Getting to the Banda Islands:It took a while to reach Banda, a group of eleven islands appropriately yet inconveniently located in the middle of the Banda Sea. The homestay on Pulau Gunung Api, or Volcano Island, stood on concrete pillars above the water, within the late afternoon shadow of the Volcano. I woke up every day and walked down a short flight of stairs that lead directly into the water for a morning swim. I enjoyed sitting on the front deck and watching the boats go to and from the harbor on Pulau Banda Neira, the island directly east. Per Peace Corps rules, I am prohibited from using annual leave during the first and last three months of service. Volunteers commonly refer to these three-month periods, which draws ire from Peace Corps staff, as the ‘travel ban’. But I think the title accurately portrays the Peace Corps rule. We are not allowed to travel, which means we are banned from doing so (this is one of the many rules that volunteers need to follow during service). I will finish service on May 22, 2019, which means the ban went into effect on March 22, 2019. I intended to use the last of my vacation days before the travel ban started. I didn’t want my last week of annual leave to go to waste! I rode in a midnight caravan from my village to Surabaya in order to arrive at the airport before my morning flight. I nearly missed the boarding window because I was in and out of naps at the airport. I landed in Ambon, the capital city of Maluku province, in the afternoon. A lengthy taxi ride brought me to downtown Ambon with nearly nine hours to spare before the next leg of my trip. I was only halfway there! I asked around for food recommendations. I ate fish in a yellow curry almond broth (almonds are a specialty to the province). I visited a mosque and the international peace monument, and paid for a shave (I kept the mustache). I spent my last hours in Ambon at a cafe until I boarded the passenger ferry around midnight. The ferry was packed. I thought I had grown accustomed to the disorder and chaos that typically comes with Indonesian crowds, but my first observations of the boat proved otherwise. I navigated the crowded hallways and stairwells to the fifth-floor deck. I searched for bed 5/5200-A, which was printed on my ticket. The “beds” consisted of narrow mats on elevated metal frames. Passengers shoved luggage under the beds, but many people kept their belongings on top for safe keeping. Kids were running up and down the walkways and jumping along the rows of beds. I arrived at bed 5/5200-A to find a man sitting on it with several boxes. Confused, I asked if he could point me in the direction to my bed. I immediately assumed I was a the wrong bed: maybe this was 5/5200-B or 6/5200-A. The man didn’t look at me, much less respond to my questions. I sought help from the group of boys sitting in the beds nearby. They told me I was in the right spot. That’s when I realized I wouldn’t get my bed that night. Similar to other forms of public transportation I have used in Indonesia--bus, boat, angkot--it seemed like the beds on this boat were first come first serve. The man in “my” bed continued to avoid eye contact. I left the area to formulate a game plan. Even if the guy moved, did I really want the bed? What would it be like for the foreigner to “seek justice” and remove the Indonesian from the spot? I was likely the only person on the fifth floor of the boat who found the first-come-first-serve method inefficient and impractical; but it was time to accept that I was the outlier in the situation and in a different culture from my own. I needed to adapt. Two boys running around the room offered to take me to the outside deck on the top floor of the boat. I happily joined them, weaving around groups of people camped out on the ground and stairs. There were a lot of stares in my direction, which made it all the nicer to find two boys whom were willing to give me a tour of the boat. We walked onto the deck outside to catch sweeping views of Ambon. One of the boys pointed to the wood floor and said to look out for the ulat. I didn’t know what that meant, but feared it wasn’t good. A quick Google search revealed the word to mean “maggots”. Sure enough, little larvae were creeping up through the wood slats on deck. I found a spot at the railing to enjoy the city views. People approached me selling souvenirs and paper mats to sit on the floor. With seared images of larvae crawling through the wood floor, I was committed to standing for the duration of the eight-hour boat ride. Many vendors set up plastic tarps on the floor to sell coffee, instant noodles and crackers; parents followed their children up and down the deck; passengers dropped garbage on the ground. The boat embarked from Ambon harbor at 1am. Many passengers had purchased their own mats to lay out on the ground and claim their territory. Space was becoming more and more sparse, and my legs were already tired by the time the boat left the dock. I tried to push the larvae imagery out of my mind and claimed a spot on the outside deck up against the wall. I was able to fit on a mat if I bent my legs. I used my backpack as a pillow. Water drained onto the floor from the deck above. Several other people had to move their belongings; their territory ruined from dirty drain water. I hoped the water wouldn’t reach my space. The water gradually ran across the deck towards the side of the ship, away from my mat. I was good, as long as it didn’t rain. And it didn’t rain at all! I was as comfortable as a Wisconsin boy on an overcrowded night ferry lying on a maggot-ridden floor could be. So comfortable, in fact, I slept for five hours. The gentle breeze wafted smells of salt water to my mat, compelling my mind to rest. I woke up with less than two hours remaining on the final leg of the journey. I could see the Banda Islands far off in the distance. I made new friends to pass the time. I learned that some of them had boarded the boat three days before I did. The ferry started its journey from Jakarta and would end at the Kai islands. My eight-hour trip suddenly seemed so short. History:I set my sights on the Banda, or Spice Islands for the last vacation during my Peace Corps tenure. Indonesia--a massive archipelago of over 17,000 islands--is rich in various cultures, languages, and traditions that share a similar colonial history. The Banda Islands are rich in various spices: nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. Arab and Asian traders found these islands during their early years of sea exploration, but kept them secret from Europeans in order to capitalize on the various resources the islands offered. Several European nations were determined to find the true source of these spices, which people considered highly valuable. The Dutch beat the Portuguese and English to find the islands in the sixteenth century. The government formed the Dutch East India Company (VOC), cutting out the Arab and Asian middlemen in the process, to reap the full benefits (read: profits) of harvesting the spices on their own. Nutmeg was only available on the Banda Islands. The islands isolated location and high demand for spices in Europe--particularly nutmeg for it’s supposed ability to cure the bubonic plague--kept the commodity price high and profitable. The Banda people, like most people throughout Indonesia at one point or another, were subjected to colonial rule and all of the poor conditions that come with economic and cultural exploitation. The VOC didn’t dissuade other European powers from establishing their own colonies and trade companies in Indonesia. The VOC monopoly on the spice trade hit a snare in 1616 when the British wrestled control of a small Banda island called Run away from the Dutch. The British established a colony in the Indonesian archipelago on this island and formed the English East India Company. The English East India Company thwarted Dutch attempts to retake Run for four years. After the English lost Run, however, the government never ceded its claim to the island. The English fired back in 1664 by sending ships across the Atlantic to capture New Amsterdam, a Dutch colony located in North America. The Dutch continued to claim ownership over New Amsterdam while the English maintained claims to Run. The Second Anglo-Dutch war ensued in 1665, which lead to the Treaty of Breda in 1667. The English and Dutch jockeyed for ownership of each other’s colonies around the entire world as a means to make amends. One of the many transactions agreed upon, making this particular vacation relevant to the historical developments between the two imperialist powers, was a trade: the island in Southeast Asia in return for the one in North America. Both parties arrived at the decision that Run thereby ‘belonged’ to the Dutch, and New Amsterdam ‘belonged’ to the English. Exploring the Spice Islands:The colonial history is evident on the Spice Islands in many ways. I visited Fort Belgica, a beautifully restored Dutch fort that sits on a hill in the town of Banda Neira, looking out over the harbor, water, and surrounding islands. Indonesia is proud enough of the fort that it is the image on the back of the Rp1.000 bill. I also explored a dilapidated Portuguese fort in the same town. There are other forts on the nearby islands as well. The local government preserved the homes of various colonial generals and trade company managers. The homes weren’t as impressive as the forts, but were still worth checking out to obtain a better understanding of the islands’ history. Finally, the buildings that line the harbor and host market stalls emulate colonial architecture similar to neighborhoods in Jakarta, Penang and Singapore. The Banda archipelago is a snorkeler’s paradise! I went out to snorkel at least once a day. I saw a variety of marine life: turtles, sharks, eels, stingrays and so many colorful fish and coral. The homestay owner took me to a spot off the coast of an island, where I jumped in from the boat and explored the vast world below sea level. I was surprised by how few people were around each time I went out to snorkel. The homestay boat was the only one bringing people out to snorkel. Occasionally a water taxi passed by, carrying locals from one island to the next; but I never saw another group of tourists out on the water. The same went for docking on land and going to explore the small towns scattered across the small archipelago. I went to several different islands alone with a couple other people at the same homestay. One snorkel spot was close to a deserted island. I swam ashore alone and walked around. I didn’t share the island with a single other person. I was essentially the modern day Ferdinand Magellan. I woke up one morning at 4:30 to climb the volcano. I arrived at the peak in time for sunrise, which turned out to be rather disappointing. I had just enough time to snap a semi-decent picture before the clouds rolled in and blocked the surrounding islands from view. Then the rain and lightning came, which made the descent quite slippery. The weather conveniently cleared up in time for me to take a morning dip in the sea after returning to the homestay. The local people were fantastic. I did not feel out of place for being a foreigner. Enough foreigners have visited the Spice Islands that it appears we are ordinary in the eyes of the local Indonesians. This feeling is a relief after spending so much time in rural Java, where it is impossible to not attract attention. Market vendors and restaurateurs did not clamour for my business and attention, as in touristy destinations such as Bali or Phuket. Nor did I receive the cold shoulder when I asked them for guidance or suggestions. I walked with several boys to the local vocational high school to see where the students learn navigation in the classroom. That was a treat! But the top highlight of my stay in the Spice Islands is what truly connects my trip to Banda with the 1667 Treaty of Breda. I took a two-hour boat ride from my homestay to the island of Run. I wanted to see for myself what this place--an island once considered to be the most economically important throughout the world--was like. We pulled within eyeshot of the pier to the island’s only town when the driver said the waves were too big to dock. Disappointed, I thought my one opportunity to explore the island was squashed. However, the driver took us around to the south side of the island, out of the wind, where we pulled up to a quiet beach for lunch. I was elated to set foot on Run! The island is less than two miles long and about half a mile wide. The white sand leads to dense jungle, which I assume engulfs the whole island expect for the small town. The beaches were clean and quiet; only such a secluded location--two planes from Java, an eight-hour ferry ride, and a two hour boat ride--could provide the sense of isolation and peace that I felt. The funniest thing for me was to think about New Amsterdam, and how it compares to Run. I have had the pleasure of visiting the North American island several times. I have always enjoyed my time there, and I can’t imagine a contrast greater than between the beaches and water of Run and the hustle and bustle of New Amsterdam. But then again, I think that even people who live in New York City would consider Manhattan to be an island unlike any other. And so my quest to chase history, combined with a desire to take one last vacation while following Peace Corps rules, lead me to the small group of islands in the middle of the sea. I traveled back to rural Java by the same means as my original journey out to the Banda Islands, but backwards. It was sad to say goodbye to the Spice Islands; it was my favorite place in Indonesia that I have had the pleasure to visit. I highly recommend that anyone--Peace Corps volunteers and friends and family alike--plan a visit to Banda Neira. There might be a way to avoid the eight-hour ferry ride, but I think it adds to the experience! There are other options to get out the Spice Islands, depending on the time of year. The ferry pulled away from the harbor, and my anguish evolved to a motivated sense of self-confidence. The dreamy vacation had come to an end and the travel ban had started; but that meant only three months until I could claim the title of Returned Peace Corps Volunteer (RPCV). I spent that eight-hour ferry ride focusing on what work needs to be done back at site so I can leave Indonesia on a high note. I was, and still am, completely determined to make the last months of service the best yet. Shout-Outs:
SO to Peace Corps Indonesia staff for helping me navigate the government shutdown and secure the grant money for school. I am excited to share project updates with the world! SO to the two Peace Corps Volunteers who shared their travel stories to the Spice Islands. I am so happy I followed in your footsteps. SO to my DC friend for leaving the Hill after several years and starting a new job. I look forward to seeing what you bring to the table! SO to my RPCV friend for paying off student loans from one servicer. I envy you. SO to the Bucks for leading the league the entire season. SO to my high school friend for getting through surgery and taking a successful road to recovery! HSO to February and March 2019, which have been the two best months of service. SO to my fellow ID11s for getting to this point. ESO for the ID11 who is already an RPCV! We will join you soon! ASO for the UK vote to leave the European Union. But a HMFSO to Theresa May and MPs for providing enthralling headlines on a daily basis. HSO to the Dutch couple I met in the Spice Islands. I am excited to visit you two soon! ESO for the newlyweds!
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May 2019
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