27 June- 1 July: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

27 June- 1 July: Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

A short 2½ hour flight puts us into KLIA, Kuala Lumpur International Airport. Apparently no one ever says Kuala Lumpur. KL is the reference in all signage, speech and print. KK wanted to come here primarily because it is fun to say Kuala Lumpur. The airport is 78 kilometers south of KL itself and is connected to the city by an expressway and rail system.

It never ceases to amaze us when there are travelers that do not make the slightest effort to know even the most basic courtesies and customs of a country they are visiting. Can you always get it right? No. Will it often be obvious you are making the effort? Yes. The issue I am leading up to involves a late teens/Early twenties Bottle blonde harlot-in-training on our Malaysia Air flight. This young lady was dressed in an outfit that would make Madonna blush (for those who are too young for the Madonna reference substitute Shakira or Carmen Electra) Short shorts that demonstrated her depilatory skills, F-me pumps, and a sleeveless button down top that demanded “Stare at ME!” (or “US” depending on your point of view…) Now please do not mistake me for a prude, by any stretch. I fully support the “if you got, flaunt it” as well as the “No need for you to imagine, I’m happy to just show you” western approach to casual dress. But when flying from a devout Muslim country into an even more devout Muslim country, on the more devout one’s flagship airline, a certain level of fashion restraint is in order. The discomfort of the crew and a few of the passengers was noticeable.

All of this can be, and usually is, written off as barbarian infidels having no concept of respect. This was when the young lady decided she needed to use the loo during the final approach for landing. The cabin crew was beating on the toilette door demanding she take her seat. She was actually arguing she wasn’t finished; she’ll come out when she was done… Literal seconds before touchdown she exited the head. A crewmember actually threw her onto one of the crew jumpseats and buckled her in as the wheels touched tarmac. He was PISSED, and not in the just had a few cold ones way. As we were deplaning he had her boarding pass and passport and was writing on a very official looking form. She was ineffectively pouting. I suspect she was completely unaware that this country has a more direct and physical approach for handling even minor legal offenses. I’m sure most of you are familiar with the strict laws in Singapore concerning public cleanliness and order (getting caned for spitting on the sidewalk, littering, chewing gum in public, etc). KL is not too different in that respect.

The History: Malaysia’s current political entity has been in power since 1957. Historically it is the realm of pirates. Traditional piracy is still a primary form of commerce in the Straight of Malacca. Throw a few well-armed thugs into a Boston Whaler and have them “capture” a 200,000 ton ship. Commercial vessels are the usual targets. Believe it or not, the most effective deterrent is a fire hose… Apparently pirates are like cats- they hate to get wet.

Modern techno piracy has also evolved: DVD, software, electronics, knock-offs, etc. A study was done in SE Asia with a sadly entertaining discovery: A software company priced its latest release US$1 less than the pirate version. People still bought the pirated copies. Why? The most common answer was better package art on the copies… In many cases it never even occurred to the consumer to check the price on the licensed product. Even if a software company tries to give its product for free, to students, teachers and schools for example, people (and institutions) will still pay for a pirated copy. This is not to imply rampant crime and debauchery in KL, it seems to be the opposite in fact. People are straightforward, polite and we found a bare minimum of sleaze.

Kuala Lumpur: Traffic, while dense, is orderly and correct. People are polite, well, maybe not so much polite as not pushy and demanding. The streets are clean. Almost as clean as Seattle/Portland after a good rain. Our mid-range hotel, The Ancasa, is actually pretty ritzy. It is located at the “entrance” of Chinatown, and a reasonable walk from the Petronas towers, the KL tower (space phallus) and primary shopping districts.

KL is an energetic, vibrant and dynamic city. There is new construction, remodeling and infrastructure expansion occuring all over. After our time in Indonesia it is refreshing to be in an optimistic city. KL is also more than 90% Muslim, with many women wearing full shawls. There is also a noticeable full burka population (The burka is the traditional orthodox Muslim dress for women, A black solid head to toe fabric with just a slit for the eyes.)

Commerce is the lifeblood of this city. Huge multi-block plazas and malls connected by sky bridges, street stalls, and markets abound. The country is celebrating 50 years of continuous rule and is also having a major tourist promotion to let people now it is safe to visit Malaysia. In many stores you get a 5% discount if you can prove you are a foreigner (passport or drivers license).

The main Chinatown Night Market at Jelan Petaling is just a block from the hotel. This is an insane press of stalls and bodies that stretches along for 400 meters north to south and another 200 meters east/west on a cross street. It is a mixed blessing being the giant westerners We can see where we want to go, but we are too big to glide between the bodies to get there. Vendors have tables set back to back in the middle of the street, Stalls line both sides, and there is a sidewalk that still manages to stay clear in front of the brick & mortar storefronts. If you get stuck in the inner lane, you can walk a long way before there is an opening to jump to the sidewalk. It is quite the press of sounds and smells, not all of them Organic…

Visionary small restaurants set up dozens of tables, sometimes in front of other eating establishments. We sat at a table thinking we were ordering from the place behind us. Turns out it was across and down the street! (It was still excellent- best street food we have had since Thailand) Beer girls sell specific beers: Carlsberg, Bintang, etc. Street musicians will serenade a block of tables and then pass the hat. DVD touts will come along with a sheaf of covers. He takes your “order” and runs back to his stand/stall to check inventory and delivers what he can. KL was founded by pirates. It is part of the cultural psyche. (Flashback: JD took an intro psyche class in undergrad. The professor was livid that the word “psyche” was ever used. It technically didn’t exist, and had no place in educated discussion. It is still a fun word to use… and for a non-existent word, most people still seem to know what it doesn’t mean.)

While our hotel had in-house wireless for a fee, the Starbucks down the street had free WiFi and a signal that made it all the way to our room (most of the time). It was refreshing to have an actual broadband connection, and choices of provider to boot! Checking email in seconds and uploading photos in minutes rather than hours was joyous.

Our hotel was also hosting an international darts tourney. Teams from Britain, Germany, India and assorted other places competing for a number of cash prizes. Speaking of cash, it was a large shift in our currency conversion gears: US$1=3.5 Malay Ringit (MR). Our first nights feast ran about 30 MR, including the beer. Living large, that’s our style!

We have a good feeling about this city and figure the enjoyment potential to be high.

Starbucks may have been driven out of Beijing, but it is solidly entrenched in KL. Certainly not in the same densities as Seattle, but you don’t have to travel too far between mocha’s either. Maneuvering across a complicated traffic circle/rerouting hub brings us to the MayBank KL headquarters. It is our custom to try and find the biggest commercial bank in any given country and use it’s ATMs. Here that is MayBank. After climbing/riding an escalator through wonderfully landscaped grounds we are greeted by two solid walls of ATMs outside the main bank branch. Smack in the middle of this scenic outdoor foyer is another Starbucks… (Neither of us particularly likes Starbucks coffee as a drink, however it is always a little snippet of home to see the white block letters, green background, and titillatingly risqué mermaid logo. Especially in places like bank lobbies.) ATMs don’t always give an English option, however the procedures never seem to vary. When in doubt- hit cancel.

With a fistful of Ringit we saunter off to a mall a few kilometers away. It is supposed to have a Borders Bookstore. It is time to get a few newer books, and KK has a shopping Jones that needs fixed badly. JD figures he’ll hang in the Borders café and surf while KK devastates the mall. Just to reiterate: it is heartening to see boom cranes, construction fence, supply trucks and such. In our visual field alone there are at least a half-dozen working boom cranes on different projects. Some might think visually unappealing and dirty. I think jobs, growth and healthy economy. Especially after Indonesia.

The Borders is located in a HUGE mall just off the monorail line. This is one of about a dozen HUGE malls in a 6 to 8 square block area. Just a half klick in any direction will bring to even more HUGE malls. This is not addressing the little malls and centers that fill the spaces, such as they are, between the HUGE malls. (When I say HUGE, that means 4+ floors and 300+ stores, theaters and food options). KL is a shopper’s fantasyland. Real labels, fake labels, artisans, kitsch, anything and anything else tangible can be found.

During most of the first and second millennia Gregorian (0 AD to the early 1900’s) the Chinese were THE merchants in most SE Asian lands. Considering any lands or people outside the Middle Kingdom were supposedly ghosts and figments of the imagination, a large amount of trade occurred with “the other side”. “Ahhh my phantasmic friend, I will gladly trade you 1,000 Yuan for that nearly invisible Teakwood…” Anyway- KL has a large Chinese immigrant base (Mostly from the 16 to 1800’s) and that influences the food options quite a bit. A “fast food” lunch of Dim Sum fills us up for a monorail ride.

KL has a great mass transit system: 3 distinct rail lines plus a monorail and hundreds of buses. Between these methods you can travel anywhere within or without the city. The downside is they all started as independently operated lines. Not too unlike the original subway lines in NYC. None had been built with the intention of allowing passengers to slip between two competing transport corridors with any great ease. After coming under civic control a decade or so ago a few “crossover” terminals now exist. It still requires separate ticket purchases to change “lines”, but since a trip costs about 40 cents it isn’t a painful thing. (Seattle seems to be the only city that cannot make a functioning self-funding monorail line.)

We get a sky view of central KL. A big part of that view is the Petronas Towers (Geek info here ) . They are the international iconic representation of KL. They exist as a tribute to the power of being a net exporter of oil. Petronas (Petroliam Nasional Berhad) is the Malay government-owned oil company. In this country do not confuse government run with “bureaucratically bloated and inefficient”. Petronas makes good money. Obscenely good money. Beneath the towers (which until 2004 were the tallest in the world) is a 6-story shopping mall. No knock-offs in this building: Cartier, Tiffany, etc. call this home. The world's largest Mont Blanc outlet is also located here, as are the country's first stores for Hermes, Tag Heuer, and Mikimoto. (Yes, Starbucks is also represented…at least twice)

Oil built this building. A large hydrocarbon chain model dominates the upper floor of the grand atrium. Another wraps around the building marquee outside. (Interesting tidbit: Malaysia anticipates becoming a net-importer of oil by 2012.) The towers lend themselves to photos. The area surrounding it is parkland and shorter buildings with numerous locals for unobstructed stunning shots. The architecture was aesthetically planned around Islamic artistic foundations, 8-pointed stars, spirals and curves. It is easy to stare at the buildings lines for hours.

We hop a light rail/subway hybrid back to Chinatown. We each had a fresh juice in hand as we walked through the turnstile. A transit officer ran up to us speaking quickly in Malay Bahasa, gesturing at our drinks and pointing at the turnstile. We had no clue. He gently turned us to point a large poster with assorted graphics and the universal red circle with a slash. Along with weapons and pets, no food or beverage is allowed on the platform or trains. Immediate 500MR fine. We immediately apologized profusely. He motioned to a trash bin and indicated we could finish our drinks there. Silly tourists…

The hotel had live soft jazz piano and fantastic tea (as well as killer cheesecake!) in the lobby lounge. We pretty much enjoyed that every day in the mid-afternoon. Another example that we are not in Bali anymore: Still adapting to the exchange rate KK tried to pay 150 MR (US$40) for a mocha and tea. The barista immediately handed back the larger note and made change for the smaller. Never would have happened that way on Bali...

KK has taken the plunge, fallen to peer pressure, joined the masses, and after years of internal struggle and debate, finally gotten her nose pierced. This procedure really tapped into her discretionary budget. After hours of cost/benefit analysis and shopping the different piercing establishments she reached deep into her pockets and paid the US$2.75 to the lowest bidder. After seemingly endless seconds of preparation the procedure itself took almost half a second. The anxiety was palpable. Luckily JD had charged the battery for the camera and was able to record the entire event, beginning to end. Almost 6 shots in total. She was stable almost immediately, and has recovered nicely. The satellite dish/antennae sticking out of her left nostril seems to act as a booster for both wireless signals and TV reception. She will be able to change to a lower profile nose-stud in a week or so…

We hop a bus to visit Batu Caves. A Hindu holy site 12 kilometers north of KL. Also a location for some great rock climbing. Our gear is still in BKK, so we are just visiting the shrine. During January and early February upwards of a million worshipers make a pilgrimage to the caves. The rest of the year it is home to a troop of cheeky monkeys and tourists. 272 steps lead up to the cave entrance. Some of the more deconditioned visitors take an hour or so to get to the top. An impressive natural cave opens into a large Karst-like hollow open to the sky. Most all temples, cathedrals, churches, and other holy sites have a “feel” of worship and focus. While naturally impressive, Batu Cave has the least sense of spirituality of any holy site we have visited to date. It was still certainly worth the trip, even to just have that type of comparative sense for reference.

We jump off the bus early on the way back into the city to catch the monorail. KK was in need of some more retail therapy to assist in recovery from her nose enhancing procedure. At a medium sized mall called Lot 10 she found an incredible selection of Tibetan Singing Bowls. She has been looking for these for years. Singing bowls are used by monks during chanting, as well as in a number of alternative healing therapies.

We enjoyed witnessing our second “Important Person Shutting Down Main Roads” motorcade. The first was on Koh Samui, Thailand when we had to wait for HRM the Princess to go to the airport. It is just like the states: A large contingent of motorcycle officers runs ahead to close side streets. A really long impressive motorcade of dark cars with even darker windows and little flags on the fenders hauls ass up the street, with well armed and armored support vehicles in the front, rear and middle. Motorcycles leap frog ahead to repeat the procedure. Street cops take about a half hour to restore a more harmonious flow to the major intersections.

The Purple Cane Teahouse is found in the classic Chinatown way: Tiny side street, hardly marked door, up narrow steps the first elevator ever installed in Asia, guess how many floors to go up while hoping you don’t weigh too much for the lift, and enter a non-descript door into a lovely Chinese tea room. We had a lesson on using a tea tray, tea towel, and exactly how to brew the perfect cup of tea.

Not feeling wound up enough from our Oolong tea, we stopped on the next floor down to check out Iyoki Coffee House. Iyoki specializes in “cold drip” coffee. An elaborate Mr. Wizard (Bill Nye for the recently post-pubescent) set up allows a six hour controlled drip of cold water to gently wash through a filter full of ground coffee. This brew then sits for a minimum of two days to mellow and become drinkable. Served in a tall glass with coffee ice cubes. It was delicious. One of the best coffee’s we have had. Downside: It was 4:00 in the afternoon. Neither of us does very well with caffeinated beverages. Oh well, plenty of time to sleep on the plane in a couple of days.

KK is getting tired of being a second-class citizen… For the past month if JD is anywhere nearby he is the one spoken to. She, while standing right there, will be referred to in the third person by any and all male speakers. JD, always respectfully addressed as “Mr. John”, and KK is “Mr. John’s Wife”. For an Alpha-chick like KK this is setting the slow boil. She gets that in Muslim culture this is just the way it is. According to a random passage in the hotel room Koran a “feisty” woman is to be sequestered in her family’s home and never let out again. Ever. For any reason. Until she dies. We would never see any of our female friends, Alpha-chicks each and every one of them… A feisty man on the other hand just needs to apologize to the village Imam, and can go on with his business. Oh, had we mentioned the Gideon’s haven’t successfully invaded Asia? Indonesia and Malay have Koran’s in the hotel rooms, Thailand has The Teachings of Buddha.

During a shopping therapy session KK had another shopper give her the “look”. The full head-to-toe slow gaze with a small Sneer of Judgment. Professor Snape with a head shawl and high heels. KK was wearing shorts, arms bare and her Choko sandals, with the audacity to be shopping inside a real store. (The local Nordstrom’s equivalent). No, KK didn’t scratch her eyes out… She thought maybe the woman knew KK had picked up an infestation of Monkey Fleas during our cave sojourn. (OK, KK did not get fleas. She did get chomped by quite a few insects though, and had very itchy legs)

The KL tower is the local Space Phallus. Turns out there are dozens around the world. Each one has a plaque giving stats and locations built into the KL viewing plaza walkways. The walk to the tower took us through the botanical gardens. Like Oz, there are warning signs about what can kill you in the bush. Unlike Oz it is a small sign with only for critters on it. A group of traditional musicians was set up in the café area. We enjoyed a juice and some jams.

Speaking of jams, the regular lounge at the hotel had a three piece lounge band nightly. Two little cuties on vocals and the drummer/guitarist. Classic Asian covers, Englishish (Ozzie Osbourne should have such good English...). Between sets the band made a point to meet and greet everyone in the lounge. JD was in a corner working online… He was the lone American in the room. The band, excited to have an American in the audience went all out. Unfortunately, especially for Classic Rock fan JD, they chose to honor him with a set from ABBA… I know, not even an American group (We can be very proud of that!). It was really sweet though, and done with the best of intentions. He dragged KK down the next night to meet the band and enjoy a set as well. (Closet Skeleton: We did see Mama Mia in Vegas a couple of years ago. Much to JD's horror and shame he recognized most every tune...)

Our departure from KL was smooth and uneventful. No extortion at immigration control, no last ditch touts trying to tell us the airport was closed, all flights cancelled (except their brothers plane…), only they can take us out of the country, etc. We will be meeting our friends the Massengills in Bangkok. It is their first full family trip out of the US.



Kuala Lumpur tidbits:

Days in country: 4.5 (Next time at least two weeks)
Tout count: 6+/-
Pleasant experiences: Dozens!
Unpleasant ones: None?
Photos of Petronas: 100+
Kilometers walked while shopping: 30+
# of nose studs KK has now: 4
Total cost ($US) of same: $9- including piercing process
Impression level with KL: 9.5 on a 10 scale

Public transport used: 3 train lines, two buses, one monorail

Prognosis post shopping therapy: Exellent for full recovery!

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.

01-13 June: Bali, Indonesia

01-13 June Bali: Seminyak-Ubud-Tulamben

5:30 breakfast, then 6:00 taxi to BKK. Driver managed to get us there in 25 minutes, only 250 Baht. Somehow made a 48 K trip in 35 K. Thailand is taking the new (for them) international travel rules very seriously: Postings everywhere of no fluids larger than 100ml in a 1 liter baggy in checked bags. They search your carry on by hand. Then it gets screened in X-ray and hand searched again. Not to sound puckish, but here is a tidbit: A Muslim lady in full conservative traveling dress, lots of layers and shawl, has a rolling suitcase as her carry on. At the first hand check it is opened to reveal dozens of 1-liter baggies, each packed full of assorted liquid containers. The inspectors were a bit flabbergasted, for Thais anyway. The look of awe on their faces was extreme, and at least two supervisors were called over to take charge/responsibility. The lady was sure she had packed correctly, and was not happy she could not carry all of her liquids onto her plane. We cleared before her situation was handled, so I cannot report the outcome. I am confidant however, she did not get to carry all those baggies through.

Had I mentioned our baggage load is down to 42 kilo? We left almost 30 kilo of climbing gear, extra clothes, guidebooks, paper and media stored at the hotel in Bangkok. KK has no carry on, JD has the electronics pack. It’s a whole new world. We walk with a bounce in our step, and a tune in our hearts. Off key, but a tune nonetheless! We figured we only need a months worth of stuff.

We sat next to a younger-twenties surfer dude from California. He had just finished an 8 hour layover in BKK and was looking forward to catching the world-class waves of South Bali. His was the story in the last post (Minutia, trivia, etc) so I won’t repeat it here.

Historical and geopolitical tidbits:

Indonesia is the fourth most populous nation on earth with just under 300,000,000 people. China, India, and the USA round out the top three. Indonesia is over 90% devout Muslim. It consists of approximately 1,700 islands spread across three time-zones and both sides of the equator. 1,100 of them are inhabited full time. Due to deforestation and mining, they lost 24 islands last year. Just eroded into the sea…

Bali is a small island in the middle of the Indonesian archipelago, lying at 8 degrees south latitude. (Maybe half the size of New Jersey) It is a cultural and theological inverse of the rest of the entire country. Bali is 90% Hindu with a small Muslim minority. 3.2 million call it home. The architecture, customs, and ceremonies all revolve around the Hindu triumvirate: Brahma, Vishnu, and Shiva. Animism plays a role in daily life as well. A seemingly unique smidgen of Buddhism is also found in the mix, with certain occasions requiring merit to be made. Archeological finds have uncovered Hindu and Buddhist temples from the 11th century sharing the same grounds. (More on those shortly). Three large active volcanoes are here, with the most recent eruption coming from Gunung Agung (Mother Mountain), the largest of the three. 2,000 people lost their lives, a few villages were covered with mud and debris in 1963.

Lombok (Indonesian Bahasa for “chili”) is the next island east of Bali, a 4-hour +/- ferry ride on a classic Indonesian ferry. Tourists primarily visit the west coast, and the tiny Gili island group off the northwest coast. The eastern half of the island is not really westerner friendly. 3 million call it home, and it is 2/3 the size of Bali.

There were two bombings on Bali in the tourist center of Kuta (’02 and ’05), and religious riots on Lombok in 2000. Both events have put a long-term crimp in tourist traffic on the two islands. The bombings were not planned or executed by local Muslims, but rather another Indonesian Muslim group from off-island. Since this is an Australian playground (3 hours form Perth, 2 hours from Darwin, less than 5 from Sydney) the ’02 event was Ozzie focused. In ’05 the intent was “to hurt America”, however, as the locals would agree strongly, it only hurt Bali. Badly. As an aside, the local Muslims were not angry, or even overly putout about the bombings. The Lombok riots in 2000 were angry Muslims burning and destroying Chinese-Christian businesses and homes.

Depending on the information source, tourism dollars are down 40%-80%. From what we have noticed, I would guess closer to the latter. In a place were tourism is almost half the economy, this is a devastating hit. The typical tourism worker makes 450,000-1,350,000 Rupia (US$50-US$150) a month. Another 20% of the economy is rice farming, with the farmers making less than 450,000 Rp (US$50) per month. The ruling body in Jakarta tends towards strict Muslim law. Not quite Shar’ia, but they are trying…

As Americans we have not been subject to any noticeable prejudice or anger, but we have also been sticking to the well-traveled tourist circuit while here. We Yanks are definitely the minority in tourist numbers. Ozzies, Germans, and Belgians make up the vast majority of travelers we have run into. As we have written before, our money spends just fine, and no one has refused to take it because we hail from the Great Satan. We do however endeavor to observe and respect local customs whenever we are aware of them, and are not intentionally looking to put ourselves in harms way.

Enough heaviness, here is the entertaining stuff. Bali and Lombok have supplied a shitload of stories, insights, and bloggable goodies.

Arrival: Bali

Lets start at the airport… Immigration control is very straightforward: pay your visa fee, get a variety of official stamps, postings and stickers in your passport, and shuffle off to collect your bags. The baggage carousel is located about 10 feet (3 meters) from customs. Grab a cart, toss your bags on, and… an official looking working fellow (in our case two), complete with photo ID badges comes along a grabs your cart and wheels it the ten feet to the customs counter. We naively figured they were there to keep things moving through customs, after all who could possibly be allowed inside the Machiavellian boundaries of international customs control but official customs employees? After a casual peek through the gadgets bag the actual customs official waves us through. The “porters” then push our cart another 5 feet to the moneychangers’ window. They say “you change money now”. JD says “Have money, going to ticket counter”. They say “You give us money!” JD says “For what?” They say, with completely straight faces, “Tip for carrying bags!” JD lets loose with a deep belly laugh, the kind that adds months to your life and helps with digestion, and exclaims, “You pushed a cart 10 feet? Tip? I don’t think so”, shakes his head and takes the cart. Then we exited the terminal into the real Tout-Storm.

This was only a mild precursor to the entertainment and local flavor Bali and Lombok are going to provide…

Traffic and roads here make Thailand seem sedate. Some two-way roads are literally alleyways between massive stone walls. The traffic is as dense as Bangkok, without the orderly structure… The impressive thing is the enforced helmet law for motorbikes. We had streets like this in Alexandria, Egypt. But that was a 5,000-year-old city. These roads have been built in the last half-century. Our mission for the first few nights is the town of Seminyak. (Feel free to laugh, it does sound physiological) It is theoretically more laid back than the all-party-all-the-time city of Kuta further south. We pay a bit more for our room than we had wanted to, but we didn’t feel like schlepping after the travel day. The Hotel Kumala was located a few blocks from the beach on the southernmost boundary of Seminyak. Common compound layout. 2 pools, gardens, carvings and statues.

The basic unit of construction in Bali is The Walled Compound. Temples, residences, and even hotels all tend to follow the specific dictates of a multi-structure compound. There will always be guardian demons at the entrance, twists to enter the property (Evil Spirits cannot turn corners you know…), and a number of specific shrines and structures within the compound. The building layouts are oriented to the axis of the nearest mountain or ocean. Feng Shui meets Brahma with a touch of animism for flavor. The artisanship and thought put into a property is incredible. Holy men are consulted for prosperous dates for purchase, groundbreaking, and construction schedules. The primary structure MUST be completely framed with basic wrap within one day or the property (and the resident family/guests) will never be harmonious. If strong fences make good neighbors, 8-foot high concrete walls make for the neighbors of the gods.

Touts, vendors, taxi drivers and street people all look at westerners as walking ATM’s. You couldn’t be here if you didn’t have money, therefore it is their driving purpose to insure you leave as much of it as physically possible behind with them. As bizarre as it sounds, your only moments of peace and solitude occur while in your hotel room itself, on the toilette. Walking, sitting in restaurants, lying on the beach, basically breathing outside the walls of you secure compound will have you swarmed by people trying to separate you from your money. This “get all you can, any way you can” attitude seems prevalent throughout the two islands. Sure there can be language issues (South Balinese speak a higher quality of English with a better vocabulary than most American high school graduates, and they can do it with and English, Ozzie, Kiwi, German, Spanish or Italian accent), but “no, nyet, nien, mai, mai aw, nope, bugger off, nada”, etc all seem to mean “please continue to shove your [insert sale item here] in my face and say “good price for you!” and of course I will buy it” There is also the prevailing attitude of you can’t get what you don’t ask for. There was an incident in which a newspaper vendor managed to catch us for US$5.00 for the 50-cent local paper. When you are not ready for that level of sheer ballsyness the math can be slow to catch up and the post-consumer (consumed?) feeling of pissed-offedness can last for days. There are a lot of zeros to deal with in a 9,000 Rupia to the dollar conversion. These same vendors will also try to sell the local “free” advertising and information paper.

Seminyak was supposed to be a bit more sedate than the tourist dense town of Kuta. You couldn’t really walk anywhere with waving off dozens of honking taxis. They honk to let you know they are available. Any slight twitch of any body part gets their attention. They are just soooo excited to be your [chariot, pumpkin carriage, Ferrari, limo, etc] for the evening. Each taxi assumes that your rejection of the taxi right in front of him is the sure and deity provided signal you are waiting for his most clean smelling and shiny of taxis. It sometimes seems like a Chinese water torture of car horns. If a driver happens to not be near his horn, lets say while you are in a restaurant eating and he is sitting on a curb, he’ll yell “transport!?!” while miming a steering motion. While dodging cabs and cabbies, you also need to fend off a plethora of street vendors, while simultaneously trying to not fall through the sidewalk. There is a couple riding a tandem bike across Asia. They regularly get the “Transport!?” call while riding. We were actually in a taxi getting dropped off to a chorus of “Transport!”. Vendors have no qualms about looking deep into a restaurant or café and holding up whatever kitsch they are trying to sell and yelling “Good Price!” If you acknowledge them in any way, even to say “no”, they will begin a one-way haggling session. If you ignore them, they stand and stare. And stare. And stare. Think Eddie the dog on Frazer.

Nasi Goreng ,Indonesian Fried rice, is a main local staple, while almost all restaurants focus on Ozzy and British foods. (Pies, pasties, chips, wedges, pizza, and an egg on everything.) It wasn’t all bad: There was a great two-piece band playing a variety of covers at JP’s Warung which allowed for a decent date night get-away. Back in the room we had a TV with a few channels. Our favorite was the “home movie” channel. It would be blank, sometimes snowy, all day. Around 8ish a pirated DVD would begin. We got to watch Next (Nick Cage) and The Shooter (Marky Mark) in full hand-held digicam technology. Half the fun is reading the “English” subtitles to the English dialog. Rarely do the two have anything to do with each other.

We left Seminyak after two days, pretty much as planned. We journeyed to Ubud, the arts and cultural center of Bali. We started at the homestay of a local artist/activist, Nyoman Suradaya. A quite family compound with open studio spaces and a few guest rooms. KK took a batik course from Nyoman, and now has another art media to play with. Nyoman has a variety of birds and beasts in his compound. Birdsong is solid throughout daylight hours.

Ubud is much more laid back than south Bali. Still lots of touts and drivers, but less honking, more “Transport?!” You are still pestered by vendors everywhere but inside your room, though they are just a smidge less aggressive than down south. Here they leave you alone after the fourth or fifth “no”. Ubud is set in a beautiful lush jungle, with stylized architecture, real artisans and some amazing food places.

The Nomad restaurant is be found. We ate a meal there most days. Ubud is also home to the Sacred Monkey Forest. These cheeky monkeys know, with absolute certainty, who is in charge. Enter with any kind of foodstuffs at your own peril. An Ozzie bloke with a bunch of were the great tapas are to bananas was the target of a group mugging, two bandits to distract him, while a third went for the bunch. Fun to watch, largely because not a single one tossed any monkey-bombs at us!

We met Ammer, a pre-acupuncture student from Portland, at the Dragonfly café (free WiFi and a good mocha). She was taking an online Biology course. We contributed by dragging her away from studies to have some fun. A smooth talking driver convinced us it was better to be dropped off at a halfway point for a local hiking route. “6-8 hours for whole trail”. He was full of shit. The walk back took less than an hour and a half. KK enjoyed a silversmithing class at a local silver shop. The same driver assured her, and Ammer, that the factory that makes all the silverwork for the shop was a short drive and the pieces would be 70% less. For only 40,000 Rp he would drive them over. It wasn’t the silver factory, but rather a village that consisted of silver shops. (The children in Bali traditionally continue in the family business, be it farming, silverwork, carving, stonemasonry, etc. Families also tend to stay in one place over generations. This way you end up with “specialty” villages. Pretty neat actually.) It was the truly classic case of “I’ll take you to my cousins shop, he’ll make you good price” When they didn’t buy anything, because this was not who was supplying the shop with the merchandise KK liked, he demanded more money for transport because no commission was coming his way…

Gusti Gusti then became our driver of choice. A nice guy with excellent English, he is representative of the hard-working honest Balinese who is just trying to get by post-bombing. He approaches his business with pride and looks to give value for money. His style is the more pleasant, and smaller end of the two extremes that seem to permeate both Bali and Lombok business approaches (and from discussions with other travelers, the rest of Indonesia). The other extreme is what provides us with our more entertaining, yet frustrating, experiences. There seems to be no middle ground.

Gusti Gusti used to be self-employed. Owned his own car, was saving up for his children’s schooling, when the second bomb went off. He had to sell his car, and go to work for someone else. Both he and his wife work six to seven days a week, with important ceremony days off. We are his only “job” this week, for which he repeatedly expresses his gratitude. Even after we ask him not to take us to his Aunt, Uncle, brother, Father, Great Uncle’s twice removed shops.

We visited Goa Gaja (Elephant Caves), and in Tampaksaring: Gunung Kawi (Giant carved rock shrines), and Tirta Empul (Holy Springs), as well as some local rice terraces. Holy sites require sarongs and sashes on both men and women. JD picked up a tasteful batik number with a barung imprint (one of the good spirits…). Gusti showed him how to tie it in a higher caste fashion.

Goa Gaja is an 11th century temple complex that was rediscovered in 1923 after a particularly strong earthquake. It had two distinct components, one Hindu and the other Buddhist. There is no written or remembered history of the compound. The Hindu portion has a meditation cave with associated statuary (Ganesh and The Triumvirate- Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva) and the holy waters still flow into the bathing pools. The Buddhist portion had been damaged significantly by any number of quakes over the centuries, with the classic stone Buddha heads separating form the cliffside and shattering on the floor of the complex. A “guide” picked us up as we had entered the complex, and we kept him because his English was very good. Similar to airport “porters” in many ways, they are not employees of the temples, and expect remuneration on a sliding scale at the end of a tour. In this instance we were glad to pay, as the guide was friendly, informative and so easy to understand.

As a side note: KK thinks it is likely that the locals think she is deaf, since JD re-states almost everything they say to her. Accents have always been a challenge for her to interpret, even in the States. Though if you have ever heard her sing you’d easily recognize her not inconsequential tonal challenges.

Gunung Kawi is another holy site with nine massive seven-meter tall stone candi (shrines) carved directly into the cliff face. They are thought to be tributes to an 11th century royal family, but no one is really certain. It is good exercise getting to and from the site, an uncountable number of well worn steps brings you in and out. No guide to fight off here, we timed it well…

The Holy Springs at Tirta Empul are still very much used in daily ceremonies. We had the good fortune to be there on a day of a multitude of youth groups performing offering dances and rituals. It was amazing to watch. The ceremonial garb and dances are not for the tourists. They are indeed an actual part of daily offering events here. Tirta Empul has a labyrinthine exit plan. You must travel through a twisting maze of vendors, stalls and touts to get to the parking lot. Duck your head, focus on the ground three feet ahead and repeat “nonononoonononononononononononono” for a few hundred steps. We affectionately call this “running the gauntlet”. This is a perfect time to bring up the following:

Bali is BIG on ceremonies and customary rituals: Births, weddings, babies first steps, teeth filing, cremation, village, temple, and extended family events- all require large village-wide ceremonial actions. This is not to be confused with the daily family offerings for the spirits of earth, water, fire and air. An average home will have the women of the household creating 60 or more individual pandan-leaf offering trays with bits of food, flowers, incense and sometimes money. These are distributed throughout the family compound in the family shrines, on the guardian statuary, on the ground, on the vehicles, in front of the business and anywhere else of importance. On ceremony days, large offerings, weighing up to 30 kilos (66 Lbs) are created and carried (on her head) to the village temple. Men also have “man-jobs”, building the large payang, slaughtering the livestock and making special ceremony dishes: Satay (meat on a stick), Lawar (meat-vege-coconut salad), and Buncis Pelecing (Beans in coconut milk). Children begin to help around the age of 6 or 7, girls with the women, boys with the men. Traditions and stories are passed on orally and genuine gender bonding is the result.

Both KK and JD learned how to make all of these dishes, as well as few others in a cooking class they took together. Yes, KK took a cooking class. Her idea… Kitchen finger be damned! She doesn’t feel the pressing need to take any more, one was certainly enough.

Literally everywhere you walk you end up dodging the little artistic biodegradable offerings trays. It is a bit of a feast for the feral dog and cat populations, as well as the pigeons. It’s all OK though, the spirits absorb the essence of the offering as soon as it is placed, so the “mortal husk” is the leftover bonus for the critters.

The Ubud Pasar (market) is geared to the tourist buses from the south. Locals shop really early (When KK is out for her morning walks). It is a lively place, with most vendors more than happy to start with a thousand percent mark-up and blow you off if you don’t want to pay it. Mangosteens, a delicious lychee type fruit, sells for about US$ 0.60 per kilo in Thailand. The first stand we came to here started at US$6 per kilo and came down to $4.50. The next one a few meters away started at US$10, and wouldn’t be bothered to drop to $7. We worked our way to a third stand with a smiling plump proprietress who was happy to sell for US$2. We also purchased just under a kilo of vanilla bean pods for about US$16. (about 400 bean pods total, in the states about $4-$6 each) The vanilla beans make KK’s pack smell gooood. Two beans found a home in a bottle of Stoli vodka. It too was gooood.

Rice is a primary staple in Indonesia (as it is in the rest of Asia). Bali has the soil and climate to grow a lot of rice. Rice terracing makes for the most efficient use of land and water. It is a system that has worked the same way for centuries. It works well. The landscape is layered and criss-crossed with fields in different stages of growth. Even in towns and cities there are rice paddies set up in vacant lots. Planting schedules are arranged by consultation with village holy men, as are wedding days, car/motorbike buying days, naming days, and any other day of even minor importance. Two crops per year. The down side to eating the locally grown rice is little tiny rocks (yes, the ones that can float like a duck, for the Monty Python aware). Paper covers rock, rock breaks teeth… While we both plan on having some dental work in Chiang Mai, it would really suck to not eat solid food until then.

We decided to head north to Amed for some diving. Gusti Gusti was our man. Ammer thought she too would like to kick back and hang on the beach. Along the way we stopped to see the Water Palace, built by a 12th century Majarhit. Upper and lower pools, gardens and fountians. Amed turned out to be less of a village and more like seven notches along the coast, each with a couple of hotels. Ever dynamic, we decided to head straight to the diving attraction town of Tulamben. It wasn’t Ammer’s cup of anything, so she cruised back to Ubud with Gusti Gusti.

Way back in the mists of time the Balinese had come to an agreement with Gunung Agung (Mother Mountain). If every 100 years there would be a large and elaborate ceremony solely for her, she wouldn’t blow-up and destroy the island. This arrangement had been working really well for quite a few centuries. Sure she would burp and fart every now and then, but doesn’t anyone with a belly full of hot lava do the same? High Priests and Holy Men would commune with the spirits and be given the optimum dates for the ceremonies. 1963 was a ceremony year. At that time a “new” government was in charge of Indonesia (some coup or another…). The Holy Men had tentatively set the dates for March. The new government set up an international conference to coincide with the ceremonies, so the delegates could witness the cultural richness under their new rule. As the time neared, the Holy Men had a clearer message of the optimum dates, and they were not in March. The government refused to let the dates be changed for fear of losing face with the international community. Less than 6 weeks after the forced ceremonies Gunung Agung blew. Over 2,000 people died, numerous villages were wiped off the map, and an entire season worth of crops were lost. There was a silver lining however…

During WWII a Japanese submarine off Lombok torpedoed a US cargo transport, The USAT Liberty. It was towed to northeast Bali and beached with the intent of unloading its cargo. The Japanese invaded and claimed Bali before that could occur. For 20 years it sat in the shallows of a rocky deserted beach. The eruption of Gunung Agung literally pushed the wreck of the Liberty back into the sea. Into 20-30 meters of water to be exact. It is a wreck that even snorkeler’s can see, with the stern deck just deeper than 5 meters at low tide.

Almost overnight Tulamben became a diving town. Every single business in the community is involved in diving. Every hotel has an onsite dive company. The wreck and a wall dive are both shore dives. You walk down the beach, put on your gear, walk into the water and Poof! You’re diving. (We shore dive Maui, it really is good to just step in and see what you want to see…). We were the only guests at the Matahari Hotel. (It really is slow season…) Porters to carry the gear along the “beach” (no sand, just wave washed rock), and our own dive master/guide for four dives. The wreck was ok. The wall was amazing! The coral is thriving, the fishes abundant and diverse. An absolute riot of color. There is absolutely nothing else in this little village, but that was fine. The diving was incredible.

We had Gusti Gusti come and fetch us for the trip to Padang Bai to catch the Lombok ferry, about 40 kilometers away. On the trip he was whistle/waved over by a police officer. He pulls over, gets out, and runs back about 50 meters. The cop just wanted his tourist transport bribe… It is a normal part of business for drivers to be pulled over and charged a “tourist tax” of 5,000 Rp per passenger. This goes to the officer’s personal crime fighting budget… Another police tidbit: if your are the victim of a crime an officer will expect to be paid before he renders any assistance. You can only hope you outbid the perpetrator(s). We are not making this up.

The adventure at the ferry dock will be a good start to our Lombok chronicle…