Week 100 - Bangkok, Delhi, Jaisalmer, Jodhpur (Thailand, India)

We had the day free while we waited in hope, with fingers and toes crossed, for our Indian visas to arrive, and decided we should spend it seeing some more of the hundreds of beautiful temples Bangkok has to offer. The city really is quite majestic, nestled in between the shopping malls, skyscrapers, tatty backstreets and traffic jammed roads there are little pockets of white buildings topped with the most beautiful green and gold roofs and adorned with incredibly ornate and sparkly window and door frames. 

After a delicious breakfast pastry in a bakery near our hotel, we set out to our first stop of the day, a giant Buddha statue that we’d seen in passing a week previous. Next, we walked towards a temple complex that we’d noticed from the bus window on our way back from Koh Chang, stopping on the way at a completely different and equally beautiful complex with a towering golden stupa. Wat Ratchanadda, the temple we’d seen from the bus, was huge, after walking through a garden with a buildings dotted around we reached the temple with it’s 37 black, metal spires, signifying the 37 virtues towards enlightenment, rising skyward at each level. From the top of the temple, we spotted the Golden Mount, and wondered how we’d never noticed it before, a golden castle towering over the neighbouring buildings, built on top of a man made, white hill. 

The temple complex Wat Ratchanadda, Bangkok.

After walking to the Golden Mount and feeling suitably cultured for the day, we were starting to flag from the heat and humidity and decided to head back to the hotel. We had time to refresh and recharge before we had to head to the agency in Sukumvit, to see if our passports had turned up in any of the afternoon deliveries (when we called at 3pm they were still being processed but we had to try or face missing our flights the next day and spending £450 on new ones). We got there after a very long taxi journey, where the driver got fed up of the traffic and dropped us at a train station to finish the journey. Our passports still weren’t in and they were unsure whether the embassy was having printing problems and whether they’d even been able to print that day. They suggested we wait around in case there was a final delivery and 10 minutes before the agency shut, our passports arrived. Extremely happy, we headed back across town to the hotel.

Another quick turn around and cursing that we hadn’t even had a chance to use the roof top jacuzzi at our hotel, we were back out to Khao San Road to meet Mario for dinner. We wandered around before finally deciding on a street stall that turned out to be pretty mediocre. As we walked back to Khao San, the rain started and we dived into a bar to wait it out. Leaving the boys to their beers I went to the closest massage parlour for a heavenly foot massage, then as the boys hadn’t finished, I went back for an aggressive back, neck and shoulders massage that seemed to involve a disproportionate amount of elbow. Saying goodbye to Mario, and leaving him still in a quandary over where to go next, with a fast expiring Thai visa, we walked back to the hotel to try to get a decent night sleep before our morning flight. 

The next morning we took a cab to Phaya Thai from where we caught the airport express train, arriving in plenty of time for our flight. After check in, we had an early lunch before it was time to board. The plane landed in Delhi early and the airport formalities went very smoothly. When we got to the arrivals hall, the driver who was supposed to collect us, wasn’t there. As we’d only turned our clocks back an hour we thought he was late, Rhys went to check outside and was barred from coming back in while I worked out the pay phone and called the hostel. Our lift arrived and it turned out we needed to wind our clocks back another 30 minutes. He wasn’t late at all. We settled in the car ready for the drive into Delhi feeling a bit flustered. And then the car broke down in a tunnel on the dual carriage way. The driver managed to start it again but another mile down the road and it broke down again, at traffic lights. The heat was oppressive and everyone was honking their horns angrily while we blocked the road. He tried to start it and even ran off to get more fuel (it wasn’t that), before another guy turned up from nowhere, tried to help him, and then agreed to take us the rest of the way to our hostel.

By the time we found it, down a winding alleyway off of Main Bazaar in Paharganj, we were disgustingly hot and sticky. Turning the aircon up in ou room we cooled off before braving the heat again to explore the backpacker ghetto we were staying in and to grab some dinner. Initial impressions of Delhi were that it wasn’t as dirty or as in-your-face as we’d expected. I think we’ve been to so many cities that we’re abit desensitised and you hear such bad things about Delhi that you expect the worst. 

Market square in Paharganj, Delhi.

Our first evening in Delhi, after dinner on a roof top terrace, we hailed a rickshaw to take us to the Red Fort for the sound and light show. It was the slowest rickshaw in the world. At one point Rhys had to get out and walk as we were over taken by every other rickshaw in the city. Once out of Paharganj we started to understand why people always talk about the congestion, pollution and homeless people of Delhi. The traffic was shocking and there were homeless people curled up asleep tucked into every nook. But it wasn’t all bad and we rolled at snails pace past some beautiful buildings and arches until the walls of the Red Fort loomed. We entered the fort through the Lahore Gate and realised we had the place pretty much to ourselves and 30 minutes until the show started. 

The sandstone fort was constructed between 1638 and 1648 and by the 19th century it was already much dilapidated. Mughal rulers, sapped by civil war had been unable to maintain the fort properly and then, during the First War of Independence in 1857, the British demolished the lesser buildings to make way for barracks and army offices. It’s impressive for it’s scale rather than for detailed craftmanship. After passing through the main gate, you find yourself in a covered shopping arcade called Chatta Chowk, from there we continued to the outdoor seating area for the light show, to listen to the history of the fort while the surrounding buildings were lit up with music playing. I thought it was great but Rhys was struggling with the heat so we left halfway through. Having learnt our lesson about cycle rickshaws we grabbed a autorickshaw to take us back to our hotel to bed.

The next morning we jumped on the metro and headed out to the lavish Akshardham Temple on the outskirts of Delhi, a huge, ornate Hindu Swaminarayan temple, inaugurated in 2005, made of sandstone and white marble. We were in awe as soon as we entered the complex, it’s beautiful with every surface covered with ornate carvings. From the Ten Gates, inviting goodness from the ten principal directions, to the Bhakti Dwar gate of devotion and the Mandir itself, reaching 141ft high and featuring 234 intricately carved pillars, 9 domes and over 20,000 sculpted figures, resting on a plinth carved with 148 life size stone elephants. The complex includes three exhibition halls that you can pay extra to visit. We went in the first, the Hall fo Values, that taught of the life of Bhagwan Swaminarayan through a number of rooms showing films, light and sound shows and robotic figures. I thought it was a great way to make religion accessible to modern generations. Rhys was getting tired from the heat and was ready to go so we skipped the other two exhibitions. After picking up our photos (we couldn’t take a camera in so paid to have some taken)., we headed back to our hotel. We had lunch at another roof top cafe before chilling in our room for a couple of hours to hide from the heat.

Our photo purchase, Akshardham, Delhi.

That night we had a night train booked. Originally, we’d managed to get one bed and one cancellation in AC2 which meant we could both get on the train but didn’t have a second bed confirmed, luckily we got the second bed. We had another slow trip through the Delhi traffic to the Old Delhi Train Station before waiting at the station for an hour for our train to leave. We boarded and settled in to our seats. Rhys had a curtained off bed that was ridiculously skinny and I had an open bed in a group of four with a window. The journey was pretty painless, apart from the man sleeping next to me who snored worse than a rhinocerous with a cold, meaning I got about 3 hours sleep. 

We arrived in Jaisalmer at noon the next day and were met by the hostel for a free transfer. There were another 4 people on our train staying at the same hostel, Dylans Cafe, and we sat on the roof terrace trying to catch the breeze, eating lunch and chatting. It was stifling hot, over 40C and we were grateful to get in to our air con room for a shower.

After a couple of hours we headed back to the roof terrace for a drink with the others, before wandering into the fort. Jaisalmer is like something out of Aladdin, it’s the city you’d draw if someone told you to draw a desert city. There’s a massive fort that towers over the muddle of streets below like a giant sandcastle, with every building made from local sandstone. The first day we walked through the main gate and into the medieval warren of stalls and houses that fill every inch of space around the palace inside the fort wall. The fact that it’s still lived in makes it incredibly atmospheric with women disappearing around corners with their brightly coloured saffron and fushia saris billowing behind them, men riding rusty old bikes with their turbans piled high, cows at every turn and bright embroideries hanging on the walls.

Wandering the streets inside the fort, Jaisalmer.

View from the cafe, Jaisalmer fort.

After a circle of the fort walls, stopping to admire the view of the town below, stretching out to the sandy plains in the distance, with the horizon dotted with wind farms, we found a roof top cafe high above the main gate where we settled for a cold drink while we waited for sunset. That night we ate on our hostel roof terrace and watched the football on TV with the other guests before bed.

We were up early the next day to beat the heat. Before heading back in to the fort area we wove our way through the maze like streets, being pointed the way by lots of happy locals, until we reached the Nathmal-ki-Havali (haveli being the Hindi word for ‘mansion’). We didn’t go in, just admired the carved exterior with a shop keeper pointing out differences between the left and right wings, carved by two brothers in competition. Our next stop was the Patwa-ki-Haveli with five interlinking buildings, built in the early 19th century by five Jain brothers who were jewellery merchants. We went in one of the privately owned sections for a pretty rubbish tour but spectacular views from the roof. We had one more haveli to visit, the Salim Singh-ki-Haveli, built 300 years ago and home to one of the Jaisalmer prime ministers. The building was a beautiful shape and the guide who showed us around (and who still lived there in the lower stories) was really informative.

View of the fort from Patwa-ki-Haveli, Jaisalmer.

Passageways within the fort, Jaisalmer.

Salim Singh-ki-Haveli, Jaisalmer.

After exploring the havelis, we headed back into the fort where we stopped for a cold drink at another roof top cafe, before following the signs to the Jain Temples, an interconnecting complex of seven temples dating from the 12th to 16th centuries. The carvings were beautiful, with every inch of surface looking like honey coloured lace, and you could easily find quiet corners to admire the artisans work in peace with the scent of sandalwood swirling around. It was midday by the time we emerged so we took a slow walk back to the hostel to hide from the heat.

Inside the Jain temples, Jaisalmer.

That afternoon we’d booked on to a camel safari. We were picked up in a jeep with another English guy, and drove out into the scrub of the Great Thar Desert. Our first stop was at an oasis, not that pretty but cool to see how little lakes can crop up in the middle of somewhere so incredibly hot and dry (you can go seven years in Jaisalmer with no rain and while we were there, temperatures were in the low 40C’s every day and it wasn’t even the height of summer). Next, we drove to a small fort. Again, it wasn’t really mind blowing and we were more taken by the ruins of an abandoned village lying in it’s shadow. 

Finally, we drove to camel point, where our camels and a dutch couple were waiting. We mounted our trusty steeds and strode out, caravan style, into the plains. I thought mine (i’m pretty sure it was called Noggin) was grumpy, but it had nothing on Rhys’s, Sala, the grumpiest camel you could ever imagine. We spent about two hours riding through the desert, spotting deer and mouse/rat things and birds, before we arrived at the sand dunes. There was no one else (one other jeep appeared in the distance later) and there and not a piece of litter in sight. Climbing down from our camels, we wandered through the dunes, taking photos and enjoying the view. It’s not like the Sahara with dunes as far as the eye can see but rather a small patch of dunes among the plains. 

Our camels being grumpy, Jaisalmer.

Me, enjoying a beer on the sand dunes, Jaisalmer.

Rhys on the sand dunes, Jaisalmer.

We stayed for sunset before dinner cooked on the camp fire, then our jeep took us back to Jaisalmer in time for bed. Many people stay out but we were keen for a good nights sleep in our comfy air con room. Driving home with two Indians and Indian music blaring, dodging cows and goats, was one of those experiences where the memory will always make you smile.

The next morning we were up early again to dodge the sun and walked to the palace within the fort. There was an audio guide so I said goodbye to Rhys at the gate who whizzed around before having baked beans in a roof top cafe while I absorbed the information from the tour. It wasn’t as pretty a building as the havelis and temples from the previous day but was interesting to see. 

The palace within the Jaisalmer fort.

We treated ourselves to a relaxed lunch in one of the posher heritage hotels in town before spending some time to cool down in our room, preparing for our evening train. We took a tuktuk to the station and found our seats in the sleeper class carriage, the cheapest carriage with open windows instead of air con and triple bunks. Luckily we had seats together by the window and, for the start of the journey, the train was empty and we whiled away the last hours of sunlight watching the desert landscape roll pass and talking to people who appeared at our window when we pulled in to stations. So far, we have a really good impression of Indian people, they’re very warm and welcoming, they’re keen to speak English and to say hello and they don’t generally want anything in return.

Rural train station on route to Jodhpur.

As the train passed through more stations we stopped to pick up more and more people until there were at least two people to each bunk and ten of us in our little carriage meant for six. The journey took 6 hours and with very numb bums, we were happy when we pulled in to Jodhpur at around 11pm. Then we had the fun of fighting our way off the train, climbing over whole extended families sprawled in the aisles and then tackling the station platforms that had entire villages camped out on them. In the main building of the station and in the forecourt, it looked like a refugee camp with people curled up asleep in every available space. I have no idea why they were there.

We found a tuktuk straight away to take us to our hotel and, having warned the hotel we’d be arriving on the train, they’d stayed up late to let us in. The room was fantastic with a four poster bed although the water was off and the first thing you want after a 6 hour non-aircon train journey through the desert, is a shower. We freshened up as best we could with bottled water and fell into bed.

We had a lay in before breakfast on the roof of our hotel. As we’d arrived in the dark we hadn’t realised just how close we were to the fort. Once we’d climbed to the roof terrace we were faced with the huge, solid walls of the fort towering over us and ate breakfast in awe with a Rudyard Kipling quote from 1899 running through my head “the work of angels, fairies and giants”. The old town of Jodhpur is a 16th century muddle of blue painted cube buildings, earning Jodhpur the name ‘The Blue City’. The views from our roof terrace were spectacular.

The fort, Jodhpur.

After breakfast we were excited to wander up to the fort and after a sweaty climb, through fly filled, cobble stone, cow filled, maze like streets, we paid our entry and collected our audio tours. The fort dwarfs the city, with walls that reach up to 120m tall and has a proud history having never fallen to invaders. We wandered a third of the way around before Rhys got fed up with the guide and just wanted to admire the buildings. We took off our headphones and walked around the rest of the site, wishing more of it was open to the public and having photos taken with locals. It didn’t impress us as much as Jaisalmer although the collection of palanquins and royal cradles were cool to see, and we didn’t spend long before heading back to our room to escape the heat.

The palace within Jodhpur fort.

Jodhpur, the Blue City.

We ended up staying in our room for longer than we’d intended and only went out again at about 5pm. We walked to the clock tower and through the Sadar Market, enjoying watching the local people going about their business with stacks of brightly coloured fabrics and tables of fresh produce. We stopped for a makhania lassi, a super thick and sweet yoghurt, flavoured with saffron at a little local cafe where we were the main attraction. On the way back to our hotel, we saw a beautiful piece of fabric and spent ages looking through piles and piles of embroidery before buying a throw. We found a roof top restaurant for a delicious vegetarian dinner (yes, Rhys ate, and enjoyed, vegetarian) and listened to the mosques call to prayer bouncing around the old town.

The clock tower, Jodhpur.

So far, we love India, it is hot and tiring and can be dirty and smelly but the colours here are just that little bit brighter than anywhere else.

Week 99 - Koh Chang, Bangkok (Thailand)

We checked out of our hotel in Bangkok and walked the short distance to the ticket office, near Khao San Road, where our bus was due to collect us for the journey to the ferry pier for Koh Chang. We hadn’t really taken the whole monsoon thing into consideration and chose Koh Chang as it’s part of the Trat Island group, near to Bangkok and the Cambodia border and neither of us had been there before. In August, Koh Chang is supposed to get the worst of the monsoon with 26 days of rain but we’d checked the forecast and decided it was worth a try.

The bus was extremely comfortable and the 6 hour drive passed painlessly. We took the 45 min ferry over to the island and then jumped in the back of a taxi truck to Lonely Beach, the main backpacker village on the island. Koh Chang is the second largest island in Thailand but is nowhere near as built up as the largest, Phuket. The mountainous interior is a national park, filled with jungle hiding waterfalls and wildlife. That’s not to say it isn’t marred by development and as the road passes through each town it’s lined with hotels, restaurants, souvenir shops and travel booths, all blocking the public access to the beach so that actually finding a beach can be a hassle. Lonely Beach is at the far side of the island and is one of the less developed areas. Off the main street, there are a few laneways lined with backpacker haunts, bars and cafes and a short walk from the village is a decent stretch of beach. 

Since we have a busy couple of months ahead in India, Nepal and China, have spent a fortune on visas and flights of late and have grown a bit blasé about tropical beaches and snorkeling (particularly when it’s the wrong season) having been to some mind blowing places recently, we decided not to do any trips to the nearby islands and spent five incredibly laid back days, mostly in Lonely Beach.

We’d reserved a room at Margaritaville, which came with shining reviews, for our first three nights and after arriving in the late afternoon, wandered out for a kebab to tide us over to dinner. We explored the village and walked over to the beach where we had a quick beer on a terrace overlooking the sea. Back at our room we took a couple of hours to relax and recover from the journey before heading out again that night to find a bar that i’m sure is heaving in peak season, but was dead as the majority of the village, where we drank free vodka buckets and watched Jackass.

The electricity tripped out in the middle of the night and the room became stifling. We rose grumpy and sweaty and only left the room to cool down. We didn’t go far and had an early lunch at a restaurant across the street while they fixed the fault. The electric went on and off all day and with it the water, and then when it did work we were only allowed the fan. After complaining, we received a 50% discount for our first night. For dinner we ended up at a Danish/Thai owned place eating mashed potatoes.

We rented a motorbike the next day to explore the island. First, we headed south to Bang Bao, a fishing village built around a pier that is slowly being overtaken with souvenir shops and handmade ice cream shacks. After a walk along the pier to the light house we bought ice coffees and yoghurts for breakfast from the 7/11 and went to sit on a beach on the south coast to eat them. 

Lighthouse at Bang Bao, Koh Chang.

View of Bang Bao, Koh Chang.

South coast beach, Koh Chang.

Back on the bike we rode north along the west coast to the ferry port, stopping at a small chinese temple, with the intention of beach hopping back down to Lonely Beach, after lunch in an Irish Bar. Rhys wasn’t feeling great though, so we went straight back to ours without stopping and Rhys settled to watch TV in the room while I went back out on the bike to try and find access to the beach at Hat Kaibae, failing miserably I ended up at the beach in our village where I spent a couple of hours lying in the sun and reading.

Lonely Beach, Koh Chang.

The next day we decided to move to a new bungalow complex. Although ours was brand new and nicely decorated it was expensive for what you got and for cheaper we got a pool, electric that didn’t cut in and out, light bulbs, a fridge and a TV. We grabbed a coffee by the sea before hanging out by the pool until our room was ready. Other than a short walk to the beach to paddle in the sea, we didn’t venture out again for long, spending the time getting everything organised for India and China. 

As the Premier League started that night we headed out to find a bar showing the games. After struggling, we ended up back at the Danish/Thai place where we set up base for the next couple of hours, celebrating Spurs first win of the season.

Our last day in Koh Chang was equally non-eventful. We woke late and continued with the planning while we had decent internet. We found a great cheap little cafe for lunch called Cafe del Sun with a pool table and ended up returning there again for dinner that night.

All up, we probably didn’t make the most of Koh Chang but it wasn’t really the right time of year to be there. It was more somewhere we could stay, outside of Bangkok, while waiting for our Indian visas. We were incredibly lucky that it only rained over night and apart from intense humidity, we had great weather.

The next morning we left for the return trip to Bangkok. We jumped on a truck taxi back to the port, then a ferry, then a bus and arrived at our hotel just north of Khao San Road in the early evening. We’d found out that our favourite Portuguese, Mario was in town, having not seen him since Ubud in June, and we arranged to meet up with him for dinner and a few drinks. After street food we ended up at our favourite bar, drinking buckets, eating scorpions, adopting French men called Quentin and taking photos wearing stupid hats, oh how we love Khao San, and Mario. 

Drinking buckets on Khao San Road with Mario, Bangkok.

Having got in late we enjoyed a lay in, in our tiny hotel room (beautifully decorated and great location but no room to swing a cat). We had some final chores to run before leaving Bangkok and jumped in a cab to the main shopping street. We stumbled upon a decent sports store and found me some bargain hiking boots (hiking gear is really really hard to find in Bangkok) before taking a trip to the electrical mall and then the MBK centre. Back at Khao San we chilled in our room before street food dinner. Rhys headed back to the hotel and I did some final shopping on Khao San, getting caught in a tropical storm, before bed.

Week 98 - Kupang, Ubud, Bangkok (Indonesia, Thailand)

We woke early at a loss with how to spend another day in Kupang. We’d already spent time there while waiting for our Timor Leste visa application authorisation and had decided to go straight back to the town from Timor Leste to ensure nothing else could go wrong and we’d make our flight back to Bali. After twiddling our thumbs trying to get the internet to work in our room, we wandered down to the hotel restaurant for coffee overlooking the sea. Kupang is an odd town and is really spread out and although we stayed at a central hotel there was nowhere within a 15 minute walk where we could get breakfast, or lunch. As soon as it got to a reasonable hour we wandered in to town to buy some snacks then set up base at the Lavalon cafe, a magnet for every white person in Kupang that is actually pretty rubbish other than a nice sea view and decent internet. That night we went to the night market near our hotel for a BBQ fish feast. 

We had a lunchtime flight to Bali so booked a cab and headed to the airport after a morning coffee. The flight was almost on time and, after dropping and picking up passengers in Maumere and Waingapu, we arrived in Bali. Our first port of call was at the Nam Air office to follow up on Karen’s lost bag. Having been missing for nearly a month they were providing an appalling service and still hadn’t updated her on progress. We managed to get hold of a managers email address and were told they’d follow up again and get back to us the next day, suggesting a bag had been found and that they’d check to see if it was Karen’s and let us know. Feeling like we might actually have made some progress, we headed outside and jumped in a metre cab to Ubud, back to the hotel we’d stayed at during our previous visit.

We arrived after dark, took novel hot showers and ate a gourmet meal at the hotel restaurant, enjoying the high level of service and the ambiance. 

We slept well but woke early with a morning of chores ahead of us. After a fantastic relaxed breakfast we rented a scooter and took our laundry to one of the only per kilo places we’d found in town. Next stop was an internet cafe to print out pages and pages of flight tickets, train tickets, hotel bookings and visa forms, preparation for the last four visas we’ll be needing before we get back to Europe. We rode back through the Peliatan area of Ubud to try to find the barbers Rhys went to last time but discovered it closed. Something was happening and people were milling about outside the temples, taking in offerings and socialising.

On our way back to the hotel we stopped by BARC, one of only two charities in Bali that look after abandoned and mistreated dogs. We’d intended to visit last time we were in Bali and really wanted to check the place out. It was fantastic, the work they do is incredible, although of course they could use more funding and more space, their country sanctuary, for unadoptable dogs to live out their lives in peace, was recently closed by the government for having the wrong permits and they haven’t been able to afford to buy more land. We were shown around and spent about an hour asking questions and giving the dogs some TLC. They’re not all kenneled and run around jumping on you for a hug and a pat. There are plenty with skin problems and more than a handful paralysed from the waist down but with only a few exceptions, they’re all incredibly happy. 

In my element, cuddling dogs at BARC, Bali.

After our trip to BARC we headed back to the hotel to shower and chill before we walked back into town, through the Monkey Forest, to check out the shops. Since Karen’s bag was lost and she was taking home all our Indonesian souvenirs, we really wanted to replace some of our favourite pieces, a Balinese wood carving and some fabrics. After lunch in our favourite cheap wine bar with a cheeky lunchtime carafe of white wine, we walked through the market to find what we were looking for. Rhys wandered home to leave me looking at fabrics and I followed shortly after. We ended up back at the wine bar again for dinner.

The following day was our sightseeing day, to visit all the temples nearby that we’d missed the last time because of my foot. We were up early and headed out on the bike shortly after breakfast. Our first stop was at the 11th century Goa Gajah, the Elephant Cave, a buddhist hermitage with bathing pools. Quite a small sight with bathing pools and a cave that you enter through a carved demons mouth. Set in a nice patch of forest, it would have been lovely to follow the stream down to the next sight, Yeh Pula, a 14th century hermitage, but as we had the bike, we decided to ride to it. Again, as at Goa Gajah, we were among the only people there and it didn’t take long to walk to the carved rock face. The carvings were impressive stretching for 25m and showing, they think, scenes from the life of Krishna but it’s real appeal was its solitude, unusual for Bali.

Rhys at Goa Gajah, standing in the devils mouth, Bedulu.

Me at Yeh Pula, Bedulu.

Back on the bike we rode to our first temple of the day, Pura Samaun Tiga. We nearly didn’t go in as there was a ceremony in the building next door and we’d pulled up at a side entrance and didn’t think there was much to the temple. As Rhys didn’t have a sarong, I wandered in and discovered the main entrance, calling Rhys over to come in to explore. The temple was beautiful. As with most Balinese temple complexes there were a series of courtyards with grand entry ways ascending up the side of the hill. We wandered around soaking in the atmosphere and marveling at the carvings. Although quite modern, having been rebuilt after the 1917 earthquake, it was majestic.

Rhys at the entrance to Pura Samuan Tiga, Bedulu.

After our three stops in Bedulu, we continued to Pejeng only a short distance up the road. We had three temples to see in Pejeng, Pura Kebo Edan (Crazy Buffalo Temple), Pura Pusering Jagat and Pura Penataran Sasih. The first was by far our favourite. Although only small, we arrived just as they were preparing for a full moon festival to start that afternoon and the temple was filled with stacks and stacks of perfectly arranged, brightly coloured food offerings, including fruit, soft drink cans, cakes, whole cooked chickens and fish. While the women were busy preparing and making the offerings, the men were sitting outside surrounded by piles and piles of pork from a 300kg pig that had been slaughtered that morning, that they were chopping up and skewing to make into satay. Everyone was so happy and we were invited to return later to see the parade. 

Offerings stacked at Pura Kebo Edan, Pejeng.

Making satay, men outside Pura Kebo Edan, Pejeng.

After Pejeng, we had one more stop to make and followed the road north to Tampaksiring to call in at Gunung Kawi, one of the most important ancient sites in Bali. The tour buses had already arrived but as the site was so big it didn’t feel too crowded. We donned our sarongs, paid our entrance fee and continued to walk down the stairs into the vine strewn, tropical valley where we were met by two sheer cliff faces, across the river from each other, carved with rows of candis (shrines) in 8m high niches. It was an impressive sight. Each one of the 10 candi is believed to be a memorial to a member of the 11th-century Balinese royalty, but little is known for certain.

The rice terraces at Gunung Kawi, Tampaksiring.

Rhys posing in front of some of the candi, Gunung Kawi, Tampaksiring.

After driving the back roads and stopping for some rice paddy photo opportunities, our sightseeing was done and we joined the traffic heading back to Ubud. We made a quick stop at BARC again to donate some cuddles, wishing we’d known about it so we could have volunteered there properly for a couple of days. 

We stopped at a hiking gear shop to start buying supplies for Nepal and between there and the hotel, I managed to lose our key. As we’d already returned the bike when we discovered the fact, Rhys ended up walking back to the shop to check I hadn’t left it there while I packed our bags ready to leave the following day. The rest of our afternoon was spent at the hotel relaxing, hiding from the downpours that are part and parcel of visiting Indonesia at the start of the monsoon season. The rain didn’t last long though and we popped out to finish buying our replacement souvenirs and for dinner at a liittle restaurant in Nyuhkuning, the village we stay in in Ubud, just south of the town proper.

We were sad to leave Ubud the next day and as always, could have spent longer there. It might be extremely touristy but it’s incredibly easy to leave the hordes behind and get out into the countryside. Driving around the backstreets and through the nearby villages you see that it’s not all put on for show, the men really do wear sarongs and bandanas, buildings are decorated with stunningly intricate carvings and there are beautiful shrines peaking over walls absolutely everywhere. I wish we had more photos to show what it was like but I think you have to go to really appreciate it.

We had a taxi booked to take us to the airport for our flight to Bangkok and arrived in plenty of time for a chilled airport experience. Our flight landed on time and other than confusion over which airport we were actually at when we landed (Bangkok has two airports, one a train ride from the centre and one a bus), we made it to our hotel, a short walk north of Khao San Road, backpacker central. As it was late by the time we arrived we dropped our bags and wandered out for delicious, cheap, pork and rice street food before heading down to Khao San. We didn’t stay for long and after walking a lap of the block, went back to bed.

The next day was an early start to head to the agency that the Indian Embassy has assigned with visa applications. We jumped in a cab only to find out from the driver there was a 4 day public holiday so we were nervous that the agency wouldn’t even be open. Then, just as we got close, I realised we hadn’t packed the wallet. The cab turned around and we went back to the hotel, then back to the agency across town, grateful at least that the national holiday meant the roads were quiet. Luckily the agency was open and was extremely efficient, we lodged our applications in about 30 minutes with the only issue being that the holiday meant the embassy was closed for 2 days. Visas should take 6-8 working days and we’d already booked a flight to Deli on day 9 which, with the closure, now became day 7. So fingers crossed we get lucky otherwise we’ll be booking new flights.

After the agency we jumped on a train to take us to an electronics shopping mall to get Rhys’s laptop fixed again. Another day, another computer repair. We finally found a new keyboard that wasn’t quite right but would do the job, before walking around the corner to Centre World, the biggest shopping centre in Thailand, with a severe lack of maps or any useful signage. Eventually we found a little area of sports shops selling a handful of pairs of expensive hiking boots and agreed we’d come back if we couldn’t find any elsewhere. 

Back at the hotel we had a couple of hours to do research for China and India before heading back to Khao San for street food and, of course, buckets. We got talking to an Irish couple of the table next to us and as the night went on were joined by more and more people. It was a great night and after eating a scorpion, buying rude bracelets and stopping at another bar to dance in the street on the way home, we’d had your typical night out on Khao San and were ready for bed (after Rhys had a midnight swim at the hotel that is).

Rhys enjoying the highlights of Khao San Road, Bangkok.

We were late waking the next day but pulled ourselves together for yet more shopping, this time at the MBK Centre which is more like market stalls inside selling everything under the sun, all of them fakes. We got long johns for Nepal and some other bits before Rhys spied a smart fake Omega watch that he instantly fell in love with and had to have. It looks identical to the real one but it about 99% cheaper.

Back at the hotel, we had some down time while the monsoon rains swept in before more street food for dinner. We did a quick lap of Khao San and booked a bus ticket to get us to Koh Chang the following day, before deciding to call it a night.

Week 97 - Atauro Island, Dili, Kupang (Timor Leste, Indonesia)

We’d arranged for a pack lunch for our first full day on Atauro Island and were presented with a feast that we spooned in to tupperware boxes to take with us on our hike to Adara. Along with Chris and Michelle and armed with a hand drawn map, we headed out to start the walk which would take us over the central mountainous spine of the island and down to a beach on the other side where we’d heard there was good snorkeling.

From Barry’s, where we were staying, we turned off the main coast road and headed in land. The road became progressively more rugged and broken as it wound up the mountain, passable only by 4WD, but provided us fantastic views of the coast below. Surrounded by the sound of birds and good company we continued, passed the turn off to Makadade, a village on the ridge, until we reached a small concrete bridge. Here, we joined a footpath that ran through the forest to the small village of Arlo, spotting flocks of parakeets and doves along the way. Once in Arlo, surrounded by papaya and casava plantations, a kind man pointed us in the right direction to continue, along the edge of the village, towards the coast. We were starting to tire by this point and were faced with a steep rock face that we scrambled down to reach the flat coastal plain. Another 45 minutes walking parallel to the beach and we arrived at Mario’s place. Mario works at Barry’s and had provided us with the map that morning. We’d expected the walk to take a little over 2.5 hours, it took 3.75 hours. 

View from the ridge, Atauro Island.

Rhys, Michelle and Chris walking along the beach to Adara, Atauro Island.

We were warmly welcomed and settled at a table to enjoy our picnic, feeding the left overs to a skinny dog on the beach, before doning our snorkel gear and wading in. The wind was picking up and it was a little choppy but we stayed out for an hour or so, swimming out to the drop off and meandering back through some decent coral. It was hard to keep track of where everyone was with the waves but was still enjoyable and Rhys saw some kind of sea spider and a couple of lobsters. 

A lovely spot for a picnic, Mario's Place, Adara, Atauro Island.

By the time we’d swam back to shore, it was time to pack up and leave to give ourselves time to make it back before dark. We asked Mario’s mum to call to arrange a car to pick us up at the concrete bridge (there are no roads on the west side of the island) and after buying her credit, we still weren’t too sure whether the car would be there or not. Faced with the thought that we might end up walking all the way back, we set out. Lunch and a swim had revived us and we covered the ground quicker than on the way over and made it to the bridge in a little under 2 hours. The truck turned up and happily we jumped in for the ride back down the mountain to Beloi.

Coastal plain on the West coast of Atauro Island.

Chris and Michelle, tired and waiting for the truck, Atauro Island.

We started the next day with more snorkeling, back near the ferry pier in Beloi. Me and Rhys both thought the coral and fish were superior on this side of the island to the previous day and spotted another couple of lobsters including a pink and blue one and a Bicolour Parrotfish. We sheltered from the midday heat by our tent, reading and watching TV, before heading out again with Chris and Michelle after lunch, on a little outrigger boat that would take us to the outer reef. By then, the clouds had started drifting in, the tide was in and the wind had picked up so visibility wasn’t as good as it had been in the morning. Just as we decided to call it a day and feeling chilled through, Michelle spotted a porcupine fish. 

Again, the next stay started with snorkeling by the pier in Beloi. The tide was out so we floated around less than a metre above the coral and saw a few smaller, brightly coloured fish we hadn’t seen before. After checking them out in one of the books in the communal area at the lodge, we headed to our tent to relax. Leaving Rhys to watch a film I wandered along the beach retaking some photos i’d taken the previous day with the camera settings all wrong, a shame as i’d seen a couple of kids spear fishing by the pier catch a small octopus.

View of Beloi beach, Atauro Island.

We had thought to hire bicycles for the afternoon but the sun was hot and the wind had died down. We’d expected bad weather to be coming in and as a result the water taxi wasn’t running, but nothing materialised. Instead, after saying goodbye to Chris and Michelle who flew the 12 minutes back to Dili in a little 8 seater propellor plane, we wandered north towards Pala. We didn’t make it to the village and turned back before we lost the light. The road was new and incredibly dusty but worth the walk to enjoy the sweeping views of the ocean.

View back towards Beloi on the road north, Atauro Island.

View of the Atauro coast line.

We’d planned to take the weekly ferry back to the mainland in the afternoon of the following day. We woke late and wandered over to the common area for a relaxed breakfast only to discover the ferry wasn’t running as a generator had broken down and the water taxi was due to leave in the next couple of minutes. We rushed back to the tent and threw our stuff back in our bags to make the boat. It cost US$45, significantly more than the US$5 the ferry would have cost. The ride back was smoother than on the crossing over to Atauro.

Once back in Dili we decided to walk from the waterfront back to the hostel where we checked in before heading out to try to book bus tickets back to Kupang in Indonesia. Expecting no issues as we weren’t leaving for another 3 days, we took a mikrolet across town only to find out all three buses were already fully booked. Worried and not wanting to waste even more time in Timor Leste, we ran back across town to another company that runs the route to West Timor only to find the office was closed. Starting to think that we’d never be able to leave the country we sulked back to the hostel for a couple of hours while we waited for the office to reopen in the afternoon. Luckily we managed to get tickets for the bus.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the Timor Plaza Mall using the internet and drinking coffee before heading back to the hostel for carton wine and cheap Indian. The hostel, being the only backpacker option in town, attracts a good crowd and has a great communal area where you can sit and swap travel stories and gripes. We could’ve traveled more in Timor Leste while waiting for our visas but just haven’t heard about anywhere worth the hassle, Mount Ramaleu, for example, near Maubisse, sounds like a lovely walk but there’s no transport to get back and it involves a 28km walk and then Tutula, the beach on the Eastern tip of the country is 8km from the nearest bus stop. It feels like to actually see this place you need your own transport but hiring vehicles or motorbikes is expensive, you’re talking US$35 a day for a bike. And so, we’ve ended up sitting in Dili, just waiting. I’m sure there are things to see in Dili but we’ve given up and the only museum we were interested in, the Resistance Museum, was closed Sunday and Monday, the two days we actually had time to explore.

As we didn’t get to bed until late on Saturday night, we slept in on Sunday and other than a quick trip to Burger King for lunch, chilled at the hostel for the most of the day. Disappointed to find the museum closed, we walked along the waterfront promenade and found some fruit stalls and a decent supermarket before jumping in a taxi back to the hostel visiting our favourite Indian again for dinner.

We sat around the hostel on Monday morning counting down the hours until we could collect our passports from the Indonesian embassy. Quite a few people had been waiting to lodge their applications and were turned away that morning after waiting 5 hours because there’s a limited number processed each day and the quota had been reached. Thankfully, our passports were sitting there waiting when we got there, shiny new Indonesian visa in place. I’ve never been so happy that we can leave a country and went back to the hostel to pack our bags in anticipation. 

I popped out quickly to check out some fabrics at the Tais market nearby but decided it was a little expensive and wandered back to watch TV and try to use the horrendously slow internet in the hostel. For dinner we bought some roadside roast chicken to have with salad and some bread at the hostel, we’d thought to go to the cinema to waste some time but it all seemed too much like hard work to get a night key as reception wouldn’t be open in the morning before we left to get our deposit back.

We had to check in for our bus back to Kupang in Indonesia at 8am and after spending the last of our Timorese coins in the petrol station, we jumped in a cab to the depot. After an hour of waiting around, they finally managed to get everyone organised and all the luggage packed and we set off for the bumpy journey to the border. Our driver was far better this time round and we got given face masks for the dust. We stamped out of Timor Leste and went to join the masses to stamp into Indonesia. After 20 minutes of pushing we finally made it to the front to have our bags checked through customs and register with the police before we got back on the bus to continue the journey to Kupang. I won’t bore you with the details since I already wrote about the journey in reverse last week. 

We arrived in Kupang after dark, after a 14 hour journey and checked back into the same hotel we always end up at on the waterfront where, after tracking down the source of a high pitched squeal in the room opposite ours, we settled in for a good nights sleep.

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.