I’m on Sumba, an island only a 90-minute flight but a world away from bustling Bali. It is home to Nihiwatu, a resort that is attracting the world’s hip and helpful by blending luxury, sustainability and access to a rarely explored indigenous culture.
Remote barely covers it.
Nihiwatu, set in 483 acres of lush rainforest, follows the Sumbanese “less is more” philosophy, housing just 30 guests in villas and bungalows. Beautiful weaving hangs as art on the walls and picture windows frame the perfect waves of the Indian Ocean. The simplicity is charming. All meals and soft drinks are included and can be enjoyed anywhere, any time; there is no television, internet use is discouraged and guests don’t lock their doors. The result is acres of pure peace.
So far, so eco-chic. But I soon swap soft sands for something a bit more adventurous. Along with snorkelling trips and waterfall treks, every guest at Nihiwatu is given free tours of the local villages. In a burst of jetlagged enthusiasm I pick Sodan, one of the least visited and most remote. A 30-minute drive later I’m starting to regret my decision. Standing in the baking hot basin of a lush green valley, Dato my guide points to some thatched roofs high in the hills. “That’s Sodan,” he says, “let’s go.”
Even with my walking stick I soon collapse, exhausted, on to an enormous grey gravestone. Dato entertains me with tales of animal sacrifice as I catch my breath. Like many Sumbanese he is an animist, enacting rituals to maintain a peaceful relationship with Marapu, the ancestral spirits. The funeral rites sound the most dramatic—huge stone blocks are cut and dragged long distances and used to build tombs while numerous animal sacrifices are made to accompany the departed soul to the afterlife.
With these images dancing in my head entering the village feels even more like stepping back in time. Dark wooden houses are built on the uneven rocky ground, each thatched roof soaring like a witch’s hat high into the sky. Between the steep rocks and sparse trees are enormous slabs of stone, sacred tombs and elaborate carvings. To my right an old man carries a chicken to one of the grey stone slabs. I pause to watch him squat low on his haunches, lay the bird on the stone and mutter a mysterious incantation.
The living conditions are basic; this elderly couple sleep directly on the hard wooden floor, a fire burning despite the suffocating heat. Homes here are thought to link the worlds of spirit and man and haven’t changed for thousands of years; the dark wooden beams are believed to be the doorway through which the dead can bless their descendants.
Palm leaves cover the roof but according to Sumbanese myth the first ancestral home was covered with human hair, snatched during head-hunting raids. Which brings me, a little nervously, to this most infamous Sumbanese tradition. “Yes, head-hunting took place,” Dato says as we step through some squealing piglets to the centre of the village. I later learn that the practice, officially abandoned in the 1950s, still occurred in major battles in the late Nineties.
Head-hunting may be over but the drumbeat of battle is never far away. Young Sumbanese men regularly fight in traditional boxing matches, and every March is Pasola, the enactment of ritual warfare on horseback. Spears are used, injuries are common and bloodletting is essential. All this talk of battles, coupled with the punishing sunshine, leaves me a little dizzy. But it feels utterly surreal to be back at Nihiwatu, snorkelling with fish in the cool ocean and swaying gently in a hammock between two palm trees.
The poverty of the villages is so absolute, and the view from here so beautiful, miles of white beach framed with thick green rainforest. I sip my drink guiltily and think that every drop of water in Sodan must be brought on a woman’s head from the valley far below. Yet conditions promise to improve. At the rustic boathouse I meet Claude Graves, and learn how Nihiwatu has helped the island. Fifteen years ago he arrived on this beach with his wife, Petra, and was shocked by the quality of life. “It was like jumping back in time 200 years,” he says, gesturing to the distant green hills. “It was unbelievable, like Livingstone going into deepest Africa.”
The resort now provides training, employment (more than 95 per cent of staff are Sumbanese), benefits and housing for many locals. Sustainability is essential. All waste is recycled, wildlife protected and the resort’s carbon footprint offset by planting teak trees. At the new biodiesel plant coconuts are transformed into fuel, nutrition bars for undernourished children, soap and coconut oil. There is also the Sumba Foundation, a charity set up by Graves and one of his earliest guests.
Visitors are always welcome to pitch in with their activities and after a morning swim I join a group of Californian volunteers at a nearby school. This is my first foray into volunteer holiday territory. Previously I had been suspicious that they soothe Western consciences rather than improve local conditions. But the Sumba Foundation runs excellent, effective projects, tackling malaria, building deep-water wells and funding schools.
Good deed done, it’s a little easier to return to the luxury of Nihiwatu. I walk along the beach as others relax by the ocean or paint murals for the school. And with crashing waves, a gorgeous spa and comfy hammocks it’s easy to stay exactly where you are.
Guests don’t have to get involved in village visits or volunteer activities. But Graves says that most do; and that it’s this blend of luxury and purpose that brings more than 70 per cent of guests back.
(reference: http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/travel/holiday_type/beach/article6619655.ece)
