We wondered if Jamming would come to pick us up at Munduck, thinking something better might have turned up. It would have been no problem to have organised an alternative lift. In fact he arrived before 10am and as we set off he said that because it was Sunday (they work a six day week here) there would be a game of Gangsing, I had learned the name from the info at the hotel and found that the game was only played in three local villages. As we approached the pitch we had seen earlier it was obvious it was a big event for motorbikes filled the verge for almost a km before we parked 200m further on. A passionate crowd were gathered on all four sides several people deep, women watching with children from the house next door. We paid 0.5$ for entrance for us three including two parking places for a car.
We quickly mingled in with the crowd at the point where they were preparing the tops and mending those with a sort of plastic wood if they were chipped in battle. We watched an old man with a bottle of oil, presumably coconut oil which seems to be used for everything here, this was used by the winders to wipe the 3 m ropes with oil before fastening them into as tight a coil as they could before handing to the pitchers, initial tension was gained by tugging it round whilst holding the rope with their foot.
Across the other side was the score board which showed that the team Bolangan were leading by 2 to zero and they quickly made it 5- 0 indicated by four figure ones crossed out diagonally, I think that this represented victory in the first set. The game incidentally would be played from 10am to 12.30. But Empada struck back probably using the pitchers we had seen earlier and took the next set 5-0 and looked to dominate from then on.
I was trying to decipher the rules, a referee with whistle studied carefully.
The vaguely square pitch was then divided into four quarters named 1, 4, 2, 3. There were two teams each of 12 players I was told. It was not clear which players belonged to which team as all wore casual clothing. A pitcher set his top spinning and almost immediately a player from the opposite thew his fiercely spinning top on top of the other. Perfection seemed to be to hit it dead centre and straight down in which case the top underneath stopped spinning but the attacking top spun merrily away, this was the end of this game. More typically the attacking top would bounce off and both would continue spinning, The next one would be started spinning and attacked straight away, usually both would remain spinning, a third and a fourth would be spun and attacked in the same way. After a short time there would normally be only three spinning as the ones wounded collapsed early, but it would be several minutes before the victor emerged. It was difficult to spot which of the last two was going to win but the crowd sensed the end and started rhythmic clapping to urge it on, interspersed with cheering and counter cheering, though whether in encouragement of their own or as a death wish on the other we could not tell.
Sensing we had begun to understand the game and experienced the atmosphere we went in search of Jamming and found him sitting in the circle around the CD and MP3 CD seller. Jamming bought two but had to take one back when he found the player in the car would not accept MP3. We bought one of each type with traditional Balinese music for the princely sum of one pound.
There was a party atmosphere with several stalls selling food and drink, at one of which Jamming had his breakfast. The police house was next door and they patrolled but we saw little trouble in the crowd. A man with a peddle bike was selling ice cream, shades of Britain in the 40's.
Not much further incident before Pemuteran where we suffered a puncture, which was a problem because we didn't have a tool to match the nuts on this Suzuki. However help was soon at hand from standers by and we paid off two helpers with 1$ and 0.5$.
After looking at three possible venues we struck on Jubawa for 25$ with a full cooked breakfast for two, they had reduced their asking price by 10$, however Reef Seen a dive centre refused to budge form 50$. In fact we ended up getting a much better room at half the price, possibly the best room so far in a town where most beach hotels go for several hundred dollars. Nothing was lost as you are welcome to go to Reef Seen, at this time of year at least, to hire high quality snorkels and masks, 4$/3 hours, and then (off season at least) to use their sun loungers.
That's about it really two lazy days on loungers with daily swimming and snorkeling over the reef with coral just offshore. Reef Seen is active in restoring the coral using low voltage electric cages around rocks which encourage new limestone formation on the wires and form a base for new coral growth. The beach is grey as the rocks of the area are volcanic and black, in all other respects it is by far the best beach location we have yet seen in Bali. The place is above all a diving centre and Reef Seen and many other hotels offer daily diving trips including one to the island between Bali and Java for 45$. We did not take this, but given a third day we would because of the rave review we picked up from an Aussie, who had only snorkled there, this afternoon.
Reef Seen in 1991 started a project to collect eggs, hatch and nurture and finally release them on a suitable beach in an on going attempt to reestablish the local population following the earlier destruction of the coral. One turtle from the first batch kept returning to shore and they now have this one in a separate tank and hope to use it to breed turtles in captivity, for release.
The thought of going to Munduk resulted from a chance discussion with a passing middle aged Englishman outside Warung Putuh in Anturan. He was going there because the image he had of Bali was one of the beautiful green mountainous interior, rice fields and tranquility, in some everything that today's Kuta and even Ubud
are not. Yes that was my image too so I determined it was to be our next stop too.
Shortly after a touring taxi was leaving Perama as we wanted to go to Kalibukbuk, just a couple of kilometres down the road. An assistant obviously shouted to the driver that we would pay 4$ to go to Kalibukbuk where he was headed. The youngish driver seemed talkative and I instinctively knew it was someone we would get on with. As we got out I handed him a 0.5$ note and thinking it was a tip asked if it was OK, he smiled and said yes. Before he drove off we spoke of going to Munduk in the morning, he said he only wanted the cost of the car and the petrol the rest was up to me.
Breakfasting after our second early morning boat trip with Putu BW we half thought he would not turn up, but he did. En route he explained that his parents had nicknamed him 'Jamming' because he was always playing the likes of Eric Clapton and John Lennon on his guitar. Now married with a daughter of eight his wife had recently left him and daughter and his mother was in hospital, not that there was anything the least sad, or begging, about our relationship.
Not only would he take us to Munduk but would show several things of interest on the way. 'Would we like to visit the hot springs?' 'No'. 'Would we like to visit Buddhist temples in a village largely inhabited by Chinese?' 'Yes', we said, and that was a good choice for not only was it a beautiful old place on a hillside but highest of the temples had been built in recent years.
Joan expressed her usual interest in plants, which were the clove trees, which the cocoa, which vanilla. He kept his eyes open and stopped when he saw an interesting example. We had presumed the brown fruit on the cocoa trees was ripe but it turned out that that was the first colour and that it turned to green and then yellow and yellowy-red as it ripened.
He stopped at viewpoints as did two minibuses full of French, who always seem to travel on mass, and then at a small coffee farm, where they also roasted the beans and ground it before packaging it in sealed plastic packs for wholesale. The roasting process being fueled by wood of which there was a copious collection in the large yard. Whenever Joan went to take a photo, their young son would insist he was in the picture, so when Joan went to photograph a bamboo pole as long as the yard would hold which they had turned into a single upright ladder by inserting wooden cross pieces at regular step intervals, he showed us how to climb it in its horizontal position.
They brought us coffees whilst we purchased 100 gm
of best quality vanilla for 20$, and 250 gm coffee for 2$. We asked why vanilla pods were so expensive and Jamming left and came back with a leaf which was oozing sap and told us that the sap of the vanilla plant was like this but that the sap was extremely dangerous and resulted in serious skin disease for the cultivators. Further research on the Internet indeed showed that contact allergic responses to vanilla. Almost all vanilla grown today is hand fertilised and is widespread in tropical regions, though it needs specific conditions, the chief source in 2006 being Madagascar 59% followed by Indonesian at 23% of which the best quality comes from Bali.
http://www.agribusinessdwd.com/admin/descfolder/29.pdf
The world wholesale price was said to vary from 20USD to 200USD per kg.
The owner was well pleased with his sale and threw in a couple of vanilla pods and the three cups of coffee. We left in good humour, this was exactly the insight to was a problem which could lead to dermatitis, edema, erythema, rhinitis and asthma. Perhaps more relevant was the discovery that vanilla is in fact from an orchid fertilised by the Melipona bee found only in Mexico, which gave them a 300 year monopoly. This was exactly the insight into Balinese life we had hoped to experience. The French group had not followed us there, the factory yard was too small for tour parties boasted Jamming.
Next he took us to see the largest Banyan tree in Bali fully 750 years old and some many and so spaced were the roots that he took us inside and encouraged me to follow him as he climbed the interior. Bit by bit my physical confidence is coming back after the setbacks with my heart rhythm and vast loss of power last year. It's this sort of gentle challenge which is helping. To think that we were a little concerned about travelling again in our style, when we set out, I am more and more convinced that you keep going until a real setback shows you clearly the limit. Enough to say that neither Joan or I have felt anywhere near as well since the trip to Chile two years ago. Sleeping really well again, eating just two meals a day, breakfast and dinner, taking advantage of the loss of appetite whilst adjusting to a much higher temperature to rationalise that in the tropics you longer need food to keep you warm, the sun does that. Although on our feet most of the day tramping the streets, if nothing else, perhaps more of a change for me than Joan, but resting a great deal so we don't even need so much food for physical activity either unless you count sweating. To return to the 750 year old Banyan tree what a marvellous playground for the kids.
Leaving the Banyan tree to return to the car we happened to go past the covered village playground where the young men were limbering up for the next days match with Munduk. What were they playing with but spinning tops, rather large wooden ones with a steel point and a weight similar to the wooden bowls used on our greens. The pitch, not quite sand but full of holes bored by the tops as they spin. I guess it's a sort of China Clay. A three metre rope was pulled under tension from their feet around the underside one rotation at a time. They then displayed a huge range of individual styles to launch the tops in a whiplash motion onto the surface,spinning violently, where they gradually stabilised as they bored a hole, with the most successful spinning for around ten minutes. The most successful man seemed to using a style similar to an American baseball pitcher.
On then to Munduk a few km away, seemingly a linear village with a main street running up the side of a mountain. By chance we stopped outside the very home stay we were looking for, Meme Surung. They had an excellent room with a quiet verandah looking through green clove trees to a green mountainside, mingled with farms and the rice terraces. We had got on so well with Jamming that we arranged for him to return from his home in Singaraja (Lion King) on the 10 June to take us on to Pemuteran on the north west coast. He asked for 15$ for the hire of the car and 10$ for petrol, and I gave him an additional 20$ for himself, he seemed delighted but so he always did, even though I initially handed him 0.5 $ when the man at Perama led him to expect eight times as much to take us 3km to Kalibukbuk.
He later explained his attitude as part of his religion. If he lost or was treated badly he smiled and took no offence because he thereby gained karma. If he got well paid that was a different type of reward which he accepted with scarcely any difference, though insisting we were good people, (presumably rationalising we were earning our own karma).The next day we just enjoyed a rest from the overbearing heat and read almost all day on the verandah. Though it was hot here too during the day it was wonderfully cool at night like a British spring at its best. As we entered our room for the first time we got two shocks, the first was a huge white mosquito net arranged as it were to make a four poster bridal suite, then we saw that on the hanging hooks were two umbrellas. Fear of mosquitoes is to me like most peoples fear of rats, snakes or spiders, so I did wonder what kind of reception we were in for. Remembering all too clearly the feast I had given to this insect on our honeymoon in the Catskill Mountains in New York State (just before Elizabeth Taylor chose the same spot for her marriage to Eddie Fisher in 1959. Were mosquitoes going to spoil our second honeymoon?Suffice to say in four nights we had not a single bite and experienced only two downpours both of which occurred in the late afternoon. From our balcony we could see two strange constructions. giant bamboo poles with an inverted u turn at the top and along thatched tail, these it turned out were wind vanes and looking more closely one could also make out a small flag and on some a miniature windmill blade which rotated to display wind speed. These vanes would turn through 180 degrees most days following the shift from on shore wind during the day to off shore wind at night with the strongest winds as expected in mid afternoon.
The second day we decided to walk to one of the waterfalls for which the area is famous. After looking at the sketch maps in the
hotel we decided to walk up the
main road to the car park and follow what would surely be a well marked route to the fall, ignoring the pertinent comment in the room log book to avoid the road and follow the slope of the valley instead. So we walked about 3km uphill, some parts steep - others merely hard. We we had just reached the car park and found the start of the path to the waterfall when a tourist car pulled up and
offered us a lift to the viewpoint (1200m) overlooking
the two large lakes, another feature of the area. Much to Joan's disgust I accepted for 3$ saying the now overcast morning would change to a fine afternoon by the time we returned to the path. We arranged for him to pick us up at 2pm as he returned to pick up the trekkers he had just dropped.
First things first, so pots of black tea whilst we looked out over the lakes. We are getting quite a liking for this with a little sugar, it's weak so we think we can get the same effect at home by taking the tea bags out almost immediately. Then before walking along the road overlooking the lakes Joan went over to the small shop alongside the restaurant and started to get interested in the comprehensive display of spices. Being told to bargain, I did so less ruthlessly than of old, and we walked away with a bag of nutmegs, something fungus like they likened to turmeric though different, 250 gm of black rice for making a desert with coconut and palm sugar, and she threw in a couple of sticks of vanilla and some mace. Her husband took us to see their home, the pigs in four or five pigsties, his mother's cow - all destined for sale to a butcher. He showed us the his garden, the sweet potatoes the cassava, and, what we had first gone, for his example of vanilla - it was a climber which attached to trees in the same way as ivy. It was a poor example but enough to get the idea, he said he had failed to get it to grow successfully as it needed just the right conditions of soil, heat and enough rain.
Our man stopped
to pick us up, I pointed to the chess set, which
are found everywhere and he immediately challenged us to a game which Joan and I working together eventually comprehensively lost having been in the stronger position earlier on. Just as well I refused his offer to gamble. Towards the end game he received an SMS text from his trekkers to say they were waiting , he texted back to say he was finishing a game of chess.
Next day back to our books. Our calm interrupted by the arrival of a French Group. Next day we decided to walk down through the village but soon saw a road branch and followed it downhill into a part of the village we did not know existed, a veritable hive of activity of manufacture and transport of bamboo ladders. Clove picking, there were tress of them everywhere, was in full swing for we had arrived at the height of the picking season. The other crops of note were cocoa and coffee. Next stop Pemuteran, I am writing this from there having already found an Internet 'cafe'.
K D Arina/Jaming
Jalan Laviana
Kalibukbuk
Banyualit
Singuraja
Bali
Contact Jamming via Anto whose Tel is 081338430411
We had asked Jamming to come to Pemuteran and the take us to Amed on the west coast, and when he was 20 mins late we were beginning to think of alternative transport, but we need not have bothered. This time he came with his guitar. First we set out to Singaraja (Bali's second city) which was on route but went first to deliver cans of milk, a rarity in these parts, to his mother who was in the state hospital there. It was a single ward with about twenty beds and his mother was in the last bed on a drip with her two daughters the younger one lying with her, both crying thinking their mother was going to die, exactly as their father had done 5 years earlier of a fever that he could not combat. Joan asked if they had carried out blood tests to at least identified the disease, but because of the language problem did not get a clear answer. She was clearly having big temperature swings and had a cold cloth on her forehead. When Jamming first spoke of her he had told me she was mad - delirious is almost certainly a better word. They had seen their father die of a similar fever, and there was something very fatalistic about the attitude of Jamming and his sisters and their mother who felt her husband was coming to get her.
A short diversion to a Fuji shop in town to buy another camera memory, for we had fears we would be running out. Then at as our previous request we went across country instead of by the coast road to Lake Batur close to Agung the highest volcano on Bali. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant with fabulous views and a lake fish in covered in Bali sauce, which basically was lime juice onion and chili - delicious.
Then we set out again intending to go cross country but ending up on Bali's only dual carriageway (newly completed) on the south coast - which appeared dotted on the map of Bali we bought at an early Brecon Jazz festival, some 20 years ago, shows how quick things happen here!
After a long days drive we finally reached Amed, not only a village but the start of several fishing villages, separated from each other with a headland, a la Costa Brava, and each it seems with a character of its own - one for instance being the cemetery for the rest. We told JJamming we wanted to go to Ponduk Vienna as recommended by the Australian we met briefly at Pemuteran, it had been a word of mouth recommendation to him as well. He said he knew it and took us along the coastal road to about the fourth village south, Lihan. Where we checked in as the Aussie had said we would toa a fully equipped bungalow a few yards from the high tide line.
Before leaving for the long coast road back to Kalibukbuk Jamming started to play his guitar and sing, inviting to choose from a book where he kept the lyrics of his favourite songs for oldies, Beatles, John Lennon, Dylan, etc and soon had the the table in the dining area listening as well - it turned out that they were not in fact residents but had come by public footpath to share the beach and had stayed to buy drinks and chat. A few days later a tour party of Belgians did the same.
Jamming would not accept our offer of a meal, so we were relieved when the hotel gave him a free meal of Nasi Goreng for bringing us guests. We invited a Belgian woman who was sitting alone to join us and were soon in rapt conversation with her which Jamming could not understand and on finishing his meal he slipped off only waving as he was half way to the exit - I worried all night that I had not got up to chase him and say goodbye properly. To me this episode highlighted the gulf between the rich middle class of the developed world with the desperately poor of Asia. Remember he alone is responsible for supporting two school aged sisters, his mother and his own daughter all for the few tens of US$ he earns during the tourist season, say May to September and Christmas, by hiring people carriers and driving. The only good feeling it gives me that at least most of our money, unlike a package tour, goes directly to deserving poor people like him.
We spent the next day taking stock, helped by Chris and his wife Dale, Americans, from near Los Angeles. They made regular and long trips to Pondok Vienna and had over the years made friends, initially through the delightful kids with parents across several of the adjacent villages. He had been a warden of national parks in the USA from Alaska south, and was like Joan exceedingly interested in wild life. particularly birds and fish. He had been retired a few years whereas Dale had finished her work as a teacher specialising in autistic children. They had also travelled extensively in Indonesia from Java east to Guinea and really recommended Sulawesi, somewhere we had long contemplated but which went off the tourist map following the murder of a few tourists. He said the worst they had encountered was to be shot at with arrows in Guinea by a tribe who mistook them as enemies come to right a tribal wrong.
Amed, or Lihan to be more precise, is quite the best coastal area so far, how many times have I said that before!! The sand though still black is finer in texture than Pemuteran but best of all is the size of the beach above the high tide line, not massive by the standards of South Wales but allowing plenty of space between the outrigger fishing boats which line the shore with plenty of beach for walking or sunbathing and twenty yards off shore is a magnificent coral reef.
The second day we hired a boat from a local young sailor Odon who speaks excellent English and can be contacted by email, though he confesses to problems to reading and writing in English - nevertheless he is another who will progress thanks to tourism. For 27$ he took us out for two hours, snorkeling at the site of a sunken Japanese war boat and also over a deep water reef. Since he had a ladder Joan was able to join in the fun this time. He said that the fisherman operated as a co-op and shared everything, because of his English he interfaced best with the tourists and was allowed to keep a 20% cut of his earnings but the rest went into the pool.He told us to keep the snorkeling gear for the rest of the day. When he came to fetch the gear at sundown, we told him we had arranged through the hotel to go to Gili Trawangan Lombok by dugout fishing boat tomorrow. He just expressed regret at not realising our willingness to do something rather unusual - he said he had done the trip with tourists years ago, but not since the halt of tourism brought about by the Bali Bombing.The Internet in this village is still dial up only and we did not attempt to use such a slow link. I am writing this posting in Lombok and even there it took an hour to field about 15 emails, most of which were deleted without reading took, on the so called fast satellite broadband link in Gili Trawangan.
I guess that some would consider it hazardous to cover four hours of ocean in little more than a large (dugout) trimaran dinghy, (one gaff rigged sail, an outboard, no radio, no flares, no compass, no line of sight until the half way point, though the clouds were a sure sign of the all but 4000m volcano on Lombok. When we came to live in Swansea I took up dinghy racing, the best 75 pounds I ever spent was on a kit to build a Mirror dinghy and teach myself to sail, though I graduated to a Laser when I ran out of children keen to crew. That is the way we chose to cross the Wallace Line, which divides Bali (extinct tigers and all to India) from the more easterly islands which are Australasian in flora and fauna.
An overriding memory of Bali will be the continual sound of birds often Cocks kept in baskets at the roadside for Cock Fighting, which is of course illegal, but widespread for gambling. But ironically three fights are allowed for each religious ceremonial occasion. It was in Amed that Joan first observed how the owner would lift his birds out of the cage one at a time to get them used to handling, would massage them and she felt train them for fighting. Many losing cocks die, others merely run away to survive but not one suspects to fight again.
Why will Amed remain in the memory, as the best beach destination so far. For the best coral within easy swimming distance of the shore, but above all with the best integration of locals with tourists, meaning that so far locals were still easily in the majority - and long may it remain so.
Pondock Vienna Beach
Lipah
Bunutan
Abang
Amlapura
Bali
viennabeach@hotmail.com
Tel 62 363 23494
Boat Person
Made Odon, who calls himself Odon
madeodon@yahoo.com
same address as Vienna Pondok but he calls it Lipah Beach with postcode 80852
The fishing outrigger Sri Ningsih arrived outside our bungalow 20 mins early. The tiny sailor, easily dwarfed by Joan, put our two wheelie bags and two day sacks in a black bin-liner and then in a heavy plastic sack and hoisted them on board, with greater ease than I could display these days. We faced each other from two removable slatted seats, and on his own he pushed the boat off the sandy beach and into the sea, a feat normally requiring two or more strong men. In no time he cut the outboard and hoisted the bamboo gaff rigged sail, pointed as he knew towards Lombok and I confirmed by a sly look at my orieteering compass. We set off on a fine reach on a windy day with the wind just blowing the tops off the waves. I have lost my feel for wind strengths, not having sailed for more than fifteen years, but I guess it was a good force five. Anyway the boat sailed at a fair lick and the outriggers constantly dug into the waves showering us with warm spray. Just as wet as a fast dinghy in those conditions, it was an envigorating sail over a wonderful blue sea. The sail sheltered us from the sun which quickly turned from east to the north, as if to remind us we are in the southern hemisphere now, and the canvas sun shield was not hoisted but acted as a barrier to the majority of the spray from windard. I was carrying my little orienteering compass and kept an eye on his direction which never varied for the four hours of a our transit. We suspected where Lombok was, presuming the cluster of clouds marked the location othe high volcano Rinjani. Otherwise all we could see for the first two hours was the open sea, but Joan looking backwards, could always see Mount Agung the smaller volcano on Bali.
At the start of the third hour I took over the helm, and though a little too fussy for a fisherman, trying as I was to drive the the boat in a straight line without a mainsheet in my hand, whereas he only occasionally retied the bamboo boom to keep the boat on course without too much adjustment of the tiller. He took over from me when we were in full sight of land because I did not know exactly where he intended to beach. He started to haul in the long fishing line we had been trailing, with a hook every foot for about thirty metres, but all he had caught was umpteen pieces of plastic bags which he discarded with disgust to the ocean from whence they had come. Cleaning and winding the line onto a makeshift spool as he steered the tiller with his feet.
Approaching a golden sandy shore he handed me a card from Balenta, one of the bungalow sites I had it in mind to try. When we beached we quickly found that all of the properties facing this wonderful beach were full. I gave him the additional 57$ I had promised and he was delighted, no doubt partly because he had been able to sail all the way, and since it was a tight reach would have an easy sail back too. We wondered how much of the 20$ we had paid the night before had gone to buy his full spare can of petrol and how much had gone in commission to the receptionist at Pondok Vienna. Either way we were delighted with the trip which in addition to being the highlight of the holiday had saved time and money. The alternative was a 2 hour drive to the harbour at Padangbai, 132$ for transit by fast catamaran boat, then a series of drives to Senggigi in the north of Lombok and a finally a second ferry to Gili Trawangan. (It may well have taken two days instead of four hours).
Joan was as thrilled with the sail as I was, though we had missed out when he sighted dolphins but Joan saw a Tern and two pairs of Shearwaters or Storm Petrels, both of whom spend their time on the wing at sea except when nesting.
We soon established that everywhere on the sea front was either full or overpriced, so far it is a myth that Gili Trawangan is dirt cheap. Eventually followed a man who had greeted us with promises of cheaper accommodation with a pool a little inland. We settled on 25$for a bungalow at Hideaway, of which some would be his commission, and settled into a lovely bungalow, the only drawbacks being no air con and no hot water shower - neither of which we have missed. The swimming pool was just being tiled and is expected to be complete in a couple of weeks. The first night we were the only guests but last night a French couple from near Jim, 40 km from Nantes in Vendee.
That afternoon LP in hand we explored the beach and located alternative accommodation and the myriad of fine fish restaurants before deciding to eat at the newest and most popular, Scallywags. At the time of writing we have had three successive dinners there, each time choosing from the fixed price columns of fish fllets which were BBQed with as many helpings from a fine selection of salad as you wanted. The cost between 6$ for Swordfish, Snapper and Butterfish, 7$ for Yellow Fin Tuna or Grouper, 8.5$ for Coral Trout or Barramundi, 2oo grm of huge prawn for 7.5$, or lobster at 50$ per kg.
Having noted for future reference that there were a few Internet places at 2.4$ per hour. It was there that I posted yesterday's section on Amed. And so to bed, where we slept soundly as usual in spite of the fact that the ceiling fan was inhibited from cooling us by the large bed shaped top of the unneeded mosquito net, most nets fan out from a smaller central circular shape. We must be acclimatised fully because we did not notice the temperature, also we are beginning to eat at lunchtime and to buy Gelato after dinner.
The next morning we revelled in the quiet tranquility of the garden and the shady reading area where we took our breakfast and immediately noted the fine collection of of English books, all in first class condition, Amsterdam by such as Ian McEwan, Arundati Roy, Vikram Seth, Angela Leavy, Amitav Gosh, Rudyard Kipling, Henry James, John Steinbeck, along with books on Indonesian birds, China ....., enough name dropping. There are a few indications that when complete this place will have some nice touches.
Then we decided to stay put because we were only a five minute walk from the island's best beach, of kiln dried fine golden sand with white coral pieces at the waters edge, and Coral just off shore for snorkeling. The magical sea colours varying from golden inshore where the depth was minimal to turquoise and the marine blue of deeper water interleaved with stretches of turquoise. A few km across the sea you could see the sandy shores of the smaller Gili Menor island and hidden behind was the first of the three to be developed Gili Air which has now been left behind in the tourist stakes.
The whole place reminds us of a slightly upmarket version of Phi-Phi in Thailand a year before the devastation of the tsunami it was being developed with much higher class accommodation in the centre of Phi Phi Don, from the quality of the beaches and the range of restaurants. Though the long line of these at the southerly end of the island is also reminiscent of the south of France. The Young and Beautiful are the majority of the clientele, a few middle Aged and even fewer oldies like us, all European nationalities plus Australians.
This morning we saw a couple come ashore by tender from the fine two mast sailing yacht anchored off, then I noticed that the girl was sitting with their luggage under a tree near us and went over to talk. It turned out she was a dive instructor working on the Comodo islands east of Lombok and she and her boyfriend, who was looking for accommodation - by the technique Joan and I have often used, and they had sailed for a week via many island stops on the way in the boat which is called Al Isra.
There is little doubt that this is the resort with the most appeal to middle class European tourists, the rate of expansion around our bungalows is obviously not keeping track with increasing demand. We have already decided to stay an extra night making four, ie three beach days with fine eating. Since different parts of Indonesia can set their own rules, no dogs are allowed on the island, they are considered dirty animals, and no motor bikes or cars are allowed so the only public transport is by the Jarvies with their horse and carts, some for transporting people others for building materials which arrive by boat.
At lunchtime for the second day running we went into Mozart, though you couldn't tell it from the music which was typical of the island. A man who might suit the title of Naked Fakir that Churchill gave to Gandhi, though, like me he was red skinned rather than brown, turned out to be the owner of the establishment. We learned later that he had been an annual visitor to Trawangan with his family over many years before deciding to leave his daughter in Vienna and make Trawangan home for he and his wife. We had just finished a snack when he sent over two classy chocolates carrying the name of Mozart, and as we were ready to leave Joan went over to thank him, and so began another enlightening conversation.
Gerhard, as we later discovered he was called, had been diving here for many years including just before the tsunami when he suddenly discovered a large shark, not the usual harmless smaller reef shark, at a favourite diving site and was convinced that somehow it had got prior warning of the onset of the disaster and decided to leave its location near where the earthquake occurred. He had spent twenty years in data processing before ten years in management training courses, in which he still dabbled including getting groups to come out from Austria to gain greater feel for rights and wrongs in a Muslim country. Just two years ago he had decided to move home, and displayed a very sympathetic attitude to the plight of poverty and poor education in the indigenous population and was financing some improvement from his profits and teaching with his wife, his role being to pass on computer use. He explained that though education right though to University level is free that in practice there are additional costs, like buying books or even exercise books and pencils that the local people just can not afford, and this hurdle becomes even greater at the Secondary, High School and University levels. The net result is that a large proportion opt out before they have even completed primary education. Ironically he cannot even offer work experience in his restaurant, as class work and not vocational training is deemed the correct route. He, like me with Ater, was ashamed of his own country when they wouldn't even allow one of his cooks a six month visa to train in an Austrian restaurant, even though he and people in high places vouched for his support and return.
I had been intrigued by the item Home Made Bread which appeared on his menu and ordered a portion, it turned out to be made from a mixture of 50% wheat and 50% rye flour with additions including Caraway seed. It was delicious and quite different from anything we have eaten for the past month. He explained it was made daily and the flours were imported from Austria - others imported Argentine or Australian beef or wine but he imported flour. Another item that took our eye on the menu was Apple Strudel in a country with magnificent tropical fruit - but not apples!
Today (Tuesday 16 June) we took a morning break for Water Melon fruit juice, something we find surprisingly tasty as well as refreshing, and got into conversation with another owner who had been in business on Trawangan from 1992 (electricity arrived first in 1996 before that it was all hurricane lamps after six and nothing at all after 10pm. He came from Mataram which is the capital town of Lombok and he was quite informative. We will leave by boat at 8am tomorrow for Senggigi and Mataram - he confirmed the Austrian's choice of Garden Hotel as the choice of local businessmen. He also said he had previously been a trekking guide particularly for the National Park Area around round the 3,750m high volcano Rinjani - the second highest in Indonesia. For future trips he recommended Flores to gain the flavour of what Trawangan had been like on its discovery in 1986 on a day trip by Williams in 1986.
Previous to that we had walked to the north side of the island and were staggered at the development of international class hotels, including a huge on by the owner of the major cigarette brand here Gadang Garam. They will probably be open in time for the high season of July/August and will mark another major shift in the lifestyle of this island, which the LP still calls the "party island' though the only sign we have seen of that are the frequent advertisements for magic mushrooms. We're off for fish and salad - I doubt we will see the like of that again this holiday.
Wide Eyes Joan spotted a fishing boat with the same multicoloured binding on the join in the outriggers we had had, further inspection confirmed the name too and then she spotted the fisherman who had sailed over again today, another lively breeze with white horses. He was pleased to see us and when asked about fishing he said he had caught tuna this time.
Off then to Lombok I hope to keep contact though that may well be impossible outside Mataram, so if you don't hear again don't worry for everything is fine here. Lombok is said to be a generation behind Bali in tourist development - but catching up fast with the help of Middle East money.
Hideaway
Street one back but parallel to beach road, close to Balenta Bungalow which is in Lonely Planet guide.
A series of passenger launches left Gili this morning at about 8.30 and we boarded with some difficulty, big step ups and a low roof to punish the hasty, and feet in a foot of water at the sea edge. About 20 backpackers per boat. On arrival at Senggigi we oldies got caught as the backpackers hung onto their rucksacks whilst our cases were snatched by porters taking us to the bus by horse and cart whilst the rest walked a little way up the road, shades of the Jarvie's tricks at Magillicuddy's Reeks on the ring of Kerry - for the bad road soon gave way to tarmac. Anyway we got away with 8$ which is far more benefit to them than us and the bus driver did take us right to the hotel whereas most were heading either for the airport in Mataram or else much further south to the ferry from Lembar to Padangbai in Bali. We shall now follow that route ourselves after a stay at Kuta Lombok, which is said to be the antithesis of Kuta Bali.
We have just booked into a nice international style hotel for 45$ per night, but the usual beautiful garden, big swimming 20m pool, large 'tiled' bungalow with the first power shower we have seen since Blighty. Even watched TV for a school program on volcanoes (and English using Mount Fuji as the example. We should have bargained them down, for they made two sucessive small discounts on the room from 53$ to 47.5$ to 45$ without even being asked. We intend to take the Table d'Hote menu there tonight at 6$ if only to find out how the Lombok business community eat. This Internet just across from the hotel is only 0.5$/hour whereas we were paying 24$/hour on Gili Trawangan. Most of the ATMs here only pay out in 100.000 Rp notes double what we want because they will be unusable in rural Lombok.
When we went back to the Internet the following day we found that it was down for lack of power. We did indeed find another ATM which satisfied our need, but we got no further with our attempt to find out what business men eat for their evening meal, unless the answer is nothing, for we were the only diners. Unfortunately although this was a classy hotel the Air Con has a habit of having a preset minimum of 27 degrees and a habit of switching off in the middle of the night leaving us sweltering until we manage to persuade it to start again at a lower value. For whatever reason these were the first poor nights I have had in Bali/Lombok. Joan loved the tea and instant coffee powder (though she never drinks it at home!) and the not so fast DIY kettle. We did however see what they ate for breakfast for there was a fine choice of rice gruel or a delicious soup, with lots of additives, roasted onion and garlic, boiled egg, croutons, peanuts etc. In addition there was a choice of six dishes of rice, fried rice, noodles with the choices of the day like beef curry, tofu, stir fried vegetables, chicken pieces, plus a choice of fresh fruit, Omelettes were available cooked to order and DIY toast with butter and papaya jam. Not bad!
We were up early that morning and breakfasting because we had arranged to meet a young man who had shepherded us through the previous days transfers. We went with him and a driver to Banyumulek, a town in which every house is its own small pottery workshop. This discovery only came as a result of Joan's request to see the kiln at the shop/factory to which we had been directed. They said it couldn't be seen as they only fired at night (in fact it wasn't a factory just a warehouse). To find the kilns we had to go through the town, otherwise we might well not have seen nothing.
The kiln was a huge surprise, in fact there were two side by side, just roofs which could have been open sided market stalls.,The pottery was set out in the sun to dry before firing, there were piles of coconut husks, wood, hearth stones but above all stacks of rice straw, which covered the pottery during the firing process which was presumably partly burned but retained the integrity of its seal. Joan was delighted at the revelation of this discovery which made sense of so much more of what we had been told at the warehouse/shop. The pots, some very large, were coil pots but there was only a single firing, the decoration was added ingeniously added after firing. Some egg shells, coloured clay slip and sand may have been added pre-firing, but banana leaves or batik were almost certainly post-firing finishing processes. We are not sure how the highly decorative colourings, often of abstract designs, were achieved.
In the town there were many deliveries of clay from the mountains in the form of small rocks, which were then crushed, ingeniously because the clay was laid on sacks across the road so that the passing motorbikes, lorries and horse carts (cidomo) started the the job for them, as an alternative for breaking by hammer. Before finally being washed in water to remove the stones before moulding into potters clay.
Second stop was a village said to be concentrated on basket weaving from grass of which we have some sturdy and transportable examples, several little baskets for which we paid 20$. There was some doubt that we were in the area where the items were made, for we saw nothing of the manufacturing process and only the simplest of items being made in the village. There was not another tourist in sight so when the international airport opens in 2010 there is going to be a sea change as mass tourism reaches Lombok. We feel so lucky to have seen it before the era of commercialisation. We went into the village each house having a separate kitchen building with a variety of hearths, one of clay, another of brick. A group of women were busy chatting and doing their grass weaving sitting on an outdoor stage with a grass roof. Outside each small house was a pot in which water was kept to keep it cool, exactly as butter was stored in my mum's pantry. The pot was held well clear of the ground on a DIY wood tripod and had a plug at the bottom through which the water was drawn. Joan observed a baby held by her mother, Welsh shawl style, crying for milk whilst another was mixing powdered baby milk in a glass preparatory to pouring it into a baby feeding bottle. A piece of her hair had been cut off in a ritual at a similar age to the circumcision of boys.
On return from our trip we tried out the pool and were soon joined by many Muslim families. Later we discovered that they lived in Mataram but were able to buy
tickets to the pool, where they set about teaching the children to swim whilst the rest of the family had a light meal at the poolside. So much better than the fate of many a hotel pool which is rarely used except for sunbathing on the loungers. The discrepancy between the dress of one mother in a conventional bathing costume, she may not have been Muslim only 70% of the island are, and another mother who was fully covered by a sort of wetsuit, full leggings, fully sleeved black top a balaclava helmet and goggles - but she was an excellent swimmer.
That evening we went in search of a restaurant and settled on Rumah Makan Aroma, a Chinese restaurant where we had by far the best meal of the trip having asked a neighboring table what they were having, and settled on a deep fried whole Gurami fish, a wonderful chicken soup with home made noodles Mie Kuah, Crispy Pigeon Burung Dara, a plate of green spinach Sawi Cah, mixed vegetables fried with prawns and boiled rice Nasi Putih all for 13$. The following day we returned substituting unintentionally a big bowl of soup Sop Ayam, but deliberately I Fumi which was fried vegetables with wafer thin black mushrooms of the type our Chinese friend Michael brought us on his last visit (though he had demonstrated cooking them in a very spicy manner) and Kolo Buk pork deep fried in batter. What maybe we should have tried were the fried crabs which is apparently the delicacy of the area.
At the next table John was seated on his own until we engaged him in conversation. It transpired he had worked for many years in southern Asia and had decided several years ago to make his home here in Mataram, although he had experienced many times of strain such as when there was an outbreak of burning Christian churches, which from what we were told later had coincided with the Asian financial crisis in 1998. Basically he felt it a result of envy as the Muslims clearly believe, probably rightly, that the Hindus, Christians and Chinese have by far the greater power. A few days later the Muslim Tashi at Sapit confirmed that these attrocities had taken place.
Having intended to spend only two days in Mataram we decided to spend a third and to visit the Museum, which is given an incorrect date write up in the LP because although small it was modern, very well kept and informative. The curator Hubertos, who came from the island of Flores, which he said was almost entirely Catholic, guided us around, proving very informative about so many topics from ancient history to geology to customs and costumes. He also set up our next day with a BlueBird Taxi driver who would take us right across the island to Sapit on the meter via some more craft villages. Before leaving the museum, which closed at 11am on a Friday (being a Muslim city) he did not have to much difficulty in selling us a piece of Ikat Weaving done in Flores, though the hand made nature showed up in a change in colouration for part of the length of cloth. Ikat weaving is difficult technique in which intricate patterns are set up in advance by tie-dyeing the threads in advance. There is already one example from a Sarawak (Borneo) longhouse in our hall.
Lombok Garden Hotel
Jalan Bung Kamo no. 7
Mataram
Lombok
lombokgarden_htl@telkom.net
(0370) 636015
Looking at the guide book for a place in the interior of Lombok gave only three choices.
Tete Batu which had transport by Perama, several places to stay, and, promised walks and water falls, a little too similar to Munduk we thought.
Sapit with only one homestay said to offer magnificent views
Sembalun Lawang in the national park but essentially a take off point for a three to five day treks to climb Gunung Ranjani 3726m, which we might have followed ten years ago.
So we set out by taxi to Sapit, by stopping at two craft villages recommended by Huberto of the museum.
First stop then was Loyok where we visited a home where husband and wife were already at work baskets from strips of bamboo into rice steamers, and using much thicker bamboo after stripping to make the handles. The steamers were so obviously not suitable for carrying so our eyes alighted on small plates which were made by similar techniques but using much sturdier coconut leaf and of flatter and stackable design. The man anticipating our interest started to make such a plate to demonstrate the technique. At Sapit they served our breakfasts on just these sort of plates covered in a green banana leaf. They asked 1$ per plate we came away with four and left a further dollar tip.
Next stop was close by at Pringgasela a textile weaving village, here Alain immediately took us on a very interesting tour of the town and used reasonable English to give detailed explanations, we stopped at a house where three women were weaving and we had a prolonged look at the techniques they were using, two were weaving and the third engaged in the layout for the next loom using a battery of six colours.I gave each of the women a small tip 0.2$ and they were absolutely delighted. Alain finally took us to his house to show us a selection of perhaps just eight strips of cloth each essentially 1 m (loom width) by 4.5m long woven by his sister. Although far less typical of the bright colours associated with Indonesia we opted for an elegant piece in royal blue and white, he said the blue was a natural dye from Indigo but that the white was chemical. We waited whilst they cut it in half and joined the two pieces to make a more square cloth. The pattern, Songket, is normally added by embroidery but in this case was actually done on the loom. We paid 45$ and left a tip of 5$ with Alain. No doubt as mass tourism hits Lombok which seems inevitable, given the quality of the beaches which far outshine those of Bali, the experience of visiting this type of craft village will be changed utterly by the daily round of tour parties. No doubt Alain and several others who speak English will do well but we do wonder about the women with the unique skills.
After a journey of around 6 hours the taxi arrived at Hati Suci the only homestead in Sapit, the clock showed only 28$, he initially asked for the 60$ suggested to him by Huberto, and to us as a maximum but we settled very amicably for 40$. Inspection of the rooms was a bit of a shock not helped that at the time there was an electricity failure. The double bed we were shown was about 4ft as opposed to the 5 to 6 beds we had grown used to, the bathroom consisted of a squat toilet and a barrel of water and plastic saucepan to flush it, the walls were of thinly woven bamboo and the masonry walls round the toilet had never been painted, though the floors were tiled. As usual I was concerned about mosquitoes, but were a figment of the imagination as usual in the dry season.We opted for a room with narrow twin beds but the drapes weren't inspiring, there was however a fine view from the veranda and many lovely flowers in the garden. To judge by the highly professional production of much of their advertising material it had initially had much better times.
We resolved to stay only one night but in fact stayed two, accompanied only by an English teacher from Japan, who told us he liked the place and had visited regularly. His main interest here was the stars of the southern hemisphere, viewed from his veranda and from the mosque on top of the hill in the village. He was obviously a loner but was very interesting to talk to and was particularly knowledgeable about European opera and the annual world opera singing contest in Cardiff. He travelled by local buses, bemo, motorcycle taxi and donkey cart, ie using local transport as we had previously done, but is almost unused in today's Bali/Lombok by backpackers because it is too difficult and necessitates a knowledge of Indonesian at least..
One feature which had been off putting at first had been the presence of a deaf mute, something we did not recognise immediately, but on the second night the son number three Tashi appeared and the earlier establishment started to make sense. His English was excellent and he was obviously prepared to lead treks to Rinjani, but no longer had the clientele, he was a teacher at the mosque, a man of most liberal tolerant views, and his wife was the local midwife who lived at her place of work. His ambition now was to set up a clinic and playgroup for orphan children, he had already purchased the land.
Tashi on the left of the leaving photo,
hatisuci2007@yahoo.co.id
told us a great deal of the history of Lombok and confirmed the disastrous failure, due to drought, of the rice crop in 1966 which led to mass starvation. Those who survived lived on mice, who presumably got more than a fair share of what little grain there was. At the time traditional farming methods meant there was only one rice crop per year, but by 1968 new strains, the so called green revolution - if my memory serves me right - needing fertilisers and pesticide had been introduced leading to no less than three crops per annum - now reduced to two to allow incorporation of tobacco as a cash crop in the dry season.
Everywhere it was obvious that brick tobacco drying towers were being constructed at an unprecedented rate. We were told that in this region all the farmers were contracted to sell their crop to British American Tobacco who had a cigarette factory nearby, and who doubtless funded the construction of these towers, for there was no other sign of capital expenditure, unless you count all the new mosques which were being built, presumably financed by a rich church and the few well off farmers who both benefited from the poverty of the vast majority, strains of European church building in an earlier era.
Each day we walked along the roads hoping to discover the circular route, but on the first attempt we aborted by the danger of nightfall, and the second in the opposite direction we aborted for the heat of midday just before the junction which would have completed the circuit. That day however we were amazed at the size of a police procession led by a car but followed by about one hundred and fifty motorcycles each with two young policemen and women in blue tunics. We were told the next day by the policeman who accompanied his elder brother on the drive to Kuta Lombok that the exercise was an attempt to stop illegal logging in the National Park around Rinjani.
Just one complaint from a very happy stay - the noise pollution from the call to prayer from 4.30am to 7am and again in the evening. They may be utilitarian but there is nothing pleasant about the sound of conflicting poor quality loudspeakers, and unfortunately this also applied to another peaceful spot, Munduk in Bali, though there the noise came from the Hindu's broadcasting what sounded like the Ramayana, a case of getting your retaliation in first? Contrast the pleasant peel of bells from our churches which complements the beauty of the countryside.
Tashi Kabul
hatisuci2007@yahoo.co.uk
081918357332
Sapit
We quickly mingled in with the crowd at the point where they were preparing the tops and mending those with a sort of plastic wood if they were chipped in battle. We watched an old man with a bottle of oil, presumably coconut oil which seems to be used for everything here, this was used by the winders to wipe the 3 m ropes with oil before fastening them into as tight a coil as they could before handing to the pitchers, initial tension was gained by tugging it round whilst holding the rope with their foot.
I was trying to decipher the rules, a referee with whistle studied carefully.
Sensing we had begun to understand the game and experienced the atmosphere we went in search of Jamming and found him sitting in the circle around the CD and MP3 CD seller. Jamming bought two but had to take one back when he found the player in the car would not accept MP3. We bought one of each type with traditional Balinese music for the princely sum of one pound.
After looking at three possible venues we struck on Jubawa for 25$ with a full cooked breakfast for two, they had reduced their asking price by 10$, however Reef Seen a dive centre refused to budge form 50$. In fact we ended up getting a much better room at half the price, possibly the best room so far in a town where most beach hotels go for several hundred dollars. Nothing was lost as you are welcome to go to Reef Seen, at this time of year at least, to hire high quality snorkels and masks, 4$/3 hours, and then (off season at least) to use their sun loungers.
Reef Seen in 1991 started a project to collect eggs, hatch and nurture and finally release them on a suitable beach in an on going attempt to reestablish the local population following the earlier destruction of the coral. One turtle from the first batch kept returning to shore and they now have this one in a separate tank and hope to use it to breed turtles in captivity, for release. 
