The Tourist Hunters

Trip Start Jun 02, 2007
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17
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Trip End Ongoing


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Thursday, July 5, 2007

After two weeks in Tuk Tuk, I had settled into an unfamiliar by highly pleasant state of relaxation, hanging out with Duan, my Bataknese friend, playing pool and ping pong, swimming in Toba's pure volcanic waters, and hanging out in the markets of Parapat, where Duan hunts tourists with Dylan, Harry, Jo Jo, Magic and the rest of the boys from the other guest houses. Tourist hunters come over to Parapat on the boat from Samosir Island with their small photo albums of accommodations, to chat up newly arrived tourists, known in the business as "fresh meat," and persuade them to come back to the Anju, Bagus Bay or Tony's (guaranteed to be the friendliest place in town!).

That's what the tourist hunters are supposed to be doing, anyway, but sometimes they're busy slacking off at Charlie's Bar in the market square, playing dominoes. Who can blame them-it's a long day for most of the boys. They get on the boat sometime between 8 and 10 in the morning and hunt all day until the last boat at 8 pm. Then, when they return to their guest houses, they must entertain their guests, working bars or restaurants until the last of the tourists decide they've had enough-sometimes not until three or four a.m.

Once, after a few rounds of dominoes at Charlie's, Duan and I went for lunch at a warung on the pier, where I unwittingly sampled curried goldfish (very bony), Batak style, with my fingers. When Duan told me what it was, I had to suppress my gag reflex, as well as my fond memories of watching the goldfish my parents so lovingly tended in their fishpond. "Duan, you must understand...in Canada, they're pets!" I tried to explain. All the while, Harry and the boys were hanging around the pier, smiling at us and saying nakal things in Indonesian that I didn't understand yet, making Duan get a sheepish look on his face. If Duan weren't so shy, I would have felt hunted myself.

But far better to be the hunter than the hunted. Fortified by goldfish, we sauntered out on the pier and-what luck!-snagged three Canadian tourists from Vancouver, easily identifiable by their kahki wear and laid-back mannerisms. We went back on the boat together to Samosir Cottage, comparing stories of our leechings at Bukit Lawang. (One poor guy, they reported, was leeched right on the balls, and from the amount of blood on his pants looked like he'd had a period.) As we talked, the tourist hunters sprawled lazily on their seats, agog at my tourist-hunting skills, and empty handed but for their kreteks and guitars. That's what you get for playing dominoes all day!
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