Big is Beautiful

With no stems, leaves, or roots, the world’s largest flower is a bit of an oddball in the botanical world. Native to Borneo and Sumatra, the Rafflesia Arnoldi is actually a parasite living off the nutrients found in jungle vines, rather than through the traditional soil-and-sun routine.

The Rafflesia is also unique in its pollination tactics; rather than producing the sweet smells that attract bees, butterflies, and the like, this flower smells of rotting flesh and meat, thus earning it the name “corpse flower” among locals. The pungent odor attracts flies and other scavenger insects, which transfer the pollen.

Since the flowers take six to nine months to bloom and begin to decompose after two or three days, the opportunity to spot them can be rare. We were lucky enough to get just such an opportunity, even luckier that it didn’t cost us an arm and a leg (unless your limbs cost under $3 apiece) and only took about 30 minutes of jungle walking.  

Technically, we had missed the typical blooming time by only a matter of weeks, but our final stop in Sumatra allowed us easy access to a village where, by some fluke, the flowers bloom sporadically throughout the year, almost guaranteeing visitors the chance to see one.

Bizarre and bizarrely lovely, the rafflesia was a bucket list item I didn’t know I had until I saw it. A highlight among a trip chockfull of highlights, the flower was certainly worth the short, but slippery, mini-trek on our final day in Sumatra.

Double Double

On the island of Sumatra lies the world’s largest volcanic crater lake, Danau Toba. Within Lake Toba sits the Singapore-sized island of Samosir. And, if you’re quite determined, high up in the alpine trees of this double island, there are several smaller lakes. If you have the kind of bucket list we have, there’s just no resisting seeing a double lake on a double island.

On rented scooters, we set out to circumnavigate the island, turn inland and head up an over the island in search of said lake. We headed past remnants of the island’s animist history, palm trees on one side of the road, pines on the other. Through rice fields and rocky hills dotted at random with the massive, colorful multistory graves unique to Samosir.

We lost ourselves in towns, through markets filled with staring Indonesians. After some false starts, kind strangers eventually directed us onto the road that would lead us on a quick jaunt across the island. Stop at a lake, click of a camera, back before dark. Or so we thought.

“Hati, hati” and “Palan, palan” are two oft-ignored warnings in Bahasa Indonesia. Slowly and Caution mean very little in a land where driving is reckless, passing is nonchalant, and speeding is a given. So when told to drive slowly and be careful, we assume it’s because we are white and suspected of ignorance about driving motorbikes.

As pavement became pockmarked, giving way for wide expanses to dirt and gravel, we figured it couldn’t last. Wouldn’t maps indicate a dirt road? The road did, indeed, wind its way past the lake, the x on our treasure map. But that's about as far as our luck lasted. 

Eventually, you go too far to turn back and must forge on ahead. Even as you are driving at a snail’s pace, the sun inching closer to dusk, trying a dip and dodge around innumerable rocks and potholes,  scooter rattling and scraping all the while. At some point we crested the top of the island, some 3,000 feet above sea level, to see the island ring road a thin snaking string along the coast, far below us.

Much in the way that all good things come to an end, so too must the harrowing. After a brief pavement fakeout (which had us so assured we were done with dirt that we stopped for a victory break), the dusk trickled into dark, pavement back into rock and dust, leaving us to crawl back by the light of a barely-functional headlight.

Aching and dusty, we finally pulled up to our hotel. Soothing pizza and beer were applied to our wounded spirits. Bed was crawled into early. But, sometimes it’s not easy to reach your destination.  Especially if you’re looking for a lake on an island in a lake on an island in the ocean. 

Red Head

Native only to the jungles of Sumatra and Borneo, the orangutan is a rare and exotic creature. With a name meaning “forest person” in the local tongue, our distant relative is truly a sight to behold. 

Eerily human, extremely intelligent, and largely solitary, the orangutan spends the first six years of its life with its mother. Much of this time is spent learning how to build nightly nests high in the branches, as well as the ins and outs of the diverse and complicated diet that gives these critters sustenance – primarily a wide range of fruits, supplemented by plants, honey, bark, and occasional bird eggs or insects.

Large, gangly-limbed, with frizzy red hair, orangutans still somehow manage to exhibit grace and ease while swinging from tree to tree high above the forest floor. No easy feat when you weigh up to 250 pounds.

It is a majestic and magical experience to witness such a rare, solitary animal in its native habitat. Perched high in the safety of the trees, the orangutans can be as interested in the people below as we are in it. And with any luck, this interest, this intrigue, will fuel efforts to keep the number of orangutans up, to keep the jungle from reducing in size, and to keep the devastation humans can bring from encroaching farther into the realm of the wild. 

Paradise Found

Off the northernmost tip of Sumatra lies the tiny, rural island of Pulau Weh. Reaching this haven required some time and effort: a twelve hour bus to the north, a becak to the pier, a ferry to the island, and a harrowing, eye-watering, ear-popping motorcycle taxi across the island. But it was worth the work to reach Weh Island’s rustic (budget) tourist digs.

Waters vary from crystal clear to impossible blues and greens, enticing swimmers to find sweet, cool respite. Waves gently caress shores rocky and sandy alike, lulling the hammock-bound into swinging afternoon naps. Afternoon thunderstorms patter on tin bungalow roofs. For me, the bungalow balcony offered a perfect spot for morning yoga, and the affectionate local cats were ideal cuddle partners for those afternoon naps. It is in many ways postcard-perfect.

Even the negatives on Weh Island yield positive results. The herds of goats that love to clip-clop down onto our bungalow porch provide us with incredible goat’s milk cheddar for morning omelets. The impossibly incorrect maps lead us on a drive over the entirety of the magnificently picturesque island. The rough speedboat ride that sent us hurtling over six-foot swells through a thunderstorm and left us soaked to the bone allowed us to snorkel with dancing schools of fish, color flickering in the sunlight; it also ended with our being gifted a 25-pound fish, a gut-busting feast, even for six people.

With its minimal tourist infrastructure, herds of goats, and numerous mosques, Weh Island isn’t the ideal paradise getaway. It was rustic, our tour guides also made their living fishing, there wasn’t hot water or air conditioning, we forgot to reapply sunscreen, and the beer was absurdly overpriced and hard to find. But it was gorgeous, the people friendly and helpful, the food delicious, and the cats plentiful. I truly couldn’t ask for anything more. 

Nearby Neighbor

Traveling from Thailand to Indonesia is a bit like visiting a friend whose house has the same floor plan as your own; everything is familiar, but the furniture is bizarrely different. The Elaborate Buddhist temples have been replaced by equally elaborate mosques, the tuk-tuks replaced with sidecar-wielding becaks.

Call to prayer, haunting and melodic, pours over the buildings, snaking in through windows and doors. It wakes you in the morning, and bids you farewell at night. Hijabs of every hue cover the heads of devout women, equally a proclamation of faith and a fashion accessory. Cats lounge and prowl in broad daylight, flaunting their power in the absence of canine competitors. The fried rice has a bit of a kick, the variety of local curries an even bigger one. 

The landscape and weather are both similar in temperament to what we live with in Thailand. Tropical flowers, palm trees, and banana leaves abound; fried rice and noodles rule the kitchen; smiles are offered openly and easily. Yet, touching down in Indonesia’s northern island of Sumatra, we are greeted by a land that is still incredibly travel-worthy, with a diverse culture, rare plant and animal life, and a lush array of landscapes. 

Despite being so close to Thailand, both in kilometers and in attitude, and despite having been to Java and Bali in the past, Sumatra offered us a whole new world to explore.

Win: Critter Catcher Extrordinaire

I am the proud girlfriend of a creature catcher. Bugs, frogs, lizards, fish -- you name it, he can most likely catch it. And if he can’t, it won’t be for a lack of trying. He even once was part of a project to build a fly-powered airplane, which, as one can imagine, involved capturing a whole herd of flies.

In any batch of Rachel-taken pictures, we end up with a minimum of one picture in which Win has captured an unwitting animal. He stalks, swivels, and hedges them in, just for the fun of it. From my end, there’s something really curious about seeing something so tiny and foreign so close up. Always released in one piece (although sometimes flash-dazed), the critters then hop, skitter and slip away to resume their lives. 

It’s a bizarre talent but delightful nonetheless. I mean, honestly, there’s something magical about a whispered “Hey, I got you something” referring to a momentarily still butterfly.

Indonesia Stew

Given its proximity to two active volcanoes and its tendency to be earthquake-ridden, Yogyakarta was a city with a warm, positive outlook. Lounging about on benches, motorbikes, and rickshaws, the people were all smiles and hellos. So, after seeing the requisite temples, we decided to hang around and enjoy the atmosphere. The people were friendly. There were three book stores, and several restaurants had chess boards. Our guesthouse had a balcony and cheap beer; cigarettes were less than a dollar. What more could we ask for?

Periodically throughout the day the Islamic call to prayer would rise above the rooftops, a cacophony coming from a hundred places, beautiful and syncopated, washing over the buildings. In the afternoons came the rain, like bowls of water being poured over the head of the city, squelching the midday heat. Geckos clung to walls, searching for insect snacks. Indonesians sprawled in the heat.

We lounged on the guesthouse balcony, reading or napping, cigarette smoke circling lazily above us.  I traded for more books and used toothpicks as makeshift bobbypins when the heat became stifling. Win and Mikal played chess for hours with the rickshaw drivers who lazily attempted to lure passengers. All in all, it was three days completely lacking in productivity: just the break we needed in the middle of all that traveling. 

Getting There, Bali Style

The first step in planning any proper Balinese outing is letting the boys pick something around town that they think sounds cool. If it includes the words “elaborate,” “cliff carving,” and “25 meters,” they’ll probably pick that one, but only because very few temples in the Lonely Planet include the words “video games,” “beer,” and “boobs.”

In the morning, enjoy a breakfast of fruit salad and a bizarre pyramid-shaped banana sandwich. The freakishly large ants will wait until you finish before starting in on the leftovers, but the sugar bowl is probably full of their dead friends. Also, you will be interrupted frequently by the where-you-go-today call of the local guesthouse proprietor trying to sell you any and everything they can. Sneak out of the temple-style guesthouse when he isn’t looking in order to avoid more hassle. 

Next, find a row of parked motorbikes covered in half-asleep Indonesians. Equally willing to do anything for money, one of them will gladly rent you a motorbike for the day for less than $2.50 for the day, or at least call a friend who will. As a side note, Asians have mastered the art of sleeping on a parked motorbike; unless you want to domino a row of parked motos, I wouldn't recommend trying it.

Also, they will show you and your friends how to ride a manual, give you helmets, and include bribe money with the license in case you are pulled over. This shouldn’t happen as long as you stay on the right (left) side of the road, they tell you, but if it does, you don’t speak English. 

Now you’ll want to get directions. This consists of getting the correct pronunciation of the place you’re going and the most descriptive directions you’ll get all day – “Petrol station. Turn left.”

Staying to the far left, you’ll want to dodge pedestrians, randomly parked vehicles, numerous potholes, and a handful of hippies/yuppies wielding yoga mats. When passing anyone going slower than you, keep in mind that there are no solid/broken line rules; passing is always acceptable, and the bigger vehicle has the right of way, always.

After you go to the petrol station and turn left, you’ll drive for a while without seeing any signs for where you are trying to go. Then you’ll come to a three-way stop.  Hoping you haven’t passed it and armed with correct pronunciation, ask directions. You’ll want to ignore the person who offers to lead you there in exchange for money. Go in whichever direction the person points, in this case, right. You get the feeling that they might as well be pointing up.

Come to yet another fork in the road. Pull over into a parking lot to ask for directions. The first group of women will not know, but they will still offer to lead you there for money anyway. Go in the direction a shop owner points, back the way you came.

A little ways farther, you stop for gas and maybe more directions. You accidentally give them a 1000 rupiah bill instead of a 10000. When that doesn’t work, you should pay them properly while wearing your sheepish I’m-a-silly-tourist grin. Directional requests will probably be met with shrugging.

Pull back into traffic, but when the road curves, try staying straight to go on a residential road. Ask for directions. Follow the pointing finger to the left. Dodge chickens. Ask for directions again, but this time let one of the boys ask for the wrong temple, that’ll confuse ‘em. Keep going left. Start guessing which way to go.

At this point you should just pull over for a cigarette and a home-grown trek through the jungle. And by jungle, I mean community water spigot and trash pile in the jungle. Did I mention you won’t realize that until you’ve walked down about a hundred steps? Whew, what a cigarette break. But past the trash pile and beyond a trash waterfall there’s a river. It would be picturesque if not for the mosquitoes and how sweaty you all are.

Remount motorbikes. Careful, the seat is hot and the helmet feels suffocating. But, drive for three minutes, up and over a couple hills, and at the edge of this residential neighborhood you will find the point of interest you’ve been looking for. You will pay to park, accidentally doing so in the sun, and then pay twice as much as you thought to get in, but you’ve made it.

When you see that the cliff-side carvings are not as elaborate as all the Hindu temples and that they are 25 meters long, not tall, the boys will be extremely surprised. The male system of listening to only keywords has failed. But, hey, at least they did all the driving.

On the way back into town, you will make a minimum of three more wrong turns, driving many kilometers out of the way. This will not be your fault, since you have no way to communicate with the other motorbike and are therefore stuck following them in the wrong direction. However, you are all veterans of the Indonesian direction-giving system. On the way, you might even find burritos, just be sure to ditch the motorbikes before starting in on a pitcher of sangria.