A Tropical Vacation
Going to Bali was never on my agenda. It's the sort of place that brings to mind images of fat Australians being drunk and obnoxious, or otherwise lying on the beach, obtaining massages from undernourished, impoverished locals. Still, when I found out that the cheapest way to fly to Japan was through Indonesia, I was a little excited. With a big island, even if it does have fat obnoxious tourists lazing around, there must surely be places to escape that and to have an authentic existentially nourshing experience, or some other bullshit that my over-intellectualising brain tends to churn out and hope for.
Unfortunately, there are not, or if there are, they're too much of a bother to get to.
Being bothered with anything is not something I'm currently capable of. Luckily, in every tourist den filled with the unceasing hollering of "motorcycle, transport, taxi, massage, sarong", there are a few decent, relaxed people... and I've done well in finding them. Hence, I've settled for a few days in Padangbai - the main ferry port out to the island of Lombok.
First, there are the people I live with at the Made Guesthouse. They are there to help with any needs, but don't ask every day if you want to rent a motorbike. Then, there is Martini, a lovely woman who has a small restaurant outside of the main tourist drag. She started off as an illiterate villager, selling sarongs on the beach. Now she's renting her own shop, and has enough money to send her kids to school. Her 8 y.o. daughter is a splending dancer, and is more than willing to show off. Martini has done splendidly when it comes to acquiring language abilities. She managed to learn to read and write from tourists at a late age, and it's a real shame that she didn't have the opportunities to fully develop her abilities.
For the past few days I've been travelling with a lovely couple from Berlin. We met on Nusa Lombogan which was the archetype of an impoverished village suddenly hit by an influx of money and tourism. Both of them knew who Klaus Kinski and Einsturzende Neubauten were, and it took us 5 minutes to realise that we liked each other. When the locals decided to charge me 3x the local price to the neighbouring island, Nusa Penida, and only let me talk them down to 2x the local price, I decided to tag along across the South Bali sea to Padangbai.
That made me happy. We ended up with 5 villagers in a sailing vessel the size of a large canoe. 8 people in total. Great move for the open seas. Luckily, the swell wasn't large that day, so only my back was drenched in the water.
Today, I'm in Ubud, the old capital, epicentre of all things hideously touristic. Walked around a forest park and looked at some temples infested with angry monkeys and mostly fat tourists. The only exception to the fat tourist rule are the Japanese, of whom there are quite a few here for some reason. Thankfully, I've hired a 110cc scooter to get here and so in a few hours I'll head back to Padangbai. It's a nice ride - overtaking in the face of oncoming traffic, dodging cats, dogs, children, potholes, or being held up by local village festivals which spill out into the street, with the crowd following some kind of colourful, carried idol. The only protective gear is a helmet that wouldn't help in a bicycle crash, and I'm wearing sandals to top it all off. The scooter has 70,000 km on the clock and hardly any front brake pads, but I feel it will get me home.
I feel that it'll get
Unfortunately, there are not, or if there are, they're too much of a bother to get to.
Being bothered with anything is not something I'm currently capable of. Luckily, in every tourist den filled with the unceasing hollering of "motorcycle, transport, taxi, massage, sarong", there are a few decent, relaxed people... and I've done well in finding them. Hence, I've settled for a few days in Padangbai - the main ferry port out to the island of Lombok.
First, there are the people I live with at the Made Guesthouse. They are there to help with any needs, but don't ask every day if you want to rent a motorbike. Then, there is Martini, a lovely woman who has a small restaurant outside of the main tourist drag. She started off as an illiterate villager, selling sarongs on the beach. Now she's renting her own shop, and has enough money to send her kids to school. Her 8 y.o. daughter is a splending dancer, and is more than willing to show off. Martini has done splendidly when it comes to acquiring language abilities. She managed to learn to read and write from tourists at a late age, and it's a real shame that she didn't have the opportunities to fully develop her abilities.
For the past few days I've been travelling with a lovely couple from Berlin. We met on Nusa Lombogan which was the archetype of an impoverished village suddenly hit by an influx of money and tourism. Both of them knew who Klaus Kinski and Einsturzende Neubauten were, and it took us 5 minutes to realise that we liked each other. When the locals decided to charge me 3x the local price to the neighbouring island, Nusa Penida, and only let me talk them down to 2x the local price, I decided to tag along across the South Bali sea to Padangbai.
That made me happy. We ended up with 5 villagers in a sailing vessel the size of a large canoe. 8 people in total. Great move for the open seas. Luckily, the swell wasn't large that day, so only my back was drenched in the water.
Today, I'm in Ubud, the old capital, epicentre of all things hideously touristic. Walked around a forest park and looked at some temples infested with angry monkeys and mostly fat tourists. The only exception to the fat tourist rule are the Japanese, of whom there are quite a few here for some reason. Thankfully, I've hired a 110cc scooter to get here and so in a few hours I'll head back to Padangbai. It's a nice ride - overtaking in the face of oncoming traffic, dodging cats, dogs, children, potholes, or being held up by local village festivals which spill out into the street, with the crowd following some kind of colourful, carried idol. The only protective gear is a helmet that wouldn't help in a bicycle crash, and I'm wearing sandals to top it all off. The scooter has 70,000 km on the clock and hardly any front brake pads, but I feel it will get me home.
I feel that it'll get
posted by nekonote1903 at 4:27 pm
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