The boat from Bali to the island of Lombok was only 2 hours late leaving. This surprised us since we were used to living according to Indonesia’s 'rubber time'. We had come so far down that massive stretch of land in one of of the longest, hardest countries to travel, one that I had paid the least attention to while planning Asia and one that was rapidly rivaling Cambodia in the 'favorite SE Asian country' stakes.

It was only a week or so after the devastating news that a ferry had sunk between Borneo and Java because of a massive wave. Possibly 400 people dead and survivors still hanging on in the water days later with the rescue mission still not organized enough to pick them up. The rumours about this country's disasters fly around from family to family, village to village, tourist to tourist until nobody has any idea of what is true anymore. A week before, the Adam Air plane crashed, apparently because it had run out of petrol while circling unable to land because of bad fog. We still don’t know if this is true. Most of Indonesia has been spent in a news blackout because the information superhighway can’t reach us in the back of beyond and all we get is secondhand gossip about yet another heartbreaking feat that the people of this country have to endure.

Relaxation in view

The 8 hour ferry trip in air conditioned hell listening to Indonesian kareoke with far too loud distorted bass went quickly for me as I was asleep. Jeremy only just stopped himself from killing our neighbours. He did used to be a calm person! When we eventually escaped and braved the intense humidity outside, punishing even on the deck of a ship, we really were impressed by the scenery. Green green green and more green. Island after uninhabited island, really really beautiful. The bad weather had passed and the seas were calm. We just prayed they would stay that way as the main reason for travelling through the Nusa ……..was to see the Komodo dragons in Flores, the next island along. If the weather was rough the boats would’nt go and Jez wouldn’t get to prove to me that they really did exist.

Kuta Lombok's legendary sunsets

Before we let ourselves loose on what promised to be the paradise islands of the Gilis, we decided to see a bit more of what Lombok had to offer. After haggling for one and a half hours at the port with the local transport mafia we eventually managed to reach an agreeable price and set off for Kuta Lombok. This was a far cry from the one we had heard of in Bali. It was a gorgeous stretch of white sand, great surf, rugged hills an cliffs as its backdrop and not a tourist in sight. (until the surfers got back from their day on the waves) We had a good chill out day disturbed only by the whining sales ladies crying at us to buy sarongs and leaving in near tears when we did’nt. We had become used to it. Constant calls of “Transport?” had been the annoyance in Bali and here it seems it was going to be the potential sale of anything else including sand for the fishtank. Anything they could think of.

We decided to go to Gili Air on the public boat and instead of fishermen and women laden with veggies on their heads we were greeted by hords of school children. They had decided to descend on the islands by force in an attempt to track down the white people and practice English. We just hoped the island would be nicer than the port. We had been fed stories of the 'porter mafia' who greet the boats, snatch your bags, carry them off and demand money for the pleasure. Jez was terribly disappointed that we weren’t the centre of this scam. It looked like they only greeted the Perama boats, not wasting time on the savvy people who take the extra 5 hours to save 800% and get the local boat. Jez’s dangerous little game of second guessing the scammers would have to wait till the next time.

Our Gili Air beach

A quaint little horse saved our souls, he let us escape the heat and took us to ‘Legends hotel’ where we could assume Tom and Gemma’s identity as we stayed in the very cabin they did and even adopted their pet gecko. It was a great place. Coral and shell murals everywhere, Dahab style cushions facing the bluest of seas. A place to kick back appreciate our lives.

When we mustered up the energy to move from our seaside hideaway we went in search of Merel and Jacqueline, our new friends, to see if they wanted to come on a snorkeling tour. We had heard conflicting reports about the diving on the Gilis and we though this might be a good way to 'test the water' so to speak. These two were great company. A straight talking, no nonsense couple who were happy to spend hours talking about their homeland South America and took us right back to our first year away. Thank God as the snorkeling was crap. El Nido, rising water temperatures, cyanide fishing, careless boatmen and their anchors and stupid tourists had all paid their part in the death of the reefs. It was upsetting as the Gilis had once been a well known and respected mecca for underwater life. It certainly wasn’t any more. We did see a turtle in between the broken battered coral and we did get to see Gili Meno and Gili Trawangen much to the distress of our captain as this wasn’t his plan! Lets hope the local dive shops can fulfill their aim of bringing the reefs back to their former glory. We wish them well.

Munchies with friends

We spent many a night in Munchies restarant with the girls, waiting 3 hours every night for our Gado Gado. We were the only customers, Gili air was quiet!!!! We spent our final night in hell as our hotel had their weekly ‘Dance party’ night till 4am, mostly for the locals as there were no tourists in sight. We hadn’t had the nouse to move hotels in time which was a big mistake as we were still recovering for Bali’s arak and couldnt face the noise! The next day, dazed and put out we made our way on the local boat again to the bus station.

Gili Air cocktail hour

Touts, touts and more touts greeted us. Each one wanted to sell us a ticket with much the same company but we had done our research with a few agents and knew who we wanted to go with and how much it was all the way to Flores. Only about 20 million hours, a night bus or two and a ferry ride away. They only wanted to charge us twice as much as we had been quoted by the company on the phone. Giving up after 4 hours they conceded and we were allowed on our bus to pick our seats. 3 American girls joined us later, green behind the ears they agreed to pay an extra 50’000 rupea to ensure their bags were safe! This was onto of the stuipd fee they had agreed for the ticket.Later I fear we may have scared them a little with our chats on the ways of the traveling world. They were grateful though and on the final 8 hour boat trip we stuck together, solid as a rock as we complained to the captain that he was a great singer and it wasn’t his karaoke we objected to but the volume. He prompted moved us to first class and as we wallowed in our gorgeously comfortable seats the rest of passengers, the locals, were forced to be an audience to his show, babies crying and families feigning smiles. The Indonesians never seem to complain. Even when the last bus that would be able to get to the ferry in time to get to the island of Flores got a puncture they sat there, silent, no concern showing in their faces at all. Even when that very same bus took stupid little detours down the narrowest of streets at 4am looking to pick up sacks of ‘whatever’ to load onto the roof, but got stuck in the process and ended up doing 25 point turns, they still accepted the ludicracy of the situation. We did astoundingly arrive on time but the ferry had been cancelled. GREAT! It was only us that wanted to go and they couldn’t justify the expense. Sape might possibly have been the worst town we had even seen on our travels yet and we were supposed to wait how long?