From Bali, I made my way to the Philippines with a short stopover in Phuket for Songkran. Now, Phuket really isn’t much to write home about. Although a popular destination for tourists visiting Thailand, it lacks any real character and what might have been charming at one time has now become overshadowed by huge resorts and a burgeoning sex industry. Luckily though, it was Songkran, Thailand’s annual water festival, so it was a little easier to just turn a blind eye to the surrounding environment and celebrate a truly authentic Thai holiday.
I made my way to Phuket via KL, and while boarding my flight, I got chatting to two Malaysian girls who were headed to Songkran as well. They told me to find them when we landed, so we could split a taxi to Patong Beach. I did just that, and on the way to the hotel, they told me what to expect.
Songkran is a water festival. Originally, it was a celebration of a new solar year and Thais used to sprinkle water on Buddha for good luck, but slowly this has evolved to spraying, or should I say dousing each other with water, in a loosely arranged street parade.
The girls told me to go with them to their hotel, drop my bags, and then we would purchase our water guns and head out on the street prepared to fight back. Thankfully, I had some warning because the walk from the taxi to the hotel alone left me drenched, but all the more excited to get out there and join in. The rest of the day was spent fighting Thais and other tourists with water guns, water balloons and buckets of water….a great New Year’s celebration – better than a balldrop if you ask me!
We arrived to overcast skies in Bali, which was odd, but we didn’t let the weather hold us back. It was now officially my last night with “the frenchies,” so we decided to go out with a bang. After some Bintangs and padang food (local Indonesian cuisine), we made our way to Kuta, sin city of Bali. How you can detest a place, yet find yourself back there again and again is beyond me, but that is Kuta. It’s dirty, debaucherous but oh so much fun.
We headed to some bars off of Poppies 1, where Flo and Marty decided it was a good idea to drink tequila. I stuck to my tasty tropical drinks for as long as I could, but when Flo came back to the table with 9 shots of tequila, I decided I couldn’t really let them try to drink all of it themselves now, could I? Plus, the peer pressure was mounting. So, with each of my three shots I not so silently cursed Flo, and they laughed at me as I just about managed to gulp them down and keep them down. Tequila, really?
From here, the night took a course of its own. The next thing I remember was a loud knock on my bedroom door at 7am. I figured it was the guys saying goodbye before making their way to Bromo, but it was Flo just making his way home from the club. I wish I could post one of the many nice pictures of the three of us on our last night, toasting our tequila, but cameras were lost, phones were lost. We did all manage to hold onto our dignity though, I think.
We all said an awful, hurried, hungover goodbye that morning, and I fell back into bed for a couple more hours sleep and then ventured out for a cure, a full English breakfast.
It was immediately odd to be without the guys. We had been on the same path for over 2 weeks in Indonesia alone, not to mention our other crossings in Borneo. Thankfully, we had promised each other at least an attempt to meet up in the Philippines if it was possible to make our paths cross.
My last few days in Bali were spent sorting the last leg of my trip to the Philippines, and needless to say, were a lot calmer and quieter.
From Ubud, I had a few days in Kuta (yes, I actually found myself in this debaucherous city again) and then a few days relaxing in a little bungalow on Gili Air. I had reconnected with the Frenchies, Alex and Flo, again, and we were making our way to Mount Rinjani.
April 1st marked the opening of the trails, so we booked in with a guide and a porter for a 3 day/2 night trek. The day started out really warm and clear and we began our hike to Rest Post 1. About one hour in, the rain began and it wasn’t just a light drizzle, it was monsoon like rain, drenching rain that soaks your clothes within minutes. Of course, what had I forgotten in my small overnight bag? My poncho!!
Our guide Tarid did all he could to help keep us dry. I had a plastic sleeping mat draped over my head and hanging down my back to keep my bag dry. This was tied around my waist with a plastic piece of string. Alex and Flo were hiking while holding a plastic tarp over the two of them. It was a sight.
We reached the rest area at Post 2 around 2:00. We were all soaked, my shoes were gushing water, and the trail had turned into more of a ravine than a trekking path. We headed for cover while Tarid prepared some coffee and lunch. The problem was, we were freezing. We wanted to put on dry clothes, but we also had to conserve what we had, knowing that we would want to be dry and warm at night when the temperatures dropped.
The rain continued for another two hours at least, and we just sat and watched, and tried to stay warm. It finally cleared up around 5:00 and we made our way 2.3 kilometers up to where we would sleep for the night just as it got dark. The trekking for the most part hadn’t been too challenging on the first day, it was just the weather that put a damper on things.
We set up our tent, put on dry (and warmer clothes) and I positioned myself as close to the cooking fire as possible to try and warm up my feet. Tarid prepared a delicious dinner of Nasi Goreng, and I managed to somewhat dry my shoes by the fire. We headed to our tent around 10:00 knowing we had a 4:30 wake up call, but none of us slept that well. I was squashed between Alex and Flo and those sleeping mats mentioned before were better at protecting us from the rain than they were at cushioning our bodies. Each time I turned over I could feel my bones roll over the wooden beams.
The cold air and a cup of coffee was enough to help us get going the following morning, and we packed up our campsite and headed for a 2 hour trek up to the sunrise viewpoint. We hadn’t been afforded many good views up until this point as most of the trekking the first day was through the rainforest, but as the sun rose, we had amazing views of the surrounding landscape, the Gili Islands in the distance and Bali’s Gunung Agung.
We weren’t at the rim for sunrise- the trek had taken longer than expected, but there was no reason to be disappointed because when we did finally make it, what we saw was breathtaking. It’s difficult to sum it up in words. In front of us and just off to the left was Mount Rinjani (at 3,726 meters tall). It looked really steep, and that’s what lay ahead of us on the last day! Directly in front of us was Gunung Baru- smoking away. This actually sits in a crater lake of blue and sulfur yellow waters, the black lava base of the volcano jutting into the water like little black fingers. And to the right were steep, green cascading mountains. I think we all just stood in awe for a few minutes and let the views soak in.
We were in the middle of nowhere, so far away from the rest of civilization. It was nice to just sit and enjoy the silence, interrupted occasionally by the rumble of the volcano below.
Tarid and Jamal (our porter) met us at the rim, and we began our 2 hour hike down to the lake. To be descending instead of ascending was a welcomed change, and the weather was perfect for us- phew! The views were beautiful, and as we climbed further down, we realized just how big Baru was and how high Rinjani was. The volcano continued to gurgle and give off little puffs of smoke and as we got closer, I realized that the gurgling sounds were actually rocks being projected from the mouth of the volcano and rolling down the sides. Then out of nowhere came a noise like thunder, and Tarid started to yell out to us. We looked up to see the volcano erupting in front of our eyes. I couldn’t believe I was witnessing this. You secretly hope you’ll see something like this, but you never think you actually will. Tarid screamed out to us “Super Bloody Mega Bagus (good)!”
Needless to say, this provided some extra adrenaline for the rest of the climb down. We got down to the edge of the lake and rested for lunch for about an hour, and then we watched as heavy clouds rolled in and covered our views of everything. Still, we weren’t too worried as next on the agenda was a trip to the hot springs. This was glorious. The four of us just sat and soaked our tired muscles for about 30 minutes in the bubbling springs.
Feeling re-energized and trying to not pay too much attention to the impending rain, we began the last part of the days trekking- 3 hours up to the campsite. The rain began about 30 minutes in, but wasn’t as drenching as the day before. The first 2 hours were ok, but the last hour was trying. It was raining harder, the path was getting steeper and it was beginning to get dark.
When we got to the campsite, we set everything up as quickly as we could in an effort to keep everything dry. I got into the tent and directly into my sleeping bag in all my clothes minus my wet socks and stayed there. I was wet, cold, tired and cursing Alex and Flo for choosing the 3 day tour and not the 2 day one.
After some soup, we attempted to sleep. The following morning, we knew would be the toughest. We had a 2:30 wake up call, and a 3 hour STEEP climb to the top of Rinjani. I was wondering if we would wake up to clear skies or not, and I’ll admit that a (very) small part of me wouldn’t have been disappointed if we couldn’t make the final climb.
At 2:30 am the following morning, my watch alarm went off, and Flo jumped up and was ready to go instantly. Alex and I sat in the tent not wanting to move. It was damn cold, but it was clear, and I was thankful despite what I had felt the night before! I sat contemplating putting on my wet socks and shoes, but a hot cup of coffee made it all a little easier, and before long we had set out for the final 3 hours up.
The first hour was tough. I don’t’ know what it is about mornings, but I just don’t have that extra oomph and seem to struggle with my balance. Now pair this with the fact that we were climbing a giant black sand dune, and with every step forward that I took, I seemed to slide a half step back. I was asking Alex and Flo if this was really their idea of fun, and they just appeased me with the promise of cold Bintang and a Magnum ice cream as soon as we returned to level ground.
The second hour was a bit easier and we actually got to see red lava flowing down the side of the volcano at one point in time, such an awesome sight. The third hour was the most challenging of all. I literally thought about stopping and sitting down and enjoying the sunrise from where I was. I would have been okay with that, but I plowed on and began counting my steps in sets of 100. Then I tried swearing. With each step, I said “Never” “Again”, “Never” “F*cking” “Again.” I began asking myself what kind of self-inflicted punishment this was, but then I reached the top! Finally! We could literally see everything – Bali to the west, Lombok to the east, not to mention the views down to the lake and the rim of the volcano. It was all worth it in the end.
There was a sense of accomplishment, but I couldn’t help but wonder how difficult the climb down was going to be. Fortunately, due to the fact that most of the climb was sand, we were able to slide our way down, turning it into a sort of race to see who could slide the most, me spending some of the time on my butt, giggling all the way back to the campsite.
Tarid was already back at the site preparing coffee and banana pancakes, and we packed everything up to prepare for the 6 hour hike down. When we started out the weather was fine, but the climbing was steep and slick. And you guessed it, by the second hour, it was raining again. We donned our plastic tarps and did our best to power through. I just kept thinking about a warm shower and dry clothes and didn’t really think about the rain that was getting heavier and heavier. We stopped under a rock for shelter and met 2 women from Jakarta who were on their way up. I couldn’t help but feel grateful that we were on our way back and not our way up. Don’t get me wrong, it was well worth it, but it was intense.
The rain finally let up after 3 hours, and after4 hours we stopped for a light meal. I had to take off my shoes to survey the damage. Because my feet had been wet for so long, I could feel the blisters beginning to grow. I decided to try and wring out my socks and put some bandaids on, but the damage was already done! Then the rain began again. We finished the last 2 hours of the hike in a light drizzle, but we were only having to tackle rolling hills which made things a lot more enjoyable. We finished the hike through a rice paddie. Behind us were rolling hills that disappeared into misty, cloudy skies, and in front of us, the rice paddies looked like they disappeared into the sea.
We finished the hike and jumped into the back of a pickup truck that was taking us to Labuan Lombok, so we could get a boat to Flores the next day. I was so excited to sleep in a real bed and to take a shower (hopefully a hot one). We got to Labuan Lombok after dark and finally found the one guesthouse which had one room left. We surveyed the room- one big bed, then we surveyed the bathroom- no shower, just a bucket and water. We had no choice…I came to the realization that it was going to be a while before I was able to have a “real” shower. However, the thought of having to pour buckets of cold water over myself was so unappealing at this point in time. Still, we took turns getting cleaned up, and went out to scour the town for some cold Bintangs, which was no easy feat. We dined at the local market, while the “DJ” played Beatles tunes and kept coming over to us to see if we liked the music. Pure exhaustion had set in, and when the power went out around 9:30pm, I took it as my cue to retire.
The last couple of days had been filled with adventure, but had been physically draining. The upcoming days looked like they were going to prove to be no different, but at least I would have dry shoes and a mattress- or would I? This is Indonesia afterall!
When traveling, I am constantly surprised by the kindness of strangers. But in Bali, no one is a stranger for long. Indonesia is known as the “land of smiles,” and rightly so. A smile is always returned and immediately followed by the question, “Where you come from?” Before you know it, you have a new friend.
Yansu is my newest friend in Bali. He seemed to take a liking to me during the drive from the airport the night I arrived, and the following day he began talking to me about taking a trip to his local village so I could meet his family and see the end of a religious ceremony that had taken place over the last couple of days.
After sharing our coconut in the afternoon, he said if I wanted to go with him, I should get ready and we would leave at six o’clock. This is the point where I wonder to myself if this is an authentic invitation or if I might be getting myself into a bit of a situation. Yansu seemed harmless though, so I accepted the invitation, and after getting ready, we hopped on his motorcycle to make the 30-minute drive to his village.
Yansu comes from a village called Tegal Besar, which sits east of Ubud and just below Candi Dasa. The village is home to 350 people, and Yansu explained to me that it is a poor village, but one that’s filled with very happy people. We arrived at his home, and within five minutes, I think I had met his entire family, because they all live within the same quarters. His father, who strangely resembled Obama, however, was still working in the rice fields at that point in time.
He showed me around his home and then took me over to the family temple which sat to the back left side of the house. Here, 3 people were praying and making an offering. I sat and watched for a while, before taking a tour of the village and the black sand beach. We ran into Yansu’s uncle and cousin at the beach. They all seemed so excited that I was there to visit and to participate in the ceremony that evening.
From here, we made our way to a local restaurant for Lalapan Ayam. This is a dish of chicken, served with a rich chili sauce and rice. Then, we headed back to Yansu’s home for the festivities. Before I could participate, I had to put on the correct clothes. Yansu lent me a sarong and a tie (amed) for my waist, while his uncle began to explain to me the meaning of the holiday.
I found out that the name of this festival is Odalan. This is a Hindu festival that is held every six months. (Indonesia is a predominantly Muslim country, but Bali is 95% Hindu). During this specific ceremony, families pray to the God of sun, the God of ground and the God of family (or the family temple), and make offerings of crushed flowers and holy water.
I sat down with the family and town people and participated in the prayers and offerings that were ending the 3-day Odalan festival. I felt so fortunate to be a part of this, but was more touched by how the entire family had welcomed me in. After the festival, I sat with Yansu’s father, uncles and brother and we shared a kopi tbruk, a sweet, strong, black coffee before heading back to ubud. I left with persistent invitations to return for the following week’s full moon festivities.
I arrived back at the guesthouse and sat reflecting on the evening. To me, this is what it’s all about. Bali can be quite touristy and I had the opportunity to step away from it all and really get off the beaten path, thanks to Yansu, his generosity and his pride for where he comes from. These are the moments that separate a visit to a place, from really experiencing a place and another culture- moments that separate a trip from a journey.