What we will remember most about Belitung is meeting and spending time with Hermaidi Haris. He is an English teacher and Vice-Principal of a high school in the town of Tanjungpandan on the island of Belitung. He had joined Randal and me for the special lunch prepared for Sail Indonesia during our day in town.

Hermaidi paying close attention to something Randal was saying.
Hermaidi invited us to visit his school and we did the following day.

This is Hermaidi’s senior English class. Randal had picked this boy to “volunteer” to practice his English and answer some questions about his goals and interests.

Students working quietly in the library. There were no computers and no books written in English. Randal and I gave Hermaidi our copy of Dreams From My Father by Barack Obama and Krakatoa about the volcano that had erupted in Indonesia in the late 1880s. We also gave him several DVDs that his students might like so they could watch and practice their English. The university libraries have English language books and computers, but not the high schools. Luckily here where Hermaidi lives education is free. In Indonesia each locality makes its own decision. In Bali education was not free. Though most of the girls are Muslim, most did not have on head scarves.

This was the small canteen where students and teachers could buy lunch or snacks. Hermaidi treated us to noodle soup with those wonderful fish balls. These students, from Hermaidi’s class had come from the class to join us. Since Hermaidi had been freed from his class duties to help with the Sail Indonesia visit, I’m not sure exactly who was working with his classes. But the kids sat and chatted with us and each other while Randal, Hermaidi and I ate our noodles. They were bright, charming kids.

After our school visit we went to Hermaidi’s home. I’ll describe it as an Indonesian ranch house. This is his wife, a high school chemistry teacher and 6 month son. Her classes had all been in the morning so she was free to go home. They also have a 10 year old daughter and a 7 year old son. There was another woman there who I thought was his wife’s sister, but was their “servant.” We sat and smiled with his wife and had snacks while Hermaidi performed his mid day prayers. Then we packed up the whole family and piled into Hermaidi’s SUVish car, we drove the 40 minutes back to the anchorage. The plan was to take everyone to our boat for a visit. Normally the water between the beach and the boats was calm. Not that day! We sat for a while and debated what to do. Finally, we threw caution to the wind, got everyone in the dinghy, and made our way to DoraMac. Everyone was soaked and the baby was asleep. On the boat we had snacks and a quick tour. The boat was rolling too much and everyone was getting queasy, so back into the dinghy we went and back to shore. Luckily the way back was better since the waves were behind us. Though not the best circumstances, it was a treat for Hermaidi and his family and we were glad they could visit our home.

Hermaidi joined us the next day at the beach restaurant. This sarong was a gift to me from his wife.

The following evening, after our school visit, there was the final Sail Indonesia event at the anchorage. Many people came from Tanjungpandan. The boy next to Randal was one of Hermaidi’s students. The woman next to him was a high school history teacher and the woman in green a pharmacy (apotik) technician.

Our last official Sail Indonesia stop was in Belitung. As always, the local people were warm, friendly and helpful. Our anchorage was lovely and there was always a group of men to help land and launch our dinghies. There were two or three restaurants along the beach, but word of mouth made one the restaurant of choice, and it was always crowded with Sail Indonesia folks. If you got there early you were given way too much food. If you got there late, you got what you got.

The anchorage was a 40 minute bus ride from the town and we had police escorts along the way. We had police escorts in Kumai also. We never were worried, but I guess they thought we were a large target and after the Bali bombing several years ago, everyone wanted this to be a safe, peaceful event. Every English teacher for miles was recruited to act as guides. Events were held to show off traditional customs. We were taken to the local museum and then to a beach for a kite flying demonstration. Everyone wanted to have a photo with the Westerners and practice their English. We just walked around saying Barack Obama and got lots of thumbs up.

Across from the museum was a hospital with a statue of a woman breastfeeding a child to praise and encourage breast feeding, or so we guessed since there was nothing written in English. You can see our buses in the background and someone’s big SUV and someone else’s motorbike with large woven saddlebags. There were lots and lots and lots of motorbikes and we saw many with these large saddlebags. The museum had lots of interesting relics from local tin mines and also lovely Chinese artifacts, but nothing in English and no organized tour to have anything explained so it wasn’t a highlight of the day. The beach was more fun with the kite flying demonstration, the food vendors, the hundreds of school kids who chatted us up, and my chance to watch a local artist.

The man on the right is a local. The man on the left is a “no hold barred” Australian who was led to believe that this wasn’t a real contest, but just a sort of demonstration; until he got wacked, hard! Each man has a stick to “tap” the other one with.

Though it was a school day, all of the schools allowed their students to come to the events.

Randal bought some spicy soup with fish ball and a hard boiled egg for his mid-morning snack.

This artist was painting with acrylics a palette knife.

I kept going back to watch but a large crowd had gathered. When locals saw me trying to see the canvas, they all moved aside so I could see. But I just would take quick looks and leave. Next time I went back the painting was put aside and the artist was drawing a portrait of a man in a military uniform.

These school girls practiced their English with us. “Where do you come from and what is your hobby?” were questions they learned to ask. We asked them if they had heard of Barack Obama and the girl in the center said yes, that she liked him. We asked her why, but she just got flustered and couldn’t tell us.

That afternoon we were taken to a lovely spot with a fresh water spring for swimming and a stage for performing. It was October 13th, my birthday. I told no one. Allison, another Sail Indonesia participant, had told so she went on stage and everyone sang Happy Birthday. Randal decided since it was my birthday, everyone should serenade me too. I was a good sport and so were the folks who had to sing for the second time.

Before we left the Dayak village the following morning, we went off to see how the village grew its rice. It was done communally with each villager getting an equal share. I asked if everyone worked equally hard to get an equal share, but the answer was that there was no problem. To create an area where rice can be grown, the village cuts down the rain forest trees and burns away the brush. Then the villagers go out and while some make small holes in the dirt with long sticks, the others plant the rice in the tiny holes. They rely on the rain to make the rice grow. Izzy said that the rice wasn’t so good as rice planted in wet fields. In Kumai we ate rice, but I couldn’t tell any difference if it was the locally grown kind or not. And perhaps the village rice stays in the village so town rice is wet field rice.

The cleared field ready for planting.

Villagers arrived at the rice plot at 7 am and worked till about 6 pm. These people arrived early and are waiting for the others to come and start poking the holes.

This woman was happy to pose. Then Dinson told her to put on one of the huge straw hats. She did but was embarrassed at having me take her photo that way so I deleted it and only saved the one she liked.

Women coated their faces with this white stuff, maybe zinc oxide, to keep their skin from darkening and didn’t mind being seen this way In the town of Kumai we saw many women with this white on their faces.

Coming to work the rice field

These people worked making the small holes (big enough for half a golf ball to fit into) for the rice seed. He is carrying the stick he will use to make the holes.

Making the holes.

I don’t know how they found the tiny holes to put the seeds into. I know I could barely see the hole as I bent to watch it being made.

Everyone was covered up from head to toe. I had on shorts and a sleeveless shirt and I was sweating just watching.

When it has grown this is what the field will look like.

American flag bandanna worn Indonesian style.
Dinson puts the new bandanna on his oldest daughter’s head. She was sitting reading to her younger sister later while we were there. Dinson says she is very bright and hopes she can go on to university as he had.

Dinson’s wife and oldest daughter. The daughter’s name was Dessa and her mother was referred to as Dessa’s mother. Her name sounded like Susie. But she really stayed apart form us in the “family” side of the house. I wasn’t invited in so didn’t go. She was Dinson’s 2nd wife. His first wife couldn’t have children so they were divorced. I don’t think I ever saw her smile.

This one reminds me of one of those “Depression Era” photos.

Kids are always smiling and happy everywhere.

This man was the “head man” of the village.

Bakunsu was the name of the Dayak Village. The longhouse we stayed in was built in 1889 and was one of the oldest in the village.

Though it was a poor village, it was kept clean and quite pretty with all of the neat fences and lots of flowers in front gardens. This street reminded me of historic Salem, Massachusetts. There was, basically, one street that circled the village with homes all along the way. There had to have been one shop because it’s where Izzy bought the cigarettes for the welcome ceremony.

The village school.

Dinson taught Social Studies here. The village was in the process of building a library as an addition to the school. I think all grades were here, 1st through high school but I can’t remember if education was free. I think elementary education is free everywhere, but then each local government through out the country gets to make it’s own policy about tuition costs. Across the field was a preschool. Many mothers worked in the rice field all day so kids could go to preschool to learn and be looked after.

The village school.

Dinson taught Social Studies here. The village was in the process of building a library as an addition to the school. I think all grades were here, 1st through high school but I can’t remember if education was free. I think elementary education is free everywhere, but then each local government through out the country gets to make it’s own policy about tuition costs. Across the field was a preschool. Many mothers worked in the rice field all day so kids could go to preschool to learn and be looked after.

A typical village home.
This one wasn’t on the river side so I guess that’s why it didn’t need to be built on stilts.
Don’t know if their satellite dish worked any more than Dinson’s which was not wired to the house as Randal had noticed

I saw several wells like this. Dinson’s house had no indoor plumbing.

Rice was stored in this building. The round wheels on the poles are to keep the critters out.

There were no grass huts nor scantily clad “natives” running around with spears. It is a modern day village with some old customs and ceremonies caught in the poverty that you see on all of the islands we visited. I wonder what it will look like in 10 years.

The welcome ceremony was supposedly put on for our benefit even though we did pay to have it performed. But I think the villagers were the ones who enjoyed it the most. I believe Izzy said the same ceremony was performed at funerals so I assume it is the ceremony to mark major occasions. Some of the fee was to pay for the rice wine served to everyone and for the cigarettes that the men smoked. Izzy had taken some of the money to buy several packs of cigarettes that were left on the floor of the longhouse for the men to help themselves. It didn’t please us that we were buying cigarettes, but we wouldn’t have said no since it is the custom. People were a little shy of us, at first, and only the men walked over to us to say hello. The women sat separately and though I did walk over to say hello, that was all I could say and all they could say. As for the money we paid, as I already said, some of it went to support the village and that’s fine.

Before the ceremony started several of the young village boys came in to play with the musical instruments and just to see what was happening.

I had asked what the drawings on the wall were meant to be and was told Dinson’s 10 year old daughter had done them. I thought it was some native artwork. And I guess, in a way, it was. You can see what the floor was like. The floor was the dark wood worn smooth with age. The light color were the woven bamboo mats that covered most of the floor. Shoes are not worn in the home, that is why everyone is barefoot. It does keep floors much cleaner.

The women, babies and small children sat together on one side of the room. Everyone wanted to be in a photo.

Some of the village men. I’m afraid I can’t remember how many people lived in the village, but we saw more older men and women than young men. They are enjoying the rice wine and cigarettes.

This man was one of the village elders who lead the welcome ceremony. He wanted his photo taken with Randal.

More of the women. They also dipped into the pouch of natural vitamins. Those woven baskets were lovely and sturdy and used for everything. And I don’t think they were Muslim so the women have no head covering.

So you can see, most of the village turned out for this event and many of the men and women danced. They seemed to enjoy themselves rather than put on a paid performance.

The thing I noticed most was that there was no food served at the ceremony. Food is cooked in the morning and eaten during the day when anyone is hungry. About 6:30, Izzy cooked us rice and eggs for dinner just as people were just starting to come to the long house. Randal sat off on the side and ate. That felt odd, but no one seemed to think we were doing something rude or unusual.

The ceremony started about 7pm and ended about 9:30 when folks started to leave. Many, even some of the women, came to Randal and me and said good-bye in a way that indicated they had enjoyed having the ceremony for and with us. Our dancing was probably great entertainment for them! Then while Izzy and Ogong and the speed boat driver sat up and drank wine and smoked cigarettes, Randal and I went into our mosquito net tent and went to sleep.

Next, a tour of the town, the rice field, and the burial sites.

My greatest memory of the ceremony was Izzy’s giggles that still make me laugh when I think about it. Luckily I had just enough self control not to lose it and laugh hysterically since I was one of the honored guests at, taking part in; and paying a stiff fee for the ceremony at the time. The ceremony itself was quite lovely and not at all a deserving of laughter. It was my inept performance, especially dancing as a bird that was quite funny compared to the graceful ways of the local women. Randal, Izzy and Ogong didn’t do so much better, but there were three of them and actually, few of the Dayak men were as graceful as the women.

The first part of the ceremony required Randal and me to sit in the seat of honor and have a tiny folded leaf held with twine tied around our wrist. Then rice kernels were sprinkled in our hair (getting them out was a challenge!) and we were offered rice wine to drink. A little wine goes a long way with me so I was reluctant to drink my whole cup. Luckily it wasn’t such a big cup. Randal, being male thus more important, drank his wine from the horn of a water buffalo.

The different items used in the ceremony. Rice that was sprinkled on us and the folded leaf bracelet that was tied around our wrist. When mine became untied the next day, Dinson had to be the one to retie it, not Randal of Izzy. I forget what the other stuff was. I think they might tap you with the small paddle. Izzy wasn’t with us to translate or explain and during his ceremony he couldn’t explain it to us either. Since I am only now having time to review all of this, it’s too late to ask Izzy or Ogong. I looked at it and immediately thought of the Passover “Seder Plate” that holds all of the symbols of the Passover story.

Randal had a cloth covering put on his head and we both had a green scarf draped on us. I think this is where the rice is being sprinkled onto us. In the second photo you can see the rice in my hair. We are sitting in the long house and all of the villagers are there in the back ground. The village elders lead the ceremony. Izzy is taking the photo.

Dinson is clapping his hands and everyone is saying the Dayak word for “chug.” I’m trying not to drink it all and also to tune out Izzy’s giggles. And I’m a bit jealous that I got the green plastic cup and Randal got the water buffalo horn. Photo by Izzy

Then comes the dancing……..

Now we’re preparing to take part in the bird dance. The four dancers touch fingers also. There are red plastic cups of rice wine in the center for us to drink. If I had drunk some perhaps I would have been more graceful and flowing.

At this point Izzy is roaring with laughter and I’m looking at Randal who actually thinks he looks like a bird dancing and I can barely hold it together. I think this must be the first time in Dayak village history that anyone has danced in socks!

Randal’s outfit consists of the Dayak head covering and scarf around his neck, his stiff pointed collar Tana Toraja souvenir shirt, a Dayak sarong size large and his polyester socks. Don’t ask me what I think I’m doing other than trying to tune out Izzy’s hysterics! A very stiff bird imitation? I was trying to watch the woman dancing across from me and not watch Randal.

Next up, Izzy and Ogong.

Izzy in blue and Ogong in white. As males, they both drank from the horn.

I can’t tell you how Izzy danced. I was too busy taking photos and trying not to laugh again. But neither Izzy nor Ogong declined the offer of more rice wine so their dancing had to be looser than mine!

Ogong danced like a strobe light was on him. It was quite fascinating. No, I hadn’t had

This is what it is all supposed to look like when you know what you are doing; like a graceful bird. The hornbill is a very important symbol to this Dayak village. All the dancers wore the same sarong and green scarf. It was left behind on the floor for the next set of dancers to wear.

Graceful birds.

These looked like iron pots with removable lids. Each made its own note. I tried to play “Do A Deer” but couldn’t get the correct sounds for “re a drop of golden sun,” so I gave up. It was a lovely hollow sound when hit with the short stick. Each generation learns from watching.

These kids were playing while we waited for the ceremony to begin and the men smoked the cigarettes that our fee had supplied. Luckily they smoked by the door so Randal and I didn’t have to deal with the smell. Unfortunately that is something the young learn from the old too. Most of the men smoke but not the women.

There was also sort of a bongo drum

More still to come……

Randal and I went off to an overnight stay at a Dayak Village a half day’s journey from our anchorage on the Kumai River. Originally we were to go by speed boat which would have taken about 4 hours. Luckily that couldn’t be arranged and we were driven overland to a stop about 30 minutes from the village. From there we took a very noisy speed boat down the river to the Dayak Village. Our overland journey in a very sturdy SUV was very very bumpy over dirt packed roads through miles and miles of palm oil plantations. We guessed that the roads were built by the plantations to meet their own needs. I don’t know what the locals did before that; maybe there was a narrow path. But places along the way were very rutted and it was amazing we didn’t get stuck in some very deep muck. Our driver did an excellent job. He would stop when I wanted to take photos or when I had to pee down behind some palm oil trees. The driver was a friend of Izzy’s, our guide from the Orangutan adventure. Randal and I paid for the transportation and the fees to visit the Dayak village, but not for Izzy’s time as he had planned to go to the village looking at wood sculpture made there. (Unfortunately for us all, the sculpture was in the home of a villager who was away so we could not see it.)

Izzy had intended to get our traveling gasoline on our way through Pangkalan Bun. But the lines at the pump were so long it would have taken at least an hour to get fuel. Instead we drove into the next small town and bought gas from a roadside stand.

This was a smooth part of the road. But it went on for miles and miles and all looked the same to me. We bounced most of the way and it was tiring trying to keep yourself in place on the car seat. We would come to a fork in the “path” and our driver knew exactly where to go. His name sounded like Ogong to me. He didn’t speak English, but he always seemed to know what to do and what was happening. You’ll see photos of him taking part in the Dayak ceremony. We saw lots of people traveling these dirt roads on motorcycles, either their own or a motorcycle taxi. Occasionally, there were small groupings of buildings or wood houses so people lived or worked out in this area.

Gasoline is sold by the liter bottle. These little stands buy up the fuel and then resell it at a higher price. Randal and I didn’t pay the additional cost, but someone’s profit from our car rental went down. When you don’t buy fuel at the “pump” you can never be sure of the quality of the fuel. In this case it wasn’t our problem since it wasn’t our car. But we actually bought diesel fuel in Makassar that was delivered to the boat in huge plastic containers so it took lots of trips. Arif, our “Makassar friend” had organized and made a bit of profit from it. We also bought dinghy gasoline in Lovina Beach the same way. So far so good.

You can see what I meant by the road went on forever and the miles of palm oil plantations where there used to be rain forest. Those neat rows are palm oil trees. Palm oil trees have large clusters of kernels that made me think of corn kernels, but bigger, maybe the size of two peach pits and red brown in color. Palm oil should be an ok idea except that companies are chopping down rain forest to plant them.

This was a huge logging area that we passed. I wanted to get out and take photos, but Izzy, Ogong, and Randal thought it wouldn’t be appreciated so we just slowed and aimed out the car window. This also had been rain forest.

Finally after 4 hours of bumpy road and 30 minutes of noisy speedboat we arrived at the small Dayak Village.

The Dayak longhouse where we spent our evening.

Built in 1889, the grandfather of the current owner bought the house and now his son’s family lives there. Like many homes in the area it is built on stilts to prevent damage from the river flooding. It keeps crawling things away too and there is storage underneath. That’s where stuff goes when it leaves the squat toilet; a hole in the sandy ground beneath the house. We certainly didn’t smell anything. I’m probably telling you more about toilets around the world than you want to know. But they are essential, and something we have to deal with in each country we visit, each city, each village and each overnight lodging. It gets to be pretty important.

The name of the village is Bakunsu and it is one of the oldest Dayak villages in the area within driving distance from Kumai. Apparently when the whites got to the area they asked about the local people and were told, “they were the people who live up the river”; because, they were the people who lived up the river. So they were called Dayak which translates to people who live up the river. Or so the story goes….The interior of the longhouse was basically empty, clean and dark. This longhouse was the largest house in the village and is owned by a man named Dinson, one of the village school teachers and slight wheeler dealer. His home was always the one to host the visitors and collect the fees, a percentage of which were shared with the village. Because of this Dinson had installed an indoor toilet so guests wouldn’t have to go outside and use the traditional “Johnny house” that we saw all along the river. There was no shower or tub or sink. So for that one night I used an extra handkerchief as a wash cloth and used water bottle water for face and teeth. So in the space of a week we had gone from our lovely, mostly reliable DoraMac bathroom and shower to our Klotok with its open air combined toilet/shower to just a squat toilet and our water bottles. I didn’t mind but Randal just couldn’t get into the spirit of it all. I know I keep referring back to Agnes Keith’s Land Below the Wind, but for me it was a way to experience a bit of what I had read. Agnes went down the river to bathe and pee with armed guards to keep away crocodiles. She and her husband and then husband and son camped or stayed nights in a longhouse, all under much more primitive conditions though they also had guides and drivers who did all of the work and cooking. So our travels were giving me a way to see a bit of her life. Coincidentally in my Adventure Divas book, Holly Morris is also in Borneo, visits an orangutan rehab center and then spends a night in a longhouse taking part in the welcoming ceremony. So I was quite forewarned. Randal hadn’t a clue. But during the welcoming ceremony he did get into the spirit of the thing….the rice wine may have helped. You’ll see later.

The back of the longhouse looking toward the front door. There were some hanging bulbs that were lighted later in the evening powered by Dinson’s generator. That is Dinson in the photo. At night Izzy and Dinson’s wife would prepare our mattresses like we had on the klotok and cover it with a mosquito net tent. It was pretty comfortable and mosquitoes didn’t really seem a problem indoors. Maybe all of the cigarette smoke from the welcome celebration participants chased them away. Shoes are not worn in the house so the floors stay clean but were worn smooth.

“Stairs” down from the porch.                  “Stairs” from the porch into the longhouse.

I had no problem going up, but coming down to the porch from the house, I had no rail to hold on to so had to just sit on the house floor and sort of lower myself down to the porch.

Looking off the porch to the “front yard.” Those small building shelter graves. I saw them and they were similar to the dead bodies in Tana Toraja. It looks as if they are mummified and just placed into decorated wooden caskets or just wrappings. They are kept above ground. The blue and yellow

monument is the burial site of the last village head hunter. I’m not sure if he is in it, underneath it, which would be odd to me since all of the other bodies were above ground, or it’s just a monument. He died in the late 1950s I believe. Heads of dead enemy had lots of power so if you could capture one and bury it near your home you would have that energy and power. When parents wanted to scare their kids into staying close to home, they would threaten them with capture by the head hunter. Izzy’s parents warned him since child heads were prized the most. Both Izzy and Dinson both gave us that bit of information. In the Dayak village, if head hunters were in the vicinity, children would hide in the house and the adults would stand guard poking the blow gun through a small window of the longhouse. No head hunter could get up the “stairs” past the watchers with the blow gun. If he did evade the poison darts, the spear attached to the end of the blowgun would get him. The Dutch and British made head hunting a crime and it is pretty much unheard of now. And, no, we didn’t see any hanging around the village. Of course, we didn’t ask to see one either.

Our host, Dinson, with his blow gun. We weren’t allowed to see the darts or the poison they are dipped into. It would have destroyed their magic. The blowgun is used for hunting now.

The spear at the end of the long blowgun.

Dinson, Ogong and Izzy holding the blowgun. You can see how long it was and pretty heavy to hold steady and aim and blow. And taking a huge leap from the ancient to the modern, you can see a satellite dish in the background. Randal said he saw wires from it just hanging unattached to the house. Since they aren’t cheap and Dinson has to generate his own electricity, Randal wondered if the dishes were subsidized at one time or why there were so many dishes in a village that was lacking in so many basic services, like any kind of indoor plumbing. Rainwater was collected for the water used by the family and people bathed down at the river.

Park Ranger putting out food on a feeding station

Wild bearded pig. These pigs have been known to eat baby orangutans! Yuck. Randal guessed that this one weighed 300 lbs!! It had a funny looking pink snout that stuck out at the end of its nose.

The park rangers were really comfortable with the orangutans and the gibbons. The proboscis monkeys don’t come to visit. When the orangutans came near any of us, everyone moved very quickly out of the way. One funny episode; one orangutan in a tree top over a group of us started bombing everyone with poop and pee! Amazingly no one got hit with the poop, but one man’s hat got peed on. It actually was quite funny. We’re not sure if it was a planned attack or a funny coincidence.

Three gibbons came down to interact with us. The ranger said they were brothers. I fed one a piece of orange the ranger had. Even more than the orangutans, the gibbons look like stuffed toys.

Hi All

Arrived safely at Nongsa Point Marina (01′11.793N 104′05.830E) in North Batam, Indonesia at 11:48 AM today October 21st after a 3 1/2 hour trip from last nights anchorage. We got just a taste of the South side of the Singapore strait as we arrived at the marina. We have to cross it to get to Sebana Cove Marina when we leave here and I hear and believe there is a ship utilizing the strait every twelve minutes. Should be a hair raising experience.
We are firmly attached to the dock and the aircons are running for the first time since we left KK on August 13th. The boat next to me was taking on fuel in plastic containers and I asked him how much it was, 14,000 Rupia per liter he replied. That’s $1.50 US or $5.70 per gallon. Most cruisers on the rally paid about 6,500 Rupia or 70 cents per liter for it. 14,000 Rupia seems a little high to me but Ruth and I just paid $21.50 for a small lunch which would have fed us for days in the places we have been over the last couple of months.
Nongsa Point Marina is really nice looking and apparently brand new. The floating pontoons are all brand new and some of the dock cleats haven’t been bolted in place yet. The marina building is usable but still under construction. The down side is the ride into town to get provisions is 45 minutes.

Randal