Mr Beem's Asian Journal
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Pare Pare |
I liked going to Pare-Pare, mostly because it was easy to say, unlike Ujung Pandang which is impossible to say, no matter which way you say it people will correct you on the pronunciation. If it does turn out that you have said it right by some fluke then they will want to call it Makasar anyway. So Pare-Pare was all right by me, and it would be easy to spot on the traffic signs, if only I could spot a traffic sign. I kept to the main road and when that split from time to time and it was hard to tell which was the main road and which was the side road, I would just yell out to who ever happened to be standing there “Pare- Pare” they would point and off I would go. So how come I ended up sixty miles off course. Its that old, “well if it makes him happy why not” thing again isn’t it.
Travelling back down a road that you shouldn’t have travelled down in the first place, is like having to pay Tax on Tax that you have already paid, its just not bloody fair. As I was making a huge loop in order to get back on my main road, I was thinking, what’s the lesson to be learned here, I soon came to the realisation that there wasn’t one and put it in the ‘shit happens’ pile and went on just enjoying the scenery.
In a couple of hours that was all behind me and I was back on course for Pare-Pare. I was leaving the flat lowland and starting the gentle climb into the hills, the scenery was changing, but so was the weather, black clouds were starting to form over the hills and the temperature was dropping. I stoped at a roadside hardware stall and bought two metres of plastic and wrapped up the rucksack and computer, strapped it all down again, put on my own wet weather gear and was back on the road again just as it was starting to spit. I thought I will keep going until I find a nice rumah makam (literally food room), then I will stop let the worst of it blow over and have myself a nice hot kopi susu (milk coffee).
And that is just what I did; I went through the mandatory dari mana misters, watched the rainfall, and checked the map. Once it let up a bit I made a run for it, as best you can on a 150cc loaded up in wet weather. The rain got heavier again and there was no point stoping I was already soaked so I just kept going and the rain just kept coming. I was down to about 20k’s an hour and starting to really feel the cold. I promised myself that tonight I would spend the money and get a nice hotel room, maybe even with a bath. As I entered the outskirt of Pare-Pare, it wasn’t yet five o’clock but it was already dark the rain was heavy, I saw it standing there in the middle of a half finished car park.
Pare-Pare
It was beautiful. Every light was illuminated, it was white and shiny. It looked like a cruise ship in the middle of a storm at sea. A mirage to a drowning sailor…all right I will stop now. But it was a remarkable sight, I thought fuck it, this is going to cost, but then again if I don’t get off the road soon I am going to be a traffic statistic or just plain drowned. So I drove up to the front doors. A guy came running out with a big umbrella, as if I was his long lost son. Oh this is going to cost. No one at reception spoke English I could barely speak it myself, I was rooted, I stood there shivering and dripping and asked them to write down the price of a standard room, They punched it up on the desk calculator Rp 42,000, I asked does it have air panas (hot water), oh yes… and AC and TV and WC and any other two letter thing that you can think of. I took the calculator 42,000 divided by 2500 equals K 16.80 divided by 4 equals US$ 4.20. So I asked is that for a day or a week – no I didn’t. I asked if they were sure that the price was correct, they said yes, and by way of apology explained that it included breakfast.
Two guys came out into the rain to help me unload the bike and I dripped my way into my room, It was brand new, the hotel had only been open a month and I was their first Foreigner guest. They didn’t know what paperwork to fill out, but knew that a passport had something to do with it. So would it be OK to hold the passport until the manager came…no worries. I asked about laundry, “throw it outside the door and we will have it back to you in the morning” It was then that I found out that the famous Australian Blundstone Boots really are water-proof…once they fill up, not a drop will leaks out. I was soaked. I stripped while under the shower, I was that wet that it didn’t make any difference and I was desperate to be warm again.
I was just out of the shower and unpacking when a bubbly little girl knocked on the door. 'Hello Mr Frank, my name is Enny, I am the manager, can I ask you some questions, please sit down. I will have to report you to the Police, Please sit down.' And that was how I met Enny.
The next day Enny joined me at breakfast and told me all about herself, 27 years old, unmarried, Muslim, living with her parents finished University two years ago – likes Europeans.
She asked me about my plans for the day and then offered her services as a guide for that afternoon. I was intrigued about the Muslim thing, and as we were in the middle of a war and was concerned about possible problems of resentment for her being seen with a white guy on the back of a motorcycle. She said, No problem, Muslim people are very tolerant.
She finished work at three o’clock and came to find me in my room. She was wearing a business suit and needed to go home and change. We jumped on the bike and headed of to her family home. It was a nice middleclass home in one of the back streets of the main road. I met her mother, her Aunty, and her brother. They didn’t behave as if was anything strange for Enny to be going off with a Mister for an afternoon of sight seeing.
Since being in Indonesia I had become used to be the centre of attention and being stared at, but I defiantly noticed a change in the Attitude of the Starers, their stares seemed to directed more at Enny than at me and they didn’t seem to be the approving kind of stares either. I mentioned this to her and she thought that I was imagining the whole thing. I don’t think so.
Anyway we drove all around the hills at the back of Pare- Pare through the rice paddies and down little country lanes, the weather was perfect, clear blue skies fluffy white clouds, mild sunshine, which was nice after the rainstorms of the day before. The roads were good and Enny was a speed freak, who knew how to hold on tight. She said that she was going to take me to her secret place…the place where she goes to think and be alone. I had suspicions that she had designs on my body. Guess what…I was right – you will have to buy the book to get all the sordid details.
Enny invited me home to have a traditional Bugis meal (Bugis are the people from around the Pare-Pare area), So we stoped off on the way to house to buy a small gift for her parents, but by the time we got back to her home dinner was already over. We went out and had a Kentucky fried chicken rip-off sort of a meal with anorexic chicken and a couple of warm Cokes. A bit of a disappointment after the promise of some authentic local cooking. But overall it had been a great day and I went to bed a tired but happy man.
Next day I paid the manager…who was back in her business suit (no discount) and promised to call her as soon as I got back from my trip to Toraja. She gave me the name of another hotel in town that I should book into on my return, for reason of discretion.
Enny gave me directions on how to pick up the road to Toraja – straight through town, right then left…. you can’t miss it. An hour latter, after many stops and misdirection I was heading North, Northeast on my way to the interior and the culturally rich Toraja Highland. The road was good and I was making good time travelling at about eighty Kilometres an hour. At this break-neck speed I missed a turn where the road dividedand went 60-70 kilometres the wrong way before I realised. I got new directions and had to travel a couple of hours on back roads to meet up with the main road to Toraja again. The going was much slower but I was learning to consider these little inconveniences a bonus and try to make the best out of them.
The scenery was changing all the time I was moving up. The rice paddies were giving way to wooded mountains and rugged valleys, the road was becoming a long series of S-bends and a far bit narrower. There was a distinct lack of sign posts so I would stop from time to time at a restaurant or a road side stall and ask where I was. Most Indonesians have no idea how to read a map - why should they…they already know where they are, and they are not going anywhere they have not already been. So very often they get a little flustered when you put a map in front of them and say Mana ? (where ?). They look at the Map squint, pop there head up look around look at the map again and then call for a friend to come over and have a look. Once four people are assembled then they are in a position to give a guestimation of your current position. They are usually within fifty kilometres…at least they can confirm the name of the next town which at times can be reassuring just to know that you have not already over shot your destination.
I had dropped down into a valley and there was a distinct change in the architecture of the buildings, and the roadside and rice paddies had a much more manicured look about them. The buildings had huge roofs for small Building and the craftsmanship of the structure was far superior to that of the buildings that I had passed on the way. I stopped at a junction and asked a couple of fifteen–sixteen year olds how far it was to town. One of the guys had reasonable English and said it was about another three hours drive. I thought this somewhat unlikely as the whole trip from Pare-Pare to Toraja should have only taken about five hours and I had already been on the road for seven even allowing for my little detour up the bush I couldn’t be that far away. I asked if he was sure – absolutely, he was also sure that it was about to rain, he was sure that it would be dark soon and that it would be better if I was to book into the hotel up the road and maybe he could take me to a special waterfall tomorrow. A teenage girl came over and asked him what it was I wanted. She said to him “that’s alright he is only thirty minutes away he will be there long before the rain." He looked at me to see if this little slip of local intelligence had been noticed and when I started shaking my head and laughing he continued with his story completely undeterred. I said to him in English that he was a lying little bastard – he gave me a look that said so what, and I left. Thirty minutes latter I was in Town.
