Lion Air, the Worst Airline in the World

I’m on my way from Kalimantan to I’m in business class. It’s cost me an arm and a leg to reschedule, but I reason that the enforced payment for an upgrade might at least be a nice experience; it isn’t. I only get priority check in as I harass a closed desk clerk. There’s no fast track security or lounge. And no priority boarding. It’s the usual scrimmage.

The seat is nice and wide. As to the food. It’s the same bread bun, with sweet filling, I got in economy, but this time it’s heated. And accompanied by a small, dry, muffin. The water is in a bottle, instead of a plastic cup. There’s a knife and fork and a red napkin and tablecloth, to glorify the whole affair. It’s a lot extra to pay for a wider seat and a muffin. And the flight is still very bumpy. But it’s only one hour.

This is another huge modern airport, Makassar is the capital of South Sulawesi and the seventh largest city in Indonesia (or the third or the fourth or the tenth depending on which guide or section of Wikipedia you believe), but even so we don’t make use of the airport bridges and park up on the tarmac. And, wait, there’s five minutes more bang for my buck, as us business class passengers get on a special minibus to the terminal. It’s all to no avail however, as there’s no way that our luggage has beaten us. And indeed, it takes a very long time to arrive.

Sulawesi - in a Nutshell

• Sulawesi looks a bit like a flattened octopus on the map, with tentacles reaching out in several directions. Though Wikipedia likens it to a K. The tentacles (or legs) are actually peninsulas, separated by central mountains. They're such an effective block that it’s much easier to sail (or fly).
• Unusually for Indonesia, however, most of the peaks here are not volcanic.
• Sulawesi is said to be the fourth of the Greater Sunda Islands, with Java, Sumatra and Kalimantan. Though they mean Borneo.
• Fascinatingly, Sulawesi, in contrast to most of the other islands in this biogeographical region of Wallacea, is a composite island. Parts of the island were formerly attached to either the Asian or Australian continental margin and became separated from these areas, at the centre of the Asia-Australia collision zone. It might not be volcanic, but its presence here, on the edge of the tectonic plates makes it very earthquake prone.
• It’s nicely in the middle of Indonesia and as I find out later, there’s even a sign on the waterfront, in Makassar, marking the exact centre.

Makassar, Sulawesi

As it’s Eid al Adha, as in Kalimantan, there are crowds everywhere and the traffic around the airport is manic. But my city tower block hotel is quietly peaceful, as everyone is at home, gearing up for the biggest of Islamic celebrations. I’m the only one eating (a fried noodle dinner) in the restaurant. They kindly vacuum round me.

However, it is ranked population wise, Makassar is a rapidly growing city. It’s developed around its rivers and port, even nicknamed The Waterfront City. I’ve also seen it described as gritty. So, I’m a little hesitant about going out to explore.
I plan my route whilst I’m doing solitary laps in the swimming pool, on the fifteenth floor. It has great views of the city and it’s a good way to orientate. And I go to check with the concierge too. But she can’t speak English. Most of the visitors here are locals (breakfast offered a wide variety of rice and noodle dishes).

Exploring Makassar

It’s an easy and pleasant walk, down a side street, to said waterfront. Most of this area is known as Pantai Losari (Losari Beach). There’s no sand in sight. But it’s the place to be seen, promenade and enjoy the sights, lined with mobile food stalls and street markets. They’ve done their best to liven the area up. Murals, statues, numerous signs labelling buildings or views, in large capital letters. An area for sailing vessels to moor. And across the water, aforementioned Centre Point of Indonesia and the most eye-catching mosque you can imagine. Stripes of red and orange and white lacy decoration - it has 99 domes symbolizing the 99 attributes of Allah and is itself dome shaped, almost hemispherical. And, believe it or not, it’s called The 99 Dome Mosque.

It’s just as bright inside, with a blue ceiling. It’s being developed as a community centre and library, as well as a place of worship, but I’m still made to borrow a hijab and take my shoes off. And those taking respite inside are not allowed so much as a pillow.

The other main sight, in this area, is Fort Rotterdam, on the edge of the water. I have a smiling fort guide, whose English isn’t entirely distinct. But as far as I can make out the original fort here was a wooden one, constructed by the Sultan of Gowa, in 1634. Gowa was one of the chief kingdoms in Indonesia, at the time.

Sultan Hasanuddin was very put out to be defeated by the Dutch east Indies Company (VOC), in 1669, after several years of battles. (nevertheless they still named the airport after him.) The Dutch razed the old wooden fort and built a new stone fortress, with underground dungeons to imprison those who had opposed them. They were later used to store spices and now the site is a tourist attractions and civic administration centre. Well, that’s what the guy working hard on his phone, watching videos tells me.

Keeping Safe In Makassar

For the most part, the people I meet out wandering are welcoming and offer a shy greeting. There’s hassle from some rickshaw drivers, boatmen who want to ferry me to an island at sea and a guy in his car who keeps trying to talk to me and follows me a little way. But it’s all easily dealt with.

The main danger to avoid is a physical one. There are large holes in the pavement exposing deep drops into the litter strewn drainage beneath. The sun still hot, but it’s thankfully much less humid, in the city. Huzzah!

I’m not wild about being a solitary diner again and every meal so far has involved rice. I can see a KFC out of my bedroom window. So I scuttle off to the Express Counter. Ok, so KFC here is served with rice, not fries. And there is no cutlery in my room, not even spoons. Just plastic stirrers. I've decided I can use them like chopsticks. But fries, it has to be said, are a much tastier combination, with a finger lickin’ good meal.

Chinatown, Makassar

Guide Andre and driver Peter, take me through winding streets, to the Chinese market. Bustling and friendly street stalls, displaying pork, fish and vegetables. Tourists are a rarity and no-one minds having their photo taken. Chinese temples and a Chinese clans house, where the local tong meets.

The Port of Makassar

Further along, the main harbour. It’s really busy here, as all the holidaymakers queue up, for boats to the islands offshore. Daytrips with barbecues are the order of the day for some. There are 20 or so islands off the coast here, but most are claimed by the fisher folk who live there, coming to the mainland to barter their catches for staples like rice, gas and oil. They too are very active, in this area. The most compelling sight however, are the wooden pinisi ships. The name strictly applies to the unusual rigging. Like all the local boats, their hulls are shallow because of all the reefs. These are not waters which welcome large ships. Most of today’s pinisis are used for tourists: day trips or live-aboard cruises to Bali and Papua.

Seafood in Makassar

Makassar is, of course, renowned for its seafood. Delicious red snapper, rice paste fishcakes, fried shrimp and squid, comes in at £22, for three of us.

Rammang Rammang Karst

Then, out of town. Today is the Eid Day of Sacrifice, when animals are slaughtered, in remembrance of God allowing Isaac to substitute a ram sacrifice, for his son. As I’ve mentioned, cattle are the animals of choice for many. The slaughter is part of the days’ celebrations and in many cases is carried out, with a festive air, on the roadside, where the animals' throats are cut, so they bleed to death. They lie on the tarmac, pooled in crimson liquid. It’s truly gruesome.

That being said. Although Islam is the state religion and often followed carefully (even small girls wear the hijab and men always go to the Friday sermon) those of other beliefs seem to exist peacefully alongside, for the most part. Indonesia has not been without terrorist incidents.

We're driving to the small town of Rammang Rammang, (in the Maros area) and a wooden jetty, for a motorised canoe trip, up the Pute River, through the delightful tower karst landscape of cunningly shaped limestone hills, framed by Nipa palms and mangroves. We duck beneath some overhangs and emerge at a picturesque hamlet, Berua. (They advertise it as exotic and charge us to come in.) But it’s idyllic (exotic if you like), with its walkways, past caves, paddies, traditional wooden houses (rumah panggung) and fish farms.

Time to drink coconut juice and enjoy the view, before the return. Though the rain takes the edge off, a little. Surprisingly, this is either the second or third largest karst landscape in the world, depending on whether you believe local literature or Wikipedia (who are the ones bigging it up). I fly over it the next day and get much better sense of its size and the numerous pinnacles.

A Lion’s Share of Problems

I’m supposed to be flying up to Manado, in North Sulawesi today, but Lion Air has struck again. They’ve cancelled their morning routing and moved me to an afternoon departure, on Batik Air. (Oh good, more bread buns.) I didn’t find out, till my alarm woke me up, early, at six. And I spent all night tossing and turning and dreaming about missing planes. So that’s another day’s itinerary up the swanny. What’s more, the sky is clear and sunny, at the moment. Clouds and storms forecast for later.

When I finally get to the airport it’s still busy. And noisy, no one seems to bother with headphones. There’s even a model of the snazzy mosque. I chat to some Lion Air pilots who laugh at my travails. They tell me that all the bumps on the air at the moment are due to unpredictable winds. And, the flight isn’t too awful, back across the Equator, with a spectacular landing over the longest of Sulawesi’s tentacles, a coconut palm lined coast, volcanoes and a smattering of islands.

Tomohon

There’s just time to be whisked through this tranquil scene, past a redeemer statue, before sunset. This very active looking, 50 metre tall Christ Blessing, is possibly the tallest flying statue in the world. On, to Tomohon. I’m to spend the night in a bungalow, set in some stunning flower gardens, streams trickling under bamboo bridges, volcanoes forming the backdrop. Unfortunately, this watery scene attracts some of the largest mosquitos I’ve ever seen. That translates into some of the itchiest mosquito bites I’ve ever collected. Maybe 20 of them.

Nasi goreng and bed to catch up on some sleep, I think. But no. at nine o’clock the music starts. And it gets louder and louder, until midnight. Some sort of rock band. Maybe it’s related to Eid. There are ongoing parties everywhere. Though the proliferation of churches suggests that this is a strong Christian area. My earplugs are of little use. I eventually doze off to be woken by 4 a.m. Islamic prayers have begun. They finish at five to be followed by Christian singing from five to six. Apparently, the Christians in this area are not to be out done. That makes four hours sleep.

Guide Roy and driver Ian are trying to cram yesterday’s itinerary into today. And I’ve requested the Extreme Market in Tomohon as an additional first. It’s a huge fresh food market. Mainly under cover. There are the usual fruit and vegetables and spices. And a large butchery section, which sells anything you might (or might not) want to eat. Skinned dogs (it’s ok, they come from Muslim areas and they don’t care about animals), wild pigs (dismembered, but fur still attached), bats (mouths open, teeth grinning, wings stacked separately) and pythons suspended mid-air. It’s not a place for the faint hearted.

Around Manado

We spend the rest of the day admiring panoramic views of the volcanoes that Sulawesi does claim (Lokon is the tallest) and across Manado, to the sea. There are bubbling, steaming hot springs (at Lake Linow).

Then, ancient Warugu sarcophagi, at Airmadidi, in the Minahasa region. The Minahasa people originally wrapped their dead bodies in leaves from fan palms (woka), but in the ninth century they began using stone boxes with decorated tops. The bodies are placed in prostrate position, head kissing the knees and feet under the buttocks. The Dutch colonists banned the practice, fearing the spread of disease and insisting bodies should be buried below ground.

Tangkoko National Park

Finally, a winding road brings us to Tangkoko National Park and my villa. There are walks at dusk and dawn, searching for rare mammals. But this is no forest meander; it’ s a veritable route march, as the rangers are target minded and go at a pace.
Goals for the evening are black crested macaques and tarsiers. The macaques are every bit as mischievous as their long-tailed cousins, moving swiftly and not above making a grab at our bags. The large males aren’t afraid to take to the paths ahead of us.

I’ve only seen tarsiers before in a reserve at Bohol, in the Philippines. In the wild they’re usually found in pairs and indeed, we eventually find two huddled together hidden in the trunk of a tree. Jumping away swiftly, on two slender limbs, when all the attention gets too much for them. The poor little things are surrounded by lights, cameras and tripods which rotate round the tree after them. But these smallest of primates are as cute as they come, with enormous popping eyes and flapping pointed ears. Tiny yodas.

Next morning, we’re on the trail of the cuscus bear. It’s not a bear at all, but a marsupial, endemic to Sulawesi, who only hangs out (literally) in the top of the canopy. Isolated, they’ve developed their own characteristics , elongated claws and babies reared in pouches. They are named after their thick ursine like fur. And little else is known about them, apparently. After more trudging in circles (I’m beginning to feel a bit like Winnie the Pooh) they’re found. Only to be seen in any detail at all, through a camera, with a long lens. (Bottom right picture.)

Throw in an owl, a tarantula; and a kingfisher - I think I've done very well.

Bunaken Island

A quick visit to the pretty little beach. Then, I’m off to savour the sea properly at Bunaken Island. (I flew over it on the way into Manado). There are hundreds of little islands here in North Sulawesi, most of them uninhabited. A couple are pointy old (I hope) volcanoes. The rest, including Bunaken are flattish, from the air anyway.

The bad news is that Bunaken Village Resort where I’m staying has recently gone under Chinese ownership. The air conditioning has been disconnected. The fans in the room are so weak they only waft the hot air around. Rules proliferate, also given in Chinese. Shoes off in the dining area, don’t do this round the pool etc. A whole side of foolscap, in small print. We’re shouted for meals, two minutes before the official start time. No-one speaks English with any fluency. I’ve started using Google Translate as the manager, who is the only one with any English at all, is off for her birthday.

One Dutch couple, mainly fed up with the heat, have cut short their stay by two days. That only leaves three of us. Me and German couple Yogi and Gabi, who were also at Tangkoko. If any of this sounds disjointed it's because I’ve developed a hacking cough and try to explain I’d like some medical help, when the manager returns, but she’s not interested.

The dive master is Chinese and his English is even more limited. I try to question him about snorkelling too, but he’s very vague. And, almost everything he does tell me is contradicted when I actually do go snorkelling – he’s not on the boat. It’s not the safest experience I’ve ever had. The crew ( of two) tell me which way to swim and I jump in and go off on my own. They say they will keep an eye on me. Fortunately, I can see the shore and it’s not too rough.

The snorkelling however, above two different reef drop offs, is spectacular. Some lovely coral and thousands of fish, mostly tiny but colourful, parrot fish, red toothed triggerfish (with their appropriately crescent shaped tails, changing colour from indigo to iridescent turquoise, as they catch the light), sergeant majors (as always), pipe fish in assorted colours, wrasse, swimming in solitary splendour, angelfish and plenty of my favourite turtles. Both hawksbill and green turtles; they glide along gracefully beneath me or hide under coral ledges, their heads poking out.

The marine reserve police arrive, on their speed boat, to sell us our passes, grinning cheerfully and wanting to talk about football. Everyone always wants to talk about football.

As I said, only three of us in the resort, until we’re joined on the third night, by a female couple, more Germans. I'm lazing for a couple of days trying to get rid of my bug. It seems that there’s a cough virus roaming across south east Asia. The Chinese owner arrives the night before I’m due to depart and tells me this. Actually it turns out that she’s a very pleasant young woman, with a Belgian partner. They wave me off smiling.

Manado Airport, the Hard Way

The journey back to Manado Airport is more exciting than I would have wished. First, the tide is well out and the poor captain has to carry my bag, with its seven weeks worth of gear, a long way across the shallows and the reef, to the boat. We have to then navigate across the reef. And then a gale blows up. The boat is rocking in all directions. When we finally reach the long pier, at Manado, the captain has a real struggle to get the boat into land, battling both the wind and the reef. Then, we have to wade through the shallows again, to the pier, head into the wind. Now the rain is coming down in sheets. The captain deserved his tip.

The airport is very quiet. There’s no queue at all either at check in or security. That’s either a good or bad omen. back to Singapore and on to French Polynesia (for Pitcairn), via Auckland.

(Or read more about Indonesia here.)