vaga #1/18 Hotels "a"

Waerebo tribe, Indonesia

 Part XVIII

"Hotels a" because it gives for several more letters. Writing about hotels is a topic that would never have occurred to me, but it has become part of my daily life and with the passing of time it has been of great relevance, anecdotes after anecdotes have been added, almost without realising it. There are fun, curious, unusual and obviously there are bad ones. After so much wandering one begins to develop sensitivities, acuities, requirements, in short learning, and becoming finally less clumsy. What an entertaining topic for me to share.

Hotel, resort, guest house, boutique hotel, tea house, family stay, hostel, “hutch” (hut) and others that do not deserve a name like the one on the first night when I arrived in Vietnam. As the months go by, one learned to distinguish the definitions of ranges and services expected of each one. I call all "my houses", many houses, and I change houses every so often. As always speaking to myself, I tell myself… .when I go back "home" I am going to send the mail, I will leave the "house" in an 1 hour   !!  because shit, I left my glasses at home !! and so on……

there are houses that make you want to stay for a long time, those are the “memorable ones”; its location, views, atmosphere, exclusivity, among others. Many, many faded into memory, no traces remain, no memories. Some in which you only need to deposit your bones and others that I want to run at the moment of putting a foot in them and there is not always the alternative of a second option and yes, they become "memorable" for exactly the opposite reason.

Learning has been slow and clumsy because of me, or rather very relaxed, that is, slack in making decisions. I have learned that at the time of booking, the location is the most important thing. I already know how to locate where most of the hotels are concentrated, so that is the correct location, in large cities that does not work because there are many hotel centres, for business purposes and others, there I look for those in the historical centre which is where the history of the city is. I avoid big cities in general. Furthermore, I use booking.com (they should give me a discount for mentioning them, haha !! ) after the location is the score out of 7. I never read the reviews of each one… .how boring!!!!… . to know if they walked in the same shoes, besides I am never in the same boat as the others. Definitely in regard to the selection of hotels I have developed very particular requirements in my journey, that have nothing to do with that of the traditional tourist. If I'm wrong, I change, I look for one in person, but holidaymakers do not have that time and do not go around testing hotels. The luxury of time, time and time again is the most appreciated factor. Only now do I have this luxury, so elusive in my life and how I enjoy and value it on a daily basis. However, the best hotel data is shared by other travellers, like me.

I have developed over time vast experience and I have come to many "considerations" about the selection of the house and the score that I give them and only when I am in them for more than three days, less is  not worth bothering with. I don't go for "stars" in the hotel, I put scoring "suns" on them and once inside them  it only has to do with my room and location needs. The list of " considerations " is long and entertaining that I will share.

I begin this chapter with the extreme of the extremes not of the luxurious, nor of the precarious, but of the exclusive in every sense of the word. As a guest of the Waerebo tribe on the Flores island of Indonesia. 

This is not a resort for tourists, like those thematic resorts that are found in ethnic places. Here you live in their community where they have a hut for visitors, around the other side live part of the community, others live in the surrounding areas. Technically it is a hotel, they give you dinner, breakfast, and you pay about 10 dollars. The huts are arranged in a semicircle and the central one is that of the chief of the tribe. It is a self-subsistence project of that ethnic group, the Waerebo. They have been advised by several international NGOs to develop this program . Little by little they have refurbished the huts, installing solar energy and for a couple of hours a day  there is electricity, there is no signal and recently the bathrooms were done, it is the last improvement. They hope with this to be able to open in ethnic tourism portals. I found out that only about 3 thousand visitors have passed through in the 5 years that the program has started in a precarious and slow way !!!! ... plop !!!!   there are fewer and fewer unknown corners of the world and so isolated. For me it was a great fortune to have been in one of those incognito corners and that will be increasingly scarce. It is a very interesting idea to preserve their customs, maintain the pride and dignity of their ancestors and not have to end up leaving for the cities to earn an income, they still live off coffee plantations. I know that this type of program is also being carried out in other latitudes  of the world. It was highly debated internally, many conversations, voting, consulting for years before the community agreed to open up to the world. That is why its implementation has been very slow. Primarily reckless to be seen as indigenous, as an inferior class by visitors. They live with great pride their culture, their language, with not even the slightest intention of giving it up, quite the contrary, they value it and watch over it. The income that the guests contribute goes to the community in improvements, savings for natural disasters, education, they have even paid for universities for  some members. Everything is explained on blackboards the destination of the income.

How did I find it ?  Destiny or chance, I don't know the difference between the two very well, the point  was that in a tourist office on Flores Island where we were because we wanted to see the Komodo's dragons and it is the only part of the world where they are. Flipping through pamphlets I found some information that was very vague about staying with the Waerebo ethnic group. ???? I asked for details, definitely uncertain, but I did not hesitate for a second, and I cheered up, along with Peter, my son who was visiting me, we left the next day. You had to rent a 4x4 car with a driver and translator, it was not cheap, but in that I have no doubts about investing in a more than unique and unrepeatable experience. After four hours by car with a wonderful landscape, tropical forests, beaches, islands in sight everywhere, crossing through small hamlets, rice fields until the road ended in just one trail and comes to an end, a hamlet of no more than 15 houses. The driver and the translator stayed overnight, sleeping in a house of the tribe so that the next day they returned to us. It was impossible to get there by any other means, the pick-up truck was the bus, with many connections, without schedules and zero English and all were very shy, they do not see foreigners in the area, not like the visceral rejection of the foreigner with the ethnic groups. that I saw in the highlands of Guatemala, still understanding Spanish for the most part.

Once in the hamlet we ate the house lunch and left. No idea where we were going, yes, we knew we were going to get lost in the jungle, period. We followed the instructions of the translator. We started on a motorcycle, they took us each in one and without an explanation, after half an hour they stopped and we walked. One of those who did not take a motorcycle acted as a guide and gestured to us to follow him. It took almost 4 hours for a trail, up the hill, down the hill in an extremely dense forest, while on the peaks you could see the landscape with the sea in the background. Finally, we reached a high hill where there was a stilt house, the guide went up to the enclosure and rang a wooden bell then gave a tremendous shout. Announcing the arrival as we figured out, I felt like in a Tarzan movies. It was an adventure in a thousand, never heard, never recommended, and we literally left to get lost in the jungle. I was so happy to share it with Peter, and I was also very happy, he was totally enthusiastic with zero apprehension, because there were plenty of them, how are we going to sleep, etc ... for me the most terrifying are meals and baths, with meals I have I've been learning to digest them after so long in remote places in Asia where their meals are enigmatic to say the least, suspicious and absolutely unappetising to me, difficult. For this moment I have developed a technique and explained it to Peter and that is not to chew for any reason, the food  passes straight down the throat ...... when chewing the rare juices come out, one feels the strange textures for one, and incomprehensible flavours ....... Peter totally given to adventure…. open to the unknown, to the diverse, and willing to know the different culture, moreover remote tribes totally marginalised from the world. He appreciated it and enjoyed it ……. it made me proud, not just anyone is for those activities or interests. Maybe mom's school started from her childhood….

leaving by motorcycle and then the walk to the notice booth of the arrival in the tribe and the announcement bong

the reception consisted of a blessing with which the chief of the tribe received us in his hut. There were 8 rooms with door curtains where 8 families live with hierarchy by seniority, share kitchen and common place. My eyes fell looking at everything but there was nothing you could do, just sit and listen to the blessing in the incomprehensible language. They speak their dialect and I make a point here, the ethnic groups are defined as such when they have their own language, then they speak the language of that part of the island because there are three and finally the official Indonesian that not everyone speaks. At the end of the blessing they allowed you to take only one photo with the patriarch, nothing more. Here the most shocking thing for me was that his name was Rafael,     !!! PLOP !!!!  Rafael, like my son,  !!!! please I demand an explanation !!!!! . How did the chief of a remotely lost tribe on an Indonesian island have the same name as my American-born son…  !!! LOL !!!!!     I found out, the island was colonised by the Portuguese, and they brought Catholicism. The tribe is Catholic and their names are also, with graves, urns with a cross, here in this part of Asia it is not at all fashionable, they are Buddhist and Hindu, and Muslim especially in Indonesia, they cremate the bodies, I am not indifferent to the unusual, tremendous coincidence for both Rafaels.

A young man of about 24 years old, was the manager to attend to the guests, he spoke English. He took us to the indicated hut and explained the rules, made the charges and served the meals. Entering the hut was nerve wracking, it was round, and was a single very large space, a large pillar with a central axis of more than 15 meters high, suspended the conical roof of uncertain branches, a dark place, only 4 tiny windows which gave the only light in the room.  everything was in sight, a single space, several mats on the floor that served as a mattress on the sides following the line of the round architecture, in the centre, was a long mat and around other thicker individual pillows, "the dining room". Clothes hanging on ropes to dry, further back, was the  enclosed kitchen place, the bathrooms were outside. It would fit about 40 people in terms of beds. I had to share with about 8 people, the guides slept right there. One of the regulations is to not  undress in the hut, only in the bathrooms and respect for others in terms of silence.  

 The community in its routine, collects firewood for the kitchen stove, works in the orchards, they look at you and smile at you, but there is nothing more than that. I felt they were shy or have not yet fully accepted or incorporated outside visitors. Children, dogs and cats were everywhere.

Next to me, my mat / mattress, thank goodness that there were several empty ones, so I temporarily stole about 3 to cushion the hardness !!!! haha !!!!   There were three Muslim girls, of about 22 years old, they looked very happy. After dinner, we went to bed they were half a meter away from me. It was almost impossible not to share words, and they began to ask me things, and it aroused a great curiosity to see someone in their "golden age" in those precarious circumstances. I was literally interrogated by the three of them, all at the same time, wondering everything, how a mother travelled alone and for more than a year went around the world. Peter was with me and told them it was only during the holidays, and they had endless questions, until we were silenced, it was bedtime, nevertheless we continued a little more in low voices it was like being in a boarding school   !!!!  haha !!!!  They were so impressed, they couldn't imagine that kind of life, one of them said to me “you are a heroine, an inspiration”. Yes, yes if you think of them as Muslims, with their veils, with no possibility of, or dreaming of doing something outside their strict rules of behaviour and so harsh for women,  being elderly is another factor of admiration for them. In Asia, the elderly stay home.  Seeing their faces so amazed to hear my stories, but at the same time I felt sorry for them, because they made me feel that it was something so remote from their dreams. It was too bad they silenced us because I was the one who had thousands of questions for them about their lives, their religion that was so strong and how they were gaining ground, Them in particular because they were going on holiday alone, and they seemed very open to share with a foreigner, which is very unusual, it is a very closed religion. They were computer engineers. I missed a rare opportunity to learn more about how Muslims lives are for young and professional women. When they asked us for silence they left the light on for a while more so that one of them could make her prayers…. Then I was flabbergasted, she took a thick yellow tunic out of her backpack, put it on, faced Mecca and prayed loudly, she bent, knelt, lifted, and raised her hands and repeated everything for about 5 minutes …… … paparazzi photo… I couldn’t believe it. Peter challenged me, but how did she carry those extra clothes in the backpack for example. The next day we were all leaving, and we did not stop giving hugs, lots of laughs and photos. I had lost the opportunity to learn more about their lives.

It was because of those intuitions that I had bought notebooks and pencils for the children. All contact with the community had to go through the boy in charge, I showed him the notebooks and pencils, and he wouldn't let me give them to him !!! What no, and what no !!!!,  the older children go to school and they, the younger children, will learn later, I tried to explain that holding  a pencil and colouring can be done from a very young age, he did not understand why he should  draw before going to school. I insisted heavily, the children began to approach and looked curiously at the pencils, he had to loosen up. True, they had not had any contact with notebooks and pencils, they looked at them and were silent, they had no idea what it was. Children over 6 years old go to the hamlet where we left the car, and attend the school. They sleep with people of the ethnic group who live in the hamlet during the week, There, one of the Muslim girls joined in, and she entertained  them with a song, and they were excited, but taking a  pencil from them with apprehension, curiosity finally won, and they began to draw, but it was obvious that they had never seen a pencil before. The young man watched from afar still with a disapproving face. There were no tables or chairs.

I saw a weaver under a hut,   !!!! PLOP !!!!   I approached silently, she saw me and showed a wonderful smile, which I took as an invitation to come closer, I got under the hut, we exchanged about 10 words in English and about 200 hand gestures, her name was Filomena, “Filo” beautiful, energetic and welcoming. We clicked at once, I was showing her photos of my well-known weavers from Guatemala and Vietnam and even one of me weaving on a backstrap loom. Always showing the photos of other weavers to other weavers it causes them  tremendous emotion, they do not stop looking at them,  seeing that in other latitudes they weave, they weave the same, colours and similar designs. Filo will increase my repertoire to continue sharing them with other weavers in the world. When they see me in some photos weaving on a backstrap loom they quickly offer me a turn to weave. At first I did, but I have noticed my lack of practice, my clumsy fingers, my absolutely useless eyesight, and the fine workmanship is too complicated for me, so I'm not going to accept any more weaving invitations. She wove a ceremonial cloth, on the day they wear clothes like ours, she was in blue jeans. She shared with me about her life, her children and one was deceased she never knew why, she introduced me to the other women who passed by, lots of laughter, what a happy woman she was and always with our precarious communication. Those encounters for me are the greatest pleasure of my wanderings.

I return to the hotels, the "resorts" and call them "springs" because I pay for them with a credit card (which I never use) and the card can bounce like a "spring". Of these, the name has already been slapped onto them because they are putting the name resort like any cabins with a pool and a basic restaurant. From time to time I went through a better "spring" for a few days, there I recover the status lost  many times by being a guest at the other end of the hotel range… .. and when I say the other end is the other end. I do not have a defined line to select houses, it depends  on the circumstances and sometimes there are three days of differences to adjust from the fastest to tremendous contrasts of 5 stars to minus 5. There are others who run in another lane, not with stars and are extreme too, How can I describe sleeping in a Buddhist Monastery in Japan, in an enclave dedicated to Buddhism, lost in the mountains, magical, and to go to the other side of the pendulum in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, where I fell for the strategy of being near the Brunei embassy due to visa procedures in a neighbourhood filled with radical Muslims and therefore their radical Muslim hotel. Never seen before on my travels, it is not a tourist hotel but above all it is a hotel for them, with their place of prayer, in the room with an indication on the ceiling showing the direction of  Mecca, a Quran and a prayer mat. We were not welcomed,  Peter and I received surly treatment which I had never experienced in any hotel before.

I OPEN THE DOOR TO THE HOUSES ……

If I calculate in 24 months there are more than a hundred houses, doors and numbers, I think it is quite correct, they range from one night to months as I am now staying in Chiang Mai, Thailand. It only occurred to me in recent months to take photos of the numbers, there are the precarious ones written by pencil down the sophisticated ones and one even without a number at all. Unfortunately I have only recorded a few  because it would be wonderful to have a page full of numbers, numbers of different sizes, colours, graphics, each one different and from each house ... the last number corresponds to a stay in the Chiang Mai hospital for minor surgery, but it falls within hotels too, although forced I no longer call that home.

I end up leaving the door open for the next houses… .. !! I'm dying of curiosity what I will find …… !!