Christmas with The Jungle Men

I don't like the word 'animal' and I don't like the word 'beast.' Both can be used in derogatory terms and so, therefore, don't do justice to other species. Similarly, I don't like the word 'humane' for it suggests that humans always act superiorly to other species, whereas in truth we are the parasites of the planet. For this reason, my favourite word has to be 'orangutan'. It is the only name we have for another species that attributes a status of equality between us and them. It derives from the Indonesian 'orang' meaning 'man' and 'hutan' meaning 'jungle or 'forest'. Therefore, orangutans are simply and correctly described as 'men of the jungle'. They are like us except that from my experience people can be good and bad, whereas orangutans can be good and naughty. They, like other species, may hurt us in self-defence or protection of their offspring, but they won't, like us, attack first unless for food.

Humans have attacked orangutans unnecessarily. We have invaded their home, the jungle. We should be ashamed of ourselves. However, some humans, in designated reservations, have been trying increasingly to help them for the last four or five decades. This story is from approximately two decades ago and finds me travelling from my temporary home in Java to one such place - Tanjung Puting National Park in Kalimantan. 

After a sixteen-hour journey the previous day from Banjarmasin, on a bus deserving an award for the greatest level of discomfort, I awoke the next day in a 'losmen' (inn) overhanging a wide river, similar to most buildings in the small muddy town of Sampit which weren't actually floating on the river itself. 

The bus for the next part of my long journey was due to leave three hours later so, finding this half floating town rather fascinating, I jumped on a local boat that was just going a few kilometres upriver to a market in another nearby village. After about forty-five minutes I realised my naivety and worried that it was taking too long, so I got off the boat at a tiny settlement with some other passengers. I couldn't seem to make myself understood that all I wanted to do was return to Sampit, or at least I couldn't understand the information about the likelihood of ever getting back! All I could understand was that cameras weren't allowed and that I'd have to leave it with the security guard. What was all this about? I wondered. Were they harbouring some top international secret in this nondescript nowhere place? I reluctantly left my camera in his desk drawer and had a look around, only to be followed by the security guard and his mate, who chuckled behind my back at my curiosity. There was nothing much to see and so I returned to the jetty ten minutes later, swiping my camera from back out of the drawer myself. I again asked about transport, only to be told that a boat back to Sampit had just left. How could they know this when they'd been following me? Why could no one give me a straight answer about boats back? Evidently, to reach the men of the jungle, I had the difficult task of negotiating my way through some of the lying and thieving of humanity. At least I was used to these circumstances of poor people trying to profit from a tourist's ignorance; it's rich people who lie and cheat who are intolerable.

It started to rain so, shrugging off the possibility of missing my bus, and having noticed the chess set on the desk in his dry hut, I offered to give the security guard a game. During play a boat arrived, dropping some people off. We went outside, and they informed me that it wasn't due to go to Sampit, but if I wanted to charter it I could pay about ten times the normal amount. I refused to be cheated and called their bluff, saying that I'd wait for the public service, and suggested we continue the game of chess. I'd judged things correctly because about twenty minutes later the very same boat waiting at the jetty miraculously turned into a public service, and so I returned with a couple of other people to Sampit for about the normal price.

Back in Sampit my decision not to purchase a ticket in advance for the midday bus turned out to be a wise one because some people offered me a ride with them in a jeep for only a little extra, telling me they were leaving 'immediately'. We faffed about for a while, during which the bus arrived and left, but the road to Pangkalan Bun was so bumpy that I was glad to be in the jeep. After a tiresome journey on a rocky dirt track, we arrived at about 8 pm.

The next morning I had to deal with some absurd bureaucracy involving an interview at the local police station to obtain a letter of permission to enter Tanjung Puting National Park. They informed me that in Kumai I could arrange transport and buy a visitor permit at the National Park office. I got an Ojek (motorbike taxi) to Kumai, and at the jetty I came upon Jien Joan, a friendly English-speaking guy who offered me an acceptable price of rp250,000 per day to hire his klotok (barge – type boat) with himself as navigator. He told me that the National Park office had moved to a new office situated halfway back on the road to Pangkalan Bun so, somewhat irritated that the police hadn't told me that in the first place, I went back the way I had come. The people at the park office were dismayed to find that I could speak Indonesian and had a resident's visa that justified my insistence that I should therefore pay the local price, which was about a fifth of the tourist price. 

I found little in Kumai during an afternoon of exploration except a huge boat that they were building, onto which the builders let me clamber aboard via some rather treacherous gangplanks, affording me some splendid views over the river. In the evening I joined in a game of football with the locals, had dinner at Jien's house, and then slept on the klotok.

It was a long journey the next morning, the motor of our klotok purring quietly through the jungle. After five hours we arrived at Tanjung Puting. Strangely, the National Park was in a different time zone, making the local time 2.30 pm, the argument being that it gets darker much earlier in the jungle. I wouldn't have thought that it's worth the confusion as the sun is up for the same duration whatever the time; the only implication as far as I was concerned was that it was now only half an hour until orangutan feeding time at 3 pm. 

Marching off into the jungle with me were two women from Alaska, and six National Park staff carrying bags of food and making strange howling noises to the orangutans to signal our impending arrival at the feeding station. On the way there we came across an orangutan sitting on the path. The others walked past her but I was warier, having never come across one in the wild before. Slowly she approached me and I stood still, unconfident of her regard for my safety. She grabbed my water bottle from my hand, unscrewed the lid and started helping herself to my water. The Indonesians chuckled and walked on while I looked at her with disbelief and a little disgruntlement at my now water-less trek. I followed her to the feeding station, not wanting to pass in case I upset her. I soon realised however that these orangutans were far too used to humans to let such a trivial thing bother them.

The feeding-station was a wooden raised structure in the jungle upon which were placed piles of pineapples and several big black buckets of milk. When I got there, two or three orangutans were already sitting upon it, happily feasting on one pineapple after the other. Benches were provided for humans at a distance from the orangutans. This may sound a little staged, but in practice both the rangers and orangutans completely ignored these prescribed seating arrangements. It wasn't at all unusual for an orangutan to sit next to a human on a bench as if brothers, which in a sense we are. I was, at this stage, a little uncertain about getting this close to one of them, but I watched every action they made with amazement and amusement. Only about eight to ten orangutans arrived during the feeding session because it was the rainy season and so there was a plentiful supply of fruits in the forest. Most of the orangutans that did still come were ex-captive ones that were going through a gradual re-introduction to life and survival in the wild, so they were not so adept at finding food for themselves.

After some time spent watching them, the big event happened – the arrival of Kusasi. This was the dominant male in the jungle. Any other male in the jungle who wanted to prove his superiority first had to fight Kusasi and win. Since Kusasi had claimed the title, several had tried without success. I could see why – he was huge! We all certainly cleared a wide berth for him when he made an appearance and some of the other orangutans ran off the feeding platform in fright. The only remaining ones were two females who stayed and groomed him, competing for his attention. At one stage Kusasi took a break from feeding to inspect the genitals of one of them, deciding nonchalantly that he'd like to have sex. Once in the act, he must have deliberated about this decision, because he soon went back to his pineapples. Another male showed up, presumably desiring some food, but Kusasi chased him off into the jungle. The females turned their attention to us and sat with us for a while. Eventually, they all dispersed, and we went back to Camp Leakey (the National Park Headquarters).

In the early evening, we took a quick wash in the river, using a bucket tied to a length of rope to avoid crocodile attacks. As I dried myself, I stared in amazement at the sight of an orangutan rowing a canoe across the river to the platform on which we stood. We then sailed downstream a little to find a quiet place to stop for the night. My cook conjured up something tasty, and I chatted to Jien for a while before settling down to a nice peaceful sleep.

The next day, Christmas Day 2002, I awoke to realise that I'd forgotten to hang up a stocking. My real present was an early morning walk in the jungle with Jien who pointed out various plants of interest including, amongst many others, those used as natural malaria cures, edible funguses, poisonous funguses, poisonous sap, trees containing life-saving water, small edible berries and a jungle version of the infamously smelly Indonesian fruit, the durian. We took a rest at one point and stayed deadly silent, just listening to the deafening sound of insects, gibbons crying, and birds singing. What Jien had made me realise was that alone I would surely perish here within a week, whereas he would probably survive for months. 

Later in the day, I lounged around Camp Leakey, reading my book, and let the wildlife come to me. I was treated to the sight of gibbons feeding in the trees and swinging incredibly from tree to tree so fast that it was hard to keep my eyes on one. They were hugely funny to watch, even if they did occasionally drop the stone from the fruit on me. Or should I say throw it at me? Then an orangutan arrived, carrying a small baby. I moved closer and spent about twenty minutes sitting only about two metres away. It was one of the greatest experiences to be alone with her, and share this time with no disturbances. I watched her, she watched the gibbons, and the gibbons dropped things on my head! Occasionally the orangutan would look at me with the same eyes that I sometimes looked at Indonesian people with, as if to say: 'What the hell are you staring at? Haven't you got anything better to do?' Her expressions and behaviour were so similar to ours that it made her more fascinating still. 

Soon enough it was feeding time again. On the way to the feeding station, we once more came across an orangutan on the path. I believe it was the same one. I'd hidden my bottle up my shirt. A western couple who lived in the Congo with the gorillas, but who had decided to holiday with the orangutans, hadn't thought to hide theirs. Any smug feelings on my part were soon dissipated when the orangutan discovered that their bottle was fastened to the lady's belt, so she again turned her attention to me. She casually strode over and looked at me trying to appear innocent and unaware of her attention. Aghast, I felt her hairy hand beneath my shirt, sliding over my skin, and she grabbed my bottle from within.

The activity at the feeding station was similar to the day before, only this time I learnt some more of the orangutans' names. The female who I had seen the evening before at the river was called Princess and she was full of tricks. I watched as she took one of the ranger's shoes off and put it on her foot. She then removed the laces and tossed them on the floor with a questioning look: 'Why do I need these? My feet are OK as they are.' She then tried, as if to apologise, to re-lace them. I learnt that the professor at the camp had taught her five hundred words in American Sign Language with which she communicated effectively with humans. Not only could she paddle a canoe, but she could also brush her teeth, and wash clothes with a bar of soap by the river, wring them out and hang them up to dry. As if to show my respect, I sat next to her for a while as she ate a pineapple.

After feeding time I returned to the boat, cooled off using the bucket and rope, and then we began the long journey back to Kumai. The journey down the river at night was truly something special. The fireflies in the trees were a spectacular sight, and it seemed appropriately uncanny that it was Christmas Day, as many of the trees sparkled with what looked like Christmas lights. I don't think I'd ever seen fireflies before, and so I watched for hours in awe. At one point one of them landed near me on the roof of the boat, walking around like a miniature moving light bulb. Besides watching these and watching the cool, dark jungle river glide by, I read a novel set in a jungle using my torch, and the journey to Kumai seemed like a dream.

When we arrived back in Kumai, it was teeming with rain. I got an ojek back to Pangkalan Bun and checked into the same hotel that I had stayed in before. I felt like something had woken me from a magic spell, and I could scarcely believe that the boat journey was something from the same universe. 

A week remained of the Christmas holidays, yet I hadn't planned on anything else but Tanjung Puting. I felt I had two choices, either to continue west and eventually travel up to Pontianak, or to go back to East Kalimantan. Although the latter appeared vastly more interesting I couldn't stand the thought of those hot, sweaty buses again with their uncomfortable seats, and music so repetitive, crap and corny that it made the Eurovision Song Contest sound like a medley of the world's greatest music ever written. So, rather radically for my tastes, I decided to get an internal flight. Having discovered previously that using the travel agencies in Pangkalan Bun was about as pointless as hiding water from an orangutan, I decided just to get up very early and go straight to the airport.

The next morning at the airport was a success, even if I did have to wait an hour for it to open. The tiny ten passenger plane to Banjarmasin departed at 9.20 am, touching down noisily in Sampit to swap some passengers. I was soon back on a bus, this time to Samarinda, East Kalimantan. It was a long journey, including a ferry crossing at about 5 am the next morning, but at least this time I got some sleep. The journey, therefore, had taken almost twenty-four hours – imagine how long it would have taken without the plane!