Embarking on my annual trip to Bali,, Indonesia, I feel a bit like the Norwegian explorer Thor Heyerdahl on his voyage ( I gladly replace his reed and balsa raft and mud huts with jets and posh hotels) to discover Kon Tiki in the Easter Islands. Though no comparable archaeological breakthrough is in store, this trip is a quest to regain a spiritual connection and to discover some beautiful relics that will inspire the transforming magic that the exquisite artistry of these amazing artisans inspire. Staring into the glimmering blue sea as I press a bright white, damply hot towel against my brow, I can already feel the warm and fragrant air, exquisite tropical flora and beautiful people. I wonder what awakening awaits me in this most idyllic of islands.

Stepping from the plane into the sultry air, the tropical ennui slows me. My muscles release as I exhale away the stress of life. Already I could sense the new dimension to be the relationship of balance, unity and harmony. The sweet fragrance of the white night blooming flower fills the air. The bright petals and lavendar incense offered to honor the Hindu gods instill positive energy in the doorways and deity sculpture they adorn. I tilted my head down and flattened my palms together in response to this elegant Bali greeting. Never is a voice raised (other than to hawk wares) or a fist raised (other than the police or military). So soft and elegant are the Balinese that the act of being is an art in itself and provides a backdrop for creating exquisitely detailed art pieces crafted in wood, metal silver, stone as well as other materials for which the Balinese are renowned.

After about a dozen trips to Bali, Lombok & Java, this year I felt drawn to less traveled islands of the huge Indonesian archipegalo of over 13,000 islands. After some minimal research on the inhabitants and art, I set my sights on Papua Jaya (formerly known as Irian Jaya) that shares the same island mass as Papua, New Guineau. A land largely inhabited by native aborigines including the Asmat tribe. These hunter/gatherers still wear grass skirts, hunt with spears and carve exquisite primitive form statues. The swampy estuaries that surround the tribal homeland makes the island accessible only by boat or charter plane. After hopping a redeye (the only flight) to Timika, a mining town built in the last three decades by Freeport MacMoran, a Louisiana company that is operating a large copper and gold mine in the highlands three hours north. Timika is also the gateway to Asmat, on this easternmost island of Indonesia, the embarkation process seemed like a bad dream. I hopped off the all terrain vehicle that delivered us from the runway to the light green frame building, and walked to the exit gate to find it locked. As I released the handle, I turned to face two scowling immigration offers demanding a travel letter from the government. They were unimpressed and unmoved by my declaration that my visa entitled me to visit any part of Indonesia. Papua they declared was not really a part of Indonesia, and subject to civil unrest. They didn't seem to buy that so I turned to the time honored tactic of groveling in a more classic feminine style of cutting red tape, begging with innocent ready smiles and eyelash batting which proved much more effective. I happily jumped in the Sheraton van relieved that in this sometimes unpredictable world, there is usually a predictably posh hotel. Once there, I was drawn to the more interesting unknowns. It was the most thought provoking heart warming and exciting day of my trip.

The swarthy and stinky driver grinned at me with yellow teeth as I directed him in broken Indonesian to take me to the morning market. Half bent over to duck under tarps swollen with rain, I trod through the muddy marketplace to find a few necessities but no Asmat artifacts. Returning to the car, I asked the driver if we could go to Asmat. He just laughed. After resorting once more to the feminine form of groveling, he started the car and drove down the one lane street in the opposite direction from which we come. Parallel to the road snaked a river through which longboats with very dark natives would whisk by. Curving back and forth sharply to avoid myriads of potholes and mud, I noted bars on all house and shop openings, and a rifle with a nozzle pointed toward the sky held by a passenger of a passing motorbike. As we passed a village, less clothes were worn and houses became shacks. Finally we stopped at a larger but similarly underdeveloped village. After inquiring about the Asmat tribe we were taken to a couple of houses. Greeted by puzzled but warm expressions, the woman of the house disappeared into a tilted shed emerging moments later with an armful of wall hangings and artifacts from Asmat. So pleased to have any piece of this culture, I took them all. The second stop proved more challenging. Access to tarped shed on shaky stilts was a shaky ladder formed of small branches loosely tied together rolled and bent under my weight. Once inside, a black cloud seemed to be pushing the blood out of my head as I negotiated the rolling bark floor, baking heat from the leaping flames in the kitchen, and pungent odor from the dozen or so men sitting around the fire. Treasures as those carvings seemed, I headed toward the daylight peeping through an opening in the tarps that formed the roof and sides of this shanty. Jumping off the wavering floor, my sandals sunk 5 inches deep into the swampy mud outside. Unaware of my nausea, a smiling and toothless woodcarver jumped down after me with spears. Slowly wrenching my feet through the mud with muddy sandals in hand, I somehow managed to purchase about 10 spears, a shield and several statues for many times the price I could have likely purchased them in Bali. They were of course worth to me many times the Bali price.

On the return to Timika we encountered a road closed for three hours for a demonstration. It so happened that 10 Papuans convicted of killing several Freeport MacMoran employees including two teachers eight months prior were being sentenced in Jakarta that day. The demonstrators demanded their release and expulsion of Freeport, and to be released from the rule of Indonesian government. The combined strength of big industry and government would quell their voices and soon the sum of the few tribal hunter/gatherers would be modernized. Their children would attend schools and be employed by modern entities. Their lives soon would be captured only in folklore and art.

Sitting through the demonstration with the stinky driver, the stark contrast of the imbalance, disunity and disharmony of Papua with Bali's character resonated. Imbalance had resulted when powerful and rich outsiders had imposed on these tribes a lifestyle threatening to dismantle their customs, dress and values ingrained from ancestors over centuries. The dissonance split the Papuan natives and Indonesian as well as foreign newcomers and disharmony had resulted in no less than random murders.

The disruptive rings set in motion by my personal divorce jolt ripple by toppling the crutches of marital security and lapping the grounded shores of my archipelago of work and family values. Instilling balance between the old customs and modern he enormous task of taming the conflicts and organizing a system to synchronize the immense geographic and socioeconomic diversity of the 13,000 islands. Rich in natural and human resources, Indonesia is a major player in the Asian Pacific region. However, limited education, public roads, health care and sanitation among other public services undermine the pace of its socioeconomic growth. Heartening are the giant steps that have been taken to purge the system of the parasites of corruption that multiplied out of control over the four decades the Sukarno regime fed with lucrative government contracts as well as outright bribes and wealth misappropriated from government coffers. Indonesia now faces the giant task of cleaning up the police, military and other government forces credibility. To snag the investment confidence needed to shore up its infrastructure requires digging deep into its cultural roots to purge the third world parasite of corruption in order to reform a system based on merit deeply developing its infrastructure in order to harness its plentiful natural and human resources. The winds of newborn commerce swirl about the placid pace of tropical calm with post-Sukarno coming of age changes. After living in and buying from Indonesia much of my life, for the first time there were signs that the government is distributing at least some share of the immense wealth derived from the oil and mineral and other industries thriving on the vast natural resources with which the country is blessed. Government-sponsored support of village artisans: a sponsored trade show for my wood panel carver, a kiln for my bamboo supplier, a convention to promote fisheries and other investment forums. Resolution of the many serious and diverse issues raised by the primitive conditions in outlying areas and separatist movements of tribal groups entail diplomatic and regulatory oversight that involve and promote the innate cultures which are as diverse as the archipelago is large. My personal growing pains pale as I reflect on the long and arduous road to a developed country that Indonesia must travel. With the appropriate balance of old and new, freedom and order, responsibilities and rights, contribution and compensation, there will come unity and harmony.