Melancholy was the feeling as the ferry departed from Samosir. From the corner of my eyes I saw Lekjon’s red Batak rooftop getting farther and smaller until it finally disappeared behind rolling hills and mountains.  The emerald green water, bluish sky and lush hills waved us farewell in between the roaring engine. And the ferry continued to glide through the serene lake, without much regards to our feelings. C’est la vie. That’s life. Meeting and parting are life’s norm. Deep down I hoped I would set my foot on this beautiful and peaceful island again.

 A slight touch on my shoulder woke me up from my daydream. “We are here” said DH curtly. Faintly I saw the small town of Parapat, which we had just left the day before. We followed the flock down to the jetty as the ferry berthed, and found that our driver (whom taxi we had chartered earlier) already waiting for us. We thought of lunch as we haven’t had anything since morning, yet we felt a bit awkward in asking. But the growl in our stomach was getting louder by the minute and refuted any act of modesty.

We continued with our journey to Brastagi after a quick lunch. It is easy usually to fall asleep when traveling with a full stomach, but that was hardly the case today. The view outside was too much to be wasted dozing off. As we ascended the hilly slope I throw my last gaze at the lake, all sparkling and glittering like a canvas of diamonds as it basked in the afternoon sun. Colorful boats roam its calm waters and church steeples stick out from lush greeneries like mushrooms after the rain. I had my eyes fixed on the wonderful vista as they slowly faded from our sight.

A lonely and gloomy road lay ahead of us as I looked forward, sucking every single drop of happiness that I’d just been bestowed. Pak Deni, our driver had his focus on the road, while DH – with his MP3 player stuck on both ears (like always) was lost in his own world. Nothing interesting outside to keep me occupied and sleeping (when you are not sleepy) is really a feeble idea of fast forwarding the time (what a waste!). And it was still a long way to our next destination. Earlier I witnessed some boats headed to a secluded cliff, and that photographic memory of mine struck my curiosity hard. A good point nonetheless to crack the ice.

“Tadi saya lihat ada bot yang menuju ke tebing terpencil. Ke mana mereka Pak?”  I asked Pak Deni, in my very much noticeably unsuccessful Indonesian tone.

(Just now I saw some boats headed to a secluded cliff. Do you know where are they going?)

 “Oh itu, bot membawa wisatawan ke Batu Gantung” answered Pak Deni short.

(Oh, those are tourist boats going to the Hanging Rock).

 “Batu gantung? Belum pernah lagi saya dengar mengenainya. Tentang apa Batu Gantung itu ya Pak?“

(Hanging Rock? I’ve never heard about it before. What is it all about?)

“Kononnya dulu ada perawan yang membunuh diri disitu kerna gagal percintaan, namun mayatnya tersangkut di tebing lalu bertukar menjadi batu.”

(It says that there used to be a maiden who committed suicide at the cliff due to a failed romance, but her body got stuck and turned to stone.)

It turned out to be an off-putting folklore which I had no interest in pursuing, considering we were in the middle of nowhere. Pak Deni seemed to warm up as we changed the topic about his homeland and we ended up chatting all the way to Berastagi, or rather half the way. Cause I can’t really remember falling asleep out of sheer anxiety and acute nervous breakdown – thanks to his remarkable driving proficiency of dodging head-on collision with other vehicles at mere seconds’ precision!

Hello, Si Piso Piso

We were rudely awaken somewhere around Merek by the constant bumps of the pot holed road and Pak Deni’s oblivion to his own speed. From there he turned left, and continued driving until we arrived at a gate post. After one hell of a breakneck journey from Parapat I was happy that we finally in the presence of the majestic Si Piso-Piso, very much alive and kicking.

But I digressed.

As soon as he parked the car, I jumped out and rushed towards the food stalls. Si Piso Piso is just a few meters away, but that has to wait for more pressing matter. Finding the toilet.

The view of Si Piso Piso at 3pm, and the light was harsh. Plus I was too lazy to go down for a different angle, knowing how much it will take to climb up again. Plunging from a crevice at 120m precipice straight into the gorge down below, Si Piso Piso is the highest waterfall in Indonesia and one of the impressive. The high fall is thrusting every single drops of water into razor sharp dive, thus earned the name (Piso means knife). The thundering roar adds up to the splendor, and I cannot help to think how it feels standing on the verge of the waterfall and look down. A crazy blend of bewilderment and fear, it must be. Then suddenly it hits me. The memory of me sitting casually on the brim of Jelawang Waterfall last time, and it was twice in height. The only salvation was not being able to see how high the fall is. I shuddered to that thought.

 Some view of Si Piso Piso.

The falls flow directly into Lake Toba, and there she was, in her full gracefulness as I turned my back. The last time I saw her was hours ago and never thought I would see it again. It felt like we never parted, really! It was so huge that we were actually circumnavigating its perimeter and that took us 3 hours driving just to arrive at Si Piso Piso, which rest on the northern tip of the lake.

Berastagi, menjuah-juah!

The word “menjuah-juah” welcomed us as we entered the township of Berastagi. If Horas is the typical greeting by the Batak people of Lake Toba, menjuah-juah is a more preferred word of the Batak Karo, the ethnic people of Berastagi, and it is reflected everywhere – the streets, the landmarks, advertising banners, sign post etc. Since it was almost dark, we asked Pak Deni to drop us straight away at Wisma Sibayak, where we planned to stay for the night.

Wisma Sibayak was basic, but I really love the ambience. The room was nice and clean but again, lacked the water heater. Hot shower was somehow a luxury both here and Tuktuk, and comes only with the most expensive rooms (which unfortunately way out of my scarce budget and most of the time are fully occupied). The cheapest rooms they got were all taken, so we have to consider an upgrade. The room costs us additional few Rupiahs but compensated with breakfast and a view.

Sipping hot coffee in the cold afternoon overlooking the well manicured lawn of Wisma Sibayak was simply cozy.

We sampled some street food for dinner that night, and I’d been tempted to try the bread toast. At Rp6000 per piece the portion was hefty; with variety choice of fillings from chocolate to peanut butter and blueberry.

The next day we woke up early, with the intention of visiting the Gundaling Hill before going back to Medan.  As usual I went into the bathroom for a shower, and totally forgotten about the absence of the water heater. As the water touched my skin, my body jolted with pin prick sensation made by every tiny droplet, sending shivers all the way to my brain. It was so freezing cold that I found it really hard to convince myself for a second dipper. Being at 1400m above sea level, it is cold in Berastagi especially in the morning. The last time I had shower was a day ago when we were still in Parapat, so I was totally clueless how icy the water could be. Feeling sticky and musty, I decided to rather have a cold shower than no shower. Although to say it was the quickest I ever had.

After breakfast we scaled the Gundaling Hill with our rented motorbike, cruising through the winding road leaving the hectic Berastagi and Mount Sinabung behind us. The old Honda underbone took us past some lovely villages and verdant valleys,  while the smoky Mount Sibayak watching us from afar. Horses were seen grazing the grass freely and farmers, in their rubber boots and Batik headwear were already out working in the morning sun. We got our fingers numbed by the cold breeze, but were too fascinated with the fresh landscape to even notice.

Horses grazing the grass by the roadside unattended, spotted on our way to Gundaling.

Like any cold hilly areas, Berastagi is also synonym as the producer of various types of vegetables, fruits and flowers, and the production yields for the needs of people of Medan and other cities in North Sumatra. Stretching over thousand of hectares, the plains are full with squares of seedbeds of various patterns and sizes; they somehow reminded me of those quilts my late grandmother used to make.

 Little house on the prairie valley.

Happy farmers we met along the way.

Arriving fairly early, we found Gundaling relatively quiet. Despite a few stray dogs, some small kiosks and food stalls just about to start operating, there was no one else around and we got to enjoy the view all to ourselves. From the look out point we could see clearly the three mountains of the Karo Land – Mount Sibayak, Mount Sinabung and Mount Baros; standing aloof like some sentinels guarding the town of Berastagi.

Morning view, with the Barisan Range on the western side.

DH here is showing the technique of smoking without the need to light up – a new method for those who want to quit smoking.

We spent the time enjoying the view and a walk around the park under the pine, fir and colorful flowers (and got chased by the stray dogs!). There were horses for hire too, around Rp60,000 per hour.

Mount Sibayak. The kind lady that manned the Wisma Sibayak told us that there’s a replica of the famous Shwedagon Paya at the foot of the mountain, about 20 minutes ride from Berastagi town.  You could spot its golden colored dome from Gundaling.

Berastagi Fruit Market

The cool climate is very much in favour of these flowers.

After a few poses here and there and several takes at the smoky Sinabung, we left the Gundaling and made a quick stop at the fruits and flower markets in Berastagi.  As the name implies, local agricultural products are an easy catch here, especially the passion fruits and tamarillos, both being Berastagi specialties. These fruits could be bought fresh or in the form of processed juice.

Apart from vegetables and fruits, some of the kiosks were selling souvenirs from mere key chains and fridge magnets, t-shirts, bracelets, bags and sandals with ethnic Batak’s motifs. From our observation the price was much cheaper here than Parapat, albeit a little bit less on the variation. With only a few Rupiah left we didn’t venture into shopping; instead we walked to the post office next to the market for our pathetic customary habit of sending postcards to ourselves.

In the following week after returning home from Medan we found our cheapest souvenir safely delivered to our mailbox; although out of two postcards I sent out only one managed to find home. When we were there I didn’t bought anything for myself as keepsake, but I guessed a single verbatim proof of our memory in Samosir and Berastagi should be more than enough.

Our inaugural introduction to the Batak animism culture begun en route to Simanindo, where we accidently came across a stone-carved effigy and a signboard that says “Welcome to the Historical Site of Parulubalangan”. Curious, we decided to stop by and check it out.

 The stone-carved effigy that guards the entrance to Parulubalangan.

As we entered the site, an old man in sarong approached and introduced himself as the keeper. According to him, the place was once an orchard belongs to a village, and the fate of any enemy or thief who had been caught trespassing will be decided at the stone table and chairs by the village elders.

Another view of the stone table. One thing interesting about the Batak is that they were once practice cannibalism, with these wrongdoers being their usual targets. Victim deemed guilty and deserved death will be beheaded, their flesh cooked and eaten and their blood drank!

The place was also the village site of worship. Clumps of human hair, an old pottery and primitive figurines are some of the relics that could still be seen. I forgot to ask whether those clumps of hair belong to the victims. High chances they are! @_@

From Parulubalungan we continued our journey to Huta Siallagan, a small village in Ambarita, about 10km from Tuktuk. Founded by the Siallagan clan hundred years ago (thus explain the name), the village is surrounded by thick brick walls and was once planted with bamboo in order to keep the village of the enemy and wild animals. The entrance is guarded with a large stone statue known as Panglulubalang, believed to be the village guardian and to ward off evil spirits.

As we passed the entrance we arrived at the village courtyard, where eight traditional Batak houses were built adjacent to each other. Each house was usually inhabited by more than one to four families, and they are still looking strong and firm despite being hundreds of years old. The space underneath the house is where the livestock are kept.

In the middle of the courtyard there is a large tree known as Hau Habonaran which literally means the ‘Tree of Truth’, with a cluster of stone chairs and table rested beneath it. The tree was planted by the village founders; if it grows that means the place was suitable for a settlement. Similar to Parulubalungan, the stone chairs it is the place where the king and village elders held council and discussed about the village affairs, and also a place for trials and hearing criminal case.

While waiting for trial the offender is kept under the Chief’s house, with leg cuffs and all.

If the offender were found guilty of a serious crime, he will be taken to a second trial stone for execution, not far from the first one. The appropriate execution day was chosen according to the Batak calendar, and after consulting the village elders. What happen next is spine-chilling. To ensure the victims were rid of his supernatural powers should he have any, his body will be slashed with sharp knife over and over again until there’s no more blood coming out. This so called ‘cleansing ritual’ further continues where the lime water is dripped into the cut of the victim’s heavily mutilated body until the King shaman is satisfied that the villain no longer has any magical powers. The victim immediately executed afterwards, usually with a single blow, which separated his head from the body. The shaman then stabs the heart of the victim with a piece of wood and removed his heart, to be eaten by the king. The Batak believed that by eating of the flesh of the enemy, they will gain strength and power. This barbaric act also serves as a mean to frighten the would-be invaders.

I had enough of blood and killing for one day, so we walked back to the main courtyard and decided to inspect the interior of one of the Batak houses. What amazes me it was the same house built hundred of years ago during the King Siallagan era (except the roof, where they have been changed to modern zinc material), and we found it still stout and sturdy. If you notice, traditional Batak houses has typical small door and I always wonder the rationale behind it. I later learned that it was purposely built in such a way so that the guest will have to be careful and bow down when entering, as to avoid the low beam above. The act of bowing is thus indirectly showing respect and courtesy to the owner of the house.

Traditional Batak drums made of cow’s skin. It was a bit small and cramp inside the house – without any room, and I wonder how it fits four families staying together. Although the witty in me is more curious on how couples spent their ’private moments’ with the rest of families around. Haih!

Colorful Ulos, the traditional hand-woven Batak cloth that is mostly worn during important events and ceremonies.

We rode as far as Simanindo, and then returned back to touristy Tomok for some quick shopping. A glance at the watch showing 10am; as we still have a few hours before the boat back to Parapat me and DH agreed that we should pay a visit to King Sidabutar’s grave.

Since the tomb was hidden from the main road, we asked a local chap to its whereabouts and he was so kind to even extent his help by riding with us and guide the way. He took us through some small alley with souvenir stalls line up on both sides, and the tomb was located at the end of the path. We couldn’t thank him enough for his kindness; parked our bike under the shade of tree blossoming with pinkish bell flowers and walked to the main gate. No fee was asked for entering, in substitute visitors are requested to don the Ulos (which can be loaned at the gate) as a symbol of respect.

Our gaze immediately fell on the ulos-adorned sarcophagi as we entered the graveyard; with some of them look ancient while  a few seem more modern with sign of crosses embellished on them. The biggest and the most majestic of them have some carvings on it, which resembles the face of a man. A figure which looks like a woman is sitting at the other end, while another image of a man is carved underneath his beard. It appears that this is the tomb of King Sidabutar, one of the earliest kings of Batak that first settled in Samosir. The image of the man under his beard was the king’s most loyal guardian, while the woman is said to be his betrothed but without fulfillment.

Spotted some child-size tombs in the compound, perhaps belong to royal family members who died young.

We drifted to the back of the main graveyard, and found ourselves in a field littered with stone statues about waist high, which purpose still a mystery to me.

Another set of statues in the backyard of King Sidabutar grave.

Apart from the King Sidabutar stone casket, decrepit statues, sculpture of lizards and breasts (a symbol of fertility no less) there’s nothing much to see and visiting grave sort of giving me this creepy feeling so we decided to cheer ourselves with some shopping at the many souvenir stalls outside the compound. But that, is another story.

Two weeks had passed since my last write up about Samosir. Many had happened during those time – I’d been to several interesting places if not caught up with my menial day-to-day life; the reason why this blog wasn’t updated at the pace it should be. Other time saw me staring blankly for hours at my computer screen, fallen deep into the bottomless abyss of a writer’s block unable to find the best word to illustrate the beauty of Samosir and its people. I’ve left part of me there leaving an empty hole inside my heart, an emptiness that I fail to describe.  If any, the rock-bottom spirit and the lack of time (if not my lame excuses) are the main contributors of this backlog. For the sake of this entry and the next, I tried hard to reminisce over those beautiful moments I had there, but words seemed to inexplicably slip my waning mind. The two months lapsed after I returned home from Medan had completely turned those bitter-sweet memories into some ephemeral dream, if not for these photos of mine. A careless bunch of photos that I took during my journey are now the only evidence that I was there. In a beautiful dreamland. And I wasn’t dreaming.

 p/s: Untuk adik-adikku di Tanah Toba,  ini kakak titipkan foto-foto buat tatapan kamu. Semoga kamu ceria selalu. Terima kasih atas kenangan itu.

I see trees of green, red roses too
I see them bloom for me and you
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky
Are also on the faces of people going by
I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do
They’re really saying I love you.

I hear babies crying, I watch them grow
They’ll learn much more than I’ll never know
And I think to myself what a wonderful world
Yes I think to myself what a wonderful world.

- ‘What A Wonderful World’ by Bob Thiele and George David Weiss

We safely landed at the Polonia International Airport on the early morning of Sept the 15th, after 45 minutes flying from LCCT. Ignoring the constant touts of the airport taxi drivers, we walked past the gate towards the emerald green gas station, and found it to be Petronas, our national petroleum company. We hailed a becak from there, and asked for Terminal Amplas. So much into cutting our budget short that we had to endure the back-aching journey to the bus station, squeezing ourselves inside the cramp becak and inhaling clouds of black exhausts and street dust. So much for an adventure.

 Us inside the becak to Terminal Amplas.

Since we haven’t had breakfast, we decided to eat first by one of the stall at the bus terminal before embarking another 4 hours journey to Parapat.  The only available menu was Soto Medan so we took the opportunity to taste it for the first time. A bit different from the typical clear chicken soup soto we have back home, soto Medan is cooked in thick yellowish spicy chicken soup more like a green curry. Instead eating with rice vermicelli or rice cake like we always do in Malaysia, it is eaten with plain rice and we simply add the potato croquettes as side dish.

Bus ticket to Parapat.

We quickly ate our breakfast and before long found ourselves inside our ride. It’s norm for the bus to wait until it’s fully occupied, and as we were among the last to get on so it wasn’t a long wait. The ride costs us 25 thousand Rupiah each and it is the cheapest mode of transport to Lake Toba.

Nothing much to say about the bus journey except that the seat was a bit cramped (like the bus seat on our ride to Tagaytay last time) but again there wasn’t many people on board so we had the seats all to ourselves. The inside was a bit stuffy as the only ventilation was from the small opening of the glass panels above our heads, and there was no aircond. A bit uncomfortable, but bearable until at the moment when it started to rain and we had to shut those panels to prevent the incoming rain. The man behind our seat suddenly decided to while the time with some cigarette, and he was smoking and puffing like nobody business inside that enclosed coach. Apparently it was common in Medan, as another man lighted up his Gudang Garam. Grey stale fumes wafted the air, and I was coughing terribly from the passive second hand smoking and so did DH. In low voice I heard him grumbling, albeit being the heavy smoker himself. With a laugh I told him that he should by now understand my feelings every time he smokes in front of me.

Fortunately the rain was only a while, and I quickly opened the glass panel for fresh air. More and more people onboard the bus, especially somewhere along Tebing Tinggi where we stopped to accommodate commuters from another bus which had broken down. From there we were sharing our seats with an old Batak lady. With DH in the middle I was squeezed to the wall and could barely move my legs. Definitely the seats are child-size, and not anywhere fit for three adults.  Well we got what we paid for, and wasn’t complaining. We were relieved when she get off from the bus an hour later and reclaimed our breathable space. The bus stopped for more passengers at Permatang Siantar bus terminal and from there we continued our journey to Parapat. An hour later the bus started climbing uphill, the air get chilled and cozy. Lake Toba was revealed to us bit by bit as we bent down the curvy road, and was so awestruck with the beautiful landscape of green rolling hills and bluish lake that served our eyes. Horas to the Land of Batak!

It was around 2pm when we arrived at the quaint Parapat town, and asked the driver to drop us at Tigaraja jetty. Eventually the bus didn’t go that way, and the driver was kind enough to let us off at the nearby street. From there we had to walk a few hundred meters to the jetty and had our simple lunch at one of the muslim restaurant there.

It appears that there is a morning market by the jetty, although not much since it was already noon. We managed to snap a few photos of the market while waiting for the boat to Samosir, an isthmus island of Lake Toba where we will spend our night. Before that we booked a taxi to Berastagi for tomorrow, and had to charter a private ride since the shared taxi was only available very early in the morning. There’s no public bus going to Berastagi from Parapat as it is not a popular route.

Batak woman selling bananas at Tigaraja Market.

Salak fruits at Tigaraja Market.

Dried fish sellers, Tigaraja.

Tigaraja Jetty in Parapat. Boats to Tomok and Tuktuk in Samosir runs every 1 hour, and the last boat departs from the jetty at 6pm.

We hopped onto the boat as soon as it arrived, and other than ourselves and a group of Westerners, most of the passengers are locals. Based on the recommendation we got from the net, we decided to stay by the quieter Tuktuk  instead of heading to the touristy Tomok. We paid Rp7000 each for the trip.

I saw this man with his nets, as the boat slowly left the jetty.

We chose to sit by the open deck, and enjoying the refreshing view was never boring. I saw a bunch of life jackets and floats, and wondered whether they were enough for all of us. Toba is also the deepest lake as it is large, and we were sailing in an old antic. I was hoping that all is fine.

Toba is the largest caldera lake in the world formed by super volcanic activity about seventy thousand years ago and it took about an hour to get across. Surrounded by green and lush mountains, it is a beautiful sight to behold. The stunning view kept us occupied most of the time, and that 1 hour seemed to fly pretty fast.

Samosir mountain range.

A local man came to sit in front of me, chatting casually with one of the Caucasian woman  that was onboard with us. At first I thought they came together, cause from the way they talk looked like they have known each other for quite some time. The guy then turned to us and asked whether we have booked any accommodation for the night, of which I realized he was one of the ‘tourist hunters’. He was suggesting Bagus Bay, and said that he could get us a good price if we plan to stay longer. He sort of lost interest in us when we told him that we were not, and that we have plan to stay somewhere else.  At least he wasn’t pushy.

 Another boat cruising the calm Lake Toba. Too bad it was a bit cloudy.

I love the house by the lake, and could imagine myself waking up to the beautiful view every single day and not be bored.

A traditional Batak house we saw on the way to Tuktuk. Batak, is the tribe people that lives around Lake Toba, and once famous for cannibalism although the ritual had ceased many years ago. Definitely not the people you would like to mess with unless you fancy ending up in their cooking pot! Most of modern day Batak people have embraced Christianity, but they still believe in animism which was their original faith and this is heavily reflected in their life and culture. Being near to Bukittinggi, I found their houses resemble the distinctive similarity with the Minangkabau pointed roof, although the whole structure is quite small compared to the latter.

The lake is not only just a water source to these people,  but also the pulse to the Batak’s socio-economy. It is a place for social interactions as well as generating the household incomes through tourism, fishing and agriculture.

Arrived at Tuktuk we dropped at Lekjon Cottage, where we got a room at just Rp100k.  The room was clean and spacious, and nothing to complaint at, less the water heater. It was pretty cold in Samosir, and water heater is sort of a necessity. But that is something that we could live without.  With a balcony fronting the lake it was quite a deal, and I thought with the fresh air and serene view we will finally have our ultimate holiday. Unfortunately that was not the case (which I will tell later).

Enough rest and shower, we set out to explore the area with a rented bike. Helmet was unnecessary, as we were leisurely cruising the scenic village road passed some colorful Batak houses,  smiling villagers, flowering bushes, running chickens, stray cats and friendly dogs while the stunning view of the lake is at our side all the time.  Nature was singing those delightful songs and I really fell in love with Samosir.

The path leading to Ambarita and Simanindo.

DH at a lookout point in Tuktuk, with the panoramic lake at the back.

Beautiful Lake Toba.

Tuktuk in the evening, overseeing Ambarita Village at the far end.

Some scenic views of Tuktuk. We planned to see the sunset, but eventually the sun down on the other side of the mountain, thus ended the chase.

Night falls quite early in Samosir, and by 6pm it was already dark. Lamp posts weren’t many; knowing that it will be difficult navigating in the dark, we hasted to the guesthouse and returned the bike. We made a deal with the owner to rent it again the next morning before we go back to the mainland. Our dinner that night was simply Indonesia typical pressed chicken (ayam penyet) and some soto Medan at one of the muslim restaurant in the island, but I would say the ayam penyet was one of the best I’ve ever had in Indonesia especially the sambal (chili paste).

Night life in Tuktuk is pretty dull except for the cafes and bars that worth considering if you are in good company, which was pointless in our case. So we headed back to our room for a good night rest. Or so we intent. Apparently there was this group staying at the same resort at the room below us, and they decided to throw a full-blast party that night. Two gaudy sets of sound theater were stacked on top of each other, with the volume amplified to the max. They were singing, laughing, drinking and dancing the whole night through, and from the way they act we were pretty sure they got drunk after a while. Annoyed, we tried to keep our cool since they were singing religious songs and we didn’t want to be labeled anti-religist (although the choice of songs were quite contrasting with the wild theme of the party!). I had my headphones intact with the Metallica banging in my head and can still hear them. I said to DH perhaps they will stop at twelve, more of a self consolation actually. It was the time when we really lose our patience when one of them said lets continue until morning! I wasn’t sure what happened next as I pretend to sleep, but what I know suddenly there was peace and quiet. I asked DH what actually happened, and he said that he just went out to the balcony and gave them the ‘look’. It was a daring thing which he did, but luckily one of them saw his face and immediately called it a night. I imagine what kind of look he was giving them haha…

The next day when we were on boat to Parapat we met a couple who stayed 5 blocks from us, which had been complaining about last night commotion. Imagine he was 5 blocks away and couldn’t sleep because of that, while we were on the other hand just a floor above!