With its crystal clear waters steadily drifting their way over white sand beaches, the Togean Islands are what day dreams aspire to be. It’s where world weary tourists escape the weights of society in order to live their stranded island fantasies. These islands offer the perfect disconnect for drifters looking for a life of simplicity.
The lack of any cell service offers the opportunity to truly remove ourselves from the breadth of the world, and retract into the shell that is this tropical Oasis in the Gulf of Tomini. And it’s truly a tropical Oasis. From relaxing in the treehouses of your resort, overlooking the reflective waters and the stilt villages that preside over them, to the vibrant coral reefs rich with snorkelling adventures, the time spent on these islands seems like a dream you will never wake up from.
I mean, it sounds like a dream right? Even as I sit here writing this story, it all still seems surreal. It’s hard for me to imagine how anyone could ever get sick of paradise. If I hadn’t lived it, I would’ve said it was impossible. It’s funny how living the dream can turn into a living nightmare.
From Island Paradise to Isolated Nightmare
As much as the Togean Islands seem to fit our fantasies of living ‘off the grid,’ it’s difficult to truly understand what that isolation entails. For starters, it gets boring, fast.
Let’s start with the days. The islands are beautiful. There’s no denying that. The first days of your trip are truly going to feel like paradise. You’ll snorkel your way through schools of colourful fish, and even through a lake of stingerless jelly fish. These things are cool, and I’m not saying don’t go here. I’m just saying don’t overstay your welcome. These things get boring, and there’s not much else to do.
The resorts are all enclosed by dense woods, which means you are confined to the small plot of land your accommodation occupies. The high import costs of alcohol means a day relaxing on the beach with a beer would be your highest expense (3 beers would cost more than your night’s accommodation).
While it’s possible to get a ride into one of the stilt villages for the day, there’s very little to do, and isn’t worth a return trip. With that being said, I do recommend visiting the town at least once, if only to try their sweet pies. They are delicious.
Overall, I don’t think I could imagine spending more than four or five days here. Personally, I spent four days, and was beginning to get restless. Unfortunately, passenger boats connecting the islands to the mainland run on an iffy schedule. The ferry connecting to Gorontalo north of the islands only runs once a week, and if you miss it, you are stuck on the islands until the next one.
Not wanting to get stuck here, I showed up early for the ferry, only to find out that that week’s boat was canceled. I would be damned if I spent another week in this isolation. Committed to finding my escape off the islands, I found myself on one hell of an adventure I will never forget.
Day of Departure
After three days of exploring the vibrant ocean life, the day arrived to head back to society, and to continue our trek to the north of Sulawesi. While my time on the islands had been wonderfully relaxing, I knew I couldn’t do another week stranded there. I was eager to continue on my journey across the Indonesian island.
With the Ferry scheduled for a 15:00 departure, we decided to take our time in the morning, soaking our last tropical beach vibes. Vibes that I’m convinced you won’t be able to find anywhere else.
There were three of us on our resort’s island. Elmar, my friend from the Netherlands that I met and had been travelling with since Tana Toraja, and Marlene, a retired German woman we had met at the resort.
Marlene
Now as much as Elmar and I were eager to get off the island, Marlene was downright giddy. She had been stuck on the island for 5 weeks, and the isolation was beginning to get to her.
When her boat had arrived at the island more than a month before my own, Marlene’s sea legs were not up to the task of the precarious disembarking process. Falling upon her arrival, she had hurt her leg. Isolated on the island, she was forced to wait for other travellers to help her in the return to the mainland. A wait that took her five weeks.
Five weeks isolated from the rest of the world, unable to contact her family and friends. We needed to get this woman back to the mainland.
Cue the cancelled ferry…
After a quick lunch, and just as we are boarding our tiki boat shuttle to the launching docks of the ferry, we spot a large ship on the horizon.
“Uhmm, ee think thyat is ze ferry,” Tina, our resort host said in her Russian accent that retained the coarseness the Russians are known for, and yet somehow also contained the relaxed nature of the island.
Convinced it was just doing a lap of the Togeans, we continued to the docks.
It had to come back, we reasoned. It’s not supposed to launch for another 2 hours.
That was not the case. Upon arriving at the docks, a group of local fishermen that were playing cards informed us that the ferry was in fact not coming back. It had been cancelled due to damage to the boat, and we had watched it depart on its return journey to Gorontalo for repairs.
What were we going to do?
After scrambling around the town, and picking up Reuben, another dutch traveller stranded on the islands, we were informed that another ferry would be heading to Gorontalo from Pagimana the following evening.
Pagimana was on the mainland, and we were still stranded on the islands. We would have to backtrack south to Ampana, and shuttle over to this only alternative ferry by the following night.
According to the dock schedule, there were supposed to be no further boats venturing the 64 km voyage back to Ampana that evening. We would have to find a place to stay by the docks, and try to find a boat early the following morning.
We said goodbye to our host and ventured into town. There we found the cheapest rooms we could, and boy, did they look cheap(see image below).
Just as Elmar, Reuben and I began to get settled in at our accommodations, the shrill and yet smooth voice of Tina came shrieking its way from down the dirt road.
“Boys, Boys!” She yelled, catching up to us out of breath. “A boat as jyust come to ze docks.”
Leaving our bags in our rooms, we took off back to the harbour. Sitting there, moored to the docks, was a small cargo ship. Running late on its regular route between the island and the mainland, the ship had to make the return voyage overnight to stay on schedule.
After a brief talk with the captain, we negotiated passage on the ship for 10,000 Rupiah/person. That’s $10 Canadian. That’s a fifth of the price we paid to get to the island in an overpacked transport speed boat.
Giving the crew two hours to prep their shipment, we headed back to recover our bags. Due to the slow season they were experiencing, and the low overall cost of the accommodation, we decided not to ask for a refund on the rooms.
With still over an hour to enjoy the small dockyard town, we were invited by the fishermen to join in on their card game. Not understanding the concept of the game, we opted to watch instead.
All Hands On Deck…
The commanding voice of the ship captain carried its way down the dock to our small group of travellers and locals. It was finally time to head back to the mainland.
We scurried our way on board, passing Marlene from the dock onto the ship mast. Depositing our bags among the cargo, we readied ourselves on deck, nestling in for the 12-hour voyage.
The first hour saw us wading our way through the island chain as the setting sun reflected off the calm lapping waves of the gulf. Compared to the typical speed boat used to traverse the expanse between the mainland and the islands, this was by far the superior method of travel.
As beautiful as the sunset was, things only got better once the sun had set behind the horizon.
At night, in the middle of a large expanse of water, everything is as black as the void. With no light pollution within a 30 km radius, the milky way makes its appearance in all its glory.
As we laid on the deck, staring out to the sky, the stars danced across the black canvass. The constellations wrestled for dominance of the south-eastern sky. The moon silently presided over it all.
Time stood still as the four of us lay on the deck, losing ourselves in the grandeur of it. As we stared up at the sky, breathing in the fresh ocean air, we felt the creaking of the ship’s old wooden planks as the night’s waves crashed against its mast. We listened to the rise and fall of the bow as the ship pushed itself further on, into the darkness. We thought of how blessed we were to be there.
As the four of us lay there on the deck, side by side, no one said a word. We all sat there, still as as the stars in sky.
Not one of us slept that night. But It wasn’t because the hard wooden planks shot pains through our backs. No one seemed to notice that discomfort. It was because no one wanted that moment to end.
It was as if the four of us were alone in the universe, travelling through the stars themselves.
Four strangers brought together by coincidence, sharing one of the most spectacular moments of our lives.
In that moment we didn’t care about making it to the ferry on time. We forgot about our next destination, and were enthralled by where we were. It was a sense of calm and peace I had never experienced before.
While I may never see those three wonderful strangers again, nor a night sky as alive as that one, that moment will live on in my memory like a painting on a Grecian urn.
For me, that night will never end.
A Scurry Across the coast
Of course, that’s metaphorically speaking. In a more literal sense, that night has obviously been long ended.
We arrived at the port of Ampana in the early hours of the morning, and managed to grab a couple of hours sleep at a local hotel.
However, our time for rest was short and fleeting. With the 164 km drive to Pagimana ahead of us, we needed another early start to arrive at the port on time.
Off we shot. Scurrying our way along the winding roads of the southern coast of the Gulf. We stopped for nothing. Not for a washroom break, not for lunch, not even for a crossing chicken.
Four hours, and a large tip for the taxi driver later, Elmar, Reuben and I arrived at our destination with time to spare.
Marlene still had a little way to go to reach the airport, where she would catch a flight home to see a doctor.
We said our goodbyes, vowing to visit her in Germany for Oktoberfest, and watched as the cab carried her down the road, and away from the docks.
We were down to three.
Making sure to purchase our tickets for beds on deck early, we headed to the port market to await boarding. A couple hours of trying to remember the island fishermen’s game, and we were on board ready to embark.
We had made it, but the adventure was long from over.
Cue the worst ferry ride of my life. But that’s a story for another time.
