Written by Eddie LeShure – This is the third and final part of a three part series and was written in April 2003. Exchange rate: $1 = about 9,000 Rupiahs.

Time to head north to Sangatta. The last thing I wanted to do there and then was to get on another bus, but I did want to get to the park early the next morning and Sangatta was where I needed to be that night. So, I was forced to bid a sad farewell to my new friends far sooner that I would have liked to. Getting to Sangatta took an hour and a quarter in a travel van (15,000R) and, once there, there was a lot of messing around finding a hotel for a decent price (I stopped at three of them). But later that night I was finally in a dingy room, eating veggies and rice and watching local TV, trying to figure out just what was going on in Iraq.

Up early next morning and off to Seksi Konservasi Wilayah II where I was to meet a certain Pak (Mr.) Bastar, who I’d been told spoke English and would be there at 7:30 am. I was at the office before 8 and found the door locked and the place empty. Of course! I found an old folding chair and some shade and by 10:30 I had finished reading the only book I had brought with me. A guy from a neighboring business wandered over and when I told him what was happening (or not happening), he mused, “We Indonesians are not a disciplined people!” Really? Gee, I had never noticed.

Around 11:00 am, a guy pulled up on a motorbike and after fumbling around in the office for a while, drove me off to meet Pak Bastar at another location. Then I needed to buy food, as there wouldn’t be any in the park, so I stopped and loaded up on bottled water, fresh fruit, fried tempeh and a few packets of those noodles that you can buy anywhere in the world, always for the same price: about thirty cents. While this was happening, Pak Bastar (how was I going to get used to calling him that?) was lining up a boat to take me in and out of the park, which he did. But, rather than it costing 150,000R, which was what I’d been told, it was now 300,000R – a ridiculous price for two hour-long boat rides, but since I had no hand in the negotiation, I was once again caught by the short hairs!

There was a two hundred yard walk to the river where we joined a toothless old geezer in his flimsy and overpriced wooden canoe, and after an uneventful hour cruising along in the midday heat, we pulled up to the dock of Camp Kakap, the Field Research Institute for Orang-utans in Kutai National Park. It was magnificent!

Established in 1994 via a cooperative project with Tokyo University, Kakap consists of a few attractive and well-built structures out in the middle of nowhere – just where I wanted to be. An elevated boardwalk ran from the dock and connected several buildings and a large covered deck, where I cooked, ate, read and hung out when I wasn’t sleeping or off wandering around searching for critters. Surrounding all this was lush and dense vegetation, with massive trees soaring hundreds of feet upwards. In addition to Pak Bastar, who thankfully I could now call Haji, there was a guy named Basir who handled various and sundry duties and smiled a lot. My only cost to stay there, besides the boat transport, was a 50,000R per day fee for my guide: Haji.  Peanuts!

At about 3 pm, Haji and I headed off to see what we could see, with priority number one being, of course, the world’s largest arboreal mammal – found only in Borneo and Sumatra, whose name means “people of the forest” and who’s also been known in these parts as “The Wild Man of Borneo.” In both Sumatra and Borneo, there are orang-utan rehabilitation centers where you can apparently get easy access to these animals since they’re nursed back to health and are often half-tamed, but I was quite keen on spotting one in the wild. As far as actually seeing one, I really didn’t know what my chances were. For all I knew we’d walk down the path and find a bunch of them skipping along the trail like Swiss Family Robinson.

We walked stealthily (I love that word: stealthily!), Haji intently listening and looking for telltale signs of their activity, while chain-smoking kreteks (clove cigarettes). These animals have nests high up in the trees, which they come down from to feed on fruits, shoots and leaves. The problem is that they have several nests and which one they might be in at any given time is anyone’s guess. Plus they are super skittish (endangered animals tend to get that way!) and waste no time in hightailing it if they get the slightest clue humans are nearby. By all initial appearances, this was not going to be easy.

While we stealthed around, I did see several macaques (monkeys), a few squirrels (big deal!) and tons of butterflies (gorgeous), plus a mynah bird. It was a nice two-hour walk, but the only sign of an orang-utan was its voice. A big male was sounding off and Haji answered back with a perfect imitation. Haji has studied these animals extensively and it was a pity his English wasn’t as good as I was told it would be. Had it been, I could have learned a lot more about the jungle in general, and these animals in particular. But my Indonesian was better than his English and we spent more time talking in his language than in mine.

Forty-two-years-old, he had a full head of jet-black hair without a trace of gray, but his teeth were all shot to hell. Watching him put four heaping tablespoons of sugar into a cup of tea several times a day left no mystery as to why. That, plus the common habit of eating refined white rice three times a day, and it’s no wonder so many people here have bad teeth!

The next morning we were off early, but after about an hour it started raining heavily, so we returned since there seemed to be little point in wandering around when all the wildlife was bedded down keeping dry. We waited out the storm for about four hours on the deck. Having no book to read, I pulled out my Indonesian dictionary/phrase book and, while eating pisang goreng (fried banana) cooked up by Basir, I came up with several helpful phrases like:

Apakah bis ini ke Wales? (Does this bus go to Wales?)

Apakah saya perlu resep untuk kayu bakar? (Do I need a prescription for firewood?)

Saya dengan band – kami sedang berkeliling. (I’m with the band – we’re on tour.)

Apakah Anda mau main ski dengan saya? (Would you like to go skiing with me?)

Sisa buangan toksik dijual di mana? (Where can I buy toxic waste?)

Di mana saya bisa memakai percobaan nukir? (Where can I get access to nuclear testing?)

Saya alergi genit sayap kanan politikus? (I’m allergic to sleazy, right wing politicians.)

Apakah ada orang di sini bernama Elvis? (Is there anyone here by the name of Elvis?)

Ada telur hijau dan daging babi, Sam saya? (Do you have green eggs and ham, Sam I am?)

After lunch, another fellow showed up, a young lad with a big smile and long ponytail. He joined the three of us at the long picnic table and I asked him his name. “Siapa nama Anda?”

“Boy,” was the response.

I couldn’t resist, “You Boy, me Tarzan!”

Blank stares around the table.

Finally the rain ceased and off we walked once again. In a short while we stopped to observe one particular nest in the treetops, Haji once again leaning against a tree and firing up a kretek (apparently the orang-utan’s sense of smell is not that acute?). After about five minutes, we saw a hairy arm moving and I almost crapped myself with excitement! We waited and about forty-five minutes later a large male crawled out and slowly descended down the trunk of the tree, about thirty feet away. He was spectacular! And I was really glad I didn’t have to fiddle with a camera trying to line up the perfect shot – I could just take it all in.

Once he reached the ground he sauntered off into the undergrowth and we soon followed, being ever so careful to avoid betraying our presence. But easier said than done, and before we could get closer he must have heard us and soon thundered off like a runaway train. The rest of the day as well as the next morning, we traipsed through the jungle for many more hours, but that was the only good look I got of these elusive creatures. It didn’t matter, as I had gotten one really good look – mission accomplished!

And there was plenty else to see and hear. I’ve always been fond of monkeys and macaques were putting on a show everywhere. The insects were astonishing: huge and bizarre centipedes, ants and various larvae; butterflies beyond anything I had ever witnessed before. Bird life was aplenty – lots of smaller birds, colorful and active. One magnificent owl perched not twenty meters away, calmly eyeing me. The sounds were a mad cacophony: insects droning, buzzing and humming; birds warbling, hooting, chattering, whistling and squawking; the rushing of the wind, the pitter-patter of dripping water, the groaning of branches rubbing together – a first-rate primordial concert hall.

The walk itself was stellar, the delicate shifting sunlight displaying a mind-boggling variety of plant life. For example, in addition to all the other forms of flora in Kalimantan, there’re over 5,000 species of trees. Sometimes our walkabout was a casual stroll down well-maintained paths, and sometimes it was a plunge and struggle through an interwoven tangle of branches, lianas, and ferns. For this, Haji pulled out his razor sharp golok (machete) to hack a pathway forward, wielding it with frightening proficiency. Sparkling streams meandered through the jungle and sometimes we crossed them, Indiana Jones style, on rickety, swinging suspension bridges. Sometimes I was forced to tiptoe across slippery fallen trees.

You do not need to be particularly fit to do this walk, as the distance is not far nor the terrain all that demanding. However, you do need a good pair of waterproof hiking shoes (no sandals, unless you want leeches burrowing into your feet) and clothes that dry quickly when wet. Mosquito protection (repellent and net) is essential, as is sun block. I took anti-malaria meds (lariam) and suggest you do the same. Binoculars would probably be an asset, and if you are planning on bringing a camera, like most people, I recommend a telephoto lens and high-speed film (absolute minimum: 400 ASA). Oh, and finally, keep in mind that conditions are primitive there and getting sweaty, dirty and plenty muddy seem to be par for the course. After all, it IS a jungle out there (forgive me).

Back at camp, I had a refreshing wash with water out of a rain barrel in a little shack, and while walking back encountered a small snake which I gave a wide berth, knowing you just never can tell. Sure enough, when I described it to Haji, he shook his head and muttered “Hati, hati!” (Be careful!). Then he beckoned me to check out a tree about 100 yards away, informing me as he did that in it was a black hornbill. I peered intently, unable to see it. But miraculously it took off and landed in another tree merely 30 yards away from us. The black hornbill is the rare bird so sacred to the Dayak people that I mentioned in Part 1. I really had not expected to see one, but now it was hopping from branch to branch, its long and brilliant bill glimmering in the faint afternoon light.

A second hornbill soon joined it and I watched them carry on for about 15 minutes before they finally flew off, their wings making a distinct “wir, wir, wir” sound. Haji claimed that there were only about ten hornbills now in that entire region of Kalimantan. And the next morning I saw seven rhino hornbills, also a remarkably beautiful and exotic bird. In each case, Haji could imitate their calls perfectly and had great fun bantering back and forth with them.

After completing my walk on the second morning, we returned to Sangatta by boat and, with some difficulty I won’t bother going into, I managed to get to the bus station. After paying 16,000R for a ticket, I climbed on to another of those hunks of junk they call buses in Indonesia and waited to leave.

Regarding destination/arrival times, you can ask about them and you may get an answer. You might even see something posted in writing (tee hee!).  But understand that all travel “timetables” in this country are based strictly on AWAG: Anybody’s Wild Ass Guess! Buses arrive when they get there – period! And they leave when they are full – period! And when I say full, I don’t mean when all the seats are occupied. I mean FULL! Public transport here is an opportunity to get up close and personal, and if you have personal space issues when you come here, you’ll soon get over them. So, once you step on a bus, you might sit in it for an hour or more in the sweltering heat, just waiting. But, on the bright side, it’s a splendid chance to practice your Bahasa Indonesian, usually answering the same questions for about the millionth time that day.

The road from Sangatta to Bontang is dreadful. At times, it seemed as though we were traveling through a war zone with massive potholes you could hide a small family in, or even complete sections of the highway eroded away. Whereas, on the ride north the driver had had the good sense to slow down on occasion, this guy could not be bothered. Getting violently slammed against the windows or other passengers was just part of the fun. And the buses are in a pretty wretched state and not all that comfortable to start with, especially for a non-Asian – which is to say someone not little. A guy like me has a sizable challenge finding a place to put his legs. But one selling point about the oldest and most decrepit buses is that there is less likelihood that the radio will work!

Up and down and side to side, the “road” roller-coastered, twisting and turning as the bus lurched and swerved. Throw in some stifling heat and you have all the essential ingredients for motion sickness, and soon the black plastic bags were getting handed out and widely utilized. One well-dressed guy about thirty got up, stumbled back, and squeezed into a spot on the rear seat between the open doorway and me. From there, he leaned out and wretched away, nearly tumbling out on a few precipitous turns. He was in rough shape, green as Kermit the Frog. He spoke a little English and made an effort at being sociable, despite his woeful condition.

Thinking he might fancy freshening up his mouth with a mint, I offered one, “Care to suck on a Fisherman’s Friend?” Surely not getting the joke he weakly shook his head and gestured with his hand that if he were to consume the mint, he might throw it back up. Really? Can’t even keep a mint down? Hmmm. In any event, soon the bus stopped for a half-hour lunch break and who do you suppose made a beeline straight for the buffet table? Good guess. And just what do you suppose happened to the guy within five minutes after our bus departed? Right again! I’m forever reminded that some people just don’t seem to do really well when it comes to thinking.

I had no problem with nausea. Being the road-hardened travel warrior I pretend to be, I’ve learned a thing or two: eat lightly and keep your eyes on the road ahead.

The rest of my trip mostly amounted to a night in Samarinda (Asia Hotel – recommended) and some exploring there. They have a nice traditional market, but there is not much else to say about the city. The bus ride from Samarinda to Balikpapan was terrific – very scenic and smooth.  Getting home: a plane ride and a couple of taxis – nothing special. However, there was one experience, the memory of which lingered with me a great deal throughout that last day in Borneo and for some time afterwards. And no, it wasn’t the orang-utan coming down the tree or my time at the Dayak longhouse, although those images had and still have vividly remained.

The last morning there I was lying in bed, watching the news on local TV. At this point the war in Iraq was about ten days old and as the broadcast ended a video was played revealing horrific scenes of destruction and death in Baghdad. Al Jazeera does not sanitize the war or make it look like a video game, as some news channels do. In the background was John Lennon’s “Imagine”.  Soon after, I left the hotel and while strolling around was warmly greeted by absolutely everyone, both young and old. They all had a smile and a kind word for me. I walked around the streets for over two hours and the more people I met, the harder it became for me to shake those images or that song from my mind. I just couldn’t. So I decided to stop trying. I guess there are some things that just are not meant to be easily forgotten.

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Eddie LeShure is an insight meditation teacher and substance abuse counselor whose primary passion is bringing mindfulness practice into the realms of addiction recovery, trauma relief, and self-care. He teaches and leads groups in various treatment and recovery settings, as well as in series classes, workshops, retreats, conferences and conventions.

Eddie began meditating in the early ‘80s, regularly teaches at Asheville Insight Meditation, is a NAMI Family Support Group Facilitator, and is co-founder of A Mindful Emergence, LLC (amindfulemergence.com).

These days, Eddie’s writing centers around his teaching and presentations, but in the past it was quite different. He chronicled and displayed his adventures around the world for several years under the banner, “On the Road With Fast Eddie,” and in more recent times numerous articles on the local jazz scene were published in Rapid River Arts & Culture as “WNC Jazz Profiles.”

Eddie is now co-authoring a manual for treatment centers which focuses on integrating mindfulness practices with stages of addiction recovery.