Our journey to Takengon began under relentless rain. Wet roads, thin fog, and the pounding rain against the car window formed a steady rhythm that allowed us throughout the drive. We arrived late at night and chose to rest, a short pause before what would turn into a far longer and heavier journey. At that moment, we did not yet understand that this night was not simply an overnight stop, but the start of days that will challenge our strength, our minds, and our will.

The next morning, we continued toward Linge to support the preparations for the Second Nenggeri Linge Festival. The festival was never meant to be merely a celebration of culture. It was a collective effort to reaffirm Linge as an indigenous territory and a conservation landscape, where cultural heritage, ecological stewardship, and the value of musarak are lived, not symbolized. The rain continued to fall, the cold was biting, yet the community’s spirit remained unshaken. Women kept the communal kitchen alive, men prepared the stage and carried equipment. Each person moved quietly and deliberately, like a single body responding to share responsibility. Amid harsh weather, solidarity became a source of warmth.

The opening night unfolded with quiet strength. Friends from the ecotourism network attended, alongside representatives from Syiah Kuala University, the Aceh Office of Culture and Tourism, and Jeffrey Michael Robbins, an Ecotourism Consultant from Canopy. One of the most powerful moments came from LK Ara, a legendary Gayo artist, whose poetry echoed beneath a dark, rain-filled sky. His words felt less like a performance and more like a prayer, grounding, steadying, and unifying. The night closed with Didong Jalu. We were all wet and tired but satisfied that we had all connected genuinely. 

On the second day, the rain showed no sign of stopping. Unease began to surface, particularly as the agenda included rafting and the Tour de Linge, activities that could not be carried out while the river continued to swell. Journalist traveled as far as Pangmoed, a cafe on the Takengon-Blang Kejeren road at KM 56, searching for signal and electricity. They turned empty-handed, except for footage of a river growing increasingly violent and a bag of meatballs. We ate the at the next morning, tasting an unexpected sense of comfort. Only later did we realize the would be our last proper meal before days of rationed instant noodles, as supplies slowly ran out. That night, we postponed activities and restructured the closing, while watching rain that seemed endless. 

The next day was meant to be the final of the festival, a time for us to go back home. However, news arrived that the bridge connecting Linge to Takengon was completely destroyed. The weight of the information was crushing. We stood silent, grasping the fact that Linge was sealed off from the rest of the world. Panic was not an option. Responsibility quickly replaced fear. An emergency meeting was held. Four people would attempt to cross first, hopefully, to inform the outside world that we were isolated and in need of assistance. We set specific times for these meetings: 12 p.m. and 2 p.m., over two days. If no help arrived, we would have to rely on our way out. 

Before the situation fully settled in, evacuees from neighboring villages began to arrive. They came with stories of separations, loss, and uncertainty. Even while isolated, Linge opened itself to them. In that moment, concern from others eclipsed concern for ourselves. Human solidarity took precedence over fear. 

Finally, the day of the first crossing arrived, and the rain returned and the sun never appeared. In moments like these, leadership reveals itself. Bang Abdul, our Community Organizer, moved calmly, observing the river, reading its current, assessing risks, before meeting our eyes in turn, to make sure we were ready not only in body, but in mind. 

The ecological condition of Linge was bad. Landslides had brought down large trees, clogged roads. Parts of the road had falling down completely, leaving deep gaps. Electricity poles and cables lay scattered. The bridge that once sustained daily life had vanished. Land access was nearly impossible. The landscape reminded us of the fragility of human-made structures in the face of imbalance ecosystems. 

With heavy hearts, we left behind vehicles and equipment that could not be evacuated. We carried on what was essential. The first group crossed including a journalist, to ensure what was happening in Linge would in no way to unnoticed. As they reached the other side, we waved in relief that the message would get through.