The Gorgeous Gilis

“Gili Trawangan!!!” “Gili Trawangan!!!” shouts a man in dark blue uniform as the fast boat carrying passengers from neighbouring Bali has arrived at the jetty. Many passengers hurry out carrying their bags and belongings. Some of us have had a power nap while some were busy evening out their tan on the rooftop during a two-hour trip through choppy sea. The claustrophobic small boat, which is packed today with tourists from all over the world -Brazilians, Germans, Americans, Australians, Japanese, French and Dutch, from judging the conversations I've overheard - has already dropped off some passengers at two previous stops, the nearby Gili Menos and Senggigi beach, the gateway to Lombok island.

The three Gilis; Trawangan, Meno and Air, are an archipelago of three small islands and usually frequented by diving enthusiasts and tourists who wish to see beyond Bali, which lies 35 km west of Gili Trawangan.

The biggest among the three, Gili T is also the most developed and unofficially dubbed as the party central for its numerous hotels, pubs, restaurants and services. The other two Gillis already have some resorts and restaurants but still somewhat virgin in comparison.

I first came here on a weekend trip. 3 years ago to be exact. I still remember my first encounter with the Gilian air; conspicuously clean,crisp and calm, as automobiles and motorised transportation is prohibited on the islands. And of course, the top-quality water: turquoise blue, crystal clear and cozy warm. My two friends wouldn’t stop taking photos of each other with the splendid backdrop, the two stark blues sandwiching the quaint green hills of Lombok in a distance. 

“Come on, guys! We have two whole days and there are much nicer spots than this”

The horse carts (called “Cidomo” here) run on fixed prices. Completely unaware, I bargain the price using my limited Indonesian. But the driver points at the price chart mounted on the cart. A lot more civilized than I had expected, 75,000 rupiah ride (about 8 USD) takes us to our hotel at the further west end of the island. I learn upon arrival that “Queen Villas”, as it was known when I booked online, is in fact now “Aston Hotel”.

“Are you sure this is Queen Villas?” I doubtfully double check with the porter who greets us at the entrance.

“Yes, sir. This is Queen Villas managed by Aston”

We are certainly well away from the happenings. There is nothing after Aston except for a small village with lots of palm trees. By Gili T standards, this is remote. To go back to the main strip which has restaurants, spas, pubs and cafés, it’s at least a 20-minute bumpy horse cart ride. Or the alternative would be to bicycle. 

Queen Villas aka Aston is rather concrete with rough finishing though I’m quite impressed with the room for the price I pay (110 USD a night). The spacious room is equipped with a gigantic king size bed, a neat bathroom and a balcony that overlooks the pool and gardens, which, I believe needs a professional tending.  

“The bikes are free, Sir! Provided by the hotel”, assures Darma, a Balinese reception staff with a smile that could light up the dark grey sky. It’s almost 3pm and we haven’t had our lunch. We each get a bike and furious-ride back to the main strip. On the way, we pass by loved up newly-weds on unicycles (I swear it’s true), overly baked beach cookies relishing the sun and fat Russian tourists in skimpy speedos. “Pearl Beach Lounge”, arguably the “Ku De Ta” of Gili T, is the swankiest beachfront establishment here.  It looks pretty new but undoubtedly a popular hangout. 

I order a Caipirinha and a few Indonesian delights to nibble. “Sorry for waiting, Sir! The bar is busy”, apologises the waiter when I scoff at him for taking so long. Well, “busy”, I can see. All comfy couches with umbrellas have been taken. There are only a few sun-tanning beanbags left, laid out side by side on the clean white sand facing the piercing blue ocean. I take over one and meet the sun. My two friends, on the other hand, are truly Asian; they prefer to sit in the shade even after a bottle of SPF 35 generously splashed across their bodies. Figure why whitening lotions sell so well in Asia. 

After a few too many Caipirinhas, it’s time to carry my two and half shades darker self home. We return to Aston in order to catch sunset from the beachfront bar. The perk of being in the further west of the island is that we are treated to the magnificent view of Mount Agung from Bali, gloriously peaking out of the sea, backed by the sunset symphony. It is unfortunately a cloudy day therefore the peak of the mountain is veiled partially by the cirrus clouds. I put my DSLR away and also stop Instagramming my shots on iPhone. Sometimes, I stress too much on simply nothing and forget to just ‘be’. I order a large Bintang beer and rest my back against the comfy lounge chair. The idea of heaven really is not that complex.

After breakfast, we head out to the jetty on a cidomo around 9:30 am. We have booked the glass-bottom boat for our snorkelling trip. It is busier than I’ve expected at the jetty today. We are told to pre-order our lunch from the menu before boarding, as lunch is included in the package.

“Only order items less than 40,000 rupiah”, yells a frustrated looking man who sits in the tiny ticket booth. The young Australian couple who initially wanted Angus steak with fries settles on a Nasi Goreng (fried rice), which costs 35,000 rupiah. We opt for Nasi Goreng as well, keeping it simple. Let’s just not make the man any madder!

The boat fills up immediately. I hear many languages spoken. Four bikini-clad babes have taken their spots at the front deck where the direct sunlight is 100% guaranteed. Next to me sit an elderly couple from South Korea, equipped with caps, backpack, water bottles and the whole nine yards. A young fella, possibly not more than 18, has been chatting up the storm with nearly everyone around him. I notice that he’s openly smoking a joint. A few minutes later, an older gentleman comes and takes a spot next to him. He as well is holding a join in his fingers and guess what, he is the father of the young chap. I’ve learned from their accent that they are Australians. The two men are clearly on a higher level, obnoxiously loud, giggly and annoying.  A young American couple watches this unfold, wide-eyed, with pure fascination and disbelief.

I grow impatient, as the boat hasn’t left although it is full. Then I realise why it’s being held up. The mother from the joint-smoking family is having a dispute with the guy from the ticket office. I can’t quite figure out what the problem is but in the end they all get off from the boat leaving us in peace. A certain sharp-tongued Aussie friend of mine appears on my mind. He would have rolled his eyes, called them ‘Bogans’ and totally shut them up.

I’ve tried snorkelling a few times before. But I find it difficult to breathe through the mask and swim with fins. So I always end up seeing nothing, struggling to stay afloat the whole time. This time as well is no exception. Besides, where they drop us off, a few hundred meters off Gili T, the water is way too deep and there’s really not much one could see. 

However, this changes at our second spot, off Gili Meno, the middle island. From the boat, I could see the shore. There are a few catamarans docked in a distance and a number of swimmers in the water, possibly the tourists who are putting up at one of those beachfront properties. Not the one to easily give up, I decide to go again. The water is much shallower here and there are thousands of fish down below. About 10 minutes in the water, I’ve mastered the art of breathing through the mask. I put away the flippers subsequently and decide to swim without. I begin to enjoy the experience. Two French guys from our boat are incredible divers. They each take a big piece of bread, dive down to the bottom and start feeding the fish. Soon it has turned into a scene that one could only see in an aquarium. But it is happening right before my eyes and in a natural habitat.

My two friends are not comfortable swimming without their life jackets in the open waters. They float around the boat in their neon-orange ensemble looking quite comical. 30 minutes is all we’ve got and soon we head towards Gilli Air for lunch. Understandably, the service is slow and the food is atrocious. What can we expect from an all-inclusive 10-dollar snorkelling package. I shove the so-called fried rice (a literal version, really, rice fried with nothing else but a few pieces of carrot and cabbage) down with, what could have been, if I can remember, three small bottles of beer. Maybe more.

Now that I’ve improved my skills and found success in Snorkelogy, I am one of those who jump into the water first when we reach the third and last spot.

“Look, Look, there’s a turtle down there”, advises our snorkelling guide.

I quickly adjust my mask and look down. Within minutes, I spy the slow-moving turtle approximately 15 feet down under next to a mammoth flower-like coral. Such graceful creature!

As I’ve become more comfortable using the mask and swimming without the flippers. I find it quite liberating. I keep a steady breathing pattern, which stays in sync with my breaststrokes and kicks. It’s truly magical. I have seen so many fish yet I’m still finding Nemo. I do get scared every now and then. Especially when what-ifs enter my mind. What if I get too tired? What if I get cramps? What if I get left behind? But I compose myself and keep going.

I now understand why people dive. It’s a whole world out there. The feeling of having overcome my fear and gaining new experience is indescribably precious. I’d do it again. 

When we get back to Gili T, my bladder is about to explode thanks to three beers that I willingly swallowed (I should have known better!). I didn’t want to release myself in the sea either. “What if someone swimming nearby notices? I mean, the water is pristine and the colour is definitely not yellow” Thankfully, I find a toilet not far from the jetty.

Three of us agree on the idea of having a massage. We pass by a couple of spas in the main strip but we choose “Black Penny” as it appears to be clean and not too busy. What a great choice, I must say. The male masseur I have is skilful, intuitive and able take my tired body to a state somewhere between deep sleep and consciousness. That’s what pampering feels like. Adele’s “Someone Like You”, a remix version, is faintly playing from a café house nearby. Then suddenly I hear the thunder rolling. “Wait, is it going to rain?” It was all sunshine and blue sky all morning. “Am I hallucinating?”

Soon I feel teeny tiny drops of rain falling on my face. The thatch-roofed spa obviously has some little leaks. That beautiful natural aroma instigated when rain and soil collaborate, is both familiar and melancholy.  Not only does it confirm the change of weather but also wake me up from the delirium.

“Your massage is finished, sir”, says my masseur aka the man with the Midas touch. I’m practically gold; perfectly tanned and presently illuminated by lavender oil. The three of us walk out feeling like products freshly manufactured out of factory. I suggest that we stick around for both sunset and dinner in the area.

While the boys grab a bite at a restaurant, I go for a stroll. With the downpour earlier, the sunset of course is dismissed. An enormous rainbow is left behind, if that’s any consolation. But as twilight approaches, a rather unique ambience arrives. The smell of the rain is very much intact in the air. The rising tide is gently brushing up my bare feet, warm and inviting as I walk along the beach. The sun is long gone yet its orangey rays can still be traced behind the hills of Lombok. A couple, seemingly on their honeymoon, is taking a selfie near the pier, not far from the beach joint, Pearl. I leave my camera bag on the sand, further away from water, undress myself and hurry down towards the approaching tide. I reward myself a one last dip.

"I Luh Ya Papi" ~ Jennifer Lopez (Video Review)

J.Lo can do what Mariah Carey has been trying to achieve for decades; a glammed-out diva from the block with legitimate street-cred. And boy, does she do it well.  While Mariah stands stiff looking lost whenever she hangs with her homies convincing us that she comes from da hood, J.Lo is effortlessly fab, full of swag. 

Both divas have been plotting their return to the top of the charts as of late but none of them have managed to rise above #15 so far. Well, this could all change with the newest single from Lopez, “I Luh Ya Papi”, a hip-hop flavoured anthem featuring French Montana on the side. 

The song’s catchy chorus combined with climactic choreography, Papi will roar loud on the radio for sure. Bathing in the sea of beautiful bodies, big bulges, bubble butts and banging beats, J. Lo is going full on Kylie here pleasing her gay fan base (which to be honest, makes up almost 95% of her overall.)

“Why do men always objectify the women in every single video? Why can we for once objectify the men?”, says one of her sidekicks at the start of the video.  However with lyrics like “ I put it down for a brother like you, Give it to you right in the car, that’s you.”, this is hardly a feminist anthem. 

And by the way, is that green jumpsuit with the plunging neckline a recycled Versace she wore to the Grammys years ago??? It sure looks familiar. 

~ Islands in the sun ~

I have lost count of them after a while. Identifying them is even harder. I thought I saw the Gillis, Lombok and Nusa Lembongan but I could be wrong. My map-reading skills and sense of direction are something I am not quite proud of. Indonesia is an archipelago nation comprising approximately 17,508 islands and we are currently flying over some, a fragment of what the country is blessed with. Some islands are enormous enough to house villages, vegetation and various facets of life. Some are tiny and uninhabited. Some have alluring appeal, fallen straight out of a postcard. Some are cliquish and close-knit encircling one another while some stand alone, outcast and possibly bored. Such is life even for the islands, I guess.  

After an hour flight from Bali, I find myself in a noisy arrival hall slightly bigger than my house. There’s no baggage carousel. Workers manually offload each and every luggage from the plane and personally deliver them to passengers. The new airport building, a somewhat futuristic structure, is almost completed. A few more runways are also in the works as the city prepares to welcome more tourism in the future. Labuan Bajo, once a sleepy fishing town, is now a base, a starting point for visitors who come to explore the region, most notably Rinca and the famous Komodo Island. Located at the western end of its mother island Flores, Labuan Bajo is rapidly growing, dotted with 3 to 4 stars hotels, a number of international restaurants, services and numerous developments in the works. 

  

15 minutes fast boat ride from a hectic jetty takes us to Saraya Kacil, a neighbouring island. Our friends own a piece of land on which they intend to build a beachfront hotel. So far, there are only a few budget bungalows next to their land, ready for business yet unoccupied. A man, possibly the minder of the property, sits smoking away sluggishly. A guard dog is tethered to a palm tree aggressively barking at us. Is he delighted to see a human presence apart from his cruel owner or rather asking us to set him free?

Turquoise water glistens under the warm morning sun. Pristine white sandy beach in front me is so inviting that I permit myself a first dip. There’s nothing but a set of small green slopes poking out of the blue ocean.  The sound of gentle waves crashing to the shore is melodic to the ears. Especially now that I hear nothing else but that. It’s no fluke why some people may compare this atmosphere to that of heaven. It’s pure, peaceful and perfect to get pensive. 

Clearly none of these small islands have electricity. Including this second one we visit called, Kanawa. Our boat driver drops us off at the pier, about 100 meters long wooden structure, which connects to the island. In the extended gazebo attached to the pier, a couple is relishing their time alone. The man is doing flips impressing his woman, jumping in and out of water. They say hi but when they realise that we are here to stay, they kindly leave us in peace. Or did we just drive them out of their peace? 

Already in my swimming gear, no time for hesitation, I jump right into the crystal clear water. It’s not very deep yet I can’t reach the white-sand bottom. Various schools of fish are participating in an underwater parade. A large Barracuda dramatically leaps in a distance. This is truly a natural aquarium and I am swimming in it. The quality of the water here is beyond compare. Even those who aren’t that water-friendly would mind floating here all day. 

  

We shove our pre-packed lunch down with a bottle of Marlborough pinot noir. From the pier ass I walk towards the lodging, I notice 7 small sharks swimming in the shallow water. Sharks! Such majestic creatures that swim in graceful manner.  But if I had known earlier that these were in that very water I would not have jumped in. Even when my friend assures me that they don’t bite, it’s still shark nevertheless and I am forever traumatised by the Jaws movies.

A handful of tourists are enjoying their day in the sun. The stereo is blasting one of Sean Paul’s dancehall anthems creating a Caribbean kind of atmosphere. Two little boys build castles on the beach while their mum is catching up on some reading on her Kindle. There’s no 3G signal but I believe not many would mind not being able to update their Facebook status. At least for a few days. 

Our next hop, Sabayur Island has a killer panorama and a stylish resort operated by an Italian family.  Antonello, a sweet burly man, who’s still half naked in his wet suit, as he has just returned from a dive trip, comes to chat with us. What an enviable lifestyle he’s got! He gets to live and go to work here! 

“I do love going back to Italy sometimes but then I start missing this”, he enthuses. 

Komodo resort (www.komodoresort.com) offers world-class reef diving services and high-end accommodation: a perfect place to rejuvenate and unwind. Two comfy lounge chairs shielded by a large parasol are laid out in front of each luxury shack. Friendly staff at the restaurant, a stunning bamboo and thatch structure, are ready to whip out a cocktail or a few while one luxuriates gazing out at the ocean. I guess it’s time for another drink! 

I must have nodded off on the boat for about 20 minutes. When I get a nudge from my friend, our boat has arrived at the Komodo Island, renowned for its residents, the Komodo dragons. These ferocious beasts are the largest living species of lizard that can grow up to 3 meters and weigh up to 70 kilograms. They are carnivorous and certainly venomous. 

It doesn’t take long. We come across one dragon right behind the rangers’ office. Like the tourists, she as well is soaking up the sun, occasionally swinging her tail from side to side. On a bamboo stand nearby, the skulls of the animals that fell victim to the dragons are on display. The skulls of goats, deer and a water buffalo but no human, thankfully. 

  

“Humans don’t have horns. That’s why”, jokes our ranger implying that if they do eat human, nothing would be left behind.  The ranger, a 30-something year old, works ten days a month on the island and goes back to Flores where he resides. Still unmarried, he explains, because he not only needs to save up money to marry but also has to cover the bride’s brother’s marriage expenses. “Strange tradition”, he sulks. 

He takes us through a grassy route into the wood and later shows us the nest of Komodos. There are at least 10 holes in the ground but only one of them is used for laying eggs. The others are to fool enemies such as wild boars and eagles. Nearby in the bush lies a gigantic dragon, lounging lazily.  We learn from our guide that these dragons only eat once a month. The rangers have found a body of a dead deer yesterday morning. The speculation is that this dragon must have feasted on the deer meat and is currently on rest mode. There are more than 2000 dragons on the island (almost double the human population). I find it interesting that these unruly beasts despite their menace, are well conserved and even iconized in the region. The Komodo national park has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1991 and receives up to 45,000 visitors annually, which certainly feeds its economy. 

On our return to the boat, we walk past a small house on stilts. Three Komodos are sleeping underneath. The men on the porch are enjoying a chat while their two young kids play nearby, clearly unfazed. “We always have to be on alert. Before we sleep, we always check around the house. Close the doors and windows. Also when we go out, we must keep a stick to shoo the dragons”, explains our guide. “Four people were attacked last year but they all survived”, he continues. Men and Dragons, I am thoroughly intrigued by their coexistence. Even when they don’t always respect each other’s space, they certainly must keep a distance.