Kalimantan is the biggest island in the Indonesian archipelago and the world's third-largest. Rainforests cover almost the entire hinterland.
The peaks are not very high compared to those in Sumatra, Java and other parts of Indonesia and some such as Niyut, Beturan and Baka are less than 2,000 metres in height.
However, Mount Kinabalu, in the east Malaysian state of Sabah, rises 4,101 metres into the sky.
Having visited Sarawak a few years ago, we decided to travel to East Kalimantan this time and up on the mighty 920-kilometre-long Mahakam River, where the native tribespeople Dayaks still reside.
We first flew to Balikpapan (also known for the residential neighbourhood of oil enterprises).
From there we drove for three hours by car towards Loa Janan, passing black pepper plantations on our way.
Near Samarinda, the provincial capital of East Kalimantan, we embarked on our rented houseboat and looked forward to the next three days.
Uninspiring at first
Other than its sheer breadth, the river is not particularly inspiring at first sight.
Littered with rusting boats piled high on logs, I knew the real treasures of the river were to be found upstream.
After sailing for 15 hours, we arrived at Muara Muntai — which means “delta tributary'' — early next morning. As the name suggests, Muara Muntai is situated at the delta of a tributary, linking the lakes to the Mahakam River.
I was amazed by the “streets'' of Muara Muntai, — wooden boardwalks which give the illusion of the entire village being built on water.
We spotted women dressed in patterned sarongs, selling piles of bananas that were fast turning brown in the sun, red chillies, limes, pineapple, tapioca, onions and whole dried fish.
We saw rather unique pets, — monkeys with long noses and reddish brown fur, iguanas and various species of birds, including owls.
As we passed the villages, we saw babies being bathed on the verandas, old men repairing nets and others just sitting back and looking around.
We left Muara Muntai for Tanjung Isuy, a Benuaq settlement, and were shifted to small, three-seater canopied boats (locally called speedboats).
We crossed Lake Jempang, then zigzagged for hours along a tributary choking with water flowers.
Fishermen stood in waist-deep water, their long boats anchored to drowned branches.
As the waterway became narrower (compared to the place from where we had started our river cruise with a roughly 400-metre-wide area, here it narrowed to as less as 4 metres sometimes), we found ourselves amid intertwined roots of trees, trees that seemed to know secrets.
Azure kingfishers gleamed in the sunlight, swooping low, keeping just ahead of the boat and leading us deeper into the gnarled forest.
Dream come true
For someone like me who has travelled to more than 102 countries over the past two decades, it was still like a dream come true and I believe that kind of natural scenery can't be seen anywhere else in the world.
Around midday, we reached Kampong Mancong, a small village perched on muddy, ochre banks. We slowly glided between the outhouses at the water's edge.
Outside the small cupboard-like wooden structures built on table-size platforms, women sat washing themselves or scrubbing clothes against the boards.
The boat negotiated a turn, passing under a decaying bridge. I looked to the right and found myself almost face to face with an old woman soaping her arms vigorously, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from her lips.
Women could also be seen weaving ulap doyo, a traditional cloth.
We climbed steep ladder-like steps up the bank to change the mode of transport again — the water level did not permit us to carry on our river journey for the time being.
We hopped on to a truck and in an hour's time on a bumpy road, we reached Kampong Mancong.
We visited a traditional longhouse of the Dayak tribe, which, despite being located on the hinterland, seemed to have been little touched by the advent of modernity.
At a loss for words
The longhouse was restored in 1987. However, only two families actually lived in it. Inside, it was cool and semi-dark, the air heavy with history and the musky scent of wood.
Buffalo skulls adorned the walls. The serene headman produced a visitor's book and I was stuck for a word to describe the experience. I wrote “wonderful'', which seemed inadequate, and shook his hand.
I wished for more time to sit and absorb the stillness, which seemed to echo an eternal past.
Later, a group of about 20 to 25 local Dayaks performed a tribal dance and in the end, medicine men blessed us by sprinkling a white powder on our forehead (rice flower).
Back to reality
Mesmerised and unwilling to leave, we dragged ourselves to the truck and headed towards Tanjung Isuy and back to Muara Muntai. Our tour guide, Kiswono, joined us for an extended dinner of fresh, succulent river prawns, chop suey, beef rendang and other local delicacies.
While floating downstream to Tenggarong, we sat on our tiny balcony on the second deck of the boat for many hours, observing the freshwater dolphins and watching the Sun gradually settle behind the endless array of trees in the rainforests of Kalimantan — it was so beautiful and still so real.
The river is everything to these people. It's their source of food and water and their main highway.
It serves as an ablution and a recreational facility. It is their home in every sense of the word.
— Joachim Texter is a UAE-based chef and travel enthusiast
