Flores Adventure

So far life in our new home feels somewhat like summer camp in a bamboo cabin.  Then, after Sofia's first full week of school, we take a week's vacation.  Vacation from summer camp.  It's the Green School's mid-term break; while we were still in Oregon some new friends invited us to join them for a journey to Flores and we just had to say yes.  On the map Flores is a couple of islands to the right of Bali.  In all our years of traveling to Indonesia we have only seen Bali and a bit of central Java making this a big adventure.  We love big adventures. Our travel group is 4 families.  Each family has a first grader in the Green School.  An international rainbow, we fit nicely together: Asher and I (American Jews) with Sofia, our adopted daughter from Hunan; Michelle (Southern Cal) and Andy (Jewish Southern Cal) and their domestically adopted daughter, Kaila; John (London) and Edith (Bostonian Chinese American) with their 3 stair-step girls, two years apart, Lydia, Phoebe and Amelia, plus Edith's mom, June (Taiwan) visiting from America; Steve and Renee (both Canadian, both former U.N. employees in Asia) and their boys, Lochlan and Seth. We meet at the airport in Denpasar, Bali and excitedly board the small plane to Labuan Bajo on the west coast of Flores.  It's a loud, vibrating plane ride, rather like flying out of Medford, Oregon, only a wave a cigarette smoke floats through the cabin when a stewardess leaves the cockpit.  An Indonesian pilot can get away with that.  We fly over ocean and islands, landing on the small airstrip of a tiny airport.  We wait for our luggage in a room with no air con and intense heat.  Welcome to Flores. It takes 3 bimos to transport our herd and all our luggage to our hotel.  A bimo is a ragtag little van with bench seats that face each other, operating somewhere between a taxi and a bus, and is a common form of transportation for locals all over Indonesia.  It seems to be a form of expression for Florenese bimo drivers to decorate their windshields with decals and dangling stuffed animals to the point where you might wonder how they can focus on the road.  Driving the roads in Flores, as we soon learn, requires a high degree of concentration.  Tourist money from Bali is definitely not finding its way to creation of infrastructure in Flores.  To drive is to swerve around potholes. We take our lodging at Chez Felix, up high on a hill overlooking the port.  The rooms are humble, clean and cheap, with overhead fans and cold water showers.  The restaurant area has a view of the ocean and is decorated with a picture of Jesus.  (Flores, once colonized by the Portuguese, is largely Christian.  The Portuguese influence in the gene pool is evident in the features and wavy hair of many Florenese.  We see brightly painted rustic churches throughout the countryside, as well as mosques with silvery mushroom domes.)  During our first outing into central Labuan Bajo, for a meal, a fitting of scuba gear, and a scorching walk along the gorgeous but not so tidy port, Michelle (who has made all the arrangements for the trip, for everyone -- I have not had someone else plan a trip for me since I was a child traveling with my parents) discovers that the two live-aboard boats reserved for us are not what she expected, but more like simple day boats without cabins or tables.  We would all be in intimate quarters, sleeping under the stars.  She is unhappy with the news and feels responsible for the group.  It becomes my job, and Asher's, to know that all is well, that a solution will unfold.  It was an uncomfortable evening for Michelle, but by the next morning we have an even better arrangement than Michelle was anticipating; through another company we have secured one big boat we can all fit on instead of two, and for the same price.  We leave a day later and entertain ourselves by visiting a bat cave and tooling around fishing villages on motorbikes.  The hotel staff give us copious blessings when we depart. Three days at sea... beauty in every direction, endless magnificent cloud formations reflecting into tranquil  waters, a softness and a moistness always in the air.  Mystery and beauty below the water, majesty and beauty above.  We motor past nameless islands and set anchor several times each day, moving from one diving spot to another.  None of us are too keen on our cabins so we sleep comfortably on cushioned lounge chairs pushed together underneath the glorious stars.  The crew prepares all our meals (I teach them to make green smoothies and not add sugar.)  On one idyllic beach we find fantastic shells we cannot keep (national park land) and see perhaps the most gorgeous sunset ever (we did get swarmed by mosquitoes shortly thereafter and had to dash for the boat), only to be rivaled by the next morning's sun event: dolphin sunrise... at least 100 dolphins jumping in the reflection of the sun on the ocean.  The past becomes irrelevant and the future is non-existent. Five of the adults are diving; I have not dived before and take the little motor boat with the children and 2 other women to various stretches of white sand beach and nearly perfect snorkeling (except one day when an aggressive trigger fish charges at three of the children and actually bites one of our Flores crew members).  Two firsts: Sofia, who during swimming lessons this summer still refused to put her face in the water or even try on a pair of goggles, takes immediately to snorkeling in the open sea.  Initially we go out together for long stretches with my arm around her.  Later she tells me I don't need to hold on to her any longer.  She wasn't even phased by the trigger fish coming at us like a torpedo and bouncing off her mask.  The last day,at Asher's encouragement, I took my first ever scuba dive.  With only basic explanation, I got suited up, jumped in and breathed my first breaths underwater.  I didn't have trouble clearing, but every time I went horizontal to swim I bounced up to the surface.  I'd like to get certified and try again.  I guess seeing komodo dragons in the wild is another first.  We did that, too. The last three days we spend in a much more beautiful and comfortable hotel on the beach, with air con and a swimming pool.  The highlight for me, perhaps of the entire trip, was the journey to Cunca Rami, a waterfall in the highlands.  We went by bimo, bouncing and curving our way up to a remote village where we created quite a stir amongst the locals at the opportunity to porter our children in along the 2 km path.  Each of our children had someone who carried them piggyback style down the sometimes steep and gravelly footpath, then back up again. Down, down, down the narrow footpath we paraded, our 7 children and 7 porters, about a dozen school children and a few random adults who decided to join us.  Down, down, down through a jungle of tall trees, across a mineral rich stream, through terraced rice fields, and the stunning waterfall always in the distance. Then we happen upon the falls and the natural swimming pool of clear, fresh water.  The power of the falls sprays cold mist on everyone who comes close enough.  I couldn't wait to get in and swam against the current to let the powerful falls pound on my head.  Three of us swam behind the falls into an alcove.  For years I had visualized a cave behind a waterfall as my special meditation room.  Now it had manifest into form.  After the swim we were actually cold, quite the luxury in Flores.   Now up, up, up, climbing out of the ravine, the local boys singing angelically most of the way.  Sweaty again.  We relax another day and return to Bali.  We all get such a chuckle out of returning from vacation to... Bali!  Bali looks like a metropolis compared to Flores.  The first person we see when we return is the general manager of Green School who invites us to begin creating raw food in the school warung (small restaurant).  The Flores adventure ends.  The culinary adventure begins.