2nd - 4th January 2012
Having sorted a scooter the previous evening we got out of our dark, dank little hole, had some thick Lombok coffee and banana pancakes for breakfast (I watched the lady make them and saw many things go in to the batter but not one of them was flour, odd...) and got out of Senggigi. We were out on the road before 8o'clock and the light was fantastic, we followed the coast for part of the way, stopping to take some photos of the sea.
We turned off and used the new road to the airport, it was in excellent condition, one of my new things that I really care about, now that we use scooters so much more frequently, are the road conditions in a place.
Firstly and most importantly, it was beautiful; the road divided rice paddies and to the left and right were fields in various shades of green, we saw bunches of young rice plants sitting in the fields waiting to be separated and planted in neat rows,secondly and almost as important is the number and frequency of potholes, whether the surface is loose and gritty (a nightmare on two wheels thinner than a pencil line) and last but not least the weight of traffic. By far and away the quieter roads are the best, they are usually more scenic and you don't have other scooterists, lorry drivers and crazy bastards in cars trying to claim your piece of tarmac. So, this new airport was a dream, beautiful views, zero potholes and because of the time, almost no traffic.
We zoomed along, stopping once or twice to take pictures of the fields and one of the many mosques in the distance. We arrived in Mataram, a biggish town/city which is actually four towns that have grown and merged into each other, it was heaving with early morning commuters, and policemen. Gulp. Driving through town was actually okay, the traffic was heavy but because of that it was also slow moving, people weren't zooming along at breakneck speeds and (over)taking us by surprise. The policemen, miracle of miracles seemed to be more intent on directing the traffic and easing congestion than fining foreigners for “loose chins straps”, I kid you not. Out of Mataram and our tank full of petrol we headed in the direction of Kuta and the coast.
Our first stop was to eat, I left the dishes crawling with flies to Djalma, who tucked in happily and hungrily (and also without any nasty repercussions!) and took my growling stomach outside with my camera to distract it. Funny it may seem, taking (what I think are) good photos takes my mind off of almost anything and puts me in a damn good mood for at least several hours. I watched a dude driving a herd of water buffalo up the road and getting them round the roundabout, hilarious. I then stopped to watch the many red clawed crabs that were scuttling in-between the muddy mounds in a wet field.
After scaring them off and then squatting by the road to wait, I was rewarded by the sight of the cautious little things speeding around the mini mud heaps and waving their claws at intruders. Djalma, finished his rice and maggoty side dishes (apparently it was actually quite good) and we got back on the bike and went to investigate the expensive hotel on the beach.
It was piping hot in the sun but large, heavy clouds were closing in and emptied just as one of the employees was very nicely telling us that we had to pay to use the beach or go. The beach was nice but not the most beautiful, it was sheltered in a huge bay and in the distance you could fishermen standing in the shallow flats or further out and in boats. Hawkers strolled up and down the beach trying to sell drinks and sarongs to anyone who spared them half a glance.
The rain eased up and we said goodbye to the swanky resort, but not before using the facilities, and headed off to the next beach. We followed little roads along the coast, the sun beating down on us like it was our own personal oven and intent on getting us roasted (thank God for factor 50). One of these rubble paths led us through the palm trees and to the next stretch of blindingly white sand after the hotel.
Our retinas (I'm not sure if we still have them) took a pounding, the sand was bleached white and big, lots smooth dry little balls of sand about five or six times the size of a usual grain of sand (very odd!), and difficult to walk through. Djalma covered the bike with his tropical sarong to protect the seats and joined me for all of two minuted to watch the fishermen waist deep in water even though they were dozens of metres from shore. The heat both from the sun and then reflected off of the sand drove us back to the scooter so we could enjoy a breeze while driving.
After stopping further up the beach for a packet of much needed crisps, we drove further along the”main” road which was slowly being reclaimed by green and therefore very beautiful. We came to our final beach which had a small restaurant and several thatched covered sun-loungers, it was stunning. More white sand stretched along the wide bay and the water was shallow enough for the water near the beach to be a beautiful crystalline green, when the sun came out it was magical.
Kids played in a huge inner tube, a (probably Russian) girl was sunbathing with a wedgie and heart plasters on her nipples, a group of ogling (Japanese?) tourists soon had her decently covered up (Lombok is a predominantly Muslim island), and Djalma and I sat with our feet up and tucked into ice cold fizzy pops and spicy beef baguettes with chips. It was such a delicious beach, proper postcard material, that it felt really wrong to be suffering from horrible period pain and generally feeling low. After more than an hour of some much needed relaxation out of the sun we took a few more photos before leaving, we rushed in and out of the sun to take them because it was so hot.
Back on the bike we continued on to our final destination before turning back, Kuta. It's a small village which is nothing like its namesake on Bali. It focusses almost solely on surfing and the little bay we saw was packed full of boats to take surfers out to the breaks which are all offshore.
We didn't hang around long, I wasn't feeling too marvellous and there was no beach top speak of, so we headed back through the green fringed roads, stopping only to take some photos of a “traditional” village. We did stop at one on the way to Kuta but we had to pay an obligatory “donation” and fork out more for a very unofficial looking guide who insisted that they were mandatory. The view from the road was probably nicer than those in the village itself, rice paddies stretched out all around and kids played while the odd lady in a coolie hat did some weeding(?) in the fields.
We came back the same way, stopping in Mataram to pick up a Bahasa phrasebook (the official language of Indonesia even though there are hundreds of different languages and dialects in the thousands of islands that make up the country). We made it back in record time and along the way I picked up a cold which thoroughly buggered up the next week, but more of that later (in Java).
The next morning we were up early and I was feeling dreadful, like someone had systematically pummelled my face during the night. We had a butter jaffle and coffee for breakfast. If you come to Indonesia, especially Bali, you'll see plenty of 'jaffles' on the menu, it's only a toasted sandwich but the name makes it sound so much cooler, I love it! However butter jaffles are crap and I personally thought that our lady chef should be thoroughly ashamed of herself at such a cop out breakfast. We packed up and caught the 8.30 shuttle bus to the airport my head pounding the whole way. The flights were uneventful, we stopped at Surabaya which is in the East corner of Java, neither flight was longer than 90 minutes, small mercies.
Once we had collected our bags from the carousel – we didn't even need to check in our luggage despite having over the European limit of liquids, we even took a full bottle of water on board and it was fine – we caught a bus into the centre of Yogyakarta.
I've never had a bus ride like it, thankfully it wasn't long, we stood the whole way in a crowded bus that pumped out the most eclectic collection of Indo tunes, I could only bare it by thinking how much more amusing it would be to recount the journey than it was actually living it. I would describe the overall flavour as an Asian, country, jungle, pop fest with plenty of drums and percussion. The buses on the local routes all have a conductor on the bus who calls out the name of each place and helps people get off or help pack them in, you have to buy your ticket at the stop which is an enclosed space with a bench and more people working to help the flow of people. It's actually very organised and had we not had our bags and a stinking headache I would have been very impressed, however it's not like they're big on chivalrous acts and most of the dudes who got on were quicker to get to recently vacated seats than women with children or God forbid an overloaded, overheated tourist.
Heaving a sigh of relief we got off and walked down the main road, we followed a guy who knew a place in our price range and we were soon tucked away in a small dump with the most 'unappealing' toilet (Djalma's words not mine and he's not nearly as fussy as me) but at least it was cheap. I don't mind staying in a dump as long as I'm not being overcharges, it's just rude paying over the odds for a roach infested hole of a room.
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