Whiling away the days in paradise!

With a shortage of cash I couldn’t stay in the same place for the whole month I was in the Togean Islands. Being two days travel, each way, to reach the nearest ATM suitable for my Visa card, it wasn’t an option. It’s one of the biggest problems of visiting these islands, you really need to bring a whole wad of cash for a prolonged stay. And the locals know it, I don’t mean local to the islands either. More and more stories have emerged of people being robbed surreptitiously on night buses. The victims all seemed bound for the Togeans, the culprits knew what they were doing and were very good at it. There are solutions, you must have a lock on your bag or you valuables on your person. For me, I don’t like the discomfort of a money belt, it also makes me, as a person, the target rather than my bag. Make sure your bag has a two way zip on it, then loop a padlock through. It won’t stop a determined thief but it’s a good deterent. (Photo: Bajo fishing hut - Offshore atoll, Nr Malenge, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

I found alternatives to cash, but it meant using one of the only two resorts that dealt with credit/debit cards. They also happened to be the main dive centres in the island chain, the combination fit my requirements hand in glove. After a perfectly lazy fortnight I was ready to pack my bags and head off for Kadidiri. A freeby snorkeling trip was an unexpected parting gift, so my last day gave me the only exploratory look off the actual island of Pengampa. The first site was pretty good, a lot of coral and reasonable numbers of fish. I was somewhat spoilt by the boatman anchoring into clumps of live coral. Three times I went back to the boat and chastised him, to be honest I don’t think he understood my reasoning behind the request. Each time he’d lift the anchor looking confused, then drop it back into coral once I’d gone back out snorkeling again. I nearly stopped snorkeling in disgust, I felt so angry. It wasn’t my money paying for it though, I’d been invited by another guest. I made a serious point about it with him but he was completely non-plussed. (Photo: Forbidden fruit - Malenge, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

Anyway, moving islands was a way of starting afresh. The diving centres both ran their operations using western guides and instructors, they had to be more conscientious about the environment they earned their living from. Hearing of projects to wipe out the crown of thorns starfish on their reefs raised my hopes. I had a choice of two and the decision was an easy one, there was only one boat waiting at the ferry when we pulled into Wakai. I could have still chosen the other once reaching Kadidiri, but in all honesty the Paradise resort was in a much better setting. I actually let a couple I’d met on the ferry check out the competitors, they were back in no time having undergone a hard sell from the staff at Black Marlin. To be honest there wasn’t much difference in the quality of accommodation, prices were similar too. It really depended on what you were looking for. A younger crowd were in residence down the beach while I was there. They weren’t rowdy at night or anything, but hearing them whooping and hollering on their way out in the boats made me glad to be chilling out where I was. (Photo: Black tipped reef shark - Kadidiri, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

While at Kadidiri Paradise I got ten dives in, all at different places, and every one different in its own way. It was great getting up close to the coral, looking in the tiny nooks and crannies, spotting the little critters. And yes, my buoyancy is good enough to get real close without risking damage to the coral. I saw some lovely nudibrachs, flat worms, and minute polycheates. But the wall dives were my favourite, just for the overall effect. Immense underwater scenes, superb cliff formations, and the chance to see some of the more impressive beasties. We did see a napoleon wrasse, but that was the most impressive sized creature we saw, everything else was on the small scale. But it’s not just how impressive the sea life is, it’s the whole experience. Weightlessness is sheer poetry, with spot on buoyancy it’s as close as you could get to being in space. In fact you are, in inner space, rather than outer space. You don’t need to fin, there’s no need for correction, can you imagine jumping out a plane and not falling. (Photo: Flying lizard - Kadidiri, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

A couple of us had a lot more experience than the others diving, other than Gonzag the instructor. We both got some free dives by accompanying near novices. It was a chance for Gonzag to give all his attention on those who needed it most. Other than that Janique and I buddied up, it made for stress free diving, neither of us needed to worry about the other, we set our own pace and let the others race ahead. Our first 40m dive was awesome, we did a few at that depth, eventually taking a couple of others on their first dive of that depth. Though that was my worst dive, I used a different regulator, which sucked in water. I was meant to be leading the dive and concentrating on so much at one time reduced my own pleasure, For our 50m dive I was on it for personal pleasure only, but it wasn’t a difficult dive for that depth, only a quick swim through a crack starting at 42m with an exit no lower than 52m, if you squeezed through as low as you could. (Photo: Fidhal, my little friend - Kadidiri, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

Relaxing on an evening I'd often be joined by a young lad, Fidhal, who'd jabber Bahasa at me. Any time I managed to actually repeat his words he'd compliment me with obvious glee. And to be honest I never tired of his unintelligible words.

But diving was certainly the focal point of my stay at Kadidiri, there was only one day I didn’t dive. There were even words about possible involvement on a paid level, if only I were to hang around for long enough. I’m not interested though, I really enflamed my old passion for diving, but as before I want to do it for pleasure, not money. In all honesty the level of incompetence of many casual divers is shocking, putting in a couple of dives every couple of years will never improve your skill level. There again I’m lucky, I logged a high number of them continuously for a decade. I’ve just had a four year break, but was still one of the most conservative when it came to sucking my tank dry. For me, I still needed a few dives to fine tune my buoyancy, and my air consumption would improve if I was fitter. If I wasn’t plagued by cramps from having dodgy hamstrings it would improve. The most important thing here though, is just how wonderful I found my rediscovery of diving. (Photo: Blue tailed skink, I think - Kadidiri, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

Travelling has become tiring. Don't get me wrong, I'm not fed up with it, just weary of the hassle of organising transport and hotels. Lethargy rules, I don't want to look for yet another hotel, negotiate with yet another taxi driver. On the flip side of the coin though, I can't imagine trying to lead a mundane life either.

Sailing through Sulawesi

An endless expanse of total darkness engulfed my world, punctuated by widespread flickers of distant lightening. As dusk had encroached on the ferry’s watery world dense clouds descended, obscuring the twinkling of heavenly delights. It seemed set to mark a passage beset by squalls of water from every which way, a lumpy passage at best, gut wrenching if the increasing wind continued. Fortunately it proved a localised storm, it came and went in the blink of an eye. On a calm and tranquil ocean our sluggish leviathan laboured ever onwards, under a moonlit sky, filled with a million glittering stars. Casting my eyes upon the swell from our blunted prow, I marveled at the electric sparkles streaking along our bow-wave. Phosphorescence glistened in the frothing spume, a miniature Milky Way created in our watery wake. Forgotten was the deep throb of our marine diesels, the hubbub of wailing karaoke and the combined stench of foul latrines and dirty exhaust fumes. I rode on a contented wave of silent appreciation of nature’s beautiful response to human interruption. (Photo: Kids working the traffic queues - Makassar, South Sulawesi, Indonesia)

It was a slow and laborious ferry that took me across the ocean from Flores to Sulawesi, but it was far from tedious. Apart from the natural delights, haphazard attempts to engage me in conversation helped pass the time. It also helped procure a ride with a bunch of students, at local prices, in their pre-arranged minibus. Turning out to be no more than a 7-seater people carrier, we still managed to squeeze in ten passengers, such is the way in Indonesia. Nor was the ferry destined for Makassar as claimed at the port, hence the need for further transportation. I’m only glad I wasn't a victim of the extortionate prices levied for Boulay, which is a rare pleasure indeed when having to make private transport arrangements in this volcanic archipelago. That’s proved to be the most tiresome aspect of travel through Indonesia, they’ll unashamedly misinform you and rip you off, knowing your options are limited they are quick to exploit the fact. (Photo: Weird and wacky island formations - Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

In southern Sulawesi commerce seems to centre on marine life and coconuts. The coast is lined by fishing hamlets consisting of rickety shacks and drying racks. Tiny whitebait are dried en-masse upon bamboo platforms, baby barracuda and wrasse hang from racks, and tuna, from little more than bite size to giants, sold fresh. Saltwater inlets feed man-made lakes, extensive fish farms, circulating clean seawater with the tide. The inland side of the road consists of a mix between brick and wooden built homes, not the hovels of the poor folk but substantial houses of intricate design. Their gable ends culminate in geometric wing designs, with double sloped roofs, higher pitched in the middle for better air circulation. Unlike the fishing shacks they are well presented, fresh coats of paint, balconies adorned with latticework and hanging pot-plants. For the humble fishing folk their utility time is spent maintaining their boats, when not out to sea they lavish their attention on decorating their vessels. (Photo: Boys having fun on wrecked ferry - Wakai, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

Makassar is the southern capital and the largest city in Sulawesi. Whilst not favouring high rises it gives a false impression of being smaller than it actually is, but the urban sprawl spreads over a large area. Shopping malls are, like most modern Asian cities, becoming more popular. Outside their entrances a confusion of taxis, motorised tri-shaws and cyclos, their pedal driven equivalents, vie for custom. It appears that many of the drivers have invested their whole lives in their vehicles. They eat, work and sleep in their mobile workplace, often with the family whiling away the hours on the pavement from where they base their operations. Kids weave in and out of traffic, hands held out for the chance of spare cash. If money isn’t forthcoming they’re almost as happy to receive empty coke cans or plastic bottles, any little thing that has some redeemable cash value. None of these street dwellers are pushy or overly demanding, their energy and happy countenance is contagious. (Fadhila Cottages beach - Pangempa Island, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

Little time was spent in Makassar, I was impatient to reach the Togian Islands; for me they marked the finishing point of my overland journey. Within 24 hours I managed to sleep, locate the central bus terminal, book a ticket and settle into my reclining seat for the overnight ride to Palopo. The road through Sulawesi is notoriously long and increasingly rough going. I wanted it over in one foul swoop, so I could lie back on a secluded island and watch the world go by, a well deserved rest after many months of being on the move. For me Indonesia, in many ways, has been the hardest place to appreciate. I expected more from it and found myself disappointed with the many forms of extortion. Its transport infrastructure is basic to say the least, and many people capitalise on this. It makes tourists a prime target, mainly because time is often of the essence to them. I’m sure a solid grounding in Bahasa would negate such problems, but try as I might I’ve only managed to grasp the basics. (Photo: A glorious sunset to welcome me to Fadhila Cottages - Pangempa Island, Togeans Islands, Sulawesi)

However much I bitch about locals taking advantage of tourists I must concede that the police are even worse. They make little effort in any form to uphold the law, their position as law enforcement officers seems solely a means to relieve all and sundry of their hard earned cash. Checkpoints are regular occurrences, supposedly to scrutinise ID and vehicle documents. They are no more than an opportunity to extort bribes, I didn’t see a single document inspected. A simple procedure is followed; drivers slip a Rupee note amongst the document, it’s removed and they’re free to proceed, nothing else is looked at in the process. When dropped off at one such checkpoint, to wait for my on-going lift, the officer tried demanding 200,00Rp from me, supposedly for the lift I’d already paid for. He seemed surprised when I poured scorn on his clumsy attempt, even more so when I set off by foot rather than be subject to his ‘help’ in finding me the appropriate lift. He said it would cost 150,000Rp, I paid 70,000Rp. (Photo: Bajo houseboat - Katupat, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

And so for the first time I’ve booked a plane ticket, to get me from Sulawesi back to Kuala Lumpur. It will be the first leg of my return to Europe. If I expected a sense of elation, it wasn’t to be. It should have been, having come from Wales to Sulawesi without a single flight. Unfortunately it was marred by the discovery that I’d been robbed, for the second time since leaving home. Opening my document case, I casually flipped over the inner flap, only to find no money there at all. No 3,000,000Rp, no $50; a total loss of nearly £250. I was gutted, absolutely flabbergasted, and clearly to mind came the event of waking from the overnight bus journey and finding my day-pack misplaced. I only gave it a quick once over, everything seemed in place, document case, camera, iPhone; if only I’d checked fully. Of course, the last thing you want to do in public is expose a large amount of cash from the darkest recesses of your luggage. I’m only glad I’m in the habit of dividing my money, stashing it in a couple of different places. It does however leave me very short of cash for the islands, where there are no ATMs, no chances to obtain more cash. But I still have my debit card, my passport and all my electronic gadgetry, others have not been so lucky. (Photo: Flurry of fish escaping predators - Off Katupat village, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

Despite my mood plummeting, I wasn’t about to turn tail and run away. These islands have been my goal for many months, why should I let one unhappy instance rob me of my dreams? Have faith, trust in life! I still have my health, and my wits, I’ll muddle through somehow.

Fadhila Cottages, on a tiny island in the middle of the Togian Islands, first came recommended nearly 8 yrs ago. I guess since then it’s been kept in mind for a future visit. A secluded island paradise is how it was first described, and for once it wasn’t a let down. There’s nothing else on the island except the guesthouse, which is just as well as there’s little room for anything else. For the eternally restless it could be described as boring, for a weary traveler it’s perfect for winding down. The journey through Indonesia has often proved frustrating, but once on board the ferry from Ampana the outside world slid slowly away. Uninhabited islands dotted the way, often little more than a lump of rock on a sandbar. We saw more flying fish than fishermen, there was a distinct lack of settlements. Very few islands are close enough to supplies of freshwater to make occupation viable. I must admit, it took a few days to settle in, but that was more a sign of how cheesed off I was at losing so much money. (Photo: Air breathing mud skipper - Pangempa Island, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

How is it possible to remain disgruntled though? By 9.30pm the generator stops, leaving the whole island in a darkened slumber. All is still, all is quiet, only the gentle sounds of nature at rest remain to lull you into peaceful tranquility. Waves lap lazily onto the shore, a few metres from my doorstep. The rising moon silhouettes drooping palms, the stars twinkle through their fronds. Rustling in the undergrowth suggests animals on their nocturnal wanderings. The flickering glow of fire-flies trace their haphazard flight through the foliage. An occasional chirrup of insects joins the subtle noises of night-time. There is nothing to break the spell, no background rumble of traffic, no pounding dance beats of late night revelers. My world is one at rest, undisturbed by the chaos of the outside world. This is the magnet that has drawn me here, this is reward enough for months of travel. It’s too easy to find fault in the mayhem of the modern world, this is just what I was in need of. It may not be perfect, but it’s pretty damned close. (Photo: Romantic sunset - Pangempa Island, Togean Islands, Sulawesi)

A day to celebrate

Cai’s birthday was one of the truly great days of my life. However, no matter how hard I strive to view it as a time of celebration, my heart keens to share it with him in person. It can’t all be about loss though, there has to be a time celebrate the magnificent times we once shared, and what better day than the one that marks his birth. This year I came so close to bailing out of participating in the day at all. I had a restless night, disturbed by awful dreams concerning a nightmare scenario between Cai and myself. None of it was based on reality, but it sure rocked my boat. Since his death I’ve not had a single negative dream involving him. There’s been plenty, but they’ve been a joy to have, of a nature that could easily lull me into eternal sleep. Hardly surprising then that this one hit me so hard! Awake by 4am, I convinced myself to make excuses and refrain from the planned activities for the day. I’m glad that option shamed my inner self, from somewhere I found I had a bit more gumption. (Photo: Dive livaboard – Flores, Indonesia)

OK, it wasn’t quite that simple, my sleepless night was worsened by fretting about the diving on the day’s itinerary. This area is renowned for the current that sweeps through between the islands, and it worried me. My limited experience of snorkeling since my accident had seen me getting cramps all too quick. Using my normal fins in Cuba was murderous, a pair of short fins in Cambodia allowed more time before my hamstrings clamped tight. I used to be a relaxed diver, taking little effort to propel myself where I needed going. There are times though when more forceful finning is required, like in a strong current. I don’t mind admitting I was concerned, the last thing I wanted was to get into difficulties in such circumstances. Again, from some unknown depth (if you’ll pardon the pun) I found a need to face my fears. The worst that could have happened was that I was swept away from the boat, I’m sure it wouldn’t have gone unnoticed. (Photo: Nature’s own fisherman – Amongst the Islands off Flores, Indonesia)

Practicing what you preach isn’t always the easy way through life, but it’s a damned good ethic to follow. So bleary eyed and with slight trepidation I met the gang and away we went. Leaving open the option of one or two dives seemed wise, there was meant to be good snorkeling to be had anyway. So with the usual delays of getting a large group coordinated we set off an hour later than planned, and sailed out into a beautiful sunny day. Everyone was in high spirits, and I kept my worries under my hat. It’d been a joy sharing past diving experiences with the others, I secretly wished I’d played it down a touch, though was honest in admitting I’d not dived for four long years. I buddy-ed up with Michelle, one of the Italian instructors. Who kindly reminded me of many small points, all of which were of little concern to me. It wasn’t that I’d forgotten anything, but I did warn him I tended to get cramp easy. (Photo: There be dragons – Ritu Island, Indonesia)

Our first dive was off Manta Point, and yes, we were expecting to see Manta Rays. The plan was to drift with the current, if we saw Mantas we’d stay put by staying low, thus avoiding the main drag of the current. Sounds easy and generally it was. A few minutes of relaxing into the dive and everything felt cool, finning was largely unnecessary, until we saw our first Manta. Hanging back a bit to keep in touch with my buddy I didn’t get the best of views of it. Not that you could miss it, visibility was fair, simply that I didn’t manage to get as close as some of the others. By then my buddy was fading into the distance, while the main group were getting a fair way ahead. I hung back to play the responsible diver, never lose sight of your buddy. But when I realised he was off exploring with one of his fellow divers from home I left them to it and caught up with the rest. We saw two more Mantas, both of which I had a grandstand view of. I was one of the last group to surface, my sir consumption had been one of the better ones of the whole group. I also got to snorkel around another Manta for a prolonged time at the end of the dive. (Photo: Komodo Dragon in threat mode – Ritu Island, Indonesia)

(Photo: The gangs spells KOMODO - Ritu Island, Indonesia)

The second dive was deeper and much more colourful. Again I was one of the better ones for air consumption, not the best, but far from the worst. We saw turtles and a fantastic array of colourful fish and coral, yet again the snorkeling after was wonderful, spending a protracted time free diving with a turtle. And then it was off the see the Komodo Dragons, unfortunately that was a slight disappointment. Not a waste of time, but not really to best of natural events. A group of fat lazy dragons hung around at the village, we were told to take as many photos of them as we felt like, there’s be little chance of seeing any on our hike. To be honest it felt like a set-up, though the rangers claimed they weren’t fed. I can’t for the life of me imagine any other reason they’d hang around people, or be so placid, they were obviously well fed. But it was worth seeing them, they are an impressive sight, even in sluggish mode. (Photo: Your's truly, Lotty, a 78yr old local, and Greg – Aboard the dive boat, off Flores Indonesia)

Island hopping

Ok, I now admit that not all of Bali is a filthy dirt infested hellhole. Leaving the place took me across the central region and it was much improved. A long steady climb took me to the volcanic spine that divides the country in two. The drive up was through pretty rugged terrain, steep wooded slopes led up to the crest of the volcanoes. The roads were a lot quieter than on either of the coastlines, and the land was very natural. Not a lot of agriculture appeared, what did was bits and pieces of rice terracing. Generally though it maintained a natural, undisturbed, look. Housing in villages were largely of modern materials, block and concrete, whilst in the country more were of unadorned wood. So not the whole of the island is a tourist wonderland, this did change once we crossed the crest of the ridge and started to descend into the southern half of the island. (Photo: Fishing ketches – Off the Bali coast)

The island transformed itself almost as soon as we started to descend. Terraces of rice paddy filled the frame, while the distant hills remained wooded and natural. The road is the lifeline of the island, there aren’t many other ways to travel. I’d see small dirt tracks in villages but little sign that they went very far. At first an occasional shrine would sit at the roadside. These weren’t the little personal ones seen everywhere, but small complexes that looked old and interesting. It would appear more people than me saw them in this light because to attracted a steady stream of foreign visitors. As we got ever closer to Ubud the number of tourists increased, along with the number of apparent ancient shrines. However their authenticity might be in some doubt, it seemed that many manufacturers specialize in producing moss and lichen covered replicas. (Photo: Sunset on the ocean – Strait between Bali and Lombok)

Ubud itself filled me with a sense of revulsion for the town’s complete sellout to the flood of western tourists. There’s a glut of Hindu iconography, and I’m sure much of it is very old. But why the residents add to it with mockups of the original shrines is beyond me. What attraction is there to see fake turrets and statues atop modern stores and private garages? I’d like to say who wants to stay in a town that is predominantly filled with hotels and restaurants. If you can’t sleep there or eat there you can buy a profusion of tourist trinkets or ethnic clothes made in Thailand. I had high hopes as we approached the centre, unfortunately they were soon dashed as the reality hit me. Don’t get wrong, if you’ve got a limited and little energy to seek out the real flavour of a place Bali will suite you. But it is busy, it smacks of commercialism, and you will be approached by a relentless deluge of hawkers and touts. (Photo: Lombok countryside – Lombok Island)

So in all honesty I was glad to watch Bali slowly dwindle into an obscure blob on the horizon. In fact the scenery from the ferry was rather splendid. Watching the sailing boats scudding across the water, ragged fishermen plying their trade, was quite enchanting. It was a view of unspoilt life, life as it has been for centuries, and it filled my heart with wonder. I felt privileged to watch these honest fisher folk going about their daily task of handling their lateen sailed vessels under a dying sun. For the first time in weeks I bumped into other travelers, at least people who were taking the more complex routes by public transport. It sort of happened coincidentally that four Italian divers were heading along the same route as me. It proved to be the start of some great experiences, both good and questionable. Once established, our group seemed to attract a growing number of very like-minded people. (Photo: Where rain doesn’t stop play – Sumbawa, Indonesia)

There’s two sides to travelling in a group. First there’s an advantage in bargaining power, second you attract so much more attention to the sharks of this world. I’m sure big bucks ooze from the presence of four or more tourists, it certainly seemed the case where transport was concerned. As we were all heading for Flores, it made sense to share transport costs or use higher numbers to increase our bargaining power. It was partially successful. At a fairly dingy guesthouse, close to the port in Lombok, we took every available room. It didn’t get us a discount but deciding to use a Bemo (shared minibus) for our exclusive use wasn’t exhorbitant. We drove such a hard bargain they first took us to the nearest city and tried getting us onto a bus across the island. We refused and stuck to our guns, so they eventually honoured our original deal and took us the whole way. And that’s how Lombok passed for us, a blur of heavy traffic as most of it overtook our very slow driver. (Photo: Fishing launches with outriggers – Sumbawa, Indonesia)

Having come to severely question the decision not to catch a ferry straight from Jakarta to Makassar, in Sulawesi, I’ve ploughed through the islands between Java and a suitable ferry port further east to catch an ocean liner to Makassar. Each island has held a veritable treasure of promise, every one is different, each holds its own particular attraction. But you largely miss this when skipping through one after another. The strongest experience found island hopping has actually been the company of those I’ve met along the way. Ferries are frequent, if not entirely reliable, between each island. It’s provided a perfect meeting ground for like minded people, using public transport to island hop is by no means the easiest means of travelling here, so it takes a slightly more adventurous type to bother. That suited me fine, by the time we reached Flores our group was nine strong. We consisted of Italians, Swiss and Brits. (Photo: Leaving Port – Sumbawa, Indonesia)

Our last ferry crossing started as a scorching hot day, it frazzled me within half an hour. But then the rain came down, and didn’t it just pour. Luckily the sea didn’t get any rougher, the crossing remained relatively calm and we simply huddled under the captain’s awning to avoid a thorough soaking. And that’s the weather that welcomed us to Flores. As we shivered and sheltered on the dock hiring a minibus between us was a logical choice, it was only 15p each. At least we all saw the funny side as the vehicle stopped after only 30m, “Gardena Hotel” called the driver. Now for the tricky part, procuring enough rooms for us all, what if they couldn’t accommodate such a large number. They could though, just. Then the advantage of the group came into effect, it wasn’t a large discount but it was a discount all the same. All of us had experienced fairly harrowing times on the way here, despite being dirty and tired our first impulse was to order a large round of beer, sit down and begin a long night of merry making. (Photo: Oceanic Volcano – Between Sumbawa and Flores, Indonesia)

And so began a few days of absolute mayhem and drunken enthusiasm. With he addition of another three girls we booked two seperate days of boat trips, but thats another story altogether.

And lastly, Last but by no means least: A very HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAI. It's proved as difficult as ever to accept the loss of his life. It's been four and a half years now but I still miss him as much as ever. (Photo: A rather charming smile, dimples and all

Paradise Lost

Gleeming crescents of golden sand, crystal clear blue tinged sea, fringed by swaying palm trees. Quiet tree lined avenues, through green and fertile land, leading to such idyllic coves are the pictures conjured up by myths of Bali. These would be my perfect picture of paradise, what a shame the reality is so far from the legend. Luckily I’d been warned, I hadn’t expected too much. In fact I had little intention to linger overly long, without flying the only easy passage was skirt around Bali. Every person I’ve met with recent experience of Bali has warned me off the place. They told me it was overdeveloped, the people tended to be lazy and more interested in your money than you as a person. It’s a party place I was told, banging music and drunken crowds of young Aussies prevail. Despite all this I couldn’t bring myself to pass through without giving it without seeing for myself. So forewarned I did some research and chose to restrict myself to the quieter north coast, thereby missing the crowds, avoiding the noisy hub of tourism here. (Photo: Approaching Bali - Bali ferry, Indonesia)

Mist laden volcanoes arose through the distant haze as the ferry approached the island. Wooden slopes descended towards a coast lined by narrow bars of golden sand, it provided an enchanted vision, the promise of paradise. Disembarking at the port was onto an orderly dockside, intricate stelae gave it a lovely old world type charm. Friendly smiles from port security greeted us, welcoming us warmly to Bali. And as I’ve found in the rest of Indonesia everyone was polite and helpful, “please sir, the bus terminal is that way”. I was even lead to the bus by a very obliging guy, who also acted as interpreter for me, he only skimmed 5,000 rupiah off the fare for the privilege. But it was only 35p, which is little in the grand scheme of my travels, it often helps to lessen the hassle. All that was left for me to do once on the bus was to explain exactly where in Lovina I wanted dropping. That I can easily do in Indonesian, so I was on my way, comfortable in the knowledge I’d be notified when we got to the right place. (Up to his neck in fish - North coast of Bali, Indonesia)

The north coast is renowned for being the quieter route in Bali, so I’m really glad I chose that one. It was busy, to say the least. Most villages caused a traffic snarl-up, and there were plenty of them. Motorbikes would weave in and out of the heavier vehicles, into the path of oncoming traffic, down the verge on the wrong side and through pedestrians on the sidewalk. On the open road traffic thinned slightly, but the impatience honking of horns accompanied us all the way. I’d imagined the road to provide constant views of coastline, which it rarely did. Trees formed an impenetrable barrier between village at first, after an hour or so they thinned out and more could be seen of the terrain. Maize was the common crop, with virtually no sign of rice until halfway round the island. Even in coconut groves it would be grown between the palms. But most the land stood bare, a rough wasteland with an occasional cow grazing. In fact there were actually more cows in evidence than I’d seen in Java, which is strange because Bali is predominantly Hindu whereas Java is Muslim. (Photo: A long way from paradise - Lovina beach, Bali)

All I can say about the beach area of Lovina is negative, if this is the better part of Bali I don’t want to see any more. At the head of the beach it’s wall to wall guesthouses, 50m deep. It’s off-season so they aren’t too expensive yet, but food is still far more than in Java. When the tide is in there is nothing left but 3m of sand between the water and guesthouses. Of the water itself, it’s a garbage dump; bottles, plastic bags, household items, even bags full of rubbish floating half submerge. I walked miles today litter is strewn everywhere, I can only assume the whole island is the same. The people are very friendly, but the hassle to buy, ride, eat, drink, etc, etc is nonstop. I maintain my ethic of not ignoring people, giving them the time of day, but it’s trying my patience. I don’t want to go anywhere near the beach area, I can’t even sit and read in peace, not even for five minutes. (Photo: Hindu deity - Anturan, Bali)

There are plenty of interesting Hindu deities depicted in cement, lots of very ornamental arches and gateways. I also know of some worthwhile sites inland. But it isn’t enough to make up for the constant drone of traffic, the hassle from hawkers and touts. If you can classify this as paradise you need to broaden your horizons. On second thoughts, no, enjoy it. That way it leaves the truly wonderful places for those who are more deserving. Maybe if I felt I had more time I would explore further rather than write off the whole island, but Sulawesi beckons and that is where I most want to spend time.

Succour for Sukamade

However relaxed Yogyakarta may have been, it was still a relief to leave. The train there had passed through a lot of green and fertile land, and I do love watching the peasants up to their knees in mud, hard at work in their conical hats. This time the backdrop was mountain peaks shrouded in mist, or I should really say volcanic peaks. Unfortunately it was mist not sulfurous outpourings, that would have added a touch of excitement eh? Yet again I was impressed by the enormous variety of crops grown in any one place. Whilst I can recognize many of the crops I’m by no means an expert, some I thought were beans from a distance turned out to be cucumbers close up. At least my sometimes pitiful attempts do manage to give an indication of the diversity in agriculture here. Flat land is invariably dominated by rice, but only just in East Java, and large areas are by no means flat. (Photo: Dracula out in daylight - Suragang, East Java)

A jumbled uneven land limited distant views within a short time of leaving the city. It was too rough to create sweeping terraces of rice, what was grown was in small flat plots, between lumpy mounds. Not much land was wasted though, however rough the land became someone was managing to grow something there, if anything there was even more diversification. Smallholdings seemed the order of the day, wooden homes nurtured individual compounds, growing such a wide ranging assortment of fruit and veg it’s hard to see how they could fail to have a rich and healthy diet. However rough the terrain became someone was successfully growing one form of food or another. OK, there were more natural areas of woodland, which in itself is quite valuable. Wood is the main source of fuel to cook with, so a local supply is essential; it gets to be prohibitively expensive if shipped into the area. There was no evidence of wholesale clearing of the woodland though, everything appeared well balanced. (Photo: Caught in the open - Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Before too long the land settled down, becoming either flatter or more uniformly hilly, therefore more suitable for rice terracing. There were large areas of paddy but it didn’t dominate to the extent it generally does, maize and sugar cane were grown a few acres at a time. Rarely did I see unbroken swathes of mature rice heavy with grain, always a significant part of the arable scene featured corn or cane. Little of the work is yet mechanised, and there was no sign of animals either. It’s the wrong time of year to see oxen ploughing, but I saw a tiny tractor harvesting rice. There were a a lot groups of peasants cropping huge areas by hand, that was being done communally, so I assume they help each other out. Depending on which country, or even which region, the ethics of harvesting change. Of course in the farming collectives of China everyone pitches in for everything, there is no private ownership, of land or the produce. That isn’t the case in Java, it could be a case of receiving a portion of what you help harvest, or giving others the same sort of help they give you. (Photo: Heading back to sea - Sukamade, East Java)

For the first time the concept of a modern housing estate has been spotted. Modern as in western looking, and of uniform construction, row upon row of them, each group may have been slightly different but within their immediate environs exactly the same. More individual, bigger, and more elaborate houses flanked these. Like in the UK, where exclusivity wants to make a show of that privilege, which it can do really well by being within sight of the mundane and boring. And then there are the newly built village houses; rough and ready, of sloppy construction with no paint or even render. They’re not made to look good or impress anyone, they’re made to live in, fullstop. Which is a vast improvement on the shitholes many others live in, the railtrack dwellers, in their unbroken chain of grubby, grimey hovels. Coming into Surabaya city are some of the worst I’ve seen, it is terraced housing at it’s most terrible, if you lean out the train door you could almost knock on their windows. (Photo: Second nest of eggs for the night - Sukamade, East Java)

A nine hour wait for a connection in Surabaya was a drag, but had to be done; at least it gave me a 5am start from Banyuwangi. From there I was faced with a convoluted journey by minibus, bus, truck and motorbike taxi. At the end of that I’d hoped to finally reach the Merubetiri National Park, and a turtle project at Sukamade. This is off the beaten track, getting there is pretty much a hit and miss affair. At first my luck was in, I managed to find a bus going directly to Pessangaran. The hope from there was for a truck which goes into the national park once a day, and I got there in plenty of time. Trying to jump the gun I found another minibus going half the way there, I figured I could still get the truck from there if nothing else turned up. Sure enough, on reaching Suranang I was still hours ahead of the truck and in a position where I could afford to turn down the extortionate quotes for a bike taxi. With a four hour wait I was too restless to sit still for so long, so decided to start hiking in. (Photo: Odd looking critter - Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Boy was it hot, and the first 5km was out in the open sun at mid-day. My presence pounding the broken tarmac at the heat of the day raised more than a few eyebrows. It also raised many a smile, and enquiries as to where I was going. They were kind about it, but obviously thought I was mad. A park ranger kindly gave me a lift the last km to the park gates; damn I thought he was going the whole way. He did offer to, but at a rate even more extortionate than the privateers from town. So with my full pack on, and daypack strapped to my front, I stubbornly set off again. It was bloody tough going, and that was at the start. Ironically I couldn’t have chosen a better method to get through the park. Not a single man made sound reached my ears, I heard nothing but the chittering of monkeys, bird calls and various insect noises. Before I ever saw them the monkeys would leap between trees, only the crashing of brush alerted me to their presence. Expert at hide and seek they stay perfectly still behind a cluster of leaves, peeking out now and again to check me out. If I pointed my camera in their direction they were off, as quick as a shot. Often the whole tree would awaken with a flurry of movement as a large troupe took flight. I got to thinking they were merely playing games with me, but in truth they are so shy it seems plain how unused to humans they are. (Photo: Caught in mid-jump - Sukamade, Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

By the end of the 20km hike I was fit to drop, my calves were knotted lumps of muscle, my knees creaked in protest, and my hamstrings were as taut as bowstrings. I could barely find the energy to eat I was so knackered, after an unappetising bowl of plain fried rice I slumped and fell fast asleep. Only to be woken at 8.30pm by the guide for the nightly hunt for turtles on the beach. Sukamade is a special place, it’s renowned for high numbers of turtles coming to lay their eggs. There’s an astonishing amount, we sat and watched two excavate a nest and lay their eggs. The following day I wandered the length of the beach and lost count of the trails left by visiting turtles. How well run the project was impressed me, there is plenty of evidence of disturbed nests, but almost every night the staff collect hundreds of eggs for their hatchery. I do have thoughts on whether artificial hatching and release interfere with the natural process for the turtle to imprint the beach’s location and successfully return. No-one knows such things yet, and the crux of the matter is it’s better than leaving them to get predated, whether by animal or thieving poachers. (Photo: Hauling out the boat - Rajegwesi, Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Being an issue so close to my heart I gave a hefty donation when I left after two days. I had a great time there, though the food was atrocious and the facilities basic at best. The whole park is damned near deserted, and a pain to get to, unless you hire private transport. Neither on the way in or on my way out truck never actually turned up. Rain stops play apparently, though in all honesty the track in is so murderous it had me tripping and stumbling on my own two feet. Leaving, two local guys took me, and my overweight pack, out on their bikes. Our combined weight was too much for one bike, it kept bottoming out and lacked power to climb the steep cobbled trail. I’m glad they offered though, their price was so cheap I nearly doubled it, I could hardly believe they’d made it.But they did in amazing style, and dropped me in the very capable hands of a guy called Poer, the co-ordinator of a newly developing eco-tourism project in the village of Rajegwesi, not far into the park. Spending a few hours there was too little, but gave me enough of a glimpse to see it’s potential for anyone who wants to see a part of unspoilt Java. So far there is no tourism there at all, they’re in the process of preparing their first five Homestays in time for April. The beach is wonderful, it stretches endlessly away from the village. A variety of trips can be arranged and you’re more than welcome to visit the backyard sugar factories, wander through the paddy fields or help the fishermen haul their boats onto the beach (though I wouldn’t expect the same fee as the locals for doing so). I know this place isn’t easy to get to, but I’d recommend it to anyone, it’s worth the effort. Their emphasis is on charging normal prices and opening their arms in welcome to foreign tourists. There is as much or as little as you’d like, the national park is perfect for hikes, distant beaches can be reached by boat, and you can even camp there in total privacy. (Photos: Village life - Rajegwesi, Merubetiri National Park, East Java)

Jubilant in Java

With great pleasure I escaped the mega mayhem of Jakarta, I can’t understand how various friends have put up with living in that place for prolonged periods of time.But it does hold a certain interest, and the people are unbelievably friendly. Wherever I went I was greeted with pleasant words and friendly smiles. For a city of over 10 million people that’s saying something! It’s so unlike London, where you’re lucky to even catch someone’s attention, let alone get any response from them. An interesting difference on public transport in Jakarta is the areas designated for “Ladies Only”. On buses and trains they tend to be the front end of the carriage, while the rear section is for mixed occupation. It raises some interesting questions on the topic of sexual equality, especially considering the views towards women in Muslim society; they have the best of both worlds in this one aspect of life. I didn’t realize the first time I boarded a bus and wondered why the hell I was being ushered to the rear of the bus. It’s Ok, I can handle being a down trodden male! (Photo: Ridge and furrow method of growing mixed crops - West Java)

Leaving the city eventually relied on public transport yet again. After making enquiries it didn’t seem a straight forward matter of finding a used bike dealer and buying a cheap machine. The only advice given was to walk about and ask people, motorcycle hire shops for example. And the only price bracket I was given was in the region of £600, way too high for a what I wanted. Maybe I could have found a cheaper deal, but I wasn’t prepared to loiter any longer than absolutely necessary. I wanted out of the mayhem, to get back on the road again, by whatever means. Of course the temptation was to get as far away as possible, yet I wasn’t ready to do one continuous long haul journey, straight through Java. Picking a few suggested destinations the choice was made, Yogyakarta, halfway down the island and within striking distance of some highly recommended religious sites. (Photo: A well earned rest - Rural East Java)

Once more I plumped to go by rail. For me it’s a soft option, you have freedom of movement and your own allotted seat. There’s few means of travel that give the excitement of hanging out an open door at 60mph or so, snapping photos of unspoilt countryside. Of course it does depend on the areas you pass through, but even if it’s grotty areas you aren’t subjected to direct confrontation with the grime and filth, which is somehow pleasant too. And that was the case leaving Jakarta, the city and its suburbs went on forever, I was so glad not to be on a bike sat in the noisy, polluted midst of it all. Miles of corrugated iron shanties lined the tracks, the roofs had no break between structures, there were acres of unbroken rusty iron facing the sky. Now and again their frontage would boast ponds of standing water, choked with pondweed, oily from the residue on the surface. It was a far cry from the scene found in tourist-ville, open sewers were still the norm and piles of waste littered the trackside. (Photo: Pristine rice terracing - Entering Central Java)

The first sight of rice paddies brought hope that the urban degradation was over, but these proved little more than brief corridors between more urban squalor. My assumption was that successive towns were gradually spreading out as the populations of each grew in size. All were industrial towns, commercial compounds surrounded residential areas, intruding upon the agricultural boundaries, no doubt at the expense of fertile land. For a long time it looked as though it was one continuous metropolis, but I don’t think so. A thin ribbon of dilapidated housing lined the tracks, as seems the case in many poorly developed countries. Behind would be little more than a road, maybe supporting a ragged line of stalls scratching a meagre living from passing traffic. Most of these houses were dirty and squalid, surrounded by bare earth scratched clean by chickens in their endless pursuit of food. There wasn’t any room between them for personal vegetable plots, though occasionally bananas grew close by. In fact trees were common, my ID skills are severely lacking but mangoes, lychees, rambutans and tamerind are fairly ubiquitous. (Photo: Country lanes on the bike - Back track between Yogyakarta and Borobudur, Central Java)

Even when we left the large towns behind houses tended to be clustered together in tight groups, at the edge of large expanses of ride paddy. And they large, flat, verdant green expanses, stretching to the far horizon, under an azure sky. How quick that lifted my spirits, an empty landscape of vivid colour, the only sign of life peasants in conical hats, often up to their knees in mud. Unlike the urban corridors these were not unbroken fields of paddy, smaller plots being segregated by boundaries of earthen banks. It’s easier to maintain a controlled and equal level of water, though here there were no signs of shortage. Irrigation canals carried a steady flow of water, breaches in the earth defenses kept each individual paddy field at the desired level. Of various sizes and shapes it wasn’t easy to tell the basis of ownership, it didn’t look communal. Individuals tended their own fields, yet the irrigation must have been a communal effort, it was evidently dredged by hand and fed everyone’s paddy. (Photo: Hello ducky - Back track between Yogyakarta and Borobudur, Central Java)

Far from being a monoculture the crops varied significantly. Beginning as single bamboo canes, planted in the narrow dividing walls of the paddy, beans were grown as a by-product. As we progressed into the heart of Java separate plots were given over solely to beans, grown on ‘A’ frames. Patches of maize put in a regular appearance, as did sugar cane and a few unidentified grains and pulses. Grains tend to be grasslike, whilst pulses grow with leaves, stems and flowers (at the appropriate phase of growth). Of greater interest was the mixing of other crops with the rice paddy. Broad strips of ridge and furrow would have rice growing in the furrows while maize, cane or any variety of other food would be planted in the ridges. One foodstuff there was a noticeable absence of was livestock. I only saw ducks, which serve a triple purpose. As well as meet they lay eggs, but I think they also help keep the paddy clear of snails. (Photo: Borobudur temple - Nr Yogyakarta, Central Java)

Central Java is much more hilly, so the rice paddy was grown in narrow, steep terraces. It makes for a particularly beautiful landscape.

I guess there’s no keeping off motorbikes for long, when I discovered bikes for hire in Yogyakarta I needed no excuses. I plumped for the biggest on offer, a nearly new Honda, yes a genuine Honda, GL150. The highly recommended Buddhist site of Borobudur is some way outside the town, it can be done in a day but I decided to make an overnight trip of it so I could get in a couple of days riding. Of course I wasn’t about to ride straight there and back, instead a number of small lanes were chosen at random so, I could meander my way between the surrounding volcanoes. That raised a few eyebrows, and smiles. Everyone was utterly charming, the kids bashful but cute, their parents amazed but welcoming. I never realize how many Christian areas there were in Indonesia, before I thought it was restricted to the Lake Toba area of Sumatra. Here it isn’t so much one or the other, it’s mixed, everyone lives within the confines of the same villages, and as far as I could tell happily so. (Photo: Watching for volcanic eruption - Borobudur temple, Cetral Java)

Being reluctant to diss the Buddhist monument I must say I wasn’t overly impressed. It’s a UNESCO heritage site, and probably deserves the designation considering where it’s situated. OK, I’m totally spoilt; I’ve seen the best of the Mayan ruins, wonderful ancient Hindu monuments, gorgeous temple dedicated to Buddha and even the Potala Palace. Borobudur is claimed to be the single greatest Buddhist temple, I can only say they shouldn’t hype it so much. It’s worth seeing, it is not worth paying the extortionate price to stay at the associated hotel, nor the added cost of a sunrise or sunset viewing. If you took both of these on top of the hotel you’d be paying over £100 for 24hrs access to the site. I don’t know who writes some of these travel guides, personally I think they’re out of touch with the whole ethos of travelling, they’re writing more for the casual tourist. Horses for courses I think the saying goes. (Photo: Top level of Borobudur, each bell structure houses a stone Buddha - Nr Yogyakarta, Central Java)

It was interesting, I enjoyed wondering round the multilayered monument. Seen from afar it’s more impressive, but still not anything as dynamic as viewing Tikal from the top of Temple 4 (look it up). The reliefs are badly degraded and often mismatched, I’d still recommend seeing it if in the area, but look at the cheaper option.

Jacked off with Jakarta

A rather sudden departure from Kuala Lumpur was in itself a good thing. I’d got to wasting away the days, achieving little, seeing less. In fact the intended delight of a shopping frenzy never fully materialized. And it wasn’t for the lack of opportunity! The place it packed full with enormous shopping malls, too many in fact, you’re spoilt for choice. I couldn’t have even touched the surface, whatever the goods I had in mind. Neither was it difficult to get around, the monorail and metro systems are quick and efficient ways to get around; they’re also dirt cheap. The main drawback is the crowds, it seems that anywhere worth shopping in are packed. While the western world is undergoing a recession the east is in a spending frenzy. The amount of money I see people pulling out their pockets is unbelievable. Every bank of ATMs has a steady stream of eager shoppers punching in their number and drawing out their piles of paper. Huge wads of cash are produced when they make even quite small purchases; sometimes I wonder if it’s the show that counts. (Photo: Future of the Islands - Batam dock, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

Jakarta is no different, it’s just busier, which I didn’t think possible. Has the world gone mad, consumerism has taken over. What the west had the east is now desperate to have even more of, western goods are in high demand. The crafty thing is naming goods with similar names to quality western brands, but originals are the most desirable. They aren’t cheap either, many clothes I looked at I can buy as cheap at home. Europe may have curbed its spending spree, but Asia seems more than capable of taking over. The tide has turned, if any of you had any doubt about the up and coming financial clout of previously third world countries forget it. The decadence of architecture here is phenomenal, big shiny monstrosities litter the skyline. There’s no shortage of investment in capital cities. Transport systems are improving rapidly, mega bucks are being poured into developing the financial centre’s of these countries. And why not, we've had our chance and it seems that we failed to maintain our ever expanding capitalist ways. Who are we to deprive the rest of the world their opportunity to learn that expansion can only go so far? Remember our worlds resources are limited, it has to stop some time. (Photo: Clearing the last few loads - Batam dock, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

Having gone from one gargantuan city to another I’ve definitely had enough. Of course this is the problem of backpacking, relying on public transport, being taken from one transport hub to the next. No wonder I’ve always gone out my way to avoid cities, and it was so easy on a bike. I had half a mind to buy another bike on reaching Jakarta, I’ve given up that hope, simply because I can’t face staying here long enough to track down a machine. Second hand availability is elusive, and prices are stupid, I can buy a decent bike at home for less. Being quoted $800 for a five year old 125cc is more than I’m willing to consider. That is not a throw away machine, and I can’t face the rigmoral of trying to resell at a reasonable price. So my journey will have to continue relying on whatever transport is available. It’s time to lighten my load even more, I’m tired of carrying so much weight on my back. Out go my favourite, but ragged, teeshirts, in the bin go my faithful, but torn, Animal trousers. (Photo: As close as I wished to see Singapore - Leaving Batam, Riu Islands, Indonesia)

With the Indonesian Archipelago spread before me I’m on the last leg before I turn around and consider returning home. It may be a few months yet, and my mind isn’t exactly contemplating being back in North Wales, but I do feel the end is in sight. I’m getting even more critical of where I am and the people I meet, that’s not a good sign. Each new place I encounter takes a bit more to settle into, it’s easy when faced with beautiful beaches and relaxing amidst natural delights, or it should be. The tendency now is to notice the negative before appreciating the positive, that isn’t how I wish to travel. I’m still happy enough meeting the various people who cross my path, at least the locals anyway. It’s nice to meet other travelers now and again, but they seem to be wherever I go recently. A few days here and there with no other white face in sight, but it’s not enough. Maybe a bit more effort to get off the beaten track is needed, or maybe a better appreciation for whatever the world around has to offer would do just as well. (Photo: Training homing pigeons - Jakarta, Indonesia)

The dulcet tones drift across the rooftops, a soothing, melodic call to prayers. It beckons gently to the faithful, enticing one to enter a tranquil world, to escape the harsh realities of modern life and lose yourself in prayer. Who could resist the temptation to slip into blissful rapture? This is the promise carried on the non-existent breeze. It eases the mind, opens the heart and cleanses the soul. Suddenly an abrupt staccato shatters the peace, piercing the reverie achieved. Shouting, threatening, in direct competition with the peaceful overtures, a new crackling voice demands obeisance. Come to prayers or be damned is his message. I know which I would be drawn to, if I were so inclined. I thought worship was meant to be a heavenly endeavour, I thought it was meant to sooth the soul. How lucky that the second attempt at beckoning people to the mosque has only been heard once! It’s a pleasure to be lulled into the realms peaceful contemplation at regular intervals during the day; maybe the other Imam couldn’t handle the stress levels he invoked and blew a gasket. (Photo: Beauty within the beast - Jakarta cityscape, Indonesia)