Just to prove that Trouters does occasionally sail from anchorage to anchorage. The backdrop is the volcano which unfortunately blew it's top, killing six people and rendering several hundred homeless. The lava-flow, visible on the left, in real life was impressively menacing.

 

To tell the truth I suppose I should have titled this entry a fantastic thirty hours or so. The day after I arrived, with the by now usual slight confusion, some of us ‘Sail Komodo-ites’ at least, were informed that the welcoming ceremony would start at three pm. Of course they actually meant four pm, as printed on the information sheet that wasn’t handed out at the time but never mind.

 

The ceremony duly got underway and the speeches were short and the dancing both energetic and graceful. It was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, washed down with some snacks, mineral water and in some cases fresh coconuts to drink. Due to the slightly chaotic nature of the organisation I didn’t get to sample that but I’m told it was refreshing. Oh well...

 

Left-off the information sheet now freely distributed was a function for that evening. Most of the Rally participants I have to say didn’t turn up for it but those who did had a treat. As is becoming the pattern, most of the dances are performed by school children and we literally had a ring-side seat as we were invited to occupy a row of chairs on the stage itself. This meant that you could see the concentration on the faces of the six to eight year- olds when they performed quite intricate and lengthy dances. It’s one thing being brought up seeing Mum and Aunty dancing and so absorbing the steps and graceful hand movements but it’s entirely another thing to string them together in the correct order in a dance that can last some six, seven or eight minutes. It was impressive and the faces when the dance-leader was thought to be late in signalling a change of step were a picture. I’ll explain that last remark. We’ve all learned, because we’ve now participated in several if not many of them that the welcoming dance consists of holding hands in a circle with a few dancing in the middle of the circle. The dance-step seems to consist of at some point and in some rhythm not necessarily immediately apparent, stepping forward and tapping the right foot on the ground several times. The number of times is indicated by one of the people in the middle of the circle who hold up the appropriate number of fingers. Well in the other dances the same thing occurs. For my North American readers think the shouted-out ‘play’ in a game of American football and you’ve got the idea. Anyway, at the end of the evening we were invited to dance for the audience and as we were all on stage there was no surreptitiously slinking-off into a dark corner. Despite being something of a ‘Mr Grumpy’ when it comes to dancing even I have to say that I’m beginning to become less self conscious and am actually enjoying myself. This had been helped by the fact that the audience always leap up and join in with the dance and never appear to be laughing at the various jerky movements that most Westerners come up with when dancing. Moving swiftly on.

 

The organized tour the next day was scheduled to start at six am so those going dingied-ashore between ten to and six. Promptly at about six forty-five we set off and made straight for the regional capital, about a thirty minute drive, where we had breakfast with the Regent. There was a short speech of welcome and a very adequate spread. We were then hustled off back on the bus and taken to a bank ATM. This must have been the highlight of the bank employees’ day, or week, or just possibly year because everybody including at least a couple of likely candidates for bank manager came out to film us on their phones. If you don’t have an all-singing, all-dancing phone on Flores you’re simply nobody my dears. Naturally my phone will apparently take photos and videos, it's only 'operator error' that prevents this from happening.

 

From there we enjoyed a truly appalling but picturesque road to a traditional village. I’m not too certain what most of us were expecting but what we found was the genuine thing. A traditional village consisting of I think eleven original, traditional houses and some others. Real people lived there and lived a semi-traditional way of life. Things obviously change over the years, they all had the aforementioned phones for example but they still earned their living by traditional industry. In this case some agriculture but a lot of weaving of colourful fabrics and Ikat (mat-like material) weaving. First things first and we were instructed in the traditional way of entering the village. This entailed one by one stepping over a stone lintel, taking care to step down on the right foot. We then shook hands with assembled village elders and following a welcoming formal speech in the local dialect were led by dancers to what in the UK we would call the village square, the open area in the middle of the houses. On of our party was celebrating his birthday so he was given the official presentation gift to visitors and we danced our way into the square. Yes, not only were we welcomed by a graceful dance but we were invited to participate, some more gracefully than others it must be said. We were invited to sit on mats and were given a short, official welcome. Then we were fed (again). During the meal, not lunch as it was by now perhaps ten O’clock or even a little before, there were more dances and an explanation about life in the village and how the various steps involved in building the traditional houses. Delivered in a local dialect and ably translated by one of the tour guides who didn’t speak the dialect, we gathered that each step in the construction was accompanied by ‘cutting’ two buffaloes. The process ended I think on step eight, whereupon fourteen buffaloes were ‘cut’. I was not able to ascertain where all the buffalo came from but I assume it’s safe to stay that barbecues didn’t originate in Australia. We then visited several of the local houses and met their owners, saw how the weaving was done or sampled some of the traditional local arak, as the inclination took us. One of the nicest aspects of this visit was the fact that we were the first group of tourists to visit the village so ‘visitor fatigue’ had not set in. The villagers had apparently taken a little persuading by the government to put on the traditional welcome but they seemed to enjoy the experience and so did the visitors. I had a conversation with one of the guides, since repeated with a local government official, of the dangers to the local culture of too many visitors and trying to slightly change local culture to meet visitors’ expectations. I’m pleased to say that the local government is aware of this danger and whilst keen to promote tourism as a way of boosting the local economy realises that people have to lead their lives in the way in which they are accustomed.

 

Seen-off, in the nicest sense, by a farewell dance we then boarded the buses and were off to the second stop, where we would see how bamboo rice was prepared and cooked and then have lunch. I should say that we were accompanied in the first part of the trip by a police escort until we left their area and went ‘across the county line’. We were also accompanied by a flat-bed truck which carried a small portable generator and some very large speakers. As we drove along the locals were informed at about four hundred decibels that this was the official tour of Sail Komodo, that we were visiting traditional villages and this was accompanied by a list of the countries of origin of the participants. I mustn’t forget to mention the music, traditional Indonesian ‘pop’ music. Oh well.

 

On arrival at the second stop we were greeted by a short dance and two of our party were again nominated to be the official representatives of the party and received traditional welcoming gifts. We then were given an opportunity just to sit and relax for tern minutes or so whilst being given betel nuts to chew, or discretely put in a pocket. We then saw the coconut being grated to add to the rice, the bamboo being sectioned to make the containers for the rice and coconut and sheets of banana plant (I think) being prepared as inserts for the bamboo sections. They had prepared some earlier on a fire and we sampled it. Delicious, with just a hint of garlic and ginger. Now over to the traditional chief’s house for what we initially thought was lunch, mineral water and a selection of cakes. But we were wrong, after the gastronomic warm-up we then had a buffet lunch. Actually there were two buffets set-up, one for the visitors and village dignitaries and one for ‘the workers’. Everybody enjoyed it although some of us visitors were now feeling a little hobbit-like. You know, breakfast, second breakfast then elevenses, followed by lunch. After lunch there was a formal presentation of gifts to each of us. A scarf, examples of which we have all received during previous ceremonies and woven Ikat bags. Now I have to say that not only are these items produced by hand and so labour intensive but they retail for not inconsiderable sums of money so we were feeling a little embarrassed at the largess that was being showered on us. I think it’s true to say that the Indonesian Government had paid the locals for the labour in producing the gifts and were subsidizing the whole show quite heavily but it has to be said that a lot of time and considerable effort had been provided by the locals themselves.  After all this and the group photos it seemed churlish not to dance for them as we were led back to the buses accompanied by the village dignitaries and the mobile sound system. This was enthusiastically received and the ‘real dancers’ joined in. By now we were all enjoying ourselves and the guides had a bit of a struggle terminating the farewell and actually getting on the buses. Had somebody produced the traditional local drink then I think we would probably still be there.

 

We arrived back in Riung around 1830, following a minor adventure when our bus broke down. The second bus was still in the regional capital as they wanted a bit of retail therapy before returning to Riung but we were being followed by a third bus which contained some school students and musicians with their instruments. Room was made and we all returned safely.

 

All in all, a fantastic day. We have all been struck not only by the warmth of the local people, not only by their generosity of spirit but also by the generosity of the organisers. I must say at this point that the day was a free trip. I know there are some yotties presently crossing the Pacific who read this blog and all I can say is sign up for the Sail Indonesia Rally. This part of the rally has been taken over a bit by Sail Komodo, the Indonesian Government promotion but iti is really a great experience. Yes the organisation can be a little chaotic at times and yes the schedule can be a bit hectic but it’ll be worth it. You’ll see things that trying to independently organise you wouldn’t. I believe that it’s possible to join Sail Komodo from other places than Australia. If that’s the case then I would certainly consider taking part again. Indonesia is a bit of a challenging cruising ground. Many of the anchorages are a bit too deep and many of the charts are inaccurate but the people make up for it.

The gala dinner tonight then probably a leisurely start to do the trip to Lorong Baju in easy stages. There are three possibly anchorages en route, about thirty miles apart which strikes this matelot as a bit more civilised than one over-nighter, dodging unlit fishing boats, fishing rafts and unmarked bommies.

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