Sulawesi, Where Indonesian Men in Canadian Tuxedos Butcher Buffalo.

This would normally be that moment where I talk about living down to low expectations of poor blog updates, but there is far too much to write about to get bogged down with messy excuses, of which I am in ample supply of.  

Conventional wisdom would suggest if you’ve seen one buffalo get brutally slaughtered by an upward hack to the throat you’ve seen them all. I can say with all certainty that is probably not true. Watching twenty (mostly innocent but who really knows) buffalo meet their gurglely and violent end was an interesting way to spend a summers day basking in direct sunlight, ankle deep in blood and culture.

The mountainous highlands of Central Sulawesi are rich with natural beauty and gasoline jugs filled palm wine. The region of Toraja is accessible to the hearty adventurer with a strong stomach by casual 12 hour bus-ride. The eighty-cent packet of motion sickness tablets are worth the grimy ‘uang-kecil’ to even the most frugal scrooge of a traveler.  There is no such thing as sweet scents and subtle sounds on Indonesian buses, well any public bus for that mater….

'Kampung Home-stay'

Trekking through rice terraces and little villages is a wondrous way to enjoy two days. Dramatic landscapes, friendly faces, and not dead buffalo are found round every corner. Even the smashed sandwich and soggy French-fries tasted delightfully rustic, if not out of place on the trail. I suppose our guide was appealing to our western taste buds. The opportunity to crash in a traditional Torajan house was worth the admittedly awful sleep it provided.

Following the two-day trek, which felt a bit too brief, I traveled via scooter to a small village to witness the famous (or infamous for those who donate to PETA) funeral ceremonies.  For the keen reader I suggest looking into Toraja culture and funerals, they are unique and captivating. According to a man there, a grandma died about year ago after which she has been considered ‘sick’ until all here family members could assemble together for her funeral. Funerals seem to be pointed towards establishing a families or individuals status in the community. Bigger funerals and more buffalo that one could afford grants higher esteem in the village. From a very outside perspective and through my little Indonesian I deduced very little mourning or celebration of life. Everyone just seemed pretty stoked about the buffalo slaughter that was about to take place.

Hanging out like nothing bad is about to happen...

Like any awesome event, the big show takes hours to get underway and always starts later than posted. Think of the antsy restlessness you get at a concert waiting for the main act; first the opener shows up, a bit late but close enough not to care much. They are pretty solid and it is an acceptable use of your time before what you actually came to see. It takes not-literally forever for the band to show up, to the point were you are actually a bit crossed at the guys for starting so late.

Sans blowtorch but still dashing

    

As such, It starts of with the little piggies. The poor guys get slaughtered with a jab through the heart, after which the hair is burned off by a mustached gentleman smoking unfiltered cigarettes wielding a flame thrower attached to a propane tank manufactured the same era Billy-Ray Cyrus was thought to have good style. The mustached man is coincidentally sporting such style. They are beheaded and quite literally quartered then not so neatly heaved into a pile on the ground.  All good fun. You walk around and look at the unsuspecting buffalo chilling out like nothing bad is about to happen, drink some tea have some cake and politely decline the constant cigarette offers. Wait a bit. Have some more tea, eat some cake, take a picture of the poor buffalo chilling out like nothing bad is about to happen, ask the guy in broken Indonesian what time this show gets on the road then wave off a cigarette with a smile.

Over your fourth cup of tea you’ve already rationalized that everything in Indonesia starts late and seeing as it is over an hour past the stated start time surely its about to start soon. You grab a cake a smile past the fellas who’ve been offering you cigarettes and jostle into a good spot to take in the carnage, bumping elbows with everyone else for a good view. The buffalo have been paraded through; clearly we are about to see blood. At two hours past the allotted start time, jittering from the caffeine impatiently pretending to smoke a cigarette (not inhaling because you don’t want to cough in front of these hard-ass little old timer Indonesian men) the first buffalo gets tied to the stake.

As I watch the near beheading followed by the violent thrashing and gasps for air as it bleeds out to death at my feet I feel ashamed for ever wanting to see this.

I have to look away.

The crowd cheers as second buffalo tries to run and bucks after it's throat is cut open. The first buffalo has gone into convulsions and they are tying up the third. It continues. As the buffalo get too weak to stand they untie them and tie up another, leaving the the previous buffalo wherever they fell. Soon there ten dead or dying buffalo surrounded by hundreds of people in a space the size of a basketball court. Halfway through I am desensitized to the brutality. In due time the twentieth buffalo gets the knife and stumbles through the carcasses.

Kinda a lot of blood

At the end, despite struggling to stomach it all, I am glad to have seen this. Yes, a bit brutal and inhumane to Western standards. It is a very different bit of culture, surely controversial within some circles. Soon the buffalo are skinned and butchered. Twenty buffalo have many liters of blood pumping through them and the ground is stained red. The files descend and the uninviting smell of blood permeates the humid air. I linger around chewing the fat with some friendly faces as kids happily dance around cutting off the tails for souvenirs.

   Two lengthy bus rides and a ferry, I'm in the picturesque Togian Islands. Skies out thighs out as they say, so I'm sporting my shorty Abe-Linen shorts (soon to be trademarked). We spent five days book reading, swimming, hammock-lounging, diving, with a well-deserved Bintang or two in the company of fellow travellers talking shop.  The further off the beaten path you get the richer the stories get and more genuine the people seem. Perhaps we are all pursuing the same truth, or chasing the same idea.

I must give my fellow travel companions Ms K and Lynsey mad props for getting to know me perhaps a bit too well. Between sharing hotel rooms with hardly soundproof toilets while I’m regretting my cavalier choice of Indonesian restaurants, the lengthy and untimely misadventure to find crab in Manado after a day and a half of uncomfortable travel, and taking turns to sleep on the floor I must say I could not ask for a better duo of travel companions. Sulawesi was not the most convenient or leisurely holiday, bit squirrely and less streamlined, but a trip I’m not soon to forget. 



I have no idea how to change the text background,  sorry....