Venturing Eastward

I awoke hot and sticky in the small cabin on the ferry to Lombok. I must have passed out from drinking Bintangs and feeling a little queasy from the sway of the ocean and the overpowering stench of gasoline from the boat motor. We still had a little over an hour left so I found a seat on the deck where I could take in the sea and fresh air. The boys threw out their fishing lines and trolled from the upper deck of the boat as we neared the tiny undeveloped harbor of Lembar. The contrast of Lembar against Padangbai reflected the difference between Bali and Lombok; we were about to get super ruralized. We made our way back down to the Kijang, where we loaded in and disembarked the ferry.

Kuta, a village on the south shore was our destination due to it's laid-back vibe in comparison to the rest of the island. As we made our way through the countryside, the Islam faith become more and more prevalent. Every few minutes we passed a mosque, and village after village we saw the ominous dome structure with loud speakers blaring, women covered head to toe, men and boys wearing prayer caps. Along the way, we stopped for young coconuts from an ibu, old woman, who skillfully cracked them open with her machete. After about another hour of driving, we made a stop for an early dinner at a roadside cafe. Here was the first (and last) time I had Lombok kopi (coffee). Simply hot water mixed with grounds to create a caffeinated sludge- I imagined it was what drinking mud was like. During this meal, I had another introduction- to my first real Indonesian toilet. The previous week in Bali afforded me the luxury of Western toilets but here in rural Lombok, it was a whole different story. I walked into the bathroom, a tiled room with what looked similar to a toilet bowl set in the floor and a bucket of water. I figured out that I had to squat over the toilet and after finishing, use a scoop of water to "flush." The poured water created enough pressure to open a trap in the bottom of the bowl and into the ground. Pretty archaic stuff but I had to go before we hopped in the car again.

After maybe another forty minutes in the Kijang, we arrived in Kuta, a little, quiet coastal village with chickens and goats meandering through the streets. The four of us decided to share a two-bed room where Dom kindly volunteered to sleep on the floor. The next morning the guys headed off to check the surf while Sandra and I decided to check out the shops across the street. This is where we met our local charity-case. After walking the beach, we stopped to buy some water from a warung, a family-run shop selling snacks and such. Sedi, the woman running it seemed nice enough, running the business while cradling her baby boy, Dadi. But in typical Indonesian fashion, our casual conversation turned into us buying more water, then food and finally sarongs. Considering we were paying mere pennies for these items, we went along with Sedi's coaxing. The fabric, locally woven songkets, were made with silver and gold thread and sewn end to end so that one could wear it in Sasak fashion, folded to fit ones waist and tucked over on top. Sedi asked us where we were staying and later that afternoon found us in the hotel parking lot asking if she could get us anything else. She had mini pineapples that she carved up so that holding the stalk we could eat them like an ice cream cone. At seven cents a pop, I could eat ten of these a day! This would be the first of many dozen times Sedi would show up wherever we were, hawking us anything she could.

Later in the evening, Sandra and I decided to go horseback riding on the beach as the boys chartered a boat to take them to an outer swell. We hopped a couple scooter taxis and rode to a horse ranch a few miles outside Kuta. Our ride took us through a huge all-inclusive resort complete with beach-front dinner and dance performance. The hotel seemed so removed from the reality and culture of the island, in fact, it reminded me so much of Hawaii. Staged "cultural" entertainment for the "haole" tourists. It made me kind of sad, that a place so remote was still tainted by tourism but I also understood that it was a way to stimulate local economy. 'Tis the double-edged sword of tourism. I never really got into that all-inclusive style of traveling, I always tried to experience other cultures more authentically. Riding on the beach, we saw villagers in the distance harvesting seaweed and as the sun set, I felt truly blessed for this experience.

Disembarking the island ferry

One of many mosques on the island

Ibu whacking open a young coconut

Lombok kopi (coffee)

I would pay so much more for this mini pineapple, but it only cost me seven cents- SCORE!

Riding horses on the beach with Sandra

Resuscitation

Pretty sad how that blogging thing worked in Asia, huh? What a total FAIL- not a complete fail but my expectations by far exceeded reality yet again. Damn expectations, they always get the best of me. I should have known it wasn't going to be this glorious "Eat, Pray, Love" experience. I should have never read that book... it's part of the reason I refuse to watch the movie. I hate disappointment.

I'm going to attempt to move backwards and recount my experiences in Asia, then pick up right here, right now and move forward. I will affirm that my Southeast Asia trip was a pivotal moment in my life... that tiny spark of bohemianism with in that led me to Asia has grown only stronger upon my return here to California. I would have never imagined before I left that I would never go back to San Diego, or to my mortgage banking job and that I'd continue my life as an artist living off the land in Northern California. All the struture and routine that I had lived with while in Southern California is a distant memory. I am the happiest I have ever been; I am free.

Let's now rewind to April 2009 where I am stuck between two Chinese male passengers on a fifteen hour flight to Hong Kong. Neither speak much English, both fall asleep for the majority of the flight... FML. This is how the trip began, and should have been a sign that my entire adventure would be far from comfortable. After changing planes in Hong Kong and making it through the extremely intimidating customs line in Bali I exited the airport to the choking humid air... ahhhh, he we go, island life. My friend, Dom met me at arrivals, of course shirt-less and drinking a Bintang. My luggage couldn't fit on his scooter so I hopped a cab and had him follow Dom to our hotel in the heart of Kuta. I had no idea that I was entering the SE Asian version of Tijuana. It was crazy; it was OVERWHELMING. Walking the streets of Kuta you are bombarded by hawkers shouting left and right while scooters and cars are weaving between people down narrow alleyways. We rented an SUV, a Kijang to drive around and to eventually drive on the ferry to the next island over. I had to follow Dom on the scooter driving the Kijang, a manual with a left driver's side. WTF!? I successfully caught a scooter handle under my left wheelwell and drug the thing down the alley upon my first try. The entire restuarant in which it happened in front of all "OOOOOHHHHHH"ed in unison. I wanted to shrivel up and die. What the hell had I signed up for? Thankfully, nothing is legit in Bali and some locals untangled the scooter from under my car and told me to take off. Dom was no where to be seen. I had to catch up and find him!

About 35 minutes later we arrived in the southern part of Bali at Bingin Beach to stay at "Sticky's Place," a cliff side surf hostel overlooking the ocean. Immediately, the women approached me asking if I wanted massage or my bag carried or food or water. Basically, anything to give them a buck. Made (mah-deh), the sister of Sticky lived at a house near the "parking lot" so we paid her to "watch" our car, a surfboard and one of my bags. Upon descending the eroding cliff side stairs that plunged to the beach below, I was overcome with relief that I decided to leave that bag back at Made's. There's no way in hell that I was hauling it UP, and to be quite honest, I was already a little anxious about how I was going to make it back up MYSELF. The local women hauled milk crates full of bottled drinks on their heads, among other commodities like it was nothing. This is why they are so skinny, I thought... Awesome, I'm going to shed some lbs! Boy, did I, but not from the stairs, but I'll get to that eventually.

Upon arrival at Sticky's, about two-thirds down the cliff, we checked into one of two larger rooms since it had it's own bathroom with a toilet and shower. It was a cute bungalow perched above the rest of the rooms with a view of the ocean. The deck "living room" outside of our bedroom was my place to nap, sketch, journal, assess my bounty from beach combing or where Dom and I would listen to music and play "Pass the Pigs "with Kanish, a Balinese local and friend of Sticky's who worked as a tour guide. This was a perfect slice of paradise and at $10/night each between Dom and I, it was where I could spend my entire trip. However, Dom was on the move and wanted to chase the swell further east, so our stay was contained to three nights. I was up for the adventure, this was the reason I was here, right? Besides, I figured that chances of me going THAT far out into the Indo wilderness by myself was highly unlikely.

While hanging in the common area at Sticky's we met an Australian couple, Ky and Sandra, who were game for going with us in the Kijang to Lombok. The next morning, we were up and on the road early to catch the noon ferry from Padangbai Harbor a couple of hours drive from Bingin. We stopped for breakfast of chicken satay (skewers) from a roadside stand and fresh cut pineapple. Ah, the island fruit, I was so happy. Rice fields and countryside whizzed by as we made our way to the inter-island ferry. I couldn't help but think to myself "this is the REAL Bali," devoid of the cheap tourist vibe. At the Harbor we bought our tickets for the passage to Lombok and drove the Kijang into the queue for the boat. The guys went to a nearby tackle store to purchase some line and lures to help the four-hour ferry ride pass while Sandra and I waited in the Kijang. Of course the usual hawkers were present with anything from sodas and candy to homemade rice and chicken packets wrapped in banana leaf. We each purchased something to tide us over for the long journey ahead and drove on board the old beast that was our ferry. I had never driven onto a boat, so I was pretty excited to be riding in this manner. Passengers boarded by foot as we parked our car, gathered our items and headed upstairs to the main area. A small cabin was offered to us for a ridiculously low sum, so the four of us piled in, thankful for the privacy, small fan, bed and table that it offered. As the ferry embarked into the vast Indian Ocean, we cracked open our Bintang beers and relaxed for the four-hour passage.

My Bingin Beach Bounty

The view from our bungalow at Sticky's

Padangbai Harbor as seen aboard the ferry