Seven miles away from the city, far from all the deadlines. It offers a serene escape from the pressures of daily life and romanticizes my dream of becoming Moana. Bunaken Island gives me the opportunity to embrace it all—the beautiful waves, the sandy shores, the vibrant sea creatures. It truly feels like Moana’s home. The Gradation of the water entices me to run and dive in, just like Moana who desires to touch the sea. Although I’ve always been afraid of the vastness, Bunaken Island has completely changed my perspective. Previously, I saw the ocean, especially the vastness, as something that wanted to pull me in—the deep blue color seemed to want to catch and hide me, that’s why I was afraid of the ocean before.

I like Moana because of her self-confidence that when she believes, somehow she will. In the movie, despite all the rumours beyond the reef, she maintains her belief that there is a positive that will benefit her island and people. That’s exactly why I dream of becoming Moana on Bunaken Island—because Moana teaches me to face my fears and do it anyway, to romanticize the island without being afraid.

Vibing the Sailing with Manado Tua Mountain View

Starting the journey from Manado City to Bunaken Island with seven miles distance, I boarded a long boat—delightful facility for the open trip I had chosen. As the boat began to sail, something big and beautiful appeared in the vast. Manado Tua Mountain shows itself to me from the long boat, much like Te Fiti (The goddess who sleeps and becomes a mountain in the Moana movie) making the island even more beautiful. 

Manado Tua Mountain is an inactive volcanic mountain, standing 655 meters above sea level. Tourists often hike this mountain, as the view from the top offers a stunning panorama of Bunaken and the surrounding islands. There are local people who live at the foot of Manado Tua Mountain, as well as public places like worship places, resorts, and more.

I truly enjoyed my moment in the long boat with that breathtaking view before arrived at Bunaken Tourist Harbor. Like Moana, who left her home behind with a boat to discover what lies beyond, I was eager to explore the wonders that awaited me beyond the horizon.

Left to right: The tringular building at the entrance of the harbor, the diving statue as photo spot, and one of the souvenir vendors/Aurelifa Haninta

Pulling Over the Boat to Bunaken Tourist Harbor

The boat started to slow down and stopped, signaling that I had arrived at the first destination: Bunaken Tourist Harbor. The gradation of the seawater welcomed me as I entered the harbor. The tour guide asked me to get off from the boat and begin exploring the resort. A triangular building stood at the entrance of the harbor, adorned with pictures showcasing the beauty of Bunaken Island. 

As I passed the building, I came across a diving statue and a large “Bunaken” sign, which tourists often use as a photo spot. The harbor is lined with numerous souvenir vendors selling shirts, accessories, fridge magnets and all sorts of Bunaken-themed items. There are also restaurants and homestays, allowing tourists to stay for extended periods to fully enjoy the harbor. The harbor itself is very comfortable and well-suitable for tourists before continuing to the next destination.

Grab the Moment at Liang Beach

The tour guide asked me to board the boat and begin the journey from Bunaken Tourist Harbor to Liang Beach. Upon arriving at Liang Beach, I discovered a popular photo spot that tourists often use before heading to the restaurants behind it. The design of the spot featured a map of Bunaken Island beneath the large word “Bunaken”. 

As I step down from the boat, a sea star lies in the sand as if welcoming me. It has a pink body and spiky horns on its back— a thorny star. I quickly pick it up from the sand and place it in the palm of my hand.

The beach makes my heart melt. The color of the water shifts from deep blue to crystal clear. The sound of the waves is relaxing as the wind gently blows. The soft, smooth sand entices me to quickly take off my sandals, letting the grains cling to my feet.

In addition to food, the restaurants offered souvenirs similar to those sold at the harbor. I thoroughly enjoyed my moments there, purchasing some souvenirs and taking photos at the Bunaken sign. Afterward, the tour guide asked me to quickly change into my snorkeling gear and board the boat to continue my journey to the next destination: Bunaken Seagarden.

Snorkeling the Glistening Wonders of Bunaken Seagarden

The boat ride from Liang Beach to Bunaken Seagarden took about 30 minutes. Upon arriving at the Seagarden spot, the tour guide provided me with a snorkeling mask and fins. I told the tour guide that I wasn’t the best swimmer, so he gave me a life jacket to help me float in the ocean. One of the guides accompanied me, snorkeling alongside and teaching me how to swim and breathe on the surface before we ventured deeper. 

As I started snorkeling, I opened my eyes and was amazed by the clearest blue water I had ever seen. As I am living in an area with the powerful waves of the southern sea, I don’t have the opportunity to go diving and experience the water’s clarity. Snorkeling at Bunaken Island was my first time snorkeling in the ocean, and I couldn’t believe the vibrant coral beneath me. There were also countless small fish swimming near the surface, adding to the beauty of the experience. 

The tour guide asked me to dive deeper and leave the ocean’s surface. I have thalassophobia and wasn’t sure if I could dive deeper, but with the guide’s help, I descended into the depths. 

As I went deeper, the color of the ocean shifted to a deep blue, and I could feel the cold of water seeping into my bones. The deeper I went, the more beautiful sea creatures I discovered, including larger fish than those near the surface and long coral formations extending even farther down. 

All my fear melted away, and I found myself wanting to stay in the depths of the ocean for as long as possible. I managed to hold my breath while diving deeper because the Seagarden truly felt mesmerizing. The tour guide signaled that it was time to return to the surface, as we had spent time diving. I swam back up and boarded the boat, bringing an end to an unforgettable experience

Living Out the Moana Dreams

I can honestly say that diving at Bunaken Seagarden felt like I was in Lalotai (the home of legendary demons and monsters of Moana Movie, but have a magical underworld of wondrous beauty). At first, I felt fear and doubt about diving deeper, but those feelings disappeared as soon as I witnessed the beauty of the Seagarden. 

It reminded me of what Maui (Moana’s adventurous friend) said  “Don’t worry, it’s a lot farther down than it looks”, that’s how Bunaken Seagarden is. As I passed beyond the reef, I encountered an underworld of beauty I had never seen before.

Bunaken Island gave me an insight that the world is much bigger than I expected. I felt as though the ocean had chosen me to show that the underworld is not as scary as I imagined, and there are so much marine life to discover. 

In Moana’s life, the ocean chose her, and I can say that the ocean called me to experience its beauty. Just like Moana, who ventured beyond the ocean to find a brighter, shining and better life, I did the same! I found my own sense of wonder and discovery on Bunaken Island.

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Text: Rifqy Faiza Rahman
Photos: Deta Widyananda, Rifqy Faiza Rahman, and Mauren Fitri

Sago is often referred to as an alternative food source to replace rice. Some people may also recognize sago in its flour form, which is used as a raw ingredient for various snacks, such as cakes and bread. In fact, several regions in Indonesia, including Papua, have used sago as a staple food for generations.  

For Papuans, sago flows as closely as the veins. The philosophy of the sago tree holds profound meaning: its exterior is thorny, but its core is radiant. This symbolizes that, although one’s outward appearance may seem tough and intimidating, the heart remains kind, sincere, and pure— as white as sago starch. The same applies to the Afsya community in Bariat Village, the capital of Konda District. Afsya is a sub-tribe of the Tehit people, the largest indigenous community in South Sorong Regency.

The Afsya community settlement is located within a 3,307.717 hectare customary forest area. The Bariat forest is dominated by peat ecosystems, making it highly susceptible to fires. As a result, fire hazard warning signs from the environmental service are installed in many locations.  

Since Bariat is a landlocked village with no direct access to the sea, the community’s livelihood depends on forest resources. Among the many commodities available, sago (Metroxylon sp.) remains their staple food.

During the 2024 Arah Singgah Expedition in Papua, the TelusuRI team stopped by Bariat Village to observe the sago processing process. Adrianus Kemeray (51), the Head of Bariat Village, invited us to enter the sago forest owned by the Nikson Kemeray family. Inside, there was a mature sago tree, about 10 years old, ready for harvest.  

The location was not far from the asphalt road connecting Teminabuan (the capital of South Sorong) with the villages in Konda District. We could reach the site on foot from Adrianus’ house, where we were staying. However, due to heavy rain the previous night, the land around the sago tree was flooded up to our calves. Some residents lent us boots, while they themselves usually walked barefoot—despite the scattered sago tree thorns and sharp wood chips. We had to tread carefully on hollow and slippery sago trunks to make our way through.

Mutual cooperation in processing sago

According to Adrianus, sago is the greatest local food gift from God to the land of Papua. Their ancestors passed down extensive knowledge about sago and its uses—all without spending a single penny.  

“Sago is a staple food inherited from our ancestors. We protect the sago tree as our biological mother,” said Adrianus. Just as Papuans consider the forest their mother—or mama—because it provides life, the same applies to sago. Protecting the sago hamlet—the community’s term for the sago forest—means ensuring the sustainability of their livelihoods for future generations.  

Every part of a sago tree can be utilized. The bark or trunk serves as firewood. Sago fronds can be used as a surface for squeezing sago and as material for house walls. Meanwhile, the leaves, or thatch, can be woven into durable roofing.

From a climate perspective, sago plays a crucial role in maintaining environmental quality. According to research by Bambang Hariyanto, a principal researcher at the BPPT Agro-Industry Technology Center, sago plants can absorb more carbon emissions than other forest plants. Therefore, sago is valued not only as an economic resource but also for its ability to restore the surrounding forest’s environmental conditions.  

Furthermore, sago is a carbohydrate-rich food that is just as satisfying as rice. Unlike rice, which takes three to four months to harvest, sago can be processed and consumed on the same day. This is why cooperation, or gotong royong, among families is essential during sago harvesting.  

The early stages of sago processing require significant physical effort, which is where the men take the lead. Armed with machetes and axes, adult men work together to cut the base of the sago trunk and ensure it falls in the right direction.

I don’t know exactly what a sago tree ready for harvest looks like. What is clear, according to Adrianus, is that the average age of a mature sago tree ready for harvest is around 10 years, with a minimum height of approximately 15 meters.  

Arah Singgah expedition team was asked to step back from the felling site. The men shouted loudly to give a warning.  

Bang! A large tree crashed down, falling in the opposite direction from where we had come. Daniel Meres, a neighbor who lives across from Adrianus’ house, swiftly swung his axe repeatedly at the surface of the sago trunk. Meanwhile, those using machetes, such as Nikson, Wilhelmus, and Maurit, were tasked with peeling the sago trunk and cutting off the remaining fronds. Teenagers like Nobili and Yunus were ready to carry and guard our somewhat troublesome belongings—cameras, tripods, backpacks, and mattresses.

A single sago tree cannot be fully processed in just one day. Residents typically open only about a quarter of the trunk at a time for processing. Fredik Ariks is the first to pierce the core of the trunk, or pith—the soft, white inner part of the sago tree.  

The special tool used for this process functions like a hammer and is usually made from strong wood, such as merbau, which locals call ironwood. A sharp metal blade is often attached to the tip to make it more durable and efficient in crushing the pith.  

Amos Meres, Daniel Meres’ son, takes his turn, working hard to break the pith apart until it becomes loose, like flour. “If you get tired, you can switch with the younger ones,” Fredik said with a laugh.

A wise and sustainable ancestral food heritage

Although the land belongs to the Kemeray clan, the sago harvesting and processing process involves families from various clans. This is because a single sago tree can sustain the needs of all 340 Bariat residents for several weeks. In fact, in one day, they only process a few sacks of pith, which is then squeezed into dry sago flour.  

Regarding the sago processing process, Adrianus explained, “If many people work together, one large sago tree can be processed in a week. But if only one or two people do it, it can take up to a month.”

Meanwhile, on the side of the split tree trunk, a group of women prepares for the next stage of the work. Maria Kemeray and Kormince Kemeray stand ready, opening two medium-sized sacks to collect the sago flakes. With swift, practiced movements, the two mothers carry the sacks and head toward the Kareth clan’s sago hut, located on the edge of a clear-water river in the peat swamp forest—just about 200 meters from the harvest site.

Instead of using mechanical sago processing machines, the Bariat community still adheres to traditional methods. They use nipah fronds—supported by small tree trunks placed crosswise—as a surface for grinding wet sago.  

Although traditional, the working mechanism is remarkable. There is no formal curriculum in schools on how to make it; the knowledge is passed down solely through ancestral stories from generation to generation. The only modern addition is the use of a t-shirt or a wide cloth as a sago filter.  

Maria and Kormince gradually transfer the sago flakes into a basin. They mix the sago with an adequate amount of water from the tributary before pouring it over the fronds. Mauren, the head of the expedition team, attempts to assist the women with their work.  

“Squeeze it slowly until the water content is gone, then wet it again and squeeze it once more,” Maria instructs, demonstrating the technique. The motion resembles washing and rinsing clothes.  

Each sago basin undergoes two or three similar treatments. The sago juice then flows through the filter and collects in the reservoir below. The filtered liquid is later washed, and the starch is extracted. This starch is then processed into dry sago flour.

Each family typically keeps some for their own household needs. The mothers continue their role by preparing sago-based dishes, most commonly papeda. They simply need to catch fish from the river, gather vegetables from the forest, and buy spices from the market to complete the meal.

We had the chance to try other sago-based foods as well. Dorcila Gemnasi, Adrianus’ wife, made us sago pukis cakes topped with grated coconut, which were absolutely delicious. Just two pieces were enough to fill us up, and they tasted even better when paired with a cup of hot coffee.

Beyond personal consumption, dry sago flour is the first derivative product that Bariat residents can sell. Their target market includes local markets and direct customer orders. A single sago tree can produce at least 20 sacks of dry flour, each weighing between 20 and 25 kilograms. The selling price is around Rp200,000 per sack.

This is what Adrianus meant when he spoke about utilizing sago without spending a single penny on capital while still generating income. He emphasized that sago plays a crucial role in achieving food independence in his village.

“We as a community are not all civil servants. Some of us work as manual laborers, while others struggle to find employment altogether. For them, life depends on the sago groves, which they can process to make a living.”

The economic benefits of well-managed and sustainable sago are countless. Parents in Bariat can afford to send their children to school, purchase various food and beverages for their households, and even contribute to building churches and houses.

Left: Amos Meres (black shirt) showed sago ball snacks that ready to eat. Usually, while waiting for the mothers to squeeze the sago, other residents made sago starch dough into balls and grilled them over a fire until the outside was burnt black. Even without any additional spices, sago balls were quite delicious and could fill your hunger. Right: Sago pukis cake by Dorcila Gemnasi, Adrianus Kemeray’s wife. With only sago flour and grated coconut, then grilled over a fire, it was more than enough as a delicious and filling snack. One form of local food creations of Bariat residents/Rifqy Faiza Rahman

Protecting the sago village with traditions and sacred places

So far, there is no synced and valid data on the total area of sago land in Indonesia. However, in a 2018 statement to the Ministry of Environment and Forestry, Prof. Mochamad Hasjim Bintoro, a professor at the Faculty of Agriculture, IPB University, estimated that Indonesia’s sago land covered 5.5 million hectares. Of this, nearly 95 percent—or 5.2 million hectares—is located in Papua.

This makes Papua home to the largest sago reserves in both Indonesia and the world. Unfortunately, according to the chairman of the Indonesian Sago Society (MASSI), less than one percent of these reserves are utilized. The rest is left to rot and decompose without being harvested.

In the Southwest Papua region, South Sorong is recognized as the province’s largest center for sago production and reserves. According to the latest available data from a 2015 study by BPPT researchers Bambang Haryanto, Mubekti, and Agus Tri Putranto, nearly 45 percent (311,591 hectares) of South Sorong Regency’s total land area of 694,221 hectares consists of sago forests, with an estimated sago starch potential of almost 3 million tons.

The six largest sago-producing districts, each covering approximately 10 percent or more of the total area, are Kais (63,797 ha), Kokoda (61,344 ha), Inanwatan (55,483 ha), Saifi (39,630 ha), North Kokoda (34,530 ha), and Metamani (29,400 ha). Meanwhile, Konda (19,641 ha) and Seremuk (7,766 ha) have the smallest sago forest areas.

These figures may have changed over time due to development and land-use shifts, but they remain a crucial reference for understanding the region’s sago potential.

Private sago industries have been operating in Kais and Metamani, while other districts still rely on community-based plantations. However, Adrianus and Ones—local EcoNusa facilitators who accompanied us—hold a different perspective. They believe that the absence of investment from sago processing companies in Konda actually benefits the indigenous community. This is evident in Bariat, where residents are not bound to corporate contracts and remain free to manage their own land, which has been divided according to clan agreements.

I recall an interesting moment the day before our visit to the sago hamlet. After Sunday service at church, Adrianus and several residents invited us to visit one of the village’s sacred sites in the forest, located about 700 meters west of the village. The path led us through a landscape rich with endemic trees and plants, many of which hold great value for the community—whether for medicinal use or for building homes.

At the end of the trail stood a grave, sheltered by a simple zinc roof supported by wooden poles. It was the final resting place of the mother of Yulian Kareth (62), the traditional leader of Bariat Village, who passed away in 2018

“Why is my mother buried here, far from the village? Because this is where she first met my father, who came from another village,” Yulian explained. Their meeting was seen as a matter of destiny, making this land a significant and memorable place.

Yulian then pointed to a large tree with drooping leaves and branches beside the grave. A plaque with the word “Mrasa” was painted in red, marking the site as a sacred place belonging to the Kareth clan. Such naming traditions are usually kept confidential, known only to the community elders. As visitors, we were only given a brief glimpse of the history deemed appropriate to share.

For the Bariat community, this is an important place—a designation given to sites that hold historical and ancestral significance. Sacred or significant places often include ancient trees, burial grounds, or hidden locations deep within the forest. These landmarks play a crucial role in mapping customary land areas, as they serve as key references when applying for legal recognition of customary forests or ancestral territories from the government.

Since June 6, 2024, the South Sorong Regency Government has officially recognized, protected, and respected the customary law communities and territories of seven indigenous groups in South Sorong. This includes five neighboring villages in Konda District: Manelek (Gemna sub-tribe), Bariat (Afsya sub-tribe), Nakna (Nakna sub-tribe), as well as Konda and Wamargege (Yaben sub-tribe).

Currently, in Bariat, the village government authority—supported by the non-profit organization Pusaka Bentala Rakyat—is working to secure recognition at the provincial and ministerial levels.

“As a customary law community, we fiercely protect our staple food source,” Adrianus stated. “We will defend the sago hamlet in the Afsya sub-tribe’s customary forest with our lives because sago is the staple food for our children and grandchildren.”

As a father of three, he also believes that official government recognition carries immense value. A strong and binding legal framework will ensure the long-term security of their land, homes, and traditional territory.

This includes safeguarding important places—sites that play a crucial role in protecting the sago hamlets scattered throughout the forests of Bariat Village. For the Bariat people, sago is more than just a food source—it is sacred.

Translated by Novrisa Briliantina

Cover photo: A sago farmer mother in the forest of Bariat Village, South Sorong/Deta Widyananda

TelusuRI is an Indonesian travel and tourism media platform under the Tempo Digital network. This article was written as a report on the Arah Singgah 2024 expedition in Southwest Papua and Papua. Read more the trip reports at telusuri.id/arahsinggah.

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Coming out from the so-not-rabbit hole, we were asked by the tour leader, “Are you guys feeling alright?” Nodding was our answer. Although that bravest candidate looked a bit disappointed expecting to find more or at least there was something in there.

We became friends then, this was the conversation leading our connection to it, “How do you get all the bravery?” I asked. She merrily answered, “I was exorcized once, I could see ghosts in the past, but now I can’t see them.”

I shook my head in awe. I spoke to myself, no wonder she assigned herself for a trip like this.

Bella Vista, The Crisis of Meaning

As this trip was arranged and paid as the assigned members wish, I didn’t know whether entering Bella Vista was free. It should be free. Like many other abandoned houses, Bella Vista is totally wounded, what makes it different from many others is that it is visitable. Before entering the place, we all stood solemnly in the front yard, there we witnessed remnants of the splendor. We were told that where we stood was where Soekarno delivered his speech after he administered Tugu square. Bella Vista served him as the guest house.

A group of teenage boys sat on their modified motorcycles, they made a fuss there just near the building where the part was entirely ruined. A middle-aged vendor, a man shares a space with Bella Vista, he sells something there, he promotes snacks. A little commotion in the front yard didn’t make Bella Vista merrier. Or, being surrounded by human beings doesn’t make this place cleaner. Like that lonely swing in Splendid Inn that doesn’t add value whatsoever for the site. Both look deserted and melancholy. Places that bear history with them are somehow melancholy, I believe all noble sites are touched with that.

But Bella Vista’s appearance is smaller compared to the massive Splendid Inn. This house has a large living room which leads to a dining area. The dining area, in the past, must be very awe-inspiring as it faces directly to the garden like how you imagine the grandeur of Victorian dining and gardens. But do not imagine it as the fine one, because in the present, the garden is ruined, it is now just a rectangular space full of weeds.

I do admit that Europeans are brilliant when it comes to architecture. Bella Vista is ruined now, but the downpours of sun rays wake this place, even some remote areas get a bit of share from the light. With the rays, I come to a profound realization that the past is always wakeful, since then I consider the past as the wisest time signal. I am not so prominent in interior designs and housing morphology but Bella Vista, I think is built like the letter U. Or maybe because the backyard is closed or demolished, so the area was not accessible, the thing is we entered the front and got out from another door in the front area.

Toilet, whether it was built in the past or not, stood horrendously next to the building, not far from where the teenage boys were hanging out. The area was filthy and the boys had no worries in the world whatsoever, I was being skeptical about how they messed around littering here and there.

There isn’t much to tell here except the disturbing vandalism, the collapsed wall, the ruptured windows, and the deformed balcony. The only meaning it could be derived is just the fact that the first president was here once. But would it be all? If, Soekarno didn’t visit Bella Vista, I believe it yields no story at all and soon would be demolished. Who knows?

The Commercialization of Terror

In the absence of life and color, Bella Vista and Splendid Inn conform to the most appalling thing of mankind; the visible world is formed with compassion, however the invisible spheres are formed in fright. H. P. Lovecraft warned us all with this common and indulging mistake, a mistake to fancy that horror is associated inextricably with darkness, silence, and solitude.

It is affirmed that darkness manifests itself from something remote, full of anger, resentful and revengeful. In fact, over time, darkness is man-made. From the moment Splendid Inn and Bella Vista were abandoned and left in ruins, that would be the first stage where darkness approached. The places look inviting for the ghost. Believe it or not, the abandonment is an act decided by the stakeholder itself that invites the devils. But ghosts, today, do not concern us, don’t they?

Ghost hunting or anything ghostly is a commodity. Therefore, people are mostly attracted to visit the sites due to the haunting narrative; a group of school boys and girls went there to take photoshoots, they wanted to get the Danur vibe. They are not the only ones. I believe people receive accumulated hysteria about the horror and therefore decide to visit the place. The more the place receives visitors, the more successful is the marketing campaign.

Hence, no renovation for Bella Vista and Splendid Inn, let alone renovations, the places are not swept or mopped, no staff assigned to clean the place. If an accident happens, let’s say the rotten plywood falls on the visitor’s head leading to serious injury, the first agent to blame is that the demon wants the soul. If not serious injury, the mild one, one gleam of injury is said to be our own mistake not to behave in the site. This judgment is hereditary. Thus, to start with a critical point of view about this market-driven man-made terror is like beating against the solid metal. 

I do believe in ghosts, I also believe in the residual spirits which stay in the sites for the places are parts of their being and identity. I am a devout follower of Kisah Tanah Jawa and a seasonal lover for Jurnal Risa. I am fully aware that certain actions might lead to the anger of those spirits, for instance, if the stakeholder decides to clean the site or renovate, the invisible dwellers might revolt against it. But mankind isn’t a servant for the spirits. To balance the world a pact with the spirits should be made, otherwise there would be the possibility that they encircle the area, create an empire there. Then, the dark spirits do harm to the visitors. Like the visible world we live in, there should be politics too in the underworld, right?

There is also another factor wallowing in the fate of Splendid Inn and Bella Vista. Renovations mean changing, although the efforts also include preserving the place the way it looked in the past, renovations mean replacing materials anew. Then, this concern; renovations mean a threat to genuineness.

Now, this is fun, this notion of genuineness is fun. Let’s imagine Splendid Inn and Bella Vista’s ruin as a person suffering from cancer. The person is famous for cancer, people are impressed with the story of the person’s battle and survival. But cancer isn’t worshiped, the admiration is rooted from the cure process. Just because a person is famous for the disease, does it mean that the person is less genuine when she or he is cured? All the ruins, the collapsed attic, the tattered balcony, the blasted windows and doors, aren’t these all but a disease in once a perfect body of building in the past?

I know, I know Bella Vista and Splendid Inn were built by the country’s arch enemy, by the colony. I know they are physically less precious than the crystal goblets of Persian sherbet. But, heritage deserves preservation, if not renovation at least cleanliness, like a soul deserves a nourished body to live in. Couldn’t all of us stop this commercialization of terror? In fact, in the end I couldn’t help much. Disney must really hate to hear this but, some lives are messily ever after.

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There’s a stairs leading to the second floor in the area where the ticket was sold. This red-painted, splintered stairs is left just that. Imagine if you are tripped there and die funny. Imagine a sudden accident; the stairs break and collapse and then you are trapped in the second floor until God knows for how long. I can tell you that today’s Splendid Inn isn’t preserved for the visitors, it is for the ghost, the ghost doesn’t need stairs.

It was even scarier when my mathematical brain cells work; I weigh 54 kg, we were around 8 visitors with weight ranged from 50 to 60 kg, let’s take median 56 kg times 8 visitors, equals 448 kg weighted upon the old rustic stairs. I tell you, readers. I don’t want to live long but I too don’t want to die like this. Again, what’s the 10.000 rupiah for? There’s probably an argument coming that Dutch architecture is far stronger than you think, but it is vital to note that no matter how flawless a building is built, there’s a durability. 

Splendor Swallowed by Chaos

I believe there’s a brink of restoration in 1950, post-independence of Indonesia. The inn was used as the center of administration for a Japanese colony, in 1950, Faculty of Teacher Training and Education, Airlangga University Surabaya (UNAIR) had the right for the building and restored it for lecturers’ guest house and university classrooms. But the rights shifted again, now it is owned by Malang State University (UM). Now we know, to whom it may concern, the stakeholder responsible for the building.

Believe it or not, I suggest you should believe this; Splendid Inn was renovated in 2015. In the year where Pribumi has all the freedom, in this economy, how come few parts are scattered, decayed, and ruined as if it has never been touched since the 1900s? The second floor just above the ticketing area is a medium-sized hall. It is empty; no furniture or whatsoever. The only sightseeing is windows and a door. There is a balcony leading to the sight of an old mango tree where one of the barks is hanged by a horror-struck swing. See, Indonesian horror scenarios are always predictable; a tree and a swing. Again, why is the swing there, to whom shall it entertain?

Upon leaving the building, I felt relieved about moving on from the stairs. But what waited then, remained unfathomable; it was like experiencing things outlandish and at the same time…whimsical. The second site we visited was this open area where cannons are laid bare and brazen in the yard. I believe they were just artificial, they couldn’t be real cannons. Besides, this place was an inn and university classrooms. I wonder why most sites entice paradoxical things like those Robocop and Ironman figurines in the south of Rampal field.

We went on to the buildings behind, the notorious areas, the haunted ones, the ones where Jurnal Risa’s team got possessed by the demons. Let me briefly describe; it is the most wicked dwelling in all meridians. Was it because I felt haunted? No. It was threatening. The roof gable was mesmerizing as it signifies the key European housing style. But from the rake to its very foundation looked intimidating.

We marched to the second floor, we walked upstairs with a safer staircase but still the steps were all dirty. The first sight was a corridor, so far this area was the worst. The bats might have built their empire in the attic, because it crumbled. Their poop scattered all around the floor. There is also a thick scent of termite combined with dirt. Trust me, Ariadne (In Greek mythology, Ariadne boasted her weaving talent to Goddess Athena, she was then cursed as a spider, weaving in the darkest corner of the world) wasn’t cursed in Greek, she is in Splendid Inn all along, all this time.

This is a cosmic heart breaking; rotten plywood hung, hazardous vine entangled, mud-looking dirt scattered not only in the floor but also in the wall, I mean how can they reach the wall? Serial killers must really love it. I even accidentally found a young butterfly trapped behind the window glass, it struggled to bang itself in the mirror thinking that it pursued the brighter and greener world. But I couldn’t help it. My mother’s voice rang in my ear instantly, “Do not touch or meddle, move in or move out things or beings in the site. Those could be the toys, things entertaining the ghosts.” This is triggering though, Goddess Athene made attempt to save Odysseus from the Great God’s curse—in Homer’s Odyssey it is narrated that Goddess Athene felt sorry about the Odysseus’ struggle to sail the world with a curse of never returning home—but I couldn’t even help a single soul, the butterfly.

“Attack” by Something Secret

I walked through the corridor, tip-toeing (although I wore shoes), and found a stairs leading to the darker part of the inn; the third floor. I asked the tour guide, “What’s in there? Could I go there?” The tour guide said, “That’s the third floor, you may go there but I couldn’t be there for you?” I was shocked. I asked, “Why?” She gave me the short answer, “Why else!” After a few days I looked up on the internet and watched Jurnal Risa’s edition in Splendid Inn. I understood then, the area was where the two ghosts dwell; the lady in white and the soldier. 

We didn’t go further than that. But we marched downstairs in the final part of the route. There are speculations denoting that there was a secret door used as an escape during dire situations (raids and wars), there was a secret tunnel leading to SMA Tugu. But no one dares to find out. I understand why. I see smaller doors, not even a single window present, smaller passageways and stairs, enough for one person. If I walked there in a team, we cannot walk side by side so it is easier to predict who will die first in this journey.

I was enticed by the ‘secret tunnel’, the tour guide said, “It was probably in there,” pointing her hand towards one of the passage ways. She could only use her finger, she couldn’t lead us there for the same reason. But my curiosity is killing me. I’m a logic-driven person, I believe that as long as I behave, nothing bad will come after me. So I pledged her permission. Until…she said yes.

True, logic-driven but I still believe in ghosts, although I never see one. Fortunately, I wasn’t alone, there were three other visitors who demanded the same thing. We went there with salam and basmalah, I even said excuse me and bowed for it throughout the passage way. Until, the abrupt gust of something I don’t know what crept my back. It didn’t feel like a hand or a body, whatever on my back was, it felt heavy, like a burden, it was as cold as Satan’s hoof. I was short of breath a little bit. I held this sudden strike and took a photo of it, I believed it was clear but at home after the journey the photo ended up blurry.

(to be continued)

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The haunting and daunting Bella Vista and Splendid Inn. No windows are open here. If there are, it might be due to natural causes of rotting and decaying. Otherwise, they break open due to vandalism; only the devils know the culprit. The entrance door is wide open, but this openness soon after you bring yourself inside both places makes you realize that the two are shutting themselves off to the world, uninviting and unwelcoming.

A stoic friend of mine, Wildan Habibi, shockingly catechized me a few hours after I visited Bella Vista and Splendid Inn. Whereas, he never meddled with my business before. “Why in the mother earth do you visit those Gomorrah-looking places, all for what? Brown study?”

Even a few Instagram friends of mine rang me to inform me that Jurnal Risa visited Splendid Inn (Wisma Tumapel). They vigorously bombarded me with the YouTube link, adding spice to their hysteria that Splendid Inn is so ungodly that Hades himself will freak out to see the demon of his own making.

But, I still participated in a group tour led by Jelajah Malang with a tour guide, Dini Rachmawati. The tour isn’t partially dedicated to Bella Vista and Splendid Inn visits. It was a walking route that stopped at more than four destinations. However, I just want to pour my attention in this writing only on Bella Vista and Splendid Inn; the two buildings so far as I perceive, yield an odd philosophy. 

Euroclydon of Dutch East Indies

Bella Vista and Splendid Inn have all the features of a building; doors, windows, hall, park, roof, corridor, balcony, kitchen, bathrooms, and all, but all these features are dead as stones. In most resources that I gather and based on the tour guide’s narrative point of view; history is to blame for the notorious dysfunctionality. 

In Malang, Deandelsboulevard (now Kertanegara Street) stretched from the train station area to Coenplein Jan Pieterszoon (now Tugu Street, an area that covers Bundaran Tugu or Bundaran Jan Pieterszoon), this zone is said to be the center of entertainment for the absolute Dutch aristocrats where no Pribumi was allowed to set foot unless they were on slaves’ duty. Such a Charing Cross of London, in East Indies, East Java, Malang, the Dutch made an official settlement in 1767 and cloned their architectural prowess as well as lifestyle here.

Pribumi lived in a ghetto, in suburban areas, a place truly remote and excluded from the Dutch government’s urban planning and surely, the entertainment. The Dutch government’s rule and opprobrious social class made it clear that their norms were made immutable like the law made by Medes and Persians. Dutch East Indies’s afdeling, or an administrator, or assistant resident was made official to rule the area in 1824. Since then, the Dutch population growth added with the glaring industrial opportunity radically changed Malang. In 1879, the train station was operated for the first time to distribute crops. Later, Malang became Kotapraja in 1914.

Bella Vista was built three years earlier than Splendid Inn and seven years earlier than the town hall. It was built in 1920. What was it? Was it a house back then, or an office? I have never heard of such things called exemplary in urban planning. Bella Vista, as a part of Bouwplan I (the first stage of Dutch colonial’s urban planning), was built for an example for all the buildings in the area. Perhaps the physical example was shown for the construction slaves, how impossible it was to bring the slaves to Europe to get the look of buildings’ shape, to show them that, “this is our taste and this is what you should bring to the table.” 

The prominent Splendid Inn, built in 1923 with the look of a Dutch home, was a hotel. It was owned by CC Mulie. However, 19 years later, on March 7, 1942 Japanese officially occupied the area, took over every layer of governance and life, and changed the working class structure with Japanese terms.

Change wasn’t everything, executions of the remaining Dutch and the rebels occured massively in the area, the current Tugu Senior High School was once Dutch’s HBS (Hoogere Burger School) shifted from education place for the privileged to a slaughter house of mankind. Splendid Inn too, CC Mulie was no longer the owner of the place, whatever belonged to the Dutch, during this time, was taken over by the Japanese; the buildings and the people. 

Power contests are getting entangled in this part, Japanese whose arms, souls, and faith were sworn to help Indonesia’s revolution to the point that the country found its independence, was all a lie. For as far as this narrative is concerned, the Japanese got weaker after World War II, a door for the Dutch to return to Indonesia and seize everything that once became their source of glory. Dutch’s Operation Product 1 in 1947, against the young nation, occupied Surabaya and their next target was Malang. That time on July 22, 1947, grim reapers marched to the town, harvesting the souls.

Ashes for Unfallen Colony

Lawang was the first area subdued by Dutch Operation Product, in a critical situation, a strategy needed to be made; if it wasn’t by arms, it should be by pride. Urban Guerillas, Student’s Armies (Tentara Republik Indonesia Pelajar, TRIP) burned 1000 or more Dutch’s buildings. What were once Dutch’s administration offices, inn, and houses turned into flaring flames. They cut down electricity and water source to stop the building from functioning and from the Dutch army to shelter.

Scorched-earth is a tactic and a military strategy to put the enemy in the grievest deprivation. When talks didn’t yield repentance of imperialism, fire was the only agent to preach the truth in face of falsehood. This was all for it, a tactic used to tarnish the most imperial, the unfallen Dutch East Indies.

The buildings were then critically destroyed and burned, but surely, they weren’t projected for annihilation. The minute I stood after passing the road that separates Deandelsboulevard and Coenplein Jan Pieterszoon, to the point where Bella Vista and Splendid Inn laid bare and wounded, I felt lost in the infinite series of heritage left in abandonment. I could grasp no further with the narrative denoting that it was an inn and that is all. I felt a ruffling surge of emotions, realizing that in this situation; history couldn’t penetrate the thick haze of the present. 

Splendid Inn: The Most Wicked Dwelling in All Meridians

My mother, discerning that I develop bizarre interests in things archaic, warned me that I have to behave in the sites. It is not, above all, the history that becomes the sole concern. Beware of the ghosts, do not wear something red or green. Do not visit the place when you are on your period. Do not say something bad, not because that is inappropriate, but because it may insult or attract the demon.

There, the moment I entered both Bella Vista and Splendid Inn, I felt this artificial chills: what’s waiting for me behind those anachronistic doors, who’s waving on that tight-closed window, and… yes, who’s following me? 

Strangely, let me be honest with you, isn’t rooted from how the place is scaring me but from the external prejudices about the place. These sort of feelings then validated after hearing the tour guide say, “There are few areas that are considered to be densely haunted, you may go there but if something happened, we aren’t held responsible.” Somehow, it’s the philosophy of all tour guides in the world that safety and knowledge are instruments they hold supreme.

The visitors have to pay for 10.000 rupiah to explore Splendid Inn; few areas are locked, few areas are open but inaccessible, and lastly few areas are open but for the love of God you’d better not dare. It is, to be honest, killing me after looking at the ticket area; do not imagine a reception place, it was just a chair, a table, and a man sitting there. 

Behind him, there’s plenty of instant coffee hung by the rope, behind the instant coffee there’s a bed with the sight of bed bugs civilization. The man, he doesn’t at all look like he is a staff. He looked homeless with all that coffee and bedding situation. Seriously, why was the bed in there?

(to be continued)

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The post The Unfathomable Solitude of Bella Vista and Splendid Inn Malang (1) appeared first on TelusuRI.

Text: Rifqy Faiza Rahman
Photos: Deta Widyananda and Mauren Fitri

Our rented car, driven by Hardi, a seasoned migrant from Bone, turned left at the Kampung Merapun gate intersection 140 kilometers from Tanjung Redeb. After five hours on smooth asphalt, the road abruptly transitioned to dry, compacted gravel. We passed settlements scattered amidst vast oil palm plantations, the lifeblood of at least five palm oil companies.

“The distance from the gate to Kampung Merabu is about 31 kilometers,” Hardi informed us. That day (09/10/2023), the clear sky offered a breathtaking view of the Sangkulirang-Mangkabayar karst mountain range in the distance, a stark contrast to the sprawling green expanse of Merapun’s palm oil landscape.

Merapun is the closest village to our destination, Merabu. The road here is mostly flat with occasional dips and rises. During the rainy season, it transforms into a muddy and slippery path, demanding skillful driving to avoid skidding.

An alternative, faster route to Merabu exists via Kampung Muara Lesan in the north. However, recent flooding damaged the only wooden bridge connecting the two villages, forcing us to take this longer, albeit scenic route. Interestingly, the distance we traveled today is only a third of the journey from Tanjung Redeb to East Kalimantan’s capital, Samarinda.

Asrani, Merabu’s current headman at 48 years old, reminisced about the significant improvement in road access compared to several decades ago. Back then, while attending school in Tanjung Redeb before the Berau-Samarinda road was built, Asrani’s journey involved a two-day odyssey. He navigated large rivers like Lesan and Kelay on a “ketinting” (traditional wooden boat) until reaching the Segah River in central Tanjung Redeb. Overnight stays amidst the forest were inevitable, requiring tarps to protect from the rain.

Ransum, Merabu’s 61-year-old traditional leader, recalls an even more challenging past. Back then, before “ketintings” and outboard engines existed, he and others embarked on a three-day journey to Tanjung Redeb (affectionately called “Tanjung” by the Merabu people) by rowing wooden rafts. They transported forest products like resin, beeswax, and rattan.

“The return trip could take 19–20 days,” Ransum explained, “paddling against the current. During high water, it could even stretch to a month.”

In Tanjung, as the Merabu people call the capital city of Berau, they earned a meager 10 rupiah per day through trade. “That wouldn’t even cover one meal for six at a food stall,” Ransum shared. “The rest went towards buying rice, sugar, salt, and clothes for home.”

Asrani, the headman, further elaborated during a conversation at his residence: “This Berau-Samarinda road initially served a timber company. Later, it facilitated the establishment of a palm oil company.” He expressed his concern about the lack of government support for the local population, questioning, “Where does the government prioritize building roads?”

Despite its stunning natural beauty, as Asrani previously mentioned, Merabu’s remoteness from both Berau and major cities like Samarinda-Balikpapan, coupled with its adventure-focused attractions, cements its position as a destination not for everyone. It caters to those with a special interest in experiencing and supporting the Sangkulirang-Mangkabayar karst ecosystem.

Therefore, when The Nature Conservancy (TNC), a global environmental organization from the United States (partnering with the Nusantara Nature Conservation Foundation (YKAN) in Indonesia), arrived in Merabu in 2011, their initial focus wasn’t solely on tourism. Researching ethnography and archaeology along the Lesan River and the karst area formed the foundation for their efforts to develop the village’s community-based economic potential.

Recognizing the potential beyond traditional livelihoods like rubber cultivation and bird’s nest harvesting, TNC prioritized building the capacity of Merabu residents. They aimed to introduce a broader economic avenue: ecotourism.

Shifting Mindsets: Embracing Ecotourism in Merabu

Yervina, the 40-year-old treasurer of Merabu’s Lebo ASIK Village-Owned Enterprise (BUMKam), described the initial challenges of introducing ecotourism to the community: “Historically, the community relied heavily on harvesting swallow’s nests from caves for their livelihood.”

The income from swallow’s nests was undeniably attractive. A single overnight trek into the forest, often along the edges where karst caves naturally attract swallows, could yield results in mere hours. A single swallow’s nest could fetch 5-10 million rupiah (approximately $350–$700 USD) at the time.

However, Yervina expressed concern about the community’s lack of long-term financial planning during this period. Many residents, lured by the immediate windfall, failed to manage their newfound wealth wisely. “People believed the abundance of swallow’s nests would last forever,” Yervina explained, “ignoring the inevitable decline of nature if overexploited.” Investing in even basic necessities like motorbikes seemed like a distant thought, let alone saving for the future. Instead, millions were spent quickly on entertainment, gambling and other impulsive behaviors. This unsustainable lifestyle eventually took its toll, leaving individuals vulnerable as they aged and the ability to harvest nests diminished.

While some succumbed to the temptation of instant wealth, a few residents, like the teacher at SDN 001 Merabu, practiced sound financial management. He explains, “Fortunately, when the swallow’s nest market collapsed, I had the resources to transition into tourism. My family used our income wisely, allowing us to invest and build capital for this new venture.”

He, along with his late wife and brother, the previous village head (2018–2021), actively advocated for responsible management of swallow nest income, though their efforts weren’t always met with complete adherence.

With the decline of the swallow’s nest trade, new opportunities arose. Some residents turned to cultivating oil palm seedlings for sale to companies outside the village, offering another viable source of income.

Yervina, the BUMKam treasurer, emphasizes the importance of diversification: “Everything plays a role. Tourism is crucial, even though we shouldn’t solely rely on it. Oil palm is important as well, but with limitations. If an opportunity arises in our village, I encourage everyone to seize it. For tourism, we need to be prepared, like owning boats, homestays, or transportation options.”

Shifting mindsets, however, proved challenging. Yervina acknowledges, “Opening people’s minds isn’t a simple task. Achieving economic independence takes time.” For example, not everyone is comfortable hosting tourists in their homes. Currently, guests are primarily accommodated by Yervina, Ester, Juari, or Doni Simson— the head of BUMKam.

Yervina encourages residents to explore beyond ecotourism, aiming to reduce dependence on tourist arrivals, especially for ensuring children’s education. She reminds the community not to become complacent with their tourist destination status but to continuously seek diverse opportunities for a sustainable future.

The Desire for Sustainability

While Merabu embraces its path towards sustainability, obstacles remain. Amidst the flow of guests and the need to provide exceptional service, the community faces challenges that demand continuous solutions. One such challenge concerns the village’s Solar Power Plant (PLTS), which fulfills basic needs for residents.

During our visit, Ester, Asrani’s wife and the village head for the 2022–2023 term, informed us that the PLTS has been non-functional since May. A battery malfunction requires replacement, but the necessary skills differ from those of regular PLN electricians, posing an additional hurdle.

This months-long PLTS shutdown, after nearly five years of 24/7 operation, significantly impacts daily life for residents. “With the battery issue,” Ester shared with a light chuckle, “it feels like we’ve taken a step back.”

Despite its commitment to sustainability, Merabu faces ongoing challenges. One such obstacle lies in the village’s Solar Power Plant (PLTS), which fulfills residents’ basic needs.

During our visit, we learned from Ester, the village head from 2022–2023, that the PLTS has been non-operational since May due to a battery malfunction. While the problem seems straightforward, skilled technicians are required for repairs, and their expertise differs from that of standard electricians.

This extended PLTS outage, following nearly five years of uninterrupted service, significantly impacts daily life. “The battery issue,” Ester shared with a light chuckle, “feels like a step back. We’re relying on generators again, but not everyone has one.”

Diesel generators, a temporary solution, come with their own challenges. Expensive fuel, costing two to three times the usual price, forces Ester to limit her generator’s use to dusk until midnight. Similarly, larger generators on the PLTS grounds aren’t activated daily due to limited fuel availability.

The PLTS, acquired in 2015 through a collaborative effort between the Millennium Challenge Account-Indonesia (MCA Indonesia), Bappeda Berau Regency, and PT Akuo Energy Indonesia, represents a crucial step towards sustainable development. With an investment of 20 billion rupiah and a capacity of at least 300,000 VA, the PLTS is managed by PT Sinang Puri Energi, a business unit under the village-owned enterprise (BUMKam) Lebo ASIK. This unit, led by Franly Aprilano Oley (village head from 2012–2017) as chairman, with Aco as operator and Ester as administrator, works in conjunction with the village’s backup generator.

The communal PLTS plays a vital role in supporting ecotourism development in Merabu. It fulfills essential needs like pumping water, powering refrigerators and other electronics, and providing lighting for homes and schools – all crucial for residents and visitors alike. Optimal PLTS operation ensures a smooth experience for tourists, allowing them to recharge devices and utilize the village’s Wi-Fi provided by the Ministry of Communication and Information.

According to Doni Simson, there are plans to transfer ownership of the PLTS installation from PT Akuo Energy Indonesia to PT Sinang Puri Energi. However, battery repairs remain the immediate priority. “Only technicians from Akuo Energy can fix it,” he explained, “because their expertise is specific.”

With renewed and efficient energy infrastructure, as experienced between 2018–2022, Merabu is poised for further progress. The village’s journey towards sustainable ecotourism holds the potential to surprise both residents and outsiders, transforming Merabu into a unique destination, not only for its natural beauty and cultural heritage, but also as a “natural laboratory” attracting researchers and fostering a collaborative future.

For Merabu to thrive, community synergy and cohesiveness remain key. The support of institutions like The Nature Conservancy (TNC), YKAN, Indecon, and other civil society organizations has undoubtedly accelerated the village’s progress. However, the future of Merabu’s ecotourism sector ultimately rests on the unwavering commitment of its residents.

Merabu’s journey is far from over. It will inevitably face new challenges and hurdles that could hinder ecotourism development. The potential of natural treasures like Bloyot Cave, Nyadeng Lake, Ketepu Peak, and others, meticulously nurtured throughout the process, must not be neglected due to inadequate maintenance.

Despite the potential obstacles, Asrani, the current headman, holds onto unwavering hope. Asked about Merabu’s aspirations in terms of recognition, he expressed a clear vision: “We want Merabu to be recognized both domestically and internationally. We are not just about cultural heritage; we also have a rich forest ecosystem.”

“We envision a future where visitors not only explore our breathtaking natural attractions but also immerse themselves in our vibrant culture and experience the warmth of our people,” he concluded. (*)

Translated by Novrisa Briliantina

Cover photo:
Silhouette of Pak Cay, a local guide as he entered the main entrance of Bloyot Cave, which is famous for the paintings of palms on the cave walls. The discovery of caves and prehistoric traces was the beginning of the development of ecotourism in Kampung Merabu/Deta Widyananda

In September—October 2023, the TelusuRI team visited Sumatra Utara, Riau, and Kalimantan Timur on the Arah Singgah expedition: Bringing Harmony to Human Life and Nature. Our trip report can be followed at telusuri.id/arahsinggah.

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Text: Rifqy Faiza Rahman
Photos: Deta Widyananda and Mauren Fitri

Ransum, the 61-year-old Dayak Lebo community elder of Merabu Village, embodied the village’s rich history. Time had etched its mark on him—silver hair, weathered skin etched with wrinkles, and a cane supporting his steady steps. Though his body, marked by swollen feet and occasional muscle cramps, hinted at limitations, his spirit remained vibrant. He spent his days on the long wooden chair on his stilted house’s terrace, cigarettes his constant companion. Erna Wati, his 62-year-old wife, sat beside him, their shared challenges reflected in her need to walk on all fours.

Despite his physical limitations, Ransum’s eyes held a spark. His voice, though raspy, spoke volumes, carrying the weight of countless memories. When adorned in traditional attire—a wooden bark shirt, layered necklaces, a cloth loincloth, and a mandau (sword)—his transformation was remarkable. A sable hat with a golden hornbill beak and feathers completed the image, and with a cane in hand, he straightened his posture, exuding the dignity of a Merabu elder.

A hint of a smile played on his lips despite his missing teeth. On October 10th, 2023, he shared stories with TelusuRI, tales of his ancestors and the traditions of the Dayak Lebo Merabu, a cultural heritage they fiercely strive to preserve in the face of modern times.

Life and death are intertwined with tradition

Similar to other Dayak tribes, the Dayak Lebo of Merabu are deeply entwined with tradition, from the cradle to the grave. As a subtribe of the Dayak Basap, itself descended from the Dayak Punan, one of Kalimantan’s largest Dayak groups, the Lebo people in Merabu carry on practices, rituals, and customary laws as ancient as the village itself.

“Living in the mountains and forests, how could we even comprehend the concept of a village?” explained Ransum. “Building a village back then was vulnerable to attacks, during the ngayau era. When that happened we sought refuge and food in the forest.”

Ngayau refers to a historical period of headhunting among certain Dayak tribes. The Dayak Basap Lebo, however, were a smaller, peaceful group, opting for isolation deep within the jungle. They found shelter in longai, narrow gaps between towering rock formations rich in prehistoric caves, forming the present-day Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst ecosystem. This remote and inaccessible location offered them sanctuary.

It was within these longai that Ransum’s ancestors began attempts at creating a village, constructing basic shelters. However, fear of raids from other tribes kept them from permanently settling.

Only when the ngayau era subsided and inter-tribal hostility ceased, did the village truly come alive. The community built houses, established farms with corn, cassava, and mountain rice, and their elders defined the forest boundaries, establishing customary rules, particularly regarding the protection of their surrounding forests and the Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst ecosystem, their cherished “backyard.”

Left: Nordiana shows her work in the form of traditional rattan bag crafts. Right: Hakim (red shirt) filters natural honey freshly harvested from the forest last night. The residents of Merabu Village depend on the products of the Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst buffer forest to provide a source of family economy/Deta Widyananda

“We fear outsiders entering and destroying our forest,” explained Ransum, the village elder, “it’s our lifeblood.” The Sangkulirang-Mangkalihat karst buffer forest provides an abundance of natural resources: sago, honey, forest fruits, wild boar, hornbill, deer, and even freshwater fish from the Lesan River.

The government system proceeded in stages when it was led by Sampan, the first village head before Asrani (48). Sampan is Asrani’s uncle. Last October, Asrani was re-elected as Head of Merabu Village, after serving in the 1998—2011 period.

The village’s close relationship with the forest is evident in their nickname, “the tribe of gatherers and hunters.” They utilize these resources sustainably, fulfilling daily needs, from food consumption to traditional medicines prepared by their Belian (healers) for the sick.

The Dayak Lebo community upholds a unique belief system. In certain rituals, they offer food to unseen inhabitants of the forest, particularly in sacred locations like Bloyot Cave, other karst caves, Nyadeng Lake, and Ketepu Peak. This practice, known as the “iraw” tradition or “village melas”, is a way to appease them and ensure bountiful harvests of honey, forest products, fruits, and rice.

Yellow rice plays a significant role in these rituals and other community activities. For instance, the manugal tradition involves sowing yellow rice during a collective effort to open new land for rice cultivation. This specific type of rice, classified as mountain rice, requires no seeding and yields only one harvest annually.

Yellow rice plays a crucial role in the traditions and way of life for the Dayak Lebo community of Merabu. According to Ransum, the village elder, choosing land for rice cultivation involves a lengthy process. Yellow rice acts as a spiritual tool to assess the suitability of potential clearing sites within the limited forest area. If the elders deem a plot unproductive, they move on to another location.

“This was the way of our ancestors, and we still use it today,” Ransum explained. “But now, things have changed. People are quicker to clear land without the traditional methods, and it’s become harder to find suitable plots.”

Agus Atino, a migrant married to a Lebo Dayak woman, emphasized the importance of offering yellow rice during the manugal tradition, a collective effort to open new farmland. He describes a lemang party, where the community gathers in a hut within the fields to enjoy a traditional dish of sticky rice cooked in bamboo over an open flame.

“We built a small hut, one meter by one meter, filled with yellow rice and flowers,” Agus explained. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to prepare it yesterday. Everyone’s been so busy, there wasn’t anyone to help.”

This sacred rice also serves as a welcoming gesture for visitors from outside the village. Ransum elaborated, “It signifies our respect for everyone who comes to our village. We sprinkle them with yellow rice, wishing them a safe journey back home, free from illness or danger.”

However, Ransum admits his concerns, especially when guests enter the forest without prior notice. He worries that large groups, accompanied by unknown individuals, could endanger the village’s precious 8.245 hectare of forest.

Due to his health, not all visitors receive the traditional yellow rice reception. It is reserved for specific occasions, such as visits from regional or central government officials, representatives of non-profit organizations working in Merabu, and dignitaries attending the annual “Tuaq Manuk” peak procession, a traditional festival celebrated in Berau Regency.

In most cases, Ransum leaves messages, particularly for tour operators bringing guests to Merabu. He emphasizes the importance of respecting customary practices by seeking permission and informing him before entering the forest.

“Following generations of tradition and upholding customary law can be challenging, with its restrictions,” Ransum softly conceded. “But ultimately, these practices are also for our own good. We strive to maintain the forest according to the customs passed down from our ancestors.”

“If I pass away, it’s over…”

As the Dayak Lebo community elder for 19 years, Ransum faces significant challenges in preserving his people’s ancestral traditions. The rapid pace of modernization and the introduction of Christianity and Islam have limited the practice of traditional rituals.

While some community members remain open to practicing their customs, others have abandoned them due to religious teachings. Certain rituals, such as offering food to unseen forest dwellers or sprinkling yellow rice before manugal, are seen as conflicting with religious beliefs.

Ransum believes that religion lacks the specific restrictions found in adat traditions. He sees religion as a potential complement to existing customs, but he chooses to adapt to the current dynamics.

Asrani, the village head, acknowledges Ransum’s concerns and tries to bridge the gap between religious and traditional perspectives. He emphasizes that adat (customary law) life in the present era differs from the past.

“We are simply preserving our heritage,” Asrani explains. “We believe that these customs and traditions are our legacy, not something fabricated. Even if they are considered outdated, they represent our identity. I believe there’s nothing inherently wrong with our culture, as people in the past didn’t have religion.”

Accessibility to convenient and simplified information and technology poses another challenge, particularly for the younger generation, whose understanding of their village’s traditions is limited. This lack of knowledge and generational gaps threaten not only the survival of adat but also the development of ecotourism, which has been a key focus for Merabu in recent years.

No concrete efforts have been made to document Ransum’s vast knowledge of adat traditions in a written and organized manner. 

Ransum acknowledges the complexities of preserving ancestral traditions in the face of modernization and evolving beliefs. While he believes religion doesn’t impose the same restrictions as “adat” (customary law), he sees them as potentially complementary. However, he chooses to adapt to the current dynamic, allowing space for diverse perspectives within the community.

Asrani, the village head, recognizes the concerns raised by Ransum. He emphasizes the importance of safeguarding their heritage: “We simply strive to preserve our traditions, a legacy passed down, not fabricated. Even if deemed outdated by some, they are the cornerstone of our identity. Back then, there was no conflict with religion, as it simply wasn’t present.”

Another significant challenge lies in the easy access to information and technology, which can create a disconnect from traditional knowledge, particularly among younger generations. This lack of understanding, coupled with difficulties in documenting and passing down these traditions, creates a risk not only for the survival of adat but also for the sustainable development of ecotourism, a vital pillar of Merabu’s recent economic growth.

Unfortunately, there are currently no concrete efforts to formally document the wealth of traditional knowledge held by Ransum, potentially leading to the loss of this invaluable cultural heritage.

The Tuaq Manuk Festival held last July offered a glimmer of hope for preserving the Dayak Lebo community’s cultural identity. This week-long series of traditional ceremonies showcased Merabu Village’s dedication to keeping the “cultural blood” of its ancestors alive.

Conceptualized by the village’s early leader, Simpo Belian Danyam, through spiritual guidance, Tuaq Manuk signifies a collaborative tradition with spiritual undertones. It serves as a platform for learning about various aspects of Dayak Lebo customs, encompassing elements like language, knowledge systems, social organization, daily tools, livelihoods, religious practices, art forms, and sacred rituals.

The festival unfolds in four distinct phases. Beramu, a period of preparation and practice. Pasing, a time for prayer and expression of gratitude for what exists. Menyadi Tuaq, fulfilling one’s duties and responsibilities. Peding, the period of observing the established rules and taboos.

These phases are accompanied by vibrant dances and diverse forms of traditional music, such as tajaan, bibi temongang batang, tapik-tapik bagizam, sebumung buka-buka sebumung, batu luga-luga, and tarenten buto taretung.

Ultimately, the Tuaq Manuk Festival aims to bring blessings to the people and forests of Merabu, fostering a sense of gratitude for their harvest, fruit, and honey. It also provides an opportunity for healing and prayer for those facing difficulties. Local residents and visitors alike are welcome to participate in the festivities and gain a deeper understanding of Merabu’s rich traditions.

However, despite the festival’s success, a sense of worry lingers on Ransum’s face. He recognizes the immense challenge of preserving these traditions in the face of rapid modernization and evolving beliefs. He acknowledges the potential threat posed by external influences that may marginalize the customs, regardless of their nature.

Ransum expresses deep concern about the diminishing respect for traditional practices. “It saddens me that many of our taboos are being violated,” he laments. “People do things they’re not supposed to, and the consequences only come later when someone falls ill. It’s heartbreaking to see our traditions fading away.”

Despite his role as a traditional leader, Ransum feels his influence limited to spiritual matters. “People rarely seek our guidance for resolving physical problems affecting the village or the forest,” he explains. “They only turn to us when things are truly dire.” He sees his position as more symbolic than practical.

Another source of worry is the lack of a clear successor. While his son, Soleman, has been designated as the potential heir to his role, Ransum acknowledges the challenges involved. “He still needs to learn the intricate details of our history and traditional rituals. Absorbing this deep-rooted philosophy takes time,” he emphasizes.

Ransum’s words carry a sense of resignation, “If I’m gone, I fear the Dayak Lebo customs may vanish altogether.” They would only exist as relics in photographs, hornbill crowns, mandau, and clothing hanging silently on his house’s walls. (*)

Translated by Novrisa Briliantina

Cover photo:
A Merabu man holds a traditional wooden (tugal) with a charcoal smudged face. During the manugal tradition, residents fool around with each other by poking charcoal in each other’s faces. There is no exception for anyone, even guests from outside the village. It is a form of welcoming people from outside the village. The atmosphere became boisterous and friendly/Mauren Fitri

In September—October 2023, the TelusuRI team visited Sumatra Utara, Riau, and Kalimantan Timur on the Arah Singgah expedition: Bringing Harmony to Human Life and Nature. Our trip report can be followed at telusuri.id/arahsinggah.

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The economic sector definitely benefits the most from such large influxes of business activities, but what about the impact on other sectors?

A study by Claudio Milano and Joseph M Cheer defines overtourism as “excessive visitor growth leading to population density resulting from temporary or seasonal tourism peaks, which have forced changes in lifestyle, access to facilities, and general well-being.” Their further research identified this phenomenon as a global issue occurring in various places like Bali, Berlin, Kyoto, Paris, Palma, and others. This phenomenon is just as concerning as other issues we face today, lurking within the excitement of economic growth and ready to destroy what we cherish.

Looking in Indonesia, overtourism has haunted various tourist attractions for the past decade. This is especially true after the rise of social media, which showcases the most photogenic aspects of each location, leading everyone to compete for the sake of “checking in” at a trendy tourist spot. Bali is the most common example. Everyone knows Bali; in fact, the name Bali is often more recognized internationally than Indonesia itself.

As we know, the Island of the Gods is renowned for its diverse choices of tourism spots: majestic temples, breathtaking beaches, and beckoning mountains. However, behind its beauty, Bali’s tourism also bears open wounds.

The study History of Balinese Culture by Supratikno Rahardjo and Agus Aris Munandar summarizes the impact of tourism on socio-cultural aspects, drawing from various research sources. It states that eight aspects of Balinese life have changed negatively since the rise of tourism. Data presented by the IDEP Foundation is even more alarming: groundwater levels have dropped by 50 meters over the past decade, particularly in southern Bali. Sadly, this also impacts lake and river water levels due to overtourism.

Borobudur, the Indonesian tourism icon and one of the 7 wonders of the world, is not exempted from the problem of overtourism. With its unique characteristics as a temple monument amidst fertile countryside, Borobudur receives an average of 3-4.5 million visitors annually, placing a significant burden on the structure. The pandemic temporarily reduced visitor numbers, but its effects may be short-lived. According to a research journal by Supratikno Rahardjo, Borobudur’s main challenge lies in dispersing visitors around the temple area to lessen the pressure on the main monument.

Recently, Coordinating Minister for Direct Investment Luhut Pandjaitan visited Borobudur alongside the Minister of Tourism and Creative Economy, Sandiaga Uno, to assess the impact of visitor traffic on the temple’s decline. Concerned about the cultural heritage site’s capacity limitations, the government is planning visitor restrictions to prevent further damage.

There are inspiring examples that can be emulated to reduce overtourism. Nglanggeran Ancient Volcano Tourism is one such place that has successfully achieved a significant reduction in visitor numbers. Initially similar to other tourist attractions, this community-managed tourism site saw a gradual increase in visitors since 1999. By 2014, the number of visits peaked at 325,303 tourists, ultimately impacting the environment and disturbing the local community. Waste generation also reached a staggering 1.7 tons between 2014 and 2015.

They finally managed to escape the overtourism trap by implementing several methods: increasing entrance ticket prices, modernizing visitor management systems, and introducing lodging reservation management. More details can be found in the research journal titled Tourist Village Rejuvenation and Overtourism Management: The Nglanggeran Lifecycle Experience Tourism Village, Yogyakarta, Indonesia.

The impact of overtourism is severe enough that tourism initiatives are now proposing solutions like visit limitations, which is currently the most effective method for preventing capacity overload at tourist attractions. These restrictions are often combined with other ideas like ecotourism or good tourism management practices.

As humans, travel activities are part of our needs, whether for leisure or adventure. Overtourism is not inevitable; it simply requires good management and awareness among tourism stakeholders. Of course, our own awareness as visitors is equally crucial in preventing tourist attractions from being destroyed. Uncontrolled popularity, as Ranu Manduro illustrates with its once-pristine beaches now swamped by crowds, can irrevocably damage the ecosystem.

Written by M. Irsyad Saputra
Translated by Novrisa Briliantina

Cover photo:
Workers clean up rubbish at Kuta Beach, Bali (05/02/2017). The rubbish was carried away by the tidal waves and ended up littering the tourist area/TEMPO-Johannes P. Christo.

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Here are several tourist attractions in Indonesia currently experiencing overtourism:

1. Borobudur

This iconic Central Javanese monument is a favorite among cultural tourists. As one of Indonesia’s architectural masterpieces, it’s no surprise that Borobudur highly attracts both local and international visitors. In 2019, the annual number of visitors reached 4.39 million, which is equal to an average of 12,000 daily visitors.

Coordinating Minister for Maritime and Investment Affairs , Luhut Pandjaitan, expressed concern that the surge in visitors has negatively impacted the temple’s structure. As reported by TEMPO on March 21, 2021, Borobudur has implemented “quality tourism” measures in accordance with the 1979 master plan.

2. Mount Semeru

Mountains in Indonesia are generally experiencing overcrowding due to the ever-increasing number of visitors. The allure of aesthetic mountain photos shared on social media entices new climbers to attempt the ascent. Semeru, the highest mountain on the island of Java, is no exception. Its popularity boomed after a film featuring young climbers was released. Since then, Semeru has become increasingly crowded with visitors.

Fortunately, the management has taken steps to address the surge by implementing an online booking system that limits climbing quotas. Regular and occasional closures also help manage visitor numbers and allow ecosystems to recover from the impact of climbing activities.

3. Komodo Island

The sole habitat of the Komodo dragon, which is also part of the UNESCO World Heritage Site attracts tourists from all corners of the globe. However, the continuous rise in tourist arrivals poses a threat to this unique ecosystem.

The government’s declaration of Komodo Island as a super premium destination has sparked controversy. The massive construction of a “Jurassic Park”—themed development project is believed to disrupt the Komodo dragons’ habitat, which has already been negatively affected by the increasing popularity of the tourist attraction. Protests from various entities, including UNESCO, have called for a review of the potential environmental impact of this project.

4. Malioboro

The icon of Yogyakarta is always bustling with tourists inevitably making a stop at Malioboro. Situated in the heart of Yogyakarta City, it has become a natural center for crowd gathering. While the economy thrives in this area, the excessive busyness has taken its toll. Malioboro suffers from issues like disorganized parking and numerous cases of stalls charging exorbitant prices due to fierce competition.

5. Bali

Bali remains the top destination for both international and domestic tourists visiting Indonesia. Tourism businesses flourish here, and it is the primary source of income for many. However, this rapid growth has had negative consequences for local residents. Excessive resource consumption by the tourism industry has led to a decline in the quality and quantity of water throughout Bali. Land scarcity is another growing issue, as rice fields that were once abundant in urban areas have been converted into business centers. Moreover, coastal abrasion continues to threaten Bali’s beaches, causing them to erode at an alarming rate.

Written by: M. Irsyad Saputra
Translated by: Novrisa Briliantina

Cover photo:
Borobudur Temple in Magelang, Java Timur. Uncontrolled crowds of visitors can cause the temple to increasingly lose its capacity/TEMPO-Abdi Purnomo

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Story by Zarani Risjad
Photographs by Benny Widyo

In today’s fast-paced, visually-driven world, the concept of a sound walk offers a unique and immersive experience, redirecting attention to the often-overlooked sounds in our everyday environment. This practice, popularized in recent years, involves individuals or groups embarking on guided or self-guided walks with a primary focus on actively listening to the surrounding auditory landscape.

The roots of sound walks can be traced back to the work of Canadian composer R. Murray Schafer, who organized “Soundscapes for the Third Ear” in 1974, featuring guided walks that encouraged participants to engage with their auditory environment. Since then, the idea has evolved into a diverse range of experiences, from artist-led walks to community-based projects, all aimed at exploring and appreciating the sonic environment.

I had the opportunity to participate in a sound walk during the Bebunyian Sound Art Festival fringe event in Surabaya in November 2023. Led by cultural activist and walking advocate Anitha Silva, this particular sound walk provided a unique twist by incorporating a mobile phone recording workshop, in which participants create a collective sound art composition, led by Korean artist Jin Sangtae.

Exploring Pasar Keputran

At our meeting point, C2O Library & Collabtive, participants were invited to join a pre-walk exercise to practise recording various man-made sounds on their mobile phones, emphasizing the devices’ ability to capture subtle, ambient sounds. After the 15-minute practice, we set out for the walk with Anitha.

Anitha takes us to Pasar Keputran via a route that I assume is only known to locals. We walk through pedestrian-only lanes, historic wrought iron gates, and locally made signage through terraces of private homes and mosques, passing children playing and women doing household chores like dinner prep and laundry, all while chatting with neighbours on their terraces.

Anitha explains that we are now in Pasar Keputran, formerly a traditional market but has since been supplanted by a modern building complex. Walking through a bustling throng of buyers and sellers, we enter the top floor of the market building to get a birds-eye view of the market as well as the urban landscape surrounding it. Participants are encouraged to spend a further 20 minutes individually conducting field recordings of the sounds produced by the market’s inhabitants.

Collaboration in symphony

We return to the C2O Library to share the recordings. Sangtae explains that we will create a sound composition together by simultaneously playing our individual field recordings. Sound artist Eri Rukmana is our conductor, and he explains the three hand signals he will use silently to indicate when we should turn our phone volume up, down, pause, or muffle its sound. Following a brief rehearsal, the 13 participants are led through 15 minutes of a composition that could be titled The Symphony of Keputran at 4 p.m., which captured the vibrant chaos of the market. The symphony takes us straight to the core of Keputran, including the sounds of humans and children, the sharpening of a knife, the whirring of an exhaust fan, and the voice of a seller hocking his wares.

The result is as interesting as the process of the sound walk. Immediately, participants understand that in exploring the landscape through sound, it is impossible to ignore the sound generated by the omnipresent human and his or her activities, which is frequently overlooked in our daily lives. It was interesting to note the differences between participants sound recordings. Some participants recorded more drones or hums, and some chose to record louder sounds like radio sounds or sirens.

We are in a complex sonic exchange with our environments, making, muting, altering, and auditing sound. The workshop’s participants shared their individual findings, including what they found intriguing, what they learned, and what they liked or disliked. The conversation then broadened to discuss cultural norms, ideas on personal sonic space, audio pollution, and comparing the urban sonic landscape of Indonesia in comparison to other countries.

Ends in a positive outcome

Reflecting on this experience, I realise that sound walks have the potential to be an embodied creative practice. The combination of listening and walking resulted in a dynamic, embodied experience that connected the body to the surrounding space and influenced how sounds were perceived throughout the multisensory journey. The walk promotes increased sensory awareness, emphasizing both what is heard and how it is felt in the body. Sensory stimuli influence our walking speed and direction, resulting in a very different walking experience that is more in tune with the nuances of sound and atmosphere, as well as more embodied.

Listening is one of the main perceptual relationships we have with the world around us, with information about space, people, and objects flooding in from all directions. Far from being a passive experience, there are many levels of attention with which we attune our ears. We can hone in on sounds that are important or blend [filter?] others out. Intentional listening deepens our relationship with the environment, fostering a keen ‘sense of place.’

The experience was transformative. I learned about Pasar Keputran not only from Anitha’s extensive knowledge, but also from my own keen senses. Paying attention to the subtle nuances in my auditory world allowed me to be fully present in the present moment, promoting a reflective state despite the noisy market environments. I felt connected not only to my surroundings, but also to the other participants as we shared our sonic experiences, combining the various elements we encountered to create a unique symphony, and then sharing our observations and discoveries.

In conclusion, a sound walk transcends a mere stroll; it is a creative practice that engages both mind and spirit. By tuning into the rich tapestry of everyday sounds, we foster a deeper connection to our surroundings, reaping the numerous benefits of this immersive experience. Sound walks provide a simple yet profound way to reconnect with oneself and the world, offering a reflective and transformative journey through intentional listening.

Cover photo:
Participants making field recording inside Pasar Keputran, Surabaya/Benny Widyo

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