Phil Moore's Travel Adventures...

Welcome to my paradise
Where the sky so blue
and the sunshines so bright
Welcome to my paradise
Where you can be free
and the party's never ending

Undoubtedly the anthem from Bali & the Gilli Islands, Steven and The Coconut Tree's UB40-styled reggae hit Welcome to my Paradise for me pretty much summed up the vibe of this party-party island - care-free, stress-free, relaxed, endulgence en mass, pelam pelam (slowly slowly) approach to everything - with the locals always on hand to see to your every need.

Along the avenues of Kuta, Seminyak & Sanur as far as the eye can see are touristic shops & markets, hotels & guest houses, restaurants & bars offering pure endulgence to anyone willing to part with their Rupiah. After the sun goes down, the party begins: cheap cocktails flow; live shows of once traditional now MTV-ified barong dancing dazzle the pinkish onlookers; commercial discos and nightclubs blare out duff-duff rythms; and the Balinese lady's of the night add their own wares to foray.

The ever-present cynic in me (that I can't seem to shift) tells me that something was up. It was almost as if the island had been fabricated by a Thomas Cook mastermind plan to create a Utopia for the package holiday tourist. Ingeniously, they had some how managed to brain wash the people of this undoubtedly once beautiful land into playing out this fantasy too. These was beyond the realms of any James Bond villain's evil plan.

Being 10 metres out at sea on whale-sized surf board for 3 hours a day was not far enough to escape. Fair enough if this is your idea of paradise but it sure as hell isn't mine - I felt claustrophobic and dirty, it was all too much, I had to escape - surely all of Bali can't be like this.....?

So I hired a moped and acquired a map. To the north it looked greener, they can't have concreted that far surely. I left Kuta with a shiver.

OK, so perhaps a little dramatic I know but after the isolation of Sumbawa & Flores I was not ready for this. Resort-style holiday has never been my bag and the whole sex trade thing just made me freak out, I literally breathed a sigh of relief as I escaped the city limits of Kuta. I instantly fell in love with my bike - a two-wheeled gratuity from the gods, a remittance from Rama, subsidy from Shiva or honorarium from Honda, whatever you want to call it. She was mine, and I was free....

The first stop on my exploration of Bali was Tanah Lot temple, Tanah meaning earth and lot meaning ocean. On entry to the site it felt like I was entering Alton Towers with a car park that could hold a thousand or so. Curiously, the majority of the people were Balinese here to attend the temple not tourists like it first appeared, all busily preparing themselves for the festivities ahead - burning incense, preparing offerings (a folded banana leaf adorned with flowers, rice and colourful powder) and decorating their faces with more rice and bindi's.

On clearing the car park, you descend towards the sea, passing through an endless sea of markets selling everything from sarongs to wooden penises. Once into the temple complex and making it past the security guards, the temple reveals itself consisting of a couple of shrines set on a rocky protrusion which apparently symbolises the balance between male and female; inner and outer world; which might explain the symbolism of the wooden phalices on sale.

A procession of people were wading out to sea fully clothed, hanging on for dear life to a guide-rope, with a brightly coloured basket balanced on your head which for me was a true sign of devotion. Without any real understanding of what Balinese Hindu is all about, this was a bizarre spectacle to behold. I had been told that Hindu is no casual religion in the same way as Christianity could be flexed (for example the commandment 'thou shalt not kill' which clearly Mr Bush's US government somewhat mis-read as devout Christians) but I wasn't ready for this. Without a guide as to why this bizarre event was occurring I was at a loss, but there seemed to be some kind of temple on top which 100 or so worshippers would enter for 30 minutes, say their prayers and trek back to shore.

The real draw for the tourists was the picture postcard scene of the temple silhouetted against the setting sun, an image I'd seen before but hadn't known where it was from. The dilemna of where best to watch the sunset was easily resolved when I stumbled across some subtle signposts advertising 'THIS WAY FOR POSTCARD SUNSET VIEW'. Indulging in probably the most expensive Bintang in the whole of Indonesia, I settled in my chair and as the sun began to dip below the horizon, I began to see why this was such a special place and I felt a connection with something spiritual that I couldn't quite explain. Either that or they put something in the beer. Great view mind you.

Heading in land I came across the town of Ubud, the island's preeminent centre for fine arts, dance and music. Undoubtedly the hub for tourists seeking souvenirs, there an overwhelming number of artisian shops selling locally produced arts, crafts and furniture and a thriving market place selling all and sundry imbetween. As you enter the area, the air becomes noticeably cooler and the sticky humidity that engulfs the coast disappears (backwards logic I know but that's the way it feels). This region of Bali has more rain than an English summer but it does make for a green and pleasant landscape.

Ubud is surrounded by some of the most aesthetically pleasing and productive rice paddy fields on the island, and there are many walks easily accessible from the town itself to explore the area. This hive of activity was viewed with great amusement as I battled in the midday sun doing my best to avoid dehydration and heat stroke, foolish tourist - the local farmers had the right idea....

Apart from the ever present mosquitos, I spent a very enjoyable few days strolling around, rolling in the hay, and meeting some colourful characters en route who were more than happy to pose for a photo if you crossed their palm with silver in return. The man below was legend - I've no idea what he was saying to me but he seemed very happy to meet me and even chucked in a Michael Jackson moonwalk to top off his show. Too much barum perhaps.

Here I met a good friend Catherine Charest from Quebec who had recently launched her own fair trade business designing jewellry for export to Canada. Heavily influenced in Balinese style, the collection is produced using local craftsman with the raw materials are purchased directly from the 'farmer' who works in an environmentally sound way - all very right on! It's quite a contrast to the mass produced jewellry, watches etc that you see for sale in all the touristic shops, which I'm told all are made in sweat-shop factories in Jakarta where trained monkeys are prodded with red hot pokers and forced to work 24 hours a day without food or adequate toilet facilities. Oh, and if you think you're getting a bargain for 30,000 Rp for a fake Rolex think again - you can buy a whole box direct from the factory containing 100 or so pieces for 100,000 Rp. Besides if it's that cheap, think about the people who produce them, how much they are paid and whether your need to aspire to an arbitary item of value justifies making a slave out of human being! Oops, wrong soap box . I do wish Catherine the best of luck with her venture.

Exploring around Ubud and with the help of many helpful locals all with conflicting directions, I came across the magnificent Gunung Kawi temple. (Not to be confused with Pura Gunung Kawi which is ofcourse a water temple located 2kms away - splendid in it's own right but not the meat in the sandwich I was looking for.) Anhow, Gunung Kawi, constructed along a river in the 11th century, it is a stunning complex of pavilions and rock-cut shrines carved into the hillside surrounded by rushing water. Instantly more accessible than other temples more active I'd visited (mainly because I squeezed in just before they closed for the day) I had the chance to fully explore this relic from the old days of Balinese Hindus. There was an unsettling chill in the air as the evening drew close yet I felt a warmth in the temple that begged me to stay.

It's a peaceful place, where local farmers harvest terraced rice paddies, co-existing with the temple and it's activities. It seemed bizarre at first to have a working farm integrated with the temple but then again why not - work, play and pray all in the same spot!

After chilling in Ubud for a few days, I headed further up into the highlands to check out the two largest volcanoes on Bali that dominate the skyline. First on the list was Gunung Batur (Gunung meaning mountain) in the Bangli District which measures 1717m in height. It last erupted in 1994 and is still visibly an active beast with vents of sulphur gas escaping from the crater created at the last eruption.

To be pedantic, the peak I refer to is not Gunung Batur at all - the correct name is Gunung Lebah but for some reason it adopted the name of it's much bigger and unwieldly parent. Gunung Batur was a much bigger beast alogether and would have made Lebah look a mere pimple in the landscape. For the entire 'valley' Lebah rests in is the caldera (crater) of the former giant which is now home to about 20 or so villages (including Toya Bungkah where I stayed), Lake Batur which measures 10km across, a 4000 ha farm and Gunung Lebah itself and it's trail of lava flows that spill from it's gaping mouth - and that's only half of the crater. The sides of the caldera were well over 500m in depth which my moped can testify to as it descended down whining like a disgruntled child from the main road into the crater bottom. It was huge, I simply couldn't comprehend that what I was standing in was a volcano crater, let alone imagine what it was like to be there when it blew 30,000 years ago. The pic below does some justice to show how big it really is, sorry for the shocking photoshop skills

Organised treks were avalable to climb to the peak but after the experience with Mt Rinjani I figured I'd go it alone. I was warned by a friendly guide the night before that the people in the hills were not to be trusted at at best I'd be asked to pay for the visit if not hung, drawn and quartered. I didn't believe a word of it so chose to ignore him. Besides, the peak didn't look too high plus there was only a wee bit of poisonous sulphur gas and only a slight chance of an eruption so the odds were in my favour.

I started the day with a trek to the crater rim of the true Gunung Batur on the far side of the lake to watch the sun rise. The route began with an impossibly steep climb up a road which the locals somehow managed to travel up and down on a moped, which then branched off along a dusty track through some small villages and farms. I was met by the most welcoming people who insisted in accompanying me on my journey at was treated to a splendid sunrise looking to the East over Gunung Agung and beyond to Mt Rinjani and a rather faint trace of the Gilli Islands.

After this triumph, it was back on the moped and I found my way round to the backside of Gunung Batur where the lava fields from the eruption of 1994 were to be found, dodging an endless stream of fully laden gravel trucks returning to civilisation with their precious cargo and wooping workers hanging off every available handhold. Once in the middle of the lava field which stretched for more than 2 miles across, I began my ascent of Lebah and after only 2 hours reached the summit. Happy happy days!

Moving on, I attempted to get up to Amed that night but bit off rather more than I could chew - after a minor crash on the bike I only made it as far as Padang Bai in the midst of a torrential thunderstorm. It was all a rather rushed affair (much like the end of this blog entry) and I only made a 2 hour stop at Pura Besakih Temple (gong) - the mother temple of Bali en route which really didn't do it justice at all.

The next day I travelled up to (what do you call a man with a pig on is head?) Amed which is a peaceful beach retreat on the north eastern edge of the island. Its remote location keeps the crowds away and gives the place a super relaced feel - it's all still a tourist haven but the locals were so friendly and made me feel very welcome as a lone traveller. ighlights included:

- my room, costing 40,000Rp per night. OMG!!!!

- the wreck of the Japanese warship which lays only 3 metres below the surface easily accessible with only a snorkel & mask
- a superb little restaurant the owner whom had the most beautiful smile I'd ever seen
- and an unforgetable massage which cured a swelling on my foot from the bike crash in less than 24 hours

Nusa Lemboggan

With a few days before I had to fly out to Singapore, I decided to meet up with Catherine and take a Christmas treat break out to the island of Nusa Lembongan off the south-eastern side of Bali.

The islands main industry besides tourism is seaweed farming, something I'd never seen before on this scale. When the tide retreats, the plots of land are revealed, each marked out with individual fence posts. It seemed a strange thing but I guess owning a plot in the sea is no different from that on dry land. The sea weed was not eaten locally, all intended for export to Japan.

The island was stunning and offfered all you could need for a relaxed Chistmas holiday. There was no swell unfortunately so surf was out but atleast that eliminated any dilemna about what to do for the day, and the night, well they sold Bintang to wash down with the stunning sunset.

btw, the rubber rings are used to float the sea weed baskets

On a trek inland, I stumbled across an over grown cemetry and adorned atop one of the gravestones was a Swastika. How Hinduism relates to fascism I couldn't quite imagine as I couldn't think of more far removed if I tried. But apparently, the Swastika is a sign from days of old in the Hindu relegion representing peace and prosperity, a religious and astronomical sign linking the sun, moon, earth and universe, and is also held as a godly sign of eternity as an energy/fire source. Most common you will see swastika at the entrances of houses to bring properity and good fortune to it's inhabitants so I guess the chap that lay beneath was a lucky sole. A much more positive use than third reich employed - read more about the swastika on Wikipedia.

For a Christmas treat, I succumbed to the promises of my friendly neighbour from Drift Divers for some spectacular diving around the island, besides it was a locally owned company so atleast the money was going to the right people. Still a little sceptical after having my mind blown away in the waters around Komodo, we set off in hope of finding some Manta Rays and possibly a straggling Mola Mola (sun fish) that hadn't retreated to the depths yet. Alas, the diving was not all that spectacular and none of the big stuff were playing ball - I felt at times like I was clock watching until the dive was over. Truly spoilt I must be.

To make up for any disappointed the dive master brought along a spear gun to spice things up a bit so I tried my hand at some underwater brutally. It wa not easy with the complications of refraction of light making objects seem closer than they are, the current rediverting the spear in flight, the fish moving and above all me being a terrible shot. I handed over the reigns back to the dive master who quickly succeeded in empaling a leather jacket, a brutish looking triggerfish (payback from komodo) and a pretty little red thing. I would not recommend this for the squeamish as there's a mass of green blood (no red light gets down this far) and the chosen method to carry the fish is to feed a rope through the fish's eye balls whilst it is still alive. Gross! Anyhow, we ate like kings that night, les fruits de la mer, c'est formidable!

So, my time was about up. Just time for one last shopping trip at the market in Denpasar to send some (now belated) christmas presents back home.

fruit & veg

- mangustan fruit

One last drama before I left, having overstayed my visa by 11 days I was required to pay immigration $20US per day. Not so in Indonesia, the land where sadly corruption still rules - a back hander to the customs official of my remainding cash (a deal which was completed in the toilet of the airport) and I was allowed to leave, shaking like a leaf but nonetheless I was not in jail. Perhaps a hypocritical action and we should do our bit to stamp out corruption but it was cheap. Oh dear!

I'm not sure I'll return to Bali again until I fear the pinch of old age as it's a little too commercialised for my liking, unless it's a spring board to Java, Sumutra or Sulawesi that is (yes yes yes!!!). Don't get me wrong, the people are lovely and I had some special times here but it's a pretty screwed up place. I purposely didn't mention terrorism (oops) but the impact Osama (don't surf) and his band of merry distructioners has left a terrible scar. The crime you don't hear about is the impact of the lowly tourists - the resorts are now a far cry from the farming communities on the interior and the locals live the lifestyle of a tourist where money, alcohol and sex industry is a part of life. No going back to the old ways, but why should or would they want to. I felt dirty about the whole affair to be honest. Much better I go somewhere fresh and leave my mark there instead - oh dear, is travelling really selfish??

Hello and welcome to another edition of my bumbling journey across the world. A Christmas Special Edition it was meant to be but alas I did not manage to publish the epilogue in time (or even in the same year for that matter). However, it would have been unfair to do so as Christmas does not really exist in Indonesia apart from to entertain the tourist populous and in honesty I skipped the festive season this year completely. In the same vain, nor could it have been a New Year Special as Balinese-Hindu’s celebrate the coming of the New Year in Mid-April (in accordance with their Lunar Calendar). But it is something special, oh yes, the middle and the end of my trek around Nusa Tengarra - the region in the East of Indonesia which encompasses the islands of Bali, Lombok, Sumbawa & Flores.

I left you last time as I boarded the ferry from Sape on the East coast of Sumbawa on my way to the next principal island in the archipelago Flores. The 8 hour journey would take us across the Flores Sea reputedly home to a series of gigantic whirl pools that swallow the odd fishing boat from time to time. How true this is I have no idea and I'm quickly learning to look upon any statement of fact with scepticism - as my friend Lil in Lombok tells me 'don't trust anybody, especially yourself'.

The ferry was more basic than any I’d seen before – the main deck consisted of rows of delapidated wooden benches which occupied the front half and sides, and a raised wooden lattice serving as a communal bed in the center. The lattice proved an ingenious design as peanut shells, fruit peel and other miscellaneuous items could be neatly disposed of without having to leave your resting place, much to the delight of the cockroaches and ants that teemed beneath. Stacked high in every other available space were crates of fruit, vegetables, woven baskets & rugs, chickens, fighting cocks and goats, add to that 300 or so people and you can appreciate the luxury. The ‘executive’ class tickets which I thankfully declined were a little more luxurious placing you in a quieter room furnished with plastic coated benches that became at one with your bare skin after only a few moments of contact, with a TV playing painfully acted Indonesian TV dramas on loop - I was happier nestled amongst the chickens to be honest and away from the affections of a charming yet a little too touchy-feely lady boy that took a shining to me.

With a delay of only 2 hours (they’re pretty efficient in these parts!) the ferry set sail with the backdrop of another beautiful sunset over Sumbawa. As the only Westerner on the boat, I became a point of interest for those wishing to practice their English skills - the extent of the conversations were mostly limited to ' hello mister', ‘hello, what is your name?’ even some as advanced as ‘where are you from?’ which I thought comical until I reflected that my Bahasa was equally undeveloped and I could only return the same (siapa name anda? & beresal dari mana anda?). However, I befriended a chap on his way from his home in Sidioarsa in East Java to Ende in Flores whose English was impeccable which speeded the journey along sharing stories, improving our language and so forth. We shared the culinary delights on offer - sweet kope (coffee), baso (sheep testicle-like meatballs served on neon noodles with spicy sambal) and soggy peanuts still in there shells - I do mock but it was delicious! Over the course of the night, he rather generously offers me a free lift on to Ende on the other side of Flores. Too good to be true perhaps ?!?!? but he doesn’t look a dangerous man so I agree, why not?

We arrive safely in the port of Labuan Bajo on Flores at 3am and my new friend skips off to collect his truck which is (apparently) parked around the corner and I wait patiently at port for his return. After 1 hour waiting in a rather intimidating and practically deserted port except for a crowd of men who look like they want to eat my liver or relieve me of my wallet, there's still no sign of his return and it looks like he’s pulled a Houdini disappearing act on me - it was too be good true it seems! I still have no idea why he would do such a thing - my favourite two theories being he was kidnapped by aliens or his marajuana-induced short term memory loss got the better of him. Nothing lost & nothing gained on my part other than ever-growing distrust of Muslims and amusing story - I am learning it seems. The crowd of men I previously thought to be would-be thieves actually turn out to be the port night security and absolute gentleman at that, with one giving me a free ride to find a hotel for the night, once he had finished rolling around the floor laughing at my story that is.

Flores

...meaning 'flower' in Portuguese - an appropriate time for me to add a beautiful photo of a Frangipane, a timeless icon for me of Indonesia.

Labuan Bajo is a ramshackle port on the far West coast of Flores, surrounded by steep wooded cliffs which provide a stunning lookout of the thousands of islands dotted around the Flores sea. It’s rapidly becoming a boom town, having doubled in size over the past five years with tourism and commercial transportation alongside traditional industries like fishing as its main growth factors.

The people here are a real mix. As the gateway to the East (Timor, Sumba and beyond) there are lots of truck drivers from as far away as Jakarta (a grueling 7 day journey away) that are passing through and do so on a regular basis. There's also a suprisingly thriving gay scene which my hotel (Bajo Beach) is seemingly the hub for with Victor my overly keen personal servant (entirely voluntary I have to add) leading the way in the game of 'harrass the westerner' - all harmless I assure you. With a trek up into the hills above the town, I did find an enterprising local chap who I tried to give money for food to (see the pic!) but insisted on cigarettes. He supplemented his pension by collecting and selling rocks to passing road crews which befuddled me as there were rocks strewn as far as the eye could see. It rather reminded me of the scene from Monty Python's The Life Of Brian:

stone seller: Stone, sir?
Mother: There's stones everywhere you fool
Stone seller: Oh, not like these, sir. Look at this! Feel the quality of that, that's craftmanship, sir.
Mother: Ehm...all right, two flats and a packet of gravel.

Despite the harrassment of the gay populous, Labuan Bajo does deliver a laid back vibe with some funky bungalow-style digs which overlook the harbour, and a couple of swanky yet over-priced bars. There’s not much to do except kick back and relax, perhaps explore the port and surrounding villages, and most importantly choose your resting spot for the sunset Bintang for which LB is spoilt - the best of which I found to be The Paradise Bar.

Labuan Bajo is however the launch pad for explorations into the world famous Komodo National Park, both above and below the water. With a taste to check reputedly some of the worlds best dive spots I seek out a reputable dive center for which Bajo Divers fitted the bill. Run by an Austrian chap with a rather warped sense of humour and 2 super friendly Dive Masters - one local, the other an Austrian - they were one of the few dive centers employing local shop staff and boat crew, plus they offered free training for their staff to become dive masters so seemed ethical enough. The town was all but devoid of tourists so suprisingly the shop had no bookings which means big bucks for me (one of the down sides of traveling alone) so I took it upon myself to find some punters. The search bears fruit and I with an extra discount for bringing the extra business I'm all set for 2 days of fun on the luxurious dive boat the 'Im So Gang'.

The first days outing was shared with a quite a group - 3 Spaniards who had just passed their PADI Open Water and an Italian/English couple who were somewhat more experienced and the two dive masters. We tackled 2 dive sites both located in the waters to the East of Komodo island. The journey out there was splendour in itself reminding me that there's more to days diving than simply what goes on beneath the waves - passing by beautiful islands with inlets promising untouched beaches, flying fish cruising alongside the boat (they literally do fly or glide more like it, up to 50 metres or so - incredible!), shoals of Tuna bubbling beneath the surface driven into frenzy by an unseen predator.

The first of the 2 dives for the day was at the notorious Batu Bolong reputed in many dive guides to be one of the best if not the best in the region. 'Only dive masters should attempt this' warned one dive shop for the site presents a very real danger - as the tidal currents sweet over and around the partially submerged coral stack, they create an awesome current that spirals down the sheltered side of the column - stray too far from the shelter of the coral and you will be sucked 80 metres down to a welcoming comittee of hammerheads and bull sharks, not recommended.

On entry the current wasn't too bad not that I would stray too far from the coral to really test it. But what a sight, an incredible coral garden teeming with fish life and easily the most impressive and pristine environment I'd seen yet. Although there were no big pelagics on display apart from a passing shoal of Trevailly and some Napolean Wrasse, there was a huge variety of the usual suspects but the highlight for me was the small stuff with an unthinkable variety of nudibranch and, a new one for me, procelain crabs.

The second dive site for the day was was Tatawan Besar - whilst no where near as spectacular as the first, the current was a little more forgiving meaning you could relax a little more. A foolish error in that I 'forgot' what a Trigger Fish was and I watched for what seemed an age the well known display of this mini-terror of the deep first inverting itself (the 1st warning) then swimming around me in tightening circles (the 2nd warning) before she called in her mate who measured almost 2 feet in length (I exagerrate not) to remove me and possibly a finger or two from their nest site. Once I saw those jaws wide open with razor sharp backward-pointing teeth coming straight for a remembered what these demons can do and in a cloud of bubbles and panic I escaped. The hapless Spaniards who followed my every move unfortunately took the brunt of his anger losing a chunk from his left calf muscle - a valuable lesson learnt nonetheless.

The following day, the Spaniards not suprisingly declined the offer to be Triggerfish food and sat it out and with the couple heading off to Ende I had a new crew for the day - up steps 'Mental Marty' who deserves the title entirely - anyone whose motto is 'you gotta die sometime' is bound to have a screw or three lose - and a german called Phil (nice name!).

The two dive sites for the day were Castle Rock and Crystal Rock, situated on the northern tip of Komodo island. More exposed to tides of the East Flores sea, the current at Batu Bulong seemed like a fart in a bath tub compared to these two. At times you had to hang on with both hands to avoid a one way trip to Autralia or more likely the bottom of the food chain. The strong currents do bring their own benefits with some bigger stuff to see including a number of stingrays, white & black tip reef sharks. I really should stop chasing sharks but it seems that 'kodak courage' applies to the person behind the camera too - I'm almost satisfied with the shot but next time just that little bit closer...

The 2nd dive was finished with a real photographic delight - the normal 5 minute safety stop settled us near a sheer column of coral with this perfectly formed rockfish posing in the brilliant sunlight. He was so well camoflauged I almost swam right by but so glad I didn't. Shot of the trip by far!

Having spent 5 days in Labuan Bajo alone, I was running short on time if I wanted to explore Bali so I had to sacrifice a trip out to the volcano Kelimutu. I felt a little aggrieved to leave Flores without exploring in land and I never really got a feel for what is described 'a land that opimitimises Indonesia as the land of volcanoes' but sacrifices have to be made some times. With an opportunity arisen with Mental Marty to take a boat cruise back to Lombok at a bargain price I decided to head back West.

Flores to Lombok Boat Trip

For a bargain price of 600,000Rp (some nifty bartering on my part) I took a 4 day/3 night cruise on a simple boat, designed for 14 but given the lack of tourists we totalled only 4 including me - plenty of space, tonnes of food and no claustrophobia. The trip began with a short sprint across the East Flores sea to the island of Rinca & Komodo to see the feared Komodo Dragons. The outing involved following an ill-trained guide of 16 years or so who, armed with a flimsy wooden stick, took us on a bush walk into the territory of these much feared monsters, the largest living lizard on earth.

The stories that precede this monolithic monsters are legendary with tourists being attacked and dragged off to their lairs, eaten alive over the period of many hours beginning with their feet pausing only to play catch with the poor tourists testicles (just adding my own bit of folklore ;o). None of this is true but there a couple of documented cases worth mention, the love of all things gruesome being so close to the human heart. The most famous case is of a Swiss chap who decided whilst on a tour of Komodo Island to wander off on his own to get some pictures never to be seen again - all that was found were his spectacles and digital camera, oo err. More recently on Rinca, a child of four years died when whilst playing under the stilts of their house, a dragon sneaked from behind unseen and attacked the child at the mid riff. Her startled father went to her rescue and attempted to wrestle his daughter from the jaws of the beast only suceeding in contributing to disembowelling the child in the foray.

I actually found the dragons to be quite pacified thereby proving that looks can be deceiving. As lizards are cold blooded, during the midday heat when we visited they are all but interested in basking in the sun. On the tour of Rinca (by far the better of the two tours), it was common to find a dragon lying prone in the stream bed alongside a Water Buffaloo that appeared to be quite at peace knowing it's only predator lay 3 feet away - quite a serene scene. The ranger gave a different story in that this is how the dragon 'hunts' it's prey by lying perfectly still and waiting for it's prey to stumble into its jaws. The Buffalo's it seems viewed the dragon as a piece of wood making this blundering beast rank alongside the wilderbeast as one of natures prime cannon fodder. In a similar vain, under the leadership of Mental Marty this homo sapien decided to make test the theory by pulling on his tale. Ah, all those $$$s spent on my education - look how far I've come!

However, 2 hours before and we would have witnessed them tearing apart a water buffalo that they caught the previous day. A close up of their claws reveals what damage they could do if they could be bothered to raise their temper. But never fear, the likelihood of you being ripped to shreds on the first encounter is pretty much nill as the dragons will first bite you, injecting you with a debilitating venom that will slowly paralyse you over the period of several hours. Left untreated you will die a slow and painful death, then be eaten by the dragon, but if you can make it to a hospital back in Labuan Bajo you may just survive.

After all that excitement it was time to relax. The menu for the day entirely depended on the success of our fishing abilities - an empty catch meant a feast of Nasi Goreng (rice and egg) but with natures great supermarket at our disposal we only had to endure this just the once. Our Belgium compadre on the trip took to the task of catching dinner with glee, coupled with the expertise of the boat's crew we ate like kings!

Other daily entertainment ranged from the odd spot of snorkelling/dodging jellyfish, playing cards, and pluging head first off the roof of the boat into shallow waters with only coral for a crash mat (another one of Mental Marty's brainchilds).

Looking back the trip was much fun & most relaxing if not a little expensive if you paid the full 1 mill asking price that is. One concern that sticks in my mind was where exactly the rubbish went to as there was seemingly none on the boat at all at the end of the trip and having been at sea for 4 days there can only be one explanation as to where it went. I read several weeks later a complaint from a guy who took a similar trip with the rival company Perama, who awoke in the night to witness bin bags being thrown overboard in national park waters no less. I didn't see this first hand but it's hard to imagine where else the rubbish went. Indonesia is not so good at looking after it's natural resources to say the least and perhaps I/we should boycott such unethical operators. I voiced my concerns and was met with laughter aand a shrug of the shoulders so what could I do. I wish more but this really is the tip of the ice berg - I didn't see a single landfill the whole time I was in Indonesia, one of the great mysteries, perhaps.

On arrival in Lombok, I headed back to familiar ground to the island's capital Mataram seeking the luxury of a room with a bathroom. En route from the bus station to my chosen digs The Mataram Hotel, and would you believe it but who should pull alongside me on another motorbike but my old friend Lil, quite a coincidence in a town of over 50,000 people. At this time Lil was far a friend as I was feeling cheated by his overpriced tobacco scam at our last meeting but Lil was keen to make up for any grievance. Escorting me to the hotel, he secured me a double room with ensuite and TV for the bargain price of 40,000Rp, by far the most luxurious accomodation I'd stayed in so far on this trip. So far so good.

Inspired by Mental Martys adventures in Java and missing out on climbing Kelimuto on Flores, my next steps were to climb Indonesia's 3rd highest volcano Mount Rinjani rising 3,726m above the highly fertile lowlands dotted with rice, soybeans, coffee, tobacco, cotton, cinnamon and vanilla plantations. For the people of Lombok, Sasak and Balinese alike, the volcano is revered as a sacred place and abode of deities. Segara Anak crater lake is the destination of thousand of pilgrims who place offerings in the water and bathe away disease in the hot springs - whilst I was not diseased apart from some infected mosquito bites it seemed a worthy pilgrimage to get closer to my mum.

Lil 'knew a man' who organised treks so on the back of his hotel performance I agreed to travel with him to arrange a trip to Senaru, a small village located at the foot of Rinjani. After a bumpy bemo ride, we met with his 'friend' who turned out merely to be an aquaitance and it quickly became apparent I was about to enter another scam. The 'friend' insisted that it was impossible (infact illegal was his claim) to climb Rinjani alone and you must take an organised trip through the Rinjani Trek Center for the list price of around 1,000,000Rp - if I did not I should leave town immediately as people would be upset and he would be unable to protect me. Unwilling to become a source of some kind of civil uprising, and after checking that the organisation was bonified it was with great reluctance I agreed but at a vastly reduced price of 400,000Rp.

(I later found out that it is perfectly ok to climb alone and infact the crater rim hike is easily achievable unguided - however I would not recommend the full 3-4 day hike without a guide as this is serious business.)

With money spent the deal was done so I cleared my head with some cerebal relief with Lil at a spectacular waterfall and enjoyed a slap up meal to prep for the next day.

The trek begins at sunrise when I meet my fellow companions for the trip - the guide, a porter and his friend who's coming along for the ride. The first hours climb steeply through thick tropical forest rich in flora like wild orchids and wild raspberiies, bird life and variety of butterflies.

We were lucky to see the rare black ebony leaf monkey, known locally as lutung who stalked us along the main rail for some time then made a sweeping attack for our snack food when we rested at the bayan tree 'bunut ngenkang' that looks like someone standing with their legs apart.

We camped for the night at position 3 at Mondokon Lolak (2,000m) after about five hours climb from Senaru. With a slap up meal of Nasi Goreng that never tasted so good and some traditional Sasak songs bashed out on the guitar that I thought on the climb unnecessary but now saw the reason for, our spirits were soaring higher than the peak of Rinjani that lay hidden behind the final 600m of the climb.

Excitement got the better of me and I insisted that we make the final push that night for a sneak preview of the crater lake. What a sight! It was one of those moments in my life where I was truly lost for words, I could not have expected in all my wildest dreams to be experiencing the natural beauty displayed in front of me - the 6 km by 8.5 km oval-shaped caldera partially filled by a mirror lake known as Segara Anak leading to the towering summit of Mount Rinjani and within the crater, Mount Baru which is an active volcano, last erupting dramatically in 1994. Stunning!

After a night gathered around the campfire fueled with Barum (rice wine) singing Sasak and me returning Western pop songs (I never sing but this night was different), I awoke to find a perfectly clear day. Eager to take in the view one more time I awoke my porter and we practically sprinted the 600m back to the crater rim - it was no less spectacular the 2nd time around. Further more gazing north you could see the Gili Isles where I'd partyed 3 weeks before, and to the west Bali and the mighty Mount Agung.

With the mission accomplished, we descended down the trail down to senaru village through first grassland then back into the shade of the tropical forest for what should have been 7 hours but what took more like 3. Timing was impeccable as as we arrived in the village the heavens opened and I was reminded that this most definately the wet season.

Arriving back in Mataram, I hooked up once again with Lil and we sat down for a long chat to try to resolve our friendship. He admitted he had tried to make some money from me but that he had to do it which I didn't quite understand what he meant - I could accept that yes I had money but there was no need to deceive me - that was what hurt my heart and made me want to flee. To make me understand why, Lil decided to invite me to his home that evening - it was his 4 year old son's birthday so we would celebrate with a meal cooked by his wife and then go party with his friends.

His house was in what I can only describe as the slums in the east of Mataram, a simple 4x4m front room containing a single table on which rested a packet of noodles and a single egg, the floor lined with cardboard; and a single 2x4m bedroom attached. Despite it's size, the rent was for 130,000Rp a month, add to that electricity and money for transport 40,000Rp per month which leaves the princely sum of 40,000Rp remainding from the family income to feed and cloth his son, wife and 6 month old baby. I was beginning to understand why he had overcharged me the equivalent of $8 for that tobacco. I felt like an asshole.

For his birthday, Lil's son received a colouring book and a t-shirt handed down from the neighbours and the child's smile was nowhere to be seen as it was the first year they hadn't had a celebration for his birthday. I asked Lil what he really needed and he replied a bag for school so we headed off into Mataram on a mid-night shopping trip. The bag we bought for the bargain price of 40,000Rp was way too big but would be good until he was 10 or so. The smile on his face when I gacve him his gift was unbelievable. I've no idea what he really thought of this pale faced stranger bringing gifts as my attempts to converse in Bahasa were unanswered but I hope he was happy. It was breaking my heart to watch this and I felt such guilt for my scepticism and distrust of the past few weeks - I was glad to leave to meet Lil's friends for the party.

The night that followed was crazy - 6 plastic bags of Barum (rice wine)were consumed at an exclusive road-side location next to a bridge on the main road to Mataram. Once we were truly sozzled we hopped on the motorbikes (2-3 on each) and sped across town, yelping, standing on the seats, passing smokes betwen bikes. I should have been killed I'm sure but pumped full of adrenalin we arrived at The Strip where all the young things of Mataram had come out to party - hundreds of motorbikes lined the streets as we shared coffees and good times all in different native tongue but all in the same language of laughter.

It was with fond memories that I left Mataram the next morning on my way to the port of Lembar to catch the ferry back to Bali - I felt like I'd gained a brother, lost many brain cells and a few nights sleep in the process granted, but perhaps the closest 'native' friend I'd made since Eroni on Fiji. I promised Id reurn to see Lil, I hope I can live up the promise. Next stop Bali for my last 7 days in Indonesia.

The flight takes us north over the Tasman Sea, flying directly over Sydney Harbour and the barron red landscape of the Australian outback, across the Java Sea to Singapore. The stop off gives me chance to acclimatize to the heat/humidity which is a massive shock and I sweat buckets, that and explore the city a little. I’m trying to find something good to say but to me it’s just another big gleaming cosmopolitan city - big business rules and the little people are dwarfed like a scene from Blade Runner with a face lift. The highlight for me was being turfed out of Raffles Hotel (birth place of the Singapore Sling) for an inappropriate dress code, free internet at the homestay, cheap camera equipment hyper markets (a new wide angle lense add-on) and the walk along the Singapore River promenade and the impressive Esplanade Theatre. Other than that the airport is very nice, but I hear that the island Pulau Ubin above Changi is more the authentic Singapore so I’ll check that out on my return.

The next day I fly into Denpasar on the sunny island of Bali, back tracking half the distance I traveled the day before, silly the way things work but at least I’m making a healthy contribution to global warming. I do hate the cold ; o) The airport is not actually in Denpasar at all so I don’t know why they say that, the closest city is Kuta which my home for the next couple of days. It’s a manic place so where better to say than the Bali Manic homestay, an ironic name as it’s down a little side street off Poppies II which makes it quite the peaceful retreat. The first night I take a stroll along the beach and discover it’s a good place to pick up a gay lover (run away!), that and be bitten by impossibly small red ants that hurt like hell. I try to head home but am sucked into the Bali hedonism meeting up first with some Indo-long timers discovering the power of Bintang beer, then onto the Reggae Club with live band and downing sickly sweet shakers of Illusion, then onto a club by which time I’m so drunk the name or music doesn’t matter anymore. The rest is a blur.

I awake mid-morning with a stinking hangover and realize the importance of stocking up with water before going out. It’s nothing that a day at the beach can’t cure tho so I team up with my new buddy Tobias from Sweden and we head to the beach picking up a whale of a surf board on the way. The waves are pretty tame which is good news as I’m scared of ripping my arm out of it’s socket but to my surprise it holds up a dream and I can paddle like a champ, not full strength but then again it never was so I’m stoked, dude.

The next morning I explore Kuta and the culture shock hits home – everything is missing a price tag and bartering is the way, constant offers of transport, buy this or that, massage/marriage, ah you wear sunglasses mister maybe you need another pair, t-shirts starting at 150,000 Rupiah and ending up for 2,000 Rupiah. I arrive home with some flip-flops with a shelf life of about 10 minutes, a necklace made of the finest plastic, and manicured nails (hands & feet), all that and an empty pocket. It’s all a bit much but I can laugh at my own vulnerability. Put in context blowing the equivalent of 20 quid is not that bigger deal but I’ll need to sharpen up and get to know the costs of stuff.

After recommendations of just about all that come to Indonesia I arrange a trip to Gilli Trawanga situated off the north-east coast of Lombok (the next island east of Bali), promising myself to return to Bali to fully explore. It’s a tourist trip which works out a 10x the cost than local buses (175,000 Rp) but I feel like treating myself (again). We start with a mini bus to Padangbai then a ferry across to Lembar where I meet my companions for the next week - 3 dutch brothers one of whom (Eddie) was born in Bodor just south of Jakarta (George Bush visited their this month), adopted at 4 years old moving to Amsterdam. It was really a home coming trip and they have many great tales of traveling through in the wilds of Java. Also meet a group of Brits between the ages of 21 and 60 who are doing an overland trip from London to Darwin (Australia) – wow! (See http://www.buckden-village.co.uk for details of their trip.) On the journey I ponder how the next month will work out I begin to hatch a plan to work my way East quick sharp and explore fully on the way back, we’ll see.

After docking I meet the travel agent to arrange the return ferry who insists my name is Phillips (like the light bulb) and we switch to a minibus cruising through stunning plantations, jungle highlands and dodging road-side monkeys to a small port called Bangsal to catch the boat to Gilli Trawangan. I’m hustled into buying some repellant for man eating, malaria carrying mosquitoes that of course don’t exist but at least the impact on the wallet is getting less with experience. Ha ha!

Gilli Trawangan is a beautiful little island – white sand beaches, palm trees, crystal clear water and reminds me of Fiji. It proves a great place to chill out and I discover the meaning of ‘Pilam Pilam’ (take it easy) with 3 days quickly turn into a week – snorkeling with turtles, relaxing on the beach, supping on a Bintang, surfing, boat trips around the islands and some night time antics - a sign on the main strip reading ‘Bloody F*cking Strong Mushrooms For Sale Here’ says it all. With no police on the island (except those here to party) every imaginable drug is available from marijuana to ecstasy to magic mushrooms. It’s all good fun until you realize the impact it’s had on the largely transient locals who it seems this is all they do for work and play, quite sad really. Anyhow the Bintang is great, local whiskey kicks ass and I discover my first Indonesian cuisine Nasi Goreng. Hmmm!

Also great to see money being spent by Project Aware (the PADI affiliate) who invest here in coral reef rejuvenation with the aid of electrified metal grids and a turtle sanctuary. It’s great to see and the local dive shops are happy with the extra trade, plus the extra income they get, very positive indeed! I’m not sure it should extend to collecting giant clams from other dive sites that you can now see off the north of Gilli Air but there you go.

After 7 days chilling to sub zero temperatures it’s time to head back to Lombok, stopping first to abuse the mosquito scam guy is trying to pull the same trick on a new batch of tourists. On the way through the highlands, the door of our overloaded bus decides to open and an English girls falls out onto the road. She’s ok, a little shaken with cuts, bruises and suspected broken wrist but it could have been much worse – yet another thing to check before getting on a bus, and don’t believe the re-assurance of travel agents who talk of responsibility as ours washed his hands clean of this quick sharp.

By the time we arrive in Mataram, I’ve decided to head east to Sumbawa. I’m dissuaded by a motorbike driver not to buy from travel agency for trips on other islands, instead to take the local bus. I already knew it’s much cheaper this way and perhaps a more rewarding experience but a new ingredient for the mix is that the ticket may not even by valid when you arrive. OK, so his advice is to trust nobody which turns out to be sound as he then rips me off for some unauthentic locally grown tobacco. I wonder if I can trust myself, or my instincts, but that might get confusing as I might try to double bluff myself which in turn might become a double negative. I decide damage limitation is the best way forward for now until I can resolve this conundrum.

Now alone once again I take a bus to the port of Labuhan Lombok then a ferry to Poto Tano, Sumbawa followed by another bus to the town of Dompu. The latter leg of the journey is in darkness so I miss the apparently glorious countryside which is a shame but perhaps I’ll see it on the return journey.

I arrive in the village of Legara 6kms east of Dompu at 2am where I’ve arranged to stay with the family of the travel agent from Mataram. I realize my error when the bus speeds away leaving the taste of dust in my mouth that I don’t know the family name let alone where to find their house and panic sets in. After what seems like hours but actually was a matter of minutes, from out of the darkness I hear a voice calling ‘Phillips’ and relief washes over me.

The family welcome me with open arms and after a good nights sleep and a refreshing bath in the river I meet all 22 members of the family and I tell stories of my travels, share fresh fruit and tobacco, teach the children some English and I learn some Bahasa. It’s a very rewarding experience and the frustrations of the deception the day before are gone.

Time flies by and it’s soon time to head off the Hu’u to the world famous surf mecca Lakey Beach. I travel on the back of a motorbike with a full backpack and discover a new level of pain and perhaps an effective treatment for cellulite removal.

Lakey Beach features on the Pro World Surf Tour offering 3 stunning surf breaks within paddling distance of the beach – Lakey Peak, Lakey Pipe and err, Lakey Something Else. I’m a little cocky thinking my snowboarding skills and extensive 5 days surfing experience will carry me through but I soon get my ass kicked and reside to shore. The quality of the surfers is unbelievable with riders representing from all over the world including Brazil, France, US and England (hooray!) but all are outshined by the locals (mainly 9 to 13 year olds). I’m thinking maybe I should have saved this place for when I can actually surf, too much too soon perhaps.

I try my hand at surf photography; my camera is on the way out so only a few pictures work out but some good results nonetheless. I now have absolute respect for those guys in the water as the optimum place to be is also the place for maximum wave power destruction and at times I think I’m going to drown under the relentless >2m swell.

I befriend a local guy (Brum) who invites me to eat with him that evening, providing I pay for the food, not a problem. When the shopping list begins with 2 whole tuna fish (a snip at 25,000 Rp) I realize that it’s not just the two of us dining tonight but I go along with the plan. I spend a total of 100,000 Rp (6 UKP) which includes some Bintang and local wine to wash down the meal. As I expected we’re feeding all his friends and it turns into a real party and Brum begins to act strange as it becomes obvious of his scheme. I explain to Brum earlier I knew what was happening from the start and their was no need to try to con me into it, it’s only 6 quid to me after all and was well worth it to make the party – I would have done the same if he’d been honest. He gets quite upset and tells me it’s just the way it is here - if you don’t do it you go hungry which is really sad that he’s forced into lying to survive. But then again, maybe if I/all tourists didn’t he would have to make a trade and become independent, it’s very difficult to know what is best to do.

With my surf bug fulfilled or more like quashed under the awesome power of the Lakey Breaks its the to head off to Flores to seek a life long dream of meeting a Komodo Dragon face to face in its natural setting. I take the easy option of a car with the owner of the hotel to Sape, again a pricey affair at 200,000 Rp where I can catch a ferry to Lambuan Bajo, the main port on Flores. We pass through more spectacular scenery; barren sun burnt red landscapes turn into lush, green irrigated farmland with paddy fields and populated by Raedon-esque characters and water buffalo, salt farms and some villages with traditional rice drying huts on stilts.

We arrive in Sape to discover I’ve missed the boat (story of my life) by only 1 hour, bad information from the locals. With time to kill I catch up on some rest and take some time to learn and practice Bahasa. Very proud of myself, I take a shopping trip to buy a mosquito net (kelambu) and using Pictionary skills and some broken Bahasa I manage to find one for only 20,000 Rp, that and trade some unwanted underwear for some mangos. I meet up with some French travelers who fell to the same fate as myself of bad information and have to turn back as no time to see Komodo before their flight home. I’m introduced by the owner of the hotel as an Indonesian travel expert; I try not to laugh but perhaps my new hard nosed approach I role played when I arrived is working.

So I take the ferry for a bargain price of 39,0000 Rp for an 8 hour journey across the Flores see, alone once again except for the 1000 or so people packed on the boat that is. And so a new adventure begins...