With somewhere around 230 million intrigued inhabitants, and this being one of the world's most densely populated countries, it it perhaps no wonder that we have found it challenging to locate campsites that are out of the way of the hustle and bustle of daily Indonesian life. Of course one of the joys of paddling in a country like this is to be able to have interaction with so many people from such a different culture, and to appreciate the different subcultures within the country, but this can become very tiring.
Like the lion, some days it is impossible to avoid the crowd. Even when we are up before the 4:30am call to prayer that blares out from every mosque there is usually somebody waiting for us on the beach. An old man wandering the high tide line, and with apparently nothing better to do, stands and stares, a little too close. The concept of 'privacy' doesn't appear to exist in Bahasa Indonesia (indonesian language) and even the idea of personal space appears to be as foreign to many Indonesians as a meat pie and a custard tart.
We control our urges for morning ablutions - it is pretty hard to dig a hole on the beach and discreetly purge when there is an audience staring at your every move - and accept the growing crowd as part of a normal morning routine. I am not sure whether it is the brightly coloured silicone bowls, the orange plastic cutlery, the shiny mountaineering-style, petrol-burning stove, the brand of coffee we drink or the way we crush coconut biscuits into our porridge that is most intriguing to our audience, but every mouthful is scrutinised with the same intensity as though we were the lion tearing bloody flesh from a carcass.
The crowd grows, as we fold the poles and wrap up the nylon walls of our little tent, our only hope of privacy. Our change-room is simply a sarong wrapped around ourselves. We have tried to disperse the crowd on occasions telling them that we need to go to the toilet or to have a wash, but they generally simply smile and nod that they have understood, as though congratulating us on being able to use words from the Indonesian dictionary, without actually comprehending that we wish them to go away. We have given up on this technique now - they never go away.
Finally as we finish packing our boats, the crowd has reached a critical point. From a distance down the beach the bustling numbers have swollen to a point where our boats are surrounded. This then draws more and more people, keen to discover just what it is that is drawing this scrum together. Motorbikes begin to park above the beach, other boats arrive and each new entrant to the fracas asks the same questions.
Everything is poked and prodded. The rudder attracts people like a button in a science museum that would send sparks arcing across electrodes, the paddle is passed around with awe. Anything rubber is pressed and stretched and any moving parts are moved, in turn by every onlooker.
One great advantage of having so many spectators is that we usually have many hands to help push our boats into the water. Laughing and joking, the happy and smiling assistants race us down the sandy beach and our boats are shot out into the shallow water. As the rudders flip down we receive appreciative 'oohs and aahs' from the throng. Usually busting for the toilet by this stage we wave at the crowd and paddle away to find a spot of privacy somewhere in the wide blue yonder.
Waving at the crowd on the beach I think back to the lion in his cage, facing his daily crowd. We have a certain freedom as we paddle in Indonesia, but escaping the crowds is definitely a skill that we have learnt along the way. Fortunately the hours spent on the water are on our terms and this is the one place we can really find privacy, and our freedom.
Photo: Lain entertaining the crowd as we prepare for another day on the water.
No comments:
Post a Comment