Drokpa Journal

Dates Traveled: October-November 2007

Singapore

I left the vessel, and Rio, on October 24th for the loooong trip to Singapore. By the time my head hit the pillow in Singapore I’d been awake for over 60 hours, though only 42 of those were spent on flights or in the Rio, Sao Paulo, Washington DC, and Tokyo airports. Needless to say we didn’t exactly get an early start the following morning. As before, the other half of ‘we’ was Rhona - we met in the Tokyo airport on my way through and flew the last leg to Singapore together.

We spent two days in Singapore - mostly wandering about and taking care of last-minute business before heading to the more remote destinations on our trip. As we’d both been to Singapore before we didn’t hit any of the tourist sights this time around. Well, aside from cocktails in the Long Bar at the Raffles Hotel - birthplace of the Singapore Sling. They’re expensive at about US$12/drink, but had to be done - and we have the cheesy photos to prove it. On the plus side, there were bottomless bowls of peanuts and you simply threw the empty shells on the floor…something I love in a bar.

The other highlight in Singapore was heading down to East Coast Seafood one evening for a dinner of Sri Lankan crab. We sat outside near the water where we cracked and sucked our way through one crab prepared in pepper sauce and one in chili sauce. I think we had sauce from our fingertips to our elbows, but the crabs were delicious.

Papua, Indonesia

From Singapore we flew to Sentani via Jakarta, Makassar, and Biak. Sentani is simply a small community built around the airport and is part of Papua (formerly Irian Jaya) - the Indonesian province across the border from Papua New Guinea. We were actually trying to get to Jayapura, the largest city, and located over an hours drive away along the shores of the beautiful Sentani Lake. A couple of Dutch guys working for an NGO took pity on us and drove us part of the way, where they pointed us in the direction of a share taxi. That share taxi dumped us at a transit center, where we transferred to another share taxi for the ride into town. After wandering around for awhile we found a place to stay, only to discover that the Dutch guys had been correct - prices had increased dramatically. The Lonely Planet stated we should be able to find a room for around US$5/night, but the cheapest we ever found while in Papua was US$10/night. That first one was US$13, though it did have air conditioning… at that point neither of us was accustomed to the heat and humidity. The extra cost may have also gone towards feeding the local wildlife in the room, which included cockroaches that ran across our faces while we were trying to sleep. Nice. The attached bathroom had a mandi, which is the typical Indonesian shower. Sometimes it’s a tiled container built to enclose a space along one of the walls, while other times it’s simply a large plastic barrel. It’s filled with cold water, and there is a smaller pail which you use to pour water over your body - a bucket shower. It actually works quite well, and uses far less water than a conventional shower.

Jayapura didn’t offer much in the way of sites, but we needed to stop there in order to get our requisite travel permit. We also wanted to talk to some locals to see where they recommended we visit while in Papua. Last, as there are no roads linking the various regions in Papua, we had to see what was available for flights.

After two nights in Jayapura we headed back to the airport early on the morning of November 1st for our Batavia flight to Manokwari. Yes, Batavia. Garuda is the Indonesian airline most people know - usually for their poor international performance. Well, while buzzing around Indonesia we actually used more obscure airlines, and saw planes for several others…Merpati, Trigana, Adam Air, Top Air, Air Fast, etc. While checking in we had a chuckle at Batavia’s slogan, “Trust us to fly”. Of course we interpreted that as, “…it’s the takeoff and landing where we have problems”. Still, we walked out to our plane, hopped on, and about an hour later we were in Manokwari.

Manokwari

We walked across the tarmac to the baggage claim area - a wooden table. The cart of luggage was wheeled over, we pointed to our bags, they were plopped on the table, we showed the baggage tags, and walked away with our stuff. Easy, though probably not advisable for flights carrying more than 20-30 people! A young taxi driver befriended us while we were waiting, so we pumped him for information and then had him drive us around to 6 or 8 different spots trying to find a place to sleep for the night. We probably should have had him drive us to 8 or 10, as the one we finally settled on proved to be less than stellar. It was basic, which was fine, but we also discovered that one of the local bus stations was just out our back ‘window’. A window that was simply a hole through the cinder blocks and covered in screen…which meant it couldn’t be closed…which meant that we didn’t get much sleep that night due to all the noise. Oh well.

The Lonely Planet stated there was a very informative tourist office in Manokwari, which in hindsight should have raised our suspicions - there are no tourists in Papua, and certainly not in that region. Anyway, we had our taxi driver call on our behalf to get their location, only to discover that it no longer existed. No worries - we’ll simply head out walking and get information from the locals, how hard can it be, right? Right?!?

We set out and came across a local agency that seemed to deal in travel. We walked in and encountered two friendly girls willing to help, though hampered in those efforts by the fact they spoke minimal English. Still, over the next half hour we kind of made clear what we hoped to do, and they kind of made clear what was possible. We didn’t necessarily come out of there with a wealth of knowledge on the area, but it was entertaining if nothing else.

We’d heard there was a new four-star hotel which had recently opened in Manokwari (the sister hotel was in Jayapura), so we thought we’d head there in the hopes they’d have someone who could speak English and provide us with a bit more information. Now, once you’ve been to Manokwari a four-star hotel becomes even more of a head-scratcher than it must seem to you right now as you’re reading about it. No, Manokwari doesn’t offer anything that would require a four-star hotel. Maybe it’s one of those if-you-build-it-they-will-come concepts.

Anyway, we did find plenty of people who were willing to help and who spoke English, and they gave us some good information regarding the Manokwari area. However, we were still completely in the dark regarding our destination for the following day - Ransiki. Oh well, we were growing accustomed to showing up places and winging it.

While talking to reception at the swanky hotel we discovered they had only been open a few weeks, and as such still had a half-price promotion going on. Hmmmmm.
“If we agree to stay here for a night or two when we come back from Ransiki, can we store some luggage here for free?”
“Yep”
“Sold!”
Which is how two grubby backpackers ended up in a US$50 room a few days later and lowered the star rating of the clientele by a few notches - but I digress…

The rest of that day in Manokwari was spent indoors trying to stay dry, as there was a torrential downpour for several hours.

Ransiki

We left the hotel early the following morning, made easier by the fact we didn’t get much sleep that night anyway, and caught a share taxi across town to a different bus station. “Ransiki?” A few people pointed to a bus, while a few others became our personal guides and led us over. Our timing was perfect, as the bus was about to pull out. Our luck was a bit off, as it was full. We asked about other buses, or other options. We were led to one of the share trucks - small pickup trucks with hard benches in the back. They’re covered, but the sides are open. It was only 4 hours to Ransiki so it would have been an easy trip, but we were going to have to wait around while they tried to fill the truck, and there was no telling how long that would take. We headed back over to the bus and decided that at least one of us could get a seat, so we purchased the tickets, jumped on board, and away we went.

I ended up standing for most of the trip which, as it does all over the world, amused the locals. They love to see foreign freaks so tall that their head hits the roof! We were befriended by one of the conductors who could speak some English, so he kept up a running commentary for most of the 4 hours. That paid off once we reached Ransiki, as he had made it known to others on the bus that we would be staying in town. As we were driving by a nondescript house a couple indicated that it was actually a guest house, so we hopped off, headed over, and got settled.

We quickly realized that what we thought would be possible - a 2 or 3 day hike to some lakes in the region, probably wasn’t going to be. Nobody was willing to guide us to them if we walked, but plenty of people were willing to drive us up there on the back of their motorcycle, so we finally agreed to that option.

After that was sorted we went for a wander around Ransiki, which is basically a one-road town with a few little side streets and a market. We were instant celebrities, and it seemed that within 5 minutes the entire area knew two foreigners were in town. We walked, waved, and smiled for several hours…freaks on parade! I love those first moments in a place that doesn’t receive many foreigners - when everything is new, possibilities are endless, and locals are smiling and friendly. It goes a long ways in explaining why I travel.

We next hopped on the back bumper of a share taxi, held onto the luggage rack on top, and hitched a ride down to the beach. We spent a few more hours walking - entertaining, and being entertained, by some laughing kids every step of the way. There were other kids playing out in the water - running along a partially submerged log, only to do a flip off the end into the water. Others were climbing branches overhanging the water and jumping in. Who says you need an X-Box to have a good time.

After a longer-than-expected walk back into town…”It can’t be far”, we had a great meal of fried rice at our guest house. A few guys with motorcycles then came around so we could check out their bikes for the following day. The first one I dismissed right away - just a little problem of not actually having working brakes…nothing major. We finally approved two bikes, confirmed our itinerary for the following day, and called it a day - a great first day in Ransiki.

Early the next morning we were greeted by two drivers and their motorcycles. Two completely different drivers and motorcycles than those we’d approved the night before. Ooooh, you’ve gotta love travel. Anyway, those bikes also seemed ok, so we jumped on and sped away. The previous night one of the drivers had been asking about my weight. On the first rocky uphill section the reasoning became apparent - the bike didn’t have enough power to make it to the top with me on the back. I slid off the back and walked uphill. At the top of that hill I gave my day pack to the driver of Rhona’s bike to eliminate some extra weight, but the story was the same on our second hill - I walked to the top. It was going to be a loooong day. On the third hill I once again slid off the back as it became apparent the bike wouldn’t be carrying me to the top of that one, either. It turned out the bike didn’t even have enough power to make it up that hill with just the driver. In sign language he indicated he was going back into town - I assumed for another bike, and so he turned and sped away. When I finally got to the top of the hill the other driver was wondering where my driver had gone, so I indicated he’d gone back to town. He then sped away. Hmmmmm - this could be interesting. We may get to do our hike after all! In general the bikes in the region were simply the automatic 100 or 110 CC bikes for use in town. They weren’t appropriate for the dirt-and-rock up-and-down roads that we were on, and they certainly weren’t appropriate for doing those roads with someone of my stature on the back. Like the revelation back in the Bolivian mine in September, it seemed I was also too big for this activity.

We set out walking uphill in the direction of the lakes, knowing our guys would be back since we hadn’t paid them yet. Sure enough, an hour later they roared back onto the scene - on the same bikes. However, there had obviously been some work done on my bike, possibly the spark plug was changed? Whatever it was, it had a lot more pep when it came back, and we were able to both ride up the hills after that.

We eventually came to the first lake - Laki-Laki, or Man, Lake. We rode along the shoreline - admiring the beautiful lake, while also checking out some of the wooden homes in the area. Waves and smiles were once again the norm. Climbing higher and then dropping into the next valley brought us to Perempuan, or Woman, Lake. We descended and headed towards a distant village - arriving there just as the skies opened and the rain poured. As we were being pelted with rain, our drivers drove into the yard of a home and we sprinted up their ladder into their house. “Uhhh…hello. Mind if we join you?” I certainly hope they weren’t opposed to guests simply dropping in, because it wasn’t long before everyone from nearby homes was also standing in their house - checking us out. We had a great time there - not communicating verbally, but interacting nevertheless. It was a nice little oasis from the downpour outside. Once the rain subsided we said goodbye to our new-found friends, jumped back on the bikes, and headed back towards Ransiki.

I’d been less than impressed with my driver on the way up, and became even less enamored on the way down. I was too tall to fit comfortably on the back of the bike in the first place, with my legs often going numb. He also seemed very erratic in his driving and shifting. Rhona’s driver was obviously an ojek, or motorcycle taxi, driver. He drove others for a living and it showed. I don’t think mine does, and it made for an uncomfortable experience - especially on the downhills. After a few hours I’d had enough and told him I’d simply walk back into town. It took awhile to convince him - even after Rhona and her driver sped away. He kept indicating that it would get dark before I reached town, but he finally left me in peace to walk. At which point I realized I was still carrying the key to our room, and that Rhona wouldn’t be able to get in. Oops!

I’d walked for about an hour - and had negotiated all the downhill sections, when I came across a guy who started yelling at me and then proceeded to follow me about 10 meters behind. Periodically he would call out to the fields for others to join him. Hmmmm, this could be interesting. About that time I happened to walk into a small village and up ahead saw an ojek driver dropping off a passenger. He saw me as well, so drove over and asked if I wanted a ride into town. I wasn’t quite sure where the interaction with yelling-man was going to lead, so I hopped on the bike and we roared off. Ahhhh - that’s how the ride should feel when you’re with someone who drives for a living. In 30 or 40 minutes we were back in Ransiki. It was a nice day in that we were able to get away from Ransiki, see some beautiful lakes, and have the experience with the villagers in their house. However, next time I think I’d arrange to drive the motorcycle myself.

The following day we went local - simply sitting on our veranda during the heat of the day and watching the world go by. We also had plenty of time to observe the numerous geckos. We saw gecko love, geckos fighting, geckos jumping, and even geckos falling off the ceiling. It was entertaining.

We really enjoyed our time in Ransiki as it seems to get even fewer foreigners than some of the other places in Papua that we’d visited. It had a wonderful, timeless feel, and we were sorry to have to leave.

The following day we headed to the market to try to get a ride back to Manokwari. We knew there would be a bus around 1 PM, but we were opting for a share taxi in the hopes that we’d be able to leave earlier. We ended up driving around town, or sitting in the market area, for an hour or two before we had enough people in the truck to make the trip feasible for the driver.

Back to Manokwari

The staff at the Swiss Bel Hotel may have been regretting their decision to let us stay there when they saw us shuffling across their marble floor towards the reception counter, but they checked us in and we headed up to a real shower, a western toilet, and some television. Luxury.

The following day we caught a share taxi across town and then hopped a large outrigger canoe for the short journey to Mansinam Island. We talked to a few kids who were jumping off the pier into the beautiful water, and then we set off walking along the coast. We eventually came across seven guys who had arrived by boat. One shimmied up a coconut tree, machete in hand, and proceeded to make it rain coconuts. Guys on the ground gathered the bounty, hacked into them with their own machetes, and downed the juice. They handed us some so we could join in on the fun - coconut milk dribbling down our chins and onto our chests. I’ve never been a big fan of fresh coconut juice, but these were gooooooood. The guys then whittled a couple of make-shift scoops out of coconut husk so that we could scrape away and eat the coconut meat inside. Mmmmmm. I don’t know how many coconuts we each went through, but the guys provided us with a seemingly endless supply. And then a second guy shimmied up a new tree….”Incoming!” More fresh coconuts. While all this was going on the clouds lifted and the sun came out - it was beautiful.

After everyone had had their fill they loaded the remainder into their boat - setting two aside for us to take with us. They then indicated (again - we had no common language) for us to get into the boat and they’d take us back to Manokwari. We jumped aboard but had them simply take us back to where we’d first landed on the island, as we wanted to stay awhile longer.

When we finally did head back to Manokwari and our swanky hotel, we were once again met by semi-amused looks as we strolled through the lobby - sunburned, trailing sand, and carrying two fresh coconuts. We had to smile.

Later that afternoon we walked behind the hotel to the small houses near the water. These were ramshackle huts in direct contrast to the hotel, but more common to the area. Those built along the water were built on stilts to accommodate the daily tides. As we walked we once again became instant celebrities. There was a gaggle of kids down there, and every one of them wanted to ham it up for the camera. As the light was beautiful we were happy to oblige. We got some nice shots.

We had a perfect day in Manokwari. The following afternoon we hated to say goodbye, but it was time to move onto the next phase of our adventure.

Sentani

As we hadn’t found much of interest in Jayapura the first time around, it was a bit of a hassle to get there from the airport in Sentani, and we were only spending one night back in the region before flying out again, we elected to stay at a place within walking distance of the airport. We arrived in the early evening and simply grabbed some dinner, got a few things at the supermarket, and crashed before our flight the following morning into the Beliem Valley.

Beliem Valley

I’d returned to Indonesia to see Papua in general, but the Beliem Valley in particular. I’d been fortunate enough to travel around Indonesia for 2 months back in 2002, but I wasn’t able to make it to Papua at that time. Never in those 2 months did I hear of another backpacker traveling to Papua. In fact, I’ve hung out with travelers for over 10 years now and I’m yet to meet someone who has been. That was the appeal. I suppose some of what puts people off is the transportation issues. I was going to take the ferry to Papua in 2002, but it’s irregular at best - one may end up waiting a week or more for the service, and then it’s a 4-5 day transit from Makassar to Jayapura. You then have to pay the cost of internal flights to get from one region to the next, which certainly drives up the price.

My fascination with the Beliem Valley for the past 5 years could be summed up in two very strange words - penis gourd. I’d read that the valley hadn’t been ‘discovered’ by Westerners until 1938, and that there were still native tribes - most notably the Dani, Lani, and Yali, who still dressed traditionally. For the women that meant grass or yarn skirts and nothing else. For the men it meant nothing but a koteka, or penis gourd. I was intrigued to go see such an area for myself, and so Papua made its way up my must-see list.

Our short one-hour flight from Sentani dropped us into Wamena, the main town of the region, and we quickly realized that this wasn’t going to be the unspoiled experience of Ransiki. While waiting for our bags we were pounced on by a couple of guys promoting their guiding services. One seemed to have decent English and said all the right things, so we used him to help direct us to a hotel. Once settled we sat down to hear his full spiel on what was available in the area, and what he offered regarding 3-day treks. His cost seemed extremely high to me, but we came to find that to be the norm in the valley. Though there were minimal tourists in November, the area sees an influx of them in August when the locals perform mock battles and ceremonies. The locals were accustomed to tourists, which meant that everything in the valley was going to cost us money. Worst was the photo-for-money mindset by several villagers we met. I don’t pay for photos as I think it essentially turns people into beggars. Learning that we were going to be taken advantage of for our week in the valley made me like the place a bit less.

Evidently most people immediately choose a guide who will help them organize everything while they’re in the valley. As we could see that we’d be nickled and dimed at every turn - and because we simply wanted to explore the region on our own, we declined that offer. We acknowledged that we would need a guide for the 3-day trek and so agreed to that - exorbitant though it seemed. However, we wanted to spend the first couple of days on our own - taking share taxis to nearby villages, hiking around the region, and exploring the local markets.

We did follow our guide to the local police station so we could have our travel permit stamped. There were many villagers there, some dressed traditionally, awaiting someone to listen to their grievances or settle disputes. That first glimpse of people drove home that we certainly weren’t in Kansas anymore, Toto.

We ditched our guide and told him we’d meet him again in 3 days. We then set off to explore the small town of Wamena on our own. “Uh, Rhona - there’s a guy walking towards us wearing nothing but a penis gourd”. There he was - big as life, just walking down the road without a care in the world. Had to smile at that one - our first official sighting. As we continued walking two young guys caught up to us and ensured we proceeded in the direction of the new market in return for being able to practice their English. It took us 45 minutes to an hour to walk to the market, but it was nice to be able to pick the brains of the guys as we tried to learn about the region.

They confirmed what we’d suspected - the missionaries have made an enormous impact in the valley. Locals we later talked to seemed to believe they ended up with better education, health care and infrastructure, in exchange for losing much of their culture and tradition. The missionaries are certainly having an impact as far as attire is concerned, as most of the locals now wear western-style clothing. It’s only some of the old men that prance around in only their kotekas - a practice that will probably die out in the next 10 years or so. The missionaries have their own aviation services in the area, and everywhere we hiked we seemed to happen upon small churches in the middle of nowhere. And as evidence that maybe not all of the money from the collection plate goes to aiding the locals, we were shown a new home under construction that was extremely grand by Wamena standards, and told that was the new home of one of the ministers. Hmmmm.

We both had big smiles once we finally reached the market, as it was a fantastic place to people-watch. There were Papuans in western dress, guys in penis gourds, and guys with a ring of feathers around their head. Most of the Papuans were barefoot and exhibited extremely flat feet. Women were selling vegetables while knitting the large string bags which we saw most of them carrying. A few guys were selling more traditional items which are now mostly ceremonial or for souvenir purposes - headdresses containing entire parrots, pig tooth and beaded necklaces, ammonite fossil and pig tooth medallions, drinking jugs made from gourds, kotekas, and sharpened stones which were used to amputate fingers. Huh?!? Traditionally, the last joint of a woman’s finger was amputated each time someone close to her died. Throughout our week in the valley we would see and shake hands with many elderly women missing the tips off numerous fingers. The most extreme was a woman missing the tips off all four fingers on one hand and two fingers off the other. It didn’t seem to keep them from doing anything, as we saw many of those same women using the needle and string to create the aforementioned bags.

The Papuans were up front in the open-air market selling their wares, while behind were rows of shops where Indonesians from other parts of the country were selling theirs. We were about to experience first-hand how fragile a co-existence that could be. While wandering around we heard a commotion and then had a crowd of Papuan guys run past us. Many stooped to arm themselves with rocks as they ran. We followed them around the corner of a long building containing many small shops to see what was going on. The Indonesian shop owners were in a panic - scurrying about to get all their items into their shop and slamming the doors shut. You could see genuine fear in the eyes of some. We couldn’t tell what was going on, as most of the action seemed to be down at the other end of the building. All of a sudden the crowd wheeled and came charging our way. We had no chance of getting out of their way, so simply tried to press ourselves against the closed shops. Bad idea. It seems the stones that many had gathered were for throwing at the Indonesian shops - the same Indonesian shops we were now pressed against. There were only a handful thrown to the roof of ‘our’ building before an older Papuan saw us and made sure nobody threw any more rocks in our direction. We weren’t being targeted anyway, but it was still a welcome gesture.

We wandered back to the main road in front of the market where many of the women had gone for refuge. The story we were told initially was that an Indonesian policeman had shot a Papuan up in the open-air market where we’d been only 10 minutes before. We later heard the watered-down true version that he had simply hit a Papuan for not paying the small amount of money required for the ‘privilege’ of using floor space in the market. Papuans aren’t happy that Indonesians from other parts of the country are coming to Papua to take all the jobs and to tell them how to run their province. In our short time in Papua we sadly noted that most of the people in positions of power, or making money, were Indonesians. Most notable were the share taxi drivers in the Beliem Valley. Adding to that frustration is the fact that the US mining company Freeport operates on Papua the largest gold mine in the world, and the second largest copper mine. Unfortunately, most of that money also finds its way back to Jakarta and other parts of Indonesia, rather than going towards improving the life of the local Papuans. To state that Papuans resented the Indonesians would be an understatement.

Jiwika

The next morning we took a share taxi to the region known as Jiwika. Share taxis are dilapidated vans which are stuffed with 15-17 people, when 11 or 12 would be comfortable. We also noticed that drivers and conductors didn’t see the need to lower the number of people they believed they could carry just because two of those passengers happened to be Westerners larger than your standard Papuan.

We first visited the village of Sopaima, which exhibits the traditional architecture of the Dani people. There is a fenced compound containing a long house for cooking, and circular grass huts for sleeping, all built around a courtyard. We took to calling the sleeping areas ‘muffin huts’ for their distinctive shape. There were a few of these - some for the men and some for the women. Women are not allowed in the men’s building, though men can go inside the women’s building. Each are divided into two levels - the ground level for cooking, eating, and socializing, while the top level is for sleeping. The women’s hut had an additional feature on the ground floor, as that was where the pig pens were located.

Pigs are integral to the tribes in the region. They’re eaten at certain ceremonies and funerals, and they serve as the dowry when a man wants to marry a woman. We’d already seen that teeth and bones from the pig were used in various ornaments. The fact that they bring the pigs inside each night to sleep in the same house as the women drove home just how important they are to the local tribes.

We had gone to the village to see the 250 year old Dani mummy. The mummy is in a squatting position, with the knees pressed up tightly to the chest. With the mouth open for eternity it reminds one of the famous painting, The Scream. In fact, it has been suggested that the central figure in that painting probably was based on a preserved mummy which the artist had seen earlier.

After sitting inside the men’s sleeping hut and carrying on a basic conversation for awhile, we decided to take a walk around the area. A couple of the men wanted to show us the salt mines and caves in the vicinity, but we were leery of having to pay more to go see them and so opted out. They (including one old man in a koteka) still walked us around towards another village where we sat and watched a small market. We then spent the rest of the day wandering on our own the various roads and through fields before catching a bus back into Wamena.

Kimbim

The next morning we once again piled into an over-crowded share taxi, this time headed towards Kimbim and its weekly market. We initially sat on the road above the market to get some shots before anyone knew we were there, which was a great plan - for the first 3 minutes! Then the kids mobbed us and our cover was blown. We wandered around the market for a few hours, taking it all in, before we decided to head farther up the valley. There didn’t seem to be any share taxis right away, so we figured we’d set out walking and just hitch a ride later. Well, we ended up mingling with a lot of kids who had just been let out of school. One of them was interested in practicing his English, so we walked with him for just over an hour to the next village. It turned out that there really wasn’t anything going on there, so we simply hitched a ride in the back of a dump truck to Kimbim, and then caught a share taxi back to Wamena.

We decided that since we’d be starting our 3-day trek the following morning we’d better buy a few things and check e-mail on the way back into town. By the time we finished dinner it was 7 PM. When we got back to our hotel our guide was there. He said a Swiss couple had approached him, offered him twice what we were willing to pay, and so he was sorry but he wouldn’t be going with us on our trek. Huh? He would transfer the down payment we’d made to a friend, who could be our guide. Uh, no, sorry, but it doesn’t work like that. We chose you because we wanted you to be our guide, not because we wanted your friend to be our guide. After a bit more wrangling we simply asked for our money back. It turns out that he hadn’t given our entire deposit to his ‘friend’ - he’d kept a large chunk for himself. Sneaky bastard! We later heard from the owner of the hotel that guests of hers had had problems with him in the past. While all this was going on there were a few guides standing in the wings, like vultures. Once we got all of our money back one stepped forward - he could smell blood. We walked to his hotel to listen to his spiel, which was actually a longer hike. He said it was a route that he normally did over 5 days, but we’d simply push a bit harder and do it in 3. Wary from our first disaster, we pared everything down - no porters were necessary, minimal food was required, we wanted to stay in the ‘muffin huts’ with the local families, and we’d simply take a share taxi to the trailhead. We finally agreed on a price that was about half of what we were going to pay the first guide.

Trekking in the south of the Beliem Valley

The following morning we stopped by a market to stock up on food, crammed into a share taxi, and drove the hour to the trailhead. The walk that day took us up and down hills along a muddy, slippery trail. We came across several small villages with the traditional thatched buildings, as well as a few elderly men in kotekas. The scenery was beautiful as we looked down on two rivers, and across the hills to lush vegetation intermingled with platforms for crops hacked out of the steep mountains. At one point the rain came down quite heavily so we ducked into the woman’s hut in a small village. The elderly women there were missing many fingers, had terrible eyes, but were still attempting to use the needle and string to create one of the bags. While we were sitting there one of the men decided he needed to come in for a closer inspection of us. Turns out I got a pretty close inspection of him as well, as he ended up squatting directly across from me. Now that’s normal in Asia, but it’s a bit more unsettling when the guy is only wearing a koteka! I suppose it did give me a chance to see how everything is supposed to be attached, such that if I ever decide to walk down the streets of Helena in my koteka I’ll know I have it on properly!

After 5 or 6 hours of trekking we came to our home for the evening. As it was raining when we got there we sat inside near the fire while the guide and the head of the family talked. He was a large man who it turns out had two wives. We learned that he’s had a total of 5 - two were with him now, one had died, and two ‘went away’. We would also soon discover that he had converted to Christianity, was extremely religious, and prayed often. We couldn’t help but wonder if his first two wives ‘went away’ after he abandoned his culture and converted. Unlike the other homes we had seen, this was a single unit - the men and women each slept under the same roof, though on opposite sides of the hut. He had also given up traditional dress and stated that he no longer believed in, nor participated in, the traditional ceremonies. However, he was willing to perform them for foreigners for money! Nice.

Rhona and I went for a short walk, and when we returned everyone was sitting around on the ground outside. They were eating sweet potatoes - the stable of the region. In fact, it’s one of the few things they actually do eat - that and some various leafy greens, which explains why they have some nutritional problems. Anyway, the potatoes had been cooked over hot coals, and we plopped down next to them and dug in. Luckily for us that wasn’t our only means of sustenance, and our dinner was ready shortly thereafter.

The home was the standard design for the region. It was a circular wooden building with a thatched roof. The lower level was about 5 feet/1.5 meters in height, and had a pit for the fire in the middle. This particular home also had the stalls for the pigs along the back wall. When it was time for bed everyone climbed the ladder through the small opening to the upper floor. It was simply a wooden platform covered in straw on which a few pieces of plastic had been placed. We rolled out our sleeping bags, listened to the evening prayer in the local Dani language, and went to sleep. Or tried to go to sleep. I found the room far too hot for my liking, and so I couldn’t drift off to sleep for several hours. Rhona was awake for other reasons - rats. The next morning when she said she hadn’t slept well because of them, I made a comment like, “Yeah, I could hear them getting closer, but they usually leave a person alone”. I was then informed that she had one run over her arm and had flung it away. Oops.

Hiking that day was more of the same - about 5 hours of up and down over slippery, muddy trails. The scenery was once again spectacular, but for me the highlight of the day was without a doubt the bridge that we used to cross the river. It was a hanging cable bridge with a wooden walkway. The entire bridge swayed somewhat as you walked, but the best part was that you could see the river racing below you through the slats of wood. They were spaced fairly far apart, and then there were other places where someone had obviously stepped and broken through! I think I made at least 5 partial traverses so I could get enough photos and video. I was like a kid in a candy store - it was great!

That evening was spent in the village of Wes Agalep - a collection of a few homes and one school. Which explained all of the kids running around. We arrived fairly early in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day entertaining the kids. It was great fun.

The following day was our last on the trail, and our longest at about 9 hours. I struggled for the first hour as I had nothing left in the tank. For the previous two days I’d sweat like a pig in the humidity, but was unable to get enough liquids and food in me at night to restore my energy. That caught up to me as we climbed the muddy trail that last morning. I figured it was going to be a long day, but thankfully the trail became less muddy and leveled out a bit, so the last 8 hours weren’t bad at all. Once back to the trailhead we jumped into the back of a share taxi and rode back into Wamena.

Ceremony

On our last day in the Beliem Valley we headed back to Jiwika for a ‘ceremony’ - which we’d arranged a few hours ahead of time. It’s something the villages now do for travelers in the region, as it demonstrates some of their customs, ceremonial rituals, and dress. However, the fact they were putting it on just for us made the whole affair considerably less appealing, and it was the most voyeuristic I’ve felt in a long time. I can only imagine what it must be like in August when they do the same - but on a much more grand stage, and there are camera-wielding tourists snapping their every move.

It began with several of the men dressed in kotekas, feather headdresses, and pigs teeth through their nose. Brandishing spears they made several mock charges towards each other across a field. They then stood around posing for pictures. We next went into their compound where the men joined the women - naked from the waist up, in some sort of dance. More posing for photos. The most interesting part of the experience was to see how they use a piece of wood, a long thin strip of a different type of wood, and some dry grass to start a fire. The dry grass is placed in a pile, and the long thin strip of wood is placed flat over the pile. Next, the piece of wood is positioned such that it’s also on the pile, and the two ends of the long strip of wood can be brought up on opposite sides. A guy then stand on the wood to hold it in position. Grabbing the two ends of the strip of wood in his hands, he quickly saws it back-and-forth. The friction generated from the wood strip against the other piece of wood generates enough heat and a flame to light the pile of grass. I’d never seen a fire started that way, but it worked extremely well.

The remainder of that day was spent buying the requisite souvenirs - kotekas, small ringed feather headdresses, full parrot headdresses, stone axes, necklaces, string bags, and stones for amputating fingers, to name a few.

Sentani

The following morning we flew back to Sentani and our hotel within walking distance of the airport. We ended up doing nothing that day except to relax, take care of a few things, and Rhona got caught up on her journal. The following day we headed out via public transportation in an effort to find a beach which had some rusting WWII relics. We didn’t have a lot of luck in that effort, but it was still a nice day spent walking along a beach. That night we were walking around Sentani after dinner when we passed on the far side of the airport. Rather than walk all the way back around it to get to our hotel, we opted to head through a hole in the fence. We then walked across the tarmac until we found an unlocked gate on the other side of the airport. The following morning when we boarded our plane we tried to put out of our mind how easy it would be for anyone to enter the airport and tamper with the planes.

The flight we boarded took us from Sentani, to Makassar, to Jakarta, to Kuala Lumpur, to Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia. We really enjoyed our time in Papua as we saw very few foreigners. We got to see some amazing places, witness pretty funky traditional dress, sleep in traditional homes, trek, and interact with some extremely friendly people. It had taken me 5 years to get there, but it was well worth the wait.

I know this post is long, and it doesn’t even cover our time in Borneo, which I’ll post soon. However, I was hoping to paint a bit better picture of Papua since so few people go there, and so few people know much about it. Hopefully you’ve come away with a little better understanding and appreciation for an incredible place.

And I’ll leave you this time with the slogan we saw painted on an airplane from another low-budget carrier, Wings, at the Jakarta airport. It read, “Fly is cheap”. So is a proofreader, which you probably should have invested in before painting your slogan in large white letters on a huge orange plane!

Until next time…….

Indonesia Photos

Email This Post     Print This Post