Flores

When visiting India you must see the Taj Mahal, in Cambodia you go to Ankor Wat, in Brazil you hike to the Christ statue, and in Flores you go to the Volcano Kalumatu – three magical lakes that change color on a whim. Geologists know that changing mineral content in combination with volcanic activity is what makes the colors change, but they cannot predict when. There have been recordings of these huge lakes changing from bright red to seafoam blue in less than an hour. The locals, almost all of whom are Christians, attribute it to magic (we’ll talk about the Christian/Animist beliefs in a bit). But before our exploration we spent a few days resting, cleaning ourselves up, and getting acquainted with the beautiful little port town of Labuan Bajo.

After several heeded warnings or bad roads and sleepy bus drivers, Helen and I decided to make the trip in a succession of days requiring short little ten-hour bus rides. We could have opted for the 24 hour straight trip with the same driver, but we decided to play it safe. The first morning we were up for our 5:45am bus; which didn’t leave until 1pm (gggrrrrrrr). We went to a cafe where we met a nice family. After the husband explained the hopeless corruption/political situation Helen cajoled me into a horse race to entertain the kids. For the next 6 hours we baked in the humidity and I was so bored I took photos of the bus artwork. Now I can torture you with them:

We arrived in Berjaya at 10pm after Mr. Toads wild ride in a rainstorm. I was much more terrified of sliding off a mountain in the bus than I ever was of sinking on the Namiria whilst making the Lombok/Flores crossing. On the way through the mountains, a bus that flew passed us actually did slide off the road. You might be able to make out the accident in the 4th picture on the top row. I had the realization that I was the most qualified EFR person on both buses and all the vehicles that stopped. I was calculating my finger puppet first aid conversations when we pulled over to find that everyone on the wreck was OK. The driver had a serious case of loss of face, but luckily his ego was the only thing bruised. Our driver was undeterred by the previous wreck and proceeded to continue his Louis Hamilton impression straight to Bajawa. When we arrived they had a parade in our honor.

In Bajawa, we rented a motorbike and hit the villages. Bena is a traditional village that is one of Flores' treasures. The people were quite sweet. The megaliths are for the gods to come down and bless the village after it is built. We’ve been traveling for over 4 years now, we’ve seen hundreds of red-mouthed, almost toothless people whose condition is solely due to chewing on betel nut. Bena was full of women with only 2 or 3 bright red teeth and orange lips. When asked why men didn't chew it and they replied that it was just too feminine for a man to do. I actually think the men are afraid of it. Helen befriended a very sweet elderly woman who was weaving. We bought a scarf from her and asked to try some. Her friend showed us how it’s prepared. First you roll a betel nut in a leaf (we couldn’t get the name of it), then a white powder (no, not that!) is sprinkled on the nut and the whole thing is rolled up and popped in your mouth for your chewing pleasure and a mild narcotic high. They handed me some to try as well. All it did for both of us was choke us and make our heads spin. It reminded me of the first time I tried chewing tabacco in junior high, except worse, and the concoction turned my entire mouth phosphorescent orange for about 6 hours. Helen and I had the stuff in our mouth no more than 30 seconds when the ladies had a gut wrenching laugh as we ran around the back of the building to spit everything out. I guess downing a bottle of tequila would be pretty girlie to these people too! The last photo might look like a powerful and/or romantic picture of a man conquering nature, but in actuality I had to crawl out to edge just to get some air. The knot in my esophagus lasted until well into the evening. We had little comfort in the fact that the best hotel in town, the one we were staying in, was almost on par with Chinepas, a hotel experience in Mexico that has for years been our benchmark for filthy hotels the world-over.  Sometimes, especially after sweating profusely from choking on red phlegm for half a day, you just want to bathe. Then you walk into a place like Hotel Corina and you don’t even want to take your shoes off. Oh well, we chose this life, right?