Rantepao and the Mountain Kingdom of Tana Toraja

Centered in the pleasant enough town of Rantepao, I was in the mountain encircled valley in the area known as Tana Toraja. The word Toraja was derived from the local word for 'hillbilly' or 'redneck' and Tana simply means land, so I had made my way to the Land of the Rednecks, something I probably could have encountered just as easily a few hours outside of Atlanta. Despite the initial reputation, once explored a little more thoroughly by travelers and archaeologists, this place is now hailed as one of the bastions of indigenous culture and ceremonies in Indonesia and a major tourist draw. So, ironically, the locals are now cashing in on their 'backwards' ways, though I wouldn't expect a similar phenomenon anytime soon in the American South. Before the spread of Christianity, the Torajans were well-known for their elaborate ceremonies and festivals all throughout the year. The new religion quelled some of those celebrations, but a few still remain, particularly over-blown funeral ceremonies that often take years of planning and saving to send the deceased off to the next world in style and grandeur.

Walking around the streets of the small town, surrounded by green mountain peaks, I dodged honking scooters, trucks and bemos (minibuses) while checking out the local craft shops and getting some information at the tourist office. The huge funeral ceremonies are often open to visitors, and July and August are peak season for these celebrations, with family returning from all parts of the country to participate. The problem is that the exact date and location of the events are often held secret until the day before, so the tourist office was able to supply me with some inside information as to the happenings of the local area over the next week. While there, they even got a few 'tip-offs' about changes in plans, shouting across the room to each other frantically and scribbling notes on the board about the date and whereabouts, sort of how I imagine an emergency dispatch center might work.

Deciding that I'd save the next day for a full tour of the area and some of the ceremonies, I took my time on the overcast day to check out Pasar Bolu, the weekly animal market just North of town. The daily market sells typical fruits, nuts and random spices along the road side of a few pedestrian streets, filled with old women chatting and making feeble attempts to advertise their products which are probably brought back in day in and day out. However, once a week, the animal market occupies the two fields adjacent to the regular market, bringing out more excitement and the big spenders in town. Water buffalo are truly revered in this area, as they are used for food, plowing and numerous other purposes, as well as serving as a wealth and status symbol based on the amount of them that a land owner has. Even more special are the buffalo with white coloration and particularly the albino ones which can cost more than many cars and are really the peak of ostentation in this world.

As I shuffled passed a few amused school children and ducked under the low doors of the minibus, I hopped out in the midst of the market, passing a field of squealing pigs on auction, heading straight for the field of water buffaloes and their owners. The muddy field contained bits of grass and hay, trampled down by the hundreds of massive buffalo on display. Chatting away and smoking the typical clove cigarettes of Indonesia (kretek), the men poked and jabbed the animals, carrying a few away in the streets, though it looked like the majority of animals would go back home with their owners for another day. Through the drizzle, I spotted a few buffalo with light markings, thinking that they'd fetch a little more than the typical buffalo of a few thousand dollars, and I even came across a ghostly albino buffalo. With pale skin, white fur and glowing red eyes, not to mention a ring through its nose making it look even tougher, this massive beast looked like a demon, and it's easy to see why it would stand out from the crowd in the eyes of the locals. I saw a few of the Torajans admiring the animal, though no one seemed to have the money to make such an extravagant purchase, at least on this day.

Back in town, I wandered more and found a wonderful Chinese/Indonesian restaurant just down the road from my hotel, serving up an incredible spicy chicken and rice dish with a slight hint of sweet and sour sauce. Later in the afternoon, I met a few anxious local boys who ran up to talk to me, as they apparently had to conduct a few quick interviews for their English class. The group of four or five boys, about 10-12 years old, got quiet when it came time for the actual English practice, though, and finally the most confident slowly began to read a few scripted questions about my background, how long I was in town, etc. Afterwards, they took a picture with their camera phone for proof and then ran back down the street, looking for the next obvious foreigner to complete their assignment. The next morning, I headed to a traveler's cafe that is known for attracting both tourists and guides, so I waited to be approached, trying to find someone to show me around the wonderful sites and ceremonies of the area. I was soon approached by a friendly local man, about 35 years old, named Markus (more like Marcos), and after comparing a few prices and options, Markus and I decided to do a day tour of the area and a lot of the local attractions on the back of his motorcycle, the most economical option, though probably not the most comfortable...

(One of the locals making his way home with his new purchase. Water buffalo are prized possessions in this culture.)

(Albino water buffalo like this one are especially revered and can cost something like $15,000, quite a bit of money for the local people here. They also look completely demonic, so I didn't want to get too close. The power of Christ compels you...The power of Christ compels you...)

(One of the local buffalo salesman. Fortunately, he wasn't as shifty as some used car salesmen. With a beard and face like that, how could you not trust this guy?)

(Another buffalo salesman, sporting a very popular t-shirt from the recent election in Indonesia. Again, check out the background for proof of the stylish look of never removing your motorcycle helmet whether on the bike, in the store or just strolling through town.)

(One of the many vegetable stalls within the market, adjacent to the buffalo and pig markets just outside.)

(So, in Indonesian and Malaysia, pisang means banana, and fried bananas are a popular snack, but a steaming, unidentified blob labeled Mr. Piss probably doesn't appeal to many English speakers. I guess it's better than Mr. Poo and that image, but just slightly.)

(A group of local kids that interviewed me briefly for an assignment for their English class. The one in the background is making some sort of buffalo horn symbol that I saw a few of them doing in pictures, so it's either an obscene gesture or a symbol of the town that in which buffalo are so important. You may also notice that I'm halfway through enjoying a refreshing ice cream cone, one of my many snacks during the hot days.)