Galen & Rebecca Kennel’s Weblog

One of the big draws to Bukit Lawang is the Orangutan rehabilitation centre and the chance to see “wild” orangutans in the jungle. (In the local language, ‘orang’ means people and ‘utan’ means forest.) The rehabilitation centre was established to re-introduce illegally held orangutans back into the forest. The Sumatran Orangutan Conservation Program has a great website, explaining the whole process and the challenges – http://www.sumatranorangutan.org/site_mawas/UK/BACKGROUND/pag/back_general.htm

When an illegally-held orangutan is confiscated, it is brought to the rehabilitation centre and placed under quarantine. These animals are often sick and need to be treated and nourished before they can be released into the wild. Once released, they continue to be fed milk and bananas twice daily, until they have developed/learned jungle survival skills. Tourists pay 20,000 rupiah ($2) each to go into the National Park at feeding time to see the orangutans.

One buys a permit from the park office, then walks about a km along the river to the canoe-crossing point where one is taken by canoe across the river. Rangers then escort everyone up the steep hillside to a platform where they feed any orangutans that come around.

On our way to buy a permit, we pass the taxi drivers where one of the rangers is sitting. He asks if we want to see the orangutan feeding and if so, we can get the permit at the station upriver. Not sure about this, we continue on to the permit office and give our passports to the man there who disappears into an office to type up the permit. When he produces our permits, we see that under nationality he has typed “Indian” and for the passport number, he has put in our Indian visa number. We don’t bother correcting him on this.

Later we learn that the rangers pocket the money from the permits that are bought at the upriver station.

On our walk to the station, we are joined by a young man who asks where we are going and where we are from. He walks along with us, trying to help us climb the steps and warning us when areas might be slippery or treacherous. We know that he will expect a “guiding fee” at the end, so we try to tell him that we really don’t want or need his help. Just leave us alone! He claims that we asked him to guide us to the canoe crossing. We finally manage to get rid of him.

There are way too many young men hanging around Bukit Lawang, hoping to make a little money off the tourists. They seem to think that the world owes them something for doing nothing. This is quite a contrast to Malaysia and Thailand, where one is never hassled. I guess Indonesians are more desperate.

The canoe crossing looks interesting. We just get a little wet.

There are about 20 of us waiting to go along with the rangers up to the feeding station. I wonder how many of these bought there permit here instead of at the office.

We hike up steep stairs through tropical jungle – about a 10-minute hike to the feeding station. Along the way we encounter Mina and her big ‘baby’. Mina was one of the first orangutans to be released and still hangs around. She can be quite aggressive toward humans, especially women. Papa Denmark has told us lots about Mina, who comes by his bungalow quite often. He can take her by the hand and lead her away when she becomes aggressive.

The rangers give her some milk in a plastic glass and some bananas.

Once at the station, another orangutan and small baby come around. I can’t get a good photo of the baby clinging to the mothers front as the mother keeps her back to us. They take about 15 minutes to eat and then swing off into the jungle. It is cool to watch them grab a vine, swing to the next branch, and move through the trees.

The hike through the jungle is great – the wide variety of trees and plants, the views out across the river, the interesting smells in the air.

On the walk back along the river, we pass by the rubble of buildings that were destroyed in the flood, and the deteriorating guesthouses that survived the flood but were abandoned when the tourists stopped coming. Guesthouses with elaborate stone stairways and gardens; once beautiful verandas; funky cottages. Some look like they are still maintained. Others have been vandalized.

At our hotel we order lunch and sit on the veranda by the river and watch a young man work. He has filled bags with sand and gravel from the river and is now carrying them across the river and piling them on the bank on the opposite side. Then he carries them up to his motorcycle sidecar and drives over close to a new playground that is being constructed, unloads them there and carries them again. This man won’t need to go to the gym after work.

Later in the afternoon we hike up to see the new village that the governement built for those who lost their homes in the flood (about 90% of the people.) It is hot with no trees for shade and far enough away from the river that it is missed by the cool breeze that follows the river down from the jungle hills. Some people are building little porches and additions onto their homes. Some have planted flowers and shrubs. We follow the road up and stop to talk to a man sitting on his veranda watching the children play. He says to go up to the top to the new bus station – it is cooler there and the view is great.

The new bus station is a wide expanse of asphalt with a few shops lining the edge overlooking the village and river. We order a cold drink from one of the shops and chat with the owner. She tells us the bus station was used for a while, but the road leading up to it is too steep and curvy. After one bus rolled and several people were killed in collisions, they quit using it. Now young people come up with their motorbikes in the evening and roar around on the nice, flat asphalt. It was used over Chinese New Year by hundreds of people celebrating and setting off fireworks.

We hike up higher then, up a steep road that leads to a bar owned by an Englishman married to an Indonesian. Part way up we are overtaken by a 70-year old cowboy smoking a wiked-looking cigar and grinning. He is laughing at us as we stop to catch our breath and he runs by. He slows down to walk with us up the hill and we chat using our Indonesian/English dictionary and sign language. He is a cattle herder – his cattle are up the hill and over the ridge. He takes us out through the field to see the view. The hill drops off sharply in three directions. No wonder he is in good shape, clambering up and down these steep banks every day.

He cuts a palm oil nut off of a stalk nearby and shows it to us. I take his photo next to Galen so you can see how tiny he is.

We leave him at the top to tend his cattle and we head back down the hill. He reminds me of the young goat herder we met in Badami, India. They are two of the happiest people we have met over the past five months. We have also just met some of the most unhappy people – the would-be guides who sit around and smoke cigarettes and wait for a rich tourist to take for a walk in the jungle.

Photos from the day.