Stops: Pulau Weh: Casa Nemo near Sumur Tiga, Iboih Inn near Pantai Iboih, and points in between. (Days 21-33)

Etsuko knows about my propensity when travelling to always go to the very end of the road, trail, or especially–island. Usually, but not always, this works out with amazing scenery along the way and a great view off the tip of land’s end. But, regardless of the outcome, it feels incomplete to go to a remote island and not reach the ultima.

Stopping at Aceh might have been enough. It was all the way at the very tip of Sumatra, but there was one more “further” to go: Pulau Weh. I’d read about the island a long time ago as a scuba destination, but also as a very relaxed and relaxing bit of island culture different from the rest of Aceh Province. More laid back. And, it was. A one week visit turned into two, and I would have happily stayed even longer. Might need to go back. Besides, all travels are improved by a boat ride, so ferry time again.

Slow Ferry Ro-Ro from Ulee Leheue to Balohan, Sabang. About two hours.

I initially booked Casa Nemo for just three nights. You never really know from the intarwebs and booking websites whether places are worth a long stay or not, but also don’t want to shuffle around endlessly.

Here was the path from reception to my bungalow and the view out the front.

No aircon–just a fan, wind, and a mosquito net. No fridge. No wifi. No nothing except the sound of the ocean in a tropical garden. You could just sit there and see loads of birds and watch the light change as the clouds passed over. The bats in the evening were fantastic to hear and watch swoop back and forth and flit into the trees above. You know a bat is big if you see the branches move and bend when it comes in for a landing. Reminded me of my favorite place to stay in Bangkok. I used to always stay at the Reno Hotel. It was a Vietnam War era R&R hotel. Three, four storey block of rooms with deep balconies, a simple swimming pool, and a big covered parking area for a Nissan dealership behind that. The parking cover doubled as the best bat-watching habitat in town. More bats; fewer bugs.

I immediately extended my stay from three nights to six.

Breakfast is my main meal of the day in Indonesia. You usually get a selection of rice, noodles, different curries, and more too choose from. Plenty of good coffee and a different fresh juice or two each day. There is always (not pictured) fresh fruit, and people like their desserts, too. The Italianate restaurant at Casa Nemo was also where you could get wifi, so a little email or catching up with the news over an extra coffee with an ocean breeze, watermelon, and maybe cake, was perfect.

Afternoons of reading, swimming, doing a little writing, some sketching were just right.

The staff were all very nice, too. Seemingly, almost all named Putri. So, nicknames. Bu Putri was the front desk manager and Pu-chan worked in the restaurant and was always extremely, contagiously happy. Turns out Bu Putri had worked in an orphanage in Turkey and taught English as well for four years. She studied English language education at university. So, we had a lot to talk about. But, she decided teaching was not for her and was giving the hospitality business a try.

As nice as Casa Nemo was, it was also isolated. Not many other food options nearby and the beach and beach side cafe were nice, but no snorkeling. So, on to the next stop, Iboih Beach, which is one of the main diving centers on the island and was supposed to be even more relaxed. I needed transport to get there and move my stuff, so I hired a car and driver for a day again to tour around a bit and then drop me off.

We stopped at some old Japanese bunkers, went through town (where I practiced my Indonesian a bit more with a successful stop at the pharmacy–forgot my steroid creme–you can get anything over the counter. Scored prescription strength hydrocortisone for fifty-cents a tube!) and then headed off to Pria Laot Waterfall for a nice walk through the woods, ending up at the falls and a whole gang of high school boys jumping off the rocks.

We stopped here and there along the way, but then last stop before my next accommodation. Kilometer Nol. End of the road!

Here it is. The tip of Indonesia. Though there are tiny islands further out, this is the point from which all distances in Indonesia are measured. It’s a big tourist draw. I mean it is the end of a very small island, off the end of a much bigger island, at western terminus of an archipelago of 17,000 islands. You can’t get much further than this. And, Indonesia loves some very seventies, concrete, futuristic-looking monuments, pillars, obelisks, and just weird stuff.

I reached the end!

From my bungalow at Iboih Inn. Even more peaceful than Casa Nemo.

Breakfasts here were so good. Ibu Saliza and her husband cooked fresh from the market every day. Curries, coconut rice, spicy stuffed tofu. lots of fruit, strong coffee with sweetened condensed milk, and lots of tempeh. She remembered my favorites.

Saliza almost broke down in tears when I checked in after she asked where I was from. She went to BU! We were both living in Boston at the same time. She hasn’t been back since and wonders what it is like now. We talked a lot while I was there. Her family had been forced out of Aceh during the insurrection. She was born in Jakarta and only returned after the tsunami. Deeply involved with redevelopment work and knew everyone and everything on the island. Really nice couple.

Boats. Most everybody ran the same standard, workhorse, “Boston Whaler” type, a 21 foot fiberglass boat with three benches and an outboard. A few had a center console. The real fishermen had their nets and serious gear. Dive operators and water taxis to the “fancy tourist resort” across the channel had sun shades. One or two would always tie up at the floating dock.

Traditional wooden boats have very high prows and sterns that sweep down and back I am sure there is a nautical term for that, but they really look cool works for me. Some were in very good shape. Others were dragged up on the beach down by the village for work.

The village is a couple of minutes walk from the bungalows. T-shirt shops. A big seafood grill restaurant on the jetty for tourist groups. Fancy locally grown Aceh coffee that is amazingly good. All the dive operators are there. Once a week a small cruise ship pulls up. A nice French woman runs “Le Cafe Bleu” with crepes and pasta for a change of pace.

Iboih Beach at low tide from Le Cafe Bleu.

Sunrise over the floating dock in front of the inn looking across the channel at Rubiah Island with the fancy resort.

I’d just sit on the dock and read. Jump in when it got too hot. Go for a snorkel or just look at the fish through the clear turquoise water. No pics, but saw three huge lionfish and an amazing moray eel so close to the dock my last afternoon.

No raccoons, but the monitor lizards like to stop by to visit and look for scraps.

These aren’t the real Komodo Dragons, but they do get pretty big. They swim up on to the beach, but apparently aren’t that dangerous. If the woman at the cafe wasn’t worried about her young daughters playing in the water while a big monitor swam by, I wouldn’t either. Still, they were really cool to watch. And, this one was watching me right back.

This guy was a little close. Gotta be careful and not swim too far out.

That is pretty much where I spent much of the week. Sitting on the dock. Going for a dip now and then. People would pull up in boats and maybe chat. Got to know one of the divemasters, Iwan. when I went out on a boat to go snorkeling. He’d hang out between dives bringing guests in for lunch. There was a regular schedule: the local fishermen putt-putting out at sunrise–back late, dolphin watching next in the morning, nine-twelve-and-three o’clock dive boats, tourist fishing charters in the afternoons zooming out wake-be-damned. Once a coupla yahoos chasing each other in circles, each sitting on the bow filming “I’m on a boooooat!!!” tik-toks. Me, hoping they would fall over.

One day, there was a young guy pushing a traditional, high-prow, wooden boat with a pole to keep it out in the water in between attempts to get the motor to turn over with a big crank. Grizzled guy (his boss?) walked out on the dock and watched. Then, another old fisherman came out to kibbitz. Boss yelled, “Less gas! Less gas! You’re flooding it!” The old guys just shook their heads. Boat finally drifted into the “whaler” at the dock. They waved in a water taxi to tow it away. I thought, “They need Patrick or Doug here. They would get it sorted out.”

Boss plunked himself down and took out a pipe made out of some kind of motor part, took a big hit, and sighed. Let’s just say syariah, or any laws, are lightly enforced on Weh. And, if the prohibition signs from the cops at the beach are any indicator, there is a healthy sideline in bootleg cigarettes for some fishermen.

Everybody left. I sat on the dock. Went for a swim.

I’m halfway around the world, in the Glosta of Indonesia, looking out at the boat parade everyday.