Rapid ups and downs result in memorable Toraja trip

Text by Devi M. Asmarani

TANA TORAJA, South Sulawesi (JP): The objective of my last vacation was clear from the start: to get as far away from civilization without having to spend senseless days on the road so that I could make it back to work within a week.

A friend mentioned white-water rafting on the remarkable Sadan River in Tana Toraja, South Sulawesi. I bought a map of Sulawesi and highlighted the river, and decided on my destination.

Tana Toraja, some 240 kilometers north of Makassar, is a lush highland surrounded by mountains with arterial rivers stretching across the land. The majority Christian regency is widely known for its age-old practice of paying extravagant respect to the dead. Its elaborate funeral rituals and numerous ancient above- the-ground burial sites are a tourist staple. But it was the vision of the Sadan River and a world where televisions and cellular phones were irrelevant that lured me.

Visitors normally fly into the provincial capital of Makassar and take rental vans or buses to Toraja. Some tourists stop by Toraja as they come from the island's northern part on their trans-Sulawesi trip.

Tourists were a rare sight here at the time of our arrival earlier this year and had been since Indonesia was embroiled in series of social unrests.

I could tell it had been a slow month for the tourism industry from the welcome sign bearing our names at Novotel Toraja's front entrance. We were two of the very few people staying there at the time. The hotel is located in Rantepao, a small but sufficient town in Toraja.

Allan, who would take us on the rafting trip, met us that night. He is a Scotsman who has spent more than half his life on the river. He has lived in Toraja for seven years where he heads the rafting trip operator PT Toranggo Buya, a subsidiary of the world-renowned Sobek adventure company.

"The river is pumping," Allan told us, referring to the flooded Sadan in the wet season. He introduced us to Madelaine ("last name too complicated"), a Dutch tourist with a robust laugh who would join us on the three-day trip with him and his two guides.

Trekking

The four-hour trek to the campsite began after about a 30- minute drive into the country side. We ate a healthy lunch below a local house on stilts, and walked on an old horse trail until we split into two groups: Allan and the three of us took the "long cut", while his guides Leo and Deni went on a shorter route, taking the camp supplies.

We trekked through the bush and treaded the narrow path and gully and came upon large and luscious green rice fields. When we got back on the trail, the mighty Sadan River was visible some 600 meters below us. Already we could faintly hear its gurgling waters.

Standing on a ridge, we caught our breath while taking in the magnificent, winding river valley ahead of us. I had forgotten all about being out of shape.

Allan said the part of the river down below was dangerous. Several visiting students from Java apparently died there years ago. Then we descended to reach the camp site, sliding through the woods and balancing ourselves on the slippery and narrow path. From time to time, Allan gave us lessons on the endemic plants we came upon and how they pollinated.

After hours of skidding, stumbling and near falls, and a much- needed rest under a Torajan rice barn, we found ourselves in the middle of a green plain. It was beginning to rain before we finally came to the end of the trail, where we then rode our raft to cross the river to the campsite.

The campsite is located at Buakayu village, at about 400 meters above sea level, down some 330 meters from the spot we started from earlier. There were four thatched huts for sleeping in, a dining hut, a food preparation hut and one for storage and a bathroom. The bathroom was basic but unexpectedly convenient with its blue toilet (Madelaine couldn't get over this).

We were each given a mosquito net, mattress, pillows and sarongs for our huts. After cleaning up, our dinner was served and quickly devoured. It was a generous serving of the local chicken delicacy papiong manuk, rice and a big bowl of freshly stir-fried vegetables. The tasty chicken, seasoned with garlic and shallots, was cooked in firewood with pieces of coconut and wrapped in banana leaves.

Down to the river

I came to understand that morning what Allan meant by "the river is pumping". In front of me was an immense volume of muddy brown water, furiously gushing down the stream, walloping endlessly against gigantic rocks. Allan said we would have to wait until after 10 a.m. when the water slightly calmed.

The extra water had come from the yesterday's rain in Rantepao. In the white-water rafting terms, this was a Grade IV river. One more level up and you'd have to be a highly experienced rafter to be there. "But you let me do the worrying," he said in a comforting tone.

River flow is measured in cubic meters per second (cumex). That morning, the flow was about 1,000 cumex, compared to the average 300 to 400. We would leave once it dropped to about 700 cumex. In front of our campsite, the water had come up three meters farther from where it was the day before.

The Sadan River begins at Sadan village, some 40 kilometers north of Rantepao, and stretches about 160 kilometers. On the first day we would paddle the roughest part of our trip for some 20 km, followed by 30 km more on the second day.

After a hearty breakfast of toast, eggs, sausages and robust Toraja coffee, we left in two rafts, one with Allan and the three of us, the other carrying Deni, Leo, three dry bags and a large cooler.

We paddled through the stimulating "Willy" rapid, and came upon "Johnny's", an enormous rapid that forced us, except for Allan, to get down on the raft. A surge of water slapped me from my right, then simultaneously, with the same intensity, the water pushed me over to the left.

We survived the "flip froggy", named after a flipped raft of a group of French businessmen, mainly because Allan decided to take the "chicken lane". The heavy current and the flood would likely flip our rafts over had we decided to paddle through the "flip froggy", he said. It was not a good time and spot to get thrown into the water.

At the beginning of the trip, we saw signs of civilization: children waving, a boy swimming behind our raft and buffaloes bathing and grazing on the field. But as it progressed, the human factors were replaced by diverse vegetation, wild birds and lizards slothfully basking in the sun.

We stopped at a beach for lunch. An idyllic secluded river beach with soft sand. Lying down on a mat, we sampled the picnic basket of bread, corned beef, sardines, cheese, jams, cookies, juicy cucumber and fresh pineapple and passion fruits. Deni and Leo disappeared for a while and came back with several mangoes, freshly picked from a tree. We took a siesta under the sun, before leaving again for some serious rapids.

Except for Allan, those on our raft had only experienced small and highly commercialized rivers like Citarik in West Java, where you paddle through some exhilarating rapids, shout hee-haw and splash water at the people on the next raft.

This was nothing like it. Several times, Allan and the two boys parked the rafts to inspect the coming rapids and to find the best way through.

"Most accidents on the river are caused by sheer stupidity," he said.

Allan operated the oars in the middle of our 16 ft. raft. The other raft stayed close to ours, as it is recommended to always travel with at least another raft for safety sake. The two guides were highly trained. Leo has worked for Allan for seven years, and Deni for four years.

Allan told us to "keep paddling, even when you think you should get down". If we didn't paddle our raft would get stuck in the rapids, and we would likely be tossed into the water. The water was so rough that sometimes it almost looked like ocean waves. Allan said he had surfed on the river.

When the water was less rambunctious he updated us on the plants, the passing birds and the lizards. After the last and most monstrous rapids, called the "Rodeos", we took off our head gear and popped a celebratory beer.

"Welcome to my office," Allan grinned, then hummed the tune Summertime.

Heavenly lagoon

Camp two was even more secluded. Located in the remote village of Kalimbuang, it is just below a hill and across from a majestic gorge. If you walked up the hill behind the camp, you would see down below a cemetery and cornfield on the other side.

The huts are even more basic and open here. Each of the sleeping huts is built up on the edge of the hilly terrain directly facing the river. At night, we were accompanied to sleep by the soothing sound of the water. We ate our kebabs by the fire, the wood for which we had helped collect. It was a clear and wondrous night, before it started raining.

Our trip was much mellower on the second day. We passed several big rapids named "wake up call" (the first one), the bumpy "rock 'n roll" and, the largest one of all, "useless baggage".

"Generally a rapid is named after something that happens there," Allan said.

In the case of the "useless baggage", once during an expedition with his friends, the raft dipped 180 degrees. Allan, who was sitting at the back of the raft, was thrown into the water. They called this episode "getting rid of useless baggage".

Stopping at a riverbank, we walked along a small stream that led to a series of small waterfalls with deep pools. The area was breathtaking, cavernous and had unexplored rocks with streams of water at different elevations. We took turns sliding down the rocks and got behind the waterfall to feel the powerful shower on our backs as we swam through the falling water.

The water was just right. If it got too calm there would not be enough water, but too much water would wash us out. Several times we were encouraged to swim and once some of us swam across a small rapid.

Most of the time we just lazed about, relishing the spectacular river canyon. It was a cloudless day, and the sky was the bluest I had ever seen. In fact, it could have gotten really hot if had not been for the mild breeze.

We paddled through the canyon cutting through a mountain and saw how the landscape turned arid, then green again as we came to Enrekang, our final stop. Above us was a tropical rain forest whose inaccessibility leaves it unexplored.

Approaching the construction of a modern bridge, Allan invited us to take off our head gear and swim the last bit before our pick up point.

At work a week later, I found myself rearranging my priorities. Allan had mentioned the great, but largely unexplored, Lareang River in Central Sulawesi, and having developed a new addiction, I prioritized the river as my next destination.