The road from Bansal in the northwest of the island of Lombok to Mataram leads through hilly foothills that extend down to the sea. Monkeys sit on the guardrails nibbling on something. After three nights in Mataram, I continue south on the island on July 17, 2026. The landscape is now becoming flatter; it goes through rice fields, villages, and past hills that lie dry and brown under the blazing sun.

The most important holiday resort on the southern coast is Kuta, and since there is a place of the same name in Bali, I almost booked my accommodation on the wrong island.

Strong contrasts

In southern Lombok, the contrast between traditional ways of life and tourist development is particularly striking. Before we arrive in Kuta, we visit Desa Adat Sade. Sade is a traditional Sasak village, and because it is located on the main road between the airport and the resort of Kuta, tourists often bump into each other here.

The Sasak are the indigenous majority population of Lombok and maintain a culture that combines the predominant Sunni Islam – a significant contrast to the Hindu-influenced neighboring island of Bali – with older Adat traditions.

Because I wanted to stay in Indonesia for two months, not just the one granted by the visa at the airport, I had to find an immigration office where, for a fee of 500,000 rupiah (24 Swiss francs or just under 25 euros), the extension could be arranged; this isn't possible online. These offices are located in the major cities, and I had no desire to drive back to Denpasar from my refuge on Bali's west coast along the notorious highway.

So I decided to go to the neighboring island of Lombok, where such an office exists in the capital, Mataram. And since I was already on Lombok, I added on a week on the south coast.

While the Gili Islands are better known for beach holidays, I wanted to continue east afterwards, to Labuan Bajo on the island of Flores and to Komoğdo National Park. Lombok's airport is in the south of the island, while the Gili Islands are in the northwest. I didn't want to drive up and down the island three times.

Chaos at the port

So, on July 14, 2026, I had myself driven to the Balinese ferry port of Padang Bai, about 90 km east of Balian Beach, where I had spent a week. This journey also took a good three hours, given Balinese traffic conditions. From Padang Bai, various ferries and speedboats operate to Penida Island, the three tourist-developed Gili Islands, and Bansal in northwestern Lombok.

Padang Bai is in complete chaos: Several hundred people are waiting for ferries about to depart; there's no information about when which ferry or speedboat will dock and be loaded, not to mention any electronic displays. So, impatient passengers stumble over strewn suitcases to the gate, and from there, told to wait until later, they head back again.

I had read a lot beforehand about the organizational talent of the Indonesians, which doesn't quite match our ideals, about delays and chaos – and here, finally, they are. Being transferred in the middle of the ocean from a comfortable speedboat to an open, rickety boat without proper seating, and without anyone informing us, only elicits a fatalistic shrug. When you have the image of sunken or burning Indonesian ferries and passengers fighting for their lives in mind, this is a minor inconvenience.

Upon arrival at Bangsal port on the island of Lombok, travelers (as in almost every port and airport) are immediately surrounded by people trying to sell them a taxi. In such cases, it's helpful to research fares beforehand to avoid being ripped off. I ended up paying 250,000 Indonesian rupiah for the hour-and-a-half ride to Mataram, the equivalent of twelve Swiss francs or just over twelve euros. The drivers had initially demanded half a million.

No tourists

Mataram is the capital of the province of West Nusa Tenggara; this includes Lombok, the three times larger Sumbawa (over 15,000 square kilometers), and around 400 smaller islands.

No, Mataram is not a tourist destination. The city, with its approximately 450,000 inhabitants, is far too rigid for that. The fact that Islam prevails here (though not comparable to the practice in the province of Aceh, see my posts "Banda Aceh – Sharia after the Tsunami" from May 22, 2026, and "Aceh – How Sharia is enforced" from May 24) becomes apparent at the latest in a restaurant: wine or beer with your meal – forget it!

Roemah Langko ("House on Langko Street") would be perfectly suited for a sophisticated dinner. This reconstructed Dutch mansion from the 1920s serves excellent Indonesian specialties. The waiter, Benedictus, a Catholic from the island of Flores, also doesn't understand why he can't offer me a glass of wine with my meal.

Trip saved

The same applies to the many international restaurants in the sprawling Lombok Epicentrum Mall. I made a pilgrimage there, firstly to enjoy sushi again instead of the local Indonesian food, and secondly to salvage my trip.

Because on the ferry from Bali, I discovered to my horror that my phone wouldn't charge anymore, and without a phone, a traveler is completely lost, since that flat thing in your back pocket is an instrument for everything: storing flight tickets and hotel bookings; paying in shops, restaurants, and hotels; checking emails; contacting the bank; 6,547 photos (as of July 14, 2026); 45 travel apps; half a dozen AI apps; Google Maps; the NZZ subscription; the New York Times subscription; and so on and so forth. (It's uncanny how vital this thing has become.)

There were two possible reasons for the problem: a simple one, that the charger was broken; a more serious one, that the charging issue lay with the phone itself. A friendly saleswoman in the Epicentrum Mall came to my rescue: it was just the charger. My relief must have been quite obvious.

Mosque and Hindu temple

With renewed optimism, I set out to explore Mataram. The Great Mosque in the city center, the Masjid Hubbul Wathan, also known as the Islamic Center Nusa Tenggara Barat, was opened in December 2013.

The voluminous prayer hall, diagonally opposite the immigration office, can accommodate more than 10,000 worshippers. Its domes are decorated with colorful batik patterns. The main minaret, standing alone next to the mosque, is an imposing 99 meters tall. Four slender towers, each 66 meters high, mark the corners of the building.

During a series of earthquakes in July and August 2018, which mainly affected northern Lombok and the Gili Islands, the Great Mosque, then only five years old, was also severely damaged: parts of the roof collapsed; the minarets cracked; the dome of one of them was tilted sharply and threatened to collapse.

I was pleasantly surprised by the immigration office, by the way: An officer in a black uniform and a female officer wearing a headscarf immediately attended to me, took my mobile phone, and carried out the rather complicated process for me – no paperwork; that's all moved to the virtual realm. Then I was photographed, and that was the end of the bureaucratic process.

Previously, I had expected conditions like those I knew from African or Arab authorities: waiting for hours in humid, hot rooms together with a hundred other petitioners; endless back and forth between different offices; filling out dozens of forms; queuing here to pay, there to be questioned; getting a stamp here, handing in a photograph there.

Sometimes pessimism has its advantages: you can be pleasantly surprised, like I was in Mataram.

When Bali ruled Lombok

Matram consists of four distinct districts; Cakranegara, once shaped by Balinese kings who ruled parts of Lombok in the 18th and 19th centuries, is the most historically significant. The 300-year-old Pura Meru in Cakranegara is particularly impressive.

The temple's three tall, multi-tiered shrines, which from a distance appear to be turned on a lathe, are dedicated to the Hindu deities Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Adjacent to Pura Meru lies the former royal garden with a large, artificial pond that reflects the blue of the sky, at the center of which is the Bale Kambang, a pavilion in the water that belonged to the royal palace complex.

Mataram will never be one of my favorite cities; it's too puritanical for my taste. But the two days I spent there offered some interesting insights, and I'll fondly remember the saleswoman in the Epicentrum Mall as well as the immigration officials.

I often think of the German writer Hans Magnus Enzensberger (1929-2022) during my travels. In his essay «The Futile Surf of Distance. A Theory of Tourism,» he stated in 1958 – almost 70 years ago, when there were still no crowds flying around the globe in budget airlines – a nearly prophetic sentence: «The tourist destroys what he seeks by finding it.» This sentence applies with particular precision to the «Island of the Gods,» Bali. I wanted to avoid Bali on my journey through Indonesia as much as the urban monstrosity of Jakarta.

Dewi and Felix, an Indonesian-Swiss couple on the island of Samosir in Lake Toba in Sumatra, changed my mind. They gave me a secret tip for a stay in Bali away from the tourist streams: the Pondok Pitaya resort on the west coast. I booked a week and traveled from Surabaya on the main island of Java to Denpasar.

The First Shock

Unfortunately, the first shock came almost immediately: Pondok Pitaya is located 60 kilometers northwest of Denpasar, the capital of the province of Bali, and I expected a travel time of at most one and a half hours. What I didn't realize (because I was inadequately prepared – my own fault!): The main road from Denpasar to Gilimanuk, from where ferries to Java operate every twenty minutes around the clock, runs directly along this west coast – 125 kilometers of pure misery.

In both directions, there is an almost unbroken line of cars, buses, and especially trucks, struggling and smoking their way up the hills and then squeaking back down. The incessant, stubborn traffic flows are surrounded by myriads of motorcycles and scooters. In short: for the 60 kilometers, we didn't need one, but four hours.

The cozy Pondok Pitaya resort right by the sea is a few kilometers away from the main road. However, if you want to go anywhere, you cannot avoid it. This applies to me as well. I don't want to stick to the resort for a week. At Balian Beach, where Pondok Pitaya is located, swimming in the sea is difficult anyway due to the constantly rolling high waves, while conditions are paradisiacal for surfers.

So I rented a scooter and boldly mixed into the traffic chaos, where everyone tries to be a little faster than the other; where overtaking occurs left and right, even with oncoming traffic, and at the same time, you have to dodge potholes, minibuses that suddenly stop at the roadside without signaling, trucks, and other two-wheelers that overtake you and cut you off.

A Temple in the Sea

My first destination, for which I had to drive about an hour on the horror main road before I could turn off, was Pura Tanah Lot, a Hindu temple on a rock in the sea. At high tide, it stands like an island in the water; at sunset, it glows in golden colors.

During my visit, it was low tide. On the sea side, waves crashed against the rock; on the land side, one could walk over the muddy sand to the temple. However, one is not allowed to enter it via the two stairs on the left and right; it is reserved for praying Hindus. And because the temple mountain is covered with trees, the buildings are almost hidden. I also didn’t want to wait until sunset, because I declined the additional handicap of having to drive on the Jalan Raya Denpasar–Gilimanuk in the dark. Somewhere, the adventurous spirit has its limits.

Between the large parking lot and the temple, a vast tourist area has spread out: souvenir stalls, clothing stores, supermarkets, restaurants. There is even a shop of Polo Ralph Lauren here; whether genuine or fake is never certain in these latitudes. On a rise with a direct view of the temple, a series of garden eateries have settled, as if on a battlement. They are half-empty because only individual travelers remain for lunch; the groups move on as soon as the photos are taken and souvenirs are bought.

Symbiosis of Nature and Agriculture

The next day, I drove into the interior of the island. The Tabanan region with the inactive Mount Batukaru (2276 m above sea level) is known as Bali's «Rice Chamber.» At an altitude of 850 meters, with a view of the volcano, the Jatiluwih rice terraces spread out like a green amphitheater. This spectacular symbiosis of nature and agriculture has been inscribed in the UNESCO World Heritage list and is not a staged display for tourists. The oldest terraces of Jatiluwih are probably around 1200 years old, having been continuously expanded and cultivated by generations of farming families.

I observe farmers working in the divided rice fields with rakes or old-fashioned hand-guided motor plows. Harvested sections are burned, lying blackened before one. Many little fires send smoke rising to the sky.

Yet, here too, as almost everywhere on Bali, the primacy of tourist development applies: One pays an entrance fee to be able to wander through the terraces. Walking paths lead through the landscape, marked at each intersection. Along the sides of the paths are not only small shrines and temples but also so-called Warung, which means snack bars, offering snacks, coconut water, nasi goreng, and Bintang beer. And at the top of this arena, across the street, tourist establishments reign – hotels, guesthouses, restaurants, and shops.

Holy Place in the Forest

Not far from the rice terraces stands in the forests on the eastern slope of Gunung Batukaru the Pura Luhur Petali. The temple dates back to the 13th/14th century; to the Balinese, it is a holy place; believers pilgrimage here to pray for justice, balance, and inner stability. The terraced staircase structure, behind which three courtyards, separated by gates and walls, transition into one another, is striking. Of course, this temple is also inhabited by Hindu monsters and mythical creatures.

In contrast to the Pura Tanah Lot down by the sea, I did find a quiet place in Pura Luhur Petali, almost without tourists, without souvenir stalls and intrusive sellers, and above all without traffic. However, I must plunge back into this to return to my resort.

From Yogyakarta, I continue on July 6, 2026, to the city of Surabaya in the northeast of Java. At the train station in Yogyakarta, a crowd pushes in; several times, there is no way to get through. However, the “Executive Class” of the Indonesian railway proves to be comfortable. And the train departs right on time, which astonishes German fellow travelers who are not used to such punctuality from Deutsche Bahn.

I spontaneously chose Surabaya due to a song by Bertold Brecht and Kurt Weill. “Surabaya Johnny” is a bitter love song from a woman to her unruly and unfaithful Johnny, who travels the seas as a sailor from Surabaya. She describes how she is seduced, exploited, and abandoned by Johnny but remains infatuated with him. The incomplete list of female interpreters is a roll call of past superstars: Lotte Lenya, Marlene Dietrich, Milva, Bette Midler, Marianne Faithfull, Nina Hagen, Ute Lemper.

Art Deco meets Skyscrapers

After a four-hour train ride, I arrive and check in at the “Grand Inna Tunjungan,” an elegant four-star hotel that costs only 26 Swiss francs (about 26 euros) per night. Tunjungan is a neighborhood to my taste: In the area, you can admire the careful architecture of many buildings in Art Deco and colonial style, including landmarks such as the “Hotel Majapahit,” opened in 1911, or the Siola Building from 1877.

The “Majapahit” was originally named “Hotel Oranje” in honor of the Dutch royal house of Orange. It has been renamed several times since; the current name is meant to commemorate the Majapahit Empire, a powerful Hindu-Buddhist kingdom that ruled East Java from the late 13th to the early 16th century and later parts of Central Java, building a vast network of vassal states that secured its influence over Sumatra, the Malay Peninsula, Borneo, Sulawesi, and parts of the Philippines. (The history of Southeast Asia is extremely complex, I know. And here there is only space for summary presentations.)

The strikingly striped Siola Building, which marks the northern end of Tunjungan Street, was built in 1877 by a Britishman as a department store, called by the Dutch “Het Engelsche Warenhuis,” and is now a museum.

The city has revitalized the neighborhood in a large project. In the evenings, thousands stroll down Tunjungan Street, although, unlike Yogyakarta, hardly any foreign tourists wander here. There are cafés, music venues, and chic restaurants. My favorite spot would be the “Locaāhands” at Jalan Tunjungan 39.

Citra, my tour guide with whom I dine here, explains the strange name: Locaāhands is a made-up word; it is meant to refer to the “local hands” that produce the ingredients processed by local cooks. Apparently, this is too complicated for Surabayans, so they simply call the restaurant “Tunjungan 39.” It is located in a distinctive corner building, built in 1925 for the bookstore J.W.F. Sluyter. Wall-high, albeit empty, shelves in the establishment remind visitors of the house's former career.

However, the historical buildings in Tunjungan are merely dots in the urban landscape. For Tunjungan is also the central business district of the five million metropolis Surabaya. The colonial buildings cower between gigantic office, apartment, and shopping complexes. One day, I completely lose my way in Tunjungan Plaza, which boasts of being the second-largest mall in Indonesia, and can hardly find my way out.

Memories of Liberation

I met Citra, a young woman in a hijab, when I booked a walking tour with a storyteller through historic Surabaya and Chinatown via “GetYourGuide.” Our tour (the “group” consists of only me and one student from Jakarta) begins in a small park. It is surrounded by massive colonial buildings like the “Cigar Building,” named for its cigar or lipstick-shaped corner tower, and the 1929-built Internatio Building, the former seat of the “Internationale Credit en Handelsvereeniging Rotterdam.”

On the square, a replica of a car wreck from the 1940s stands out. Citra tells the story: In this American car, British Brigadier A.W.S. Mallaby lost his life. Mallaby’s 49th Indian Infantry Brigade had been relocated to Surabaya to ensure the surrender of Japanese troops. In the long term, the Dutch were also to be supported, as they sought to regain control over the Java colony after the Japanese withdrawal.

On the evening of October 30, 1945, Mallaby drove through Surabaya under a white flag to inform his troops about the recently negotiated ceasefire agreement. His car was surrounded by Indonesian militias in front of the Internatio Building, where British soldiers had taken up positions. In the tense situation, the British fired warning shots; the militias shot back. Grenades exploded, and amidst the chaos, Mallaby’s limousine was blown up. It could never be determined who was responsible for his death, the militias or Mallaby's own men.

This incident was one of the causes of the battle for Surabaya in November 1945, where British and British-Indian troops attacked Indonesian nationalists. There were thousands of deaths, tens of thousands of refugees, and widespread destruction in the city. The British won, but in the long run, the independence movement prevailed; Surabaya became a symbol of the liberation struggle.

A Chinese Gate and a Stinky Market

We cross over to the Red Bridge over the Kalimas River. It is not only named for its color but also for the many bloodshed that occurred here during the 1945 revolution. Beyond the bridge, the cityscape changes. A red entrance gate marks the Chinatown. Narrow alleys, past old Chinese businesses and traditional temples, lead us to the Pasar Pabean. In the narrow, centuries-old market, fruits, vegetables, and spices are traded; in the back, a fish market is detectable by its strong odor.

Right next to the gate to Chinatown, I am reminded of my former profession: In an elegant colonial building, the local daily newspaper “Radar Surabaya” is produced. I have never experienced such a stately editorial building during my journalistic career.

July 4, 2026. With a private driver named David, the three of us drove from Yogyakarta out to the Kedu plain. For the 40 kilometers, we took a good hour in mostly heavy traffic – the return trip during evening rush hour was to take even longer, but the effort was worth it: On a small hill in the Kedu plain lies Borobudur, a construction of superlatives. This is confirmed both by UNESCO, which added Borobudur to the World Heritage List in 1991, and by the Guinness Book of Records, which declared the site in 2005 the largest Buddhist temple in the world and the largest Buddhist archaeological site.

The Kedu plain is surrounded on three sides by volcanoes and other mountains. One, the Merapi, is considered highly active, as my guide Caca in Yogyakarta told me. It regularly spews ash, and occasionally there are lava flows. The crater of Merapi is about 30 kilometers away from both Borobudur and the center of the large city of Yogyakarta, and both are occasionally covered with ash rain. But the city and the temple lie, authorities and scientists assure, outside the direct danger zone for pyroclastic flows.

Borobudur, as it begins to emerge on the horizon in the shimmering heat of the day, is first and foremost gigantic: The square base measures 123 by 123 meters, with a height of about 35 meters. A total of 1.6 million stone blocks were used – almost comparable to the Cheops Pyramid in Giza, which was assembled from around 2.5 million blocks.

Borobudur is also designed as a pyramid, but walkable, with nine tiers: six square terraces, above which are three circular platforms.

Buddhist Cosmology

The symbolism of Borobudur comes from Buddhist cosmology. On three levels, the temple represents the path of mankind from banal everyday life to enlightenment, that is, nirvana. On the lowest level, we find the world of desires. Above that, on five square terraces, the life of Buddha and his teachings are depicted on kilometer-long, detailed relief bands. On the three circular top terraces, 72 bell-shaped stupas rise into the sky, with a central main stupa at the top as a symbol of nirvana. In each of these stupas sits a Buddha; two have been uncovered to demonstrate this.

The Buddhist temple Borobudur and the Prambanan complex, which has both Hindu and Buddhist temples, were created around the same time. (I described this complex in my previous blog “Prambanan – Gods Sculpted in Stone” from July 3, 2026.) They served not only religious purposes but were also stone embodiments of power demonstrations by the most important clans competing for supremacy in the Mataram kingdom, later also called Medang, in the region of Central Java: the Buddhist Syailendra dynasty and the Hindu Sanjaya dynasty.

Power, Glory, and Downfall

For me, Borobudur is the symbol of the eternal conflict between transience and permanence. The construction of the site, which began around 750 AD, took decades and was presumably completed in the early 9th century under King Sri Maharaja Samaratungga of the Syailendra dynasty. (Researchers have searched in vain for written evidence of the construction; they had to estimate the construction years based on stylistic comparisons, architectural analyses, and inscriptions.)

Yet, while the overwhelming complexes of Borobudur and Prambanan give us a metaphysical sense of infinity today, we have not internalized the second part of the story, that of the rapid decline: As proud as Borobudur and Prambanan stand today, their bloom period was very short. Prambanan was only intensely used for about 80 to 100 years. And Borobudur's significance faded after 100 or at most 200 years.

Over the centuries, volcanic ash and the dense vegetation of the jungle buried Borobudur. Earthquakes shifted walls; stupas collapsed. Rainwater and root pressure affected the stability; the temple threatened to sink into the ground.

In 1814, about a thousand years after the completion of Borobudur, a Dutch engineer was commissioned to free the structure, deeply hidden in the jungle, from trees and earth. It wasn't until almost a hundred years later, from 1907 to 1911, that the top terraces and stupas were stabilized.

Preserving the Heritage

However, the crucial phase for the rescue of the monument began in 1975. For seven years, the Indonesian government, in collaboration with UNESCO, carried out one of the most elaborate restoration projects humanity has ever seen: More than a million stone blocks were removed, cataloged, and cleaned. A modern drainage system was installed, and the core of the temple was reinforced with concrete. Then Borobudur was rebuilt with the original stone blocks.

In addition to being a symbol of power, glory, and permanence, Borobudur has also become a symbol of scientific progress: Its restoration has set new standards in monument preservation.

After the overwhelming impressions, as we set off back to Yogyakarta, we make a more mundane but still surprising discovery outside the fenced complex of Borobudur: Suddenly, several candy-colored VW buggies, filled with waving tourists, pass by. The officially termed 181 or

The painting is located in a limestone cave that is part of a vast karst landscape. This region is rich in natural caves, steep limestone cliffs, and tropical forests. For millennia, these caves provided early humans with shelter from the elements and wild animals. At the same time, they served as places for social life and possibly also for religious or ritual activities.

The famous cave painting depicts a Sulawesi warty pig, a species of wild pig endemic to Sulawesi. The animal is painted on the rock wall with red ochre and is remarkably detailed. Particularly striking are the robust physique, the characteristic facial warts, and the natural posture of the animal. Despite its great age, many details are still well preserved today, conveying an impressive impression of the artistic skill of its creators.

The red pigment used comes from natural ochre, an iron-rich mineral that has been used as a color pigment worldwide since the Paleolithic era. The production of such pigments required knowledge of suitable materials and their processing. This shows that the people of that time were not only skilled hunters and gatherers but also possessed remarkable technical and artistic abilities.

The dating of the painting was accomplished using modern scientific methods. Researchers examined calcareous deposits that had formed over parts of the painting. Using uranium-thorium dating, it was determined that these deposits are at least 45,000 years old. Since the image had to exist before the calcareous layer formed, this results in a minimum age of about 45,000 years. This discovery significantly altered the existing understanding of the origins of art.

For a long time, scientists believed that the oldest representational artworks were exclusively created in Europe. However, the cave paintings of Sulawesi clearly show that symbolic thinking and artistic expression developed very early in Southeast Asia as well. This has given Indonesia a prominent place in the global prehistoric research.

The South Sulawesi region has an extraordinary concentration of prehistoric sites. In numerous caves, along with animal depictions, hand negatives have also been discovered. These were created by people placing their hands against the rock wall and spraying color pigments over them. The resulting silhouettes are among the most impressive symbols of human creativity and uniquely connect us with people who lived tens of thousands of years ago.

Many archaeologists suspect that the creators of these artworks were members of the so-called Toalean culture or their predecessors. However, the Toalean culture developed significantly later, which suggests that the 45,000-year-old painting was probably made by earlier hunter-gatherer groups. These people lived in close connection with nature, hunted wild pigs, deer, and other animals, gathered edible plants, and used the caves as living and meeting places.

The Sulawesi warty pig likely played a significant role in the daily lives of these communities. It served as an important food source and may have also held symbolic or spiritual significance. The careful depiction of the animal suggests that it was much more than just game. It may have represented strength, fertility, or success in hunting.

The discovery of the cave painting brought international attention to Kampung Biku. Scientists from many countries visit the region to further investigate the development of early human cultures. Modern technologies such as 3D scanning, high-resolution photography, and geochemical analyses now allow for a particularly gentle exploration of the sensitive artworks.

At the same time, awareness for the protection of this unique cultural heritage is growing. Climatic changes, humidity, biological deposits, and human influences can damage the delicate paintings in the long term. Therefore, archaeologists, authorities, and local communities work closely together to preserve the caves for future generations.

For visitors, Kampung Biku offers not only archaeological treasures but also an impressive natural landscape. Massive limestone formations, dense tropical vegetation, and an extraordinary diversity of species make the region a fascinating travel destination. Those who explore this landscape get a sense of what South Sulawesi might have looked like tens of thousands of years ago.

The cave art of Kampung Biku reminds us that creativity is a fundamental part of being human. Even 45,000 years ago, people had the ability to observe their environment, depict animals realistically, and permanently record their thoughts on rock walls. These artworks are not just archaeological finds but also messages from a long-past time.

Today, the pig painting of Kampung Biku is considered one of the most significant examples of prehistoric art in the world. It broadens our understanding of human evolution and shows that artistic thinking developed independently in different regions of the earth. Indonesia, especially South Sulawesi, thus occupies a firm place in the history of early art.

For anyone interested in archaeology, history, or the origins of human creativity, Kampung Biku is an extraordinary place. The 45,000-year-old cave painting uniquely combines science, nature, and culture, reminding us that the ability to create art was already one of the most important features of modern humans. It is an invaluable heritage of humanity and a symbol of the timeless creativity of our ancestors.

1. Choose the Best Time to Visit

The ideal time to visit Rammang-Rammang is between May and October, during the dry season. In these months, the weather is usually sunny, the rivers are calm, and hiking can be done without significant restrictions. During the rainy season from November to April, heavy rains can occur, making boat rides and hikes more challenging.

If you want to take particularly beautiful photos, arrive early in the morning or late in the afternoon. The soft sunlight makes the karst rocks appear especially impressive.

2. Start Early in the Morning

Starting early offers many advantages. The temperatures are more pleasant, the air is fresh, and the landscape appears particularly mystical through the morning fog. Additionally, there are significantly fewer visitors early in the morning, allowing you to fully enjoy the tranquility of nature.

This time of day is also ideal for photographers, as the light is soft and creates beautiful reflections on the river.

3. Don't Miss a Boat Ride

One of the most beautiful ways to explore Rammang-Rammang is a traditional boat ride on the Pute River. During the ride, the boat glides slowly between huge limestone formations. Nipah palms, mangroves, and numerous tropical plants grow along the river.

With a bit of luck, visitors may spot kingfishers, herons, butterflies, or even macaques. The relaxed boat ride is undoubtedly one of the highlights of any trip.

4. Wear Comfortable Clothing

Since Rammang-Rammang is predominantly a natural area, lightweight and breathable clothing is recommended. Good hiking shoes or sports shoes are especially helpful when visiting caves or viewpoints.

Additionally, don't forget:

• sun hat or cap
• sunscreen
• sunglasses
• insect repellent
• reusable water bottle

These items will help make your tour significantly more enjoyable.

5. Bring Enough Cash

Although tourism in Rammang-Rammang is growing, many small shops and boat operators do not yet accept card payments. It is advisable to carry sufficient cash in Indonesian Rupiah.

This way, you can easily pay for entrance fees, purchase local snacks, or buy souvenirs.

6. Discover the Local Caves

Rammang-Rammang is not only known for its karst landscape but also for numerous caves of prehistoric significance. Some caves contain millennia-old handprints and rock paintings, which are among the most important archaeological findings in Indonesia.

When visiting these caves, visitors should respect the historical sites and must not touch or damage the rock drawings.

7. Visit the Village of Berua

The small village of Berua is one of the most beautiful spots in Rammang-Rammang. Surrounded by impressive limestone mountains, the village provides an authentic impression of rural life in South Sulawesi.

Here, visitors can take pleasant strolls, admire traditional wooden houses, explore rice fields, and experience the warm hospitality of the locals.

8. Try the Local Cuisine

A trip to South Sulawesi would not be complete without getting to know the local cuisine. In the vicinity of Rammang-Rammang, visitors will find small restaurants and warungs offering traditional specialties.

Popular dishes include grilled freshwater fish, fresh seafood, Coto Makassar, Konro soup, and various rice dishes with spicy local spices. Fresh coconuts and tropical fruits provide a pleasant refreshment after a hike.

9. Allow Enough Time

Many visitors underestimate the size of the karst region. At least half a day should be planned for a relaxed visit. Those wishing to visit several caves or do extensive photography should reserve a whole day.

A longer stay also allows one to experience the sunset over the karst mountains—a truly unforgettable natural experience.

10. Respect Nature

Rammang-Rammang is a sensitive ecosystem with a unique flora and fauna. Every visitor should contribute to protecting this landscape.

This includes:

• not leaving any trash,
• not damaging plants,
• not feeding animals,
• using marked paths,
• following instructions from local guides.

Sustainable tourism helps preserve this extraordinary landscape for future generations.

11. Hire a Local Guide

A knowledgeable local guide makes the visit significantly more interesting. The guides not only know the best viewpoints but also tell exciting stories about the geology, culture, and history of the region.

Furthermore, visitors support the local community by booking a local guide, contributing to the sustainable development of tourism.

12. Bring a Camera

Rammang-Rammang offers countless photo opportunities. The dramatic limestone formations, mirror-like rivers, lush rice fields, and tropical forests provide ideal conditions for landscape, nature, and travel photography.

Particularly recommended are shots during sunrise or just before sunset, when the rocks are bathed in warm, golden light.

Conclusion

Rammang-Rammang is a hidden natural paradise in South Sulawesi and ranks among the most beautiful karst landscapes in Southeast Asia. The combination of impressive limestone mountains, tranquil river landscapes, historic caves, traditional village culture, and warm hospitality makes this destination a special experience.

With good preparation, respectful behavior towards nature and culture, and enough time for exploration, your trip to Rammang-Rammang will be an unforgettable adventure. Whether you are a nature lover, photographer, culture enthusiast, or adventurer – every visitor will find unique impressions here that will leave a lasting memory. If you want to discover Indonesia from an authentic and lesser-known perspective, Rammang-Rammang should be at the top of your travel list.

Yogyakarta, the capital of the eponymous sultanate on Java, is the starting point for two monumental UNESCO World Heritage Sites. They leave a lasting impression – at least on me, who visited the two temple complexes on July 3rd and 4th, 2026. While the Hindu complex of Candi Prambanan fascinates with its towers rising steeply towards the sky, the Buddhist monument Borobudur, a terraced pyramid, impresses with its gigantic size.

The Prambanan archaeological park consists of four main sites, which can be easily explored on foot or by electric golf cart, ideally from south to north. Built in the late 9th century under the Hindu-Buddhist Mataram dynasty, Prambanan is almost three hundred years older than the perhaps even more famous temple complexes of Angkor.

(Clarification for those interested in history; everyone else can skip this parenthetical remark: The Hindu-Buddhist kingdom of Mataram existed from the 8th century AD and disappeared in the 10th. Islam only reached Java from the 13th century onwards; the first Muslim sultanates were founded in the 14th and 15th centuries. The Islamic Sultanate of Mataram emerged around 1580 and collapsed in 1755. Among other things, the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, which still exists today, arose from it.)

Shiva reigns supreme over everything.

The most magnificent complex, Candi Prambanan, located in the north of the site and dating back almost 1200 years, is dedicated to the Hindu Trinity, the so-called Tri-murti: At its center are eight main temples, the 47-meter-high Temple of Shiva (the Destroyer) being the dominant central structure that shapes the entire sanctuary. It is flanked by two other large temples for Vishnu (Preserver) and Brahma (Creator).

Originally, the complex contained 224 to 250 individual shrines. Many of these small temples now survive only as piles of black basalt stones or remnants of foundations, and it is uncertain whether they can ever be reconstructed. Prambanan was largely destroyed in an earthquake in 1549 and only gradually rebuilt in the 20th century. In the meantime, local people had used the site as a source of building materials for centuries, and many parts are simply no longer there. (What I'm saying here, of course, comes not from my own knowledge, but from that of our guide.)

The slender, soaring towers are richly decorated with reliefs. These were carved from the already constructed stones; the stonemasons could therefore not afford the slightest mistake; this makes the wealth of detail, precision, beauty and expressiveness of these works all the more admirable.

The scenes depicted are from the Hindu epic Ramayana, parts of which are over 2500 years old. It tells the life story of Prince Rama, a human incarnation of the god Vishnu.

Rama was an ideal ruler. His fame and divine lineage inspired the Thai King Vajiravudh, who reigned from 1910 to 1925, to call himself and his five predecessors of the Chakri dynasty, who had been in power since 1782, "Rama" and to number them retrospectively. Thus, Vajiravudh became Rama VI; the current King of Thailand, Maha Vajiralongkorn, is Rama X.

Peaceful coexistence

Three other temples in the same park are dedicated to Buddha and demonstrate the peaceful coexistence of religions in the former kingdom. North of the Hindu Prambanan main complex lies the Buddhist Candi Lumbung. "Lumbung" translates as "rice granary," but it is a restored temple that was once surrounded by 16 smaller subsidiary temples. Lumbung also features fine stonework and stupas.

Just a little further north lies Candi Bubrah. Long a ruin, this Buddhist temple has been painstakingly restored. Here you can see well-preserved Buddha statues on the exterior and grim Kirtimukha heads above the niches. The Sanskrit word Kirtimukha means "face of glory": this grotesque monster with bulging eyes, fangs, and a gaping maw is said to protect the temple.

Sewu lies at the far northern end of the complex. Its name means "Thousand Temples"; indeed, there were once 249 structures. Two imposing, armed guardian statues flank the entrances to the central hill. Interestingly, this Buddhist temple also features scenes from the Hindu epic Ramayana. Unfortunately, I can't see them; Candi Sewu is fenced off and can only be viewed from the outside. Nevertheless, this second-largest Buddhist temple complex in Indonesia, after Borobudur, is truly impressive.

Borobudur will be my next highlight.

Java leaves me speechless: From the airplane, the night-lit island presents itself like an almost entirely urbanized giant city. The numbers confirm this impression: Java is 132,000 square kilometers, which is about three times the size of Switzerland or less than twice the size of Bavaria. However, 160 million people live on the island, which would be comparable to a Swiss population of 50 million (instead of the current nine) or 85 million Bavarians (instead of the current just over 13 million).

Equally astonishing are the numbers for the capital Jakarta, which fills the northwestern edge of Java: According to data from the UN World Urbanization Prospect, the Jakarta metropolitan area has 42 million inhabitants, making it the largest urban agglomeration in the world, as large as Paris, London, Berlin, and New York City combined.

I am a curious person, but if curiosity could only be satisfied with masochism, I would abstain and let reason prevail. I broadly circumnavigated or flew around Jakarta and traveled directly from Kuala Lumpur to Yogyakarta on July 1, 2026. Jogja (pronounced “Dzhogdzhah”), as the locals call the city, is not exactly a village either, with around one and a half million people in the extended metropolitan area, and the traffic rivals that of any metropolis: It's terrible. But at least Jogja is somewhat manageable.

Precisely because of this traffic, I booked a guide with a motor scooter, not a car. The 22-year-old Caca (pronounced “Tschatscha”) picks me up at my guesthouse called “Duta,” puts a motorcycle helmet over my head, and drives off with me as the hefty passenger. My guesthouse, which even has a pool with a small waterfall (turned off at night), is located on Prawirotaman Street about three kilometers south of the city center, which is situated at the intersection of Titik Nol (“Zero Kilometer”). At Titik Nol stands, among other things, the historic building of the Indonesian Central Bank with its massive white walls, symmetrical towers, and large rows of windows.

Freedom Fighters, Batik, Bkierbars

Prawirotaman would be worth its own story. The name goes back to Kyai Prawirotomo, a nobleman to whom the Sultan of Yogyakarta (whom I will come back to) gifted the land in the 19th century. Originally, the soldiers of the palace guard lived here. During the war of independence against the Netherlands from 1945 to 1949, freedom fighters operated from this neighborhood.

Afterwards, Prawirotaman transformed into an important center for batik production. Its decline coincided with the arrival of backpackers in the 1970s, and clever locals converted their workshops and homes into guesthouses and inns. Prawirotaman became the nightlife district with hotels, guesthouses, cafés, restaurants, bars, and tour providers, and is very lively in the evenings.

Upcoming a Sultana?

Caca studies tourism and only works on call as a tour guide to earn some money. But she proves to be the perfect conversation partner because first, she speaks English very well and second, she knows the answer to every question.

Yogyakarta is the capital of the eponymous sultanate. (Interlude: From 1946 to 1949, Yogyakarta was also the provisional capital of the Republic because Jakarta was occupied by the Dutch.) The Sultanate of Yogyakarta originated in 1755 from a part of the disintegrating earlier Islamic Kingdom of Mataram and remains a curiosity within the Republic of Indonesia: Since the Sultan sided with the Republic during the struggle for independence, he was able to remain in power.

According to a treaty between the central state and the Sultanate of Yogyakarta, its governor is not elected by the people, but the political office is exercised by the Sultan. The Sultan of Yogyakarta is the only traditional regional ruler in Indonesia determined by inheritance who still exercises a political function today.

Hamengku Buwono X has been the Sultan of Yogyakarta since 1989. He is 80 years old and still goes to his office every day in the central city district of Malioboro, as Caca tells me. But at this age, the question of succession arises. Hamengku Buwono X has five daughters and no son. He is trying to install his oldest daughter Gusti Kanjeng Ratu Pembayun (born 1972) as his successor.

But a female Sultan would be a first in the centuries-old history of Yogyakarta and all of Indonesia; accordingly, there is strong opposition, especially from the religious Islamic establishment. I am curious to see who will eventually succeed the popular Sultan.

The Sultan, His Wives, and Concubines

With Caca, I visit the Keraton Ngayogyakarta Hadiningrat, the Sultan's palace. The Keraton is not a palace in the European sense; those thinking of Buckingham or the Élysée are completely mistaken. It cannot even compare with Asian royal palaces like those in Bangkok or Phnom Penh or with the Forbidden City in Beijing, which impresses with its sheer size and sprawling splendor. Rather, we find various pavilions in Javanese style, the Sultan's residence, which can be viewed from a barrier, a former wine cellar (the sultans of Yogyakarta are Muslims, just by the way), and various other buildings.

In the palace, there are also large, laterally open event halls where rituals and ceremonies, traditional music presentations, and local dances are held. The Keraton is a living complex, surrounded by imposing whitewashed fortress walls, but with a visible relationship to the city population.

The Water Palace Taman Sari (which translates to

I spent the first two weeks of June on the island of Samosir in Lake Toba in the interior of Sumatra. Although Samosir is a popular tourist destination, even for Indonesians themselves, it is less crowded than islands like Bali, which appears on almost all lists of places to avoid due to 'overtourism' alongside places like Barcelona, Venice, Machu Picchu, or Dubrovnik.

Samosir seems peaceful and relaxed, but it has a bloody history: As recently as the 19th century, European travelers reported with sensationalist horror about headhunting and ritual cannibalism of the Batak. 'My ancestors were indeed cannibals,' laughs Dewi Sia-gallan, a Batak woman who owns a pharmacy in the resort town of Tuktuk Siadong and is married to Swiss entrepreneur Felix Amann.

Dewi invites me to visit the historical site named after her clan: Kampung Huta Siallagan in the district of Ambarita, located about a fifteen-minute ride on a rented scooter from Tuktuk.

Entering the village through a stone gate, I pay an entrance fee of approximately 45 cents and see two rows of traditional Batak houses as my first sight. In their midst stand the remnants of a bloody past: Beneath a tree, weathered like an ancient person, stand some stone chairs. Here, the king, the shaman, and the village elders judged the accused and prisoners of war. A bit outside the rows of houses stands the execution site, where death sentences were carried out by decapitation.

During the execution, body parts like the heart and liver were taken, of which the Raja (king or village chief) consumed; important men or elders received smaller pieces from the chest, shoulders, or thighs; other villagers received only small portions. The distribution was strictly ritualized. It was not about satiating oneself with human flesh, but rather a belief that one absorbed the strength and characteristics of the condemned or captured person through this ritual. At the same time, the ruler demonstrated his authority.

Headhunting often took place in connection with a raid or a battle. Captured or killed enemies were beheaded; the heads were then taken to the cult site or the village and presented in rituals. Skulls were often nailed to houses; sometimes entire heads were preserved. The act of obtaining enemy heads was believed to transfer the opponent's spiritual life force to one's own village and strengthen its defenses.

Missionary Activities in the 19th Century

Starting in 1860, the region was missionized by German Lutherans, later also by Dutch Catholics, leading to the disappearance of cannibalistic practices. Even today, there are stories about missionaries from the Rhine Missions Society, especially Ludwig Ingwer Nommensen, who worked here from the 1860s onwards. He learned the Batak language, translated biblical texts, and established schools.

Today, churches, which often seem quite exotic to me, coexist with traditional Batak houses featuring their curved gables, shaping the landscape of Samosir. The most significant Protestant community is the Huria Kristen Batak Protestan HKBP (Protestant Christian Batak Church), which, with more than four million members, is regarded as the largest Christian community in all of Indonesia.

Some traditional customs have been preserved despite Christianity, such as elaborate family celebrations and multi-stage burial rites. Dewi takes me to a wedding celebration and, a few days later, to a funeral in her extended family circle.

Although the wedding couple and the deceased grandaunt are Protestant, the celebration has chosen an event hall next to the Catholic church in Tuktuk. The relationship between the denominations here is relaxed, Dewi says, but she makes a small exception: It is not entirely easy with Muslims. She speaks from experience; she was once married to a Muslim, the father of her two teenage daughters.

Both celebrations are accompanied by thundering traditional music and equally thunderous speeches. And both proceed according to clearly defined rituals. For example, it is specified how heavily women must be made up for the occasion – the closer the familial relationship, the more makeup they wear – as well as how much money and which Ulos to gift to the wedding couple or the bereaved. Ulos are traditional, handwoven fabrics that are worn draped over the shoulder during celebrations and are considered symbols of divine blessing, protection, respect, and family ties.

A Landscape Full of Gravestones

Ancient burial rites manifest in the landscape, just like the churches and Batak houses: In the middle of the fields or even in the middle of villages stand multi-story stone family tombs that often resemble small houses or small churches. In the lower chambers rest earlier generations, while upper levels are reserved for later burials.

The deceased are first buried in normal graves, but years or decades after the initial burial, they are reinterred during a grand family ceremony. This second burial is seen as an important expression of respect for the ancestors and simultaneously strengthens the cohesion of the extended family. It is very expensive; for the celebrations, water buffaloes must be slaughtered, among other things.

I have not witnessed a buffalo slaughtering. However, a bloody trade is also the sale of fresh chicken meat at the weekly market in Ambarita. The animals are delivered crammed into plastic cages. On the order of a customer, a young man takes a flapping and squawking chicken from the cage and cuts its head off with scissors. The still twitching animal is briefly dipped in hot water and then placed in a machine that feathers it.

In the few days before I left Samosir, I had difficulty ordering chicken for meals.

Lake Toba is located 900 meters above sea level, and I hoped to escape the oppressive, humid heat that I had experienced in Banda Aceh and Medan. On the map, the lake looks like an elongated fried egg, with the island of Samosir in the middle resembling a yolk that has slightly slid toward the western edge.

What is often underestimated on the map are the proportions: Lake Toba has twice the area of Lake Constance and is also twice as deep at its deepest point, exceeding 500 meters; Samosir is larger than well-known Mediterranean islands like Ibiza or Corfu.

On June 1, 2026, I drove from the big city of Medan to Siantar, a significant provincial town. Along the way, we passed massive plantations of rubber, coconut, and oil palms, interspersed with rice fields stretching to the horizon. Indonesia is the world's largest producer of palm oil, the second largest of coconuts, and the fourth largest of rice, as my driver Ringgo proudly noted. To establish these plantations, thousands of square kilometers of rainforest were destroyed; that's the other side of the coin.

In Siantar, the highway ends; the road now winds steadily uphill. There are more churches and fewer mosques and women with headscarves here. The Toba-Batak, the main ethnic group on Samosir and in the Lake Toba region, are predominantly Protestant Christians; some are also Catholic.

Massive Volcanic Eruption

Finally, the lake emerges before us, nestled in a lovely green hilly landscape. However, its formation was anything but peaceful: Lake Toba resulted from the most massive volcanic eruption ever experienced by the world, occurring 74,000 years ago. 2800 cubic kilometers of rock, ash, and sulfur dioxide were ejected into the stratosphere; this led to massive climate changes.

The collapse of the magma chamber left behind the enormous caldera, 100 km long and up to 30 km wide, which later filled with water. In its center, through further volcanic activity, the island of Samosir rose.

Whether humanity almost went extinct back then, as older theories suggest, or whether the effects were less dramatic, as newer research indicates, I cannot assess. One thing is certain: Toba was the epicenter of the Earth back then. Today, it is a rather remote area in Sumatra, which contributes to its charm.

Ferries operate on the lake between the mainland and Samosir, alongside fishermen in narrow wooden boats and tourists in annoyingly loud speed boats. After arriving in Parapat on the eastern lakeshore, I boarded the ferry over a narrow wooden plank and took a ride to the holiday resort Tuktuk Siadong on the island of Samosir for 25,000 Indonesian rupiahs, which amounts to one franc and twelve cents or just under 1.20 euros.

The wooden boat docks directly at the resort, which is set to become my personal epicenter for two weeks: The Tabo Cottages are owned by Annette Horschmann from Witten in the Ruhr area, who has lived here for many years. Despite its lakeside location, well-maintained gardens, a pool, an excellent restaurant, and a German bakery, a night with breakfast included costs only about 30 to 50 euros, depending on the room category.

A Peninsula for Everything

Tuktuk Siadong is the tourist center of the island. Its curious name has nothing to do with the similarly named motor rickshaws used as a means of transport in many Asian cities. Dewi Siallagan, who owns a pharmacy in Tuktuk and is currently building a small resort with her husband, the Swiss Felix Amann, explains to me: In the language of the Toba-Batak, to which Dewi belongs, Tuktuk means 'cape' or 'peninsula', and indeed, the place sits on a prominent little peninsula. (In the evenings, I play pool billiards with Felix while Dewi has to tend to the pharmacy.)

The second part of the official name (Siadong) derives from the Batak word for 'give' or 'to be present' and was introduced in the 1970s when the place transformed into the tourist center of the island. Tuktu Siadong thus means something like 'the peninsula where there is everything'.

The shores of the Tuktuk peninsula are lined with small hotels, guesthouses, and restaurants. From the lakeshore, the gaze wanders over the calm waters to the steep, green slopes of the former crater. A single large five-star hotel looks like an architectural blemish in this setting.

The inhabitants around the lake predominantly belong to the Toba-Batak. The Batak do not constitute a uniform ethnic group but comprise several culturally related communities in the highlands of North Sumatra. The Toba-Batak are the largest among them. For centuries, they lived relatively isolated and developed their own language, script, and legal tradition. I will dedicate my next blog post to them.

Not only culturally but also culinarily, the region is distinct from the rest of Indonesia. Most Toba-Batak are Christians, and pork plays a significant role in their cuisine — unusual in a predominantly Muslim country. At the Tombok market every Saturday, butchered pigs are sold in large pieces, while the severed pig's head stoically gazes from the slaughterhouse.

Typical dishes include grilled fish, usually tilapia (barramundi) from Lake Toba, and pork, prepared in various ways with different spices. Sambals, as found throughout Indonesia, are often served with them: spicy sauces made from tomatoes and chili with garlic, onions, tamarind, or other spices; they accompany rice, vegetables, fish, or meat or are served as dips. I particularly enjoyed rendang, chicken or beef simmered for a long time in coconut milk and spices, making the meat tender and juicy, with a wonderfully creamy sauce.

Coffee is also cultivated on Samosir — the best in the world, as Edi emphasizes. He runs a small coffee shop in Ambarita, the neighboring village of Tuktuk, where he also lives, roasts his own coffee beans, and praises the brew to the highest degree. Together with Marcel, another Swiss tourist, I try the black brew. And? It's just coffee; good, but nothing more.

What stands out, not only with Edi but in many other places, are the openly offered 'magic mushrooms'. Although drugs are strictly prohibited in Indonesia, authorities seem to turn a blind eye, or even two, to the consciousness-expanding mushrooms on Samosir.

Controversial Swiss Fish Farming

The mention of 'tilapia' makes Thomas Heinle emotional. Thomas originally hails from Garmisch-Partenkirchen in Bavaria and came to Samosir 14 years ago. Together with his local wife, he operates an 'ecovillage' directly by the lake but in a more remote area only accessible via a bad road. Heinle shows us around the expansive land that belongs to his wife's family, which climbs steeply up the mountain.

Thomas Heinle knows every plant, is aware of its uses, and possibly its healing effects. From the huge quantities of mangoes that grow here as if by themselves, he produces wines, liqueurs, and brandies, all of which bear labels featuring his wife's image. However, Marcel and I cannot try too much, as we are on rental motorcycles.

Right in front of Heinle's 'village' is a massive fish farm in the lake. It was established in 1988 by Swiss entrepreneur Rudi Lamprecht. The fish are bred in floating cage systems in the deep water of the lake and are transported by truck to factories on Sumatra for processing for export after fattening. The fish farming is an economic factor that provides jobs, but Thomas Heinle and other local critics argue that the ecological damage from industrial fish farming far outweighs its positive aspects. Leftover feed, medications, and the excrement of the hundreds of thousands of fish crammed into this confined space lead to excessive enrichment of the lake with nutrients such as phosphorus and nitrogen.

Years ago, the 'Kassensturz', a consumer program from Swiss television SRF, was here to report on fish farming. Thomas Heinle criticizes that this report was completely one-sided and uncritical. I pull out my phone and find the criticized broadcast almost immediately in the SRF archive. We watch it together; modern technology allows access to almost any content even in the most remote corners of the world. We can reassure Thomas in that the TV piece was indeed critical and did not hide the sensitive aspects. However, the situation on-site naturally does not change, even if major Swiss retail chains have removed Toba tilapia from their offerings.

After intense days in Banda Aceh, I set off on May 24, 2026, heading towards Medan, the largest city in Sumatra with around two and a half million inhabitants, or five million if you include the metropolitan area. Indonesia is the country of 17,500 islands. Many are tiny, but Sumatra is huge: from its northern to southern tip, it measures more than 1,700 kilometers. Its area of 480,000 square kilometers is almost twelve times that of Switzerland or 120,000 square kilometers larger than Germany.

This means that traveling becomes a challenge. The most comfortable option would be a flight, but I decided to take the bus. Medan is only about 600 km south of Banda Aceh, but the buses take around twelve to thirteen hours for this distance, and I don’t want to strain my back for that long in one go.

Three Stages

So I’ve divided the journey into portions: On the first day, 250 km from Banda Aceh to the city of Lokhseumawe, which has around 200,000 inhabitants but is quite unknown even in Indonesia. On the second day, a little over 150 km from Lokhseumawe to Langsa, nearly the same size and almost equally unknown. I stay in Langsa for a few days with the good but unfulfilled intention of visiting the famous mangrove forests. Finally, another 170 km to Medan.

In Banda Aceh, I’m supposed to be picked up from the hotel by the minibus, but the trip begins rather frustratingly: The driver appears an hour late, but only after the friendly receptionist has called three times to inquire. Then we drive around for another hour from bus station to bus station, during which I have to exchange my online purchased e-ticket for a hand-filled ticket (which no one wishes to see afterward).

We stop several times along the way because our driver also sees himself as a package delivery service. And of course, we also need to eat, at a large establishment on a busy street. The available meals—various sauced dishes with fish, beef, or chicken, as well as fried items—are already on plates at a buffet, so hurried travelers won’t waste time. As a side dish, a young woman serves rice from a large pot. The whole setup doesn’t look very reassuring. But my fish curry tastes excellent, and my digestion doesn’t react unfavorably to the food, which is also extremely inexpensive: not two Swiss francs or Euros for a meal.

No good memory of Lokhseumawe

Night has already fallen when we arrive in Lokhseumawe. The bus driver, who has dawdled the half distance, suddenly seems in a hurry and doesn’t want to drive into the city. He drops me off on the highway and pays a rickshaw driver to take me to the hotel. The old-fashioned vehicle, probably welded together locally, creaks under the combined weight of myself and my luggage as it bumps along a partially unpaved road through unlit neighborhoods, and I hold on with one hand to myself and with the other to my suitcase, which threatens to fall off at any moment.

Finally, we arrive at the hotel. It’s called “OYO 2180 Vina Vira Hotel.” OYO stands for “On Your Own” and is an organization and booking platform for budget hotels, hostels, and guesthouses found in every Indonesian locality. I booked through Agoda, where the room looks quite acceptable despite the mini price of around six and a half Swiss francs or just under seven euros per night. However, the photo posted online bears no relation to reality: I spend the night in a dark, windowless closet-like room with old, wobbly furniture and rundown fixtures in the bathroom. Exceptionally, I forgo showering, and I don’t sleep in but on the bed, fully clothed, for fear of picking up any beetles.

Let’s put it this way: Lokhseumawe will, perhaps unjustly, remain in memory as the most unfriendly place on my journey, especially since the Vina Vira Hotel was the only establishment I’ve ever frequented where not a single employee exchanged even a word with me. I was silently checked in, silently led to the closet, and silently sent off the next morning. Here it was, the unkind treatment I had actually expected in Banda Aceh.

Langsa, on the other hand, was quite different, even though the tuk-tuk driver I hired at the bus station couldn’t find my guesthouse and I had to struggle to ask around since, of course, there are hardly any English speakers in Langsa either. But the city somehow seems friendlier than Lokhseumawe. This is certainly also due to my accommodation, the fairly new guesthouse “Hayy” in a side street. Not to be compared with the Vina Vira from the previous night, although the room this time also costs just under nine francs or nine euros per night. (Something surprised me, however: I have never stayed in a hotel room that offers a shower and toilet but no sink. Brushing my teeth, shaving, and washing my hands in the shower is rather inconvenient—but of course, it’s not a catastrophe.)

I walked through half the city a few times to get food at “Sams Coffee and Roastery.” We are still in the province of Aceh, and this establishment is strictly Islamic, though modern and bright. It is frequented mainly by people I could be the grandchild or great-grandchild of, but I feel comfortable; the food is excellent and so is the espresso.

Overwhelmed by Events

But I am also overwhelmed by events in Langsa – and as someone who traveled and lived in Arab countries for a long time, I should have known better. My stay coincides exactly with Eid al-Adha. Eid al-Adha, the Festival of Sacrifice, is the highest and most important festival in Islam. It commemorates the story of Abraham, to whom God commanded to sacrifice his beloved son Isaac. (In Islam, which arose much later than Judaism and Christianity, Abraham is called “Ibrahim,” and Isaac has no name.) Ibrahim was ready to fulfill the divine demand; at the last moment, however, God stopped him and sent instead a ram that was sacrificed in place of the son. At the same time, Eid al-Adha marks the peak and conclusion of the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. An important aspect of the religious festival is the sacrifice of animals, usually sheep, goats, cattle, or camels.

In 2026, Eid will be celebrated from May 26 to 29. And the celebrations mainly take place with family. This means that public life is more or less at a standstill. Thus, it is impossible to book a trip to the mangrove forests on May 26, for which I have come to Langsa in the first place. And it is almost impossible to find an open establishment or supermarket. I already envision myself starving on the streets of Langsa when “Sams Coffee and Roastery” opens at 2 p.m. to my rescue. On May 27, I want to continue to Medan, but it is impossible to find a bus. Eventually, I manage to convince a taxi driver; he asks for a full million rupiah for the 170 kilometers, and I have to stretch my brain again to calculate and realize that this amounts to less than fifty Swiss francs or euros.

Should I have flown? Certainly not. It’s days like these that stay etched in memory, not those where everything goes smoothly. In Medan, I check into the modern “deSatu” hotel next to a large shopping center called Center Point. In the same street, very loud live music spills forth from an Irish-style pub called “Healy Mac’s,” which is open around the clock. We are no longer in the Sharia-controlled province of Aceh but in the more liberal province of North Sumatra, and “Healy Mac’s” features on its drink menu nearly all the alcoholic beverages one could dream of during a week of abstinence.

In the previous blog, I explained how Sharia, the Islamic legal code, was introduced in the Indonesian province of Aceh on Sumatra. I vividly experienced what the enforcement of these laws means in Banda Aceh, not to mention that there is no alcohol and practically all girls from around the age of eight and all women are veiled with headscarves.

However, it is not as strict as Saudi Arabia, just as a side note: There are some Christian churches and a Catholic school, for example. And you see, very occasionally, women without headscarves, mostly Christians. But Banda Aceh is definitely not a cheerful place.

On a Friday shortly before the midday prayer, I encountered a seven-member patrol of female Sharia police on a market street behind the Grand Mosque. One of them spoke pretty good English (which is rare in Aceh). Her task is to “encourage the men in their shops to come to the mosque,” she said. (The Friday prayer is obligatory for Muslim men, but not for Muslim women.) No, she answered my question, there are currently no consequences for those who are late. “But if someone gets caught three or four times…” She leaves the consequences open.

I experience these consequences as I walk from the Baiturrahman Mosque to the Tsunami Museum, passing by the central park, Taman Sari. In the middle of the park stands a huge, open event hall with a large stage. At its edge, a woman completely covered in white kneels. She is being struck on the back with a long rod by another woman dressed in a long brown dress, a brown headscarf, and a beige face veil that leaves only her eyes exposed. A male voice counts the blows over the loudspeaker: “...fourteen, fifteen, sixteen...”.

Beside the woman stand uniformed police officers. In front of the stage and on the street, onlookers gawk, and two or three professional photographers take close-up shots. The blows can be clearly heard, and the woman contorts her face in pain. Next to the pavilion, two ambulances are parked.

After the woman, a young man wearing a white cotton cloak over his clothes takes his turn. A loudspeaker voice announces his offenses. He too receives blows, perhaps thirty or forty, but while standing. More women and men follow, the women kneeling, the men standing, until I eventually can no longer bear to watch and walk away.

Punishment for sex, alcohol, gambling

In the evening, I have a conversation in the “Daus” restaurant near my hotel with a young woman – dressed in a long black dress and black headscarf. Her name is Icha, she is 28 years old, originally from Jakarta, and works here at the “Daus” restaurant. Fahrurrazi, Icha's cousin, joins us. He studied Sharia law in Medina, the second holiest city for Muslims in Saudi Arabia, but then took over his father Firdaus’s restaurant when he died in 2021.

The food at “Daus” is excellent; a mixed platter with fried items: squid, chicken leg, a beef skewer, a large shrimp, along with an omelet and Nasi Goreng, or fried rice. However, I unusually cannot focus on the food because I have to tell them about the whipping punishment of which I have been a witness.

Icha is a devout Muslim; “I even wear a headscarf at the gym,” she says with a laugh. But she finds nothing good in such public humiliation. Fahrurrazi explains the degrading punishments one can receive for: premarital or same-sex sex, public displays of affection, the sale or consumption of alcohol, gambling. “As an unmarried couple, you can easily sit here in the restaurant,” Icha mentions. “But if you get caught somewhere at night, you’re out of luck.”

What would I tell Hans from Denmark, who warned me at the “Seafever” guesthouse in Mauritius before my visit to Banda Aceh in December 2025? I was not treated unfriendly by anyone. There were difficulties in communication since I do not speak Indonesian and most Acehnese do not speak English. Because there are hardly any tourists here, Europeans arouse curiosity, especially from children. However, some people also spontaneously approach and shake hands. In the Tsunami Museum, a woman asks me for a selfie with her mother, and in the PLTD Apung museum, a father asks for a photo with his child.

No, aside from perhaps during the public whipping, I did not feel uncomfortable or unwelcome at any time. And for the fact that I did not get alcohol, only water, fruit juices, and coffee, my liver has sent me a thank-you note.

After spending the second half of April and almost three weeks of May relaxing on Koh Tao, Koh Samui, and in Hua Hin, the beach resort 200 kilometers south of Bangkok that had become my Southeast Asian retreat, a radical change of scenery was imminent: On May 19, 2026, I took a minibus from Hua Hin to Bangkok's old airport, Don Mueang. And the next day, I flew with Air Asia via Kuala Lumpur to Banda Aceh, the capital of Aceh province in the far north of the Indonesian island of Sumatra.

I got talking to Hans from Denmark in December 2025 at the Seafever guesthouse in Mauritius. Hans had worked for the Danish Red Cross for decades. When I told him about my plans to visit Banda Aceh, he hesitated. He had lived in Banda Aceh, he said. "You'll feel uncomfortable. They don't like foreigners in Aceh."

Incredible destructive power

Hans had come to help: Banda Aceh was the place in the Indian Ocean hardest hit by the tsunami on December 26, 2004. First, a massive 9.1 magnitude undersea earthquake off the coast of Sumatra shook the city. Then, a huge wave of water, up to 30 meters high, raced across the ocean at 800 km/h and struck Banda Aceh minutes later with devastating force.

The floodwaters surged kilometers inland, sweeping away ships, houses, and cars. In the Punge Blang Cut district, amidst some carefully preserved ruins and next to a mosque, stands a 2,600-ton floating offshore generator. The memorial is called the "PLTD Apung Museum"; PLTD is the Indonesian abbreviation for "diesel power plant," and "apung" means "floating."

It's incredibly moving to stand before this enormous wreck and imagine that it was torn from its moorings in the harbor by the gigantic tsunami waves and swept some five kilometers inland. On this hellish journey, the massive vessel crushed houses and cars and buried many people beneath its weight.

Debris, corpses, and mud filled the streets; coastal towns were wiped out. In Banda Aceh, approximately 25,000 people died; in the province of Aceh, slightly larger than Switzerland or the German state of Lower Saxony, 120,000 people perished; in total, more than 230,000 died in the 14 affected countries around the Indian Ocean.

Difficult years before and after

Aceh had been through difficult times when the floods came: the Free Aceh rebel movement had been founded in 1976; since then, it had waged a guerrilla war against government officials and the military to force the province's independence. The Indonesian army responded with violence. There were approximately 15,000 deaths; several peace negotiations failed.

With over 280 million inhabitants today, Indonesia is the fourth most populous country in the world after China, India, and the USA, and the most populous Muslim-majority country. In Aceh, a much stricter form of Islam is practiced than elsewhere in Indonesia. This difference played a significant role in the liberation struggle; even more importantly, Aceh felt oppressed by the central government in Jakarta and disadvantaged in the distribution of revenues from its rich oil and gas reserves.

The tsunami was a watershed moment: Visitors experience this powerfully in the modern, cleverly designed Tsunami Museum. Here, the architecture symbolizes what the tsunami meant: Visitors walk through a dimly lit corridor that recreates the maximum height of the tidal wave. Electronic displays recreate the experiences. On the walls of a discreetly lit, chapel-like circular room are inscribed the names of thousands of victims.

A sign from God

But the museum, modern as it may be, also repeats the claim propagated by politicians and Muslim dignitaries: that the tsunami was God's punishment for the dissolute lifestyle of the Acehnese. Only a return to faith could prevent further disasters. The fact that the Great Mosque, the Masjid Raya Baiturrahman, built in 1873, was the only building to remain standing amidst a vast landscape of rubble was interpreted as a sign from God.

In fact, a peace agreement was reached between the Indonesian state and the rebels in mid-August 2005. Aceh renounced independence but received a special status with the right to self-government. The only exceptions were foreign policy, defense, the judiciary, and monetary and tax policy. Furthermore, Aceh was allowed to retain 70 percent of the revenue from oil and gas production within its territory and the associated maritime area, and to conduct its own foreign trade.

Above all, the introduction of Sharia law, the Islamic legal system based on the Quran and the traditions of the Prophet Muhammad, was enshrined in law. I will illustrate the consequences of the radical implementation of Sharia for Aceh in my next blog post.

.... we experienced sooooo much beauty and much of it cannot be compared with each other.

Nevertheless, we have compiled some photos of special events. Enjoy viewing ....

.... and finally, just to note, that throughout the entire trip, nothing unpleasant, silly, or stupid happened to us even once. Thanks for that too!

I simply must tell you about the second half of our trip. After the diving safari, we spent two nights in Sorong and then continued by plane to Kaimana.

Upon arrival, the team from Triton Bay Divers welcomed us.

We took a car to the harbor (with a little stop at a hotel to wait for later arriving guests) and then took the resort's speedboat to Triton Bay, which took about 1.5 hours.

The slogan there is 'Rimout änt wörs it' - oh, my older child says it's written like this: 'Remote and worth it'. It means something like: Secluded and worth it.

That's definitely true! My kids and I felt very comfortable there, and the underwater world was so special!

...I was a bit worried at first. But then I learned that there really isn't anything dangerous there.

The most dangerous thing, as Nurul explained at the beginning, are the coconut palms. Especially in the wind, you should be careful not to have a coconut or a large palm frond fall on your head. It's quite a loud noise when such a nut comes down, I can tell you.

It is so beautiful in this little resort. There are only 8 bungalows and no other hotels or dive bases nearby. It's quiet and very cozy.

And from the little bungalow we stayed in, it was less than 10 steps to the water!

One evening, there was even a dinner on the beach. That was really nice.

Well, so much for the surroundings. All the staff there were really very nice and always smiled at me and greeted me warmly.

Now, however, the most important part: the underwater world!

I've rarely heard my kids use the word 'incredible' so often. Especially when it came to the variety of corals.

But of course, there was so much more to see. I'll show you some of the pictures. And you can believe me, there would be so much more of them!

And imagine, my older child took many pictures of seahorses in all kinds of colors. They aren't really horses after all. In any case, they are very small and very cute. So small, my older child said she was glad for the reading glasses inserts in her diving mask.

But I haven't even told you the absolute best part yet. I actually went diving for a day. Like, really underwater and all. And I'll tell you something: I chose a special day for it, namely the excursion to the whale sharks.

One at a time: In Indonesia, fishermen have been using large wooden structures, called Bagans, for fishing for a very long time. These Bagans often have a small hut on top where fishermen can stay. They are always towed to where the small fish are in large schools (they like to call them anchovies here).

In the early morning, the fishermen come to their Bagan, pull in the nets, and sort the small fish. Some they can't sell and collect them in buckets, which they then toss back into the water. And interestingly, the whale sharks have figured this out in this region and wait near the Bagans for a treat. Over time, dolphins have also joined in. The Triton Bay Divers regularly go there, and since there are no other dive bases in the region, you are in the water with a group of a maximum of 8 divers. Well, with me, it was an exception with 9. Fortunately, no one minded.

Because the Bagans are currently a bit further away, we had to leave very early in the morning, around 5.

So, I saw whale sharks for the first time. Woooaaah, I tell you, they are sooo big and imposing. Luckily they only eat plankton, my older children say. And they said, I was a bit too big to pass as plankton. Lucky me.

They swim very close by and look directly at you.

My kids saw dolphins there the following week. They told me all about it with great joy. I didn’t dive in anymore.

However, I did participate in another dive where I got to see the beautiful reef with the corals and the animals.

Particularly great was that the break between two dives in the morning always took place at some paradisiacal secluded beach. There was something to drink and small snacks. You know, between two dives, you need to take a so-called surface interval (my older child says it’s called 'Surface'), meaning a break of about an hour. It’s nice to be at a paradise beach during that time.

I felt that after all these adventures, I truly deserved a special place to rest. What do you think?

My children were mostly accompanied by the lovely Tam during all their dives, who is actually named Tamrin and comes from Manado. I expressed my thanks to him again.

In the second week, my older kids mostly went around with Toby and Lizz. They even played cards with them every evening. I think they enjoyed it. My older child wanted to teach them Doppelkopf, but that was probably a bit complicated to explain in English.

So, I’ve already told you so much and I could keep going. But you probably have read enough by now.

One thing I must mention still. I met Sandy. A little 'sugarglider' (my older child says it's called 'Sugarglider'), which the resort team found abandoned and raised. When they released him into the wild, he returned after two days and has lived there ever since.

Well, yesterday we really had to leave. We were very sorry, and we definitely want to go back there.

Now we have made it back to Jakarta and soon we will head over Istanbul to Amsterdam and from there back home.

For now, I say goodbye!

Travis, the buddy bear

February 7-9, 2026 Monster Volcano Tour: Ijen Crater & Bromo Tengger Semeru National Park

February 7, 2026

After spending a night in Bali, we returned to the mainland and checked into a guesthouse in Banyuwangi to have something to eat. Around 11:30 PM, we were picked up by a shuttle bus to head to Ijen Crater.

February 8, 2026

After a brief medical check-up, we arrived at the foot of the crater around 2 AM. Here, we received our equipment and then hiked up the volcano with our group at a pretty intense pace. Upon reaching the top, we began the descent into the crater. Along the way, we encountered sulfur workers who were mining and transporting sulfur. It was dark and quite rough; thankfully, we had headlamps. The crater emits quite strong fumes, so whenever the wind blew unfavorably, we had to put on our gas masks, and once we reached the bottom, we had to wear them continuously. But despite the stinging eyes and smell, it was worth it because we could observe the so-called blue fire, which exists in only two places in the world!

As dawn broke, we climbed back up the crater, and the view of the crater lake was incredible!!! That was truly one of the most beautiful moments of the trip.

Then followed the descent, a quick coffee, and finally we were taken back to our accommodation, where we quickly packed our things and were picked up by another bus around 11 AM that was supposed to take us to Bromo National Park. We arrived around 6 PM at the last park before the village, quickly ate something, and then went to bed.

February 9, 2026

At 2 AM, we got up again, and the adventure continued! We drove to the entrance of the national park and began climbing up the slope of a mountain around 3 AM to observe the sunrise at 5:30 AM. And it was unbelievably spectacular!!! From this point, we could see three volcanoes, all active, smoking and becoming increasingly visible in the twilight. Truly a natural wonder!

At 6 AM, we then went directly to Bromo Volcano, hiked up, and looked down into the very active crater. It is really impressive to witness this natural power.

Afterward, it was time for breakfast, check-out, and a drive to Surabaya. Here, we spent a very restful night to embark on a twelve-hour train ride back to Jakarta the next day. Because from there, our flight the following day would take us to Tokyo…

Lake Toba. Toba Lake, Samosir Island with the Tuk-Tuk Peninsula. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Toba

Lake Toba, a favorite spot, a fascinating place with incredible brightness, cloud power, shadow play, texture, depth of color, and expanse. The largest volcanic crater lake in the world, Toba, a supervolcano.

We were here repeatedly from 1992 to 1994. A place to rest, enjoy, marvel, I can jump into the lake and enjoy the soft water while swimming - several times a day. Spectacular cloud formations and light displays in the sky, shadows cast in the folds of the crater rim, changing colors of the lake leave us in awe - see for yourself.

In 1992, we met Roslin Samosier, she worked for her uncle at Abadi Bungalows and Restaurant, where we were guests. In 1993, we returned, but Linda, as she introduced herself to us in 1992, was no longer there, she had gone to Jakarta to work. We wrote to each other, but contact quickly faded - there was no internet then with its fast and easy global communication options.

In 2018, after a long time, we traveled to Sumatra again and of course, we went to Lake Toba. When inquiring about Roslin's whereabouts, no one could provide information. Last year, at a friend's celebration, it turned out that the friend of the daughter of the house has an Indonesian father, a Batak, an Indonesian from Lake Toba. The Batak are the indigenous people living around Lake Toba. They are Christians and have a very vibrant and singing faith community. He was able to help locate Roslin, gave her our phone numbers, and since then we've been in contact again. It was such a joy to see her again. Roslin now lives with her family back at Lake Toba. We also had the chance to meet her mother and two of her siblings. A warm and open hello surrounded us. Now we see each other daily, sometimes just for a chat, sometimes for a joint Sunday church service, sometimes for a longer shared meal.

During the day, we set off on the moped, riding up to the plateau of Samosir, the island in Lake Toba. The road, which was good 8 years ago, is partially broken and in one place completely washed away. A bridge has been constructed with boards for crossing. Potholes and cracks make further travel difficult for us. It has always been a mammoth task in Sumatra to build and especially to maintain roads. Sumatra, like all of Indonesia, is tectonically active, and the tropical rain contributes to the seemingly never-ending task of road construction.

There is a small tourism scene in Tuk-Tuk. It has regressed with the visiting Western tourists, while local tourism has seen some growth. This also means that Indonesian hotel guests enjoy hosting karaoke parties. Our tolerance limit is up to 10 PM, after that it becomes painful :-). During the day, people eat, sing, and chase each other across the lake on jet skis. For a night or two, then it's back home.

We still have a few days left and are enjoying the peace :-)

After Gili Trawangan, we wanted to experience the slightly quieter island life once more, so we took the ferry to Lombok. The island is truly beautiful. We stayed in Kuta and visited two amazing beaches, took a tour around the island, and watched an Indonesian stick-fighting match. Then on February 6th, we returned via Bali, where we spent a night, to East Java for a volcano tour!

January 31 - February 03, 2026

We also wanted to see a bit of the Indonesian island landscape, so on January 30, we took the train from Malang to Ketapang in East Java and from there took a ferry to Bali. We spent one night there before taking another ferry to the mini island of Gili Trawangan on January 31.

The time spent there was enjoyable; we wanted to party again and have some beach time, both of which are great on the island that you can circle in about 1.5 hours. However, it was also a bit of a travel shock because it is very touristy there and thus feels less authentic than Java. Additionally, we felt somewhat uncomfortable with the mass tourism, as some people did not behave very respectfully. Nevertheless, it was still a lovely time with a very nice snorkeling excursion!

01/26/26-01/30/26

On January 26th, we traveled to Malang. The city is especially known for the natural wonders in the surrounding area: the Tumpak Sewu Waterfall and the Bromo National Park. However, Malang has something to offer itself: the Jodipan neighborhood, which has an intriguing history behind it.

This was formerly a rather poor neighborhood by the river, climbing steeply up the mountain. As there was no organized waste collection within the neighborhood, many people threw their garbage into the river instead of hauling heavy bags up to the main road. Subsequently, a group of students came up with an idea and spoke with the community. The community is divided into 20(?)-household units, each led by representatives responsible for community peace and satisfaction. This system was adopted by the Japanese during their occupation. With these representatives, a transformation of the neighborhood was initiated: people painted their houses and the streets in vibrant colors. Soon, tourists began to arrive and paid money to visit the neighborhood, which now funds waste disposal directly within the area. In addition, the presence of observers enhances the social pressure to dispose of waste properly. Today, the neighborhood is beautiful, and the residents benefit from tourism.

01/27/26: Jodipan

01/28/26: Exploring Malang

01/29/26: Tumpak Sewu Waterfall

So, I haven't been in touch with you for quite a while. But right now, I'm traveling with my two older kids in a region - I absolutely have to tell you about this!

The journey was a bit tedious: From home by car to Amsterdam, then flying from there via Istanbul to Jakarta, and finally onward to Sorong. 

Sorong is in West Papua, which is part of Indonesia and is located far east in the country.

Upon arriving in Sorong, we headed straight to our boat - the Solitude Adventurer - for the next 10 days.

Since my kids wanted to dive, I first inspected everything to ensure they would be safe and comfortable.

I found everything to be good and told them that we could stay there.

So, we set off and already in the afternoon, there was the first dive. It is called a Check Dive. It's where you check if the equipment works and if you have the right amount of weight with you and such. One has to ensure that one actually goes underwater when they want to. Not just float on the surface like a rubber duck.

My kids were pretty impressed when they came back. And it got so much better.

Of course, there were also tons of animals to see underwater. Some of them cannot be found anywhere else. Or at least only rarely.

And clownfish in all shapes and colors...

Of course, the mantas at the dive site 'Four Kings' were a special highlight:

And there were so many fish! Woooaaah!

My kids also really like octopuses and turtles. Look:

The tour went up into the waters around the island of Misool. It was particularly beautiful there. And with three to four dives a day, my kids could see quite a lot underwater.

And it was impressive above water as well. My older kid didn't always sleep well and looked at the beautiful starry sky at night. Unfortunately, I can't show you a picture of that here. But they said there were so many stars to see.

And of course, on the tour, we had wonderful views:

My older kid also climbed up to lookout points.

So, I can tell you that they both - and therefore I as well - have been doing quite well here so far.

There were lots of nice people with us on board. And I have photos with almost all of them - guests and crew - together. However, I'm not sure if they want me to share the pictures here. So, I'll just keep them for my memory.

Now we are in Sorong for two nights. For dinner, we will meet again with four nice people from the ship: Jim and Mike from America as well as Shanna and Ash from Canada. The latter two were always underwater together with my older kids in a group. Apparently it was a great match.

The day after tomorrow, we continue to Kaimana and from there to Triton Bay for two weeks.

It will surely be totally cool and I will report back. Maybe I'll also join for another dive. I'm still thinking about it. It was exciting last time. But I'm also a bit scared. Who knows, maybe curiosity will prevail in the end.

Until then, I send you greetings, also from my two older children, and say goodbye!

Travis, the buddy bear

January 21-26, 2026

Yogyakarta is a super relaxed, beautiful city. Indonesia is a republic, yet Yogyakarta has a Sultan who also lives there.

On the first evening, we were at a central square where there are many food stalls, brightly colored pedal cars, and a large lawn. Couples, families, and groups of friends gather here in the evening, creating a cool atmosphere.

January 22, 2026: we rode our motorbike to the Borobudur Temple, which is the largest Buddhist temple complex in the world and was very impressive.

January 23, 2026: we both felt under the weather and took a day off…

January 24, 2026: we visited the nearby Merapi Volcano and took a tour there. The Merapi has erupted several times in recent years, and we also visited a museum where we could see the effects.

January 25, 2026: we were out and about a lot. We got up at 5:30 AM and went to a cave called Jomblang Cave. The trip was super quick. At the cave, you have to rappel down about 60 meters, then you hike for about half an hour to the other end of the cave. That was our highlight so far; it was an amazing experience and a natural spectacle when the sun rose over the cave exit and individual rays fell into the darkness. Afterwards, we visited a mini waterfall and then went back to Merapi because we wanted to see the lava that was spewing from the top. Unfortunately, it was cloudy, so we couldn’t see anything. We returned to our accommodation at 10:30 PM.

On January 19th, we took the train to Bandung. Java has an amazing train network, making it easy to reach almost anywhere, and the best part is the view from the window - Java is truly stunning!!!! Rice fields, mountains, volcanoes, small villages, jungles, and everything is super green.

Bandung is a larger, but very relaxed city. We rented a motorbike and rode up to a volcano on the 19th. Unfortunately, due to the time, we couldn't go all the way to the crater, but the journey and the view were beautiful.

The next day, we wanted to visit the “White Crater”, a sulfur lake that changes color depending on the weather and chemistry, located atop a volcano. The path was a bit challenging, very long and rainy, but in the end, we made it. The ride through the villages was also great. The crater itself honestly smelled quite bad; it had a strong sulfur odor, but the fog created a very enchanting atmosphere.

In the evening, we tried various street food stalls. Indonesian food is truly incredibly delicious. It's cooked with many different spices, often mixing flavors. In Germany, we know so little about Indonesian cuisine, which we really can't understand because everything here tastes absolutely amazing!

The next day, we again took the train to Yogyakarta, the cultural heart of Java.

17.-19.01.26: Jakarta

After a very long and tiring journey, we finally arrived in Jakarta on January 17th. The city is quite different from Malaysian cities: louder, busier, more fragrant, and livelier. Maxie is reminded of other Southeast Asian cities. There are countless motorbikes, many street stalls, and small Warungs. These are often very tiny restaurants that specialize in 1-3 dishes, which are usually very affordable and delicious. It is generally inexpensive: a meal at Warungs or street stalls often costs only 1-2 Euros.

In the evening, Maxie experienced a little shock: while strolling through the neighboring street with many food stalls, we discovered an exceptional barbecue, and that three times...see photos!

On the second day, we walked around Jakarta and visited, among other places, Chinatown. And the next day, we were already on the move again…

Karimunjawa, I only heard of it during my travel preparations. Another gem, seemingly a yet undiscovered beauty, one more of Indonesia's 17,500 islands.

As I read about it, it quickly became clear that I had to go there as well. So, at the very end of my trip this year, I took the fast ferry to get there. Currently, the only option, besides a flight in a small propeller plane with six seats from Semarang with Susi Air, is this fast ferry from Jepara. Another option is a large Pelni ferry, but it runs rarely and irregularly.

The fast ferry had hardly left the harbor waters when it headed into rough seas for the next 100 minutes, immediately reminding me of the rainy season. So, I had to find a point of reference and breathe deeply. Memories of the last sailing trip came to mind. I had survived it and was immediately confronted with two more things. Firstly, the Karimunjawa National Park fee of 150,000 IDR; Indonesians pay only 10,000 IDR. Secondly, my taxi driver with his offer, saying he knows 'Bunga Jabe Resort' for 350,000 IDR; I offered 200,000 IDR, and off we went.

When I set out on foot on the first evening to find something nutritious, I immediately realized: This isn't going to work. Either due to the rainy season and off-peak season, or because time here seems to tick a little differently. In any case, for the next 2 km, everything that was supposed to be there according to Google Maps was closed or simply didn't exist anymore. Luckily, there was still one Warung, where I got the quickly prepared sate skewers cooked over a small charcoal grill with rice, of course, with rice; nothing goes here without rice.

I stayed on the island for five days, and it was simply incredibly beautiful once again. The activities included small walks, a little scooter tour, snorkeling, and of course, chilling, relaxing, and just hanging out to recharge. I spent hours gazing at the mirror-like sea.

Already on the first night, I was puzzled by a constant chugging sound; I was confused about why a boat with a loud motor had to keep circling around. I got an explanation on the second day near the nearby fishing port. A large generator, which supplies the island with electricity around the clock, powered by diesel.

As I write these lines, I am sitting in Bandar Udara Jenderal Ahmad Yani – the airport of Semarang, and my flight is showing a delay. This is already the second on my journey while I continuously praise the punctual departures in Indonesia. The journey here today was mostly straightforward. I took a taxi to the harbor in Karimunjawa, the fast ferry, today in calm seas to Jepara, and from there again in a minibus towards Semarang. At the end, I was supposed to get off somewhere and call a Grab to the airport. It seemed too far to me; however, it would have saved my nerves. From then on, he drove haphazardly through Semarang, from one traffic jam to the next; I was puzzled and mentally torn. The planned departure should happen in 120 minutes, with a distance of 15 km to the airport, at least 30 minutes given the traffic. At some point, he turned back in the opposite direction, so it was time for me to get out and now take a Grab to the airport. I was afraid that I might miss the check-in due to my delayed arrival. In the end, it was all unfounded; off to Jakarta!

Tomorrow I'll be heading home. Many thanks to everyone who has followed me here in the last few weeks. As always, after the trip is before the trip. Let's see where we go next time.

Terima Kasih ;-) and how about you... Sama Sama!