Mamasa
After Sengkang and Lake Tempe we worked our way north along the coast, stopping in the port town of Pare Pare for a night before continuing to the Mamasa Valley. Mamasa is a small, relaxed place surrounded by forested hills and rice fields. It was also a welcome escape from the lowland heat and humidity. Traditional houses with carvings and stacked buffalo horns could be found in the surrounding villages. There were far fewer tourists than nearby Tanah Toraja, although the culture is similar. One day we went on a long hike through the hills. On the way back we found a grave, housed under a giant sloping roof, where bones were placed in log caskets carved in the form of water buffalo. The Mamasa build small structures that look like miniature houses over their tombs and leave some of the deceased's possessions, such as clothing and purses, hanging under the eaves. Flowers and bottles of alcohol are placed as offerings for the dead. We walked from village to village, appreciating the stunning vistas: small, steep hills covered in pine trees surrounded by flat, green rice paddies.
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Our plan was to trek from Mamasa to Bittuang, on the outskirts of Tanah Toraja. We started by taking motorbikes partway up the pass that separates the two valleys. There we stopped to admire the surrounding forest and have a drink at a roadside shack. The direct sun beat down on us and our backpacks, filled mainly with books, weighed on our shoulders. After a full day's walking in the blazing heat, stopping often to rest in the shade, we arrived at the first big village. Worn out, with aching feet and tired legs, we decided to break our journey here. Our packs were clearly too heavy for our lightweight shoes. The village chief offered us a place to stay in his large traditional house. He put us upstairs in a small room with carved doors and windows below the sweeping roof. That evening, after dinner, we sat in the salon with the extended family and talked.
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The next day we decided to take a jeep rather than continue to walk with our heavy packs. When we boarded the rusty, broken-down AMC 4x4 we thought that it might fit eight people. But passengers kept squeezing in and climbing on until there were nineteen! Three people shared the front seat with the driver, and six, including us, occupied the small space in the rear. Two sat on the rear door while three stood on the back bumper, while two others hung on to the sides of the jeep. One person sat on the hood and one brave fellow even perched on the front bumper, clinging for his life as we bounced along. The jeep strained and groaned its way over washed-out roads, full of boulders and potholes, for two hours. When we got off at the end we were so tired that we felt as if we had walked the whole way!
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