Tranquility and peace, a hammock, three sixty great views and possibly a pina collada waiting on a nearby table. Sate chicken, late mornings, green rice paddies and lovely, smiling happy people. Lake Toba was like a tonic to our travel weary souls. And our room had a BATH! Something we had been dreaming of for many many months but never really expected to see. Our two days lazing around the lake shores, reading books and getting familiar with Indonesian cuisine not only helped to recharge our batteries and soothe our aching muscles, they also proved a great introduction to Sumatra, it's people, cultures and traditions. We both agreed as soon as we arrived, we were going to like Indonesia.

Paradise regained

On our first morning in the country we stocked up on mangos and bananas from the mainland market and caught the first slow, almost lazy boat over the water to Tuk Tuk, Samosir Islands tidy, tiny tourist village. Finding a room was easy (we splurged a bit on the bathroom and a massive bed because we decided we deserved it) and after that all that was required of us was to sit on the balcony overlooking the still water, read a book and relax. After Borneo this was quite a novel concept, took a few goes to get it right.

No I will not pass you the snorkle

Lake Toba and its surroundings are beautiful, green, mountainous and more importantly a little cooler than the rest of the country because of its relative altitude. On that first days agenda was a slow lunch in a lake side cafe, a meander through the village's English language bookshops, a browse in the wood carving shops and further reading. Food in Indonesia was proving to be MUCH better than Malasian grub, particularly the vegetarian options much to Amandas delight. Culturally speaking Toba is at the heart of the Batak peoples traditional lands, local traditional houses have distinctive boat shaped roofs and the signature Batak carving can be found for sale everywhere.

Anyone for mushrooms?

Half determined to get active and see some of the island, at least for the afternoon we hired bikes on our second day there. We had learned that nearby was a set of stone chairs where local kings and village chiefs would meet, argue over the price of fish and hold trials. Nearby was another set of chairs where the hapless guilty were taken for execution and disposed of.

Who goes there?

The ride was a delight, beautiful views, cool breeze and not too hilly. Amanda stopped every few minutes to take shots with the new camera and seemed pretty pleased with the results. I was happy to just stare off across the lake admiring the view. We stopped by a roadside shack to watch a local guy as he carved out a ceremonial staff as used by the old tribal chiefs like a magic bashing of office. Quickly his mate came along who owned a shop selling them, and much other wonderfull and cheap stuff, he also offered to take us to some lesser known stone chairs at the same time. We had to follow. True to his word he did have lots of great carvings for sale, as did dozens of similar people in similar stalls all around the village. Toba has exprienced a huge decline in tourism over the last couple of years, as had most of the rest of Indonesia. Bombings in Bali, Government terrorism warnings, pricey new visa regulations, floods and tsunami's have all contributed towards dead streets and desperate locals. Everyone was eyeing us like their last hopes for a hot meal were walking away. It was quite disconcerting. True to his word our man took us up a hill to a circular set of carved stone chairs, all facing a central stone table. In one corner of the little walled compound were a few statues representing the village shaman and local gods. It was very quiet, undisturbed and out of the way, an unassuming window into the past. Amanda thought it was the best thing in the world!

Judge Wudjimalooloo presiding over another execution

The main stone chairs were a short walk away through alleyways of local handicraft stalls, each one more desperate to sell you a carving than the last. Surrounded by big, traditional, original Batak houses was a circle of chairs (the one with armrests for the king, the tiny one in the middle for the accused) and a round table. Here the trial took place (we had a local guide tell us all about the history and rituals associated with the place). If the prisoner was found guilty he would be kept in a cage underneath the chiefs house (the one with buffalo horns above the door) for seven days without food or water, then taken to another set of chairs nearby for the sentence to be carried out. A shaman would test for the presence of spirit magic by slicing the condemned with a knife. If he bled heavily he would be beheaded immediately, if he didn't bleed much he was obviously under a protective spell which needed to be broken. For this the kings staff was employed, first as a wand, waved about while spells were recited, then as a cudgell to literally beat the spells out of the prisoner.

One dog and human hotpot coming up!

Battered and bruised the poor bloke was then sliced up again with a knife, this time so his whole body was covered in cuts. Urine and pulped lemons was then rubbed vigourously into his wounds in an effort to shock the spell away. Then the prisoner, presumably in writhing agony, was bludgeoned a few more times by the kings magic staff for good measure and finally deemed to be free from shamanic protection. He was taken to a stone block and beheaded. Not as they would have done in Europe with a swift decapitating blow, oh no, that would be far too nice. Here they would start at the throat and saw their way through the neck slowly. Not a nice way to die.

Blood would be collected in a bowl and given to the King and Queen to drink to gain the power of their victim. Then the still warm heart and liver would be harvested and a section would be eaten, raw by the shaman, king and queen. The rest would be diced, mixed with meat prepared from a jet black dog and eaten by the whole village. The head would be taken and thrown with ceremony into the Lake as an offering to the spirits who live there. No water could be used from nearby for the next week.

The last trial and execution to take place here was less than 100 years ago, I'm glad I wasn't around at the time.

The Snow Queen of Narnia's summer home

Trying not to take the pleas of the local shopkeepers too much to heart we cycled on through some of Samosir Islands back roads under the shadow of its rather imposing hills through rice paddy dotted fields to the main village of Tomok. It was perhaps a bit more busy than we'd imagined, especially after Tuk Tuks laid back atmosphere, but we still had a quick look around, eventually finding the grave of one of the last animist Batak kings. It was actually in the middle of a normal, still used graveyard, though we did have to wear a Batak scarf over our shoulders as a sign of respect before we went in.

Once more we dodged the stall holders trying to extricate ourselves from the area. Amanda made a few small pity purchases before we made it out but aside from that we managed it in one piece. A nice quiet cycle back to Tuk Tuk left us once again chilling out at the water front with a book. A group of local girls had arrived at the hotel next door and were making a bit of noise but that would only bother a stressed person, we packed to leave the following day and dissapeared for some dinner. They were thankfully quieter when we got back.

Evidence of Swiss occupation?

It was a very good job we'd planned to leave the next day. I was woken at 5:30am by the sound of Indonesian schoolgirls fighting for use of a loudspeaker so they could shout to their squealing friends in the water. This went on for hours waking pretty much everyone within 300 metres, I lay in bed and heard one angry tourist after another swing their doors open and yell at them to shut up. By seven there was no point denying the obvious, our idyl had been well and truly invaded. We had our breakfast and caught the mornings first boat back to the mainland.

After that it was only a matter of choosing the least uncomfortable bus (they sit five in a row in Indonesia (three seats... isle... two seats, Asian people have significantly less wide shoulders than me) for the five hours back to Medan, then squeeazing onto the next available cattle transport for Bukit Lawang. Ocasional buskers would fight their way down the aisles to play guitar solo's for their captive crowds but apart from that we just sat in cramped uncomfortable positions and sweated heavily. Indonesians certainly know how to cook which was good, but it seemed getting from A to B without a tripple hernia might prove to be a problem. But we were still new to the country, maybe later trips would prove more comfy. For now we'll give it the benefit of the doubt and put this bus ride down to experience. We were still in happy spirits when we arrived in Bukit Lawang, sore bum notwithstanding. This was where what is left of the Sumatran orang utans come to eat bananas, and hopefully we would be seeing them do it.

Final goodbyes to Toba