Wanderlust uncovers my gypsy soul.

Its the 21st May and new country awaits....I'm excited. The start to my day is somewhat frantic when I realise my phone updated overnight and wiped my hotel booking for that evening....I had no references agggh! Resolving this puts me behind schedule and my departure for the airport is manic and I already have a challenging day ahead. I fly to Singapore and have about 30 mins to make my connecting flight to Bali...the airline staff are concerned but try to accommodate the schedule by positioning me at the front of the aircraft to let me out first so I can make a run for it. 

 The Mactan Airport in Cebu is slow and disorganised but I make it through the mayhem to the currency exchange. There's a strikingly handsome, smartly dressed young Spanish backpacker in front, I can see he's trying to change a small note but the cashier refuses to accept it. He turns cursing and as he walks away I ask him if I can help? He replies "I just needed enough to get a sandwich but SHE won't help me!". I offer him a note of around £7 to get something. (I always try to look out for the young travellers, it's not the first time I've assisted. Their always a little reckless and unprepared in their approach and travel with such low funds (practically nothing at the end of their adventure). I just figure if this was my child, I hope someone would look out for him in his 'desperate' moments (well you've got to have a little faith). The young lad (Ricardo, I later find out his name is) proudly refuses, saying "I can't take your money" thanked me with great sincerity for the gesture but insisted he'd be OK. I admired and respected his moral stance as he disappeared into the airport chaos.  

I myself however had made the mistake of carrying too much cash ...a costly mistake I've learnt with poor exchange rates. The rate offered at the only change desk would have cost me about £60 (that's 3 nights accommodation I'm thinking!) I decline and walk away disgruntled wondering how I'm going offload my Peso and manage the next leg without the correct currency. I bump into Ricardo again (he's on the same flight) and told him I'd had a similar frustrating experience at the money exchange. In an instant he whipped out his 'currency exchange app' and tells me casually these are the best rates, by changing currencies twice in one transaction I would only be 'down' £10. This lads a genius I'm thinking and off I trot and complete the transaction. Ricardo eagerly awaits my return.... "Now" I tell him "you've just saved me £50 young man, refusing breakfast is now not an option for you!" ...."OK" he beamed a big wide perfectly straight and white smile "I will never accept your money, but I would happily have breakfast with you!" ....and that's just what we did warm cheese and parma ham ciabbata rolls, coffee and a lovely conversation with a polite and dignified young stranger....isn't life just a funny and wonderful thing sometimes. 

After seven hours flying time and a brow sweating transfer I land in Bali. My booked driver can't speak a word of English....OK I say to myself, let's crack on with the charades! I manage to find some common ground when having failed with maps (I'm sure he couldn't read them) I go back to basics and shout "cafe...Starbuck's Cafe...you know... yes?" After a few minutes puzzling his face is alight as the connection is found ....phew! I tell him to drop me there as I know it's close to my hotel (research pays off once more!) it's dark as we sweep through the streets but it strikes me immediately how clean it all is. Its very different from the poor and dirty roads I left behind...there are modern cars? The police cars are fast and swish not like the steel armoured meat waggons of the Philippines. I don't know what I was expecting but I wasn't expecting this. I observe the Indian themed temples (it's Hindu Religion primarily in Bali) and traditional dress, and see hoards of hipster cafe's and surf shops heaving with Rip Curl, Billabong, Fat Face and White Linen products. A thought occurs... if Leicester and Newquay had a romance, Bali would surely be the love child! 

For me it doesn't have the grit or weathered hardship of the other countries. It's effluent, saturated in tourism and all too easy and familiarly westernised. I feel like my journeys ended...I've gone home, I'm back in the UK.... a thought that's fills my bones with dread. I decide to celebrate my arrival to Indonesia and head onto the busy 'strip' where I find a nice little bar. I overhear a conversation between two Australian friends and one of their wives. As she goes to the toilet the friend is encouraging his friend to 'ditch his wife'. He's very drunk and he continued awkwardly pursuing this lost leader for quite a while....he was adamant (and clearly jealous) she was ruining their 'bromance'! She returns after a deliberately long WC visit and they leave the bar. It's then I realise that the drunk man (who can hardly stand up) is getting on his scooter to ride home....and they are all going to let him....I can't believe it! I shout over to the proprietor "can't you stop him?,  he'll kill someone" the owner (Bugus) comes over and smiles "You jus arrive yah? i'm sorry mam dis is how it is here". An older Italian man also comes over and introduces himself as Artur (or Arthur he advises its pronounced in the UK). He opens "I lost my license in Italy for drink driving so come regularly to Bali to regain my freedom on the roads". Bugus then changing the subject quickly, casually asks me "are you going to the cremation tomorrow?" I choke on my drink, hunch forward to manage the spill and while wiping the dribble from my chin I ask him to repeat, hoping I misheard. He repeats the same so I figure i'll just go with this and I ask him the ritual process. He said each morning they burn the deceased on the beach around 11am. I'm sitting with my head spinning thinking what the *uck is this crazy place I've walked into? 

Bugus is about 5'2, slender and whilst he's Balinese he has more of a Mexican appearance to me. He has long thin wispy jet black hair tied back in a scrawny pony tail that slithers down his back. He has slits which house eyes as black as the night. He's donning black cowboy boots, piped black denim jeans a leather studded belt and a black shirt open to the navel. He has his long thin fingers with unnaturally long pointy nails in lots of pies and tries to project the image of a gangster, but I just couldn't take him seriously in this role. I took a real shine to this little mans kind nature which he so desperately tried to conceal. We talked for quite a while until the music act, a solo guitarist (Giro) Serenading the guests comes to offer some entertainment. I flick through his book and pick a Kris Offerson track....which reminds me of home. Arthur and I stay until closing listening and joining in with the guitar. This is the latest night I've had out since travelling ….and my word I paid for it the next day.

The lovely Giro serenading me with 'You Were Always on my Mind' (Willie Nelson version!)

Next day I head off to see the sights of Sanur. It's a busy little town with lots of similarities to Cornwall. The beach is broad and the waves a long distance from the shore. It's a nice place to relax and recharge your batteries. The main street is charming but the beach is underwhelming. My favourite part of my time here is observing the culture. 

Yummy street food.

My favourite snack corn on the cob...I love the spicy garlic butter...mmm!!

A typical beach ceremony, they bring offerings and display them randomly to the sea?

These poor ducks had their feet tied so they couldn't escape and formed part of the beach ceremony offering...literally sitting ducks.

Sanur Sunset

I did attend a cremation. A crude wooden "cot type' structure is constructed by the beach and the body burned in front of unemotional friends and family. Bugus had told me relatives must not show emotion. It is believed the families sorrow may draw the confused soul to stay on earth and prevent them ‘crossing over’. They believe unquestionably in reincarnation and in creating the souls peaceful transit to heaven. The ceremony was sincere, serene and peaceful. The relatives look after and observe the body throughout the process. It sounds strange but this was a really nice thing to witness, they were able to ensure respect was maintained until the end. This dignified departure really appealed to me.  

The cremation

I visit Jimbaran, a small fishing village to the west of the Bali south peninsula. This was a bit of a non event. It was a dark and miserable little town, extreme poverty and desperate living was the feel here. It was depressing and unwelcoming, I felt sad and low spirited walking the tatty and unkempt pavements (narrowly avoiding a broken leg through an open sewer lid). People are scurrying around the filthy streets and dirty markets to make a pittance of a living. It’s a helpless feeling when you cannot change such pitiful circumstances and I failed to gain understanding and remained baffled by the extreme economical contrast between Sanur and Jimbaran in such close proximity. The only appeal here was the sunset, for which Jimbaran is renowned. As the sun began to lower the ambiance of the place changed. In front of the burning sun kites begin to appear in the sky one by one, hand made from paper bags and bamboo sticks. The football is being passed between a circle of young local men. Children splash in the water and BBQ smoke begins to drift past from the beach traders selling sweetcorn and other local fish dishes. The dim lighting and tables brought out onto the sand creates the perfect setting for the tourist diners consumed in romance. 

Ice men - Fisherman transporting blocks of ice to the boats to keep the fish fresh

Catch of the day - Tuna Fish

 A sunset, beach, bride and football in one picture!

Next is a trip to Lombok, an island east of Bali. I knew the cheap tickets were going to result in a rough journey but this one even exceeded my carnage experience and expectation. Feeling grateful to have survived the hours journey in an unsafe minivan with a driver with a death wish it's a disorganised 2 hour delay on the ferry departure. I'm surprised the transfer driver the other side is still waiting...."2 hours I wait for you" was his greeting bless him.  

He drives me south to Kuta (Lombok), I observe the landscape taking note of a young boy on the top of a moving giant haystack, horse and carts clattering the streets, raw traditional villages steeped in character like something from the dark ages and people conducting back breaking work in stifling heat in the rice fields harvesting. Another two hours later we arrive. A beautiful little site with chalets, pools a well kept garden and breakfast for £25 a night – I’m feeling lucky! 

Lombok isn't a place talked about by many travellers but it's undulating green mountain terrain immediately appeals to me. Kuta village is small and traditional. Dusty grey streets which blacken your feet in one short outing, rustic homes, children playing and locals milling around littering the roads. The Main Street is focused on the tourist, surfers primarily. But it's not ‘too much’ yet so feels more of a tasteful blend than Sanur. 

Rubbish strewn streets

Tea - catch of the day....they look so sad :-(

Kuta Streets

Kuta beach - Is more better?

A tour to some local beaches proves to be a good move. The west beach (Selong Belanak) is stunning, surfers paradise. White horses foaming, six foot roaring waves crash into the perfect white sandy cove. The beach is surrounded by steep rocks. Boarders wait patiently sitting on their boards in unison for the perfect wave. Little traditional wooden shack gazebo’s line the shores selling coconuts and other local produce. Its humble paradise. 

Selong Belenak

Senggigi is the next stop on Lombok. This is the most developed town on the island. The main street and beach are mediocre at best but the traditional village nestled into a hillside surrounded by lush green palm trees and steep mountain peaks (where I'm staying) is simply mesmerising. It's untouched and completely authentic. The streets, alleys and flatland is strewn with rubbish, chickens and cockerels roaming, uncared for street animals (blind cats and scarred flea ridden dogs) are hopelessly trying to exist on the scraps and waste created by humans. Electricity is unstable (with regular outages) and internet is extremely slow and intermittent. A caramel coloured stream runs through the village and I watch random debris float with the current along its length as I take a stroll alongside.

Sengiggi Beach

Locals sitting outside their homes observe you shyly through their strung dingy once multicoloured washing, while others (recognising the need for tourism to boost their economy) make simple and pleasant attempts to communicate. It’s like I’d imagine life to be just beyond the caveman era.. its prehistoric almost. They're a weary looking community but it has a warm and lifted spirit about the place.  There are simple humble homes and little shops selling basic provisions incorporated into the front of people's tired and tatty dwellings. Their lives are as simple as it gets....eat, sleep, pray and sex (the amount of children for a little village is astounding). 

I know instinctively this place holds dearly the long lost treasure of real community in our western world. I feel a twinge of guilt knowing I would once have turned my ignorant nose up at this little village. On my first walk around I was admittedly intimidated, but this soon got swallowed up by a surge of pride in knowing I'm now seeing beyond the 'first impression', expectation and poverty, I see this village’s ugly beauty and it’s addictive, magnetic attraction...it's the beginning of a love affair that I know would only intensify with time should I stay.  

Ramadhan began on 26th June. Lombok is primarily a Muslim culture and my previous experience of daily announcements throughout the island escalated to constant prayer, hymns and recital of the Quran over the external tannoy system....it was relentless and IMPOSSIBLE to sleep through! From dusk until dawn no food or liquid must pass their lips they must also not fight, have sex or commit any sinful act during this period. Taking away simple pleasures allows them to reflect and appreciate the poorer fellow man’s ongoing plight with starvation and sin. 

I head out on a trekking tour to visit a couple of waterfalls to the north of the island. Having travelled from the south I now have a really good flavour for Lomboks character and landscape. The driver 'Umar' loves his island and bursts with pride enthusiastically filling us with local information during the drive. On arrival he introduces us to our young trekking guide for the day. A young lad sporting a polo shirt and skinny dark blue denim jeans, sandals and his baseball cap 'back to front'. He's 'cool', approximately 20 years old with a bit of a 'chip on his shoulder'. He has a cold approach and appears inconvenienced in being there. 

We set off through the rice paddies, through the narrow ledges of mud, man massaged to create a trough to hold in water to the rice bed. They are really narrow (about 6 inches wide) and full concentration is required to remain on track. The rice plants and grain whip your legs as you trudge through and this all feels a bit hap hazard. It wasn't long before my foot slips and sinks into the depths of the paddy. I suck it out like a sink plunger and realise this is the end of the line for my 'pikey Nikey' trainers…..yet another duo of foot soldiers off to heaven. Not much further and it happens again. This time deeper than before though and I'm down again, only this time head first and ending up face planted in the rice paddy! I'm unable to pull myself out, I’m chewing rice plants, stuck fast and it takes two men to grab my arms and physically lift me out....oooh the shame….pride and dignity desert ship on me once more! My guide advises "be careful yeh, happy happy!" I'm thinking seriously you little *hit… is that all you've got to offer? And it continued like that for an hour and a half, off piste, unsafe, slippery, undulating hazardous terrain unsuitable for tourists. It was like being led up a mountain by Owen or a nonchalant teenager who’s never done it before and doesn't want to be there, worse still he definitely didn't want you there! 

Each stream/river we crossed was quite fasting flowing and had a group of boys ages 6-9 helping tourists across. They were well trained, tentatively guiding you and holding your hand through the water. “slowly Mam” they’d say. It was really sweet to see them do this. Every guide chaperoning other tourists appeared nicer than ours. The waterfalls were impressively thundering down in natures way, nobody and nothing possibly breaking their fall and incredibly powerful.

We eventually get handed back to our driver who asks how the guide was. I wasn’t totally honest (as the guide was still in the car) but didn’t give a sterling review either. He missed the ‘big hint’ however and was too excited to announce that he didn’t have a trekking guide for us so had logged online the night before to find this young lad on Face Book! …..I ponder the day on the return journey, grateful to have survived a crazy trek with an inexperienced guide, who had no interest whether you lived or died up there...... and that my friends is South East Asia summed up in one ridiculous day. All you can ever be sure of is you just never know how crazy its gonna get!

xxx