Asia Expats Forum

Mike · Site Admin Joined: 07 Sep 2004 Posts: 4512 Location:

By Chriswan Sungkono
Early in the morning I took a bath and prepared for my trip to the Gili Islands. I decided yesterday to visit these islands renowned for its beauty and richness in natural life, and stay for two days on one of them. The local guide picked me up in the hotel at some time before 9, and I and the other six tourists, all foreigners, were transported to Bangsal Harbor. Along the way we saw myriads of trees, and in a certain region that we passed through, called Pusuk, small forest monkeys could be seen very easily. Some even lingered on the roadsides, playing with each other. Less than an hour later the car arrived at Bangsal.

In Bangsal, we tourists, who wanted to minimize our expenses, had to wait for the public boat to be filled. Twenty people, or else it would never go. It was the cheapest way to travel, because chartering a boat would be about twenty to thirty times the public fare. In the other hand, we all had to sacrifice some time waiting. And don't worry about losing time. Here, hours and days, as I later took notice, were no longer distinct, and half an hour could just stretch as long as two or three.

Out of the three Gilis (Gili Air, Gili Meno and Gili Trawangan), I picked the last. It is the farthest one from Bangsal, taking about 45 minutes to reach. The mood of the voyage itself was so endearing that, in those 45 minutes, I had learned instinctively to become more carefree. I had once written 'imaginary raiments of fear' as a line in a poem, long time ago, without really knowing what it was meant for, but this voyage suddenly evoked in me that very phrase, enlightened me what its true meaning was. As the boat advanced more and more closely towards Trawangan, I was disrobed from my raiments of fear. Not only fear, but also everything this modern way of life had for me, for all of us, as consequences: anxiety, boredom, hatred, distrust, everything. Here they were all imaginary, and the sea gladly washed them all away. The boat ride was, on its own, a divine transformation.

That quivering boat was truly a hodgepodge of nationalities. In only fifteen minutes I had had acquaintances with tourists from Sweden, England, Australia, Japan, France, and not to mention the local people, the Sasak tribe, that traveled daily using that boat. As a whole community, English was our lingua franca: clear-cut English, mumbled English, messy English, ridiculous English, hello-yes-no-goodbye English. It was curious how one's accent was totally different from the next.

Here's a maxim: "You'll never know till you have tried." And so I tried. Prior to my going there, I had been informed about so many nice things on this particular island, Gili Trawangan. But to hop ashore from the boat, and to feel the tinge of this 'lost paradise' by myself, was one unforgettable sensation. At first glance, Trawangan seemed very outlandish. This village was peaceful. There must be an unspoken rule against motorized vehicles, for there were none here. Except for the roaring noise of motorboats, the only regular, perceptible noises you hear would be the passings of cidomo (a horsedrawn cart used for transport), whinnying horses, and the daily talks of the people. It wasn't until late afternoon that I perceived that some modernization had indeed infused the island's strong traditional ethnicity.

First thing I did there was looking for a room to rent. And on that main road--located just a few meters off the shore, the one and only road, I'd say, the others being just narrow paths--rooms and bungalows are abound. And the prices would surprise just anyone coming from the modern cities of the world. With Rp 50.000 (five dollars at most) you could get almost any kind of room you wanted, except for the really exclusive resorts on the edges of this island. In a short while I already agreed for a bungalow, porcelained bathroom included, for as low as Rp 25.000 a night. It was a bit dark, yes, but nonetheless it was pleasantly clean. After all, I thought, I would be using this merely for sleeping and showering.

Then I went for a walk to the beach. It is all a long stretch of coast, actually, but some of it is reserved for the boats, and for this they call it 'the harbor'. Some shores have too many rocks, some sharp reefs, which gave off beautiful scenery but were dangerous to swim around. Some others in the western part were too far away from the crowded area. So 'the beach', as I would like to refer to it afterwards, is situated in the northeastern part.

Barechested and ignorant, I started to wade the coastal waters. And there I stood, suddenly thunderstruck. Throughout life I had heard some people talking about experiences that had the powers to awake the five senses, bring them altogether into a miraculous state of ecstasy, and gave off a feeling of liberation. This was surely one of them. I saw the waters, a mixture of green and grey slowly turning into cobalt blue, and on the horizons, dissolved into the azure sky. The sea enormous was all around me, this tiny dot on this tiny teardrop of land. I felt the warmth of the sand, the audacious heat of sunshine, the soft and soothing embrace of the tide. I listened to the intangible sound of sand and corals shifting underneath the surface, the wind, the waves rolling by and splashed the land. I tasted the bittersweet saltiness that made me even thirstier for more. I smelled the scent of the sea breeze and breathed as if in accord with God's own breathing. Sir Edmund Hillary must have also felt the same sensation once he ultimately reached the peak of Everest.

I had lunch at one of the small restaurants which had a balcony. All around the island, as I afterwards learned, the food prices, although not so cheap, remained within a range that was quite reasonable. I spent two hours at that restaurant after finishing my lunch, just talking with Arnt. He was a Norwegian Ph.D. student, traveling for a few weeks around Indonesia, mostly for diving, all alone. "It is usually the easiest," he replied as I asked him why. I couldn't agree more with him.

I spent several hours checking out the beach, and every time I was there that first-time sensation echoed again. While I was swimming I met up with one of the Swedes that were on the same boat with me. He confessed that he and his friends quitted their well-paid jobs (this guy worked for Volvo), sold their cars, their TVs, their furniture and everything, and embarked upon a vacation that was planned to last for twelve months. A year! The inexperienced traveler in me got utterly jealous. That many youngsters did that in Sweden was new and startling information for me. "But it's worth it. It's worth all this." he said, leaving the water and lazing on the sand to "Get some sun, you know!"

After some time swimming I went back to my bungalow. The sun was calmer, so I decided to rent a bike and get around. I took the northward route to encircle this little island. The route was a gentle one, at most times it was leisurely, but on a few places I had to pass some rough beaches and thick sands. The vistas were dazzling. Various kinds of trees on my left side, on the right was the sea at its grandest splendor. But it was not always so. Oftentimes I had to pass through a small forest, or just some green plantations, or short orchards. Or a line of semi-traditional Sasak houses (Rumah Panggung). In less than an hour, with occasional stops to enjoy the view, I was back to where I had started.

Gili Trawangan, the biggest among the three Gilis, and also the most crowded, is truly the ideal place to where you can retreat from your monotonous jobs and forget the excruciating chores of daily life. Forgetfulness is the long-lasting flow of water that nurtures the seeds of happiness. It offers everyone their passion of simple pleasures: warm sun, beach-lazing, snorkeling, partying all night, or just talking with other nice people. This place surely is brimming with them, those simple pleasures. Contrasted with Lombok, which has hardly any nightlife, Trawangan has it all, and then some more. Who can say no to the appeal of all above, plus cheap beers, loud music and free movies every night, hours on end?

Walking to my bungalow after I returned the bike, I noticed the Swedes were sitting and talking under a beach tent. With them was also this undergraduate from South Africa, Roux. I had met him before on the boat. Robert, one of the Swedes, was talking about their trip to Vietnam to Roux when I joined in. Their vacation had been going on for four months, and when I asked which place he liked most so far, he told us, in an excellent account, about Hamburger Hill. From that we shifted the topic to Michael Moore vs. Bush, and already we were talking about the unfinished result of Indonesia's election that had just been held yesterday. The General Democrat was leading, and to that Roux showed his repugnance simply by saying that "Least thing you need in this country, in every country in fact, is a general trying to rule the people."

And now comes the story about the magic mushrooms.

The topics of our discussion changed from one to another very quickly. We arrived to the matter of drunkenness, and it gave rise to a chain of hot talks, covering alcoholism to marijuana, hallucinations to methamphetamine to insanity to cocaine, and finally Roux told us about the mushrooms. They are called the magic mushroom because they are, well, magical. These mushrooms grow wildly throughout the island, and the people pick them up for the sake of "makin' people fly." Fresh mushrooms -the dried ones didn't work, or so they said- are blended or juiced altogether with your choice of fruits, usually pineapple, and a glass of magic mushroom juice would just take you anywhere for up to four hours. "And it's OK because it's not chemical, it's just there lyin' on the ground, given by nature," said Roux, lolling his eyeballs up, mockingly.

Actually as early as my arrival to Gili Trawangan, I had already seen loads of those signboards in front of the restaurants, promoting the mushrooms. Just to quote one, it said "The Magic Mushroom - Your ticket to the moon is served here." But I just didn't pay my attention to those boards until Roux told us all about the mushrooms. An Australian guy also approached us during our talk and he asked whether any of us got the paper to 'do' the grass. And he also said to us that it was really easy to get some drugs, cheap or expensive, if you knew whom to talk to. There were never any authorities here, just local people and the tourists. "What a save haven for junkies!" my thoughts screamed.

But when Roux was drinking his magic juice I decided to return to my bungalow. We agreed to meet again at night somewhere. The sun was setting. I took a cold shower. The water was salty, as they all had told me before.

I had dinner at The Beach House, right next to where I stayed in. A Club Sandwich was the one I ordered, which in the end I didn't finish. It was just too much. But throughout the meal, a very appetizing pineapple juice, without the mushroom, helped me just so well. Then I took a cathartic walk down the road alone. The sky was the clearest nightsky I had ever seen. But right in the middle of them all: the loud, booming dance songs, the coastal wind, the glittering darkness, the extravagant neon lamps, my heart began to tremble. This was the excruciating, unspeakable twinge that, I believe, sometimes comes to accompany solitary travelers.

I sat on one of the cozy seats in a nearby bar, Frenchie's, with Roux beside me (I met him when I was walking) smoking his grass. The guests, among them were us and the Swedes, were silently staring at a big blank screen. Mystic River was soon played on it and Roux ordered for me a bottle of beer. But none of us (Roux, the Swedes and I) did pay attention to the movie. I drank, I talked with them once in a while, and slept throughout the finale. When I woke up I saw the Swedes were just waking up too, and Roux was not there. I said goodbye to those fellows and walked back home. Along the way I caught a glimpse of Roux sitting on a stool in another bar, talking to people, still on with that package of grass.

It sounded like nature's orchestra. The birds, singing together in their loudest voices, woke me up from my dreamy sleep. I soon got up and out. It was still dark and quiet in the entire island, and I digested that quietness of morning by walking along the seaside. Lives were yet unlived, unless by some who woke up early (least of all were the foreigners), and to those who did was given the miraculous experience of sunrise. I stared and stared for minutes on end on that stunning event happening beyond the horizon.

I went back to my room. The sun, whose crimson streaks of light ripped the dark apart, still left me hypnotized. I fell asleep again and woke up somewhere after 8.

I met Arnt the Norwegian again the time I was having breakfast at Blue Marlin. He was quite hurried (his fellow divers were waiting on a boat), but we talked for a short while about coral reefs and diving sites all around the islands before he jumped aboard. I observed how the divers' boat dissolved with the open waters as it went.

I chose to spend my daytime and my Rp 45.000 on Snorkeling Trip to the three Gilis on a glass-bottom boat. Apparently there were only five persons that took the snorkeling trip that day: an Italian couple, a German couple, and the lone traveler. Iannis and Luisa came from a town in Vasa Valley region near Milan. From my further conversations came the facts that he was a communication engineer and she was a school teacher. The other couple embarked from Cologne, a port-city on the German coast. Ingo was studying mechanics and working as an analyst, and Anna was an interior designer. We were in a good mood, all of us, save for Luisa that was having a stomach problem.

I gazed at the tosca-colored water that surrounded us, splashing our bodies wet, but warm. And in the first dive to the sea I had already realized the grandeur of aquatic life. There was a coral reef that was shaped such as a giant's brain, tinted green all over. And many were shaped like clouds, or sculptures. The dead reefs were also a treat to the eye, for they looked like mammoth-sized rocks covered with ashes. And schools of many different fish, as if trying to swim away, appeared only timidly, but when they did, they did so gracefully. A big, multicolored fish, a fast swimmer it seemed, was trying to catch his lunch. Ingo and Anna saw a big turtle. Overall the boat brought us to three different snorkeling spots near three different Gilis. The last spot near Gili Air ('air' here means 'water', and is also pronounced differently from the English-word 'air') gave us the greatest astonishment and convenience (perhaps it was because at the third spot we had already got used to snorkeling). After that we stopped by on Gili Air to have lunch.

Luisa's stomach was still ruffling, it seemed, so she and Iannis just sat and walked around, at times conversing with the nagging sellers, haggling for a necklace or bracelets or beach clothing. Meanwhile, Ingo, Anna, and I took to lunch. All three of us ordered grilled barracudas. The meal wasn't bad, I thought, unaware that later that night we would feel very disappointed with it. Ingo was stressed trying to deal with the fish's minuscule bones. Before getting on board and along the way back to Trawangan, we took some photographs together. On Trawangan we departed our ways.

I went back quickly to my room to drop all the things I didn't need to bring, and strolled to the beach. The sun was mild and warm, so contrast with the morning-to-noon sunlight which was awfully scorching, and when I bathed myself in the sea again, the feeling was something sensational. I met Ingo and Anna again, all cleaned up, walking along the beach. We agreed to meet at Mantadive at 7 pm.

Then I went cycling again, but this time I chose another path that was surely less traveled by tourists. It was just right to call this path a "shortcut to sunset" because it is indeed a shortcut from the beach straight to the true west side of the island, which is the best place to observe the breathtaking view of sunset. This path was far less rough than the one I took one day before, darker because of the shadow of trees. I could also see cattle grazing around in the middle of my ride. Finally I got to the edge of it, a very serene and secluded beach. It is on the western coast, very rough and full with oceanic remnants of life, mainly from corals and seaweeds, and the waves there, that day, were much calmer than those in the northern beach.

After I took a salty shower I came to Mantadive to see Ingo and Anna. He was observing the arrays of fresh fish, and after seeing a barracuda that was about 40 centimeters long, he exclaimed, "So what we ate on Gili Air just this afternoon were only baby barracudas, and this is the real one," regretfully. The disappointment was also mine, the first of two which I encountered throughout the trip. In the end Ingo decided to eat a big snapper, while Anna and I settled on a smaller one and also a squid. Each menu was served with rice, grilled corn, and a very delicious dish of vegetables.

Ingo was so stunned by the taste of traditional Sasak chili sauce (in fact, Lombok is a Javanese word for chili) and confessed that he had never tasted something as hot as that in his country. We all had a very unforgettable evening: eating seafood outdoor in a wooden gazebo where in front of you was the open sea, and talked about a lot of curious things. It is still clear in my memory, we fervently discussed the particular topic about how one's upbringing and environment play an vital role in constructing one's own mentality (principally about being tolerant and open-minded), and thus the mentality of one's race as a whole. And the discussion continued to the fact that happiness itself is a paradox; just look at the happy paupers and the fretful millionaires.

When finally a platter of fresh fruit salad was served, Anna was so enthusiastic that she almost ate all the papaya, saying that "Fruits here are very sweet and cheap. I like this papaya very much. And Ingo loved the bananas here. They're smaller than what we've got in Germany, but taste far better. And watermelons in our country, well, they are more water than melon." We together laughed jovially at that. Perhaps this was a priceless gift to tropical countries, I thought.

"Look! You can see the milky way," Anna said jokingly, but she almost told us the truth. The sky was just as clear as the night before. Our heads remained looking up high, so amazing, all those stars, while our feet trod the sand. And our ears were faced with two opposite walls of sound: the soft, solemn rhyme of the ancient wind and sea on one side, and the loud, booming sound of modern music on the other. Between those invisible walls we parted company with a shakehand and earnest farewell-and-goodbyes.
_________________
Asia Expats Forum
Expat Friends Dating