Banda Aceh

"On December 26, 2004, an earthquake struck 150 km off the coast of Aceh. It was the most powerful the world has seen in a generation. Forty-five minutes later the tsunami wave hit Aceh and within minutes it swept clean an 800 km coastal strip of Aceh -- equivalent to the coastline from San Francisco to San Diego. Some 130,000 people were killed and 37,000 remain missing."

*Double click on photos to enlarge, click on "back" to return to main page.

Situated closer to Sri Lanka, India, and Miramar than the Indonesian capital of Jakarta, Banda Aceh points like a finger towards the Bay of Bengal. Centuries of influence from south Asia and the Middle East has resulted in a unique culture and a strict Muslim Society.
GAM (Free Aceh Movement) has battled the Indonesian government for over 3 decades in a guerilla war. Established in 1976, GAM's main goal was the creation of an Autonomous Muslim state. Guerilla warfare, atrocities committed by the Indonesian Military, a complete press blackout, and a foreign travel ban continued up until the great tsunami of December 2004. After the almost complete destruction of the Aceh coast and the massive loss of life, political differences and skirmishes must have seemed trivial. An accord was signed giving Aceh designation as a semi- autonomous region and peace for now. Earlier this year, the Indonesian government granted Banda Aceh the right to impose Sahria Law, which is a strict interpretation of the Koran. Social laws are enforced by the "morality police", and public floggings occur for offences such as drinking alcohol or young men and women associating in public.

To Go or Not to Go

Our decision to go to Banda Aceh was something that we considered very carefully. What did we have to fear? Strict Muslim law, possible anti-western sentiment, being hungry during Ramadan, GAM Rebels, and the post tsunami situation were all on that list. And for the surf; would wind conditions be favorable? (we had conflicting reports). When we asked our friend Shane what he thought he replied, "The people in Aceh were desperate before the tsunami, just think how desperate they are now. They’re going to see two bules (westerners) carrying heaps of luggage with dollar signs on their foreheads. Go to Aceh and you'll wake up dead mate!"
Not very encouraging, but Shane had never been to Aceh, it was his fear doing the talking.
The other argument went something like this; "do you really want to go to the aftermath of a natural disaster? Do you think the people are really going to want to see you there?"
Well, first of all, it had been almost 2 years since the Tsunami and basic infrastructure had been built, the dead had been buried. And while no, I didn't want to see pain and suffering, I felt it was an important and unique opportunity to experience first hand. One must not insulate himself from the cruel realities of our world. Secondly, in my opinion, they did want to see us. They desperately needed our tourist dollars, and the return of tourists brings hope of a return to normalcy.
And of course for us, was the question of surf. A huge swell was on its way and we couldn't afford to miss it. If we went to Bali, we were guaranteed waves but also crowds. We could head to West Java, but it was a long haul and the winds were rumored to be poor. Banda Aceh on the other hand was only an hour flight from Medan costing a measly $30. If the winds were right, we were guaranteed to score perfect waves to ourselves. Besides, the main wave zone was only 30minutes from the airport. If it turned out to be hell on earth, we could be on the next flight out of there.
Than night in our hotel in Medan I was beyond spent and full of stress. Since we left Kalapa Island it had been at least 4 days of brutal Sumatran travel (2 days on Tiduk Island, an all day boat ride to Nias, half a day bemo ride to Gunung Sitoli, overnight ferry to Sibolga, all day overland drive to Medan). I tossed and turned all night debating our mission to Aceh. Shane's words kept repeating over and over in my head; "You'll wake up dead mate!!"

You Don't Know Until You Go
The one hour flight from Medan to Banda Aceh took us over north along a vast mountain range covered in what appeared to be virgin tropical forest. It reminded me of how wild a place Sumatra is, and made me happy to know that such places still exist. We landed in the tiny airport without a problem sorted out a bemo ride to Lok Gna. Our bemo driver was a kind man who spoke good English. He asked us what NGO we were with, and when we explained that we were surfers and not relief workers he seemed surprised but smiled. We asked him about Ramadan, and he explained how it worked, and then offered to stop at the market so we could buy some fruit. It was ok to eat inside the car he explained, and he wasn't bothered that we were eating in front of him. As we bipassed the urban area of Banda Aceh, he pointed out how far the Tsunami waters had reached. We were shocked to learn it reached a good 8 miles inland. Soon we approached the western side of the peninsula and a torrential downpour began. We pulled up to a stormy ocean and Tsunami destruction zone. The new structures looked as if they were built on top of city destroyed by an atomic bomb. Our hearts dropped with the rain and the onshore winds. Perhaps it was a mistake to come to this god forsaken place. We pulled up to a small caddie shack that stood where the old golf course once was. The owner had a picture of himself on the wall with President Clinton, a post tsunami relief visit. The man saw the disappointment on our faces and took it for fear. He assured us that everything was ok here and that we were safe.
We arrived at Mami Diana's and were met by Mami and her youngest daughter Nina. Mami has been hosting surfers for over 20 years. That night the family invited us into their house for a traditional Acehnese meal after the break of Ramadan. That night the Tsunami stories began to unfold.

Tsunami Stories
Written by Adam Towle

MAMI DIANA

Mami Diana, appears to be that. A cute, aged, slightkly round mami with big eyes and lighter Acehnese features. 20 years of catering to surfers has given her a good command of English. It was a beautiful morning, and mami went to Banda Aceh early to do a bunch of shopping for the upcoming week. While at the market, the earthquake hit. Mami’s been through them before but this was bad. She could barely walk out of the market! Fortunately the building didn’t collapse, nor did the people panic. It lasted 3 to 4 minutes which seemed very long. After it was over she was very worried about her family and hired a taxi to immediately take her back to Lhoknga. Traffic was bad and it took about 20 minutes to reach the rise overlooking the flat coastal plain and Lhoknga. The taxi stopped. Something was wrong. Mami said that it looked like a dragon or giant snake was knocking down houses, and the 300 foot radio tower crumpled and twisted like a toy. She couldn’t understand. Then some panicked people drove by, fleeing for the hills. What she had seen was the first 2 waves. The 3rd was on its way. The taxi drove for the high ground just as the wave washed 6km inland and met the other wave from Banda Aceh in the middle. Mami watched Lhoknga get engulfed by what looked like 200 feet of water. She collapsed she said, worried for her family, and helpless to the situation. She would not be reunited with her daughters for 3 days. She says those three days were horror, and she can’t remember much except, a feeling of helplessness and despair.

NONI

Noni is the 23 year old daughter. She’s very cute with a big smile, dark, electric eyes, a nervous laugh, and a sort of goofy manner. She spoke with animation, and seemed to cover her great sorrow with laughter and jokes about what happened. Noni woke up at 3 am because her cat Taft was biting her toes. This was strange she said. So she got a fish out of the fridge. But Taft wasn’t hungry; the big tabby just stared at her and meowed. Noni decided to fry it for her, but Taft still wasn’t hungry. She thought this was strange, but went back to bed. That was the last time she Taft again. She woke up at 8am to the earthquake shaking the house "like a lid on a pot of boiling water" and ran outside. She could barely stand up, but it soon subsided. She went back inside to start picking up the mess of everything knocked down. It was then that she heard three consecutive booms that sounded like bombs going off. She had heard bombs before from the war, and was wondering what the rebels were bombing this time. She went outside to investigate. When she looked towards the ocean she saw what looked like "a snow covered island" out at sea. It was glistening and sparkling and she couldn’t figure out what it was. Then she heard a roar like a jet airplane and realized it was a wave coming towards them. She screamed for her neighbor and ran inside to get the box that had Mami’s jewelry. She then got on her moped and told her neighbor to hurry up. Her neighbor said wait I need to lock the house! Noni laughed. "You know, she lost her whole house, but still had the key!"

Take a close look at the Causarina trees in the

foreground. The tsunami went over the top.

The cement factory in the background is

where Mami's son was working when he

lost his life.

She said the wave was taller than the trees on the beach, which to me appeared to be about 80 feet high. She said she drove as fast as she could to the hills and ran for her life. She spent the next three days looking for her family in the mud, flotsam and bodies in Lhoknga. At some point she cut her leg. A few weeks later, she developed tetanus, and then lock jaw. She laughed and imitated herself trying to talk with clenched teeth. "You know Doctor Mitchell from California?" she asked innocently. I replied that I did not.well Indonesian doctor no help me, they too busy saving people worse off, but this nice American doctor, give me shots, and tell me I be okay. He come see me every day and after a few days I could open my mouth and laugh again! Nina Nina sat nursing her 3 month old baby Latifah. She’s a beautiful girl with a rounder face and Malay eyes. Her tone was serious, her eyes probing deep into mine to make sure I understood her story. Nina was awake when the earthquake hit, and decided to go check and see if her friends who lived by the beach were okay. She got on her brothers bike (a sort of cheap hybrid mountain bike) and pedaled down to the beach. Before she got far she heard 3 booms and looked towards the ocean. "It looked so tall that I though it might be clouds touching the ocean, but I could see the bubbles and foam glistening in the sun. Then I heard the roar like a thousand helicopters" Nina said she had seen a movie once (end of days?) with a tsunami in it. She says this saved her life because she knew right away what it was, and quickly turned and pedaled like mad for the hills. When she passed her house, she saw her sisters were already gone and kept going, screaming the whole way. Her neighbor, an older man came to the door in his pajamas and asked sleepily "what is it" not stopping to explain, she yelled TSUNAMI IS COMING! The last words she heard him speak were "who is tsunami?" before she got far she saw her sister Nona getting into the Australian expat named David’s car. She ditched the bike and got in. The bike survived by the way, and they showed me a photograph of Noni, with her goofy smile and head scarf on sitting on the huffy that outran the tsunami.

NONA

Nona looks distinctly Arabic, very pretty, tall, and quiet. She never said a word about the tsunami, and often left the room while the girls talked.

YOYO

Yoyo is Nina’s husband. He’s 26 years old, and Javanese. He’s skinny, and looks younger than his age, but carries himself in an old wizened manner. He seemed to be overly polite to us while explaining his story. He works for the Red Cross and came to Lhoknga to help after the tsunami. He showed up 5 days after, and said he had no idea how bad it was. They told us hundreds of people were dead, so we didn’t expect to find thousands he said. Yoyo spent 30 days, working everyday, picking up bodies to be placed in a mass grave by bulldozers in Banda Aceh. He said he and his co worker picked up 2-3 HUNDRED bodies a day, in the tropical heat for the entire month (do the math). I couldn’t believe I was looking at a sane man. He said the biggest problem were dogs eating the bodies, the tropical rot (bodies came apart when they picked them up) heavily bloated corpses are hard to lift, and because of the stench and constant vomiting, he couldn’t eat much. I didn’t really know what to say when he told us this. "You know the problem now?" he said. When I look at people, I can’t help but picture what they look like dead...”

Bathroom tiles are all that remain of a

house destroyed.

JUDE

Jude (pronounced Judy) is a surfer. I knew this not just because he was repairing a surfboard in the yard behind Mami Diana’s. But because of his slow, deliberate purposeful manner. He was shirtless (strange for Muslims) and although skinny, quite strong.
Jude got up early that day and went and checked the surf. It was a beautiful day, the wind was offshore, but the waves were almost flat. He saw one local kid in the water, waving for him to join him, but like any jaded surfer who surfs epic waves most of his life, he decided to go back to bed and wait for the tide to switch. That was the last time he saw his friend. The earthquake woke him and sent him running outside. He went back in to clean up, when he heard the three booms that sounded like bombs coming from the beach. He went back outside where he saw a giant wall of whitewater way offshore. Did you know what it was? I asked. The way the foam was bouncing and the way it rumbled, I knew it was a wave he said. How big was it? I queried. Jude sanded his repair and seemed to ponder the question (surfers are notoriously conservative in wave height estimates) I don’t know, maybe eighty feet he said looking me in the eye. Jude said he grabbed his motor bike and got his father to jump on as the wave neared shore. He jammed on the gas and bolted for the hills. What did you see when you looked back? I asked. "Look back?" he answered with scorn in his eyes. “I never looked back man! I didn’t want to panic! Everyone in their cars were panicking and running into each other! I didn’t want to panic. I just looked for a clear line for the motorcycle and drove as fat as I could!" of course he did, I thought. Jude is a surfer. He didn’t panic, but while everything was a maelstrom around him, he picked a line, and went for it. He survived. Do you ever worry about a tsunami coming when you are out surfing? I asked. Jude smiled and seemed to laugh inwardly while reflecting on the question. "Man, if a tsunami comes while I am surfing, I have nothing to worry about."

DAVID

David the Australian seemed skeptical of us at first and greeted us coolly. He had lived in Lhoknga for 16 years and was married to an Acehnese woman. He had 2 young boys playing on the beach with him. In his early 40s, David seemed, healthy, but had a bitter looking stare. We asked him if he was here for the tsunami, and he related his version. David had just finished reading the book Krakatoa (the Javanese volcano which blew up in 1890 and created a 120 foot tsunami, and was heard in Great Britain). The earthquake was so strong that morning that he and his family had to lay down under the mango tree outside his house. He though for sure they were at the epicenter so he didn’t think of the tsunami. After hearing the 3 booms that followed, he was more concerned about a volcanic eruption. (1 big active volcanoe is near Banda Aceh). So he loaded up his car and prepared to evacuate. Then the first precursor wave came up the river by his house and he realized what was happening. In a panic they took off, picking up Nona and Nina and some others for a total of 9 people in his car! At one point someone blocked his way and he didn’t think they would make it. He only looked in his rear view mirror once. He said the wave was 18 meters (60 feet!) and the last thing he saw behind them was a giant yellow foam ball with running "stick figures" being swallowed up. David and his family spent 2 months in a refugee camp with, no water, no bathrooms, and only the clothes on their backs. He said he offered interviews to CNN for a hundred bucks, to try and make some money to go back to Australia, but they refused(Bastards). Finally he made it out. His house is rebuilt now.

"Please respect Islamic Law"

We read about a young couple

who were caught drinking alcohol

together on the beach.

Both were publicly flogged.

After David told us his story he suggested that we go out for surf before the wind turned fowl. We were a little early for the season, but the winds would sometimes switch offshore after a storm and that was the case this morning. We ran back and grabbed our boards, and although it was cloudy, we wore our rashguards in accordance with Sharia Islamic law. We had to paddle across the river, and as we waded in the shallows I imagined dead bodies coming to the surface or floating by (which was entirely possible with all the people still unaccounted for). We were on it, and although it was a little doubled up and not exactly clean, it was doing a good impersonation of Kirra, just like they say. It was such a trip surfing and thinking about the tsunami, looking back towards the land and its destruction, imagining a giant wave approaching. The wave was sucking out along a shallow reef/point like set up with a sandy beach on the inside. I got a super sucker throater that just got hollower as I went down the line. After 30 minutes the winds switched onshore and it was over, our one and only session there.

Car crushed like a tin can.
Heading Deeper Again
The next day we decided to try our luck on the southern coast and rented a utility vehicle from a young man who sometimes worked for Mami. We threw our boardbags in the back, and foolishly failed to give the truck a thorough look over.
Our goal was to make it to the next major town which was a good 60 miles to the south. As we passed the cement factory we got our first look at this magnificent coastline. As we dropped down into the coastal plane the road turned from paved to a bumpy dirt track, plenty of holes and makeshift speed bumps. We passed village after destroyed village, heaps of temporary houses already built and reconstruction going on everywhere.

We started to head into the mountains and the road returned to tarmac, the elevation left this stretch of road untouched from the tsunami. Triple canopy rainforest appearing to have never been logged extended as far as the eye could see.
The car began to make a weird noise when we turned, so we decided to pull over and check it out. "Shit!" The engine was overheating; steam and water were shooting out of a hole in the reservoir.

Angry monkey

Boiling over, I used my sarong to take off the cap and we poured in our drinking water. A troupe of agro monkeys was in the forest above us, heckling us for cramping their style. The engine temp dropped back to normal and we were off again into the coastal mountains.

One of many offshore options.

On a stretch high above the coast, as in Big Sur, we spotted a pair of islands right off the coast. The south island had a crazy looking left, and the north island also had a wave of its own. We dropped back down to the coastal plain and a stretch of the road that ran between tall cliffs and the beach. The road was affected by the high tide and was flooded to a depth of about 3 feet. As we crossed the section I kept it in second gear as water began entering the car through the floorboards and door jams. Right as we were about to make it back to dry road we stalled out. I got out and looked down

the beach where I saw a stretch of coconut palms sticking out of the sand like toothpicks, their tops ripped off by the tsunami. We were able to get the truck started and we climbed back into the mountains.

Sticks in the sand, all that's left.

Eventually we reached our destination of Lamno, which was a much bigger town than we had anticipated. This town had been devastated by the tsunami; most of the structures that we saw were recently donated and built by one of several NGOs working in the area. Being surfers, we went straight to the river mouth to check the surf. Reaching the end of the road where the bridge had been destroyed, we found the surf spot to be an uninviting dirty river mouth. It was late in the afternoon so we decided to go and look for accommodation.
We came to find out that the only place to stay was located somewhere near the market, and after driving through the narrow market street, squeezing between venders (three times), we found it. Adam went inside and came out with a frown. Adam reported that the place looked dodgy, he got a bad vibe and there was no room available for two hours. It was the only place to stay and we debated heading back. We drove all around town looking for other options, but eventually returned to the hotel which had a "room" available.

The place and our room was repulsive. I've stayed in some real hellholes all around the world and this place takes the cake (more on that later). It was time to surf, so we threw our stuff in our dankey cubicle and got our boards out. There was a painting of the local coastline on the wall of the place and a man who worked there pointed out a supposed surf spot and suggested we go there.

It was getting late and our directions were sketchy at best, but we decided to give it a go. After 15 km to the south we pulled off the main road onto a dirt track bordered by flooded canals. We crosed two super dodgy makeshift bridges, and then some locals directed us to continue left. The road deteriorated, turning fowl and muddy but we pressed on....it turned downright sketchy and I barged 4wd style, wheels spinning in the mud but keeping our momentum......BOOM! We hit a deep pothole, bounce 2 feet up....almost slow to a stop....regain traction and speed.....BOOM!! We high-center and finally reach a solid stretch. We park and check our vista of the beach; big swell with beach break closeouts. It was time to retreat and getting the truck turned around took a 12 point turn, literally.
We charge back through the mud section with better skills this time and soon reach the tarmac again. I'm keen to surf (I have nightmares about this, trying to surf before dark and everything is trying to prevent it) so I race back to town like Gunter the road warrior. When we reach town it is sore (sunset) and everyone and their brother's cousin is on their motor scooter, heading to the beach for the sunset. I drove like a mad Indo (but skilled one) utilizing my horn and passing people left and right. By the time we reach the river mouth, I'm delirious from the days driving and stress. The waves are shit and EVERYONE is staring at us like we are circus freaks.

We jump back in the truck and turn down another dirt road in search of a supposed surf spot. The road ends and we get out and climb to the top of a hill. I'll never forget standing on that hill with Adam, looking at large sets breaking in the horizon, knowing that somewhere on the coast were incredible waves going unridden, yet out of our reach.
But this time we had gone too far, tried too hard to get off the beaten track, and we had hoaxed ourselves. The roads were practically nonexistent, our truck was about to break down on us, and most importantly we were trying to surf in ground zero of the worlds greatest natural disaster for god's sake!

End of the Road

We didn't even need to talk about it, we both new what the other guy was thinking: it was time to cut our losses and retreat. Adam suggested that we drive back to Lhokgna right there and then, but I convinced him it was a bad idea (I had the habit of always pointing out the worst case scenario, shit that might hit the fan. This earned me the title of "Doomsday"). This stretch of coast was a semi-lawless wild west. Driving at night with a crippled car on half flooded, tsunami ravaged road was a sure way to "wake up dead".

Surviving the Night

Back at the losemen I headed to the Mandi for a shower. I noticed an employee was pumping water out of a gutter and in to a bucket to wash his clothes with. It struck me as odd, but I figured there was a shortage of fresh water. In the Mandi (water basin used for bucket shower) I swore that the water smelled a little fowl, but I figured the smell was coming from the toilet next door. The water looked clean enough so I went ahead and bathed.
After bathing we headed out to eat. Being that it was Ramadan, many people celebrate the break of the daily fast by going out to eat. We headed to a popular looking spot but basically were ignored. So we left and headed to a dive back in the market are that happened to still be open. The brought us cold rice, veggies and the dodgiest bowl of flesh I ever did see. We couldn't tell what kind of "meat" it was, maybe cow tongue or tripe, but it looked god awful. Needless to say we stuck to the rice and veggies and returned to the losemen.

Before sleeping I went to use the toilet and saw something that tops it all. A man was pumping gutter water into the water basin of the mandi. Not suburban California gutter water with a little lawn fertilizer or oil residue from the street. Imagine a 3rd world market where blood and fish guts drip down from the meat section, where drunken men and half naked children relieve themselves in the back alley, then it rains and it all washes into the gutter. This, my friends, is what I had bathed in.

"Adam, I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I figure you need to suffer along with me."
After explaining what I saw, Adam replied, "He's probably pumping water from the mandi into the gutter."
"No, go check it out."
Adam returned with a look of disgust.
That night was probably the worst sleep of my life. The ceiling fan sounded like a chopper, the guys in the room next door (our "room" was separated from the others by a partition that didn't reach the ceiling) smoked, talked, and played video games all night. The mosque across the street blared prayers over the loudspeaker all night, and we marinated in gutter water.
At sunrise we awoke and were on the road in 5 minutes flat. Our goal was to be on a flight out of Aceh that afternoon. On the ride back the truck continued to sputter as if it was running out of gas. And it ended up overheating twice. There were so many photos that I wanted to capture, such as the crippled mosque that had somehow survived, as if by the will of Allah. But we couldn't risk stopping. We had to get the truck back before it broke down and the owner swindled us into paying for the repairs (we came to the conclusion that this was his plan, there was no way that he didn't know about the leak in the radiator).
Luckily we made it back to Mami Diana's and asked Nonnie to take us to the airport. We bought a ticket straight to Bali. After 5 weeks of brutal travel through Sumatra, we were ready for good food, whiskey, and the right to associate with women in public. Not to mention the legendary surf!

Pulau Pulau Tiduk

The Nias Channel Crossing

The Island of Nias got smaller and smaller until it finally sank beneath the waves in the horizon. The seas were rough and the clouds threatened a down pour but soon cleared and the sun shone down on us as we lay accross the front deck.




We dozed off and awoke to the smell of Mahi Mahi and our bellies began to rumble. We asked the boats cook for some hot water and selected two feral meals (freeze-dried backpacker food), beef patties with mash potatoes being the prime choice. The smokey beef patties were a little taste of heaven, a reminder of the comforts of home.



















After roughly 5 hours at sea, the sun began to fade and we got our first glance of the Tiduk Archipelago far in the horizon. Garbage began to appear in the water and we knew that we were close to Indonesian civilization.


A pod of dolphins appeared and playfully swam in the wake of our boat. As we approached the first island with the last trace of light, we could make out a small but nice left breaking off a forest covered point, locals fishing the inner lagoon in their small canoes.











We pulled into Tiduk Island, the administrative island of the archipelago, under a sheet of darkness. In the Tiduk town harbor we docked against another fishing vessel and carried our luggage over three boats before we reached solid ground. Lucky for us, our hotel was right there; we threw our stuff in the room and headed out to get some food.


One of the only 3 cars on Tiduk Island.

Tiduk Town was like a paradise compared to Teluk Delam in Nias. The people were much friendlier than those in Nias, maybe due to the fact travelers are still something of a novelty. The streets were neat and tidy, and we devoured our best meal in weeks at a super nice family run Padang restaurant.





The next day we woke up early to make our way to a small Island to the south where we would spend our next 3 weeks. Kalapa was an island about the size of Alcatraz Island, having a small one lane road circling its coastline. Since the whole island had maybe 3 automobiles, most people got around by Becak (Peddle powered tricycles) or motoscooters. We negotiated 2 becaks to take us to the southern end of the island with all our gear.











On the ride south we passed village after small village and at least 100 "hello misters" along the way. The people of this archipelago are ethnic Niasians, and each village had its traditional stone gateway and village courtyard. Soon the villages ended as we continued on through tropical forest, finally reaching a small primary school at the southern end of the Island.













Our luck must have been on because we arrived right in time for recess. A hundred children in the Indonesian red and white school uniform ran over screaming "tourist!" and the infamous "hello mister!”. One of the teachers spoke English and I explained that I was a teacher back home. He translated this to the female teachers in the office who gave me smiles and nods of approval.




We negotiated a small canoe to take us across the small channel separating Tiduk and Kalapa Island, about 400 yards across. The canoe was VERY small and shallow, yet both of the Indonesian men insisted on coming with. With 4 men, 2 full size surfboard bags, backpacks, and thousands of dollars in camera gear, the top of the canoe rose only an inch above the water. I tried to explain that one of them should get out, but it was no use; we were already a quarter of the way there. Luckily there was no swell in the channel, but the wind chop was starting to fill the boat with water.


You can paddle across the channel
in about 10 minutes.

I was freaking, but the two Indo men were not at all concerned. I quickly pulled out my trusty leathermen to make a bailer out of a water bottle. We continued to bail out water until we reached the other side.




When we reached Kalapa Island we found three simple houses on the beach on the north end. We walked straight up to the first house and asked the man of the house, Johanas, if he knew of any families on the island that we could stay with. He told us that he would rent us a room in his house for the equivalent of $3 per person. We began to haggle the price but the price was final and Johanas was going to have none of it. We agreed, and the women of the house began to clean out the room.
The first thing we did was grab our boards and search for the wave we had read about. After 10 minutes of walking on a small trail that runs along the beach and circles the island we reached the main village. Out in front of the church appeared to be the setup. There was no one out but we decided to give it a go. After about 10 minutes of surfing by ourselves, a boat pulled up out of nowhere and four surfers joined us. We came to find out that they were from the new surf camp somewhere in the vicinity.


We returned to the house to settle in and meet the family. The house was a simple structure with cement floors, wooden shutters, and a tin roof. To the rear of the house was a garage like attachment that resembled a dark cave. On one side was a cooking area and on the other was a washing area with a well and a bucket and rope tied to it.



As the sun began to set we put on long pants and shirts, applied mosquito repellant, and lit several mosquito coils on the front porch and in our room. Malaria and dengue Fever are a serious threat on Sumatra’s outer islands and we weren’t taking any chances.
One of the daughters began to light kerosene lanterns, confirming that electricity did not exist on the island. I greeted the oldest daughter and she returned a dirty scowl. I was taken aback by her rudeness, but I soon realized that the 2 sisters had to give up their rooms for us and they were quite bitter about it.












Surf Check

That night we asked the family if we could pay for them to cook for us. They had no food except for rice, so we asked for some boiling water and we ate a feral meal. After we ate we headed strait for the safety of our mozzie nets. Reading with my headlamp I could see about 10 mosquitoes trying to penetrate the net. Without a fan or a sea breeze, it was so hot and humid that our room was a virtual sauna. After a restless night we awoke to the smell of smoke, they crying of babies, and hacking coughs.
There were so many mosquitoes in our room that it was necessary to get dressed under the mosquito net, and get out of the room to the front porch ASAP. After a quick cup of coffee, we would grab our boards and run to the mosquito free zone of the ocean. Breakfast was better attempted after the peak mosquito time at dawn.

On our second day we decided to hike around the island. As we passed the village storm clouds moved in and a tropical downpour soaked us. About half way around the island we stumbled upon civilization; it was the surf camp. In front of the surf camp was a quality right hand reef that broke on north winds. There we met the two owners, Max and Shane, who invited us in for coffee and Oreo cookies. Inside was a large screen TV with a satellite feed, cold beer, ping pong table, you name it. It was quite odd sitting on a couch watching MTV, such a contrast to our village existence. Max and Shane had just completed the construction of the camp 2 weeks prior, and they had a small group of young pro surfers from Australia there to shoot photos and promote the new camp in the surf mags. Max and Shane were top blokes and we can't thank them enough for their hospitality. Hanging out drinking cold beers with the boys was our reprieve from daily life in the village.

The Surf

As far as the surf went, we couldn't have asked for a better set up. If the wind was southerly, we would surf the left. If the wind was northerly we would walk around the island and surf the right. There were several spots on the surrounding islands that worked in north winds, and when conditions came together we hired Mias to take us there in his small motorized canoe. But unfortunately equatorial Sumatra was having a bad season with the winds. Normally this region is not affected by the normal south easterly trade wind that affects the rest of Indonesia. The winds are normally variable to slack, with the north wind being more predominate.
But this year was something different altogether with an almost constant southerly flow. Some blamed it on El Nino. Others claimed that the forest fires in Southern Sumatra (uncontrolled burning by farmers and tree plantations) were changing the weather patterns. It was probably a combination of the two, but in the end the winds restricted us to surfing the left almost exclusively. Most days we would have it to ourselves. Other days we awoke to 2 or 3 charter boats anchored in the channel with up to 10 surfers in the water. The south winds were blowing in the Mentawaii Archipelago and this was forcing many of the charter boats to search for waves that could handle the south winds.


Family Living

Sometimes we would hike over to Max and Shane's retreat to hang out in style; cold beers, cable TV, and a cool breeze (such a lifesaver). But most nights would be spent at rumah di Johanas. After dinner we would play a game of domino with Johanas and his son Mias. Sometimes the came would be accompanied by a bottle of Kamput, sweet liquor made from papaya.


Each night, after Adam and I entered the safety of our mozie nets, the family would join together in the front room for the nightly ritual of prayers and songs. We would then try our best to sleep through the heat, often waking up to sheets soaked with sweat. And each sunrise we awoke to hacking coughs, babies crying, and a house filled with smoke. A quick cup of instant coffee while we dodged mosquitoes, and off to the surf we would go.











The Feral Chef
I've always considered myself a good cook. Not that I have any recipes written down, I’ve just always had a talent for taking whatever ingredients are available and throwing something together that is tasty and healthy. I believe I learned my techniques through years of camping and cooking on a Coleman stove or on the camp fire. Those camp cooking skills came into play for my biggest culinary challenge to date: Feral Cooking.

We started buying fish and squid and the women folk would cook it for us. The problem was that the women would deep fry everything and cook it to a crisp. It was time for me to take maters in my own hands. We started making trips to Tiduk town which was a 45 minute boat ride. We stocked up on food, warm beer, and a strange papaya liquor called Kamput.
One day I asked the women if I could cook and they reluctantly agreed. Cooking was obviously the realm of women and it seemed as though I was crossing gender lines.
But they stepped aside and let me do my thing. The kitchen was about 6 feet tall with a thatched roof that would allow the smoke to escape (sort of). The cooking area was a cement slab where 3 rocks were set up for the wok to rest on. Using Kerosene, the girls would ignite a small pile of kindling under the wok. After that it was up to me to control the heat by adjusting the amount of wood underneath. The entire kitchen would fill with smoke, so I would sit down or squat to avoid chocking to death. Adam's was assistant feral chef. His job was to pass over the ingredients or utensils (ants would get to the food almost immediately if left on the floor) and swat malarial mosquitoes that would land on my back.
The women would watch us with curiosity and smiles. It seemed as though we had won their respect and the two sisters would now smile at us and treat us nicely. When we sat on the front porch and prepared our ingredients, the men would watch us with the same curiosity and also amazement at the strange western food we would often prepare. The climax came when Max gave us 6 loaves of bread, 2 blocks of cheddar cheese, and 4 sticks of real French butter (He was shutting down his surf camp for the year). It might sound funny, but the French toast and grilled cheese sandwiches that we created greatly contributed to our survival and sanity on Kalapa Island.



Skull Island
One day we decided to explore two islets located of the south eastern tip of the island. We crossed the waist deep, 10 yard channel, at low tide and reached the small coral island covered in dense vegetation. We tromped around looking for bones when Adam screamed, "holy shit!!" A giant lizard sprang from the bushes, darting away from Adam and heading straight for me. My first thought was, "Oh my god it's a Komodo dragon!"
And I practically dove to get out of its way. Within seconds it was

gone. We realized that it was a monitor lizard, which are known to climb up people like a tree, clawing them viciously in the process. Lucky for me I got out of its way.





After a good search we found piles of bones and several partial skulls. If you looked closely you could see bone fragments practically everywhere. I found a jaw bone with 3 perfect molars still intact and the skull to go along with it. After taking a few photos I was careful to replace the remains exactly as I had found them.



According to the islanders, Japanese soldiers used the islet as a mass burial site during World War II. It sounded reasonable, but I wasn't so sure the Japanese had made it to this part of Indonesia. Another possibility was that it was a burial site for a Niasian Noble. In the Niasian culture, craniums were the most valuable things a village could have. When a noble man died, his body was laid out on a bed of craniums. Slaves would guard the dead noble man and the skulls to protect them from neighboring villages. Warring villages would often send warriors to capture craniums
and hunt for heads.
The Cave
One day when the waves were small we decided to paddle across the channel to the south western corner of Tiduk Island. After reaching the beach we hiked up into the forest where we found the mouth of a cave. Sitting at the mouth of the cave was a small coffin. The coffin was large enough to fit a small child, the wood was very old and the lid was long gone. Looking inside we saw the remains of a small child.


All that was left was the bones of a partial skeleton and the top half of the cranium. Due to the extremely wet environment of the cave, the bones had a green color, the same as the rocks around the coffin. Needless to say it was pretty creepy, we made our way back to the beach and quickly paddled back across the channel.




The Departure

During our last week the southerly winds increased in velocity and we decided it was time to depart. Our decision to leave the majority of our baggage in Nias meant we had to return there on our way to mainland Sumatra. We were in for a tedious journey.
Upon returning to Tiduk Island we ran into our friend Tamarin, a young medical student from England who was finishing up a one month internship at a small medical clinic on the island. There was a public boat that traveled between Tiduk and Nias Islands but with no set schedule. We spent two nights in Tiduk Town until finally the boat arrived one evening. Tamarin was taking five patients to the mainland for treatment and was searching for a boat back to Sumatra. Together we approached the boat captain and offered to charter the boat if he would agree to leave the next day at 10 AM. We worked out a price and shook hands, but in Indonesia, there’s always some sort of drama.
The next morning the boat was prepared to leave on time, but it wasn’t a charter, it was open to the public. So basically our group was being forced to pay four times the amount of a normal ticket. Tamarin is a strong woman and she wasn’t about to get ripped off. Adam and I didn’t want the drama and were willing to pay the Bule price, but Tamarin refused. After 15 minutes of intense negotiation, the captain backed down and Tamarin prevailed. I was impressed to say the least.

On Kalapa Island, if you have baby teeth,
they are rotten. Most famlies can't afford
toothpaste.


Tamarin’s patients brought to light the dire situation of the people in outer island Sumatra. Basic health care is hard to come by, and the average life expectancy of the people is 50 years. If someone is afflicted by serious disease, without the money or resources t seek treatment, many just accept it as fate. There was a young girl who had suffered 3rd degree burns on her arm and cried the entire way and a boy who had a cancerous tumor growing out of the side of his face. I thought about the plight of these people and how we in the western world take for granted things like basic medical care.

We arrived back to Teluk Delam, and rode on top of a bus back to Nias. The next morning we awoke to small surf and poor conditions. We teamed up with some south Africans and took a bemo to the north end of the island, making it onto the ferry bound for Sumatra with only minutes to spare.

Oh the smell of copra in the morning.
One of the natural resources of tropical
Asia, coconut is smoked and shipped off
to make coconut oil.