Reportages
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Descent into Hell
At the far eastern tip of Java Island, surrounded by active volcanoes, rises the Ijen Crater, or "Kawah Ijen," at about 2,500 meters above sea level. Above coffee plantations and centuries-old tropical rainforests, in the clouds of yellow sulfuric fumes that obscure the turquoise-blue lake, it is only natural to wonder if this is a nearby paradise. However, at the bottom of the crater itself, the sulfur porters live a daily life that could more accurately be compared to hell than to heaven.
I arrived in the village of Sempol, located at the base of Kawah Ijen and surrounded by coffee plantations, around 11 PM after leaving Surabaya. At about 1,500 meters, for the first time in four years in Indonesia, I felt "cold." The temperature was below 20°C, about 15 degrees cooler than the "normal" temperature in Indonesia. The hospitable owner of the Arabica Motel, already used to "frozen" tourists, brought out a cup of excellent locally produced coffee.
The next morning, about 10 kilometers further, in the village of Paltuding, the ascent toward the crater's rim continues by foot. On the four-kilometer trail winding between the volcanoes, exhausted sulfur porters eagerly stop to chat with a stranger. After offering them cigarettes and biscuits, they confidentially reveal that even Sebastião Salgado had passed the same path on his way to Ijen. During our pleasant conversation with these talkative people, I notice that after every photo, a cigarette or biscuit is expected, a sort of compensation for the right to photograph them - "Miiisteeeeer Salgado..." as they call him here.
After two hours of climbing, the smell of sulfur becomes increasingly overpowering, and the trail reaches the crater's rim. The view is magnificent—ash and cracked rock without any vegetation, clouds of sulfuric smoke that obscure the turquoise-blue lake at the bottom of the crater, which is known as the most toxic lake in the world.
Despite safety recommendations in tourist guides to stay at the rim, I continue my descent into the crater, where sulfur porters occasionally emerge carrying sulfur on their backs. The path, if it can be called that, is steep, and a sudden downpour makes the descent more difficult as loose rocks tumble to the crater's bottom. With my last pack of cigarettes, I rent a plastic helmet from one of the porters heading out of the crater and continue my descent. The sulfur fumes grow increasingly unpleasant, and feeling satisfied with my choice of equipment, I put on my long-prepared protective mask. After an hour of battling the steep, slippery terrain, with a helmet that keeps slipping off because the plastic straps have long since broken, a protective mask that makes breathing harder and constantly fogs up, and about 15 kilograms of camera gear on my back, I finally reach the bottom of the crater. The sulfur that oozes from the ground, channeled through old water pipes, falls to the ground and crystallizes as it cools, releasing clouds of yellow smoke that sting the eyes and irritate the throat.
Equipped with a helmet, protective mask, and hiking boots, I look ridiculous next to the young porters who, in flip-flops, use a piece of rebar to break up the crystallized sulfur and load it into woven baskets with their hands, their only protection from the sulfur fumes being a shirt held between their teeth. After half an hour of photographing, with no more cigarettes or biscuits, I leave my protective mask with the miners and promise them tea at the buying station on my way back.
Quickly, I move away from the unbearable sulfur fumes, and on the way to the buying station, I pass the porters with baskets carrying about 80 kilograms of sulfur. Barefoot or in flip-flops, the daily burden leaves visible marks on their backs.
From the rim of the crater, the winding path descends to the nearby buying station. All the sulfur brought up from the crater's bottom is weighed on a scale, the weight is recorded, and the exhausted porters rest in a shack they call the "canteen." I pay for the promised tea, biscuits, and cigarettes for the gathered porters, and I, too, enjoy a well-deserved break with hot tea at 2,500 meters. Soon, other porters join us, reminding me that I photographed them, though I hadn't mostly seen them before. Through conversation with the porters, I learn that during a single climb, they carry between 70 and 90 kilograms of sulfur, that only a few of the strongest can carry up to 100 kilograms, and that most porters make two trips, totaling about 150 kilograms a day. Knowing that each kilogram of sulfur carried down to the base of Kawah Ijen earns them 150 rupiahs, it's easy to calculate the average daily income for a porter—around 20,000 rupiahs (20,000 rupiahs = 2 euros!!!). All the porters I met were concerned with the same issue—whether they would be in good enough shape the next day to make two trips (because one trip is not enough to feed their families) and whether they could endure this daily grind until their sons were old enough to continue supporting the family in the same way. With an ironic smile, they explain that sulfur is carried seven days a week, and Eid is the only day off in the year... Deeply moved by their sad story (which they have probably told to hundreds of tourists), whether true or not, and not caring if I really photographed everyone, I pay the "ridiculous" bill to everyone present and leave the "canteen."
After weighing, the sulfur is carried down to the base of Kawah Ijen, to the first paved road, where trucks take it away. On the same path, I am overtaken by the porters, who, despite the heavy loads they carry, run more than they walk. I try to follow them, but quickly give up—they are in too much of a hurry to collect their hard-earned euros and make another trip... -
Chinese New Year
After the democratic elections in June 1999 and the lifting of the long-standing ban on all religious and traditional Chinese ceremonies, the Chinese New Year became an official national holiday in Indonesia. Since then, the celebration of Chinese New Year in Jakarta has transformed from a discreet and cautious visit to the remaining Buddhist temples into a public event with all the traditional Chinese symbols—ranging from the lighting of lanterns in front of temples and shops, to dragon dances in the most luxurious commercial centers, and to the midnight fireworks in the Chinese quarter of Glodok. Once a ghetto and the site of bloody clashes in May 1998, which resulted in the deaths of more than 1,000 ethnic Chinese Indonesians, Glodok is now flooded with pink plastic blossoms, red lanterns, synthetic imitations of traditional Chinese clothing, and similar Asian kitsch as the Year of the Rooster draws to a close.
At the entrance of the Feng Shan Miao Buddhist temple (Vihara Dharma Jaya), meaning "spirit of the wind," which was built in 1751 and renovated in 1978, the multicolored dragon stands as one of the most significant Chinese symbols—divine creatures, forces of transformation and creativity, with a camel's head, deer antlers, fish scales, cat whiskers, and eagle claws. The dragon represents the Emperor himself.
Inside the temple, hundreds of red candles bearing names and wishes are lit. Red candles are lit during celebrations, while white candles are reserved exclusively for funerals. The belief is that the light of the candle leads directly to a bright future, so most families come for midnight prayers and light candles. Depending on financial means, the size of the candle can range from a few centimeters to two meters— as usual, the wealthiest have the largest candles, and their future is undoubtedly the brightest.
In the heart of the Chinese quarter, Glodok, the oldest and most popular Buddhist temple, Vihara Dharma Bhakti, built in 1650, destroyed in 1740, and restored in 1755, stands today. The temple is guarded by only two security guards.
Inside the temple, prayers begin with a bow to the statue of Buddha, surrounded by flowers and fruit. Knowing that without flowers there can be no fruit, floral arrangements play an important role in the New Year's decorations. Each fruit has a different meaning—lychee strengthens the family, peanuts represent a long life, kumquat symbolizes prosperity, and coconut stands for unity...
The courtyard in front of the temple is a gathering place on Chinese New Year's Day for the poorest people of the Chinese quarter, who wait for hours for a small serving of cooked rice or a banknote worth just a few dollars. It is a tradition to leave a banknote for the poorest after prayers at the temple.
Barongsai, the dragon dance, is believed to bring luck to the families it visits. Before midnight, fireworks are set off to scare away the monster Nian, a belief found in Chinese communities around the world. Windows and doors are opened to help the Old Year depart and the New Year arrive, while red paper decorations prevent Nian from returning. Nian, the strange demon, is said to fear the color red.
The photographs taken on January 28, just before the beginning of the Year of the Dog, bear witness to the fact that the years of repression and intolerance toward the three-percent minority are well on their way to becoming another chapter in the long history of Indonesian Chinese that has already been overcome. -
Hmong and Dao minorities in Vietnam
The mountains of northern Vietnam are home to a large number of ethnic groups, collectively known as the Montagnards (a term carried over from the French colonial period), all of which originally came from southern China. The Hmong (also called Meo, Man Trang, or Mieu Toc) and Dao (also known as Mien or Yao) people, who only arrived in Vietnam at the end of the 18th century, inhabit the harsh, high-altitude terrain. Today, these two groups are among the 56 ethnic groups recognized by China and 54 recognized by Vietnam. These isolated hill tribes have preserved their traditional customs and clothing and can be found at local weekly markets, which play an important role in their social and economic life.
In Sa Pa, a French-founded hill station and one of the most well-known markets in the northwest, Black Hmong women sell their handmade colorful embroidery (photos 1, 11, and 12). They wear dark blue, almost black, linen clothes dyed with indigo, along with turbans and large silver hoop earrings.
Ta Phin, near Sa Pa, is a village of the Red Dao minority. Dao dress varies significantly across Vietnam, but their embroidery is always dense and colorful, with many silver jewelry details (photos 2, 4, and 9).
About 60 kilometers north of Sa Pa, near Bac Ha, Ban Pho village is home to the largest subgroup of the Hmong in Vietnam—the Flower Hmong. They wear the most colorful and vivid clothes, embroidered with delicate floral patterns (photos 3, 5, 8, and 10). These vibrant garments can also be seen at the Can Cau market, just a few kilometers from the Chinese border.
The photographs of the Black Dao were taken at the market in Sa Pa (photos 6 and 7). -