Finding Sugar Man in Anreapi

During our 3 days in Polewali we visited the desa (village) of Beluak in the Anreapi district a couple of times. It's about 10 k out of town towards the surrounding hills.

The village itself is very pretty, with traditional South Sulawesi houses (raised up on poles) lining both sides of the street. At the home of the head farmer, Pak Arifin, the kids were busy painting a length of low bamboo fencing in blue and white paint. Looking around, most of the other houses nearby were sporting freshly painted front fences, all blue and white, about half a metre high, and people were generally busy making their street frontages look pretty. We asked about the reason for all the activity, and it turns out there was the local equivalent of a Tidy Town competition coming up, and the residents of Beluak were keen to take out the trophy. 

Beluak main street

In front of Pak Sakur's house was a traditional raised platform (balai balai) with a roof, which is a great place to hang out and watch the passing action (perhaps a stray goat) and catch a cooling breeze. On our first visit, after examining the the trees in a nearby trial planting, I was hanging out on the platform, cooling down and chatting with the young Indonesian drivers. I tried to explain where we were from and what the hell we were doing there. I mentioned our kids and the question of my age came up. Berapa umur Pak? When I replied that I was 54, the two drivers shot each other the kind of look that suggested one of them had just lost a bet. I asked them how old they thought I was. Saya pikir tujuh puluh tujuh, replied the driver. Seventy-seven. God knows I haven't aged well, but that was a blow. I laughed it off as best I could, decided not to tip the driver, and made a mental note to investigate laser dermabrasion options back in Melbourne.

On our return a few days later we visited the cocoa plantation of Pak Arafin, which starts just behind the houses and stretches on up a hillside. Not far along this track we came across the guys harvesting rambutan (see the photo in last week's blog) and got to sample the fruit. [Having since tried durian a couple of times, rambutan is definitely my favourite. Rambutan tastes like banana and garlic custard, but is widely popular, particulary with the blokes. Perhaps it's a sign of gengsi (prestige).]

Rambutan stop

After checking the cocoa growing at the lower levels, our expedition leader Pak Philip asked Pak Arafin to take us further up the track, to see where the cocoa ended and the rainforest began. We climbed for more than an hour through a beautiful landscape of cocoa interwoven with taller trees – coconuts and wild mango (alas, no ripe fruit) – and sweated a bucketload in the process, but the forest edge was still a long way off. We stopped for a breather and to admire the view: in one direction, rice fields stretching towards the coast at Polewali; in the other, cocoa and coconut trees spreading across the hillsides as far as we could see. 

From there on the track became a narrow path traversing the slope. Pak Arifin was leaping ahead effortlessly but I for one was staring to get a tad grumpy and was just asking him as politely as I could “Berapa jauh lagi, Pak?” (“How much further, man?”) when we stumbled round a bend to find a little shack with smoke coming from the roof. 

Inside the gloom was a bare-chested middle-aged man in a sarong, two tiny kittens, and a large wok of yellow liquid gently plopping over a fire. It was surreal, like stumbling across a hermit in his cave. The stuff in the wok turned out to be palm sugar, being reduced to solid form, and sugar man promptly offered us a cup of the work in progress, which was, well ... very sweet. 

Pak Arifin, Peter and the sugar

Sweeeeeeeet!

After a bit of idle chat, we made moves to go, but as we clambered out of the hut one of the corner posts gave way. Sugar man toppled to the ground, was knocked on the head by the falling piece of wood and did a backwards roll down the hill. Needless to say we were all very concerned, but after taking a minute to get his bearings, sugar man assured us he was fine, so we left him with his kittens and started the trip back down. Nearing home, Pak Arifin stripped off his shirt and climbed straight up a 30-foot coconut tree with his machete, which he expertly employed to cut down 4 coconuts. 

About 10 minutes later we were sitting around out the front of his house, recovering with a coconut juice. “So does the sugar man live up there all the time?” we asked Pak Arifin. “No,” he replied, “he lives in that house across the road. He just goes up there every so often for a few days to make some sugar. In fact, he’s over there, at the house next door right now.” Sure enough, there was sugar man, clean shirt and neatly combed hair, chatting with the neighbours like a regular guy.

Fact of the day

Sulawesi was the source of a hair oil that was used by gentlemen in the old days in Europe. To avoid having their good furniture greased up, ladies would place strips of fabric over the backs of their chairs and couches. These pieces of fabric were known as antimacassars.

© 2014 Steve Dobney