Bukit Lawang - Orangutans

Day 92 - 29th July 14

From the airport I catch a bus directly to Binjai where I take a tuk tuk to the other bus terminal for a minibus to Bukit Lawang. I feel sure I have been overcharged for the 2nd journey. The minibus is old and crammed full. My knee is bent at an awkward angle and the pain feels excruciating. I receive a few odd looks as I stretch my leg out of the window just for a few seconds to straighten my knee. We pass through a town - some of the small painted houses, with triangular fronts, have concrete grand Grecian style columns holding up their porches, incongruous to their surroundings. Young boys on the roadside brandish gold plastic shotguns menacingly. Palm tree plantations stretch for miles, all planted in perfect grids, their trunks covered thickly with green ferns. We pass small inhabited wooden huts with thatched roofs and woven sides. Kids play naked in the rivers we cross.

In Bukit Luwang, it is raining. A man called Colin greets me off the bus. He is looking for tourists

to fill a 2 day tour leaving the following morning. I spend a while trying to bargain with him and am able to bring the price down only from 1.1 mio to 900,000 IDR. He refuses to go any lower, but I've already been warned the jungle trekking is expensive and he makes me promise not to tell anyone about this discount. It's for 2 days trekking, a night in the jungle and rafting. The room at Ecolodge has not been booked by Efendi as promised, but there is one room still available when we reach Bukit Lawang Indah. I am soaked from the rain, so I have a shower and put on dry clothes. This guesthouse is popular, friendly and seemingly the local haunt for all the guides. I order Cap Cai and rice - a large plate of vegetables appears including lots of broccoli and cauliflower – vegetables that aren’t normally available. An Indonesian man joins me at the table to keep me company. He's originally from Bukit Lawang, but until recently he was working in Kuta, Bali singing in bars. He returned 3 months ago and is unwilling to share his story as to why he left. He is smoking a joint, which he has layered in honey to cover up the strong aroma. I order a small Bintang. A few more Indonesian men join the table and I sit there slightly awkwardly while they sing and play the guitar. I'm thankful when one of them calls a Western girl over to join us. Her name is Kirsten and she's from Canada. She's just finished a course in International Development and she spent the last year in Taiwan. She's travelling for a few months before returning home and she's not sure of her next step. Her dad works for the Western Union and thinks she should get a job in a bank. As she says, she would be working in a bank for money, not because she has a passionate interest. It's the birthday of one of the guides. They're all very merry - the table now filled with empty beer bottles. A huge plate is plonked on our table piled high with hard boiled eggs that everyone tucks into - perhaps a substitute for his missing birthday cake!

My room is dank and dark, with bare walls and concrete floors, but it's functional and it’s not dirty. I fight with the mosquito net which keeps threatening to encase my face, before eventually falling asleep.

Day 93 - 30th July 14

I pack a change of clothes, a sleeping sheet, a rain coat and lots of water, plus a bikini and towel for swimming. My hiking boots are slightly mouldy, infesting in a plastic bag at the bottom of my rucksack - I had forgotten to take them out and air them after the wet muddy trekking in the Cameron Highlands.

I am in a group of six, a French couple, a Dutch couple, 2 young German guys and an English guy. We start the hike up the hill into the national park. The muddy, root covered terrain is steep. The screeching siren of gibbons and the trill of a million insects fill the jungle air.

Everyone has one goal on this trek - to see an orang-utan, so there's a lot of pressure on the guides. Ramadan is over and many families, mainly from Medan, have come on holiday to Bukit Lawang, so there are more tour groups than there would normally be.

An orang-utan has been sited and the whisper is passed around the guides - a few tour groups congregate in the same spot to watch the animal. The name in Indonesian directly translates to

man of the jungle. He's a male, watching the humans suspiciously from a branch high above, standing on all fours, a long orange beard draped beneath his chin. A trapeze artist - he puts on a show, swinging between 2 hanging vines and leaping through the air.

The 2nd orang-utan we see is partially hidden by the canopy above. Its baby is visible looking down in curiosity. The orang-utan appeases our wish for a closer view - baby in hand she travels all the way to the bottom of a nearby tree to hang at head height, less than a metre away. It's magical to be stood so close; to be able to watch the affectionate bond established between mother and child. We're told to stand back in case she is aggressive.

Our guide points out giant ants. He introduces us to the Cincona tree - its bark bitter like tonic water. Apparently it has medicinal values

useful for treating malaria. He educates us regarding the damage that the palm tree plantations are causing to the ecosystem of the jungle. They require vast amounts of liquid and they are draining the ground of its water which has a direct impact on the national park.

We stop for a break and feast on a picnic of fruits: tangy passion fruits, pip-filled small greenish mandarins, rambutan - a fruit similar in taste and texture to a lychee, but its vermillion coloured skin soft and covered in almost furry spikes.

After trekking up a steep hill, lunch is provided with a view of the treetops. Monkeys are unlikely to come this high up so our food should be safe from snatchers here. We're served fried rice with egg and cucumber in a brown paper wrapping, with our hands for cutlery. I chat to the English guy called Will. He lived in Bristol and worked in IT. There was a round of redundancies in his office and since he had a good relationship with his manager, he was able to persuade him to give him voluntary redundancy. It’s not an area he wishes to return to. He became disillusioned with office politics and the unfairness of promotions more likely based on pushiness than talent. He's been travelling since December and is planning to spend the coming month in Sumatra, but he's still unsure what he is going to do on his return to England. He’s a really nice guy and I’m happy

he’s part of the group.

We continue on our walk - down and then up another exhausting hill. Our guide hears another group has sited orang-utans in the direction from where we have just come, so we hurry back to see if we can locate them. We make our way through the leafy undergrowth and we are in luck. This area, abundant with fruit trees, is popular with the animals, so although orang-utans are typically solitary creatures, there are six roaming in the canopies above, 2 with babies, their bodies coated in their thick messy orange fur. It's incredible to be able to watch their daily activity at such a close proximity. They make a new nest in the trees everyday and one of them is busy making hers now. Another stands on her legs and grabs a leafy branch with her arms, which she then proceeds to shield her body with, as if shy of her audience, like a woman hiding her face behind a fan. Babies learn from their parents, copying their movements and swinging between

branches.

We retrace our steps up the hill, which is a little demoralising. From here, it's another steep downhill climb. It is very slippery in places and vines have been tied around trunks to be used like a rope to assist. We're all relieved when we finally reach camp. There are 2 wooden platforms, roofed over with black tarpaulin, their front side open to the elements. It doesn't look like these makeshift tents will induce a comfortable night’s sleep. We sit around drinking coffee and chatting. A fire has been lit and cooking has begun. The setting is peaceful and picturesque - the camp is set up in a small clearing next to a stream. A little further upstream, a small waterfall rushes into a pool, large enough to wash in. I take a dip with Will and the two German guys - it's refreshingly cold, but nowhere near as breathtaking as the waters in England. Dinner is served on a large

sheet of tarpaulin, the thin plastic mattresses spread in a rectangle around the feast. There's a chicken curry, a salty peanut and small fish dish, tofu and tempe cooked in sambal and a tasty vegetable curry, on a plate piled high with rice.

Some of the group retire to bed, while our guides share matchstick puzzles with the rest of us. On one, a rough image of a pig is drawn with matches. We can only move two sticks to create more than one pig. The solution is simply to move the two sticks that make up its flat belly, to create a sagging, and therefore 'pregnant' belly. It’s silly, but it’s a good way to socialise together despite the language barrier. By now it is only myself, Will and a Canadian guy called Jeremy who are left drinking tea, candles lighting the dark. The guides teach us a game - it's very simple and involves picking up one or more matchsticks from piles already laid out, but you can only pick up matchsticks from one pile in each turn. The person forced to pick the last remaining match loses. Jeremy loses again and again, partly orchestrated by the rest of us. We are all in hushed hysterics, like giggly school children. A firefly flits between the branches of a tree, carrying its miniature orange glowing lamp to light its way.

I find a gap on the platform to sleep - 7 of us are lined up in a row. A wooden knoll beneath the thin mattress digs into my back and I twist and turn throughout the night to try and find a comfortable position,

but I do manage to sleep.

Day 94 - 31st July 14

In the morning we are fed with a 3 layer sandwich: over-cooked scrambled egg as one filling and cucumber, tomato and slice of plastic cheese in the other. An attempt to toast the bread in the frying pan has made it warm and a little greasy with the oil.

A small drama is unfolding in camp. The older couple are complaining about the trip. The hike the previous day had been too strenuous, the shared tents uncomfortable and they suggest the guide had lied to them about the details of the two days. The rest of us are a little confused, unsure what they had expected in a trek through the jungle. I personally have been impressed, especially by the feast cooked the previous evening.

There is a choice for those of us rafting back to take a short or long trek to the river. I opt for the latter. Our guide is the cook from the previous night. I call him cobra man after hearing the story about his hugely impressive scar stretching across the tendons on his arm. He claims he was attacked by a cobra, yet he miraculously survived its poisonous bite. He's originally from the jungle of Borneo. He walks barefooted and carries a bone handled knife in his hand which

belonged to his father. He is short, with a small yet incredibly muscular frame. It's a long way up the hill and requires a little light climbing in places, but the roots in the ground assist our ascent. As we sit and rest he entertains us with tales from his life. He claims to have starred in several Indonesian movies as a Tarzan figure, wearing his animal skin pants and taming snakes for the camera. He has a skin tattoo on one arm - a symbol of his tribe. The four of us are a captive audience, although his English is far from fluent, so we're unsure whether we've understood his monologue correctly.

At the top of the hill is a spectacular panorama over the head of the jungle canopy spread out in front of us. An eagle glides above the trees in the distance. As we descent I notice that the different coloured lichen growing on the trees in organic formations are identical to an army camouflage pattern. I have never seen anything that replicates this so exactly before and I now appreciate its

inspiration.

The French couple are sitting on the rocks by the river as we reach the bottom. They are both very sweet, but the girl speaks more English than her boyfriend. They left their jobs in Paris 6 months ago and have since been traveling and working in Australia and New Zealand. We take a dip in the water to cool down while the guides light a fire to cook noodles for our lunch. The current is so strong I stay in the same position while attempting to swim against it - the natural water version of a treadmill.

The guides construct makeshift rafts by tying together 4 plastic black tubes. They wrap our belongings in double plastic bags twisting them tightly closed before attaching them to the tubes. I sit in one tube while 2 guys sit behind me. The raft is powered with sticks by a guide at the front and back. There has been no recent rainfall so the rapids are few and weak. It's a relaxing ride downstream in the warm sunshine except when the guides find it amusing to slice their sticks through the cold water and drench us. A moment of panic ensues when the raft becomes caught upon a rock - the guide at the front leaps out into the river hurriedly to steer us back into the flow. His wooden stick picked from the jungle floor has snapped in half and he swaps with the guide at the back whose role requires less skill and strength.

As we near Bukit Lawang, the river becomes populated with families messing around on tubes, laughing and screaming. It's a public holiday in Indonesia and the town is packed full of people, mainly visitors from Medan. Guys play guitars and techno music pumps out of speakers from small shops in wooden shacks scattered along the river. As we enter the town the river is overflowing with people tubing, swimming, wading and perching on the small boulders, their feet encompassed in swirling white water, all fully dressed, the girls wearing hijabs. I'm wearing a tshirt and shorts which feels a little inappropriate in contrast, as we float through their midst overwhelmed by the multitude of stares we receive.

We spend the afternoon and evening hanging out at the restaurant, drinking beer and eating food. The French couple head off to bed and we are persuaded to join the large table of tour guides playing the

guitar. One guide makes me feel a little uncomfortable as he sniffs my shoulder telling me that I smell nice, so I make a swift exit for bed. I take Will's information as he is heading to Pulau Weh next where I plan to return.

Day 95 - 1st August 14

I join Jeremy and Livia for breakfast. Livia is currently a student and Jeremy a lab technician. He works the night shift, his job to test blood types for emergency proceedings. They are leaving in the evening but are first heading to the national park office to make a formal complaint. Livia had planned to join the two day tour but had fallen ill. At midnight she had woken to a ferocious knocking on her door and had opened up in a daze to a guide aggressively demanding money for the tour that she had not been able to join. He had claimed that someone had fallen ill in the jungle and he needed the money urgently. In her feverish state she had handed it over and now she must try to claim it back.

We had planned a trip to the bat cave in the afternoon, but when I return from lunch I find a note propped up on my hiking boots in front of my door apologising that they have not been able to say goodbye but have had to rush off to catch their bus. It makes me smile to receive a hand-written note. They're in their early twenties and it's reminiscent of a teenager's school note handed between desks: 'We love you - you're the best. Remember the number 1 rule: Don't die!'

As a Westerner alone in this town, I am easily recognisable. One local tells me he noticed me earlier taking pictures on the bridge and another says 'Hello Amelia' as I walk past, although I don't recall his face. I read in the evening and turn down the guides' offer to join them, feeling uncomfortable in their company now that I'm alone.

Day 96 - 2nd August 14

In the morning, a new group is leaving for their trek. Cobra man is carrying a couple's baby on his back and he waves goodbye as they disappear along the path into the jungle. It's an amusing image - the Western baby with cute blonde curls on the back of the short muscular jungle man. I collect my clean laundry and I walk over the wooden suspended bridge into town to buy toothpaste and mosquito repellent. There is a little dusty pebble road with souvenir shops chock-a-block with people. All the guesthouses are in quaint wooden huts built on stilts along the rocky river banks. The town was heavily affected by major flooding which it is only now recovering from.

I catch a minibus in the afternoon back to Binjai. It's a city that tourists would only ever pass through and never stay in. We pass 2 tidy roundabouts covered with grass and flowers. For some reason I feel uneasy in this town. The people are not particularly friendly although one man helpfully points me in the direction of the ATM and the bus terminal. The shop fronts are covered in bamboo blinds drawn down at the front to keep out the heat, the blinds painted with each shop’s logo. The 'office' to buy bus tickets from is a small wooden desk with a bench set up at the side of the road, so I am unsure how official it is, especially when they try to charge me well over the price. I write down Medan to Banda Aceh with an arrow between the 2 and the number 180,000 IDR. Binjai is the stop after Medan so I draw a question mark on their price for 250,000 IDR. The guy writes down: 'Muslims 100%, turists 140%' in response. I decide to wait for the bus to see if I can pay the bus driver directly. A guy who speaks a little English is pulled over to translate. I ask him where I can eat and he takes me to a street stall where I'm served noodles and eggs. The noodles have been sitting on the stall already cooked and they are no longer soft. The boiled egg has been fried and must be very old as its outer skin is almost impossible to bite through. I try not to gag.

At 6 in the evening, a bus pulls up that is completely full. There will be 2 more passing through in the next 2 hours, but they are likely to be full too and I certainly don't want to be stuck in Binjai for the night. I join 3 others sitting on the step at the front next to the driver. The men are still trying to overcharge me. I refuse saying I don't even have a seat and my new friend translates. Eventually we agree on 200,000 IDR. It's an uncomfortable ride. A young girl takes pity on me and gives me her pillow. Sitting so near the windscreen is a little unnerving, watching the bus precariously overtake in dangerous spots.

Day 97 - 3rd August 14

At 1am we are woken to eat. I have a piece of fried chicken with kangkung and rice. Back in the bus I struggle to sleep, but I must somehow have dropped off as I'm woken at 3 am and ushered through to a seat which has become free. What on our previous journey was a little uncomfortable as there was not quite enough leg space is now heavenly. I sink into the padded seat in relief and fall into a deep sleep