Our trip started with my wife Heather and I flying to Bali. It seems compulsory here to say how long we were in the queues, what assistance we had with negotiating our way through immigration, were there any chalk marks, how much alcohol we had with us, etc, etc., but I'll break with the conventional form of a JBR and we'll go straight to La Walon in Poppies 1.
We spent two lovely nights here; it was idyllic, just like a second honeymoon. But then my wife kicked me out, something about her friend, Meredith, arriving from Melbourne and it was already being booked. Plus, after another night at the La Walon they were off to stay in a luxury villa down near Canggu somewhere. Well, after a noisy night at the Masa Inn next door I came back and begged to be allowed to stay in the lap of luxury with them, if only for a few days. They discussed it and in the end relented, but only for 2 days. So, it was off to Tamu Seseh.
It really was a fantastic villa. Heather and Meredith had brought lots of food and alcohol from Oz. Stuff that's hard to get in Bali, and/or very expensive. So I did my best and helped them out by devouring as much as possible. It was a bit like having two wives, all I had to do was sit back and enjoy everything that they prepared.
They still had more accommodation booked, but I was kicked out, again. For me it was off to live in penury on about $20 a day while they lived in luxury in their $150 a day villa. Is there no justice in life?
I was off to Kupang. It only took a short two hour taxi ride to get to the airport from Canggu, thankfully missing the really heavy traffic that occurs later in the day. By the by it is only about 8k from Canggu to the airport along the beach: the Kuta/Legian/Seminyak megalopolis is rapidly becoming disfunctional.
Initially, I used to dislike Kupang but the more I go there the more I appreciate its quirky charm.
When I arrived at Kupang airport a lean tattooed German and I struck up a conversation. Turns out he was a carpenter who specialised in building theatre sets for performances in Berlin. He was on his annual 6 week leave. He was an avid diver, enroute to what he considered to be the best dive location in the world. I guess I better not say exactly where it is.
We shared a taxi to the hotel Mariana.
There are 4 or 5 rickety hotels grouped right atop of a bay with those exotic looking Bugis schooners with their high prows scattered about.
These boats are inhabited by gnarled and wizened seafarers squatting on their haunches and thoughtfully drawing on clove cigarettes as they watch the world go by.
Across the bay are mountainous islands that complete a pleasing vista. Just across from the hotels and off to the left a bit is a bar. It is open sided, now with a jaunty yin yang swinging bar room door that curls into itself in a satisfying manner. It always seems to me that all the human flotsam and jetsam of the Savu Sea washes up here.
I like this bar, Edwin, the owner, is laconic but friendly and ever helpful. My companion, Peter, quizzes him about his life. We quickly find a mass of interesting detail, common acquaintances, coincidences, leading inevitably to that sense of déjà vu and comments about six degrees of separation.
The night market is just down the road. A section of the road is occupied at night by a rich medley of food vendors. Their flaring pressure lamps emphasised the deep darkness of the surrounding night and lit up the faces of the crowd in a dramatic way. Flickering shadows, faces gleaming, the heat of the day dissipated by a gentle sea breeze.
Everything bustles, the vendors converse happily with each other and readily discuss the prices and content of their offerings. We wander about, having difficulty deciding which temptations to give in to. In the end I settle for mutabak and then finish off with a mango and chocolate smoothy, followed by, as a bit of a variation on that theme, by an avocado and coffee smoothy.
Why is it, that in Bali, whenever I ask for either mango or avocado, they are not available?
During an onward trip to one northerly island I develop a middle ear infection. Realising that I'll be out of the water for at least 10 days, I return to Bali, specifically the Bukit, where I can laze on crisp white sheets in air-conditioned comfort, while watching satellite TV and devouring scrumptious morsels of gourmet-quality titbits, well almost, it is just the Bukit.
One morning, returning from a surf check at about 9am, while tucking into a mountainous fruit salad as I lounged in a deck chair on the veranda in front of my room, I noticed an odd couple arrive in a taxi and negotiate for a room.
Odd in what way? Well, the guy was solid, nearly 6 feet tall, reasonably good looking and about 35/40 years old. His companion had to be at least 60.
They had perfect English but obviously were not. Was I looking at a wealthy countess and her ty boy? I got up and introduced myself. They were Russian, Levan and Katerina. The woman was his mother. Levan was a script writer from Moscow, he specialised in writing soap operas and crime dramas, she was an English teacher.
Levan's job allowed him to travel and still be working. In fact, he said he was more productive while travelling as it helped fire his imagination. And oh, he said, he did not usually travel with his mother, but he did travel a lot. We hit it off together and spent the next few days travelling around the Bukit and sampling a few restaurants.
When I first arrived the losmen was nearly empty. Ah, peace and quiet for my recuperation I thought. But suddenly, it became infested with fierce looking Brazilian surfers. Having watched gun toting Brazilians arrive at Grajagan and also witnessing one of the heaviest confrontations I have ever seen in the water at Padang Padang, I was at first a bit disconcerted by their presence. They were of course, all wonderful people, even if they did party most of the night for most nights. Fortunately, one of them was a great guitarist and an excellent singer, which went a long way to mitigating the disturbance of their partying. And they just had so much fun. I tried a bit to socialise but their English was pretty bad and my Portuguese was non existent.
One couple stayed next to me in the only other room with AC. He turned out to be a friendly, gentle guy despite looking like a pirate who had descended on Bali seeking easy plunder and compliant women. He seemed successful in the woman department. Though his friend, who I had first assumed was an Indonesian rental wife was actually Japanese. They had been married for a long time: he was a surf photographer and they divided their time between their houses in Tokyo and Maui. This was a photo shoot and they were on their way to Desert Point for the mega swell that was predicted to hit in the next day or so.
Now, here I was in Bali, still recuperating from my ear infection. Nearly a month had passed since I had left Perth and Heather had returned weeks ago. I was bored, browsing the internet for something to do, and checking the Air Asia specials.
Well it seemed that I could get a Bali/Perth/Bali return for $89. My ear infection was still there, but getting better, but I still couldn't risk surfing. Why not go back to Perth for a few days? It was actually cheaper than staying in Bali and I would get to see Heather and our son for a few days before returning to Indonesia for another month.
So I rode my bike into Kuta at 9:00am and was on the flight leaving at 12:30pm that day, too easy.
I had 4 glorious days in Perth. Delightfully cold nights, sweaters and stuff like that. Fantastic food (Heather aspires to chef status, and I think she's nearly there). The weather had been terrible for weeks before I returned but stayed sunny for those four days, but closed in again just after I left.
So now there's another month to come. If I get another day at work with nothing to do I might just finish this very late JBR.
I hope everyone is not too bored by my reminiscences.
Cheers,
Dave