Pár hřejivých slov úvodem

Vítejte, lidé dobří i špatní, malí i velcí, ženy, ženy a taky muži, lidé s uhry, a předpubescentní nedomrlčata. Vítejte, mí skvělí kamarádi, ba i vy, odpadové společnosti, které jsem možná jaktěživ nespotkal.

Vítejte u Olihně Poutníčka, místa, kde se vše lenivě vleče a kde jsem si sám pro sebe. Jak je psáno, Oliheň Poutníček, toť receptář dobré nálady, deník chrabrého sestovatele a sborník literárního refluxu.

Dostojí se zde prostoru romantickým výletům s květy a peřím, romantickým vstáváním o kuropění, romantické pohodičce ve dvou či třech a potom tomu literárnímu refluxu.

Budu si zde tudíž dělat radost, tropit žerty, ve volné chvilce sepíši to Nejdůležitější poznání světa z okamžiku.

Poznámka k výhradám vůči infantilnímu názvu:

Nelitujmež nápadů trvalých hodnot, jež jsou zplozenci našich výstředností a opileckých mánií. Naopak: rozvíjejmež je! Protože proč by ne? Tvůrci, sebestředy takových myšlenek jsme stále jen my sami a jsme-li pro danou chvíli upřímní sami k sobě, jsme to my v ryzí podobě teď a tady. Proto budiž Oliheň Poutníček svým a mým, ač jeho nom může zavdat podněty k pohrdání a posměškům. Nechmež jej tudíž v míru cedit vodu, v níž se zrodil, a učiňmež jej šťastným chápavostí!

A hlavně, „Poháněno“ WRDpress, tak ústa zkomolmež do velkého Ó, v rámci posvátné úcty k pohánění.


S láskou Oliheň Poutníček


VII) Boredom (28. 3. 2017)

Ladies and gentleman, I am bored! I! Me!

Once upon a lifetime there was a day when I realised myself sitting/lying for a whole week without enough impulses… This obviously could turn out to be boring and not only relaxing.

There are many things to do, but they won’t last long – and still there is a week ahead – I try to save them, spread them throughout Sulawesi.

Therefore I am thinking, making wishes and lusts for creativity, yet unskilled to manage, lazy to try, shy to learn.

Lying imagining…

Lust for wood crafting, literature composition, piano playing… Faces from the salak seeds (snakefruit), entrapped emotions, Strýček Ingu and his octopuses, writing prayer of sea and waves (a. k. a. Graphico that would once be revealed)…


I cannot tell what day it was, maybe even this one, but once me and Berd went to see Puncak signal, a mountain with mobile signal covering. A truly big deal, for there was not a squeak of signal in Rantelemo valley. The local used to hike a little one not very far mountain slope to receive and send some messages with the rest of the family/world and so on. I needed to ensure parents I am alive and to communicate my further plans. Well, we spent there good 30 minutes, mostly just watching the horizon…

The slope was naked and the vista was stunning. I bitterly regretted the loss of the camera, yet I managed to remember the place very well. It was… From some other world, just an immense land of very steep yet domelike hills and mountains, all covered in green, in jungle, with almost no indication of humans, just ingenious view around and about. All so green, all so round, like some fluffy nipples of the Earth… Truly, without the possibility of taking the memory at some artificial device, you must remember yourself. And so I did.

On the way back, I saw one another beautiful scenery, the rice-field around the big boulders… I decided to draw the scenery after being at home. Hey and I did it. :oD Ehm, wish I could draw…

And, to fight against the boredom, I did one more activity that I enjoyed a lot. I took a machete and snakefruit seeds (see snakefruit, officially salak: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Salak) and commenced some funky carving. For the seeds reminded me of faces, I decided to carve mostly faces. And one scenery, the one I cherished a lot, my window view.

In the end, I had 12 seeds carved, however, I did it through many days. And enjoyed it, it was kind of magic, the sorcery or ritual. Eventually, I gave most of them as presents. For my friends. For important people. For my host family, for grandad there, for Berd, for my Indonesian friends in Semarang, and for friends at home. I can wonder now, who gave which face and what was the reasoning for such choices (I think I remember where the Bird, Scenery, Young woman, Old man and Stone are)… Till now, only the unnamed face has remained to me.

VI) The day of broken camera (26. 3. 2017)

No record in the blue book.

Remembering… Some situations I can remember without notes in the blue book, some from the pictures, some out of sheer memory.

Two days, subsequent; the first I went for a walk around Rantelemo, mountainwards. I walked among rice-fields and watched their grace and virtue. The villagers were farming on them, harvesting by that time I assume.

Then the sun was covered and it started to rain, not heavily however steadily. I saw a nice red dragonfly, took a picture of it – and that was the last time for my dear IXUS camera working reasonably. Then something happened, something that devastated its light perception without notable reason. Since then the bad light conditions made pictures hyperbright or mosaic-like. Unintentionally. Sometimes, under good conditions the camera was more or less obeying until Toraja. Well, some of the pictures were therefore made quite artistic, although the serious documentation was flawed for good.

And that was a true pity for I seen the most intriguing areas, sceneries and human-made products after it had broken. Or it is just the paradox of my perception after the memorising medium loss.

The day it broke I saw some true straw/bamboo made houses on stilts, something more original than the corrugated sheets instead of roofs which were seen around the „village centre“. The wooden houses appealed strongly on me, it was something I saw in the documentaries…

Another day my host family’s father took me for a trip to a „famous“ waterfall. Indeed, some people have probably heart of it as there used to be at least a tourist per month. :oD Going a jungle track, watching poisonous millipedes (do not touch!) and coming under the highest waterfall I’ve ever seen, called Sambabo (around 200 m). Allegedly, there were the hiding people living around the top level of the cliff.


From the way up to Sambabo – there was no light filter set up in the camera. Well, the error was quite dynamic… These are the striding legs of my host family’s father. Note his machete sheath hanging upon the belt.

After Sambabo, we aimed for a desa tradisional, traditional village, Ulu Mambi, the place which inhabitants worship old gods. They don’t belong to any official religion (although by the government they are seen as Christians – for the geographical proximity to mostly Christian areas). They are animists and they have some strange rituals that I haven’t seen. How typical! Ulu Mambi was the last village on the road. Although some paths continued across the jungle, there was wilderness for a good many kilometres.

We actually visited one house/hut and had a short chat with someone there in front of the building. I was not permitted to step officially further than to a veranda as there was an old sick woman inside who was ordered some kind of quarantine. Nevertheless I peeped inside (given a secret permission from the father – my guide) and I saw the interior was separated to 3 or 4 rooms. The woman was in the furthest room and I didn’t see her. Generally it was very simply furnished inside. I recall the floor of bamboo, with the narrow gaps between particular bamboo trunks. And it was very dark inside. It felt really old and original and I had this kind of respect for very aged person living in it, powered up with the fact the inhabitant has a belief that far exceeds my knowledge and perhaps imagination as well…


The only „usable“ picture from Ulu Mambi. One of the stilted houses. The missing plank is actually a window. Therefore the interiors were very dim.

After short I draw back and also the father returned and we went slowly back for our scooter to ride back to Rantelemo. Before we left the building, a girl came on the „road“, riding scooter as well, coming from school, from Rantelemo and I imagined how it must be to live partly in contact with ancient believes, in a hut rather than house, while studying in quite civilisation and absorb modern ideas of Christianity and modern ways of living… The girl looked nice nevertheless and with her school uniform seemed extremely inappropriate for the village of Ulu Mambi.


In memory of supreme pictures Canon IXUS used to make at my service.

Then we returned home.


V) The fourth day, of cleaning and river contemplations (25. 3. 2017)

One-day skip

Sabtu, the first Saturday I’ve ever taught.

Today, we went outside with the children and a) simply were naming the things around us and b) did a Big Cleaning.

The Big Cleaning (unfortunately not documented)

A short theoretical lecture about ecology and many empty phrases that sound important but there they were not.

Then a practical section – I had gathered two classes and made them picking up the garbage from around the school. It was a lot! There were some challenges to fight against:

  • To explain that the fallen leaf or wooden stick is not a garbage (but come on, when we are cleaning our houses‘ floors, we throw away the leaves, sticks and stones or feather, don’t we?),
  • teach that they shouldn’t the garbage just outside wherever they could,
  • I tried to explain that the garbage heaps „do look very bad“, which they seemed to agree with.

Well, maybe they understood some, but I honestly doubt it will have brought any effect in the end… If the children are smart, they will move to any bigger city for studies, and then, some lucky of them, will get away of Indonesia for a short visit, and hopefully they will understand and bring the knowledge back with own terms and reasoning.

Now, when we had had two massive bags full of garbage (two adults would comfortably fit in one such a bag), the question arose: What to do with it? Haha, a good question for a clever European! I had no idea, somehow I expected some dump machinery to come and take it. Nonetheless, there is no such a thing in Sulawesi. No garbage processing technology. Welcome to the jungle, buddy!

An English teacher (a poor young lady ashamed for her bad English, but kind and attentive) had proposed how to solve the garbage problem: Burn?

I got shocked and admitted I had no solution at all. I recommended to wait for Sardhy (the manager of my Workaway in Rantelemo). Unfortunately, till the end of my stay he never come as he had promised, therefore the problem remained unsolved till the end of my days there… When I was leaving, I forgot to find any solution and now I am wondering how the situation had developed in the end. Perhaps it would be the same, if only they collect the garbage or burn it instead of planting it around the school yard…

Now the question for ecologists: Which is better, to bury the garbage, or to burn it (forget about the burning in the garbage-processing plants)? I would love to know the answer once…

The nature will consume it anyway once…

Chčije a chčije! Možná znamení?


After the garbage is collected, let’s have it washed away!

Then the river! I was swimming and sitting on a huge boulder, watching for very long a buffalo hygiene, thinking of a future, it is so near now… And resolution?

  • I will find myself a Ph.D.,
  • I will terminate the Zoo text and make my best to publish it,
  • I will go to „pracák“ shit,
  • I will write a blog (here we go!),
  • I could work as a journalist.

Actually I could not work as a journalist due to lack of experience, education and acquaintances in the field.

A fun is how the boys were chopping wood and washing the buffalo down the river, just few meters from me. I cannot wash the buffalo, a huge elephant-like creature with deadly horns and unknown intentions – they need to know this, not any shit about ecology, their priorities are visible. The crap of the upcoming – next – next generation is not their. They live here and now, at maximum one generation ahead, everything extra is a fantasy…


For the boys, the river, buffalos and ricefields have much bigger importance than any ecology concerns… How ignorant!


Mighty buffalos are blocking the passage through the ricefield. The one afraid shall not go around.

And a short poem! I got a very strong inspiration watching a vivid-coloured picture of Mr. Jesus hanging on the wall. The picture was brightly illuminated by the sunbeam. Suddenly, there was a gecko (cicak) running on the wall that hid underneath the picture. The inspiration had run my pen across the paper:

Pastýř aneb Před Ním

Ach, gekončíku hloupý

Nač skrýváš se ve stínu za Ježíšem?

Když můžeš se koupat v světle

Před Ježíšem?