I was given the chance to join the crew from WowBorneo aboard the Rahai’i Pangun for a journey through southern and central Kalimantan (Indonesian Borneo). While my mind was firmly set on getting close to Borneo’s famous native, the orangutan, it was the journey itself – a slow chug through hundreds of rivers, creeks and canals of Kalimantan – that will remain my best memory from this incredible part of the world.
By the rivers of Kalimantan was originally published in the April 2012 edition ofGet Lostmag.
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'Lihat lah orang seperti
melihat buah manggis’ (meaning:
‘look at people like you look at
the mangosteen’) is the Indonesian
equivalent of ‘don’t judge a book by
its cover’. The expression comes from
the fact that the mangosteen, a small
awkward-looking tropical fruit with
flesh that resembles garlic and skin
that stains like beetroot, is actually
gloriously sweet.
As I tuck into my tenth mangosteen
(I’d developed a mild obsession for them
over the last 10 days) on my final morning
in Kalimantan, the Indonesian part of
Borneo, I watch the organised chaos of the
Banjarmasin floating markets. Hundreds of
women in canoes chat, bargain, jostle and
exchange huge piles of fruit and vegetables
in the middle of the Barito River. I make
a note in my travel journal that the
mangosteen expression could just as well
reflect my time in Kalimantan as a whole.
Having arrived intent on coming face-toface
with orangutans, after 10 days in this
unspoilt part of Indonesia I’d discovered
there was far more to Kalimantan than just
its red-haired primate inhabitants. By taking life in at the slow pace of a riverboat,
I had seen beyond the trees, the water
and the wildlife, and instead experienced
the complexity of the lives that revolve
around them.
Travelling by boat is, without doubt, the
best way to see this part of the world. The
large, 10-metre-long wooden boats (known
locally as klotoks) offer the chance to
plonk your deckchair or mattress on the deck, kick back and just soak up life on
the river. And when you’re keen to explore
deeper into the jungle, you hop aboard
one of the thousands of smaller alkons
– each less than half a metre wide and
sitting just centimetres out of the water
– and move deftly through the countless
creeks, swamps and low-hanging riverside
trees that are spread across thousands of
kilometres of waterways.
Ten days earlier.
My first introduction to
river life in Kalimantan was unexpectedly
luxurious. On arrival in Palangkaraya, an
hour’s flight from Jakarta, my travelling
partner and I head to the dock to board
our first boat, a two-storey, 20-metre long
‘super klotok’ known as the Rahai’i
Pangun. It’s been rebuilt from the shell
of a cargo boat and now includes deluxe
double cabins and a huge deck, and
has a style that melds into the tough
environment around it. It’s clear that
a lot of thought has gone into its design.
Within minutes of cruising out of
Palangkaraya harbour, I’m lying back on a
couch, feeling a bit like an aristocrat on a
bird-watching expedition. Yet while plenty
of birds are spotted in our first few hours
on board, including brahminy kites, storkbilled
kingfishers and two brief sightings of
the oriental pied hornbill, it is the Bornean
orangutan that we have come here to see.
By the afternoon of our first day on the
Rungan River, I’m woken from a nap by
the slowing of our boat’s engine. We pull
up to a jungle island that has a group
of five adult orangutans sitting silently
around a bamboo platform.
My first impressions are that even
from far away, the group’s dominant
male, Bobo, and his companions look
big. Really big. And when another male,
who clearly sees himself as a potential
contender for leader status, swings
closer to the platform, Bobo stands up
in response, staring down his rival before
grabbing a piece of bamboo and breaking
it in a show of strength. Orangutans are
seriously powerful. But as time passes,
it is the small behavioural nuances,
such as the way Bobo and his fellow
orangutans scratch their backs, chew
their bananas, or hold their arms high
as they walk in the river to avoid getting
wet (like any human would do), that keep
me transfixed, and have me pondering
how anyone could genuinely question
Darwin’s evolutionary theory.
This place is the first of the five
orangutan-occupied islands we find over
the next few days along the Rungan River
area. Each island, which we view from
a distance of 20 metres away to avoid
causing a disturbance, is set aside to
provide an environment for rehabilitated
orangutans – many of whom have been
orphaned, poached or had their forest
homes destroyed by palm oil plantations
– to re-acclimatise with jungle life prior
to being released back into the wild.
With many of the orangutans having
spent a good portion of their lives at the
rehabilitation centre of local NGO the
Borneo Orangutan Survival Foundation,
these islands provide a safe environment
with minimal human contact, where they
can begin to adjust to the prospect of life
on their own.
My time on the river is a mix of intrepid
exploration and holiday do-nothingness.
I kick back with a never-ending pot of potent
Bornean coffee and soak up the unexpected
extra details of river life. There’s the faint
smell of clove cigarettes smoked by the
crew, the big blue ‘give way’ signs located
every few hundred metres (despite the
fact that we rarely see another boat), and
the dark black patches of peat-filled water
that make it look like a river of Coca-Cola.
Every half hour we spot a bird, crocodile or
proboscis monkey – a native in Borneo with
a massive honker-style nose and pot belly.
And, if a creek looks interesting, we hop into
one of the smaller boats and cruise into the
jungle for a closer look.
Four days later, we say our goodbyes
to the crew and head downriver in a
lawnmower-engine-powered alkon, cutting
through a series of canals and flooded
fields for an overnighter in the tiny village
of Tundai. Home to 100 or so Dayaks
– the indigenous people of Kalimantan –
the village is a series of houses on water
connected by boardwalks. Like many
other parts of this country, it is a place
that revolves around and exists because
of the river system.
Time off the boat
in Tundai gives me a valuable different
perspective to the one I’d had over the
previous four days.
As the sun sets and I head out to the
boardwalk’s edge for a bucket shower on
the riverside, I look each way and see a
procession of people doing the same. The
water serves as a fishing spot, shower,
washing machine and backyard. Here the
river is far more than just a highway, it’s
an integral part of people’s lives.
The next day we head east to the port
of Kumai, where we hop aboard Rambo,
the klotok that will be our home for the
long journey to Tanjung Puting National
Park. We chug slowly along until we fall
asleep on the deck, surrounded by a
silent spectacle of hundreds of fireflies.
We arrive the next morning at Camp
Leakey, Kalimantan’s most famous
orangutan sanctuary. It doesn’t take long
to understand why this is. After less than
10 seconds standing on the dock, an
orangutan named Percy swings his way
over to me. We stare at each other with
less than a metre between us.
Tanjung Puting National Park is the
centre for the research and rehabilitation
programs of Orangutan Foundation
International. It’s also home to the
world’s largest population of wild
orangutans, hundreds of which have,
over the course of many years, become
remarkably relaxed around humans.
Each afternoon, rangers set down a pile
of bananas at a station close to the riverbank. Within minutes, the sound of
a snapped twig and the rustling of leaves
announce the first of many orangutans
coming in for an afternoon meal. After
half an hour, more than 20 orangutans
have come and gone. Rain starts falling
heavily and I pull on my jacket. In a
striking reminder of just how similar we
are, Siswi, the female orangutan sitting
a few metres in front of me, looks up at
the raindrops coming down and begins
snapping off leaves from the nearest
bush and placing them on her head to
create her own homemade rain cover.
I smile to myself, before she looks at me,
and with a mouthful of mashed banana,
gives me what I make out to be a half smile,
one that I subsequently spend
many hours wondering whether was given
in happiness, indifference or disdain.
Looking back on the last days of the
trip, there’s no doubt that my hours with
the orangutans have been unforgettable,
but it’s the time spent on Kalimantan’s
rivers that stays with me as a highlight.
We fly east for a journey to the Amandit
River. Here we spend our last hours of the
trip floating leisurely on top of a bamboo
raft, before finishing the afternoon cruising
the canals of the riverside town of Negara. I happily while away the time sitting on top
of a long boat, watching fishermen throw
their nets into the water and herds of water
buffalo being moved awkwardly into their
stables. Then I laugh at the kids darting
between houses in an effort to get me to
take their picture.
I realise how hooked I am on
Kalimantan river life when on the final
morning at Banjarmasin’s floating
markets, moments after sucking down
the last of my mangosteens, I cop a
nasty hit in the shoulder from the pointy
end of a passing canoe. Rubbing my
throbbing shoulder, I look over at the
canoe’s skipper: an elderly woman selling
large piles of jackfruit and pineapple.
She looks at me briefly and giggles,
before pushing off, to continue on to sell
her wares. For the briefest of moments
I think of getting angry – or at least
throwing a grumpy look her way. But with
the taste of sweet mangosteen lingering
in my mouth, I stop and think to myself: Ah well, it’s just another part of river life
that I have come to love.