We went to sea as sailors, but only maybe for my dirty mouth, swearing through my teeth that Gili Air was probably going to suck. Given we seemed to have developed a way to enjoy places others don’t and hate places others love as of late, this was the only logical conclusion. I thought of the Gilis as a place people bookend their 2 week holiday on Bali, just to tick the tropical island checkbox off of their list. They go to Trawangan to drink themselves silly, Air as newlyweds, and Meno, well, I still don’t know. All we knew was, you can’t really go wrong with a $1 boat ticket and we don’t really drink – so Gili Air it was. Off we went to check out this bunch of clueless red skin honeymooners and see what all the flap was about, hoping to prove my cynical little mind wrong.
Photography is a very, very large field. A continent. Yes, within this large continent, I am a trained photographer, but just in a specific tiny little nook. Hence, whilst backpacking around the world, I would be hard pressed to call myself a professional photographer – because I don’t know jack about travel photography. Where I feel most at ease is in a controlled environment, with a consenting subject and a well-defined and researched objective, as well as unlimited time to get to my ends.
Upon leaving the disappointment of Kuta Lombok behind, we set out in search of something a little more authentic. We’d heard of Tetebatu, a small village located at the southern base of Mount Rinjani, but found scant information online and in our travel guide about it. Still we took the chance, hired a driver, left our dysfunctional family behind and blindly booked a room at Kembang Kuning Cottages, crossing our fingers and hoping our hurried decision would once again turn in our favour.
We arrived in Kuta, Lombok full of expectations, after hearing so many tales of unspoiled paradise from friends and trusted acquaintances. When we go somewhere I’m this hyped up about, reality doesn’t always match the expectations: it happened in the Perhentian Islands, it happened in Hawaii and it nearly happened in Koh Phangan. Unfortunately, it also happened in Kuta. We stuck around for a few days to explore the surrounding areas with a scooter, in search of the magic we’d heard so much about.
The island of the Gods.
A feast of colours, culture, beauty and devout faith.
With such beauty all around, it’s no wonder Bali boasts such a rich tradition of beauty and spa rituals whose names alone evoke the most exotic and luscious of pampering experiences: boreh, lurlur, temu-temu, avocado cream bath, spice bath – I could just picture myself in one of Ubud’s secret gardens being scrubbed and massaged with rare oils and exotic spices.
The island crossing adventure starts at the bus station. If you’re lucky, it might be an actual station, with classes and prices clearly posted. But it’s just as likely to be a dusty field with a complete free-for-all – in which case, I hope you’re ready to bargain because there’s nothing the locals love more than fleecing backpackers for a ride in a packed, smoke-filled bus. Because yes – smoking is openly permitted on Indonesian buses.
A few months ago, I wrote about Richard’s beginnings in scuba diving off the shores of beautiful Koh Tao, Thailand. Despite what I may have said or written at the time, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that I would not in a million years try it for myself. The thought of letting myself deflate towards the bottom of the dark ocean sent shivers down my spine that clutched me at the ribs and left me panting for air. Being of the mildly anxious variety, I struggle for air well above sea level from time to time, so having a pressurized whip cream canister and a sippy straw for my only supply did not sound like a cool idea. Couple that with the fact that I am an overall well rounded wimp – count me out of any extreme sport or anything involving heights, suspended walkways, speed, fast moving water or narrow spaces – and you can very well assume that scuba diving and I were never meant to be.
After the disappointment of a literally fruitless Perhentian Kecil island, we set off for Kapas island well prepared:
I never really write about the big cities we visit. I feel that we never stay long enough for a blog post to be of any valuable interest and that I would just be chewing back what’s already been written too many a time anyway. There’s also the fact that big cities have their way with making me restless, unable to concentrate and staring at all the shiny things in amazement. Richard has been calling me a magpie for years. I blame Sephora and H&M. However, I still felt like regurgitating a line or two about KL, if you’ll humor me one instant.
Jeez! I was not expecting such a small island and so little time to turn into such an adventure. Georgetown was amazing, but the real reason we had come to Penang was to visit the Bao Sheng Durian Farm on the opposite side of the island. In order to have better access to the farm, we moved our living quarter to Miss Loh’s guesthouse in Teluk Bahang, an adventure in and of itself.