Bau-bau
Bau-bau is a rest and provision stop on our way down to Flores. It is a small and picturesque town on the island of Buton, which hugs the southeastern side of Sulawesi. It’s a couple of days before Graham’s birthday so we will stick around and celebrate here. It turns out this place has some waterfalls, caves and a large 16th century fort built by a Sultan long gone. Things are looking promising despite the mountains of garbage we motor through on the way in.
We anchor in the bay right in the middle of town and are surrounded by colourful mosques competing for the title of loudest five times a day, from 4.30 am until 8pm.
For Graham’s birthday, the kids and I have planned a day of delicious food and a trip to the local waterfall which is only a short dinghy ride away. But first, there is the small matter of a present so Lara and I walk to the local shopping centre to scope things out. Graham has a thing for Indonesian underwear after I bought him some fancy stuff for Xmas three years ago on our first trip here. The department store, despite reminding me of a badly lit Kmart with barely detectable air-conditioning, delivers on the underwear front. The most modern looking shopping centre we've seen to date also has a Hypermart, which is basically the local Woolies so we only have to jump next door for groceries. We find butter, mozzarella cheese and other essentials like Pringles and popcorn.
Back at the jetty, the local kids run up to say hi. One little boy, wearing only underwear and with what looks like a packet of cigarettes stuffed in the front, asks for money with a cheeky smile to the delight of all others. I ask him what happened to his pants and they all laugh, pretending to understand but also probably getting the general vibe of my question.
The next day, we decide to walk up the hill to the fort which according to google maps is only 2km away. This seems doable if you ignore the fact its all uphill and that the temperature is over 30 with humidity factor of unbearable.
Wikipedia tells us this is officially the largest fort in the world by square meter and was built by a Sultan in late 1500s. Determined to verify this, we set off in the morning around 9am which is really too late as the heat is barely tolerable. Jake opts out of today’s excursion, so it’s just three of us taking the steep path through the backstreets, then along a ridge which offers 180 views of the entire harbour. We have to walk along a major road for a while and the scooters beep and wave as they pass us. It’s funny watching the faces as they spot us and react; I swear it’s a reflex for some - we see enthusiastic wavers, smilers, nodders and hear a whole lot of Hallo Mr.
Finally we reach a huge wall and enter through the gate to climb on top and have a look around. We’ve been to a fair few forts on our travels but this was the first one where a whole suburb has been built inside it. While the walls remain, houses have long overtaken any fort related buildings that were built here by the Sultanates. We spend a bit of time at the grave of one of the Sultans and visit the outside of a mosque where we commit a cultural faux pax by not taking off our shoes, a fact some friendly Indonesian tourists point out on our way out. Oops.
While the portion of the surrounding wall we saw impressed with sheer size, the fort leaves a lot to the imagination as frankly, there is very little left. What there is to see is difficult to interpret as the signs are in Indonesian only. I do really enjoy wandering through the tree-lined suburb that sprung up amongst the walls, with some beautiful houses and streets around. Truly a living and breathing monument to history.
On the way down back into town, I realise my t-shirt is soaked with sweat and that my underwear is even worse. By now, everyone is tired and a little bit grumpy so we ignore the requests for selfies whether friendly or not. Back in town, we stop for ice cream at an Indomaret (like a Seven Eleven) and eat it inside standing in front of the air conditioner. The good streak continues when a lone tuk tuk drives past just as we start contemplating the long walk home along the noisy road. The excursion ends on a good note except for Lara who has to sit on Graham’s lap looking super embarrassed. Not embarrassed enough to insist on walking though.
We spend the evening planning Graham’s birthday - there will be brunch cooked by the kids, a waterfall dip then party with friends from Wild One who are travelling with us. And of course cake.
On birthday morning, Graham can’t find his phone which he left on the salon table plugged into his laptop, which is still there. We have a quick look around the boat, then I notice our bucket with masks and snorkels is also missing from the cockpit. A quick scan on Apple’s Find My Phone app shows the phone somewhere in town. Not the best start to the birthday!
Our door was wide open all night so we assume the person grabbed the snorkels first then noticed the phone charging inside. Everyone is feeling slightly violated at the thought of someone walking in while we were sleeping. Then the adrenaline hits and Graham is ready to storm into town and follow the trail. Thankfully our friend Dave reminds us it’s probably best to contact the local guide Salam whom we met the previous night and go to the police with him. We find Salam almost immediately on one of the other boats in the anchorage and he jumps straight in the dinghy to go with us.
We’re at the police station 5 minutes later and are seen straight away. There is a lot of speaking in Indonesian after we explain what happened and for the next 15 minutes we slowly start losing hope anything will get done. Just as I start hallucinating of countless forms we will no doubt be forced to fill out, Salam says they’re calling in the detective squad. Sorry what?
We move to a back building and people start showing up, plain clothed and serious looking in an undercover cop sort of way. The concealed handguns possibly aid in this impression. Another 10 minutes later, we’re in the car with Salam and one of these cops while others we assume have their own transport. The sting operation is about to begin. Right at this point I start regretting coming along, as images of storming some random house with armed police (over a phone!) race through my head. Graham is laughing and making things worse by joking about it.
After driving around for a bit, we follow the trail to the fresh food market, where we park and wait. Salam points to a car little bit further down the road explaining it’s another police car. Apparently they have a suspect in mind. After another hour of no action, any romantic ideal I have of detective work has completely dissipated and as if sensing by my boredom, the undercover cop leaves our car without explanation. Salam drives us back home with the assurance that the police will continue this without us. Silently I have already written the gear off and assume the police stop looking as soon as we’re out of sight.
Back on the boat, the birthday is ruined. No one can relax as family call to wish Graham happy birthday and hear the news. The phone keeps moving on the tracking app so Graham decides to go back into town and follow it with Salam. I ask him to pick up a few of the extremely large pineapples I spotted at the market if they go back there, I might as well get something out of this operation. Lara makes a sticky date pudding and we prepare some pizza dough, determined to have the party as planned.
Just before sunset, Graham returns with two very large pineapples but no phone and we close the birthday out with pizza, drinks and cake with Wild One. We are safe and laughing with friends so life could definitely be worse.
The next day we are determined to complete the birthday celebration so the kids and I cook a hearty breakfast of eggs, tomato and spinach then head to the waterfall for a swim. It’s a beautiful sunny day and after a short walk along the shady main road, we soak in large pool underneath the cool cascades thundering down the imposing limestone cliff. A couple of local boys arrive a bit later to wash their hair and after soaping up, chuck the shampoo bottle into the surrounding bush. Ah the serenity.
On the walk back, Salam rings and brings news of the phone. They have found something which may or may not be it, can Graham come in asap? We try not to get our hopes up, but of course secretly hope anyway. Graham leaves as soon as we’re back at the boat, then is promptly back 5 minutes later asking me to come too, apparently since my name is now on the system.
Silently cursing my stupidity, I join and shortly we’re back in the guts of the police station with a whole lot of detectives milling around. One of the secret agent guys I remember from before mimes a phone shape then gives a thumbs up as we sit in the lobby. They have found A phone.
We’re led into a small, pink room with a large desk and a coffee table decorated with plastic pink flowers and a couple of sofas around it. We sit on the sofa and are joined by a newly minted and very young chief detective (as he tells us later, 2 weeks in Bau-bau). A couple of other guys are there and Salam. The chief speaks relatively good English but after a while switches back to Bahasa with Salam translating. The phone is presented to Graham who unlocks it to everyone’s relief. It’s undamaged except for the missing cover. The chief offers Graham his cover after he mentions this and we all laugh.
We get some of the story - the phone was stolen by a poor fishermen from Makassar (the capital of a neighbouring province and also traditional enemy of Buton dating back to as far as they date these things). He took it to a phone shop in town in order to get it unlocked not knowing that all phone shops had been informed and were working with police. He was lured back to the store by the owner who told him he unlocked it, then arrested by waiting police after being unable to unlock it himself. The chief tells us they tracked the phone using the EID number we registered with Telkomsel (the Indonesian Telstra) when we first bought the local sim card.
We can’t believe that they found the phone, or that they reacted so swiftly and professionally. We tell them Australian police would be unlikely to assign a squad of detectives to a stolen phone case and they’re very pleased. When we mention the missing snorkelling gear, the chief tell us it was sold to someone at the market but I can tell there is very little understanding why we’d care about that now we got the expensive phone back.
The chief then wants a decision from us, do we want to prosecute or forgive? We don’t spend any time debating and forgive. There is mention of ‘education’ before the man is released, let’s hope it’s just verbal.
The chief now moves on to the main event, the testimonial, thankfully only looking at Graham. This is definitely one of those times where being a woman and therefore ignored during serious talk, pays off. I sense Graham’s anxiety and imagine he would prefer to hand the phone back than give a thank you speech. But it’s too late as we’re ushered back to the shiny foyer where a crowd has already gathered, phones up and ready to film. Graham ignores my whispers to make a few notes of what he wants to say, insisting he will wing it. I sense that winging it will not satisfy Indonesian formality standards, having had to to a video testimonial myself at an Immigration office after our first visa extension. The success of any ceremony here is measured by length, quantity winning over quality every time.
I stand with the audience and get the camera ready when Salam ushers me over to stand with Graham and the chief. Damn it. I hand the phone to someone else to film and stare at Graham trying to suppress hysterical laughter I feel rising up.
Graham says a few words commending the speedy response and thanks everyone from the bottom of his heart. Salam’s translation is considerably longer but when it’s finished all eyes turn back to Graham for more. Graham mutters a few more words essentially repeating what he already said and Salam translates.
All eyes on Graham again, who by now I imagine, wishes the local volcano would erupt and turn all of us into ashes instantly. A guy who looks like the head of their comms department asks a follow up question which Salam roughly translates as “Please tell us again why you like us so much”. My laughter is now dangerously close to erupting as Graham expresses platitude after platitude, and Salam embellishes in his translation. Finally it’s over and we’re allowed to leave to enthusiastic waves from everyone. They look proper proud and so they should be. This was of course a huge boost to their image after the reputational damage caused by a tourist being robbed. As Salam repeatedly says “This doesn’t happen in Bau-bau.” although apparently it did to us.
The ordeal is not over yet however as Graham gets called back in as soon as we’re back on the boat, this time to collect the snorkelling gear. Off he goes again (this time alone). A lot of hilarity ensues on his return when we find out he had to do another testimonial. When I ask about the still missing bucket, he yells “I am not doing another testimonial for a bucket!”. And that settles the matter.
If you’re wondering how this has affected us long term, you need not worry. Experience has taught us that showing up in a big white boat to a relatively modest and remote town will cause a bit of a spectacle. As soon as we anchor anywhere, curious locals paddle over to say hi or just drive by to have a closer look. It’s usually, short, sweet and friendly and there has only been a couple times where we had to enforce some boundaries (drunk guy who climbed onboard uninvited, I am thinking of you). We have never felt much of a target however and honestly we don’t after this experience either. It was the act of one person, not the whole village. Our faith in humanity remains but we do now lock our door at night to discourage any other opportunists acting on temptation.
The last few days in Bau-bau are a lot more pleasant. Salam takes us on a tour of local artisans, and we visit a pottery village where women make water jugs, pots and ovens out of local limestone clay in very modest surroundings. They create only when calm and content as the art suffers otherwise. It is passed to the next generation if they ask to be taught and never forced. The women chat while shaping bowls out of round lumps of clay with nothing more than stones and bamboo sticks. We leave with a round bottomed clay water jug which will be a challenge to store on the boat but which I had to have.
Weaving village is next where we’re told it takes almost 2 weeks to weave one sarong. The weaving contraption is a frame placed over the legs, and involves a whole lot of extra sticks inserted between the strings magically attached to the frame. The process is slow and painful but the woman we watch appears into it. Graham leaves with a men’s sarong which will make a nice table cloth or throw if he decided not to wear it.
We finish the day with a swim in a small cave smack in the middle of town. It’s squeezed in between two houses right off the main road. All in all, Bau-bau is probably my favourite town so far.
