Hmm. Four days in the stone ages has meant no internet, perhaps a good thing?

I awoke in Kuta around 10, confused for a moment about the time change from Bali, which none of the locals will admit to. I had my complimentary breakfast, though was apparently one of the last to eat and so they had run out of fruit salad and toast. Great. I drank my Balinese coffee (which is virtually indistinguishable from Javanese, but each of these islands is very independant and proud) then set out to accomplish some things. Being especially shoestring'ed at the current moment I didn't eat breakfast today and instead opted to check out the beach. A wander through a maze of back alleys filled with vendors selling tshirts and jewellry brought me to a busy street, across from which was the beach. Surfers were already out in droves, and some people were frolicking in the wavy waters. Something was wrong though; this beach was crap! Bali has a global reputation for phenomenal beaches, where were they? The sand was coarse, the beach steeply angled into the sea, which was rough and windy. Perfect, indeed, for surfing, as Bali is also very reputable for. But. Not so good for sun seekers. I have decided I am too poor to afford surf lessons, and so will likely not hang out down here on Kuta beach.
I headed up and bought a ticket to Padangbai, the eastern port town where the ferry to Lombok departs. 1pm. Still time. I know that taxis to the airport in any city are more expensive than the should be, so I approached a local sititng on his motorcycle and offered 15,000rp to take me to the airport not far away. Standard fare is usually 20,-. Off we zipped. I arrived at the toll booth and set off on foot, running to the international terminal. Where's JAL? Over there. I found the office in the bowels of the airport's administration offices, but the door was sealed and the office empty. No flights with JAL today. Guess I can't change my ticket...
I ran out to the drop off area and approached a crowd of porters gathered in the midmorning sun. I offered the same for a ride back to Poppies 2, the street on which my hotel was located. Off we sped. I arrived just in time to collect my bag from the hotel and catch my bus.

The bus to Padangbai was also taking passengers to Ubud, a popular place for people with money to buy local wares. I ate lunch with an american doctor who had just returned from Aceh. He had chilling stories to tell, which startled me in their severity. He said that the coastal areas reminded him of photos of Hiroshima; everything flattened, nothing remaining. The experience, though only two weeks in duration, had changed his life.
Our food was late, and the bus leaving, so we struggled to hurry the fried chicken and Gado-gado salad with shoddy Indonesian. We hurried out with our food in boxes just as the bus was leaving with our bags on board. Phewf!

About two hours later we arrived in the port town of Padangbai and sat down in the nearby restaurant to wait until the hotel-floggers disipated. My avocado shake, which are generally unbelievably delicious here in Indo, tasted bitter, and when I finished I had a numb taste in my mouth and a dull ache in my tummy. Suspicious... Luckily I had a doctor in my company. Nothing came of this, however. Along with another American girl, an interesting individual to say the least, we checked into a nice hotel nearby for a nice price.

Padangbai is a cool fishing town in a gorgeous bay. Sand is very peculiar, like mustard seeds. Makes walking along the beach very difficult.

Dinner and drinks on the beach were pleasant with a nice sunset, and later I would speak to the doctor for hours. Very interesting guy. At the bar on the beach we would hang out with a gang of local guys, all very friendly. Arak shots would be passed around for free, a rare treat, something for free, I mean. We all seemed to be making fun of the Indonesian guy who had managed to charm the only western girl here, french, I think. All of his friends cheered as he left, stumbling as he escorted the girl home.

We woke up early in room number 7. The doctor stirred as I dressed then packed. He was staying in Padangbai while I was heading on over to a place in the south of Lombok called Kuta, lombok. With Alexi, the american acupunturist-hippy-who-had-done-too many drugs, I gobbled down a banana Jaffle (Aussie toast-waffle-thing) and rushed off to the ferry. The night before I had wandered over with doctor-Mike to the only ATM, perhaps the last for a long time, and withdrew as much cash as I could. The maximum available in the machine was 400,-. Now, Alexi needed cash. I lent here enough to get to Mataram, where there were hopefully more ATMs. The passenger ferry was slow to cross the 15 mile gap between Bali and Lombok.
This gap is important for several reasons.
It is wide and deep.
Therefore is a primary shipping route from Australia, and the ships will likely carry on to Singapore or north through the Malacca Strait to India.
It is also a VERY important gap in biological terms...

The Wallace line, named for Alfred Wallace, is drawn roughly between Borneo and Celebes (sulawesi) and extends southwards between Bali and Lombok. The flora and fauna from Bali westwards is very Asian in origin; the flora and fauna from Lombok eastwards is very Australian in origin. More than a hundred years ago, Wallace wrote a narrative of his travels in this region, The Malay Archipelago. Very interesting. Lombok and the eastern indonesian islands do not have much in common with Bali and the western indonesian islands, nor the Malay peninsula or mainland SE Asia. Birds are different, mammals are almost absent, plants are of a more arid type. It is obvious (if only because I know to look for it) that the trees are different - more conifers...

Enough.

I urge you to read his book.

I landed in Lembar and caught a bus to Mataram, a largish city on the western coast. Alexi and I found an ATM and stocked up on rupiahs. Then our bus sailed off south, we being the only passengers bound for Kuta.

Kuta Lombok is nice. Tourism is virtually nonexistent here this time of year, except for the dozen surfers who come here and live for the season. For the most part the locals live their lives as if tourism didn't exist here. The tourists come here because it's peaceful and pleasant. Perfect surf. I was hoping that the beach, proclaimed by LP as being a lengthy stretch of white sand, would be better. Instead it was pebbly and brown. The water wasn't so good for swimming. Oh well. The entire beach area was framed by lovely green hills, terraced with agriculture. I wandered up and down the beach, which was also strangly like mustard seeds, and then hunkered down in the restaurant of our resort to watch some movies; a treat I've not had for some time. I went to bed soon after, sweating under my mosquito net until I found sleep.

The next day Alexi and I decided to head north to the famed Gili islands off the west coast. This had been my ultimate destination, Kuta being a diversion out of interest. We bought tickets for more than we should have paid (110,- each) and soon the minivan appeared and we loaded our bags.

Two hours later, after driving past hundred of people walking along the raodways in each community. All well dressed, all returning from prayer. Lombok, unlike Bali, is predominantly Muslim. Today was Friday; day of prayer.

We arrived at the port to which boats coming from Gili Air, Gili Meno, and Gili Truwangen docked. We were the only two there. Allegedly we had to wait until 23 others arrived before the boat would leave... Yeah right. They insisted. Bugger.
I refused to pay more for a charter, which is a good scam the locals set up. I had already paid for a ferry, though, and so on principle I refused. I headed over to a restaurant, which only served Mie and Nasi Goreng, and was surprised to see Flo and Harry, the Austrians from Yogya and Bromo. They were also waiting, but to go to a different island. Alexi and I decided to go with them to Meno, hoping it would leave faster with 4 of us, rather than 2.
We ate undelicious noodles, then waited some more. A fight broke out between two of the local kids selling necklaces with bone carvings. Finally we were able to leave. We were the only ones on the boat...

Gili Meno was dead. Nobody around except a few locals, who had not seen tourists in awhile, by the looks of it. We allowed Neil, a local, to escort us to a place where we could find cheap accomodations. Listed in the LP, Tao Kombo promised very cheap platform style beds. Open to the air, protected by a thatched roof and mossie net, the mattresses were going for 25,- each. Somehow I was in charge of negotiating, and in the end we only paid 10,- each. Nice to travel in low season (somehow I have been very lucky on my entire trip, and have followed low season, and therefore low prices, along my southbound route).
The beach here was delightfully white and fine, and utterly empty. Later I spotted two aged European men on holiday. Most of the resorts and hotels were shut down, though. An afternoon swim on the beach, and an evening in a hut overlooking the sand for dinner. Very nice.
A bit of rain threatened in the late evening, but disappeared to reveal a starlit sky.

I had hoped to leave Meno to head to Trawangen the next day, but the locals conspired to keep me, and the Austrians who had decided to join, from leaving. They had no source of income aside from tourism, and there were simply no tourists here. The same vendors approached us today as yesterday, trying desperately to sell some of their pearls or shells. Had to feel bad for them. Rain in the afternoon sealed the deal; we were here to stay. Torrential rains flooded the lowlying isle until it seemed the whole palce was under water. Not much of an island anymore. I enjoyed a freshwater shower (the water on the island is all very saline) and then headed back to the Jungle bar at our resort inland to read. The mossies were particularily bad. Even more so after the rain stopped.
I finished Eric Idle's book and began reading a book from Alexi about the massacre in Rwanda. Quite the shift. British humour to Quebecois-written history.
Tonight we avoided the Arak, which we practically bathed in last night (30,- per bottle of the local rice liquor), opting for an early night instead.

I write to you now from Gili Truwangen, reputable for having a night life to rival Kuta, Bali's. For that reason I chose to avoid this Gili at first, but the low tourist numbers means that I can enjoy all the best of the beach life. Over and out from this Gili, where internet is almost as expensive as in Tokyo. Only 12 days now. Tick-tick-tick...