Lost at Buru Island

From Sweaty Climbs to Coconut Cheers: Buru’s Unexpected Magic

We arrived in the afternoon at Tifu, a little village in the south of Buru Island. Buru Island is the third-largest island in the Maluku region of Indonesia. Some lovely headwinds slowed us down, pushing our arrival time out. Since it was a Sunday, we decided not to go ashore. We could already tell from the boat that this was a Christian village, as there were no mosques in sight.

The skipper’s words, “We’ll have a lazy afternoon,” were music to my ears—still shattered from night watch. But, five minutes later, we were all scrubbing the boat down from salt spray. Not quite my definition of a lazy Sunday, but hey, it had to be done. I even told the Crew we should just wait for the next downpour because, in Indonesia, when it rains, it rains. And, wouldn’t you know it, just as we finished, the sky opened up. Ah well, twice is better than none.

The next morning, we explored town a little. Some of the crew braved the local cuisine, sold by an old lady near the pier. Then we wandered up to two different schools, where teachers were more interested in taking pictures with us than, supervising the kids—who, by the way, were in the middle of their exams. Some locals and a couple of boys followed us around, happily explaining things about the village. Surprisingly, quite a few people, even the kids, spoke a bit of English.

We checked out a super flash ferry docked in the harbour which, of course, was broken—and no, the government wasn’t planning to fix it. Classic. Nearby, someone was casually carving out a canoe, right next to a pile of massive logs ready to be scooped up by a logging ship the next day. ‘Fun’ fact: around 90% of all logging in Indonesia is illegal. And globally? Somewhere between 50% to 90% of it is dodgy as well. Most of it’s just to clear land for animal farming or to flog timber. Lovely stuff.

That afternoon, we headed up the coast to another village called Nanali. We anchored next to a small island with a big hill and a beautiful shoreline. But then we spotted the mangroves. And where there are mangroves, there are crocs. The locals were happily jumping into the water, though, which was a good sign. By now, we knew how to ask if crocodiles were around—very handy survival skill, that.

Taking the dinghy up and down the coast, we noticed their unique boat-parking system—every boat gets hauled out of the water onto DIY stilts. Even most of the houses were built on stilts over the water. As always, people were waving and ridiculously friendly. We even spotted some big turtles chilling right in front of the village.

The next morning, I skipped the morning excursion into town and caught up on sleep and content creation instead. In the afternoon, we attempted to climb both nearby hills.

On the back of the island, we found ourselves in turtle heaven—heads popping up everywhere, often in pairs, like some kind of turtle dating scene. We lost count. Once we landed the dinghy, we waded through two-metre-tall grass to reach the first hill. Turns out, it was covered in taro plantations, which helped with traction—sliding down on your bum isn’t the best look. It was hot. It was steep. Sweat was pouring into my eyes. But the view? Totally worth it.

After an intense descent, we tried to climb the second hill. No luck. Every path either led straight into mangroves or was too overgrown. Eventually, we gave up, and just jumped into the water instead. And, of course, as soon as we pulled out the snorkels and camera, the turtles vanished. Put everything away? Turtles galore. Typical.

At around 4 p.m., we anchored at Namlea, the capital of Buru Regency, with a population of about 40,000. We were all exhausted from the early start and planned to “relax” for the afternoon. Relax in quotes, because it was my turn to cook. By 5 p.m., I was in the galley, whipping up an amazing vegetarian curry.

The next morning, we all wanted to go ashore but struggled to find a safe place to leave the dinghy. So, we split up. Mark and I took the first shift—2.5 hours to explore before swapping out with the rest of the crew after lunch.

Mark had found a “shopping mall” on Google, so off we went. Now, malls are rare on these little islands. If you find an ATM that actually takes Visa, you’re already winning. After 30 minutes of walking, I got suspicious—no reviews, no pictures, and something called “Motorshop.” That’s not a mall; that’s a google scam. I refused to continue and abandoned mission. Mark was convinced Google wouldn’t lie to him. Oh, sweet summer child. Once I showed him what Google lists as “cafés” and “restaurants” here (spoiler: usually just a hand-pushed coffee cart, if you’re lucky), he finally admitted defeat. Oh, and nothing opens before 5 p.m. anyway.

We wandered uphill, topped up our SIM card, and had a look around. There was only one petrol station in town, and the queue was at least two hours long. A bus tried to squeeze in and casually took out a few side mirrors—nobody batted an eye.

As we walked, people, including police officers, kept stopping us to take pictures. Suddenly, we found ourselves in the middle of a massive crowd—students pouring out of school all at once after finishing their exams. When I started filming, they all started posing like celebrities. Hilarious.

Down the road, an English teacher approached us and invited us to her house for some fresh coconut milk. Why not? Mark even helped pick the coconuts, and our lovely host, Infah, cut them open for us. She also gifted us a massive bunch of mangoes. We sat in her garden for a while, chatting about our different cultures—it was a really nice experience.

Unfortunately, time flew by, and Infah and her husband kindly drove us back to the harbour. They even offered to take us sightseeing the next day, which would’ve been amazing, but we were setting off again in the morning. With a few minutes to spare, we checked out the market—found some avocados and… neon chickens?! No time to process that mystery, though—we had to rush back for the crew swap.

A short trip ashore, but as always, the Indonesians were incredibly welcoming.