"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.

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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!"