Explore

These last few weeks it’s been a blessing to explore Indonesia again.  To hike the volcanoes and rainforests with my brothers and sisters and friends.  To see my world as it was when I was 10, and 15, and 17, and now again through fresh eyes; to enjoy the tastes and sounds and sights and smells with a new sense of wonder.

Just after Christmas we headed down as a family to meet friends for a few days of vacation in a little villa by the ocean.  The sunsets are just as majestically colorful as I remembered, dotted here and there with the black kites of hopeful bat fishermen.  If I listen hard enough I can hear the peaceful twilight of 10 years ago shattered by high-pitched shrieks on the night the bat fishermen brought down a fruit bat tangled in the hooks and broken glass along the kite strings, piled sand on the majestic 6-foot wings, and grilled the bat meat over a driftwood fire on the beach.  If I squint I can see the “tribe” children I grew up with building sand forts on the beach, and my mother and aunt coming back from a walk with their hands full of sand dollars.  If I walk a mile or two, I can find the place I learned that driving a motorcycle along the rice paddies and down unpaved roads can be dangerous.   A few things have changed since the tsunami in 2006 – restaurants missing, and tsunami evacuation route signs everywhere, but the wide stretch of ocean is unchanged.

 

One of my favorite adventures is fast becoming a popular tourist attraction.  A river runs through Green Canyon to the sea, banks filled to overflowing from the constant rain and overhung with dripping vines dangling from the canopy above.  The real fun begins after a short boat ride upriver to a small waterfall.  We’ve done it before – the swim against the current, pulling ourselves up hand over hand and climbing over rocks to try and reach the source, only to ride the rapids back down to the beginning.  This time the river was high and our guides cautious, and we didn’t make it up as far as we had hoped.  But it was still gorgeous and wet and green and amazingly fun.

A day later we wound our way through the buses of Indonesian tourists to the forest preserve for a hike along trails well off of the marked routes.  I’m pretty sure it’s not just called rainforest because of the precipitation frequency.  The other reason became immediately clear only 30 minutes into our hike through the caves and up to a cliff top overlooking the ocean.  Sweat dripped down my face, into the tank top and bathing suit underneath, and soaking into the backpack straps.  It really wasn’t that hot – a cloudily cool day to hike through the teak and rattan and up across quietly bubbling streambeds.  There was simply nowhere else for the sweat to go in an atmosphere almost 100% saturated with water already.

 

Just looking down at the ground I could have believed I was on a hike in Northern Pennsylvania.  Leaves and dirt and mold and roots often look the same anywhere.  It was the little things that gave it away: the brightly colored tree frog watching us pass, the large ant nest on a branch above, the thick vines and soaring green treetops and breathtaking view from a small pool we swam in at the top of the cliff.  It was the rafflesia blossoms and buds sprouting out along the ground and decaying fallen trees.  It was the monkeys cautiously watching us from the brush, and the young teak leaves we crushed to try as lipstick.  It was the scattered openings of limestone caves hollowed out in the hillsides by chisel during the Japanese occupation in 1942, waiting to be explored by headlamp.  

All photos are borrowed from siblings and friends who carry their cameras much more often than I do :-)