Indonesia DIY
Bali, Lombok, Gili Islands, Yogyakarta, Jakarta
Here in Indonesia everything seems to be left to chance, and even when I leave behind my back the sliding doors at Denpasar customs, I have no idea about where to go. I know the prices of the official taxis to various locations because there is a sign hung close to the baggage claims office. I suddenly decide: my destination is Ubud, the town of artists.
90 thousand rupees for a minivan. Yes, I know, this maybe might not be the best price but I have some good excuse: jet lag, tiredness after long flight, unavailability of public bemo.
The trip takes about an hour. I ask to be stopped north of the market, it starts to rain, but it will be the only time in 4 weeks.
Ugh, the guesthouse I considered to be worthy to host my weary bones is complete, and prices are at least triple than those reported by Lonely Planet. I agree 60 thousand rupees with a mustachioed little man met a few doors after. It introduces into what, with daylight, I recognize as a typical Balinese courtyard, temple, sofas with lots of cushions on the verandas. I also have hot water, but no flushing toilet. Good thing, I have my own mosquito net.
Ah, 1 Euro is something like 9 thousand rupees. More or less.
The next morning it takes quite a lot to get up. Who am I, where am I, what am I doing here alone. Better than sitting at home crying, and then Saudia Arabian Airlines would not have returned the 750 euro ticket, moved to pity by my personal vicissitudes.
By the way, claps to the prodigality of the above mentioned Airline. During the short connection at Jeddah, on outbound flight, generous meal voucher to be spent at a self service restaurant. On the way back, during the long stop at Riyahd, huge free tray that could feed a maximum weight, rice, Fred Flintstone brontosaurus steak, orange juice, yogurt, cake.
I leave my room and walk on the outside path. The only thing I have in mind is to eat something, but all the rest is fog. What shall I do, where I will go. Question mark. I’m not afraid, is not my first trip alone, but in other occasions this had been put in program from the beginning …
I am absorbed in my thoughts and a sweet voice calls me. It comes from the side porch. It’s Sharon, from Cape Town. Cape Town ?? Yes, I know it, I have been there, and in my opinion is one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen. So we start conversation. She has been here for a few months. She knows a lot of people, she will introduce them to me. i do not remember exactly how many days I spent in Ubud, maybe 4 or 5. Great time, big fun. After a memorable evening at Sai Sai on Monkey Forest Road, where I collect glory showing my abilities in the shimmy on an impromptu dance floor almost all for myself, it happens that I get often recognized around by people in the bars, I stop and talk for a while, then met someone else, start talk again, and so on..
I find, with some difficulty, I must admit, some time to see something around, like the Monkey Forest, and then I book a 75 thousand rupees excursion with a local agency, to the temple of Besakih and Klungkung,
the Elephant Cave
Mount Agung, and the holy hindu springs of Tampaksiring
Sharon, who in addition to an endless number of participations to various courses (like meditation, batik and legong dances) seems to collect any kind of blessing, says that to get the best benefit I should make my ablutions in Tampaksiring during full moons but unfortunately I cannot wait two weeks
The owner of my pension, Roda, is OK. He takes me one day on his motorbike to see a tooth filing ceremony, a kind of rite of purification from sins. It is practiced to adolescents of both sexes, and also marks somehow the passage into the adult world
One evening he brings me, always by motorbike, in a temple where he performs in the Kecak art. This dance, only for men, is not accompanied by musical instruments but rather by the voice of the participants themselves, who plays drums as well. The costume worn is a white and black checkered sarong, the color of Brahma and Shiva. The men sit on the ground in a circle, and rhythmically swing their arms and chests making a kind of wave. The representation takes place in a temple illuminated by a myriad of torches.
Roda also offers me a dawn walk in the rice fields, but I politely decline the invitation, because I do not even consider the idea to get up at certain obscene hours for the moment. So I happily limit myself to see the famous terraces from the road
After dark Ubud becomes magical, everywhere there are performances of various dances, everywhere I can hear gamelan being played. Many things are made for Westerners and the Japanese, but they are suggestive, anyway. I like to stop by and see the rehearsals in the late afternoon. They are free, by the way. I often step in front of a music school under a canopy where very young children are busy with their typical instruments.
The most memorable adventure lived in Ubud and, perhaps, in the whole trip, is the sacred ceremony of Celuk, which I can attend thanks to my friendship with Ketut, a local girl who works in a silver jewellery shop near my guesthouse. Celuk is a village known for the processing of silver artifacts. Ketut’s family works in this field. For the occasion, Sharon and I move to their home, because everything ends long after midnight, and there’s no way to go back. Since this is not stuff for tourists, there are no taxis waiting around the corner.
Ketut’s house, like my pension, consists in a series of small buildings that overlook the inner courtyard. She lives there with his parents, brothers, sisters
Each family has its own room. Some rooms walls have only bricks, others are finished and painted in white. In some there is a mattress on the ground, in others only a mat. Around, little room to move, and a small cupboard where everything must stay inside. I can’t see the kitchen. The bathroom is a kind of tin shack with a hole in the ground. There is no light. Good thing I took with me the torch.
The shower does not exist, there is the typical mandi. The mandi is a water-filled tank with a bucket.
The dressing requires a certain amount of time to everybody, but especially to me, an incompetent not even able to correctly tie my skirt, made in heavy silk. It is absolutely necessary to wear traditional clothes. Sarong, kabaya, and waistband have been kindly provided by Roda’s wife. Ketut’s sister tries to squeeze me in a Moulin Rouge-style bodice I should wear under the kabaya, which is made of pretty rough synthetic lace, so in order: I will sweat like a pig, I will scratch to death, I will risk hypoventilation because of the bodice.
They also put some fresh and perfumed flowers in my hair. Meanwhile, we talk, and talk, and talk…
The ceremony begins at 21. We head to the temple. There is almost the entire village. We are the only white people. We get ensured that we are beautiful and elegant. ?? …
Two pre-teenage girls are surrounded by priests, and distribute blessings to the sick people. Then they begin to inhale incense until they fall into a trance. They are put on a platform and carried on procession inside the temple complex.
Around, tables laden with any kind of food, baskets of woven palm leaves containing sweets and rice, prepared by families as an offering to the gods. The surrounding trees have been decorated with sweets, a little bit like our Christmas trees.
The two girls begin to dance and go on for hours …. Fortunately, it’s not like in the theatres where you have to be quiet and still, people are chatting and going around. We are in the spotlight, the children follow us everywhere and want to touch us. Someone says that touching a Westerner brings good luck… 🙂
In my great ignorance, I can say the dancer movements are similar to the ones I have already seen in the Ubud shows. But, suddenly, here the gestures change, and the two girls begin to shake violently. Just as suddenly, the villagers begin to furiously shake the trees to drop the sweets, and pounce like vultures to grab them. Meanwhile, the priests get close to the tables, take food and start to throw it to the crowd. It’s a chaos, an utter mess. Everyone screams, squabbles, wrangles to grab as much as possible. There is no violence, though, nor aggression. Sharon and I are completely amazed and paralyzed. Since it does not seem appropriate to us to imitiate the other people, we quietly sit on the ground almost under a table to avoid being trampled. With surprise, people with gestures make us understand that we can take part into the banquet as well. So we start to taste everything without hesitation. This comes very useful to me to understand what the locals eat. Desserts seem made predominantly of rice and coconut, I do not know honestly what salty snacks contain, but they are good. We take some goodies with us, and leave them to Ketut’s family to thank them for hospitality.
Before going home, the priests send around a kind of global blessing, so Sharon is happy.
What to say? I have no words, never seen anything like it. I go to bed as happy as a clam at high water.
The next early morning we return sadly to Ubud by bemo. They explained us how it works for prices: 1000 rupees for short trips, 2000 for the long ones.
During the journey, I suddenly get the idea to leave Ubud on the same day.
What else better than this can happenr? Better leave now, while I am on the peak of the happiness parabola.
I decide to go to the Gili islands. Which one of the three? Don’t know, maybe it’s still a bit early to decide. At home in Italy I collected a lot of information about Gili Air, but perhaps along the way something might happen that will make me change my mind.
I greet my adventures mates with a certain emotion. Sharon remained in Bali until mid-October, then she left for Mexico, where, using his beautiful jazz singer voice, got free food and room for some time in a club in the capital city, then she suddenly wrote me from Guatemala , and then black out. God bless her.
I head to the Perama offices. This travel agency sells transport between the various places in Bali, Lombok and the Gili Islands. It is cheap and reliable.
The clerk asks me politely if I want a “all inclusive” ticket, that’s to say the bus to the port of Padangai, plus the ferry to Lombok, plus the bus in Lombok, plus the ferry to the Gili .
Of course no, I just want to get to Padangbai.
I feel euphorically bubbly, joyful, free, cheerful, I have a lot of possibilities in front of me, a lot of chances, an uncertain future, but it looks promising.
Aside my personal tendency to commit as little as possible, after several trips experience has taught me that, in all cases, it’s always better to book little by little. Just because everything can blow up the connections, and then it’s hard to get back the money.
With my method, I am always able to change my mind, to go back, to change the route. It’s my essence. I hate constraints. Up with the unbearable lightness of being a traveler.
When the minivan drops me at the port of Padangbai, a crowd of several characters literally assaults me. What a pain in the ass, these people have no respect for personal space.
The other occupants of my bus must surely have very clear ideas, because they vanish in a second. I try to look for the Perama office, under the scorching sun. I see the ferry, a crowd in a disciplined waiting, an office with a sign written in Bahasa, and uniforms, police probably, I think. Two figures rather shady ask me 70 thousand rupees for the ferry crossing. I am not informed about the price, but it seems expensive. I get away, and they follow me. Another one wants 30 thousand rupees. Ugh. 🙁 There is none around to whom I could ask info. A boy goes till 13 thousand rupees. A white young man with spectacular hair, with his friend, arrives. I ask them if the price is ok They do not know. Well, in any case, 13 thousand rupees are a reasonable amount for a 4-5 hour journey. I accept it. Triumphant, I go away waving my ticket in front of those who tried to cheat me. They appear humiliated. The one who asked for 70 thousand rupees, however, has the gall to tell me that he included price hotel as well….
I meet again the two white men in front of what I thought to be the police station. But I was wrong, that is the head quarter of the ferry company, and the ones with uniform are the controllers! The two guys, who are American, but speak Bahasa, contrarily to me were able to read the signs, and bought their ticket here (10 thousand rupees). I was not ripped off that much, in the end.
While the ferry leaves the port, I realize the sea around Padangbai it is not bad at all.
I decide to go to the top floor and sit in the open air for sun bathing.
I see again the Americans, they are chatting with a blonde couple. They call me.
After two seconds, I sense I found the companions for the next adventure, Gili Trawangan.
Browning, the one with the dreadlocks, is from NY. He is a painter. He has lived for a few months in Denpasar, where he was seeking new inspiration from batiks and the amazing colors of nature. Brandon, his friend, is from Miami. The blonde girl is Sarah, Scottish, around the world for a year and a half; the other, which is not her boyfriend, Tim, is English, he mumbles his city of residence but I do not understand a damn. Sarah and Tim are traveling together, for a certain period, to share costs.
We share all our stocks of food and snack. We will be together for the next five days.
The ferry docks at Lembar, Lombok island, at around 17.00. We are not in a hurry to leave, and, when we are down, the square in front of the port there is already empty.
Sarah is the only one in the group who purchased the all inclusive ticket at Perama, and now she is in panic, because her bus already left.
A guy who seems to be a travel agent reassures that her ticket is valid also the next day, and that no one, however, even those faster than us, will be able to get to Gili Trawangan tonight, because now the sun is going down, and connections are suspended. This means we have to spend the night in Lombok.
Brandon, partly because of his language skills, and partly for personal merit, is more sympathetic with Indonesians. He gives and gets big pats on the back.
Magically appears a minivan, which offers to take us to Sengigi, the most popular touristy village on the island. The price is fair enough.
We cross the island from south to north in the golden light of sunset, and it seems very charming. Since the driver knows very well that we have no reservation, he offers to bring us to some friends’ hotel. It is not really in Sengigi, but a little further south. They offer free transfer.
The hotel is better than expected. The price is 55 thousand rupees. Room look like new, have a ceiling fan, huge bathroom, hot water, flushing toilet, and a small veranda
There is also a swimming pool, everything is clean, it seems to be in Switzerland. In fact, the owner …. no, he’s not Swiss, but close enough, he is Dutch.
As promised, they bring us for free to Sengigi by minibus.
We thought Sengigi was a lively town, and instead it’s a cemetery. Very few foreigners around, mostly customers of some luxury hotels, immediately assaulted by a crowd of vendors and touts. We are not far behind. Brandon never stop to amaze. Not only Bahasa, now a bit of Arabic. It’s the apotheosis. I decide to exploit the situation and take him for a shopping tour in a small market. I point him everything I want, and he bargains.
It seemed strange to me that so far everything went so smoothly, in fact at the agreed time no trace of our return transfer.
We stop a metered taxi, painted in blue with Blue Bird brand, and we store up like sardines in 4 on the back seat. Brandon, of course, and as always, is sitting next to the driver, trying to take some favours from him.
The next morning, at the port of Bangsal, usual crowd of pushy salesmen. They are like the African documentaries predators: they identify the weakest specimens, and stun them till they drop..
Finally, we are in Gili Trawangan, under the noon merciless sun, desperately seeking for a cheap room. Those from 10 to 40 thousand rupees are gone. After a vain attempt, I can find one for 60 thousand rupees. My friends are in another pension across the street. We talk through the fence.
Here, only cold water, and a bucket to flush the toilet. The bathroom is a bit run-down, but the dim lighting helps to hide the flaws. At regular intervals, the wall is invaded by tiny ants, which after a while disappear somewhere.
The beds have filthy mosquito nets, and there is a small fan on the bedside table. During the day, at least in my “hotel”, there is no electricity, and even in the evening, while we’re around, there are several black out. It all becomes very beautiful. perfect silence.
Before leaving, I had heard different opinions on this island. Despite the broken corals, I find it delicious.
There are no paved roads, at the end of the day you find yourself full of salt and dust, a bit like Charlie Brown’s friend Pig Pen. Salty and brown water comes from the showers pipes. You always feels a bit dirty, with tough and stringy hair, but you don’t mind, it’s okay.
The main beach is situated to the east, and is a beautiful stretch of white sand and fine, with turquoise sea
Here, the 99% of people is concentrated. I do not exactly how long the circumnavigation of the island takes, because I forgot the clock, but not that much. On the other three sides of the island beaches they have huge amounts of broken coral, so it is not comfortable to walk barefoot. There is nobody around and it is magnificent. The northern side (I think is the north) is pleasantly ventilated, and the sea slightly choppy
I dedicate a day to visit Gili Air, where I originally wanted to go.
Good thing I did not go! For goodness sake, the island is cute, but there are really little people. I would have fun there there only if I were on honeymoon with my soul mate.
I would say that, unanimously, the best seems to be Gili Meno, at least for snorkeling. There is also Gili Nangu, which instead is in the south, but which is home to only a dozen huts.
Every afternoon, the appointment is at the Sunset Bungalows, to look at the sunset, precisely. Truly remarkable. There is a little ramshackle bar, where we sit down to consume something while we enjoy the show. We often encounter a young Mexican who has been living here for long time, working as a scuba instructor. His little tape recorder floods the air with Latin American rhythms. It creates a certain atmosphere. Relaxed and freak
All bars and restaurants are placed on the beach. In the evening some of them broadcast movies on big screens, people can assist lying on the floor on big pillows.
Apart from that, one can smoke and drink mushroom tea
Alternatively, or in addition to that, it’s possible to walk on the beach in complete darkness, and contemplate ecstaticly the phosphorescent plankton which arrives on the shoreline surfing the waves. Or chat until late at night, thinking about how strange it is to be there, and how lucky one is to be here, despite everything.
After a few days suddenly we realize that our paths are going to divert. Sarah leaves for Australia, where she will look for a job to self-finance her journey, Brandon returns to America, Browning to Denpasar, Tim and I to Lombok, he will be trekking on Rinjani. I realize that 2 weeks have already been spent since the time I left. Damn… ..
I plan to stay two days in Lombok, where a couple of friends are, at the Sheraton.
We got in contact by text msg, and we arrange a rendez-vous in the pool of their hotel, so I will take away some salt from my hair, I think ….
On the last night, in Trawangan, no one goes to sleep.
And such in bad conditions, I materialize in front of the beautiful Sheraton Sengigi, where a small snack at the bar will cost me as an overnight stay in my guesthouse.
The goalkeeper ignores my Indian patchwork skirt, not particularly elegant, and welcomes me like if I was the Queen of England. He takes care of my dusty backpack which gets stored somewhere. I explain that some of his guests are waiting for me, he checks, and tells me to go ahead.
Guys, this is not a swimming pool, this is a dream. Huge, lush garden on the edge, splashing fountains and Greek columns, a kind of rocky big face whose tongue act as a chute. It is not kitsch, I assure. I am amazed. I jump in the water.
Well, I do not know what I look like after 5 days of Gili Trawangan, but certainly not that good, since Lucio tells me that, if I want, I can go take a shower in his room. Antonella adds that there are public showers near the pool toilets.
So it’s true, I really look like Pig Pen, Charlie Brown’s friend !!
The two guys inform me that, in the next days, a group of friends, who are now in Australia, will arrive to Bali. I know it already, even with them I kept contacts. They will stay somewhere in Nusa Dua. I think I’ll probably go to Kuta, where surely they will come in the evening.
After greeting the couple, and, as mentioned, spent a fortune at the bar, I leave the Sheraton, not without having “visited” first the beautiful bathrooms.
I check my mails in some Internet point, and, after having realized that guesthouses nearby are either moderately expensive or very noisy, I decide to get back to the Dutchman Hotel, where, as soon as I pronounce the name “Brandon” , everybody’s eyes light up.
I will stay another 3 days. The free transfer is not always available. However public bemo pass on the main road, so it’s not a problem getting around.
I organize with the cousin of a guy who works in the hotel a motorcycle trip for the next day, which is a special day because Indonesia is celebrating the anniversary of independence. I want to go to see the south of the island, at Kuta beach.
As we cross Mataram, which is the main city of Lombok, we see the parades. Many participants have their faces covered, some by keffiyeh; there is a lot of armed police around, but no clash.
Bali apart, in the rest of Indonesia, and Lombok is no exception, there is not much tourist flux at the time. In Lombok, Jakarta and Surabaya there were demonstrations which turned in violent riots.
The Nusa Tenggara islands enjoy a much drier climate than Bali. The south of Lombok is different, there are no rice fields, the dominant color is yellow ocher, no longer green.
We pass several typical ethnic villages, I tell my driver not to stop, they look like tourist traps.
After an eternity, at least this is what my butt thinks, we are in Kuta Lombok. In the village I see some people, but in the nearby beach, the main one, a sense of desolation prevails. There’s nobody around, all pensions seem empty, kiosks are shut. A ghost town in a Sergio Leone’s western movie. The beach where the driver takes me is a bit out of hand, windy, wide, wild and deserted.
It won’t be deserted for long time. It’s a matter of seconds, and I’m surrounded by a bunch of women trying to sell their stuff. I accept willingly to buy a pineapple, but I don’t know what to do with sarongs and t-shirts. They seem to understand the situation, and leave. They are much less troublesome than the male counterparts.
A deep sense of peace comes over me, the sun warms me, the wind gives me a bit of refreshment. Unfortunately soon it’s time to leave this paradise. The women are gone. I can see them in the distance. Meanwhile, no one has come to the beach. One of the girls is aware that I am now standing, and runs back to me, tells me that she brought me a gift, a beautiful shell. I am very surprised, I smile confused. I have nothing to give her, and I feel guilty.
I’m a bit sad when I leave.
On the way back, in an unknown village, the motorcycle is bottled in a traffic jam, because of celebratory parades for independence. Schoolchildren march showing off their uniforms. Some girls are bareheaded, others have colored scarves wrapped around their heads, others are bundled up in a black veil. People on the roadside clap.
When going out for dinner, I suddenly feel lazy and for a second I think to stop at the restaurant of my hotel. After, however, having noticed that there are only two middle-aged couples intent on playing cards in the most absolute and complete silence, I think it is better to return to Sengigi.
Most of those traveling alone, according to what I read around, hate to go to a restaurant table without a partner to talk to.
I don’t have any particular problems with this, but anyway in Lombok it seems impossible, since, as soon as I sit down, and as long as they do not bring my meal, but often not even at that time, it is a continuous line of people coming to talk to me; some have merchandise to sell, others are gigolos, others ones it’s not clear what they want, but surely there must be a hidden reason why they decided to be there, and I do not think it is the sympathy I inspire them, or their desire to be my friends .
On the following day, nothing to report, swimming pool and relax. The day after that I go to the Sengigi public beach, which is not bad. Then, jumping from one bemo to the other one, I see all the bays nearby till almost going back to Bangsal.
Eventually, it comes the time to go back to Bali. This time I do not meet any nice people, and time spent on the ferry seems endless to me.
My minibus crosses Ubud at the hour that I loved the most, and the sound of the gamelan is like a siren song to my ears. It’s a great desire to stop here again, but I feel that I must go on. The final destination is Kuta Bali. If too messy, the alternative is Legian. Wherever I will go, however, it will be late, there will be no more public bemo, and unfortunately I will have to take a taxi.
I arrive in Kuta, on the main street, Jalan Legian. Later it won’t look so horrible to me anyl onger, but coming from very quiet places now the contrast is too stark.
The first comparison that comes to my mind is Cancun. I get out of the minibus close to a crossroad, in the middle of the chaos, and wait half an hour before being able to cross the road, then share a taxi to Legian with 2 Australian ladies. The hotel where they stop is nice, but very pricy, 30 USD. I tour around, and I go in panic. That was the cheapest!
I venture in a side dark alley, I ask for help to some people I meet, they take me through a palm grove, and leave me in front of an impressive block, 3 or 4 floors. They explains this is a hotel, and go to call someone at the reception. Well, they have vacancy, the cost is 50 thousand rupees. I go to top floor. The room has everything I can wish and even more, there is a wonderful view on the palm grove. The only drawback are the paper walls. My neighbor turns on the TV, and it seems I have it on the table. The entrance is overlooking a quite noisy street. I decide that one night there is more than enough, and, after eating something in a warung, I go hunting for another hotel.
Without the backpack, everything is easier. I can find what I need quite quickly.
The next morning, after moving to the new guesthouse, I head to the beach, which is not far.
The sea has the same color of our Tyrrhenian, the waves are quite big, no wind
I decide then for Kuta. Can’t find a bemo. Someone tells me that public bemo do not reach Kuta. They just go in certain directions, not everywhere. For example, Jimbaran and Denpasar; Also in Nusa Dua, but only up to a certain point, then I have to take a taxi.
During the day, Jalan Legian seems quiet. Perhaps because the most of people are on the beach. I try a shopping session, and discover that here prices are double than in Ubud. In Ubud then handicraft shops, especially furniture and masks, are much nicer.
Now I have developed quite good bargain skills, I just say that the same thing in Ubud costs half, and it’s done. From this half I start to fight for the best price.
I buy graciously embroidered sarongs
Obviously, there are lots of shops selling Hilfiger, Quicksilver and similar, as well as a good number of malls. Frankly, these things do not interest me. When I reach the Hard Rock Cafe, I go to the beach. The waves are really high. And surfers? I’ve seen quite a lot of them in Poppies Lanes, with the boards under their arms, but there are now only a few in the sea, and most of them do not seem to have much balance.
There are only two good ones, and they are Indonesians. I find some shade under a palm tree. In the afternoon, the tide recedes greatly, and this is the best time for beginners to learn. In fact, the waves are far less threatening and they look inviting even to cowards like me.
Be aware of money changers in Kuta, especially if you see rates which are too favorable to be true. Try to stay stuck to banks or official changers.
As mentioned, one Euro is more or less 9000 rupees. The travelers checks are change at about 8600-8700 rupees. Cash is a little more.
I change normally 100 Eu each time, partially because they last quite long time, and partially because with 100 is easier to do the calculations. The 860-870mila rupees are always given in 100 thousand rupees notes, so it is easy to count them.
This happened everywhere, Ubud, Lombok, Trawangan, except some places in Kuta, where some traps publicize change at 8800 – 8900. If you go into a place with such good rates, and they give 20 thousand rupees notes instead of 100 thousand go away, because they will try to rip you off. That’s my experience.
One morning I pop into a garage adapted to store, attracted by the favorable rates. I take out 100 Euro travelers cheques, the exchange rate is 8800, they takes out 20 thousand rupees notes. The guys count them, they are 44. I ask to count by myself (he’s a bit annoyed) and they are only 40. So I say that I want another 4. He gives me 4 more, he counts them and they are 44, I re-count and they are 36 !!!! I ask 8 more.
At this point I do not give back the money to him, and I begin to count the notes in groups of 10, and keeping them far enough so that he can’t touch them. He gets furious, takes the money out of my hands, slamming on my nose my 100 Euro and intimates to me to leave. Fucking asshole. I will be told later by some bank employees the trick is to practice cracks in the table where the transaction takes place, making sure that some bills slip into the underlying drawer.
A little further on, another story, this time I am taken to a back room, where again 20 thousand rupees notes appear. I try to get up but they assure everything is in order. They use a calculator. When I take in my hand the calculator, I find that it is fake
All this to say: watch out, guys!
The next day I go to Jimbaran. I wait patiently my bemo. A lot of taxi drivers stop and try to convince me that there is no bemo going to Jimbaran.
I take this opportunity to confirm that all of the negative reviews concerning the driver of all kind of vehicles are true. In addition, I would still say that if you are a single woman, the starting price is higher, and you have to bargain twice than a man to get a decent price. Moreover, I even got some sexual harassment, quite insistent. But everything remained on a verbal level. If instead I have a man on my side, everything changes, in the sense that I magically become invisible and get constantly ignored.
I ignore them, and I am rewarded. 5 thousand rupees on the bemo, against 50-60 thousand for a taxi. I do not dare to pay the driver only 2 thousand rupees as Ketut said. The trip is very long. Obviously the bemo leaves me at the village, and I have to walk a bit to find the beach. I take a short cut and I cross the garden of a wonderful hotel. The beach is wide, like in Kuta, but there are a lot less people. The sea is different, the waves are high, but long, so I can swim much more easily.
Before returning to Legian, I book through Perama an excursion to Ulu Watu. I forgot to say that the Perama, if one provides the receipt of a previous service bought, will give a 10% discount, which it is not much, but it’s better than nothing.
The visit to Ulu Watu was highly recommended by Sarah, who also warned me that instead at Tanah Lot the beautiful and romantic sunsets are presently disturbed by horrible cranes building the bridges to enter the temple during high tide.
Ulu Watu does not allow access to foreigners, so I am obliged to stroll around, admiring the majestic cliffs overlooking an increasingly angry sea. I also have to keep out from dozens of mischievous and intrusive monkeys, which have been trained to steal sunglasses, earrings, bags. etc. etc. If you try to make them run away they get aggressive.
The weather, which until then had been quite nice, gets worse, and the sunset hides behind a partial cumulo-nimbus eclipse
In most of the temples I visited, it is necessary that everyone, even men, wear a sarong and a scarf to tie around the waist. In many places they can be rented for free or leaving a small donation at the entrance. In other places, for example Besakih, you have to pay, but it is very expensive, and the attendants are often not very nice, so better to organize and bring your own stuff.
That evening, I eventually meet my friends, we eat together, and then we go to the Sari Club, the one of the bomb attack, where I meet Tim as well. Big hugs and kisses. Contrary to what he had planned, he did not stop in Lombok for trekking on Rinjani, but went in Padangbai, where he confirms that the sea is very beautiful, and then to Tirta Gangga, a place nearby where there are hot springs.
My Italians friends invite me to spend the next day on their beach at Nusa Dua
Nusa Dua is kind of a private peninsula, which is off limits to Indonesians, unless they work in one of the expensive hotels. The vegetation is lush, and it’s full of shopping malls. The sea is pretty neat, calm because of the reef, but at low tide it becomes difficult to swim.
After Nusa Dua is the turn of Sanur, reached by the Perama bus. There is a public beach which is pretty filthy, and, in the morning, almost completely submerged because of high tide. Where the hotels strip starts, here things improve. The coast is wider, and of course in better hygienic conditions. Even here, in the afternoon, it’s like in Nusa Dua.
Kuta, Sanur and Nusa Dua do not have anything particularly typical, they could be anywhere else in the world and no one would notice the difference. Among other things, one of my friends had been in Kuta in the mid 80s and now he can’t believe that it has changed so much
I spend my last day in Bali with the guys at the Bedugul lake, and Tanah Lot.
There is even a local guide who speaks Italian with us.
When we get to Bedugul, which is on the mountains, first of all it gets freezing cold, and then again the sky gets cloudy, colours change, and I am afraid my photos will be crap
The problem of organized tours is that they bring you at least once in a place where they hope you can buy something. This is no exception. We visit a batik factory, in whose showroom the same things (ugly, actually) that in Ubud are sold at 100 thousand rupees here cost 60 USD.
Then we reach a very cute market
then we have lunch in a restaurant with stunning views on rice fields, then we visit a cave full of huge bats, then the Tanah Lot. Damn, Sarah was right, the cranes disfigure really irreparably the view. I do acrobatics to try to keep them out of the frame of my Pentax. Beside there is a small cove, with impressive rocks shaped arch. The clouds now have disappeared, and the sunset, on that side, is splendid.
Later on, before going back to my guesthouse, I stop at a travel agency to buy a plane ticket to Yogyakarta, the cost is about 450 thousand rupees.
My flight is at 15. I share a taxi to Yogyakarta downtown with three French. One of them wants to be taken directly to Borobudur. Actually I had same idea previously, but then later I changed my mind because afraid to feel too isolated and bored in the evening.
We go down to Malioboro Street. There is a lot of confusion, people go around like swarms of insects. I can’t see other foreigners around. It gives me a sense of security, in general. There is a deafening noise of motor exhaust systems, that I can’t stand. I head to the Prawitoraman area, which, according to Lonely Planet, should be more quiet.
Here, I can see some Western people, and also many Indonesian tourists, especially students on a school trip.
In the evening, in my area, everything is very quiet, so I decide to take a becak, a bicycle rickshaw, and try again with the center. It is 21.00, usual bustle around me. As in the afternoon, I see no other westerners. My intention would be to ask for information at the tourist office, but when I find it, it is already closed. The sidewalks are crowded, so I walk in the street. The local males look at me as if they wanted to scan me from side to side.
I take a taxi and go back; almost as cheap as the becak. I spend the rest of the night wandering among the various travel agencies asking for prices of the tours in Prambanan and Borobudur.
Since these are my last days, I feel that there’s no time to loose any longer. The excursions in the above mentioned places cost 30 thousand rupees everywhere, entrance fees (63 thousand rupees) excluded. They leave at dawn and sunset.
I book only for the sunset in Prambanan, leaving Borobudur for the next day. Then I easily find a seat on a train to Jakarta, Argo Lawu, 185 thousand rupees. It leaves not so early, 10.00, so it’s perfect.
The next morning, at breakfast, I start talking with an English girl, Anita, with whom I will spend some time. She tells me that it’s better to do Borobudur at dawn, because during the hottest hours it’s really hard to walk on the dark lava stones.
Together, therefore, we book for the morning of the next day.
I leave for my trip to Prambanan at 14.00. It’s not really a sunset visit, because we arrive there at 15:30, or earlier, and we leave after about a hour and a half.
The heat is bearable. The ruins of Hindu temples are scattered over a wide area, but the main ones, very cute, are close to the entrance. 
I can’t get very far because, as usual, I forgot the watch, and I’m afraid they do not wait for me if I’m late. We see the sunset we from a hill nearby, where we can enjoy a magnificent view over the plains.
At early evenings, at Prambanan, there is dance show. I think it’s very impressive, but I already saw many of this kind while I was in Ubud, and I do not think it’s the case to replicate.
I set the alarm clock at 4:30, I do not want to be too late.
The bus passes at 5. The reception supply us with a packed breakfast. I took only the bananas, because they are lightweight, and easy to eat even in the car or while walking. For Anita, however, it gets problematic. His ordination was similar to mine, but with the addition of milk. This is supplied in a plastic bag, without even a straw. It seems complicated to drink it without pouring it in the car, but she manages, without overturning it. After an hour’s ride, here we are. We are among the first ones to arrive. The sun has not yet risen.
The complex is a 4 levels truncated pyramid-shaped, decorated with friezes and bas-reliefs; on this base stands a 3 levels cone, adorned with buddha statues and bells, and, on top, a stupa. Seen from above, it looks like a huge three-dimensional mandala.
We climb up very fast not to lose the sunrise. Really great!
The sun comes up on the sides of the Merpati volcano, the view is lost in the vast expanse of lush forest at our feet.
The morning mist still has not disappeared entirely
We can hear around chirpings and various kind of bellows. Nearby is a center where they organize riding on elephant back. I was told these animals are not well treated.
It is also discreetly chilly, luckily I wear a sweatshirt.
On the way back, the bus stops to visit other temples, like Mendut, I think; but after the Borobudur everything looks mediocre.
When at the hotel, me and my friend refresh into the small pool, and remain there long rime. Later in the afternoon, I decide to go and visit the Kraton, the Sultan’s palace, the Water Palace, and all the wonderful (according to the guide) surroundings.
I go with a becak, and when there, I find that it shuts at 14:30, while I’m an hour late. The Water Palace, a bit tatty, does not impress me much. Then I decide to visit at least the bird market. Horrible. Birds and other small animals cooped up in tiny cages, a komodo dragon trapped in a stone tank where it cannot even turn around. To be denounced to WWF. Pity is that there are people who pay to photograph it. Poor animal.
I decided that I’m done with Yogyakarta city. I was not impressed at all. I missed the Kraton, and who knows maybe this would have helped to give me a better idea of the city. Since it is considered one of the most important historical and cultural heritage towns throughout Indonesia, I am a bit puzzled.
Maybe did I look at it with the wrong perspective?
The only thing really worthwhile is the Borobudur, and a little less, the Prambanan. To be visited in one day, bypassing all the rest with no regrets.
Like the Italian fast trains, also the Argo Lawu is late, although not so much.
Immediately forgiven, because it is a monstrously comfortable. The seats are real armchairs, wide, soft, very reclining and with great legroom. They even bring free food like on airplanes. What a godsend! Seven hours relaxing, looking out the windows to a landscape that, in the first half of the trip, is heartbreakingly beautiful.
The spell ends sadly in Jakarta. The station is crowded to capacity, I need to push hard to make my way through the multitude of people, my taxi cannot find the pension that I chose following the Lonely Planet advice. When he finds it, and I go down, I immediately regret it, but it’s too late. I see no alternative nearby. Crossing the courtyard I meet a cockroach as big as an egg. I pay a fortune, 100 thousand rupees, for something that, more than a room, it seems to me quite a dump.
Well, I just have to spend one night, after all, and it’s now 17.00. The next day a plane is waiting for me to take me home.
Apart from the cockroach, in the courtyard I meet two Indonesian girls with inguinal miniskirt. Which is odd, I reflect, in a country where usually women barely show ankles. From one of their handbags a business card falls down. As soon as they go away, I pick it up, and leave it by the door of their room, after having given a peek. They are “masseuses” !!
The only thing is that I hope won’t make too much mess tonight exercising their arts. My concerns are unfounded. I won’t hear a pin drop.
I decide to go to Jalan Jaksa, which should be something like the Kao San Road in Bangkok, according to what I was told, but unfortunately it’s not true at all.
Few foreigners around, few people in general, no decent shop or something pretty to look to kill time, so I eat and then again I burrow in a cyber cafe. There is a lot of traffic around, and walking is not very spontaneous.
In such way I waste the last night of my holiday.