On our very first day of the Archipaddlo adventure, when we had paddled our dangerously overloaded boats all of about 5km from Trinity Beach, Cairns, to Double Island, we whipped out the map to see if we could make sense of the massive task we had set ourselves. We couldn't - the map showed a vast coastline with islands dotted about and vast waterways separating them. To say we were both just a little terrified may be a slight understatement. Now, quite a few months and several thousand kilometres later we are not so effected by the stress of imagining how far away the end point might be. We have learnt to deal with what is on offer at the time, and just aim for some campsite at the end of the day.
It is, however a reality of any sort of travel where similar places are visited regularly that spectacular sights can become ho-hum, the traveller blasé to the wonders they are witnessing. Many years ago, when travelling through Europe, I found that after a while it didn't matter how many grand cathedrals, ruined castles or ancient walled cities I ventured to, they all started to look the same. And so it is with tropical, white sandy, coral-fringed beaches, unfortunately they all start blending together.
Perhaps it is a symptom of Lain and I becoming a bit more proficient in existing out of kayaks in Indonesian waters. We have learnt the finer points of negotiating with little old ladies in roadside markets, to supply us with greener bananas, tomatoes and cucumbers that might last a few days longer stuffed into the hot, sweaty storage hatch of our boats. We have enough water and gas, rice and noodles to last us a week without ever visiting a town, and we have the capacity to sneak silently into the tiniest and most protected beaches that even the local dugouts struggle to reach.
Diversity is therefore the key to our predicament, the ingredient that will prevent us taking this brilliant place for granted. The coastline of north-western Flores, when spied on through Google-Earth goggles, appears to be a natural wonderland, a kayakers dream. The reality is pretty much spot on, this place is beautiful. To make sure we keep our eye on it though we have been mixing things up, and doing our best to do something different every day. In the last few days we have been pushed ashore early in the day by a strong easterly wind, meaning our daily distance is well below average, so our campsites need to be comfortable enough to absorb an afternoon of recuperating, coffee drinking and hammock swinging.
A night spent in the mangroves was a stark comparison to the white sandy beaches we have become a little accustomed to. Squadrons of midges, released from their hangars in waves attacked their victims with regular raids to any exposed skin not thickly coated in Rid. Escaping the mangroves and the extensive sea grass beds at low tide was also an adventure, something different - this is good.
We snuck past several villages into a blustery headwind to find a tiny, isolated pocket of rainforest where the cool shade of the tall trees allowed us to swing in our hammocks in the cool breeze of the afternoon, undetected by the many passing fishing boats. Another camp was on a deserted beach strewn with huge grey rocks, giving the whole place the appearance of a film set for a chick flick romance film.
Tonight, however, is perhaps the winner for something different. We are sleeping in a cave! For the fifth night in a row we have landed on an isolated beach, far away from any town. When we arrived this morning after four hours of slogging into headwinds, Lain located the entrance to a low cave at the back of the beach. Cool and quiet, we spent the day relaxing in this peaceful underground cavern and tonight we are sleeping in the tent, in the cave, far away from the rest of the world, and the normal routine of more and more beaches.
We'll keep shaking things up - I wonder what is in store for tomorrow.
Photo: Captain Caveman - Juz admiring the sunset from within the tent, within our cave.
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