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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...
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.
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!
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'!
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.
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...
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| Exposed skulls within a Torajan grave |
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.
WARNING THE PHOTO BELOW IS VERY GRAPHIC
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| 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 |
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| A tradtional Torajan house |
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.
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| A view from Batu Tomonga |
