The Traditional Villages of Luba and Bena

Our program today is walking to several traditional villages. Alisha and I each check e-mail and facetime our family back at home. Except for my flaming sunburn, I feel good and am grateful for a relatively normal breakfast. We are getting accustomed to strong coffee without milk, and this morning a basket of thickly sliced bread awaits. Butter, 'odd' jams, a single fried egg and a slice of wrapped processed cheese completes the meal. The extravagant and delicious breakfasts at our guest house in Ubud Bali are a distant memory. 

Volcano above Luba and Bena Villages

In addition to our guide Yancy, we have a local guide to take us to the traditional villages, so together we drive through lush giant bamboo forests to the start of our walk to Luba and Bena Villages. 

Stone alter details

Giant Bamboo

Although Luba village is not as colorful as I remember Bena Village being ten years earlier, we arrive early and are the only tourists. 

Luba Village

Family tombs at Luba Village

I ask our local guide if I may give lollypops to the children, and he cautions, ‘only if I have enough for everyone’. I show him that we have a bag and a half of lollypops remaining, plenty for all of the children.  A dozen traditionally thatched houses with peaked rooftops surround a large open dirt courtyard. Every home has a wooden front porch with steps up to the porch. Children peek curiously from dimly lit doorways. Hanging from sticks in front of most of the houses are colorful Ikat weavings, none of them exceptional. Even though we politely admire the handiwork, we are not pressured to buy and many of the villagers ask us to take their photos. We are only too happy to oblige. 

Children at Luba Village under Ikat Weavings

We pass out lollypops to the few children present and suddenly the population of village children multiplies. Children from adjoining houses toss balls that mysteriously roll in our direction. Alisha is the candy girl and all of the villagers, young and old alike, seem to want their photo taken. After each photo is taken we show it to everyone. They are all delighted. 

Lolly pops at Luba Village

Alisha and Luba children making faces

Boys in Luba Village

Sitting on the stone wall in front of one house is an extremely old and picturesque woman. We learn that she is 98 years old and she seems to have a wry sense of humor. Although she also wants her photo taken, she insinuates that she should be a high paid model considering how many tourists have taken her photo over the years. I sit beside her and try to connect. She is chewing beetle nut and offers me some. I don’t know how to respond and wonder if this is her sense of humor or a test. I am curious about the effect of beetle nut but decline her invitation and she throws back her head and laughs. 

Venerable old woman at Luba Village

Venerable Luba Village woman

Marty and Luba Village woman

Old woman, Luba Village

Old man, Luba Village

We continue walking to Bene Village, just 15 minutes down the road. We wander the village for over two hours amid another 50 tourists. I watch disapprovingly as a group of young Asian travelers operate a drone above this traditional village taking arial photos for the better part of an hour and feel annoyed by the noise of the whirling drone above. Alisha and I climb to the vista point at the end of the village and inhale the view beyond. There is a precarious drop off to the valley below and Alisha makes her way cautiously to sit on the rock overhanging the valley. I remember ten years earlier, John daringly standing on this same rock to test his mother's nerves and risking a fall into oblivion. 

View of Bena Village from the vista point above.

Family eating together, Bena Village

Children watching Television, Bena Village

Woman of Bena Village

Returning to the village, Alisha buys boars tusk necklaces and Ikat sashes, and examines her options of bamboo cutting machetes that she might take home to her husband. I am beginning to feel a bit off but attribute it to the heat. I wait in the shade of the visitors center while Alisha runs back to our waiting van. She uses an Ikat sash that she purchased earlier to measure the length of a machete in comparison to her suitcase. We circle the village again and she picks out the perfect machete while I sit on the wooden stairs of the house as she finalizes the deal. The woman of the house offers us coffee and not wanting to offend, I accept and sip the tepid gritty drink from a grimy glass cup. I am not feeling well.

Boys resting in the shade, Bena Village

Detail of stone alter

Alisha choosing a bamboo machete.

Ceremonial necklaces

Coffee after the machete purchase. 

Bena Village dog

Bena Village family

Bena Village house with buffalo horns 

Bena Village 

I doze in the back seat for our drive to Ruteng. We stop at an arak distillery along the way. Yance explains the distillery process while we stand by the three ovens inhaling the cooking smoke. We listen to his explanation of tapping the arak palms to get the juice and the subsequent fermentation and the distillery process.  Although I sample the arak, I am feeling queasy and this time attribute it to the cooking smoke, the arak and the heat. I buy three Ikat sashes. Were there others of the same quality, I would have purchased more. 

Arak distillery

Arak distillery

Ikat weavings for sale

Irak for sale 

Yance gets a call on his cell phone and suggests that he leave us at the arak distillery while he drives up the road to meet his wife and three young daughters. His wife is at her father’s farm and he wishes to give her some money. Finished with the arak and more interested in meeting his family we ask to go with him. It is a short detour and we get a glimpse of his wife and girls from the car window. Yance seems embarrassed by their appearance but they look just fine to us. Admittedly, they are a bit dust covered from a day in the village, but they greet us with welcoming smiles. 

I am not well and sleep in the back seat of our car for the remainder of our drive to Ruteng. Alisha rides upfront with Yance and I vaguely remember several view point stops and one emergency bathroom stop. Yance finds a toilet for me quickly and dips a leaky container of water from an outside cistern and hands it to me as I am opening the rickety bathroom door. I silently say a prayer of thanks to whatever deities are watching over me today because there is a sit down toilet instead of a squat toilet. By the time I have finished my business, the water in the container has drained from the holes but I step outside and refill it from the cistern and return to flush the toilet. 

A luxurious hotel in Ruteng

A modern bathroom!

It is nearly dusk when we arrive in Ruteng. By Flores standards, our hotel is quite luxurious and there is a bank across the street and I successfully withdraw money from the ATM. Once in the room, I take a hot shower and slip into clean sheets. I believe Alisha goes downstairs to eat dinner but I am too sick to recall anything except a pot of strong ginger tea that she sets beside me later that evening. Chunks of ginger swim in the boiling tea pot. I sweeten it with sugar and I drink several cups throughout the night. 

Sao Hot Springs and onto Bajawa

I wake before 6:00 A.M. feeling refreshed and walk across the courtyard to our  hotel’s restaurant and write. The back of my legs from below my shorts down to my ankle are flaming with sunburn.  I am the only one awake and am anxious for coffee but know that I must be patient. The restaurant begins to stir at 7:00 a.m. and the French Roast coffee is strong and flavorful. Breakfast is a repeat of overly cooked overly salted omelette or a dry banana pancake without palm syrup. Yanze reminds us to order a boxed lunches to go and by 9:00 A.M. we are driving towards Bajawa, via the Soa Hot Springs. The morning drive takes us though beautiful countryside. We feel fortunate to have Yance as our guide. His agreeable personality, driving skills and English are all topnotch. He stops frequently under the pretense of giving us the chance to take photos but I suspect that many of the photo opts are timed to his cigarette breaks.

Vista view of the valley 

The road to Soa

We arrive at the Sao Hot Springs about noon, pay the small entrance fee and enter the park. Scraggly hedges edge cracking walkways and flowered bushes are planted haphazardly. Although not landscaped to our standards, the grounds are pretty and families are picnicking and relaxing in the shade of a variety of trees. 

Alisha at Soa Hot Springs garden

Son Hot Spring garden

Center in the park is the hot spring and the hottest of the pools which is presently occupied by a half dozen men. 

The hottest of the Soa pools

The men and our sunburnt legs deter us from the hot pool and we walk a bit downstream and dip our toes into warm but not scalding water. With her protective, long sleeved sun shirt,  Alisha works her way into the water, lying down in the flowing stream. We see our Dutch friends in a cooler pool below and I sit waist deep in the warm water and visit with Jan while his two girls swim in the stream. Alisha swims along the narrow but fast moving stream and relaxes against the rocks of a small waterfall flowing from the hot upper pool. 

Soa Hot Springs, Marije and Famke

Alisha in the Soa Hot Spring waterfall

Downstream, young men soap their bodies and wash their hair. Although we are not looking forward to our boxed lunches of cold nasi goreng and mie goreng, our stomachs grumble and we eat a few bites each of the greasy cold meals. The Sao Hot Springs dogs are delighted that we leave most of our lunches for them.

Our unappealing boxed lunches

Mother dog enjoying our leftovers

We arrive at the Happy Happy hotel late afternoon, a small guest house at the end of town. Our room is simple and clean with a utilitarian bathroom and wi-fi. 

Our Happy Happy room

Tired and dirty feet

Happy Happy bathroom

Happy Happy house rules

We take much needed showers, check our e-mail and walk uphill and into the town. We pass a school and a busy soccer field and walk along a street of tidy government buildings. The afternoon light is lovely and the gilded domes on the town mosque shine in the afternoon sun. A Christian church sits across the street. 

The Bajawa Mosque

The Bajawa Mosque

Bajawa school girls

Mother and child

Bajawa school girls

Gasoline for sale at a Bajawa convince store

Bajawa women

We see a few young European travelers but the town is not overrun with tourists and feels very authentic. Alisha and I stroll along a street of shops poking into several dimly lit clothing shops crammed and hung with three levels high with lacy and sequined blouses and faux batik men’s shirts. Two men sit in the back of one, heads bent over sewing machine and I wonder how they can see with only the fading afternoon light to illuminate their work. We venture into the depths of a second dark store and peruse the many colorful ornate blouses covered with protective cellophane. One particular lime green and pick embroidered tunic catches both Alisha’s and my eyes and we ask the kind woman if she might have Alisha’s size? She pulls out several for Alisha to try on and we step into a  dressing room in the storage area. The young woman is from Java and proudly puts her English to use and to her delight, when we find one that fits I pay the exorbitant 250,000 rupees, a little less than $20.  Although I thought that I had our hotel bearings in relationship to where we have wandered, when we exit the store we are somewhat disoriented.  We spot the two European women we saw earlier and inquire if they might know which downhill street might lead to the Happy Happy Hotel?. They are taking photos in a graveyard and we observe the same dramatic beauty of the tombs in the afternoon light and take our own photos. 

Bajawa graveyard

Bajawa graveyard

They tell us to wait a few minutes and they will walk with us in that direction. We pass their hotel, which they tell us is terrible, an unattractive 4 story cement building. It is sandwiched within the one short block of ‘tourist’ restaurants. They point us down the street and around the corner to our Happy Happy guest house. Situated now, and in a district of seemingly acceptable eateries, Alisha and I choose a small cafe, order a Bintang beer and listen to the street performers outside. The ‘island’ music lifts our spirits and we order what we hope is safe, chicken sate and fried potatoes. 

I believe it is this meal on this trip that I will live to regret. Back at Happy Happy we check e-mail and go to sleep tired, tired.

A toast to our adventures 

The meal that I will live to regret

Bajawa musicians

Music on the street