'Post Arak Punch Paul' was a sight to behold, breakfast was a chore and the speedboat to Wakai wasn't a fun endeavour. The plan following the cancelled ferry was to head back to Ampana where we would jump in a car to Palu to catch a flight to Bali. Simple! After an uncomfortable slumber on the Captains floor on the ferry, we jumped in our car in Ampana which was more than a little snug. The driver tried to tell us another person would be joining us which raised a great deal of protest ad between us we paid for the seventh seat in the car!

We began our 11 hour drive with little to report until quite far in our driver began to close his eyes, slightly worrying at the best of times but more so when he is meant to be navigating winding mountain passes bordered on one side by a sheer drop! To help him stay awake we let him put his music on, an interesting assortment of 80's classics and the Vengaboy's greatest hits! We arrived in Palu at 4am where we dropped Pascal and Gégé and made our way to the airport which didn't open until 5am - I found myself sleeping on the second floor of the day!

Despite the actual airport opening at five o'clock, the ticket offices didn't open until seven o'clock - more waiting! More bad news came when they finally did open, there were no available flights to Bali that day - slightly enraged, we bought flights to Makassar with a connection to Bali the following day. Unfortunately, flight number one wasn't until 2:30pm which meant another five hours of waiting on a fly infested floor, I was less than impressed! When the time came, the flight was fairly painless, we whipped through the airport, hopped in a taxi and head to Hotel Lestari followed by pizza and an attempt to organise my life back home online to no avail! Bed beckoned and I said goodbye to Audrey, Julie and Karine and settled down to watch some TV!

The next morning I littered around and made the mistake of watching a National Geographic about 'BA Flight 9', a flight almost brought down over Indonesia due to volcanic ash - winning plan pre-flight! I checked out and made my way to Makassar Mall where I planned to catch a bus to the airport, unfortunately, the mall was engulfed in flames and pandemonium filled the streets. After some struggling I managed to through myself on a bus airport bound where I was the highlight of the locals journey - one woman asked me to marry her! Awkward! After some more pottering and potentially the worlds shortest flight, I was in Denpassar, Bali with a return ticket to Luaban Bajo, Flores. From the airport I grabbed a taxi to Kuta and ended up ini Poppies 1 in search of a hotel. I finally settled in Berlian Inn where I got there version of a penthouse! First impressions of Kuta aren't good, it's full of obnoxious Bogan Australians and scummy families, I might as well have been in Benidorm!

I spent the evening roaming the streets and got massively lost! The streets are ridiculously confusing and there are no landmarks to base yourself on, any sense of direction counts for little in the claustrophobic backstreets! One striking thing about Bali is that despite Indonesia's apparent loathing of drugs and severe penalties for anyone caught with them - they are worryingly available on the streets. In about 40 minutes I must have been offered a small plantations worth of marijuana! This place just oozes class...

Day two in Kuta was spent looking for a cheaper hotel with limited results, high season cometh! I also booked a car for when I return from Luaban Bajo so I could explore a little more of the island at my own pace!

As my journey across Indonesia progresses it is becoming more and more apparent that any form of transport that left and arrived on time would unnerve the masses, the result is tardiness and delays a plenty! With little I can do, I just have to sit back and take it in my stride!

Following my cultural overload I found myself waiting for my bus from Rantepao to Poso - a mere 90 minutes late! All aboard, I felt I'd lucked out with ample seats and legroom, the next stop dashed any hopes I had of comfort. On got a grumpy pair of Spaniards and a host of Indonesians hauling sacks of rice and cockerels - guess where all the crap ended up...at my feet! Contorted in ways which would have seen me flying through the preliminary rounds of 'Britain's Got Talent'. If this wasn't enough, one of the drivers decided I clearly had too much room and despite there being room throughout the bus insisted on planting himself on my feet - he then had the nerve to ask me to move my feet! Now in an ungodly position, seething and set to lash out, I took solace that twelve hours of this supposed twelve hour journey had passed - I'd made it through this far. Calmed by this thought, the delight beside me decided to start hacking, no worries - just turn up my music, not content with just hacking she then began snorting out of her nose sending a shower of snot rockets down my arm. I heaved just a little! Fourteen hours of hell finally ended in Poso. I'm not writing just to whinge, just think about my plight before you knock the public transport in your respective city's - I'm counting the days until I have TfL (Transport for London) back in my life!

One thirty in the morning I rolled into Poso and made the strangest decision I've everett whilst travelling - to get in a private car with 4 unknown Indonesians! They were headed to Ampana - my next stop and I had no intention of staying in Poso near any of the monsters I'd been trapped on that bus with! About half an hour into the drive, potentially fatigue induced delirium I had convinced myself they were taking me to a hidden camp where they would either auction off my organs or demand a ransom. It was a fun 5 hours! Tearing through the coastal road connecting the two towns as the sun came up was fairly exciting despite my waning fears.

The bus from hell!

Early Morning in Ampana

Bleary eyed, I stepped out of the car in Ampana, a sleepy port, shortly after sunrise. I hobbled toward the harbour where I was ushered into the harbour-mistresses office by an excitable mute! After a great deal of interpretive dance he shot off on his motorbike - after nearly 3 hours waiting/ sleeping on a bench I gave up, checked into a hotel and the day was a write off!





The following day I acquired a ferry ticket, grabbed some boat food and soon found myself melting on the deck headed for the Togian's largest town of Wakai. After four hours of blistering sunshine and a spattering of rain, I found myself in Wakai which looked no more than a shanty town! I boarded a boat destined for my final stop - Kadidiri. I hopped off the boat, traipsed up the jetty, through a little forest and was confronted by a beautiful stretch of beach adorned with small bungalows over looking the sea as it lapped gently against the shore. I was in heaven! I checked into the Black Marlin Dive Centre and made myself at home in my very own bungalow. Showered and refreshed, I grabbed a beer and marvelled at the sunset from the hammock on my balcony - bliss.

My Beach Bungalow complete with Hammock

The sun went down, I got chatting to Marco, Julie, Audrey and Karine. Dinner came, freshly caught fish of the day and an introduction to Gégé and Pascal. That evening I booked a 'Scuba Refuel' to brush up only diving skills. The rest of the night was passed chatting until some of the locals busted out a guitar and had a good old sing-song! With electricity from 6pm-11pm I grabbed an early night do as not to get caught in the dark!




The following day was spent recuperating from the ordeal of actually getting to the island and so I passed the day trying my hardest not to burst into flames in the oppressive sun!

My Bungalow View

The next day was time for my 'Duba Refuel' with German Tina, with breakfast done, we ran through some basic theory, setup my equipment and made my first dive in over a year in the "House Reef". Once there, we ran through some skills and began our drift dive. The dive was fairly substandard, the marine life wasn't particularly spectacular and the coral seemed fairly damaged! It felt great to be back in the water though. The highlight was definitely the cuttlefish we saw. Roughly the size of a rugby ball, it was like something out of Alien - constantly changing colour to match it's surroundings and altering it's shape to mimic the corals below. It flashed an array of colours and darted off out of sight. Truly amazing! After sixty-two minutes, we surfaced and head back to shore. The rest of the day was spent snorkelling and sunbathing.

Talk about isolated!

Day four in the Togian's saw me up at 5:30 to join the guys on a boat trip to Malenge. After around an hour, we found ourself at a jetty on the island where we met out guide. His mission was to guide us through the jungle, hopefully spot some monkeys and tarsiers and then return us to our boat. Unfortunately, I had worn flip-flops (thongs) for this mini adventure and so frequently found myself wallowing in mud unable to move! The jungle proved to be a little less exotic than first thought and we simply trudged through to the other side of the island when the heavens opened and we took shelter in the porch of an abandoned house in an isolated bay. Slightly downtrodden, we sent our guide back to get our Captain to come and fetch us!

Bajo Children

Back on the boat in the driving rain, we made our way to a Bajo or Sea Gypsy settlement - whilst normally nomadic, pressure from the Indonesian government has meant many families are being forced to settle. They'd compromised with houses partially in land but mainly overhanging the sea. Most of the time here was spent avoiding the torrential rain, much to the amusement of the local children. Once the rain abated, we head for an isolated beach for a spot of snorkelling where I spotted a shoal of squid. Next stop was the Wall off Taipi Island which was home to a lot of "Crown of Thorns" Starfish or 'Rats of the Sea' as Marco called them! The marine life is definitely overhyped in the Togian's but it's nice to experience somewhere new.

Bajo Village

My final day in paradise had a pleasant start, I grabbed some breakfast and then my bill (not so pleasant!). I tried to catch some sun until the rain came! Suddenly remembering I needed to take my anti-malarials, I made the mistake of taking them on an empty stomach and so after a delicious Barracuda lunch, I spent the next hour in bed trying not to vomit! Thankfully, a dive at 2:30 drew me from my lair and a group of us dived "The Gap" - another mediocre dive!

Returning from the dive, I was greeted with the news that our ferry in the morning to Gorontalo wouldn't be running as planned - Indonesia strikes again! Oh well!

As evening fell, Abo, one of the dive masters had organised a party as so many people were leaving the following day. She brought out her "Arak Punch", arak is a palm wine/paint stripper! Everyone got fairly merry, we danced to Indonesian pop and Abo instigated an array of dangerous drinking games! Abo seemed intent on making a fool out of me! As the party wound down, everyone swapped contact details and skunk off to bed, more than a little merry, I made my way back to my room by candlelight and proceeded to pass out! A good night was had.

Arrival in Makassar was fairly straight forward, I jumped in a taxi which was either set to explode or transport me and my sweaty taxi driver to an alternate universe. Whilst it did neither during my journey, who knows what magical and mystical things he may be experiencing now! Having been stuck in a particularly Muslim part of the world previously, a beer was out of the question - no longer. I head to a bar, grabbed some beers and did a little bit of last minute planning - my particularly well rehearsed travel attitude! The result, I would simply reverse my journey across Sulawesi, starting South and heading North.

With another broken sleep interspersed with vivid lucid dreams courtesy of my anti-malarials, I was up at 6:50AM. By 7:20AM, I was checked out and trudging down the street with my bags to find a pete-pete to Terminal Daya to catch a bus to Rantepao in the Tana Toraja area. Ticket bought, bus boarded and I had the pleasure of being the drivers companion i.e I spent 9 hours being battered with the gear-stick!

The journey was punctuated with numerous stops at which points locals took their turns to come and practice their English on me. The driver it turned out was an absolute menace to all and sundry, he clipped smaller vehicles, overtook on the wrong-side of the road and had the audacity to beep at oncoming traffic, he undertook, forced people off the road and generally hammered his horn! As if by magic, I arrived in "Pia's Poppies" where I checked in and got speaking to Samuel (rechristened 'Samwise'), a local guide who's services I was to employ at 7:30AM the next day.

Bright and early the next morning, Samwise and I were on the back of his motorbike headed into the mountains which encircled Rantepao. The morning was cool and fresh which made a lovely change from the oppressive heat to which I had become accustomed! First stop was a small village near a place called Balik, whilst I was aware I was headed to a sacrificial funeral ceremony, I was massively under-prepared for what I was to experience...

Exposed skulls within a Torajan grave

It was the final day of the three day funeral ceremony to honour an individual who had passed away over a year ago. Torajan tradition dictates that all family members have a say in the funeral arrangement so in the interim, the body is preserved within the family home using formaldehyde and treated as if they were merely sick, for example, they are still given meals with the rest of the family!

We arrived in an arena-esque setup, a field a little smaller than a football pitch bordered on all sides by temporary terraces. In the centre of the arena stood two rice stores around which smouldered the carcasses of around twenty five pigs sacrificed the day before, in the North Western corner stood an ornate coffin on a balcony surveying the scene below. Along the two longest terraces stood twenty gargantuan Buffalo tied only by the hoop through their nostrils. I in all my naivety assumed Samwise and I would simply observe from afar - how wrong I was! Within seconds of our arrival, Samwise told me to stick close and darted across the open expanse to the nearest rice store, I followed and found myself uncomfortably close to one of the larger Buffalos. As the monster started getting shirty, Samwise ducked into a terrace with me hot on his heels, it was here I was introduced to the family of the deceased - I offered a gift of 4KG of sugar (seemed to float their boat!). We were offered cake and coffee - I winced - as many of you should know I'm not big on coffee...let's say at all! Not wanting to appear rude I attempted to gulp it down, this proved much more strenuous than at first anticipated, regardless, I can now proudly say I have drunk one entire cup of coffee in my life!

We sat for a while with Samwise explaining the traditions behind the funerals and people's beliefs and suddenly in the North Western corner, there was a little commotion and people started flocking to the area - Samwise was off again! Being the only tourist there I was getting a lot of waves and stares. We stopped in the Western terrace outside which a group of men had hammered three stakes into the ground at different angles, wound between these stakes was a rope, attached to this rope was one of the smaller buffalo.

As one man calmed the anxious creature, another unsheathed a knife and in the blink of an eye had slashed through many layers of fat, the windpipe and jugular - blood rained down on the soil around the animals feet as it panicked and thrashed spilling ever more blood on the floor as it's heart thumped with the shock. I began to feel queasy to say the least, the buffalo finally fell and shortly after it's body twitched and it was still. I was traumatised and before I had time to compose myself the second buffalo was being led in! This went on for some time, I wasn't aware they killed all the poor beasts.

One sacrificial buffalo

As the bodies piled up and the once dusty floor turned into a ruby quagmire, one buffalo assumed to be dead rose to it's feet, a mottled grey with pale blue eyes it was eerie looking compared to the other silky brown animals. Samwise fed me some story of there being a voodoo practitioner in the village, whether I believe him is dubious but it was freaky to witness! I spent much of the ceremony dodging jets of blood issuing from the severed jugular of these panicking animals or as with the final buffalo avoiding being trampled by a rampaging and highly pissed off mass of buffalo! The biggest of the lot, this buffalo broke free from the leg restraints and after several failed attempts to completely cut it's throat, several villagers slashed at it's Achilles tendons to fell the animal but despite horrific injuries, the animal bolted! I didn't follow but the village poured into the street and Samwise told me one of the village elders managed to calm the animal and finished it off...the whole experience was by far the grimmest thing I have ever witnessed. It was harrowing to watch but I took some solace in the fact that these animals are raised for ten to fifteen years, living comfortable lives which is more than can be said for the cows or whatever it is Ronald McDonald puts in his burgers these days!

The Living Tree

I think Samwise picked up on my distress and suggested we make a move - I couldn't have felt more relieved! We bid farewell to the family and it was back on the bike. From the massacre, we made our way through the countryside visiting traditional graves, some simply coffins within natural caves, some carved into sheer rock faces and then there was the 'Living Tree' whose entrance was adorned by a sign only a very select few would be thrilled to see - 'Baby Grave'. Down a few steps from one village we found a huge tree in an opening covered in dark patches of woven twigs. Samwise explained that the Torojans believed infants who had yet to develop teeth had no soul, the hope was that if they excavated a hollow within a tree the baby could join the trees soul and pass from this world to the next. Behind each patch lay the mummified remains of a baby...such a morbid day! Despite this, I couldn't help thinking it was all a little 'Fern Gully'!

A tradtional Torajan house

The rest of the day was slightly less morbid as we visited Ke'te Kesu, a traditional Torajan village. The architecture of the houses is deeply symbolic and ties closely with the spiritual beliefs of the villagers, it is thought the shape is either to represent the horns of the buffalo or from when the first sea-faring settlers arrived in the area from China and simply turned their boats upside down to provide shelter.

From Ke'te Kesu, we began our hair raising ascent to Batu Tomonga, a tiny hamlet perched atop 1,750 meters above sea-level overlooking the sprawling paddy-fields in the valley below. The views were incredible! The journey back down the other side of the mountain on which I would only just call a dirt track was severely detrimental to my bottom's well being. Slightly mortified, suffering extremely saddle sore but ultimately feeling culturally enriched I was back in my hotel. Following the days activities, I had another momentous highlight...I spoke to my first westerner since Hemma left me in Yogyakarta - a real conversation with a native English speaker, amazing! I don't think it's possible to appreciate the joy I felt unless you have experienced over a week of stilted and broken conversations with numerous non-English speaking people! Spirits lifted, I skipped to bed.

A view from Batu Tomonga