Wild Orangutans, Stunning Beaches and Great Coffee

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Far Far Away Indonesia. This amazing, exotic place I had heard of all my life but never traveled to. A nation of 7,000 islands, vibrant people, great food and adventure. I thought I'd have a look, here is my story. The memories are so amazing and vivid. I hope you like it!

I am sure I have written glowingly of them before when I have flown to Asia from Seattle, I love EVA airlines, the national airline of Taiwan. I gathered my backpack and last minute supplies, headed for SeaTac airport in Seattle. Like clockwork, my flight took off at 3am, the way it does every day while I am living my normal life. It is weird sometimes to think that there is a whole world out there that functions miraculously no matter what is happening in mine :o).

After twelve peaceful and dreamy hours on the wide body jet, we touched down in Taipei. As I had in past trips, I walked around the airport mall, went for early morning food to the authentic Taiwanese café in the airport. My coffee wasn't great; I knew I'd find much better on my trip.

At breakfast, I met a young man US college graduate going to do volunteer work in Cambodia, a British woman who has been running an animal rehabilitation project on the Thai - Laos border, a 40 year old Canadian who has been teaching English in Taiwan for 15 years and Martinos, a very cool surfer originally from Cyprus, who lives and works in movie production in LA.

The other travelers were flying onto Bangkok or Cambodia, Martinos was on my plane so we struck up conversation as we headed to the gate for the flight to Denpasar, Bali, and my entry point into Indonesia. I liked this dude a lot. He was a chill surfer going to ride waves for a month.

After a nice chat, a celebratory beer and five hours in the air we flew in low over rice paddies, beautiful beaches and touched down in Bali. If you have ever been to Bali, you know that you are greeted with lovely haunting gamelan music in the airport, big smiles and warm humid air.

Martinos and I decided to hang together and share a ride over to Kuta Beach, one of the most famous beaches in the world and a place where many travelers start their journey in this part of the world. I got my bags; we grabbed his two gigantic surfboards and walked outside into the stifling air. We grabbed a ride with a guy, went searching for a little hostel I had seen in my Indo guide book. On the way, I smelled new smells everywhere, Balinese Hindu temples, lots of activity. This is certainly a busy part of the island. The hostel we were searching for had burned.

We had already left our ride, walked around the Kuta area searching for a room, any room. After checking probably 15 places and learning this town was crawling with Aussie weekend revelers, we decided to share a room if we were lucky enough to find one. On a little lane off of Poppies Gang (Street) 2, we found the delightful Segara Sadhu hostel for $25 night. It was quiet, had two beds, great proximity to beaches, internet and pubs. We threw down our bags happily. The grounds were lush with flowers & tropical trees, Hammocks were about and the smell of salt air.

I headed out onto a bustling street filled with travelers and backpackers from all over the world. The vibe was great, lots of surfers whipping by on scooters specially rigged to carry surfboards. The streets were filled with internet cafes, pubs, smiling people at the beginning or end of their trips. Loads of short term visitors come here from Australia, even as I mentioned for the weekend. The best comparison I can give is American partiers who fly down to Cancun or Cabo for the weekend. Their main goal is to get some sun, party, get drunk. I met a few guys, no slights to Australia, who didn't even seem to know they were in Indonesia. The energy in this place was fantastic though. It was afternoon, the sun starting to dip in the sky. Martinos and I wandered over to Kuta Beach, thousands of travelers and locals gather each day to see the day off. We kicked a soccer ball on the beach, met some great guys from Java, grabbed a few cold beers and relaxed to watch the sunset. Guitars were playing, guys were using skim boards in the water. After a long day of travel, I felt relaxed and happy, also had met a good new friend.

We walked back to our hostel, showered up and headed out for dinner. We popped in a little place, small beachy pub that served traditional Balinese food. The prices were quite affordable, maybe $4 for dinner. While sitting at the bar in the open air enjoying our meal and a few cold beers, 2 fifty something retired Irish brothers who live in Australia starting chatting with us. They were hilarious, poked fun at us as being new in Indonesia and for living in the States. They, like many other Westerners, try to spend as much time in Bali as possible, as it is undeniably beautiful and their money goes a lot farther than back home. After this great meal, Martinos was tired and went back to the room for a rest. I, on the other hand, felt great and ready to explore.

When the sun goes down, music and pubs in Kuta beach are amazing! Imagine 20 or 30 of the biggest multi level outdoor places you have ever seen in a four block radius. The music has a deep bass, mostly techno with well-known DJs flown in from London, LA and all over the world. Although techno isn't my favorite music, the energy was fantastic. I wandered around, ended up at a pretty famous place called The Bounty, with probably 2000 other revelers. One gets the feeling that this town is like this 365 days a year, when I left to head home at 11PM things were just getting started. Funny thing about Bali though, just around the corner from all the craziness is often a peaceful Hindu temple where people put offerings out every day and meditate often.

I sunk into my bed and as I had an early flight, woke 5 hours later at 4am, hoping to get a coffee before I had to head to the airport. I walked out onto Poppies Gang 2 street, imagining I could maybe find one all night place. I was shocked at 4:30AM to find the discos in full swing and everything open. It had been a "full moon" party and the town was full of energy. I was quite woozy from my sleep and in a bit of shock to find all the noise. I grabbed a nice coffee and egg sandwich in a little place, full of drunken late night visitors. All I could do was laugh, what a day!

I came back, full of the energy of the morning and strong coffee, said goodbye to a groggy Martinos. He was leaving later this morning to head down to an epic popular surfing spot on southern Bali called Dreamlands; we exchanged emails and made plans to connect when I came back through Bali sometime in the month I was there. I hopped a ride back to the airport.

So much, had happened in a day. I got to Denpasar airport, went directly to the Lion Air counter to sort my ticket for my trip to Sumatra. There were some problems with my connecting flight; the very nice guy at the counter had me into his private nicely air-conditioned office. After some time, we worked things out. I grabbed my bags and hopped on my flight, excited and hungry.

We lifted off, beautiful sight of the Bali coastline beneath. We flew over lush rice paddies, higher terrain, passed over to the gigantic island of Java. This is the "ring of fire"; perfectly conical volcanoes seemed to be all over the place. The view was staggering from above the clouds. I had a nice breakfast, more coffee. We touched down soon after in Yogyakarta, near the famous Buddhist temple of Borobudar. Some people got off; this was a place I would have to see another trip. We lifted off again and soon were flying over the metropolis of Jakarta, vast in the distance. This town has to be 15 million people or more, I saw from the air a large business district, hundreds of oil tankers offshore waiting to enter the harbor or perhaps leave it.

I had a plane change in Jakarta; the airport was very busy and chaotic but somehow made sense. Indonesia is a country that is primarily Muslim, the first that I had traveled to in my life. I read in advance that traveling among these delightful people will change any preconceptions you might have, I can tell you that it was true. The Muslims of Indonesia have very little tolerance for extremism and were welcoming at every turn of my trip.

I pushed and shoved my way to my gate; seems to be sport in this country. I got on my flight to Medan, Sumatra, seemingly the only Westerner on the plane. People smiled at me, a number of them spoke some English and asked me about my trip. I was taller than most of them. I had learned at this point about 100 words in Indonesian, they were helping already. Later in the trip, my vocabulary would increase to about 200 words in the native language and be quite valuable. We lifted off and soon could see the southern end of Sumatra in the distance. I was getting excited, one of those places I had heard of my whole life and always wanted to see.

I was flying now to a more conservative part of Indonesia; more of the women had coverings on the legs and heads. We landed in Medan, a coastal city of 2 million. I had 4 hours to kill before my next flight; I hopped a ride on a motorcycle to a famous Mosque near the center of town. It was a religious day so I wasn't allowed to enter the Mosque. I walked around the outside of the impressive structure, which had been built by the Dutch in the early 1900s. Indonesia was of course a Dutch colony for hundreds of years. I walked down the block, looking for a restaurant I had read about in my book. I found it, Rumah Makan Famili. I walked inside this place, air conditioned with a man made waterfall, not knowing what to expect.

The next thing I knew, a smiling man waved me over to his table where he was eating. He spoke a little English and asked me to join him; he was a teacher here in Medan. His table was covered with yummy dishes; soon a couple of his buddies joined us. I ate until I was stuffed, he wouldn't let me pay for a thing. On the table were big hunks of fish, curry, coconuts, fruit, chicken, spicy vegetables. In this Muslim area, alcohol isn't on the menu. All the people drink delicious fresh passion fruit juice and seem to be rather wired on Sumatran coffee, which for my money is the best coffee on the planet. I thanked the guys heartily, walked out in a bit of a food coma; grabbed a ride on a scooter back to the airport about 10 kilometers outside of Medan.

This airport was calmer; I boarded and sat about halfway back the plane, my flight going to Banda Aceh, at the northern tip of Sumatra. My Indonesian was growing increasingly useful. The people on the plane were definitely more conservative, Aceh uses Sharia law and fought the Indonesian government for years. In a sense, they are almost an independent area.

On the flight to Banda Aceh, I thought long and hard about the tsunami that had hit here in 2004. The epicenter, as you may remember, was 50 miles off the coast. It is said that the wave was 110 feet high when it hit the coast, sweeping away 100,000 people in the Banda Aceh area and most all of the structures in town. I held this memory in my heart as we came down low to the north end of Sumatra over gentle mountains & plantations with Banda Aceh in the distance.

We landed in the newly rebuilt International Airport, rebuilt as is most of the town by NGO and international aid funds. Armies of righteous volunteer workers had been here for the last few years, rebuilding almost every building in town. After the tsunami, you must remember the videos of the waves rushing through town, swallowing everything in its wake. The people believed that it was a sign from Allah that they needed to become closer to God. They have.

I caught a bus into the middle of town, certainly devastation on the outskirts may have not been fixed but the middle of town was buzzing with activity. I hopped off the bus, concerned that finding a place wouldn't be easy due to the large number of aid workers. I looked around a bit, passed bustling fruit markets and lots of smiling people. I found a clean cozy place to stay not far from the middle of town, had a two hour nap then a well-deserved shower.

It was a Friday night; this place was packed with people sitting at outdoor cafes. I had loads of good food, chicken sate'. This of course was invented in Indonesia. All over town was Padang food, little storefronts with glass cases filled with different kinds of food, seemingly quite clean and shielded from flies. You just point to the food you want and it is put on a plate for you.

Families and groups of young people were out, enjoying the evening breezes. I sat with a young group of women who spoke some English; they were delightful and helped me with the menu. I had excellent chicken, tempeh (also created in Indonesia) and fresh strawberry juice. Now and then I could hear the call to prayer at the many mosques in town. Most people out at the Cafes seemed to ignore it. I didn't really see any Westerners this night, maybe they were elsewhere. Many people I met told me stories of losing family members in the tsunami, the sadness that they held for awhile, yet spoke encouragingly about their town and future.

After dinner, I walked pensively along the riverbank that had flooded with the tsunami, walked down to another bustling part of town. This man called me over to sit by him, offering me a yummy coffee and pastry. People seemed determined in this country to be welcoming. Later, I went in some coffee shops and in a few local pool halls. I later learned that although alcohol is illegal here except for Chinese (who aren’t Islamic), the most famous marijuana in Indonesia is grown in these hills. It is often sprinkled on food for flavoring, maybe that’s why I felt so relaxed this evening :o). I walked back to my room near the river and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning I awoke, had great coffee and got a motorcycle ride to the ferry terminal maybe 10km away. I had a crazy plan. My sister Kathy, an accomplished scuba diver, had been traveling around the Philippines and supposedly was diving for a couple weeks on a magical little island called Pulau Weh. I say supposedly because we hadn’t at all in almost 7 years, old family dynamics to blame. You know, you have families too. I had traded emails with her from Bali, didn’t get too specific because I wanted to try to surprise her, what a cool idea.

I got down to the ferry, saw an old rickety boat and said "oh shit". My concern turned to laughter 5 minutes later when I saw a sleek new ferry pull up to the port, the other boat had just been an abandoned fishing vessel. I hopped on board, filled with Indonesians and Western scuba divers, heading to one of a few world class diving spots on Pulau Weh. To say that this is an out of the way location is an understatement, I’m not much of a diver but I hear in the diver community this is considered sublime. I learned on the way over that because these islands are on the other side of the peninsula from where the tsunami originated, the damage here wasn’t horrible.

The ride was choppy; I sat outside and felt the sun on my face. Indonesians LOVE their music, it was blaring over loudspeakers with lots of static from bad speakers. I met a few divers on the boat; they all thought my plan to surprise my sister was amazing. I hoped she would be there, if not I was just open to adventure on some cool islands in the middle of nowhere.

After two hours or so, I could see the hills of Pulau Weh in the distance. We pulled up to the pier, the 200 or so passengers disembarked. I shared a bus with 4 other divers, all headed for the same place I hoped to find my sister Kathy. The driver was hauling ass, we got there in about 20 minutes. Suddenly, we were dropped at the end of a dirt road running along a little beach in the little settlement of Ibioh. I tossed on my pack and walked to the little dive shop.

I asked at the front desk, the dive shop owned by a woman from Holland married to an Indonesian Rasta looking guy. Amazingly, she said that Kathy had returned from a day of diving and was in her room. I asked he if she could get her, tell her there was someone here to see her but not tell her who. My heart was thumping with excitement. She came out, her jaw dropped and she hugged me. We walked back to her room, both of us a bit tongue-tied because we hadn’t talked for so long. I gave her a stuffed animal I had brought with me as a gift, she smiled. We sat on her veranda overlooking the sea and talked for a few hours. It was sweet.

I got a little hut way up on the hill at the end of the beach. The wind was amazing when it whistled through. Looking down over the beach, the storms were powerful. There were about 200 steps to climb to my bungalow, often I was greeted by a goat on my porch. I had a hammock outside with a view through the trees, sunlight filtered through, very relaxing. I felt like I had been traveling hard and intensely for a few days and it was now time to rest.

Kathy was busy with her diving during the day, I’m a certified diver but wasn’t really the motivated to dive, I snorkeled a bit but mainly wanted to relax. There were probably 20 divers in this little town, the diver subculture is fantastic, and they all knew Kathy because she had been here a little while. As with any sport, there is a unique language used by the participants. It would sound almost like a foreign language to some, describing sea life, depths and currents. The food we all shared was really good, mainly rice, fresh grilled fish and fruit. Although an area where alcohol wasn’t available, I had smuggled in some liquor from Bali, great with juice.

Kathy and I had some really nice talks, walks on the island, getting reacquainted. We walked 5 km over to this other lovely diving town, set magically in dense jungle that came to the water. I remember having coffee and lunch with her, hitching a ride back with her to our little town in the back of a truck filled with durians, thorny exteriors scratched our legs.

The last night I spent here, the moon and stars were so glorious, I slept soundly until during the night I heard a high pitched scream and something rustling right over my head in my room. I was actually really scared, I turned on my flashlight and it was a gigantic gecko.

The next morning, we packed our bags and headed off to the ferry together. We threw on our bags, made the boat at the last minute and sat on a huge open air deck top with about 200 other people. This was a slower ferry, food was available and music blasting. The boat was a combination of local people and diver/backpackers. People were friendly and the sun was out.

At the terminal in Banda Aceh, Kathy and I sadly said good bye and took off on different motorcycles, her to the airport and me on the next leg of my adventure. It was a great visit! The guy I met zipped me into the outskirts of Banda Aceh, past many low-lying areas where tsunami devastation was still visible. He took me to the home of a buddy of his who he thought might be open to the idea of driving me deeper into Aceh into the mountains and coffee-growing region.

Wow, the dude said yes. He agreed to drive me for about 7 hours, hopefully to get to Lake Takengon and the town of Takengon by nightfall. We gas up, grabbed some supplies, threw my bags in the back and headed down the north coast road. After two hours or so, my driver and I were having a great chat; we turned into the hills of Aceh. I learned so much from this guy. He, like most people in the area, lost a number of relatives in the tsunami. His father had lived by climbing up a tree, his mother and two brothers died. He said his life had no meaning for a couple years; he went out to Pulau Weh Island and did some emotional healing, better now.

He told me about the time before the tsunami, the Indonesian military basically had the province on lockdown, fighting the Acehnese rebels who had retreated to the impenetrable jungle they knew so well. The military had set up checkpoints all over the country, constantly shaking down Acehnese for bribes. They at times raped, harassed and even "disappeared" people who didn’t play by their rules. The Acehnese believe that the tsunami was a horrible disaster of course but ultimately a gift because the world’s eyes became focused on this area with all of the aid group and NGO activity, hundreds of charities came here.

With this attention, the military wasn’t able to abuse like they had done for so long, soon the province worked out a deal with the Indonesian government to lay down their arms in exchange for a form of independence. For the Indonesian military to have continued their reign of terror after this natural disaster would have looked horrible. So I was seeing an area that was experiencing freedom for the first time in years, my driver was tearing up sharing it with me.

So this day we spent together was excellent. This area had only seen a few western travelers, I felt like I was seeing something really authentic and special. My driver stopped a few times to pray as Muslims do, we also stopped a few times for excellent food alongside the road. This truly appeared to be a breadbasket, the soil quite fertile. I saw vegetables and fruits everywhere, rice growing and healthy looking cattle in the fields. The people here looked well fed and happy, waving furiously as I went by. The children seemed a bit shy, I shared little bouncing balls with them, hair ties for little girls and they let me take a few photos. We rolled on into the hills.

The light started fading as we came into Takengon; a town of about 200,000 sited perfectly on the lake of the same name. I shared a bear hug with my driver; he dropped me on a corner. I stretched my tired body, in the dim light found a little hostel for about $7. My 200 Indonesian words were becoming quite useful. I had some spicy food that I don’t remember that well, crawled into the bed and drifted away into another dreamy, deep sleep.

The next morning I woke early and headed out to a bustling market, searching for the mythical "kopi telur kocok", a raw egg blended in glass, large amounts of sugar and amazing Aceh Sumatran coffee poured right over it, cooking the egg into a custardy coffee tasting most delicious thing ever. I found it and over the next few days, to the amusement of the locals, I would drink about 9 of them. I had planned on staying in this town a day and a half; I fell in love with it and stayed three days. I got a haircut, shopped for a watch, ate delicious sate’ and local delicacies until I almost burst. What a wonderful place and coffee everywhere.

The coffee from this rich, fertile region is the best in the world. Volcanic soil, combined with good amounts of rain and traditional processing methods lead to a fantastic product. Much of the cultivation in this area is small scale; by nature almost all the coffee growing I saw was organic. In fact, the only 2 Westerners I saw in town were from Italy working for the "fair trade" organization, certifying local growers. I sat and had dinner with them one night; they were surprised I didn’t work in coffee or certification. I enjoyed learning about their righteous work.

Mostly, I just walked around this cool town and took in the sights and activity, communicating in limited Indonesian with people who spoke little English. One day, I hopped on a scooter and headed down to a little bridge by the lake, struck a deal for this guy to take me out on a little boat on the lake, which was about 2 km wide and 10km long. He fired up the old boat, it actually had decent speed. We cruised along the very pretty lake, saw people paddling little homemade wooden canoes. I had him stop by a little settlement, watched men fishing and walked up to a village that had a rice production facility and raucous village swimming pool. It was a great day!

I could have stayed in this welcoming place much longer but it was time to move on. Early one morning, I throw on my backpack, walked down to the main market area and bought a bus ticket toward Blankejeran and Ketambe. Many of the people at the market recognized me, they waved and smiled as I got on board and rolled out of the station. I think of this town often, loved it.

My little bus was a minibus, similar to a minivan. My fellow passengers and I rolled higher into the mountains, the air got a bit cooler. The five hour ride past Blakejaran was nice, many more rice paddies, bustling rivers, picturesque mosques. We stopped in Blankejeran; I got some food and played dominoes with some guys. I thought of staying but was excited to continue on to Ketambe. I bought a big bag of fruit, little succulent green fruits that opened to delicious taste.

As we passed Blankejeran, our bus was stopped by a small landslide; it covered parts of the road we needed to pass. My fellow passengers seemed to take it in stride, I got the feeling this happened often. About an hour later, the road was cleared and we were on our way. As we climbed to the top, the vegetation grew more lush and jungle, dense as well. We crested and headed down toward Ketambe, after another hour we rolled in to this little town in the middle of Gunung Leuser National Park and the jungle. It was about 2pm, I got a little bungalow for $6 looking out over an amazing jungle river and the actual jungle. I threw down my bags and relaxed, this was a part of my trip I was really looking forward to. The foliage was lush, flowers everywhere, jungle animal sounds from the hills. I instantly loved this place, the air was fresh.

The place I stayed was called Friendship Guest House, made of hardwoods from the forest, big wooden floors and hammocks all about. The town seemed very calm; I heard some travelers had left for a trek earlier this morning. I walked down the street, met two 55 year oldish women from Spain in a café. One was a physics professor from the Basque country, one an astrologist from Seville. They were traveling together, had met on the road in the Phillipines. I sat down and had lunch with them, ordered beers as I was back in a less conservative area which although Islamic, had a significant Christian and indigenous presence. We made plans to have dinner, the girls were hilarious. I went back to my hostel & relaxed, reading about Indonesian customs.

Later that evening about 7, I got my flashlight and walked over to a little jungle restaurant we had agreed to meet at. The girls had already had a couple drinks, they were playing cards. As I sat down, the skies opened up to a torrential downpour. It was really raining. The food turned out to be delicious Italian, just as we were served the electricity went out. We spent the next few hours at a candlelit table, joined by the owners, a family of three. The food was good; they even brought us some pastries for dessert. We played cards, laughed and had too much beer. I walked home, feeling very well-fed and relaxed. I took a dip in the jungle river and went to sleep.

The next day I slept in to about 10, which is late for me. I relaxed ALL day, sitting in a cozy hammock and reading, writing in my journal. I had a delicious coffee and eggs and fruit, banana pancake too. Later this day I made arrangements for my trek to the wild Sumatran jungle of Gunung Leuser National Park to see orangutans, waterfalls and flora; I would go with two local boys and be gone for three days and two nights. I was excited to say the least.

Full of energy the next morning, I had a hearty breakfast, met the guys who were going with me to the deeper jungle, packed my bag, got some food and started into the bush. My guide Buyung was incredibly knowledgeable about jungle paths and everything we saw, his buddy came along to carry a tent, some food & supplies. He was a small man but unbelievably strong.

We walked for about 4 hours into the woods, seeing loads of birds and monkeys along the way. Although I had had time to acclimate for a week, this was hard work. We walked up steep hills, through bushes, into ravines and through swampy areas. We were entering the land of the orangutan, one of two places they can be seen wild in nature in the world. Orangutan means "man of the forest" in Bahasa Indonesian. I was so excited for this opportunity, thrilled.

I was quite tired, Buyung told us to stand still and be quiet. He couldn’t see them but his nose could smell that they were close by. Into the distance, he pointed. I squinted my eyes and could see movement at the tops of the trees and a rusty orange color, unmistakably orangutans.

This was one of those moments in life where time stood still. What a gift, I was in the middle of the Sumatran jungle with a family of 8 wild orangutans above me in a tree. We scampered over hills and through swamps to get closer, looked out over a rise 20 meters away at a large male, easy to identify with his black broad face and loud protective noises as we got closer. They let us stay near them for about 15 more minutes and then scampered off through the trees. There were a father, mother, babies and a few others I couldn’t identify. Amazing viewing!

We got back to where we had left our bags to scramble over the hill and they were gone. Buyung said that his buddy had taken our bags. We hiked on another 30 minutes and came to a most amazing river that sliced through the jungle. Indeed, the other guy was there with our bags, he had carried all three packs as if it were nothing. He had already started to pitch the tent we would sleep in, make camp and had a fire started. I felt so grateful and glad to be here.

I was dirty, sore, tired; happy. It was about 4PM, I stripped down, stumbled down to the beautiful stream. I found a place where I could lay my whole body in the cool water and lay there for about an hour. I lay on a warm rock and felt thoroughly alive. I was surrounded by jungle, butterflies all around, sounds of monkeys in the background and a far off waterfall.

Buyung called me "dinner, Vincent". While I was resting, the guys had made a fire, caught some fish, cooked it up with rice, vegetables they must have had hidden. They produced a local moonshine to go with our meal, capped it off with cookies and delicious homemade coffee. It was hard to imagine a better meal given the circumstances. We spent the next few hours drinking, laughing, singing songs; telling stories. They were interested in my writing; I tried to explain why I travel to places like there, why I write, why the memories are dear to me.

We put out the fire and crawled in our tent about 10PM. During the night, it actually got quite cool. I pulled my sheet around me and slept not so well, drifting in and out, listening to jungle sounds. I would have slept well but the pads they had brought for us were super thin. I actually felt like they made me feel the rocks below our tent even more; ouch. I woke sore but happy.

The next day we had some work to do. After banana pancakes cooked in a skillet over a fire and of course great coffee, we were off! We hiked probably 4 hours, gained some altitude, saw more orangutans. Buyung had run into another guide he knew with three backpackers from France. We decided to surprise them so we hid in the undergrowth, made jungle noises and popped out when they came. So funny, we had a nice visit in limited French.

They went on their way and we headed for a waterfall Buyung wanted to show me. It was a slippery climb, had to take our shoes off to ford the river twice but God was it worth it. Rounding a little hill, we climbed up to the base of the waterfall. It wasn’t massive, probably 40 feet high. It was glorious, pristine, flowing into the perfect swimming hole below that I took full advantage of.

We hiked on; the guys had promised me a VERY special place to camp. After another 30 minutes, I was soaking with sweat and ready to get there. We came down a steep riverbank and before us was our campsite. There was another river a bit bigger than last night and surrounded again by virgin jungle. To the right of the river, very hot thermal water seeped out of a cliff, entering the river and causing boiling steam in each place that it entered the cool stream. I of course immediately went to investigate, the guys told me to be very careful; I believe the water entered the stream at about 120 degrees Fahrenheit.

We pitched camp again; I looked at our flimsy pads and didn’t care. While the other guy started dinner, Buyung motioned to me to come with him. About 30 years downstream, the hot and cold water mixed to a point where it had cooled off just enough to go in. It was truly the most amazing experience to lay in that pool, feeling hot water on the right side of my body, cool water on the left. We were surrounded by a little pack of monkeys while were in the water, they grabbed some energy bars I had brought to the pool and scampered off.

Dinner that night was more rice, veggies, some canned tuna, more cookies and coffee. After a long day of slogging in the tropics, I can tell you that any food tastes good. We had another great visit and lay down to sleep. My back was aching from the night before, after an hour of trying to find someplace comfortable, I grabbed my flashlight and walked alone through the dark down to one of the hot/cold river pools. I eased in, wedged myself in between some smooth rocks and driftwood and let my dreams carry me away. I slept for about 3 hours in the pools.

I had no idea what time it was, I felt like I was dreaming lucidly but realized I had just woken up. I saw a bright light low on the horizon starting to peek through the dense jungle. Could it be morning already? After 20 minutes or so, I realized that a full moon was rising in front of me. I was dazed, thrilled; woozy. To state the obvious, I was two days deep in the Sumatran jungle, having orangutan dreams, alone in an amazing thermal pool, watching a moon rise over the jungle. You the reader must be getting bored of adjectives but it was stupendous.

I watched this spectacle for another hour; Buyung came looking for me to make sure I was okay. I walked back to the tent with him, managed to catch another 2 hours sleep or so. After more banana pancakes, we packed up camp, hiked to one more orangutan area. The ones we saw this time let us stay near them for about an hour. We bushwhacked, cut through unmarked trails for about 3 hrs; somehow rejoined the Blankejeran road and hitch hiked a ride to Ketambe.

The guy who picked us up seemed to know Buyung; not so weird as it is a small place. We got back to the Friendship Lodge in Ketambe; I said goodbye to the guys, plopped down in a hammock and drank a cold beer. The meal of fried chicken, fresh passion juice and garden tomatoes seemed like paradise. Should I stay or should I go? It was about 2 PM, let’s go!

I grabbed my bags, hopped a ride with some locals going about an hour to the next town. Everyone seemed festive; there were roadblocks along the route. Thinking something must be wrong, I was delighted to find out it was only school kids collecting money for the national Independence Day celebrations the next day. We rolled into the next small town, I waited for 2 hours at a little bus station for a bus to Berastagi; the town in the highlands I wanted to get to.

I got the last seat on the last bus of the day, settled in for a long ride through the mountains. Fortunately, we stopped a couple times for food; my fellow passengers were full on smiles when I told them I was going to Tujuh Blas Augustus, August 17th, Independence Day. This is a VERY special day in Indonesia, celebrates independence achieved from the Dutch. As we journeyed through the small towns, it became dark and we were stopped three different times by large groups of school kids dressed in their uniforms, holding bamboo torches, marching and singing songs. They were rehearsing with their teachers for their part in the festivities the next day. It was beautiful. As our bus had to stop, I got outside and took some great photos and video.

We rolled finally into Berastagi, a sizable town of about 100,000. The bus driver dropped me at a corner at about 10PM. So often I have come into a new place with no plans and found a room. Somehow, I hadn’t figured it would be a problem this time. After being told at 6 or 7 places there was no space for me, I learned that many people were in town for the festivities, coming to this town as it is a great place to escape from the coastal heat. I was in a bind.

I saw a police station, walked in figuring that they might have a cot I could sleep on. I think they would have put me up but the police chief happened to know a woman who had a small place maybe 3 km away; somehow she found a room for me. He drove me there, left me with a smile and said that he would see me at the festivities the next day. Wow, great the way it worked out.

The small inn turned out to be a place filled with Indonesian holiday makers and foreign backpackers making their way across Sumatra. At 11pm, the nice innkeeper found a cold beer and plate of beef curry for me. This part of Sumatra is very diverse with Muslims, Christians, Indigenous cultures seeming to live in harmony. I would see that the next day. I happily went back to my room. The showers in Indonesia, I should have mentioned earlier, are often called "mandis". You stand in a stall; water comes out of a pipe and collects in buckets. You soap up, pour the bucket over your head, it is very refreshing and efficient. Toilets are often concrete platforms with holes in the concrete, like a toilet without something to sit on. I’ll leave it at that!

Long day, rich day, I went to bed in a heap. Morning came early at 6PM, as it does in the tropics. I felt so great to have excellent coffee every day; I can’t say that about many countries. I set out to explore Berastagi, I REALLY liked this town. It is in the highlands, actually low in the mountains. There are three impressive volcanoes nearby. It is a lovely town with good food, at times cool air, friendly peaceful people, Muslims and Christians seemingly coexisting as they do many places in Indonesia. Above all, the people here seemed proud of their town. I had some delicious fruit and passion fruit juice, eggs and chicken, then ducked into a vibrant market about 9am. The fruits were abundant, jack fruit, rambutans, durians, duku, many fruits I’d never seen. I got to the back of the market and heard load techno music playing, the cheer of a crowd and about 500 people gathered. What was the ruckus? Everyone was cheering and laughing. Then I saw it, fantastic. Two competing groups of boys were in front of greased telephone poles, some kind of sticky tar substance, but completely slick. The poles were about 40 feet high. The goal was to get to the top. The winner got the prizes if they reached. The two groups tried so hard, they kept collapsing in heaps and gave up. Two other groups came up and failed.

Finally, a group had excellent technique. One person would shinny up and stand on the next one’s shoulders, there were people at the bottom hugging the person at the bottom of the pole to keep them solid. A number of groups had tried this method but these guys finally did it. The crowd erupted in cheer, loud music kept playing and people were dancing, it was fantastic.

About noon, I went over to the local fairgrounds for the big Independence Day cultural festival. I saw my policemen buddies from the night before; they gave me a big pat on the back. There were hundreds of people here. It was pouring rain in the beginning and we were all huddle under a giant circus tent. I was the only Westerner here, jammed close to all the people trying our best to keep dry. Finally, the rain broke and the festivities began.

Things started with an emotional salute to their flag and the national anthem, presided over by a couple local war heroes, probably 70 years old. There was formation marching then all of the different ethnic groups from this area came out, mostly youth, dressed in traditional costumes. The boys and girls joined each other in well-choreographed dances, very fluid and graceful. There were speeches, food, songs, dancing and seemingly, beer available everywhere.

I left the fairgrounds really happy and walked over to town. I went in a little internet café for some food and juice, ran into an American sociologist who was a professor at the University of Washington in Seattle where I live. He had done his PhD work on tribal customs of the groups around this area and actually married a girl from this region and took her back to Seattle. He was back doing research and also because one of the sisters of his wife had died, very sad.

I walked a long walk from the village back to my lodge, stopping at a cool craft market on the way. The walk back was about 2 miles. Later that day, I hitched a ride with some local guys and went up to a scenic overlook very popular with Indonesian tourists and young lovers. I strolled along the promenade until I reached the summit of the overlook, relaxed and ate roasted peanuts and three cups of the best ginger tea. My throat was a little sore so it tasted good.

That night back at the lodge I ran into a few really fun traveler groups, including some of the people I met in the jungle in Ketambe. I joined a traveling Dutch family with three great kids for dinner; they had been journeying through the country for a month or so. The oldest boy was about 15, complaining a bit about being forced to take this trip. I think he thought my journey was cool, though. I told him he was so lucky and should enjoy every moment, Good kid!

After dinner I was really tired and should have gone to sleep as I wasn’t feeling very well. It was Independence Day, my last day in town and I couldn’t stay in. I walked down to town; a pretty good garage band was Nirvana songs in the street. They waved me over, made me drink local moonshine; then took me over to some local dance after stopping their music. It was kind of a giant village potluck, people forced food on me, wanted me to dance; seemed very happy. What it comes down to, people LOVE when someone appreciates their culture, I’m the same way.

I finally broke free from these guys, tough to do because they wanted me to drink with them all night. I stumbled down to town; there was a huge outdoor concert with about 5000 people watching. The bands seemed; I had no idea what they were singling but their rhythms were tight. I’m pretty sure this band was somewhat of a big deal in Indonesia; people were cheering and losing their minds. I was feeling exhausted, broke free about 1 am and walked home to bed.

The next morning was a travel day, always so exciting to move onto the next place. I must have told you about the "call to prayer" that comes from mosques about 4am in the morning. Usually the loudspeakers used to project it are horrible quality so there is an ugly crackling sound. resonating all over town. Add loads of crowing chickens to the mix and it is indeed hard to get back to sleep. I managed to grab a couple hours sleep after this, coffee was much needed.

When I come to a new place, I like to spread my things out in my room and "move in" for a couple days. I love looking at my treasures, rocks and things collected; often I will spread them out on my bed. When it is time to go, all gets thrown in the backpack and off I go. This morning I walked down to the bus station, managed to get the last seat on the ride to the big costal town Medan which I had flown through on the way to Banda Aceh, it seemed like so long ago.

After an easy three hour ride down from the mountains and through countryside, we rolled into Medan. I was dropped at the airport, my flight two hours. This place had seemed so exotic a couple weeks ago, now I knew it like the back of my hand. I relaxed, got some food, caught up on lots of journaling and got on my plane. After a couple flights, early evening I dropped through the clouds over the large waves and into Bali again. I was back, greeted by the haunting music.

To have all the choices of Bali after being so remote was almost overwhelming. I got a room at the same place Segara Sadhu, had excellent food, enjoyed great music and nightlife; watched some live bands on Poppies Gang 2. I used the internet, had tried to connect with my buddy Martinos from the beginning of the trip. Because my flight connections had been well behind schedule, I missed him. We would try to connect at the end of the trip. I got home at 1 AM.

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