Our time in Indonesia

Greg:

I feel a bit silly trying to sum up our impressions of Indonesia. During the course of just under three weeks (Nov 24 -Dec 11) we spent time on three different islands. Indonesia is the fourth most populous country in the world with a bit less than a quarter of a billion people spread over 17,000 islands.

You can find in the map our three destinations: Bali, Lombok, and northern Sumatra.

Credit: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/maps/asia/indonesia/

Bali and, to a lesser extent, Lombok have a well developed tourist vibe to them. Bali, you may recall is where we spent time with Cynthia's family, and Lombok is home to Mt Rinjani as documented by Tam and Elle (thanks again for your excellent guest post!).

Following our descent from the mountain, Max and I were reunited with Cynthia and Thomas and we soon settled into a well-run backpacker hangout situated on one of Lombok's many beaches. (http://www.santaibeachinn.com).

Bungalow for Cynthia & Greg

and a second floor bungalow for Max & Thomas!

Perhaps the most adventurous activity among our group was Max's foray into surfing. Not surprisingly, Max picked it up quickly.

With a bit of help from an instructor, Max caught on quickly.

Following Cynthia's detailed examination of our South-East Asia on a Shoestring, we set out for Bituk Lawang, a small village deep in the heart of northern Sumatra with hopes of seeing a wild orangutan or two.

Cynthia: and so our jungle adventure began...

We arrived into this riverside jungle town late on December 7th and the fun started enroute to our reserved inn named "On the Rocks". With packs on our backs we headed upstream in the dark and traversed a long skinny and wobbly suspension bridge via flashlight.

My relief upon seeing the sign of our guesthouse was short lived however, as the sign lay "below the rocks" as it were, at the bottom of a winding staircase of 263 steps. (counted by Max and Thomas several times during our 4 days here!)

Watch for broken planks! Seriously.

The sign indicates the beginning of a healthy climb.

Over the next days we enjoyed the scenic view of the rainforest right outside our thatch-roofed bungalows and even spotted the occasional clan of monkeys swinging from tree to tree.

A view of Bituk Lawang from the path up to our guesthouse.

Just after taking the previous picture above, a noticed a group of cheeky monkeys.

Needless to say, I liked staying at this guesthouse on the edge of the jungle.

The staff of good-natured young men engaged Max in daily games of Takrow (akin to hacky-sack on a badminton court) and arranged a few days of outdoor adventure for us including afternoon of tubing down the shallow but rushing river and a trek through the rain forest in the adjacent national park.

Boys writing in their journals under Cyn's supervision.

Picture by Thomas. The cat on the right was very pregnant.

While in Myanmar we played basic hacky sack using a takraw, the guys at On the Rocks made a court and played it competitively.

Naturally, we have come to expect that things on the backpacker tour of Southeast Asia are sometimes a little rough round the edges. We have become accustomed to a little, and sometimes more than a little, grime here and there. We are also used to taking on a bit more risk than things back home, eg: paucity of seatbelts in taxis, etc. It didn't completely surprise us that if we wanted life jackets for the boys for tubing it would cost extra. As Greg aptly stated at the start of our excursion, "this ain't no Disney ride, boys". This sentiment was reinforced several times along our tour of the river when we floated by a monkey carcass in the fallen tree along the bank and later floated under a bridge where a gang of frolicking, unsupervised, bucknaked, little boys were jumping off the bridge into the water. We smiled to ourselves and remarked that back in Winnipeg this scene might prompt a call to 911 on a few levels but here it seemed innocent and healthy, if only a little risky.

Our jungle trek through the rain forest the next day was eventful as well. We had just left the hotel ground property and were heading toward the park when a small pack of dogs surrounded our guide, Greg and Max (Thomas and I were trailing behind 30 meters or so). I heard barking and growling and saw one dog take a nip at Max's ankle. Needless to say, Indonesia has a much higher prevalence of rabies and we took this "nip" quite seriously. Thankfully we had all gone through the bother of several rabies vaccinations in preparation for the trip which makes post-bite treatment a lot less complicated and supposedly more readily available. But things are never simple here.

That's iodine, not blood, to be found on Max's ankle.

I'll try to make this long story short:

1. After coming back from the two local clinics/pharmacies empty handed, we considered treatment a three hour drive away.
2. According to the locals, we ought to just wait two weeks and if the dog dies from rabies then we should treat Max, besides--it really was just a little "nip".
3. The dog was owned by an apologetic and responsible French woman who was waiting for us upon our return to the hotel. It turned out she owned the rubber tree plantation through which our guide chose to cut across. The dogs are trained to guard the property and the owner, ready to show us the vet papers, stated that all her dogs get regular rabies shots annually. After speaking with her we were much relieved that Max was not at risk and did not require the treatment. Two hours later we departed once more on our jungle trek with an extra guide and sans the shortcut through the rubber tree plantation of course.

And what a rewarding trek it was. Within thirty minutes we spotted a mother and young orangutan high in the treetops.

Mother, high up in a tree.

This young orangutan followed us for awhile, but generally kept himself out of view.

Further on we saw many of another monkey species called "Thomas Leaf" monkeys and we caught a rare glimpse of a Great Hornbill.

A Great Hornbill.

The jungle vines were as thick and invasive as you could imagine and the air was moist and earthy. Up over the hilltops and down over the cool streams we trundled along, stopping for lunch and breaks of tropical fruit toted by the guides.

Thomas leaf monkey.

The rain came in the afternoon which was a welcome, but messy cool down. I must admit, I was glad we did not opt for the two day trek with a camp overnight and relished the cool shower and dry! soft bed with mosquito netting of our grassy wood planked hut. Enough green jungle adventure for now I thought, we're ready for Kuala Lumpur and the urban jungle....

View of Kuala Lumpur

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“What happens on the mountain, stays on the mountain…”

Greg: I'd like to introduce our guest bloggers, Tamira Sawatzky, Cynthia's sister, and Elle Flanders, Tamira's wife. They offered to write the blog following our ascent of Mount Rinjani on December 1st. I've added the photos and captions. Enjoy.

The cast: John, Tamira, Elle, Max, Mansur and Greg. Cynthia and Thomas sat this one out.

"What happens on the mountain, stays on the mountain..."

Tamira:

We agreed to this mantra after certain expletives were uttered near the top of the crater rim of Mount Rinjani, the second highest mountain in Indonesia and our final destination in a 2 day trek we undertook a few days ago. Having said that, this wouldn’t be much of a story if I didn’t describe at least a little of our adventure:

But first of all, how did we get to this mantra? What would provoke such a mysterious statement invoking both images of Las Vegas and Heart of Darkness? Well, let me start by saying, that Elle and I take full responsibility for this escapade, having naively decided that a mountain trek seemed like a good idea as part of our post-Bali vacation in Indonesia. The trek was advertised as ‘beginner level’, a mere 2 day hike to the crater rim, and back, of Mount Rinjani where the view of an active volcano island amidst an aquamarine alpine lake is the stunning prize for your efforts. This line was echoed by Suja, our agent who greeted us as we got off the boat from Bali, explaining to us in the car ride to our hotel at the mountain base, how they had just taken up a group of Chinese 6-year olds. “Very easy”, he said, “No problem for you!”

Elle:

Well, in retrospect I am glad we had no idea that we had signed up for the ‘TREK FROM HELL’ because it would have definitely ruined our blissed-out time in Bali, knowing what lay ahead. What we didn’t really realize, was that the trek was essentially a vertical climb for nine hours. Apparently this is a piece of cake for anyone in decent physical condition (especially Chinese six year olds), but we knew we were in trouble when we had hiked for an hour and a half to arrive exhausted at ‘Position 1’ only to be told by Mr. Mansur, our tiny but buff mountain guide: “ok, now we go 6 hours through the jungle!” But surely it couldn’t be as steep as what we had just done? I mean it felt like we had already climbed Masada. “Mr. Mansur, we asked, “Will it be steep or flat?” He smiled, “yes, up, up”.

Our porters at the entrance to the national park.

Six more hours.

Tamira:

At this point, knowing we hadn’t really even begun, I nearly burst into tears, but thankfully we had my 70-year old father and 12-year old nephew to shame me into some composure. I mustered up my inner Menno, elle suppressed her inner Jewish kvetch and we hauled ourselves up that mountain. At first we tried distract ourselves from the grueling slog by taking an interest in the flora and fauna around us. After all, Suja had promised us a mountain guide akin to a botanist with a post-doc in zoology. We kept hearing an alluring birdcall from the depths of the jungle. “What kind of bird makes that sound Mr. Mansur?” we asked. “Hmmmmm….that bird is blue.”

‘Mr. Mansur, we asked while resting at Position 3, what kind of monkeys are those? “Those are just regular monkeys, he said, ……but very aggressive, different from other monkeys, black ones.” To be honest though, our interest in the environment rapidly waned as we focused on the 3 feet in front of us so as to not trip over the relentless tangle of roots that formed our path.

The relentless tangle of roots.

A regular monkey with baby.

Elle:

So ‘up, up’ we went and much to Tamira’s consternation, I felt the need to ask Mr Mansur if the next section would also be up? ‘More steeper’ he would answer cheerfully. Glancing ahead at Max and Greg, I tried to detect hints of exertion. “Tired?” I would ask Max, as he would plonk-down waiting for me to pull-up the rear. ‘No’ he would say, ‘but my ear hurts a little’ (note that Max managed to hop up the mountain with A. an ear infection and B. having thrown-up his breakfast an hour before). So I put that in my bag of Menno behaviours to call on when in need of a kvetch. “Max, what’s the hypotenuse of a radius of a falling object greater than the other” (or something like that, not exactly being a Mathlete myself), Greg would ask apparently not in need of extra oxygen we so desperately sought out. “uh, I think it’s four to the power of 12,000?” And so it would go. Luckily, even if we lost site of Greg and Max, we knew they weren’t far away as we heard quadratic equations and astrophysics emanating from somewhere in the thick of the jungle.

I held the camera level for this photo.

Tamira:

Meanwhile, Dad was just soldiering on, somewhere between the algebra up ahead and me and elle, with Mr. Mansur waiting behind. You see, I have never worried about Dad, aka Grizzly Adams, who most recently impressed us with becoming violently ill 40 feet underwater yet refused to disrupt his scuba lesson. However, even Dad admitted, (but only later on our way down) during a torrential jungle rainstorm, that this was ‘miserable’ which was therefore oddly comforting, reassuring us we weren’t the only ones wishing we were drinking G&T’s beside the pool.

However, after a certain point there was literally no turning back and we committed to the final push to the top. After all, there was the spectacular view of the volcanic lake that we had come all this way for. We saw Max, Dad and Greg ahead of us at the cliff edge pointing excitedly with beaming faces. As we stumbled to the precipice, we looked down into the crater. What did we see? Nothing, because as we pulled in, so did the clouds, and all we saw was a vast fog. “You just missed it….”, Greg said, nervously giving us the news. “Well”, I said, trying to put a sunny face on it, “the main thing is that we made it, right honey?”. Apparently those words were of little comfort and I won’t repeat what was then said back….

Above the clouds and above the tree line.

Elle:

I’ll be happy to repeat them (well what’s fit for print that is, right Max?!) I recall saying something to the effect of “I think I’m going to cry.” So as my not-so-brave face would have it, tears welling-up inside my achy, tired body, the fog slowly began to lift, the sun peeped out, and low and behold, a massive volcanic lake appeared below glistening in the morning sun. It was truly something. Phew. After about ten minutes of awe however, Mr. Mansur looked at us and said: “ok, enough now? You saw it, let’s go.”

Elle surveys the mist.

After the clouds parted.

We’ll spare you the details of climbing down that bloody mountain, suffice it to say like Winnie-the-Pooh, I went bumpity bump down the mountain for 7 hours. After the fifth hour of descent, along with the torrential tropical downpour, came the leeches. Yup, you heard it, blood-sucking leeches! John’s lecture on their historical-medicinal value fell on deaf ears as Mr. Mansur burned them off with his endless cigarettes. I think that’s where I pretty much knew I was ‘done’ and that perhaps mountain trekking wasn’t my sport.

Tamira:

A day later, after fresh laundry, clean sheets and completely flat topography, we were restored. Unable to walk of course, but ambulatory enough to make it over to the spa for a massage. In the end, three days of recovery in a posh resort made up for most of it and the bragging rights for the rest. While Max went on to conquer surfing and rest of the Speisers planned their next trek in Sumatra, we sipped our Mojitos poolside marveling that we actually made it – oh yes we did!

The whiny kvetching expressed above belongs solely to the authors and are their opinions alone.

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Viva la villa

Quite the contrast! Two weeks in Myanmar, a country struggling to emerge from decades of isolation and repression followed by a week in Bali, an island that knows how to offer a good time to backpackers as well as the most well-heeled pleasure seekers.

The Sawatzky family had long talked about a tropical Christmas rendezvous but it took the perfect storm of Rob & Anjali's move to Singapore, our decision to travel and everyone else's ability to find both the time and resources to cross the globe, to make it happen. That and Anjali's commitment and organizational zeal.

So, our cast for the week in Bali:

I'd like to say that we discovered how the other half lives during our week at the Villa, but I think the other one percent would be more accurate. The Villa Samadhana is a fully staffed private resort that catered to our whims. The kitchen staff went to the market, purchased our groceries and then prepared meals and drinks for us as per our requests. Much to my pleasure, they learned how to make a proper iced espresso rather quickly (most establishments make them far too sweet, IMHO).

Everyone enjoyed the pool,

and the water balloon fights,

and the pool table and the personal massages and the Balinese dancers and the amazing meals.

Okay, enough about how we were totally spoiled while snow storms brewed back home.

Outside of the existence of extravagant accommodations which, really, you can find almost anywhere, Bali is known for beaches and diving as well as its distinct culture. Primarily Hindu amidst the world's largest Muslim country, Bali bursts with ornate temples and with stunning public ceremonies.

Thomas wonders why people say, "Clean as a whistle", when whistles may have been in someone else's mouth and are likely full of germs.

Tourists posing by a temple.

Resemblance?

Unlike cathedrals that require near silence, this temple had many musical noise makers. Note Max playing away.

We saved a lot of money by not purchasing some amazing carvings.

And then ended up spending on other ones.

Photo by Thomas. Aunt Tam in background.

Our architect giving final approval for a future table top.

Of course no Bali trip would be complete without diving or snorkelling. The most avid diver of the group, Elle arranged two days of rental equipment and instruction for all of us--all the way from four year old Fischer's supervised snorkelling to Open Water certification for Fischer's grandfather, John.

John started a course in Winnipeg and finished it in Bali.

Before Cynthia got her mask figured out.

Half human, half borg, Max readies for descent.

Diving was not without it's complications. John, probably as a result of something he ate, got ill underwater and found out that a regulator *will* expel liquids as well as intake air. Asked by his instructor if he wanted to surface, John championed on.

My own experience was less heroic: after feeling quite comfortable with "resort dive" lessons in a pool, I lasted only minutes in the ocean when, in an effort to equalize pressure, I blew out my ear drum. End of dive.

Last, we tried out our GoPro underwater--it is blurry, but otherwise quite effective. Here is a short clip of Cynthia and Max exploring a wreck.

Our next post will feature guest hosts, Elle Flanders and Tamira Sawatzky. I'm looking forward to it!

Greg

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Burmese Daze

Nov 28 Bali, Indonesia

Wow, our travels through Burma are now behind us and I'm feeling both relieved but wistful. We're now in a rather luxurious Balinese villa resort with my parents, siblings and their spouses. We have a fleet of villa staff ready to bring us a g&t on demand and our beds get made for us every day. We have a beautiful pool and yard to ourselves and it is absolutely wonderful. It is hot and sweaty only until we slip into the pool or ocean or our air conditioned bedrooms. Did I mention it is absolutely wonderful?

Our one week of luxury living here in Bali stands in sharp contrast to our two week travel experience of Burma....a country which I admit, until recently I could not locate on a map. It was a challenging but adventurous 15 days that was eye-opening, sometimes in horrific shock, sometimes awestruck from breath taking sights.

Crash course on Burma (after reading this you'll know more about it than we did on arrival):

Burma, aka Myanmar, was a British colony until WWII. An English influence still persists and English is taught in the schools. There are several ethnic groups accross the land with Bama being the majority as well as Chinese and Indian migrant groups. In 1948, democratically elected General Aung San was about to take office before he was assassinated by a militant group which continued to rule as a brutal military dictatorship to this day. The general's daughter and Nobel Peace Prize winner, Aung San Suu Kyi is now poised to be Myanmar's next leader. Because of economic sanctions by the US and many other countries there are far fewer western conveniences: no ATMS or credit cards accepted (we had to bring adequate American cash-- crisp bills no less-- to last the entire trip), no 7-11s, McDonalds, and crappy wifi. In recent years the government has eased up and things are improved enough to warrant a US presidential visit.

Source: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/maps/asia/myanmar/

Since the release of Ang San Suu Kyi from house arrest for hopefully the last time in November of 2010, there has been a dramatic increase in tourism with a demand for hotel beds that exceeds the supply. Hence our decision to stray from the backpacker path and travel via set itinerary. The whoIe trip was arranged and paid for via emails between Greg and a local travel agent recommended on trip advisor (our new web best friend). I recall thinking to myself, "this will be a snap" and rather naively looking forward to experiencing this nation untouched by McDonald's et al.

In truth, the trip wasn't a snap. The cities were hot, dusty and truthfully, unmemorable. Far fewer people spoke English than in Thailand. Our family couldn't seem to shake a fevering illness that passed from one the next. We had bed bugs one night but thankfully managed to leave them behind.  Things were altogether more raw.

We lived through an earthquake.

There were two beautiful places though: Bagan, land of 4000 temples; and Inle Lake, an expansive shallow lake bordered by mountains and rice paddies and lakeside villages on stilts. I hope to return to these places someday as they were truly magical.

Some memories:

We learned to dodge the betelnut spit from the chewers with red stained teeth toothy grins.

The men wear long strait skirts tied at the front in a bulging knot. I really loved the look of these.

The construction workers building roads and sidewalks (forced labour?) wearing flip flops.

Like all tropical countries dusk is brief and the dark comes fast. In Myanmar their are few electric streetlights and roads are illuminated only by the roadside businesses and the lights from motorbikes and cars (this is unbelievably eerie at first).

The women and children wear a paste from the sandlewood tree on their faces, ostensibly as sunscreen. The souvenir sellers are crafty about this and offer to smear it on you as you pass by their stall. Then, while you're basking in the warm feeling of cultural sensitivity and acceptance they rope you in.

As Greg can attest, I was a sucker all the time....

As Cynthia mentioned above, the two most memorable locations in Myanmar are Bagan and Inle Lake.

Bagan

Most of Bagan's temples date from 11th and 12th century, making them up to a thousand years old and in various states of disrepair. From what I read, Bagan's golden age ended in 1287, when it was invaded and sacked by the Mongols. It's population was reduced to a village that remained among the ruins of the former city. Finally, in 1998, the Generals of modern Myanmar forcibly relocated the inhabitants a few kilometers to "New Bagan".

What remains are the thousands of temples scattered within a vast, dry landscape.

We hired a horse and cart and meandered through the temples.

Perhaps Cynthia's favourite image, Max and Thomas deciding to run behind the cart.

While locals can no longer live in old Bagan, there are still goats and cows on the dusty roads.

Every Burmese Buddhist boy between the age of 7 and 13 is expected to enter the monastery as a novice monk for a period of a few weeks to several months. The monks of Myanmar wear red/maroon coloured robes, unlike monks in other Buddhist countries in South East Asia who usually wear saffron coloured robes.

Many temples are small and unattended, others like this one have mini-markets.

Boys playing with string. Note the skin treatment.

Don't even try to count them all.

A variation on hacky sack.

Pictures of monks are always cool.

Inle Lake

By the numbers:

Myanmar's second largest lake lies a couple hundred kilometers to the east of Bagan. Covering an estimated 116 sq km (remember Winnipeg is around 450) with an average depth of only around seven feet during dry season, Inle Lake houses a population of 70,000 in a number of villages on the shore and, more interestingly, on the lake itself!

We toured the lake in one of these long boats.

Our lunch stop.

The people who inhabit the lake, the Intha, are a different ethnic group than the Bama majority. Their livelihood depends on agriculture, with amazing floating gardens right on the lake, fishing using iconic wooden non-motorized longboats, and silk and lotus textile production.

The two fellows in the first picture below were clearly posing for tourists. Local fishermen are known for practicing a distinctive rowing style which involves standing at the stern on one leg and wrapping the other leg around the oar. This style evolved for the reason that the lake is covered by reeds and floating plants making it difficult to see above them while sitting. Standing provides the rower with a view beyond the reeds.

A long boat, perhaps carrying sacks of rice.

Note how the long boats are weighted so that one can sit or stand right on the bow.

Casting a net with hands while leg rowing.

These boys were pulling up sludge from the lake bottom to be used as fertilizer.

Wispy lotus thread.

She spins the raw wisps into usable lotus thread.

Finally the thread is woven into fabric.

Photo by Thomas

Excerpt from one of Cynthia's emails:

The Burmese women (well actually all the Burmese) are sort of enthralled with Thomas as he is the smaller and fairer one of our group. People literally point, stare, giggle, and touch Thomas on his shoulder or cheek, and try to get a response from him. The server at our hotel breakfast table progressively went from a smile to a cheek pinch to a kiss on his cheek with every visit to our table--we were laughing and trying to get Thomas to try our some Kung Fu blocks on her next time she approached.

What's also cute is that Thomas is referred to by all as the "baby". As in, "does baby want drink coke?"...."entrance fee 1/2 price for baby"..."baby so handsome...". We heard this in Thailand too so we're getting used to referring to our "baby" as in, "excuse me, baby wants to know the wifi password so he can play minecraft"...without hoping he lives up to his name.

One of our Inle Lake stops was at a monastery famous for trained jumping cats. Alas, we soon learned that the monks had stopped the jumping six months ago--now that the tourism was increasing the cats were getting overworked. What made our stop noteworthy, however, was that since Thomas napped in the long boat during our short excursion, Max now received the attention usually sent towards his younger brother.

Here an eighteen-year-old female posed with Max, the subject of her adoration.

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