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