As I sit down at a corner table in my favourite local bar, having just ordered a glass of wine and a meal that will set me back the equivalent of three meals in Lombok, I look around and feel nevertheless glad to be home, even though my wallet has lost weight while I have gained it.
Our week in Lombok was everything I was hoping for; a holiday for six women all with the same mission in mind, to spend their time adventuring and sitting by the pool in equal measures. The food on the plane took interminably long to arrive and was pretty blah when it did, so we arrived on the island feeling more than ready for a proper meal. A brief haggle for a taxi (Silvana scored us a good deal there) and we then piled into the “six seater”…a taxi with six seats, but no boot for the luggage. It was a mad drive down the one main road (built for tourism), playing chicken with innumerable cars and motorbikes coming the other way. Lots of beeping to communicate “excuse me” or “watch out, I’m behind you” meant that the traffic somehow veered around itself. It was a relaxed, Lombokian sort of madness – nothing compared to many other countries but still a bit breathtaking at times.
We arrived at the Sheraton in Sengiggi, buddying up into pairs to share sumptuous rooms overlooking the beautiful gardens. My roomie Anya and I spent the first night in somewhat “fragrant” surroundings – the drain in our bathroom emitted a reasonably offensive smell. When it came time to clean our teeth in the noxious fog we agreed that we would ask for a new room. We ended up in a room by the pool – pure luxury with a balcony that lulled one into a mood of relaxing.
Our week in Lombok was everything I was hoping for; a holiday for six women all with the same mission in mind, to spend their time adventuring and sitting by the pool in equal measures. The food on the plane took interminably long to arrive and was pretty blah when it did, so we arrived on the island feeling more than ready for a proper meal. A brief haggle for a taxi (Silvana scored us a good deal there) and we then piled into the “six seater”…a taxi with six seats, but no boot for the luggage. It was a mad drive down the one main road (built for tourism), playing chicken with innumerable cars and motorbikes coming the other way. Lots of beeping to communicate “excuse me” or “watch out, I’m behind you” meant that the traffic somehow veered around itself. It was a relaxed, Lombokian sort of madness – nothing compared to many other countries but still a bit breathtaking at times.
We arrived at the Sheraton in Sengiggi, buddying up into pairs to share sumptuous rooms overlooking the beautiful gardens. My roomie Anya and I spent the first night in somewhat “fragrant” surroundings – the drain in our bathroom emitted a reasonably offensive smell. When it came time to clean our teeth in the noxious fog we agreed that we would ask for a new room. We ended up in a room by the pool – pure luxury with a balcony that lulled one into a mood of relaxing.
The first day – Wednesday – A little walking and a lot of eating
Day one was spent getting our bearings; we walked about 5 or 6 km through Sengiggi, checking out the local shops, restaurants, visiting a tailor (fabric purchase number one) and ending up in the bar of a small boutique hotel. Lombok is a true paradise to the visitor. As always with visiting poorer, cheaper countries, there is an underlying sense of guilt at your own privilege that is only barely assuaged by the tips you give, the smiles you flash, the straight‑from‑the‑weaver fabrics that you buy and the haggling that you do not do. I will never understand how some people can bargain over a dollar or two on something that is clearly worth the asking price. (Hence I’ve spent rather a lot on fabrics!) We returned to our hotel and lolled in the waters of the many swimming pools before meeting for a banquet meal by the beautiful swimming pool. Each night there was some sort of entertainment while a large head of rock, with red glowing eyes, spewed smoke out across the water. Fires were lit and the atmosphere was one of tribal decadence. The banquet marked the beginning of our Indonesian food safari, and the undoing of my flat stomach.Day two – Thursday – Snorkeling at Gili islands
Our second day involved a trip to the Gili (“little”) islands. We drove along the one tourist road, passing large grassy areas that were home to cows, chickens running wild, discarded plastic bags, and the occasional picnic. The poverty in Lombok is always there. In Bali there are posh restaurants and hotels and bars to hide some of it, but in Lombok it is still an island life, still simple one room shacks, still dirty streets that are so far from home. The people smile and are friendly – though I was hissed at by a lady from whom I refused to buy some piece of junk. The men laughed at my name – I was eventually told that it means “coconut milk” in Sasak – perfect description for the whitest woman most of them have ever seen. We piled onto a dive boat and made our way to whichever Gili island we were snorkeling at.We spent an hour and a half floating in the water, heads down ever-watchful of the fish that were swimming by. We chased turtles and hovered over the pursed-lipped yellow trumpet fish. A school of fish swam around me, swirling in a sudden flash of colour and light that made me send a kazoo-like yelp of delight through my snorkel. Dark brown fish with bright orange box shapes on their sides, bright blue fish that pierced the eyes with a blue so iridescent as to be other worldly, like a rift had opened up in a neighbouring fairytale dimension and these little fish had leaked through, undiscovered by whoever painted the rest of the universe. A pair of fish with orange/blue/orange markings from head to tail. Fish with stripes, fish with rainbow colours, fish hiding among the coral, peeking out at the intruders.
Snorkeling for so long can leave the uninitiated with a feeling of sea-sickness, and on occasion I had to pop my head out for air. The view was just as beautiful above the surface; verdant green islands rocking languidly over the reflective blue water, little huts adorning their beaches, a sleek wooden pirate ship that turned out to be a boat for hire, people astride paddle boards silhouetted against the bright sky, other dive boats with their wide bamboo “legs” stretching out on either side. Unfortunately it was occasionally, and shockingly, marred by the requisite eastern European girl, g-string bikini flashing the globes of her butt to the sky as she floated in her life jacket above the rest of us – it would surely be painfully red the next day and few of us could stifle a gasp and a giggle when we popped our head out of the water only to be met with these two European radishes bobbing ahead of us.
Lunch was spent on one of the islands, where we wandered for a little while to soak in the Rotto-like vibe. No vehicles on the island, just pony-driven carts and sandy tracks winding along the beach past bars and bars and bars… we learned that each bar takes it in turn to host the party each night. The island was studded with ridiculously cool people sitting at these bars, smoking like it was still in fashion, limp brown hands dangling over boardshorted legs, long hair wafting in the breeze, unisex in their thinness and their chilled out coolness. Basically, it was overrun with a bunch of French people. I felt like a big coconut-milk girl in a little brown chestnut world, and gladly retired to a restaurant for lunch. The afternoon was spent relaxing on the boat chatting to other travellers before we headed back to the main island, to our car, to our hotel, and finally to the pool.
Day three – Friday – Sukarara weaving village
Lombok is home to the Sasak‑ the native islanders. Their religion is a combination of Hindu and Muslim, and their crafts are weaving, pottery and wood carving. The weaving in particular is spectacular. On our third day we hired a driver to take us to Sukarara which is a weaving village that has a cooperative catering to tourism. We wandered through the village, visiting the little one room bamboo huts with dirt floors and colourful walls (most dwellings are painted brightly in Lombok). Young women sat weaving, filling their day with this chore.
Our guide, a local, introduced us to her friends and family, and we had the chance to try our hands at the loom. The women taught us you to weave the brightly coloured threads in and out amongst darker threads, spines of bamboo sitting at the top of the loom to control the pattern. The threads are cotton and the dyes are natural.
In Sukarara most of the weaving is brightly coloured, but they have learned to cater to the tastes of tourists and their patterns vary accordingly. There are wonderful examples of ikat (currently a huge trend in the home decoration circuit) as well as a lot of golden‑threaded designs reminiscent of Indian saris. After contributing two or three lines to the pattern, we visited the shop and bought the beautiful fabrics at "tourist prices" ‑ which were still excellent value. I left with a tapestry of a “primitive man” for my wall and a beautiful colourful, soft shawl for my shoulders.
On the way back to the hotel we visited a small fishing village, while our driver Sylvester chatted to us about the island, his home (a one room hut costing about AUD50 a month in rent), his hobby (playing soccer) and his ambition (to find a European wife). He smiled and laughed a lot and kept us entertained with his cheeky flirtations. We hung with some kids, took photos to show them (to their delight), hi-fived them and I told a blushing girl that she was beautiful in Indonesian, then we jumped back in the car and returned to the sanctuary of the Sheraton. For the remainder of the afternoon we ate the world’s greatest ever fish and chips, downed Bintangs galore, and giggled at the shy sideways glances at our bikini clad bodies that the waiters simply couldn’t resist. In the evening it was a dinner of Italian on the beach.
To be continued…
... except it never was continued, I didn't get around to finishing. So here it is, as-is, because why not.
