Tag Archives: round the world

One Man and His Dog: Death of a Serial Killer

7 Oct foaming waterfall illuminated in bright light, borneo

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false]It happened during the second gold rush they had, here in Eastern Halmahera, in Indonesia’s Wild East, back in the 90s.

When parties of twenty or thirty men from the villages on the coast, with their brushed-sand streets and corrugated iron mosques, would head upriver, panning for gold, like the San Francisco 49ers.

These guys? Well, they weren’t local, or they wouldn’t have made the mistake they made. Because to the Togutil people who still hunt and gather in the forest here, their dogs are almost as important as their children. Continue reading

Tales from the Moluccas #3: Ibilihi’s Nutmeg

4 Oct

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false]We pick up Ibilihi from his home on a narrow strand of yellow beach, backed by jungle sprouting out of coral cliffs, where he lives with his second wife and her disabled child, on a four by six sleeping platform with a fanpalm roof and a lower shelf for food and guests.

Skulls of deer and wild pig accumulate under a palm with split coconut shells, a midden for future archaeologists like the scallop shell mound we saw on Mariquit in the Philippines. There’s some scrappy cassava, a couple of coconut palms, some banana, but essentially, Ibilihi likes to live off the land.

The walking, breathing epitome of dour, Ibilihi is from the Togutil tribal minority. He’ll be one of our guides to the jungle of Eastern Halmahera, where we are going in quest of those of his people who still live as nomads, hunting and gathering in the forests. Continue reading

Machete Lessons for Beginners

3 Oct

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false]It would be fair to say that watching one’s nine-year-old son improve his machete skills while 8-12 hours from *any* form of medical care, however basic, is not a relaxing activity.

And indeed, a perhaps unnecessarily large number of utterances such as, “Christ, Z, AWAY from your fingers, not towards them,” and, “F***sake, darling, do you really need to take such a big swing? Remember when the blade flew off in Laos?” have echoed through the jungles of Halmahera of late. Continue reading

Because Children Know No Cultural Divide

30 Sep Flowering log extends over gold sand beach with coloured boats drawn up to shore.

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It never ceases to amaze me how children’s friendships cross cultural boundaries so effortlessly. We spent the Idul Fitri holiday in the Togian Islands, off Sulawesi, Indonesia, at a little guesthouse on an idyllic beach.

Amal, the son of the family, is thirteen years old. He was born at home, no midwife in attendance. Continue reading

Tuesday Travel Tips: Avoiding Transport “Scams”

28 Sep

[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false]It’s probably the commonest travel complaint on the planet from folk travelling the developing world. Transport “scams”. Overcharging…

And it does relations between locals and visitors no good at all. Here’s how to make your life easier when travelling.

1: Agree a Price Before You Start the Journey.
Would you take a minicab or unmetered vehicle in your home town without agreeing the fare first? Continue reading

Who You Gonna Call?

21 Sep

bunch of plastic pink and white flowers
[tweetmeme source=”@mummy_t” only_single=false]The following episode takes place between 9am and 10am on the day we were hoping to leave Manado.

INT: A surprisingly posh hotel room. Z is lying on the bed, contentedly re-reading his latest Da-Vinci-Code-ripoff for about the fifteenth time. I am shouting into a Mac in the corner, where a nurse from the travel insurance helpline is trying to understand me. Continue reading

#theglamoroftravel

18 Sep scarlet hibiscus covered in dew, pulau kadidiri, indonesia

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It was on the golden sands of Pulau Kadidiri, in the Togian Islands, Sulawesi, Indonesia, as a wave of what I would dearly like to call “social diseases” spread along the beach like glandular fever in a boys’ boarding school that just took girls for Sixth Form, that I began contemplating a new hashtag.

And, after our social disease non-drama culminated in a small hospital, several hundred miles up north, yesterday, I cannot think of a saga more ripe for the Twitter tag #theglamoroftravel than this. Continue reading

A Fistful of Dollars

17 Sep little girls in marching band, Rantepao, Tana Toraja, Sulawesi, Indonesia.

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Our favoured local, back in Rantepao in the Tana Toraja, was the hangout of the local Guides Association, a Teamsteresque conglomerate of the most amiable rogues since Dick Van Dyke.

Sporting various permutations of Aviators, moustaches, long hair, cropped hair and funeral sarongs as night-time outerwear, the chaps spent most of their time out back smoking clove cigarettes, drinking Bintang beer and swapping stacks over rupiah a card game not dissimilar to shithead.

We liked them a lot.

Didn’t play cards with them, mind.

I mean, that would have been just stupid. Continue reading

Rafting the Maiting River

15 Sep Maiting River swirls around dark rocks in gorge. Tana Toraja, Sulawesi, Indonesia.

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We spent our last day in the Tana Toraja whitewater rafting. An activity, which in the mind of the child, now forms a kind of holy trinity with zipwiring and zorbing, as sheer, adrenaline-fuelled, screeching fun.

As he put it, “Zipwiring is aerial. Zorbing is, ummm…, terrestrial. And whitewater rafting is the aquatic equivalent.”

Or, “Wooooooo! Wapids ahead!!! Woooo!!! More wapids!!!”

Whitewater rafting is, actually, an almost flawless combination of adrenaline, nature and physical activity. Continue reading

Souls Growing Skywards with the Trees

5 Sep Trees silhouetted against twilit sky. Baby graves, Pana, Tana Toraja, Sulawesi, indonesia.

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At Pana, the cave graves were easy to find, half of them broken open, looming out of a granite slab in the oncoming dusk and framed by dark bamboo.

The baby graves? Well, as the beautiful kids who gave us directions and made us sign the guestbook said, they were in a “big tree”.

“These holes in the trunk,” I wondered to Z. But they seemed so natural, gnarled by age into natural knots.

So, no, we decided. They must be the bundles high up in the branches with the ferns shooting out of them, basket coffins transformed into a proliferation of life. Continue reading