From tropical island fantasies to grim reality in Indonesia’s Togian Islands, magnet for divers: dynamited coral, marauding crocs, surly staff, and meals fit for dogs
- Sun-kissed islands, dugong, endangered turtles – Central Sulawesi’s Togian Islands seemed to have a lot going for them. The reality proved very different
- Reef fish were scarce, crocodiles made kayaking a no-no, resorts offered dire food and scant sleep, and tourists who abort their trip wait hours for a boat out
Difficult to get to but a magnet for divers, Central Sulawesi’s Togian Islands National Marine Park is the largest in Indonesia.
It ostensibly protects 56 sun-kissed islands and 132,000 hectares (510 square miles) of coral reef – an area nearly twice the size of Singapore – and is a breeding ground for dugong and critically endangered hawksbill turtles.
The park is also home to unique species of jellyfish that live in a lake. Isolated from predators, they lost the ability and necessity to sting through evolution. Swimming among them is said to be an otherworldly experience.
With so much going for them, the Togian Islands were long near the top of my travel bucket list. But they turn out to be a huge disappointment.
My trip begins with a flight from Bali to the bustling port city of Makassar, in South Sulawesi. There I catch a second flight to Ampana, a smaller port city, on the south coast of the Gulf of Tomini, in Central Sulawesi, where I stay the night.
The following morning I catch a motor rickshaw taxi to the harbour for a ferry to Wakai, the largest village on the Togian Islands. The local passengers are friendly, and share their coffee and conversation.
You can’t be too uptight when travelling on a budget in Indonesia
The marine life also rolls out the red carpet. Halfway through the 4.5-hour crossing, we are intercepted by dolphins that swim along the bow and perform aerial flips in our wake.
Things start to go south when I land in Wakai, which is surrounded by dirty water and mudflats roamed at night by saltwater crocodiles. The word on the street – a strip of mud edged by stores full of junk food and hardware supplies – is that a fisherman was eaten by a crocodile the day before I arrived.
Tourists don’t spend much time in Wakai. Most are transferred on small outrigger motor boats to one of the 20-or-so barefoot resorts sprinkled around the Togians as soon as they arrive. But the resort at which I have a booking, and which insisted I pay in advance, has forgotten about me.
With no other option, I hire a boat for 150,000 rupiah (US$10) to take me to the resort, which shall remain unnamed.
The 30-minute journey past the dramatic headlands of the largest island and limestone karsts that rise like giant chess pieces from the sea is magical. Arriving at the crystal-clear lagoon in front of the resort is also the stuff of tropical island fantasies.
For 350,000 rupiah per person per night including meals, the resort appears to be a steal. I have paid the equivalent of more than twice that amount just for laundry at a luxury resort in the Maldives.
The dining room and dive centre are run down but my room is clean and the bed comfortable, with a mosquito net. There is a Western-style toilet, cold shower and hammock on the balcony.
Lunch is served soon after I arrive, and I begin to understand why the place is so cheap: cold and clumpy rice with skipjack tuna, a nutritious but pungent source of protein that costs 8,000 rupiah per serve in Indonesia and is often fed to dogs.
Dinner will prove to be the same, and breakfast a plain omelette or small stack of oily pancakes.
Some of the other guests appreciate the simplicity.
“I like the fact that the food is taken care of,” says Ned Atkinson, a 22-year-old backpacker from Australia. “In other parts of Indonesia, we were given menus with 100 different rice dishes that all seemed the same. And the rooms are pretty good compared to other places we’ve stayed at.”
Adds his brother Tom: “We’re used to this kind of accommodation. You can’t be too uptight when travelling on a budget in Indonesia.”
The following morning I want to take one of the resort’s kayaks out and paddle around the island. But the staff, who can barely be bothered to speak with me, warn against going to the eastern side of the island because of the crocodiles that live in the mangroves.
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I’m no zoologist, but I suspect the crocodiles can swim a few miles in either direction and that kayaking on the Togians could be detrimental to one’s health.
A review posted on Tripadvisor by a tourist who stayed at a different resort shared similar concerns: “An absolute outrage and warning …. They feed a wild crocodile just 100 metres behind the house reef.
“The two owners … don’t give a s*** about guests and their environment. Especially as a ‘dive centre’, it is an absolute no-go to feed a wild crocodile behind the cottages!”
Back home, you long for escape, to feel free. But when you stay here, there’s nowhere to go. It’s ironic, being in such a beautiful place but feeling trapped.
I shoot a glance at the house reef, where a dozen guests are snorkelling over the coral. If there had been any crocodiles in the water, it would already have turned blood red. Throwing caution to the wind, I grab a mask and pair of flippers and wade in.
Below the surface are tropical fish and a large coral garden. But most of it is colourless, broken or plain dead.
A report on Travelfish, a popular online resource for budget travel in Southeast Asia, explains why. “While above the water the islands are little developed, below the waves it’s a different story.
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“Since the early 1990s, highly destructive fishing methods like dynamite fishing and cyanide poisoning have been widely used in the Togians, causing a steep decline in fish numbers and immense shallow reef damage. Sharks, large fish and turtles are rarely seen.”
I am famished when I come out of the water but can’t stomach the idea of eating skipjack again. So I move to a nearby resort that is in better condition and charges US$10 more per person per night.
The facilities, service and overall vibe are much better. Skipjack tuna is also served for lunch but for dinner there is pumpkin soup and chicken curry. But with no ice or refrigeration, the drinking water is lukewarm. And at 10.30pm, the generator is turned off, disabling the fan in my room, turning it into a sauna. I barely sleep a wink.
When the sun rises, I decide to cut my holiday short. The manager organises a boat to take me and a few other guests back to Wakai at 2pm for the connecting ferry back to the mainland, which is scheduled to leave at 5pm.
By 4pm, the boat has still not arrived. I am nervous and agitated, like a rat in a cage, repeating the iconic line from “Hotel California” over and over in my head: “You can check out any time you want but you can never leave.”
Some of the other guests feel the same.
“Back home, you long for escape, to feel free, to get away from all the c**p you have to deal with every day,” says Nazario Salvador, a tourist from Spain. “But when you stay here, there’s nowhere to go. No restaurants or bars or beaches, no privacy at all.
“And you’re completely dependent on the resort to supply all your basic needs. It’s ironic, being in such a beautiful place but feeling trapped at the same time.”
When the boat finally arrives, at 4.30pm, I feel like Tom Hanks in Castaway after he escapes from the tropical island he has been marooned on for years.
The Togian Islands look heavenly. But for me, they felt like hell.
