Garuda Indonesia Colours Magazine March 2018 | Page 98

96
Travel | Kupang
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“The city is built on chalky coral. Right up to the highest
areas you will find traces of it. But that doesn’t mean everything
in Kupang is tough or difficult. You can also find grace
and peace here.”
That’s what my uncle, who has spent two
decades in Kupang, told me. I remembered
his words once again as I lay upon a large
rock on the western slopes of Mt Fatuleu.
By dusk, my journey between the rocks to
climb the mountain had brought me to
a wide, beautiful panorama with views
through the hills to the bay in the distance.
Timor Island, where Kupang is located,
is indeed made of coral, and the series of
mountains scattered to the easternmost
point of this southeast Indonesian island is
a formation of metamorphic rocks. Almost
all the names of the mountains in Timor
begin with the word Fatu, meaning ‘rock’.
Near Mt Fatuleu there is Mt Fatuanin, and in
the past both of these were believed
to be mystical, but they have now become
favourite spots for weekend visitors.
To reach the foot of these two mountains,
I drove around 50km from Kupang city
centre, on a road that is easy to traverse.
Afterwards the same road took me towards
other areas in the middle of the island,
the home of the Dawan ethnic group
in the highlands. I intended to visit
a traditional Boti neighbourhood,
one of the Dawan sub-groups that is said
to have retained many of its traditional
customs. Unfortunately, when I arrived,
the neighbourhood was in mourning,
so visits by outsiders were forbidden.
As an alternative, Dicky Senda, a young
writer from Mollo, took me to Fatumnasi,
a village at the gates of Mt Mutis Nature
Reserve. The journey to this place at a height
of 1,000m above sea level brought us to
another world of Timor. We crossed a pine
forest and came upon many horses grazing
and running free. I kept stopping to enjoy
the view, and we reached Tunua Hill
as twilight approached.
We stayed at Fatumnasi and I felt the warmth
of the ume kbubu, a traditional round house
with a low door that is well designed to drive
away the cold temperatures up in the
mountains. Mateos Anin, the traditional
chief of the village, played a flute that called
together various pets in front of us. It felt
magical. “Our clan is friends with all
animals,” he said. “This is what we inherited
to protect the balance between nature and
living creatures.”