Howdy.... I'm writing from the beautiful island of Tioman off of the east coast of peninsular Malaysia. Been here for three days now, and will probably stay for one more. Bit of trivia, this island was once rated by Time magazine as one of the top ten most beautiful in the world, and is where the musical South Pacific was filmed. I must admit, it's pretty spectacular.

Met up with Josh and Jo Kearns in KL after leaving Indonesia. Josh is there for an internship for AU; his sister Johanna is visiting from NY. I joined them at their hostel in Chinatown, from whence we set out for Palau Tioman.

Having a pretty good time, but as with all remote location, internet access is too expensive, so I will keep this short.

The diving here is something else... wish I had more time to play around. The prices for both fun dives and coursework is even sheaper than Bali/Lombok, strangely enough. Breifly considered doing my resue and divemaster here, but am still set on Thailand for that.

Not much going on really, just lazing on the beach with my friends, and playing card games over beers 'till the wee hours.

I applied for a bartending gig in KL at a bar in chinatown... I'm getting a bit resltess from all the bouncing around and would like to be in one place for a while. Besides, Josh still has another month or so to go at his internship, so it'll give me a chance to hang out with a buddy. Don't know if I'll get it, but there shouldn't be any reason why not.

Will post more later... expect emails and such later in the week.

I LOVE MY STUPID SISTER!

We used to hawk loogies at each other on the swings at the Diplomatic school in Burma while wearing our smurf rollerscates and singing:
"Tarzan the Monkey Man, Indian Ladies!"
I kissed my first girl thanks to her manifestations. Ahh, Helen Koppendrier... she was Sara's kinda-sorta-boyfriend's sister: they were dutch. What a summer.
We used to make dining rooms out of snow in the middle of a field to have tea on.
She suckered our mom into letting us keep my most favorite dog in the world, T.C. She named him too: the initials stood for Terribly cute. I wanted something like Rocky, but it stuck.
I could go on and on, but I won't, 'cause it'll make her head big.... besides, she could/can be a bitch too, so I don't want you to think it was all strawberries and cream.
But, nonetheless, Satch-Peach-Match is MA GIRL.

Oh yeah... that knucklehead on the right is my little brother Matt (Maish to us). He ain't that bad either :)
Smart little bugger on the fast track to a double major at GMU. I expect he'll get some high powered job upon graduation: all the better for me as I can hit him up for money then! We shared a room for 8 years... imagine all the stories.
When he was mad at me when were kids, he would sacrifice little stuffed animals, mummify them, perform some freaky rituals, and them bury them in the backyard. Afterwards, he would walk around with a smug look on his face as if to say "you'll get yours buddy".
He doesn't like me to hug him, but he's still MA HOLMEY G FUNK ERA!

Hi all!

Just got a pair of emails from my sister and mother asking if I was allright. Yes, I am. Though it took me a while to figure out what the hell they were talking about. For those of you without an atlas, or those too lazy to look it up online, I'm on the island of Gili Trawangan, off the NW coast of Lombok, between the islands of Bali and Sumbawa, Nusa Tenggara Barat, Lesser Sunda Islands, in the SE of the Indonesian archipelago (see map). Pretty far removed from the Sumatran earthquake... however, thank you for your concern. I don't think that any of us here have received any word of the goings on, not even the locals.

Anyway, I'm just kicking back on the sand between dives, and lounging in a hamock on the veranda of my bungalow, devouring a trio of books. Hard life, but someone's got to do it. The diving isn't amazing, but I love it anyhow. Am giving more serious consideration to the divemaster program, and might even do it here at Manta Dive, if I can extend my visa. But as of now, indications are pointing to Ko Tao in Thailand.

I went on another motorbike ride in the South of Lombok three days ago, and had a blast. This time, I shot down south on the main road to get there as fast as possible, knowing that I would need many hours to negotiate the return route that I had chosen. Rightly so. After turning off at the southern beach town of Kuta, the back roads (if you can call them that) meandered through some of the prettiest countryside I have ever had the privilege to see. Climbing steeply through rolling hills and endless terraces of rice paddies before falling back down into coastal valleys providing ridiculously scenic vistas of the many coves and bays dotting the shore. Petering along on my 125 cc bike, in second gear most of the time, doing my damndest to concentrate on the treacherous road with one eye and hand while waving, smiling and calling out to the villagers and the pursuing children along the way. I think that I may be the only silly white boy that has driven through many of those villages and unmarked roads, thereby generating surprise and mirth wherever I appeared.
It took me nearly five hours to make it back to Senggigi, and I was lucky that my fuel held out until the next station. Had to fight off the rain on the last leg of the route, but didn't mind too much. By that time, I was pretty much back to passable roads, so I made haste to get home.

I took a video with my digital camera of one of the downhill runs in the back country: pretty funny stuff. Me yapping away while holding the camera in front of the bike, one eye on the viewfinder, the other on the road, and one hand on the handlebars. I'm a dummy.
If I can find enough bandwidth in KL, I'll try to post it along with some pics.

OK, that's all for now.
Toodles.

I left Bali from Kuta - that den of sodden Ausies - yesterday, Lombok bound. After a land and sea trip of just over ten hours, to cross a distance that spans the width of my thumbnail on a guidebook map, I arrived on Bali's antithesis: a land of relative calm and few faces white. After the Indian-Pacific train run acroos Australia, this was a cakewalk.

After the sour taste left in my mouth by Kuta and its chums, which by and large spoiled the Bali experience for me, I am happy to report that Lombok is anything but similar. Though there are the requisite hawkers and touts haunting the streests of the main resort of Senggigi, their numbers are drastically lower than on Bali, and their manner less affrontive. I must admit that at first I was slightly put out by their existence at all, and was considering making all due haste away from Lombok to the Gilis. However, after making it through the night in my "hotel room" where I was accosted by crappy music from the "nightclub" next door, I decided to give it a go.
I rented another motorbike from the hotel dude, willing to brave the Lombok coppers (my Bali license being invalid off of that island), and headed off on a tour of the northen part of Lombok.
YOWSER... good stuff. NO PEOPLE! Especially, no tourists. Nothing but lovely little villages interspersed by larger towns which bore no similarity to their Balinese cousins.

Lombok looks deceptively small on a map of Indonesia, even when compared to the tiny Bali, and small it is. But it still presents a significant challenge to the motor-scooter-bound, as most roads are narrow, ill-paved, and winding, thereby making any journey, even what appears to be a short hop, one of uncertain length and difficulty.
I only managed to complete an outing one half the length of what I had intended, yet amazingly rewarding all the same. Early into the foray, the first rain I have seen in weeks made itself known. No matter to me... I had a jacket, no backpack to be soaked, and was armed with a smile from ear to ear. I pretty much just cruised around for about eight hours (a long time in the saddle), checking out the villages and the countryside along the way. I did pull off - way off - the main road for a spell to check out a couple of waterafalls. The singletrack paths leading into the hinterlands were slick and at places quite a bitch due to the rain, though worth the first gear shuffle.
At one waterfall, I was led on an impromptu tour by the gentleman who owns the surrounding land...

You know, the details aren't really that exciting, and I'm tired, so I'll skip the nitty-gritty.

I do want to say that I had the best meal I can recall having during the last five years or so. At a beach called Jimbaran about 15 clicks due south of Kuta, the local sampans bring in their haul to sell at the fishmarket, a byproduct of which is an area of beach further south which is teeming with warungs serving the day's catch in many slendid ways. A throng of nearly twenty restaurants occupy a stretch of sand smack dab in the middle of one of the posher resort areas of Bali. Every night, seafood afficianados decend from all parts of southern Bali to sample the wares on offer at this jardin de la mer.
Long story short, for aroung US$ 6.00 I gorged myself of freshly grilled red snapper, complemented by an assortment of sauces, sauteed greens, and an entire basket of rice. Holy Hannah!! what a meal. It took me nearly an hour to devour it all, and devour it all I did - to the amazement of the staff. Good Shit.

I'm living like a king here in Indonesia. $20 a day is getting me 3 meals, decent lodging, beer, a motor bike, and incidentals. I almost feel bad "spending so much money", but seeing as how I had to pull teeth to get by on under $35 in OZ and NZ, I can't help myself. Sooner or later though, I am going to have to pinch pennies, but I can't be bothered to at the moment.

Auughhh! my brain is fried. I can't seem to think of anything remotely interesting to say. I'm fizzling out mid sentence at every turn.

Fuck it, I'm done.

Oh - I feel a bit the idiot for posting that picture of the "cat oven" sign... I got an email today from my darling sister telling me that her cat, Worf, is about to have one of his rear legs amputated (cancer). I feel like shit. All my love and best to the putty-tat, hermana.

*************
ps - Santa's Whore just happend to rhyme with Saddle Sore... what can I say: I'm a jackass.

And may his pee-pee fail him on his wedding night.

Apparently my former room-mate of the last five years, and friend of over seven, is getting married. The rat fink fucker head has yet to inform me: I had to hear of it from my parents. I had only heard that they were back together after a lapse.

Jerome: if you read this, geography no longer restricts communication. I hate you. ASS.
Oodles of joy... you'd better have enough ice for the coming black eye, and enough booze for the ubiquitous bachelor party.

Here are a couple of articles I read over the last few months that I thought I'd pass along:

1) From Time Magazine (17 JAN 2005)
Grow Up? Not So Fast : I had to use this link as the link to the Time article itself requires a subscribtion.

2) From The Economist (29 MAY 2005)
House of cards : This should link directly to the Economist site.

3) More on the Economist's survey of the housing market - you canaccess these on your own... I don't have the time to find links.

** Matt/Sara: If you have any way to access Lexus Nexus or some other article archive service, if I provide you with article details, could you in turn download them and provide me with a link. Or, Matt, if you still subscribe to the Economist,could I use your logon ID? No big deal either way, but have a bunch of stuff I would like to post. Thanks. **

Have I mentioned recently how much I love this damn little motor scooter?! I do, I really do.

The day before yesterday, I left Amed with the intention of taking the long way around to my next destination, Pedang Bai, via the most holy temple on the island. That in itself was to be a long enough ride, but through some of the most attractive backroads around. Well, I made it to Panar Bisakeh in no time flat, where I allowed myself (stupid ass that I am) to be taken in by not one, but TWO tourist schemes. Not bothering to read the guidebook for this area - because I don't need the damn guidebook - I was duped into purchasing a sarong and sash as well as hire a aguide, both under the pretense that such was de riguer at this temple, being the most holy, and all that rot. Turns out, usually, the sarong and sash are lent for a donation, and the guides are simply vultures. Not really caring about either, given the low relative value to me versus them of my money, I bought a lovely sarong in which I look simply divine, and hired a guide for enough money to feed his family for a week: win/win.
The day pushing on, and the rain likely to come in, I hauled ass down the mountain to Pedang bai, only to find that it is a miserable little hole, unworthy of my patronage, being no more than a transport hub for the island bound boats. So, I pushed on to Candi Dasa: another dismal stretch of shiite. A tourist resort that sprang forth far too quickly in the late 80s, Candi Dasa demolished its reefs to make concrete for the new hotels, thereby ruining the potential for local diving, as well as removing the only natural barrier to erosion. As a result, there are no more beaches, except the makeshift ones which have bebun to form behind the new sea walls, hence, not much reason to stay. DUMMIES! Nonetheless, some folks find that it is a nice respite from the mayhem of Kuta, so they choose to do their drinking there. At least they haven't found Amed.

Well, now that I had been riding for five hours, and had yet to find a place to suit me, I decided to high tail it back over to Ubud: lovely Ubud. Two hours and two sunburned-back-of-the-hands later, I made it back to Hai Homestay where I quickly fell back in with Manku, who promptly served me up a hot kpoi bali. Good ol' Manku. I have since do little other than read, eat, and wander the markets. I may even buy some decorative junk for the future home, though I will have to see about shipping charges first.

Anyway, today I took a day trip back up into the mountains to see the impressive Panar Ulun Bakan (sp?), a majestic temple situated on the shores of a volcanic crater lake. Lovely up there: so much cooler than down on the plains: 6,000 feet'll do that.
Wanting to get back to Ubud before the afternoon rains, I rocketed down the mountain in pursuit of a Balinese Evil Canevil - in retrospect not the brightest of ideas given road conditions here. What a hoot... pushing that little motor to the limit, hair on fire, lungs full of exhaust: glorious.

I've gotta buy a motor bike when I get home. I can't believe that this is the first time I've ridden one. WHAT THE HELL?! You know, I've even been thinking about setting up a little import business for these oh so sauve scooters... there could be a big market for them... then again: maybe not.
Oh, I forgot to mention, that I have now officially been initiated as a local master motorcyclist. I got clipped twice on the road the other day - once by a truck, once by a car - and narrowly averted a 2-car-10-scooter-pile-up-to-be. fucking hell, these people are crazy. The official rules of the road are: "you are responsible for anything pops out in front of you: for any reason, at any time". ABSURD, but you get used to it. Besides, by constantly blaring one;s little scooter horn, one can alert any potential motorists of one's presence and intentions (whatever they may be). Ggood Fun!

Last thing....
Regarding the title of this post, see the following picture. I wish that I had stopped more frequently to photograph the cornucopia of outlandish signs that I have encountered everywhere. All well... I will try to be more diligent.

**************

As they say in Bangkok: "sawat-dee CRAP"!

"With no particular place to go."

Such has been the last week since leaving Kuta.
In short, I have been cruising around on my suped-up Honda "Bad Boy", looking for some action, Oh Yeah!

After Medewi, I diddled my way up through the island to the north coast in search of some scuba diving. The main area for such activities is in and around a "resort" called Lovina. Well, in Lovina, I checked out a number of housing options before settling on a charming little beachside bungalow complex set in a lovely little garden called Sri Homestay. For the tune of $4, I had a cozy little number all to myself; in fact I had the whole place to myself, and couldn't have been happier until... THE DAMN MOSQUITOES came out!! No wonder there was no one there: they neglect to tell you that there is a hidden rice paddy right behind the complex wall which attracts these godawful little buggers come sunset. Even loaded with DEET and "safe mister, no worry" ensconsed in my mosquito almost-net, I was treated like sang-chaud buffet for many miserable hours.
The next night, I decided to go to war. Everyone knows that man is smarter than insect, right? RIGHT?! Humph! Crock of shit. Even with my armory stocked with no less than 7 - count them 7 - smoldering mosquito coils, they managed to penetrate the amazingly numerous number of holes in the meshwork of the net. So, out of my trusty pack comes a roll of duck tape, some parachute cord, and a number of carabiners. After twenty ridiculous minutes of swatting dive-bombing-soon-to-be-kamikaze mozzies whilst fortifying my defenses a la MacGyver, I managed to make my bed area livable, though it took a great deal of effort to get in and out. Once in though, it is too much hassle to get out, so in with me come iPod, book, headlamp, Bintang, water bottle, and hope (that I don't have to pee).

Well, that said, I can move on to other stuff.

The diving was lovely. I made two dives for the price of US $40 (w/ lunch), both of which were off of an island on the NW coast, directly across from Java. The water was warm, the reef was splendid, and i finally saw the Bali of the postcards.
I dove with one other fellow (besides the divemaster), a Frenchman by the name of Pierre who currently resides in China. My age exactly, he proved to be a pretty interesting fellow, and though we managed to stay largely away from politics, even my liberal self had difficulty holding my tounge at times. He was travelling with a fellow countryman and colleague by the mane of Claude who didn't dive, or swim, but with whom we did dine that night. All in all, we proved a pretty well matched bunch - though then as always I exercised my one true gift, that of being a human chameleon: changing to suit the whims and wills of my partner in conversation:l but only when it suits me - and as such made plans to meet again on the morrow in Amed.

Meetin g again in Amed, we all stayed together at the same little place: The Diver's Cafe. I had scouted out several other places that afternoon, but none were as cheap or as convenient as this one. I planned to dive with an outfit associated with them the next day, and so was able to get us a good deal. When Pierre finally arrived, he had a Dutch couple in tow, having met them on that morning's dive: so then we were five. The afternoon was spent tooling around the coastal road in Pierre's rental car, playing pool at a deserted upmarket hotel, and having a merry time all around. Deciding to dine together, we adjourned to the cafe where we spent three hours knocking back fresh grilled Baracuda and Bintag.
It came out that the Dutch fellow had proposed to his girlfriend that morning on a sunrise dolphin watching tour. they were in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by hundreds of dolphins, the sun was casting its first molten rays over the water, and they were in Bali: what couldbe sweeter... I'm such a sucker for those stories.

Amed is one of the most peaceful places I have ever been to. A fishing village situated on the east coast of the island, it has escaped the bulk of the hustle and bustle, managing to preserve its local flavor even in the face of expanding tourist operations. As this is the low season, all that was evident of tourism was a plethora of deserted hotels, restaurants, dive shops, and "resorts". All the better for me... I loved it.

They all left the next day, and I took in another couple of dives, this time at a local wreck. Not much to say on that, though it was typically beautiful, and such...I spent the rest of the day milling about the cafe and environs, which I had all to myself now.Played a little soccer on the beach with a bunch of local kids. Tried to teach them kick-the-can, but it didn't take. Lazed for hours on the beach knocking off the rest of last weeks Economist, while polishing off numerous freshly squeezed fruit juices. Spent the twilight hour skipping stones over the remarkably flat expanse of the bay. Moved into cafe for dinner, where I polished off the last bit of Call of the Toad before finally retiring to my room for some much needed rest.

*****************

I'll continue later...
I have the rare fortune to be sitting in what must be one of the islands only broad band fiber optic internet cafes. As such, the per minute price is getting a little to high for comfort. But the reason I stopped in was to upload some more photos to my Bali Gallery.

So, until next time, faithful followers, mind your manners, and remember what the witches say:
"Hula, hula, hula!"

Oh, I know... bad title. Oh so shildish: I couldn't help myself; and my stool is fine, so nothing there either.

So... Finally got out of Kuta yesterday morning on my monster of a motor scooter. Couldn't be more relieved: if I had to hear another asshole barker/shop owner/vagrant badger me with calls of:

"Hello. Boss. Yes? Looking? Buying?"
"Yes. Transport? Motor Bike?"
"Please. Yes. Room?"
"CDs, Yes? DVD OK?"
** At night, sotto voce: "Weed? Ganja? Hash? Mushrooms? Chick?"

Killing me. Ok... got that off my chest. Like everywhere else though, you ignore them, they eventually leave you alone. Better still, as I found out, if you turn their game on them and offer to sell them the same thing, they laugh you off and move along themselves. Good game. Works everytime.

Cruised up the SW coast of Bali, making for the surfing beach of Medewi (S 08◦ 25.026' | E 114◦ 48.321'. Hey, I gotta use the f'in GPS for something since I brought it along!).
Being my usual bright self, I neglected to apply any protective UV blocking cream to my exposed epidermis. Oh, and I also wisely chose to ride in the coolest time of day: high fucking noon. Within two hours, my wittle-bitty forearms, nose, neck and cheeks were more cooked then the previous night's lobster thermidor. Ah, what to do?! Pull over, you nit wit, and put on the oh-so-cool soft shell that you brought for just such a purpose; tie a bandana over nose and mouth - also keeps out noxious exhaust fumes. Voila! Prolem solved. Can you tell I'm a rookie when it comes to "riding"?
Ever so much more comfortable, I made it to Medewi without too many wrong turns... the scenery was stunning: rice paddies, sweeping coastal vistas, yadda yadda yadda.

Got to Medewi. Found the Beach. Had a beer. Found Losman. Checked into Bungalow (of sorts) for the night: $3.50 (highway robbery! me white boy. me get overchargum. me nore care to squabble over pennies.) Set up gear in room...

**Oh, by the way, I managed to strap my pack to the seat behind me employing a very ingenious method, which I am very proud of. The other backpacker I saw riding around had his on his back - "and Atlas shrugged". It's the little things thet get me going.**

Back down to beach to watch the sampans set out on their sunset run.
Over to seaside warung for another beer. Watch sunset for an hour wnd take some pretty decent shots of shoreside fisherman. Read my book until all light is gone. Over to resto for dinner: the snapper that I had asked one of the sampan dudes to give to the chef for me. Devour snapper with reckless abandon. Wash down with compulsory Bintang. Amble over to Bungalow for more reading and beddie-bye.
TOUGH LIFE.

This morning found me too sunburned (again) to take out the surfboard I had rented. No matter.... I lent it to a local kid - who was happy as hell - and watched the early risers catch wave after perfect wave over a monstrous breakfast, and many kopi balis.
About 1000, I set out on the bike once again: this time armoured from head to toe looking like a Panamanian Guerilla, yet thoroughly comfortable. I chose to take a back road through the hills, rather than the congested "highway" around the rest of the coast. Good call. Much coller; much less traffic; fun winding roads; amazing views.
Pulled into Lovina beach (central N. coast) about 1400. Made right for my losman by the beach. This time, a very pretty little bungalow all to me lonesome - no others in the whole place, yet. Off to see about a crucial matter of an electrical outlet converter for my camera battery, then into town to visit some diveshops. If all goes as planned, I'll be out diving tomorrow, and eating more fresh grilled fish tonight.
(It's ok to hate.)

Dat be it. Don't think I've got much on Guevera.

Got my Balinese sepeda motor licence yesterday. I figured paying fifteen dollars for a permit would save the hassle of paying bribes to every itchy-palmed copper: it's really a one-time bribe in any case. I pay the bike rental guy Rp. 150,000 and give him my passport. He goes off to the police station in Denpasar where the licence is issued on the spot, sans test and sans my presence. The licence is good for 30 days (non-extendable), is good in Bali only (a testament to the wilyness of the Balinese police force: those little grafters), and is in full color to boot.

So, tomorrow I'm off on a circuit of Bali - though without my buddy Josh - which I envision will take ten days. Well it has to: my visa is only good for another nineteen, and I still have to get to Lombok and the Gili Islands. When it is set to run out, I'm gonna make a border run to Malaysia or Singapore, hopping right back in for a newly issued thirty day visa. It's all the rage with the long term expats here. I'll need much more time in Indonesia if I plan to get to Borneo and Java... we'll see.

Gonna do some diving in N. Bali, as well as Lombok and The Gilis (great neame: Gili Islands). Will report back on that. Bite me Pat Barton.

Jon Lyon - if you're reading this, ask Billy at Casual Adventures if they want to sponsor me on my trip. I've worn their hat everywhere and have had many questions about the store from people I meet - include folks from DC. I would be willing to launch an inpromtu photo campaign starring the hat on me ol' noggin in various locales worldwide.
Make it happen.
Any other potential sponsors can email me. I'll do just about anything.

Gotta run, the Javanese Beef Rendang at the Good Luck Warung is calling my name. Man o' Man... best meal I've had in a while... can't get enough of the stuff. Wash it down with an ice cold Bintang... BOOYAKASHA