The Klotok (Kalimantan Part II)

Previous Related Post,12/05/05: "Heading for Kalimantan"

I lounged in the sunshine on pillows Said (Sah-eed) had set up for me on the deck of the blue, wooden klotok and surveyed the Sekonyer, a vast, muddy river of Kalimantan, a river that had given life to humans and animals alike for time beyond memory. The captain and his two young, shirtless boatmen joked with each other in Indonesian rather than a local dialect, so I understood some of it. Said, my guide, was in good humor, but more serious and proper than the boatmen, even though Said could not have been older than 30.

I grinned as I recalled how I had dreaded the five or six hour ride on a small boat into the jungle to see the orangutan sanctuaries. I was extremely excited at the prospect of seeing orangutans, but the boat ride itself sounded long, boring and uncomfortable. I based this on memories of impossibly crowded Guatemalen "chicken" buses, smoky Spanish trains, suffocating Jamaican taxis, windy Greek night ferries, and the tiring 20-hour plane ride to get to Indonesia only a few weeks before. In other words, the last thing I wanted was another grueling trip. My mood was in no small part due to the horrible fight I had had with Made two nights ago, before leaving Bali. It reverberated in the back of my mind, and I was still upset.

Once I got on that klotok (named for the sound it makes going through the water..."klo-tok, klo-tok"), I wasn't upset for long. Soon, we left Kumai far behind and saw only tropical jungle and occasional small settlements of wooden houses on stilts along the shore. I watched vendors in boats offer produce and goods to villagers, men pull fish from the river and families flit here and there on the river on domestic errands. People guided their boats on missions large and small, as they had for centuries on this ancient causeway. Birds such as I had never seen took flight from the shore, and small monkeys chattered at each other in the trees.

Said heaped my plate with mie goreng, and I luxuriated in my good fortune at finding myself on this amazing river. Now I understood why Said had insisted we buy all those provisions before leaving. He cooked, the boatmen played cards and laughed, and I sipped tea and enjoyed a view I knew I would probably never see again. I practiced my Indonesian language skills with Said and the boatmen, and Said really was a wonderful teacher. Turned out he had taught Islam in Surabaya before an economy downturn closed the school and forced him into the guide biz.

Riding up the river on the klotok was lovely and romantic; too bad Made was back in Bali and probably planning never to speak to me again. Oh, well. From beautiful sunshine, rain threatened, filling the atmosphere with primitive anticipation. When it began coming down in earnest, we scurried down the four-rung ladder below deck. Said quickly dropped the canvas at the open windows. We pulled out cookies and peanuts and made tea. When the rain lifted enough to lift the canvas, we watched the rain fall on the river from below deck.

After some time, the boat traffic dwindled and we turned down a tributary. We arrived at Rimba Lodge around 1:30 p.m. The Rimba Lodge was pretty much the only place we could stay here in the middle of the jungle of Indonesian Borneo near the orangutan sanctuaries, aside from sleeping on the boat. We would sleep on the boat the next night. We made plans to meet at 4:00 p.m. for a ride up the river to see proboscis monkeys. It was too late to go to the orangutan sanctuary that day.