Sitting and writing down everything we have done in Indonesia casts a warm glowing backwards glance over the whole experience. Excitement and fear are powerful at insulating moments; throwing you forward to a point when your survival is assured and you fully appreciate the things you have done. That has been Indonesia. Never have I had so many moments wondering how the current situation would turn out. Not just the life and death ones, (there were only a few) but the good or bad ones. From realising I got carried away and was too close to the spitting cobra, or that there was actually a shark ten feet in front of my goggles. These are moments of pure adrenaline that become incredible experiences I wouldn't change for the world, once they are safely finished. Maybe rather than looking back and laughing in the face of what turned out well, we need to try and understand what we should truly be afraid of so the rest of it is simply beautful as it happens. We were safe when we weren't, we had fun even when it was scary and we fell in love with everyone we met.
It's hard, going to a country with a modern knowledge of how normal things work. It sounds arrogant but it's true, you can't unlearn that germs are invisible; so going to the toilet upstream and washing down stream is unsafe. You also can't unlearn that standing on top of fresh landslide is dangerous or that forty people standing in the back of a lorry isn't the safest way to travel. Why do I say this? Because it's hard to not want to change certain aspects of a developing country. However one day Indonesia will change on its own, it will and when it does, it will have to say good bye to a lot of what makes it so beautiful.
We landed in Bali and I can promise you that our first impressions of Indonesia were basically other tourists. It was exciting, but it felt very much like looking at the place through glass. Glass that spoke very clear English. It wasn't until we landed in the car park they refer to as an airport in Flores that we realised the islands here are completely different countries.
The people there trust. We were laughed at for not. This is one resounding beauty I want for my world. They trust each other and strangest of all they trust themselves. It's reflected on the roads, driving inches away from everyone else. They know they can do it. It's in the way they work, climbing bamboo scaffolding just because that's how you get up the side of the cliff... With your bucket of rocks... One thing we all commented on and noticed about the people here; they know what they are truly capable of. "why is he carrying that stack of fifteen foot bamboo poles up the mountain?" "Because he needs it at the top to build a hut." It turns out that this knowledge of what they can actually do includes running up mountains with construction equipment. It includes having 6 people on a bike and thirty people on a white water raft... The simplicity behind life is a real gem in Indonesia, you don't work when it's hot. But when there's a landslide everyone fixes it. Even the kids. You just do. Because really, you can.
It was a stark contrast then to be with two very untrusting travellers that we teamed up with to share a car to drive across the one road Flores boasted. Our resident Russian caused much entertainment when she discovered a restauranteur was lying about having fish. "He refuses to show it to me! Don't trust him." We watched his friend walk out of the sea with his catch and hand it over. It was beautifully put here; "if I want coconut, I plant a tree, if I want fish I go to the sea. No taxes, I want to eat, I eat." It's broken and perfect at the same time, the system will change. It has to, but while it is the way it is there is just a way of living that I have never experienced.
The feeling of halve truths because of the language barrier is hard to get over; but as long as your paying what you are happy to pay, maybe the guy really is Flores' minister of tourism! It took a Russian and a spaniard a whole day to 'uncover the truth.' But we got a car (we romantically wanted to do buses but changed our minds the first time we saw one rolling backwards down the hill while full of people) our new government friend even helped us bargain for a few cheap hostels along the way. So what if 'Nelson' wasn't our drivers real name? What matters was he took us to stay at his friends house. Nelson was our Indonesian guardian angel, with some average and some incredible knowledge of places to eat. With his broken English we learnt to count to ten and avoid ordering "anjing" from menus. Google it. There was one road on Flores and along it we saw both the attempts at advancement and the real rural life of people here. Nelson was there quietly putting up with it all.
One of the sweetest moments, was family bath time just outside our hostel. In the drainage ditch by the main road, mum had just finished smashing her laundry with rocks and soap. She was casually shouting and gesturing at motorbikes with arms like steel wire. She collard the young boy, dunked and set to scrubbing him with the same ferocity as the clothes. I was instantly sat in a bath squirming with my head held back and a jug pouring water over my hair. The struggle was as real for him as it was for me. Soap in the eyes, water over your face. Powerless against being clean. All the while dad sat on his plastic chair and chuckled from across the road-deaf to pleas. Mum was the power here, like all mums everywhere. It turns out we are all the same on some level.
The other reason I think Indonesia, especially Flores hit us as another world was the way people reacted to us walking past. Phrases that seem creepy turned out to be the only words people had learnt. "Where are you going?" That's it, they want to follow me and mug me. Or they want to offer me a taxi. Or it's simply a twelve year old that very rarely sees white people and is just repeating his only English phrase. It was quite odd to come out of the house we were staying in to find Lisa and Neil in conversation with three young girls. Turns out they were learning English at school and had heard there was westerners in the area. They wanted us to sign their books and have a conversation. They weren't the last. At Koko beach, after the Russian had got upset at the unexpected cost per car. (50p) We stood and watched a blast from my past. A truck pulled up with more people than you could possibly imagine. Hordes of children and a large man (for Indonesian standards) stepped out grinning. They pay too, they are just clever about it! I believe this is why they learn to fit the whole family on a scooter. Hilarity ensues. On the beach we felt a bit intimidated, it wasn't just the children staring. We had a twenty minute photo shoot with the locals. One lovely little drunk guy followed me holding my hand introducing me to people. He was the one who knew the giant white guy. Our driver explained that lots of them would take photos and put it up on Facebook pretending to have a European friend. It was easy to slip into a sense of knowing more about the world than these people. I couldn't get over how insular it felt. Until sitting on a bench watching Neil fit awkwardly into a photo with people two feet shorter than him; I asked a woman what she did. She was a doctor and her husband was a nurse and they were here for a break. Devout Catholics, this was their Sunday after church rest. Their one afternoon from saving lives and worshipping their God. There's nothing like modest brilliance to highlight your own incoherent arrogance. In such a graceful way too.
We finished Flores with Labuan Bajo. The end of Flores trying the hardest to be Bali. Tourists were here as it was the home of the Komodo island. We had to see them and we did, but in all honesty the place gave a grim insight into the future that Indonesia is seeking for its islands. You can't blame them, it offers money and a stable future. But it will come at a real price.
Sumatra was the next Island, we were excited about the jungle, but had our eyes opened when we landed. Our connecting flight was delayed due to the smoke. Big corporations were literally burning it to make room for palm oil trees. My worldly knowledge kicked in again... I was being quite condescending when I asked from the back of the scooter; "Do you like living in this beautiful place?" - how open minded of me. "This is just where I live..." There was no concept of wanting more or moving, you run away when it floods (literally) but this is where you live. They know what is happening, they see the corruption. They just don't have the power to do anything about it. Coming from, 'let's rally over better biscuits' Britain, this was a genuine shock. "It makes me angry when they burn my forest. We want them to make it the death penalty." They really really care...
There are fights between guides that respect the wildness of the animals and those who want to feed them to attract more tourists. I hope people like Robert and Josie hold out. I hope they keep hold of the tiny amount of pure wilderness that we got to see. Five days of the hardest trekking I have ever done, fishing, learning to cook real jungle food and tracking wild elephants. The jungle was two sided for all of us. It was hard as hell but that just made it all the more worthwhile. It was simply: savage climbs, more savage descents, sweating through all your clothes, sleeping on hard floors, getting used to unnaturally large insects, both wanting to and not wanting to find truly wild animals, dawn deer tracking, elephant tracking, the best food we have ever tasted, orang- utans, butterflies as big as dinner plates, crazy rafting and five of the best days I have had since leaving the UK!
We would change it all, we would clean it up and push it very quickly into the future to make it more comfortable and safe. This is the only course for any place eventually, but for now the golden glance really does highlight everything that will be lost when this does happen. We won't be scared or exhilarated. We won't look back to see the good that was waiting for us through all our fears, prejudices and first impressions.