IX. RETURN TO THE INDIES
Timor — Lombok — Bali.
Monday morning, 5 November.
At six o’clock we are back at the airfield. As the aircraft is being readied for take-off, dawn begins to break on the eastern horizon. Despite the heat and the primitive lodgings we had to settle for in Darwin, we slept well. It seems to have rained heavily overnight, as the ground is somewhat soft. As soon as there is enough light, we taxi out. After a long run-up, we lift off with some difficulty; it is as if our plane is reluctant to leave Australian soil. But the engines sing their familiar song. Like a true stork, the Uiver retracts its legs, and soon the final stretch of Australia, Cape Point Charles, is behind us.
The weather looks promising; heavily clouded but with good visibility. We climb above the cumulus clouds to 3,500 m and set a direct course for Koepang on the southern tip of Timor. Our final destination for today is Bali, where we shall stay an extra day. We will make intermediate stops at Koepang and Rambang to collect mail and refuel. After an hour’s flight, Van Brugge establishes contact with the radio station at Koepang. The weather reports indicate we are heading into favourable conditions. I hand the controls over to Moll and go to see if Prins has any hot coffee left in his flasks.
Upon opening the door to the cabin, I am met by an unpleasant odour. I notice the passengers twitching their nostrils suspiciously too. What could be the cause? Due to the sharp drop in air temperature at our altitude, the ventilation slide has been closed. Yet even opening it—blowing fresh air into the cabin through fourteen ducts—cannot dispel this foul stench. Suddenly, our friend the kangaroo leaps out from behind a seat and hops merrily through the cabin. The mystery is solved. Lady Moulden, who had pampered the creature until now, stares at it with an expression of pure horror. After some effort, we manage to catch the culprit. As a first measure, he is locked in the rear of the cabin as punishment. This hardly solves the problem, however, and it seems our Australian friend will, by general request of his fellow passengers, be left behind at the next landing site.
After two and a half hours over the Timor Sea, we begin a gradual descent. Soon, land comes into view: the southern tip of Timor. We can clearly see the island of Oesoe, separated from Timor by the Rotti Strait. Flying over the airfield at Koepang, it is clear they intend to celebrate down there. Flags are fluttering everywhere, and the small bamboo hut has been festively decorated. Exactly three hours after departing Darwin, the Uiver touches down on Dutch territory.
The European and native populations show immense interest. As soon as we step out of the aircraft, we are draped in garlands and led in triumph to the bamboo station building. Here, the champagne corks pop. We are warmly addressed by various authorities and take turns sharing stories of our flight. It is remarkable how much people in these remote outposts of our possessions share in our journey. The native band plays cheerful tunes, and we are also treated to music performed on instruments of their own making. Outside, delegates from various native tribes wait to show us highly interesting indigenous dances. Unfortunately, we can stay in Koepang for an hour at most, so we must soon think of departing. The mail is loaded, and as we re-enter the plane, we are suddenly reminded once more of… the kangaroo.
Yes—how are we to get rid of this no longer welcome passenger in a proper manner? Moll has a plan. He is talking to a lady and tells her we have a small creature on board that we wish to part with.
‘If you fail to guess what kind of animal it is three times, it shall be yours,’ Jan Moll says.
‘A monkey, of course,’ the lady replies.
‘Wrong guess.’
‘Then it must be a parrot.’
‘That is twice wrong.’
‘In that case, it must be a little Australian bear.’
‘That is three times wrong; I shall show him to you,’ and triumphantly, Moll produces the kangaroo and places him in the arms of the bewildered lady. ‘He is yours, Madam!’
And so, Timor-Koepang gained a new inhabitant from Australia. We hope the little creature will adjust to the climate and has found a good home. Australian pilots landing at Timor-Koepang on their way home will be able to greet the kangaroo as a herald of their own country.
Once we have said our farewells and thanked the people of Koepang for their kind attentions and the warm welcome shown to us, the Uiver’s engines are started. Minutes later, we are back in the air. Our machine is laden with flowers and wreaths; it is a pity we had to leave our friend the kangaroo behind, as there would have been plenty of food for him. In place of that ‘jack-in-the-box’, we have taken on another passenger in Koepang, so the number of passengers remains four. This is Captain Barnard, an inspector for Imperial Airways, who will accompany us as far as Singapore.
After a victory lap over Koepang’s airport, we set a north-westerly course. We are not flying directly to Rambang, as we wish to show our passengers something of the beautiful island of Flores. However, having crossed the Savu Sea, we notice to our regret that this mountainous island is almost entirely shrouded in clouds, leaving little of the landscape visible. Nevertheless, through gaps in the clouds, we discover the three coloured lakes: Tiwoe Naoemoeri, Tiwoe Ata Mboepi, and Tiwoe Atapolo. These lakes lie nearly 1,700 metres above sea level on K. Moetoe, north of the Bara Mountains. The water in each of the three has a different colour: one is dark red, another blue, and the third light green. These colours form a peculiar contrast with the green of the jungle and the white mass of clouds surrounding the peaks. The bright rays of the tropical sun add a singular charm to this remarkable natural phenomenon.
We continue along the southern coast of Flores, passing the islands of Rindja and Komodo, before flying over Soembawa. Cloud cover increases, so unfortunately we cannot see much of the island. The peaks on South Soembawa are not particularly high, the highest being 1,050 m. We gradually reduce our altitude, passing the Dodo, Ginaleh, and Oetok peaks, and over the Alas Strait, the east coast of Lombok comes into view. Just over three hours after leaving Koepang, the Uiver is flying above the Rambang landing field. It is an elongated airfield; by chance, the wind is blowing across the width of the ground, so we must land at an angle with a crosswind. The landing goes smoothly, and as we taxi to the refueling point, a burst of enthusiastic cheering breaks out.
As in Koepang, there is great interest from enthusiastic crowds. More speeches with champagne. Since we must continue our flight, we can unfortunately only partake of this precious liquid in great moderation. It is remarkable that even here, where only a tenuous connection with the rest of the world exists, people have followed every development of the MacRobertson race with great intensity. It goes without saying that on these virtually isolated islands, the arrival of an aircraft is a special attraction. Extending the Holland—Indies air service to Australia is therefore of great significance for Rambang and Koepang. After all, the airmail that takes nine days to travel from Holland to Soerabaja only reaches these islands ten to fourteen days later via K.P.M. ships. By extending the air service to Australia, the distance between these outlying possessions and Java is reduced to just a single day.
Since no fuel for our engines is available on Bali, we must load enough here to reach Soerabaja. Once the refueling is complete, the familiar cry of ‘all clear?’ rings out. The propellers spin, handshakes are exchanged, and with everyone on board, we take off for today’s final leg: to Bali!
The distance is only 150 km. There are two good airfields on Bali: Grogak on the north coast and the Denpasar airfield. We head for the latter, situated on the Tafelhoek peninsula at the southern tip of Bali. At an altitude of 1,000 m, we fly over Lombok, pass the island of Noesa, and after half an hour in the air, the landing gear is lowered for the third time. The South Bali airfield lies about ten kilometres south of Denpasar, a town popular with tourists. The airfield itself is in good condition, though it slopes steeply towards the east.
Following the usual reception, where we are addressed by the Resident and other authorities, the aircraft is moored. There is no hangar here yet, so the Uiver is forced to spend a few nights under the open sky. We are invited to be the guests of various notables in Denpasar. My host is Assistant-Resident Jansen.
Once the machine has been tended to and sufficient security ensured, we head home with our respective hosts. Thanks to the significant time difference we have gained by flying west, we arrive just in time for the rijsttafel, which tastes excellent.
In the afternoon, we take a car trip around Denpasar, visiting the ancient royal tombs among other sites. This requires descending into a deep ravine. The path is so steep that most of it has had to be carved into the rocky ground as a staircase. Lady Moulden, who is no longer so young, is daunted by the prospect, especially as the path is rather slippery from the rain. But the Balinese are resourceful: an old chair is quickly produced, a few bamboo poles are lashed to it, a small cloth is placed inside, and the palanquin is ready.
High above the heads of eight small but powerfully muscled Balinese men, Lady Moulden descends into the ravine like a true Eastern princess, a coloured pajong held at an angle above her head. It is a peculiar procession, and the Lady later confessed to us honestly that she felt less at ease on the particularly steep parts of the slippery path than she ever had on board the Uiver.
In the evening, the K.P.M. hosts an exceptionally successful dinner for us at the Bali Hotel. Afterwards, we attend a Balinese dance performance involving a hundred dancers. In the flickering light of numerous coconut-oil lamps, this fantastic dance—imitating a battle with monkeys—makes a profound impression on us. We are amazed by the staging and the expressive power of these native artists.
The next day, we take an even longer car trip across Bali, visiting various temples and other sights. It is striking how advanced the agriculture is there, and how every piece of fertile land is utilised by the Balinese. Although we have already seen much of the Indies, this is one of the most beautiful drives we have ever taken. The road to the Batoer mountains is particularly interesting. At the Kintamani pasanggrahan, we are served an excellent rijsttafel. From here, we have a magnificent view of the Goenoeng Batoer volcano and the lake nearby. The solidified lava from the last eruption is still clearly visible along the mountainside and in the valley. It is a magnificent panorama; in clear weather, the island’s highest peak, the 3,100-metre Goenoeng Agoeng or Peak of Bali, can be seen to the east.
Upon our return to Denpasar, we pay a visit to the Anak Agoeng, the ruler of Negara Gianjar and a descendant of one of the old Balinese royal houses. We are received very hospitably at the palace. The Anak Agoeng treats us to a Balinese dance and theatrical performance featuring the most renowned local artists, and once again we are struck by the high level of cultural development among the Balinese. The performance is accompanied by gamelan music.
Returning to the pleasant home of Mr and Mrs Jansen in the late afternoon, I find a telegram from Colonel Koopman in Melbourne, congratulating me on being awarded first prize in the handicap race. The fact that we still won first prize in the handicap class—despite the ten-hour delay and having to leave behind all our payload, which made our handicap time for the entire London—Melbourne flight far less favourable—proves that the Douglas is an excellent aircraft and… that we flew well, at least as far as Charleville. Roscoe Turner now takes second prize and Cathart Jones third in the speed race, while the young Jimmy Melrose takes second prize in the handicap.
That evening, a gala is held at the Denpasar club. In the club garden, young Balinese girls dance to the rhythm of a gamelan. Afterwards, the Europeans dance to the rhythm of Western jazz.
Thanks to the great kindness of the civil service and our hosts, we have seen more of Bali in this short time than would otherwise ever have been possible. We are very grateful to them, as the chance of visiting this beautiful island again is not particularly high. I look back with gratitude on the warm hospitality shown to me by the Assistant-Resident and Mrs Jansen.