Wae Rebo: Discovering the Hidden Village Above the Clouds

Hiking to a village nestled in the mountains of Flores, Indonesia, wasn’t originally on our itinerary. But then again, neither was trekking through the Sumatran jungle in search of orangutans. It always seems like the last-minute plans turn out to be the most worthwhile—the unplanned and unexpected often create the best memories.

The spontaneous decision to ride motorbikes across Flores and hike for 2–3 hours into the mountains to reach the traditional village of Wae Rebo became one of those unforgettable experiences.

Earlier that day, we met up with two good friends, and on a whim, decided to add Sumatra to our itinerary—a choice that completely changed our plans in Indonesia. But even before that Sumatra trip, on the very same evening, we impulsively decided to make the journey to the Wae Rebo trail. With almost no preparation, we rented the first motorbike we found—an oversight that would cause a few challenges later during the ride.

We set out toward the village around midday and it took about 4 or 5 hours of driving to get to the hiking trial. I was pretty uncomfortable riding on the back of a motorbike, mostly because of my irrational fear of two-wheeled motorized transportation. Despite my unease, the views along the way were breathtaking. For most of the journey across Flores, we were surrounded by lush jungle landscapes, scenic overlooks, and the occasional village, each with its own unique charm. 

The road to Wae Rebo started off relatively easy, with paved roads that made the initial part of the journey manageable. However, the rain in certain areas made the steep inclines and declines a bit sketchy. About halfway through the drive, the roads became noticeably more challenging. We had read reviews that only experienced drivers should attempt this route—and they were absolutely right.

As we ventured deeper into Flores, the road conditions worsened. Potholes became more frequent, some sections were completely unpaved, and we had to cross a rickety old bridge where the floorboards shifted beneath us as we rode across. Certain stretches were paved with large, uneven cobblestones that made navigating on a road bike particularly tricky—especially on the declines, where we nearly tipped over at one point.

For someone like me, with a fear of motorbikes, the increasingly rough terrain made the ride even more anxiety-inducing. Luckily however my driver was experienced and although we didn’t know what to expect on the road he was able to get us through the majority of it with only one or two incidents.  

After about five exhausting hours, we finally made it to the trailhead—but not without one last inconvenience. After enduring countless potholes and uneven cobblestones, we ended up with a flat tire. To make matters worse, the trailhead was still up one more steep, cobblestone path, which made the final stretch particularly challenging.

As we tried to figure out if we could make it up the hill—or how much longer it would even take—two Indonesian men on motorbikes started following us. We later realized they were only trying to help (for a small fee), but in the moment, their presence made us nervous. We had no idea who they were or what they wanted. Were they trying to get us to abandon the bike so they could steal it? Were we being set up to be robbed? The uncertainty left us both on edge.

The men kept telling us we wouldn’t make it up the path, which didn’t exactly ease our anxiety. Eventually, we decided to turn back and leave the bike parked beneath a small overhang. The men followed us, watching silently as we locked up the bike. Their quiet observation only added to my unease. When they offered us a ride, we declined without hesitation, choosing instead to start walking up the path.

As we made our way uphill, it became painfully clear we wouldn’t reach the trailhead before sunset. The village we were headed to has a policy against visitors arriving after dark, and I voiced my concerns—probably more than a few times—to my partner.

Just as we were beginning to lose hope, another pair of bikers rode by and offered us a lift to the trailhead. We reluctantly agreed. I was still nervous about hopping onto the back of a stranger’s motorbike, especially in the middle of a remote jungle with no cell service. This definitely wasn’t part of the plan—or my idea of an ideal travel experience.

Thankfully, the men meant no harm and took us straight to the trailhead. We thanked them before setting off on the hike to Wae Rebo village.

The hike was supposed to take about two to three hours, but with daylight quickly fading, we pushed ourselves to reach the top in just one hour. We only stopped once—just long enough to take in a viewpoint and catch our breath—before continuing our fast-paced climb.

We reached the village just as the sun was setting and darkness began to settle in. As we approached, a large man emerged from the bushes, carrying a heavy load of lumber on his back. Without saying much, he pointed us toward the village.

As we neared the entrance, we were tempted to snap a photo of the village overlooking the mountains. However, out of respect, we held back. Wae Rebo has a rule that no photos can be taken until visitors are officially welcomed through a traditional ceremony led by the village priest.

We walked down into the village and headed toward the priest’s hut, ready to go through the acceptance ceremony. But before we could proceed, I was pulled aside and gently reprimanded—I needed to cover my legs. I was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of tight workout shorts, which, while perfectly normal in many places, were considered inappropriate here. I hadn’t realized this beforehand, and I felt embarrassed by my unintentional disrespect.

Determined to make it right, I quickly rummaged through my backpack and found a towel to wrap around my legs. With my attire now deemed acceptable, we were finally allowed to continue with the ceremony and our stay in the village.

The ceremony involved us sitting cross-legged on a mat while the priest read aloud our names and where we were visiting from. He then recited a prayer in the village’s traditional language—a ritual that marked our official welcome into Wae Rebo.

After the ceremony, we were led to the guest hut, where we surprised our friends who had arrived earlier in the day and had no idea we were coming. The look on their faces made the long journey worth it. We caught up with them for a while before being offered tea and dinner.

Dinner was served on mats laid out along the floor, much like the ones we had sat on during the ceremony. The meal consisted of boiled eggs, rice, boiled vegetables, a cabbage side dish, and sambal—a spicy chili sauce that added a flavorful kick to the simple, hearty spread.

After dinner, we spent a bit more time chatting and taking photos before deciding to head to bed. We had an early wake-up call the next morning to begin the long journey back to town in time for our flight to Sumatra.

At sunrise, we hiked back down the mountain with Rex and Ben, setting an even faster pace than we had on the way up. Once we reached the trailhead, we hopped onto the backs of their motorbikes, and they took us down to where we had left our bike. To avoid putting extra weight on the already flat tire, I stayed on Rex’s bike while Per rode ours.

Once we reached a nearby town, we found someone to repair the tire. With the bike finally fixed, I hopped back on with Per, and we hit the road again—still having to navigate the same obstacles we had encountered on the way up. This time, though, we traveled much faster since we were racing against the clock to catch our flight.

At one point, we hit a muddy pothole just as a construction truck passed by. The slick mud caused the bike to lose traction, and for a split second, we nearly slid right into the back of the truck. Needless to say, I was less than enthusiastic about the experience.

After a bit more riding along the winding roads, I started to hear an odd noise. I looked back at Ben, who was riding behind us, and signaled to ask if our tire was flat again. He shook his head but pointed toward the ground, indicating that something was dragging beneath the bike.

I quickly told Per to stop. Rex, who was riding ahead, kept going, unaware of what was happening behind him. When we got off to inspect the bike, we discovered the source of the noise: our radiator was hanging down, barely attached by a single hose. Definitely not ideal.

As we tried to rig it back into place, Rex came speeding back up the road with a new companion—a friendly local police officer who had offered to help. The officer even invited us to his home, but given how tight we were on time, we had to politely decline.

Since it was raining and most of the remaining journey was downhill, we decided that securing the radiator as best we could and continuing on was probably fine. We figured the bike wouldn’t overheat under the circumstances—and thankfully, we were right.

Despite the urgency and near-misses, the ride back had a different vibe. Traveling as a group of four made the journey feel more like an adventure, and even though we were racing the clock, it was exciting to ride together—like a little motorbike armada weaving through the winding roads of Flores.

We made it back to Flores just in time for our flight to Sumatra—with a little time to spare.

Despite the occasional stress, the entire experience was rich with culture, adventure, and a genuine sense of friendship.