Arriving in Bali was like a dream, albeit a bad one. I'd been anticipating our journey to Asia hotly but looking forward to Bali with mixed emotions. Filled with bargain-basement Australian tourists and those that prey upon them, Bali's Kuta Beach has little to offer for me. There were few alternatives for us arriving after nine in the evening unless we wanted to take a very long nighttime cab ride to the mountains. Neither of us wanted our first riding experience here to be at night after a long plane ride. It was easy enough to find a place to stay in Legian and transportation there; one benefit is that there are a lot of options, especially with the KRISMON (Indonesian Monetary Crisis).
At the beach we assembled our bikes, whereupon I discovered I'd broken a spoke in Australia. Though I found Kuta to be unbelievably hectic there is some method in the madness. Cars, motorbikes, mopeds, cars and trucks all somehow seemed cognizant of one another and respectful of their right to be there. We spent our time readying ourselves for departure and soaking up a little Balinese nightlife. Many transactions in Indonesia are unspeakably complicated. Even more so lately as their currency floats so wildly and shopkeepers try to adjust their prices accordingly. Surprisingly, finding a bike shop was a simple process; we found the spoke in only the second shop we visited.
We were just about to leave the shop for another because this one did not have the right size spoke for my bike when magically the clerk found one. After one day at the beach relaxing and running errands I was ready to part. At one in the morning Andy and I discussed our ambivalence towards Bali and decided to catch a boat further east to Lombok. I noticed on the map that the fast boat to Lombok left from the port closest to Kuta and we figured we could leave early and be in a quieter place by noon. On the way to the port we worried about being able to make the boat on time.
We hustled through the pulsing traffic composed of bikes, trucks, cars, horsecarts and pedestrians. The wind was with us and we passed all non-motorized traffic, finally arriving at the harbor with plenty of time to spare. The view from the Jet-Cat was spectacular. We cut our way in the narrow passage between Penida and Lembongan islands. Penida was lush and green rocky terrain tumbling to the sea, its shores cut with box shaped canyons filled with palms and with deserted sandy beaches. Lembongan, the neighbor island is shield-shaped, flat and dry. The whole way we were treated to commentary from Peter, a Dutchman and former Consul General to Indonesia.
He filled our ears with stories of his diplomatic days and of the geography we were passing. Peter told me that the land masses of Indonesia west of Bali were once joined and those east as well. A massive trench always separated the two and hence the indigenous species are different east to west. We also learned of Peter's unusual hobby, collecting cock-fighting paraphernalia. Not all cock-fighting gear, but only the decorative boxes that they keep spurs in. To date Peter has over five hundred such boxes and was on his way to Lombok to find some new ones. This left me wondering what I'd be collecting at age seventy?
Arriving at the pier we met Paul the Danish cyclist. Whackily dressed in suspenders holding up his shorts, fair skin unscathed by the fearsome sun, he was leaving Indoland early because of the punishing bright orb above. He suggested an alternate route to Senggigi for us along quiet roads. If Bali had been a bad dream, Lombok became a great drug-trip. While dazzled by gazillion shades of green rendered green jungle and fields of rice we passed *kampungs* (villages) full of smiling waving children. We began to hear the now familiar cry \"Hello Mister.\" The rice was being harvested and it looked more bounteous than I'd anticipated after hearing all the reports of El Nino-inspired drought.
Soon the villages became more populated as we approached Mataram, the capital of Lombok and some of its neighboring islands. We stopped in Ampenan's old port at a restaurant housed in the first bank of Lombok. Riding after lunch, the flat terrain of rice filled valley gave way to sharply rolling hills around Senggigi. Meant to be the Kuta of Lombok, Senggigi hasn't yet caught up with its western sister thankfully. I caved into desire to connect to e-mail and spent the night in the premier hotel of the island. The Sheraton is a frightfully bad value and has no redeeming features save its exquisite grounds.
They managed to add insult to injury upon our checkout by charging our credit card with rupiah after quoting us a price in dollars, inflating the normal exchange rate by nearly 25%. I'd recommend staying any place other than there! Another advantage to the Sheraton unbeknownst to us was its location. It turned out to be right next to Koco-Loco a Tex-Mex restaurant. No, we weren't craving their food! But our friend Toha manages the café and another friend is the cook. Toha claims that his magnetic personality draws the crowd while Edy says it is his food. Judging from the show we say Toha put on, and the disappointing food, Toha is more correct.