15-27 June: Gili T, Padang Bai to Sanur

15-27 June: Gili T to Padang Bai to Sanur

Gili T looked great from the water: Turquoise shallows, white sand, waving palms, bamboo and thatch buildings and huts. Aesthetically positioned hotels and businesses. It is the physical manifestation of an imaginary tropical get-away. Much to our delight (and relief) it was as laid back as promised. Yes there are still people trying to sell you stuff, but they are doing it on island time. This place has not suffered from traffic loss. Everyone is laughing and joking most all the time.

We checked out a few places and settled on Dive Indonesia, one of a number of dive/bungalow operations. All shops on the island are PADI 5 star, all charge the same fees: US$30 per dive with a retroactive 5% discount after the 5th dive. The break is in hotel rates for diving with them. There is also a one-time 30,000Rp reef tax. This goes towards the bio-electric reef constructs, as well as to pay the local fishermen to not dynamite fish the reefs.

The place oozes island charm in the daylight, and Bacchanal excess after dark.

There are multiple businesses that have little DVD/TV huts set up. Buy some food or drinks, sit and watch one of about 400 DVD titles for free. One place has what we called ‘The Big Sheet”. A king size flat sheet hung in front of six rows of padded mats with an LCD projection unit. They have 7:00 and 9:00 features. Just buy something to eat and/or drink. During the week we enjoyed Shrek 3, Oceans 13 (just three days post-release), Babel, Four Brothers, and quite a few others.

We dove twice a day. Our regular dive master/guides were Apu and his brother Tam. Being low season, it was just us almost every dive. All dives are boat dives, with a typical depth around 20 meters (60+ feet). Visibility was awesome, usually at least 50 to 75 feet. The areas that had been dynamite fished still showed quite a bit of scarring and dead coral (The fisherman takes sticks of dynamite and tosses them into the water. Concussion kills everything in range and the fish float to the surface to be scooped up by the fisherman). Recovery was obvious, and was proceeding quickly. New growth was abundant and flourishing. The dives were all drift, going with the current. Apu was an underwater eagle, spotting well-camouflaged critters dozens of meters away.

Both crawlies and swimmers abound: Cuttlefish, tropicals, sharks, rays, nudibranchs, lobster and non-herpes turtles. We see lots of turtles in Hawaii, many of which have large tumorous growths from turtle-herpes. Soft and hard corals are food and board to uncountable legions of sealife. JD would burn through a set of batteries before a dive was finished each and every time. Inevitably the neatest thing to see would show up after the final flashing red battery indicator went out. Oh well. The few hundred shots he did manage to take will just have to do.

Around 6pm the assorted restaurants would set up the daily fresh seafood trays. Little barracuda, grouper, bugs (lobster & prawn), and such, all caught right of the beach. Your choices are then grilled to your specs as you watch. A little dinner, movie and ice cream becomes an easy habit. We have yet to find food anywhere that measures up to Ubud, but we are not starving either.

Gili T has no motorized vehicles at all. Transport is by foot, bicycle and pony cart. It is also primarily a party island. They take their parties very seriously. A daily (nightly?) roving party is pre-scheduled in 7 different bars. It is all but impossible to find lodging that does not have a nearby party at least one night. The party starts about 10pm and goes, no shit, to 5am or later. Full techno/funk/trance bass beat thumping to the wee hours. Indonesia Dive was strategically located between Tir Na Nog (“The Irish Bar”) and Rudy’s Pub. Rudy’s was, according to the locals, the best party. Tir Na Nog was second. Rudy’s hosted Friday nights. The Irish bar had Tuesdays. These were the soothing island sounds we got to sleep by… Sleep being a relative descriptor, for three of our eight nights. This place must be completely insane during high season. A small price to pay considering how excellent everything else was, especially compared to Lombok proper. In deference to the Islamic holy month of Ramadan, the parties actual stop. This is around October. The island mosque, like all mosques, has loudspeakers to give the five daily calls to prayer. The only tough one is the sunrise call. It is important to find lodging away from the broadcast towers…

According to the locals, busy season starts in about three weeks. Italians first, followed by the Germans, then the Ozzies. “Augustus” can get so busy it is impossible to walk along the street. People will show up and there are no rooms left at all. Sleeping on the beach is risky, mostly because high tide comes all the way in. The locals are laid back and relaxed. They are actually enjoying the last of the calm before the season. 1,500 full time residents live on Gili T, with another 1,000 or so between Gili Meno and Gili Air. Quite a few commute between islands. Meno and Air are much less party/activity oriented.

All manner of recreational substances are boldly advertised for those who partake. Don’t think it’s all kids ripping it up either. There was a family group from St Louis: Parents, parent’s friends and the kids. (Kids being in their twenties or so) The patriarch, whom the locals called Mr. Beer, though he preferred the moniker “Uncle Beverage”, would be up shortly after KK and having his first beer of the day. With his beer he would have a morning smoke. The type our Ozzie mate Gil calls ‘Wacky Baccy”. The bartender would twist up a big fat spliff and Mr. Beer would relax, toss back a few cold ones and get his first buzz of the day on.

We had a treat for our goodbye dinner. We decided to go to the “resort” waterfront restaurant, candles, music, waves, etc. The Maitre D’ had actually been to North Dakota on a restaurant exchange program. He seemed to think we were some kind of entertainers and tried to get us to perform. KK is often mistaken for Bonnie Raitt… The meal itself was different. JD had ordered a honey-roasted breast of chicken with veggies. What he received was a mangled de-boned thigh of unknown origin, tougher than leather and pretty much inedible. KK had a delightful sweet and sour fish. It’s all worth a good chuckle.

We have a 7 am departure to catch the private ferry in Sengiggi. It is also Friday Night Party at Rudy’s. Who needs sleep anyway?

There is not a lot of sunrise activity on Gili T. KK was usually the only one up and about for her morning walks/yoga by the beach. She did get approached by a “Kuta Kowboy” the first morning we were there. Kuta Kowboys are the Bali/Lombok version of a gigolo. He had offered to take her on a nice boat ride to see the sunrise. She mentioned her husband would really enjoy that as well… He paled a bit, mumbled some apologies and took off. The sunrises are indeed spectacular, if you can be conscious at that hour (6:35am along the equatorial region…)

For our O’dark thirty departure it was up at 6, packed and off to the boat landing by 6:45. JD had checked out the Rudy’s party until about midnight. He figured if it was going to keep him up anyway, he might as well see what was going on. It looked to be everything advertised. Two English blokes we had been diving with and he enjoyed some local coffee before the event to keep their energy up. One of the blokes was still up and waved goodbye when we headed towards the boat.

Interesting sidebar: The English blokes were both carpenters. They would work 4 to 6 months per year, then holiday the rest. Why? If they crossed into the next income bracket, even by a few pounds, their tax rate would go to almost 60% from 40%. So unless they could guarantee themselves enough additional income, it would cost them more to keep working.

The Lonely Planet guides are fantastic resources. Facts are as researched as they can be, Considering the shear volume of information, fluidity of businesses and ever changing political nature of many countries LP does a fantastic job collecting and updating their info. As a whole their editorial policy is to always try and say something nice. They do have “hazards & warnings” sidebars, though never as a focus of information. When Lonely Planet says the port village of Bangsal is a pit with no reason to exist other than to provide a home for the bottom feeding scum of Lombok, we do take notice. Bangsal is a fly-speck on the shore of Lombok onto which almost all boats leaving the Gili’s unload. The denizens that haunt this off-load point are the crème de’ la crème of the scammers, cons, pickpockets and rip-off artists. LP recommends avoiding this port if at all possible.

Of course, our boat-bus-ferry trip has us dropped here first. Even at 7am the scammers try to tell you the bus has left, there is no Parma boat, Boat is cancelled, they will happily drive you, etc, etc, etc. We had been prepared for that. What we did not expect was the ¾ mile trek to the actual transfer bus. Thank goodness we had lightened up our backpack load in Bangkok.

The Parma boat was great. It had about 30 people, including a couple from Ballard (Seattle). JD noticed a pair of Keen sandals and an REI backpack and made the assumption of Portland or Seattle which made him seem “spooky” to the unknowing couple. They being surprised that he could intuit where they were from. There was breakfast and lunch, and a section of deck covered in beach sand. All in all a pleasant trip, for 100,000 RP less than the trip over. And no puke on KK’s feet. This alone making it worth twice what we paid.

A night in Padang Bai seemed like a good idea. We didn’t want to hold a grudge against the place just because the transport touts are a bunch of manipulative shits. It is a quiet little place once you are away from the dock. We found a “rice-loft” style bungalow to call home for an evening. Fans and mozzie net. It had character, and it also had a hole in the mozzie net… On JD’s side. Still not awful. The used bookshop in town gave us our best trade-in rates ever. Traded two, and got a different one in return. We had a bite at a waterfront place. The host/owner asked where we were from. When he heard America he got a huge grin, waggled his thumb and pinky and growled “Whaaazzuupppp!” Sometimes it is OK to be embarrassed by our pop culture. Though I’d still rather hear ‘whaaazzzuuup” than anything about Paris Hilton…

Some of the mandatory tools of modern travel are ATM and credit cards. All good banks are paranoid about unexpected charges, especially from foreign nations. That is why you should always make sure your card issuer’s know your specific itinerary. Twice even. Inevitably, they will freeze your card anyway, at least once. For JD it was in Oz. Handled with a quick overseas call on a calling card. KK’s card was frozen here in Indonesia. We knew it had to be from the dive-hotel charge. Bank of America sent her an e-mail saying her account was frozen, and it gave an online system to confirm charges. It wouldn’t let her in. We had to call. Did you know there in no way to make a collect overseas call from Bali? Nor could we use any of our three calling cards. We didn’t have the cell phone (it was in Bangkok) so we couldn’t buy a cheap SIM. We had no intentions of picking up the tab for a direct dial call with the twenty-minute voice mail maze either.

Since we have more than one bit of plastic we were still fine. It was more annoying than anything else. We moved along to Sanur (“Snore” for the more active travelers).

Sanur is unique amongst the tourist resorts of Bali. All buildings are restricted to less than three stories, Touts are not allowed to roam free and piss off the tourists. The beach has a wonderful paving-brick esplanade that runs its entire length (again without the pestering type touts). Clean white sand, and a reef break about 50 meters out that keeps the water just offshore calm and serene. It is the only city that is still controlled by the priests. When the first tourist hotel went up in the early 60’s, they immediately saw the possibilities, both good and bad, of the industry. They laid down the rules quickly, and have not veered from them since. This doesn’t mean there are no shop, restaurant or transport touts, it just means they have stricter, enforced regulations concerning where and how they can annoy you…

We found an amazing organic foods and juice place, making KK’s weekly fast day so much easier, as well as an Italian restraint to die for. There was also a gelato stand attached to the Italian restaurant… ‘Nuf said.

There was a family from Hawaii staying at the Segung Agung. They had lived in Key West for 9 years before they got tired of the hurricanes. Fix your property up, get it all blown down, fix it up again. It gets old after a while.

The few days in Sanur where a pleasant way to end our Indonesia trip. We hooked up with “Jonny Gusti” for transport to the airport. The transport touts are still numerous in Sanur. Jonny Gusti figured out a niche. Once he was able to confirm our Americaness, he went full patriotic: He had a cap from a US warship based in San Diego, a US flag on his hip pouch which he took off and kissed, and a collection of John Denver memorabilia. Whipping out a harmonica he played Amazing Grace and that West Virginia John Denver tune. (He played both extremely well.) It completely endeared KK, and even impressed JD. We still figured he could do the same for two or three countries at least, but hell, you do what you gotta do to get business here. At least he was trying.

We had time to see Ulu Watu, Dreamland and a short driving tour of South Bali. Our departure day coincides with one of the two primary holy days. This one is Good & Bad Spirit Day. Appease the good, drive away the bad. EVERYONE is in ceremonial garb, with extra elaborate offerings being carried about, attached to vehicles, hanging from walls, plus all the normal daily offering locations.

We had been watching tall bamboo penjor being assembled and planted for the past couple of days. They are 20 feet tall with banana leaf frills and fronds, dried flowers and a hanging palm frond basket at the top. They are a direct offering to Gunung Agung (Mother Mountain). They stay standing for 30 days, are dug up and burned (in a ceremony of course), and the ashes are buried. As we have mentioned, the Balinese take their ceremonies very seriously.

Ulu Watu is one of the oldest temples on the island. It is built into the western facing Cliffside of South Bali. We are able to wander most of the grounds, however, being a holy day we cannot enter the temple courtyard or the temple itself. It is a spiritually powerful location, with a combination of rugged earth, crashing waves and a huge ocean vista. The sunsets are allegedly the most amazing on earth. We can see the possibility of that being an accurate statement. Next time we will show up in the evening.

Dreamland is development gone astray. The original plan was an upscale condotel/home community with golf course, shopping, entertainment, etc. The reality was a takeover by the indescribably corrupt son of the prime minister who spent more time lining his and his cronies pockets with developer kickbacks and less time actually building anything. There is a small surfer’s cove that actually does have a regular clientele, just not from the demographic envisioned.

Indonesia needs your last 100,000 Rupia as a departure tax. Indonesians also have to pay the same. This makes international travel virtually impossible for the typical Indonesian citizen. We pay our 200,000 Rp and head to the international gates. Even here the shop touts aggressively try to get you into their shops. We are off to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia!

Observations on Bali/Lombok:

Bali as an island is beautiful, lush, full of artisans and craftspeople, and has an impressive level of local spirituality.

There are an infinite number of crooks, scammers, cons and rip-off artists.

There are an equal number of people with a fierce pride and devotion to their island and way of life. (Yes some are from the above category)

A very large number of the island’s Hindu population (read: most of the island) are not real keen on Muslims right now.

The best rule of thumb: “Don’t Trust Anyone”

The economic desperation leads to aggressiveness, which turns off visitors, leading to more desperation…

After the political interference in 1963, resulting in a major volcanic eruption, the Balinese people are ever skeptical and wary of the government based in Jakarta.

The positive still outweighs the negative. We will be back, and intend to fill part of a shipping container with stuff.

Statistics:

Days in-country: 27
Photos taken: 1,860
Touts refused: 2,546,897
Touts used: 12
Wrong change: almost every time
Correct change: 16
Times “NO” said: 124,234,145,789.
Average Temp: 32 C (89 F)
Rainy Days: 0.5
Dives: 16 each

13-15 June: Sengiggi (Lombok), Indonesia

13-15 June: Lombok- Sengiggi

Lombok is the first island east of Bali. It has a typical Indonesian population, 95% Muslim, 5% everything else. It has a greater air of desperation amongst the common people and it is really hurting economically. Lombok proper has yet to recover from the religious riots in 2000. There are a number of tiny islands off the coast. The word for tiny island is “gili” [gill-ee]. The northwest corner of Lombok has Gili Meno, Gili Air and Gili Trawangan (Gili “T” for short) offshore. The Gili’s have suffered the least economically, and have had all but a full recovery to normal tourist traffic. Our plan is too spend three or four days in Sengiggi, supposedly the mellow non-abusive coastal town, then transfer to Gili Trawangan for a week of scuba diving.

Our intro to the Lombok ideology began on Bali. Padang Bai is the “port” village for the Lombok ferry. As you enter the town your transport is literally surrounded by touts. Picture a celebrity limo, or a white-collar criminal’s car outside a courthouse, being engulfed by paparazzi. Instead of cameras, the touts are all shouting ‘Transport Lombok! Gili! They stopped poor Gusti Gusti in his tracks. Unfortunately JD needed to hit the only ATM, forcing a stop before the ferry terminal area. It was a bit insane. Gusti Gusti needed to ask exactly where the ticket office was. Lets call this Error #1. We had been forewarned about porters and such and knew to not let anyone help us in any way or fashion with instructions or lifting. Gusti brought us to a storefront that boldly proclaimed “Ticketing Office”. Looked official… JD went inside, Error #2. There were two other tourists buying tickets. Everyone was a bit frenzied, “ferry leaving! 10:30!” It was about 10:25. The counter guy quoted 500,000 Rupia for ferry and transport to Sengiggi. In the rush JD was doing math for the private ferry, not the public, and was allowing western perspective to cloud his thoughts- Error #3. A US$25 per person charge for a 4-hour ferry ride and transfer is cheap by US standards, but this is not the US… 3 little errors to 1 expensive lesson.

We shuffle off to the boat. A stereotypical Indonesian ferry: large & unclean. Exactly the kind of conveyance that makes western news by being overloaded and sinking. Marine grade rust, held together by multiple layers of epoxy paint, spit, oil and small bits of baling wire. Being slow season, it was not overloaded. It was still filthy, and permeated with the bouquet of Eau’ De Diesel and unidentifiable organic compounds. As the boat is leaving the dock a little flag began waving in the back of JD’s head. It did not seem logical that all of the Balinese (or actually any…) on board could afford 200,000 Rp for this ferry ride (after all, the average monthly family income is less than 150,000 Rp…). A review of the Lonely Planet guide confirmed his sinking feelings. The passage for two should have cost about 40,000 Rp, a tad more than US$4. An hour-long bus ride should never cost US$46… What we had paid was even more than the private ferry rate. The private ferry has no more than 40 passengers, serves two meals, and has an actual sandy area on the stern sun deck for catching rays and is faster. Initially, JD was pretty pissed off. Then he got over it.

We didn’t move around too much, just kicked back on the stern upper deck and watched some guys fixed line fishing off the back of the boat. They did all right, catching six or so mackerel-type fishes. KK had a need to follow the call of nature. The toilettes on the ferry were all squat-style. (Squat, do your business, pour a few buckets of water in to flush). The gal in the next stall was violently sea-sick. When she poured her water in to clear the bowl, a lot splashed out… right onto KK’s feet. How does one make a happy red-head? Not by bathing her feet in puke, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Even the callous softening properties of stomach acid did not mitigate the foulness of the Vomit Foot. It was no mean feat (pun absolutely intended…) preventing KK from throwing her despoiled footwear overboard.

When the boat docked, we found our transfer van driver. Our ride to Sengiggi was shared with a Belgian couple. They too had realized they had been ripped off. As expected we were in a “kidnap” transport. They brought us to their tourist booking office in Sengiggi. “Good Deals! You make booking, then we bring you that hotel”. We were about 50 meters from our planned hotel. We grabbed our packs and started walking. The drivers panicked. “Where you go?!?!?” We mentioned our hotel. “Oh No! Not clean. Very noisy, next to club, music to loud! This office make best deal!” JD was not feeling charitable, or polite. Off we went. Our first choice hotel was full. Not bad for a dirty noisy place… We headed towards the second choice. We picked up three or four “street touts”. (A street tout has nothing specific to sell. They work as freelance consultants. They will expect tips and commissions for bringing you to a specific location or business) We repeatedly explained we had a place and knew where we were going and tried to get the boys to bugger off. There were rooms available, and we negotiated for the superior room. It was still overpriced. However, we were tired of evading touts: Transport touts, kitsch touts, freelance touts, restaurant touts, and tourist services touts. KK likened them to sandflies, without the charm and personality. They annoy you when you are moving, then swarm you completely when you stand still. We had rejected dozens in the 150 meters we had walked so far. It did not bode well for Sengiggi, or us.

Ever been sitting on a toilette, minding your own business, when someone begins pounding on the door. Or maybe the overeager housekeeping service banging on your door at 7 am to service your room? It is not the end of the world, but it is annoying. Now imagine dozens of people, pounding on the imaginary doors, walls, windows and ceilings of your day, all day. Over and over and over. Every time you sit down anywhere, anytime. Each and every one wrapped in a flaring overwhelming sense of need and desperation. It gets old really fast. It is draining. The need to always count your change at least twice, not being able to trust anybody, having to triple check and then confirm the price of everything no matter how trivial, and the need to always have your guard up at full strength makes it difficult to just enjoy the experiences. JD left the northeast because of the dog-eat-dog nature of the region. NYC is one big happy hippie commune compared to here.

We still endeavored to explore and enjoy Sengiggi. There are a number of great looking food places, as well as a couple of active clubs and lounges. All have aggressive touts out front to steer you in for a meal or drinks. We had a delicious meal at a smaller place on the main drag. Jimmy the Maitre D was entertaining, and only tried once to sell us a driving tour of the island. We had to ignore and reject only 8 or 9 street vendors during our dinner. The low-tech Indonesian telemarketer technique: always get the mark during a meal. At least at home you can turn off the ringer to ignore telemarketers. In Sengiggi they just walk up to the hedge along the dining area and stick their wares over your table and say “Good Price! X dollars!”. Kimberly has begun to say “Zero Dollars?!”. This gets a real laugh, and they take the hint about half the time. The other half begin to haggle, with KK never budging from zero. KK loses patience quickly (imagine that…) and authoritatively announces “NO I’M EATING!”. Which almost always gets a “maybe later?” Then they will stand and stare. Just like Eddie the dog from Frasier.

KK was beat and was ready to sleep. JD went to see the live music at Papaya Restaurant. Papaya has “Crazy Time” from 9:30 to 10:00, two-for-one drinks. They had good music, and a decent pour. The vodka came in a glass with ice, an extra shot on the side, and a separate bottle of club soda. Mixers are not included in the drink price. JD had a few and enjoyed the jams.

Our deluxe room with TV, Fridge, Hot Water, A/C, sitting area and western toilette had a TV with three channels, all in Bahasa, a missing fridge, and a shower that trickled lukewarm water rather than showered with hot. The grounds were especially beautiful to the small pack of stray dogs that called it home.

Our day of true adventure began innocently enough. KK is up early, as is her wont. JD is slightly the worse for wear after enjoying crazy time. KK is out on the front deck, enjoying her early day quite time. Only the groundskeepers are there to tell her about their friends who can drive us to [insert local scenic thing here] when she notices something odd. Literally. There were an odd number of shoes. While in Asia, we are in the habit of leaving our shoes outside. Everyone else does as well. It is customary and polite. KK’s first thought is JD was a bit tipsy when he got back to the room, maybe he left one outside and wore the other in… That really did not make sense, and she noticed one of the stray dogs walking along. She stuck her head in the room and announced she thought a dog stole one of JD’s shoes. Even in his grogginess he knew if a shoe was missing, that was indeed the cause. KK went to the front desk and they had a groundskeeper go walkabout with her. They found JD’s sandal a bit worse for wear; chewed heel strap, torn upper and shredded lace, covered in drying dog slobber. It was still functional as a shoe. This is good, as there are not many places that carry JD’s size footwear. In fact, we haven’t found any yet.

Ever go to a koi or trout pond? One that sells fish nuggets to feed the fish? Fish will ball up on top of each other when a shadow falls across the water. They know deep in their little fishy minds that if they are good fishes and get to the front of the mass, magic food will appear right in front of their mouths! This is the best analogy I can come up with to describe the behavior of the common Indonesian, and especially Lombokian, salesperson. If they pile around enough westerners, one or two will throw money at them to make them go away. If there is a barrier: fence, hedge, 8-foot concrete wall, etc, they will try to pile up where the mark (read: “customer”) has no choice but to see them.

The hotel restaurant had a wonderful open-air view of the beach and ocean. KK had to eat with her back to it. The beach touts would congregate at the fence and shout at you if you were looking in that direction, not unlike the fish ball example…

There was an internet café across from the hotel. While working online JD had a deep and urgent need to use the toilette, and went upstairs. It was a sitting bowl with the classic Asian cistern for flushing. (The one pictured is a clean hotel version)JD sat and began the business males begin while sitting. It was at this critical juncture he realized there were no paper products of any kind in this room. There was no little bidet hose either. There were two plastic scoop buckets on the edge of the cistern. One looked to be a neglected home aquarium- three inch long algae fronds, probably a snail or three, and JD suspected some Paleolithic thing with teeth and claws hiding near the bottom. The other seemed sterile by comparison, having only a coating of black slime on the container. Side Note: In Asia and the Middle East it is a grave insult to reach, touch or interact with one’s left hand. This is because the left hand is used to wipe your ass. Not with paper mind you, just to wipe your ass. JD, ever the one to go feral, knew this was a time to do as a native would do. Scooping some water, in his left hand, he did what one does in this circumstance. A good sphincter cleaning and rinse. This is when the really bad thing was noticed. THERE WERE NO SINKS OR SOAPS in the entire building. JD trots (pun still intended…) back downstairs to finish up his online action. KK notices him working one-handed and inquires. 4 weeks later she is still cackling with glee about the whole incident…

KK decides she needs a pedicure (Scrape off the layers of Puke Foot perhaps). A spa is recommended in Lonely Planet, and it is also just across the street. Without going into great detail it is now 4 weeks later and her heels are just about healed. She, without hesitation or reservation, has declared it the absolute worst pedicure she has ever had in her entire life. And she has had hundreds to compare it to. It was like a puppy or kitten had chewed on her heels in an aggressive and not so playful way, and then a 2 year old finger-painted her toes with polish.

We manage to have a late lunch at Tamar. It was delicious: An Indonesian red curry and rice that is superb. We walk around a bit afterwards and grow tired of all the unwanted attention. As we are heading back to the hotel we pass Jimmy the Maitre D at the restaurant we enjoyed last night. There are no customers inside, so he asks if we could just sit at a front table and have a drink to help draw people in. He’ll “make good price” for the drinks… We like Jimmy, and the place, so figure we won’t explode if we have a cocktail. They ended up being the nastiest drinks ever, served with the best of intentions. A Pina’ colada, light on the pina, hold the colada and an astringent rum punch with essence of fruit juice on the side. Thank goodness we only had food the previous evening (which was really good). Sure enough, another three tables filled with westerners while we were there. Each staff person made it a point to stop by our table and thank us for making them business.

The original plan was three or four days in Sengiggi. That will be two or three too many. We negotiated a private outrigger to Gili T. Ahmed was very proud of he and his partners two boats. In a desperate leap of faith we left a small cash deposit…(about US$5-) for “petrol”. We so want to believe in basic human decency we are still willing to extend trust when almost all experience is contrary to that ideal. There are no paper receipts in these types of transactions. We will know if our hope and faith is a dead entity in about 16 hours.

That next morning we packed in record time and trotted off to the beach to catch our ride. It was with an incredible sense of relief we saw the motor attached to the back of the boat, and a number of helpers scrambling about. Our driver was Kamal. He rested his feet on the open gas can and enjoyed a few smokes during the hour-long trip to Gili T. The sea was a bit scrappy with the swells and wind going the same direction as us. With a bit of surfing and the occasional big splash we made it unscathed. Just like the Thai longtail boats we beach rather than dock. The water is clear and warm. No worries. The trick is not to pop a nut holding your stuff (in this case everything we own for a year) overhead.