Gentrification

Three kids in the village of Wailamung, Flores

Like yuppies moving to the less desirable parts of towns,the ex-pat and wealthy locals are slowly taking over certain harbors in the Western Pacific, moving like a slow-moving warm front from east to west. We saw it near-maturity in the Galapagos, where soft-serve ice cream and pizza joints dotted the newly-refurbished waterfront. The old fishing docks, where the local fishermen brought their catch each morning, had been been relegated to a small corner a few hundred yards away from the new docks. In the Marquesas, the primary port was much less developed, owning in part to its remoteness and lack of regular air service, but there it was: a wood-fired pizza joint, right on the water. Still, Hiva Oa is years if not decades away from the kind of development that characterized the port of Papeete, Tahiti, with its lavish French subsidies and western-style commercial and business environment.

From there westward, development became more spotty. In the western Society islands – Moorea, Bora Bora – there were up-scale resorts, but off the resorts, it was still very rural, undeveloped, and primitive. One small 'yacht club' in Tahaa, just west of Moorea, typified the middle ground -- sand floors, local cuisine, local staff, ex-pat owner, and western-style blues and rock, circa 1975, blaring steadily from the speaker system. In Rarotonga, with its significant New Zealand population and subsidies, the island as a whole had been largely developed along its coastline, but inshore, little had changed in the last 50 years or so. Niue was still rather untouched by western influence – a dive shop and the local ‘yacht club’ were the only evidence of ex-pat mentality.

Twins in the tiny village of Wailamung, Flores

By the time we got to Tonga, we had either given up hope or become accustomed to the western-style amenities in our port, so we were not surprised to discover a narrow sliver of bars, pizza joints, and dive shops when we arrived at Neifu, in the Va'vau group. Lovely set of owners, the usual gang of cruisers drinking the usual beers, and, the real give-away: 60s, 70s and 80s-style rock music from the speaker system -- Stones, Jethro Tull, Beatles, Hendrix, Springsteen, Led Zeppelin, etc. Once we traveled south in Tonga, all signs of development/gentrification disappeared completely, and from there we sailed west to to Fiji, where the pace of local and ex-pat development of picturesque harbors seemed to pick up pace. Quite apart from the considerable Indian influence in Fiji, a number of the resorts on the lovely small islands that dot its waters were owned by ex-pats, and resembled in no small or accidental way the resorts featured in Conde Nast’s Traveler.

From Fiji to Vanuatu, where, as readers may recall, the patterns of life seem to have not changed since the late 1800s. From there we jump-shifted to the purely Western port of Cairns, Australia, and then back in time to the tiny Banda Islands and then Ambon. We've written previously about the Banda Islands -- removed in time and distance, and still ambling along in the wake of centuries of colonial occupation. The market there is seemingly unchanged from a market of yesteryear ... the local dive shop is run out of an abandoned hotel lobby by a local, using a government start-up grant. No gentrification there.

Market street in Bandaneira, Banda Islands

Ambon is a city, pure and simple -- dirty streets, worn buildings, a commercial port, and one small storefront business after another. We didn't see another westerner there. Nice two-room houses butted up against tarpaper shacks and open sewer rivulets. No gentrification.

A main street in busy Ambon

After Ambon, we spent a few days in the tiny remote village of Wailamung on the northeast coast of Flores -- about 1500 people mostly living off the land, a contrast to the sea-based subsistence living we've seen throughout the Pacific. The waters of Indonesia are, sadly, heavily fished out, and even now, desperate locals take to using dynamite and cyanide (!) to shock/poison the few remaining reef fish.

Tuesday market by the beach in Wailamung, Flores

We arrived on a Sunday, and happened on the annual village-to-village contest/celebration with Wailamung and an adjacent village -- soccer and volleyball games, a big feast, and music and dancing to dawn ... I was treated as a visiting guest of honor as they conducted the opening ceremonies for the soccer match -- conducted on a scraggy field and bamboo goals ... the players wore their uniforms proudly, even if the ball refused to travel in a straight line across the goat-cropped pitch. I noted with a smile that the battery-operated stereo system blared out the theme to the recent South African-hosted World Cup as the players took the field. Details matter.

The feast took a lot of preparation; men butchered three sea turtles -- again, exceptions to the general ban on hunting these animals are made for local peoples who have depended on them for food for generations. The women were busy screening, washing, and cooking the rice in huge pots over woodstick fires, and the children ran around as they usually do when adults are busy preparing the meal.  See here for a video summary of the day.

Cleaning the turtles for the Sunday village feast

After the time spent in the village of Waiulamung, I realized that since leaving Cairns in mid-May, with a passing exception at Thursday Island, where the Torres Strait island people dominated, we really hadn't seen any western influence or westerners. In fact, since leaving Thursday Island, we hadn't even seen any sail boats!

However, we encountered a few sailboats as we approached arriving Labuan Bajo on the western coast of Flores, adjacent to the marine park that protects Komodo Island and its many tiny island neighbors, and, once ashore, we no longer wondered where the westerners in Indonesia went.

Main Street in Lambuan Bajo, Flores

Wham. Here's where they all are -- the waterfront is as dusty and ramshackle as we've seen, but we're in the midst of a genuine gentrification program here. At least 6 dive shops, small and not-so--small restaurants, usually on the second floor to overlook the harbor (and sit above the local's corrugated-tin-roof shacks that line the trash-strewn, rocky waterfront), and lots of small souvenir shops run by locals. The street (only one road) is under construction -- widening, as well as a sidewalk of sorts -- and there's a commercial buzz in the air. The Lonely Planet says this town is aiming to be the "next big thing" and it seems that if money talks, it's on its way. Located just a few short miles from dozens of the world's best diving and snorkeling sites, and islands that still feature the near-mythical Komodo Dragon, as well as hosts of other flora and fauna, this town seems well-positioned for that kind of future.

Boats alongside in Labuan Bajo

I don't begrudge them that future; I do hope the ex-pats that seem to run the resorts and dive shops and restaurants engage in the welfare of the local community; there remains a deep poverty throughout Indonesia, especially if one ventures just a block off the main street. I do appreciate the western meal and bread, and the reliable internet access. As I write this, I can even find myself tapping my feet to the sounds of Bob Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone," as it blares out on the wall-mounted Bose speakers. 60s music -- the sign of an island ex-pat!

But I am also looking forward to weighing anchor, now that the official port formalities are complete, our western appetites sated, and our emails up to date. In a few days we sail an hour west of here, and spend a week or so exploring the natural attractions that have led to this small fishing port's recent and ongoing development. I wish them well, and hope that the additional tourist traffic that both encourages and results from such development neither damages the environment nor the dreams, aspirations, and welfare of the local Indonesians. Time will tell.

Looking west from our anchorage
as a local boat returns to Labuan Bajo, Flores