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Exchange rate: $1 = about 8,500 Rupiahs
Sept. 6, 2003 (exactly one year in Indonesia for me)
During my last Christmas/New Year's holiday I went to Bali for two weeks, and I was sure
as I was flying back to Java that I'd be returning to the island paradise that countless other visitors have fallen
in love with. As it's turned out, I've made three more journeys there. I've also gone twice to Lombok, an equally
idyllic island that neighbors Bali. Over the past year in Indonesia, I've spent a total of six weeks on Bali and
Lombok, and for the most part my time there has been "santai di pantai" (relaxing on the beach).
I used to think that lying on a beach was a complete waste of time. Why would any rational person use up valuable
traveling time doing that, when there's likely to be other infinitely more compelling options - activities that
provide exposure to and priceless insights into the lives and culture of the local people? And after all, aren't
all beaches everywhere essentially the same? Sound hypotheses, right? But there's one flaw with this argument:
I really love lying on a beach! I really love being in that the seaside setting: strolling along the water's edge,
bare feet in the sand; having the roar of the pounding surf constantly reverberating in my ears; swimming in the
sea - being tossed about by rolling waves (swimming pools bore me to tears!); eating freshly caught grilled fish
and seafood; and merging into the laidback lifestyle that always seems to accompany coastal locations. I just can't
get enough of all that.
In 2003, I've taken advantage of several public holidays in order to make my three returns to Bali, thanks to the
government's choice to create three-day weekends by shifting the dates, a controversial decision here. On each
occasion I could then get three full days, including nights, by returning to Malang the same day I needed to work,
since I don't start teaching until late afternoons and it's less than an hour to fly back to Surabaya on Java.
On the first of these in April I didn't opt to go to the beach, but instead returned to Ubud in central Bali. I'd
thoroughly enjoyed my previous stay in this cultural mecca, and found my second visit there equally pleasant and
memorable. One of my activities was renting a motorbike and meandering along tiny twisting back roads to and from
Lake Batur, the stark and spectacular caldera farther north that contains the volcanic cone of Gunung Batur, the
lake of Danau Batur, and numerous other craters. I'd stopped there in December, but it'd all been somewhat obscured
by clouds back then. This time, the arrival of dry season offered me an unobstructed view of it all and the drive
along quiet narrow roads through lush tropical vegetation and quaint villages was pure bliss - when I wasn't dodging
dogs, chickens and potholes, that is. The balance of my time in Ubud was spent doing a bit of shopping and reacquainting
myself with its variety of excellent restaurants, as well as just roaming around and soaking up the rich Balinese
ambiance.
Twice I returned to the other locale in Bali I'd previously loved so much: Padangbai, a quiet little fishing village
which doubles as a port for ferries to and from both Lombok and Nusa Penida. I went there both the last weekend
in May as well as in mid-August, the latter trip for five days as I added in my last two days of holiday time I
still had left. I most definitely have a special love affair with Padangbai. At first glance it might not impress,
but many travelers I know cannot spend enough time there, and I've met several ex-pats who've chosen to settle
down there. It's sleepy, funky and the chill factor there is full on.
For example, my typical day: after rolling out of bed and wrapping a sarong around me (my standard beach attire),
I stroll bare foot thirty meters to the beach to greet the day and the fishermen returning with their morning catch.
Then I'm likely to go for a swim and some lounging on the white sand, get an awesome massage on the beach (30,000R
- always the same woman), eat some fresh fish with a fruit drink, lie in the hammock (I bring my own) and read
and chat with locals or other travelers…that's usually about it. Since my life in Indonesia is virtually free from
stress to start with, it's no problem instantly down-shifting into this carefree, do-nothing mode. And I do it
totally guilt-free!
Do I get bored after some time? Are you kidding? This is a exhilarating state of pure joy and boredom is not possible.
The carefree and captivating environment there bathes me with its sensorial delights and the bliss I feel transports
me to a place of heightened awareness - a condition of deep observation and contemplation, filled with acute appreciation
and gratitude. In a way, it is a form of meditation, but one requiring no discipline. I'm especially calm and alert.
I attain abnormal (for me) heights of openness, creativity, and patience. It's like being high, but without any
distortion or side effects. I totally feel at home.
There're a couple of extra treats I've enjoyed there. On three occasions I've opted to go out with local fishermen
on their early morning forays. And I mean early morning - up at 4 am and off in pitch dark, gliding along in a
tiny narrow outrigger craft, the stars sparkling radiantly above and a few lights glowing from the shoreline. I
was amazed how my boatman Mentul could know where we were going, as I at least couldn't see beyond a few meters
away. But I guess it's in their blood, maybe half instinct, and onward we cruised.
I was dressed only in shorts and t-shirt, and I draped my legs over the side, my feet splattering the surface,
the spray glittering like fire flies shooting out of the water. It was so peaceful, so beautiful, one of those
experiences that seems to freeze itself in time and remain etched forever in memory. Over an hour passed like a
cannon shot, and then we stopped. The faintest glimmer of light was emerging, luminating a few puffy clouds above.
Mentul put out nearly 200 meters of gill net as I maneuvered the boat for him with an old, well-worn, wooden paddle.
Leaving the net behind, we then trolled, trailing a lengthy strong line with fifty hooks on it, each with a small
brightly colored lure. We were fishing for mackerel.
We waited, which is what fishermen do. Fair enough. But my waiting was painless as the real show was soon to commence:
sunrise. Ever so slowly the sky grew lighter and from behind Rinjani mountain (3726m) on neighboring Lombok the
sun emerged magnificently, the sky continually changing hues, radiant red being the dominant theme that morning.
There's something extra special about seeing a sunrise over the ocean and this was no disappointment. I turned
in my makeshift seat and could then view Gunung Agung (3142m), the dominant peak on Bali, thrusting upwards majestically,
a few thin clouds creating a skirt-like effect just beneath its crown. It was reminiscent for me of Kilimanjaro
in Africa, the white clouds creating the impression of snow.
After being held spellbound by such a spectacle I couldn't care less about whether or not we caught any fish. But
later we pulled in the line and hauled in the net. The payoff - about twenty mackerel - not a particularly good
day, but with the 50,000R I'd paid him to tag along he'd done all right. And I got to keep a few fish that I dropped
off later at the Marina Café on the beach, where that evening I returned with two friends I'd met earlier
- all three of us having a delicious dinner, our only cost being the side dishes and drinks.
As we rode back, Mentul asked me to mind the tiller while he lay back and instantly fell asleep. Obviously he had
no trouble sizing me up as a born skipper. While guiding us home, I checked out all the other sights: Nusa Penida
(a set of three nearby islands), a few other brightly-colored fishing boats, the massive ferries steaming to and
from Lombok, and then, "Whoa, what is that?" Suddenly, directly in front of the boat of the boat was
a pair of large ominous-looking fins slicing through the dark surface.
"Two sharks," Mentul confirmed. Naturally, I immediately thought back to how I'd been dragging my legs
in the water earlier and made a mental note to not do that again! He then added, "If you want to, we can go
fishing for them tomorrow." And that's exactly what got my ass out of bed again the next morning at 4 am.
Joined by four others I'd recruited, we split up into two boats and ventured forth in search of JAWS itself. I
wish I could tell you I triumphantly pulled one in, but not so. However the other boat did, its occupants being
two very nice Canadians (aren't all Canadians nice?) named Megan and Boyd, who looked as though they'd stepped
off the cover of "Beautiful Couples Illustrated".
Shark fishing there is done by running out a heavy line of at least 100 meters with five small leaders off of it,
each baited by a dead stinky mackerel. Thrown overboard and attached to it is a huge float and white flag. You
then eyeball the flag, hoping it suddenly ducks under the surface. Megan and Boyd's did, and after a Herculean
effort they managed to pull into their boat a White Tail shark nearly three meters long, weighing about 40 kg.
When we pulled in our line all we got was a measly stingray, which we released. On my next visit to Bali in August
I went out for shark once again, this time with three other Malang EF teachers (Sienna, Jenny and Jimmy), all in
one boat and we had a wonderful boat ride… that's it. Oh, well that's fishing for you, right?
One thing most tourists who come to Padangbai don't know is that there's a very important Hindu temple there, just
barely outside of the village. Being alerted to a ceremony one morning I put on my best sarong (obligatory at all
temples) and ambled over. Milling around were several hundred people of all ages who'd traveled from Ubitbatu near
Gianyar, a couple of hours journey. This day's ceremony was called Karya Agung Ngenteg Linggih. Don't ask me what
the hell that means, but it was apparently a pretty big deal and amounted to a prosperity blessing for the upcoming
year. At least that's what I came to understand from some locals who graciously invited me to sit with them, and
who kept up a lively chatter with me until things got serious.
The temple itself was a collection of ornately carved, multi-tiered structures situated within a walled courtyard.
Some had platforms or altars that were loaded with baskets woven from banana leaves, all containing food, flowers
and money - offerings to their gods. All those attending were decked out in colorful sarongs... men with white
jackets and head scarves... women with unique see-through blouses that revealed their bras. A gamelan orchestra
chimed away in the syncopated, cling-clang style they're noted for, and the smell of incense filled the air. A
few vendors sold food and water. Everyone sat cross-legged in the courtyard on his or her shoes or sandals.
On one platform a woman priest chanted and waved her hands, presumably in meaningful gestures, while a bell rang
at intervals. Eventually the praying started en masse with all those there clasping their hands together piously
at their foreheads, chanting, and placing fresh flowers behind their ears or tucking them into their scarves. Attendants
came by and sprinkled water or scattered rice over us. It was great, and just like that… it was over, and everyone
raucously filed out and zoomed away, tightly packed into and on to their trucks, cars and motorbikes - a colorful
cavalcade if there ever was one.
Lying directly to the east of Bali is the chain of islands known as Nusa Tenggara, a highly varied and striking
cornucopia of nature and peoples. At the western most tip of these is Lombok, a less frenetic and lovely alternative
to Bali. Lombok is comprised predominately of the Sasak people who follow the Muslim faith. Like virtually everywhere
else in Indonesia it's a volcanic island, dominated in its north by towering Mt Rinjani. Though parts of it are
arid, the western area is deliciously lush and fertile and, in my opinion, just as stunningly beautiful as Bali.
My first journey there was this past May, and I took with me a young friend of mine named Andhy, an eighteen-year-old
Javanese I'd gotten to know and enjoy spending time with. He'd approached me months prior outside a store while
I was waiting for someone - just like countless other locals have here - but, unlike most others, I found talking
with him relaxing and free from demands. On occasion, Andhy would pick me up with his motorbike and we'd go exploring
in and around Malang, or just hang out and talk. In time I discovered that he was actually blue blood, a descendant
of the Majapahit kingdom that ruled Java from 1294 to the early 16th century and left behind many temples and other
cultural remnants.
But though he comes from royalty and money, and is also a model (as tall as me, unusual for an Indonesian), Andhy
is a very unassuming and genuine young man who only wants to hang out with people he can relate to and have fun
with - just like most young guys his age. His parents pressure him to have rich and influential friends (there
IS a caste system here, though less rigid than India), but he prefers regular folk. He disdains any fuss about
his royal links and when I asked him if we could go check out some Majapahit temples not far from Malang, he shook
his head, "I don't care about that kind of thing."
After I'd mentioned one day I was planning go to Lombok for ten days, he bravely said to me, "If I could go
with you - that would be the greatest experience of my life." After giving it some thought I agreed, and a
few weeks later we flew from Surabaya into Mataram, the capital and main city on the island, from where we caught
a taxi (40,000R) to Senggigi along the western coast. Senggigi would be our base for three days of exploration
around the island via rented motorbike.
The town itself I found to be thoroughly distasteful, without a decent beach, and filled with extremely aggressive
sales people who wouldn't leave us alone, even when we tried to sit and peacefully enjoy a meal in a restaurant.
Business is down, they're all trying to feed their families… I get that. But the constant intrusive pressure to
buy things I didn't want or need was way too much. However, I did find a nice place to stay there: Raja's Bungalows
(40,000R w/ breakfast). I especially liked the outdoor bathroom in a small plant-filled courtyard.
One day was spent driving north viewing jaw-dropping coastal scenery until reaching Senaru, a jumping off point
for climbs up Gunung Rinjani. Once there, we paid 15,000R for an obligatory but seemingly superfluous guide who
led us to a close by 60m waterfall called Air Terjun Singang Gila. It's very nice and worth visiting, and if you
have the time and energy there's more exploring that can be done around there. Climbing Rinjani itself is a task
not to be taken lightly, but one with a worthwhile payoff, I'm told. On the way back to Senggigi, with great difficulty,
we eventually found Segenter, a traditional Sasak village that we found less than visitor friendly, even though
it's listed in all the guidebooks.
Neatly laid out in rows of identical rectangular houses facing each other with communal pavilions in between, it's
easy enough to wander through, and the thatched dwellings and rural ambiance had their charm. But you'd think that
someone, anyone, would have come up to us and offered to be our guide. We could have understood and appreciated
much more had they done this, and would have been happy to pay for that of course. But we were virtually ignored
and after a while felt less than welcome. We'd also stopped at Desa Adat Senaru (also in Lonely Planet) earlier
and had left there immediately, the glaring residents and mangy snarling dogs leaving us feeling considerably uneasy.
However we had much better luck two days later. We headed towards the southern end of Lombok and cruised past scenery
that's so typical there: countless terraced rice fields with lofty coconut palms standing sentry, dark rolling
mountains behind - I never tire of that. Our little motorbike scooted along the winding, sometimes rough roads.
Andhy and I took turns driving, him noticeably nervous whenever I drove, especially after I almost threw him off
the back when I inadvertently popped a massive wheelie when downshifting up a steep hill. I also preferred him
driving, especially since I'd pushed my luck each of the three times I'd rented a motorbike in Bali, having driven
without a required (for me) international driver's license. Getting stopped by the police would have cost me an
on the spot "fine" of about 50,000R.
Then I discovered that Andhy didn't have a license either, enough though he owned a bike back in Malang and drove
everyday! But most Indonesians do have a rather casual regard (disdain even?) for laws and rules, usually choosing
to disregard them and pay bribes if they need to… that's the Indonesian way, a cultural tradition here. Anyway,
on our way south we were tipped off about an upcoming police check point and pulled off before they could spot
us. We waited for over an hour by the side of road before it was safe to move on, but at least we had a brilliant
view where we were lying low: a rocky coastline with massive breakers slamming into the cliffs.
Eventually we ended up in Sukarara, a community that's a traditional weaving center set up in cooperatives. We
were given a helpful tour of the village and a fascinating demonstration of the generations old technique, along
with a no-pressure opportunity to purchase the remarkable results of this lengthy and tedious weaving process.
The women start learning their trade at around the age of seven and cannot get married until they've mastered the
skill. We were warmly hosted, generously fed freshly made rice cakes and honey, and suitably fawned over by the
womenfolk there (I figure either of us could have fetched a comely wife in a heartbeat). I bought a beautiful tapestry
for 100,000R before we left.
Later that day we stopped at Gunung Pensong, a Hindu temple about 300 years old. It's a three hundred meter walk
up 236 large stone steps to a splendid view of nearly the entire western end of Lombok. Monkeys and large lizards
scampered through the trees and across the paths. It was quiet and peaceful and clearly worth stopping for. On
the way back to Senggigi we got a flat tire, but my good travel karma came through for me once again as we only
had to push the motorbike about 50 meters to where a guy fixed it within twenty minutes for only 3000R.
There's plenty more to see and do in Lombok. I'm told that there're some beaches south of Kuta that are exquisite,
particularly at Tanjung Aan. There are several villages that center around various crafts (pottery, textiles, baskets,
furniture, etc) if that rings your chimes. There are also a few temples and museums near Mataram that are recommended.
But in most people's minds, especially in mine, the crown jewels of Lombok are the Gilis. To come to Lombok and
not go there would be like going to Arizona and not stopping by the Grand Canyon, to Rome and overlooking the Coliseum,
or to Malang, Indonesia and not kicking it with fast eddie!
Off the northwest coast of the main island of Lombok are three small coral-fringed islands - Gili Air, Gili Meno
and Gili Trawangan - that are simply heaven. I spent almost two weeks in total on them. Each has its own distinctive
character, but if you want to relax in the midst of idyllic tropical ambiance, do some very nice snorkeling or
diving, eat some yummy fresh fish, swim in warm clear water and laze away your days on white sandy beaches… then
run, don't walk to your travel agent, and book a flight there right now! You can thank me later, and you will.
In May, Andhy and I spent four nights on Gili Air. To get there, or any of the Gilis, one needs to go to Bangsal
and take a boat across. But I must warn you that though the ride is nice enough, arriving at the port and getting
your ticket is not - unless you're mentally braced for the onslaught of hawkers and the pressure and manipulative
bullshit of the "boat mafia". Once you step out of your taxi or whatever you've ridden in to get there,
local shysters will blatantly lie to you, shamelessly attempt to grossly overcharge you for tickets, and try to
con you out of your jewelry or even the shirt off your back. My advice is that once you arrive you should just
put your head down and walk past them all with a look of firm resolution, as if you know exactly what you're doing
and are totally oblivious to their pathetic, criminal existence.
Don't pay the ridiculous cost of a horse cart (unless you are crippled) to walk the few hundred meters to the dock.
Don't believe them when they tell you that you cannot buy a ticket back from the islands. If you can't resist buying
the necklaces and ankle bracelets the young men dangle in front of you when you're trying to mind your own business,
then pay about 20% of their asking price - no more. Walk to the port office and buy a ticket to whichever island
you're interested in, sit on the bench and wait patiently, and don't get talked into chartering a boat… unless
there are about fifteen of you. That's my advice to you. If you can keep your cool and manage to not get ripped
off before getting there, the Gilis are well worth the initial hassles.
When your boat comes, you'll wade out and climb in (mind your head!) and after a pleasant ride you'll be wading
ashore. If your destination is Gili Air, I suggest you consider staying at Sandy Cottages, which cost me less than
30,000R (with breakfast) for a very comfortable bungalow right on the beach. On the veranda I lounged in rattan
furniture or a big hammock, surrounded by flowering plants and conifer trees, home to serenading bird life. To
get there, you either walk halfway around the island (less than 30 minutes), or pay no more than 5,000R for a horse
cart (again, mind your head!). Virtually next door to Sandy's is the Gili Air Hotel where you can get a pretty
decent Italian meal and, with a little luck, catch an epic sunset with the peaks of both Agung on Bali and Rinjani
on the main island in full view.
There are no motorized vehicles on any of the Gilis, which is a huge selling point. It's hard to imagine being
in Indonesia (or much of Asia) without motorbikes continually racing by. That's like being in Trafalgar Square
in London without pigeons or on the Alaskan tundra without mosquitoes. It's delightfully quiet and laidback - serious
R&R territory. If you're a Type A personality and want to be continually on the go, strung tight as a piano
wire, don't bother with the Gilis; go to Los Angeles. If you're a party animal, go to Madrid. If you've cultivated
an aversion to gorgeous weather and healthy tasty food, go to England (or stay there :). But if you want to effortlessly
melt away into a lulling reverie of gently rolling surf, subtle breezes, chirping birds and pointless wandering
along sandy trails or beaches, getting lost in the deep corners of a place in your consciousness that may seldom
be visited, well then you'll be at home on the Gilis.
As I've mentioned before I don't snorkel, but if you do it's excellent there, either along the shores or via a
hired boat. Among the main attractions are large turtles. There are certified dive shops on each island, all owned
and run by foreigners.
I spent four nights on Air in May, and in July returned to Lombok for another Gili Fix. This time I went initially
to Gili Trawangan, a decision I regretted almost as soon as I set my bare feet down there. Known as the "party
island" and the largest of the three Gilis, it is certainly far busier and more boisterous than the other
two. I also found it to be not as clean and more expensive. Out of fairness I should say that I have good friends
with similar tastes who've gone there and liked it, but I took the first boat out in the morning, straight to Gili
Meno.
The smallest and most primitive, Meno is the best choice for anyone seeking about as close as you can get to total
seclusion. I savored eight delicious days/nights there, most of it staying at Kontiki Meno Bungalows (40,000R).
My days there were a hedonistic beach bum's fantasy and similar to being on Gili Air: lounging in my hammock, reading
or gazing off into nature; walking the island's perimeter; chowing down still more fresh fish; swimming (Meno has
the best beaches of the three islands); or getting massages on the beach - sometimes two in a day, and sometimes
by two women (that's four hands at once... count 'em, and for only 25,000R!). My attire on Meno was the usual:
only my sarong.
The beach in front of the Kontiki has a splendid view of the sea, other islands and mighty Rinjani rising up, soaring
regally like a lord watching over its kingdom. And since mountains tend to attract clouds, as the day progressed
and the moisture in the air increased and the wind picked up, the clouds swirled, danced and constantly changed
formations and shapes. While lying in my hammock, I observed these configurations for long periods of time and
speculated about what they might represent, my mind stretching, imagining, surmising… and it all seemed like the
sanest, most productive thing I could ever be doing at that time. It was hooked into a non-stop celestial Rorschach
test!
One oddity I discovered while strolling the tiny island's interior was a John Lennon Museum. Imagine that? (Forgive
me.) But sure enough, in the Cavern Hotel (named after the club in Liverpool where the Beatles cut their musical
teeth) was a very impressive and I think fitting tribute to the man. On the same stroll I came upon a small lake,
surrounded by woods, silent and peaceful. What was weird was that I could hear the distant roaring surf in the
background, as if it were piped in Musak. And while shuffling along the narrow sandy paths, bordered by towering
coconut trees, I was reminded of how hundreds of people in the tropics die each year by falling coconuts. Can you
imagine a more bizarre ending to the perfect honeymoon vacation? "Sweetheart I'm hot and tired, can we just
stop and rest for a few minutes against that tree over there?"
BONK!
From time to time in places like this you meet ex-pats who've carved out a nice little life for themselves in Eden.
On Air, it was Kelly, a pretty California blond about 35 who'd returned after falling in love with both the lifestyle
and a local bloke. "I just cannot imagine living anywhere else now… this is my walking dream." she cooed.
She was picking up enough Rupiahs to live on by doing massages for tourists, as well as for other ex-pats residing
there. On Meno, I met Joan, a fifty-something Irish lass who'd been running a dive shop there for a couple of years
now and had no intention of ever living in Europe again. Every single time I saw her she was wearing the biggest
shit-eating grin you've ever seen!
That's what hanging out for a while in this kind of place just might to do to your head! You go there perfectly
normal: a periodically confused, slightly neurotic, probably mentally hyperactive and spiritually undernourished
workaholic. You're juggling your life plan like it's a clump of radioactive waste, trying to sort it all out and
make sense of it, maybe lending more evidence to the belief that there's such a thing as a "mid-life crisis".
And in time you finally merge into the regular mode of thinking and being that naturally pervades this tiny corner
of earthly reality. The next thing you know you're analyzing clouds, or spending hours a day in a hammock, or making
jewelry out of coral - walking around with the notion that you can actually live your life this way. All the time…
from now on! And then maybe you've become like the character Yossarian in the Joseph Heller book "Catch 22",
wondering whether you're completely insane, or instead maybe the only sane person living in an insane world! It
can be pretty risky going there.
Another island and beach I've often frequented is Pulau Sempu off the south coast of Java, about two hours by car
from Malang. Two other EF teachers, Jenny and Jimmy, went there months ago and literally stumbled on to a marvelous
beach, and since then several of us have done the same. Once in Sendangbiru you hire a boat (60,000R return for
the boat) to make the short trip across the inlet, and then hike for about 45 minutes through the thick jungle
to the beaches, the most popular of which is at a picturesque lagoon. Since we're into privacy, we leave the main
trail, passing on the busy lagoon, and weave our way along a path for which I could never give dependable directions
(maybe just as well) until arriving at a beach that evokes images of Robinson Crusoe, if not Gilligan.
An isolated cove, protected on both sides by rocky cliffs draped with vegetation, protects a white sandy beach
sporting plenty of luscious shade trees with excellent hammock-hanging potential. Sempu is a nature reserve and
monkeys abound, sometimes coming close to our camp, and twice one day we also spotted a fearsome-looking monitor
lizard that had to be well over a meter long. Fortunately, its number one priority was putting either distance
or a hole in the rocks between it and  us. We also came across some exotic butterflies, plus a large raptor that soared
high above.
Since there are no facilities at all, everything you need, including water, must be packed in. But despite this,
we've always managed to whip up stellar meals over charcoal. The surf can be exceptionally heavy and one highlight
is observing the breathtaking spectacle of waves sometimes three or four meters high exploding on to the rocks
farther out. No surprise that swimming there can be dangerous - if you don't watch the undertow, you'll be in for
one hell of a long swim to Australia!
So… this is part of my life here in Indonesia, a very nice part. And from now on, wherever I live, I reckon I'll
want to have a beach and tropical weather close by... if not at my doorstep. Can you blame me?
Surf's up,
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Peace,
