hati” meaning beware! These generally indicate there has been a landslide and part of the road has vanished! After three hours we move out of the hills and the road surface and speed improve somewhat. The scenery is attractive, but by now it’s all become a bit of a blur. After a while emerald green rice paddies lose their appeal. Many of the houses we pass are of the traditional design, built on stilts to withstand flooding, and made of wood. But the newer homes are all made of brick and breeze block on concrete plinths – more practical in some respects, but with much less natural air conditioning.

We finally reach Sengkang just after 6pm and check into our hotel, an unexciting but clean 3 star place. We’re starving, having not eaten anything but a muffin and an apple each since breakfast – restaurants don’t open for lunch during Ramadan. The hotel restaurant turns out to be large, unexpectedly modern and is absolutely full of young people breaking their fast. Our itinerary had warned that the sale of alcohol is prohibited in town, but fortunately this proves untrue, there is a large and well stocked bar, and we enjoy a large beer each while we wait for our food. It takes nearly 45 minutes to arrive, but is excellent when it does come.

Next morning we’re packed and ready for our 0730 assignation with the boatman and guide who are taking us out onto Lake Tempe. The rain has by now abated but we set off in our long tail boat under lowering skies. The ride reminds us very much of last year's trips out onto Inle Lake in Burma. We pass stilted houses in little clusters until we break out into the lake proper and open the throttle. As usual David has the front seat, heroically taking the spray in the face to protect the wife. Somewhere far ahead a volcano pokes itself out of the clouds but then disappears again. The fishermen have been out since about 4am so by 8 or 830am they are packing up. These guys cast nets that are shaped rather like bells or umbrellas with six stays to hold the net open into the water, leave them there, and then lever them up to see what they have caught. A brief squally spell causes us to don the oiled ponchos in the boat but that soon passes. We speed across the lake and pull up at a floating house that is where our boatman lives. These houses really do float, they are mounted on a bamboo raft and can be towed around by two longtail boats. This family had been moored out in the middle of the lake but they had come closer to shore because of the storms that have passed through. We climb onto the deck and meet Mrs Boatman who is gutting tilapia that the husband has caught that morning. A great pile of fish guts and bits lies on the living room floor, but at least she is collecting it all on a plastic sheet. The phone rings and she picks it up, smearing fish slime all over it. Nice.....fortunately it is not her but her daughter who is delegated to make us some banana fritters and tea, which tastes much better than breakfast in the hotel. Apparently the wet season is late finishing this year (the Thomas curse strikes) and the lake has not dropped much. It is about 45 sq km at its peak and as low as 10 sq km in the dry season. When the water recedes the fisherman supplement their income by planting rice and vegetables in the now exposed ground. Twice a week they go off to market to sell their vegetables (if they have grown any) and their salted fish. Subsistence living but they assure us it is the life they choose to lead.

Back across the lake to moor by our hotel, we manage to disembark without falling in, and it’s off to Siwu. This is about 2 hours away. In fact we are going to our guide's house, the poor guy having got up at 5am to get to us for 730am on his motorbike. He shoots off ahead and is waiting for us at his home. A stilted house, quite prosperous, with its own chickens and fruit trees. Lunch is laid out on the floor but quick as a flash he reckons we would be more comfortable sitting so little plastic chairs are produced. Lunch is excellent as we chat and listen to the rain hammering down. The guides pops off for 15 minutes on this motorbike, down to the mosque to say his midday prayers. Back he comes, more tea, then we are off again. The rain stops briefly then starts up again harder than ever. Places that look scenic in the sun look very depressing in torrential rain. A 3 hour slog across the flat until we start rising into the Toraja highlands. This requires another 2 hours as we climb up steep, narrow, winding roads made lethal by the rain. It’s slow progress but finally we arrive at the “heritage hotel” and the prospect of three nights in one place, a relief after five nights in five separate hotels.

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