Although noisy, crowded, and pollu ted , it certainly had some redeeming charms and idiosyncrasies. Situa ted on the Martapura River , Banjarmasin is called the " Venice of the East". The name coming from it's floating houses and markets, network of crisscrossing rivers, and intricate system of canals whose waters rise and fall with the tides, as the city is loca ted below seal level.

Locals providing accommodation must report this to the police, painfully fill out many forms, and pay the police what is called "cigarette money". As a result, finding accommodation proved difficult as most places simply tell you they have no room - rather than go through this hassle. During our search for a place to stay we were peddled through the diesel fumed streets in a "becak" - a type of pedicab in which the passenger precedes the driver to take the brunt of any collision! Although cheap, it is certainly not the most comfortable method of travel.

The first couple of days we spent gathering information on the Dayak tribes, and traveling up the Barito river and it's tributaries. Here we observed the interesting river life and a fascinating floating market that begins at sunrise. A gaggle of boats (mainly dugout canoes), with traders and vendors in traditional straw tanggui hats selling a most unusual array of wares. A photographers delight in the early morning mist. 

Our intent was to start our travels in the south of Borneo, work northwards up to Samarinda, and from there trek into the interior to an area known as the Apo Kayan - home of some interesting Dayak tribes. However, on our second day we bumped into two American doctors who had just returned from that region very depressed. They said putting up with spoiled food, clearing trails with machetes, leeches, snakes, swarms of mosquitoes, and guides who abandoned - them they could handle - but the last straw was an epidemic of Cholera that was devastating the small villages. Fourteen people died in the short time they were there. Christine and I did not have our Cholera shots so we revamped our plans, and cut short our stay in Borneo . 

On our flight out aboard a filthy plane, we joined with the pilot in swatting away the c lou d of annoying flies, while listening to the squawking of caged birds in the cockpit! Fortunately it was only a two hour flight before we touched down on the mountainous orchid-shaped of island of Sulawesi , formerly known as the Celebes .
Sulawesi has diverse and fascinating cultures with unequaled ceremonies and festivals. The 3 major cultures are Bugis, Makassarese, and Torajan. The Bugis and Makassarese live along the coast in wood houses on stilts, and are renowned for their handbuilt wooden schooners and seamanship. In history they were the most feared pirates on the Java Sea , hunting their prey in packs (the fearful term "Boogie Man" came from these people).

Our interests were in a place known as Tantatoraja, which means “Land of the Torajan people". This involved an 11 hour, 328 km. tortuous bus trip on dirt roads through the rugged mountains which have protec ted patterns of life and customs which have evolved and changed little over the centuries. 

The bus was delayed on route by a mudslide, but late evening as the rain "Niagara'd" down amid bolts of lightening and roaring thunder, we bone-wearily pulled into the small town of Rantepao , which was to be as our base. We found a place to stay, but had to settle for a cold shower to wash off any grime the rain leaking through the roof of the bus had missed! Talk about a cool reception. B-b-b-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. 

Torajan houses and rice barns with their prow-shaped roofs and adorning buffalo horns are unlike anything we had seen before. They all face north, the direction of their origin. Couldn't resist taking a photo with a DFH For Sale sign. Next morning we were told that a sacrificial ceremony called "Feast of the Dead" was taking place in a nearby village, so off we went. Children dying before the age of 10 are buried in trees.

Although buffalo and pigs have now replaced human heads at sacrifices, it is still a very gruesome sight. When someone dies the Torajans keep the corpse with them, partially embalmed, in the back of their houses for weeks or even months. This is to allow time to complete the expensive funeral arrangements and assemble far-flung relatives. They believe the souls of animals will follow their masters into heaven, thus the sacrifices. The more important the person, the larger the slaughter.

Many things happen simultaneously at these sacrifice. We watched as pigs, secured by their feet, had a knife plunged into their heart and then were jumped on to force the last blood out while villagers poke and prod at the fatal wound. 

In another area dozens of water buffalo were led into a sectioned off piece of land ringed by villagers eager for the kill. In the center a large stake was driven into the ground and one at a time the buffalo were tied to it by one leg. Then with the powerful double-handed slash of a large razor sharp sword their throats were slit. We have some very vivid memories of these poor beasts - fountains of blood spewing in the air, awful bellowings, and eyes rolling about, while small boys getting covered in blood, vie for the privilege of catching the arterial blood in bamboo tubes. 

With the air full of the stench of burning hair from pigs on the fire, and the terrible sounds of pigs and buffaloes in their death throws we reached the point where we had to leave. At that point we had witnessed the slaughter of more than a dozen water buffalo and a similar number of pigs. The blood-thirsty locals were still hacking and slashing when we left. In a very real way Torajans live for death. 

Next stop was a place called Pallawa, known for its large rice barns and hordes of giant fruit bats which are considered a delicacy. These "flying dogs", as they are known by the locals, hide their freakish heads inside the leathery membranes of their wings and sleep out the day in the bamboo forests. We decided to pass on lunch and instead traveled to a fascinating village called Lemo where carved effigies of the dead(tau-tau) peer down from balconies jutting out from funerary niches carved out of the rock cliffs. These silent sentinels eerily watch over the graves to drive spirits away. 

From Lemo we hiked along a jungle trail alive with huge brightly colored butterflies, and a myriad of strange insects to Tilanga, a beautiful spot in a bamboo forest with and natural swimming pool with cool crystal-clear water. Only problem was that it was full of some very large eels. We decided swimming really wasn't all that important!! 

We made a facinating trek to the unusual village of Londa , where with the aid of a gas amp, we explored the ancient burial caves. 

We felt a bit like 'Indiana Jones' moving about in the darkness among rotting coffins, bones, and skulls that are crammed into every possible nook and cranny. From one cave we had to get down on hands and knees to crawl through an interconnecting passage to another cave. It was a very eerie and spooky as fist-sized spiders scampered about the damp uneven cave floor beside us. Outside the entrance the silent wooden sentinels in the tau-tau kept watch as they have for centuries. 

After a week in the region the time had come to get out, as the monsoon season had star ted and the mountainous dirt roads were starting to turn into quagmires. On the miserable trip out the rain bucke ted down constantly, but at least we managed to avoid the fate of several other less fortunate vehicles that had plunged over the cliff edges due to the treacherous road conditions. 

We spent two forgetful days back in the capital of Unjung Pandang (which I thoroughly unrecommend to anybody) before arranging a flight to the wonderful island of Bali . 

Although a major tourist destination, especially for the Aussies, Bali will always have our fondness. The physical beauty of the island is tremendous, and there is something for everybody - from the sunsets and beaches, to the lush green countryside, to the zoo-like atmosphere of Kuta and Legian, to the rich cultures of Ubud where it seems everyone is either an accomplished woodcarver, dancer, stonemason, or artist. 

We had lovely peaceful accommodation at the Suji Bungalows, and enjoyed the pleasant change of pace. Suntanning at the beautiful pool ringed with mango trees, enjoying jaffles and Bintang (the local grog) and the excellent selection of fruits and seafood. However, after a wonderful relaxing week boredom star ted to creep in, so off we went in search of more adventure. We certainly were to find it! 

We had read about a primitive tribe of people in Irian Jaya called the Dan i, who tend to ignore all visitors and anything else from the modern world. Living in an isola ted area called the Balim Valley , the Dan i never saw a white person until 1938 when a plane crashed in the valley, and the pilot radioed back about finding a new primitive tibe of people. We were keen to see for ourselves. 

During our travels we asked about Irian Jaya and people kept telling us it was not safe to visit. However, we were fortunate enough to meet an interesting Belgium couple who had recently come from Irain. They warned us of the difficulties we would encounter, but were still positive and encouraged us to go. They were also most helpful in telling us how to get there, where to stay, and several other tips that were to prove very useful indeed. We will always be extremely grateful to this couple for their encouragement - as it was to prove an exhilarating trip and one, if not the, most fascinating regions we have ever encountered. 

It was tough getting star ted as a special permit ( surat jalan) was required by the government and police to enter this region because of instances of tribal wars and killings that still take place. 

This cost us two long days as we tried to sort out all the paperwork and get the required signatures. I suppose we were lucky though, as we talked to one person who had been waiting over a month - and after all, the permit was to try and keep us out of the more dangerous areas. Before they would issue us the permit we had to convince them that we were both Christians and not writers or journalists - figure that one out! 

While sorting this mess out we stayed in capital city of Jayapura . On our first night there I was having stomach problems as we arrived in the darkness. To add to this discomfort, while we searched for a place to stay, we were tailed by a bizarre looking character that we couldn't seem to shake. Finally I lost my cool and confron ted him, and as trouble star ted several people rushed over and separa ted us. One person in broken English managed to tell us that this evil looking character had lost his mind long ago. While they detained him we slipped through an alley and found ourselves accommodation for the night. Terrific start - being pursued by the town's madman! 

Jayapura has temperatures hovering around 40 degrees and is so hot and humid that most places actually close between 10 am and 3 p.m. We stayed only long enough to acquire our permit. On leaving we stopped briefly in Hamadi to visit an unusual carving market then headed to the lakeside town of Sentani . 

This was much more agreeable than Jayapura, less conges ted , and considerably cooler. While waiting for a flight out we spent a day down by the rather ramshackle houses on stilts over the lake watching the locals fishing from their long dug out canoes. 

We arranged our flight and were soon headed into the center of what undoub ted ly is one of the most remotest places on earth - and the rain forest jungles of Irian Jaya in New Guinea . 

Irian Jaya has wilder landscapes and more impenetrable, treacherous jungle than any other area, including the Amazon Valley . As recent as the latter part of 1991 a team of Australians discovered an unknown tribe never before seen. 

The twin prop plane swept down between a gash in the mountains as we descended onto the dirt airfield at Wamena in the Balim Valley . 

Just before touching down we observed an unusual sight, as several naked natives with bow and arrow were standing on the runway watching the plane - before a lou d siren was sounded to warn them off! 

The men of this stone-age tribe look similair to the Australian aborigines with the wild curly hair and broad flat noses. Glistening with lard and soot cosmetics, the men are naked for the most part flaunting their maleness by wearing only a 'penis sheath' made from a cultiva ted gourd (koteca). Each man has a wardrobe of several shapes and sizes - a very short koteca is used when boar hunting and an elonga ted one serves for the festive times. Some are curved, and some are corkscrewed and most stick straight up in the air, with the tops ending somewhere between the navel and the nipples. When the men come to town, they carry their money tucked in to the ends of these gourds - which makes you think twice about asking for change! 

Some men also wear feathered head-dresses, armbands, shell necklaces, and curved boar tusks through their nose. It is a strange feeling to be beside one of these fellows who does not have the tusks through his nose - as there is just a gapping hole which you can look right through. 

A man's social status is measured by the number of pigs he has, and even brides must be paid for in pigs - usually 4 or 5 per wife. The Dan i believe the pig to be their brother, and new mothers often breastfeed their babies and a piglet at the same time - one on each breast! Dan i men and women sleep apart in different huts after a birth, as sex is taboo for 2 -5 years. Pigs stay in the women’s huts and sleep with the children. There are certainly worse places to be if you happen to be a little porker! 

The bare-breas ted Dan i women's wardrobe is simply a type of straw skirt and a sort of string bag called a noken. This bag is made from bark fiber and is suppor ted by a strap around the forehead. In it women carry everything from vegetables to stone axes, babies, and even piglets - sometimes all at once. When empty, it's worn over the shoulders and down the back to keep the women warm in the cold evenings. 

Many of the older women of the tribe have only their thumbs - as one of the more bizarre customs, they amputate one or two joints of a finger whenever a close relative dies. This is accomplished by using a sharpened rock no less! The men upon the death of a parent, pull a "Vince" and lop off the top of their ear. Indeed a land of intrigue. 

We enjoyed some wonderful but tough trekking in the valley, with lovely birds, butterflies, flora, and very primitive villages. 

While climbing a mountain above the village of Jiwika we ran across some native women using an age-old technique of soaking sago palms in a brine pool to extract salt. During our travels we enjoyed the freedom of being on our own and experienced no problems at all. However, we were very careful to respect tribal customs - as these same people only a generation ago were still actively engaged in headhunting and cannibalism! 

One of our first encounters was in a village called Kurulu. On entering the village I remember the hair raising on my arms as these frightening looking people curiously approached us through the haze of smoke coming from a huge pit fire. The black-eyed, fuzzy-haired men covered in soot and pig grease, sporting bow & arrow, penis sheathes, and curved ivory boar tusks jutting menacingly from the severed septum of their noses - the women smeared in an errie yellow clay. Totally alone, miles from anywhere, and unable to speak with them, it was most exhilarating experience! 

As it turned out we need not have been afraid. They allowed to take photos, and even dragged from one of the round mud huts a mummified corpse to show us. These fierce looking people, although they occasional fight and kill each other, are basically a very friendly and gentle race. They were as curious about us as we of them, and wan ted to shake hands or touch us. 

One day while hiking along a river looking for a hanging suspension bridge, we met some Dan i who placed rocks in the river as some stepping stones so we could cross staying dry! At no point did we ever feel threatened by them. On the contrary, we developed a real fondness for these people, and are greatly saddened by the fact they are a vanishing breed. 

Our experiences in the Balim Valley will never be forgotten. Back at the airport we wrote our names down on a waiting list to fly out at the next opportunity. Because of difficulty flying into and out of this valley, planes make no attempts unless weather conditions are excellent. Fortunately for us they were, and within a day we were on our way back to where we booked a ticket back to the island of Bali . 

Our return to Bali las ted a week and on Christmas Day 1991 we flew to Hong Kong where we spent another week in 'retail therapy' shopping our brains out before heading on the long flight back to good old Canada. 

We brought back some fascinating artifacts from our travels, but more importantly special memories of some amazing experiences that will last a lifetime. We feel indeed privileged for having had the opportunity to witness the remarkable people and cultures of these strange lands known as "The Last Frontier". 



Mark H. Colegrave