Indonesia is huge. I had an idea that we would simply use bus and ferry to slip down from the orang-utans of North Sumatra via Java and Bali to see the Komodo dragons. Indonesia is 3000 miles east to west and 2000 miles north to south, and mostly ocean.  All of the islands are volcanic with a small ribbon of flat around the coasts and magnificent mountains, many still active volcanoes, throughout the interior.   The roads are poor, mostly single carriage way, and crammed with slow moving lorries and buses.  The rail system is single track so journeys are fewer and take longer.  It is a very beautiful place but you do not move about quickly.  It is the most stunningly majestic country, everywhere is green and cultivated.  It is a huge garden with every space full of rice paddies and vegetables of every description.

There are few signs of poverty, the houses are mostly brick built with tiled roofs all constructed from local materials. The people are taller and sturdier than those in other parts of South East Asia, some of the men could compete at Sumo and some of the ladies would make the Jurby Giants look petite.   I no longer stood out in a crowd, my height being pretty average.

The main religions are Muslim, Hindu and Catholic, and Buddhism. These are the only forms of acceptable worship by law.  The law is based mostly on the Muslim Shia law.  Much of Java and Sumatra is Muslim except Java’s North West which is Catholic. Bali is mostly Hindu then Lombok and Flores are Muslim and Christian respectively.  As an avid reader of The Jakarta Post and Bali Times in the last two months I noted strong overt religious tensions, a transgender forum closed by force, women’s rights meetings disrupted (police standing idle) and people taken to court for blasphemy and worshipping in sects not prescribed by law.  They talk about ‘Unity through Diversity’ but there is a definite feeling among the non-Muslim communities of stifling interference by officialdom.  There are fundamentalist problems not far from the surface.       

I have really warmed to the people of Bali. They are an attractive race with a ready sense of humour and a real respect for the natural world and their fellow man. Their Hindu religion is based on the Tri Hita Kasara which seeks to harmonise the relationships between Human and God, Human and Nature and Human and Society. It leads to a joyous and colourful celebration of faith.

Perceived Balinese Wisdom:

Money can buy you a house but not a home

                             Money can buy you a bed but not sleep

                             Money can buy you blood but not life

                             Money can buy you a doctor but not health

                             Money can buy you a clock but not time

                             Money can buy you a book but not knowledge

                             Money can buy sex but not love

                             Money can buy you a drink and CAN buy you drunk.  Cheers!

Whilst travelling on a very slow and smelly bus we were amazed to see a 1960’s MG car followed by a Fiat and Mercedes of the same era.  Veteran cars obviously have following here. Later we spotted a shed containing two Mini’s and an old Fiat awaiting attention.  Among the millions of Japanese scooters and motorbikes you can occasionally spot a lovingly restored Vespa scooter that would have not looked out of place in Brighton ridden by a Mod.

I had a hair cut in Bali which was much easier than Vietnam. The lady who cut my hair said I was very, very handsome and looked like Tom Cruise with my hair short.  Bev asked if I had fallen over her white stick as I left!!

As this is the end of our South East Asia jaunt a few comments:-

Everybody smokes all the time, in restaurants, buses, bars there are no areas where it is banned. But this hasn’t bothered us one jot. Generally windows are open and fans disperse the smoke. Maybe because of our climate we shut everything in to stay warm and the fug builds up.

In the many places we have laid our heads I have found only three loo seats that were sufficiently secure  that a safety net was not required. 

No matter how big the city, with sky scrapers, very western road systems, McDonalds, KFC, Pizza Hut and Dunkin’ Doughnuts, you are always woken by one or several cockerels. Farm animals of all description abound and chicken wander around even the most built up areas.

For the last seven months I have been addressed as either Papa or Papi by all and sundry.  This is a respectful term for those with silver hair.  I have accepted it with aplomb and know it is well meant.  However my travelling companion is less enamoured to be addressed as Momma.

There is no significant high class soccer in any of the countries, but the English Premier League is broadcast in its entirety, every match plus highlights and commentaries.  The four big names have many followers and the shirts of Man U, Chelsea, Arsenal and Liverpool are common. When I say I am English the common response is ’Manchester United – David Beckham’.  Beckham holds the same iconic position that belonged to Bobby Charlton. The news that I support Southampton is met with upturned eyes and sighs of ‘first division bad luck’.  It is amusing to think how many thousands of supporters England will have in the upcoming world cup all shouting for Beckham, Gerrard, Terry and their other heroes.    

My high level of enjoyment of all that has transpired has not been diminished by bad smells, dirt and general grubbiness, cockroaches, flies, mosquitoes, rats, noisy mosques, smelly fellow passengers or ‘Johnny foreigner’s’ need to hawk and spit.  I add this to let you know that the occasional rant in my lovely Bev’s blog was purely herself and not me.  In fact the last seven months have been absolutely beyond my expectations. The sheer difference of SE Asia to Europe is impossible to describe and I am so happy that I could experience it.

I always played a game with my kids when they were young to get them to select an absolute favourite thing after a holiday or outing. My favourite city was Saigon and Bali my favourite place.  I have seen so many wonderful buildings and temples but Angkor Wat was tops. I had close encounters with orang-utan, elephant, tiger, monkey, snake, manta ray, three meter long flesh eating lizards and shark but Bev was the scariest...But for me the people I met, of all nationalities, pointed up the many things we have in common and our differences were small.

So to Australia.  The England rugby team is touring during our first few weeks there.  I will find a bar with a TV and sink a few tinnies to celebrate the English victory or defeat with some like minded convicts. [Written before the purchase of tickets to see the match in Perth.]         

22^nd – I forgot to mention that, when we moved to our new bungalow yesterday, we found an abundance of fresh flowers on the veranda table. Someone had even taken the trouble to insert smaller purple flowers inside the frangipani blooms. It was a lovely touch, and one that we have seen several times at different places throughout Bali. Also, the men here regularly wear flowers in their hair, either tucked behind the ear or into their head dress.

In the evening we went to our favourite posh resort for dinner once more. We would have watched the sun go down, except it was cloudy. Still, we were able to watch a father and son fishing in the shallows and the flicker of torches as people went for a night time snorkel. When I nipped to the loo, I was thrilled to bits to see a Praying Mantis on the door frame. At least I think that’s what it was. I dashed back and got my camera, so there are a couple of pictures and if anyone wants to put me straight on my critter recognition, please do.

Every time we have moved locations in Bali, the journey has been like a scenic tour. There is no multi-lane motorway hugging the coastline or following the low-lying parts. Just narrow little roads that seem to head straight over the mountains. Today we climbed and climbed until we reached the clouds, which drifted across the road like smoke. Our driver taking us from Pemuteran to Ubud was very kind and, when we emerged from the clouds once more, he stopped at several viewing points so that I could take photographs. It always amazes us to see how many people live high up in these mountains, no doubt attracted by the fertile soil. The main crops supported at this height are coffee and citrus fruits, but I was bemused to see small plots planted out with row after row of hydrangea shrubs. I don’t know what purpose they serve other than to look nice.

Ubud lies in the central southern part of Bali and is a renowned cultural centre, with many arts and crafts workshops as well as temples and places of natural beauty to visit. We were a bit alarmed at the sheer volume of tourists in the small town, but of course the up side to this is that there are many restaurants to choose from! It was amazing, however, to see that the pavements are no better than anywhere else, really just slabs laid over what used to be the open drains and in a shocking state of repair. Mind you, I doubt if anyone would bother trying to sue for a broken ankle or whatever – just finding the responsible authority would be a lifetime’s work.

Our room, accessed down a very long alleyway and overlooking a rice paddy, is rather typical of the standard throughout Indonesia. With just four nights until we leave South East Asia behind, I am determined not to let the gritty bathroom floor or the stained sheets get to me or, through me, to Alan. I have simply wrapped the pillow in my sarong, laid out my trusty silk sleeping bag liner, and placed my flip-flops by the bathroom door ready for use.

23^rd May – Today we decided to grab a piece of the culture that Ubud is so famous for, so we set off nice and early to visit a museum created by Antonio Maria Blanco, a Catalonian painter who married a Balinese woman and spent most of his years on the island. His impressionist style and the strange exuberance of his work earned him the title of ‘the Dali of Bali’. The museum was completed in the year 2000, one year after his death.

On the way into the gardens that house the museum and the family home, we encountered two women preparing the morning’s religious offerings. The younger one introduced us to the elder, who happened to be Blanco’s widow, an elegant and polite woman who spoke to us kindly on a couple of encounters during our tour. The gardens were beautiful, full of very large, mature trees and shrubs as well as many cages of birds large and small. Two of the cages contained highly-endangered ‘Bali white starlings’, which I am pleased to have taken a photograph of before the battery in my camera packed up and, guess what, the spare was kaput, too. When I told Alan, I pointed out that I had only made this mistake one other time during the whole seven months we have been travelling. Mind you, we did happen to be visiting the Taj Mahal at the time. His Gloatingness didn’t say too much, but that was because my plea bargaining had an air of desperation about it and did go on for a very long time.

Blanco’s favourite subject was Balinese women, most of them naked from the waist up. In his defence, many of the island women may have been (un)dressed like this when he first arrived here – Alan and I have both seen very old women just walking along beside the road with nothing on their top halves. The first time this happened, we had to check with each other that we had seen what we had seen. Initially we thought we had just seen an old man because the place where female accessories normally sit was strangely blank, then the mind registered that these were now somewhere around waist-level.

What I found most fascinating about Blanco’s work was the frames, which he designed himself to suit the colour and mood of each painting. Most were extremely elaborate and I was particularly impressed by the use of long scarves draped on some of the frames, a device that really added to the drama. I am searching my mind to think if any of the pictures and frames we have at home would stand up to this treatment, but I think not!

After the museum visit, we set off to walk a ridge that sits high between two rivers. The walking was not at all arduous, as the way had been paved, but we were both very lacking in energy and the humid heat doesn’t help. Somewhere near the top of our climb, with Alan behind because of his tail-end-Charlie obsession, I suddenly heard a female voice from the rear, then Alan speaking sharply. Turning round, I found a red-faced, sweating white woman on a mountain bike bearing down on me and shouting, “On this island we walk on the left, left, left.” Well, forgive me for breathing, but I thought I was on a footpath, not a cycle track. Taken aback by this outburst, I resorted to that eloquent response of the young – “Whatever”. For hours afterwards I was thinking of much more intellectual responses I might have made, such as, “Do you realise how big your bum looks in lycra?”, or “Sorry, didn’t know the Tour de France came through this way”. The normally gentlemanly and mild-mannered Alan had been moved to advise this misguided individual to mind her own business, as he had already stepped to the side to let her pass when she let fly at him. She sounded Australian, probably some stranger to reality who thinks she is now a fully-signed-up member of the Balinese community just because she lives here.

We emerged on to a rough track that passed through a village. Seems like everyone here is an ‘artist’, although I am left unsure as to what type. There are certainly more studios than talented artists and I find the brightly-coloured and cluttered style of much Balinese painting not quite to my taste. Eventually our peaceful route joined the small winding roads that nevertheless serve as main thoroughfares. The road descended and climbed the most impossible hills and we found ourselves leaning back hard or almost bent double depending on occasion. At one point, probably about five miles into this ‘easy’ jaunt, we were passed by a little open truck with a load of builders and materials on board. They all helloed and waved and shouted “Transport?” – the naughty little jokers. What a happy band they were, and this is quite typical of people here. No matter how hard the work, they seem to keep their sense of humour.

Just when we thought we couldn’t walk another step we reached the Art Museum on the outskirts of Ubud. This being one of our intended visits, we decided we might as well go in seeing as we were in the neighbourhood. We made it through early Balinese Art, dragged ourselves through the early twentieth century, and into contemporary. We then looked at the work of some young Balinese artists. Then we went to a guest exhibition that had the fatal flaw of being upstairs. This finished us both off. We were still quite a long way from ‘home’ and braved the stares of the museum employees, who had never seen anyone complete the tour in such a short time. They still haven’t!

In the evening we stopped for a drink in a very nice restaurant that does a Balinese tasting menu, so we resolved to return there on our final night in Bali, 25^th May, which is also our final full night in Indonesia and in South East Asia. Tonight we ate at a small restaurant near our guesthouse. We had chosen a table outside and had just ordered our food when the rain came down in torrents. Being veterans of many wet and cold barbecues in our garden back home, we were happy to stay put, sheltered by the large sun umbrella over the table. Eventually the staff almost begged us to move indoors and it was then that it sank into our thick skulls that although we were fine, they were getting drenched every time they came to our table.

24^th May – Mostly we have been quite fortunate in matching the weather to the activity of the day. Today was an exception. When we got up we could hear that the heavy rain that arrived last night had not let up. But we joined the four other people on our expedition and our guide, Gooday, in a minibus for a trip up the mountains. On the way up we stopped at a wonderful garden where we were introduced to the Taro plant, whose root is used to make semolina (this is what Gooday told us, I haven’t had the chance to check it out yet), Vanilla, whose relationship to orchids is clear to see, and Cacao. I now realise I have been lying to you all this time, and many of the plantations of papaya I marvelled at in previous blogs have in fact been Cacao! The more botanically-aware of you will probably be totally bemused at how I could be so stupid, but the fruits do have roughly the same shape from a distance.

We saw the small round green fruits of Guava, we saw mature Cinnamon trees, Ginseng, and Turmeric, which looks very much like the Root Ginger that is also grown here. Then we were introduced to a young Civet, the cat that eats coffee berries. We also saw, for the first time, the Civet poo that gives rise to the world’s most expensive coffee, Kope Luwak. It looked to me very much like a cylindrical sweetie bar we used to buy as children that consisted of peanuts embedded in caramel. We were introduced to a guy roasting the beans in a wok, then we were offered a tasting session of teas and coffees made from the plants in the garden. This was really interesting and I had the chance to confirm that I like ordinary Bali coffee as much as I like the Kope Luwak. Then there was the usual retail opportunity, which we continue to find easy to resist.

Our travelling companions were all in our approximate age group and we gelled very nicely as a team. The French couple, Gilberte and Robert, were from Brittany and on their honeymoon. Trish and Trevor were from Perth and a useful source of advice and information about Australia. They were both real characters who had ridden a Harley Davidson around the whole of Australia and had had many wonderful experiences travelling together. Gilberte and Robert were a sheer delight. Sometimes being in the minority, language-wise, makes people stand back from the group, but between our little bit of French and their little bit of English, we managed fine and shared lots of fun.

After the garden we drove on to the top of the very same crater rim Alan and I had stopped on for lunch a week or so ago, when we stayed at Toya Bungkah. At the entrance to the national park, where we had to stop to pay the entrance fee, the engine stalled and we all debussed while the driver, Gooday and some park staff sorted out the problem with a bump start. Much jeering and laughter from our group, of course!

Alan and I never thought we would see the volcano, Gunung Batur, again, but there it was shrouded in mist. We had a buffet breakfast looking out at the heavy rain before driving a little downhill once more to the start point for the cycling, stopping at a fruit stall on the way. You see, for the past seven months Alan and I have been meaning to try Durian, the very stinky fruit that is loved throughout India and South East Asia. Now we find ourselves just days from leaving these shores and still not having tasted it. So we bought a Durian and the stallholder cut it up for us. The smell is a little unpleasant, a garlicky, gassy smell. The inside of the spiky, thick-skinned fruit is mostly filled with a white cushion of zest, in which shapeless ‘lumps’ of the edible part lie. It’s an unpleasant sensation, on trying to pick one of these up, to find that your fingers sink into it. The texture is like thick custard and the taste, to me, was not even strong enough to be as horrid as many western people say it is. The consensus between the group was that it tasted a bit like a smelly cream cheese.

At the ‘bike station’ we got kitted up with wet gear and  bikes.  There was much hilarity, which was probably a bit hysterical given the strength of the downpour, and Alan and I even allowed Gooday to talk us into having a kissing photograph, bizarrely enough. When we finally set off, it was easy riding, especially for Trish and Trevor, who ride between 20 and 30 kilometres every Saturday and Sunday back home. From time to time we stopped to look at the people working in the rice fields and to take photographs. At one stop, we saw people weeding with long-handled hoes, so of course Alan had to have a go. The lady whose hoe he borrowed kept smiling through it all, or maybe she was laughing at his efforts.

It was fascinating to pass through the traditional villages, which consist of many walled compounds in which whole families live. The compounds are laid out to represent the body, with the private family temple representing the head, the place for special ceremonies the torso, and so on. At the end of the tour we had the most wonderful buffet lunch in the family compound of Gooday’s aunt. But before that we had a mini-adventure without our guide, the result of a complete misunderstanding. We had finally dismounted our bicycles in what seemed like a forest park with a river and lots of sluices going off into the fields around. Gooday started helping the other staff load up the bicycles into the back of a truck and, as we thought, he told us to follow a narrow track for a short distance where we would find the minibus. Off we went, eventually crossing a village rubbish dump and meeting a very nice pig with whom Alan shared his water. Then the track became more challenging and we had to cross a very slippery, sloping concrete beam laid across a quite narrow, but very deep, chasm with a rushing stream below. The track then offered a choice of up some steps or onwards across paddy fields. I volunteered to go up the steps and recce. From there, I bellowed (to make myself heard over the rush of the water) in my poor French to Gilberte (who had positioned herself halfway up the steps in sight of both me and the rest of the group) that I could see the road but no minibus so I would stay there and watch. Well, the whole pantomime was totally hysterical, with all of us laughing our heads off and shouting “Gooday” at the tops of our voices. Eventually Gilberte motioned for me to come back and I could hear Trevor asking “Where’ve you been?” Gooday had appeared and was flustered that we had crossed over the river and stood there telling us all to be careful. As someone said, “Now you tell us.” To this day we are no wiser as to why he sent us down that track or how we could have misunderstood his intentions so badly. But it was a laugh.

Back in Ubud the sun had come out and was shining on the paddy fields around our room. The many cockerels and hens at the back of the building were strutting about again with their fluffy little families. In the evening we went to a nearby restaurant set in a lovely garden, where we had booked in for a very traditional Balinese dish, normally only cooked on special occasions by the locals, called babi guling, or suckling pig. Our starter was Young Banana Stem Soup, then we were served with the babi guling and vegetables with coconut and chicken satays with coconut. So a lot of coconut going on. We have no idea why the menu designer had thought the satays were necessary, we didn’t come close to finishing the meal as it was. Our conclusion. Very nice, but don’t need to do that again.

Oh, and I took a very nice photograph of the moon through the trees over our table by laying the camera on Alan’s head and telling him to sit very still. Who needs a tripod?

25^th May – Alan has two old army friends in or near Perth and, bless them, they have kindly invited us to stay, first with Bas in Perth, then with Jock near the Margaret River, about two and a half hours south of the city. Bas is a real hero, arranging to pick us up at the airport around 5am on Thursday morning.

We didn’t do anything very exciting today – OH YES WE DID! For the benefit of Alan’s brothers, Roy and Brian, and for Brian’s wife, Viv, our dear friends Fraser in Wiltshire and Vince in France  – WE’VE BOOKED TICKETS TO SEE ENGLAND PLAY THE WALLABIES IN PERTH ON 12^TH JUNE! But we promise not to be at all smug about this as we know you would just love to be there. And we can take some photos to show you. Tee hee :o)

26^th May – We finished our sojourn in South East Asia much as we started it – with a visit to a temple. This is in the centre of Ubud, but sheltered from the noise and bustle of the street by high walls. On the way into the enclosure we met up with a bride and bridegroom from Singapore, who were having their photographs taken there – we ended up, thanks to Alan, having our photographs taken with them. It’s not surprising the young couple chose this location, as the temple is approached through the most beautiful garden with lily ponds and paths lined with orchids. Unfortunately I could not get a good photograph of the outer areas because the American sitcom, ‘Friends’ was setting up a shoot there. But inside the walls, away from the luvvies, Alan and I found ourselves completely alone with this beautiful space. For me, this just might be my favourite temple in the whole of South East Asia, India and Nepal. The gentle sound of the water features and the orchids grafted on to ancient, mossy trunks, together softened the hard lines of the buildings and the fierce expressions of some of the statues. Speaking of fierce expressions, I decided I could not leave this part of the world without having a photograph taken in the style of a Japanese girlfriend. So I posed coyly behind some flowers, resting my chin ever so slightly provocatively on my hand. When I looked at the photograph on my laptop later, I found that some jealous demon had airbrushed in two enormous wrinkles across my forehead and numerous lines around my eyes and mouth. Something there is that hates a natural beauty...

Well, that’s it. We’ve ‘done’ India, Nepal and South East Asia. Tonight we fly out to ‘do’ Western Australia and part of the Northern Territories. Alan’s old army friends, Bas Hill and Jock Reilly, are kindly going to put us up until we collect our camper van on 7^th June. Beneath the link to the photos I’ve listed ten things that I will not miss about the regions we have visited so far and ten things I will miss. It’s important to remember that, through it all, I have thoroughly enjoyed myself. This comes mostly from having a great travelling companion.

Photos

Ten things I will not miss –

0. Hawking and spitting.
0. Endless pestering to buy stuff or take a taxi.
0. Poor maintenance of everything from roads to accommodation.
0. Low standards of hygiene.
0. Stench of drains in the street.
0. Dreadful, irresponsible driving.
0. Constant noise – horns, motorcycles, music, TV, shouted conversations.
0. Food – the local food actually became quite tedious.
0. Difficulty in communicating.
0. Being seen as someone to be fleeced for as much money as possible.

Ten things I will miss –

0. The beautiful land- and seascapes.
0. The fascinating flora and fauna.
0. Ready access to good, affordable massage.
0. Cheap food.
0. Cheap accommodation.
0. Cheap clothing.
0. The ingenious use of natural resources.
0. Beautiful children.
0. Ornate temples.
0. The newness to me of everything I have experienced.

PARISH NOTICES – Thanks to Lyn for coming back with an address in Perth, and to anyone else who is currently working on a solution to our poste restante problem. Australia Post has finally come up trumps with the address and aforementioned documents are on their way to us even as I write (thanks, Cyn!).

Our website host has asked what symptoms people are experiencing when comments are not being uploaded. I have found out so far that one of you is having trouble getting the system to accept the security code – has anyone else had this same problem? Also, what browsers are you using when you have a problem? Hopefully this information will help the support team to get to the bottom of this mystery.

18^th May – As we sat with our bags on our veranda waiting for Made to turn up with the car, I noticed another type of tree with berries encased inside small green and blush pods. I have no idea what it is, but a photograph is provided anyway.

The three and a half hour drive was once again through spectacular countryside, Lake Batur looking very alluring under a veil of cloud. Amusing sights on the way included a small truck with three cows in the back. On arrival in Pemuteran we checked out a couple of guesthouses and plumped for once called Rare Angon, which has a quirky bathroom (you would have thought I’d had enough of these!) and not one but two rooms. All for the price that I am very proud of, because I negotiated it – 200,000 rupiah per night including breakfast, which is the equivalent of about £16. The shower is a bull’s head spitting water and the ante room has an elaborately-carved Balinese day bed. The good-quality furniture looks new and well looked-after, a refreshing change from the usual dirty cupboard or wardrobe with missing doors (what do they do with them??).

The setting of our little bungalow is the best part. Someone here loves water, so the garden and restaurant courtyard feature lavish fish ponds and fountains. Lush planting adds to the feeling that, once through the front gate, you have stepped into a beautiful, green oasis. Sadly the busy road is not far away and every time a noisy motorbike goes past, conversation in the restaurant has to stop.

Our main mission today was to get diving booked up, which we did for the day after tomorrow. Oh, and to get more laundry done. We are still pulling out clothing that is suffering from the Flores Effect – the laundry we had had done at our hotel there now reeks to high heaven, probably because it never touched water, never mind washing powder. Each time we find an offending item it has to go straight into the dirty washing bag. I might convert to Buddhism just so that I can come back as something really nasty that lives at the gate of their miserable hotel and frightens customers away for their own good. What’s that, Alan? Oh right then, apparently I don’t need the whole Buddhism bit, just a flight ticket to Flores.

We ended up the day, as often is our wont, in a really smart resort for dinner. It was great to eat a meal that was light and healthy, with no sign of fried rice or noodles. I had grilled tuna with a wonderful dressing and delicious vegetables. Alan’s red snapper fillet had such a mouth-watering sauce, we may have to go back another night so that I can have this dish!

19^th May – Today was about some serious planning for Australia. We have finally narrowed down the options and decided to stick to the west coast, starting in Perth and ending up in Darwin. On the way, there will be lots of diving, all being well. The most exciting thing for me is that we have decided to do the journey by camper van. The model we want is the cheapest one available that has shower and toilet and a small kitchen. I can’t wait to start cooking again (I know, I can hear the groans of my cooking relatives and friends from here!). We will probably start eating out again at the beginning of week two.

On our way up the road to use the only internet in the area, we witnessed something a bit distressing. Throughout South East Asia, feral dogs have the run of the roadsides. Sometimes they wander about on the road itself, often tacking across in front of the oncoming traffic. They seem to recognise what the sounding of a horn means and so far we have seen all of them take appropriate avoiding action. Which is just as well, because the drivers here do not slow down for them. A white dog about the size of a Labrador walked into the road just in front of us. A 4x4 was coming at speed and started tooting its horn, but the dog simply didn’t move. As soon as it became clear that a collision was inevitable, I covered my eyes and just heard the terrible thud as the vehicle hit the poor animal side on. When I looked again, the dog was lying on the far verge, head and tail twitching although it had clearly been killed outright. There were Balinese people around, but nobody seemed too bothered by this and the vehicle driver did not even stop. One man took the body away so that the other dogs would not start eating it – I have no idea what he did with it.

So you can imagine my state of mind when minutes later, after finding that the nearest ATM was 30 kilometres away, Alan climbed on the back of a motorcycle to go and draw some more money. I could imagine what the locals were thinking, watching this woman kissing and waving and taking photographs of her husband, who was just popping down to the bank. These people ride motorbikes as soon as they can reach all the controls and that goes for girls as well as boys. I will never get used to the sight of little kids riding motorbikes on these busy roads – just this morning we saw our host’s 10-year-old daughter set off on an errand. He says he hates the thought of her riding at this age, not only because it is illegal up to the age of 18 years (the police turn a blind eye), but also because of the danger. However, all the other kids are allowed to do it, so he has chosen to allow her to ride, a very selfless decision.

20^th May – We were picked up for our diving and found that we were to be joined by a young Chinese American couple. By the time we reached the boat, about half an hour’s drive away, I was ready to wrestle her to the ground and wrap her whole head in duck tape. I remarked to Alan, as we were preparing to get on the boat, that she has probably found a way of talking under water, full-face mask not required. The nasal drawl, the raising of the voice at the end of every sentence, and the use of the word ‘like’ as a punctuation mark, combined with her knowledge of absolutely everything was more than slightly irksome.

The diving was not big on numbers and varieties of fish, but once again I was able to chalk up some firsts. I saw my first Frog Fish, which is as ugly as sin (sorry, Cyn – sorry everyone, we have to say “sorry Cyn” every time we say that something is as ugly as sin otherwise she takes it personally :O). Then something I will never forget. The site was called Eel Garden, so I thought that we would see lots of Morays hiding in the coral if we looked hard enough. The dive started on a wall, which was quite spectacular, then we entered shallower water and moved over mounds of soft and hard coral. Next we came to what looked like an underwater beach, a broad, gentle slope of naked sand with what looked like pale asparagus growing out of it. Eventually it sank into my thick skull that this was not asparagus, but a garden of thin eels, all poking their heads and about six inches of their bodies above the sand. They waved about in the current, their heads bent over in an old-fashioned walking stick shape. When anyone approached, they retracted back under the sand in synchronised waves, popping up again as soon as the danger had passed. Wonderful! On the second dive I enjoyed another first in the shape of a pygmy seahorse, but it was more pygmy than seahorse and we agreed that it was hard to make out any detail with the naked eye.

Oh, another first that probably comes under the category of Too Much Information – there was no loo on the boat, so the only way to pay a visit was to jump into the water. Friends with fishponds in their gardens, please be forgiving until I become rehabilitated.

21^st May – We are becoming expert at staying in budget accommodation, but enjoying the facilities of the more exclusive resorts. This morning we walked down through a very upmarket resort and parked ourselves on two sun beds under a tree and right by the sea. So that we don’t become complete spongers, we also buy a drink or some food – the sight of our waiter approaching in his traditional-style uniform bearing two glasses of watermelon juice held aloft on a tray was so evocative of the moment that I accosted the poor young man for a photograph, not happy until I had moved him around several times and got him to turn his face up a little to the sun. Alan remarked that he cannot understand me. One minute I won’t say boo to a goose, next I’m directing operations like Stephen Spielberg. Put it down to my age, it’s the only rational explanation I can find!

Then we had a snorkel on a reef just off the beach, the formation of which has been prompted by the placing of structures like large woven baskets in various shapes and sizes. It was surprisingly good and I took loads of photographs, most of which got deleted, but I am quite pleased with some of the ones I took of Angelfish, which are obligingly slow-moving. On our way out of the resort, I paused to take a photograph of a frog. There’s just something about frogs!

On arrival back at our ‘homestay’, which is really just another name for a small hotel or complex of bungalows, we were shocked to have the boss man ask if we were checking out now. No way – we had already paid for tonight. He then explained that there had been a booking taken for our room and he was good enough to apologise, so we agreed to move rooms. The move was what they consider an upgrade, having air conditioning, but we preferred the fan room we had, so when he tried to get more money out of us, he was on a losing mission. We moved to our new place. This is the sort of thing that happens on a regular basis in South East Asia and sometimes you just have to ask yourself if it is worth arguing. Usually it isn’t.

 Photos

Hi - another quick parish notice, really. Alan and I have read the Australia Post website from cover to cover and we have sent them an email, too, without any joy. We have been trying to find out how to set up a poste restante in Perth so that we can receive some documents, but are now getting closer and closer to our arrival there on 27th May and are starting to get desperate. Does anyone have a close friend or family in the city, who would be willing to accept a small package from England for us to collect?

Sorry to be so cheeky, but like I say, we are getting desperate!

Bev

PARISH NOTICES - Some of you have been in touch to say that you have submitted several comments over the past month or two and that these have not appeared on the site. In order to keep out spammers, I have set the system to upload the comments to the backend to be approved by me before upload. The backend has been very quiet of late (!) and we thought you were just suffering from 'blog fatigue', but clearly not. I have contacted the site provider and advised them of this problem and I will keep you posted. Bev

Susie B - Glad you 'like' your pink putter and hope you had a stormingly good Lady Captain's Day. I was indeed with you in spirit, even checking the weather, which looked very kind. Looking forward to the Bring & Win in December. Bev 

Everyone - Thanks to everyone who has sent comments to us, both those that got through and those that didn't. We tend to reply by email for personal messages, but don't have the addresses for everyone. Donna, and anyone else who falls into this category, we love your comments and look forward to finding them when we go online. Hope this finds you all well. Bev & Alan.

14^th May – Yesterday evening we went to a lovely restaurant by the sea for dinner. The Italian chef tried to bully me into having something Italian and scoffed at my choice of Duck Tutu, saying that the Indonesians’ liberal use of spices in this traditional dish kills the taste of the duck. I don’t know if he was a bit drunk, but he really was quite forceful. I was equally forceful right back at him and explained that the whole point about travelling is to have new experiences, even if you don’t like all of them. And indeed he was right, I could have been eating pork or chicken, but the duck was very tender (it is cooked slowly for 24 hours) and now that I know what it is like, I don’t have to have it again.

We had our breakfast by the sea again this morning and said farewell to the lovely Temple Cafe and Seaside Cottages, to give the place its full title. The two-hour journey from Candi Dasa to Tulamben is very scenic and the road quite good, so we enjoyed the journey. Tulamben itself is not much to write home about, with unprepossessing resorts along the side of the busy road and others out of sight down rough lanes towards the sea, which hides behind the intervening scrubland. Our resort, chosen from the guide book, was Puri Madha, selected because The Liberty is situated about 30 metres directly offshore.

Having started our research for Australia, and realising how expensive it is going to be, we really are trying to keep costs right down for these last two weeks in South East Asia. It was in this spirit that I said okay to a room that I would normally have walked straight away from. The bathroom, always a deal maker or breaker for me, was hideous. It had been constructed of dark volcanic stone, both walls and floor laid in a crazy paving style. Some of the stones on the floor rocked as you walked on them, making a nasty squelching noise. Where they were uneven, puddles of water remained, possibly from previous occupants’ showers, and green slime clung to areas that struggled to dry out at all, even in this hot climate. Damp has obviously been an ongoing problem in this dank cave of a bathroom, as someone at sometime had attempted to alleviate this by cutting a hole in the roof. It being unseasonably wet at the moment in this part of Bali, this hole only serves to let in even more water.

But I told myself that the room was cheap and surely I could put up with it for two nights. Also, finding another place would have been difficult due to the layout of the area as described above. We were just a few metres away from the courtyard in front of the restaurant where divers were brought in each day by the minibus-load to walk down the steep pebbly beach and into the sea to dive on the wreck – official figures say that over 100 divers come here most days. Probably because they have to put up with people in wetsuits coming in at lunchtime, the restaurant was Spartan, but they could have made it a bit more inviting by avoiding the public toilet green on the walls and by using better lighting. (Mind you, the whole of South East Asia seems to use these energy efficient bulbs that manage to be harsh yet totally useless at providing light.) The whole courtyard was gloomy and wet, being lined with trees, no doubt put there with the dry season’s bright sun in mind. It was also built of that coal-black stone that abounds in this volcano-ridden island. Combine these factors with the presence of wet divers every day and a wet season that has overstayed its welcome by a month and you end up with one mossy, slippery, grim place.

We decided to go for a snorkel and were disappointed that the visibility was not at all good. The bows of the ship should be visible from the surface, but we couldn’t see anything, although in the shallower parts we could see some of the reef and a good number of fish. At one point I looked around to find Alan and saw only flat sea. Suddenly a little fish jumped clear out of the water and I thought, I bet I know what scared you. Sure enough, when I looked back under the sea, there was Alan swimming down into the gloom like some pearl diver. I was quite impressed, especially when he came back up and reported that the viz was better once beneath the surface and he could see part of the wreck directly below.

There just wasn’t anywhere pleasant to sit around Puri Madha, so we took ourselves down the road to the German resort, Tauch Terminal, which is listed in our book as the ‘Treat Yourself’ option. It was indeed a lovely place and we enjoyed an excellent lunch and the use of some extremely expensive wi-fi.

15^th May – Today we did two dives on The Liberty. This ship was sunk by Japanese torpedo on 11^th January 1942 en route to the Philippines from Australia carrying steel and rubber. Two US Navy destroyers attempted to tow it to port, however, it was taking on too much water and they had to beach it on the shores of Bali. This provided a bonanza for the locals, who raided its contents and fittings. In the 1960s a volcanic eruption moved it several hundred yards and broke it in two, leaving it beneath the surface and accessible only to fish and divers.

One of the reasons for staying right on site was to get in the water before the crowds of day-trippers arrived. I think we were probably the second group of three (with our dive master) to arrive on the wreck. Not only had we a few minutes of relative solitude, but also the sun made a welcome appearance this morning and we had very good visibility. Our first dive was on the outside of the wreck and, even though it was very enjoyable, we were not all that impressed having just come from the Komodo National Park. On our second dive, however, we went inside the wreck and this was wonderful. We were able to look up through the bones of the old ship and see shoals of fish swimming in the brightness above. In dark corners, large Groupers and Sweetlips lurked, some of them so unconcerned that they came out to have a closer look at us. We saw one Grouper with its mouth opened wide, having its teeth and gills cleaned by a little Doctor Fish. On a sandy slope, two small crayfish-like creatures worked together excavating a hole. One of them was working deep inside the hole, its head appearing from time to time as it pushed the sand just so far, then the second acted exactly like a mini bulldozer to push the load off to one side, having to swerve around a dimwit Blennie’s tail on the way. (These Blennies are small, well-camouflaged fish that rest on the seabed, looking for all the world as if they are lying on their tummies on the beach, propped up on their elbows watching the world go by.)

We stopped to look amongst the soft coral on the slope leading back to the shore and Wayen, our dive master, was able to point out tiny, transparent shrimp and miniature crabs that we would never have found on our own. Looking at this Lilliput world can be just as fascinating as seeing the big stuff. Unfortunately each dive ended with a struggle to get out of the water and up the steep beach, waves and rolling pebbles conspiring to make every diver look like a clumsy idiot – a very exhausted clumsy idiot into the bargain.

Earlier we had met three young Germans who were diving at the same time as us. We met up to compare notes and got chatting about our respective travels. They had travelled down through the places we intend to go next and, thanks to their reports, we will not now stop in Lovina. This is another place that advertises itself as a dive and snorkelling resort. Apparently all the good diving is an hour’s drive and half an hour’s boat journey away and, when they went snorkelling, they were appalled at the rubbish in the sea and caught up in the reef.

We booked a car for tomorrow to go to Toya Bungkah, one of several villages beside a large volcanic lake and a centre for treks up Gunung Batur, yet another of Indonesia’s active volcanoes. Then off to Tauch Terminal once more, where we got trapped for longer than intended by very heavy rain. A photograph of us enjoying some refreshments show Alan with very mad eyes and me apparently wearing a red hat – I promise you the drinks weren’t that strong. Eventually we had to give up and walked home in the rain, wondering why we haven’t learnt by now to carry our tent-like Nepalese raincoats with us.

16^th May – The journey from Tulamben to Toya Bungkah took three hours and was quite uncomfortable due to the poor state of the roads. Although it had stopped raining, it was still very overcast and when we eventually emerged on the rim of the enormous crater that in itself is home to several volcanoes. The ‘mother’ crater is around 15 kilometres in diameter and contains the sacred lake, Danau Batur, which is eight kilometres long and three wide. The Balinese Hindus believe that water seeping from this lake feeds many of the freshwater springs on the island. Gunung Batur, or Mount Batur, the volcano that has drawn us here, is 1,717 metres above sea level. Both the lake and the volcano were shrouded with clouds when we caught our first glimpse of them. We took the steep descent down to the lake and saw the place from which the many stone workshops we passed on the way source their raw material. The rocks are collected from the most recent lava field here, formed in 1993 when Gunung Batur had a minor eruption. Lorry-loads of stone are delivered to small workshops where we saw teams of men using sledge hammers, then power tools, to cut these into tiles or blocks for building. They wore no eye protection at all.

Up in the mountains it is much cooler than back at sea level, which is a nice break for me. What isn’t so nice, however, (I know, there’s no pleasing me!) is the damp that soon invades our bags and has already done its worst to the bedding we will sleep in.

We settled into our new accommodation, which has hot water and a bathroom I can live with – I got such a roasting from the Minister of Finance for lowering my standards below acceptable levels back in Tulamben, he says I must never again have a room that makes me that unhappy. But sometimes you just have to settle for something, knowing that you could wander from guesthouse to guesthouse and not find exactly what you are looking for because it doesn’t exist in some parts of South East Asia. It was no surprise, therefore, that we soon discovered the toilet did not flush. When we mentioned this to Made (pr: Maddie) who had shown us the room, he just said, “Oh yes, toilet it broken”, as unperturbed as you like. We asked to be moved to a room that had a toilet that flushed, so a team was soon ferrying our stuff to another bungalow.

For some strange masochistic reason that I cannot fathom, Alan wants to walk up Gunung Batur to watch the sunrise. Having made a deal with Made for a guide to take us up this volcano to see the sunrise tomorrow, we set off to find lunch, which we enjoyed in the company of a cute little black dog and a cheeky puppy that then tried to follow us when we left.

17^th May – The knock came at our door at five past three this morning. I stumbled out of bed and into the shower to wake myself up and to at least feel fresh for the first hundred steps of the ordeal. Surprise, surprise, no hot water. So a cold shower and a hot cup of tea later, we set off with Made’s nephew, Putu, to climb up Batur for the sunrise. The first part of the walk was relatively easy, up through forest that would have been beautiful had I been able to see it. From time to time I caught a fleeting sniff of its lovely pine scent before it was once again overpowered by Putu’s pungent odour. Imagine leaving sweaty gym kit and a wet towel in a closed bag in a warm room for about a week and you will get close to the air quality I was suffering in my position directly behind the boy. Alan said later that he had not noticed the problem from his favourite tail-end-Charlie spot.

Soon the going got tough. Then it got tougher. And just when we thought it couldn’t get any tougher, it did. We emerged from the forest on to a steep path of volcanic rock nicely coated with sand that allows the feet to slip backwards alarmingly. Our torches were barely adequate to light the way and later, when we had the breath to compare notes, we found we were both separately wishing for the wretched sun to come up and never mind catching this moment from the top. Still, we joined the small multinational band at the top just in time to see the sun come up over the clouds sitting on the horizon – it’s thanks to these clouds, really, that we did not miss the sunrise. And a beautiful sunrise it was, accompanied by a warm banana sandwich, a cup of tea and a hard-boiled egg. The bananas and eggs had been cooked on the steam from one of the holes in the crater. When you think of it, we struggled to walk up here relatively unburdened, but the women who sold the tea and coffee from the little shack must have had to carry lots of water up here to make this possible.

The view was indeed spectacular and Putu told us we were very fortunate to have a sunny morning, as recently there have been many clouds and sometimes rain at dawn. We could see right over the mountains to the sea beyond and to Lombok in the distance. Below us were the usual fertile valleys that always seem to be found in the shadow of volcanoes. Looking like a huge black cloak, the 1993 lava flow lay below us, stopping just short of ‘Lucky Hill’, named for obvious reasons. Apparently there is also a ‘Lucky Temple’! It was fun to chat with some of the people who are staying at the same bungalows as us, also a couple of lads from County Monahan who were a great laugh.

The walk down by a different route was slightly less difficult walking, but quite a bit longer. On the way I had brilliant fun in the deep black sand coating the flank of the volcano. It was the sort of situation where you either fought it and dug your walking poles in (Alan) or went for it, almost skiing down and sometimes out of control (me). The other difference between us was that Alan managed to remain fairly dignified and upright whereas I landed on my rear four times. But it was worth it for the fun. The landscape changed as we descended and at once stage we were walking between high walls of grasses that sighed most wonderfully in the wind. At times it sounded like they also grunted, puffed and clattered, but then Alan would hove into view, staggering over the rough surface like a four-legged animal with his walking poles to the fore.

At another little tea shack, where we stopped to take off our fleeces and empty the sand out of our shoes, we noticed that the lichen on the wooden wall appeared to be moving. It was! It was the most beautifully-camouflaged little caterpillar you have ever seen. If it had had the sense to keep still. Another strange sight was one section of the volcano, a small rocky peak, that had been taken over by monkeys. They didn’t appear to be anywhere else on the mountain.

It was after 9:30 am when we got back to our bungalow and, looking back up at the volcano, it was hard to believe that we had actually been up there. After our second breakfast of the day and my second cold shower, I had a lovely massage while Alan sorted out the ongoing lack of hot water. Having got a bit stroppy with Alan, insisting there was hot water, the man in charge eventually came back to apologise as there was indeed a problem. Later it was ‘fixed’ and we both managed to have a barely warm shower, but hey, that’s South East Asia for you. Sometimes you have to accept that hot and cold running water are not so easy to produce as they are back home.

Alan had had the good foresight to organise a further trip out today, otherwise the afternoon could have been wasted catching up on sleep. Instead, Made took us in a little Suzuki car (the same one that will take us on the six-hour journey to Pemuteran on the north coast tomorrow) to a temple up on the crater rim. Pura Ulun Danu Batur, as it is called, is the second holiest Hindu temple in Bali, therefore we both had to wear sarongs and sashes. We had thought this was just for women, but men had to have them as well, so Alan rented a nice blue one that was set off nicely by the purple sash the woman at the gate tied around his waist! The temple was undergoing some major refurbishment, but as always it was the older, untouched parts that we found most charming. The humidity here is punishing to buildings, but in wreaking its havoc it also allows the effect of the dark stone to be softened by delicate ferns and other tiny plants. The many strange effigies had been decorated with traditional white and yellow sashes to celebrate the recent holy festival and every flat surface was covered with the remnants of the offerings.

On the way back around the crater rim and before taking the steep road back down to the lake and our home for another night, Made stopped to let us enjoy lunch at a restaurant with spectacular views and an equally spectacular buffet. As we sat at our table looking over at Gunung Batur, Alan said, “I still can’t believe I climbed that”. And I agreed, it just didn’t seem possible that anyone could walk up to that crater, yet we did it and went to the highest point. Although it was painful on the way up, it certainly leaves a sense of achievement. But I have said to Alan, next time he wants some exercise, just walk up and down some steps. And do it in the daylight. And leave me in bed.

Having had all of that beneficial exercise, we totally blew it with the lunch, which was delicious. I had tamarillo juice, a first for me and it was lovely. We started with soup, Alan making the winning selection with his vegetable soup, but me in close second with the asparagus. Then there was boiled and fried rice, chicken curry, fried chicken, fried morning glory, mixed steamed vegetables, spinach and onion tempura, mixed vegetable tempura, spring rolls, Gado-Gado (vegetables with spicy peanut sauce), chicken satay, tuna satay, and (slightly out of place!) chips. To finish, there was the very Balinese black rice pudding served with coconut milk that we tried for the first time and wondered why we had left it so long, watermelon, pineapple, oranges, rombutans (I think I’ve spelt this correctly - they look and taste a bit like lychees) and snake fruit, aptly named as their skin looks just like snakeskin. The taste is hard to describe, but it was slightly sweet and slightly sour at the same time and left a dry sensation in the mouth. Not one I will be begging my local Tesco to stock when I get back home.

Back at our bungalow, we finally gave into tiredness and had a quick kip before packing for our move tomorrow.

Photos

11^th May – This morning was about admin. I took the opportunity to go and have my legs deforested while we waited to move rooms. When I got back, Alan then went for a haircut and came back looking very Strangeways. No, seriously, he looks good with his three and four. After moving to our new room we set off for the Shangri-la Beach Club, where we had lunch yesterday. Non-residents are allowed to come for the day and use the pool, providing they buy their food and drinks in the restaurant – no problem for us! We spent a very pleasant time lying on two sun beds in the shade overlooking the sea, then in no time at all it was time to have our evening meal, which we did in the very pleasant company of an Australian couple, Lisa and Paul. There was Balinese dancing happening, but unfortunately our view was blocked by a pillar and various decorations. This dancing is much more animated than that of Java and comes complete with exotic eye movements and a sense of fun.

12^th May – Mostly we both wake up either ready to start the day or ready to turn over for another snooze. So when I woke up bright and early, but Alan still felt tired, I volunteered to go off on an ATM run, necessitating a taxi journey  back to the port of Padang Bai, to an ATM that the guide book speaks of as unreliable at best. Today also happened to be a major religious festival, the Usaba Sambah, so I was worried that transport could be an issue. My fears seemed to be realised as I walked up the road. Usually you can’t go ten paces without someone saying, “Transport, transport”, but today – nothing. Eventually a motorcycle drew up and I heard the familiar cry. Now, I know I said some time ago that I would never again go on a motorcycle, but I was getting a bit desperate so I heaved myself on the back and off we went. First stop was to be the Shangri-la, where we had left Alan’s swimming trunks hanging on a beach umbrella the day before. No sooner had we set off than my lovely driver, complete with Balinese head dress that most of the men seem to wear every day and not just for special occasions, asked me if I was lonely. Well, I went through a range of emotions, some of which would have entailed cutting off my nose to spite my face, so I settled on smug – Alan has been propositioned several times, now I have pulled one back! Mind you, with the language barrier and thinking the best of human nature, the poor man may simply have been asking this question so that he could offer to be my tour guide today. On the other hand, a little further south, the resort of Kuta is renowned for its ‘mosquitoes’ – young men who flit from woman to woman, irrespective of age as long as she is paying. To be honest, though, this man was no longer in the first flush of youth and had one eye looking at me and one eye looking for me. So I don’t flatter myself!

Anyway, having retrieved Alan’s swimming trunks we set off on the 20 minute or so journey to Padang Bai. If I hadn’t been so blooming scared it would have been fun, seeing all the people in their best clothes going to the temples with elaborate offerings. The sweet smell of incense that I had missed while we were in the Muslim islands (Bali is Hindu) filled the air – my driver even had a frangipani flower in the back of his head dress, the lovely scent close to my nose despite all my efforts and those of my handbag to maintain as much distance as possible between me and my would-be dispeller of loneliness.

The ATM at Padang Bai lived down to its bad reputation and neither of our cards would work. My driver was not to be defeated, though, and suggested we go to the next big town to try another bank. When I heard that this town was half an hour’s ride away, my heart sank. But we needed cash as the area we are going to next for diving has few facilities and some places do not take credit cards, or they charge a fortune to use them. So I agreed and off we went, flying along big roads with the wind in my hair. By now I was starting to relax a bit, probably because something had to give and it was going to be more pleasant if it was the fear that went. Thankfully the ATM at Semarapaya was more co-operative and I drew several lots of money on both cards – it’s a quirk of the machines here that they set a withdrawal limit, but no limit on the number of withdrawals.

On the ride back to Candi Dasa I was feeling much more relaxed and I enjoyed looking around at the beautiful scenery, with mixed plantations of bananas, papaya, coconut palms and many other trees and crops set against a backdrop of high mountains complete with ubiquitous volcano. There were many more people on the roads by now and I marvelled at the women sitting side-saddle on the back of motorcycles, balancing great baskets of offerings and picnics on their heads and knees and managing to look elegant in their best dresses and little high-heeled mules. Contrast with yours truly, sitting astride but mercifully with knees covered by a long wrap skirt, red in the face from the sun and fingers white with tension from gripping the little bar at the back of the seat.

As well as the smell of incense, another difference between the Muslim islands of Indonesia and Bali is the built environment. Muslim buildings are quite austere and utilitarian. The religion prohibits the use of images of any living thing, plant or animal, therefore Bali, with its highly ornate Hindu temples and representations of gods decorating walls and pillars everywhere, provides quite a contrast. Also, most Hindus place a daily offering outside their gateways or front doors consisting perhaps of flowers and rice in an ornate little basket made from banana leaf with an incense stick in the middle. Sometimes there is a residue of these outside temples and it is hard to walk on the pavement without stepping on them. We’re not sure of the protocol, so we often step into the road to avoid this.

Having survived my really big adventure on the back of a motorcycle, I expected the Minister of Finance to be overjoyed at what I had achieved. Nope! He laughed at me. Not because of the motorcycle, but because I managed to draw almost twice the amount we had agreed. Hey ho, it will save a few trips to ATMs in the future and the reserve has been raised. Which makes sense, as we will soon be paying out for tickets to Australia.

After breakfast we walked up to the village of Tenganan, which is famed for its ‘ikat’ weaving and other traditional arts and crafts. It was a pleasant stroll because cloud had gathered to take some of the fierceness out of the sun. The walk was really interesting in itself. We saw more of the massive butterflies that I keep trying to photograph without success (unless they are dead) and, hanging in the trees by the sides of the road, some fascinating cylindrical bee hives that appear to be made of rolled paper. We also came upon a massive barn on stilts with mesh floor and sides that was home to thousands of chickens. Battery hens, Bali style. Almost every farmyard had a row of individual straw ‘domes’ that were home to single cockerels, fine looking specimens of all different colours and patterns. Their purpose in life was revealed later.

Tall palm fronds curved elegantly over the roads, erected in honour of the Usaba Sambah festival. The individual leaves of each frond were curled, folded and woven in many different styles. All manner of little decorations made of other natural products such as banana leaves and flowers were appended, making each frond a work of art in its own right. As we came into the village, there were more and more of these on either side of the road, making me think of Christmas time back home.

Eventually we came to the older part of the village where the weaving and other craft making goes on. We discovered that ikat takes many forms, including pastel colours and designs incorporating naive shapes of animals and people. Some of the cloth, called double ikat, takes months to weave into a ceremonial cloth. The traditional design is a simple geometric pattern and the traditional colours are dark blues, browns and black. Ikat is believed throughout Bali to ward off evil.

As well as the cloth, the village is famed for intricate pictures inscribed on ‘lontar palm’. The inscribing tool has a sharp point, which is used for etching deep lines. A narrow, blade-like edge is used to scrape broader but shallower areas. When rubbed over with charred macadamia nut, the deep scratches show up as black and the shallow marks as brown. Although we are being very strict, for practical reasons, about the number of souvenirs we pick up, these were irresistible little works of art, especially the one that told part of the story we had watched in dance and in shadow puppetry up in Yogyakarta, and which will complement our White Monkey shadow puppet very well indeed.

We had noticed a great crowd of men formed into a circle on what looked like the village sports ground as we walked up through. They were still there on our return trip, shouting and waving fists at whatever was in the middle of the circle. Alan said he wanted to go and see what was happening. I stayed back as it seemed to be a men-only event and it can be very offensive to them if a woman steps over the mark. As I don’t have to live here, I can chose to accept this stance and go along with it. Anyway, Alan was able to confirm our earlier suspicions – there was a big cock fighting game going on complete with betting. Hence the many ‘stables’ of fine fighting cocks we had seen earlier. The one saving grace was that the poor creatures were not wearing metal spurs, as they do in some countries in order to inflict mortal wounds.

There is a lovely sitting area overlooking the sea, not more than 30 paces from our room. We sat there as the sun went down, watching the spray blowing off the tops of the big rollers that had got up during the day. Later we went to a restaurant where Alan had seen a sign saying that there is traditional dancing each evening. This evening, a large barn-like structure to one side of the restaurant had been laid out with large tables and bench seating. The place was already fairly full of local people and we realised it was a social to do with celebration of the festival at the nearby temple. Because we had paused to look, we were soon being invited to come in. [Wanda, it reminded us of that happy, unplanned communal meal at the vintage rally in France!]. There was a small range of set menus so we made our selection and then took in our surroundings. The other diners were mainly local families, still dressed in their finery from the earlier religious celebrations, although there were perhaps three or four other white people in the large room.

The stage was set up for a band and this should have been the clue, however, we were lulled into a false sense of security by the single dancer who appeared and entertained us with a great performance that contained elements of all the dancing that we have seen in South East Asia, starting with the Apsara dancers in Cambodia. As I said earlier, though, the dancing here is much livelier and more facial expression is permitted. She disappeared behind the very temporary curtain rigged between two room dividers and we waited for the next performer. And waited. Then our food turned up and we had that. Meanwhile some guys with no hair or long hair and fags and attitudes had started to assemble onstage, some fiddling with the various electronics. Eventually someone got up to make a speech. Although we couldn’t understand a word, Alan and I sat and listened politely. Around us, the local people continued with their own conversations and various kids and waiting staff wandered across the stage in front of and behind the speaker. A sound man with the band started repeating “one, two, one, two” into a microphone, seemingly oblivious to this leading light who was supposed to be holding centre stage.

A second speech later, the band started doing their one, two, one twos and off they went, the lead singer looking self-consciously laid back, one hand in the pocket of his jeans and the other hand holding the microphone up in front of his face like a barrier. We stayed to listen to just three numbers before our bill arrived and we beat a retreat, swapping smiles and thank yous with the lovely people who had invited us in.

13^th May – This morning we had breakfast at one of the tables down by the sea and reflected that this has been one of the best places we have stayed. Once away from the main road and into the garden where the bungalows are, it is as peaceful as the sea will permit. Our room has been a delight, the cold water no handicap – although I’ve had to buy conditioner as my hair seems to go into a frizzy tizzy if it doesn’t get washed in warm water! We have booked transport to take us to Tulamben tomorrow morning for the next part of our adventure. Diving on the wreck of The Liberty.

Photos

4^th May – I mentioned in my last blog that we had decided to save money by diving here in the Komodo National Park rather than going to Sulawesi, so today was mostly about getting this booked up. We settled on an organisation called Dive Komodo having found their equipment and responses to our questions more satisfactory than those of some of their competitors. Later, we were not disappointed and this is a firm recommendation to anyone who passes this way.

Apart from getting our diving booked for the next three days, today was unremarkable. Oh, except for a beautiful leaf-like moth we found on our doorstep.

5^th May – In the morning we reported, according to instructions, “at a pier that looks as if it is falling down”, to join the dive boat. The pier was indeed a strange shape, twisted like the track used by the Waltzers ride at a fairground. At one point, the edge dipped into the water.

We met our fellow divers, Michel and Cecile from Paris (he quite friendly, she very po-faced), Doug (a big, beardy, friendly Australian), Evelyn (a happy, charming Belgian girl who is a dive instructor in Thailand), and Daniel (a pleasant Swiss guy whose only interest seemed to be in underwater photography). The dive leaders were Guy from London and Fabi, a local Flores man. There was plenty of time to get to know everyone before our first dive, as the sites are about two and a half hours out of Labuan Bajo. Also time to admire once again the wonderful scenery, peppered with islands and views of distant volcanoes.

Our two dives today were drift dives and boy, was the first one extreme. The way in which the dive was conducted was a bit disconcerting for me as a relative beginner in the sport – I am used to dives where there are clearly-defined groups with one leader to a maximum of four divers. This was a case of “everybody in the water, stay as close together as you can, descend quickly...” The current was very strong, but that was what drew us to this area – Manta Ray country! Our instructions were to listen out for one of the dive leaders tapping on his tank, meaning he had spotted a Ray, then we were to hit the bottom and grab hold of a rock. Easier said than done. Alan and I had managed to stay quite close together and, when we heard the ‘dink, dink, dink’ on the tank, we dropped down and attempted to grab a rock. The bottom was covered in dead coral and various rocks, but none of them proved to be heavy enough or sufficiently anchored to stop our headlong rush. I looked around and there was Alan, like me, grabbing rock after rock, just to have them come away in his hands. But eventually we managed to hold on long enough to see one Manta Ray sweeping over the heads of the French couple. The maximum anyone saw was three, so a disappointing dive and not nearly as good as the snorkelling Alan and I had done at this very spot a couple of days ago.

After what seemed like too long for me, the current spat us out sideways and we regrouped. Although the dive was not particularly interesting from a flora and fauna perspective, it was good experience for me, particularly in learning that not all organisations stick to the book. Over the next couple of days, however, I was to realise that this is not necessarily a bad thing. The equipment functioned well and the whole crew worked efficiently, with no fuss. Although Guy would not dive with us again as he had to go on a visa run, Fabi looked after us for the whole of our time with Dive Komodo and I believe he knew exactly what was going on with each of us under the water at all times.

The food proved to be excellent, much better than most of the restaurant food we have eaten in Indonesia. It is a credit to these crew members who are expert in looking after dive equipment and in handling a boat, yet they can also turn out the most amazing food. Over the three days of our diving here, they managed to produce something slightly different each time.

Back ashore, several of us went for a cold beer together overlooking the sea. Alan had been chatting away to Guy, who suddenly leapt up and dashed off in the pouring rain (rain being a regular evening occurrence now). A few minutes later he returned with what I can only say is the best bad-taste shirt I have ever seen. It turns out that this is the official Dive Komodo shirt (most dive organisations have them, usually they are good advertising), but it was like no other promotional shirt we had ever seen. Most of us thought the pattern was of badly-drawn pink-, purple- and green-marbled turtles on a black background. Guy kept insisting that they were Manta Rays and the rest of us just could not see it. One by one, our eyes did that subtle adjustment that allows the perceived background and foreground to swap places and it then became clear that we were looking at black Manta Rays on a pink-, purple- and green-marbled background!

No matter which way you were seeing it, this shirt was gopping. Worse than that, it was a gift for Alan, who had to promise to wear it on the boat the next day. This was to give the crew a laugh as they all knew the story of how their boss had commissioned someone to present him with a design for the shirt. The design was duly presented in a bar to a very un-sober boss, who apparently thought it was wonderful. Until he woke up next day. Have a look at the shirt, there’s a photo of Alan wearing it on the boat. And then imagine waking up with pounding head and dry mouth to see that lying on the floor, not recalling having eaten anything that colour, then realising slowly through a fog that this is something much, much smellier and longer-lasting than a puddle of vomit and that you have just attached your company name and a lot of money to it. 

6^th May – Today’s dives were amazing.  Hawksbill Turtles, White- and Grey-tipped Reef Sharks, large Groupers and Triggerfish, massive shoals of all manner of fish including Trevalleys (spelling?), which have such wise-old-man faces, Lionfish and all manner of smaller fish of all colours. To sum up how amazing it was, Alan (with over 2,000 dives to his name, including some of the prime sites in the Caribbean) says it was the best diving he has ever had. Perhaps best of all was seeing Mandarin Fish – these are quite small fish with beautiful frilly edges to their dorsal fins and with the most vivid orange and turquoise colouring. They are very hard to spot as they hide deep in the coral as soon as they are approached and the eagle-eyed Fabi managed to find us not one, but two.

After the second dive and lunch we stopped by Rinca so that those in our team who had not already seen the dragons could go ashore. Alan and I stayed on the boat just reading and looking about. When they got back, Doug had an amusing story to tell me that confirmed the suspicions I expressed in my last blog. When their group arrived at the restaurant where the lazy dragons hang out, the guide went through the same old spiel about not feeding the dragons so that they remain wild. With perfect comic timing, one of the kitchen staff came out of the door carrying a basin of scraps, which he duly chucked over the side of the veranda to the dragons waiting below. The guide shouted at him and he obliged by looking shame-faced.

7^th May – Our last day of diving was even better than yesterday. We were going to a couple of sites renowned for their strong currents. On the first one, called Castle Rock, we were told that we should descend as quickly as possible and grab on to part of the rock, the idea being that we would hang around there and let the world pass us by before drifting round to the shelter of the lee side.  A quick descent was going to give our French lady, Cecile, a problem as she was suffering with her ears and had to descend slowly, clearing them all the way. For her sake, and mine (in my short experience I have learned that I don’t particularly like fighting currents, although drift diving can be fun), it was a great relief when the current turned out to be minimal, resulting in a spectacular dive, with even more fish than yesterday as well as the by-now usual turtles and reef sharks.

I think my mind must have still been blown by the first dive, as I don’t recall much of the second! In the evening Alan and I met up with Doug and Evelyn at a fairly isolated restaurant just outside the town for a drink and dinner. There was also a local group playing there and they surprised us by doing excellent covers of very well-known artists, including lots of songs by my favourites, Coldplay. It was a bit surreal being treated to such a good performance in this isolated place.

8^th May – As part of the Minister of Finance’s latest austerity drive we had decided to travel back to Bali by ferry and bus rather than flying. Also, we fancied the experience, even though it would be a 36-hour marathon. Seven o’clock in the morning saw us getting aboard one of the roll-on, roll-off style ferries that operate regularly between the many islands here in the south of Indonesia. We tried to work out what would be the front of the ferry so that we could sit on the shady side – sitting in the passenger lounge was unthinkable as the noise from the television was unbearable even at that time of the morning. So we made a choice. Wrong! Three moves later – bearing in mind we have to move two large packs and two small packs each time – we settled on a spot that didn’t gather all the rubbish and dirt and that was not right beside the toilets. Unfortunately there was little breeze either, so we spent a very hot and uncomfortable seven hours in two plastic chairs surrounded by men who clearly had dedicated their lives to chain-smoking. Here in Indonesia it seems that every man over 16 years old is either smoking already or putting a cigarette in his mouth to start smoking – Alan and I are quite forgiving of smoking having done it ourselves in the past, but it really is extreme here and they have no concept of respecting other people’s airspace.

Also, spitting goes on as in the rest of South East Asia. Our seat was facing the side rail and there was a constant stream of men, women and children coming to it in order to lean over and spit. I kept up a running commentary in my head along the lines of “yeah, right, come on, you’ve been standing there for all of two seconds, have a good spit, you dirty brute..that’s right, get it off your chest, don’t mind me...” One woman had a near-death experience, although she didn’t know it. She had been sitting having a picnic with her family and she got up with a plastic bag of rubbish and walked two steps to the rail and chucked the lot into the sea. Had she walked two steps more, she would have been able to throw it into a bin. Had I been able to move fast enough, she would have followed her rubbish, the dirt-bag, scum-faced, bleep, bleep, bleep...

On arrival on the island of Sumbawa, we had to go by local ‘shuttle bus’ to catch the air conditioned bus across the island. This meant squeezing into any available space left in an already full-looking sort of ‘mini-coach’ that had been designed to carry 22 passengers but had been extended to carry 28 by the placing of tiny wooden stools in the narrow central isle. Poor Alan ended up sitting on one of these for the one and a half hours it took to get to BIma with his knee jammed against a metal strut and a young lad asleep almost on his lap. On top of the vehicle, our rucksacks disappeared under a mound of sacks and baskets. This cramped little bus then climbed and wound its way over the considerable hills and down the other side, occasionally stopping to let someone out.

At Bima bus station, (the usual pitted, muddy yard that passes as such) a strange little man greeted us with a clipboard and a list of our names. He didn’t smell like he had been drinking, but he had taken something for sure. He insisted on carrying my bag to the bus with Alan – even shouted at me to sit down again when I stood up to accompany them. When Alan came back I asked why the man wanted to get him alone. Answer – so that he could hold his hand!! Later, when he had loaded us on the bus, he came and gave us both a hug.

9^th May - The bus journey was...well, it was long and very fast. I’m sure our driver was on a job swap. Somewhere in Indonesia there was a rally car driving sedately along a broad, smooth, straight road while we bumped and careered through the night on narrow, rough mountain roads, braked hard and late for the many tight corners, accelerated out of bends, and took the racing line around various mudslides, roadworks and traffic.

Somewhere between two and three in the morning we stopped for a meal, consisting of rice, vegetables and curry (no surprises there, then). The container holding the curry had eggs on one side and the usual small and almost chickenless bits of chicken on the other. When the person in front of me in the queue attempted, quite reasonably I thought, to take both chicken and egg, the girl presiding over this banquet pounced with delight. It made her night worthwhile, having been able to shout at someone for having the temerity to try and take both.

After a bit more bus we drove on to a ferry. I was sure I saw a helicopter parked near the quay, then it was no longer there when the traffic moved once more. I think I must have been hallucinating with tiredness! Then a drive across Lombok (with the same driver – put a white helmet and jumpsuit on him, he could have been The Stig), followed by another ferry, then a minibus ride to our ultimate destination, Candi Dasa on Bali’s east coast. Our intention here is to rest up for  a few days before moving on to Tulamben, where there is an excellent wreck dive to be had. We had chosen our accommodation from the guidebook and once again we have been very fortunate. For a price that is acceptable to the increasingly cranky Minister of Finance, we have a lovely, clean little bungalow set in lush green gardens with the sea just 20 feet away. There is hot water, which is a blessing even in this hot climate – sometimes a warm shower is more refreshing and certainly makes me feel cleaner than a cold one. The owner is an Australian lady, but we had only enough energy for a brief chat, some dinner, then straight to bed for a much-needed kip.

10^th May – Our new lodgings look even better seen in daylight for the first time, it having been dark already when we arrived last night. The neat, clean little bungalows are set either side of a path leading from the restaurant at the front right down to the seashore at the other end. There is a wonderful sense of privacy due to the lush planting - it really is like being in a botanical garden. This morning we spotted some lurid black and red bugs munching steadily through a hibiscus flower. We let them off with it, even though it can’t be right, destroying such a lovely plant.

We spent today getting to know the area. The only drawback of our new home is the proximity of the restaurant to a very busy and noisy main road. Therefore a top priority was to find a quiet little spot for dinner tonight. We ended up finding a quiet little spot for lunch, too, and I enjoyed having a lasagne after many months of abstinence. The salad was top notch, featuring several types of lettuce, onion and grated carrot as well as the tomato and cucumber, which on their own, have defined the word, ‘salad’, for too long. The menu featured several types of coffee, the staff spoke good English and there were two jolly Australian couples at the bar. It’s a really inviting little spot with a swimming pool and they welcome people to come for the day, use the pool, and eat in the restaurant. We may do this tomorrow.

The evening rainstorm coincided with our fairly long walk to the restaurant for dinner, but the menu and presentation were all to prove worth it. Alan started with prawn skewers with coconut dressing while I had the most elegant little towers made from ribbons of courgette filled with feta cheese, diced tomato and herbs. Our main courses were rolled chicken stuffed with green vegetables and cheese, coated in sesame seeds for Alan and coconut-crusted red snapper fillet for me. We finished up with a pineapple crepe for Alan and lemon and ginger sorbet with papaya for me. On our way out we met Shelley and Robert, originally from London, but living out here now. They love it here, but Shelley says she feels the need about every six months just to get away to a place more familiar in its ways, such as Australia. I can understand this fully.

When we got back to Seaside Cottages, we realised this was our second night already and we hadn’t booked in for any more. We usually just book one or two nights until we are sure the place has no big drawbacks before committing to a longer stay. This time we had taken it too close to the wire and our room had already been booked by someone else. Our options were to trade up to a more expensive room or to move into a cheaper one with a fan instead of air conditioning (hoorah!) and a cold water shower (not so good). I went for a look at this cheaper option and was pleasantly surprised. It was every bit as lovely and comfortable as the one we were to move out of. And the cold shower is not such a big deal, it’s just that after a while you feel the need for warm water to get really clean – more psychological than physical. So we booked this room for the next three days and the Minister of Finance is cock-a-hoop, even speaking of this allowing us leeway for a more luxurious option on our next move. Unfortunately I didn’t get that in writing!

Photos

1^st May – Yesterday afternoon the surf had dropped a lot, which disappointed Alan, but he still went for a swim. When he emerged he was pounced upon by a group of boys who wanted to have their photograph taken with him – strange how this fascination with white skin continues, even in a busy holiday destination like Kuta. The Ronald MacDonald on a surf board sums up the nature of the location very nicely.

This morning we caught a Fokker 50 from Denpasar in Bali to Labuan Bajo in Flores, a flight of just one hour and twenty minutes. It was a bit disconcerting to see a sign saying ‘Komodo’ outside the airport. We were sure it wasn’t possible to fly direct to that particular island and, once inside the small building, we were reassured by another sign welcoming us to Labuan Bajo.

The small town is a bit run-down, but the number of boats in the harbour indicates that most people who come here do so just to get out to sea, either for diving or to visit the famous Komodo Island national park. We looked at a couple of hotels and chose one as the lesser of two evils – the other one required a long climb up steep steps, which is no fun in this heat and carrying heavy bags.

Our new landlord explained that the air conditioning would not be working until 11pm. We always try to get a fan as we dislike air conditioning (I have my third cold of our trip, which I put down to a/c as well as some virtuoso sneezing performances by people around me) but beggars can’t be choosers. This was in the heat of the afternoon and the room was boiling. Alan explained that we needed to be cooled down much sooner than 11pm, but we carried on with our unpacking, hoping that a cold drink somewhere else would solve the problem. Suddenly there was a knock at our door and there was the landlord clutching a wall fan and a mate with a big lump hammer and two long nails. With little ceremony but lots of laughter, they banged in the two nails near a socket, hung the fan from them, plugged it in, and we had a cool breeze! (When we got back from our boat trip we were put in the same room – the fan had gone, but the two rusty old nails are still sticking out of the wall, where they will likely stay in perpetuity, joined eventually by other ad hoc bits and bobs until this relatively new and clean room will look like just about every room we have stayed in here in Indonesia.)

Once settled in we went off in search of a travel agent and a two day, one night boat trip to visit Rinca and Komodo. With hindsight, and for the benefit of anyone else who might come this way, it would probably be possible and cheaper to go to the harbour and book a boat direct with one of the captains. Anyway, sometimes when you are hot and tired, you just take the easy option! Once booked up, we enjoyed a drink and a bite to eat in one of the hillside restaurants while admiring the beautiful sunset.

2^nd May – In the morning we joined our little boat and crew of three for our trip. The weather was fair, thankfully, as I have no desire to repeat the Krakatau experience. We had the boat to ourselves, so we settled back to enjoy the three-hour trip out to Rinca, our first stop in the Komodo National Park and home to the largest population of Komodo Dragons. There are islands everywhere in this area, mostly grassland with one or two leggy palm trees, but others are coated in more lush vegetation. Some have the most perfect little desert island beaches that just beg to be picnicked upon.

Rinca was our first stop and it was not long before we had our first sighting of Komodo Dragons. I felt a bit cheated, as we had just paid extra (of course!) for a two-hour trek so that we would have a better chance of seeing them and here they were, a short stroll from the boat, lazing around in the shade of the restaurant within easy reach of the most idle tourist. Our guide insisted that they were not fed by humans, but I refused to believe that these creatures are so stupid that they would lie around day after day, week after week, just to enjoy the smell of cooking. I felt that we were looking at the benefit cheats of the dragon world, the too-idle-to-fend-for-myself ponces, the lazy lounge lizards (pardon the pun, adore the alliteration). And I honestly believe that the habit of chucking all manner of waste in a big heap and then setting fire to it from time to time is tantamount to feeding these creatures. My sceptical self tells me that the tourist industry is quite happy for this to happen – the more tourists rewarded with sightings, the more will come. But I still say it is cheating.

Our walk out, although very hot, was quite interesting. We saw monkeys, deer, wild pigs, and various fruits and flowers, including the long, dark-brown fingers of fruit from a particular palm, which are made into palm wine or ‘arak’. Of particular interest to me was the Kapok tree. Its large, untidy flowers are made of the fibrous material of the same name and local people use these fibres to make pillows. When I was at school, I remember kapok featuring in the domestic science curriculum, used to stuff something or other – I was never that interested and gave it up as soon as I could. But now I was thankful that the knowledge of the use of this material ‘a long time ago and far away’ was highlighting yet another experience here in Indonesia. Is there anything they don’t grow here?

We were happy to find a couple of more independent dragons near a water hole where a buffalo was wallowing, seemingly unconcerned at the proximity of these natural predators. We had seen the bones of a water buffalo that had been killed by the dragons some time before. I wondered if these might be the remains of the animal seen suffering a lingering and painful fate in a BBC wildlife film that we watched a year or two ago. The unfortunate creature had been bitten by the dragons, which then followed it around the island as poisoning caused by the bacteria in their saliva made it weaker and weaker, eventually bringing the animal on to its side in a water hole that looked similar to this one. If you haven’t seen this amazing wildlife documentary, seek it out – I won’t spoil the ending for you!

Another disconcerting facet of these dinosaurs is a propensity to eat their babies. Thankfully these are no ordinary babies and they shimmy up the nearest tree as soon as they break out of their eggy prison. There, they are safe from their mothers, fathers, uncles and aunts for the first two years of their lives.

Mostly, however, the Komodo Dragon, which grows to around two and a half metres long, eats prey such as monkeys, birds and rodents. When it is on the move, its tongue flicks in and out constantly, ‘tasting’ the air for likely targets. Our guide told us that smaller victims are swallowed whole, leaving the digestive juices to do the work. The droppings are accompanied by a flood of white, which is the calcium from the dissolved bones. The skulls and larger bones of bulky prey are left and we saw a macabre collection of these displayed in a tree.

Back on board, we were treated to an excellent lunch of rice, fried fish with tomato and onion, vegetable noodles, boiled vegetables and tempe (a vegetarian dish like tofu). Vig, who had introduced himself as our tour guide, seemed to be in charge, although he is not the captain of the boat (who appeared to just steer the boat from time to time and to sleep a lot). Vig spoke very good English, had a great sense of humour, was an expert boat hander and an excellent cook. The other young man (we never did understand his name) who was engineer as well as boat handler and cook proved to be a wonderful free diver, too, when he leapt into the water with a pair of pliers and stayed under the boat working for several minutes.

As we ate, we travelled towards our next destination, Pink Beach, where we went snorkelling. Although we saw some nice fish and coral, it was unremarkable compared to what we had seen before. However, it was nice to get into the water, which was surprisingly cold. From there it was a short motor to our anchorage for the night, just off an island of mangrove that was home to a massive population of Flying Foxes. Now, Alan and I were of the opinion that Flying Foxes were some form of squirrel that ‘flew’ from tree to tree aided by flaps of skin between legs and body. But Vig was adamant that the bats that we could see hanging from the branches were Flying Foxes, so we didn’t argue and, since returning, we have Googled the subject and found many results, including images, that support his claim.

These bats would have been impressive no matter what they were called. Just after sunset, they started circling above their roosting site, gradually starting to peel off and flying directly over us en route to their feeding grounds. Some of these had wing spans of around three feet and they were low enough in some cases for us to make out the features on their faces. It was such a spectacular sight in the growing dusk, that we forgave them the awful stench of their digs, which I endeavoured to ignore as we tucked into supper. We also had to ignore, from the moment we dropped anchor until it was dark, the three or four boats that had us surrounded, with the occupants constantly moaning on at us to buy pearls or carved Komodo Dragons or whatever. They just don’t take no for an answer. As there were only two other tourist boats in the area, there was no refuge in the safety of numbers.

After eating and watching the stars for a while, there was nothing for it but to tuck into bed. There was one dinky little cabin on board and, as we lay in bed, we were able to look out large portholes to each side and another at our feet. The portholes were nothing more than roughly cut holes with no glass or other covering. They started below bed-level, so I was able to lie with my head on the pillow, watching fish coming to the surface of the sea just about three feet below me. The water was so clear and the moon and stars so bright, it was easy to see them. There were also occasional night birds, the bats of course, and sometimes lights of little fishing boats in the distance.

In the morning, our first sight was the most beautiful sunrise (sorry, another one!) through the porthole at our feet. We were up soon after and being served with fried bananas for breakfast. Komodo Island was nearby, my first lasting image being a deer lying on the beach. We landed at the jetty before 7am and before the rangers were up and about. The young girl in the reception area checked our tickets, then went off to find a ranger to guide us and to fend off dragons if necessary.

We opted for a shorter walk today, just an hour, and it was very pleasant to be out in the relative cool of the morning rather than the heat of midday. Our walk brought us past a water hole, but no dragons there. I was beginning to think that perhaps we would not be so lucky as we had been on Rinca, which is a much smaller island than Komodo and with a larger population of dragons, however, as we reached the top of a hill and were just about to exclaim with pleasure over the lovely panoramic view of the bay we had left below, we spotted a Komodo Dragon on the track ahead. It started to move away as we approached, but it was in no hurry. It wandered down a steep path, waggling from side to side as it heaved those curiously-bent legs around its body.

Leaving the creature in peace, we went back to the top of the hill for the obligatory photos with our tiny guide, then we started our descent back to the boat. Within minutes we had sight of another dragon, this one ambling along the public pathway we were taking to the beach. We slowed down and, keeping a reasonable distance, followed it all the way to the beach, loving every twitch of its solid tail and every twist of its body. Once again there seemed to be no alarm at all, being so close to humans. Eventually we reached an area of various wooden huts and platforms and missy (it was a female, given away by the size of her head – apparently females have larger heads than males) decided to investigate a heap of rubbish under a sleeping platform holding carved wooden dragons. Then she posed a bit for us and some other tourists who had turned up before heading towards – you guessed it – the restaurant, where a really big dragon was lying flat out in the sunshine.

After admiring the many lovely fish visible from the pier, it was back on board, which is easy to say, but not so easy to do. It required the services of a blue stool and two men to help us back on! Vig announced that he had caught a nice big fish for our lunch. Just as well we enjoy fish.

Our next stop, a couple of hours away, was in an area renowned for Manta Rays. When we got into the neighbourhood, Vig told us to get our snorkelling gear on and to sit on the handrail, ready to jump. We passed by a couple of boats peacefully at anchor, one with snorkelers and the other with divers in the water. Not for us this sedate and considerate approach to ray-spotting. No, we cruised around like maritime cowboys, lots of shouting going on between Vig and the engineer up front and the captain back in his wheelhouse. Our first ray was spotted far beneath in the clear water. Then we could see them breaking the surface and off went our boys in pursuit, the two of them up front shouting and pointing directions for the captain.

When we caught up with a couple of rays at the surface, we heard ‘Jump, jump’. If we had jumped immediately, we would have landed on top of them! We saw these quite close up, but then they got away from us and there was no way we could catch them against the current. The boat completed a large circle and picked us up, then we did the whole thing again. This time when the boat went away, we just waited for the rays to come to us – and they did. One the size of a dining table came towards me out of the blue gloom, closely followed by its wingman. I was so excited, I took my first photograph a bit prematurely. By the time I had prepared for my next shot, it had swooped to one side and effortlessly gone by. I did get some shots of it passing, but none of the photographs I took can do justice to the size and effortless majesty of this creature.

Back on board, Vig presented our lunch, the fish he had caught earlier. It was indeed a fine specimen, cooked again in the tomato and onion sauce I so enjoyed. We should have just headed straight home right after we got picked up from that snorkel, it just could not be surpassed. But about an hour later, a disappointing snorkel just off another island rounded off our trip and we then headed back to Labuan Bajo through a heavy rain shower that we had watched creeping towards us from the land. Thankfully it stopped and allowed us a dry walk back to our hotel. Another of Alan’s long-term dreams has been ticked off. He has seen his beloved Komodo Dragons and they did not disappoint. For me, the trip may have marked the start of a lasting love affair with Manta Rays. I am delighted, therefore, that we have decided to save money by not flying to Sulawesi for diving, staying here instead. Perhaps I will get to see them again sooner than I thought!

Photos

26^th April – Frightened off by the shadow puppet experience of last night, we decided to avoid the wooden puppet show today. We used the time constructively, just mooching about and eating. Then packing ready for our departure tomorrow – we’re off to Bali.

27^th April – There is a more interesting way of getting to Bali rather than flying or just sitting on a bus non-stop for the best part of a day and a night. We decided to choose this interesting way, which entails a two-day trip by minibus, stopping over in the mountains around Cemoro Lawang, then getting up for an early morning jeep ride to see the sun rise over several volcanoes, finally visiting Mount Bromo. From leaving Yogyakarta to getting out at our hotel in the very cool mountains took us over 12 hours. The last hour of this trip was like being on a roller coaster – it really felt like a minibus should not be tackling this route. At times it struggled to negotiate the steepest parts and it was not reassuring to catch glimpses of the scenery in the headlights, showing the road winding like a snake up a mountainside.

 Finally we pulled up at a guesthouse and our driver told us to stay on the bus while we dropped off the young folks who had shared the minibus with us, the usual assortment of Europeans. We had to drive a further 15 minutes to reach ours. By the time we had a rushed bite to eat and got into bed, it was nearly 10pm, allowing us five and a half hours’ sleep before we had to get up again.

28^th April - The knock came at 3:30am and we dressed and stumbled out into the darkness, amazed to see how many other people were appearing from all directions. Either they had been tucked up already when we arrived last night, or they had arrived even later.

We hopped into the jeep, Alan having the foresight to bag the front seats. In the rear were two French girls and a very garrulous lady from Miami with her Indonesian male friend. This lady sounded just like Marge’s sisters in The Simpsons, so it wasn’t exactly easy listening at this time of the morning. Having arrived in the dark, we had only a vague idea of the landscape, the most obvious feature being its steepness. Within no time at all we entered the national park that is home to Bromo. As we drove across a flat, sandy ‘sea’ with islands of high grass and rutted tracks barely picked out by the dim headlights, I remarked to Alan that it was a bit like being on army exercise without the responsibility of map reading.

Our headlights were not the only ones. We knew this was not going to be an exclusive experience when we drove up the mountain last night. Just about every little house and guesthouse had a jeep parked outside it, waiting to be revved into action for the tourist army and it seemed that every jeep we had seen, plus a hundred more, had been kicked into action this morning. Add to this, small swarms of motorbikes, all converging on a few square metres of viewing point, and you will get some idea of what it was like as we drew closer to our objective.

Somehow it all sorted itself out and our good driver had our vehicle turned around and facing in the return direction before letting us out. I should not have been surprised that the roadway was lined with stalls selling warm clothing, food, drink and souvenirs. On our way up the cries were all to do with hats, coats and scarves. On the way down it was coffee, tea and postcards. At the top, a cunning hawker went around calling, “Battera, battera, battera”, knowing that someone’s camera was bound to run out.

We traipsed to the top of the hill with tourists of all nationalities, but mainly Indonesian. These sociable people simply don’t understand the concept of quiet enjoyment and the still night air was shaken with the constant shouting of boys and shrieking of girls and it was difficult to walk for the many photo opportunities that were being set up – ‘me in my woolly hat’, ‘me in my big coat’, ‘me without my woolly hat’, and ‘oh, look at me, I’m wearing my sunglasses’. Well, it was a full moon – a glorious one, in fact, and I managed to take a photograph, hand-held (I hope you are impressed) that shows some of the crowd and the many aerial masts on top of the hill silhouetted against the sky. The viewing platform had been cunningly designed in broad terraces so that, in the dark, all that could be heard were the grunts and scuffling of people stumbling. Just when you thought you were on the lowest level, here was another one to take your breath away. Health and safety can be an ass sometimes, but here was a classic case for the application of some sort of aid, such as luminous paint on the edge of each step.

The sunrise was indeed glorious, gradually adding colour to one of the most dramatic landscapes we have seen so far. To our right was the perfect cone of Mount Semeru with a little plume of smoke escaping from the top. To our front, and mostly hidden by clouds that rose up and then drifted on by, was Mount Bromo, with its generous column of steam. Below us was the unnaturally-flat sandy sea and, rising from it, a steep-sided ridge, like the bank of some colossal river. In contrast to the black sand below, this ridge was coated with the richest of green vegetation. Clouds spilled over a distant mountain range and billowed upwards, sometimes obscuring the view, as the sun rose higher on our left, revealing little fields and houses in the lightening world far below.

Despite lack of detailed planning, our little team managed to get back to the jeep at roughly the same time. From the viewing point, we drove down once more to the flat sand, where the landscape was now revealed to us in all its glory. We parked some way from the foot of Mount Bromo, leaving a wide expanse of flat sand to be negotiated before the climb started. Why? you may well ask. You really ought to know the answer by now – another marketing opportunity! This time horse rides. They need advice on their approach, as I am unlikely to be well disposed to some little upstart who says, “Hello mama, you tired. Take horse, just twenty thousand”. Mind you, when I was halfway up the 249 steps that await those who survive the approach slopes, I would have considered it!

The crater of Bromo is very deep and steep-sided, making it an impressive sight. Steam hisses from deep inside a sinister cleft at the bottom. I got that strange feeling of pins and needles in my feet as I looked down and I was glad to turn around without overbalancing in the other direction, which would have resulted in more than a scratched knee.

The walk back to the jeep was wonderful, the sun now warming us and highlighting all the shades of green in the hills. Back at the hotel we had time for a shower and breakfast before setting off on a journey back down the mountain, revealing what we had survived last night. It was quite scary! At one stage we were driving along the top of a ridge that was just wide enough for the narrow road and fell away steeply on either side. Once again we were astounded at the tenacity and hardiness of the people who live here. Impossibly steep slopes were planted out in what must be the steepest vegetable patches in the world. I am convinced they must need abseiling ropes when they plant or tend these crops, as it is a surprise that the plants themselves are able to hold on. In some places we saw where the rain had caused whole sections of the tiny fields to be swept away into the valley far below.

It is also surprising that so many people live, not only so high up in the mountains, but also in the shadow of so many active volcanoes. Whole villages and hamlets occupy every possible space. Some houses enjoy beautiful views, but are built on piles driven into the hillside. The many mudslides and earth tremors in the region must surely be too high a price? The style of these houses is much like those we have seen in other parts of South East Asia. They are mostly concrete bungalows painted in two shades of pastel or in contrasting colours, with door lintels, window frames, and decorative pieces picked out. Some are clad with tiles that look like 1980’s bathroom tiles. Floors everywhere are tiled, many with smooth surfaces that make walking in flip-flops seem like trying to go up the down escalator. Try them when wet and they are lethal!

Back at ground level we transferred to another minibus, thankfully more comfortable than yesterday’s, for the long trip to the south of Bali. On this bus we were reunited with some of our young folks from yesterday, plus Miami lady and her Indonesian friend – thankfully she sat up front with the driver so we didn’t have to listen to her non-stop rasping voice. Bless her, she was good-hearted and wanted to help everyone, but the talking was a bit extreme. Directly In front of us were a Spanish lad and an Italian (living in Spain) with his Norwegian girlfriend. Italy and Norway nibbled each other constantly until we informed them we were going to throw a bucket of cold water over them. Behind us were two Dutch lads who were no problem in any way as they slept the whole time!

In four hours we reached the vehicle ferry across to Bali. The crossing would take any normal boat about 20 minutes, but an hour is allowed for reasons that became clear. There are probably about ten or more ferry boats operating at once. When they are full up they set off. Any incoming vessels stand off until they are able to occupy a slot at the quay that has just been vacated. We had to tread water for about half and hour until we were able to dock.

The stories we had heard about congestion on Bali’s roads had not been exaggerated. Wall to wall big trucks, tourist minibuses, cars and motorcycles all jostled for position on the often steep and winding road. There was no dual carriageway to relieve the problem, therefore progress was very slow. Once again we had a driver that had been going since 11:30am. We reached Kuta, our destination, at just after 10pm by our watches, then we found out that Bali is an hour ahead of Java, so make that after 11pm.

29^th April – We had always intended that Kuta would be a one-night stop for us, simply a convenient staging post to catch a flight to the island of Flores. Kuta is where young Australians come to let their hair down, surfing by day on its 8 kilometre beach and partying all night. It is the place where the notorious ‘Bali bombing’ of 2004 took place. The streets are lined with bars and restaurants, and motorcycles make it impossible to enjoy walking the narrow back alleyways. Our first task on getting up was to go to a travel agent to book our flights out. Unfortunately all the flights are full until 1^st May, so we booked for that date.

On the positive side, the abundance of restaurants with cuisine from all over the world meant that I had my first truly enjoyable meal since arriving in Indonesia (apart from the Avocado and Onion Sandwich at Lake Toba). I am sure that Sumatra and Java have good restaurants, but we didn’t see them where we were.

So – my lunch was Grilled Tuna Fish with Roasted Mediterranean Vegetables and Potato Risotto. I’ve never had a potato risotto before, but if I ever see it on a menu again, I shall order it. The potato had been finely diced and then cooked to perfection, the tiny cubes keeping their sharp edges, but feeling smooth and soft to bite into. The creamy sauce had bags of flavour and just the right texture to cling to the potato without overwhelming it. The tuna fish, although cooked more than western chefs would like, was not tough and came perfectly complimented by its cooking juices, which probably contained a sinful amount of butter and olive oil and just a hint of garlic. It was also well seasoned, as if the chef actually bothered to taste his/her food before serving it.

Later, when this lot had had time to go down, we had a swim in the pool back at our hotel. We are spoiling ourselves a little bit with this one, but we consider it good value – about £20 for a double room, en suite, hot water, and breakfast included.

In the evening we visited a little food court where we ate very cheaply, making up for the fairly pricy lunch. By the time we went to bed, we did not need any rocking and even the late night revellers who decided to have a swim before going to bed did not cause too much interruption to our zizzing.

30^th April – In contrast to Java, we have been waking to bright sunshine and clear blue skies. The heat is also pretty intense. Today will probably be about trying to skip from shade to shade, although we might just have to have a swim in the sea. Alan will be in his element because of the high surf here. I will have to steel myself to get through this and out to calmer waters. Then we will be packing and probably going out to enjoy a slap-up meal before going to Flores, as it is not quite as touristy as this part of Bali. The whole point of going to Flores is to visit Komodo and RInca, the two islands that are home to Komodo Dragons. Seeing these weird creatures is another of Alan’s dreams, so hopefully the dragons will cooperate!

Photos

21^st April – Today we caught the 8am train from Bandung to Yogyakarta (pronounced Jogjakarta or just Jogja by the locals). Once again we were amazed to see that the way of moving from platform to platform is by crossing the tracks. This all seems to work very well and when a train is coming, a railway employee stands by the track waving a flag, blowing a whistle and stopping people from crossing. It makes me think how much Network Rail or whoever owns the stations back home could save in bridge and subway maintenance!

Our ‘executive’ carriage was comfortable, with loads of leg room. The train departed bang on time and we settled back to enjoy the eight-hour ride. The landscape and rural life of Indonesia never fails to captivate me and I spent a large part of the journey with either my nose or my camera pressed to the window. A very kindly but non-intrusive Indonesian gentleman sitting across the aisle from us saw my enthusiasm and advised me to move to one of the vacant window seats on his side of the train, as this enjoys the better view. He was right, it was indeed wonderful.

At first we climbed gently but steadily for about half an hour. Bearing in mind that Bandung is already quite high up amongst the mountains, we then started a long, fast and curving descent through more endless acres of paddy fields, with rice at every stage of production under the sun. Some plants were just poking their heads above water, others were in their bright green middle age, then there were the faded golden ones that were fully ripe and many people could be seen harvesting. The harvesters seem to bring their bundles of rice stalks to a central ‘nest’ created using discarded straw. The ‘threshers’ in the middle then beat out the grain on to canvas. We also saw a later stage where the rice grains were spread on sheets outside the villagers’ houses to dry.

Another crop that abounds here is papaya and it seemed that every spare strip of ground beside the railway was planted out with these. Avocado is abundant, too. This is one of my favourite salad ingredients and I was frustrated not to find it on a menu in Bandung, except as a ‘fruit shake’! I saw stall after stall selling the fruits, so I just could not work out why it was not used more as a main course.

We have admired the red-tiled roofs in this part of Indonesia and our train rushed past many little villages of these, nestling in valleys of rich vegetation. We also marvelled at the intricately-shaped rice paddies, some of which were like works of art on the landscape – a photograph in the gallery shows one with a wavy border for no apparent reason other than the exuberance of its creator!

The eight hour journey seemed to pass really quickly and we arrived in Yogyakarta in good order. We knew the area we were heading for was within walking distance of the station, so we set out to walk, fending off taxi drivers and cyclo riders on all sides. When we found ourselves no longer able to force the topography to fit our map, we admitted we were lost and hailed a taxi. What had happened was, we had come out the wrong side of the station because we assumed there was just one exit. There were lots of hotels to choose from, but eventually I selected one that we agreed to stay in for just one night while we looked around for something better. We want to stay here for about a week, primarily because there are lots of cultural and natural attractions, but also to give my leg time to heal. My ankle swells when we do any amount of walking, so I am going to have to accept that we don’t do volcanoes or anything much at all until it is better.

Later we found an amazing new hotel down a little side street, Hotel 1001. It is decorated in the most amazing style and I will no doubt be providing photos! It is also surprisingly cheap, with breakfast included and free wi-fi. Bliss! Back to our base for tonight for some reading by torchlight (the room has the usual South East Asian malaise of light too dim to read by).

22^nd April – This morning we were disturbed by a knock on our door at about 7:30am. At first we were a bit irritated, not knowing who or why. When I opened the door, there was a smiling waiter with breakfast, which turned out to be black tea with sugar and a sandwich each containing chocolate sprinkles. A sweet thought and a very sweet taste to start the day!

We were so pleased to move to our new hotel. The room has a good feel to it and the washbasin is outside the wetroom-style shower room and toilet. This is so nice for being able to brush teeth or wash hands without plodding in over a wet floor. Unfortunately in the bedroom a bright spotlight, which would normally be enough to read by, is so positioned over the bed that it is impossible to angle it to a place good for reading – and we did try, me balancing on a chair on the bed, being supported by Alan, so that I could reach the lamp on the high ceiling.

The courtyard garden has a fishpond and little islands of lush tropical planting set in a sea of tiny pebbles laid in curvy waves of black, brown and beige. The rooms have a tiled sitting area outside, with individually-styled chairs and tables for each. There is tea and coffee self-service all day long and, bliss, wi-fi! As I type I am sitting at our table enjoying the sound of the fountain in the fishpond and waiting for the rain to start. The rainy season seems to have arrived early in Indonesia and most afternoons and nights we have heavy rain showers and thunder. This makes our clothing and the bedclothes feel permanently damp. The air is very hot and heavy, enough to make me feel uncomfortable, as I don’t seem to be able to acclimatise in the way that Alan has. In fact, Alan loves the heat and says his joints and whole body feel better for it.

Hoorah! This town seems to love avocado as much as I do. We’ve already been in a restaurant where every one of the three starters featured this. Is twice in one day too much for avocado? Probably, it is quite fattening!

In the afternoon we visited a temple complex called Prambanan, just outside Jogja. The temples look very much like the temples at Angkor, but predate them by several centuries. Even the un-restored bas-reliefs are exceptional, with facial expressions clearly visible.

In the evening we went to see temple dancing. This started in the open air then we all had to move indoors swiftly as the now-nightly thunder and rain arrived early. The female dancers move in such a slow and graceful manner, it must be right up there with Pilates for keeping fit. The men jump about and posture much more.

23^rd April – Today was an early start for the Dieng Plateau, a high mountainous area whose main attractions are a volcano and lakes coloured by their sulphur content. We set off on an overcast morning and when we eventually started to climb towards the plateau, we passed through one cloud layer and into a pocket between it and the next one. On the way we could see the extent of the deforestation here. A phrase I have used before – hillside after hillside denuded of trees and replaced by terraces of crops. Each village we passed through had its own sawmill, and the piles of freshly cut tree trunks were evidence enough that there is no halt to the spread of agriculture. I don’t pass judgement on this – if the people need to eat, then why should we stop them clearing ground to grow potatoes and cabbages, the main crops at this altitude.

Our thankfully un-talkative driver, who had been excavating his nostrils, then squeezing his spots on the way along, told us that it always rains in the afternoon on the Dieng Plateau. So when we arrived at our first stop, a fairly uninteresting, incomplete, and overly-renovated temple ruin, I took no chances, wearing my voluminous lavender raincoat bought in Nepal. Alan spotted a man strimming and had to have a closer look. He was impressed to see that the motor was carried on the back, meaning that the operator had less of a load to bear on his arms. Luke and the greens staff might be interested. We did a fairly swift circuit of the grounds and back to our car for the next stop, a volcano, which was of much more interest to us. Trumpet flowers lined the road on the way.

This particular volcano featured a witches’ caldron of boiling mud in an almost perfectly circular pool. A flimsy barrier kept the public back from this, but was probably enough as anyone wanting to go close would have to be either a fool or a volcanologist. We left this and the coach loads of Indonesian and Malaysian tourists behind (they rush to the caldron, take lots of photos of each other giving the V sign, and then rush back to their coaches) and climbed up to a vantage point to see another crater that formed after a recent landslide. It is amazing that thousands of people live in villages within easy walking distance of this volatile landscape. I would never sleep! This also gave us a good view of the bulky pipeline carrying steam from geothermal power plant. On the way down we offered to take photos of two girls together and ended up having a group shot. Each site we visited had its own set of boys begging to music. Alan gave them all some money. I took a photograph of one lot, thinking I should have something in return.

On the way back down from the mountains we stopped at one of the region’s coloured lakes, apparently various shades of blue and green if the sun shines. The one we saw was presented in less than its full glory under a darkening sky. We stopped long enough to take some photos and to visit the cave where President Suharto and Australian PM, Gough Whitlam, decided the fate of East Timor. Why? Wasn’t there a good Sheraton or a spare palace around? Just after we got back to the car the rain started – our driver’s prediction had been fulfilled. At one point on the route, a temporary bridge perched on the edge of the steep valley where road had collapsed. Here, and at all the other roadworks we passed, there were boys working as teams to direct the traffic. They held baskets and drivers, including ours, would drop money into these. So next time they dig up the M5, get down there with your bucket, there’s an untapped market.

There was a moment of complete communication breakdown and unintentional comedy on the drive down from the mountains. You see, I do like a spot of plant identification and I haven’t yet added guava to my list. I suddenly saw some small trees by the road and thought my wish to do so had just been granted. Quickly, lest we sweep on by, I said to the driver, “Is that guava over there?” We almost jerked to a halt as he took his foot off the accelerator and gasped, “Where, where?” whilst looking frantically left and right. The fear in his voice made me wonder just what strange powers guava plants might hold until I put two and two together. I do believe he thought I said, “Is that lava over there?” So add guava to the list of words not to say to your driver whilst in an area of active volcanoes.

We stopped for lunch at strange little restaurant where we were the only guests and Alan had his worst meal ever, a chicken dish featuring a chicken’s foot but little else of the creature. On the positive side, there were some lovely flowers in the garden.

At the end of what was turning into a very long and tiring day, we visited Borobudur temple, another after the style of Angkor, but predating it.  Our guidebook tells us it is the largest monument in the southern hemisphere. Building started in 775 AD as a simple step-pyramid structure. Over the years it was variously abandoned, then added to, eventually comprising around 1.6 million blocks of andesite, a local volcanic rock. During a one-thousand-year abandonment, the un-mortared blocks shifted, let in water, and the hill beneath became waterlogged, making the whole construction unstable. In 1973 UNESCO started taking the building apart, block by block, and replaced the hill with a concrete substitute before starting to put the whole thing together again. We were amused to see several blocks that were clearly put together incorrectly, for example, the size fourteen thighs on one block married to the size zero hips on the block above. We imagined the builders getting to the end and having just one block left with a pair of feet and saying, “You do realise we’re going to have to start all over again”.

The many layers are supposed to illustrate all the steps of enlightenment, from the basest human desires right up to enlightenment in the stupa at the top. As it was the weekend there were lots of locals around and we were accosted for photos, endearing or irritating depending on the mood. They were lucky, they caught me on a good day.

24^th April – Visited a site not far from our hotel, the Kraton, or walled city. This turned out to be very disappointing, not at all lavish, poorly signed and altogether a bit of a non-event. We did, however, quite enjoy the Sunday morning temple dancer performance, with some of the same performers and the same Chinese-sounding band and singers from a couple of nights ago. But we both agree, no more temple dancing, it’s all the same and the plot is a bit laboured!

Afterwards we went to a shopping mall where we finally found somewhere that sells the special coffee of Java, Kopi Luwak. Alan chose a concoction of banana, chocolate and coffee (not the expensive one!) and I at last realised my dream of having this coffee that is the most expensive in the world, although I think people sometimes confuse this with Jamaica’s Blue Mountain coffee. Luwak is special because the beans have been exposed to the digestive juices of a species of civet cat, which eats the coffee berries at their ripest perfection. Its tummy then gets to work on bringing out the best of the beans before they pass on through and get dumped in the forest. Local people then gather these beans and so on.

My coffee came in a single-serving sachet, presented in a muslin bag. The girl brought this to the table together with a lovely porcelain, gold-rimmed coffee mug, a flask of hot water, and a pair of scissors. She cut the sachet open at the table, poured it into the cup followed by the hot water, stirred it, put the lid on the mug and told me to wait for two minutes for the sediment to drop. When I eventually lifted the lid, the aroma was beautiful, but I have to agree with Alan that I have tasted other good coffees that, to my uneducated palate, would taste very similar. Alan wondered if the coffee was expensive because it was good, or good because it was expensive. However, the whole little drama was fun and at one point we were shaking with laughter at our own puerile jokes, such as: “Waitress, this coffee tastes like s#*t”. “Thank you, sir.” Well, I did warn you.

In the evening we went to a shadow puppet show. We arrived early, so were not alarmed to see that no one else had arrived yet. A man met us and led us through to the puppet workshop, which we knew would be another marketing opportunity. We were not disappointed in this respect, but the puppets, made of thin buffalo hide painted with intricate designs and bright colours, were wonderful little works of art and we agreed to add the White Monkey, our favourite character from Indonesian folklore, to our very small and exclusive collection of souvenirs. [Cyn, this might have to find its way to you by post for safe-keeping.]

When we went back into the auditorium for the start of the performance, we were still the only people there, being entertained by 13 musicians, five singers and one puppeteer. The man who greeted us advised us to sit first on the side where the artists operated so that we could see the colours of the puppets and look at how the show is performed. Some members of the band were quite amusing, the lead drummer being a real character who funked and bopped to his own rhythms, totally out of character with the background of ethereal, Chinese-sounding music.

Eventually some other people joined us. The three young European-looking people soon got involved in a whispered conversation, one of them with an annoying hissy, squeaky sound on each of her sibilants, like someone squeezing an empty washing-up liquid bottle. The Indonesian people stayed for less than 10 minutes. The Maloneys stayed for the whole two hours out of politeness, together with a young man with that look of the serious artist. We moved around to the shadow side of the screen halfway through the performance. This didn’t heighten the tension one bit. We were still watching a very slow-moving plot, sometimes looking at the same characters on screen for 10, maybe 15 minutes at a time. Occasionally one of them would wobble, indicating that it was talking or singing. If we had understood the talking or singing, we might have found some of it entertaining. We did laugh once when two characters were having a fight, but otherwise it was just a very long two hours and we were delighted to escape at the end. So was the band, by the look of it – some of them started leaving before the finale, clearly knowing that their instrument was not needed any more.

Photos