Brastagi- Land of the Volcanos

We left Bukit Lawang early Wednesday morning and headed off to Berastagi, which is only about 70 kilometers from Medan, but a five hour drive from Bukit Lawang.  The plan was that we would spend the night in Brastagi before finishing our drive to Samosir Island in Lake Toba.  We passed through the mountains and flew by (at an average speed of 30 miles per hour) many small villages and towns. 

 Berastagi (but pronounced and often spelled Brastagi) is 1220 meters high, close to Lake Toba, and comfortably nestled between two active volcanos:  Sibayak and Sinabung.  In September 2010 Sinabung erupted causing over 30,000 people to evacuate.  Both volcanos are still active and can be seen spewing smoke and ash.  



Mt. Simbayak





Mt. Sinabung

 Unfortunately we never got a good view of Sinabung because of cloud (and ash) cover.  

We stopped at a park atop another mountain, that gave us a beautiful panoramic view of the city, the volcanos and surrounding areas.  It has been a popular destination for hundreds of years first made popular by the Dutch.  The story is that the Dutch soldiers used to bring their girlfriends up to the area (sort of their Blueberry Hill) and they would tell the girls that they would love them always (in Dutch).  The local people heard the Dutch repeat this phrase so often on this hill that that became the name of the area (which I can no longer recall).  But it is a beautiful area and as you can see, very popular with the Indonesians.  You can see some of the traditional architecture in this area with the roof adornments of what appear to be a bull’s head. 

 

The area around Brastagi is the main fruit, vegetable and flower growing area for North Sumatra, and just outside of Brastagi we stopped to shop at a vegetable and flower market and purchased some fruit for our trip. 



      

They also sold puppies and rabbits at this market



We then stayed at the Hotel Sinabung which was a huge resort built maybe fifteen years ago or less on huge grounds with a swimming pool, imaginative playground, various gardens, tennis courts, and a go cart course.  But shortly after it was built, the tourist industry collapsed after the 1997 race riots in Indonesia, then the Bali bombing. 
 When we were there we were occupying two of the six total occupied rooms, out of a total of at least 200 rooms.  It is a real shame.  In keeping with the Indonesian sense of nature.  The grounds outside were much better maintained than the rooms within.

 
There are wonderful opportunities to see marvelous things and experience great adventures in Sumatra and the rest of Indonesia, but for a variety of reasons, which I will expound upon later.  This simply has not happened.  And so, we encounter a number of these sort of ghost resorts and desolate tourist destinations. 

The night we spent in Brastagi, however, Ralph and I decided to go on a Durian hunt.  The fruit was in season, and this area was very big on Durian. 

 For those of you unfamiliar with Durian.  Let me explain that there are some fruits that are a sight to behold like fresh rasperries and blackberries, tiny jewels of fruit.  There are some fruits which are a taste to behold like a fresh plum or peach that explode sweet juice into your mouth upon bite.  Then there are some fruits which tempt you with their sweet intoxicating fragrance like oranges and strawberries. Some fruits tease you with their texture like pomegranates and passion fruit.  The Durian is the opposite of these fruits.  It has no siren song to tempt you.  Instead it comes to you wrapped in a thick spiked husk and bludgeons you with its odiferous presence.  It is the Attila the Hun of fruits:  armored for battle and reeking from the stench of rot and decay.  You can smell it a block away, this sulfurous fruit from hell.  But just as Satan’s story in Paradise Lost is a far headier and heart thumping  read than the story of Paradise Regained, and Lola gets what Lola wants in Damned Yankees,  so too, many people are intoxicated by this Lolita of fruit.  Quite simply it smells like hell, but it has this enticing custardy texture that is sweet and savory, but neither too sweet nor too savory.  Like some heady narcotic, it plays games with your senses.  One is repelled and enticed at the same time.  It could be the patron fruit of masochists. 
It is banned on the Singapore subway.  Many restaurants refuse to serve it.  Airlines will not allow passengers to bring it aboard planes. 

Sign on the Singapore subway

 But Indonesians make a form of Christmas yule log with it (for the Muslims it is an Idul Fitri yule log), or they make Durian Ice Cream,  Durian cream cookies, and many other sweets.  They even make Sambal Tempoyak, which is a Sumatran dish made from the fermented durian fruit, coconut milk, and a collection of spicy ingredients known as sambal.  I shudder to think what that taste likes. 
But for the true Durian lovers, the fruit alone is not enough, even the pits can be consumed.  They can be roasted or stewed and mashed.  They are supposed to have the texture of yams or taro, and can be made into a sweet or savory dish.

So Ralph and I found ourselves in the back of a van driving down the dark night streets of Brastagi in search of fresh Durian fruit.  We drove through the city square and passed the night market which was filled with people on the street selling fresh fruits and vegetables, tee shirts, used clothing, used books, and just about anything else you could possibly need at 9:30 in the evening.  We drove down past the hustle and bustle of the city center along a street where the street lights were spaced further and further apart.  And then, there on the very outskirts of the city under the radius of a single sulforous yellow street lamp were two older women with several young girls huddled beside them.  The women were armed with these huge machetes with which they were hacking away at two huge dark piles.  The children were stacking the shattered remains to one side.  The windows to our vehicle were shut tight, but the smell was unmistakable:  Durian.  We pulled over and got out.  After some short negotiations with the older women, and a smile and nod to the children, a man stepped out of the shadows and drew up a wooden table and two chairs onto the sidewalk.  Ralph and I sat down and the old woman placed before us three huge Durian which she had cut in half.  The smell was overwhelming.  We were both a bit timid and frightened.  But the old woman smiled knowingly.  The table man laughed.  I picked up half a fruit and dug in with two fingers.  It had the texture of butter with  thin strings of over ripe mango.  The smell was horrible but ceased once the fruit hit your mouth.  The flavor was not bad, but it fell hard on my knotted stomach.  After several helpings I had had enough, but I had eaten only a quarter of one fruit.  Each fruit contained at least a quart of pulp.  I had eaten one cup and had five more to go to meet my quota.  And like some evil narcotic I found that I did not want more, but I could not stop myself from gorging.  I ate until I felt almost ill.  Yet the woman was cutting up more.  I protested: cukup- enough.  She did not hear me.  I looked to our driver for help, but he was standing across the street.  I waved him over to help us eat, but he firmly stood his ground.  He was not a Durian aficiando.  I called over to our guide, who professed a love of Durian, but he too begged off.  Ralph in the meantime had taken on the strange glow of our street lamp.  We were done.  The Attila the Hun of fruit had slayed us.

As we headed back to the hotel, I could taste the sulpherous fumes of this hellish fruit bubble up from my nether regions.  I needed a drink.  But our guide cautioned us.  Whatever we do, we must not drink alcohol after eating this fruit.  It can be a lethal combination.  Men have died eating durian and drinking palm wine.  Ralph and I dragged ourselves back to the hotel and each donned a pot of  kopi susu.  Thick black coffee made thicker still with sweeten condensed milk.  Having duly coated our stomachs and doused the volcanos of our gut we headed off to our rooms.  I brushed my teeth, gums, lips, mouth and throat for about fifteen minutes straight before climbing into bed.  The coffee kicked in.  I lay on my back staring at the ceiling. Eventually I drifted off and down the rabbit hole of dark and furious dreams.

Durian is a fruit everyone must experience at least once.  Come to Indonesia and I will guide you down that darken road.

   The next day on our way to  Samosir on Lake Toba, we passed a number of small resorts that offered hot sulpher mineral springs for therapeutic bathing around the base of Mt. Sibayak.  But we were anxious to get to Samosir, which was still a four or five hour drive, so we decided to pass on this opportunity.  Besides, I had experienced enough sulphery therapeutics for this trip.