Indonesia. For most, synonym with Bali drunken scooter rides and cheap poolside Bin Tangs. A sweaty, crowded beating heart, as intricate as the dubious electric wires dangling overhead like tangled fishing line. I too used to see it only as an exotic playground to indulge oneself in drunken follies and endless partying; but for those willing to take the extra mile into its green heart of wilderness, this gem of South East Asia is a window to a simpler time that many of us can learn something from.

We set this trip off in Bali, which seemed to be bouncing from COVID since I had last seen it, and took an eight-hour drive to Banyuwangi, in the island of Java. This small, humble town is remote enough to make you stand out like a Caucasian sore thumb, prompting endless waves and honks from locals and children in three-manned scooters. People’s English here is scarce, but they are always ready to shake your hand with a welcoming smile. Some will ask you to take a picture with them, proof that tourists do make it to this part of Java. 

Banyuwangi’s main attraction is Mount Ijen. A four-hour climb will take you to its peak of breathtaking views, where you can see the world’s biggest acid lake. This is also only one of two places in the world where you can see sulphur igniting as it rises to the surface, creating a downpour of blue flames that are quite something. The fetid smell it expels is unlike anything I had ever experienced before, resembling what I can only describe as a very rotten egg soup. The thick white smoke emanating from this natural wonder can’t be good for you either, and I doubt the gas masks provided to tourists are enough to hinder its effects. Every time the wind turned, the overeager tourists who shouldered each other to get the closest picture would scream in discomfort as their eyes burned. The Indonesian guides looked on slightly amused, with a cigarette in the corner of their mouth to add to the picture. To experience this in its full glory, you must start the climb at two o’clock in the morning, latest, when the clubs in Bali are just getting started. How good a privilege it is to grow up and get to analyse these juxtapositions of evolving perspectives – replacing hangovers with mountaintop sunrises. 

As you start descending the mountain with a full heart’s content, the morning light reveals a winding road of deep green jungle. Indonesia’s scenery consists of various fruit trees, from banana, papaya, mango, dragon, jack and snake fruit, along with every other source of natural goodness you can imagine. These all adorn the famous landscapes of rice paddies which never fail to impress with their ingenious and mostly natural irrigation systems. The bottom of the thick forests is scoured by the local hens and cockerels, fattening up for special occasions, whereas the canopies are dominated by monkeys and luwaks, famous for digesting and producing some of the world’s finest coffee.

When driving past the small villages surrounding the bottom of the mountain, it is clear that harmony between land and its people is well possible. The locals greet the day sitting down in front of their houses, smoking yet another clove cigarette, watching life go past without the need for much more, simply waiting for the rice to be ready for harvest. Every house that doubles up as a small restaurant is filled with rich smells and flavours – fish sauce being for me always the most prominent – in a country with a very rich and well-balanced gastronomy.

From Banyuwangi, we set sail towards the road less travelled in this country, which consists of over 17,000 islands spread across its sparse sea. When we arrived at our first stop, it was clear that many of these islands are virtually untouched by the foreign world. In order to dive, fish or even jump from the boat for a dip, one must seek approval from the island chief. These are some of the most pristine waterways you will encounter, and doing so assures a sustainable ecosystem that people can keep on making a living from. Many islands in Indonesia are still plundered by dynamite fishing, destroying every piece of amazing coral left, so locals are always wary of foreign arrivals. 

One of the most remarkable islands we visited was Pulau Sakala. When we arrived on our ship, several fishermen in their skinny fishing boats were fast to greet us and suggest an anchoring spot. By the time we made it to land, we asked the local chief when was the last time they had received foreigners of our kind. He replied this was a first. From that point onwards, we were greeted with remarkable hospitality: locals climbing palm trees to fetch us coconuts and water bottles to help with the heat while we waited for our ride. The chief’s son’s katana chopping masterly through the green fruit was a good contrast to the puzzled look on the several children’s faces surrounding us and observing our foreign features in awe. By the end of the day, we had been paraded around the whole island in the back of a tiny pickup truck, shown around the local attractions whilst being followed by an entourage of children and overjoyed islanders on scooters. 

When we woke up on the boat the next morning, the water surrounding us was riddled with hundreds of tiny blue lights, resembling underwater fireflies. I assumed these to be some rare coral spawn, but when I was out of the water, the several little stings covering my body convinced me these were all tiny stingers.

From there, we visited many other islands, every one of them unique in its own right. In one of the deserted ones, we joined a fisherman for lunch followed by a nap under the island’s sole clump of trees. The silence we shared over the language barrier was almost sacred, surrounded only by the sounds of the sea and the crackle of the fire as the fish cooked on the coals, far away from any hint of civilisation. By the time his pitstop was over, he greeted us farewell and ventured onwards in his small wooden boat.

On the other hand, all of the inhabited islands have several mosques that blare their prayers over loudspeakers four times a day, the loudest of them all at four o’clock in the morning. This proved hard at first, especially when considering that sound travels further over water and that the wind always seemed to be blowing towards our ship to help spread the holy word over the seas.

The truth is that by the end of this trip, I realised how futile Western civilizations’ endless toils and struggles can be. Most of the Indonesian islanders live with a fraction of what most of us struggle to content ourselves with. And yet, every single one of these people seemed truly happy with their humble lives. The island’s chief house wasn’t the biggest or flashiest, far from it. They go out every day for a fish, taking only what they need, respecting the land, and go back out the next day to do the same all over again. The gluttony and greed upon which our capitalist systems were built was nothing but a distant fool’s dream out there in the open sea. Dynamite fishermen’s boats are dragged to shore in the islands and burnt down as a message to anyone else looking to make a quick buck.

It would seem that at some point during our so-called evolution towards our fancy job titles and flashy cars, we lost track of what’s really important, enslaving ourselves into a serfdom we might never come back from. If life is an island, this is what it should be all about.