Raja Ampat - A diver's delight

Conflicting emotions were easy to shrug off when it came time to depart from  the Baliem Valley. There’s no denying I would have loved to explore much more, not just of that area but the whole of the Papuan interior. It had to wait though, travel within Papua is both expensive and time consuming, neither of which I had an abundance of. But I was kidding myself when I used that excuse, in reality I was desperate to get over to the islands of Raja Ampat. I’d heard so much about them, but they’d felt beyond my means, at least beyond reasonable means. But they are legendary for the superb diving, and I’d been deprived of quality diving for years now. My trouble is, I was lucky enough to experience a lot of good quality diving in my formative years of plunging beneath the waves. It’s been a while since I found anywhere that really compared, what I have done has as often as not left me disgruntled. Mankind, particularly the ever increasing participants of dive tourism, have ruined so much of our underwater world. (Photo: Male wooing his woman with a nifty bit of footwork. He was very vocal and very persistent - Kri Island, Raja Ampat, West Papua)

Raja Ampat has been off the radar for all intents and purposes. Until quite recent years the only option to dive the area was on a very costly live-aboard dive boat. A couple of dive-orientated resorts were established, with costs of staying and diving somewhere in the region of £300 or more a day. Getting there is expensive and time consuming, there are few public facilities in the region and water currents can be strong and unpredictable, so it’s not really a place for the faint hearted. Faced with these odds, it remained a destination for a wealthier clientele. Then a few years ago, a homestay opened, an enterprising young local guy built a few very basic huts out of natural materials and began the growing trend for local people to reap the rewards of a burgeoning tourist trade. Luckily some people have had the forethought to foresee possible problems in overdevelopment. Concrete bungalows are not allowed, but locals with any claim on the land get grants to build homestays. They’re not given free reign though, only a certain number of buildings are allowed, the local authorities are trying to share the opportunities round. I must give them credit, they’re trying damned hard to do things right. (Photo: Blood red sea for my first incredibly beautiful sunset of many - Kri Island looking between Gaam and Mansuar Islands, Raja Ampat)

I wouldn’t call all the accommodation basic, there are some pretty plush choices to stay in. But bear in mind I’m making a judgement of what is plush or basic for the locality. It would be best not to try comparing to European standards, if that is your tendency the only consideration would be one of the truly plush, European owned and run, resorts. Then again, if you went to all that effort, paid all that money and demanded European standards wouldn’t you be missing the point? I’ve no doubt it would be more comfortable, but surely comfort shouldn’t be an issue. Life is not as comfortable in the developing world, and the further flung you get the less comfort there is. I thought the idea of diving was to explore the wonders of the underwater world, you can’t do that from an armchair. You have to go out and experience it for yourself, the more of an experience it is the more rewarding you’ll probably find it. I find it a shame when cultures begin to break down, often helped by outside influences. I feel sure that westernisation is worsened with the development of tourism, and in turn tradition and culture suffer. (Photo: Gorgeous nearly white sand nearing low tide, at high tide the beach almost disappears - Kri Island, Raja Ampat)

Whilst many encouraging signs of can be seen in the development of Raja Ampat, it will take some time to see how well they work. An entry fee of nearly £30 is charged for all visitors to the area, it’s used for protection of the reef, and partly to fund community projects. It’s intended that each and every community will feel the benefits of this, so everyone benefits. I didn’t meet a single tourist who begrudged paying that fee, but some times it can be hard to find the officials to pay. With the best of intentions you have to realise that island life, certainly in the tropics, has a rhythm of its own, and the only time it’s upbeat is festival time. Like the Papuan mainland, the islanders haven’t had a great deal of time to adapt to the workings of our modern world. Playing host to visitors seems to come naturally to them, but dealing with whinging tourists has them turning heel and hiding. They can appreciate the benefits of owning a homestay, but when it really comes down to it, they’d prefer not to give up their personal freedom and dedicate their lives to running the business. (Photo: Showing a large Cowrie to fellow diver, and no it's not a good practice - Faam Island, Raja Ampat)

 Though referred to as if they are a separate people, even by the Papuans, the islanders are of the same genetic stock as the mainlanders. So you have with a multitude of paradisiacal islands, inhabited by the descendants of African migrants still living a simplistic lifestyle, without the shadow of past transgressions against them. It’s quite unique really, only relatively recently have they felt much in the way of overbearing outside influence. They don’t have a bee in their bonnets about their past, but they do have concerns over their future. But theirs is more of a success story then their country cousins, the riches in Raja Ampat aren’t for ripping out and despoiling, the value in its natural resources is only applicable while they remain relatively intact. Christianity is the norm, but at times of celebration it’s the drums people pound their feet to. Community spirit is strong, and traditional rights to fish and harvest the outlying ocean are upheld. Visiting boats or independent divers should be meeting with villagers and making respectful requests to dive in the area. (Photo: The sunsets were so spectacular it was impossible to only show one here - Kri Island, Raja Ampat)

While their personal experience of the outside world might be limited they do have a grasp on problems that could effect them. Unlike other nations occupying areas with a rich marine biodiversity, they have paid heed to the dangers of abusing the natural resources. Awareness of conservation is widespread, and to a certain extent they do try to promote diver awareness. It has its failings, which I think is due to not understanding the process of reef deterioration. When I see dive guides lying on top of domes of hard coral I shudder. They think they’re being careful, not recognising the damage they’re doing, or maybe some just don’t give a damn. It may sound a bit draconian but some form of licensing and education for operators should be enforced. To some extent it has, NGO’s have put in a fair amount of effort and succeeded in raising awareness. It won’t be enough unless more is done, people are hearing how special the area is, and that it no more costs an arm and a leg, just an arm will do. (Photo: Gorgeous islands abound, and many are not inhabited - Faam Islands, Raja Ampat)

In the short space of time I was there I saw enough for me to realise that the phenomenal richness of the area is going to suffer as tourism grows. Already the quality of diving is such that the coral is being damaged on a regular basis, it’s being kicked and broken by inconsiderate and inexperienced divers. Many of whom I don’t consider fit to dive amongst coral. A group of Thai divers joined us on Kri Island, they were lovely people, but awful divers. Only one could blame a lack of competence, her buoyancy control was pitiful, I watched horrified as she kicked the crap out of the reef, breaking off large amounts of live coral in the process. The other two gave nary a thought to the environment. They knew not to touch the coral, yet did so anyway. One wore gloves to hold onto the coral and steady himself, the other laid across the encrusting corals to take a photos. On a personal note they spoiled many of my dives, frantically swimming this way and that, swarming together in their haste to snap a photo of everything. Imagine being a marine creature and suddenly having three large potential predators dashing towards you. Yes, you scarper pretty damned quick, which is unfortunately what tended to happen.(Photo: Accessing the approach for the viewpoint, the supposed highlight of Faam - Faam Islands, Raja Ampat)

By keeping my distance and doing my own thing the situation was bearable. It worked to my advantage on a number of occasions, the sightings I made far surpassed what the main group saw. Almost every dive saw us encounter sharks, much to my delight, they’re magnificent beasts to see. Wobbegong sharks are weird and wonderful critters, bottom dwelling carpet sharks who survive largely on molluscs, and are quite common in Raja Ampat. Generally you could easily swim right over them, they were so well camouflaged. Motionless they’d lay out in the open, you’d almost pass them before your brain would register it’s presence. Crowd them and they will swim away, but one person alone can get real close without spooking them. Most precious for me were the reef sharks cruising around, beady eyes ever watchful, always on the lookout for their next meal. And it didn’t matter whether diving or snorkelling, they could be seen, and often you wouldn’t know until it cruised by, really close. Black tips are the smaller of the species, then come white tips, and top of the feeding chain along the reefs are the greys. (Photo: The centre of the island group, and view most used to promote Raja Ampat - Faam Islands, Raja Ampat)

Greys are the largest, and I had some brilliant experiences with them. The group were hovering out from the reef, the visibility wasn’t too good and they were peering through the gloom trying to spot a shark whose outline was barely discernable. I was more than ten metres away, keeping as far from them as possible, when a large shark circled round towards me, swam past and vanished back into the blue. I’ve rarely been so close to sharks. It didn’t stay out of sight for long, when it reappeared another was tailing it. They came even closer, and I altered my course slightly to get an even closer look. The process was repeated three times, each time I got a little closer. Each time the same one came in a little closer to me, while the other kept a respectful distance. It was utterly amazing, I really do like sharks! This was a lean, mean, killing machine, but oh so beautiful, and oh so curious. (Photo: One of the largest communites  amongst the islands, the also host a field station for Marine biology students - Amborak Island, Raja Ampat)

For me getting up close and personal is the way I like to dive. I don’t interfere with things, but I do like to study them. I maintained my habit of hanging out alone, as far from the group as possible. Spotting a grey shark prowling, in hunting mode, I stopped, mesmerized, when suddenly it struck. The fish had to be more than half the size of the shark itself, who’d clamped its jaws down hard, once, twice, and then released it. The fish didn’t even twitch, just floated lifeless mid-water, it was a swift and clean kill. Circling round in a tight circle the Grey dashed in again, accelerating fast. With the biggest bite possible his teeth sank into soft flesh and, with a manic thrashing of its head and body, ripped off a huge chunk. Another grey joined the frey, appearing from nowhere, darting in swiftly, determined to get its fair share. It seized the rear end of the fish, savagely shook its whole body, and detached a couple of kilos of fresh fish in one foul swoop. During this I’d surreptitiously been moving closer, but with clouds of blood billowing out I thought better of it. Half expecting that amount of blood to attract more predators, I didn’t fancy being caught amongst numbers of the beasts in a killing frenzy. I may find them amazing but I don’t want to push my luck. (Photo: A last glorious sunset, golden seas and burning sky - Kri Island, Raja Ampat)

 Raja Ampat is spread over a wide area, there are dive sites throughout he region, but the concentration tends to be in the vicinity of established dive centres. There are more than enough to keep you busy for a few weeks without repeating dives. In all honesty, whether or not you return to the same dive site, it is never the same dive. The profusion of fish around the reefs is awe-inspiring. Fairly strong currents bring heavily nutrient enriched waters through the maze of islands, providing a veritable feast for fish and corals alike. On any dive you’d be delighted with the life you encounter, and most are simply beyond belief. Thick shoals of fish gather at the tip of reefs, facing the flow, swimming into the current. Big, small and miniscule they cluster, a multi-hued mass of riotous colour. Dense clouds of silvery minnows flash before my eyes, they close ranks, flash again as they change direction once more. Predatory jacks patrol the peripheries, a lone tuna darts through the middle, and a pack of barracuda hang in the flow, waiting to pick off the weaklings or unwary. Below, a group of sharks circle, watching, waiting, hungry and expectant. On that one dive I saw more species and higher numbers of fish I can remember seeing anywhere in my dive career. (Photo: Unbelievable encounter with an oceanic manta, picture courtesy of Abraham, my Dutch buddy - Blue Magic, Raja Ampat)

Staggeringly beautiful coral gardens start just beneath the waves, spreading down slopes to depths of over twenty metres. I float weightless, content to quietly observe the vast variety of coral, both hard and soft, filling the seascape. Hand grenade sized cowries nestle amongst the staghorn, exquisite nudibranchs dance, their skirts rippling with the flow. A school of minute blue chromis (I think that’s what they were) hover over a tabletop of blue branching coral. When I move in close they lower themselves into the protective folds of the coral, I hover amused and amazed, delighted with every detail of the natural wonderland. The only was to bring the magnificent display was to stop diving, and true enough, it soon came time for me to leave. With only one day left to dive I returned to Blue Magic, one of the prime sites imaginable. At times that particular reef is visited by oceanic manta ray, which tend to be virtual giants in comparison to the local variety found at a nearby site called Manta Point. And wonder of wonders, on my last dive one swooped in, hovered really close for a while, and circled round to repeat the experience. It was about six metres across, which is enormous, but so graceful, so beautiful, and completely placid. What an experience, I’ve seen mantas before, even in Raja Ampat, but I’m sure not on this scale. It made for a very good last dive, in fact it couldn’t have been better. (Photo: Into perspective, a diver and oceanic manta, picture courtesy of Abraham, my Dutch buddy - Blue Magic, Raja Ampat)

As an extra special treat I was well rewarded when having a quick snorkel. I nearly didn’t bother, my booties were almost dry and I was feeling lazy. But I couldn’t resist a last look at the house reef. Slipping on my fins I kicked off into the flow, almost bumping heads with a black tip shark. Every time I went in the water I was treated to a jamboree of fish, gathering for my personal delight. To top it all, I enjoyed the company of a green turtle coming along to wish me goodbye as I was leaving the reef for the last time. On the scale of things it was nothing special, sharks and turtles can be seen at any time while snorkelling. But it was still amazing, and made my heart keen at the thought of it being buggered up, just the way every destination seems to be once on the itinerary of your average diver.

Papua - A brief insight into yesteryear

During my stay on Natuna Besar I'd been unable to shake the idea of continuing in my attempts to experience parts of Asia that have fended off the deprivations of modern society. Someone had planted the idea of Papua in my mind before I left Borneo, and it just grew and grew. Without doubt I'd been really enjoying my travelling, so much I've done nothing with my book since arriving in Borneo. But it was the last thing on my mind, I've really been getting a lot out of this journey and intended maintaining that flow.

Having an airline cancel all flights between two destinations is inconvenient to say the least. I got stranded on Natuna, as far as returning to Borneo was concerned. I couldn’t make it back within the time remaining on my visa. Luckily with the help of local friends I managed to procure a ticket to Batam, with only a two-day delay. It was a bit disappointing only getting a one-month extension to my visa, they assured me it could be extended further, but only in one month increments. Of course this would mean travelling to a main immigration office every month, not the best course of action when desiring to travel off the beaten track. I’d held off from booking tickets precisely because of the fickle nature of Indonesian officials, a wise precaution. The office in Pontianak had offered to grant me a full four-month extension on application, at no extra cost either. There’s no point crying over spilled milk though, I decided to make the most of the month granted and reassess the situation at a later date. (Photo: Typical happy smile of the local kids - Wamena, Baliem Valley, Papua)

 Areas of the Papua mainland are still off limits to westerners, and all travel requires a Suret Jalan, a special travel permit. The easiest area of the highlands to access is the Baliem Valley, home of the Dani and Yali tribes. Wamena is the provincial capital and only access point for commercial flights, There are no roads connecting the area with the outside world, so flying is the only option. It would appear that with elections due people were on the move, and flights were booked days in advance. So, wasting a few days between obtaining said permit and the first available flight, I wandered around the Sentani area instead of hanging around Jayapura. It’s a bustling but dirty flyblown place, with a mixed population of indigenous Papuans and Indonesian immigrants. When I first stepped off the plane on arrival it felt more like a Caribbean island than a part of Indonesia. Though expecting to find dark skinned locals, I’d not banked on them so closely resembling their distant African cousins. Unlike Australasian they are not so far removed from their African ancestry, in appearance at least. (Photo: Family compound, with stocked fishing pond - Nr Wamena, Baliem Valley, Papua)

To my untrained eye, there would appear to be tribal differences. The Dani tend to be shorter of stature, stockier and darker skinned, with fairly heavy facial features. As a gross generalisation I would describe the Yali as fairer skinned, maybe slightly taller and a little more lithe. Bearing in mind I didn’t venture into the distant heartland of any individual tribe, I can’t fully substantiate these observations. Discussion with a couple of Papuans would seem to suggest I’ve managed to highlight the differing features of the two tribes. In the urban environment of Sentani there is no distinct separation between tribes, Papuans mix amongst themselves, though I saw little evidence of integration with the Indonesia settlers. These are Asians in every sense of the word, and a people apart from the locals. They also tend to be the proprietors of shops and businesses, few Papuans seem inclined towards the world of modern commerce. Simple folk, from distant villages as often as not, bring fresh produce into town to sell, out in the sticks money isn't easy to come by. They line the pavement, fresh produce lying on a blanket, trying to shield themselves from the scorching sun. A steady flow of villagers enter town from every direction, every day. there are three markets in Wamena and they provide just about anything the villagers have need for. But they're not really consumers, they produce food, enough to feed their families with a bit of excess to top up the coffers at home. The women are hard workers, doing the bulk of the domestic tasks. In contrast the men are hunters, they bring in the meat from the forest, though I'm not sure how much that actually happens anymore. They seem quite happy sitting around and smoking, the routines of an industrialised nation are far from their minds. (Photo: Pot-bellied but far from malnourished - Sentani, Papua)

I’ll give the Papuans in Sentani their due, they were ultra-friendly. My wanderings were punctuated by enthusiastic greetings, warm smiles and lots of handshakes. I mustn’t discredit the Indonesians though, they were also gratified by my presence, and very vocal in attracting my attention. But my sympathies are with the indigenous people, an island nation desperate for independence, who live amiably amongst the very people likely to deprive them of that freedom. Not that the settlers have this in mind personally, they are the mere pawns in the political shenanigans of centralised government. Transmigration is designed to increase Indonesia’s claims in their fight against granting freedom to individual islands. They’ve succeeded in the case of Borneo, and raped that particular island of its vital resources. The ardour of Papuans for home rule is strong, feelings run high and rebel groups frequently fight against the might of the Indonesian military. Hence the blanket ban on western journalists from Papua, and the total exclusion of foreigners from certain areas. (Photo: Crocodile infested waters, if the kids are to be believed - Out wandering, Baliem Valley, Papua)

With the election drawing near emotions were almost at fever pitch, political rallies are more like tribal gatherings. Wandering along a rural road I stumbled across one such gathering, not that I guessed it to be a political rally from the ensuing hubbub. There was a stage and rows of seats, politicians addressing a meagre audience. Most the people were whooping it up in the adjoining field, grass skirts swirling, feet shuffling to the chanting cries of passionate tribes people. I stopped briefly to watch, to self-conscious to whip out my camera under the watchful eye of many onlookers. If I’d wanted to watch surreptitiously I was out of luck, almost as soon as I was spotted participants ushered me into the throng of people. Hands reached out for warm hand shakes, nods of approval accompanied the greetings. The gathering was to show support for an independent Papua, my declaration of Papua for the Papuans was enthusiastically received. The chanting and rhythmic dancing was mesmeric, it made me feel like whipping off my clothes and joining in. (Photo: Typical family compound - Outskirts of Wamena, Baliem Valley)

I politely declined an invitation to sit and listen to the heated political diatribe, much preferring to wander and take in the passionate festival vibe. A great sense of unity reigned, boxes of water cartons were dispersed to anyone and everyone. A huge firepit had been dug, lined with heated rocks and loaded with corncobs. Papuans like a pig feast on special occasions. While the women spread out the freshly cooked corn, the men cut numerous pigs into chunks big enough for the most avaricious appetite. There was enough food to feed a small army, which is exactly what filled the area. A truck full of armed police closely watched the proceedings, I wondered what it would take to start a full scale riot, their presence was certainly not inconspicuous. But everyone was in good spirits, there was not the slightest sign of aggression, hostility or outrage. So celebratory was the atmosphere you’d have thought they’d already won independence. (Photo: Extended family settlement - North of Wamena, Baliem Valley)

Nowadays there is little evidence of traditionally undressed tribesmen, festivals and tribal gatherings are some of the few events that see them don their tribal finery, or maybe I should say discard their western vestiges of modesty. So it came as a surprise to see an old man, wearing only a koteka (penis sheave), calmly wander across the open airfield on my arrival at Wamena. He made a beeline for me, shook hands but then faded into the background as guides badgered me to employ their services. Every time I glanced beyond them he was there, slyly indicating them and shaking his head. I got the drift, not that I needed telling, and showed I understood. His secretive smile and obvious amusement was alluring. I almost expected him to be loitering after I claimed my luggage, but he’d gone. It was strange, I found it hard to avert my eyes from his genetalia, a compulsion I wasn’t completely comfortable with; there again I don’t like to think of myself as a homophobe either. The kotekas are very thin, not built for a well-hung guy, and their testicles are massaged into body, leaving a shrivelled scrotum to which they bind cord to help hold the koteka in place. (Photo: Very organised field system, high diversity of crops - Isolated village, Baliem Valley, Papua)

It seemed a hard task to shrug off the attention of my antagonist, the ever effusive guide who’d stuck to me like glue. I finally managed, by returning to the airport café food. Well strike me down if another koteka clad guy didn’t stroll by. This one also approached me, but his interests were definitely of the financial kind. Bearing a string of bracelets he proceeded to display his wares, simple affairs woven from natural fibres. I wasn’t interested, I don’t buy trinkets, but for reasons unknown I took pity on him and bought one, at a vastly reduced price. I thought a photo would be good. Who knows when another chance would come, few are meant to wear the koteka in our modern day. Of course, life isn’t that simple, once taken the demand for money came. After a lot of negotiation I gave him back the bracelet, and counted my losses. Has it come to the point where tradition is only followed for financial gain? In this instance it would seem the case, older guys are often seen wandering around town, and they’re all too willing to pose for a photo, but it will cost you. (Photo: Showing their pride and joy, at a political rally - Wamena, Baliem Valley)

The urban environment of Wamena could have been more pleasant. Mounds of rubbish, piled high at streets corners, spilled across the road. Scores of bedraggled, barefoot Papuans wandered apparently aimlessly along dry dusty streets. The sidewalks were lined with country folk hawking their wares, it somehow missed the usual buzz of such street markets. People seemed reserved, eyes looked upon me with suspicion rather than curiosity. Few called for my attention, I felt an interloper rather than a welcome visitor. I’d heard the Dani tribespeople were not overtly friendly, after my experience in Sentani I assumed this was hearsay. Maybe it was the sight of a stupid tourist wandering through town with a heavy pack, under the scorching sun. I expect to be hustled to some extent arriving in a city, but the residents of Wamena were more inclined to avert their eyes in passing. It didn’t encourage me to approach people for help locating hotels. By pure chance I found one, but they refused to let me view their ridiculously priced rooms without booking in, so I continued my apparently fruitless task. Finally, after the merest gesture of acknowledgement, I asked a passer-by. After randomly checking street after street, I had actually managed to stumble upon the main area for the few hotels in town. (Photo: Traditional dance, performed for the milling crowds - Wamena, Baliem Valley)

Accommodation is expensive, discounts weren’t forthcoming, but I managed to find an acceptable option at the cheaper end of the market. It wasn’t the best of introductions to a new place, nor did it entice me to explore the immediate vicinity, I felt rather isolated. But hunger beckoned, so I ventured out and tried the first promising looking warung. A quick and poor quality meal of bakso, basically noodle soup, set me back nearly £3, which is extortionate. It had me wishing I hadn’t already booked my return flight. Retreating to my hotel room I napped for a couple of hours, waking at dusk to another raging hunger. Once again I went on the prowl for sustenance, this time a little more cautious about my choice. I had a feeling the young Indonesian guys in the earlier establishment had taken advantage of an obvious newcomer. And I was right! For huge portions of fried chicken, rice, soup, and vegetables the cost was only 60% of the meagre offerings I’d had before. The patron was a sweet old lady, who was delighted to accept one of only two foreigners in town. (Photo: Members of the public, attending the rally - Wamena, Baliem Valley)

Arriving tired had done me no favours, my own lack of energy and enthusiasm had failed to overcome the natural reservations of a people who are still fairly simple country folk at heart. When I adopted my normal outgoing, approachable demeanour, people responded more readily. It worked well within the city, but the outskirts could be quite different. It’s small for a city, very small, with clearly defined limits. It’s designed on a grid system, and outside the established grid the area reverts to natural countryside very quickly. Deciding to head out of the city each day provided enough experiences of modern society to keep me happy. I realised I would gain nothing more than the briefest of glimpses into Papuan life, it’s better than nothing though. More time is needed and a fair amount of capital outlay, it’s anything but cheap to travel here. Modes of transport are restricted between areas, due to an absence of road systems. River transport can cost a fortune, because fuel costs an arm and a leg, due to the limited transport options. Wamena relies solely on fuel being flown in, other than fresh good grown locally everything has to be flown in. No wonder it tends to be expensive, and most of Papua is in the same boat. (Photo: Traditional makeup of Dani tribesman - Wamena, Baliem Valley)

It’s a strange mix, I wouldn’t describe anything outside the provincial capital as modern. Most accommodation is still built in traditional style, using traditional materials. Five minutes from town will see you walking past beehive huts set inside palisaded compounds. Follow a winding trail through well-cultivated fields, tended by women sat on their haunches casually caring for their crops. You’ll pass man-made ponds stocked with fish, cross water channels bridged simply by wobbly logs. Here and there guys lounge on the banks, hand lines trailing the surface of placid waters. Passing one compound young kids rush out to gaze in wonder at the apparition visiting their quiet seclusion. Another and the women run and hide, though the majority of people want to greet you. Surprise is quickly overcome by pleasure, they generally like to make the acquaintance of the rare foreigner they see. Considering most come to gawk at the natives recently coming out the stone age they show considerable tolerance. (Photo: Not many women were traditionally bare breasted, and I felt a pervert taking photos of them - Wamena, Baliem Valley)

 In the city I’d say it’s an even balance of shoed and barefooted locals, the country folk, who often walk many miles into town, are invariably without footwear. Old women carry heavy loads, in baskets slung around their foreheads, walking for hours along hot tarmac roads. Visually you’d be led to believe they are poverty stricken, by modern standards you’d probably be right. But they don’t want for too much, rurally they seem disinterested in material possessions. Agricultural methods remain unchanged, for generations. They’re impressive farmers, further out of town surprisingly large areas are cultivated. Communities utilise the same area, enrich the raised beds with the detritus dredged from the interconnecting irrigation ditches. Whilst some tribes have generally been quite nomadic, the Dani and Yali have mixed cultivation with hunting and gathering. And to some extent they still do, with the men having sorts into the forest with their traditional weapons. Financial inducements are made by the government to encourage them to settle into urban areas, and many do. But there is an undercurrent of distrust for their Indonesian overlords. They may still brandish antiquated weaponry, take pleasure in discarding western clothes for fibre skirts and kotekas, but they are not bind to the manipulations of the government. They want to keep their way of life, and the natural environment that has always provided for them. They realise the wealth of resources to be found in Papua, and they don't want their land ruined by outsiders getting rich exploiting what isn't theirs. (Photo: I think he's bragging, most the kotekas are much smaller - Wamena, Baliem Valley)

Of the traditional state of undress, there are very few signs, unless you happen to visit at an occasion of special importance to the Papuans. When it matters they are proud of their tradition, young and old discard the vestiges of western modesty to don their kotekas, daub themselves with decorative designs and insert a tusk through the hole so many have through the central cartilage of their noses. I struck lucky because of the election. Proud of their traditional culture, keen for their independence the tribes people were out in force. The fact the carried their full array of weapons came as a shock, even more because the Indonesian military sat and watched the proceedings without interfering. Mind you, I think it would have sparked a full scale war had they tried to. There were guys wandering about with axes balanced on their shoulders, weighty clubs and even lumps of wood spiked with nails. It wasn't just the guys either, a fair few women looked quite comfortable hefting a three metre spear. They may do the bulk of the work but I wouldn't call the women weak in any way, they are proud and strong counterparts to their menfolk. While they definitely work hard, from what I saw they know how to play hard too. (Photo: Don't think I'd like to argue with these two, loud and proud they were too - Wamena, Baliem Valley)

 At the rallies I got a lot of warm welcomes, people were keen for me to know the strength of their feelings. The Papuans want rid of Indonesian rule, before they rape this country in the same way they have Borneo. They’ve nothing against the Indonesian people, but Papuans certainly want shot of their government’s rule. I tried to question the wisdom of having a number of political parties claiming to represent the people's interests for a free Papua, surely it would weaken the strength of any single party standing against the Indonesian parties. No, I was assured, all the parties work together in achieving independence. I must admit it still seemed sure to split the vote, and therefore diluted the strength found in complete unity. How nice it may have been to delve deeper into the highland area, but time was at a premium, and I wanted to discover the underwater glory of Raja Ampat, claimed by many to be the number one dive spot at present.