Tension in the forest

The Bukit Barisan Selatan National Park, where I work, is almost the only patch of lowland tropical forest left in Southeast Asia, it was named a UNESCO World Heritage site, and accordingly it is (or should be) protected. As it happens, there is an enclave, right in the middle of it, along the coast, and a small forest trail that is used on market days to get to the other villages. Two years ago, as population was growing, strong pressures let to a plan to build a new road, and the clearing of a 7m-wide trail in the forest started. The regional government, WCS and other NGOs vehemently protested, and the cutting stopped. It started again last year, and again, a big effort, many meetings, threats, pressures, obtained a new halt. But each time, progress was made. This year, they started again, and instead of being few dozen men that could be scared away by Park rangers, they were hundreds. When Opo, Way Canguk station manager, my friend, and one of the best people I know, went there with two rangers to film the progress, there were tense moments (as you can imagine when dealing with many people brandishing machetes..).
The local authority keeps saying that he will stop it, but that he cannot control what people do. And the latest, scary news is that the Army is unofficially backing up the road construction (they have training camps in the enclave).
Yesterday “our people” had gone there to document the situation, and when we heard gunshots coming from that direction, a shiver ran down our spines. But nothing happened, and apparently they got some “hot” footage.
Today we are at the Park HQ for the (incredibly complex) transition, from a corrupted to a hopefully better head of the Park. They will talk about it.

Komunikasi

They told me that the cellphone signal would fade at some point after entering the forest. It actually does 30km before that, before passing the mountain range. There is a “land line”. It doesn’t work very well, and only when the generator is on. No wonder: the signal is received from Kota Agung, the village 3 hrs away. How? With an antenna placed 45m high on the top of a big tree by the camp. Another feat by marvelous tree-climber Opo.

A bathroom

The bathroom in our room in Krui deserves a description. Maybe with a quick introduction to Indonesian bathrooms. They have no sink, no shower or bathtub, and the toilet is Turkish-style (hole on the ground). There is a large, concrete, open, water container, from which you take water and throw it on yourself, with a small plastic pan. I will refrain from optimization considerations, lest I should be accused of narrow-mindedness.

In this case, the bathroom is green, several shades of it. It has a high step to get in, and a smaller one to keep the water from overflowing out. The toilet is on an even higher step, unusual. You barely have room to close the (green) door when you are inside. Coming out is dangerous. And the water tank is huge, on a side, 1.5m deep, alimented by an intermittent flow of water from a tiny old tap. It has a strong personality.

Krui

We start the trip, confirming once again that we should never trust people that talk about places they have never been to. In this case, the worst “information” was that it would take 2 hours from Kota Agung. It took 6. Endless (especially when you are not prepared and don't expect it). Crossing the mountain range was long, road works and lunch breaks. When we finally see the sea, still 2 hours more!
We arrived exhausted, they make us get off in front of a hotel, we have no clue, we passively accept and enter the place, choose a cheap triple room, leave our stuff and head to the beach, though the sun had already set. We find the harbor instead, and then a Scottish-looking cliff covered in soft thick grass, and then a dirty coral reef. Not encouraging. My expectation of finding a beautiful Australian surfer who would teach me to surf is crushed. in fact, in the whole town there seem to be only men. The next day we meet two real surfers, from Germany, who give me advice. I buy beautiful makeshift goggles (they are made of two pieces of glass encased in wooden shape and tied together with inner tube rubber and fishing line), and with no food we head to the beach again. We find great waves, we play and get hurt a little. We “learn” them, and create a professional terminology: “laters”, “earliers”, “killers”, “slappers”..
We are invited to play beach volley. We accept, and sit in the shade watching gay players play. We are given refreshments and water. Then we play, and repay them with a comic performance. Then we all have lunch together, and a nice chat. Gays are not accepted in Indonesia, and this was a rare gathering of many of them. Very funny and friendly. They ask Alice for some sunscreen, and most of them want to have some (one applies an inordinately thick layer to his whole face).
On the beach, stretches of fine sand alternate to coral platforms, with interesting tidal pools and dangerous waves pounding on their edge.
We see nice moray eels, crabs, a “sea-penis” (Sipunculid), probably a sea-snake, one, single bird.
I manage to pass the dangerous area where the waves break, and go snorkeling with my amazing goggles. Some pretty fishes but nothing exalting.
There is an accident, probably due to the waves slamming a fisherman on the reef. He is rescued by two people and taken, unconscious, ashore, where a big crowd was waiting. Don’t know his fate.

While I enjoy the last wave session of the afternoon (with a hint of uneasiness, thinking of sharks), I am called back toward the shore by some kids (uneasiness increases, is there something I don't know?), they just want to make sure that I can swim (they cannot, and yet they come out with me, dangerous..) and to chat about Luca Toni and Italian football..

Later on, Heather saw news of the accident on TV. Next to Heather, the German surfer and me, was a middle aged Indonesian man, who groaned in response. He knew about it! ...but probably was dumb, unfortunately. But really wanted to communicate.. and amazingly, I seemed to catch exactly what he was trying to say, every time. Until I realized that besides dumb, he probably had some more problems.. Here is the best summary of the info we gathered: this man, on the shore, was looking at the sun, and then some lemon was poured into his eyes ("lemon??" - the hand sign was obvious - "hmm, hmmm", with big affirmative nods..), and he perhaps fell, and then all is blurred.

Birthday

We have to report to the park headquarters before entering the forest. We wake up full of hope. I even wear a shirt. I think they should cause no more problems, given that it is my birthday. This does not move them. They simply and serenely say that we cannot go until we see the chief of the park, who will come back, maybe, on Monday. It is now Wednesday!

We try to take it well, though I am extremely upset.

We go to the beach, where we play with the waves, which soothes me a bit. A group of small naked laughing children. Anton and his pictures. And his judo moves, and his knives. But Anton is nice and arranges something to celebrate: we go to the fish market, and buy many fishes (like small tunas) which we gut (in the traditional way, detach the gills and pull out the esophagus from there – leave the liver to give flavor) and grill. They are very good. We also decide to have beer, kindly provided by Opo. The feeling was that they would drink to humor the crazy western drunkards, and that they will just buy, and share, a little. But this is not the case: bottles keep coming, Opo doesn’t hold back, we sing and play the guitar, I learn “House of the rising sun”, then Anton retires to design new knives, Alice joins Heather, and I am left with Opo making plans. A good night, I end up going to sleep at 2, a record.

We decided that the next day we would go to Krui, a place famous for the big waves, along the west coast of Sumatra.

Dinner

A loud karaoke restaurant, on a rooftop, with palms, many stalls selling food and the omnipresent, great fruit juices. Singing, accompanied by a live band, a 10-year old chubby girl, with a long white head veil and sharp voice, and her father, about 50, wearing a white t-shirt with an aggressive skull and swords and flags, and broad fancy breeches. They were good.

Dialogue

(Deciding where to go to have dinner):
- Anton (former WCS staff, now graduate student in Australia): “we should let Opo decide, the big boss”
- Opo (station manager, Way Canguk Research Station): “no, no, Luca will decide, powerful Mafioso!” (laughing and bowing until he sits on the floor)
- Luca: “oh, noo, the boss Opo must decide” (jumping off the chair to lower myself on the ground as well).

The movements (more than the words) were funny and touching. We continued the discussion on the floor.

It is fascinating the interest Indonesians have over Mafia: the angkots (small colorful minivans that scuttle around, in large numbers, in every city) carry names such as “Don Vito”, I have been asked countless questions on details such as the power structure, the history, the names of the most famous bosses (much more than I was prepared to answer..). Great excitement at the news that the famous “Provenzano” was finally captured. When asked why would I want to spend one year in the forest, I answered that I was wanted by the police and needed a safe place to hide for a while. Now it all makes sense.

Creative theft

I took the overnight bus from Jakarta to Bandar Lampung. It leaves at 10 p.m., crosses the straight on a ferry and arrives before 6 a.m., all for the astronomical price of 8$ (well, in bisnis class, the executiv is 10$..). The only fear, especially when you carry a lot of expensive equipment, is the reportedly frequent thefts that take place on it.
I list the most interesting methods (skipping simple dexterity, such as pulling money out of a zipped front pant's pocket with legs folded and backpack on the lap..), narrated to me from unfortunate, direct sources.
1. You have left your backpack on the overhead compartment, right above yourself; while the scoundrel pretends to stand there, holding on, and then walk toward the exit, he will be instead moving your backpack forward. Once he is at a safe distance from you, he will simply pick it up and leave, and you (if you are awake), won't suspect it is yours.
2. You are holding your laptop bag safely between your feet. But the malefactor will delicately cut it open, and remove the laptop, leaving you pitifully holding the empty container.
3. You are tenderly hugging your laptop bag, on your lap. You fall asleep, and when you wake up you find yourself holding a bag with food in it.
4. You are addressed by a stranger. You make the mistake of looking him in the eyes, you get hypnotized, and simply hand him the bag.

The loading was fascinating: 15 large pieces of luggage of odd and ungainly shapes, moved around in all possible ways (some were repeated), more and more roughly and frantically as the departure time approached and passed. There was no way to fit them all, despite the valiant attempts, and in the end I was asked to board the bus, so I don't know what happened to the ones left outside.

I didn't sleep much. I sat next to a chubby, loving mother and her 4 year old daughter that was always falling from her belly on me, it was funny and also tender.

My old time friend Ade came to pick me up, he doesn't work in Canguk anymore, works with elephants in Kambas, has retained his insane fascination for Mafia, and will get married at the end of the month!

(I might post his list of requirements for his ideal wife..)

The river

When I visited the forest, in the summer, the river seemed slow and peaceful. Now that I am about to start my project, I am told "well, then there will be those 3 months (rainy season) where you won't be able to collect data..". I thought it was just people who didn't want to get wet, but now it appears that the river turns into a roaring angry mass of water carrying huge logs and debris, threatening to flood the camp itself.
Hmm.
The idea of a small boat, like I did (with mixed results) in Thailand wouldn't work.
WCS doesn't want to build anything "lasting", because the day they quit the project they don't want to leave something that could be used by poachers. Which makes sense.
The idea of two sets of lianas doesn't appeal to all the people involved.
I am hoping to build a tibetan bridge (is this the name? three ropes or cables, you walk on one and hold on to the other 2). We will see how it goes.