Beasts in Jungle

May 3rd: Mataram to Bangsal – 40km , Boat Ride from Bangsal to Gili Meno

Cher / 3 comments

Day 202

Between the direct route through the mountains and a winding road along the coast line, we chose the seemingly more scenic coastal drive, and I was secretly hoping to avoid the steep climbs we experienced in the rest of Indonesia mountain passes.

Senggigi was touristy as expected, with clusters of high-end “Spa and Villa” along the beach. However it appears that there are some budget places in town. As soon as we were out of the town, there was barely any traffic, and the road became a roller coaster ride. Steep uphills followed by steep winding downhills, one after another. Much to Chopper’s surprise, I was very much enjoying the fun ride, rather than dreading the steep climbs in the heat. It was only because we were indeed on a scenic road. It was no doubt hot as hell, but the generous breeze on the downhills always gave us a break from the heat. The sharp turns and quick elevation drops added an extra dramatic element, as if the road was leading us to fly off the cliff and dive into the crystal clear blue water.

A quick Internet search revealed that the public pier in Bangsal is infamous for all kinds of scams and hassles so we mentally prepared ourselves to avoid the deceits and lies. As we reminded ourselves to be on guard, we drove all the way down to the beach and found the official ticket office without anyone trying to divert us or sell us tickets. We found a quiet spot to park our trikes, and Chopper went into the ticket office to get the tickets. Expecting the task to be full of harassment and confusion, I wished him best of luck and hoped he wouldn’t get robbed while I was guarding the trikes outside. Soon he returned, with two thumbs up. He got the tickets for the right price (25,000 IDR each, with no luggage limit) for the right boat, at the right time, on the first try. Chopper commented that buying a ticket was incredibly easy. Not only were the ticket sellers friendly and helpful, there is only one ticket counter and the prices are printed out and displayed.

Soon a teenager found us, and started chatting with us. Seeing him carrying a box of trinkets, we instantly thought he wanted to sell us things. But the sales pitch never came. He was just genuinely curious about our trikes, and told us that he was on school holiday and came here to chat with tourists to improve his English. By the time that our boat was supposed to leave, we were on the first name basis with a group of local loiterers and none of them lived up to the infamous reputation. Instead, they were incredibly generous and helpful and even gave us some packs of shrimp crackers to munch on while we waited.

Our boat was supposed to leave at 2pm. We were told that the ticket office would make an announcement when the boat arrived. However the announcements were all in Indonesian and many times we thought we heard Gili Meno. We waited next to a group of locals taking the same boat, but I was getting more and more anxious as our boat didn’t show up after 2pm. A dread-locked tour operator waiting for his client approached us and started chatting, and reassured us there would be an announcement once the boat came. As I watched people boarding other boats, my suspicion started to grow. Could he be distracting us from getting on the right boat, so he could be our “savior” to ferry us for a higher price? We had read about this happening. Once you miss your boat they get you to charter a boat for 250,00 IDR, instead of telling you that you’ll just have to wait until 2 and pay a bit more. Why did he keep telling us this was not the Gili Meno boat? Why was he so friendly? Half an hour later I learned that my anxious suspicions were unfounded and our boat appeared – it was delayed by the choppy water. We are slowly learning that we may need to let our guard down, which has been hard after a month of being on high alert, otherwise we will be the cynics giving tourists a bad name.

Getting on the boat was a challenge. The boat was barely beached in the choppy water and we had to somehow get our trikes into the rocking boat. Again, I was assigned as the luggage guard while Chopper manhandled the trikes – picking one up, throwing it overboard when the waves went down, and repeating the process for the second one. At this stage we did get some harassment from the porters, who appeared to be friendly and helpful without informing you that they would charge you a fortune for their services. We kindly declined the offer but a girl with a huge backpack wasn’t so lucky. The porter sneaked up on her and took her backpack while she was struggling with the huge waves, and 5 steps away in the boat the porter demanded 100,000 IDR for his 5 seconds of labor and wouldn’t settle for less. We were too occupied by our trike loading operation to help her.

We safely made it across but it was not a relaxing ride. Throwing an anchor off the bow, the ship pivots around its nose until the stern is facing the shore. Attempting to maneuver the boat between the waves the captain misjudged the timing and we were hit several times broad side by the waves. The cargo, a dozen of 19 liter water bottles, along with several crates of beers and other daily supplies, which were sitting on a platform on the stern all shifted from one side to another. There was a quick scramble as passengers rushed to the opposite side to balance the boat. I thought we were going to tip over several times and the water was literaly centimeters from going over the gunwales. Chopper recommended that we make sure to hold onto our small waterproof bag with our passports and cash if the boat capsized. Through it all, only the calm countenance of the captain gave me assurance that we wouldn’t need to swim for shore.

There are no motorized vehicles on Gili Meno, only horse carts, bicycles, and now, tricycles. We unloaded our trikes, and off we went to search for our den for the next 2 weeks. The narrow path was solid enough to ride on in the inland area, but the soft sandy walkways around the beach were not good news for us. At times, we had to got off and push, while all the tourists and locals watched us struggle. Luckily we soon found a cheap little bungalow by the sea, and fulfilled our fantasy of jumping into the clear water after a long hot day of travel.

May 2nd: Ferry Ride from Padangbai to Lembar, Lembar to Mataram – 24km

Cher / 0 comments

Day 201

The ferry connection between Padangbai and Lembar runs 24 hours, and the ferry leaves every hour. The ferry ride is 4 to 5 hours long, depending on the weather conditions. Then ticket costs 57,000 IDR for each of us, including our trikes.

Car ferries are always the easiest way to transport our trikes. We drove on, parked, and had the usual chat with locals and the crew, who are always curious about our trikes, and soon found ourselves sitting in the air-conditioned passenger hall. The hall has bench seats as well as a designated sleeping area on the floor. The ferry was not full, so we took a row and lied down for a nap. There is a food kiosk on the ferry, selling instant noodles as and snacks. We got two nasi bungkus from a lady before the ferry left port, so we managed to avoid the overpriced cup of noodles on the ferry.

4 hours later, we arrived in Lembar, Lombok. The ride was lovely at first, but as we got closer and closer to Mataram, the capital city of Lombok, the traffic grew thicker and thicker. We decided to stay in Mataram for the night, so we could avoid staying in Senggigi 15kms further ahead, as we learned that it is a very touristy and expensive area.

After circling Mataram for almost 30 minutes looking for a place to stay, we could only found either very cheap fan rooms with mandi showers, or very expensive modern hotels. We were not in the mood for a fan room since the temperature was quite high, nor did we want to splurge on a hotel room for no reason. Eventually we found an exceptional hotel for the middle ground price of 200,000 IDR, and moved in just before the afternoon rain storm.

May 1st: Kuta to Padangbai – 52.6km

Cher / 0 comments

Day 200

We each packed a small bag, and our ukulele for the trip to Gili Meno. Out hotel agreed to store our remaining luggage for free since we promised to come back to stay for another couple of days before our flight to Darwin on the 14th.

Just like that, we were back on the road again, only with much lighter loads and very well rested legs. Knowing that our vacation destination lie ahead helped a lot with our morale in the heat. More importantly the journey also improved and the road got better and better as we got further away from the major towns. For a long stretch we even had a smooth shoulder to ride on.

Nearing Bangsal we followed the shortest way into the town according to Google Maps. How Google Maps found this “road” or even decided to designate it as a “road,” we would never know. It started out as a dirt road, but soon turned into a hiking path in the woods. In the spirit of true adventure we refused to backtrack. Confronted by a steep uphill we pushed our trikes up the broken path. Once we reached the summit we found that our path turned into a steep, washed out, ravine leading to several flights of stairs dropping down into Bangsal. We were so close that we could hear the lively noise from the town, and see the port 200 meters away. Yet we were so far away, separated by an incredibly steep downhill. There was no turning back, so Chopper man-handled each trike, picking them up and carrying them down one by one, while I held the bags, watched and gave him moral support. Packing light was working in our favour.

Several liters of sweat later, we reached the bottom. A few hundred meters away we found a quirky little guesthouse to stay for the night. It was a two story house, tucked away at the back of a garden. The first floor was dedicated to a bathroom and the staircase leading up to the second floor, which was the bedroom and a porch. For such a lovely little place, with air conditioning, Wi-Fi and free breakfast, it was only 170,000 IDR. Looking out over our balcony into the tidy garden we already began to feel calmer. Everything was beginning to move just a touch slower, like a hint of a autumn when you no longer hear the buzz of insects but don’t realize it yet.

April 30th: Pick up visa

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Day 199

Somehow we went to bed late last night and didn’t even pack. Waking up late, we also found out that Chopper was supposed to pick up his visa at 2pm. So much for our quick escape plan.

Something old, something new

I accompanied Chopper to the visa office. According to the ticket machine, we got the ticket for “visa pickup” and waited patiently. One hour later, we realized that people had been called to the counters by names, rather than by the ticket numbers. For visa pickup, you can go straight to the counter and hand in the receipt, then wait for your name to be called. When the officers handed over the visas, they made sure that everyone gave them a positive rating on the feedback machine in front of the counter. I wouldn’t say the entire experience with the visa office was completely negative, but forcing a positive rating out of every tourist was probably the reason why the service hasn’t improved a bit after the many complaints we saw on the travel forums.

April 29th: One More Rest Day

Cher / 0 comments

Day 198

We planned to leave for Gili Meno as soon as Chopper picks up his visa extension, which will be ready tomorrow. The Indonesia visa extension was quite a long process and during the time being we were trapped in Kuta. The traffic, the aggressive street vendors and stifling heat kept us in our little sanctuary – our hotel room. We tried to be proper tourists by going to the famous surfing beach in town, and we were not inspired to join the surfing crowd just yet. Chopper got dirty stares from the local guys hanging out on the beach, probably mistaking me as a local girl being lured away by the white man.

The good thing about being stuck in a populated place in Asia is the infinite choices of cheap food. We found a little street stall selling egg, scallion, and mushroom stuffed deep fried pancakes, as well as thick dessert cakes topped with condensed milk, sugar, butter, chocolate chips and cheese. Needless to say we had enormous calorie surplus from this meal.

All the crowding and hassles made us excited for our getaway to Gili Meno. From what we have learned, among the three Gili islands, Gili Meno is the smallest and most quiet one. Without the party scene and huge tourist crowds, the accommodations are cheaper and the pace of life is slower. Before our flight to Darwin, Gili Meno would end our journey in Asia on a high note.

April 17th: Lovina to Baturiti – 39km

Cher / 0 comments

Day 186

My original plan for crossing the island was through Lake Batur then heading south. However, after reading many negative reviews on the region (accommodations are pricey, the lake water is murky, etc.) we decided to cut across from Singaraja, which will take us to Lake Buyan and Lake Beratan. From Lovina, Ubud was only 80 km away.

As soon as we started heading south, it was continuously uphill. We were inching forwards in the heavy traffic, hoping it would be less crowded once we were in the mountains. I was in high spirit, enjoying the tropical garden view along the way.

Before noon it was hot, but later we climbed towards a rain storm. Unfortunately my twist shift gear decided to go on a strike and refused to give me the easiest gear anymore. We made several stops trying to fix it, but in the end I settled for not shifting once I managed to get into the easiest gear. Good news was the uphill was not gonna end anytime soon.

It started raining soon after we put on our bag covers. The rain provided temporary relief from the heat, but before long the gentle cooling rain turned into horrendous downpour. The climb was unreasonably steep, at several points I couldn’t help but cursing the engineer who planned the route. And much to our dismay, the traffic didn’t lighten up at all. So here we were, peddling on a very steep climb at the speed of 3kph in a storm, with cars, scooters, trucks trying to go around us on narrow roads. When we looked back, we could see the sunny coast where we came from. How I miss the sun now!

Heading into the storm.

Mountain stream? Looked like a perfect dumping spot for me!

20kms in, every turn started to look like the end of ascent, but we were disappointed every time. We were completely drenched, cold, tired and hungry. We stopped at a roadside snack shop, and all they had for a meal were instant noodles. I was ready to settle for the cup of noodles, but Chopper insisted that at the price of 5,000 rupiah it was a ripoff. So we were back in the rain, with empty growling stomach. Another hour passed and 3km further, we stopped at another snack store. Again, Chopper claimed everything to be overpriced, but I insisted on having a sprite soda for 5,000 rupiah. Either the overpriced soda or I drop dead on the spot, I threatened. We finally settled for some buttered bread and some pastries, and of course I shared my overpriced soda with Chopper. She did try to charge us 10,000 for a 3,500 soda, and even though that’s only a difference of 50 cents in USD.

Another hour later and 3km further, Chopper had to make a coffee stop at a coffee stall. I was not in the mood for stopping in the rain again, but the hot coffee was good for the moral on a climb that seemed never end. (From Chopper point of view: initially Cher didn’t want to stop and refused my offer to buy her her own coffee, but she willingly accepted my offer to share. As long as I served it to her while she moped on her trike in the rain. It was a hard day for both of us.)

At the 28km mark, we finally saw the light at the end of the ascent, which was marked by a mass gathering of fluffy monkeys, it was already 4pm.

Almost there!

Monkeys begging for food.

Luckily the rain stopped, but we still needed to put on our rain jackets to block the wind on the downhill. As we shivered in our wet clothes and our fingers went numb, we swore we would stop at the first hotel with a hot shower and not care about the budget. The first hotel we stopped at was cheap, but had no hot water. We turned to the other down the road, which upon initial inquiry was 1,000,000 IDR per night. After some bargaining, we could get a discounted room for 300,000 IDR. When we were showed the room, it was a fancy cottage overlooking the lake. In the hot tropical weather carpeting was a bad idea and along with an indoor fireplace, the room smelt like wet burned wood and mould. We turned away and kept on searching. It was getting dark and another hotel sign lead us onto an unpaved bumpy road. It didn’t take us long to give up searching and go back to the cheap hotel without hot water.

Most of the time, the cold water is warm enough to shower with in Southeast Asia countries. However, this was not the case with the cold water on the mountain top. The tap water was icy cold, and we were already shivering and numb from our wet clothes we had been wrapped in all day. We went to bed that night without a shower and neither of us had the energy to wash our clothes. What happened to our swearing that we would find a nice hotel with hot shower? We are more dedicated to our budget than we know.