Chicken dinner or starving bust? 3 hours per hustle
A trekking trip in Indonesia that broadened my perspectives on livelihood
Quite some years back, I had the privilege of visiting the city of Bandung in Indonesia. Despite its position as the 4th most populous city of the 4th most populous country in the world, Bandung was relatively laid-back and charming.
Consistently cool temperatures, wonderfully clean air, and extremely friendly locals made unplanned strolls an unexpected highlight of the trip. It was through such walks that we discovered inspiring and dedicated local artisans. For one, a local coffee farmer turned entrepreneur who was hoping to expand coffee culture in a traditionally tea-favoring city. He owned a chain of craft cafes and we stumbled across his latest opening which featured Turkish-styled brewing as its main business angle. We also visited a cobbler who had amassed deserving attention in niche menswear circles. The self-taught craftsman's humble home-workshop and beautifully constructed leather shoes made me question the honesty of so-called “bespoke” brands that line shopping belts in my home country.
Volcanic mountains that surround Bandung reflected the city’s serenity and magnificence. In fact, a visit to Tangkuban Perahun —a stratovolcano to the north of Bandung — was a planned climax for the trip. Yet, as experience would come to reveal, no amount of cultural peace or atmospheric calm can save any of us from the practical hustle of livelihood in modern cities.
We made our way up Tangkuban Perahun on the 3rd and penultimate day of the trip via a small van booked with the hotel. Aside from our driver, there were four of us: myself, a close friend of mine named Miles, his aunt and mom — whom I call Aunt Jane and Karen. During the drive up the mountain, extended views were blocked by street-side vendors paddling their wares. Roadside goods on sale included fruits, poultry, and even open pet stores with cats, birds, and rabbits. About halfway up the volcano, a checkpoint stopped the car and collected payment of 300,000 Indonesian Rupiah for each visitor (approx. US$20). We were told that the ticket price included admission and access to a guide provided by the local government. So far, so good…
As we arrived at the visitor center’s parking lot, a slim man, raggedly dressed in a white and red raincoat, shuffle-jogged toward our car. He signaled and guided our driver to park before coming closer to open the doors and introduce himself.
“Hello hello, I am Anwar. I guide by government”, the man announced as we each exited from different doors, “Good drive up yes? All ok?”
“A little shaky but it was good” miles replied in our stead, “thanks for coming over to get us.”
Anwar acknowledged his reply with some quick nods and directed our attention to a vista spot nearby.
“Behind, look there. It is famous view,” Anwar said as he pointed excitedly northeast against where the car had parked. True to his words, there was a magnificent crater, flushed in white and surrounded by steep dark inclines — one of which we were standing atop of.
After allowing us some time to take in the view and helping to snap a few photos, Anwar directed us to a medium-sized hut which led to the park trail.
“Come, we go now. Trekking two to three hour. Okay? No worry, ticket include,” Anwar announced as he led us to the start of the trail.
As we readied to enter the trekking trail, three other local men approached and casually joined us. They each carried a bag-pack and a filled 1.5 litre pet bottle. Somehow, as we never got their names, my memory now distinguishes them by being bearers of a red cap, a cream colored polo tee, and a camo-patterned cargo pants. Anwar seemed to be on good terms with them, chatting in Bahasa, smiling at, and patting each other on the backs. Early in the trail though, when no one was looking, Anwar looked over at Miles and I with his eyes enlarged and head shaking.
Despite the strange signalling by Anwar, we found ourselves immersed in great company. The three men walked with us and were generously dispensed lively banter. They asked of our backgrounds, pointed out notable surrounding fauna, and explained the volcano's history to the best of their English speaking abilities. They were, in fact, so engaging that I had assumed of them as professional local guides.
The man in the red cap was particularly knowledgeable, and he continually pointed out flowers with exceptional scents. He also readily identified birds and small animals unnoticed by others in the nearby woods.
Somewhere along the trail, at a ridge overlooking distant plains, the red-capped man pointed off into the distance and remarked, “there, Kampung there.”
“You mean you live there?” I asked.
“Yes, me and my family,” the red capped man replied, “I have one son two daughter.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Does it take long for you to get here?”
“Is ok. I walk. Around three four hour everyday,” he replied, “no choice. Have to work…”
“Work?” I asked.
Quite immediately, the red-capped man dropped one strap of his bag-pack from his shoulder and prepared to open the zipper, “Here, I show you…”
Before he could open his bag-pack however, Anwar rushed over, spoke a few words to him in Bahasa and urged us to continue moving.
“Ok, maybe I show you later. At the crater,” the red-capped man remarked as he re-slung his bag-pack.
At some point later in the trail, the three local men who followed us were all talking to Aunt Jane and Karen while the two of us walked ahead.
“Psst…psst,” Anwar whispered softly as he closed the distance from behind us. We slowed our pace and allowed him to come abreast of us.
“They sell stuff. You no pressure buy. Don’t worry,” Anwar said as he pointed at the three men now quite a distance behind us.
“They sell souvenirs?”
“Yes,” Anwar replied, “Expensive. They not official. Fake.”
Pulling on a lanyard resting on his neck, Anwar revealed a ID card at its end with some sort of national crest on it. He continued, “I am official. Included in ticket, pay already. They actually no allow here. Sell expensive to tourist. You no buy is ok. I here. Safe.”
We finally understood what Anwar had been trying to signal us on and, for the rest of the trail, we tried our best to distance ourselves from the three men. This proved difficult as the three paddlers continued to be a jovial presence, with smiles and lively conversation throughout the trek. It was as if a genuine, albeit fleeting, connection had been formed.
True to Anwar’s warnings though, when we finally reached the site of the crater, all three paddlers pulled wares out of their bags. The red-capped man and the one in cargo pants both presented bracelets with beads that looked like polished obsidian. They claimed, however, that the beads were some kind of crystal and rubbed them against rocks to demonstrate their resistance to blemish.
“How much…” I asked hesitantly, already feeling immense pressure to buy. They had come all this way with us after all.
“One million rupiah,” the red-capped man replied, squatting, as he again grazed the bracelet against the rocky ground, “very good. No scratch.”
“Ok, two for one million five,” the man with cargo pants announced, probably after seeing the shock in my face.
They were offering approximately US$70 for one and US$100 for two respectively. I pulled out and opened my wallet to take a look. One…two…eight hundred rupiah in total.
Just as I was about to bargain the prices down I noticed Anwar in the periphery of my vision, standing just behind the two of them. Anwar was shaking his head furiously at me with his lips pursed and eyebrows lowered.
“Erm…sorry…I don’t have enough,” I finally replied.
There was a short pause and, strange as it may sound, I could hear my own heartbeat — it was restless.
“Ok…nine hundred for one. Ok?”
“No, sorry, I’m not really interested in these things. I’m just a student, don’t have much money”, I replied after taking some moments to steel myself.
Again they offered a lower price and again I rejected. The whole affair continued for a stressful five or so minutes, hitting the price of six hundred thousand rupiah before they finally surrendered. It was at around the same time that the man in polo t-shirt gave up trying to persuade Miles to purchase his strange looking orbs.
The three paddlers then approached Aunt Jane and Karen , both of whom promptly turned their backs and pretended to not to see them nor hear their pitches.
The trek back out was extremely awkward. The three paddlers channeled hurried paces and walked a great distance ahead of us. Gone were the friendly chats, smiles, and considerate pointing out of ledges along paths.
A sense of guilt continued to eat at my heart. I fought this emotion by reminding myself that they were, as Anwar suggested, merely unsanctioned conman with an elaborate scheme expressly meant to paddle their subpar garbage. Indeed, I later learned that Anwar had warned Aunt Jane and Karen much earlier in the trek. This explained their “expert” response to the attempted sales.
Eventually, we reached the end-point of the trail. It was another parking area at a lower elevation from the starting point. Our driver had moved the car over at some point during our trek and was already parked and waiting for us. The three paddlers had exited the trail earlier and were huddled and in conversation by the time we got out. They took a peek when we first emerged but beyond that, now acted like complete strangers.
Anwar then led us to the car, and as he prepared to close my door for me, said “So…good today? You like tour? Tip yes?”
Well…he did protect us from the overpriced scammers…
“Here, thanks for the tour,” I replied as I reached for my wallet and pulled out two one-hundred thousand rupiah note for him.
Without another word, Anwar took the money, closed the door, waved nonchalantly, and jogged off.
On the ride back, the four of us discussed how majestic the environment we had just experienced was, and how surreal our extended encounter with the paddlers had been. Somewhere along our group conversation though, we realized that something was amiss…
It became apparent that Anwar had separately requested tips from all four of us at different points in the tour. In summation, our contributions amounted to 1.2 million rupiah. Whilst not necessarily a significant sum of money, we were all shocked to say the least.
Looking back, I do not know if Anwar’s supposed protection of us from the paddlers was out of genuine concern. I do think, though, that his actions generated goodwill which increased our willingness to provide a higher tip. I do not wish to presume too much. Nonetheless, I succinctly remember that Anwar expressed great pride, at least on the surface, of his status as an official guide who’s fee was, as he said, “included in ticket”.
To be sure, Anwar and the three paddlers all took the long trek with us and likely made more over the course of that day — and many days before and after. As far as the trek with us was concerned though, only Anwar got something out of it. Was he the sole winner at the expense of the other three? I cannot be certain of that. Would my travel companions or I have “lost” through regrettable purchases if not for Anwar? I cannot be certain of that as well. Were the dedication and effort of Anwar and the paddlers in making ends meet any less admirable than that of the coffee entrepreneur and master cobbler we had met earlier in the trip? Even that, I cannot be certain of.
Perhaps the best way to describe the very human encounter we had would be that it was of questionable authenticity. Yet, in the face of practicality and livelihood, dis-ingenuity is probably but a self-serving judgement the privileged make upon those with less than themselves.
