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Marco Ferrarese

“You see that line over there?”
An old man sitting next to me, wearing a sarong and Muslim skullcap, points at a horizontal yellow line etched about two metres from the ground on a wall. “It reminds us of how high the water surged.
“It was only for a few hours, but we can never forget.”
Beside me and this 2004 Boxing Day tsunami survivor, the massive Kapal Apung barge looms above what was once a neighbourhood in the city of Banda Aceh, the capital of Indonesia’s westernmost province, Aceh.

On that fateful day, waves more than 30 metres (100 feet) high lifted the 2,600-tonne electric generator barge from a point a few kilometres out to sea and flung it down on this plot of land, crushing homes and lives under its deadweight. It’s been here ever since.
Banda Aceh was the closest built-up area to the epicentre of the tsunami that laid waste to areas of India, Sri Lanka and Thailand, and the first to be hit. Of the 230,000 people who died in the catastrophic event, 170,000 were in Banda Aceh and its surrounding areas.
The Indonesia beyond Bali is brimming with vibrant communities and customs
Twenty years on, the city has turned its scars into tourist attractions and memorials.
The Kapal Apung, now a museum dedicated to the tragedy, is the final stop on a trip across the heart of Aceh, known mostly by the outside world for its hardline Islamic rigours. Like the rest of this journey, it turns my expectations on their head.
Museum PLTD Apung is a 15-minute walk from the Aceh Tsunami Museum, set on the southeastern corner of central Lapangan Blang Padang, a green park amid the city’s controlled chaos.

Dark like its history, the Tsunami Museum’s circular building is a reminder both of the past and to future generations that new calamities are always possible.
Outside, a police helicopter twisted into what looks like a metallic tennis ball sets the grim scale of the disaster.
But the people strolling the manicured gardens and modernist halls, filled with nuanced and informative exhibits, don’t seem too alarmed.
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Seven years after the tsunami, in 2011, Banda Aceh hit the headlines for the treatment of local punk rock youths, who had been arrested and had their heads shaved with clippers, to be “re-educated” as pious Muslims.
I am visiting not just to check the pulse in Aceh 20 years after one of recent history’s most destructive natural disasters, but also to see whether the place is becoming more receptive to foreign ideas – and to tourism.
In August 2023, the state-owned Bank Syariah Indonesia (BSI) reversed a contested ban on non-Syariah-compliant banks by starting to accept international contactless Mastercards and Visa cards on its ATM network.

The move was introduced to “support the tourism sector in Aceh”, Saut Parulian Saragih, senior executive vice-president of digital banking at BSI, told the Indonesian press.
Truth be told, though, until now the only place in Aceh that has attracted tourists in any numbers is Pulau Weh, the island facing its capital. Indonesia’s northernmost point of any note, the less-conservative Weh is blessed with dive sites.
However, there must be more to Aceh’s tourism appeal than one island …

I land in Medan, capital of the neighbouring North Sumatra province, with the intention of taking a shared van to Kutacane, a sprawling town set in a valley on the southern flanks of Aceh’s forested interior.
I want to avoid the smooth highway running to Banda Aceh along Sumatra’s northern coast, so plan to cross Aceh using the small, mountainous road that cuts across the jungles of Gunung Leuser National Park, one of the world’s last orangutan habitats.
The road passes the small towns of Blangkejeren and Takengon – the latter next to Lake Laut Tawar – then reconnects to the coastal highway at Bireuen, before reaching Banda Aceh.

My fears of a hellish trip along rough roads are eased as I board an angkot (a minivan) to Kutacane. “Bad roads? You’d be surprised at how nice Aceh’s asphalt is compared to North Sumatra’s,” says the friendly passenger seated next to me.
He’s right – despite snaking across hills on the five-hour journey, the road progressively improves as we get close to Kutacane, and will prove to be in remarkably good shape thereafter.
In Kutacane, I change transport to a bemo , which has seating arranged in two rows in the back of a van, to be driven another 45 minutes to my first stop.
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Little more than a cluster of homes by the roadside, Ketambe is nevertheless a much more rewarding and less touristy location for wild orangutan encounters than Sumatra’s most popular wildlife spot, Bukit Lawang, which is on the opposite, southeastern side of Gunung Leuser National Park.
Between 20 and 30 individuals live wild around Ketambe and the next morning, I set out with young local guide Salat, one of the owners of Pak Mus Guest House, on a half-day search for primates.
When finding wildlife is the goal, the first hour of a trek is always filled with a sense of anticipation that makes one’s head jerk upwards every time a branch cracks or the wind blows and ruffles a thicket.

In truth, orangutans make a very peculiar sound as they carry their weight from tree to tree, a rhythmic cadence of folding branches that accompanies their slow advance high up in the canopy.
Besides a guide’s trained ear, what one needs most is luck – and for two hours, we go around in circles, slightly disheartened and confused by the wind rustling the foliage, the fluttering of tropical birds and the intense buzz of cicadas.
I am almost ready to give up, drenched in sweat as I sit next to Salat, resting on a fallen trunk.

“There,” he says, lifting his arm and pointing towards a thicket.
Slowly, the viridian colours of the foliage turn a blur of furry orange, and a young, solitary male – orangutans separate from their mothers after six to eight years and roam alone – comes into view, placidly plucking at the trees, choosing the best leaves for its never-ending lunch. These primates eat all day long.
Then come more sightings.

By 3pm, we have seen a mother and baby; two juveniles swinging from hanging lianas in a forest clearing, like the lead actors on a jungle stage; and another solitary young orangutan, which seems more surprised to see us than, by now, we are to see him.
There is only one road through Ketambe. It either returns to Kutacane or proceeds into the hills extending to the northwest.
It takes eight hours in another bemo on a good yet very winding mountain road to reach Takengon, which is at an altitude of 1,200 metres and is idyllically situated; the soaring coffee-growing Gayo hills towering around 26km- (16-mile) long Lake Laut Tawar.

Seen from the moving van at sunset, when hues of purple blanket the green mountain slopes, the lake looks like a dark, calm mirror.
Takengon is a compact, friendly town, its fresh air chillier than that in the lowlands, its bus station within walking distance of several simple yet clean homestay-type lodgings.
The first thing I do is find a coffee shop and order a cup of Gayo coffee. It has a roasty Arabica taste and a bittersweet aroma, a scent of these very mountains, and fills me with some much-needed warmth.

The best way to explore Takengon is by hiring some wheels – quite a challenge given the few tourists that make it to these parts. I finally find Gayo Travel, which is determined to develop affordable tourism services such as daily motorbike rental and excursions, and off I go.
The road out of Takengon runs along sinuous hills, skirting fields filled with bushes whose branches are bent by plump coffee cherries.
It’s a 7km ride to Pantan Terong, a viewpoint set at 1,800 metres above the spot where Takengon touches Lake Laut Tawar’s northern end. In the morning light, the waters shine at the bottom of jigsaw hills, inviting me to ride further around the lake.
Skirting the northern shore, I stop at the Putri Pukes cave, where rock formations resemble human figures – local legend has it that a lovelorn princess transformed into one of these stones.
Back on the road, the well-paved asphalt keeps me glued to the shore, passing floating boats, waterside villages and beautiful stretches of coast where entrepreneurial young Indonesians have set up campsites and arty cafes by the water.
Having another cup of Gayo here is, of course, a must.

When I get back to Takengon, to return the motorcycle, I realise I am a bit low on cash, but still have a six-hour van ride to get to my final destination, Banda Aceh, to pay for.
So I put Aceh’s tourism capabilities to the test: there’s only one BSI branch in Takengon, so I cross my fingers and hope against having to hitchhike all the way north.
A bemused guard who is clearly unused to helping foreigners calls the branch manager to “assist me” in the moment of truth.
As the two stand by me, looking from the side, I insert my Visa card, key in my PIN, and … gulp! Rupiah notes begin rolling out.
It’s time to hit the road for Aceh – where international tourists and their cards are no longer haram.


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Asia travel

20 years after the tsunami: Aceh, Indonesia’s strict Muslim province, is opening up to the world, with arty cafes and ATMs that take Visa, Mastercard

The Kilometer O Indonesia monument on Pulau Weh marks the beginning of the archipelago, Banda Aceh, Indonesia, 2023. Photo:  Chan Kit Yeng)

A man looks at the remains of a truck damaged during the 2004 Boxing Day Tsunami, in Aceh, Indonesia. Twenty years on, a visit to the Muslim-majority province affords stunning nature and some modern conveniences. Photo: Marco Ferrarese

The Kapal Apung barge in Banda Aceh is now a museum. Photo: Marco Ferrarese

The tsunami memorial at the Museum PLTD Apung, in Banda Aceh. Photo: Marco Ferrarese

Banda Aceh’s Baiturrahman Grand Mosque. This part of Indonesia is known for its hardline Islamism. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

The Kilometer O Indonesia monument on Pulau Weh island, Indonesia’s northernmost point of any note. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

A family on their motorcycle sidecar in Banda Aceh. Photo: Marco Ferrarese

Jungle flowers in Gunung Leuser National Park. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

Jungle fruits in Gunung Leuser National Park. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

A juvenile orangutan in Ketambe. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

Lake Laut Tawar, Aceh, Indonesia. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

Fishermen on Lake Laut Tawar. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

Inside Putri Pukes cave. Photo: Chan Kit Yeng

Hiking off the beaten track in central Taiwan’s Alishan region: coffee and tea plantations, forest trails and mountain dew

A popular tourist destination in central Taiwan, Alishan (above) has forests, mountains, and tea and coffee plantations. Photo: Getty Images

Alishan is a famed tea-growing region, producing alpine Oolong tea and Jinxuan tea, among others. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Some of the railways in the area, built by the occupying Japanese to carry timber, are now used to carry tourists, or serve as hiking trails. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Hunter Story Studio, in Alishan, has two campgrounds surrounded by a coffee plantation. Photo: Cameron Dueck

The impressive Alishan mountain range in central Taiwan. Photo: Cameron Dueck

Plains, trains and uncommon zeal: China’s varied landscapes photographed via railways that traverse them

A freight train passes over a gabled bridge in Honghe prefecture, Yunnan province, southwest China, known as the Renzi Bridge and designed by French engineer Paul Bourdon, in July 2017. Photo: Wang Lu

In November 2023, a freight train crosses a bridge near Liupanshui, Guizhou province, southwest China, on the Liupanshui-Hongguo Railway. Photographer Wang Lu, who captured the image using a drone-mounted camera, spends up to five months a year shooting along the country’s rail network. Photo: Wang Lu

Photographer Wang Lu. He spends three to five months of every year travelling to photograph railway scenes in China. Photo Courtesy Wang Lu

A train on the Lanzhou-Urumqi Railway in August 2021, near Jinchang in Gansu province, northwest China. Photo: Wang Lu

A train on the Wuhan-Yichang high-speed railway near Qianjiang, Hubei province, central China, in August 2022. Photo: Wang Lu

 A high-speed train rolls through one of the largest rapeseed fields in China in Menyuan county, Qinghai province, northwest China, in July 2018. Photo: Wang Lu

A viaduct carries a high-speed train over traditional Cantonese fish farms on the Guangzhou-Foshan-Zhaoqing intercity railway near Zhaoqing, Guangdong province, southern China, in October 2022. Photo: Wang Lu

A train on the Chengdu-Guiyang high-speed railway in Yibin, Sichuan province, southwest China, in November 2023. Photo: Wang Lu

A trains passes over a scenic old bridge in Qijiang district, Chongqing, southwest China, in October 2023. Photo: Wang Lu

A passenger train taking off-duty mine workers from the hinterland of the Qilian Mountains back to Jiayuguan crosses a deep valley in Gansu province, northwest China, in August 2021. Photo: Wang Lu

A train on the Lanzhou-Urumqi high-speed railway in Menyuan county, Qinghai province, northwest China, in July 2020. Photo: Wang Lu

A train crosses fields of red earth on the Nanning-Kunming Railway in Shilin county, Yunnan province, southwest China, in February 2021. Photo: Wang Lu

A train on the Chengdu-Guiyang high-speed railway passes over a bridge near Bijie in mountainous Guizhou province, southwest China, in November 2023. Photo: Wang Lu

Another bridge carries a train on the Chengdu-Guiyang high-speed railway near the Guizhou provincial capital, Guiyang, in November 2023. Photo: Wang Lu

A passenger train rolls along the Yiyang-Zhanjiang Railway through the karst mountain landscape of Guangxi, southwest China, in October 2022. Photo: Wang Lu

A train on the Korla-Golmud Railway crosses a desert in Haixi prefecture, Qinghai province, northwest China, in August 2020. Photo: Wang Lu

A freight train on the Jiaozuo-Liuzhou Railway in Guangxi, southwest China, passes a drum tower of the Dong ethnic minority in October 2023. Photo: Wang Lu

A freight train on the Lanzhou-Urumqi Railway passes a herd of camels near Jinchang, Gansu province, in July 2019. Photo: Wang Lu

A passenger train rolls along the Boktu-Thar Gas Railway near Yakeshi, Inner Mongolia, northern China, in July 2015. This scenic stretch of railway was built between the 1920s and 1940s to transport timber felled from the Greater Khingan Mountains. Photo: Wang Lu

One of the few steam locomotives still in use in China, on the Sandaoling Coal Mine special railway in Hami, Xinjiang, in January 2019. Photo: Wang Lu

A freight train on the Nanning-Kunming Railway rolls through the Qianxinan Buyei and Miao autonomous prefecture in Guizhou province, southwest China, in March 2018. Photo: Wang Lu

A coal train on the Chifeng-Daban-Baiyinhua Railway crosses snow-covered grassland in Inner Mongolia, northern China, in March 2016. Photo: Wang Lu

A freight train traverses a deep valley on the Neijiang-Liupanshui Railway near Zhaotong, Yunnan province, southwest China, in November 2023. Photo: Wang Lu 

A freight train passes through a dry valley in Chuxiong Yi autonomous prefecture, Yunnan province, on the Chengkun Line that connects Kunming with Chengdu, in March 2016. Photo: Wang Lu

Driving hazards in Azerbaijan: policemen seeking payouts, ‘interesting’ roads and wandering cows challenge motorists in post-Soviet country

The sometime hair-raising road to the Azerbaijani mountain village of Lahic, is sometimes carved into sheer cliff. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

The scenic mountain village of Lahic in Azerbaijan. Getting there by car required getting past an extortionate policeman, dodging wandering cows and taking a detour around a collapsed section of road. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

The Old City of Baku, beside the Caspian Sea, is a car-free warren of mansions built hundreds of years ago. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

Oil-rich Azerbaijan has invested heavily in modern architecture, including these Flame Towers, which have become a symbol of Baku, the capital city. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

Zaha Hadid’s Heydar Aliyev Centre, one of Baku’s many modern buildings, is used to host cultural exhibitions. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

Away from Azerbaijan’s two main cross-country highways, roads swiftly deteriorate, and even solid and comfortable hotels may require struggling up tiny tracks. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

The often hair-raising road to the Azerbaijani mountain village of Lahic is carved into sheer cliffs in parts. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

The Palace of the Sheki Khans, in western Azerbaijan, is worth the cross-country drive, regardless of unpredictable fellow road users, poor road surfaces and greedy policemen. Photo: Peter Neville-Hadley

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Aceh was hit hard by the 2004 Indian Ocean Tsunami and relics of the disaster dot the capital Banda Aceh. The province has also made news for hardline Islamism
But a trip into the forested interior along well-paved roads affords encounters with rare wildlife, great coffee, nature and places where tourists can draw cash


Aceh offers visitors encounters with orangutans without the crowds, great coffee and now even ATMs to draw cash from, two decades after devastation visited Indonesia’s strict Islamic province.


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