The early part of the day (*pagi-pagi* in Indotalk) is a great time to cycle in this part of the world. It's cooler and shadier, plus it's the best time of day to observe village life. This morning we were especially successful in getting an early start on the road, packing at dawn and bolting down the meager breakfast offered by our unfriendly hotel. The narrow bumpy lanes we followed down the gentle lower slopes of Mt. Rinjani were crammed with humanity --sort of like a very green version of Manhattan. We dodged dogs, scooters, horse carts, goats and all variety of toiling peasants along the way.
A navigation screw-up (for which I hereby take all responsibility) dumped us onto the main road much earlier than I'd planned. While the trans-Lombok highway \--only 76 kilometers from one side of the island to the other\-- does carry some trucks, the vast majority of traffic was equine-powered, much to our relief. The bigger villages we passed through were jammed with *cidomos*; it felt like all of Lombok's 3 million inhabitants were out on the road with us this morning. After an hour or so we turned off the busy thoroughfare and plunged back into the serenity of the Lombokian hinterland, sloping slowly down towards the coast.
Kilometer after kilometer, we hardly had to pedal at all, able to appreciate our lush surroundings without so much as sweating. The only negative part of the day was learning that I'd lost a sandal somewhere along the way, having neglected to strap it onto my bags properly. Our intention had been to pass through central Mataram (Lombok's capital), so we figured we could stop at a big shoe shop there (not to mention a sanitized, air-conditioned foodortunity), but once we penetrated the city, no one was capable of explaining where we could find such a shop. By this point, the traffic and heat had become abominable, and like most Indonesian cities, Mataram's charm is discreet at best.
After a quick snack of nasi goreng (it's perfect cycling food, and I'm wondering when and if we'll ever tire of it) and Magnum ice cream bars (such a treat after three days in the sticks), we headed out of town following the path of least resistance. There'd be shoes in Sengiggi, we reasoned. But once there, the pickings were pretty slim. I settled on a pair that gave me blisters just looking at them. Arriving at Puri Mas, a couple of beaches beyond Senggigi, we were surprised to find that Scott had already checked in, with boyfriend Ubai in tow, and had taken off somewhere on a motor scooter.
We were shown to a beautiful bungalow by the seaside and wasted no time getting our butts into the swimming pool. It wasn't long before Ubai and Scott showed up. The four of us spent the rest of the afternoon catching up and forecasting the future of Indonesia. As would be the case for the next few days, our evening had already been planned for us by our Lombokian friends. When we asked Epoel, the manager at Puri Mas whom I've known for four years, for a dinner recommendation, he told us we were expected at a party at his nearby restaurant, the Princess of Lombok.
What we didn't know was that it was a wedding party for the lovely Indo-Chinese Nina and Bruno, a charming Swiss dude who manages the Holiday Inn in Lombok. Nor did we know that all of Lombok's queer community (most of whom I've met on previous visits) would be there as well. Fred and I were hopelessly underdressed. Yet even in shorts and tee shirt I sweated non-stop at the next venue. The incomparable Marina Pub was very happening on a Saturday night, swarming with the gilded youth of nearby Mataram and their many hangers-on. Whole cottage industries waited outside the doors, offering services ranging from transport to transvestite massages.
We played pool (badly) and flirted with locals until closing time.