3rd - 6th February 2012
Having arrived midday on a weekday we decided to head to the harbour to see if we could arrange onward ferry tickets to Pulau Lambatu where there is a small whaling village called Lamalera (the tiny community living is based on the dozen or so whales it kills each year and the number is so small that it is one of very few communities legally permitted to whale). We stopped off to eat at a Padang restaurant and then continued onto the harbour where we narrowly avoided getting drenched in an afternoon downpour. After much dictionary consulting we discovered that the ferry was cancelled due to the sea being 'too big'. There was however, a smaller boat leaving that evening at 7pm, we went to take a look and promptly decided to do a bit of re-planning, there was no way we were getting on a much smaller, slimmer boat when a ferry couldn't handle it.
That afternoon Djalma went to the airport and bought some tickets to Maumere, Flores, via Kupang, West Timor. I spent most of the afternoon hunting around for some chocolate, unsurprisingly, I didn't find any – none of the shops were air-conditioned so I settled on some winningly named 'fullos' they sounded too Australian to be true. They weren't too chocolatey to be true, though they stopped the gap nicely enough. Djalma was waiting for me when I got back and within seconds of sitting down in the chairs outside reception a teenage boy rolled up and introduced himself; Ryan was his name and speaking English was his game. He said that he saw me outside on the street (searching for chocolate) and knew that I was English (incredible since most people here take a look and guess Australian) he sat down and spoke to us for a good while, he was a sweet kid. I went to try and upload photos, even the quirk internet connection was teeth grindingly slow and nothing uploaded in the two hours that I was there. After giving up on uploading any photos we decided to go to dinner, according to the LP guidebook, the best place in town to eat in the evening is at the collection of restaurants by the harbour, so we made our way back there and tucked into some freshly grilled fish and some chicken satay sitting in a cloud of smoke (we choked a little but at least kept the mozzies at bay). We ended up eating at the same restaurant for the following two nights.
The next morning we were woken up by the group of middle-aged dudes who were loudly talking on the phone and to each other from 5.30am on. The guys were friendly enough but come on! 5.30am?! After asking them, they kept the noise down and we slept till gone 6, a lie-in, what luxury. Neither of us slept particularly well – I was conscious of rolling into the little piles of bird shit, my bed was missing 2 slats and our fan wasn't working. We ended up getting up because we were too hot to do anything else.
We wandered downstairs and were given some rather good coffee and some old banana fritters, we ate up and waited outside for a bemo, basically a minivan converted to seat plenty of people squished along narrow benches running under the windows, to take us to a little island called Kepa. It took less than half an hour and we pulled up a a tiny beach where some guys with boats were chatting and smoking. Djalma bargained the price down to something reasonable and we jumped into the impossibly narrow boat and within five minutes across the startling clear water, we were there.
We had brought our masks and snorkels along, hoping for a chance to snorkel, Kepa didn't disappoint. We walked along part of the beach taking shelter when it started to rain and continuing when it had died down to a drizzle. There were piles and piles of broken coral washed up on the beach and the sand was bleached white, it made the shallow water glow a pale green whenever the sun came out.
We weren't far from land on any side and we could see the rain going down in slow grey sheets and then roll in towards us. Walking round the beach a little further we found a spot where I could sit and keep an eye on the bags while Djalma went in to see what it was like. I took pictures and snoozed on the beach while he was gone. He took his sweet time and ended up befriending a group of spear-fishermen who showed him how to do it, on his one try he missed, I can't say I was sorry – the fish were so pretty!
He watched them free dive in again and again swimming under water without air, snorkels or fins, I think it's fair to say Djalma was pretty impressed. By the time he came back to shore I was starving, much too hungry to go snorkelling myself and so after a few more photos of the gorgeous coastline and the beautiful sea we arranged a sail boat back and headed back to Kalabahi for some Padang food. The bemo back was packed with old ladies sporting maroon stumps for teeth and lips red from chewing betel nut, it would have been scary had they not been so friendly, one lady got on the small bus with lunch; a trussed up chicken and let it give Djalma a friendly peck on the knee.
After another excellent lunch of beef rendang, curried aubergine and the bitter green leaves they eat so much here we went back to our little room and lay on Djalma's bed (his had all it's slats) and watched the end of Season 5 of Dexter, read books, washed the masks and fins, washed clothes and then settled in for more Dexter before bed. It had got to the point of addiction with Dexter, all the ser
ies are so good, so we decided to watch as many as possible and finish it so we can be a bit freer in our evening activities.
Sunday rolled rolled around and nearly everything was shut, even though Indonesia is the largest Muslim nation on Earth there are parts of it which are Hindu (mainly Bali) and plenty of parts which are Christian. After finding a place which was open we stocked up on crackers, chocolate biscuits and water for a little road trip round the headlands of Alor. We had breakfast, good coffee and doughnuts and then cooled our heels waiting for someone to bring us a scooter they weren't using.
We sat and waited outside an internet café and watched a guy who looked to be in his teens sit and cut all the boys hair into the Mohawk which was so popular in Timor-Leste. The boys after a few minutes of trimming their dark wiry locks went on their way looking much slicker above the neckline but covered in their own hair below it. Our scooter eventually arrived around the same time that Djalma's little friend Ryan showed up, he gave us some times about getting round and then we were off.
Just a few minutes driving, at the end of town we stopped to take some pictures of the sea which was really shallow and therefore utterly gorgeous, it looked like it should have been fringed with great swathes of white sand but it butted up against a small concrete wall, on some small steps leading down three naked boys splashed about and called out 'Mister!'. Here, as in Timor-Leste, 'Mister' and 'Missus' are taught separately and lots of people only know Mister so that's what they called us, me or Djalma it didn't really matter although it's not for the gender confused. We turned off to follow a road that lead up round the headlands that hug Kalabahi's long bay and were treated to some stonking views.
The concrete wall lined beach that we stopped at first stretched out in shallow water to a sandbank with a tree in the middle, it looked like it was made for sandcastle making and sunbathing.
The road was in good condition and with only a few small potholes and sections of loose gravel, it did twist and turn a lot though but I guess that made it more fun for Djalma to drive – he does love taking corners. We followed the corn lined roads and stopped at another beach, it was tucked away at the end of a large square decorated with scrub plants and the odd tuft of grass, over the wall we could see a lick of white and some serious turquoise in the back ground.
We climbed over the wall and were treated to some outstanding beauty. The beach took our breath away, the white sand curved round the shore and the water was a pale clear green interspersed with darker patches further off but mainly just that gorgeous postcards that postcards love for a tropical island. It was baking hot, the sun was out in force so we hung about long enough to cool off our feet in the water, take some photos and sigh with pleasure. We jumped back on the bike and as soon as we got going enjoyed the breeze from moving.
The next beach we stopped at was similar, the same white sand and the same clear green water but this beach had mangrove trees and stacks of coral, not to mention the odd newt. Djalma went in first to see if it was worth both us going in (we had brought our money belts full of USD and were not keen to leave them laying about on the beach).
There wasn't anything but white sand and sea grass, the visibility was pants and although he wanted to swim out to the tree in the middle of the water (it was shallow until quite far out) there wasn't anything to see on the way. We sat in the shade of the mangrove trees and ate some chocolate biscuits before wandering back through the few houses near the beach and getting on the bike again. One of the little girls did cartwheels to repeated applause and the rest of the family smiled and waved, then we were off.
The road wound round the hills and looked out to sea often over a steep hill planted with sweetcorn, there was a little bay with lots of small colourful boat bobbing in the water, we stopped for a few more photos and saw this old guy, I just missed the smile but he did have a good chuckle when I showed him his photo.
The road led up again and we drove through more fields of sweetcorn, the stuff was growing everywhere, often it there was rice planted in the spaces between the plants and whole sides of hills glowed with the fresh yellow green of the plants. In plenty of places, especially along the more gentle slopes there were small grass covered shelters and the men and kids waved and shouted to us as we drove past.
After a couple of lucky dip turns the road started sloping downwards and we headed back to Kalabahi. Despite being hungry for some proper food we stopped only to take a couple of pictures of the old harbour and eat some more biscuits before driving out in the same direction we went the day before. We passed the point where we crossed to Kepa and after buying some custard apples from old ladies with toothy red grins (or should that be toothless) we found ourselves one last beach.
This one was beautiful and good for snorkelling, I started to strip off and then I noticed a couple of cheeky old boys sitting there watching me and then finished getting out of my clothes in true Mr Bean fashion. Bottom unflashed, until I got in the water (and then I white whales all the way), I joined Djalma in the shallow water and in-between checking the shore and our bags, I got a good look at the soft and hard corals as well as a few of the shy fish lurking about.
We sat on the beach and dried off until the sun sipped behind the mountains opposite and the temperature dropped. The place was gorgeous, the light was beautiful and bounced off the hills behind us pouring out from behind big fluffy clouds. Back on the road we made it back to town before it got too dark. Djalma dropped me off at the harbour where I got stuck into another gado-gado while waiting for him. He pulled up soon after and we decided that after such a wonderful, and long, day that it would be a crime not to end it with a beer. We feasted that night,we ordered another gado-gado, some fresh fish and some goat satay and washed it down with our shared Bintang. It was gorgeous a fitting end to our brief stay on the island. I wandered round the small restaurants and took some photos but I was just tiddly enough not to be able to keep still to take any decent shots, oops.
The next morning our new phone woke us up, we bought a new cheap one with an English woman telling us what time it was 'it's time to wake up, the time is 5o'clock' it worked, I worked out while Djalma finished his packing. We had a quick breakfast and then got on the back of a couple of scooters to take us to the airport. We got there half an hour later and when we tried to pay we were told that they didn't have any change. Note to anyone travelling in this part of the world; make sure you carry plenty of small notes, people don't like giving change here. After making it clear the rest wasn't going to be left as a huge tip we checked in, paid our departure tax and then paid them with the change. We settled in to wait, reading our books and annoying each other like kids, our plane was delayed and when it did arrive the tanks were too full so five passengers were told they wouldn't be flying that day. The flight was short and beautiful crossing over plenty of small islands and we arrived with only ten minutes before our connecting flight to Flores was due to leave. I rushed to check us in while Djalma waited for our bags to come through on the conveyor belt, we ended up re-boarding the same plane with the same air hostesses tagging on the end of the queue without having held anyone up.
We sat down to the same complimentary box of white bread roll with brown filling and yellow and green cake that we had just an hour before. Well, free food is free food and we ate up even though it tasted over-sweet and revolting. Buzzing on a sugar overload and lack of sleep we arrived in Maumere, Flores around midday. We got straight in a taxi to the bus station and waited less than half an hour for our bus to Moni to depart. We sat in the back-seat which we had mostly to ourselves for the three hour trip and enjoyed the stupendous views of green covered mountains shrouded in wispy clouds and even greener valleys stretching out below us. The ride was smooth although the road was extremely winding and rain pelted down for the last hour of the trip not letting up when it was our turn to get off the bus, how rude.
We braved the rain and legged it to the nearest hotel, which was rather expensive. I ended up waiting with the bags and a cup of ginger tea while Djalma nipped up the road to find us something better value. We ended up in a nice room with a big mosquito net and a decent bathroom at Maria's.
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