I

can'€™t forget the day my international finance professor used me and a Dutch classmate to illustrate how a particular decision in 17th century had an everlasting effect on modern Indonesians and Americans.

I knew that the Moluccas were the sexiest game of 16th-17th century spice trade.

What I didn'€™t know was the pivotal details.

Arriving at 1603 in nutmeg-rich Run and Ay on the outskirts of the Banda Islands, British traders instantly recognized the potential. Perhaps weary of the Portuguese'€™s first-contact advantage and the hovering Dutch, England made the islands its first colonies by 1616.

At some point, James I even added Poolarun and Pooloway to his already long title. Yet, after decades of wars against the Netherlands worldwide, England eventually agreed to forego the exotic Run, Ay and Suriname for Nieuw Amsterdam on a cold island in the New World under the Breda Treaty of 1667.

For over a century the Dutch enjoyed monopolizing Myristica fragrans, Banda'€™s indigenous nutmeg, until the British managed to ruin its distribution line in early 1800s.

Run and Ay later joined Indonesia as part of Maluku province in 1945. While still producing nutmeg and occasionally visited by history buffs or water sport enthusiasts, they generally remain sleepy islands.

As for the ex-Dutch colony, Nieuw Amsterdam? Soon after the swap the British renamed it New York. And the cold island is now known as Manhattan, home of Wall St. and Sex and the City.

Don'€™t despair about not having known our New York connection '€” I had to learn it all the way overseas from a foreign professor.

Sukarno and Soeharto really did a fantastic job in erasing history off textbooks. Beyond Sultan Tidore'€™s fight against colonialists, pro-independence Jong Ambon, Mohammad Hatta-Sutan Sjahrir exiles and the South Maluku Republic (RMS) plot, we learned practically nothing about Maluku.

Staying overnight in Ambon before sailing to Banda with friends, I felt bittersweet.

Dad worked in Ambon in early 1990s, and the island city I often visited then was pristine (hefty fines for littering), in order (color-coded becak schedules) and in peace (Muslims and Christians cooking for each other on respective holidays).

The bloody 1999 riots tore into the city'€™s societies and burned down houses, including where my parents used to live. While grateful that peace has since been restored, I was disappointed last week to see a more-polluted Ambon, and how most Muslims and Christians now live in segregated pockets instead of alongside each other like before.

I'€™m quite curious about Zen R Sugito'€™s novel Jalan Lain ke Tulehu and Angga Sasongko'€™s movie Cahaya Dari Timur: Beta Maluku, released in tandem these coming weeks, which feature shattered lives rediscovering path and peace post riots.

Banda, on the other hand, was heavenly. The grudge I had over the ship'€™s long delay melted as I stood on its deck at dawn and caught the first glimpse of Banda Naira. The vast indigo sky, dollops of cottony clouds and dark green water were quite indescribable and unjustifiably captured by camera, so I closed my eyes to internalize the image.

Serving as a major port between Ambon and Tual, Banda Naira also houses most, though not much, infrastructure '€” a town market, an ATM, a money changer, a new gas station and a temporarily closed airport '€” while retaining a clean waterfront and old world charm.

Partly thanks to relentless efforts of renowned historian and Naira native Des Alwi during his lifetime, there are some decently-preserved sites, like the 403-year-old Fort Belgica, the 331-year-old governor-general'€™s compound, an art deco mosque and other colonial buildings of the Dutch and British.

The Arabic and Portuguese merchants might'€™ve never tried to colonize Banda, but their colorful flair left visible traces on the houses and the local faces that sometimes I felt like I was in the Mediterranean.

For those paying homage to the Sjahrir-Hatta exile houses, it pays to note that Sjahrir and Hatta were lodged very comfortably.

If you love water sports, Banda offer sgreat spots, including the active undersea volcano aptly-named Gunung Api that'€™s often mistaken for a usual island (people actually do live there).

For white sandy beach, sail away from the volcano to Sjahrir island or the aforementioned Run. Enjoy hiking? The volcano has a trail, while Banda Besar features hundreds of steps connecting spice plantation, ruins of a 390-year-old fort and secluded beaches.

But if you have sea or volcano phobias forget Banda altogether, for Gunung Api is visibly prominent and water taxis are the only commuter lines. In fact, there was a day we couldn'€™t venture out of the '€œinner bay'€ because Banda Sea was too choppy.

Back to my international finance class, the professor made us project the losses the 1667 colony swap would'€™ve caused the Dutch, had Indonesia and the US never proclaimed independence. It was large indeed.

But that'€™s irreversible history. What'€™s more tragic is the fact that 68 years after independence, Banda is still lacking good infrastructure, gainful employment or affordable energy.

Spices may not be the sexiest global game nowadays, but there'€™s much maritime and inland potential in Banda or Maluku that remains overlooked by the government. While older Moluccans were known to be refined, many of the youngsters now can only work as nightclub bouncers once leaving the province.

Whoever becomes our new president better seriously turn around Maluku and the entire eastern Indonesia.

'€œIndonesia Tanah Air Beta'€, the famous song goes. As I mumbled it while watching breathtaking sunsets over Banda islands, I wondered if the Moluccans somehow felt the same. Foregone by the Brits once, God forbid they should be forgotten by us twice.

Lynda Ibrahim is a Jakarta-based writer and consultant, with a penchant for purple, pussycats and pop culture.