Indo blog 6: Gili Islands: 3rd-5th July

Fri 3rd July - off to the Gilis

Got up pretty early, and made use of my final morning with a private, open-air bathroom by partaking in some naked sunbathing. Again, felt pretty weird, but worth it to get some new freckles in odd places. Hee.

Then we had to say goodbye to our hammocks and catch a cab to the harbour; about a half hour drive up the coast. Private taxis aren't allowed to drop off at the harbour; they abandon their fares 300 yards from the terminal, to allow the local horse and cart men the chance to make a bit of cash carrying Bules and their bags the last stretch to the boat. We decided they could stick it and carried ours ourselves. Carls warned me they would try to do the same thing at the boat - basically take your bag from you, put it on the boat and then demand money for 'helping you' with your bag. We manage to avoid this blatant extortion, but we did see a bunch of french tourists behind hassled for cash for acccepting the help of a couple of cheeky f**kers. Riz can't abide these people, says they have no pride. He's right.

Ho hum - all aboard the HMS Deathboat (so christened by Carly's mates Rachel and Mhairi who had a rather hairy crossing on their visit - our voyage was totally sedate, but the name has stuck). Our destination is Gili Trawangan - the largest of a group of three little islands off the north west coast of Lombok, collectively called the Gilis. AKA the party islands. :)

We sort ourselves out with accommodation pretty easily. I considered getting myself somewhere uber fancy, as it would be here that I would leave my 20s, and I figured I'd do it in the lap of luxury. In the end though, we opted for somewhere fairly modest, electing to save our rupiah for cocktails and madness. Cunning, no?

I still got myself a decent big room, with a sea water shower and air con. That'll do nicely sir. Quick shower and then out to explore.

The Gilis pretty much exist for tourists, but they're not overdeveloped yet. Gili Trawangan is the biggest, but its still tiny; consisting of basically a beach-front strip of hotels, bars, restaurants and clubs. There are signs of it beginning to be developed, as one end of the strip has some pretty swish restaurants and accommodation, while the other end gets progressively more ramshackle as you head out of town. The beach however, is beautiful, and there's a big diving and surfing contingent here. None of that for us though. We're here to party and say goodbye to my youth.

We were starving so grabbed some chicken satay and chips (aaaawesooome) in a place by the beach, and avoided the midday sun by lounging around on our private platform table drinking Bintang. Then we popped along the strip to an Irish bar (yes even here, there is a bloody Irish bar), which had private booths in which you could watch pirated DVDs. They were pretty awful quality though to be honest, which is perhaps unsurprising. We only got halfway through Vantage Point when the picture broke up completely and the DVD froze. Sigh. I may never know what happened in that movie now.

We wandered along the beach for a bit, where I got first sight of what is called a Burkhini; what devout Muslim women wear to go swimming. Its basically a wetsuit, but with a long tunic top and a waterproof headscarf. Utterly utterly bonkers. I'm sorry if that offends anyone, but seriously people; get a life.

We headed back to our rooms for a quick change and then out again to the Irish bar to refuel with pizza and G&Ts. We met up again with Josh and Margaret (from Karimun) at a Reggae bar along the strip called Samu Samu ('you're welcome' or 'no problem' in Indonesian). J&M had been on the Gilis for a week already. They were with another three lasses; Anna, Heather and some other bird who didn't ever talk or smile. Didn't warm to her for some reason. We had a few drinks and listened to a pretty good live band of dreadlocked Indonesia rasta boys.

Got a bit bored with Reggae so we moved the party back along the strip to a beach front bar, where we collectively decided to try out the local mushroom shakes (Honest Mum, these are totally legal in the Gilis). They're not particularly strong, so we just got a bit trippy and giggly.
Trip over, we hit the hay about 2am. I think.

Sat 4th July - the last day of my 20s

So the last day of my youth did not start well. Carls and Riz came to wake me up at about 11am, with the news that the airline had texted Carly to tell her our flight home from Mainland Lombok to Surabaya on the 5th had been moved. It meant that in order to make the flight, we'd have to leave the Gilis at 6am on my birthday. What's more, this was before the first public boat. So we'd have to shell out to commission a private speedboat. Bugger.

We decided we'd sort it all out once we'd eaten. For some reason we all had the same craving for burgers. Yeah yeah I know, but it was my birthday so I could be gross if I want to. We walked the full length of the strip and saw several bars selling burgers, but chose a wee place by the beach at the ramshackle end of the strip.

I can only guess that mushroom shakes must seriously impair your judgement because this was categorically the worst burger in the known universe. It was like bushmeat. I swear it moved. It was so bad that despite the fact that I was completely ravenous, I still took it back to the kitchen, dumped it on the serving counter and asked the 'chef' if he'd ever seen a burger. Suddenly nobody speaks English.

I'm starting to feel like the universe was deliberately f*cking with me. This was not a good start.

Riz to the rescue. We went down to the ferry terminal and sorted out a speedboat from the next morning (half a million Rupiah. Only about £33, but a small fortune by local standards), and then we got what Riz called 'proper Bakso'. The Bakso we'd had in Ubud was shoddy in comparison. This was spicy meatbally loveliness. Made my eyes water but it was totally worth it. An elderly local couple at the terminal seemed to find it really funny that a redhead Bule would eat local food. They kept pointing at me and laughing. :)

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the irish bar watching dvds and drinking G&Ts and Bintang. Was totally lazy, chilled perfect afternoon. Which pretty much made up for the crap morning.

We headed back to our rooms to get dolled up - if my 20s were about to run out I was going to make damn sure I looked hot seeing them off. I followed in the chinese birthday tradition and insisted on treating Carls and Riz to dinner on my birthday night, so we went to the best restaurant on Gili Trawangan. It was at the posh end of the strip (natch) and it was called Scallywags. We got these brilliant seats, right by the strip; they were massive rattan cushioned nests you could totally curl up in. Scallywags cook to order, so you pick your fish and while it's being cooked you choose from this massive salad bar, and eat that while you wait. I chose a slab of Baramundi, and while it was being grilled I had a big salad mix up of quail's eggs, spicy cous cous, fresh cabbage with peanuts, cherry tomatoes in pesto and potato salad. Followed by a mojito. THAT'S what I'm talking about.

After eating our own body weight in food, and drinking a few more lethal cocktails, we were in severe dangers of falling asleep in our massive squishy seats. So we slapped ourselves aboot the face a few times, settled up, and trotted off to find a party bar. But we ended up back in the good old Irish bar. Sounds tragic but it really had the best atmosphere on the strip. Poor Riz wasn't feeling too hot and gave in before midnight. But Carls and I struggled manfully on. When the bells finally tolled on my youth, the DJ played Stevie Wonder's Happy Birthday, we lit the 3 candles on my little bit of cake that I'd brought all the way from the UK, the barman gave us free lemony shooters and all the bar staff kissed my hand. It was pretty forkin cool. :)

In bed by 2am. My first task as a grown up 30 year old is to make sure I am awake in exactly 3 and a half hours. Owee.

Sun 5th July - My birthday

Strange birthday morning. Woke up a bit fuzzy round the edges, but hauled myself up and got dressed. All the time I was faintly aware of a humming noise from outside. I presumed it was a generator or an air con unit. Had kinda forgotten about it by the time I actually came to open the door of my room. So I got the fright of my life when I realised my porch light had attracted a swarm of wasps. I swear to god there were hundreds of them. I have never run so fast with a 20 kilo backpack on me.

So... time for a sharp exit. Down to the harbour and our awaiting speedboat. I witnessed the sunrise on my 30s travelling at high speed across open water towards mainland Lombok. Which is a pretty damn cool way to start a new decade. :) And much faster than HMS Deathboat.

At the other side some nice locals gave us the number for a taxi firm WITHOUT expecting money for their 'help'. Folks seem to be more magnanimous early in the morn. The drive to Mataram airport was about an hour long, and beautiful. We drove high up through the mountains with deep mist-filled ravines dropping steeply away from either side of the road, dotted with massive boulders. Macaque monkeys disappeared into trees as we passed, and we raced Bemo buses piled high with bales and boxes and the occasional hitchhiker.

I'm sure I'd have appreciated the beauty of the journey a lot more if I hadn't felt like I was going to blow chunks the whole time. Massive hangover + windy mountain roads = not good. This state of affairs was massively improved however at the airport with some hot sweet coffee and Pop Mie. Aaah s'better.

Back at Carly and Rizqy's in Surabaya, we crashed out on the sofas for an hour then ordered in chinese for lunch. We pissed about all afternoon, I repacked my suitcase, we played Wii, and then my older brother called from their caravan in Gairloch to say Happy Birthday. I could hear the usual chaos in the background of my baby nephew Brodan crying, the dogs barking, and my older nephew Irvine rabbiting on about being an ambulance. Irvine demanded the telephone 'I speak to Auntie Ayay?', and proceeded to sing me the cutest rendition of Happy Birthday that I've ever heard, before informing me that he had no birthday cake to give me, and obviously finding this most irregular promptly chucked the phone back at his Daddy and ran off to continue his duties as an ambulance. Best. Birthday. Present. Ever. :D

Carls and Riz took me out to dinner on my final night in Indo. We went to the posh Chinese end of town, which advertises itself as the 'Singapore of Surabaya'. The houses are ridiculous; columns, statues, fountains, lions, stained glass the lot. In the drive across town I've never seen such a rapid juxtaposition of rich and poor and in such extremis. We went from passing slum housing along a grotty river, with people living in corrugated iron lean-tos, to these monstrosities. The Indonesian rich live in gated communities and completely self-contained apartment complexes with security guards, maids, nannies, air con. They venture outside as little as possible so as not to darken their skin, which would make them look like the poor folks they try so hard to pretend don't exist.

Dinner though, was lovely. It was traditional Indonesian food, but the restaurant was Balinese in style. Sort of indoor/outdoor courtyard, with lots of sculptures and wood carvings. Which makes the addition of a country and western style four piece band serenading the customers somewhat incongruous. But they did do a lovely version of Happy Birthday for me. Which was not quite as memorable as Irvine's cover version, but it runs a pretty close second.

We had beef sate, prawns deep fried in dessicated coconut, mango and chilli sambal, fried chicken, rice and green beans, all yummy. Dessert was an Indonesian speciality: kinda weird but kinda good. It basically consisted of crushed ice and condensed milk, with syrup, jelly pieces, bread pieces and avocado, served up like a knickerbocker glory. Apart from the bread, it really worked!

On the drive home, Carls asked Riz to drive us back through Surabaya's red light district. The area is named Dolly after a particularly famous Dutch madam, and is as you'd expect, pretty seedy but jumping. Girls sit in shop windows on red couches, wearing ordinary clothes and bored expressions, chatting and texting. It looks like the queue for a takeaway. There are a few ladyboys about too, and occasionally there are shops full of TVs where guys sit on the floor and play playstation games they rent by the hour. These stores are about as popular as the hookers. Its official. Playstation is the new wanking.

Home and to bed. Goodnight Indonesia.

Indo blog 5: Sangege, Lombok: 1st-2nd July

Wow I've FINALLY got around to writing the concluding installments of my epic Indo holiday blog. No idea why it's taken me so long to get round to this, as our short stay in Lombok may just have been my favourite bit of the whole trip.

Wed 1st July - Ubud, Bali to Sangege, Lombok

We left Ubud pretty early in the morning, settled up with Mr Raka, said our goodbyes, and sat out on the street to await our pick up that would connect us with the bus to Padangbai; the ferry port to Lombok. An hour's drive through the more remote parts of north west Bali saw us arrive in time for the 9am ferry. Even at this time of the morn it's a bit of a scrum of locals, backpackers, coconuts and live animals. This ferry was a lot bigger than the one we caught to Karimun, but no air conditioned 'VIP' area this time. No 'In the night garden' on TV. Gutted. We got good seats in the shade on deck and read our books, talked shite and doodled to while away the four-hour voyage.

We arrived in Lembet, Lombok and got a bus to our final destination, Sangege. Our bungalows were about a ten minute drive out of central Sangege, so we figured we'd hire a car in town so that we could pinball about the island for the three days we'd be there. While this should have been pretty straightforward, it proved more difficult than it sounds.

Let me explain; Indonesia is oddly racist against its own people. Businesses and service providers routinely distrust locals and refuse to deal with them in favour of Bules. When Rizqy called ahead from Bali to book our bungalows in Sangege, the Indonesian woman he spoke to told him they were full. When Carly called half an hour later, she was given a choice of rooms. Similarly, at the salon in Ubud where Carls and I had our massage, the receptionist made Rizqy wait outside while Carly and I made our booking, because they assumed he was our guide (and therefore expecting a commission for bringing two Bules to their salon). Riz for the most part took this sort of treatment on the chin, but it was fairly obvious it was starting to get to him. He and Carly had holidayed in Bali/Lombok before, but because I was there this time, most tourist orientated businesses only saw a young, tattooed Indonesia guy with two western girls, ergo, he must be our guide.

It was no different in Lombok. The first hire car place we went into flat out refused to hire a car to a local. They were quite blatant about it. They would hire the car to me or Carly (even though we didn't drive!) but they wanted me to leave my passport with them. Which I refused to do. Because I'm not a bleeding idiot. Some swearing may have occurred. Ahem. On to hire car place number 2. They agreed to rent to a local, without anyone having to leave our passports, but the car they gave us was held together with sellotape. Unfortunately we had no other option. Riz, being a guy, and being a guy who likes a nice car, was mortified.

Anyway, we put the experience behind us and rattled off in our dustbuster along the coast to our bungalows. The place was called Santai, meaning 'relax' and that's pretty much all we did here. I. Loved. It.

Santai was a small collection of reed-thatched bungalows grouped close together by the beach, and interspersed with towering palm trees. Every bungalow was raised on stilts about three feet off the ground, with rattan blinds that could be rolled down from the overhanging thatch for privacy. Indoors, there were two low single beds surrounded by mozzie nets, and another door leading out to an outdoors bathroom, which was open-air but high-walled, with foliage and ferns growing up over the wall so no one could see in. It was still very strange sitting on a western loo looking at the sky. The shower was ace - a huge terracotta pot sitting on a high brick pedestal, with a rubber stopper in a spout at the bottom of the pot. You removed the stopper and out poured a stream of cool water. The pot could be refilled by opening a valve at the back of the pedestal. Was kinda ingenious. And it certainly woke you the hell up.

The best bit about the bungalows though was definitely the hammock. It was on a large porch out the front of the bungalow. You could roll down the blinds and swing lazily in your hammock, listening to the sea and reading trashy crime thrillers and drinking the hot sweet jasmine tea from a thermos that was regularly refilled by the Santai elves. It was total bliss.

But we couldn't sit around in hammocks all day AND night. There was booze to be had! We wedged ourselves back into the Tonka toy and headed into town after nightfall, satisfied my thai food cravings in a place called Bamboo, then headed over the road to a bar called Papaya. Which we chose for the sole reason that they did a happy hour of two-for-one pitchers of Arak cocktails and had live music. I mean what more do you want people?

I believe at one point we had five pitchers of blue Arak moonshiney madness lined up on our table. Not for long though. :) The live band were basically doing covers and taking requests, but they were pretty good - the female lead in particular. We cheered, we swigged, we took photos of our blue tongues, we demanded more booze and then we... er... drove home.

Another explanation: drink driving, while utter madness, is not really frowned upon in Indo. Actually, given our experience of the wacky races drive to Karimun, I don't think I would want to drive sober. Sorry Mum. Won't happen again Mum.

Thu 2nd July - Chilling in rainy Santai

Day two in Lombok dawned on a monstrous Arak hangover. This is when I fully appreciated the terracotta pot shower. Three seconds under that thing pretty much firehoses the hangover out of ya. Awesome.

Decontamination complete, I popped over to the library to pick a book. This was by the main Santai house where the owners lived. The family operated an open door policy to residents. You could wander into the kitchen, take anything you wanted from the fridge - water, coke, beer, and you just had to write in a little honesty book what you'd taken and your bungalow number. NOBODY ever lied. I certainly didn't. Another reason to love this place.

The library was on a large, raised platform area that served as a central communal space for all the residents. Everyone sat and ate together here at meal times, which was lovely, as you got talking to all sorts of weirdos. :) After an hour swinging in my hammock reading a book, and another hour chilling in Carly and Rizqy's bungalow, we had lunch here with a fine selection of nutters. There was a middle-aged Dutch couple, a younger Dutch couple with a little baby girl who was better than telly, a very loud German woman and an older Australian lady. We talked languages and travel (as you do) and played clap-a-handies with the wee bubba. Oh so Boho.

It was as we were heading back to our bungalows that I got to experience the start of my first tropical rainstorm. I'd landed in Indo about two weeks after the end of the rainy season (timed that well) but this doesn't mean it never rains in the dry season. One or two very big, heavy drops instantly preceded what was basically a solid wall of warm rain. It was a deluge. Utterly bonkers.

We all bolted for cover in our bungalows. As soon as I was in I locked the front door, and sat at the door to my open air bathroom, watching it. Now, if you ever find yourself caught in a tropical rainstorm, do yourself a favour; get butt naked and take a shower in it. Its bloody awesome, and bizarre, and totally liberating. I was giggling like a bairn. I even washed my hair.

When I was done communing with nature I got into my hammock (clothed), and passed the entire afternoon reading my book, drinking tea and watching the continuing rain.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun at about 4pm, and Carls and Riz and I went for a wander along the beach, watching sea fishermen and walking along the sea wall to a rocky outcrop where we got some pretty awesome shots of the waves breaking.

We headed back and joined the other Santai guests again for dinner at about 7pm. Discussed the weather like a right bunch of brits. Turned out Carls and Riz had had the same idea as me. Great minds...

Dinner was egg curry, salad, steamed veg and rice. Which doesn't sound like much but it was totally delicious. We sat up til late with loud mad German woman, polite Ozzie lady, and older Dutch couple, digesting dinner, drinking Bintang and talking politics, US foreign policy and religion before we were rudely interrupted by a power cut. Santai elves appeared with lanterns to guide us back to our bungalows. You didn't want to go blundering around pissed in the dark. There be giant spiders in them thar bushes. Ai haz seen dem.