The killing is over on Ambon, the hub of the Moluccas, or Spice
Islands, in Indonesia. There is an invisible line drawn between the
Christian and Muslim sectors in the City – it is still dangerous to
stop on the wrong side. The burnt out churches, houses and even
university buildings are reminders of the carnage that occurred a
short while ago, when Ambon was likened to Beirut at its worst.
“So it was a religious war?” I enquire. “Not really,
more the result of political manoeuvrings. Now we have peace and
democracy, but no jobs, clean streets or reliable infrastructure,
the opposite of neighbouring Singapore.” Almost incredibly,
fair and trouble-free elections had just been completed, much to
the surprise of the incumbent president, who refused to accept
defeat. “I would rather be in the hands of the Chinese army
than the Indonesian”, a French photo-journalist told us later,
after describing how he had to injure himself to persuade the
Chinese soldiers to release him. “You won't be killed or
“disappear” in their custody.”
With two friends I drove across the spine of Ambon to Hila, an old
village overlooking the much larger island of Ceram, passing
countless cloves and nutmegs drying in the sun on the roadside. It
was hard to believe that centuries ago such spices were valued more
highly than gold, with the result that the islands were a
battle-ground for the colonial powers, ending when we swapped our
land there for New York, after smuggling out seedlings to establish
plantations in India! We hiked up a steep trail, through spice
plantations, to a ridge with a spectacular view over the partially
forested hillsides. Here we strove to observe two species of
parrots endemic to these islands, which we could hear but not see.
We returned early the following morning and were rewarded by the
sight of the electric Moluccan Red Lory and the “poorly
known”, to quote the bird book, but well-named Drab
Honeyeater. On the drive back to the airport, we stopped to chat
and photo the friendly locals, many of whom were Muslims.
The main reason for going to Ambon was to take a flight to the
rarely visited Tanimbar Islands, some two hours east of Ambon. The
only flights were with Merpati, whose slogan “Get the
feeling” aptly described schedules in these parts as feelings
were all you could rely on, with nobody outside their office in
Ambon knowing when such flights would occur. Fortunately, we were
able to fly to Saumlaki on Yamdena, the main island of the
Tanimbars, on the desired day, a most uncomfortable experience in
an ancient 22-seater. We then discovered that we could not fly to
the relatively close Kai Islands as we wanted, flights having been
suspended, and the flight we had “booked” back to Ambon
did not run that day. As the previous day was full, we got a
booking for the day after, but no tickets as the agent had gone to
the airport to investigate why the plane had returned. The answer
was that the pilot had felt ill and so decided to come back to
Saumlaki, apparently not trusting his co-pilot to take-over.
The Tanimbars are at almost the south-eastern extremity of the 5000
km long Indonesian Archipelago, only 150 km from the coast of
Australia. Unlike most of the country, the population is
predominantly Christian. At the Harapan Indah, the only hotel in
town, we arranged to stay at the owners' farm 21 km along the
island's only road, so that we had ready access to the native
forest. By the time we reached the farm, after supplies had been
purchased, including a crate of beer, it was raining – the first
time for 4 months so it was said. We had come here to try to see
the 20 or more special birds endemic to these parts, a surprisingly
high number for such a relatively small area. When the rain
stopped, we set forth, amongst much bird activity, but were
disappointed to find the extensive forest reported to be present by
the last person we knew to have visited, some 10 years ago, had
gone and only patches of logged forest remained.
However, over the
next 4 days we saw all the specialities, including 2 parrots, 2
thrushes and 5 flycatchers, apart from the Tanimbar Scrubfowl,
sadly scarce or elusive due to hunting, and the Pied Bronze Cuckoo.
Strangely, I had recorded the song of the cuckoo on the first
afternoon, but never heard it again. According to the book, it
parasitizes the endemic Rufous sided Gerygone, but the only bird to
react to the playback of its song, on several occasions, was the
Wallacean Whistler – indicating that this species is the main host
for the cuckoo's eggs.
On the last afternoon, we visited the old village of Turgham. We
started at the mayor's house, where a meeting of the village
elders was in progress. After mutual greetings, we signed the
visitors book, noting that all previous visitors of the last 2-3
years looked to be either Indonesians or Australians, the latter
associated with the annual Darwin to Saumlaki boat race apparently.
At a wood-carver's house we bought a number of carvings from
the selection on offer by several local artists – good quality and
value. We were invited to drink a glass of Soli, local spirit
distilled from palm wine- highly alcoholic and surprisingly smooth.
Returning to the Harapan Indah in Saumlaki, we enjoyed the
air-conditioning, until ended by a power cut, and were amused to
observe the staff ironing banknotes flat, perhaps to facilitate
storage as even the smallest item can require a large number of
notes, the exchange rate being 16, 000 Rupiah to the pound. The
trappings of civilisation are a bit thin on the ground here: no
mobile phone cover, internet access or shopping malls. Predictably,
our flight was delayed by late arrival of the plane but this gave
us chance to study the profusion of Oriental Plovers and Little
Curlews on the runway – two species rarely encountered away from
their wintering grounds in northern Australia. It was a shame we
could not fly to Kai but we all agreed this last minute extension
to our eastern Indonesia trip had been a highly rewarding and
pleasant experience.

The majestic peaks of Mount Ararat provide a stunning
backdrop to Yerevan. The monastery of Khor-Virab and the ruins of
the ancient city of Dvin (dating back to the second century BC) are
located in the mid-distance Aerial view of Yerevan, capital of
Armenia Statue of Komitas, one of Armenia's most loved
composers, outside the Komitas Conservatory. Apart from writing
many original composition, Komitas travelled the country noting
down folk songs for posterity Yerevan, which is nestled in the
shadow of the snow-capped heights of the majestic mount Ararat,
where the Biblical Noah's Ark first landed escaping the Great
Flood, is the capital city of Armenia. With a population numbering
over 1.2 million, Yerevan is a bustling city. The central plaza,
Republic Square, is designed in the Armenian national style and
houses the Government House, the Cabinet and other governmental
offices as well as the Erebuni and Armenia hotels.
Yerevan, the ancient capital of Armenia, extends you a
warm and friendly welcome. It is one of the oldest cities in the
world. The earliest recorded settlement there dates back to 782 BC.
King Argishty I founded a fortress city in the north-eastern part
of present-day Yerevan, with the following cuneiform inscription,
“With the majesty of God Khald, Argishty, son of Menua, built
up this inaccessible castle and named it Erebuni…” You can
still see relics from this part of our history at the Erebuni
Museum in Yerevan.
As you explore the many interesting sights in Yerevan, you will
learn about the culture and history of one of the world's
oldest nations.
Becky introduces me to my host, Mr Sijaona. He is a
small wiry man with a purposeful stride. He welcomes me into his
house. I gaze around at the crumbling walls and the total lack of
comfort. But then he says in halting English that his other house
is better, (two wives, therefore two houses) – so I pick up my
suitcase and follow him down the dusty street.
We are sorry to say that Mac is not very well, but he is still
e-mailing strong and recently sent the Beetle a collection of
travel reminiscences about Australia, camels which takes us to
India and then back to Australia.
As part of our
time there we went to see a local group of women rehearsing
traditional Mozambique song (see picture, left). We were
merely walking by when we were invited to sit in on the group
during practice. Listening to the women and drums as the sun
set and the tide came in really will be a lasting memory of
my time spent in East Africa. Later that day we caught a dhow
(traditional African/Arabic sail boat) from Palma all the way
back to Mikindani. This again will stay with me for the rest
of my life as one of the most authentic experiences of the
lives people lead in this part of the world. These sorts of
experiences, however overused the cliché may be,
really are priceless. Money cannot buy memories and certainly
looking at the people of Palma or Mikindani, plays no part in
happiness or generosity. This sort of journey, away from the
beaten track and reach of the guidebooks is highly
recommended and, although not to everyone’s taste, will
provide lasting memories to anyone willing to embark on
them.
The fact is that the
call for a tourism boycott comes from Burma's elected
leaders. The National League for Democracy (NLD), who won a
landslide victory in Burma's 1990 election, remains the
only party mandated to represent the Burmese people and it is
a party that continues to draw the support and respect of
people inside and outside the country. Burma's Government
in exile, the National Coalition Government of the Union of
Burma (NCGUB), supports the boycott and it is a position that
has the backing of exile Burmese democracy groups around the
world.
The article also fails to mention
that in Burma many human rights abuses are directly connected
to the regime's drive to develop the country for
tourists. Throughout Burma men, women and children have been
forced to labour on roads, railways and tourism projects;
more than one million people have been forced out of their
homes in order to 'beautify' cities, suppress
dissent, and make way for tourism developments, such as
hotels, airports and golf courses. And these abuses are not
confined to history. In February 2004, for example, Burmese
soldiers rounded up ethnic Salons, or 'sea gypsies'
who normally live on boats in the Mergui Archipelago, forced
them to live on land and to take part in a 'Salon
Festival' aimed at foreign tourists.
A walk around
Mikindani shows little evidence of current military activity
but the historical signs are more common. The Mtwara airstrip
was an RAF base, the customs house was destroyed by naval
artillery and subsequent neglect, the splendid hotel is a
fortified building. The Boma is no great castle but would
have been a hard nut to crack. The crenulations (saw teeth
type things you get at the top of castles) on the bastion at
the back are wide enough to accommodate the large water
cooled barrel of the Maxim machine gun whilst those on the
tower could only fit a rifle. Both employed at the time of
construction.