Rantepao, Tana Toraja

I arrived in Tana Toraja early morning on Wednesday on the night bus from Makassar. My first thought was of sleep as the bus ride, although the best bus I’ve been in by far (seats that went right back and had enough room that you weren’t squished by the person in front) and the fact I had 2 seats to myself and a massive pillow (courtesy of the intrigued local bus boys spoiling the foreigner), travelled along the most bumpy roads I’ve ever known! I don’t think I had more than 5 minutes with my eyes closed before I was jerked awake going over a bump or pot hole! But I guess that’s to be expected in rural Sulawesi! So I went straight to the hostel recommended by my old hostel owner and didn’t take in much of the town. Except the lively food market just down the road from me in an alley between 2 houses where it seems the whole town had collected to get their fresh veg!

After a few hours much needed sleep I was woken by the hostel owner’s son practicing very loudly on his keyboard so I went out to explore the town of Rantepao. My first impressions weren’t good. The main high street just reminded me of a slightly smaller version of Makassar, with hundreds of cars and motorbikes and everyone beeping everyone all the time. The noise was deafening. Added to that were the local people shouting “Hello” and “Hello Mister” all the time (they don’t seem to know “Miss” or “Mrs” very often) and just blatantly staring wherever I went. The street looks like it could have come from the middle of a city instead of a small town in the middle of the mountains. There are puddles and mud, rubbish and bits of rubble along the pavements and side of the road. The pavements (and in fact the road in some places) is full of pot holes and missing bricks. So as you can imagine I was quite disappointed.

But then, I wandered across a small bridge, and suddenly I was in a different world. The view on the other side of the river was of green fields and mountains and in the distance a tiny Torajan village with the traditional boat-like roofs showing through the trees. As I crossed I saw two young boys standing in the river washing two Buffalo – apparently the Torajans are quite attached to their Buffalo. On this side of the river there were no more cars or people staring rudely. There was miles of farm land and tiny lanes with a backdrop of beautiful, tranquil mountains – this was the Tana Toraja I was expecting!

I my way back to the hostel I got caught in a sudden downpour and ducked into an internet café to hide. During the storm the power went down 3 times, apparently a normal occurrence here as the owners started up the backup generator and went about transferring the power cables so we could get back online.

That evening I went to Mart’s Café to meet Adchuk, a guide again recommended by Reena my old hostel owner. Adchuk easily persuaded me to join his group of Spanish people on a 2 day trek through the mountains with an overnight stay in a hilltop village starting the next day. At that point the ever present guitar came out and we all proceeded to spend the evening drinking Bintang and singing along to the hundreds of songs Adchuk has somehow memorized! In English, Spanish and Torajan!