The day we were invited to plant a "pinus"

 

Leaving the village of Dai, we pointed Rhapsody north toward Raja Ampat, with a planned stop in the town of Bula on the next island north. Having just come from Fiji, the name made me smile. In Fiji, “Bula!” is everywhere, called out across streets, offered in passing, delivered with a grin. It means welcome, hello, life itself. The Indonesian town of Bula, however, does not share that particular meaning. Still, as it turns out, the spirit wasn’t entirely absent.

We were the only sailboat anchored in the small harbor, surrounded instead by a steady rhythm of local fishing boats coming and going. Not long after we dropped the hook, a floating house detached itself from the shoreline and motored over to us. On board was Ali.

Fishing boats in the harbor

Ali introduced himself with easy confidence and explained that he owned the floating restaurant anchored nearby. He offered nasi goreng, Indonesia’s beloved fried rice dish, and assured us it would be very good. He was correct.

His restaurant turned out to be a large open barge with a roof, simple and welcoming, plants in pots lining the small porch-like area where we tied up Melody, our dinghy. The kitchen itself lived on a separate barge rafted alongside, unseen but very much smelled. Garlic, chilies, and spices drifted across the water long before our plates appeared.

Before the food arrived, however,  the children were there. A small passel of them gathered the moment we stepped onto the floating porch, curious, friendly, wide-eyed. We were clearly the entertainment for the afternoon. They watched us with delighted fascination, and within minutes the first shy requests for photos began. This would become a theme.

The nasi goreng arrived steaming and fragrant, spicy, but not overwhelmingly so. Just enough heat to make you grateful for your water glass, but not enough to regret your life choices. Ali joined us at the table, and what followed was an easy, pleasant conversation. His English was quite good, though we occasionally enlisted Google Translate to fine-tune a detail or two. He offered to drive us into town the following day for groceries and fuel for a reasonable price, which we gratefully accepted.

Getting fuel for Rhapsody 

The next morning, Ali arrived with his wife, Wati, and their young grandson. Every stop we made in town seemed to evolve into a photo opportunity. We would buy bananas; the vendor would ask for a picture. At the supermarket checkout, the cashier asked for one as well. Always smiles. Always friendly greetings. It was less like running errands and more like participating in a very low-budget celebrity tour.

Pretend phone call

That evening, back at the floating restaurant with another plate of nasi goreng, Ali told us about his project. He has taken it upon himself to care for the narrow spit of land that curls around the harbor. He organizes plastic collection, though, unfortunately, the only current method of disposal is burning, and he is planting trees: pinus (pine) and mangroves, trying to stabilize the shoreline and improve protection for the boats anchored there.

Loosely translated to "Only monkeys litter"

A collection of litter next to the sign

When he invited us to help plant a “pinus,” it took us a moment to realize he meant pine. Once translated in our heads, of course we agreed.

The following day was overcast, a pleasant relief from the heat. A group of children gathered again, just as curious and cheerful as before. The planting itself was casual and unceremonious. We placed one pine at the far end of the point, then moved inland slightly to plant two mangroves, pressing their roots into the damp soil with hopeful optimism. Cameras came out again, ours and Ali’s, documenting the moment from several enthusiastic angles.

Rhapsody anchored in the background

It was not a grand environmental movement. No speeches were made. No plaques installed. Just a handful of people, a few small trees, and the quiet intention of making this small harbor a little better than it was yesterday.

A pair of new mangrove trees

As we pulled away the next day, continuing north toward Raja Ampat, Bula did not echo with the same shouted greetings as Fiji. But in its own quieter way, it offered something just as meaningful. A floating restaurant. A spicy plate of fried rice. Children eager to say hello. A man who decided that caring for his corner of coastline was worth the effort.

Link to Ali’s video of our return trip after planting mangrove and pinus.

Sometimes the places that leave the strongest impression are not the famous destinations ahead, but the small, in-between stops where kindness is offered freely and where you’re invited, quite literally, to put down roots, if only for a morning.

View of the floating restaurant as we depart at sunrise