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The killing is over on Ambon, the hub of the Moluccas, or Spice Islands, in Indonesia. There is an invisible line drawn between the Christian and Muslim sectors in the City – it is still dangerous to stop on the wrong side. The burnt out churches, houses and even university buildings are reminders of the carnage that occurred a short while ago, when Ambon was likened to Beirut at its worst. “So it was a religious war?” I enquire. “Not really, more the result of political manoeuvrings. Now we have peace and democracy, but no jobs, clean streets or reliable infrastructure, the opposite of neighbouring Singapore.” Almost incredibly, fair and trouble-free elections had just been completed, much to the surprise of the incumbent president, who refused to accept defeat. “I would rather be in the hands of the Chinese army than the Indonesian”, a French photo-journalist told us later, after describing how he had to injure himself to persuade the Chinese soldiers to release him. “You won't be killed or “disappear” in their custody.”

With two friends I drove across the spine of Ambon to Hila, an old village overlooking the much larger island of Ceram, passing countless cloves and nutmegs drying in the sun on the roadside. It was hard to believe that centuries ago such spices were valued more highly than gold, with the result that the islands were a battle-ground for the colonial powers, ending when we swapped our land there for New York, after smuggling out seedlings to establish plantations in India! We hiked up a steep trail, through spice plantations, to a ridge with a spectacular view over the partially forested hillsides. Here we strove to observe two species of parrots endemic to these islands, which we could hear but not see. We returned early the following morning and were rewarded by the sight of the electric Moluccan Red Lory and the “poorly known”, to quote the bird book, but well-named Drab Honeyeater. On the drive back to the airport, we stopped to chat and photo the friendly locals, many of whom were Muslims.

The main reason for going to Ambon was to take a flight to the rarely visited Tanimbar Islands, some two hours east of Ambon. The only flights were with Merpati, whose slogan “Get the feeling” aptly described schedules in these parts as feelings were all you could rely on, with nobody outside their office in Ambon knowing when such flights would occur. Fortunately, we were able to fly to Saumlaki on Yamdena, the main island of the Tanimbars, on the desired day, a most uncomfortable experience in an ancient 22-seater. We then discovered that we could not fly to the relatively close Kai Islands as we wanted, flights having been suspended, and the flight we had “booked” back to Ambon did not run that day. As the previous day was full, we got a booking for the day after, but no tickets as the agent had gone to the airport to investigate why the plane had returned. The answer was that the pilot had felt ill and so decided to come back to Saumlaki, apparently not trusting his co-pilot to take-over.

The Tanimbars are at almost the south-eastern extremity of the 5000 km long Indonesian Archipelago, only 150 km from the coast of Australia. Unlike most of the country, the population is predominantly Christian. At the Harapan Indah, the only hotel in town, we arranged to stay at the owners' farm 21 km along the island's only road, so that we had ready access to the native forest. By the time we reached the farm, after supplies had been purchased, including a crate of beer, it was raining – the first time for 4 months so it was said. We had come here to try to see the 20 or more special birds endemic to these parts, a surprisingly high number for such a relatively small area. When the rain stopped, we set forth, amongst much bird activity, but were disappointed to find the extensive forest reported to be present by the last person we knew to have visited, some 10 years ago, had gone and only patches of logged forest remained. However, over the next 4 days we saw all the specialities, including 2 parrots, 2 thrushes and 5 flycatchers, apart from the Tanimbar Scrubfowl, sadly scarce or elusive due to hunting, and the Pied Bronze Cuckoo. Strangely, I had recorded the song of the cuckoo on the first afternoon, but never heard it again. According to the book, it parasitizes the endemic Rufous sided Gerygone, but the only bird to react to the playback of its song, on several occasions, was the Wallacean Whistler – indicating that this species is the main host for the cuckoo's eggs.

On the last afternoon, we visited the old village of Turgham. We started at the mayor's house, where a meeting of the village elders was in progress. After mutual greetings, we signed the visitors book, noting that all previous visitors of the last 2-3 years looked to be either Indonesians or Australians, the latter associated with the annual Darwin to Saumlaki boat race apparently. At a wood-carver's house we bought a number of carvings from the selection on offer by several local artists – good quality and value. We were invited to drink a glass of Soli, local spirit distilled from palm wine- highly alcoholic and surprisingly smooth. Returning to the Harapan Indah in Saumlaki, we enjoyed the air-conditioning, until ended by a power cut, and were amused to observe the staff ironing banknotes flat, perhaps to facilitate storage as even the smallest item can require a large number of notes, the exchange rate being 16, 000 Rupiah to the pound. The trappings of civilisation are a bit thin on the ground here: no mobile phone cover, internet access or shopping malls. Predictably, our flight was delayed by late arrival of the plane but this gave us chance to study the profusion of Oriental Plovers and Little Curlews on the runway – two species rarely encountered away from their wintering grounds in northern Australia. It was a shame we could not fly to Kai but we all agreed this last minute extension to our eastern Indonesia trip had been a highly rewarding and pleasant experience.