Indonesia 2019 | Tengkahan Sumatra

Snakeskin fruit, because it looks like one

Margaret and Deslim

Jungle Lodge Tangkahan Dec 31
It was a warm and breezy morning yesterday when in the wee hours we headed to Chiangmi in Singapore to catch a 730 flight to Medan. Finally clearing the immigration hurdles we approached a short stalky man bearing a sign that read Mrs Suddards and Family. Sisters, we quickly explained, although no one would mistake us for mother and daughter. A bit shy of 24 hrs later, I am sitting up in bed, a light blanket pushed aside, listening to the soft strains of music coming from the cabin next door.

We are at The Jungle Lodge in Tangkahan in North Sumatra, the focal point for tourism in this rather remote part of Sumatra. One of three rivers flows gently by, and occasionally clucking emanates from some where outside. No cackling roosters have thus far greeted the dawn. Next to us, are four headscarved young women who appear to be travelling alone, and spent much of the afternoon on their little balcony. Last night I fell asleep to their chatter and laughter. This morning, it is their singing that has awakened me from the near dead and I have been eaves dropping on what I assume to be their morning prayers. It's quiet again now. Faints sounds are coming from elsewhere, but they are masked by the rushing river. It must be that sunrise is not so far away.

By the time my head fell like lead to the pillow last night, much of my angst about this leg of our journey had been replaced with basic necessities that could with some effort be managed. Multi- laned freeways from the airport to Medan soon gave way to narrow, two-lane roadways through busy commercial areas where delivery trucks, bataks, and cars vie for space with motorcycles and pedestrians. The streets are lined with ramshackles of businesses all with familiar corrugated pull-down grates, mostly faded beige, interrupted by newly painted and surprisingly bright colors on a few shops. As we drive further and further from the centre into residential neighbourhoods, the roads improve and tidy rows of houses emerge. These are the homes of the middle class we are told, people with government jobs, health benefits and pension plans. The homes are bright and intricately decorated, with various shades of green from lime to forest, orange, saffron, and occasionally chile pepper red. The streets are planted in calla lilies and tiny front yard are modestly decorated with hibiscus, cannas, and other tropical plants.

The singing has resumed. Perhaps one sleepy soul has missed her prayers. Our resident ghecko has clicked again. I wonder where he is.

The long drive through suburbs of Medan eventually led to country roads and then the rough track we had been warned about. It was a four hour trip, but with short helpful lessons from Deslim, our guide,  the time passed. We stopped at a traditional town market; there were no big surprises here, except perhaps the friendliness of the local people. We learned about the palm oil seed harvest, how they are harvested from the trees in clusters, and left on the side of the road to be picked up by the trucks of the property owners. Plantation rows of palms line the highways. Palm oil is not the valued commodity it once was and the economy here is suffering due to its decline. In the last few km we share the road with emaciated cattle and chickens, and I notice a few pigs or wild boar scurrying among the palms.

We arrived at the lodge on foot. Deslim had advised that we could pay the local women to haul our gear to the lodge and this was arranged. I missed it, but they apparently hoisted those 20 kg bags onto their heads and off they went. The going rate, out here in the jungle, is about 500 rupiah, or 2 dollars a bag. I will have to see if Margaret has a picture. We were expecting a bit of a raft ride across the river, but a suspension bridge has replaced it and my wobbling legs struggled across as my backpack shifted from side to side. I was relieved to finally stretch out on my bed for a short nap before our afternoon trek.

I had read about the Sumatran elephants and somewhere in our notes, the Tangkahan rescue centre. So with a bit of resistance from the guide, we walked through the scattered homes and shops, down alleys and trails, to the rescue centre. We'd been warned about the flash rains, and sure enough we arrived just in time to duck under a sheltered restaurant to wait it out. The centre doesn't seem to be a centre at all, just a small cottage-like building, but there are elephants across the river and to our great joy this was bath day. But until the rains subsided, we amused ourselves watching the long-tailed Macaques, and Tomas's leaf monkeys play. We caught a huge family of little ones practicing their balancing skills on the wires crossing the rivers. So cute as they wobbled away. They were so tiny some as little as kittens, some as large as a small dog, but none of the big macaques we saw in Morocco. There are also pig-tailed macaques, but Margaret and I don't know if this is like a pig's tail or like a pigtail. Hopefully we will learn more about the macaques this afternoon.

But first, this morning after breakfast we will take the big plunge for which we have been busily preparing this past month. We packed water shoes and leech socks and I even contemplated stealing a shaker of salt. We have bug screen and sunscreen, and I have a wet sack. We've seen the giant truck tire inner tubes upstream, and today it's our treat to get in and float down the river. So when was the last time you floated down a river on an inner tube? We think maybe when Margaret lived in Truckee where it was pretty common sport to do this on the upper part of the river before the kayakers took over at the rapids.