Daftar Posko Banjir Pemerintah

http://bit.ly/VbcTEo

 

Logistik

Posko Pemprov DKI , sms 0811944728, telp 3459561, twitter @jakartagoid

 

MAKO TAGANA KemenSosial RI Gd.D Lt1 Jl.Salemba Raya no.28 JakPus Telp. 310800, twitter @TAGANA_KEMENSOS

 

Posko Kementrian ESDM, Komplek Lemigas Tomang, RT 16/ RW 07, Tomang Jakarta Barat, Putu: 085237960055

 

BPBD DKI Jakarta 0813 1140 7067 atau 164

 

Air Bersih

Posko Air Bersih FGMI, 08561733710 , @FGMIndo

 

Evakuasi

Badan SAR Nasional 115 /352-1111

SATKORLAK 382-2212

 

POSKO SAR DKI Jakarta Telp : 34835118, 382 3113

SAR 5501512, 55051111, 5507976

 

Satkorlak PBP Provinsi DKI Jakarta
Telp : 3822212, 3823211, 3500000
SMS : 0811920203

 

SAR JakUt 43931063, 0856 97020042 Fikri

Satlak PBP Jakarta Utara Telp : 43930152, 43934752

 

SAR Jaktim 85904904

Posko Banjir Jaktim 487-02443, 48702160

 

SAR Jakpus 6344215

Satlak PBP Jakarta Pusat Telp : 38433723, 384-3066

 

Satlak PBP  Jkt Barat Telp : 5682284

 

Satlak PBP Jkt Selatan. Telp : 72790109, 7515054

SAR JakSel 7515054

 

Melalui twitter TNI/Polri di @DivHumasPolri @TNI_AD @TNI_AL  @_TNIAU

 

Pengaduan PLN

telp. 123 atau twitter @pln_123

Pengaduan Jalan Rusak

Dinas PU DKI Jakarta  021 3844 444, twitter  @PoskoDPUDKI

Layanan Kesehatan

Dinas Kesehatan Provinsi DKI Jakarta
Jalan Kesehatan Raya No 10 Jakarta Pusat
Telp : 34835118

Posko Kemenkes @ppkkemenkes

Poskes Kalibata : Dr. Eko Medistianto – 081514330306
Poskes Kel. Bukit Duri : Dr. Adi Sopiandi – 08122008182
Poskes Kel. Kapuk – 081318881504
Poskes Daan Mogot : Dr. Rakhmad Ramadhanjaya- 081310529025.

 PMI DKI Jakarta
Jl. Kramat Raya No. 47 Jakarta
No telpon 021-390 6666 ext. 406 dan 212 (Posko Banjir)

PMI Kota Jakarta Pusat
Jl. Pecenongan No. 82 Jakarta Pusat
Telp. 021-384 1474

PMI Kota Jakarta Utara
Jl. Plumpang Semper No. 54 Jakarta Utara
Telp. 021-439 35630

PMI Kota Jakarta Barat
Jl. Perdana No. 12 Kelurahan Wijayakusuma, Jelambar, Jakarta Barat
Telp. 021-560 6378

PMI Kota Jakarta Selatan
Jl. Raya Condet, Pejaten, Pasar Minggu Jakarta Selatan
Telp. 021-7981871  dan 021-7980 332 (Posko Bencana)

PMI Kota Jakarta Timur
Jl. I Gusti Ngurah Rai No. 77 Klender, Jakarta Timur
Telp. 021-8611832

PMI Kabupaten Kepulauan Seribu
Gedung Bahtera Jaya Tanjung Priok Jakarta Utara
Telp. 021-34188811

PMI Kota Tangerang
Jl. Mayjen Sutoyo No. 15 Tangerang (Dekat Alun-alun Ahmad Yani)
Telp. 021 – 5522521

PMI Kota Bekasi:
Alamat: Jl. Lapangan Multiguna No.34-35 Margahayu Bekasi Timur
Telepon: 021. 881-7243

PMI Kabupaten Bekasi:
Alamat: Jl. Pramuka No.1 Alun-alun Bekasi 17141
Telepon: 021. 884-1712

Gangguan Air Minum

Palyja 2997 9999 sms 0816 725 952

Aetra 86909999

 

Daftar Posko Banjir Masyarakat

Data posko pemerintah http://bit.ly/VbcTEo

Data posko masyarakat  http://bit.ly/VbcTEo

Data PENYEDIA bantuan http://bit.ly/WfyLOB

Data KEBUTUHAN pengungsi bit.ly/WfyZoH

Twitter

Gubernur DKI @jokowi_do2

Wagub DKI @basuki_btp

Wagub Jabar @dedeyusuf_1

Info banjir @fadjroel

Info tol @ptjasamarga

Info kereta @commuterline

Info Transjakarta @BLUTransjakarta

SMS

Wagub DKI 0813 1632 6452, 0811 944728

 

JAKARTA BARAT

Posko GBI Nafiri: GrGarden, TmnRatu, GrVille, Tj.Duren, mknan korban banjir , SMS:0877 881960088, 0858 13301947. Nama, AlmtLkp, Jmlh org.

Posko KKAB Grogol di Jalan Muwardi 3 No.33, @StefaniHanjaya.

Posko Kedoya : Jl. kedoya raya RT03/007 no.26, Pak Wahyu 0821 24922289 /021 92506280, Rani 0817 822525

Tim SAR Ehipassiko/EFC , Kampus UnTar 2, Grogol, Vidi Yulius 0812 88102899

Posko Kampung Apung, Kapuk, Jakarta Barat, Rengga: 081282822844, Juhri 081387597010

Posko Kementrian ESDM, Komplek Lemigas Tomang, RT 16/ RW 07, Tomang Jakarta Barat, Putu: 085237960055 utk evakuasi, sembako

Posko Kesehatan FK Ukrida Jl. Arjuna Utara No.6 JakBar. Ricco 08176066505

Posko MDMC Jakarta Barat : 081314744773 (Toni)

Posko MSTRI FM, Jl.Tanjung Duren Raya 350, Jakarta Barat. 5655921 / 5655922 @1042mstrifm, terima sumbangan

Posko Banjir Jkt Barat Telp : 5682284

Ibu Juju Jl Banjir Kanal RW 11, 12 dan 13 Tomang, Jakarta Barat Kontak Ibu Juju (02193679085)

JRMK-UPC Jl Muara Baru Ujung Gedung Pompa Air Penjaringan, Jakarta Barat Kontak Sri Damia (085286615838).

Kampung Apung RT10/RW01 Kelurahan Kapuk Kontak Mitradi Sangkoyo (085780322256)

Mahasiswa Pecinta Alam UNTAR 0816 1437001, 0857 8213696, 0818 0859136, 0816 1437001 , 0857 82136969 , 0818 08598136

Pak Sumartono RT09/RW013 Cengkareng Timur Cengkareng, Jakarta Barat Kontak Pak Sumartono (087775038989)

Posko Kapuk Bongkaran RW 01, 12 dan 16 Kelurahan Kapuk, Cengkareng Kontak Muchlis (087889320841)

Posko Kemanusiaan GKA Central Park, Lantai 32 Kontak Sdr Lenny (081804222940)

Posko Kembangan Jl Terate, RT09/RW10 Kel Kembangan Utara, Jakarta Barat Kontak Rudaya (02191346464)

RPJB Kebon Jeruk Relawan Penggerak Jakarta Baru Kampung Guji Baru, RW02 Duri

Kepa Kebon Jeruk, Jakarta Barat Kontak Obbie Maulana (081218998400)

RPJB Kembangan Relawan Penggerak Jakarta Baru Jl H. Saanan, Gg. Cemen RT02/RW02 Kembangan Utara, Jakarta Barat Kontak Andy (02197977386)

Riam Jeram, Aranyacala Trisakti Telp 08388930988 08158955557

Tzu Chi Rescue team. HP 0888 01103872

Posko Kesehatan PMI PT Pasari Rawa Buaya dan Kedoya Utara

JAKARTA PUSAT

Posko Bukit Duri, 0817 742911

Sahabat Anak Manggarai, Jl. Tambak II RT06/05 No.32,Kel. Pegangsaan, Jakpus 10320 Vera +628121032021, Putri 08151623293, Marsya 081287662315, Ellen/Yuli 0213918505/31934172)

Posko DREAMDELION Manggarai, @dreamdelion, Farah Mafaza – 081311103406.

Posko SMA 8 Bukit Duri, Depo PJKA Bukit Duri

Posko Universitas Indonesia, @SOV_UI, Amal – 087775469636

Posko Kesehatan PMI di SDN 05 Petamburan dan di bawah rusun Karet Tengsin

Posko Belakang Apartemen Batavia Bendungan Hilir, Ibu Nila 08161413207

Posko Jl Ksatrian V RT03/RW03 Berlan Kontak Pak Komarudin (08161303559) Nur Sulaikan (087887575211)

Posko Banjir (Satlak PBP) Jakarta Pusat Telp : 38433723

Posko Banjir Jakpus 384-3066

Posko Gg Buaya Jl Karet Pasar Baru Barat 1 Gg Buaya 1

Posko Kemanusiaan PGI Jl Diponegoro (d/h FH UKI, depan RSCM) Kontak Pdt Lilly Danes (081315561293) Jeirry Sumampouw

Posko Manggarai, HP 0813 11103406

Posko PMI Jl Kramat Raya No. 47 Jakarta Pusat

Posko PMKRI Jl Sam Ratulangie No. 1 Menteng, Jakarta Pusat Kontak Elmo (082110297922) Joe (085210482489)

Posko Sekolah Perempuan Ciliwung 0878 38924093, 0813 81948025

Sanggar Ciliwung Jl Bukit Duri Tanjakan Kontak Sandyawan (081573751255)

SAR Jakpus 6344215

JAKARTA SELATAN

Posko Honda Pcx Club Indonesia, Jl. Dharmawangsa no. 50 belakang Hotel Dharmawangsa , 08156666677 (Reza) – 085718670070 (Pandu)

MDMC Muhammadiyah Tebet Timur,  085710002477,

PERHUMAS Intiland Tower Sudirman 08558111434 @PerhumasIDN

Posko Attahiriyah, Kampung Melayu, 02183785781,

Posko Harus Kuat Foundation :JL.H. Awi rt 02/09 no.43 Srengseng Sawah, Jagakarsa atau Jl. Timbul 1 No 50 rt06/04, Jagakarsa, Jaksel. 021 49113394

Posko Kebon Pala, Kampung Melayu, Fadhel Achmad 081287658998, BB 2263CE95

Posko Kesehatan Kemenkes (seberang Kalibata Mall)

Posko LPBI NU Jakarta. Bukit duri Tebet, Nasir 087884555095

Posko MDMC Bukit Duri : 081280084347 (Suparman)

Posko MDMC Jakarta Selatan : 081219780118 (M Rizqi)

Posko MDMC Tebet Timur : 085710002477 (Zaid Fadli)

Posko RSCC kampung melayu  021-8291657

Posko UNAS Jl Sawo Manila, Pejaten No 61, Ps Minggu, Jakarta Selatan, 12520, Renna (081993987095/021-78843123)

Sekretariat REMAJA Relawan Muda Jakarta Jl Prapanca Raya No. 16 Jakarta Selatan Kontak Riezky Delastama Arya Wiriadinata

Satlak PBP Jkt Selatan. Telp : 72790109, 7515054

ACT for Humanity Perkantoran Ciputat Indah Permai Blok B 8-9 Jl Ir H. Djuanda No. 50 Ciputat Telp 083892210447

Gerakan Peduli Sekitar Kita Jl Padang No. 30 Manggarai, Jakarta Selatan Kontak Uli Herdinansyah twitter @uliherdinansyah

Global Rescue Network Indonesia Jl. Gudang Peluru Barat Blok X No 557 Kebon Baru, Jakarta Selatan, Amalia Yunita (0812 9491388) Lody Korua, (0816 1993244)

Greenpeace JL. K.H. Abdullah Syafi’ie, No. 47 Tebet Timur, Jakarta Selatan Kontak Deby Natalia (02183781701, 08567779783)

Posko Bawah Jembatan Kalibata Telp 081219653846, 081646921957

Posko SAR JakSel 7515054

Kalibata Warga Kolong Jembatan Ciliwung Kalibata Kontak Pak Saiful 085780396273 Mas Rudi 081807741355

Posko GP Ansor Jl Bromo No. 19 Setiabudi, Jakarta Selatan Kontak Firdaus (0218298083, 08179860223)

Posko Kemuning Dalam Jl Kemuning Dalam I No 1 RT11/RW06 Pasar Minggu Kontak Emi Simanjuntak (0217972187, 08128964047)

Posko Lentera Timur Jl Sawo Manila No. 10 (100 m depan Unas)

Posko PaSKI Perseatuan Seniman Komedi Indonesia di samping Masjid At-Taqwa Attahiriyah Kampung Melayu, Jakarta Selatan Kontak Mustofa Ibenk, Ivan Zulfitri, Telp 02160928864 083872375595

Posko Pejaten Timur Jln Rukun Ujung RT05/RW05 (dekat SMP 46) Pejaten Timur,

Pasar Minggu Kontak Rohiyat (02194499089) Fauzi Sahap (02191664499)

Posko Relawan JASMEV Warung Solo Jl Madrasah No. 14 Cipete Selatan Kontak Mas Tieto (087880706929)

Posko Sekolah Perempuan Gg Pelangi RT10/RW01 Kel. Rawajati Kontak Veronica Indri (08128328418) Opie (081381948025)

Posko Triloka Komp TNI-AU Jl Triloka VIII Blok J-58 Pancoran Kontak Pak Tomo (0217948858, 085697505511)

Posko WALHI Jakarta Jl Bukit Duri Tanjakan Batu VIII No. 14 Tebet, Jakarta Selatan Kontak Sikil (08999942391) Mukri (081288244445, 087798851444)

Posko Wanadri GOR Kuningan Jl HR Rasuna Said No Kontak 08568597271 085269025609, 0215278251

Posko graha raya bintaro ciledug 082122022050

POSKO Kesehatan PMI, Markas PMI Cabang Jakarta Selatan, Jalan Raya Condet Pejaten dan di Jalan Kebon Baru, Tebet.

JAKARTA TIMUR

DMC RSIJ Pondok Kopi : 081586338221 (Musri)

Posko Banjir PKD Mapala Jabodetabeka, depan Sekolah Santa Maria,Molen 085694199615, pin 2246FD3.

Posko GPIB Koinonia Jatinegara, Pipit (081586337806)

Posko UNJ, Listya: 08998874745,Amel: 089652651163

SAR Jaktim 85904904

Paroki St Antonius Padua Jl Otista No. 76, Jakarta Timur Kontak Romo Eddy Susanto

Posko Banjir Jakarta Timur 2 : Rt.02/07 Kelurahan cililitan Kecil 3 Kramat Jati HP  0815-73751255

Posko Banjir Jaktim 487-02443

Posko Banjir Jkt Timur Telp : 48702160

Posko FPPI/API Jl Slamet Riyadi IV No. 49-50 Kebon Manggis, Jakarta Timur Kontak Ika (08128387971) Yusuf (08989542892)

RPJB Balekambang Relawan Penggerak Jakarta Baru Jl Pucung Raya RT11/RW02 No. 7A Balekambang, Kramat Jati, Jakarta Timur Kontak Irma Widyani (087884613868) Pitono Adhi (08128711737)

Relawan Kemanusiaan Sanggar Anak Akar Jl Inspeksi Saluran Jatiluhur RT07/RW01 No.30 Jakarta Timur Tel 021-8574923

Posko Kesehatan PMI di Kelurahan Jatinegara Jakarta Timur

JAKARTA UTARA

Posko Urban Poor / JRMK, Muara Baru, 0877 7708 7265, 0815 8551 9492, 0816 1338 318

Telkom Emergency Response, Penjaringan/Pluit, 0813 8690 9077, perahu evakuasi

Perahu evakuasi Pluit, BAPAK PIUS 0817889088

Perahu evakuasi Pluit, 0817878665, 081210600786

Mapala UI, RS Atmajaya,  78884872, 0813 80558204, @Mapala_UI

Dapur umum Pluit, Parulian Butar-butar 0812 10656540

Perahu Gratis Pluit Laguna, Velly sms 087868888595

Perahu Gratis Pluit, 0817878665 , 081210600786 , @chicohakim

Perahu dan Makanan Gratis, Pluit, Bp Hendi 0815 9415114 /Jack 0818 7182838

Perahu gratis Arus Liar Pluit, 0816 1811075 , 0812 9491388, 0812 86210875 @GRN_ArusLiar , @ArusLiar

Perahu gratis Pluit, 0817 878665, 0812 10600786

Posko Banjir Jakarta Utara 021 43930152, perahu gratis

Posko Gereja Gilgal,: Pluit 0817 878665 / 0812 10600786, perahu gratis

Posko Grj St.Philipus Rasul, Jl. Teluk Gong Raya 19BC..Deket per-4-an Kp. Gusti, Romo Yustinus 081380735964 / 6683472

Posko HMI, Rawa Buaya, Duri Kosambi, Cengkareng,   Donny  0857 16361692

Posko Satwa Pluit Laguna,  081219781976, evakuasi hewan

Posko TZUCHI, Mediterania Resort Z4 No 3A. Pantai Indah Kapuk, 087868888595

Posko Vihara Satrya Darma, jl Telukgong Raya No.1, membuka dapur umum dan pengobatan gratis

Posko logistik gratis Jakarta Utara, Sdr.Rohman 0812 86802625

SAR Jakarta Utara, 0856 97020042 Fikri

Tim #berbaginasi Muara Baru, 0856 9888378 , 0813 22255824

Posko GBI Intercon, dr.Kartika 0878.8395.3159, 0878 83953159, evakuasi Pluit

Posko Angke Pengukiran, Indra 081519909899-70110679-93101019, evakuasi

Posko RW Blok 4 Muara Karang, Pak Awi 0811815389, Ibu Vivi 021-68811388, perahu evakuasi

MAPALA UNTAR : TELUK GONG, hub 083871748535 08179858912, evakuasi

Posko Kolong Tol Rawa Bebek Lupus  02195315020,

Posko Pluit 0817878665.+6281210600786, perahu evakuasi

Posko Pluit,  Cynthia – 081905633517, Jeanny – 085710991000, evakuasi gratis

Posko Pluit, Agus hp 081288808188. Joni 081285001728, perahu gratis

Posko Teluk Gong Sapan  085319741048

Posko Tongkol, Gatot 082112729072,

Posko Tzu Chi 50559999, 088801103872, 0817878665, 081210600786 evakuasi Pluit,Teluk Gong,Kapuk

Posko Pedongkelan Jl Perintis Kemerdekaan RT07/RW02 Kontak Ican (082125787046) Vincent (0219191773)

JRMK-UPC Penjaringan Jl Muara Baru RT01/RW17 Kampung Kembangan Lestari Penjaringan Kontak Ibu Kokom (081585519492)

POSKO SAR JakUt 43931063,

Posko Banjir (Satlak PBP) Jakarta Utara Telp : 43930152, 43934752

Posko Kalibaru Jl Lingkungan RT02/RW12 Kel Kalibaru, Cilincing Kontak Ibu Rokayah (02185370562) Ibu Afsiah (081298997569)

Posko Kapuk di nomor: 0858 80268658.

Posko Kesehatan PMI Markas PMI Jakarta Utara, Jalan Plumpang Semper No. 54 Jakarta Utara

JAKARTA

Crisis Centre DKI : 021 – 382 2019

Dokter gratis, Kb.Jeruk, Kepa Duri, Pluit, Benhil, @MichaelOnank 0856 1800505

MAKO TAGANA KemenSosial RI Gd.D Lt1 Jl.Salemba Raya no.28 JakPus Telp. 310800, sedia logistik

Posko Air Bersih FGMI, Nesya 08561733710 , @FGMIndo , sedia air bersih untuk posko di Jabotabek

Posko Pemprov DKI , sms 0811944728, makanan dan logistik

Posko STAN, bintaro jaya, sektor 5, telp 0217371171, perahu di GOR otista

Posko Caldera, Dewo 0815 9104718

Posko MDMC DKI Jakarta 081311567150 (Zikrullah)

Posko MDMC Jakarta : 081228324625 (Indrayanto)

Posko Perahu Karet Gratis 021 -3901575

Posko Kesehatan 021-34835118

Posko Dakta Radio bisa hubungi 021-8807426, 8807427

Posko Radio Suara Metro 570-8037

SATKORLAK 382-2212

SAR 5501512, 55051111, 5507976

Posko Perahu karet 021-3901575

POSKO DKI JAYA Telp : 021-8196945 / 8197309

POSKO UNIVERSITAS SAHID 0856-9558-0042/PIN BB: 24B314F8:)

POSKO SAR DKI Jakarta Telp : 34835118

@BLUAmbulans118 GRATIS untuk Jakarta 021-65303118

Badan SAR Nasional 115 /352-1111

Posko @JakBergerak , 0899 8113111, bantuan logistik

Satkorlak Jakarta 382-3113

Posko @GardaSatwa 0853 10433918, 0856 981006, evakuasi satwa

Global Rescue Network / ArusLiar 0816 1811075, 0812 9491388, 0812 86210875

BOGOR

Posko Longsor Cipanas, jl pasir gede raya barat, (0263)264490 , @plusbiofm ,  @thanpermata

 

KARAWANG

Posko ACT, Ruko Terminal 163 No 9 Karawang Timur

Tim Peduli Karawang Jabar, 0817 0763887 , 0857 79976977

Posko Banjir Karawang, Bochung 0857 11159933

SAR Karawang: 0856 24433234 / 0899 7212820 @sar_sagara

 

BEKASI

RS JMC Jalan Jatimulya Raya No. 14, Jatimulya, Bekasi, Jawa Barat, 17510, 021 82435001 hp 081806355470, ambulance gratis

Bantuan makanan untuk Bekasi hub. 33044000

PMI kota Bekasi. telp.: 021-8855713

Posko  Kel. Segarajaya Kec.Tarumajaya Bekasi Utara HP 0812 83155225

Posko Banjir Bekasi ada di Pom Bensin Petronas dekat Bekasi Square

Posko Banjir Pemkot Bekasi 0819 32374009, 0812 81090920, 0811 977797, @PemkotBekasi

Posko Induk Banjir Kota Bekasi di Lotte Mart Rawa panjang

Posko banjir BEKASI 021-8844232 / 021-8844233

Mapala UI (085726252074),

TimSar Bekasi (02188957805)

 

TANGERANG

PMI Kota Tangerang, Jl. Mayjen Sutoyo No. 15 Tangerang (Alun2 Ahmad Yani) Tlp 021-5522521

Posko Kresek, Balaraja, Bpk. Maman 081380205898

Posko Tagana Dinsos, Perum. TotalPersada , 021 94351350 (Denis)

Posko Aksi Cepat Tanggap (ACT), Perkantoran Ciputat Indah Jl. Ir. H Juanda No.50 Blok B8 Ciputat, Tangsel 15419, @ACTforhumanity, 021 7414482 / 085330006000

 

JABAR

Basarnas 021-6570 1116

Tim BPBD Jabar 085315759999 & 08122233990

 

Historic Indonesia hotel packed with local flavor

Historic Indonesia hotel packed with local flavor

By Julie Shingleton

JAKARTA (Reuters Life!) – Few travelers choose to stay in Kampung Bali, one of Jakarta’s oldest and little-known districts, but for guests seeking a taste of traditional Javanese culture and a little less luxury, there’s Wisma Garminah.

The family-run bed-and-breakfast hostel is barely ten minutes from central Jakarta’s modern and glitzy center with its luxury multinational hotel chains.

Soemarno Sosroatmodjo, Jakarta’s first governor and a close friend of Indonesia’s first president, Sukarno, could not have foreseen that the home where he once entertained top officials and dignitaries would one day become a bed-and-breakfast.

“One day, my father’s friends asked if they could pay him something for his hospitality as they frequently visited Jakarta, and that is how the business started,” said Karma Widjaja Sosroatjmodjo, the son of the first governor and who now owns and runs the homestay with his wife Heri.

“I get to meet so many people. I to get to know more about the world, more about people, more about what they think about Indonesia; and then we can give them information back about us Indonesians too,” added Sosroatjmodjo, who is fluent in Dutch and English and wears a traditional Indonesian cap.

“So for us it’s very enjoyable to have guests, especially foreigners,” added Sosroatjmodjo, also know as Wede.

The hotel is filled with old Javanese furniture, from wooden carved gates in lieu of entrance doors, to Madurese bridal beds and coffee chests, placed around the two-storey colonial house.

Traditional instruments are everywhere; there are Dayak tribal costumes, daggers and shields from Borneo and old pictures of the family and their visitors adorning many walls.

“This place is like something out of a 1920s novel. It feels like so many stories have unfolded in this building,” said Katie Lamb, a 26-year-old Australian tourist.

Lamb said she moved from another hotel to Wisma Garminah because she tired of staying in a “generic stifled business hotel environment.”

Jenelle Whittaker, a 21-year-old student from Melbourne staying in one of the seven standard rooms, says the place feels unique in an increasingly globalised world.

“Sometimes staying in hotel rooms abroad feels like being back home rather than half way around the world, because they are all the same, and that is not the case here,” she said.

Wisma Garminah has been operating as a homestay since 1972, and typically serves a home-cooked breakfast every morning.

Guests can taste dishes from all over Java, such as nasi liwet, rice cooked with coconut milk, or nasi rames, steamed rice with tempe or soybean cake.

Wisma Garminah, which doesn’t advertise and doesn’t have its own website, has only two deluxe rooms and seven standard rooms ranging from 280,000-350,000 rupiah ($25-31) a night.

There are also dormitories at a cheaper price.

http://www.reuters.com/article/lifestyleMolt/idUSTRE50M27820090123?sp=true

LOMBOK ISLAND, INDONESIA

Living in Bali’s Shadow, but Maybe Not for Long

Eric Weiner

Lombok Island has lovely beaches and a looming volcano, but it retains an endearing frumpiness, and that is its charm.

http://travel.nytimes.com/2008/09/21/travel/21next.html?pagewanted=2&em

By ERIC WEINER

Published: September 21, 2008

IT was a few days into my journey across Lombok when a strange, yet oddly pleasant, mental miasma descended upon me. My guide, Bahar, and I couldn’t figure out what day of the week it was. Bahar suspected it was Thursday; I thought it was Wednesday. And so, for a while, we remained lost in time.

Indonesia Travel Guide

Go to the Indonesia Travel Guide »

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Map

Lombok Island, Indonesia

Such temporal confusion is typical on Lombok, where the roads are rough and the tourists few. This enchanted Indonesian island is, after all, a place that seems to be perpetually arriving, yet has never quite arrived. Proximity to Bali is Lombok’s blessing, and its curse. Many residents bristle at the idea of basking in Bali’s reflected glory and point out that while only 25 miles separate the two islands, they are in fact worlds apart.

A British naturalist named Alfred Russel Wallace noted as much more than a century ago, when he observed that the flora and fauna found on Lombok are remarkably different from those of Bali. Lombok, Wallace concluded, demarcates the Asian and the Australian ecozones. Culturally, Lombok is typically more Indonesian than Bali, if anything can be said to be typical in a nation of more than 17,000 islands and some 700 languages and dialects. Unlike mostly Hindu Bali, Lombok is 86 percent Muslim. It’s an island of Sukarno hats, mosques (many built with Saudi funds) and hardscrabble farmers. Indeed, overzealous tourism officials notwithstanding, Lombok is not “an unspoiled Bali,” or “Bali’s sister island.” Lombok is not Bali at all, and that is precisely its charm.

Of course, that doesn’t stop it from trying to raise its profile. Work has begun on a new international airport, with a runway long enough to accommodate 747s. A Dubai-based developer plans to erect luxury hotels, golf courses and a marina along Lombok’s beautiful, and largely untouched, southern coast.

I began my explorations at Senggigi Beach, the site of Lombok’s first hotels, built in the mid-1980s, and the closest thing to a resort town on Lombok. Senggigi’s main strip consists of crafts shops, featuring weavings and wood carvings, as well as a string of restaurants and bars. I found myself at a place called, inexplicably, the Office. It’s an open-air design, with pool tables and a projection TV showing black-and-white films. One guidebook describes the Office as a place “popular with middle-aged expats,” mostly fromAustralia and Europe.

When the Australian owner of the bar, Howard Singleton, first read that description, he fumed. “But then I realized that it’s basically true,” he said.

Mr. Singleton, perennially sunburned with gray hair and an impressive beer belly, first came to Lombok 12 years ago. Since then, he has ridden the ebbs and flows of Lombok’s tourism business. Mr. Singleton grimly rattles off the long list of calamities that have conspired against Lombok’s ascendance: the SARS outbreak, the Asian financial crisis, the two Bali bombings, the Asian tsunami, avian influenza and, most of all, the riots that erupted on Lombok itself in 2000. Muslim mobs attacked Chinese-owned businesses in a spasm of violence that left dozens dead. In an instant, Lombok’s fledgling tourism boom went bust.

The events of 2000 are now “ancient history,” Mr. Singleton said, adding that business at the Office is up 20 percent compared with last year. Another promising sign: after eight years, the State Department recently lifted its travel warning for Indonesia.

From where I sat at the Office, drinking a Bintang beer, the only threat I faced was from the hawkers who circle mercilessly, offering “Rolex” watches, sunglasses, T-shirts, a massage, a manicure and the services of tour guides.

Still, there’s plenty of peace of mind to be found on Lombok. I spent a few nights at Qunci Villas, a minimalist, oh-so-Zen boutique resort that heralds the possible Bali-fication of Lombok. In the evenings, I nibbled on shrimp bruschetta while sipping a mojito and listening to electronica, which wafts through the air, fresh and inviting.

Each morning, I awoke to a chorus of roosters and the muezzin’s call to prayer. On Lombok, though, as in most parts of Indonesia, people wear their Islam lightly. Lombok, for instance, is home to the Wetu Telu. It’s a Muslim sect of 30,000 that mixes traditional Islamic practices with smatterings of Hinduism and animism.

On a clear, warm morning, I set out to see more of Lombok, with my guide Bahar. We head for Mount Rinjani, the towering 12,000-foot volcano that watches over Lombok. The smooth roads of Senggigi soon give way to potholes the size of craters. “Rupiah road,” declares Bahar, a play on the Indonesian currency, famous for the large number of zeros it contains.

We stopped for food. Lombok means “chili,” and the cuisine definitely had a kick. I opted for the more humane sarobi, a dish of rice flour, palm sugar, coconut milk, chili and tapioca — all rolled into a banana leaf. It’s delicious and sets me back 1,000 rupiah, or 10 cents, at 9,577 rupiahs to the dollar.

After much bouncing and shaking, we reached our destination. The town of Tetebatu is nestled in the foothills of Mount Rinjani, sacred to the people of both Lombok and Bali. The views from the summit are spectacular. Or so I hear. I passed on the arduous two-day trek and instead explored the verdant rice fields in the foothills. Tetebatu is the perfect place to sample (carefully) Lombok’s cuisine and enjoy air that is a few blessed degrees cooler than along the coast.

That’s where I was heading, en route to a trio of tiny islands, floating punctuation marks in the Indian Ocean. One of these, Gili Trawangan, has earned a reputation as a requisite pit stop on the backpacker circuit. Once famous for its anything-goes full-moon parties, Gili T, as it is known, is now veering toward being more tame and up market.

I arrived by boat and immediately decamped at the Beach House, an eclectic bar and hotel that, while lovely, has no beach. Gili T takes Lombok’s laid-back vibe and turns it down a few more notches. There are no cars or motorized vehicles, only bicycles and cidomos, the donkey-driven “taxis” prevalent throughout Lombok. (Local wags call it “the Lombok Ferrari.”) Without the din of traffic to contend with, Gili T offers visitors an audio buffet: the call to prayer mingles with the clinking of beer glasses and the sing-song of hawkers and giggling children on their way home from school.

The most common sound heard on Gili T, though, is one simple phrase: “Kenapa tidak” — why not? Want to sleep until noon? Kenapa tidak? Want to order one of those magic mushrooms on the menu? Kenapa tidak? (They’re legal here.) Or, like me, you can pass on the craziness and just enjoy the wonderful snorkeling. Kenapa tidak?

Tami Ortenau, a graphic designer from Los Angeles, came to Gili T on a lark, a side trip from Bali. When I met her, she’d already extended her stay twice. “I could spend a month here,” she said, clearly smitten.

To be honest, though, Lombok’s undeniable appeal remains something of a mystery. Yes, the beaches are lovely, but there are lovely beaches elsewhere. Yes, Mount Rinjani is spectacular, but other volcanoes are more spectacular. Maybe it’s that Lombok, unlike Bali, retains an endearing frumpiness. Lombok may be paradise but it is an ordinary paradise, if such a thing is possible. Indeed, even those banking on Lombok’s rise hope it doesn’t happen too quickly or recklessly. “In 30 years, you won’t like Lombok,” said Scott Coffey, an American hotelier who owns Qunci Villas. Perhaps, but for now Lombok seems just right.

VISITOR INFORMATION

The high-speed ferry from Bali to Lombok takes about two hours. Gili Cat (62-361-271-680) and Mahi Mahi (62-361-753-241) are two well-known ferry companies. They charge $65 a person each way.

WHERE TO STAY

Qunci Villas (Jalan Raya Mangsit Senggigi; 62-370-693-800; www.quncivillas.com) Dubbed Lombok’s hippest hotel and for good reason. The theme is minimalist serenity. The 20 rooms go for $70 to 90, private villas for $300 and up.

Sheraton Senggigi Beach Resort (62-370-693-333; www.sheraton.com). One of the first major hotel chains to plant a flag on Lombok. The Sheraton is relatively low-key, and with an ideal beachfront location. Rooms start at $178 per night, with bargains to be had in the off season.

The Beach House (Gili Trawangan 62-370-642-352; www.beachhousegilit.com). A funky, mish-mash of a hotel that somehow manages to work. Rooms range from un-air-conditioned boxes to lavish bungalows with private plunge pools, and are priced accordingly.

WHERE TO EAT

Qunci Restaurant (62-370-693-800; http://www.quncivillas.com). The chef manages to cook both Indonesian staples Western fare equally well. The shrimp bruschetta is my favorite. There are also excellent mojitos and great sunset views. A meal for two, without wine, runs about $35.

Astari With unbeatable views, this extremely mellow tea house on Lombok’s near the town of Kuta on the south coast also serves light and healthy mains, mainly vegetarian. Try the spinach pies. Two can eat at Astari for $25.

Scallywags (62-370-631-945; Asian fusion cuisine served beachfront on Gili Trawagan. It boasts the island’s “first and only wireless internet connection,” which may or may not be a selling point. Expect to spend $30 for two, without drinks.

The Dish: Gado-Gado

Jakarta’s Salad Packs a Crunch

By ROBYN ECKHARDT
August 29, 2008

In Bahasa Indonesia, the word gado-gado means potpourri or medley. That’s a fitting description of this dish, a mixed-vegetable salad with a nutty dressing that is served in various incarnations all over Indonesia.

In Jakarta, where it’s known as gado-gado Betawi, the dish is made with cooked vegetables and bean curd or tempeh (nutty-flavored fermented soybean cakes) tossed in a spicy sauce of roasted nuts, chilies, shrimp paste and lime or tamarind juice. The morning-to-nighttime staple is always served with something crunchy — prawn crackers or crisps made from melinjo, the hard fruit of a tropical evergreen tree.

The History

As a key trade center along the Southeast Asian spice route, Batavia — as Jakarta was known for many years — had long been a magnet for Asians seeking work, including those from other Indonesian islands. Many also were brought in as slaves by Dutch and English spice traders. By the 19th century, this group of Asians adopted the label Orang Betawi, which means people of Batavia, to differentiate themselves from new arrivals to the city.

David Hagerman

Today the Betawi, who often describe themselves as the original inhabitants of Jakarta, are the second-largest ethnic group in the city after the Javanese. Their creolized culture finds its expression in a Malay dialect and in distinct forms of dance, music, silat (Malay martial arts) and of course, food. A number of Jakarta street foods that carry the Betawi suffix, including gado-gado Betawi and sup Betawi, a spicy beef soup made with coconut and milk, came from this subset of Indonesian people.

Gado-gado is prepared a number of different ways on Java. On the west side of the island, for instance, the dish is served with raw vegetables. In east Java, the dressing, which sometimes calls for coconut milk and curry paste, is always cooked and poured, still hot, on top of the vegetables. But in an authentic gado-gado Betawi dish, the dressing — served at room temperature and never cooked — includes cashews, but no coconut milk, and it is folded in thoroughly with cooked vegetables before serving.

Gado-gado Betawi is a simple dish that likely sprang from easily available ingredients and common cooking techniques, says William Wongso, a cookbook author and host of the Indonesian television show “Cooking Adventure.” The easy-to-find medley of vegetables is sliced or cut into manageable pieces and boiled, and the unfussy dressing is made by grinding the ingredients in a cobek, a shallow stone mortar. Gado-gado has “probably been around for as long as we’ve had nuts and chilies,” he adds. Peanuts and cashews, as well as chilies, originated in the Americas and made their way to Asia with Portuguese and Spanish traders in the 16th century.

The Setting

Gado-gado Betawi is traditionally a street food, proffered from Jakarta’s ubiquitous warungs (simple open-air eateries) and mobile food carts called kaki lima, which literally translates as “five feet” — it refers to the sum of the vendor’s two feet and the cart’s three (two wheels in the front and one supporting leg in the rear). Nowadays, it also can be found all over the city, from the humblest kaki lima to shopping-mall food courts and the tony Peacock Café at the five-star Sultan Hotel.

As a teenager in Jakarta’s Manga Besar district, Fiefi Wongsowidjojo, a Betawi and founder of the Jakarta cafe chain Betawi Kafe, frequented one gado-gado stall in particular: “I went there several times a week,” she recalls. “The gado-gado was really special, and it was always served with ayam goreng (fried chicken).”

Sri Owen, a London-based food writer, consultant and co-author of the forthcoming “Oxford Companion to Southeast Asian Food,” fondly remembers the gado-gado of her university days: “We stopped at this place to have our gado-gado as a one-dish lunch before we cycled back to our boarding house.”

Jakartans often turn it into a one-dish meal by eating it with a side of rice or asking for lontong (steamed pressed rice cakes) to be mixed right in with the other ingredients. This is the version Ms. Owen preferred as a college student. Now, she says, “when I make it at home I serve it as part of a meal, as the vegetable dish.”

In upscale restaurants gado-gado Betawi is usually served in small portions as an appetizer or a side dish.

The Judgment

The dressing of a first-class gado-gado Betawi must walk a fine flavor balance. “What I want is salty, sour, sweet and spicy” to play off of each other in the sauce, says Ms. Wongsowidjojo.

Mr. Wongso concurs, adding that the dish’s sweet-and-sour element must complement the “roastiness of the nuts” and the subtle fish taste of the shrimp paste, which should be used sparingly.

These days authentic cashew-based dressing is increasingly hard to find, as cooks substitute peanuts, which are less expensive. “With peanuts, it’s just a usual gado-gado,” says Ms. Wongsowidjojo. “Cashews make the dressing lighter, finer, less sweet. Better than ordinary.”

As for vegetables, the only hard and fast rule is that they be blanched — lightly cooked in boiling water. Most versions include long beans or string beans, white cabbage, bean sprouts, water spinach, sweet corn and potatoes. Some cooks personalize their dish with unusual items such as bitter melon or young jackfruit, a kind of East Indian breadfruit. Others add both bean curd and tempeh. Still others add color by folding in strips of fresh lettuce at the last minute.

“Everybody does it slightly differently,” Mr. Wongso says. “That’s the beauty. You can have it how you like it.”

Connoisseurs are rarely as blasé, however, when it comes to the cracker garnish, which can be eaten alongside or crumbled on top. Crunchiness is a must. Don’t fold the crackers into the salad before serving, says Mr. Wongso: “No mixing. I don’t like soggy crackers.”

The Sources

Kafe Betawi

The version served at this pleasant cafe, one of a chain specializing in Betawi dishes, is lighter and less sweet than others, thanks to a sauce that incorporates cashews as well as peanuts. No. 501, Pacific Place Shopping Mall, Jalan SCBD, Sudirman ( 62-21-5140-0710). $1.85.

Kartika Gado-Gado

The effort expended to find this casual shop, hidden in a warren of shops and eateries across from Pondok Indah Hospital, is rewarded with a delicious, large-enough-to-share version that includes labu (a pear-shaped vegetable), hard-boiled egg and lontong, and boasts a light smokiness from prime-grade palm sugar. Place your order and then move to the rear of the shop, where the cook, who presides over a mortar the size of a motorcycle tire, will customize your dressing to your specifications as she adds each ingredient. Jalan Pinang Emas III/US-6, Pondok Indah ( 62-21-750-8846). $2.20.

Gado-Gado ‘Boplo’

The refreshing trace of tartness in this chain’s dressing comes from white vinegar, and the soft tofu complements the toothsome vegetables. A bonus: They’ll deliver, even if you’re hotel-bound. Jalan Panglima Polim IX No. 124, Jakarta Selatan ( 62-21-724-8334). $1.75; $1.85 with lontong.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB121993992042780049.html?mod=googlenews_wsj

Jakarta Diary

Jakarta diary

Zafar Sobhan

THE drive from the airport to the Santika Hotel takes about 45 minutes, and, as with all other drives to the heart of a capital city, is a decent introduction to a new country. Jakarta, I could not help but note, certainly seems closer to Dhaka in terms of development and third world chaos than, say, a city like Bangkok.

It is more developed, but has the same slightly dilapidated (sorry) air that Dhaka also has, and despite the stretches of prosperity and a general air of sufficiency, we passed by a number of pretty down-at-heel shanty-towns, clusters of tin-sheet huts under fly-overs and alongside railroad tracks. 

Even the hotel overlooked a small huddle of tenements and so one sees that poverty is really never far away. A useful reminder, probably better than hiding it behind high walls or keeping it tucked away in inconspicuous corners where we do not have to come face to face with it. The more poverty is in the face of the comfortable, the more we might be inclined to do something to alleviate it.

***

My taxi driver, Nasrallah, is from western Sumatra and has come to the city to seek his fortune. Indonesia’s outlying islands, especially the smaller ones, are stunningly beautiful, but there are few jobs and the ambitious all seem to flock to the big, bad city, Jakarta, which is today one of the world’s mega-cities, at 15 million people, more populated even than Dhaka.

Nasrallah had hoped for a job in tourism/hospitality and has ended up driving a cab, which is more or less part of his target industry, but pretty far down the food chain. Does he ever dream of returning home? No, he says, with a laugh, the convention is that he can only return home once he has made it big and that hasn’t happened yet.

***

The only event my first night is dinner with my hosts, KBR 68H, a network of more than 400 community radio stations that operate even in the most remote corners of the archipelago, and, specifically, Asia Calling, one of KBR 68H’s weekly radio shows that is broadcast in 12 other Asian countries as well, and will be coming to Bangladesh next month. It is Asia Calling that has invited me to participate in a special two-day program on Islam and Democracy in South Asia.

***

The next day starts with the radio show in front of a live audience of perhaps 50 or 60. I am on stage with Safia Siddiky, member of the Afghanistan parliament and a very impressive woman. She was, in fact, deputy chairperson and chief speaker for the historic Loya Jirga, is also attached to the ministry of women’s affairs, and has, among other things, survived three assassination attempts, in one of which her would-be assailant blew himself up to avoid capture. 

The discussion centres on Islam’s compatibility with democracy, and both of us are vocal in our belief that there is no incompatibility between the two, but that religion and politics should occupy distinct, separate spheres.

In Indonesia there is a debate raging as to whether Islam and democracy are compatible, with a small but vocal minority believing that the two are incompatible and that Indonesia should be an Islamic state and not a secular republic.

***

After the show, we go to the offices of the Jakarta Post. I am immediately stricken with envy at seeing their luxurious state-of-the-art premises and equipment. The paper has a circulation of 70,000 and is backed by a conglomerate of vernacular papers, which allows it to enjoy economies of scale and to piggy-back on the others’ distribution networks. 

Interestingly enough, most of the sub-editors are foreigners, and I note, similar to other south-east Asian countries, that not too many people speak English very well, hence perhaps the need for the foreign sub-editors.

But more interesting is the fact that Jakarta is filled with foreigners, some of whom have been there for decades, and they all seem to speak Indonesian fluently, as far as I can tell. It is rare to meet a foreigner who has lived in Bangladesh for more than a few years, as most are doing tours of duty with an embassy or donor organisation, and rarer still to meet a foreigner who can speak Bangla to save his or her life.

***

Next up is a trip to Madinah magazine to meet with the editor. I am not sure what to make of this. The magazine bills itself as “a truly Islamic magazine” and occupies a small beat-up office in a run-down strip-mall. The editor tells me that the circulation is 5,000, which actually isn’t bad for something like that. 

The purpose of the magazine is to create space and a platform for progressive Islamic voices. I am impressed. I don’t know of any comparable publications in Bangladesh that take on issues such as homosexuality and women’s rights and the rights of minorities and Ahmadias from a perspective that is self-consciously both Islamic and progressive in its outlook

***

The next day starts with the second part of the radio show. This time it is the turn of Beena Sarwar from Pakistan and Asghar Ali Engineer from India. Again, the discussion is both provocative and thought-provoking, helped by the fact that Mr. Engineer is a legitimate Islamic scholar who can readily cite the Quran and Islamic history to make his points. Progressive Islam is in safe hands with him on stage. 

***

The next day and half bring a number of further visits to an Islamic social organisation, an Islamic university, and a pesantran (Islamic boarding school), as well as a visit to the premises of Tempo magazine, Indonesia’s premier weekly publication. 

In between, are superb meals, one at humble but spotless road-side restaurant, where we sit cross-legged on reed mats and drink out of young green coconuts (dab) and eat off banana leaves, and one at the sensational Lara Jjonggran restaurant in the heart of the city, where we eat in an atmosphere of traditional old-world charm surrounded by stunning art and sculpture that show-cases Indonesia’s rich and proud pre-Islamic heritage. 

***

Our last night takes in a photo exhibit on Afghan women at Utan Kayu, an artists’ collective. The photos are unbelievable in their depictions of courage and determination in the face of incredible odds and in the question and answer session that follows, Ms. Siddiky once again mesmerises the locals with her stories of quiet heroism.

The Utan Kayu space is very nice. In addition to KBR 68H’s radio station, there is also a theatre/auditorium, canteen, and open space for artists, writers, philosophers to exchange ideas. Every Saturday morning one can find Abdurrahman Wahid, revered religious leader and ex-president, sipping a cup of coffee and chatting to anyone who stops by to say hello.

***

We end the night with a trip to the old city, coffee and ice cream at the Batavia Hotel. There is a torch singer being accompanied by a piano and double bass and with the high ceilings, dark furniture, and liveried waiters we could have stepped through time into 100 years ago. 

Right outside this relic of colonialism is a reminder of traditional Indonesia, thousands are gathered quietly in a city square to watch an epic shadow puppet show in the Javanese vernacular, in anticipation of Indonesia’s independence day, which is only a few days away.

***

Jakarta is a lovely city. It is a bit crowded and overwhelming, but for a Dhaka resident this is nothing. In fact, the hustle and bustle and occasional pocket of squalor made me feel quite at home. 

As a non-Arab, Muslim majority country, with our own long tradition of syncretic Islam and progressive Islamic thought that is today under attack from non-indigenous, conservative, and intolerant interpretations of Islam, we have a lot in common with Indonesia, and I think much to learn from Indonesia in terms of creating a space for progressive Islamic voices. More next week.

Zafar Sobhan is Assistant Editor, The Daily Star.

http://www.thedailystar.net/story.php?nid=52279

Sulawesi Island provides strife-free travels

While Indonesia is known in dive circles for its amazing diversity of marine life, we found the country to be amazing above water as well.

Indonesia is a country with diverse flora and fauna. It contains the third-largest rain forest in the world. Early explorers came to know the islands of Indonesia as part of the Spice Trade Route. Today, visitors will still find clove, nutmeg and cinnamon trees growing abundantly. There are more than 2,500 species of orchids grown in Indonesia.

Encounters with the world’s smallest primate, the Tarsier, can be arranged through a trek to the Tangkoko Nature Reserve. Here, visitors also may see the rare Sulawesi Macaque ape. Bird watchers will delight to know there are more than 700 species of birds in the region.

The local people of northern Sulawesi are friendly to American tourists. With reassurances by fellow travelers that this area was safe for tourists and with the idea of safety in numbers, we signed on as part of a tour group. As the date of the trip grew closer, the threat of avian influenza (bird flu), terrorist strife, volcanoes and tsunamis made our travel plans suddenly seem quite dangerous. Worried and well-intentioned family members tried to discourage the trip because of media reports of beheadings, bombs and war. So, we added trip insurance for protection in the event of calamity.

Parts of Indonesia do carry a risk to American travelers. There are travel advisories for the entire country. However, we felt the trip would be fairly risk-free and safe knowing the northernmost tip of Sulawesi Island had the least amount of strife with rare, if any, outbreaks between various religious groups. The majority (85 percent) of the locals are Christian, with the remaining population (15 percent) consisting of Muslim and Hindu affiliations. Unlike other parts of Indonesia, this area is not known for conflict. Other dive clubs had traveled to this destination and touted its safety and the friendliness of the people.

Getting to Sulawesi is labor intensive but worth every bum-aching minute on airplanes. From the time we left our home for the Minneapolis airport, until we arrived at our first resort, we endured a 33-hour trip. We flew Northwest Airlines to Los Angeles. After a four-hour layover, we boarded a spacious, nonstop Singapore Airline Airbus A340 aircraft.

The 17-hour flight from Los Angeles to Singapore was a breeze in part because of the unsurpassed seating even in economy class seats. With plenty of leg room, reclining seats, in-flight movies and first-class service, Singapore Air raised the bar so high no other airline competes. Two meals are provided, and these are planned by a contingent of world-renowned chefs. When we were not sleeping, being able to watch free movies from an extensive menu or even to watch the airplane’s navigation on the in-seat movie screen kept us occupied during the long trip. There was plenty of opportunity to stretch our legs and walk around. A 24-hour snack bar provided just the right excuse to prevent leg cramps.

Resting up

On arrival in Singapore, we had a pre-booked room waiting for us at the Ambassador Transit Hotel. It is within the departure transit area of the Singapore Changi Airport. Without having to clear customs and immigration, the weary traveler can relax in a private room, take a nap and freshen up for a minimum booking of $45 per six hours (book early, as these rooms fill fast). Since our layover was slightly more than four hours, we thought it prudent to book a room so we could power nap before the next leg.

The Changi Airport also offers free Internet kiosks, video games, music lounges, a swimming pool and, of course, shopping.

From Singapore, our group next boarded a Silk Air flight (a subsidiary of Singapore Air), for Manado, Sulawesi.

The first destination in our travel package was just outside of the city of Manado. After passing immigration, we were met by the Murex Manado Resort representatives in the baggage claim area (since this airport has only two baggage carousels, it wasn’t hard to locate our transportation). Here, too, was the only opportunity we had to convert money at the airport’s exchange booth.

Ground travel

We loaded up several vans with our dive gear and set out for the Murex resort on a 45-minute nail-biting route in what was to be the scariest automobile ride I’ve encountered. Nascar driving seems safe in comparison. With no lane demarcations, the nicely paved blacktop roads provided three lanes of travel, which weren’t easily discernible for the American tourist — right, left and middle lanes. The middle lane appeared to be for all fast, passing traffic, no matter which direction one was traveling. It seemed as if we were playing chicken at 70 mph. Heed this advice if traveling to Manado: Do not attempt to rent a car and navigate this freestyle traffic. Hire a car service or taxi to take you to your destination. One might consider a blindfold, as well.

The cross-country journey revealed crops of corn growing 12 feet high in fields next to palm tree plantations (for a Minnesota girl, this was quite a sight). Modern industrial plants such as Coca-Cola, as well as two-story Nissan, Honda and Suzuki dealerships sitting next to tin-shed storefronts were present. Christian churches were on nearly every city street. Occasionally, we glimpsed a mosque minaret. Juxtaposed among new Asian-inspired architecture were shanties with rusty tin roofs. Oxen-pulled carts next to sharp new automobiles or motorcycles. It was a fascinating glimpse of the Indonesian culture. The contradiction of old and new was obvious in so much of what we saw. It saddened me to see beautiful rain forests next to the “progress” of industrial smoke stacks and pavement.

The second major city we visited during our Sulawesi adventure was the smaller city of Bitung. En route to Lembeh (pronounced Lum-bay), we were offered a chance to purchase beverages and snacks in a tiny grocery store. No English was spoken and Indonesian Rupiahs were required for all purchases. The local people were friendly and approachable. Tourists are more of a spectacle here; some locals stared as if they had never seen an outsider. When our cameras were spotted, men and women alike clamored to have their photos taken, delighting in the chance to see themselves in the digital LCD screen.

From Bitung, we traveled around and up a mountain to the Bitung Police Pier. At the pier, our group boarded two small dive boats to the island of Lembeh.

Lembeh Island is situated in the Lembeh Straits. Bitung city, on Lembeh Strait, is the largest port in Indonesia, with ships importing goods and exporting cargo of palm oil and spices to the world.

Returning home again via Singapore, we spent a 24-hour layover in this fabulous city. We prebooked a room in the five-star Mandarin Marina Hotel. The hotel itself was modern, luxurious and connected to shopping centers. Our standard room had a view but was small. Size didn’t matter when there was so much to explore.

Singapore itself requires a separate vacation to truly appreciate the destination. A beautiful, extremely clean and modern city, Singapore boasts international cuisine, shopping and a multitude of tourist attractions, including night safari at the zoo, botanical gardens, beaches, a rain forest within the city and several ethnic regions for shopping and sightseeing.

I don’t agree with the person who said “it’s the journey and not the destination.” For my husband and me, it’s the entire experience that makes the vacation — great food, wonderful people, learning new cultures and the opportunity to see new places. In Indonesia and Singapore, we were lucky to experience the adventure of a lifetime.

About the writer: Deanna Constans is a medical office manager at Mayo Clinic. She is an Eyota resident.

Getting there: From Los Angeles, Singapore Air flies to Singapore and has connecting flights on Silk Air direct to Manado, Indonesia.

Where you stayed: Ambassador Transit Hotel; Changi Singapore Airport; Murex Resort in Manado; Lembeh Resort in Lembeh; and Mandarin Marina Hotel in Singapore.

Side trips: Tangkoko Nature Reserve offers treks through the jungle for bird and animal watching, featuring the Tarsier monkey and Macaque ape.

Travel tips: Staying in the Ambassador Transit Hotel offers travelers the opportunity to rest or freshen up after intercontinental flights. Change U.S. dollars to local currency immediately on arrival at the airport. There were few opportunities to change money.

More information: www.lembehresort.com; www.murexdive.com/resort-murex.htm; www.cdc.gov/travel.

About Indonesia:

Indonesia is part of southeast Asia in the Western Pacific. The country is an archipelago including more than 17,000 islands on the equator between the Pacific and Indian oceans. It has more coastline than any other country, at nearly 3,000 km.

The Indonesian Rupiah is the local currency. Bahasa Indonesia is the official spoken language. English is spoken in tourist areas.

Favorite foods of the Indonesia people include Nasi Goreng (fried rice), Satay and fresh fish. Dishes are frequently spicy with hot peppers flavoring much of the cuisine. Some local people of Sulawesi enjoy dishes of fried jungle rat and fruit bat soup.

The island of Sulawesi was formerly known as Celebes. This odd-shaped island is east of Borneo and west of the Moluccas islands. During World War II, the Japanese had control of Celebes island from 1942-1945. There are a number of World War II shipwrecks in the area.

The island is split by the equator and the climate is tropical, with the rainy seasons typically June to September and December to March. Temperature remains steady at 82 degrees Fahrenheit near the coast.

Part of the area known as the “ring of fire,” the region is highly volatile with active volcanoes and unstable with earthquakes. There are more than 400 active volcanoes in Indonesia.

In addition, travelers should be aware that Indonesia’s Acch province was destroyed by the devastating tsunami in December 2005. An earthquake on the island of Java caused destruction in May 2006.

For the latest travel advisories or warnings for Americans visit www.cdc.gov/travel.

Health advisory information including necessary immunizations may be found at the Centers for Disease Control Web site (http://www.cdc.gov/travel/).

See destination information on Lembeh Resort and Murex Manado Resort at www.lembehresort.com/index.html and http://murexdive.com/resort-murex.htm. Complex travel arrangements to Indonesia are best made through a reputable travel agent. A valid passport and visa are necessary for entry.

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Far Papua

http://www.concierge.com/cntraveler/articles/detail?articleId=5965
by Samantha Gillison

Good-bye, luxury. Hello, adventure. Samantha Gillison goes on the cruise of a lifetime along the primeval coast where, forty-four years ago, Michael C. Rockefeller vanished

It was as though we had stumbled into an Aladdin’s Cave stuffed with exquisite primitive art. Erick Sarckol, the Indonesian assistant curator at the Asmat Museum of Culture and Progress, had led us over a maze of rickety boardwalks built across tidal mudflats to a simple one-story structure. Inside, wooden carvings representing humans, spirits, and animals peered at us, alternately sexual, threatening, mournful, ecstatic, and tender. The sculptures were covered in curlicues and praying mantises, pig tusks and malevolent ghosts, and all were larger than life, colored white, red, and black. A few so-called soul ships, used in long-ago Asmat male initiation ceremonies, sat on the floor. Each three-foot-long boat held wooden figures of men bowing to a magical turtle, the Asmat symbol of male fertility. Human skulls decorated with feathers and seeds rested in a corner, half-hidden by row upon row of war shields painted in bold abstract patterns.

The four of us, who had come ashore from the Mona Lisa, were allowed as much time as we wanted to gaze at the artifacts made by West Papua’s legendary warrior-sculptors. The artists had meant for their work to overwhelm, and overwhelmed I was, unprepared for the enormity and beauty of the collection. I began to laugh with pleasure, as giddy as when I first saw Michelangelo’s Pietà at the Vatican on a high school Latin trip. And immediately I understood why in 1961, twenty-three-year-old Michael C. Rockefeller, newly graduated from Harvard with a degree in anthropology, had risked—and ultimately lost—his life studying this art (see The Vanishing). The pieces he amassed before his death form the backbone of the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s collection of primitive works in New York City.

Those in the Asmat Museum of Culture and Progress are no less world-class, despite their location on a side street—or rather a side boardwalk—in Agats, the capital of the Asmat region. This territory comprises ten thousand square acres of lowland swamp and rain forest on the southern coast of Indonesian Papua, the western half of the island of New Guinea. The only way to get here, or to leave, is by boat (or chartered helicopter). And once you’ve arrived in the Asmat, the only way to travel around is via canoe or motorboat along crocodile-infested river highways—there are no roads, no airports.

At first Agats reminded me a little of New York’s Fire Island, with its boardwalks and close-together houses on stilts. Except here, the equatorial sun glares down on you from its zenith between midmorning and late afternoon, tropical birds call, opportunistic mosquitoes buzz nonstop, and little boys, shrieking in delight, dive off the walkways into muddy, brackish streams. The people who live in Agats include Asmats themselves and newcomers from other islands in Indonesia who run the small dry-goods shops.

Ethnohistorians postulate that the Asmat people’s earliest ancestors came to New Guinea about fifty thousand years ago as part of a migration out of mainland Asia through the Malay Archipelago. In any event, the Asmat have been living in the forests along the Asmat River for thousands of years, hunting, fishing, and gathering the starchy sap of the sago palm. Before the outside world—in the form of Catholic missionaries and the Dutch and Indonesian governments—started arriving in the 1950s, they were a fierce warrior tribe who led raids against one another and ate their slaughtered enemies. Cannibalism and head-hunting, which persisted until the early 1970s, figure largely in Asmat cosmology, art, and religion.

I had heard about the Asmat all my life: My mother is an anthropologist, and I spent several years of my childhood in neighboring Papua New Guinea while she conducted fieldwork. As a teenager, I interned at the Michael C. Rockefeller Wing of the Metropolitan Museum, learning about the magical, intricate carvings that the Asmat created for use in their ritual feasts. Furthermore, I had just spent two years working on a novelization of young Rockefeller’s tragic trip to the Asmat, The King of America. Curious to finally see this legendary place and learn how much of its culture was intact, I booked an Indonesian cruise that traveled the length of the West Papuan coast, starting in Sorong, on the western end of the island, and ending in the Asmat. It was meant to be a two-week voyage (although engine trouble and bureaucratic quagmires extended it to nearly three) on a pininsi, a traditional Indonesian schooner that is a distant cousin of the Chinese junk and is small enough to explore coastal inlets and reefs. I was the lone American among the twelve passengers. All but a Catalan couple from Majorca, a world-traveling French nomad named Bruno, and the photographer Brigitte Lacombe were on a tour organized by a French travel agency specializing in far-flung destinations. The agency also sent along Yves Paccalet, a naturalist who had worked with Jacques Cousteau for twenty years, to be the Mona Lisa’s resident nature expert. While the others were excited to be on such an exotic adventure to West Papua, none of them were as Asmat mad as I was.

In the Denpasar airport on Bali, we all met up with Étienne Lheureux, the cruise director and captain, a Belgian expatriate who had worn a bright pink polo shirt so we could pick him out of the churning crowds. The chaotic domestic terminal at Denpasar is a thrill in itself: full of surfers of all stripes, soldiers, French tourists, and Indonesian families. The air is sweet with burning incense and clove cigarette smoke, there are little banana-leaf-packet offerings of saffron rice to the goddess Saraswati everywhere, and fresh-cut gardenia blossoms float in bowls of water. It took another three flights to finally reach West Papua, the long journey extended by a series of just-missed connections on irregularly scheduled routes. In another place at another time, this would have deeply annoyed me, but here it had the opposite effect, heightening my sense of anticipation. I felt as though we were, to paraphrase the British art critic Sacheverell Sitwell, passing through the suburbs of a new, fantastical world.

Nonetheless, we were a bleary-eyed group by the time we arrived in Sorong in the early evening and boarded the Mona Lisa. I was so tired that I barely noticed the crew of ten, the seven black sails, or the wide communal dining table that I would grow so fond of over the course of our trip.

To take advantage of daylight for sightseeing, snorkeling, and hiking, the Mona Lisa sails—well, motors—at night, and we woke up the first morning off the coast at Batanta Island. We had dropped anchor in a lagoon opposite a tiny fishing community of thatch-roofed huts. The villagers, explained Lheureux, harvest sea cucumbers and mother-of-pearl. Palm trees lined the beach, and a few overturned boats basked lazily on the sand. A French couple jumped off the boat into the warm aqua-blue ocean for a swim while the rest of us sipped coffee and gazed out at the vista. The smell of wood smoke from the village’s cooking fires drifted over. It was like a dream of the South Pacific: the soft wind, the forested hills in the distance, the sound of a rooster crowing.

A boat carrying villagers came to take us into the lowland rain forest to look for birds of paradise. I decided to stay and meditate on the view. Having grown up with my father, a wildlife photographer whose passion is birds of paradise, I didn’t think this group would see any: His rule of thumb is that to spot one in the wild you must be very lucky, have excellent local intelligence, and be in position and silent well before dawn. It was already 7:30 a.m., and the equatorial sun was strong. Indeed, a disappointed group of bird-watchers arrived back at the boat in time for lunch. I maintained a tactful silence.

After eating, we wound our way through the waters off Batanta, where the rain forest dripped down to the beaches. Clouds of fish jumped into the air in silvery flashes of greeting. It was hot—hot like New York City in an August heat wave, except of course that we were on a boat, with soft breezes washing over us and an endless shallow green sea below. There was something surreally peaceful about motoring through this undiscovered world, drifting by deserted beaches and over coral reefs that flickered iridescent blue with darting parrot fish.

We never saw another passenger boat on the whole trip. It is expensive and logistically difficult to travel along this, the easternmost island of Indonesia. And, Lheureux blithely informed me, Australian boats avoid the Papuan coast because they’re worried about pirates. Pirates? Our captain, who has sailed in this part of the world for fifteen years, seemed to think it was a risible fear. I decided to follow suit.

Sailing on the Mona Lisa is not a luxurious experience. The hundred-foot-long wooden schooner is, however, aesthetically pleasing—and ruggedly comfortable. There are six passenger cabins off a narrow hallway, with a shower at the forward end. An indoor dining/living area leads out onto the deck. Some of the cabins have skylights, although the one I shared with Brigitte did not. The cabins have little sinks and are somewhat claustrophobic if you’re in the top bunk but are quite okay from the bottom. All in all, it was a perfectly fine boat to live on for two weeks—especially if you slept on deck, as Brigitte and I quickly decided to do. Every night the crew supplied comfortable mats, sheets, and quilts, and we lay underneath a sky lit by thousands of stars, lost in the Southern Cross while Jupiter and Venus blinked at us.

The Mona Lisa sailed south, away from the Papuan coast to the Misool Archipelago, where we encountered karst formations, limestone islets that have been pushed up by shifting tectonic plates over the millennia. From a distance they appeared as a series of enormous bulbous gray forms sticking out of the water. Up close they looked like dramatic lunar rocks capped in rain forest. As we approached, Lheureux mounted the rigging in excitement, climbing almost to the top of the mast. Millions of years ago, Paccalet told us, these limestone lumps were coral reefs. Out popped digital cameras, disposables, the new Leica bought just for this trip, and a frenzy of clicking and shutter-snapping ensued. Lheureux told us that there are almost no visitors here besides the odd group aboard a sailboat like his and a few fishermen who collect shells, which are sent to Java to be made into mother-of-pearl buttons. But mostly it is a hidden place.

A frigate bird flew in circles over our boat as we got ready to snorkel near Sabuda Island. The sea was breathtaking, a labyrinth of karst formations. Acres of coral spread underwater, and Paccalet identified the various types for us: elkhorn, brain, and plate. Brilliant yellow and purple tubes protruded from the reef, pre-vertebrate creatures that belong to a scientific family more than 450 million years old.

Anyone who complains that there is no more wilderness hasn’t taken six planes to Papua, hopped on a pininsi schooner, and spent two days sailing to arrive in a place as close to terra incognita as you can imagine: uninhabited stretches of primary-growth rain forest framing bays of pristine reefs where hornbills, eagles, frigate birds, and cockatoos fly overhead and improbably colored tropical butterflies flutter. Strewn on the beach are dozens of giant clamshells, their wavy mouths agape—massive, ugly-beautiful things that seem like prehistoric artifacts. Although we hadn’t even reached the primeval estuaries of the Asmat, we were already deep in another, older universe.

As we headed back to the Papuan coast that night under a sky blotted with thick clouds, the Mona Lisa hit rough seas. I sat on the bridge’s roof, looking into the vast darkness as the boat pitched in the waves. When the clouds finally parted, the full moon was immense in the equatorial sky, lighting everything in an otherworldly silver-white. I thought of Magellan and Columbus and the Stone Age Polynesians setting sail for the unknown. And what, as a landlubber, I had never really understood I now saw as clearly as the moonlight glowing on the waves: Part of the urge to explore the unknown is the sheer pleasure of sailing in the unknown.

At dawn we sighted the famous Kiti Kiti Waterfalls, a freshwater river that spills from a rocky forty-foot cliff into the sea opposite the Papuan coast’s Fak Fak Peninsula. We dropped anchor at a small beach nearby and hiked into the rain forest. Brigitte, the ship’s cook, and I went off on our own, exploring a mossy green forest full of orchids and hanging vines and the smell of wet earth. Three agile wallabies bounded past us, and pelicans soared overhead. Farther up the hill, we were met with a thrilling clamor of calling birds, buzzing insects, a rushing river. I began climbing a partially felled tree but stopped abruptly when I heard piercing shrieks coming from Brigitte. She had brushed against a tree and was being attacked by biting ants. After a few minutes, the ants retreated and we decided to do the same. Heading back to the Mona Lisa, we came upon a little pool in the river. It was clear and beautiful and reminded me of my childhood in the New Guinea rain forest. I couldn’t resist and, in my underwear and sneakers, leaped into the most delicious peppery-flavored ice water I had ever tasted.

The next day, we stopped in Kaimana, the oldest port in Papua, established by the Dutch and now run by the Indonesians. About ten thousand people live in the small, dusty town, which has a harbormaster, a market, dry goods stores, a Catholic church, and a mosque. It was here that our trip drifted into a Graham Greene novel. The Mona Lisa couldn’t go anywhere until the harbormaster signed our papers—which he seemed in absolutely no hurry to do. We waited for eight hours, tied up next to a huge Indonesian cargo boat, before he finally complied. Such were the bureaucratic intricacies of sailing in West Papua, Lheureux explained.

Kaimana has a kind of charm, although it is in no sense a tourist destination: It is a resupply port, and resupply we did. Cucumbers, eggplant, fresh peanuts, coconuts, bananas, soybeans, tofu, eggs, several species of fish and squid, gingerroot, limes, peppers—the Mona Lisa’s hold was crammed with the bounty of the mid-Papuan coast.

After an hour back at sea, we were once again floating past inlets and forest-edged bays when we came upon a series of cliffs covered in ancient petroglyphs: hands, fish, intricate and beautiful abstract patterns. Known to ethnologists and historians as the painted sea cliffs of the Bomberai Peninsula (though confusingly located east of that landmass), they were found by European adventurers in 1678, more than two hundred years before anyone discovered the first decorated caves in Europe. Lheureux said there are so many of these cliffs that you could spend a month looking and not find them all. The drawings, millennia old, were the first evidence we had seen on our trip of an original people making their mark on the world around them.

The next day we entered Triton Bay. Motoring slowly through a magnificent series of limestone coves and islets, it felt as though we’d entered the lush tropical world of Gauguin’s paintings of the South Seas. We spent the afternoon in a sheltered bay, ate fresh shrimp for lunch, and snorkeled in the warm sea.

Later, three Papuan men showed up in a motorboat and took Blandine, a Frenchwoman on Paccalet’s tour, and me to a grove of wild nutmeg trees in the rain forest. The branches were heavy with the fruit, which resembles a lemon-shaped pear. Hundreds lay on the ground, ripe and rotting. Back on the boat, we sliced one open and found that the inside looked like that of an avocado: The nutmeg itself is a hard brown seed covered in a brilliant red, plasticky web, which is mace. The cook made nutmeg juice, nutmeg syrup, nutmeg jelly, nutmeg soup. Never again will nutmeg make me think of eggnog.

We sailed west to Etna Bay, smaller than Triton but just as beautiful, where Paccalet led a group on a bird of paradise hike. I decided that I would look for one too—alone. A local man had told us that a species of that family hung out in trees near the shore. A reluctant crew member took me in the Zodiac to a secluded beach. I scrambled through heavy brush, uphill, fighting prickly, tangled vines until I found what I thought was a suitably uncomfortable spot, knowing the bird would accept only suffering as proper homage.

I crouched for forty minutes, smacking at ants and mosquitoes and muttering about malaria, while both of my feet went to sleep. Finally, I sensed that a largish bird had alighted on the upper branches of a nearby pandanus tree. Birds of paradise are unlike any other birds—they have a kind of stage presence: You just feel it when they are around. Finally, the bird hopped into my line of vision. He was a big black thing with a shimmery blue-black bustle of a tail—a glossy-manteled manucode, not uncommon, according to my Birds of New Guinea and the Bismark Archipelago, but so, so beautiful. The resplendent creature left after a few minutes, just long enough for me to get a good look at him shaking his plumage.

As we traveled farther .east, pausing near Uta for lunch around our communal table, the landscape became mudflats, mangrove swamps, wide green plains, and mountains whose runoff feeds the salt swamps. Passing through the port of Amamapare, the Mona Lisa dropped anchor near Timika, a boom town that has grown up near an American copper mine. Timika is considered the doorway to Asmat country, and with its airport, a Sheraton, and the world’s most remote golf course, it is the last major outpost of civilization on Indonesia’s Papuan coast.

We stopped in a narrow muddy river that leads inland from the Arafura Sea to the port of Timika, flowing through swamp and lowland jungle. Although we were still more than two days’ sail from real Asmat country, the scene from the deck of the Mona Lisa looked like old documentary footage I had seen of the Asmat—people paddling long dugout canoes, the brown river reflecting the pure blue sky, and enormous trees bending over the water as though sipping it.

That night we went to a dance in nearby Pomoko, an Asmat village that for some reason had been relocated here. After dinner, we all zipped upriver in a large motorized longboat. The black water reflected the stars, and everything felt alive and lush.

The villagers greeted us in traditional ritual regalia—grass skirts, feather crowns, dog- and pig-tooth necklaces, their faces and bodies painted with white and orange clay—and put on a heartbreakingly beautiful performance. A bonfire burned in the middle of Pomoko and illuminated the dancers around it, who beat on lizard-skin drums, chanted call and response, and did a wiggly-kneed Asmat version of the Charleston. There was so much emotion in this tourist performance that it reminded me a little of the ritual theater I saw as a child in New Guinea in the early 1970s.

The next morning, Brigitte and I went back to see Pomoko in the daylight, passing the rush-hour traffic of dugout canoes in the Mona Lisa’s Zodiac. Birdsong echoed from the forest, and the river widened until everything was trees and sky and briny-smelling water. The tide was high at Pomoko. Canoes tied to posts bobbed in the waves. A woman chest-deep in the water, untangling her shrimp nets, called a greeting to us, and children ran along the shore laughing and waving while Brigitte took photos and I scribbled away in my notebook. I couldn’t believe where I was. I had been thinking, writing, and dreaming about this country for so many years. Just this one little village was more beautiful than anything I had fantasized—imagine what could be awaiting me in the Asmat region proper.

That afternoon, most of the passengers left the Mona Lisa, driving into Timika and then flying back to the real world. The trip had fallen victim to Murphy’s Law (or Merpati’s Law, to use an Indonesian surname): Between the harbormaster in Kaimana. and engine trouble, we were two days off schedule. Only Bruno, Jaume and Catalina (the Catalan couple), and I stayed on to travel to Agats and the heart of the Asmat.

Rudy Karundeng, the business manager of Mona Lisa Cruises, flew in from Bali to join us for the final five days. With only four passengers, the trip took on a contemplative, voyage-of-exploration feel. I became keenly aware of time passing as we headed east: the sun traveling across the sky, the crew praying at dawn and evening, the brown sea’s different moods.

Jaume dropped two lines and caught a mackerel. He marinated it in Papuan garlic, Balinese lemon, and Spanish olive oil he had brought with him all the way from Majorca. It was by far the best fish I have ever eaten—full of the taste of the sea, the oil coaxing the mackerel’s flavors from its flesh. The clear aqua waters of the fantasy Pacific were long gone: Here, branches and logs from the mountain runoff bobbed in a coffee-colored sea. It was humid too; we were on the threshold of the monsoon, and every once in a while the sky grew dark and unleashed a downpour.

Bright sunshine lit up Flamingo Bay. We were at last in the Asmat. On the muddy shore stood the town of Agats, a series of rickety-looking houses on stilts. While we drank our coffee and ate some delicious pancakes drowned in nutmeg syrup, a steady stream of people paddled out to the Mona Lisa in dugouts. Before breakfast was over, tourist carvings, baby parrots, and magnificent orchids, their roots still dripping with earth, had appeared on board for sale.

Only a handful of visitors a year make it through the logistical obstacle course to get to the Asmat. That first morning, a few local guides came to welcome us and to drum up some business. One of them told me that there were fewer boats this year than in the lean years since 9/11. But even with so few tourists, I worried that there was really nothing left of the original way of life. As Rockefeller wrote in 1961: “Asmat is a culture where art is a necessary and integrated element. There can be no war, no feasting, without tremendous effort on the part of the sculptor.” The Asmat warrior-sculptors carved because they had to make the tools for their rituals. What happens to the art, I wondered, if you dilute the culture with a half-century of Christianity, poverty, and harsh colonial rule, both Dutch and Indonesian?

I needn’t have worried. The Catholic mission that has been here since the 1950s has in fact protected and nourished Asmat creativity. Many collectors and Asmat-lovers return here over and over again, promoting the area and its art, helping the people to earn money through creative endeavor and thereby maintain their cultural identity.

That afternoon, we left the museum stunned, our heads full of swirling abstract images, meticulously carved figures, human-bone daggers, lizard-skin drums, spirit masks, and canoe prows, all of which sang the song of Asmat life. We walked past the Catholic church—built in lines that echo Asmat architecture—to the end of the boardwalk, where we were greeted by giggling, dancing children and then terrified by young men who jumped out of the bushes, chanting and thrusting spears in our direction, re-creating a headhunting attack. Even from this made-for-tourists performance, you could feel how ferocious the raids must have been. Finally, we stood in front of a long-house and watched a traditional dance, enraptured by men in full-length spirit masks representing the avenging dead, chanting Asmat songs to the beating of drums.

A local guide beckoned me over. He introduced an elderly Asmat man, saying, “This is Leo Bewerpitsj. He was on the boat with Rockefeller that day. He swam for help.”

Bewerpitsj opened a plastic bag and pulled out a laminated plaque. It was a proclamation from Nelson Rockefeller, thanking him for helping with the search for his son.

At sunset on our last night in Agats, the waters of Flamingo Bay glowed an iridescent orange. The sun turned a deep bloodred and spilled its liquid color onto the clouds. As Claude Levi-Straus wrote in Tristes Tropiques, it is only possible, as a modern traveler, to chase after vestiges of vanished reality. But how exquisite and moving the afterimages of Asmat culture are. In that moment, there was only the sky above and a dugout canoe being paddled slowly across the muddy waters of the Arafura Sea

Places + Prices
West Papua
by Samantha Gillison

Until very recently, West Papua was known as Irian Jaya. It shares the island of New Guinea with an independent country, Papua New Guinea. Given the vagaries of Papuan time and tide, allow at least two days of land time on either side of your cruise—at worst, you’ll have some extra beach time in Bali. Cruises typically leave from Timika to explore the coast’s bays and islands, and send passengers into the interior in motorized longboats from Agats. A particularly good time to go is October, during the weeklong Asmat art festival in Agats.

Although you will be warned that there is nothing authentic left to buy in Agats and the more remote villages, there are some lovely handcrafted pieces around: sculpture, jewelry, woven bags and baskets, and bark-cloth paintings. While haggling is de rigueur in most of Indonesia, in the Asmat you are generally dealing with truly impoverished craftspeople who ask for one-twentieth of what you would pay in a gallery. In other words, no bargaining necessary.

While vaccinations are not required, a regimen of antimalarials is advised. Of vital importance are insect repellent, sun block, lightweight long-sleeved clothing, binoculars, and a flashlight.

The country code for Indonesia is 62. Prices quoted are for the current month. The nearest U.S. consulate is in Bali, at 188 Jalan Hayam Wuruk (361-233-605; http://www.usembassyjakarta.org/bali.html).

Touring
Because of mechanical problems I experienced aboard the Mona Lisa—as well as uneven service and food—I would instead recommend booking on the Katharina, its sister ship, through Rudy Karundeng (361-283-824; two-week cruise, $3,100 per person, including round-trip airfare from Bali). Stateside, you can contact Mary Crowley and her staff at Ocean Voyages, who specialize in exotic charters and inspect the vessels and their crews regularly (800-299-4444; http://www.oceanvoyages.com; two-week cruises, $3,000-$6,000 per person). Bear in mind, however, that any cruise here is particularly prone to delays and itinerary changes.

The Asmat Museum of Culture and Progress in Agats is a must-see—not only for its extensive collection of art and artifacts but for its succinct introduction to Asmat culture and cosmology (902-311-38; bspagats@pacific.net.id). If you’re in New York before your trip to the region, the Michael C. Rockefeller Memorial Collection, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is the premier place to learn about the Asmat and their art (212-535-7710; http://www.metmuseum.org).

Lodging
After a long flight, recover at the lovely Patra Bali, near the airport (361-751-161; http://www.patra-jasa.com/bali; doubles, $150). The Sheraton Timika calls itself an eco-resort with what is arguably the world’s most remote championship golf course. Hendrix, at the front desk, is charming and able to handle all kinds of crises and special requests (901-394-949; http://www.sheraton.com/timika; doubles, $60-$75).

Xanadu on Java

http://www.concierge.com/cntraveler/articles/detail?articleId=5866
by Mike Di Paola

The stately pleasure domain of a sultan becomes a playground for all
Life was good for Sultan Hamengku Buwono I of the Javanese kingdom of Yogyakarta. When he wasn’t in his personal bathing pond contemplating a happy existence, he was in one of his private viewing rooms above the baths of the Water Palace, watching over his wives and concubines. At night, the sultan was said to sneak out through a secret tunnel and tryst it up with Nyi Roro Kidul, the Javanese goddess believed to control all of the Indian Ocean. When HB I was not disporting with the ladies, he was either praying in his private mosque (you’ve got to wonder, praying for what?) or evading assassins by drawing them into his emptied aquatic chambers and then opening the floodgates. Anything goes in love and war.

The Water Palace was one of 59 buildings at Tamansari, or “Perfumed Garden,” a complex of meditation chambers, pools, and pavilions surrounded by ornamental lakes. It was little used after the sultan’s death in 1792, and abandoned entirely after an earthquake in 1867 destroyed many of the buildings and drained much of the compound’s most famous feature, water. Squatters moved in, and the erstwhile aquatic playground fell into steady decline for the next hundred years.

In 1970, five structures of the Water Palace were restored, and the site began attracting tourists. Now, the local government—and some prominent visitors from abroad—have launched another reparations project. In December 2003, work began on parts of the crumbling palace, with repairs expected to be completed by year’s end; further maintenance will continue through 2005.

The relatively modest restoration is notable for its far-flung support. The government of Portugal, via the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation, has ponied up $185,000 for the effort, the Yogyakarta regional government another $127,000. Last year, the World Monuments Fund named Tamansari among its 100 Most Endangered Sites. A sister city to Yogyakarta, Savannah, Georgia, is pitching in with technical assistance. “Tamansari’s intrinsic value is really significant,” says Savannah city manager Michael Brown. “It is a profound cultural expression, in part because the sultan [today Hamengku Buwono X] is still a figure of prominence—and because the royal family was instrumental in ending colonial rule.”

All this attention from interested outsiders suggests that in some cases, globalism works. The restoration project should elevate Tamansari from decrepit tourist oddity to historical park, making it a palpable link to a resplendent past.

48 hours in Jakarta

JAKARTA, May 31 (Reuters Life!) – Got 48 hours to explore Jakarta? Reuters correspondents with local knowledge help visitors get the most from a short stay in the Indonesian capital.

FRIDAY 7 p.m. – Start the evening with drinks at Face Bar. Housed in a converted Dutch-era building and dotted with Asian artifacts, the bar has become the de facto gathering place for foreign correspondents. It also has a decent Thai and Indian restaurant — Lan Na Thai and Hazara — to spill over into later for dinner.

9.30 p.m. – Try the Blora area to get a taste of some Indonesian dangdut music. Blending Arabic, Indian and Malay influences, it consists of an eclectic band of musicians and an array of singers, often sexily dressed, crammed into small dark clubs where the air is thick with traditional clove cigarettes.

11 p.m. – Top the evening off by heading to the slick Red Square bar near the huge Plaza Senayan shopping mall. Billed as Jakarta’s first vodka bar, it quickly heats up on Friday evening to a point where half the expat and local clientele are dancing precariously on table tops.

SATURDAY

8 a.m. – If you make it up in time, head to Medan Merdeka (Freedom Square), a rare piece of green in central Jakarta flanked by the National Museum and various palaces. At the centre is the National Monument, or Monas, a towering column commissioned by President Sukarno in the early 1960s. Known by some as “Sukarno’s last erection”, there is a lift to take you to the top, although it was not operating recently.

10 a.m. – Head through the leafy Menteng district, home to the family of former president Suharto, to Jalan Surabaya. The “antique” market sells wood carvings and bric-a-brac from all over the diverse nation. For no obvious reason, some shops also specialize in vinyl records and brass navigation equipment.

11.30 a.m. – Grab an early lunch at Plaza Indonesia. The capital has an amazing number of sprawling malls and many Jakartans seem to use them as places to hang out given the few open spaces in the city.

1 p.m. – Take a trip to Taman Mini Indonesia, a theme park devised by the late widow of former president Suharto. Its exhibits, some pretty tacky, include a mini version of the Borobudur temple complex and other sights from around the archipelago. Its about 30 minutes drive from the centre of town.

8 p.m. – Dinner at Dapur Babah or Payon to get a taste of Indonesian food. The first, with an atmospheric interior more akin to a gallery, is in downtown and the latter, a simpler interior in the trendy Kemang area, serves east Javanese food.

10.30 p.m. – Grab a drink at Jaya Pub, a unique bar owned by a veteran Indonesian movie and TV star. Serves Dutch and other European food and has a series of raucous bands doing variable quality covers.

SUNDAY

10 a.m. – To reawaken the spirit visit St Mary’s cathedral, a Catholic church with imposing spires built in the 19th century.

Opposite St Mary’s is Mesjid Istiqlal, one of the biggest mosques in Southeast Asia. Brief tours of the massive white building are generally available but make sure you’re not too casually dressed.

11.30 a.m. – Head north to Chinatown in the Glodok area via the new expressway to beat the traffic. The area suffered badly during the riots of nearly a decade ago and scars remain, but several atmospheric temples exist in the narrow lanes. Bustling malls also offer electronics and pirated DVDs.

1 p.m. – Lunch or brunch at Cafe Batavia. A grand Dutch-era building set on a square in one of the oldest parts of town. Varied menu ranging from what is described as “modern Australian” to dim sum. Close by is the Wayang museum, with a large collection of traditional puppets and occasional shows.

2.30 p.m. – Further north is the old harbor of Sunda Kelapa. Most sea traffic has shifted away and the place is quite run down, but well worth a visit to see the fine wooden schooners that bring in goods from Borneo and are unloaded by hand. Small boats can taxi you around, although best not look too closely at the polluted water.

4.30 p.m. – Finish off the day with a visit to Sarinah department store where several of the upper floors have a huge collection of Indonesian textiles and souvenirs. Another shopping mall, Pasa Raya, has an even bigger collection.

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