My next destination on Flores was Kelimutu, a volcanic crater that is home to 3 colorful lakes. Having had such a great time trekking with William as my guide and translator, I decided to take him along. This time, however, I would travel not by knee-crunching bus, but by ass-kicking motorbike - a regular Che Guevara a la Indonesia.
DAY 1
We got a late start having to organize a more powerful motorcycle (instead of a typical Southeast Asian glorified scooter) for the journey and getting it outfitted with a new back tire. It wouldn't have been a problem to reach our 1st destination, Ende, in one day had it not been rainy season in Flores, showers beginning daily between 12 and 2pm. As we took off around 1:30pm it was beginning to rain - hard. We were quite the sight, the two of us bundled in rain gear and my poncho flapping up and down over my 50 liter/13 kg pack strapped to my back. Rain or shine, this adventure could not be stopped. Postponement, not an option.
We had driven about 1 hour when the rain really started to pour. The pitter-patter of the drops on my helmet were relaxing, but the reduced visibility, wet pants and slippery road were not. We stopped on the roadside and sought shelter in William's uncles 4 room bamboo shack.
The family welcomed us with the same hospitality we had found in Watu. We drank hot coffee and ate savory bananas grilled over the fire in their green skins. The 5 kids ranged from age 6 months to 16 years. I watched as they played with toys made of string and bottle caps and the baby peed on the hut's packed dirt floor - this was normal life.
Three hours later the rain let up and the sun threatened to disappear. We took to the road again, aiming for a small town 30 km away that had a local hotel at which we could spend the night and wait for the clear skies of morning. The hotel owner was hosting choir practice in anticipation of Christmas. I fell asleep to the dueling sounds of carols and the Muslim call to prayer coming from the mosque down the street (Flores is 85% Christian and 15% Muslim).
DAY 2
Clear skies to Ende, one of Flores's main port towns. We wound around the mountainous countryside breaking periodically to regain feeling in our backsides and take a rest from the back, ab and lat workout my bag was providing. This was the life - wind in my face on the back of a motorcycle zipping past rural rice fields, roadside shops, make-shift markets and daily life in Indonesia.
A little before noon we arrived at a beach covered in blue stones. We sat on top of a large pile that had been collected to sell to the Chinese for use as natural color in ceramic art. The clouds rolling in, we boarded the bike once again and headed for Ende. As we arrived it began to rain: clockwork. We spent the afternoon running short errands - plane ticket, the eternal search for Internet, ATM.
The early evening skies cleared and we sat down by the beach - dark sand, sprinkled litter and local life. A group of boys had set up a makeshift net (two oars stuck upright in the sand and connected with a string about eye level). They played a game similar to volleyball, but using only their heads and feet to keep the ball afloat. Excited to have an audience, they put on a show, flipping, diving and tackling one another. The game ended when one of the boys' mothers came to fetch him (angered by his tardy return). We could hear the sound of a broom slapping his backside all the way up the hill.
DAY 3
The road to Moni, the base town of Kelimutu, was stunning. William hugged the curves in the road as I gazed at the landscape surrounding - palm trees, roaring rivers, mountains, cliffs, rocks, lush greenery. The scenery so stunning and vast, no camera could capture it. At one stretch in the road more than 5 Yosemite-quality waterfalls were in view at one time. The world seemed peaceful and again, it began to rain. We continued, occasionally encountering other motorists tackling the road by bike or car.
We arrived in Moni and checked into bungalows just out of town where we could enjoy the sound of the nearby river and William's friend Robert's family. Tired of endless restaurants and Warungs (local restaurants), we decided instead to visit the market and cook a meal to share with the family.
We pealed garlic and onions, chopped carrots and cubed potatoes and (the highlight) killed, cleaned and cooked a duck. The white and feathery friend was so docile - almost as if it new it was to die, resigned to his fate as dinner. CHOP! went his head into a shallow hole in the garden.
The meal, partially cooked over a fire and partially over a one burner stove, was delicious. The whole family joined us - Robert, his wife, his children, his mother-in-law, sister-in-law, nieces, nephews and maybe even a few neighbors, it was hard to tell who was who and since they seemed not to care, neither did we. We feasted and drank tea and local coffee into the evening before retiring. It would be an early morning the next day trekking up to Kelimutu for dawn.
DAY 4
Day four was day one of trying to see Kelimutu. We left the bungalows with great hopes, but as we ascended on our motorbike, the clouds grew thicker and thicker. Visibility dwindled and it became clear that we would not see much more than a few branches in the not-so-distant foreground. We turned back.
With little to do in Moni other than visit the volcano or some local villages (both not optimal in drizzly weather and bad road conditions), we decided to pay a visit to the local billiards "club." Two pool tables sat next to one another in an open air shelter made of bamboo. One table had standard sized balls while the other smaller mini balls. The cues were light and warped. A chicken kept jumping onto the table in the middle of our game. We twiddled away the afternoon playing pool with the abysmally poor local players and drinking coffee. Lazy day.
DAY 5
Good thing it's about the journey not the destination. Kelimutu take two = rain and impossible viewing conditions. With Christmas looming and William needing to get back to be with family, we packed up our bags and headed back to Ende where I sought out the "flashiest room in town" for Christmas - a $15/night air conditioned tiled room with a television. No Kelimutu. No tri-colored lakes. Just an adventure I wouldn't trade for the grandest of view.
1 comment:
man, this sounds cool
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