Midnight starts never really seem like starts. It is kind of like being zombified, and then aggregating for the common cause of all zombie wisdom. In this case, we were grouping together to climb up Mount Agung, the highest volcano in Bali. By the time all was said and done our group had swung radically from 19 with 4 cars to 8 people in one car. It could have been the fact that the rain was coming down in sheets, but those who had arrived were determined to reach the top of the mountain by morning. 

After meeting our guide, Ketut, we started to get walking up the mountain. Shortly after we starting going, two of our troop dropped out due to health problems…. bringing us to 6 adventurers. The initial slog was grueling, but at the same time the cool temperature made the hard effort not feel so bad. Tim and Mel seemed to start on the slower side, but I had confidence both of them would have the will power to see the hike out.

Our first rest stop came after what seemed like far to long. When we were told it was 1/4 way, our egos were deflated. This was no walk in the park, but at the same time we were making progress. The trees gave way to stone soon after, and in the dark it was hard to see what exactly we were climbing. At some points we had to hold on with our hands as we crossed what could have been potentially deadly falls. When we finally reached the last bits of the hike, other groups were coming down the mountain. I was surprised, but apparently they had gotten too cold up at the top.

Our team of travelers hit the top in stride, found crevices to make a temporary home, and bunkered down till the sun would warm us. Slowly the black sky gave way to lighter and lighter shades of orange and then pink. To our north it astounded me that the caldera of the volcano was sheer cliffs heading into a plain of harsh stone hundreds of meters below. We also soon saw the scale of the mountain we had climbed, as the shadow of it stretched clearly across the island of Bali, delaying the sun’s rays hitting that land. Most of the places we found at the top gave the impression that this was the navel of the island. Everything that is considered Bali lied below us.

Walking down the mountain, it was strange to see monkeys who had ventured up the slopes. They apparently have learned that there are easy meals with the climbers, but we were told by Ketut not to feed them. Once, a monkey who had been fed followed the group all the way down to the temple. By the end of our walk, all of us felt like our joints had ceased to function normally. We had reverted to 4 year olds using hands for balance simply because our legs were not responding as our brains wanted them to.

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I tried to convince Kiky to bike up to Kintamani, a town along the ridge that makes the Batur Caldera on Bali, but she would have none of it. Being who she is, she wanted to see what she was getting into, especially knowing that I am slightly prone to exaggeration. After an hour of motorcycling continuously uphill, both of us were relieved that we chose to use the motorcycle first: her for knowing what is to come next time we decide to bike it, and me because I avoided trouble caused through my handicap of measuring difficulty properly.

When up there, we got some coffee to warm us up (it was really chilly!), and while enjoying a warm cup both noticed a string of trucks making their way down the caldera into the lava field. Of course we could not pass up the chance to get down and do a little exploring, and soon found ourselves wishing our brakes maintain their integrity while we descended the twisty road.

When down there it was surprisingly warm and sunny, with a wonderful volcanic cone to our left behind a haunting maze of sharp, black lava stone. minutes after getting down, we abandoned the bike and headed out on foot through the stones. They were of all sizes, but mostly the same balck volcanic rock with lots of holes throughout it. Looking across the landscape was otherworldly. Spires of rock reached out on the hills, with everything bearing the same hostile feeling indicating this place was not suitable to life. But, on many of the rocks lichen colonies had made their usual debut, ensuring that in time to come this place may look a bit more like other places on our planet.

Surely, we will ge around to climbing the mountain in the middle of all this, but for now we decided we would revel in the other oddities found in the Batur Caldera.

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Finally, the rainy season looks like it is coming to an end. For us mountain goats, that means we can start hitting up the local peaks and getting some good exercise under our belts. While the peak of Gunung Agung (Bali’s tallest volcano) has been calling to me for the last few months, the threat of rain made it hard to find a guide who would take us up. So I looked to the central mountains and found one which would become our first Bali  Peak: Gunung Lesong.

Near Lake Braten, the area had a host of mountains just calling us to climb them. I told them to hold their horses, they will all get there turn in due time. Gunung Lesong won out the day though because it was both a decent hike and long enough to keep us occupied for most of the da

We pulled into the parking and quickly found some guides, in this case a pair of Kadeks. Wasting little time, we got to the walking. The first few kilometers were amongst the veggi, fruit, and flower farmers who eke out an existence up here. As we hiked up we passed several groups of school kids on their way home.

Kadek asked if we had any long pants, which none of us did. It was for the leeches. I asked if we would encounter and leeches along the mountainside. He laughed, exclaiming we would all surely become leech food on our way up. Now, I have been outdoors many a time, but have never had the honor of being bitten by a leech. I felt that perhaps it was exaggeration, but today would not be the day I would become victim to those wriggly monsters.

On the way up I realized I was quite wrong. I would indeed fall victem to many leeches up here. Fortunately, Kiky was far tastier and got bitten much more than I did. I may be her mosquito magnet, but she is my leech protection.

We got clouded out on the top, missing the dramatic views of the valleys and lakes all around. However, the walk down was really amazing with thick forests and ficus unlike any I’ve seen before. All in all, an amazing walk was had by all, and our legs didn’t even feel the burn the next day!

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Along the road to Bira, I have always wondered what Bisappu Waterfall was like. About 3 hours into the trip out of Makassar, you pass a brown sign that has become crooked by a collision with a truck. According to this sign, a mere 5km away lies a waterfall of note. Despite my love for waterfalls and perpetual desire to explore further afield, I had never actually made it to this place. Each time there was something in the way: a need to get to Makassar before lunch, or leaving too late from Bira. This time though, some travelers whom we had met down in Bira sprung for the idea of going to Bisappu waterfall, and so we were committed.

Leaving the main road, the small lane quickly gained elevation, and the scenery became all the more appealing. Cacao pods hung just outside of our reach along the roadsides, and the ridge we were ascending dropped to rice terraces below. The road was blocked on a couple occasions by large heaps of corn freshly harvested by hand from the fields. Our car squeezed through with inches to spare and finally we arrived at the chute.

It was far taller than I expected. From top to plunge pool, the falls were about 70m. The cliffs around it were steep and blocked out most of the direct sunlight. some racket was coming from the forests above, and soon we noticed that bamboo was being harvested and slid down the steep slopes. A cooling swim in the river and some exploration along the boulders strewn throughout the valley were a perfect way to bisect the trip to Makassar.

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Each time I think I may get used to the road trip down to Bira, but there is always a surprise in store. This time, the driver despite many pleas to slow down raced across the South Sulawesi countryside, his mind more on getting a picture of his new long distance fling than on driving. We made it to the entrance to Bira, then the car gave a sudden crash. As I got out to look, I noticed the wheel had fallen completely off the axle. The last km to our hotel was in high spirits, as we could only imagine what trauma we may have had to endure if we had lost the wheel while driving.

This trip to Bira is the first in which we have come with the firm decision to build our house down in Ara beach. I also had along JJ, a son of a friend and one of my students, who was going to be doing a research project on the area. As soon as we got down to Bira, we got motorcycles and made a b-line to Ara beach, where we were to stake out the location for the foundation of our home. Staking the place where our house will be? What fun! It is great to imagine the progress without yet experiencing the pitfalls.

As part of our trip, I wanted to survey the reefs in front of our house. I went there a couple years ago, and was disappointed by the amount of dynamite fishing that had occurred there. Two years ago there were signs of the reef’s rehabilitation, and this time around there was a considerable amount of growth which had occurred. There were also many schools of fish, creating tight shoals which quickly turned into the highlight of this outing. As I dove into them they surrounded me so that my view on all sides was a blanket of small fish. Other larger fish were circling them and thus they stuck close together while giving me room.

The nicest surprise we got was after we had finished some of our business with Pak Gappar. He had told us that there were a couple caves which had been cleared in the area, and that we should check them out. I, always interested in new locations, was keen to go. Kiky, however, decided to stay behind. So I took JJ and we got on the motorcycle for a bumpy ride down to the opening of the cave. Much to my surprise this cave was not a hole in the ground, but a true chasm with stalactites and stalagmites larger than a human. The opening of the cave brought you down into a chamber where the roof had fallen in. In the centre of this was a tree growing out of the cave floor, with the leaves right around the height of the ground above. Gappar told us this cave had some history, and we soon found ancient coffins with human remains in them. The coffins looked very much like those of the Torajans, and Gappar predicted that an animist culture spanned much of this area, and the traces of them were erased when Islam came to South Sulawesi. The cave was said to have contained many artifacts, but in the early 70s some westerners came and looted the place. Amazing how so much history lies just beneath the surface.

Our last day was spent over on Liukang island, which when we visited last time we were down here. Like last time, the snorkeling was beautiful. I spotted many types of anenome fishes, trumpet fish, eels, and some rays. It was a good trip, and interesting for JJ to view. We also entered the turtle enclosure, but something about being next to the sea made me guilty for contributing to their imprisonment. Sure, there are turtles all over the place in aquariums, but when you see them next to luscious corals it really makes you rethink what it means to be in captivity.

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Now that it has been two weeks since we left South Sulawesi, I can see that I am already missing much of the natural scenery in and around the Bira area. This place is still wild, with lots to explore and discover. Perhaps over the coming years, I can get some more opportunities to explore further.

Highlights of our stay down there was exploring the south end of Mandala Ria beach, Lemo Lemo, and meeting the people who make it to this secluded spot. At Mandala Beach  we found secluded pools surrounded by cliffs dripping with plant life, interesting rock formations that made for great swimming obstacles at high tide, and more of the rock faces filled with crabs. Lemo Lemo turned out to be less of an ideal swimming beach, but did have nice vegetation right up to the beach and quite an expanse of beach to walk.

One aspect that made our trip down to Bira interesting were the evening conversations with travellers and locals. Since there are few people who pass through, those who are there and speak English often share stories and discuss whatever has been on their mind. Many of the people had spent a good deal of time exploring the area, and were still on their way farther out to see what there was to see.

the photos below show scenes from Cape Bira, Lemo Lemo, and the boat launch party we attended.

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It was apparent in the hours leading up to the 1^st of January that people had spent a good deal of money stockpiling fireworks for the eve. Every couple seconds a firework would go up nearby, make a big bang, and light up the sky for a second. They were the generic consumer based varieties, foot long sticks that launched a starburst in any variety of colors or configurations. Unlike in Canada though, many were launched from the hands of children, who opted out of a safety zone or even regards for if it may hit the wires running the narrow streets above. Walking around the neighbourhood was certainly a lively affair. One had to be keenly aware of any sparks and the directions the projectiles would go.

As time zero approached, the number of fireworks shooting up intensified into a pretty much continuous crescendo. Our party followed the masses to the main street right by the house, where fireworks were thrown at oncoming vehicles. New Years for some passersby obviously was heralded by an explosion of color by their car’s door, and perhaps a char mark left as a souvenir. Being of a western mindset, I saw these actions as ones leading certainly to somebody getting injured. Surprisingly despite the embers flying meters in front of me (I was at the back of the crowd) nobody was hit.

New Year’s passed and we headed back for a round of photos. One of the neighbours promptly emerged with what looked like a bazooka in his hand. His sumo-style shirtless belly made the event all the more impressive, and he brought everybody parading again to the main street. He put down the firework in the middle of a crowd or people, who quickly cleared the area. Then, opting for additional flair, he took it in his hand and lit it. A concussive shock rippled past the crowd, and a somersaulting fireball was launched into the air. The explosion marked the end of a new year’s more adrenaline filled than most.

Pak Gappar said that soon after we left, somebody else had laid claim to the land. They started by pulling up the fence and putting in their own barbed wire fence to state that is was in fact theirs. Next they proceeded to tear up the fruit trees that we had planted their after we had left. What ensued likely is a good experience in village politics across Indonesia.

Pak Wahab, the person who sold us the land, heard about this vandalism, and went down to the beach, waving a machete and threatening any who insult his right to sell this land. The plaintiff soon was found, and explained that this piece of land was in fact his inheritance. However, he did not have any documentation to back this up. What seems to have passed is a conflict common between the local traditions and Indonesian law. According to local tradition, women can not possess land. That being said, for a few generations now land has been officially passed down to daughters, with the parent’s knowledge that their male heirs can earn money and get land from marriage. Pak Wahab’s grandmother had inherited this land and passed it to all her kids through the legal channels, while the plaintiff’s grandfather had claimed it as his own (being a sibling to Pak Wahab’s grandmother) due to the ancient traditions barring women of owning land.

The argument was settled through the village government official, who in turn also granted Wahab and his family the remaining land which the plaintiff had also claimed. Due process and the holding of titles indeed held fast over the ancient traditions, and providing an interesting look into some of the local politicking that goes on at the village level. While I am sure that some left the dispute sour, the backwardness of our land procurement seems just a little less backward after hearing this story.

a new hotel has popped up, and we decided to check it out.

My first few days over in Bali were spent in interviews instead of starting a long break. Tim, a friend and former boss, had worked some magic and got me in touch with the director of Green School. The school was thinking of adding another Green Studies teacher to their ranks, and Tim had worked hard to petition them in giving me a chance. The interview left both myself and the interviewees with good feelings, and a few days later I had received an offer for a job. If there has ever been a job that describes what I want to do, it is this one, so naturally Kiky and I decided to forego our 6 months in Sulawesi and take up residence in Bali.

A day later we were flying to Sulawesi, ready to explore and see If we could still pull of building our home on the beach. For the past couple years we had been planning on doing this, and so the desire and taste to do so was still strong within our mouths. After a few days with family in Makassar, we made our way down to Bira to see what was happening.

Initially things looked quite positive for our house project. We had budgeted enough from the likes of initial estimates carpenters had given us, and we were starting to devise a plan for Kiky to come here on a monthly basis to oversee construction. But upon going down to our beach, we realized the scope of our project was well beyond what we were capable of doing in the immediate future. Our site had reverted to the original wilderness we had bought, with no sight of the dozen trees we had planted a couple years before. What more, agroindustry in the area had increased a lot. The sea along the beach was full of plastic bottles holding up nets for seaweed farms. To say we were disappointed would be an understatement.

Visualizing the challenges that we faced, along with the costs of Kiky’s back and forth lifestyle, we had to put our plans on hold. Alas, new plans were forming that were equally exciting. In the end of the day, we learned that while having dreams and ambitions is indeed important, life is impossible to direct. Maybe more critical than concrete plans is a certain frame of mind. Our plans for Pajoka helped me get a job in Green School, as it displayed my passion for environmentalism and a strong will to live with the adversities presented in Indonesia.

Roads particularly are of interest to me, because they seem to fall apart nearly as fast as they are built, at least here in South Sulawesi. You can never tell exactly what the route will be like if you have not taken it for a while. Case in point is the road to Bira from Makassar, a road I have traveled many times. The first couple hours was surprisingly nice. When I first traveled this route, I recall distinctly parts where the cars right tires were nearly a foot below the left ones.

The following section was completely different from the last time I saw it. Where there once was a road, now stood a dirt and mud track, with piles of rubble strewn across in seemingly random fashion. No doubt this part will be nice and paved in a couple years, but for now it was the nastiest stretch of road I have been on in a long time. At one point, the truck passing near inches from our car slipped into the soft shoulder with the appearance that it would not move for a long time. The motorcycles quickly filled all the cracks in the car sandwich on this stretch, and I was sure we would not be moving for some time to come. Amazingly, things started to inch along, and we escaped.

The third stretch had changed noticeably as well. Where once was a pothole ridden way lay a brand new paved path. The work had been recently done, proof of which was found each time we crossed the small bridges along the way (the main ones were still under construction). This area has recently seen a huge boom in business in seaweed, and so I wonder if this had anything to do with the quality of their roads.

After 6 hours of bouncing around, I began to question our sanity for coming out to Bira. Upon our arrival though, the sunset and peacefulness of Bira quickly assured me why that journey of mayhem was worthwhile.