A Blessed Journey to the Past…
or to the Future?
© By
Wayfarer, July 2008 Translated and co-edited by Space
of Love staff. With gratitude to the "travelers” who
submitted their
notes and trusted us to protect the
integrity of their
experiences
and share them with the world.
What if I told you about a place full of wonder,
located on one of the multiple Indonesian islands where, under the shade of
equatorial forest, there lives a tribe which I will call the Baori*? These
people, quite consciously and purposefully, make no use of technical progress
as is common all around them and in the rest of modern civilization. As a
child, I would often explore the maps of the world by looking for mysterious
islands that seemed to be inaccessible and faraway. In those parts of the
world, surrounded by warm waves and generously blessed by the southern sun, I
saw flowering lands of never-ending plenty. Delighted with their diversity and
beauty, it seemed to me that they were holding the key to all the mysteries of
the world. To put into context what happened for me and my travel-companion
when visiting this island, it may help to first describe other parts of
Indonesia which we had visited as well. For instance, when our ferry approached
the shores of Sumatra Island, I already knew that what I was about to see would
be far different from my childhood dreams. Landing in the port-town of Dumai
and after passing through customs, there was no doubt we had arrived in a very
different world. At the town entrance - narrow, with high rods on both sides
dividing us from a crowd of extremely excited people - we were greeted by harsh
yelling and shouting everywhere. What an oppressive environment, with those
strong rods as the only protection from a violent-seeming mob. And rubbish
everywhere, with stunted vegetation or none at all. For two months, we traveled
through Indonesia, mile after mile, sometimes walking, sometimes hitchhiking or
ferrying the straits between the islands. We covered significant distances and
it became clear that over most of the country, evergreen natural landscape had
been replaced by ugly, man-made blocks of concrete. Most of the Indonesian
villages through which we passed seemed dull and gloomy-looking. To make up for
all this lack, almost everyone had an opportunity to watch the "beautiful life”
by means of TV. Everywhere in the streets we were greeted loudly and
intrusively: "Hello, Mister!!!” Others preferred to greet us from a distance.
Others yet jumped up and shouted loudly right into our ears: "Hello, Mister!!”
Oh, the jarring insults to our gentle souls. The local climate allows for
harvesting of a great variety of different crops all year long. But more often
than not, instead of the numerous gifts of nature, one can find different products
offered such as "Two minute noodle” packs and gasoline in old plastic Coca-Cola
bottles. One day, a young man approached us and asked us the common question:
"Where are you going?” In Indonesia, we would hear this question what seemed to
be a thousand times a day. But this time, for some reason, it did not trigger
our wish to pretend we didn’t understand. It sounds strange now, but from the
very beginning of our conversation, this man seemed to want us to visit this
special island, describing it as a very beautiful place. At first, we did not
pay special attention to his suggestions, but days later, having talked with
our new friend at length, we understood that we definitely had to make that
visit. This magical place is located in the center of a small piece of
equatorial forest which has remaining intact and unviolated. Interesting, first
of all, is the fact that people living here did not trade in the gifts of
Nature for a technocratic culture. They still appear quite certain that modern
achievements such as automobiles, TV or mobile phones bring great harm to Man.
At the time we visited, there were three such villages, located with
comfortable distances between them, with their inhabitants following strict
rules of having no modern technology in their households. They cultivate rice,
grow vegetables and fruits, turning up no soil and preserving the integrity of
the Eco-system. They weave their clothes from natural fiber and walk barefoot.
They build wooden houses without nails using simple tools, and causing no harm
to the natural landscape. They believe in One God, the Creator of their World,
although we saw no traces of worship. The Baori believe that all of humanity
originated from one man and one woman. They never changed their beliefs even
under the pressures of certain religious propaganda. (For instance, in the
past, they steadfastly refused to turn Muslim, even under such pressure.) There
are no "virtual" money-exchanges on the territory where they live.
There are villages not far away from this place, and people living there belong
to the same tribe but consider it acceptable to allow some of the novelties
into their lives that our modern, so called "civilized” world, brings. Here, we
could see people with mobile phones as well. ...But oh, what a relief it is to
arrive in such a paradise. It feels the same way it does when a strong pain
finally retreats with the help of effective pain-medication. At last, we have
escaped "developed” Indonesia. It is such a relief to have an earthy forest
pathway under our feet and not asphalt blazing with heat. We breathe in vibrant
air, instead of a mix of auto exhaust and dust. We actually hear the sounds
instead of being "hammered” by habitual noises. Huge palm leaves and bamboo
sprouts hang above our heads, together with other everlasting summer
vegetation. Time and again, the pathway leads us out of the jungle cover
opening itself to the rays of the sun, but after our respite in the dense
shade, nothing seems to be too hot. At our first stop we look at some structures
we saw earlier, which seemed to be small houses. Masterfully built and
well-proportioned, they are perfectly fit into the landscape. Later on we learn
that they are used for rice storage. An old woman passes by wearing a beautiful
broad-rimmed straw hat. Her movements are light and unhurried. She glances at
us thoughtfully and for some reason, I feel as if I encountered a poetess.
Having had some rest, we proceed further and soon enter a small village. This
village could be considered an interim version of the secret paradise we are
hoping to enter soon, with modern Indonesia on the other extreme of that
continuum. Here, according to instructions from our Indonesian friend, we have
to find a person named Zhardu. Local inhabitants show us the way to the house
for which we received directions. But there is no-one inside. Apologetic and
grateful to the owners of the home across the way, we take a seat on their
porch and begin to wait, carefully noticing our surroundings. A woman is
working nearby. With the help of a simple weaver’s loom, she quickly turns
bundles of multicolored threads into variegated fabric. She tries to talk to us
and I am amazed by the sound of her voice. It sounds like a whispering melody,
relaxing, and no word less than "mellifluous” describes the experience. We do
not know yet that all Baori women possess an incredibly pleasant, I would even
say, charming voices. There are a few amazingly quiet children nearby who do
not come up too closely and only glance at us very tactfully. Time after time,
people appear on the pathway curving along the side of the house. Men carry
bundles of fruit from somewhere, mostly bananas and durians (the latter a very
common fruit here) hanging from a stick balanced on their shoulders. Everything
around us continues as usual. Not a hint of the attention we so excessively
received in what now seems to be the outer world. Nobody greets us loudly,
nobody calls for relatives and friends, no gawkers crowd around us producing
uncomfortable commotion. Along our journey we had forgotten about silence and
peace, and now it is very pleasant to have them back. The host of the house
next door introduces himself as Rupi and soon, invites us to come inside his
dwelling. It looks as tidy inside as it is outside. And indeed, it would not
have been easy to make for disorder. The spacious hall contains no furniture
and only minimal essentials for household items. We make ourselves comfortable
on a bamboo floor. Rapi treats us with coffee. Having unfolded a bundle of
banana leaves, he pulls out a piece of brown sugar, which is, as we learn
later, produced locally, and it tastes quite different from our refined sugar.
Rain is starting to pour down outside – tropical showers are sudden and often
very hard. But we discover that the roof, well-constructed out of palm leaves,
is wonderfully water-proof. Zhardu and his family arrive in the evening. It
seems to me that he is somewhat guarded, but he is a generous host. He treats
us with dinner and offers us to stay the night. The next morning, having left
some of our equipment at Zhardu’s place, we step upon the earthy pathway which
knows neither wheel nor pollution, barefoot, to honor the local tradition. It
will take us to the land un-known. The sloping pathway is laid out with stones,
polished by countless bare feet. Here it is...the bamboo bridge that is marked
on our hand-drawn map. Big trees, growing on both sides of the river are
stretching their long branches towards each other. There, on the branches,
hangs the bridge. Oh, what beauty! We stand still in awe and admiration. It
symbolizes a definite boundary. On the other side of the river the territory
begins where even photo cameras are not allowed. What will we encounter next…?
To be continued Issue #2, December 2008
Driven out of
Paradise
Continued from Issue #1:
Having made their way through the loud and
oftentimes unbearable hustle and bustle of "civilized” Indonesia, our intrepid
travelers have arrived, partly by divine intuition, partly by the urging of a
kindly way-shower, at the boundary of life-as-we-know it and a paradisial land
we are about to enter....
The hills grow bigger and the slopes are
getting steeper. We are surrounded by a very interesting landscape. Jungle,
orchards and gardens perfectly co-exist here as a seamless whole. Here we see
rice and different types of fruit trees growing on the slopes together in
perfect harmony. Considering their healthy look it is clear that they do not
disturb, but actually benefit from each other. And all of it looks perfectly
picturesque – worthy of an artist’s brush. Local people we meet on the way are
passing without that peculiar obsession to shout greetings. It becomes clear to
us quickly that making unnecessary noises is not their habit, and neither is
asking intrusive questions. They offer a quick nod and glance away immediately
thereafter, and then continue on their way as if Russian travelers passing by
are an everyday occurrence. It is not only their behavior, but their appearance
as well that is different. They look stronger and taller. What is even more
interesting is that we also find people here with European-featured faces and
white skin. We remember that we saw such faces in a Jakarta museum on
sculptures looking as if they were made from wax. The figures of a man and a
woman, dressed in national clothes, were meant to represent the culture of one
of the local tribes. At the time when we saw those features we were puzzled,
because they looked nothing like today’s Indonesian people. Late in the day, we
enter another small village with rows of well-built and durable wooden houses,
aligned perfectly and - an incredible silence all around. Even the green walls
of the jungle which surround the village are maintaining the silence - endless,
and emitting no sound. We step onto a small lane and make our way, unhurried,
between identical houses which are built in close proximity to each other.
Every house completely replicates the previous one. The thought occurs to me
that maybe this is their way to express their commitment to social equality? We
reach the end of the village without meeting a single person on the way. We
stop to look around to decide what to do next, and at last, we see the first
villager. We take this opportunity to orient ourselves. This is indeed one of those
three villages we had wanted to find. We did get to the right place. We had
walked crosscountry, on the road the entire day, and now we gratefully take a
seat near one of the houses, taking in our surroundings with interest. We had
already seen similar houses in other Asian countries – bamboo-woven walls,
covered with palmleaved roofs, with the entire structure set on wooden support
And yet, there is one significant thing which makes a difference. It is all in
order. The space that surrounds modern man is usually overloaded with a great
variety of things, and often this infinite collection makes quite an
unattractive picture. These people must have decided not to have objects that
would clutter up their dwellings and environment. Other inhabitants begin to
come up. Dressed in home-woven clothes, worry-free, they all look different:
tall and short, strong and lean, old and very young. But there is one feature
which repeats itself in each of them: Calmness. Even little children, known for
their fidgeting and caprice, behave differently here. A young girl’s face
catches our eye. Absolutely white skin, beautiful features and ...what is it
that makes her look a bit unreal? Ah! Nowadays, one can see such a smooth,
healthy skin only in cosmetic advertisements or on the covers of glossy
magazines. Soon they begin to explain something to us, or at least, they are
trying. But they speak neither English nor Russian. Nevertheless, it becomes
clear that they are trying to alert us to the fact that we cannot stay here. We
were already aware that entry was by permission only. Visiting these villages
is limited even for native Indonesians and for foreigners, they are fully
closed. Due to some incomprehensible circumstances, local authorities, against
all expectations, granted us official permission to visit this territory.
Perhaps because of this permission, we were allowed to get in at the security
gate, although they warned us that we were allowed to go up to the nearest
villages only, just those where modern technology was still allowed. But our
temptation was too great. And now, tactfully, we are shown to the door. In an
effort to extend our special stay here for just a little longer, we take some
dry noodle-packs out of our backpacks and ask for some hot water. But, smiling
Karim, with his short and strong build and noble facial features, requests that
we follow him. And, sensitive to the needs of these kind people, we will leave
the village, accompanied by three local villagers. After awhile, they offer us
a bench beside a house that stands separately in the jungle. The host brings
out some hot water in a bowl made of a coconut. We pour the water over our
noodles. The Baori supplement our frugal lunch with coffee and sweets.
Beautiful girls come out of the jungle and into the shade of the house. After
lunch, Karim, with his permanent smile, explains to us that it is going to
become dark soon and we have to hurry now. Whereto? we wonder. But being
accustomed to deliver ourselves over into the hands of providence, we thank our
host and continue on with our guides. It is dark now and we enter another
village. Our guides have a short exchange with some local inhabitants and we
are invited into one of the houses. The interior looks like the others, and is
lit with a kerosene-type lamp. We make ourselves comfortable on the floor. A
radio - battery powered - is playing. It seems that, already, technology is
permitted here. Now, rice, fish, tea, coffee, cane sugar and even more lamps
appear - and durians for dessert. A young man comes up, dressed in modern
clothes, carrying a note-book and bag. He pulls two softdrinks out of the bag
and tells us what they cost. Next are local crafts, pulled out of the same bag
for the same purpose - to sell them or trade with us. Where did he come from,
here, in the middle of the jungle?! We try to explain to him that we are not
interested in shopping. He puts his "merchandise" back into his bag
and asks us to help him to fill his note-book with terms for a trades-person.
Our guides watch this scene in silence, while the other people are chatting
amongst themselves. The day has been very informative but now it is good to
have some rest. Our host puts down some mats for us, and the bamboo floor,
which had just served as our dinner table, now turns into an excellent bed. We
rise early. A new day and new roads are awaiting us. The sun is rising above
the hills, painting everything in the rich colors of life. Greenish tops are
breathing in the grace of the morning sky and the earth just lays there, dissolved
in calmness. We do not want to leave this place. But it seems there might be a
time to return. Karim shows us the way out of the protected territory, and, as
we part, suppresses his smile for a moment, uttering something like: "This is
our land; you should not come here”. It is clear that tourists flooding this
area would quickly destroy this wonder-land. The Baori from the more distant
villages understood this more than anyone else and it seemed almost as if they
saw a bad omen in us. So we try to explain, using body language and all other
efforts, that we would never disclose the coordinates of this place. To
reassure them, we hand Karim the hand-drawn map which led us there and where,
in addition to all the other notations, his native village was marked - there,
where life is experienced so differently from ours. By noon we step upon hot
asphalt again. As we pass by a school, we see a concrete playground with many
uniformed children running around wild and unrestrained, producing a lot of
noise. The picture is quite familiar now. We have seen it many times before.
But this time it strikes us very differently. Just a few hours ago, we were
among the people whose children and adults seem to be part of an eternal peace
and silence. For the two days we spent with the Baori, we did not even hear a
baby cry. And now it seems as if we are not watching boys and girls at play,
but raging youngsters instead. In addition, like an old rusty nail scratching
under a drawer – a choir of welcome-greetings shrieks: "Hello, Mister-rr!!!”
Well, it's time to get used to it once more; we have returned to
"civilized" life.
Note: The name of the tribe and the island
where it
exists, as well as the names of its inhabitants
have
been changed for their protection and privacy.
