Chapter # 17
I feel more comfortable with gorillas than people. I can anticipate what a gorilla's going to do, and they're purely motivated.
Dian Fossey
Borneo
Morning came too early after a very restless sleep in the hot, humid hotel room. The street outside his window was already pulsing with activity. Mark awoke with a headache and in a state of agitation, still brooding over the scene with the costumed performing macaques he had seen on the streets of Jakarta the previous evening. He couldn’t get the street performance out of his mind. From the perspective of a primatologist, it was nothing short of a sacrilege.
He knew again he had to start facing the reality of this place. He understood he would be the odd man out and that not everyone cares, like he does, about primates; that’s just how it is here.
Mark was eager to get to the airport and catch his flight. Traffic was already thick. It was a city that never slept. Another hour of lane diving and weaving brought them to a regional airport in Tangerang, about 35 km south of the international airport where they had disembarked the day before.
Expecting a somewhat larger plane, some of Mark’s early flight anxiety returned as he watched his luggage stowed in the undercarriage of the 6-passenger Cessna Golden Eagle. Their ride to Borneo.
Bart, their Dutch pilot, with strong coffee in hand, was jovial, which was hard to take so early in the morning. He gave off an aura of experience with his bleached-blond hair, tanned face, tattooed forearms, engaging smile, and obvious familiarity with the aircraft. “I have to take her through the checklist and prep for takeoff. We’ll be ready to go in about ten minutes. So you know, there will be four other passengers joining us to Borneo and Camp Fossey.”
As if on cue, a taxi pulled up, letting out four worn-looking travellers. They paid their driver, picked up their gear and walked toward the plane. “Guten Morgen... good morning. Is this the plane for Pangkalan Bun?” The question was directed toward our pilot.
“It is. Bring your equipment over, and we’ll start loading. The quicker we load, the sooner we can take off.”
The spokesman for the three German students and one from Canada completed the introductions. “Hello, I am Albrecht Ackerman. This is Liesel Krause and Gloria Bader.”
“And I’m Celine Armand from Montreal.”
From that one sentence, Mark was immediately taken by Celine, clearly a unique individual and in no way part of the German contingent. His world stood still for a moment as he noticed her beyond the scope of scientific observation. She stood apart from the small knot of Germans, coat slung over her arm, no longer necessary in this climate. She seemed to belong to a schedule of her own. Her name seemed to fit the quiet confidence in the way she shifted her weight, the way she gazed outward and at those gathered before her. Her slight French-Canadian accent as she said her name softened the air around her. She was beautiful, yes, but more noticeable was her confidence. A young woman travelling alone in a foreign land, unbothered, unafraid. Mark felt himself pulled off course, as if his thoughts had missed a step and now were circling her instead.
He hoped she wouldn’t notice the pauses in his speech, the careful way he chose his words. He feared his manners would come off as backward. His inexperience as disinterest. Mark told himself to be steady. He knew he would measure the day by whether or not he found a reason, any reason, to speak to her again.
Mark approached Celine, hand extended and was about to introduce himself when Albrecht swooped in from the flank. “Welcomen, I’m Albrecht from Heidelberg, so pleased to meet you. Allow me to help you with those things. He surrounded her with attention and escorted her to the plane with the rest of the group.
Introductions completed in all directions, it was discovered that the three Germans had flown in via Singapore, had arrived that morning, and had taxied over to the regional airport here in Tangerang. They were anthropology students from Heidelberg University working as interns with the Frankfurt Zoo. They were going to Camp Fossey for primary research towards completion of their Master’s degree programs. Albrecht, however, was also a PhD candidate like Mark. Mark had been expecting the three German students, but the fourth passenger, Celine, was a bonus mystery and surprise. He was immediately intrigued by her presence.
Their pilot lowered a small aluminum ladder from the side door and assisted the two young German ladies to the cramped back seats. “Sorry, there’s not much room back there, but it is a short flight.”
Mark acted fast enough to grab a seat across the narrow aisle from Celine, and Albrecht sat up front with Bart, their pilot.
The engines coughed several times, turned over, allowing Bart to begin an immediate taxi out to the main runway. With clearance from the tower, he revved the twin engines and made an aggressive charge down the runway. Lift-off was almost instantaneous, with a brief view of the clogged, desperate streets, the congested slums and high-rises of Jakarta in the distance, then swiftly over the vastness of the Java Sea.
The powerful twin engines did not allow for easy conversation. The pilot wore headphones and was out of communication with his passengers. He reached an altitude of 14,000 feet at a cruising speed of 250 miles per hour. There were no significant headwinds; they would cover the approximate 400 miles over water in about an hour and a half. Mark did the mental math.
Borneo grew larger in the front windshield of the Cessna as they neared land. Visibility was almost perfect, with only a few cumulus clouds along the coast caused by local land-sea breezes. Their pilot, Bart, had taken off his headphones and served as tour guide, noticing his passengers trying to get a view of what lay ahead. He gave his ‘students’ a brief introduction as they approached Borneo, the world’s third-largest island.
“Look in the far distance; those in the back strained to see. Only Mark had a clear view. Those cloud-covered mountains on the horizon are part of the Central Highlands; they contain many of the major peaks, such as Mt Poteng, Raya, and Menyapa, all over 2000 m in height. The highest peak in SE Asia is in this range. Oddly, there is only one extinct volcano in the entire range, not what you would expect in a country riddled with fault lines which criss-cross the island north to south and east to west. Just be aware, my friends, that the chances of experiencing an earthquake while visiting Borneo are high, yet safer than Jakarta, from where we recently departed. They are doomed.”
Bart gave a smile as he banked the plane so those in the rear could get a better view and so he could also get the optimum approach for landing. Sounding somewhat like an elementary school teacher, he continued his geographic seminar, “The island itself is made up of three countries, Indonesia, Malaysia and Brunei. Indonesia controls about three-quarters of the land, with its territory known as Kalimantan. Malaysia has almost a quarter of the land with their states of Sabah and Sarawak, and then there is the tiny sovereign state of Brunei, very wealthy, with about 1 percent of the land.”
Albrecht, sitting next to the pilot, craned his head forward to get a better look, his view slightly blurred by the whirling prop. He asked, “What are all those barren spots south of the mountains and near the coast?” He tried to point for the benefit of the pilot.
Bart cut the engine revs so he could be heard above the engine before answering the question.”
“Deforestation. Much of the natural growth of the equatorial rain forest, home to your beloved orangutans and thousands of plant species, amphibians, birds, and reptiles, is under attack by poachers and loggers. They kill and trap animals for profit and cut down forests for valuable hardwood trees; a single hardwood tree is worth up to one hundred thousand American dollars, and they are rapidly being replaced by hundreds of square miles of oil palm plantations. Those neat rows of trees you see close to the coast,” now Bart indicated by pointing, “those are palm oil plantations, but I’m sure the famous Dr. G will tell you all about it and more when you meet. Now make sure you’re buckled in. We’ll be landing soon.” With that, the Q&A session ended as Bart concentrated on his approach to Pangkalan Bun, the Gateway to Camp Fossey.
Mark, slightly cursing, was angry with himself for not speaking to Celine the entire flight. The best he accomplished was stealing a few furtive glances her way, trying to summon the courage and opportunity.
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