were acceptable in a fish although certainly in nothing on land? Some of the fish were strikingly marked, scribbled upon with symbols, Arabic dots and diacritic signs, hieroglyphs, and black sprawling graffiti on brilliant walls. There were fish that changed colours, as if at the touch of a switch, puffed themselves up, deflated themselves, fish like Disneyland toys, clownish fish, and transparent fish — visually a matter of guesswork, apart from a floating eye linked to a digestive tract.
They moved slowly, indifferent to us, sweeping in listless peregrination through clear aqueous space or the thousand particles of glittering small-fry into the coral thickets and out again. Why this extravagant discord of colours in the vast sameness of the coral, which, it was to be assumed, imposed an identical environment upon its myriad inhabitants? Terra firma has its confident biological answers to such questions, but they are less easily provided by the sea. A few hundred yards out, on the brink of the deep water, the coral came to an abrupt end with a row of heads emblazoned with sea anemones, thrust like final bouquets into the misted depths. Beyond this a few predators, small sharks and barracudas, hung in passive suspension, camouflaged to match the grey monochrome of the sea.
Iboih was right across the island where the east-west road suddenly broke into fragments. Before this happened it had curved round the bruised slopes of what remained of the volcano Guning Meradi, which in bad weather occasionally deposited landslides of tufa upon the cracked road-surfaces. Cyclopean black boulders, some of them the size of a house, are poised precariously on the slopes and a number of them have rolled down to the beach. It is this which makes the area memorable and a little fantastic, for in addition to innumerable orchids, these rocks have trees growing out of them — some very large. The oldest of the trees have succeeded in plunging their roots through the rock into the earth. A final stage in the process is reached when the tree swells up to envelop its host so that the rock is lifted, like an enormous goitrous swelling, clear of the ground. Dali would have been at home in Iboih.
There was no real village here, just a line of shacks yet, in this place where tourism had hardly issued from the womb, the tourists were awaited. A man with a watchful, calculating expression and a fawning smile learned in a big city had established himself in a café here. For those who had walked the many dusty miles from Sabang, bottled water was on sale at double normal prices. Several doubtful characters lurked in the vicinity.
‘Put up car windows,’ Andy said.
‘Why, what’s the problem?’
‘They may drop packet of dope in car. The policemen will come and arrest us.’
On my return to Banda a second letter from Claudia on the subject of the Pasola awaited me.
It was altogether different from anything we expected. It turned out they hold three Pasolas. They are the most important ceremonies in the Merapu religion, and they are based on harvests of sea-worms, called myale, at three different points on the south coast. Timing is uncertain. It can happen any time in February or March after a full moon. For one day only the tides bring in the annual crop (unappetising-looking worms, about 9 ins long) which is ritually scooped up by hordes of people on the beaches, and then the Pasola starts. Apart from being jolly delicious, these worms have great significance as omens of the coming harvest — depending on their quality and abundance. The Pasola is to welcome them, and to entertain the sea spirits who have helped with their arrival. A few nights ago the whole family we were staying with rushed down to the beach to sniff at the sea breeze with great excitement, and were able to tell with all certainty the worms were on their way and due to arrive the day after next, which they did.
Apparently, at Wanokaka the worms turned up about a month
They moved slowly, indifferent to us, sweeping in listless peregrination through clear aqueous space or the thousand particles of glittering small-fry into the coral thickets and out again. Why this extravagant discord of colours in the vast sameness of the coral, which, it was to be assumed, imposed an identical environment upon its myriad inhabitants? Terra firma has its confident biological answers to such questions, but they are less easily provided by the sea. A few hundred yards out, on the brink of the deep water, the coral came to an abrupt end with a row of heads emblazoned with sea anemones, thrust like final bouquets into the misted depths. Beyond this a few predators, small sharks and barracudas, hung in passive suspension, camouflaged to match the grey monochrome of the sea.
Iboih was right across the island where the east-west road suddenly broke into fragments. Before this happened it had curved round the bruised slopes of what remained of the volcano Guning Meradi, which in bad weather occasionally deposited landslides of tufa upon the cracked road-surfaces. Cyclopean black boulders, some of them the size of a house, are poised precariously on the slopes and a number of them have rolled down to the beach. It is this which makes the area memorable and a little fantastic, for in addition to innumerable orchids, these rocks have trees growing out of them — some very large. The oldest of the trees have succeeded in plunging their roots through the rock into the earth. A final stage in the process is reached when the tree swells up to envelop its host so that the rock is lifted, like an enormous goitrous swelling, clear of the ground. Dali would have been at home in Iboih.
There was no real village here, just a line of shacks yet, in this place where tourism had hardly issued from the womb, the tourists were awaited. A man with a watchful, calculating expression and a fawning smile learned in a big city had established himself in a café here. For those who had walked the many dusty miles from Sabang, bottled water was on sale at double normal prices. Several doubtful characters lurked in the vicinity.
‘Put up car windows,’ Andy said.
‘Why, what’s the problem?’
‘They may drop packet of dope in car. The policemen will come and arrest us.’
On my return to Banda a second letter from Claudia on the subject of the Pasola awaited me.
It was altogether different from anything we expected. It turned out they hold three Pasolas. They are the most important ceremonies in the Merapu religion, and they are based on harvests of sea-worms, called myale, at three different points on the south coast. Timing is uncertain. It can happen any time in February or March after a full moon. For one day only the tides bring in the annual crop (unappetising-looking worms, about 9 ins long) which is ritually scooped up by hordes of people on the beaches, and then the Pasola starts. Apart from being jolly delicious, these worms have great significance as omens of the coming harvest — depending on their quality and abundance. The Pasola is to welcome them, and to entertain the sea spirits who have helped with their arrival. A few nights ago the whole family we were staying with rushed down to the beach to sniff at the sea breeze with great excitement, and were able to tell with all certainty the worms were on their way and due to arrive the day after next, which they did.
Apparently, at Wanokaka the worms turned up about a month
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