We have been plying the waters of Raja Ampat with little interaction amongst the locals but the few encounters we have had have been memorable.
First off, Indonesians seem quite fond of paperwork. When AVATAR first cleared into the country last November we used the services of a yacht agency to smooth the way. This, we have learned over the years, offers a multitude of benefits in navigating the intricacies of bureaucracy in foreign countries where we have little knowledge of the customs, culture and language. Generally yacht agents cater to the super yachts and we are small fry to their real business model, but so far all have been willing to take us on for which we are continually grateful.
Rod tells us the paperwork he filled out on entry easily made up a file a few inches thick. Each document had to be signed in multiples of eight or ten copies. I believe it took him some three days to wade through all the formalities, signing and stamping as directed by the agent. The customs officers even went through the contents of our emergency medical kit item by item, pointing out everything with an expired date – but putting all back in place at the end. The majority of the documentation went ashore with the customs officials, but we still have a thick file of paperwork aboard AVATAR to prove our legitimacy.
Even the Indonesian entry stamps in our passports are elaborate full-page stickers adorned with glitz and emblems, unlike the simple ink stamps most countries slap onto the pages.
We have a cruising permit specific to Raja Ampat as well as individual diving permit tags for each of the four of us (the fees collected for these tags support conservation efforts for Raja Ampat). Even so, when we entered a dive site named Melissa’s Garden, our planned destination for an afternoon’s entertainment, an open boat approached us with three representatives from a nearby village. One man, in full uniform, introduced himself as the harbormaster and wanted us to come ashore to clear in to his village port. Knowing this would involve multiple hours of paperwork, additional fees (on top of the fees we had already paid in Sorong), and more of the same the next day to clear out again, we declined and moved on. However it was noteworthy that his main interest seemed to be in posing for photos that he and his crew took (with his point-and-shoot camera) of the three of them sitting next to us on the bridge. The youngest (and cutest) of the trio wanted to know if Mayflor was a ‘Miss’ or a ‘Mrs.’. Before departing they requested liquid refreshments, preferably beer. We compromised by sending them on their way with cokes and cans of Fijian peanuts.
Locals in their canoes have approached us only a couple of times, both times offering fresh fish for sale. In this way we acquired a big Spanish mackerel good for several meals, and a couple of fresh (still flopping) trevally. One of my more unpleasant encounters happened early one morning as I was kayaking The Passage, a mile long narrow waterway winding between the islands of Gam and Waigeo. Several local boats passed by without incident, but two men in one of the boats shouted at me to get my attention, and when I looked their way and gave out a friendly wave one of them deliberately urinated in my general direction. They then revved off down the river like teenagers in a hot rod instead of a jury-rigged houseboat and I picked up my pace paddling back to AVATAR. They returned shortly thereafter, shouting again, but this time I ignored them and kept paddling determinedly towards the safety of home.
Just a couple of nights ago we had another adrenalin-inducing encounter. We had anchored in a secluded bay not far from the Cendana Indo Pearls farm, a huge enterprise with nearly a million giant pearl oysters under cultivation and some 200 employees. We anchored in peace and quiet most of the day; a few curious local boats circled us and took a look but went on their way. At night we enjoyed dinner and a photo slideshow for our evening entertainment. Then, in the dark of night, a boat approached shining a spotlight in our direction. A gunshot was fired to get our attention (it worked) and then the open boat filled with military types flourishing guns pulled alongside to board AVATAR. They made us leave our anchorage and follow them into the pearl farm waters where we hooked to a mooring, and then they took Rod ashore to the office to sort things out. Turns out AVATAR’s militaristic appearance had set off alarm bells in their heads and they were afraid we were pirates lurking around the corner to rip off a load of pearls by cover of nightfall. Once they determined we were innocent American dive tourists (with a big American flag hanging off our stern in plain sight) they were all smiles and slaps on the back as they returned Rod back to the yacht, guns now nicely stowed out of sight.
Of course the majority of people we have met here have been friendly and courteous. This is the fourth most populous country in the world with some 240 million inhabitants and climbing.
