CHAPTER 19 - INDONESIA PART 2

exchange rate 7600 rupiahs to US$1 dollar

Th 6/17/99 - Senggigi, Lombok

After breakfast at Pondok Senggigi and facing the endless attempt at catching up on the journal (11 days behind), we rented motorbikes (clutchless with four speeds and 110 cc, 30,000 per day) in the late morning and per an itinerary laid out by Bandi ("like Al Bundi") at the hotel, John and I took a long drive to the island's center, south of the high volcanic mountain area, to Tetebatu.

We first drove the coast south but quickly entered congestion outside Mataram. In the city we found the island's official tourist information office where the man was very jovial, helpful, laughing, passed us free maps and brochures and even offered us women if the need arose..

We motored east along a very busy stretch to Paokmotong and then north to Tetebatu. The road up the mountain was much more pleasant for the bikes, passing smiling people, horse carts, and small villages. We needed to ask directions to Tetebatu a few times and were directed with hand gestures and broken English. Sometimes, always a young man, spoke English quite well and so would gave more detailed directions but would also ask curiously about us We would reply calmly with smiles and then zoom on.

There were a number of tourist stops that we skipped past, probably boring anyway (Water Palace, pottery, basket weaving, and blanket weaving), and we bombed through traffic with our queer looking helmets and cheap black plastic sunglasses.

The main draw to Tetebatu is a waterfall which we were earlier warned about, "bandits". We had stopped to talk to a buai couple in the proper of Tetebaut, if there is one, and they also mentioned the warnings for the bandits. So when we reached the road's end, at a park office, we were warned about - the bandits, and the gentle young man there suggested we leave our daypacks. This guy actually seemed sincere about something - his job or being good to tourists, maybe he was Buddhist. John worried about leaving behind our belongings and therefore passed the kid 5,000 rupiahs and he was alight. Enthusiastically, he wanted to join us on the trip up to the falls to act us our protector but John then asked him of who would watch the packs. He smiled, a "oh, ya", and retreated.

The walk was a simple up and short down over managed trail taking twenty minutes through forest with views far to the flat farmland of the southern island. Descending to the falls I glimpsed a cute young Indonesia family bathing naked, a father and mother and two year old. The falls were okay, nothing spectacular compared to other falls we've visited. There is a clear drop of twelve meters of the river to a pool below, inviting enough for a skinny.

We explored the top of the falls by climbing a little used bad trail. At the top was a small river with water weathered flat rock, a peaceful location in the waning afternoon sun.

Back at the office our friend was there with colleagues, all were eager to have us feel at home with offers for cigarettes and tea. They inquired of our details per norm to the limit of their language ability and passed our packs back undisturbed.

In Senggigi we dined at Lina Cottages a few minutes walk and on the beach side. We were one of six tables there, all at the wall separating the beach, and were harassed from the beach by touts calling over the wall in the dark. The menu was a little pricey, John didn't care for his meal although I enjoyed mine.

Fr 6/18/99 - Senggigi, Lombok

After my Pondok standard breakfast of two fried eggs, bread with butter and jam, and fruit salad, we saddled up for another day exploring.

The very south of Lombok is desolate, dry, and has great beaches. It's famous for the beaches, the best on the island, blue blue water and white sand, we were directed in particular to a beach named Panti'An. At the epicenter of this area is a village named Kuta. We biked south through the horrid city of Matarama and into flat countryside of rice fields, zooming through villages, around horse drawn carts and bicycles and people, and between cars - it was another aggressive fun ride.

On our way to Kuta, we stopped only once, to visit the traditional village of Sade. We were met at a small dirt parking lot and agreed without squabble to a 20,000 rupiah fee for a guide. The man walked us through, describing the village, customs, buildings, and within a short fifteen minutes he had us back to the bikes and the tour was done. I was busy looking for pictures more than listening and was surprised to see the tour finished so quickly, I wanted more, though John could have kept riding instead of stopping, not being into the culture thing so much. We paid a couple little kids who maintained the parking area and for watching the bikes a pittance, and we off again in sun and blue sky.

On the coast in Kuta we were lost for the lack of road signs, none for the Panti'An, instead we ran into a fancy beach resort near abandoned by tourists, and down vacant roads bordered with rolling dry grass that went nowhere. We returned to Kuta for lunch and with some direction found Panti'An.

Panti'An is made of two pretty crescent shaped beaches with bright blue water, the right one laid with coral, the left with bright clean sand, and at center a one hundred foot long green hill with a rock outcropping at it's southern end.

As we parked our motorbikes touts approached us with the usual mission to annoyingly attempt to sell us their wares. We didn't look them in the eyes, tried to typically ignore them, but three were cute little girls and they were hard to shrug off.

We did walk away, just down the beach where I could change, and we traded turns watching our belongings while swimming. Slowly a forth little girl with pineapples on her head floated down the beach followed by two of the original three who were laughing and throwing sand at one another. Soon there were four and we were kidding with them again. We made fun of their rolling r's, "You buy two for fifty, okay Misterrrrrr?", and the deep voice they put on with the sales pitch, and we kidded and laughed about the prices and color of the sarongs and they at their English mistakes. The pineapple girl lacked the charisma of the others, her English was not as good, she wasn't dressed well, was quiet and settled on a constant, "Pineapple, sweet Mister, 3000.", and the others acted us if she wasn't there. The three, Paula (13), Anna (13), and Annie (10), were a lot of fun, constantly smiling, laughing, and not the hardest pushing salespeople although we eventually relented. When a women and then a man approached the fun was over, John put on his T-shirt and prepared to leave, I followed suit, and the mood across the crowd turned sullen.

We walked down the beach, up on the grassy hill to check the view and the four girls followed. At the end of the promontory was a rock outcropping and I wondered how Nature split this bay into two crescent shaped beached with our hill between. The sight was very attractive, a low laying land of bright beach and long green shore grasses and rock formations, not to mentioned burning blue water. With toyed and joked again with our little friends and eventually gave in to them.

Dinner was at our hotel Pondok Senggigi, the same band as Wednesday night with more metal rather than acoustic. John and I had to chuckle at the singers, Indonesians can't pronounce "th" and "sh" well, which isn't really notable, but hearing a refrain repeatedly mispronounced is sometimes too funny. Instead of "show" we heard "so", and "nothing" was "nuting".

Sa 6/19/99 - Senggigi, Lombok

Today was our third day motorbiking. The first day we drove to a waterfall at the center of Lombok, second to Kuta in the southern coast, and today we planned on heading to a waterfall accessed from the north shore, Sindanggala Waterfall, then crossing the mountain range east of 12,000 foot Mt. Rinjani.. From just below Lombok's northern shore is a large volcanic mountainous area with many peaks over 2,000 meters and reaching to 3700 meters, and traversing this pass was a not-to-miss venture.

The day was good. And bad.

We cruised north on our motorbikes, I led John, and just beyond Senggigi we passed two locals on motorbikes driving cautiously, slowing and braking for curves. Then we passed a yellow diamond sign with a black squiggle and arrow at the top, caution, and I thought of yesterday when crossing farmlands in the south just north of Sade I passed a similar sign and didn't take heed quick enough. I had to brake hard after cresting a hill that preceded a curve and the bike squirreled. In the ensuing adrenaline rush my body must have had a great chemical change, my heart was in my mouth, my body flushed with heat, and I my hands trembled. So, today I slowed when I saw the sign and I easily passed through the curve, braking half way through.

As I straightened the bike out I heard the ominous and distinctive sound of metal on pavement. I quickly turned to see John trying to stay on his feet but he was then down and with his motorbike bouncing then sliding across the curve and into the roadside dirt, sending a small plume into the air.

I hunched my shoulders and grimaced and turned around. John picked up the sad machine and sat on it, then lowered his head into his crossed arms on the handlebars to collect himself. He looked at me a bit bewildered, his forehead was a collection of large perspiration beads, and later he said he felt nauseous. The length of his lower right arm was bloody as was his knee and foot. The bike looked very sad too. Headlight, turn signal, front fender, all were broken, and down the right side was scraped and the handlebars were crooked to the front wheel.

The bike still run, maybe not as well, and we returned to the hotel so John could shower and clean his cuts and scrapes with the first aid kit. We left the broken bike in the drive and then searched the strip for another, found one, and were off again for our long day, but more slowly. I checked my watch and noticed we had lost only an hour, not bad in exchange for a good journal entry (kidding John).

Heading north again outside Senggigi the road quickly turned to a wonderful scenic ocean cruise. The sun poured down along the coast and the interior mountains held cloud overhead. Views from the road like this is what I hoped for, it seems many roads don't follow the coast close enough for ocean scenery. The road hugged hairpin curves then swooped downward to be level with the ocean to run along palm groves then back up again. Inland were great rolling green mountains based with farmlands which ascended to grades to steep for growing. We passed through villages and along squared rice paddy farms and other agriculture. I spied to find workers in rice fields with triangular straw hats, and I did, but the view was never quite right for a picture. I passed a cloud of insects large enough to make a splatting sound against me.

The road south to Sindanggala and Lombok's interior came to us from the small simple village of Praya. The motorbikes whined and wove five kilometers upward and we stopped when the road stopped, coincidentally at a restaurant with a man more than willing to provide information on the area. We had passed a half dozen other restaurants, but we were crunched for time, so we settled here for food and to hire a guide (20,000) to the "second" waterfall.

Sindanggala is also a starting point for climbing to the majestic Lake Segara Anak and Mt. Rinjani (3726m), the second highest peak in Indonesia. This would have been a great option for John and I, the intrepid hikers we sometimes are, but the end of our trip together would have to go without, John threw out his hiking boots and left his sneakers behind in Singapore.

The quick paced walk took half hour - I hurried to match our guides pace even though he wore simple rubber sandals. The path followed two long steep concrete staircases, peeled off halfway down the second one to the right, then followed a raised aqueduct and other concrete structures that moved water along through the area's supply system. We clambered over fallen trees and slick muddy rocks before an opening to a high u-shaped cut in the mouton.

The waterfall had one large concentrated rush of water funneled through a trough from the apex of the U in a loud roar to a pool below. In one single volumous effort the river fell seventy feet, very unusual for waterfalls normally crests the lip in a spread out manner. Along and throughout the dark rock vertical wall short stringy green vegetation grew and water seeped from heavier vegetation above to fall in sheets along the wall's surface through the green, hitting at points small bumps of rock that created a scallop effect in the sheets. The overall effect was a large high u-shaped wall with continuous glistening sheets of water with small irregularities falling to the pool, add the high volume funnel crashing, and this falls was unusual from others we have seen.

I heard there was a cave behind the falls. I gestured to our guide but he didn't want to get wet beyond the heavy mist generated by the falls. John and I donned our swimsuits, and wadded into the bellowing falls over hand sized rounded stones. The loudness and power of the water hitting the pool and spraying hard into our faces reminded me of Sunderland Falls in New Zealand on a smaller scale (Sunderland is the world's fifth highest falls). I worked my way through thunderous water, now crashing on my head, to the wall and found a shelf to climb onto. There wasn't a cave, but this was more interesting. The waterfall in it's crashing fury had carved a seven foot high slice from the u-shaped cliff face around it. As we witnessed the outward spray when we approached the falls, a similar effect caused this long horizontal half pipe into the curved wall to be chiseled. We walked in the protected tube on the flat shelf at a height equal to the pool. John and I stood and yelled and shared our excitement of the unusual waterfall.

We walked back over the rocks and trees, over the water troughs, aqueduct, and path to the concrete stairs. At the bottom, which we hadn't yet seen, was the first of the three waterfalls. Many locals were about sitting and talking, drying clothing, and washing in the river below. On a tall straight wall opposite, completing covered with green leafy plants, a few waterfalls magically sprung from nowhere through the plants. That was a weird effect, waterfalls without a source.

After nearly killing ourselves by ascending the long staircases without a rest, we gathered our helmets from the restaurant at top, John laid his shorts behind him on the bike, and we went zooming down the mountain.

At a small village named Bayan we booked right to follow nice lazy rolling and curvy roads of pasture and farms to the east, cruising in the sun. We stopped a few times to ask, "East Lombok? Sajang? Sapit?". Once we stopped and John said he had left his shorts sitting on the back of his bike, shorts Rachel gave him, and he was bumming again today.

But we were both enjoying the ride, the sensation of sweeping along curves and over hills, being in control of our own transportation was a humorous thought, and the scenery was great.

I thought we had missed the road leading to the mountain pass but hadn't, a big sign settled my doubts, "Mt. Rinjani National Park", and we turned south to climb to the pass. This portion was to be the best stretch we would see on Lombok.

There was an issue however, my gas gauge read "E", I had bet on benzene close to the pass road and now it wasn't happening. The road narrowed, became rougher and steeper, and signs of civilization disappeared. The gauge dropped below "E". The road ascended through thick forest, we passed a couple road crews waiting (for transportation?), and then there were a few very small villages with people watching us and yelling, "Hey Mister!". There wasn't a sign of vehicles requiring benzene. I stopped anyway to ask by pointing at the vehicle and, "Benzene?!". The villagers would shake their heads and point up the mountain. I couldn't believe the bike kept going, I thought John would leave me to go ahead and fetch some gas. Eventually a house at the roadside bordered in front with fencing held the telltale signs - shelves of clear bottles with yellow liquid inside and below red plastic containers - that was the sight I was looking for! I believe I received four liters (rp 3250, a station is 1080, some roadside 1500 per liter). I was set and relieved and beat a little more on the bike for there wasn't the reason to be conservative.

From the south side of Sembalunlawang we ascended again through large squares of plots of crops, then came across a wonderful vista of the farmlands and Sembalunlawang. in a flat valley, mountains topped with wisping clouds bordered all around and ocean in the furthest distance.

The road continued up along farmlands to Sembalunlawang, a large unusual and interesting settlement on a high plateau. Like the villages before, kids would scream out, "Hey Mister", and everyone smiled and waved. I returned smiles and waved and out, "hello!". I felt like the bloody Queen of England. The roads through this village were broken tarmac and gravel and so we drove slowly, seeing details left and right. The houses were built close together with walls between, everything off white. Open front stores showed cases of food and packaged items. The overall effect reminded us of Nepal - the mountains, the roughness and style of the white village.

My motorbike started to run bad for the remainder of the mountain road, I guess my last savior of benzene contained dirt or water. I kept the gear low, but at times I needed to kick the road with my feet then downhill I found some speed only to brake when I caught John, then uphill I would slog again. This went on for fifteen minutes until the tarmac turned new and recent excavation told that the pass was also new ("built by Canadians").

As soon as we crossed the pass, the sky and air was thick with mist and clouds, and the temperature dropped. The road was void of villages for a long while but monkeys graced our presence nibbling at the roadside, well that was until we stopped to observe closer and they ran off into the forest. For kicks I put the bike into high gear and attempted to ride without hands then I practiced defensive driving by locking the rear wheel on dirt patches, sliding the bike sideways.

We reach a few villages where we quickly stopped to ask for the way to Senggigi, and we were told the most direct route, not the best roadway, I guess walking or horse drawn cart would have that preference. So some of the roads were very rough but we eventually fell onto the busy, too busy, main road running west from East Lombok to Mataram.

I say too busy for we had left the tranquil back roads and villages for tense crash avoidance driving, dodging every type of moving obstacle they have every made - people, bicycles, horse draw carts, cars, trucks, taxis, weddings - it was all here and I believe in driving like the locals, following their rules if you can find them, safety in numbers. But we actually drove these motorbikes faster than most for good reasons like thrill and our asses killed from eons on the small bikes and we wanted to return the bikes before 6pm.

We entered Pondok Senggigi at 6:15pm, and there stood our first motorbike rental person looking over John's damaged bike. "Ah, Mr. Robert, you are late, that will be 10,000. Where is your friend who rode this bike". He pointed at the sad bike and since John was sheepish and not owning up I half smiled and said he was right here beside me. The young man kept "tsk"-ing with his tongue against his teeth. He looked at Johns bandaged arm and said "Tsk tsk tsk, I am sorry to see you are hurt, tsk tsk tsk". The "tsk"-ing made us laugh and we saw bad little Johnny wouldn't have to stay after school but there was still the deductible which the meager agreement stated as US$150. I thought the damage was more, but John bartered and they settled for $110.

For dinner we ate in at our restaurant. We were both beat and John went ahead to read (more - how can he read so much?!) while I listened to the same band. This was Saturday night, the big night at the lounge, with a band followed by a transvestite cabaret. I faded. My plan was to sleep for two hours and return for the cabaret but that didn't happen.

Of all the islands in Indonesia, only Bali is Hindu, the others all Muslim. Muslim men are allowed four wives each, if they can afford them, so what happens to the skewed ratio of men versus women? Did the society thus become more accepting of homosexuality?

Su 6/20/99 - Senggigi

The northwest corner of Lombok has three small islands, called the Gilli Islands. "Gilli" means "island" in Indonesian, so translated they would be the Island Islands I guess. From west to east they are named Gilli Trawangan, Gilli Meno, and Gilli Air. Air is quiet and suited for families, Meno has the least development and Trawangan is the most popular with plenty of accommodation and party life. All are said to be good for snorkeling.

John and I booked tickets (30,000) to boat from Senggigi to Trawangan rather than bus to near the islands and ferry across. That would have been cheaper and maybe quicker, but we disagreed on that issue. At our hotel the chap (hey - Indonesians here speak with an Australian accent) who booked the tickets explained that the boat left at 9am and returned at 5pm, a forty five minute ferry ride. It did leave near 9am, but took an hour and a half then returned at 3pm.

The ferry was similar to the many wooden fishing boats that ply the local waters - narrow hulled, dual outrigger, Arab dowh shaped sail like a stay sail (upside down triangular sail), similar but without sail and it could accommodate more than twenty people. No, it wouldn't meet US Coast Guard approval. There was a bad running Yamaha that choked and marginally pushed the boat. The outriggers were simply long eight inch trees, bent at the forward end but not streamlined, so two thick posts were pushed through the water with the hull. The bilge was filled with water.

Along with us were eight backpackers, all heading to Trawangan to stay, and twelve Chinese Indonesians, one of which was too loud and the required the center of attention of his peers.

The ferry route kept us just off Lombok so from the distance we could see the island in a different perspective. There are a series of hills bounding into the sea between which sit flat expansive coconut grows. Behind the groves and hills the land rises to mountains, and today faded away into clouds. Farming is on some amazingly steep hillside and crests some lower hills, but the agriculture eventually fades out and gives in to the less accessible higher land. The beaches have volcanic flavor, black, tan, brown colored beaches.

At Trawangan we were dropped north of the center, close to nothing but horse carts and a snorkel rental. We entertained both offers (10,000 and 20,000 respectively), and carted after four large girls who read in their LP of good snorkeling at the northeast point. I asked the driver how long a horse cart horse lives, "Go to sleep? Five years", that wasn't very long, ours was three and nearly glue. Halfway into our five minute ride the girls were walking, they were involved in a horsecart accident, and we laughed hard and wondered what they meant. Kiddingly we asked one another if they could have hit guardrail on this desolate island or maybe it was a head-on horse cart accident. Later they said the horse had fallen, he may not have made his five year design goal.

I locked my valuables in a safe deposit box (free!) at Nusa Pica Lodge and Restaurant, left our bags in the same room, and had a really nice snorkel. The sea bottom very gradually ran down from shore and was covered with dead white sharp coral, and that wasn't too fun, but the water was very clear, the visibility great.

The ocean bottom was very flat to about twenty five feet then fell off quickly and leveled consistently another twenty feet down. It was all easily visible, so clear, I was psyched! Coral laid over the flat bottom, I came across only a few coral heads, most coral was tan or brown with a very occasional burst of blue or purple or green. I kicked and crawled to the ridge then turned to a snorkel I guessed was John's. Nearby there were two crosses with eyelets stuck vertical in the floor, far down. I gathered breath and dove, equalizing by holding my nose and blowing on the way down I grabbed one of the crosses and pulled, but it didn't budge. I looked up to the surface in amazement - glassy, small waves rippling, a very good unusual site for land dwellers, I felt as though I was in an aquarium except that the sea floor extended without end in every direction, fading to darkness in the light absorption from the ocean water.

I lost John, not a problem, and continued north in the light current. I followed the line between the low and high plateaus, and excitedly came upon large schools of small fish hanging about, very segregated. The first school had bodies of gray and black cross hatch, and white fins. The second school were of silver body and yellow fins. The third, tan body with yellow fins sitting on the back on the body with black tips. There were hundreds of each, and then other small fish - bright blue, funky green, luminous yellow. Most were multicolored. I crossed my arms over my T-shirt and chest, I was started to feel cool even in the warm water and I wanted to minimize motion so not to frighten fish. I floated along the surface watching this word unfold, many small fish and then a group of a dozen large silver fish. Some fish were ten times larger than those of the small school but with small mouths. Did the small fish realize that the big guys with small mouths couldn't eat them?

I dove down to the incline between the underwater plateaus and up close this world became the more magnificent. The colors in the coral were not simply solid but changing shades of yellow and tan, and the texture of the coral came to life. The details and antics of small fish darting around and through the coral were great.

Further along was a decent mushroom shaped coral head and I dove down to inspect that too. Coral heads provide the best views of colors and interesting shapes and interesting fish life.

Suddenly, the tide or current changed and the sea clouded. It was near 12:30 and I was to meet John for lunch anyway so there wasn't a great loss. We ate at Nusa Pica, it took forever to get our food, four other tables of westerners were there and one cook probably, with one gas burner.

Our return trip to Singgigi included the original twelve Chinese Indonesians and another four. They were from Jakarta and Mataram, a family outing I assumed. We were the only bulais. The clouds covering the mountains were ominous and spread toward the sea, gray lines of rain covered one mountainside. Halfway home the wind picked up and rain started. I had gone forward earlier to the deck for photos, so I handed John my camera, and while others on the deck sought cover, I stayed sitting half over the side and supported on a crossbeam to which the outriggers were attached with fishing line. The seas kicked up and challenged the rain to soak me more.

At the hotel, after a swim, I rinsed my shirt and John my light shorts (he hasn't a suit now), we showered, and called for a ride to Alberto's Pizza not too far south. Alberto's is a very pretty restaurant on the water, and equally expensive too. We enjoyed a Hawaiian pizza, not enough for me but John was satisfied since we would later find Oreo's.

Actually, John bent tradition and went with something other than Oreo’s, I stuck to America's favorite cookie and bought long life chocolate milk, the flavoring disguises some of the bad taste.

John went back to read, but I was restless. I asked at the desk if there was a Jakarta Post, and they insisted that I watch CCN, but there were a dozen Indonesians watching something, albeit hotel workers and others not lodging here. I felt bad although was the effort was being made to change the station by reaching into the back of the cabinet, I couldn't refuse. So I sat on the floor propped on one of the dozens of cushions in the open TV lounge area. The CCN world news was disheartening, pretty much all senseless American topics, although Kosovo was covered in a special and Asian news was covered separately.

I then walked the drag looking for a Jakarta Post but instead hanging a bit outside restaurants and bars when there was a band then strolling a souvenir shop too long for I bought a couple of painted flat wood carvings.

Returning with my loot I felt suddenly thirsty and stopped at a very poor looking stand that sold nearly nothing. A boy who spoke English better than his father who wore a Muslim hat helped me. I bought a bottle of local beverage, they couldn't translate the taste to English, and I worried when they stuck a straw in the bottle, worried where the hands have been. I continued down the street but stopped to wipe the straw on my shirt. It was tea and I thought "eck", but reminded myself I drank tea half the mornings anyway simply for the liquid, and it wasn't so bad. It didn't finish quenching my thirst so I returned. The boy was laying on cardboard, clothes still on, ready for sleep. I mentioned this and he said his older brother and younger sister were also sleeping on the other side of a counter. I peered over to see them, also on cardboard and ragged cloth. The boy was up, I bought a Coke and said I didn't need a straw which they understood, but while paying for the Coke the father grabbed the straw at the tip before I could intervene. Damn. His hands were dark, were they dirty, where have they been? I went outside and drew up my shirt again to clean off the straw. Hmmm, maybe my shirt was dirtier than his hand. I went home.

Mo 6/21/99 - Senggigi, Lombok to Kuta, Bali

We have had a hellacious time with transport lately, so in an attempt at avoiding another confrontation, we booked a little package to transport us from Senggigi to Kuta, Bali for Rp 36,000 by bus and boat and bus.

We were collected at Pondok Senggigi at 10am, and made the length without another depressing incident. The ferry left late and arrived late, it took five hours to cross, and then stood still before the dock for forty-five minutes, unknown reasons. The ferry was a different ship than last, in equally poor shaped but also packed full. John choose a seat inside while I went above for better light to type by.

We arrived Kuta, a mass of tourism at 8pm, and walked circles to find the recommended Adus Beach Hotel that lives on the border between Kuta and Legian to the north, off Jalan Melasti in the back streets. We looked at two rooms, one 40,000 and the second for 30,000 and took the cheaper because we couldn't see a difference, amenities scaled low with cold shower, toilet without seat, no a/c, no sink, no towels.

My sneakers had gotten wet while departing our ferry from Gilli Trawangan on Senggigi beach, and now they were rank. I hadn't even dared to take them off on the buses from Senggigi to Kuta, and so after eating at a small pricey place with bad service, we went exploring the mass of tourism to become acquainted and maybe find sandals or sneakers.

I wondered if I have ever seen such a density of retail as here, blocks and blocks of shop after shop, restaurant, bars, and an equal density of touts, too many. The Adus is down a side street and through a dingier alley, we walked to the main street nearby and without orientation from a map of other directions, set out for exploring. The tourists here are different, many very large bulais, some old, a lot Australian, not just the young backpacker set. There are many young people too, hell there's a lot of everybody here, and you can sometimes see meaty guys who couldn't have been traveling long since they would have lost bulk, maybe they're here for a couple weeks from Oz. The nightlife is full bore, but we walked past all that per norm. We were on one very long street (Jalan Legian) and from the corner of my eye I caught one or two small alleys to the right, but besides those, this was an extremely long block with McDonald's, Wendy's, an anti-gravity bungy ride.

Finally we could turn right and make our way back towards our hotel. A few minutes and we were right again along the dark beach and Hard Rock Cafe. This was to be the other long side of our square, very long. Rain started and we holed up with many others under the awning of the Hard Rock's T-shirt shop. Impatient, we thought of waiting in the pub but there was a long line and they demanded purchase of an expensive drink for entry, so we went on to find another establishment to sit at. But that didn't happen. Nothing came along except heavier rain, and so we walked quickly through it for at least twenty minutes. Now my only shorts and shoes were soaked as well as my wallet. Damn, I wasn't happy and after setting everything to dry I crawled into bed to read more "Rainbow Six".

Tu 6/22/99 - Kuta, Bail

I rose to find John analyzing at the ceiling, showered and took inventory of my wet kit - sneakers stinking, boot drenched, shorts - one soaked and the other musty and damp. Not a tantalizing sight. Outside on the small table between our chairs was a hot pot of tea, and then two banana jaffles arrived (bread filled with anything and toasted in a sort of waffle iron, good!), maybe with cheese.

We spent the day on errands and avoiding touts along the crazy retail street of Jalan Legian. We did email, made a flight reservation to Singapore and John needed swimshorts, I looked for tourist information, a better hotel for when we return Kuta ($25 to $30 US could get us somewhere), sandals (Reebok 400,000), pens, small writing book to note photos in, and so on.

I walked barefoot out onto the slimy pavement and gravel covered with last nights third world disgust, hoping to find sandals quickly, but being the anal shopper I sometimes can be, I hit about five stores. As I walked I wondered what was in the sewerage slim and whether I could pick up something barefoot, and then, I stumbled across one of the many double square concrete sewage drain covers and cut my foot. Damn! Now I have sewage in my blood. I went a small pharmacy to buy anti-biotic cream, and later on anti-septic.

I returned along the beach, Jalan Raya Pantal Kuta, as we did in last nights downpour. It was packed with Indonesians, touts, and tourists. The waves looked good, people were surfing and boogie boarding, but the bathing suits sights were rather disappointing since these tourist are exceptionally large.

Late afternoon, sitting outside our room we talked with our neighbors, two Dutch girls who just spent seven months in Australia, three months working. They were very friendly, a mature way about them, and their English was excellent. I was very surprised to hear then, that they were just out of high school.

Dinner was at a German restaurant, why, maybe because we ran out of lively spots and patience as we walked Legian. We each had a mixed sausage plate which John liked more than I. Later we hung at Paddy’s Irish Pub talking nonsense in a very comradely way, watching the movie "Ronan" on VCD, and checking out the Australian tourists - young, old, large.

We 6/23/99 - Kuta to Mt. Batur (Bali)

The motorcycles we had arranged through our hotel only showed after we asked again. They were Yamaha YT110 dirt bikes, more like motorcycles compared to the four speed motorbikes because they have full frame and clutch and everything a grown up bike should, although we were in Indonesia where a discrepancy between what a bike has and what it should may exist. Not to say the motorbikes didn't have balls and a high enough top end speed of 120km (75 mph) on good fuel, but these were torquey fellows with high and wide handlebars, and a more difficult high center of balance. John's bike looked new-ish, but it had been cleaned and the clock showed over 30,000km. I rejected my first bike, no horn or turn signals. The second was without speedometer and the front brake was very poor, the brake light intermittent. They cost 35,000 per day plus 65,000 for insurance for the period of four days.

My basic four day plan was to cruise back ad forth across the mountains, accessing roads with good views whenever possible.

We fought through traffic east and then north to reach Ubud, a thriving tourist destination known for wood carving and other arts. There we lunched and sheltered from the rain, walking through a market, and carried on when the skies relented.

The traffic lessened on the ride north to Gunung Kawi, a historic 10th century Hindu site, a village carved into stone within a pretty hilly landscape of rice fields and rivers. We walked through the ancient village, walls and housing and other rooms carved by hand into the stone. The amount of man hours must have been tremendous.

We then continued north, the only vehicles moving along narrow paved road through villages and farmlands, making our way into the cooler mountainous and clouded area south of Mt. Batur. The first village we hit at the top of our climb was Penelokan and we drove along the rim. We tried unsuccessfully to find a LP noted lodge in the village of Batur, now we felt frozen at the higher altitude, the air dense with mist, and the sun, wherever it was, was dropping low.

We stopped quickly at a viewpoint of Mt. Batur, Lake Batur, and the Batur caldera - a huge volcanic rim containing the large lake and various volcanic cones, some active. It was quite a site, one that founded a large tourism trade in the area and produced a population of touts with a very bad reputation. We lasted only minutes before departing the irritating swarm and continued our search for lodging.

We were both cold, even over the sound of our loud Yamaha, I could hear John's teeth chattering 100 meters back, now that's cold. It reached the point where any lodging would suffice, I really wanted warmth, but we didn’t pass losmens or hotels. There were a series of very large and impressive looking restaurants, but they are without lodging and only cater to tourist bus traffic with heavy prices. Lodging inside the volcano was not recommended and besides I wanted to drive down in early morning light.

We stopped on the side of a winding forest stretch, pitched ourselves over the map, and with little conclusion turned back through Batur and into Penelokan. There was only one hotel, Lakeview, and although we were scared by it's poshness, the $30 (rates in US) rate dropped to $20 including tax and breakfast. This hotel, our room, and the restaurant area is the most lavish since our trip started nearly eight months ago. Tomorrow morning we should have a great view of the caldera from our windows. On the down side, the dinner menu was the heftiest in Indonesia so far, I steered away from European dishes and ordered fried rice with chicken, egg, Chinese salad (a very small salad of cucumber, tomato, and lettuce), and shrimp crackers.

Comparing Batur to Bromo - Bromo is a much more desolate and fun and eerie setting, Batur is packed with people and villages and whatever they can use to cater to tourists. Still though, geologically Batur is similar and very interesting, and it has a large lake.

Lombok and Bali have a lot of wood available for buildings and wood carvings for the tourist. Our hotel room has concrete plastered walls, and tiled floor, but the desk, beds, chairs, ceiling. mirrors, door, and window frames are all wood. The Restraurant is similarly attractive. Besides good quality and detailed chairs and tables, the building is a work of art with large wooden windows and doorways. The dark wood raised roof is angular and open, beams and paneling a pleasure to note.

Th 6/24/99 - Mt. Batur to Lovina

I rolled over in the early dawn to move aside the fancy curtain and peer over the volcano, but hey, the huge bowl was socked in. Damn, I moaned and rolled over for more sleep.

We were up, showered, and at breakfast around 8am. As we sat at a window that probably has fantastic views over the crater containing Mt. Batur and Lake Batur sometimes, the sun tried to punch through the mist, and after a half an hour that involved waiting or eating breakfast and glimpsing out the window, I noticed some water below. I could see the sun was glistening onto the lake through a veil of mist.

We finished breakfast, brushed our teeth in our room and were off again. We descended a very torn road into the crater and followed the west side of the lake to the north. In a small village I stopped to check the map and a tout on a motorbike asked if we wanted a guide to the smoking crater, $10 each. Hey, what smoking crater? Below Mt. Batur, where lava has flowed and you can see red lava every couple of hours shooting out, very popular for the tourists

Okay, we should have gained enough experience with touts, but the possibility of seeing lava flow was too appealing, but $10 each was absolutely ridiculous, that's 70,000 rupiahs. We drove on and he followed on his motorbike and pestered and followed. I stopped to take a pic of an old man plowing his field with the main rim behind and we compromised with the tout - 20,000 to show us the access path to the smoking crater. We figured it may be a waste, but then it could be okay.

We followed him back along the lake then onto a dirt road to the right. We bumped and pushed our way through soft sand on the road and to it's end where a shack sat, the home of a family who sold drinks and food to tourists. They watched our bikes and helmets.

The motorbike tout said it was a twenty minute walk and for the distance I reckoned, I harshly questioned him - okay thirty maximum. There was a smoking cone, I had actually saw it yesterday and read about it somewhere, but it really looked very far away. In unknown natural landscapes, perspective is untrustworthy, you can't accurately tell distances and heights, but still twenty minutes? We needed the exercise anyway and curiously set off.

John led and moved quickly along and up. I watched my footing, it was the trial break-in trail walk for my new Reebok sandals. After five minutes I looked to our left - from the cone to the west and south was a huge spread of volcanic run off - an impressive sight of black flow that dominated the hillsides. This cone blew fairly recently, in the last twenty years. I was awed by the vastness and immensity. Of the volcanic sites we have witnessed, we hadn't seen this scene.

We huffed our way up, once on the immediate cone the trail was steep and zigzagged. On the smoking cone's rim, we peered down through the bellowing white but saw no red or spewing lava. The sight was good though, John and I had it to ourselves, and had a little exercise too. We hung there for a long while, wondering about the forces of nature and asking ourselves about most of the details before us. It was a good comradely time.

The plan now was to drive east to cross between Bali's big volcanic mountain, Mt. Agung and Mt. Lempuyang to Agung's east. We drove on secondary roads until the rain hit, we found cover at lunch time in a warung, a simple small restaurant with a young mother serving previously prepared dishes. She was attractive, we liked that, and had no command for English. A teenaged boy wandered in to help out.

The rain wasn't letting up, so away we went anyway into the cold weather, only swimshorts, sandals, and t-shirts on. Damn, again we were freezing and now wet. I figured once we reached the ocean the weather would be kinder and our clothes would dry quickly in the forceful motorcycle air.

The weather did clear as we passed between the two mountains and by rice fields. Near Abang just on the north side of the pass we stopped above an incredible set of curving terraced rice fields. We scanned the scene below for ten minutes, happy to be cruising on the motorcycles on Bali.

We had been going for four hours, and now Lovina was another 70 kilometers away. We chose Lovina only because it was touristed - we could find the amenities that create comfort for us. The road bordered the Bali Sea on and off for 40km where a particular beautiful section of windy road lived. We snaked through nice forest right on and above the sea and black sands beaches. Directly on the north point of Bali is

Singaraja, a city of 90,000 and not a very fun place to motorcycle through. We were here for the crisp mountain roads, not congestion and a choice of following a soot producing truck or betting your life on weaving through traffic.

In Lovina we went straight for a LP hotel with a pool, Nirwana Cottages, and booked in for 100,000. Nirwana is an incredible hotel, manicured lawns and pretty gardens throughout, on the beach which itself isn't great. We had a two story bungalow made of attractive natural local materials such as bamboo, grass thatch, and woods.

Lovina is merely a few tourist developed side streets off the busy main northern road across the island. The beach is black sand and not particularly attractive. I wondered how it became so popular, but the tourist infastruture is here and suits me for the night.

Dinner was at Kopi Bali, a relaxing setting with quick service and great food. Excellent!

Fr 6/25/99 - Lovina to Tulamben to Lovina

Exchange rate 6700 rupiahs to 1 dollar, 20% drop in 24 days

The night before we talked with a late fifties-ish couple from south of Fremantle about diving the USS Liberty amongst other things. In twenty years they have visited Indonesia thirty times, getting to most of the big islands but returning to Bali most frequently, this instance for one month. They were the type of couple that have been together for ever and now spend their time drinking and smoking to fill the long silences. The day before they went up Tulamben to snorkel on the Liberty while their friends dove. After speaking to them we checked out our local email, Wartel (telephone service), and dive shop. For transportation, equipment, and two dives they asked US$40. I dislike when Indonesians attach their pricing to the dollar, you lose advantage of the discounted rupiah. Well, we already had transportation and figured we could beat their price by driving ourselves down to Tulamben.

John and I had just done this one and a half hour drive along the northern coast east to west yesterday, and although some of it was very nice, parts were horrid, in particular passing through the city of Singaraja with a population near 100,000. The city is spread out with heavy traffic, either you sit behind a black smoking truck or pass, a nerve racking experience. But once past Singaraja there are beautiful sections of forested roadway bordering the immediate Bali Sea, S-shaped curves and small hills. The beach here is black sand from volcanic activity and in pockets lining the beach are colorful traditional fishing boats, wooden with dual outriggers and narrow hulls, rowing boats.

Tulamben is a village without a proper center, only a couple warungs, small benzene stations, and hotel and dive shops - all hidden back from the road, only small signs for announcement. It's so unobtrusive that we passed through yesterday without notice. We checked out a dive shop for price, $50, more than Lovina, another, $40, the same as Lovina. Did we screw ourselves and waste a ride here? The next the same price and the next also. The last shop brought us to a man on the main street, $30, we went for it.

Puri Madha Dive Shop is directly opposite the wreck which ranges in depth from a couple meters to the surface down to 35 meters. The equipment was old, especially the suit and booties, but all worked. The congenial and smiling man who brought us to the shop - I had asked his name but some Indonesian names are impossible to remember - acted as guide for John and I. We timed the waves smacking the black sand beach, stumbled over ground stones with the heavy clumsy equipment, and were in the Bali Sea.

Once underneath the waves, the okay sign given all around, we swam directly off shore and within a minute started to see the ghost of the wreck. The water had good visibility, and when I realized this I was psyched!

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Below are notes taken from the dive card that touts sell on the beach:

1915 - Built in America as a cargo steamship some 120 metres long. Armed for World War II with two guns.

1942 - Torpedoed January 11 by Japanese submarine 15 kilometers southwest of Lombok while carrying a cargo of raw rubber and railway parts. She was towed to Bali by US destroyers but she was taking on too much water. The crew was evacuated and she was beached at Tulamben. The Japanese advance prevented recovery of the cargo. From 1942 to 1963 she was stripped of valuables - cargo, propeller, metals, etc.

1963 - Mt. Agung erupts - earth tremors cause the hull to slip into deep water, breaking the hull in at least two places. Since then the superstructure has fallen into deep water.

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In swimming along the stern the shipped looked enormous, even though it was a third the length of an aircraft carrier, Trident, or QE II, it was still a big ship. After sitting for 84 years and being moved by Agung, the structure was twisted, torn, and coated with coral. The overall structure lines were gone, penetration is possible within some large torn openings, not through one doorway and along a hallway and out another, it was too wrecked for that. Without a map or a guide to point out certain features, the details were hard to discern, however the Liberty was now a coral reef and home to a ba-zillion fish. In comparison, the Rhone off Tortola has been down for an additional sixty years. It has more coral but less identifiable structure, the trade off in growing a reef with an iron ship.

From a distance the coral made sections of the boat look like a brown mottled mass, closer inspection reveals interesting patterns and a rainbow of color. The fish love it here, and love the divers also. Many different kinds followed us around, poking their faces into the masks, saying, "hey, give me a banana, I got one yesterday!". Our guide pointed down and made a gun sign with his hand, I looked around, no triggerfish here, what's he talking about, and later realized he meant the deck gun.

The dive was great, there was a huge mass of metal below and to the side of us as we floated along. The ship laid on it's side with deck pointing to sea, and had good coral and a good quantity of fish. Large sheets of metal were crusted with flat layers of coral while angular pieces of iron were losing their shape with the overgrowth. The most notable point of the dive was a school of two hundred jackfish swarming like a tornado, silver fish quickly following the one ahead in circles, round and round making a sliver funnel. Forty-five minutes after starting our first dive ended and we then stumbled up the beach. (max depth twenty two meters)

After an inexpensive lunch and waiting two hours for our blood to normalize from the nitrogen build up, John and I dove without guide. The first feeling was a sort of freedom and self fulfillment from doing it on our own, then we were into the details of the wreck.

We immediately went forward to spot the deck gun, but looked in all directions confused. Then directly below me was a very large encrusted object with a protruding barrel. The size mislead me. Without being guided along the ship, John and I went off but within sight of one another to explore the details of the coral, fish, and ship. John explored cavities of the wreck, we passed a hydraulic valve wheel encrusted and cool looking, we swam through schools of brightly colored fish, and looked close up at the color of the coral.

On the landward side of Liberty is a slope of sand with many half inch holes and a dozen sea worms with six inches of body extended from their burrows weaving and bobbing into the current. When we approached they all slowly descended in perfect unison, a comical sight, as if they were all attached below to a board someone pulled downward.

The jackfish were there again, but in a much larger quantity, thousands. This was an awesome sight. The school swarmed but with so many a complete tornado was impossible, the school reached from surface to floor, too many to form the neat funnel we saw earlier. They instead swam in and out of a broken funnel with secondary cutting patterns to the periphery, it was almost a scary sight for the quantity of silver fish, comparatively mindless creatures riding their instincts in a quick crazy circles for an unknown purpose.

The ride back to Lovenia was uneventful, oh, no I lied. We passed through the dry coastal area near Tulamben, then for a bit of scenery peeled south on a back road toward the mountains. Five minutes into the sharp ascent, John's rear tire went flat. We hummed and hawed and didn't know what to do. Riding or walking the bike could damage the tire or tube, he could have coasted down to the main road, but instead walked the bike and I went ahead for help.

At the bottom I found a handful of men washing a large van and after a lot of broken English commissioned them on John's behalf to fetch John and the limping bike for 30,000, down from the original 50,000. Only one young man knew a little English, he jumped on behind me and the van followed, however to my surprise John was just around the corner, already down the long hill - I must have spent a long time negotiating. They loaded the bike in and a minute later unloaded it next door to the where the van started from. The van man took John's 30,000, way too much for the work, and I took a dislike to the loud guy.

The repair man worked confidently and quietly, the van man buzzed in his ear and we wondered what the repair would cost. The problem was that a previous patch leaked. It covered the largest tear I have ever seen patched, the tube should have been replaced. When the repair man motioned for a new tube, I said no, patch it again. That should be cheaper. On he worked, scraping the old patch off with a hacksaw and pulling at it with pliers. He sewed the tear, gooped black gunk on, placed a couple of small rubber pieces over the hole, then added a larger patch layer on top. His small son had started a flame under a vertical vise and the patch was pressed and melted onto the tube. I had never seen that done. The tube held air, the tire and wheel went back on the bike, then we sweated to hear the price - 10,000. 10,000?! That's all!?

We had lost an hour and instead of heading again on a side jaunt we drove straight back to Lovina and booked into a hotel behind yesterday's Nirwana Cottages called Angsoka Cottages, 60,000, including tax and full breakfast. The Angsoka also has nicely arranged and managed grounds, flowers, shrubs, and trees, with a nice pool and restaurant - another treat for us.

With such a great dinner last night, we again chose Kopi Bali, then walked across the street for dessert and video, "U.S. Marshall's".

Sa 6/26/99 - Lovina to Kuta

We left Lovina at 820a heading south on back roads up into the mountains that spread over much of north-central Bali. We buzzed up and up over twisting steep sealed roads, into cooler air, and passing overlooks with spreading views of undulating forests and the growing distant sea. There were a few homes with prime position, standard red tiled roofs poking through the trees, windows with incredible views of the deep green valleys and seascapes below.

We made crested the climb to a more major road leading through three lakes - Tamblingan, Buyan, and Bratan. We simply motored along Tamblingan, a green colored lake without development. Descending to Buyan, I slowed for a pack of monkey for a better look, but three of four males came screaming at me with fangs bared to fake an attack. Yikes! I hit the throttle. Either I intruded or someone previously teed them off.

Buyam was a pretty lake with rice fields and villages bordering the lake on sloping mountainside, patterns of fields reaching to the wetness before the lake water, scraggly tops to the mountains rolling up from the lake..

I was surprised we were able to find a side road cutting west across the south side of the mountains through rice fields, forests, and temples to Jatiluwih. We bombed along, I ahead of John through very nice rice paddie fields on roads with overhanging trees. We stopped at an intersection to check our navigation, then I continued on ahead of John.

I hadn't seen him behind for a while, I should stop, no I would wait for a photo opportunity and he would catch up. That didn't happen, I stopped in the village of Penebal and waited and waited. Did he break down? He must have, there weren't any turns. I drove back to find him, no John, I continued slowly through looking for pictures still, expecting him to come to me. Nope, no John. Oh oh, I reached an T intersection that I hadn't seen when first driving through, I bombed through it to the left. Maybe I was falling someone closely or was distracted by something. Damn. I followed the other option out to the main road, then back on the other leg to where I last saw him. I didn't break down, good, but must have speeded along to try to catch me, bad. Later, I found he had gone right instead of my left and did then have problems - a flat front tire today.

Well, he was long gone, I had no idea which way to look so I continued on with my original plan for the long day of biking. I continued south on mountain roads to Penebal and into Tabanan, a city big enough too much congestion and confusion. The main road west had heavy traffic that eventually became sporadic when I reached the coast views in Payan, however this was the main southern route across the island and not until I turned north in Pekutatan about 2pm was I back to a decent mountain road, where I wanted to be. I was told this route had rice fields, in fact in didn't although the track ran through decent forest, I relaxed and enjoyed the ascended snaking road.

There is a type of strangler tree here, it appears like a horde of roots climbing the outside of a larger tree. With the covering, the inside tree eventually dies while the strangler reaches the sunlight quickly with the free ride. The road tunneled through a very large strangler tree to my amazement

I road further up the mountain before meeting the main route north-south in the area at Pupuan, 4pm. I then I descended to Bajera, and east around Tabanan and south around Denpassar to Kuta. This demanded an hour and a half. Some small villages are very attractive, lined with tidy houses proudly showing heavily worked colorful gardens in front. The streets also have very long decorated bamboo poles hanging over the road, creating almost a tunnel effect from a distance.

I arrived Kuta at 530pm where John and I exchanged the days stories of how we were separated.

We ate Indonesian food at a Brazilian restaurant and hung at Paddie's, attempting to hear a badly pirated movie with Chinese subtitles, leaving when the sound went off for the DJ.

Su 6/27/99 - Kuta

Here's our last day in Indonesia and I'm leaving another spot where I would have liked to explore further. I develop an attachment for places, I've learned more about what they have to offer and what I'd like to see. I guess I feel comfortable too, I've sussed out the in's an out's and moving on means starting over.

We fly to Singapore tomorrow, and I had been looking forward to buying a load of souvenirs from here for months, well that was the plan anyway. There was a long list of other things too - plane ticket, email, post, haircut (?!), laundry, Blacky photographs, and so on. I work better and more comfortably alone, especially shopping, but by 1pm John and I were just finishing a good lunch in a local restaurant having only picked up the plane tickets.

The airline ticket on Garuda Indonesia from Denpassar to Singapore cost US$175, a huge chunk into the continuously losing fight with the budget. I had an option. I could have bused straight to Jakarta, like 30 hours, then ferried to Bintam, and another to Singapore. This would have cost about US$30 and taken four to five days. I would have needed to change my Singapore to Seychelles ticket, and since I was doing that, I would have probably taken more time for a side trip to Krakatau, home to one of the most devastating natural occurrences recorded, and maybe on to Sumatra. However, John was leaving the trip early and my priority and prerogative was to see my buddy off and to see Austin Powers "The Spy Who Shagged Me" in Singapore, something we've talked about since Star Wars nearly a month ago.

Damn, I just realized, I visited Bali, the wondrous Asian island that has been the lure to paradise for many for years, and I hadn't been to the beach. To clarify, I haven't sat on a beach or swam frivolously in the sea here. How could Bob the lover of the sea do, or not do that? I guess we filled our time on the motorcycles and while Kuta has great big white sand beaches, while I've been here I have been off on errands. Wow!

After lunch John asked about a shop that sold paintings and I walked up Jalan Legian with him. I bought some huge painting from Ubud of birds and leaves and stuff and now I wonder how I'll get it home and if I'll ever have a place to hang it.

After dropping the painting off in our room, I walked toward email and was side tracked for a bad haircut (rp 15,000). John watched and laughed and along with the mustached women we all joked. We parted at our email spot, and later I strolled Jalan Legian for a T-shirt and over to Kuta Square to Matahara's department store for long pants and a casual cotton collared shirt.

Our last night on the Bali's big tourist town started with a mediocre meal at a unknown restaurant. Nearly every meal in Indonesia has been great and we were surprised and disappointed at the small portions of bland food.

The touts around Kuta are more than plentiful, they are every few steps and attracting attention with directed comments and questions, and sometimes obstructing your path "Something? .. transport? .. marijuana? .. hashish? .. women? .. 'Yes, watches?' .. 'Where you going?' .. 'Cheap beer?' .. 'Something to eat?' .. ". It can be terribly trying and that can be very mood dependent. I guess some people can ignore the better than others and I rarely saw tourists upset as we sometimes were.

John against his distaste for shopping had entered one of the thousand shops to check a potential gift for Rachel and I heard, "Something?". Instead of ignoring the noise I sat down beside two touts, neither trying hard to sell anything. This was a different attach on the issue and I had a fun light conversation. As obnoxious as the touts are, they are more than willing to help you with directions and like people everywhere enjoy light chatter and laughter.

My tout friend pointed us to Tubes a restaurant and bar and most importantly a place to sit in front of a large projected screen to watch a video or two - "Under Siege" and "Deep Rising". We arrived home midnight after a foray into McDonald’s to talk over french fries and an ice cream about how bad we've been eating the last few days and other weightier subjects.

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