Barefoot in the forest of Borneo

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Night time. I am lying on the ground in the jungle in Borneo thousands of miles from anywhere in the modern world. Here in the wild I am living one of the toughest experiences of my life and, given my deteriorating physical condition, it will require a Herculean effort to reach my destination still a few days away. I do not know if I am capable of it.
 
Earlier on in the day during a downhill stretch in the forest through very muddy conditions, the soil gave way on me and I twisted my left knee as I fell. As a consequence, I wrenched my lateral ligaments and the resulting pain from my ballooning knee is now excruciating. I badly need sleep in order to recover from the 5 day, 10 hour daily treks, I have accomplished thus far, if I am going to successfully reach my destination.
 
Food is scarce. My twice daily meals consist of coffee, boiled rice, and until today, and now dearly departed, instant noodles. As I survey my situation, my knee is largely useless. My feet seem to be decomposing. Five days of slogging through mud, water and rough terrain in wet boots has resulted in exfoliating the flesh of soles of my feet. The broken loose skin and blood clings to the linen lining of my sleeping bag. It’s going to be a long night.

A sense of desperation and despondency descends over me. In search of solace, I reach for the pendants hanging around my neck. I have two that are always with me. One is an OM sign made out of coconut wood, the other a square silver medallion representing two Hindu divinities, a present from a very dear friend of mine. Thinking of her, I take the medallion to my lips, kiss it and whisper, “help me”. A shiver runs down my spine and a reassuring warmth embraces and infuses me. My journey through Kalimantan, the Indonesian part of Borneo, had started two weeks ago.
 

Unusually for me, I did not plan this trip in detail. I have done various treks across deserts, the Himalayas and the Arctic, but somehow for this one, I had decided to let it unfold naturally, improvising as I went along. In fact, two weeks before my departure I still hadn’t purchased air tickets. I had acquired only the essential gear, such as trekking boots, at the very last minute. The result was that I was now facing the consequences of my lack of basic preparation, absolutely indispensable to managing the risk of unintended consequences. My resolve and sense of wellbeing was rapidly disintegrating.

 

The overall concept of this trek was conceived 15 years ago – now seemingly a lifetime ago – when I was still going through the ups and downs of married life. The plan was relatively simple: to start from Samarinda on Kalimantan’s east coast, find my way up the Sungai (river) Mahakam, a distance of over 900 Km to the last Dayak village close to the border with Sarawak (Malaysia), trek the Müller range across primary rainforest, reach the first Dayak village on the other side, and go down Sungai Kapuas towards Kalimantan’s west coast. I planned to find accommodation as I progressed, because in this region booking is impossible, hiring a guide to trek the forest over the mountains.

Somehow the time to undertake this trip ripened quickly. I was already living close-by in Bali and I felt the need to act immediately, given the sobering affects of recent deaths of both acquaintances and intimates, I became aware that I should not be too cavalier about the time allotted to me. The journey fast became both a challenge and a rite of passage, tied both to my age and to a desire to restore confidence in the face of the growing sense of vulnerability that intensifies as we pass through our fifties.
 

Although I felt spiritually and emotionally on my own, my heart informed me that I was not. It was now a matter of understanding how far reaching that presence, I had discerned when kissing the medallion, would protect and empower me. Not long before leaving, I had met a woman – weeks or months here have little meaning – who I will call Amita.

 

The medallion I am holding in the palm of my hand in the middle of a melancholy Borneo night, while plumbing my depths in search of the fortitude I need to continue, belongs to Amita. She gave it to me, instinctively, in a surge of cautious passion, just before leaving for one of her trips, just a week before I, too, left on mine. I do not know if it was intended merely as a keepsake or something more.  It was the first gift I received from her, but more importantly, because it was a piece she had so cherished, it was as though she had given me an intimate totem, a secret part of her being.

 

Hence, I kept it close to me and it became a bridge between the two us. It was her proxy, accompanying me as travelling companion, confidant, lover in my dreams, listening to me, encouraging me, nurturing me.  Now I was asking for her help.

 

Staring out into the night, the forest seems denser, more populated than usual, not so much a threat, as a new primeval reality.  Three sharp sticks are planted into the ground guarding the tent on either side, perhaps to impede access to some large mammals. I am not afraid of the forest or of any possible animal.
 
I became accustomed to this new reality, now five days old, within about 24 hours.  “Survival mode” is not unfamiliar to me.  I adapt and adopt quickly the sensibilities essential to navigating the unfamiliar and unforeseen, skills honed on my previous trips into the wilds. Now, the natural world crackles all around me, as if in concert with the insistent presence of the flowering sensitivity in my knee.  Fireflies abound, the symphony of insects crackle and strum all around my head.  Striped black and white butterflies cover my shoes. There is electric current running through the ground and up into the trees. It inhabits every being, every presence in and around me. I am an integral part of it.  As I sit, I am recalling a similar feeling. One night some years ago I spent a night on my own in the Sahara el Beyda in western Egypt. It is better known as the White Desert. That night too was pregnant with the active, vibrant presence of the unknown.
 
This night, the whole forest gradually becomes a tapestry before my eyes, as though dressed up for a performance – the leaves I laid down to soften the ground are fluorescent, as well as some the branches of nearby trees. The panoply of stars overhead, evident through the spreading canopy above me, seem to be in symbiotic accord with the fireflies and the spreading fluorescence that crowds in close around me. This otherworldly phenomenon transports me out beyond my physical discomfort, offering me refuge and respite.  Holding Amita’s pendant, I stretch my free arm out to one of the illuminated leaves, quickly feeling its energy running through me, the pendant acts as a catalyst, a source of well-being. I keep repeating softly “Amita… Amita… Amita…”.  Cold sweat runs over me.

I think back for a moment to a couple of days earlier when, under different conditions, Nature, Amita and I seemed to morph into one. During a break from walking, I was sitting in front of a tree with a double trunk which seemed to be staring at me. While breaking a long held promise to myself never to deface a tree by carving messages into it, I engraved, only very slightly, our names on the bark of each side of the tree. Something like: “Amita +” and “+ Luca”. I recalled seeing a similar inscription dated early in the 17th Century on the vaults of the Roman Villa Adriana in Tivoli, Italy. Well, I liked the idea of our names gradually absorbed into Nature. Though perhaps childish, there was something primordial and timeless at the same time in it.

In undertaking any trek, acquiring the skill to manage fatigue day in and day out is essential. If I want to reach my destination on this trip, I need to regenerate body, mind and spirit. “Help me to learn from my experience. Let my heart grow and reach out to Amita for the strength I need” – I implore. As I do so, a lovely moment I spent with her surfaces in my consciousness, as if waiting there, waiting for me to open my heart to it and to the power of rejuvenation it holds for me. One morning I brought her a small present and, unusually, I found her still in bed. I had never seen her like that – she was a most delicate creature. My every pore was loving her and I welcomed the very essence of her into me. I regret that I was not open to expressing the sweet turmoil she evoked in me, not even with a hug, but that moment is indelibly etched in my heart.

Energy is all around me, but my personal energy is very low. I realize that I need to find a way to link the two. Perhaps I am holding it in my hand. Perhaps I am thinking of God. All of a sudden I feel like a tiny creature in an immense universe.
 
During my trip on Sungai Mahakam on my way to Long Apari, the departure point for trekking in the rainforest, I had to wait a few days in a homestay in Long Bagun for more favorable upstream river conditions. I spent quite a bit of time with the owner of that homestay who was a guide himself when young. We managed to understand each other mixing English with some Indonesian words. After showing me his beautiful collection of old Dayak masks and swords, we sat on the front porch and he noticed the pendant I had around my neck. I told him its story and that it came from India. He liked it a lot. I couldn’t help but be moved by this triangular link with Amita. I don’t know exactly what happened, but it helped to establish a friendship between the owner and me.
 
A few days later I had to leave at sunrise with a long boat (an agile, triple engine boat used mostly for transport of goods) which he found for me. I said goodbye to him and his family the night before, after taking his young nephew on my shoulders for one last ride around the village. It was something unusual and probably the old man preferred letting a bule like me do it, but I also saw a glitter of natural envy on his face. Just as I was stepping on the boat, he arrived at the pier unexpectedly and gave me a present, a plastic bag containing five of my favorite fruit flavored sweets. I looked him in the eye, knowing that I will never see him again, and shook his hand.
 

 

Amita was always with me, not only when I asked for help but as a companion. After all I never travelled with her for real, so I had a need to at least imagine what she could like in any particular situation. The day I left Long Bagun on the long boat, after passing dangerous rapids in an extenuating transfer to Data Suling, that situation became aroused. As soon as I arrived in this village, half-way to Long Apari, I was lucky to assist in a Dayak ceremony which takes place only twice each year, involving the whole village. About a dozen people, including a teenager, dressed in a special costume made of thin palm leaves. Every inch of their body was completely covered, and over their faces they wore traditional white and red masks. They gradually danced their way into the centre of the Long House, the local town hall, waving their arms up and down and looking like living trees in a storm. Dressed in their best beaded dresses and hats, men, women and children were dancing around each other on the edge of the long house. Everybody was following the beat provided by someone pounding hard on a drum with a long hollow shaft, together with two other musicians playing brass plates.
 
I was invited, very sweetly, with ample gestures to join the dance and I managed to overcome my embarrassment only by thinking that Amita would have reveled in that situation and I could not disappoint her. Fortunately the steps were easy – left forward, pause, right sideway, pause. After less than a minute my shyness had gone and I thoroughly enjoyed dancing. I kept hugging everybody. Later on some mats were laid on the floor. Everybody sat down and we shared some food and drinks. That night, as I wished Amita selamat tidur, I conceived an unusual present I could give her family for Christmas. Right then, feeling lucky and missing her were one and the same. When a feeling is simple and pure it needs no complicated description. It just is. It can be very good, without fears…and fun!

 

 

Coming back from the sweetness of my memories, reality knocks at my door again. During the trek in the rainforest my usual daily water intake is about 4 liters picked directly from any river whenever clean; now I have to wee. However, in my condition a simple movement like getting up becomes a huge effort for me. I put a light torch, which I always keep by my side at night, over my head and the pendant in my mouth. Sitting up is easy, as I do not need to move my left knee, but firstly I have to wriggle my feet because their skin is stuck to the sleeping bag. Going beyond the burning ache, I manage to push away the sleeping bag with my right foot. I attempt to get up normally shifting all my weight on my good leg and keeping the other straight, but I almost end up screaming in pain. I suck the pendant even more. I glance on the side – I do not want to wake up my Dayak guide, his name is Kagima. I call him Dersu because he reminds me of a character of a Kurosawa’s movie, even physically. I found him within 15 minutes of my arrival in Long Apari and he welcomed me to spend the night at his place before departure. He was a godsend from destiny.
 
Not everything had been always smooth with him, however, and today seemed to concentrate all the problems. In fact, at the beginning of our journey Dersu told me that the trek was going to last six days, therefore I kept asking him about our arrival date at Tanjung Lokang, our destination. You can just imagine how displeased I was when half way through our fifth day he communicated that it was going to be seven days, not six – “Tanjung Lokang tujuh hari, tidak enam”.
 

 

Now, because I was limping due to my fall, and my knee hurting at any jarring movement, destination was getting further away.  Our daily schedule was hitting the ninth hour and all of a sudden Dersu inexplicably kind of got lost in the forest and asked me for directions. Me for directions?!!! I really burst out screaming. I can assure you I can have a thundering voice and every little bit of pent up frustration came out. Dersu looked at me puzzled. Perhaps he simply wanted to offer me choice, but at that stage I was so tired that I could not make any decision. I just wanted to reach a camping site for the night as soon as possible. I grabbed Dersu by his shoulders and sat him down. With a 50 word Indonesian vocabulary I put together a sentence telling him he had to decide in which direction we would go. With a peremptory tone of voice I told him: “di sini, di sana, saya tidak tahu. Anda memutuskan!”.

Just a few minutes later I was asking Dersu for pardon.

I was not the only one who was tired. That evening by the fire Dersu was shivering, feeling cold, and that is one of the symptoms of tiredness. He kept repeating the word dingin (cold). It made me realize why I brought a fleece jacket with me in this tropical weather, although I kept regretting that it was using too much precious space in my backpack. I was happy to lend Dersu my fleece. It was a further way to reconcile with him, but above all I felt that there was a destiny in me bringing that fleece – I had to make good use of it.

Back in my present condition, a resolution is needed. I swallow and try to relax. I think that, if there is a moment to put in practice my yoga and meditation exercises, now that time has come. I concentrate outside my body on an image of Amita with the ocean in the distance, then I fly over a field of flowers, finally I swirl to Pushkar in India by a holy lake where I find myself in contemplation. I don’t know how long I stayed there – time was like rain sliding over my skin. What I know is that it was absolute silent.

Somehow turning on one side, kneeling down and lifting myself up becomes easy – the pain in my knee is sort of distant from me – and I manage to do what I have to do. I remain in that kind of trance state until I return to the sleeping bag. When I relax lying down again, although almost out of breath, I am more optimistic about my immediate future, my tomorrow. Holding the pendant back in my hand, I smile to myself and to the world around me.

My trek through Kalimantan rainforest had begun with plenty of warning. While transferring by ces, a sort of motorized canoe, on Sungai Mahakam from Long Apari to the starting point to go west, I spotted a small crocodile. Further up, like the mythological python guarding the Oracle of Delphi, I saw a 20 foot anaconda right where two rivers join. Who would have guessed that it was our starting point?! This last encounter got me a tad worried, but I did not dare ask if the snake was capable of capsizing our canoe. After only 10 minutes into the trek with real climbing on all four limbs carrying my 16 Kg backpack, my idyllic exchange with the forest was over. As a matter of fact, I had to convince myself that what I was doing was really worth it, that it was a dream to be fulfilled. Up until that moment I had a wild wish for Amita to be there, but then I realized not just how uncomfortable but how impossible it would have been for her, and for most people. Indeed, after one hour of hard walking through mud, of constantly removing stinging leeches on my legs, of avoiding cuts from duri (a hanging branch with 2 inches long thorns), of battling through waist deep river water, with a fearful week still to go, I said to myself: “I am in hell !”

I even tried a game within myself – counting how many leeches I would remove by the end of the day. “Perhaps it’s fun” – I thought. In 30 minutes I got up to 12 – no point counting after that, it was no game. My entire neat, new explorer outfit became quickly dismantled too. Apart from adding to the weight as it got wet, my cotton shorts with side pockets was good only to carry a handy Swiss knife which made me ridiculous compared to Dersu’s machete anyway. Luckily, beginning with the next day I started using more technical gear, both pants and t-shirt, that dried more quickly and with a tighter fit that prevented unwanted insects going underneath.

Spotting some wild animals like deer, gibbons, hornbills and green tree pythons could not bring any real pleasure. On the other hand I knew then that, if I wanted to get to the end of my journey safely, more than any danger that the forest was going to throw at me, I needed to have full concentration on what I was doing and to focus on my walk. A simple distraction, a thought to someone or something far away was enough for me to trip and fall down, potentially jeopardizing the whole trek. All this, after walking 7-8 hours of the 10 planned, was getting even more dangerous with fatigue. I had a constant reminder from my guide Dersu saying licin, warning me about slippery turf.

Everything else was fraught with some…imagination. For example, every evening as we stopped to camp by the river we had been following, there were swarms of wasps until sunset when they were attracted by a particular flower growing on the river banks. Mosquito repellent here was useless, regardless of what’s written in guide books. As a matter of fact I had this funny idea that wasps were blowing the bell for party time when this odd western guy was spraying around. The first evening was the worst. Insects got everywhere, in every little aperture. I got bitten a dozen times on my neck, belly button, hands, arm pits... The key was not to move, but I was all too restless and not used to that situation. From the second day onwards I had to devise a new tactic. Apart from the simplest method of covering myself as much as possible with clothing, I employed a diversion – I hung a smelly t-shirt of mine, always the same, which I noticed would attract most of the wasps to that one spot. For the remaining wasps, like a Moroccan Bedouin with flies, I was waving a little branch left and right to dispel insects from my face.
 

 

Another episode, which was solved in an unusual way by my trekking partner was our close encounter with a sun bear. We were walking in the thickest of the rainforest on a hillside when we were suddenly surprised by a threatening roar on our side. It was a sun bear, a beruang with a yellow collar about 4 feet tall, 45 ft away, and it was looking at us. Dersu pointed his spear at it and just roared back to the animal. Then, he turned around and kept his path, oblivious of the bear. “Is that it?! Is the threat over?!” I did not bother to ask myself that twice and I followed him closely, without looking back. Certainly, my feet became nimbler and my backpack lighter.

Sometimes experience was required, like for making fire out of damp wood. That was an art – I am sure – Dersu has perfected over many years spent in the rainforest. He would chop wood with his machete and slice out some dry chips from the inside to light up the fire. It was fascinating to observe a 65 years old Dayak hunter putting his utmost care in this operation, sometimes for one hour.

I never forgot Amita. I had a sweet reminder from the pendants tingling together. Furthermore, every break my guide and I made along the way to recoup our breath, and every evening by the fire when I crashed to earth looking for some well-deserved relief, it was a chance for me to look inside myself and be happy that she was there.

I cannot move, my knee is swollen and I am in pain. No drug can fix me by tomorrow. Perhaps a prayer to God can give me some hope, but I can sense the energy around me and that is what I need right now. How to catch it though?! Mother Nature is big and its sheer size seems daunting. All kind of fears assault me. So much so that my mind goes back to a dangerous passage I did today – sliding across a rock wall over a precipice on a 4 inch lip, holding for life to a root. Sometimes it was sheer fatigue that seemed overwhelming. When climbing up a very steep wall and stopping every four steps looking for breath, I imagined those slow moving mountaineers around 8.000 meters on Mt. Everest.

With the idea of motherhood, darkness makes me feel like I am in a womb – after all I have been drinking from the blood of Mother Earth. Is Love going to save me? Am I too jealous of my own freedom? Is Amita going to be any different for me? Why? Why now? Why is my soul hanging on a pendant whereas my life and body are stuck? For Amita to be any different for me – and I believe she will be – I have to engage with her differently. Not on a rational level, either emotional or physical, like I did with all my partners throughout my life. I do not have to make my heart bigger – I have to search deeper. Because that person, who now is also a force or an entity bigger than me, has always remained outside of me…and in that way I will never “catch it”. I have to find the courage and the strength to let Amita inside me. I cannot model that figure myself. She has to live and develop on her own. I can only reenact her life and be an observer at the same time. Like for a movie, a director impersonates a character while an actress plays that character. Here the roles are not even fixed and the script has still to be written, together. Love and my own survival become the same thing, reason and escape at the same time. Gradually it occurs to me that, if I want to feed on this, to cure myself for now and for later, to appeal to Amita and to myself, I cannot catch the energy, it has to reside inside me – I have to become the energy itself!

I rub the pendant with the tips of my fingers. I recall all my extra-sensorial ability – a little treasure hidden inside with some effort over the years – which I purposefully quelled since adulthood, with an ever long breath. This time I don’t have to let my conscience rise above my body. On the contrary, I have to attract energy from the sky above and from the earth below towards me. Suddenly, for no apparent reason, I begin to sob out of control with sweat coming down my forehead, squeezing the pendant even more. Lightning is striking me from everywhere and I am erupting like a volcano. I want to scream but nothing comes out. Light is all around. For a while all is blindingly white with just a few grey shadows. Nothing stays the same long enough to totally perceive it. Within this huge space everything is tiny, dot size and nothing is still. It is some kind of bliss, but I ask myself if I am alive because I am not so sure.

Finally, like coming back to life, I realize that I am breathing again and it feels like I have stayed out of breath for a long time. I open my eyes and catch a glimpse of incoming morning light in between the tall trees. Rarely have I appreciated life that much as in that moment. I am so full. “Love, life, energy?! What does it matter what name you give it?!” I just wish I could freeze that instant in time.

As usual I get up before Dersu. I sit up without even testing my knee condition, like a man with a purpose. I have two cards up my sleeve to make the continuation of my journey more comfortable. First, I grab my Swiss army knife and sacrifice a t-shirt of mine, a souvenir from Mauritius which my sister gave me, by slicing it in a long strip of cloth to bandage my knee. Second, I open my med kit and I pull out all the necessary things for an injection with anti-inflammatory and muscle relaxant. I had brought enough for two injections because I suffer from five protrusions in my lower back and I may get blocked completely from spine compression. Again, I stand up easily, barely concerned with the knee, and give myself an injection. With hindsight both of these were unnecessary, but on that morning they seemed like good ideas. I finally look around, feeling embraced by nature. With a grin on my face I believe a word came out: Amita.

I do the rest of my morning routines. I can immediately verify that by going down to the river to wash, that my knee has healed, or at least that I am capable of keep trekking to the end. I truly feel better, body and soul. After having my cup of coffee and scooping up my portion of tasteless nasi with a trusty makeshift spoon for breakfast, I pack, pull up my backpack with renewed enthusiasm and with a single word in my mind – Tanjung Lokang, head out for my destination. I will probably face a few more difficult passages, like a walk on a tree trunk avoiding a fall, but today is a sunny day and there is no rain in sight.

Regarding Amita and I, I thank her and let her live inside me. I put my heart upon my sleeve and I also believe that difficult women can distinguish smiles among people. If she wants to meet me at the rainbow’s end, I will truly rejoice without pretending. For now – just to borrow an old song – I may as well try and catch the wind. Kalimantan is far easier.

 
 

 

 

 

 

Thanks to all my friends for support, especially to Jeremy and Henry.