Note: This is a delayed post, because I was violently ill! But there will be a double post this week, for all of my loyal fans. (I see you Mom and Dad, my two loyal readers <3).
Flying from Koh Lanta to Sumatra (Medan), I almost missed my flight because I had to go out through immigration and re-check my bag. A kind Indian family saw my frantic, panicked face and helped me navigate everything. I think the dad just really wanted to have a conversation with another adult, as he completely ignored his three small, screaming daughters. It was an adrenaline rush, as the option of spending the night under the fluorescent lights and listening to 2010s trash pop from the speakers of Kuala Lumpur airport was unappealing, to say the least. But it wouldn’t be travel without those moments of panic, as plans change and things almost never go as I expect them to.
Landing in Medan felt like walking right into an Islamic state. I clearly hadn’t done my research, but it felt like what I imagine walking into Iran would feel like. I learned that Indonesia is the largest Muslim majority country, which surprised me, even though it probably should not have. As one of the only women not wearing a hijab, and the only white woman walking through the airport, it was certainly the greatest culture shock I’ve had on my travels so far. I also felt a surprising amount of hostility that first night. The rest of the trip was wonderful in terms of the kindness and generosity I received from local people, but that first night, I felt stares burning through my clothing as I just tried to get a taxi away from the airport as fast as possible. Although Indonesia is not an Islamic state, Islamic principles do heavily influence decision making. Moreover, certain extremist Islamic political groups have been able to influence politics through the threat of violence. Aceh, the only region I had explicitly been warned to avoid because of the human trafficking in this region, is also unfortunately the site of the best jungle trekking. The most orangutans and elephants live there, but sadly Sharia law is also in effect in that area.
Julia (a friend from childhood that has continued into my SF life) and I were really excited to meet up with Julia’s friend Jesica, who is from Jakarta and was amazing in her ability to fit all of the major sights of North Sumatra into 5 days. She also speaks Indonesian, and we agreed that it would have been so difficult to do a similar trip without her. While many of the places we went were considered popular tourist vacation hotspots by the local people, it really was a vacation spot for Indonesians, and we saw very few foreigners. There are many people that speak English in these regions, but there were several places that would have been almost prohibitively difficult to travel to if we did not have a friend to help translate. There were also a lot of people in many of the areas we went who do not see white people very often. Julia and I couldn’t go anywhere without getting stopped by local people for a photo. It was a constant chorus of “Photo! Photo! Photo!” wherever we went. We stopped at a beach to try to go for a swim, and before we could even find a spot to swim, we were swarmed by children, who crawled out of their mother’s skirts and out of bushes and came dripping out of the water to crowd around us as their parents and siblings took photos of all of us together. We were often just gawked at, or stealthy people took secretive videos us from behind. I’m still processing how white features were idealized in these small villages we stopped in, and how the men’s gazes made me feel like a combination of a tantalizing piece of meat and a disgusting abomination.
After leaving the gorgeous Taman Simalem resort on our first night, we drove to Samosir, the largest island in an island in the world (I love this fact!). We attempted to go on the ferry, but as soon as we got there we discovered that it would be an 8 hour wait, and so we had to drive an additional four hours around the lake, but again, just a part of the joys of travel. It was obviously an inconvenience for us, but it made me feel very grateful to have transportation that is mostly reliable, and infrastructure that I can plan on working, and how different my life would be without knowing I can depend on both of those things. On Samosir, we stayed at this newly built Oasis homestay/hostel, managed by a funny German man named Claus and his Indonesian wife Rosa, who met him selling bananas. After 5 years of buying her bananas, Claus finally asked her to drive around the island with him. Claus, attended by his fluffy German Shepherd mix Semi, pointed out which places to go and which places to avoid, and very proudly asked us if we would use his new elevator, which he claimed was the only elevator on the island. The three of us shared their “honeymoon suite,” and were awakened throughout the night by demon kings (my name for the Sumatran roosters). In the morning, we walked out the door of the hostel and discovered that we were sleeping right next to a Batak archeological geosite, with enormous Batak totems, an intricately painted red, black, and white Batak house, and curled animistic figures among the tree roots. The tiny town by the waterfront was similarly full of Batak houses, these ones refinished and tended to by the families that lived in many of them. This was also the site of Batak King Siallagan and his council, and the ritual sacrifices they performed, after which would eat the heart and liver of the people they sacrificed under their sacred tree. Although it is now a tourist site, many people still live in their ancestral homes, and it was hard for me to imagine what it would be like to constantly have strangers in your front yard, trying to catch a glimpse of the inside of your bedroom. It would be impossible to relax, and difficult to leave your house, even to look out of the front door, without feeling like an object for tourists to ogle.
We stopped next in Beristagi, under the looming Mount Sinabung (an active volcano that has erupted almost every year since 2009, leaving ghost villages all over the valley near the volcano), and Mount Sibayak. It was pouring when we arrived at Smiley’s Homestay, run by a family who sleeps on the floor in their living room in order to run the small business of letting travelers stay in their beds. In the morning we were devouring the homemade bread, juiciest pineapple, and fresh Nutella pancakes when a man dressed in only underwear, with dreads so long that they dragged on the ground behind him, joined us. He introduced himself as Smiley (indeed, the Smiley of Smiley’s hostel), and told us that he had been guiding in the jungle and on the volcanoes for his entire life. He was taught by his father, who had worked as a guide for a Dutch company. Smiley, at 60, moved with the grace and agility that seemed to indicate he had spent his whole life in the jungle. Smiley very kindly offered to guide us up Mount Sibayak. One of the most magical moments was seeing Smiley stop the car and run out into the long grass with Dodo following him, jumping and pointing at the trees on the hill across from us. Smiley could hear the call of the male and female black gibbons echoing from at least a kilometer away, and he patiently pointed out their little furry bodies, flinging themselves between branches of the canopy. At the trailhead, there were pictures of Smiley rescuing a tourist who had been lost in the jungle for 10 days. Smiley explained that he had found the tourist delirious, his mouth swollen to the point of unrecognition, his mouth filled with toxic leaves. After a winding hike through the jungle, hurrying after our guide, we reached the crater, and it was the first time I’ve stood in the crater of an active volcano. Yet another magical, intensely emotional moment where the world feels impossibly expansive. Families were camped in the valley of the caldera, and there were tiny colorful tents nestled between the vents expelling sulfurous steam and the trickles of water so acidic it can melt skin. With impeccable timing, Smiley cooked us duck eggs in a volcanic steam vent as we scrambled up to see the crystalline yellow caves of yellow. On the hike down, we were caught in a torrential downpour, which the local hikers seemed bored by, even as lightning flashed frighteningly close to the caldera.
From Beristagi to Bukit Lawang, we were joined by a young solo German woman, who was traveling for 3 months and had very impressively been traveling in North Sumatra on her own for two weeks without any internet connection. She asked for a ride to Bukit Lawang for her upcoming jungle trek, and we were glad we helped because she was very ill and disoriented when we arrived in Bukit Lawang. When we arrived at the Bukit Lawang resort, it was dark and we were met by an antagonistic, furious, hostile man who introduced himself as the owner of the resort. Interrogating us and our driver about what our plans were, and whether we even knew what we were doing, his eyes were wild and unfocused, and his body language appeared violent. He met us in the dark, in the middle of a road, and seemed to express that he was extremely angry, for reasons we could not understand and he could not explain to us. We asked if we could have a second to go have dinner, during which we almost decided to not stay at the resort. When he told us to get in his car to take our bags up the rocky road to the resort, images of being abducted and sold into human trafficking or ransomed flashed through my mind. Thankfully, everything went well and we determined that this guy was just confrontational and unhinged, and a terrible host. After banana-mochi pancakes and the best coffee I’ve ever had the next morning, we set out on our jungle trek with the Dutch family staying in the room next to us. Almost immediately, we saw a gentle female Orangutan clinging to the branches above us, only a couple of meters away. She even came down to the ground, and we could see all of the wrinkles on her face, the fluff of each orange hair, and the familiarity in her eyes. Far above us, a wild male orangutan carefully collected fruit. As a snack, the guides laid out the largest spread of fruit I’ve ever seen, with bananas, watermelon, pineapple, snake fruit, passionfruit and dragonfruit in a cornucopia. The guides also sing this song that goes “Jungle Trek, Jungle Trek, Jungle Trek in Bukit Lawang. See the monkeys, see the birds, see orangutan” to the tune of jingle bells, which is still stuck in my head, five days later. We were not told that to leave the jungle, we would have to raft down the river on giant inner tubes strapped together into a raft. Swimming in the turquoise clear river in the middle of the jungle, washing away the sweat and bugs, and then rafting the jungle whitewater, felt like my own Indiana Jones Raiders of the Lost Ark moment.
Quotes:
· “There is one American living there, and he has a model of the White House that he built in his backyard. He also buried his mother underneath it.” - Claus, talking about the only American living on Samosir
· “Peace, love, and Crabs” – a sticker that was completely serious in its’ celebration of crabs
· “Sorry, give me 5 minutes. I just need to release the snake.” -Bobi, the terrifying owner of the Bukit Lawang Hill Resort, pointing to a wriggling bag when we asked whether we could check in with him
· “I used to be human, but then my therapist took it away” – writing on a shirt of a very large, gentle man at a roadside viewpoint
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