The next part of my travels in Nusa Tenggara is to get to a small port north of Ruteng where there is a six-day boat trip to some of the other islands and then to Lombok, right next door to Bali.

 

The journey proves to be very interesting. On the way the bus is stopped at a police checkpoint. This is nothing too unusual, buses are often stopped and a rudimentary search conducted. This time however, there is no search.

 

A stern looking police officer gets onto the bus and starts shouting. I have no idea what is being said, but as one all of the guys stand up and make their way off the bus. There are looks of disgust and loathing all around, but not a word is said until all the men are off. The policeman steps off too and then there angry words erupt from the enraged women. I notice one person at the back, head down, not moving. I look closer and see that it is a man with long hair. He has fooled the police, I don't know what is happening, but whatever it is, it is not good. I hope he gets away with it.

 

There are looks of loathing and disgust all around, but not a word is said until all the men are off.

I look out of the window. All the men are lined up along the side of the road. Several policemen are in front of them, shouting at them. Then, the men are all lying down, faces on the ground, legs together, arms by their sides. More shouting and they are made to lean on their knuckles on the hard tarmac. I see a smile from one of the police and am shocked at what is starting to unfold. The men all begin to do press-ups on the hard tarmac - on their bare knuckles! These are men of various ages, from teenagers to those in their fifties. All alongside each other humiliated by the power that these police have and can wield freely and unchallenged. One of the men stumbles and receives a kick and angry shouting by a police officer. I am amazed, bewildered, dumbfounded. Some of these men are unable to keep up this physical and mental torture; but they have no choice, there is obviously more that these power mongers can dish out. I hate to think what penalty disobedience would bring; it is unthinkable. This scene carries on for about 10 minutes until another bus pulls round the corner from the opposite direction. The policemen stop the other bus and then kick the feet and legs of some of the men on the ground, shouting at them, obviously to get up.

 

I see the police board the other bus and I guess this will be a repeat of the horror I have just seen. The men get back onto the bus I am on, fury and humility showing in their faces, but also a resigned look; they know there is nothing they can do but play along with the power games of the local police. I keep my face away from theirs, I don't want them having to look into the eyes of a tourist and having to add embarrassment of their fellow countrymen to their already disgusted looks. The guy at the back with the long hair keeps his head down until we have gone round the corner, out of sight of the cruel authorities behind. I can only assume that they would not touch a tourist because of the implications should a complaint be filed. I feel lucky, but I also feel disgusted by the way people feel they can treat their fellow islanders. Of all the people I have met here on Flores, I have not met any that are anything but friendly, open and proud of themselves, their country, their traditions and their people. Today I have seen a different side, by a tiny minority who have been invested with the power to protect and help their citizens, but who choose to humiliate them so they themselves can feel bigger and better. But this is not something unique to Flores, or Indonesia, or even Asia, it is an inherent part of human nature, at least in a minority of our race.

 

I arrive in Ruteng, glad to be off that bus. I check into a hostel, found in my ever-reliable Lonely Planet. There are many other people there and I soon get chatting to some of them. There are another 9 people who want to take the same boat trip as I do. It is US$100 for the six days, including food and it looks to be a great experience. We will be visiting many small islands as well as the islands of Rinca and Komodo where are found the amazing Komodo Dragons! Huge Lizards too stubborn to realise the age of the dinosaurs is long gone.

 

We find an agent and talk about the trip. We can do six days. The first day will be to the port of Labaunbajo where we will stop for fuel before heading off to the islands to our west. On the way we will stop at many of the islands that make up the archipelago. There are over a thousand islands in all, some consisting of nothing more than a rock just managing to keep its head above the waves to the larger islands; hundreds of square kilometres in size. Definite islands on the itinerary are Komodo and Rinca, Bat Island; home of the flying foxes and finally on to Lombok, neighbour to Bali and harbouring the nearby Gili Islands, the backpackers South East Asian Mecca for diving and partying! We have also been promised stops on some of the smaller islands.

 

We agree a price, based on the 10 of us sharing. We know it will hold 12, but we also know it will be a little cramped as sleeping arrangements are on mats on deck so we have paid a little extra each for the added comfort. We agree a time and a place to meet in the morning to set off on this next adventure.

...They are friendly and curious and we stay a while chatting and playing with them.

The morning comes and we meet at the agreed place. As usual here in Asia our guide is late but we wait patiently until he turns up. We are then off in a minibus to the north of the island where we arrive in a tiny village that looks like it is abandoned. We get our packs from the minibus and take a walk around while we wait for the boat.

 

This is obviously a fishing village that hasn't changed for tens, maybe hundreds of years. The houses are all wooden, made of slatted planks and raised from the tides on stilts a meter or two tall. There is no beach, just damp but solid mud all the way to the sea and the bay is littered with small and large fishing boats in different stages of decay. There is a shell of one boat high and dry, left there, alone on its side in the mud, not even worth dismantling for the wood; left for the elements to claim it over time. It's probably been there for 10 years, and I know if I go back ten years from now there it will still be, albeit even more worn than it is now.

 

We walk around a bit and see the first sign of life: three small boys playing in a small wooden canoe. It has been hand crafted and looks to be in the final stages of being built: almost ready to brave the waves and hold the fish that will feed the village. It is sitting on a stand and the boys go silent and then giggle amongst themselves as these strange, tall, white people approach them. They are shy but eventually we get a few words out of them in our pidgin Bahasa Indonesian. They are friendly and curious and we stay a while chatting and playing with them.

 

The boat appears and we go to the dock to load our things. As we approach, we realise that it is not exactly a cruise liner! It is maybe 15m long and about 4-5m wide. It is made of wood, which even through the paint we can see has seen better days. The sail is a woven piece of multicoloured plastic, the sort they use to make those huge shopping bags that are so popular over here and is also used for the sacks of rice and potatoes. Ripped and torn blue, red and white stripes greet us from above. Luckily we see it also has a motor. Our bags go in the ´hold´ below, basically the empty hull of the boat, wreaking of diesel fumes, damp and dirty, no floor, just the stuts of the boat. More plastic covers the main deck area and it is possible to climb up to the ‘bridge' and sit on top of it on a small ‘sundeck´. Careful sideways steps along the narrow walkway to the stern reveal another small, enclosed deck that is the kitchen. A foot or two away from this at the very back is a very small square cubicle that will be our ´head´ or toilet for the next six days! I need to go so I step inside, sidestepping and contorting myself so as to be able to close the door behind me. I guess the waste will go straight overboard. I stick my head out of the small square hole to look at the ocean below.

 

“SQUAWWWWK”

 

There is a rustle of feathers, a lot of noise and a flurry of activity from right below my face. I withdraw my head quickly in shock and “CRUNCH” my head hits the top of the porthole. Shocked again I pull myself back inside, slipping on the floor and taking a hard landing onto the seatless toilet below me. I sit their, shocked and dazed, bum hanging down into this far from hygienic latrine, legs at impossible angles and rubbing my sore head whilst taking stock of what has just happened. I stand again, difficult in the space available, and take a more cautionary peak outside. This time I notice a small wooden cage right below my face. Inside, captive, and for sure a damned sight more concerned than myself are three chickens, kept alive and fresh in a small wooden slatted box hanging over the ocean hopefully unaware that its not too long until dinner! Well, at least I suppose the meat will be fresh – I just hope beef isn't on the menu too!

The owner, surprise surprise, is back in Ruteng - Uncontactable!

I join the rest of the gang back on the deck and whilst conveniently forgetting to mention my sore head and acrobatics in the toilet we talk about our expectations of the voyage ahead! We are about to sail so spirits are high, even if the state of the boat has become a point of nervous laughter and many jokes!

 

Today, as we sail towards Labaunbajo we get to know each other and exchange stories and insights into the places we have been. The weather is good, the sun strong and the sea a beautiful deep blue. It is a day to chill out and relax. It is a good day and we arrive at our destination happier with our group than with our vessel, relaxed and excited as to what we will see.

 

At the dock of Labaunbajo there are more supplies and fuel brought on board. We take a quick shore break and when we get back to the boat there are 3 more people on board, greeting us as we get on. These people seem nice enough and tell us that they are joining us for the next 5 days to Lombok. The original 10 of us exchange glances of surprise and then go directly to speak to the captain of the boat.

 

The captain is not very concerned. We explain that we have paid extra just to have the 10 of us and he tells us that it is not down to him but down to the owner. The owner, surprise, surprise is back in Ruteng - uncontactable. There is not much we can do. This, unfortunately, is typical of the attitude within the tourist trade in Indonesia. Get as much out of them as possible is the rule! I ponder that it is due to their tough lifestyles, their lack of anything, at times including clothing and food. They see us Westerners as walking wallets that are easily fooled, soft and contemptible. Get their money and don't worry about the problems, let them complain, they wont be back here again, no repeat business anyway. Just get their money. I have seen this time and time again, even from the youngest street vendors; young boys that have tried to sell me a handful of peanuts for two American Dollars – a lot more than I would pay for a whole packet at home. It certainly taints the way I look at the people here and it is a shame because the vast majority are friendly and honest. When it comes to money however, here in Indonesia the tourist is fair game for anything, and the more they can make from us the better.

 

I have to admit here that at times us backpackers are no better, if there is a saving to be made or a scam to be run you can guarantee that word will get around quicker than a bogus email offering you money for forwarding it to seventy five of your friends! Maybe we just don't like the taste of our own medicine! Of course we can always justify our means, but I guess, in there own way, so can anyone.

 

It is fair to say we are a little disgruntled and our new arrivals are looking a little uncomfortable. We talk about it and decide that it is no fault of the newcomers, they have also paid for the trip in good faith (and have been told, we later find out) that they were also promised there would be no more than 10 on the boat! We make peace and spend the next hour or so, as the boat leaves the dock, talking about how we have all been ´taken´ at some point or other on our travels, conveniently forgetting how we blagged a free night here and a meal there.

 

That night we are given our dinner, not bad at all considering the facilities available. Fresh vegetables and meat cooked up Indonesia style – very tasty. We share a few drinks and talk until we weigh anchor just off a small island to our south. Our mats are distributed and we try to make the best of the space available. It's like a jigsaw puzzle, horizontal, vertical, switching around until everyone has a space. It works, but only just, we will be at close quarters for the next five nights. Apart from the obvious lack of space, it is nice to lie on deck, gently rocking from side to side on the lapping waves, watching the stars above and listening to the voice of the ocean.

It is such a peaceful world down here; relaxing, beautiful, tranquil.

We wake early the next morning, the sunrise beautiful to behold rising out of the ocean. We have breakfast and are off, heading west towards countless paradise islands. After a few hours we stop a couple of hundred metres away from an island that can't be more than 20m across. It is round and has just a few palm trees growing in the centre that are surrounded by short brush grass. Outside this vegetation is a perfect, white ring of sand. We have an hour or so here so I put on my swimmers, grab my mask and snorkel and jump from the boat into the clear blue water below. It is warm and inviting. I surface, refreshed and invigorated after being on the hot boat for hours. I start to swim towards the island, head down, looking at the sand far below me. Brightly coloured starfish litter the seabed and the occasional fish swims past, or hovers motionless in the depths.

 

I start to get into shallower water and dive down towards the bottom watching the now more abundant fish darting out of my way as this huge predator descends upon them. I take a closer look at some starfish, oblivious to me, slowly walking their way along the sand on thousands of sticky legs, in search of tiny morsels of food. It is such a peaceful world down here, relaxing, beautiful, tranquil.

 

I get to the outskirts of the beach where I can stand up and take a moment to look at the island. It truly is a paradise....