Week 96 - Kupang, Dili, Baucau, Atauro (Indonesia, Timor Leste)

The Timor Tour and Travel minibus arrived on time to collect us at our hotel in Kupang at 5am. After 30 minutes of driving around town picking more people up, we ended up at their depot where we had to change buses. We dozed on and off for the first couple of hours until we reached Soe where we had a quick break before continuing north through Niki-Niki, Kefa and Atambua. 

As soon as we reached Soe, we started noticing the traditional lopo huts, circular thatched roofs that reach the floor with only a small arch for the door. The government has deemed the houses unhealthy and built new modern square concrete buildings for the Dawan people, who have then built new lopo behind them to live in. It was market day in Niki-Niki and a real shame we couldn’t stop to explore, there were hundreds of people in traditional ikats (sarongs) buying their weekly vegetables and chickens crowding around the road side.

After another bus change in Atambua, we arrived at the border where we stamped out of Indonesia and climbed back on the bus for the short ride, over a bridge, to the Timor Leste border control. The Timor Leste side was far more modern and we were stamped and through in no time with our Visa Application Authorisation getting us our Visa on Arrival with no problem.

Timor Leste is the youngest country in South East Asia and has had a very turbulent history. A Portuguese colony until 1974, the country then went to war with Indonesia who invaded as they feared a left leaning government in Timor Leste would bring communism to their door. After Soeharto’s resignation in 1998, the new Indonesian president announced a referendum for independence and after terror attacks by military backed militia groups, the UN stepped in to help with the election. In 1999 the vote took place with a majority of 78.5% voting for independence. Killings continued with Indonesian forces on a rampage and the UN was attacked and forced to evacuate. Australia stepped in to help calm the situation and governance was handed back to Timor Leste in 2002.

Another bus change and we continued for 2.5 hours to Dili. Having had an easy journey so far, and having traveled for 10.5 hours already, the road from the border to the capital was surely built to test us. We were jiggled and jostled and tenderised with our driver hitting all the pot holes at break neck speed and we inhaled more dust than I care to think about. The road had been pretty scenic, following the coast and the sunset was beautiful but we’d had little opportunity to really enjoy it. 

The bus dropped us at our hostel, the only real backpacker option in Dili and after checking in we began asking around about Indonesian visa applications, only to learn that the embassy would be closed the following week for Ramadan, not leaving us enough time to get our visas before it closed. Our intentions of getting back to Indonesia to see some of Sumba before flying back to Ubud went out the window. 

As we didn’t have the right passport photos, with a red background, we thought we’d try and get them done that night to speed things up in the morning. We heard there was a photo shop at the Timor Plaza Mall, on the outskirts of the city and that it shut at 7pm. Thinking we had 30 minutes, we jumped in a cab and rushed over there only to find everywhere was closed. We hadn’t realised we’d changed time zones and hadn’t wound our watches forward an hour. Tired from the days journey and getting grouchy, we tried to hail a taxi to take us back to the hostel. Failing that, we flagged a bemo (called a mikrolet in Timor Leste). The van was full of tiny kids and when we got out they waved us away when we tried to pay, a lovely end to a stressful day, although we think we gatecrashed someones family day out.

For dinner we walked across the road to an Indian restaurant that we thought would just make do as we didn’t have the energy to walk further. It turned out to be a magnificent meal, the best Indian we’ve had in a long time and one that wouldn’t be out of place in London.

We woke early the next day to make it to the Indonesian Embassy. After getting slightly lost and walking about a kilometre further than necessary, we finally found the right building and joined the few people already there, to wait for it to open. We were expecting to be given a number before dashing off to get the photos done and returning later to have our applications processed. Instead, after filling out the form, we were ushered inside to sit on a bench in a queue. We finally got our point across about still needing photos and the security guard let us out with promises that we could come back. The embassy only processes a certain number of visas a day and you have to get there early in order to be one of those.

We jumped in a taxi back to the mall and had another 20 minutes wait outside for the photo shop to open. We were then told we had 45 minutes to wait for them to be printed. Rhys popped in to a couple of travel agencies to see how much it would cost to fly back into Indonesia, to get a Visa on Arrival rather than waiting for the embassy to process our overland visas, but we soon found out it was way too expensive. After buying some bread and beans in the supermarket preempting lunch at the hostel, our photos were ready. We jumped straight back in a taxi to the embassy and luckily were allowed back through the gate to lodge our applications. At this point, we were still hopeful our visas might be processed for collection the following day. Then, when we handed over the US$50 each, we were told they’d be ready on the 4th August, 11 days away. 

Cursing our timing we walked back to the hostel a bit deflated, not helped by the grumpy owner who was very unhelpful and the girl who worked there who walked away mid sentence when we tried to sort out our room bookings. We didn’t really want to spend so long in Timor Leste and were keen to get back into Indonesia. Over lunch we studied Lonely Planet and spoke to a few other people who were waiting for their visas and formulated a plan. We would leave Dilli and visit Baucau and Atauro while we waited. 

We decided to head back to the mall to book our flight from Kupang to Bali, realising we were just going to have to skip Sumba and lose the money we’d spent on the flight from Sumba to Bali. The airline we were hoping to fly with had an office at the mall but their flight was 50% more expensive than booking with them online so we sat in the internet shop to book. Having had another trying day we treated ourselves to a carton of cheap wine and jumped in a bemo back to the hostel. 

The Indian had been so good the previous day we ate there again then headed back to the hostel where we chatted with a Welsh/French couple, Darren and Olivier, who we’d met earlier and Kelly who was trying to do research on fair trade coffee for her MA. 

Dili is a strange city, for a capital it’s pretty small and is a real mix of modern and run down with tarmac main roads leading to huge embassy buildings, crisscrossed with dusty dirt tracks lined with shacks. A lot of the prime beach front land seems to taken up by embassies and everywhere you look you see westerners who obviously work at the embassies and NGOs, roaring around in brand new white SUVs. It’s a bit unfair to say we didn’t like it as we didn’t really see much of it but our first impressions were that it was a bit bland. 

After breakfast the next day we put our big bags in storage and hailed a cab to take us to the bus terminal for Baucau. It was only US$2 more than using bemos and far easier and quicker. When we arrived at the terminal, a cross roads lined with shacks selling water and snacks, a group of about ten men descended on us asking us where we were going and trying to herd us onto their buses. We chose the bus that still had a couple of seats left and squeezed in, the seats were for some unknown reason, wet. 

Shortly after, music with my favourite heart palpitation bass started and we wound our way along the coast towards Baucau. It was a little squashy on the back row but we had a window and we arrived 20 minutes early. The scenery was beautiful with rice paddies and rugged mountains on one side and the sea on the other, passing by traditional villages and groups of buffalo bathing in mud puddles.

We got off the bus at what we thought was the end of the line, only to find out we should have stayed on the bus to get to Baucau old town. Luckily, a guy asked us where we were going and shouted for the bus to stop so we could climb back on board. We were the last people to get off the bus and they dropped us at the Pousada, once a place of torture but now a posh hotel. We checked a few guesthouses before deciding to stay at Melita where there was a seating area with views out to sea.

We didn’t waste any time before heading out for lunch, to a Portuguese restaurant with an outdoor terrace before returning to our room to chill and play with the guesthouse dogs. Baucau old town is a few kilometres from the Indonesian built new town and has a bedraggled Portuguese feel to it with crumbling old colonial buildings and huge banyan trees providing shady resting points. We were full from lunch and decided against going out again for dinner, enjoying a pop mie (pot noodle) and playing cards on the guesthouse veranda instead.

Banyan tree shadowing the road, Baucau.

We had a well needed lay in the next day, only waking around 10am. We decided to head out to the beach and began the 5km walk. After asking a few people for directions and getting mixed responses we ended up asking in the Pousada who pointed us the right way. We started walking and about a kilometre down the road we came to a junction and guessed we must have to go straight. We walked for about another kilometre, with the road getting progressively worse and turning into a dusty, rutted track. Although the locals seemed to be saying we could get to the beach that way, we decided to walk back to the junction, we don’t speak Tetun or Portuguese and half the time we can’t even work out what language is being spoked. Portuguese is the official language but only the older generation seem to use it, then there are people speaking Bahasa Indonesian, then Tetun and then there are another 5 or 6 different tribal dialects. 

Back at the junction we took the other road and continued to walk. We asked a few people who seemed to say we were going the right way and the road was more robust than the path we’d taken first. We followed it through a couple of villages to the sea, having a bit of a scare first when a coconut fell and nearly hit us and then straight after, a snake fell out of a tree and landed a couple of metres in front of us. 

The response to white people is very different here to Indonesia, the older generations are friendly but the younger people can be rude and it puts you on edge, for instance, since we left Dili, i’ve had a boy intentionally jump in a muddy puddle to soak me, Rhys has been sworn at, a little girl slapped me on the back of my legs and a group of 4/5 year olds blocked our path and showed us knives asking for money. Then there are the other kids who blow you kisses and shout ‘I love you’ as you walk past, all up we felt a little unwelcome.

Once at the beach we were unimpressed. There’s nothing there apart from one little bungalow with rooms for rent and a few local houses. No where to buy food or drinks and no where to sit. The tide was in and the beach itself was overrated, Lonely Planet describes it as one of the nicest beaches in South East Asia, I don’t know where the writer has been but he’s really missing out if he thinks Wata B’oo is one of the nicest beaches. 

Wata B'oo beach, Baucau.

As the tide was in and there was no where to sit we decided against sticking around and instead went to wait by the road for a mikrolet to take us back into town. There isn’t a timetable and they seemed to go every hour but we had no idea how long we had to wait and made ourselves comfortable on a log. We’d been waiting for around half an hour when a European Commission SUV pulled up and offered us a lift. We jumped in the back and in no time were back in town.

After a slight misunderstanding and having bought a huge bag of about 20 extra chewy doughnuts for US$1, we spent the rest of the day at the guesthouse, watching TV, playing with the dogs and reading on the veranda before it was time for dinner.

After a lazy start the next day, we wandered into the town to see if we could find an alternative restaurant, having eaten at the Portuguese place twice. Finding one with another outdoor area, we decided on an early lunch before walking down to the public swimming pool. The pool is run by the Pousada and is clean and surrounded by a flower garden. When we arrived it was quiet and after swimming a few lengths we chilled on the concrete loungers in the sun. Then more and more local kids turned up, squealing and shouting, ruining the atmosphere a little so we ended up back at the guesthouse with a bag of mandarins, a little bored and counting down the minutes until we could go for dinner. 

Fruit and vegetables for sale in Baucau.

We were woken the next day by the kids at the guesthouse shouting outside our room, the whole time we were there we felt a little in the way and unwelcome and were happy it was time to leave. We caught a mikrolet to the bus terminal in the new town and jumped straight on a bus back to Dili, strangely enough, the same bus we’d caught on the way over. We had better seats and despite the blaring music, the journey went smoothly and we arrived back in a little under 3 hours. From the bus terminal we grabbed a taxi to our hostel where we checked into the dorm for a night.

As always, we had a few chores to run and headed out to the Timor Plaza where, after a Burger King, we planted ourselves in a coffee shop for our first decent coffee in a long time and use of the internet. Darren and Olivier, who we’d met during our first stay at the hostel returned from their excursion to Maubisse and we ended up in the Indian across the road swapping notes and travel stories.

We’d booked a water taxi for the following morning to take us to Atauro Island, 36km and a couple of hours from Dili, over a trench, 3km deep in parts. We were joined by Chris, a Canadian living in Java and Michelle from Switzerland. The boat trip started out relatively calmly but as we drew further from Dili the sea became rougher and by the time we pulled in to Beloi we were soaked and the captain had been sick off the back of the boat.

Luckily there was room available at Barry’s, the most popular place to stay on the island, an Ecolodge on the beach. We checked in to a tent, a bit more luxurious than it sounds, right on the beach on a stilted platform with thatched roof and proper mattresses. 

Our tent at Barry's Ecolodge, Atauro.

The island itself is fairly small, 25km long and 9 km wide, with a mountainous spine of limestone and volcanic rock, the highest peak reaching 995m. Historically, due to it’s isolation, the island was used by both the Portuguese and the Indonesians as a place of exile and was were the Portuguese fled to in 1975 for safety. Now the island is home to mostly subsistence fisherman and farmers.

The beach at Beloi on Atauro.

We arranged to meet Chris and Michelle after lunch and headed to the pier to snorkel. The wind was picking up and the waves were a bit choppy but we still spotted lobsters and some other interesting little fish we hadn’t seen before. After buffet dinner (meals are included at Barry’s) we turned in for an early night to lay in our tent listening to the wind, the waves and gazing at the stars though our mosquito net.

View of Beloi from the pier, Atauro.

Week 95 - Kupang, Rote (Indonesia)

We woke to the alarm and took a taxi to the Timor Leste (East Timor) consulate where we needed to apply for a visa application authorisation letter, confusingly, not the visa itself but a letter that would let us apply for a visa at the overland border crossing. We were the first to arrive at the consulate on the outskirts of town and after checking in, realised that they only had a handful of visitors each day. We collected our application forms and realised we’d come completely unprepared and didn’t have the necessary bank statements and flight confirmations. We ended up walking miles to the nearest internet cafe, possibly the slowest internet cafe in the whole of Asia before jumping in a bemo back to the consulate to get out applications in before the deadline. 

As we didn’t know what bemo would take us back to our hotel we ended up walking miles again to get to the ocean road where we finally took a bemo back to our room. As we still had plenty of chores to do, we ended up walking to Lavalon, a small bar on the water, to use the internet. Back in our room we made the most of having a flat screen TV and ended up having noodles in the room for dinner.

Another alarm woke us the following day. This time we jumped in a taxi to Tenoa Terminal where the ferries to Rote Island left from. We joined the surge of people pushing through the gates and bought tickets for the fast boat. Our allocated seats were right in front of the air con and it was so cold we ended up sitting up on deck in the sun for the short 2 hour trip to the island. As soon as we drew near it looked like paradise with the coast lined with stretches of white sand. 

Off the boat, we chartered a bemo along with two other guys heading to Nemberala, the only real tourist base on the island. The drive took a bumpy hour before we arrived at Anugerah Surf and Dive Resort where we’d booked a room. Nemberala itself is a small village with one main dusty road running parallel with a beautiful white sand beach hemmed in by a stretch of reef where the waves barrel in creating a world renowned surf break. There are a number of resorts lining the sand, all catering for surfers or divers and all ‘all inclusive’ and there are hardly any amenities in the village outside of the resorts. It seemed to be quite unusual for non-surfers, non-divers like us to turn up, I have no idea why, the island is a paradise, palm tree fringed white sand beaches, deserted coves, wonderfully friendly locals and windswept vistas.

Our resort was fantastic, set back from the beach, a row of maybe fifteen bungalows facing a small restaurant where we enjoyed delicious Indonesian food three times a day, with a lovely pool, palm trees, hammocks and puppies and the best thing was no one was snobby unlike if you go to a dive hostel and don’t dive, the surfers at our resort were welcoming (albeit confused how we’d come to be there). 

Rhys enjoying the pool at Anugeragh, Rote.

After lunch on our first day we went for a walk along the beach. The bay is very tidal and shallow and at low tide you can walk out just over a kilometre to where the reef is, dodging the frames that carpet the floor for growing seaweed. The seaweed is collected each day and dried on racks and tables that line the back of the beach. Surprisingly, there’s no smell, just piles of bright green, blue, purple and pink rubbery seaweed everywhere you look. We wandered back through the village, enjoying the quiet atmosphere. Although the resorts are very westernised and there are beautiful Australian holiday homes in prime locations, the village itself barely shows any impact of tourism, in fact the whole island doesn’t. It’s like a trickle of western people make their way here but there’s no interaction, they stay at all inclusive resorts and wander from the waves to the restaurant to bed.

Seaweed hung out to dry, Rote.

We spent the rest of the first afternoon on the beach, the tide was in so Rhys swam and when it started to go out again, he strolled along the beach and into the shallows helping the seaweed collectors and laughing at the pigs searching for a snack in the sand. We enjoyed a cold beer while watching the sunset then it was dinner time. As all the surfers were waking up at dawn, after a game of cards with Shar and Rachel, it was time for an early night.

Seaweed collectors on the beach by Anugerah, Rote.

We woke the next day to the sound of building works and birds chirping and flying about our roof where they seem to have set up home. We ate breakfast as people started trickling in from the beach from their morning surf. The sun was shining so we decided to rent a motorbike to explore the island. Turning right at the main road (and cursing at the bike that kept stalling, due, we think, to watered down petrol, a result of the current petrol shortage on the island) we headed across the football field.

The road was tarmac for the first couple of kilometres and became increasingly pot holed and cracked until it turned into a dirt track. We stopped at each cove we came across, sometimes pulling up right alongside the beach and other times driving down even smaller tracks, through gaps in tumbling down walls and palm trees to reach the sand. The tide was out and the beaches were stunning, beautiful stretches of white sand that ran for miles, completely deserted except for the odd fisherman or seaweed farmer. 

One of the many deserted, white beaches on Rote.

We continued past a troupe of monkeys swinging about in the mangroves to a concrete pier seemingly in the middle of nowhere. A short stop at a small seaweed village on an outcrop where they had a good giggle at the white people taking photos of their crop and their houses, before it was time to turn around and head back to reach the resort in time for lunch. The food was so good it seemed a crime to miss a meal. 

Seaweed farmer drying his crop in the sun, Rote.

The tide was in by the time we’d finished eating so we had a quick swim in the pool before heading back out again, the same way we’d been that morning. The longer beaches weren’t as pretty with the change in tide as the water was up to the line of drift wood and rubbish leaving only a trace of the sand we’d seen that morning. We ended up returning to one of the smaller coves we’d found where the tide wasn’t as pronounced, where we chilled for a bit before heading back for sunset on the beach again, dinner and bed.

Fisherman throwing his net, Rote.

When we woke, the tide was on it’s way out and we decided it would be a good time to walk out to watch the surfers. Trevor lent me his booties and Rhys braved it in flip flips, which broke half way out leaving him to struggle over sharp coral with bare feet. We stood for a while watching the surfers, amazed at how perfect the waves looked, before heading back in for breakfast.

Shar returning from a morning surfing, Rote.

We rented a motorbike again and this time turned left at the road. It wasn’t long before the tarmac ran out and we were riding down a single lane track and then a footpath, crossing dry river beds and sand dunes. As most people are here to surf, the locals don’t see many white people outside of Nemberala and everywhere you go, you get shouts of ‘Hello Mister!!!’ (no matter if you’re male or female) and people of all ages waving and running over to give you high fives as you ride past. 

Kids waving at us as we rode passed, Rote.

Rhys on the bike on yet another beautiful Rote beach.

We didn’t get far before it was time to turn back to make it to the resort in time for lunch. That afternoon we took the bike out again, this time we took the cross island road, a decent tarmac road that lead back towards the ferry port. We reached the other side where there was another, huge concrete pier, covered in clay, in the middle of nowhere, but the wind was churning up the waves and the tide was in so the beaches weren’t anywhere near as attractive as on our side of the island. We didn’t stop for long before turning back. Rhys let me drive back and before long we were at Anugerah. After a quick go on the tightrope strung up between palm trees, Rhys took a nap in the room while I read on the beach watching the world go by. The wind had picked up so no one had gone out to surf that afternoon and everyone was milling about.

Trevor mentioned a football game in the village that was played each day and suggested we wander up with him. This was his third year at Nemberala and each time he came he brought more presents for the kids, footballs and bibs, and he was welcomed in to play with them. Rhys had a kick about with some of the smaller kids and we sat and watched the older boys play their serious game with the sounds of the church choir practicing in the background.

Football in Nemberala, Rote.

We’d made the decision that day to stay an extra night (a good job since the ferry to the main land was suspended and had been since the day we arrived due to high winds in the strait), and had to use the internet to let the hostel in Dili know we’d be a day late reaching them. There is one internet cafe, only open at night for a couple of hours, located in the back room of the corner shop.

The next day we had a chill day and didn’t rent a bike. We had a lazy morning, after a slow breakfast chatting to people in the restaurant and playing with the puppies, Rhys watched TV in the room while I caught up on the blog. That pretty much took us to lunch time, yet another incredible meal with sashimi and salads and huge chunks of white fish, i’d recommend Rote and Anugerah to anyone, even if only for the food. That afternoon, Rhys went for a walk along the beach while I read, soaking up the sun and before we knew it, it was time for sunset on the beach, dinner and bed.

Sunset on the beach outside Anugerah, Rote.

We had one full day left on Rote and decided to hire a bike again and pick our two favourite beaches, one to spend the morning on and one, the evening. After breakfast, we headed left at the main road, dodging between goats and piglets and ducking low hanging palm tree branches, back to the dry river bed that opened on to sand dunes gently fading out into the bay. It was low tide and the sea was a long way out leaving us acres of white sand beach to lounge on. As it was pretty windy and we couldn’t lay on the sand without being coated in it, we collected a bizarre selection of rocks, coral and pumice stone for a game of baules, which Rhys won. 

White sand beach with the tide out, Rote.

We headed back to the resort for a swim in the pool and lunch before jumping on the bike again to drive right, to our favourite cove. As that morning, we had the beach entirely to ourselves except for one lone fisherman who wandered past. Another game of baules was in order before it was time to ride back for sunset. We played cards until dinner before turning in for the night.

We arranged to be collected the next morning by the guy who picked us up from the port 5 days previously. He arrived on time in his bemo and we jumped in for the ride to Ba’a. The fast ferry was running again, having been suspended for a couple of days due to the wind. We sat on the top deck and understood why it has to be stopped when the weather isn’t good enough, we were rocked about, although not horrendously and the locals were squealing and throwing up and when we arrived in Kupang we hit the pier creating a fair sized hole in the ferries upper deck.

Back on dry land, we jumped in a taxi to the Timor Leste consulate to collect our authorisation letters. When we got there, the gates were closed and there was a sign up saying the consulate wouldn’t reopen for three days, for no apparent reason. After a bit of confusion, they finally understood that we were only there to collect our letters and they’d been left in the security booth outside for us, it was our lucky day. We checked back in to the same hotel we’d stayed in before, although this time we got a room that smelt of wee, then wandered to the supposedly helpful backpacker hub of Lavalon on the beach to use the internet.

We struggled to find details of any buses running to Dili and started to worry, the supposedly helpful staff at Lavalon told us to get on a bemo but we had no idea where to, or where to get off. Eventually we speed walked back to our hotel and got a taxi to take us to the depot for one of the bus companies we’d read about on the few blogs we could actually find on the subject. There were only four tickets left and we quickly booked two before taxi’ing back to our hotel. 

We spent the rest of the evening using the internet and sorting out all the chores that we couldn’t do without internet in Rote, over a beer at the Lavalon Cafe, the only place we could find with working internet. After returning to our room we found the aircon was making noises like a passing freight train so we fought to move rooms, apparently every room was full but after making a bit of a scene, one suddenly freed up. For dinner, we wandered to a small food court near our hotel for cheap and delicious BBQ fish, before turning in for an early night with the alarm set for 4:40am.

Week 94 - Bajawa, Moni, Maumere, Kupang (Indonesia)

We left the convent early to start the drive to Bajawa in the highlands. The road wound around the mountains through bamboo groves and rice terraces with roadworks everywhere - they seem to be in the middle of widening every single road on the island. We stopped for coffee at a row of wooden shacks overlooking a rice filled valley before continuing to Aimere where we stopped at a Warung to buy take away lunch.

Rice terraces viewed through one of the roadside bamboo groves, Bajawa.

Coffee stop, Bajawa.

Our next stop was at an arak distillery, just a small local family who made arak out front of their house. We took a brief look at the primordial process before tasting the three different classes of arak, dependent on the number of times it had been distilled. We ended up buying a bottle of the triple distilled, 1st grade arak before climbing back in the car for the short drive to a beach where we stopped to eat our picnic lunch. Washing his hands in the sea, Rhys discovered some bizarre looking critters that we later looked up in a crazy hippy womans dive book - glaucus atlanticus, commonly known as blue angels that shouldn’t be picked up as they can give a nasty sting.

Rhys and Karen with Fanny, practicing their arak faces.

We arrived in to Bajawa at a decent time and had a short break before Fanny drove us out to Soa, to the hot springs. We were surprised how nice the complex was with a couple of different pools and a small waterfall where the hot water cascaded into a cold stream below. We wallowed in the water for a couple of hours, being looked at by the locals, before heading back to the hotel. That night, after a couple of araks on the balcony and a chat with the crazy hippy woman, who Karen just loved, we walked into the town for dinner before another early night, only to be awoken by shouting as a group had gathered to watch the world cup game. 

Rhys at Soa hotsprings.

We had another early start leaving Bajawa, after the crazy hippy woman had stolen Karen’s pancake, to get to Luba and Bena, traditional Ngada villages. Although both villages are close together, Luba is far smaller and less visited. Both villages had the traditional thatched roof, wooden huts with buffalo horns and jaw bones nailed to the front doors to show the families prosperity and both villages had stunning mountain views. Luba was our favourite though, just because it felt less commercial, only 4 or 5 tourists had signed the visitor book each day and the inhabitants were just going about their everyday life while we wandered around the central square. We spent an hour or so wandering around the two villages before continuing on our drive to Moni.

Lady sorting coffee beans, Luba.

The approach to Bena.

Traditional houses in Bena.

After a couple of volcano view photo stops, that afternoon we pulled over at Blue Pebble Beach where stone collectors were gathering the bluest stones for sale by the roadside. Then, just before we arrived in Moni we pulled over at a strip of road lined with fruit and vegetable stalls, where we bought ridiculously cheap passion fruit.

Blue stone beach, near Moni.

Leaving Karen on her mini bed on the floor of our shared room, me and Rhys wandered out to explore Moni, it’s only a small place with one main road, so a walk through the village didn’t take long. We had the option of visiting another hot spring in town but as we had an early start we voted for a few drinks in the room and an early dinner instead. Stupidly we ordered arak cocktails to have with our meals. When they came out we couldn’t even identify the ingredients and they were so strong as to be undrinkable and only good for practicing our already near perfected ‘arak faces’. The only answer was to throw the drinks over the wall or in Rhys’s case, all over the floor.

The alarm went off at 3:45am to get us up, dressed and in the car for the 13km drive to Kelimutu. From the car park it was a short 1.5km walk up to Inspiration Point, the highest view point where we sat in the dark, shivering and huddled together for warmth, to await sunrise. We’d got our timing a little wrong and had an hour to wait. Sunrise was pretty and as it got lighter we could see the three crater lakes, all of different colours. Luckily, when we were there we had a bright turquoise, a black and a green (the lakes change colours and sometimes aren’t all that different from one another). 

Kelimutu at sunrise.

We didn’t stay for long after sunrise as we’d already been sitting there for ages and started the walk back to Moni. Passing Fanny in the car park we continued along the road to try to find a short cut back to town. We missed the first two turnoffs but found the third which cut 6km off the walk and took us through the fields and through little villages full of tiny piglets and waving locals drying their rice, coffee and nuts in the sun (everywhere you look there are things drying in the sun, usually on sacks by the roadside or in fact on any area of flat space).

We passed a waterfall, balanced across rickety bamboo bridges and emerged on the edge of Moni. Back at the guesthouse we had banana pancakes for breakfast before showering and packing our bags for the last leg of our Flores road trip. Fanny needed a break a couple of hours in so we stopped at a little warung on a beach before continuing to Sikka, a weaving centre on the coast. As soon as we stepped out of the car an army of local women fell on us to show us their wares. It was all a bit hectic but we managed to buy some small runners that we’d been after. Fanny said later that they get angry when tourists turn up and take photos but don’t buy and the village chief has to get involved. 

Ikat for sale, Sikka.

When we arrived in Maumere, Fanny had already called his friend to run us the last 25km to Waigete where we had accommodation booked. The entrance was down a rutted dirt track and we emerged at a collection of rustic bamboo huts on stilts sheltered by palm trees lining a grey pebble beach. Rhys and Karen instantly took a dislike to the place. It was basic, the mozzie nets were net curtains that didn’t quite fit the beds, the shower was a tap and bucket and the electricity only ran for 5 hours a night with no sockets in the rooms. 

Karen had to repack her bag with all the tourist tat she’d bought in the last three weeks and all the stuff she’s lugging back to the UK for us and we sat in her room with a Bintang debating whether she was over the weight limit or not. Rhys collected fire wood for a fire that never happened and after dinner (where Rhys and Karen the meat eaters weren’t impressed that you had to order fish or chicken a day in advance), we ended up in bed at 8pm, the early sunrise start having taken it out of us.

Karen chilling at Sunset Cottages, Maumere.

We slept well with the sea breeze blowing through the huts and the sounds of the waves against the shore, and were up early for coffee and a pancake. We had a couple of hours to chill, Karen finished packing and we caught up on chores, before the taxi was due to arrive to take Karen to the airport. We’d decided the huts were too basic and after spending the last week on a boat, a desert island and sitting in a car, the decision was made to move and find somewhere else to spend the next 3 nights before our flight to Timor. 

Karen’s taxi didn’t turn up and after a few phone calls the owner of the resort was unable to track him, or another driver down and ended up taking us to the airport himself. As we’d told him we were leaving to get a plane also, and not to find somewhere else to stay, we ended up going to the airport too, where we said our goodbyes to Karen, fingers crossed that her luggage wasn’t hugely over the weight limit. Karen is always great fun and we’re glad she’ll still be in London when we come home, it wouldn’t be the same without her.

Leaving the airport we got talking to a taxi driver who suggested a place he knew of a few kilometres from town on the beach. We thought it was worth a look and jumped in. He took us to a place called Blue Ocean. Although it was double the price of the first place we stayed it was brand new and very well done, little cottages set around a lovely garden and decorated with beams and lintels carved in Bena, the traditional Ngada village we’d visited earlier in the week near Bajawa. When we arrived there was a group of about 50 local women meeting in the garden and they were all intrigued to see white people making it a but awkward to sit out and we ended up chilling in the room. We walked to the main road and realised we were in the middle of nowhere and a bit limited on the meal front so we ordered home cooked dinner at our guesthouse and ate biscuits for lunch.

Once the meeting had ended and the ladies had gone home, we grabbed a beer to watch the sun go down over the beach, a decent stretch of black sand where you couldn’t really sit because of all the local attention. We ate grilled fish overlooking the beach, joined by the manager and two locals who sat and watched. It was nice to chat to them in broken english but a bit uncomfortable being watched.

After breakfast the next day, we rented a scooter to ride in to town. Maumere isn’t the prettiest place in the world and doesn’t really offer much to tourists. After circling the town for a while we decided to head east to the Sea World Resort, a hotel we’d heard was nice and thought might make a good lunch stop. The resort had a nice beach and when we arrived, a group of ladies demonstrating ikat weaving. We ended up buying a few bracelets before taking a seat in the restaurant for lunch.

Ikat weaving at the Sea World Resort, Maumere.

Back at our guesthouse, we had a couple of hours to relax before we rode back into Maumere to use the internet at a smart hotel in town. As it had begun to rain, dinner was served at our cottage which meant we could eat without being watched.

The world cup final was on at 3am the next morning although we’d been told it was at 2am. Despite having set our alarm, just after 1am there was a knock at our door, the guy whose house we’d been invited to to watch was waking us up. We mimed that we’d be there in a bit and went back to bed. At 2am we were in his living room and we had an awkward hour to wait until kick-off. Once the game started, more and more people turned up at his door, all the men wrapped in their ikat sarongs. We were struggling to stay awake and were glad when Germany scored in extra time (especially glad because I bet on Germany and Rhys had Argentina) as it meant we could go back to bed. 

We only emerged for a late breakfast just before midday. The weather wasn’t great again but we decided to head east on the bike to see if we could find any nice coves. We failed, it was pretty litter strewn and it was hard to find beach access. We ended up riding straight back to ours and picking up the laptops to head back to the smart hotel in town to catch up on admin. 

Back in our room we had a bee problem and had to move to another room. That night the owner of the guesthouse, Ignas had prepared a special meal as we were staying for three nights. We had the most delicious sashimi along with a BBQ snapper and a glass of apple arak to wash it down. We stayed up to chat for a while before bed. Ignas is an extremely interesting and intelligent man, his guesthouse was beautiful and his plans to expand are brilliant, in a couple of years I don’t doubt The Blue Ocean will be one of the best places to stay in the whole of Flores. 

The next day we had a flight booked to Kupang in West Timor. Ignas drove us to the airport, running out of petrol on route and then being reversed in to in the car park. He came in with us to translate at the office as Karen’s bag had gone missing somewhere on her flight from Maumere to Bali (and still hasn’t been tracked). The flight was pain free and we landed and jumped in a taxi to our hostel, supposedly the place to go in Kupang for backpackers. The hostel was horrible, luckily they didn’t have a record of our booking and directed us to their bar on the beach where they had some newer rooms. Again, no record of booking and the private rooms were full. We ended up walking around and found a decent place close by where we settled for the day.

As it was my birthday we jumped on two ojeks (motorbike taxis) to take us into town to buy a few drinks to enjoy in the room and later that night, we headed to a nice restaurant that Rhys had spotted from the taxi on the way in.

Week 93 - Sengiggi, Komodo, Rinca, Kanawa Island, Ruteng (Indonesia)

We were picked up from our hotel in Sengiggi at 8:30am on the dot and squeezed into a mini bus along with 7 other people for the short drive north to Bangsal. We were dropped at a cafe where, along with the 38 other people who had booked on for the tour to Komodo, including Grant who we first met in Java, we had a couple of hours to kill before our boat was ready to leave. Eventually and only an hour or so late, we were randomly split in to two groups and walked to the dock to board our boats. As there were so many people, there were two boats and of course we ended up on the smallest, tattiest of the two. Although at first we were a little jealous, we soon came to love our floating shed and it became our home for the next 3 nights.

As soon as we boarded, Catherine, an English girl we’d met in the cafe, suggested we jump up to the covered top deck to choose mattresses before everyone else climbed onboard, a great call that resulted in us getting the end row where we could get some fresh air. The 19 mattresses were practically overlapping they were so close. We were a bit disappointed there wasn’t a larger area to sit on out in the sun but soon made the most of it and squished into the small area at the front, and Bintang in hand, our boat left port.

Our sleeping quarters on the boat.

We had some time to get to know some of the other people on our boat before we pulled up at our first stop at the northern point of Lombok. Hot and sticky from sitting on deck in the sun, we were all happy to have a chance to jump in the water and swim ashore to one of the more remote beaches on the coast. Although not the most beautiful, it felt pretty isolated. Before long, it was time to climb back aboard to continue our journey towards Sumbawa, the next island in the chain stretching from Sumatra to Timor.

Enjoying the sun and the view from the front of the boat with Catherine, Grant, Dan, Karen and Rhys.

We had lunch and dinner on the boat, both meals were vegetarian and involved an unprecedented amount of cabbage. As the evening drew in we pulled out the speaker and had music and beers on the front of the boat before deciding it was time for bed. As the crew navigate by the stars, while the boat is moving we couldn’t have the lights on and sitting in the dark while the sea started to get choppy wasn’t the most fun. Once we’d got to bed, all snuggled up on our sandwiched in mattresses, the sea started to get progressively worse, and worse, and worse. We were on the second deck but spray was coming in the side windows splashing our faces and feet and at one point all I could see out of the window were the waves uncomfortably close to my face. I spent most of the night lying there worrying about how we’d manage to climb out of the boat if it was to capsize (on our deck there were only little windows and a hatch leading to the lower deck).

The next day we all woke feeling pretty tired, no one had managed to sleep more than a couple of hours. Nevertheless, we emerged from our beds ready for breakfast. The sea had calmed and the sun made everything seem alright again. Our first stop of the day was at Moyo Island where we swam to shore before a short hike that took us through the forest and across a couple of shallow streams to a waterfall. After climbing the fall (another, never in the Western world moment) we arrived at a deep hole about 2m diameter carved by a tumbling river where, if the desire so took you, you could climb a tree and jump from about 5-8m. Although the three of us skipped the opportunity we watched as others took part before clambering back down to the base of the falls and back to the beach. After lunch we had another stop. This time at Satonda Island. We jumped off the boat to enjoy the snorkeling before swimming to the beach and walking the short distance to the salt lake that filled the hollow interior of the island. 

Me and Karen enjoying the waterfall at Pulau Moyo.

Back on the boat and a few Bintangs later the waves starting picking up again. As the night drew in, sitting on deck trying not to get thrown across the floor became less and less attractive and me and Rhys decided to lie down on the top deck where the lower centre of gravity stopped the sea sickness from getting too hard a grip on you. Karen tried to stay up and managed to stick it out for a bit longer before deciding sitting in the dark, being thrown about really wasn’t fun and there was nothing for it but to have an early night. 

I don’t know if I was just extremely tired after the previous night (Rhys and Karen had napped for a couple of hours that afternoon), but I slept much better and didn’t feel like the sea had been anywhere near as violent as the first night. Rhys and Karen on the other hand said they felt like they’d been through a blender, both had sore muscles from being thrown about and tensing when it slammed into the waves. I think I just managed to wedge myself in and slept through the worst if it. I woke around 3:30am and spent a while admiring the blanket of stars that filled the sky outside my window before falling back asleep until after the sun rose. 

The third day on board, we pulled up at the rear of Komodo Island and what better a way to start a day than by jumping overboard to snorkel a magnificent reef. We were all pretty tired from lack of sleep but the snorkeling was good enough to help us forget about it. Me and Rhys swam out to the drop off and followed it to the edge of the bay where we’d anchored. Happy with a few turtle spots we started swimming back towards the boat, then, in the depths, swimming level with me, I spotted the white wing tips of a manta ray. I shouted for Rhys before swimming along side and realising there were actually three rays. By the time we got back to the boat we were chuffed. 

Snorkeling around Komodo Island.

View from the boat, Komodo Island.

Our next scheduled spot was at Manta Point to try to find some more rays to snorkel with. The current was strong and one of our crew members jumped over to track down the rays before they’d let the rest of us jump in. We spotted a few swimming under and alongside the boat before finally being given the shout to climb in. It was all a bit hectic with our boat and the people from the other boat in the water together, all trying to swim against the current and stay with the rays. All up it was an incredible experience and something we’ve wanted to do for a while.

Lunch was served early as the crew predicted choppy weather ahead. Luckily, we missed the worst of it and circled Komdo Island to arrive at the visitor centre. We were paired with a ranger and split in to groups of 10 people. We had chosen to walk the longer route that would take us to the peak of three small hills. Before we even started walking we spotted a small three month old dragon hiding in the trees by the ranger station then when we reached the peak of the second hill our guide spotted an adult komodo dragon and shortly after we spotted another. They are incredible creatures, so prehistoric looking. The ones we saw were about 1.5 metres long and seemed pretty sedate. When dragons hunt they bite their prey infecting the wound with bacteria which takes about a week to kill the animal. The dragon will then eat the animal when it falls. A female dragon will guard their nests for the first three months and then will come back when the eggs hatch and eat their young, to escape, for the first 3 years of life, dragons live in trees until they become too heavy and move to the ground, hence the baby we saw in the trees at the ranger station.

Komodo dragon on Komodo Island.

By the time we’d left Komodo, we were all on a high, happy to have seen so much wildlife in one morning. The boat continued to Rinca island where we docked for the night. As we’d spent the last two nights travelling, spending a night in a sheltered bay was bliss. After getting mobbed by locals selling wooden komodo dragons and Karen making an impulse purchase, we opened the vodka, played charades (oh how crazy we are) and clambered aboard the other boat moored alongside to dance on their deck with a disco ball. When glowing plankton was discovered half the boat jumped overboard to swim. At 11:30pm we had arranged for a local boat to come and pick us up and take us to the nearest village to watch the France v. Germany worldcup game (and only Grant fell overboard in the process). Of the 21 of us onboard our boat, 17 went to shore. We ended up paying 25p for entrance to a little shed with a TV at the end. It was brilliant. By the time France had lost and we’d got on the boat back to our big boat we were shattered and ready for bed.

Our boat stayed moored until around 6am when we started traveling to Rinca Island. Having only had a few hours sleep most people stayed in bed until breakfast was served, toast pancakes, intriguing. Our first stop of the day was at Pink Beach, although not as bright as we’d expected there was a definite pink tinge with broken red coral mixing with the white sands. We chilled on the beach and made naked people sandcastles. Next stop was at the Rinca Island visitor centre, another komodo dragon national park. As they didn’t have enough rangers we ended up walking as a massive 40 person group which was a little ridiculous and gave us no chance of actually spotting dragons in the wild. We walked to a nice view point where the bays and islands scattered across the area were laid out in front of us and luckily saw four dragons prowling around head quarters (although Karen thought two were statues).

Hiking on Rinca Island.

Feeling a little hot and sticky we were glad when we pulled into our next snorkel stop so we could get back in the water. It was a spit of sand encircled by reef. We swam to shore and walked over to the other side of the spit so we could float back to the boat on the current. As soon as we stepped in the water we were attacked by small white, angry, territorial fish. I’ve never seen anything quite as funny as a 6’6’’ Grant flapping his arms and jumping about as 4’’ fish attacked his ankles. The snorkeling was great and we were blown away by a huge cuttlefish, camouflaged against the reef. Back in the boat it was time to pack our bags and head to port.

Final stop of the boat trip, snorkeling with vicious fish.

The boat dropped us in Labuanbajo at the western end of Flores. We said our goodbyes and walked into town. We had a reservation for bales on a small island and had to charter a private boat to take us there. We were left with an hour to use the wifi in a nice Italian restaurant while Karen got excited at having a menu and ordered a late second lunch.

Our boat to Kanawa Island took about an hour. As we approached we started getting excited, it looked amazing. The island is only small but only has one, rustic resort on it and no other buildings. We were dropped at the pier and walked to reception to check in. We were lead to our bales on the beach and immediately fell in love. This place was paradise. The bales were small structures, with thatched roofs and a double mattress on raised platforms. There were rolling bamboo blinds on all four sides and a mozzie net over the bed. Basic but perfect, practically on the beach with views of the islands across the bay. We were all so tired that by the time we’d checked in and eaten dinner we turned in for an early night.

Rhys arriving at Kanawa Island.

Me at the bar, Kanawa Island.

After breakfast the next day me and Rhys went for a quick explore before deciding to jump in for a snorkel. The house reef was amazing and teeming with life with beautiful healthy coral. Over the course of the day and the following day we saw an eel, a slipper lobster, lion fish and a crocodile fish as well as hundreds and hundreds of other brightly coloured fish. 

Lion fish, Kanawa Island.

We spent the first afternoon sitting on the beach soaking up the sun reading and watching the world go by. While we were lying there Karen noticed a fish swimming close to shore and we realised there were baby black tipped reef sharks swimming up and down the beach although they were too scared to let us get close to them. We were all having a brilliant day until Karen’s iphone fell into a bucket of water where it sat for an hour before she discovered it and tried but failed to resuscitate it in a bag of rice.

The next day Karen slept until midday while me and Rhys followed a track that took us up the highest point of the island with 360 degree views. We spent the rest of the day snorkeling and sitting on the beach until sunset when we took a couple of beers, along with Dan who we’d met on the boat from Lombok, and sat on a rock on top of the mountain. We didn’t stay up late and after dinner headed back to our bales. Lying in bed with the blinds up and the wind blowing in from the sea was so nice we didn’t want to stay up and waking up with the sun with views out to sea was incredible. Kanawa Island was one of our favourite places we’ve stayed since we’ve been away.

Me looking out from the highest point of Kanawa Island.

Sunset view of our bale, yes, that's our bed, Kanawa Island.

The free transfer back to Labuanbajo left at 8am the following day so we were up early to head back to Flores. We were very sad to leave Kanawa and could easily have stayed another couple of nights. When the boat reached port we spotted a guy with our names on a piece of paper. I’d arranged to meet a guy called Fery in town to be our driver for the next four days. Fery was ill and arranged for us to be met by Fanny (hee hee). We needed some time to check the internet and use the ATM so after packing our bags into the car we stopped in town to run our errands. 

Fanny spoke great english and as a driver and not a guide was very forthcoming with information, pointing out different trees and explaining about Flores and the way of life there. The itinerary for the first day was quite straight forward and we had a room booked in Ruteng a couple of hours away, at a catholic convent. We stopped for lunch at a small warung and made lots of photo stops to see rice terraces as well as a stop for Karen to crack open some macadamia nuts at the sside of the road - which she excelled at. The one stop we’d planned was in Canjar, known for it’s spider web rice terraces. We pulled over at a small house where we were led to a view point at the top of a hill. Karen was courted by a boy with a dead rat as we sat down to admire the pattern of the fields. Once we walked back to the bottom of the hill we stopped for a coffee and some goreng pisang (fried bananas) with the family whose land we were on. It was great to have Fanny with us as he could translate and it allowed us much more interaction with the locals.

Me and Karen at the spiderweb rice terraces, Canjar.

We continued to Ruteng where the convent had a 9pm curfew so we had an early dinner in town before turning in for the night.

Week 92 - Gili Trawangan, Gili Air, Sengiggi (Indonesia)

Surprisingly, Karen got herself out of bed and ready on time for our pick up to drive to Bangsal, 2 hours away from Kuta. The drive was painless and we were dropped at a cafe where we were told to wait for our boat. We waited for about 45 minutes before asking again and being told we could just head to the port when we were ready. A little annoyed at the trick to make you buy breakfast and after dodging the scams to get you to pay for a horse and cart, we walked about 300m and found the queue for the public boat. We weren’t waiting long before we were called and boarded a small wooden boat for the short hop to Gili Trawangan (Gili T). 

View of Gili Meno from boat on route to Gili T.

Once on the island, we checked in to our guesthouse set back from the main road. We didn’t have long to chill as we’d arranged to meet Swift, a guy we met in Malaysia who was on the island celebrating his 30th birthday. First stop was a hostel near our guesthouse for a beer and a quick mie goreng (fried noodles) at a warung (kitchen) opposite. Swift had managed to gather a group of about 20 people and together we all walked down to the pier and boarded a transfer boat to take us out to the yacht where we had tickets for the DMZ Bikini Party. The boat was a weekly party boat that sails around the three Gili islands for 5 hours or so until sunset. The boat was incredible, a 130 foot luxury, teak wood yacht holding 120 people. We were some of the last onboard so there weren’t any beanbags left on the top deck so we camped out at the back of the boat. The bar was expensive and between the three of us the best deal was to buy an entire bottle of Smirnoff (which we later topped up with our smuggled aboard cheap vodka). The sun was shining and we all had an awesome day despite our present to Swift, a Nimbus 3000 GTI, getting confiscated when Rhys jumped off the boat with it. We went hard, then went home. Rhys and Karen debated going back out but decided against it and we were all in bed by 9pm.

DMZ Bikini Party boat, Gili T.

The birthday boy, celebrating Swift's 30th with Rhys and Karen, Gili T.

We slept in late the following day then wandered to a beachfront restaurant for lunch, Rhys having gone for a short exploration walk earlier. We spotted Grant and called him over to join us and shortly after, Mario walked past (we’d met them both in Java then saw them again separately in Bali). After lunch, Rhys had seen somewhere selling cider further along the beach so we ducked in for one before wandering back to the room to chill. We’d made plans to meet Grant and Mario for dinner at the night market before finding a bar to watch the football. 

After BBQ fish, chicken and prawns at the market we pulled up stools in the Irish bar to watch the USA v. Germany game. It was all going well until the TV signal cut out and there was a mass exodus to find somewhere still showing the game. We watched the end peering over the shoulders of people a few bars down before heading to Sama Sama, one of the busiest bars on the island who were having a pre-Ramadan closing party. Karen headed home to catch up on sleep while me, Rhys, Grant and Mario stayed listening to the music and chatting until the early hours. We’re hoping to see Grant again but don’t think our paths will cross with Mario until we’re all back home in Europe - a shame because he’s one of the funniest people we’ve met and he’s great company.

We had already decided to chill out at the Pearl Lounge Resort the next day before Swift messaged Rhys to say he was there. It was a great deal, for a 100,000 rupiah (£5) bar spend you got to use the loungers and the pool and wifi. It was refreshing to be somewhere with a little bit of luxury, the food was almost gourmet compared to what we’re used to and the pool was a little oasis. We stayed at the resort for the whole afternoon before walking back down the main street to our guesthouse. 

Gili T is a party island, the beaches, although pretty, are thin and covered in coral and not great for sitting on. The main street is nothing more than a sandy track, there are no motor vehicles and everyone gets around by horse and cart or bicycle. There are loads of bars and restaurants and a few boutique shops but there’s not a whole lot to do unless you dive. It’s got a real backpacker vibe and we really enjoyed being there but were tired and ready to leave. On our last night on the island neither Rhys nor Karen wanted to leave the guesthouse. I left them in bed and walked to the market for BBQ satay and corn on the cob.

The next day we took the morning island hopping boat over to Gili Air. The Gili island group comprises 3 islands, Gili T being the largest and the party island, Gili Meno being the smallest and quietest with the best beaches and Gili Air being the middle in both liveliness and size. We were staying on the other side of the island to the ferry port and jumped in a horse and cart to get there. We pretty much dropped off our backpacks and headed to the beach. Our end of the island was pretty quiet with just a small scattering of places to eat and sit. Again, like on Gili T, the beach was covered in coral so we picked a restaurant with the comfiest sun loungers and settled in for the day. Rhys stayed for lunch before wandering back to the room to watch TV while me and Karen soaked up the sun. The sea on the northern coast was full of seaweed and pretty cloudy and strewn with coral so getting in and out was unpleasant ruling out swimming. 

Mocktails on the beach on Gili Air.

Sunset on the north coast of Gili Air.

After a while, I left Karen and walked around to the east coast and on to the jetty in the south. It was a fair old walk in the heat of the day and took me nearly 2 hours to get back to Karen, having got lost when I tried to cut inland. I took up my place on the sun lounger again and shortly after, we were joined by Rhys. That night, as we were all pretty tired we ate in a little hut on the sand on the north coast near our homestay, the food was terrible, smelly fish, rice that smelt like feet, cold satay and soggy spring rolls.

Rhys had booked us on to a snorkeling trip for the following day so we were up early and at the beach waiting for the boat to come and pick us up. Karen had a terrible nights sleep with the sounds of screeching kids, cats, cockerels and horse and carts reverberating through the thin walls of her hut all night. The boat pulled in and we scrambled aboard to join the rest of the people on the tour, with the promise to stop at the best 4 snorkel stops in the Gilis. Our first two stops were near Gili T and were for turtle spotting. At the first spot we only saw a couple of turtles and really deep but at the second we had some great sightings (Karen has found her calling in life as a turtle spotter) and Karen spotted a white tipped shark that she quickly swam away from. Our next stop was a beautiful coral garden before we pulled in to Gili Meno for lunch. We took a hut on the beach and ate while enjoying the view, the turquoise sea stretched out in front of us to Gili Air. We took a quick walk to the beach to check it out and all agreed it was the best beach in the Gili’s, before it was time to get back on the boat for one more snorkel stop. The last spot was for fish, me and Rhys have snorkeled a lot during our trip and we’re really happy when we see something we haven’t seen before, we saw three new interesting fish and some huge puffer fish.

Karen snorkeling, Gili Air.

Boats moored at Gili Meno.

The boat dropped us halfway along the east coast of Gili Air and we decided to walk south to check the boat times for the following day. It was further than we thought and with only the smallest ice cream in the world for fuel, we circled the island, walking back up the west coast to our homestay. When the tide is out, the west coast undeniably has the best beach. It was completely empty and had soft sand and clear water. Back at ours we stopped in the rooms to relax until dinner.

Walking home, west coast of Gili Air.

Rhys and Karen had been teasing me about Legends, a bar i’d noticed on the first day and used as a landmark for describing where we were on the island, so we decided to wander over there, about 15 minutes away along the sandy coastal track. We sat in a comfy beach hut with a glass of wine before deciding to head back closer to ours for dinner. We ended up sitting in another little hut, up a ladder ordering from two different restaurants and drinking lots more wine until closing time. Wine is a rare treat and it was a nice way to end our time in the Gilis. 

Karen had been up half the night again with the farmyard noises coming from next door, our hut was a bit more shielded from the racket although we’d still been woken early too. We booked a horse and cart to pick us up and take us to the jetty where we caught a public boat back to Bangsal. Once back on the mainland, we arranged what we thought was a taxi to Sengiggi but turned out to be a bemo (like a mini van with sideways seats) with a loony driver who kept trying to chase other people to get in. Finally we wound around the coastal road with spectacular views out to the islands and arrived at our hotel. 

We had some chores to run to prepare for the next week without shops and wifi (we have a boat trip and a desert island escape planned) and spent the afternoon in town. We found a souvenir shop for Karen to buy some bits to take home and, after realising just how cheap it was ended up buying some bits ourselves, including another painting. It will be interesting to see how it all fits into Karen’s bag for her to lug it home for us. We stopped for a quick lunch in one of the hotels in town before walking back to ours on the outskirts. 

Rhys and Karen stayed in the rooms while I went for a quick swim and sat by the pool until it started to rain. For dinner, we had pot noodles in our room while Karen went out on a vodka hunt. Buying spirits here is difficult and it takes a certain skill to find it. She ended up in the back room of a bar which turned out to be the only place in town selling take away spirits and came back smiling with a bottle of Absolut. We spent the rest of the night in our room drinking vodka and watching TV.

After breakfast the next day, me and Rhys went for a swim before deciding to rent a motorbike to head back up the coast towards Bangsal. Karen appeared at midday just as we were leaving and wandered up to chill by the pool. Me and Rhys spent a couple of hours meandering along the winding coastal road stopping to take photos of all the pretty coves. Although very picturesque, none of the beaches looked nice enough to pull over and sit on so once we hit Bangsal we turned around and rode back to Sengiggi. We caught up with Karen at the pool, where she’d spent the afternoon drinking beer with an Irish couple and two Australian guys, before heading back in to town to finish all our chores. We’d intended to spend some time on the town beach but everyone we spoke to said it was littered and not all that nice. Another quiet night was in order to ensure we were on top of our game for the boat trip to Komodo.

View from the coast road, north of Sengiggi.

View from the coast road, north of Sengiggi.