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kunang kunang dance on the Sekonyer River, Kalimantan

Written (in patches between Monday 6th, Tuesday 7th & Wednesday 8th June) about the evening of Monday 6th June

I’ve taken to half hand-writing and half making a quick note as we go, in my sepeda covered notebook, as I perch on my rose-red bean bag at the front of the boat. There’s so much to tell and I’m scared I’ll forget some tiny beautiful detail, like the tropical king fisher that flashed past on the first day, yellow beak chased by red green blue feathers (which I forgot to mention before). All of it deserves to be written down or photographed or preserved.

(Although saying that, as I write these few paragraphs I’m now snatching some time on a Trigana flight back to Surabaya and everything’s gone a bit shakey as we descend through the cloud, so hopefully we will make it so that I can add the last few nuggets… but back to the boat…)

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Our boat (“better than their boat”) is moored next to two clans of monkeys. On the horizon the silhouette of long tailed macaques adorn a perfectly gawky tree, screeching every so often like seagulls or squabbling cats.

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Close to our right a group of nasally well endowed proboscis call with a sound which could be a bark or a snore. A dragonfly helicopters past as our crew prepare to eat after a day of fasting for Ramadan and we’re both grateful for some time to just sit (and not be eating or drinking!) whilst soaking in the surroundings. The odd high zip from a mosquito is the only disturbance above the crews contented chatter. Ripples reach us from a fishing boat which just passed, catching our attention to the blue sky reflections where earlier there was a paint brush wash of red and orange and yellow. The sunsets here are spectacular and you get a double whammy with the richness of cloud colours reflected back at the sky from the water’s smooth top side. It’s hard to describe something so beautiful…so:

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The crew are hungry and finished quickly and we chugchugchug down river searching for fireflies. We spot one or two independent ones making a break for it chased by their phosphorous tails, but it’s not long until we find the magic tree.

In this special gathering places they dance a foxtrot fit for a fairytale around each other. Husni tells us that firefly in Bahasa is ‘kunang kunang’. (there are a few cute double-barrallers in Bahasa, like ‘kera kera’ for turtle (good to know for Sukamade later in our trip), ‘lumba lumba’ for dolphin, ‘buri bura’ for laying down. I later find out from our trusty Lonely Planet that the open river fishing boat with its ripples is called a ‘tok tok’ (“just like the noise it makes”). The fireflies are special though: they have their own song (he sings the first line) and sometimes one is put into a mosquito net at night. Husni:

“They don’t sting. If you follow one you find you best friend or girlfriend”.

Then he sees a shooting star – in Bahasa “Toojung” (not sure how its spelt but that’s how it sounds). We teach him the English back and I bid him to make a wish. Both Emma and I have made our own earlier in the trip. Incidentally Bintang (as in the beer we’ve been enjoying, but can’t drink here because alcohol is outlawed) means star – which explains the red spiked logo (makes sense when you know!).

They’ve worked out our (not so) greed(y) level now and provide the perfect amount of food with chicken and nasi goreng for dinner. Alongside the most deliciously salty chips we might ever eat (they must douse the water with salt as there’s not a grain to be seen on them..although it looks like they are herbs which turn out to be mini-mosquitoes. Whoops. They were quite tasty really (can you get malaria from actually eating a mosquito?). For desert we’re treated to the snake skin fruit which Husni told us about on one of our walks to an orangutan feeding station, when we passed it’s mother tree. These are the shape of a tear and have avocado (but scaly, like a snake) skin. You peel this off from the top down revealing the fruit’s milky surface and three smaller tear shaped segments. Peel off the thin inner skin with your thumb like you would that that glue you used to get at art class at school. Bite into a segment and it’s got the crunch of a soft carrot, an aromatic taste a bit like lychee without the juice and a sweetness that’s not quite like melon.

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I’ve never had anything like it and I quite like it. So I eat three = nine segments. Waste not want not. Quite pleased to be able to apply this logic which is usual to my eating habits for the first time since we boarded ‘Let It Go’.

Comfortably fed and happy (if a little disappointed not to be spending this final night back on the boat) we head back to Rimba Lodge.

At 8 o’clock we join a small group to watch ‘From Orphan to King’ about Kusasi. He was an orphan that was taken from his home with his mother when he was one and a half, and was brought to Camp Leakey when he was three after his mother had died. He escaped as soon as he arrived and was swallowed up by the jungle, presumed dead. However he re-emerged into the camp age 5 or 6 – a miracle prodigal son – badgered the dominant female into being his surrogate mum and rose to be a handsome chap with envious cheek-pads and no problem woo’ing all the ladies. Since the film was made he has been folded into the jungle and no-one is entirely sure what happened to Kusawi and his magnificent unblinking eyes but previous to that he ruled Camp Leakey and a vast circumference around it.

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How wonderful to watch him on film: Julia Roberts getting a bit close and he reaffirming that celebrity has nothing on orangutan (he clamped her neck and she was obviously lucky to escape in tact); his affectionate interaction with the female apes (footage shows them almost kissing and nibbling him as they delightedly somersault into bed (jungle version) with him). My favourite though, is the sound of the deep commanding ripple which emanates from the bottom of his lungs, reverberates around his heavyweight throat sack and circles out across the jungle, declaring his rule. Tom is now the boss and by all accounts a less affable ruler. We don’t get to see him sadly, but he must be seriously impressive to scare the bulky shouldered males we do have the privilege to spy on, just through the sound of his approach.

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I’m quite glad we don’t have access to beer here because bits of the film prick my eyes and my sentiment (and it’s embarrassing to cry in front of people you don’t know).

Whenever I have stopped to think about the vulnerability of this place, a well rises up and threatens to spill out of me. Awe at the beauty is muddled in with disbelief, maybe even sorrow, at the thought that soon it may be gone. I’m resolving to boycott products containing palm oil. I hope it’s possible (research will be done when I return home). It’s incredulous that countries think they have a right to come to this country that isn’t their own, plunder it’s treasures and simultaneously destroy everything wonderful that was born here. That is exactly what is going on when you get down to the facts of it. We have no right. The world should stop putting it’s fingers in its ears and listen up. Indonesia (and it’s government who are definitely partly responsible too) should do something about it. The English and Dutch and all those other countries who are involved should do something about it. You and I should do something about it. Maybe just small, slightly inconvenient changes, to affect something massive. If deforestation for palm oil continues, the entire global ecosystem may just topple over. It’s not something you should carelessly disregard like it doesn’t affect you.

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OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA – tankers (pirate ships ?) from all kinds of countries on the Kumai River…

We dawdle back to the room. Earlier when we dropped our bags off Emma nearly jumped out of her skin when a monkey leapt onto the roof. And a second time when she went to the loo only to be welcomed by a rather large lizard..which we think may also have been the prime suspect for depositing a ‘welcome present’ on her pillow. A mutual love-hate relationship..! Our new lodgings feel kind of damp compared to the fresh air drafting from one side of the boat to the other, but this is to be expected, by virtue of Rimba Lodge being balanced on stilts over a swamp. It’s more than a little tired. On the plus side, it has long mosquito nets around the bed and an air conditioning unit which wisps right to the bed’s edges. We safeguard against curious lizards and tarantulas, pulling off the bed’s yellow top throw and using it to line the back of the head-stead, before closing our eyes and hoping for the best…

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