We've arrived on Simeulue Island and settled into our lodgings by the sea - it really is paradise here, everything anyone could wish for a tropical island. A gentle breeze carrying a bright orange butterfly, the sound of the sea lapping the razor sharp volcanic rocks, the sounds of the kingfisher calling as a flash of blue darts across the open skies. The palm trees swaying and sunsets across a distant island. The sea warm and refreshing, full of fish of every sort - an aquarium in every rockpool. Fruits plentiful and juicy, from mangosteen to dragonfruit, starfruit to the sweetest bananas that ever you've tasted. Each day brings a new finding. People here are gentle and friendly, fondly waving as they pass, eager to help. In so many ways this land is rich, but to the western eye we see poverty.
A simple hike off the roadside enables a taster of the richness of the rainforest - the call of monkeys in the distance, alerted by the 'monkeybird'. Vegetation thick and deep and immensely diverse - an overload for the senses. The children are happy with a stick or a leaf hat and they have all they need to keep themselves entertained. A woodpecker high in the canopy picks for insects in the bark. A bamboo bridge takes us over the clear flowing stream and we stop for some 'jambu' fruit growing on a riverside tree. It's different from any other fruit from home, a sort of sour apple. I'm not so keen but the children are in heaven, taking fruit after fruit to nourish themselves. As we continued on the well worn path - used for farmers and hunters and gatherers - we come across a tree in full flower. As my eyes scan the branches, I notice a little sunbird, no bigger than a ping pong ball, lapping up the nectar from each flower.
The rice padi fields seem well organised, not sprawling but compact and communal. Smallholdings are harder to distinguish as many of the crops are wild harvested. Remnants of a fence made of bamboo are possible demarcations. Fishing boats commute with the sun and an unfamiliar rhythm of people standing on the rocks with rods hoping for the latest catch.
As daytime turns to evening, snorkellers are seen diving in the blackness of the sea - coping with gigantic waves and razor sharp coasts. The flashing headtorches of hunters looking for conches move at pace along the rocks as they leap across rivines in only flipflops for protection.
Early one morning I explore the small beach to the east of here - I see a woman armed with a big knife and a bucket and ask her what she is doing. She lives in a hut by the sea and is prizing what she calls 'ikan batu'(translation: rock fish) from the rocks as the sun rises over the coconut trees. I take a peek into her bucket and see what look like huge snails - not what I would think of as breakfast.
This magical place is the land that keeps giving, that has looked after its people as it was threatened by the great 'smong' -- the Boxing Day tsunami of twenty years ago. Where hard times would leave others starving, it provides with food and materials for shelter. However, there are obvious challenges. Plastic is a problem, with no obvious mechanism for responsible waste disposal it gets burnt or thrown to be washed into the sea. Wildlife is on the decline due to overhunting. Birds are captured to be sold for a life in a cage or for singing competitions. Turtle eggs are highly sought after. Monkeys are hunted or kept as pets. The good news is that there are organisations that are trying to make a difference with programs for breading, release and rehabilitation; to turn hunters into rangers and educating children in schools to value the rich natural heritage that surrounds them.
As we explore this island paradise further, we start to unravel the story. A story of hope for the future, of the challenges of power and corruption, the conflicts between wildlife and farmers trying to eek out a living, of tourists coming to enjoy the surf and the potential for positive impact. This paradise, like any other place inhabited, has tales to tell. Follow along as we explore more in the weeks to come.
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