Rapid ups and downs result in memorable Toraja trip

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.