Indo2: Lombok, Gili, and a bit more of Ubud

Once we docked at Lembar on the east coast of Lombok, we were hit with waves of really intense hawkers.
As we were leaving the ship, Joe looked around for his new friend going to Flores, but saw they had taken on a girl or two and the kid he had made friends with just shrugged and they went on.  Joe was a little crushed, but we were glad to be headed towards a beautiful place like the Gili Islands, which we had heard so much about from other travelers.

However, we were caught unaware when we heard the call to prayer.  We realized we were dressed in inappropriate clothing in a land of Muslims.  There were hardly any women out as it was almost dark, and the ones that were out were clothed from wrists to ankles, with modest head scarves.  I felt very self-conscious in my shorts and tank top and Joe felt it as well in his board shorts and Bintang (beer) tank top.

The German couple and another German couple we hadn’t met were attempting to bargain for a Taxi to make it closer to the Gili Islands that night.  The bargaining was intense, as the hawkers surrounding them were loud and demanding.  We read later that since the implementation of a fast boat system from Bali direct to the Gilis, the public ferry town of Lembar had been left suddenly with little to no business.  We didn’t want to pay the high price, so we kept walking in to town, which just got worse.

People eyed us very intensely and I was very uncomfortable.  Joe was very sweet and realized how uncomfortable I was and tried very hard to find a way to fix it.  In the convenience store no one spoke English and instead of trying to figure out a way to communicate to us, they just laughed amongst themselves and stopped paying attention to us.  We gave up and started walking.

There were several people who rode past us and just plain STARED at us.  I know it’s a cultural thing not to stare, but it still feels so rude.  Finally someone passed who spoke some English, though he was one of the hawkers who had bothered us so much when we first got off the ferry.  He led us to a hostel that looked like it hadn’t had a customer in a week.  It seemed a little pricey, but we were pretty desperate, so we paid it.

The man who had brought us to the hostel then stayed and helped us order food from the place.  It didn’t look like the safest kitchen conditions, but it was bearable.  The flies were curtained out of the display case of food by a slightly browned lacy curtain.  But it was good food and we were hungry, so we ate it thankfully.

During this process, the man who had brought us to the hostel was working the most serious sales-pitch he could muster.  We argued about price forever.  Once he was able to convince us to take a mini-bus to Bangsal Harbor where we could get on a boat going to the Gili Islands, he pushed really, really, really hard on selling us the return ticket, either through fast boat or via the ferry.  Even after we gave a rather harsh no, we softened a bit and tried to be nice, but he just saw it as an invitation to push harder on the sales-pitch.  He was infuriating.

We went to bed in the not so nice room, which had no sheets, no blankets, and a nasty looking mattress, with very little furniture.  We used our sleeping bag liners and pillows, thankful to have them.  Liners for the win.

The next morning we were up early in the morning, waiting for the salesman from last night and the driver.  He was late, which made us nervous.  We had paid for the trip the night before and had a “receipt,” but had he never showed up, I think it would have been impossible to track him down.  I used up my minutes trying to call him, but he finally arrived.

Annnnnnnd the whole trip was spent listening to his stupid sales-pitch again.  His lateness had made us really nervous about knowing whether we could trust him to follow through with the agreed-upon services, so we said no.  Repeatedly and harshly.  And again when we softened because we felt rude, he took that as an invitation to push the sale harder.  We were exasperated by the time we got to the restaurant that he dropped us off at.  He made a final hard push and we said our final hard no.

This is really a sad and difficult topic for me.  On the one hand, I am a poor backpacker relatively in my own country.  I have enough to live on, but I’m certainly not wealthy.  Here though, I’m different.  Springing for a dollar and a half mango smoothie at lunch in Indonesia means I am a walking sack of money.  And it’s hard!  Because who decided it’s fair that I have so much money (which is so little at home), when these people bargain when it’s a matter of twenty cents, because twenty cents means way more to them.

In that sense, I’m a precious little tart so selfish that I wouldn’t share even an extra buck.  I really should buy a ticket from that guy, if for no other reason than to spread around my wealth.  Le sigh.  I don’t know how to deal with this, because there is the other opposing argument that letting him con us into an extra dollar or two just incentivises scams, cons, and viewing tourists as walking sacks of cash meant to be tricked.

The restaurant he dropped us at was telling us that we were waiting just a little longer for something, but wouldn’t tell us what or why.  The man seemingly in charge of our group brushed me off and wouldn’t answer my questions, which made me a little angry.  I looked up the area and quickly found that this was a scam.  The people keeping us here were getting commission both from the restaurant and from the bemos, or horse drawn carts that would wildly overcharge us for the very quick half kilometer walk to the boats.  I suggested we start walking, but Joe seemed to like looking around confused with all the other tourists.  It was hard for me not to be upset by this.

I was to the point where I just wanted to politely get on a boat like a local and was trying to get Joe to come with me, but he was watching the tourist drama unfold.  There were two girls with giant suitcases and carefully cultivated tan lines who were yelling at the Indonesian man who was trying to segregate us from the locals, who were getting on to the boats way faster than we were allowed to.  I don’t like being fooled into things because I am a tourist, but I hope that I am not as rude as that.  Joe seemed to think that I was ready to bite someone’s head off, which is not my style.

All that drama aside, we finally got in a boat.  But just in case we hadn’t had enough, there was a rather large and entitled woman who wouldn’t scoot farther in to the boat because she wanted to be able to put her large bag on the bench rather than the floor like the rest of us, plus she was apparently of the weak constitution because she seemed to think the fresh breeze in that particular spot would combat her seasick tendencies.  Finally the couple trying to get a seat cursed her loudly and obviously and climbed over all of us to get to a free spot on the bench.  The entitled woman seemed to neither notice nor to really care.  I love tourists, just love them. 

Awkward ride

The ride to the island was bumpy and hot, but we finally made it.

Gili Trawangan!

The island really was spectacular.  The water was a bright teal blue and the main street just up the beach was cobbled and homey.  I had done a bit of research online and found that the cheapest accommodation online was around $30 per night for a fan room.  We turned right on a little walkway leading off the main street and the first place we found was called Emiliana and they had pretty nice rooms for $30 per night for aircon.  We decided to keep looking, but found quickly that Emiliana was a really decent place for fair prices.  We went back, saw that there was a couple just starting to ask if he had any rooms available.  We knew it was his last one, so we caught his eye to tell him we would take it.  We were lucky!

The aircon was great, so we napped for a bit and then went out for a walk.  As is the case on islands, things were a bit expensive, but we were quite happy still.  The island was idyllic.  There were no motored vehicles allowed on the island, as it was too small.  There were always plenty of bemos everywhere, trying to snag your business.  We walked part way around the island, had a drink, and then headed back the way we came in the hot sun.  We slept so well in the air-conditioned room that night.

The mountain of coral near turtle point

What a view!

Hey, look!  I found two kids!

Little horsey attached to its bemo

The next day we spent wandering, sitting in a café, and looking at prices for dive courses.  We signed Joe up for the three day course!  He was excited, but a little nervous.

That night we were eating in this street-food food court type thing, getting some delicious kebabs that they grilled for us, when we started hearing the “-po” that Chilenos add to everything.  While we were waiting for our kebabs, Joe started talking to him, since he learned Chilean Spanish living in Chile for two years.  We made friends with them and talked long into the night, causing the waiter type people to stress because we were taking up so much table space.

The next day Joe started his course.  He was especially worried about his deviated septum, which had kept him from descending comfortably the last time we dove.  He made this very clear to the instructor, who would prove to be very patient with Joe while he was trying to deal with this.  I stuck around long enough to see him get started and then I walked home, excited to have a bit of alone time.  I love Joe, but I also love my alone time.  I got caught up on emails and a bit of writing in those three days.

Joe said he did really well!  Fortunately for him, the shop had had three or four other people who were planning on being in the course with Joe, but they didn’t show up.  So for the same price, Joe got one-on-one instruction, and even two-on-one when the trainee dive instructor helped out.

Joe and OJ found a turtle!

His nose gave him some trouble while diving, but because his instructor was so patient with him, he learned to equalize with a little more time than everyone else might take.  He still got bloody noses after every dive, however.  Poor boy.

The first day we met for lunch with the Chilenos, two of whom were leaving the island that day.  It was fun to sit and talk, but I was shy about my Spanish and so I mostly listened.  Joe left early to get back to his class, and I did my best not to clam up, though I think I did.

I went to meet Joe on his last day of class.  They finished off the paperwork, paid for the course, got a picture together, and Joe was certified!  He was so happy and I was so proud!  Now we can dive together.

Joe is happy, proud, and a certified Open Water diver!

Our last day we spent just lazing around, which was nice.  Joe got really creeper using his 30x zoom on women AND men.  Hehe.  Scrolling through the photos I'm like, dude, you have more photos of this lady getting hit by a wave than you do of me and you.  :)  He was cute.

Catching some rather inefficient sun 

These guys carry enormous baskets full of things like melons,
which way so much, and yet they steady it on their heads.
I have no idea how they do it, into the water and out again.

On our last night we met up with Sebastian and Andrea, two of the Chilenos.  We realized partway through that we had seen her before at the Monkey Temple park!  She was the girl with the limp!  It was a funny coincidence.  They were a nice couple.

We broke down that night and bought a fast boat ticket.  It was just too much hassle and time to do it the local way.  After a year and a half of traveling, we are still learning things, like don’t try to do everything the long and hard way.

The ride was fast and easy and we got off at Sengigi, where we were met with a driver who would be taking us to Ubud.  This transfer came with the fast boat ticket and it made the whole thing more convenient.  Again, we are still learning these things.

Gili T was lovely, but I do love being on the move too

We booked a homestay in Ubud ahead of time since there wasn’t much left online.  We got off the bus in the general area of where it was, but had to keep walking up the hill.  The address was something weird like 67/2A or something, which we found, but it was not a homestay.  We kept walking up the road, at this point being out amongst the rice paddies already, where the air was muted and soft.  We finally found our lovely little home for the night.

The person attending it was a young guy who didn’t speak English.  He was confused a bit by us showing up, but he managed tolerably well and showed us to our room.  He served us a welcome coffee, and we gratefully drank it.  So good.

We went out for a short photo walk that evening before it got dark.

Joe in front of a corner temple 

Another one of those essence-of-Indonesia photos

When his older brother came back for the night, he came to find us and apologize profusely for not being there.  It was very gracious of him, but we were not even in the slightest put off by his younger non-English-speaking brother, so we told him no worries.

He wished us a good night.

The place was super nice.  We had a view over the rice paddies, big picture windows, and the whole thing was very new and very clean.  They obviously took immense pride in the place, as they even had a couple of songbirds and a whole array of potted plants and bonsais on display.  We slept so well.

In the morning we were up pretty early and went down for breakfast, which came with the room.  The older brother talked to us some more and told us a bit about himself.  He had inherited the place from his family and worked two other jobs on the side.  His wife worked very hard too, but maybe a little too hard, as they had a miscarriage not long ago.  His English was very good and he was a very professional man.  He called a taxi for us to take us to a bus station where we could find a bus to take us to the ferry that runs between Bali and Java.

Joe and our host pose after breakfast.
He was so hardworking and nice.

Surprisingly we were able to make the ferry that evening from Bali to the island of Java.  This was of course after a long bus ride across the island of Bali.

I hadn't sat through the long bus ride yet, so I'm still smiling.

Joe of course made friends on the ferry who wanted our photo.

We pose with these unknown people.  Surely there have to
be enough foreigners around that we're not unique!

Java greets us with a sunset. 

It was a very short crossing, but we waited around for an extra hour and a half on the ferry as the captain dodged this way and that either to avoid shallow parts or wait for an open docking station, but maybe both.  When we got off the boat, the sun was sinking fast and our options for what to do next were sinking with it.