Sumba

On our travels around Indonesia we were drawn to the island of Sumba with talk of its rich culture and nature. Rolling hillsides, wild horses, tumbling waterfalls, expansive, open landscapes & traditional villages. One of the larger islands in East Nusa Tenggara it is remote & relatively unknown in terms of visitors, other than a few miles of the southern coastline that’s popular with surfers & high-end resorts, neither of which held any appeal for us.

We flew into Tambolaka in the west of the island on Indonesian Independence Day – 3 hours late. We wondered if this was down to airline staff taking part in the parade we’d witnessed as we sat in the departure lounge that snaked its musical way through the airport waving red & white flags. Whatever the reason, it meant our leisurely, scenic drive across the island with visits to traditional villages on the way, was going to be somewhat more rushed & much of it in the dark.

Our first stop was at Praijing traditional village. The traditional Sumbanese house, known as uma mbatangu, is built in accordance with Marapu, the local animist religion. Its three levels symbolise the sacred connection between the human world and the spirit world. The lower level below the house is for livestock, the middle level is where people live & at the top, the towering thatched roof is the sacred space where the spirits live. They’re both impressive & extremely photogenic.

Whilst the majority of Sumbanese now reside in one of only three towns on the island each with standard, concrete buildings there are still multiple traditional villages dotted around the countryside, all of which are still lived in. We entered Praijing at the top of the village. Below us a cluster of high-roofed, thatched wooden houses nestled amidst the trees on top of a hillside with views out across a wide, open landscape. Kids ran around the stilt supports shouting ‘hello’ while ladies sat in the shade of the roof weaving the traditional ikat fabric on ancient wooden looms. There were signs of modernity, with the huge wooden stilts supporting the houses often replaced with more robust concrete but new houses were still being built to the same design & here, at least, this still included thatched roofs. We saw many traditional houses on our travels around the island but many have now replaced thatch with more robust corrugated steel which, when rusted red still looks attractive. Bright blue steel though just looked wrong.

We drove east across the island towards Waingapu, the largest town, along roads where there was barely a straight stretch longer than 100m. Dusk came & darkness fell when we were still a long way off & it was pitch black on the narrow, twisting roads. Many bikes don’t have rear lights & many large trucks drive straight down the middle of the road making driving at night a tad tricky. I was very glad that I wasn’t driving. In Waingapu we stopped at a local warung – Mr Cafe – for a quick & tasty dinner of the ubiquitous nasi goreng before heading to our abode for the next few nights.

Our traditional style house had one of the towering thatched roofs which is open to the rafters & which sheds straw, dust & other detritus continually. Thankfully our bed did have a mosquito net which ensured nothing fell into our mouths while we slept! Houses are also built with natural air conditioning in the form of latticed panels between the wooden walls & the roof which means the sounds of the late night karaoke & the early morning muezzin were pretty loud. Another few nights where earplugs were very much needed. It was rustic & we loved it. We also had a fabulous balcony with views over the local horse racing track, where, luck would have it, a race meet started the day we arrived. A wonderful lofty vantage point from which to watch over a leisurely breakfast.

Horses are integral to Sumba culture. They are considered sacred & a family’s social standing can be determined by its herd. These are the Sandalwood ponies. A native Indonesian breed thought to be descended from Arabian horses, it is small in stature but mighty in speed & endurance. Racing in Sumba is not a commercial activity, its about a family’s reputation & village pride. Winning raises a family’s standing. Here there were no bookies or green furlongs or elaborate silks. Here there was a dusty track. Here the riders sat directly on the horse’s back, no saddle, no stirrups. And here the riders were about 10 years old. The horses are small, riders need to be light.

We were there on the first of around 15 days of competition. Around 700 horses compete with the winners of each race progressing to the next round until a champion prevails on the final day. Local bigwigs sat at tables on the top tier of the stand & gave a few welcome speeches that no-one paid much attention to. Everyone else sat on dirty tiled benches that had been recently hosed down leaving puddles of water for your feet to squelch about in. We watched from here as the riders thundered around to the finishing line, clouds of dust all but obscuring them from view. Each race was only important to the people of villages actually racing, who were excitedly enthusiastic in their support. Everyone else just carried on with their conversations. We wandered down to the starting gate where young boys, in their school uniforms, sat on the perimeter wall or up trees to get a good view of proceedings. Swarms of men surrounded the diminutive jockeys as they made their way to the starting gate imparting last minute advice & then ran after the horses once they’d galloped off, shouting encouragement. Not everything went to plan. Horses jumped the central fencing & raced off the wrong way, or cantered out of the track altogether heading through the melee of bikes at the entrance. We saw a few riders thrown but all walked away after being checked out by the on-track medics. There might not have been any saddles but they did all have hard hats. We were the only Western faces there & attracted a great deal of friendly attention with requests for selfies & calls of ‘Hello Mister’ shouted out from all angles – its always ‘Hello Mister’ irrespective of gender. We also noticed that here there were a lot more England football supporters than we’d encountered on other Indonesian islands.

The friendliness here was replicated around the island. Indonesians in general are very friendly but even more so in places that see very few foreign visitors & we only saw half a dozen in all our time here. Our own little house stood on the edge of Prailiu traditional village & the suburbs of Waingapu & we spent much time wandering around the streets on our way to local warungs for dinner or down to the horse racing & we had ‘Hello Mister’, ‘Welcome’ & ‘Which country’ called out from every house & passing motorbike. It made a long walk for dinner so much more enjoyable.

In Prailiu village we got to see the fabulous Ikat weaving that Sumba is famous for. Ikat is unique in that the yarn is dyed before weaving. Ikat means ‘to tie’ & this is a complex process requiring the yarn to be tied in knots corresponding to the intended design. When the yarn is dyed the tied sections retain their original colour enabling the patterns to be created once they’re woven. The whole process from spinning the yarn, collecting the plants for colouring the threads, dyeing & weaving is done by hand & only by women. Around the village lengths of yarn in the traditional colours of indigo blue & kombu red-brown were hung to dry from lines between the houses. Wooden looms with half finished designs could be seen on every veranda, some propped up, others being worked steadily, the long wooden shuttle passed carefully between the threads, back & forth. The designs are highly symbolic; horses representing wealth & status, crocodiles for protection, lions for the spirit world & human figures for the clan leaders & warriors. The finished designs are beautiful.

The symbolic designs of the ikat also feature on the megalithic tombs that are the centre of the traditional village. Huge slabs of stone are raised above the ground on pillars & carved on either end with the head & rear of a buffalo. On the top are carvings of crocodiles, horses, turtles & warriors. The most elaborate tombs were in the royal village of Rende. These were higher & larger with totem carvings on top also depicting the king & queen alongside symbolic animals. Here the tombs were all stone. In other villages concrete has now replaced the expense of quarrying & transporting great hunks of stone. Unfortunately this does sometimes give the tomb a slightly industrial air, though I think this is still preferable to the ones with tiles reminiscent of a 1970’s bathroom.

At the tiny traditional village of Watumbaka we were welcomed onto the veranda of an elderly lady’s house with a custom basket of dried betel nuts. This was a first for us, though we’ve seen locals chewing them throughout several recent countries. I let Simon try first. His expression whilst trying to remain polite was a picture. It tasted, he said, dry & chalky with an occasional hit of spicy heat & made his mouth fill with saliva which was a mucky red colour when he spat it out – which is the custom. I decided not to bother myself.

Around the back of the house was a dusty, cockfighting square. Men stood around clutching their prized cocks & showing them off to prospective competitors. Others stood around eagerly awaiting a fight & the chance to make a few rupiyah on the betting. Alas, it was not to be. Feathers had been preened to no avail. Cocks were tucked under arms & bikes were driven away. Everyone had chickened out….

These small traditional villages & isolated towns sit amongst gorgeous natural landscapes of limestone hills, vast empty savannah where wild Sandalwood ponies graze, white sandy beaches & refreshing waterfalls. A landscape utterly different to those we’ve encountered on other Indonesian islands & in some cases we even found ourselves comparing it to the Yorkshire Dales!

We visited Lapopu waterfall on our drive from west to east on our first day here & were honestly not massively impressed. The west sees more tourists than the east & maybe this had prompted the government to charge the exorbitant entrance fee & demand we take a guide to walk the 10 minutes from the carpark. It was also a national holiday & so busy with noisy Indonesian tourists & the dry season meant the waterfall was little more than a few small trickles. It was pretty but not amazing. Happily the two waterfalls we visited in the east were far more impressive.

After a hot walk across farmland enveloped in smoke from crop burning & down hundreds of steep steps we arrived in the canyon that contained the Tenggedu waterfall. The crystal clear water thundered through the deeply chiselled cliffs into wide turquoise lagoons. Above the torrents of water lay a series of quiet pools nestled between rocks worn smooth by thousands of years of rushing water. A perfect spot for a cooling dip followed by an hour or so lazing in the sun & a delicious picnic lunch.

Waimarang waterfall was a hidden gem. Reaching it was like discovering a secret. We walked down steep forested tracks & along a narrow slippery rock ledge, at the end of which the rocks opened out into a natural amphitheatre with a circular pool of turquoise water fed by a small waterfall. There was nowhere here to sit & bask in the sun, it was a place to just jump in & cool off before making our way back up to the sunshine above.

Sunset here is probably the best time to enjoy the landscapes, the colours are so vivid. Arriving at Wairinding hills in the late afternoon we were a little underwhelmed. Don’t get me wrong, it was a lovely view out over undulating limestone hills, the grass turned into a golden carpet now we were in the dry season. It just wasn’t spectacular. That only happened once the sun went down & the sky turned from brilliant blue, through violets & pinks to the most vibrant, deep orange. Then it was spectacular.

The following evening we had a similar experience. Arriving at Walakiri beach in the late afternoon we enjoyed a beer overlooking the white sandy beach & mangrove trees on the shore where outrigger canoes bobbed in the shallow waters. As the light began to fade, we walked along the beach & through a gap in the tangled mangrove roots to the ‘Dancing Trees’. They were tiny. We were taller than they were. But as the sun dropped & the orange & purple hues spread across the sky reflected in the sea, the trees came alive. The best light was, again after the sun had set. By then everyone else had gone along with the ripples caused by many paddling feet. The trees danced. They became dancing ladies in wide-brimmed hats weaving in the breeze & reflected in the calm water. It was a magical sight.

We ended our time on Sumba with a relaxing stay on the beach in a fabulous eco resort run by a characterful French lady renowned throughout the island. A few days of doing absolutely nothing beyond wandering along the vast deserted white sands, searching for the sea that had disappeared into the distance leaving mangrove trees waving their roots in the air & eating the most delicious food cooked by our host. A very fitting end to our stay only marred slightly by a wild rat devouring a couple of my t-shirts – nothing is ever completely smooth here.

Sumba doesn’t have any big ticket places or activities. It doesn’t need them. It has the beautiful scenery, culture & peace (which is difficult to find in Indonesia) that made it a wonderful, low key & relaxing few weeks & a complete contrast to the other Indonesian islands we’ve visited.