Komodo Dragons

I went to say goodbye to Isabel down at the bus station and we piled on this scooter with a poor guy who was half my size.

My favourite meal during the whole trip at the Ballina Restaurant in Ubud, where I returned a few times.

Nusa Lembongan

Women coming from making offerings at the temple in Nusa Lembongan.

Sunset at Nusa Lembongan

Arie with holy Gunung Agung in the background.

Beach at Nusa Lembongan.

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Kuta, Bali

Lombok

By boat from Lombok to Flores

Komodo Island

Welcome to Flores - LabuanBajo

Snorkelling between squalls

Decisions and goodbye to Flores

Ubud

My first holiday in a long time - a strange thing to say given that I've been travelling for the better part of five years! This was a two week break in the midst of work -meaning that I had income when I returned and didn't need to haggle over every last penny!

I left Oz exactly one year since I had returned from my last travels. I didn't leave tiny Walpole for a year and wondered why I was going batty… It was a year like none I've had before - a serious accident and sickness combined with rediscovering what it mean to be Australian. I had my first 'real' office job in eight years and learned that routine can be quite comforting!

Kuta, Bali

Everyone seems to have gone to Bali and so I resolutely resisted a visit as a 'travel destination' - it was place that seemed too easily accessible and too party oriented. I well and truly had to eat my words - so much travel is about enquiry, new sites, challenging ideas and beautiful vistas. Contrary to my expectations I met few Aussies and those people I did meet in the backpackers areas were Europeans.

Famous Kuta beach with its surf boards and hundreds of people bobbing around like corks waiting for something that barely resembled a wave was fun and full of vibe.

Lombok

I'd hoped to spend some time in rural Indonesia as I'd spent a whole year studying Indonesian case studies during my Masters degree. It wasn't to be, but I got a tempting taste on a bus trip through Lombok.

The setting was perfect: green rice fields stood out brightly beside the blue grey of a small mountain range - palm trees silhouetted against crisp, defined tropical clouds etched against the blue sky. Rice, despite heavy drooping heads, was full of promise, while women in coolie hats in the fields worked hurriedly, their eyes on those heavy clouds that assured a downpour.

We flashed by rice being dried on the road, horse drawn carts laden with families, schools inhabited by children in white shirts and maroon skirts. We pass by 'fuel stations' - soft drink bottles of amber gold ready to fill up motorbikes and I'm thrown into memories of many different countries where poverty means that fuel is carried in whatever will contain it. Muslim women riding pillion on motorbikes whiz past, their pale head dresses flapping in the wind while buses come at us from the other direction with a terrifying kamikaze craziness, overladen with sacks they lean precariously and I'm not sure if it's broken springs or cargo piled on haphazardly.

It is so like rural Asia I feel like I've been down this road a million times before, execpt that the road is wide and newly bitumised. The only difference is that the golden spires that emerge from the vibrant green are not from golden stupas. These spires top bulbous yet flat green domes, which in turn sit atop elaborate white mosques.

By boat from Lombok to Flores

I had no comprehension that the Indonesian archipelago would be filled with emerald green islands edged by turquoise waters shrouded by clouds, the conical peaks gathering groups of clouds. As it was the wet season perhaps it wasn't the ideal time to head off on a boat trip through the islands - grey skies tended to mute the inherent beauty of the scenery - but all the same I was entranced.

Six tourists (2 Ukrainians, 2 Germans, a Dutch guy and I) had a converted Indonesia fishing boat to ourselves and were attended by about 10 smiling staff who had a great trip - if they weren't sleeping, smoking, SMSing, or strumming their guitars- they were leaping off the boat with delighted shouts…

I'd opted for the cheaper 'deck class' so at night we laid out rattan mats, pulled some cushions off chairs and fell asleep to the gentle lull of the boat. Half the crew were also 'deck class' and the nights were punctuated by their chatter as they went about checking the engine or the comforting smell of their garam gudang cigarettes.

From the moment we motored off, this was a great trip. We stopped to snorkel and replant coral (part of a community project) on a sandy atoll in the shadow of Lombok's Gunung Rinjani and then barbequed fish on a fire under balmy tropical skies. We spent the night motoring through the ocean, to awake in a sandy cove which edged a luscious tropical island. Reminiscent of something I'd seen in a movie, I'd never seen anything like it before. This island was literally the cone of a volcano - the centre filled with a fresh-ish water made perfect, stunning swimming.

We stopped numerous times during our trip to snorkel - at first I was a little dismissive - but then it twigs, like a meditation or even a slow pedantic Balinese dance - you float, watching for the details, the way the bright beautiful fish dart daringly amongst the corals. It's a whole magic world and I lose myself in its mesmerising movement

Komodo Island
The next day we woke in a craggy, almost lunar volcanic landscape - the vegetation short and sparse punctuated by hardy shrubs. Long, attractive sandy beaches fringed this stellar world, somehow incongruous with the scene behind them. This is the world of the famous Komodo Dragons. Interestingly, only about 5000 people visit this remote National Park each year - of the visitors in 2005, only 4% were Australians. In keeping with my observations of backpackers in the Kuta area, between 10 and 15% of the visitors were from the Netherlands, Germany and the USA.

The dragons are big lizards - one of those things that makes you go "oh, they're so cool" - but the whole outing was a little contrived.

Welcome to Flores - LabuanBajo
The port at the end of any boat journey always holds some fascination - it is full of promise of all the earthly pleasures a port can provide! LabuanBajo, with a pretty harbour, was no exception, as we were travellers weary of a few nights on deck. We headed for the best hotel in town to be greeted by a ramshackle and smelly hotel where the grotty mattresses were not even covered because there were no dry sheets. Still, no discount for the room! The airline office - without electricity and a guy engrossed in a phone conversation proved fruitless. We forged further into town in search of an internet and ATM - no power, no computers, no phone - it was a story we heard all around town. Internet was an ongoing problem, one look at the dust on the computers and keyboards indicated there had been none for a while. Later we were told there had been no internet on the whole island of Flores for months!

Settled into a hotel (with dry sheets on the beds) we headed out for some alcohol to buy - a few shaking heads and we twigged that in a Muslim country it was probably not the best thing for two infidel women (the German girl Isabel and I) to be asking for! To epitomise the LabuanBajo 'welcome to Flores' experience was at a restaurant (in a seaside fishing town) where we were told 'No fish.'

Snorkelling between squalls
As there were no tourists in LabuanBajo, the most tourist friendly centre in Flores I took the opportunity to share a fishing boat (for a snorkelling expedition) with my German companions from the Perama trip - Isabel and Harald.

Ten minutes out of Labuan Bajo harbour it began to rain - predictable in the wet season. We continued onwards as it began to rain with tropical ferocity, then came squally wind that whipped up waves, making out boat dip and plunge with alarming force into the waves. Barely protected on deck we were saturated by sea spray or rain. Our captain, who had a big smile when we'd wanted to head out to the nearby islands, started to look worried as he left his gangly teenage offsider at the wheel and headed down into the hull to work on a spluttering engine.

We'd long lost sight of land, obscured by the driving rain and a thick mist. The boat laboured impossibly, and with rivulets of water running down his face, our Captain (who spoke no English) indicated we should change course for another island. We could only nod, half frozen and paralysed and soon the boat was swung around and we were heading there.

I only felt some kind of relief when we'd anchored in a bay though lightening flashed all around and the tropical strength rain continued to lash us. It was awesome snorkelling, despite less than perfect visibility and rain speckling our backs while we paddled around in the warm ocean. Abundant corals and fishes made it a worthwhile expedition though we motored home in another torrential squall.

Sunset on Kuta Beach

Replanting corals off Lombok.

Above & below Sadonda Island, with a lake in the middle

The Perama boat

View of LabuanBajo harbour

Isabel, the Ukrainan guy, our 'cruise director' Aan, and Dino.

Isabel and I during our rather stormy snorkelling trip.

Everywhere you go in Bali there are these beautiful little offerings.

Palace in Ubud.

Monkey forest, Ubud

Arie with Komodo dragon

Above and below, rice paddies Ubud

Decisions and goodbye to Flores
My plan had been to spend the next week in Flores, travelling across the island, visiting traditional ikat (a tie dyed and woven fabric) villages before flying out of Maumere. It wasn't going to happen. When I approached locals to ask about buses or transport across the island they pointed to the rain beating down outside and stated to the obvious, "It's raining, you won't have a good time." Another guy told me that there might be landslides with such heavy rain. (It turns out he was right, the day after I left Flores there was a landslide near Ruteng that killed 40 people and left 5000 homeless. Ruteng would have been my next stop after LabuanBajo)

I'd loved LabuanBajo, with its frontier air and the mosques that boomed out prayers - and I really didn't want to head back to Bali… one day I'll return to Flores in the dry season.

Flores had a definite Melanesian influence - there were loads of people with darker skin and fuzzy hair blended with the more Malaysian features of the Javanese and I understand that various cultural groups lived in LabuanBajo - the Bugis and the Bima/Bemo and also a population of Mangaarai. One of our crew members on our fishing boat spoke five different local languages as well as English and I had one of those revelations that I only seem to get while travelling. We have all this rhetoric about multiculturalism, harmony day and tolerance in Australia when thousands of cultures across the world live every day in concord and acceptance… they get on with it and don't need massive media campaigns.

We headed out to the airport - an unremarkable but not ramshackle building in the middle of town. We wandered in and were sent back by a baby faced youth to put our bags through an x-ray machine. He then proudly showed us our bags on the screen and let us play with the machine and the computer so we could identify different things inside our bags - quite an illuminating exercise given the interest in "security' these days.

We discovered a metal detector machine and the security guard watched us bemused, as we figured out how to set it off with metals… and obscure them too! I wonder if he knows that security is a very serious thing in our airports where one mustn't joke or smile!

Check in finally occurred and we went into fits of laughter as they indicated to Isabel that she should step onto the scale - they weighed each one of us, as well as the nuns who were the next to check in. Then the power went out again, and there were no scales, and no security check for the rest of the passengers anyways.

Hours passed as goats crossed over the tarmac one way and then back again, and then three buffaloes steadily plodded up the runway. We - and the other 11 passengers - wandered around the terminal and occasionally out onto the tarmac for a searching look in the dark skies… Finally, the plane appeared we wandered on; Isabel went up to the cockpit to chat with the pilots like you used to in the good old days before 9/11!

Ubud
In the mornings I wrote, seated on a carved lounge with the musical sound of rushing water in my ears and surrounded by the most luxuriant green garden imaginable filled with yellow flowers and rusty red leaves. The turquoise blue of the swimming pool was visible through the leaves, as every morning I watched a slim elderly Balinese lady in sarong and sash weave about the garden placing offerings with poised gracefulness.

Ubud was almost laid back, a charming arty kind of town. Here I discovered the magic of Bali and was forced to throw my negative preconceptions out the window and found my entranced by the Balinese culture.

With rice paddies, temples, and great sublime food, the hilarious kecak dance, the crashing bamboo jegog, dancing monsters, tigers, and lions all accompanied by evocative music Ubud was a place I could have stayed for weeks. The sounds of the gamelan (a jangly melodic tingly ringing sort of Balinese music) follow you about town and so entranced me that I enrolled in a class to learn a little bit about it.

Above all there was sense of well being and equilibrium in the world, everyone doing their daily offerings and smiling as they went about their daily business. Perhaps it was not the serenity of Leh or Dharamsala, or Luang Prabang but it was a peaceful feeling.

Whether it is their religion or something else the Balinese are not into hassle - they ask you once and take no for an answer. I met an Australian couple who had been visiting Bali since the 70s and they said that they only heard two stories of thievery in Ubud. In one case (in 1980) the village apparently killed the thief off as a bad egg and in another case the thief was surrounded and beaten up!

Given my feeling that Cusquenos of Peru had largely been corrupted by the west (mostly seeking the western dollar) I could hardly believe how Balinese society seemed so proud of it's' rituals. I suspect, tourism, particularly in Ubud had been an incentive to maintain their culture. This, combined with a long history as an isolated pocket of Hinduism in a Muslim dominated archipelago, means they have been able to maintain their culture.

A week in Ubud and I found what I came looking for - my head stopped spinning and I felt that I had discovered my passion again - travel. I was inspired by the world and reinvigorated to dream and plan for the future. Just two weeks had reminded me that the majority world lives, thinks and breathes differently than we do in Australia.

I needed to connect with my broader vision of the world and my Indonesia holiday did that.

The awesome kecak dance... checkah, checkah, checkah

My hotel in Ubud

Copyright Ariana Svenson, 2005 - Comments and enquiries, please email us.