Dragon Village..

The Indonesian word naga refers to dragons-ancient, hypothetical, serpent-like creature that lives in myths in many cultures. But there are no dragons in Kampung Naga. Yet, be there dragons or not, life in this mistakenly-translated "Dragon Village" is no less ancient nor mythical than that creature itself. It is a realm, disconnected from its surroundings, hardly tethered to the invisible threads of modernity. It is a place where lives are set in another dimension.
The origin of the name turns out to be more down-to-earth rather than anything else: it is cleverly abbreviated from the Sundanese locative phrase, dina gawir, which means "beneath the hills," or more simply, a valley. This valley, where the indigenous tribe dwells in, is encircled by steep cliffs. Different vegetations blanket these massive rocks, and here and there a small waterfall shoots from a great height. Ciwulan River, with its gentle current, passionately runs through it; its sienna-colored water nurtures every living thing unceasingly. However secluded they are from the world outside, the tribe's deliberate kindness to strangers is second to none. Not long after we had stepped out from our vehicle and entered one of the shops on the hilltop, a local youth quickly offered us cooked yam. "Bade taleus, Bu?" he asked casually to my mom and auntie as if they were his friends. Couldn't think of politer way to say no, they just shook their heads and smiled. That smile was given back.
We began to step downward along the 360 concrete stairs as our guide calmly narrated the legend and life in Kampung Naga. Seen from above, the thatched roof of the dwellings resembled a thick pine forest blending with the surrounding yellow-green-the paddy fields. As we came closer and lower, everything materialized more and more vividly. It felt like looking at a civilization through a microscope.
Down here the tribal traditions are still strictly maintained within their boundaries. "Do not swim on the river nor enter there," he gave us an example, pointing his finger towards the so-called forbidden forest across the river. "You won't know where the spirits might take you." Then we walked further, past some murky pools and barns, pungent with mixed odors of bleating livestock.
The indigenous people of Kampung Naga live in rows of identical wooden houses in the one-and-a-half hectare wide, plain land, circumvallated on all sides by bamboo fences. He held one of the bamboo poles, his head drooped a bit before he spoke. "The young generations, after they come of age and get married, rarely stay here. Not that there are no space left to build more houses. It is our law that forbids us from doing so outside this border." How about you, I asked. "I'm married to a woman not from our tribe, and we have to live atop the hill."