Samosir Island Summer Festival

Festival Location: Samosir Island, Sumatra, Indonesia

Festival Type(s): Summer Festivals, Combat Sports Events, Local Festivals

Samosir Island Summer Festival

By: © Sarah Warwick 2009

Lake Toba was a weird place to begin with. A tourist haven with few tourists: guesthouses and restaurants empty for miles around, a veritable ghost town. It's beautiful, no doubt, but quiet enough to be eerie. You can even hear the breeze as it blows dried leaves through courtyards. The chirrup of every bird.

Every pleasure a backpacker could wish for is here - from badminton courts, to motorbike hire shops, to cafes with alpine views - but all sit empty. A toxic combination of natural disasters and the threat of Islamic fundamentalism has decimated Sumatra's tourist industry over the last ten years. There were no more than 40 European tourists on Samosir (the Singapore-sized island in the middle of Lake Toba) during the time we were there, even though it was tourist season and the weather was perfect.

But then, at the start of the summer festival (13th-20th June), came what seemed to be a thousand Sumatran school children, teenagers with jazzy t-shirts and headscarves. We assumed they were here, like us, to watch the watersports, fun running, cycling and boxing competitions that make up the annual festival, but it transpired that they travelled from Indonesian schools far and wide to practise their English on the smattering of tourists.

Hunting in packs, clutching their autograph books or scraps of paper, and preying on lone walkers or couples, they came after us. Running when they caught a glimpse of a white face, their quarry; cornering us at breakfast, lunch and dinner. The braver girls demanded signatures, answers to their wall of questions, while shyer ones (and the boys) giggled and simpered. They all thrust cameras in our faces, clutching at our arms and hands as they struggled to all get a snap with a white person. It was decidedly odd.

Our decision to flee came quickly and my companions and I clambered into the hills in search of a festival event in which we were not the subject. Just outside a local village, in what is usually a car park, we found that the boxing ring for the amateur boxing festival had been set up. As we approached we could hear the announcer's voice and the yells of the crowds.

We entered the arena and picked a seat on the rough-hewn steps on the soil. The more important people, including a large police presence, had plastic chairs, but the westerners (a mere six of us) were barely given a second glance here; every eye was on the fight.

The boxing competition is the highlight of the festival and runs every day for a week. The competitors (mostly boys in their teens) come from as far afield as the Indonesian islands of Papua and Kalimentan and the whole event is taken very seriously by those involved.

A bout was just starting as we arrived. The boys (one in red and one in blue in each bout) squared up and touched gloves. Although tiny by European standards, they are clearly super fit and have all the kit - their shiny gloves and boots look cleaner and newer than perhaps anything else I saw in three weeks in Sumatra.

They proceeded to knock seven bells out of each other, with volleys of jabs and punches. During the breaks between rounds or 'Ronds' as it is pronounced here, teenage girls totter round the ring with placards announcing the round number while the tannoy plays blasts of the hardcore techno music that plays everywhere in Sumatra, especially on public transport.

Boxing crowds aren't known for being quiet spectators and the Sumatrans are no exception. Amid a great cloud of garam (clove-treated) cigarette smoke, they howl and hoot and jeer. There's considerable passion in their support - one man jumps out of his seat with every knock to his man. Eventually he stays on his feet shouting almost constantly. During the interval bops to the techno like a dad drunk at a disco.

As the afternoon goes on the quality of the boxing improves and it becomes more and more exciting. One of the champions clearly has seen all the Hollywood boxing flicks. He spends ten minutes before his bout in ostentatious warm-ups beside the ring. After tucking his fashionable haircut into his padded helmet he bows to the crowd and then bends to kiss the canvas. Either his warm-up or his ego pays off - and by the end of the first round the show-off had won and his opponent staggered off through the ropes, dazed and confused.

Soon after this we staggered off as well, to find food and more comfortable seating. At the bottom of the hill our pursuers were waiting and were delighted to see us again. I ask to take a look at one of the pieces of paper that are thrust at us for autograph. It turns out to be an itinerary for a school trip and this autograph hunting is the proscribed activity for two days (their other fun consists of a singsong and spelling bee in the evening).

I can't imagine this situation happening in England, although it does remind me of the Japanese horror film Battle Royale, where schoolchildren are set loose on an island and have to hunt and kill one another, or Lord of the Flies, come to that.

But in a place like Sumatra, which is so undeveloped for tourism, it's clear we are a scarce and respected resource for students who want to learn English. So as the sun goes down over Lake Toba we sit with them and answer some questions about where we come from and where we've been, sharing some of our culture as we have been able to enjoy sharing some of theirs.

by Sarah Warwick