A Land called Honilee
"Together, they would travel on a boat with billowed sail"
As rain pounded down on the muddy port of Labuan Bajo, I wedged myself into the wheelhouse of the rickety wooden boat like a giant entering the home of a Hobbit. It was not how I would have chosen to visit the islands of Rinca and Komodo, famous for the enormous monitor lizards commonly known as Komodo dragons. It was not how I would have chosen to venture off into any storm. No movie star, no Mary Ann, just the diminutive captain, a young cook and a middle-aged German computer programmer, all reeking of diesel.*
Every few minutes, the captain shouted out in Bahasa, prompting the cook to hurriedly climb on top of the wheelhouse to adjust the tattered, billow-less sail or go below deck to attend to the marginally functional diesel engine. Short of ripping a plank off the deck to use as a paddle, tempting since the boat moved slower than Guinean swimmer Eric Moussambani**, there was little I could do to help expedite the journey. Instead, high on diesel fumes, I lay back and dreamed of bringing strings, wax, and other fancy stuff to my favourite dragon.
My first glance of Puff's real-life kin came mere minutes after landing at Rinca. A 1.5 m long male was resting in the scrub beside the park entrance and second larger male was flopped in the mud near the visitor and staff housing. Whether you are an accountant, longshoremen or a herpetologist, you will think one thing upon seeing a Komodo dragon: "That's one big fuckin' lizard". The dragon's outstretched tongue alone is alone longer than most iguanas.
It was not the best week for hiking around Rinca or Komodo. The pouring rain had transformed the dry savannahs and scrublands of Rinca and Komodo into the Everglades. Most of the komodos were hiding from the raindrops. Not that the dragons are usually the most active creatures. All most visitors see is them do is bake in the sun like their cold-blooded kin, or like people from Perth Amboy visiting the Jersey Shore.
The highlight of our two hour hike around Rinca was spotting a two metre plus male hunting in the bushes near a grazing water buffalo. Had we stayed quieter and further back, perhaps we would have had the rare chance to see, or at least hear, the komodo attack the buffalo. One toxic bite from a dragon is enough to fell a water buffalo. A week later, the buffalo will likely die from infection. It is the natural equivalent of busting Al Capone for tax evasion: less eye-popping, but just as effective.
After the visit to Rinca, we set sail for the island of Komodo, where we would spend a night in the small visitor's centre and walk around the island the following day. During our walk, the guide carried a forked stick like a Komodo divining rod. He claimed it was used for pushing away any overly aggressive dragons. The only time he used it was to prod a napping dragon into action for a couple eager photographers. The guide offered me opportunity to pose with the charismatic megafauna for a photo ("Oh, honey, remember this? That's me with the Komodo, before it severed my right leg and I spent nine weeks in an Indonesian hospital frothing at the mouth and shouting lines from Waiting for Godot."). I declined.
There was little dragon activity during our hike around Komodo, though plenty of evidence of the presence of the dragons, from footprints to the rotting remains of prey. Just as we were preparing to leave the island, two enormous dragons appeared in the small village. The longer, almost three metre, dragon demonstrated the surprising speed and agility for which the lizards are famous. They are capable of achieving speeds over 20 km/hr, in short and rather frightening bursts. Technically, a decent runner would easily defeat a Komodo dragon in a 100 yard dash, as the dragon would tucker out after only a fraction of the distance. Chances are, though, the dragon would commit a lane violation and be flossing its teeth with the laces of its competitor's running spikes before the starting gun even sounded.
The smaller dragon demonstrated what happens after a big meal. While the svelte longer dragon ambled down the path, occasionally raising its head and torso for a better view, the smaller well-fed dragon lumbered along, dragging its comically swollen belly along the ground. The comparison was fascinating, though looking at that swollen belly, I did wonder whether we should gather all the guests on Komodo and do a head count.
--
*Author's moment of brutal honesty:
Every weekend, the travel section is full of effusive stories about adventures in rewarding destinations. They are written by reputable newspaper staff or freelancers, but we all know they are often little more than free advertising for the destinations. As anyone who has actually taken a vacation can attest, the writer's description of unbridled joy while traveling to Bolivia is about accurate as Colin Powell's UN testimony about Iraq's mobile biological weapons labs. Travel writers pen revisionist history better than a propagandist in a 1960s Eastern European autocracy. In truth, even the most luxurious vacation has its down moments.
With that in mind, I offer these caveats to my story. While I would highly recommend a side trip from Flores to the Rinca and Komodo islands, doing so in the wet season, and especially, doing so in the wet season with someone you met at the hotel the night before, can be miserable. Though I vowed to maintain a good temper on the journey, the effort was drowned in rain and diesel. The poor conditions made me less tolerant of my fellow passenger, who was in the habit of constantly checking prices and distances against a guidebook. An obsession with the mechanics of traveling is the one trait that can irritate me to no end. Fiercely negotiating fares can be tiresome anywhere, and is especially ludicrous in countries like Indonesia where nothing is exact and the currency is so devalued that the argument is literally over pennies.
Had the weather been more agreeable and the diesel fumes less toxic, it would have been easier to let the frustration caused by my companion's obsession with unimportant details go. Case in point, I loved climbing Mt. Kinabalu in Borneo, despite the Scandinavian partner who required constant reassurance as to our progress but was utterly incapable of reading a map ("See that dot? Since the last time you asked, we've moved from the centre to the outer edge"). In this case, I was not as charitable. And out of fairness to someone who may be perfectly pleasant in other settings, I will not tell any more of the story. I will only admit shame for any thoughts I had watching my traveling companion approach the hungry three metre lizards.
** Sorry, that's one for Olympic buffs. At the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, the sole representative of Equatorial Guinea swam the 100 m freestyle heat alone, after the competitors were disqualified, in a time of 1:52.72, more than twice the qualifying standard. The brave guy had only learned to swim earlier that year.
As rain pounded down on the muddy port of Labuan Bajo, I wedged myself into the wheelhouse of the rickety wooden boat like a giant entering the home of a Hobbit. It was not how I would have chosen to visit the islands of Rinca and Komodo, famous for the enormous monitor lizards commonly known as Komodo dragons. It was not how I would have chosen to venture off into any storm. No movie star, no Mary Ann, just the diminutive captain, a young cook and a middle-aged German computer programmer, all reeking of diesel.*
Every few minutes, the captain shouted out in Bahasa, prompting the cook to hurriedly climb on top of the wheelhouse to adjust the tattered, billow-less sail or go below deck to attend to the marginally functional diesel engine. Short of ripping a plank off the deck to use as a paddle, tempting since the boat moved slower than Guinean swimmer Eric Moussambani**, there was little I could do to help expedite the journey. Instead, high on diesel fumes, I lay back and dreamed of bringing strings, wax, and other fancy stuff to my favourite dragon.
My first glance of Puff's real-life kin came mere minutes after landing at Rinca. A 1.5 m long male was resting in the scrub beside the park entrance and second larger male was flopped in the mud near the visitor and staff housing. Whether you are an accountant, longshoremen or a herpetologist, you will think one thing upon seeing a Komodo dragon: "That's one big fuckin' lizard". The dragon's outstretched tongue alone is alone longer than most iguanas.
It was not the best week for hiking around Rinca or Komodo. The pouring rain had transformed the dry savannahs and scrublands of Rinca and Komodo into the Everglades. Most of the komodos were hiding from the raindrops. Not that the dragons are usually the most active creatures. All most visitors see is them do is bake in the sun like their cold-blooded kin, or like people from Perth Amboy visiting the Jersey Shore.
The highlight of our two hour hike around Rinca was spotting a two metre plus male hunting in the bushes near a grazing water buffalo. Had we stayed quieter and further back, perhaps we would have had the rare chance to see, or at least hear, the komodo attack the buffalo. One toxic bite from a dragon is enough to fell a water buffalo. A week later, the buffalo will likely die from infection. It is the natural equivalent of busting Al Capone for tax evasion: less eye-popping, but just as effective.
After the visit to Rinca, we set sail for the island of Komodo, where we would spend a night in the small visitor's centre and walk around the island the following day. During our walk, the guide carried a forked stick like a Komodo divining rod. He claimed it was used for pushing away any overly aggressive dragons. The only time he used it was to prod a napping dragon into action for a couple eager photographers. The guide offered me opportunity to pose with the charismatic megafauna for a photo ("Oh, honey, remember this? That's me with the Komodo, before it severed my right leg and I spent nine weeks in an Indonesian hospital frothing at the mouth and shouting lines from Waiting for Godot."). I declined.
There was little dragon activity during our hike around Komodo, though plenty of evidence of the presence of the dragons, from footprints to the rotting remains of prey. Just as we were preparing to leave the island, two enormous dragons appeared in the small village. The longer, almost three metre, dragon demonstrated the surprising speed and agility for which the lizards are famous. They are capable of achieving speeds over 20 km/hr, in short and rather frightening bursts. Technically, a decent runner would easily defeat a Komodo dragon in a 100 yard dash, as the dragon would tucker out after only a fraction of the distance. Chances are, though, the dragon would commit a lane violation and be flossing its teeth with the laces of its competitor's running spikes before the starting gun even sounded.
The smaller dragon demonstrated what happens after a big meal. While the svelte longer dragon ambled down the path, occasionally raising its head and torso for a better view, the smaller well-fed dragon lumbered along, dragging its comically swollen belly along the ground. The comparison was fascinating, though looking at that swollen belly, I did wonder whether we should gather all the guests on Komodo and do a head count.
--
*Author's moment of brutal honesty:
Every weekend, the travel section is full of effusive stories about adventures in rewarding destinations. They are written by reputable newspaper staff or freelancers, but we all know they are often little more than free advertising for the destinations. As anyone who has actually taken a vacation can attest, the writer's description of unbridled joy while traveling to Bolivia is about accurate as Colin Powell's UN testimony about Iraq's mobile biological weapons labs. Travel writers pen revisionist history better than a propagandist in a 1960s Eastern European autocracy. In truth, even the most luxurious vacation has its down moments.
With that in mind, I offer these caveats to my story. While I would highly recommend a side trip from Flores to the Rinca and Komodo islands, doing so in the wet season, and especially, doing so in the wet season with someone you met at the hotel the night before, can be miserable. Though I vowed to maintain a good temper on the journey, the effort was drowned in rain and diesel. The poor conditions made me less tolerant of my fellow passenger, who was in the habit of constantly checking prices and distances against a guidebook. An obsession with the mechanics of traveling is the one trait that can irritate me to no end. Fiercely negotiating fares can be tiresome anywhere, and is especially ludicrous in countries like Indonesia where nothing is exact and the currency is so devalued that the argument is literally over pennies.
Had the weather been more agreeable and the diesel fumes less toxic, it would have been easier to let the frustration caused by my companion's obsession with unimportant details go. Case in point, I loved climbing Mt. Kinabalu in Borneo, despite the Scandinavian partner who required constant reassurance as to our progress but was utterly incapable of reading a map ("See that dot? Since the last time you asked, we've moved from the centre to the outer edge"). In this case, I was not as charitable. And out of fairness to someone who may be perfectly pleasant in other settings, I will not tell any more of the story. I will only admit shame for any thoughts I had watching my traveling companion approach the hungry three metre lizards.
** Sorry, that's one for Olympic buffs. At the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, the sole representative of Equatorial Guinea swam the 100 m freestyle heat alone, after the competitors were disqualified, in a time of 1:52.72, more than twice the qualifying standard. The brave guy had only learned to swim earlier that year.
