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After a morning trip by bus across the island
of Bali we climbed out of the bus amidst a crowd of hawkers
eagerly competing for our attention with their limited English
speaking ability. "You stay tonight and take
ferry morning." We found ourselves again victims of selective
disclosure. Nobody had told us we would be waiting until morning
for the ferry, nor did they tell us why we should wait. We
asked the driver what
time the ferry left for Lombok. He said "four-thirty,
maybe better you stay tonight."
We found ourselves to be the only two tourists
on the ferry several hours later as we watched the setting
red and yellow sun silhouette the impressive peak of Agung
Gunung, Bali's 10,000 foot volcano. The skies grew dark and
we realized we were still hours away from Lombok. The massive
three level ferry crept toward Lombok with cars and trucks
packed neatly on the lower level. We met a young man named
Anas whose family lived on Lombok. He had a job on Bali at
a travel agency. After exchanging pleasantries, his advice
to us was that Lombok can be a little unfriendly after darkness
descends and we should consider staying in the port town when
the ferry arrived.
A few hours later we arrived in Lembar,
the port town of West Lombok, and waited anchored for nearly
an hour in port before the ferry worked its way into position
at the loading ramp. By the time we hoisted our packs onto
our shoulders and walked off the boat it was almost 10:00
P.M. We were mildly harassed by the touts waiting on the docks
but we succeeded in shaking them off. Except for one…a
young man with a large build who insisted on walking with
us. He made attempt after attempt to sell us his services
but it was not until we started walking down a dimly lighted
street toward the hotel when he called out to his friends
who were sitting in the doorways of dingy homes that the hair
on the back of our necks stood on end. Lisa made an executive
decision and we back tracked to the vacant town market to
a lone blue taxi cab. The driver saw the panic in our eyes
and opened the door for us. We didn't hesitate to climb in.
Even the driver had to pay the local thug to go away. The
cab driver was a reasonable man and for a fair price he drove
us the 20 km to Mataram where we would join our group for
the journey to the islands East of Bali the following morning.
In the balmy heat of the Lombok night we found a street vendor
selling rice wrapped in a banana leaves and inhaled what had
become the staple of our diet, plain white rice: breakfast,
lunch and dinner. Minutes after eating we huddled under our
mosquito net and fell asleep in complete exhaustion, a thin
veil separating us from our malaria-laden tormentors.
The next morning we stopped by the tour
office and checked in before walking to a local store. Lisa
got yelled at by passing drivers for revealing too much skin
on this strict Islamic island.
We met our fellow cast members for a three
day boat journey to Flores: Two Canadians, a Brit, three Dutch,
One Swede, One German and us (the two Americans). A regular
Noah’s Ark of nationalities we were. We drove three
hours by bus across Lombok. We were happy that we did not
attempt this by ourselves as the driver ignored groups of
young men who had set up roadblocks to solicit donations for
local mosques. After having tea and fried bananas we climbed
aboard our 19 meter (54 foot) sloop. As the crew freshened
the ballast the diesel engine purred to life. At half throttle
we shivered the timbers and slipped out of port under the
scorching afternoon sun. We passed several similar sloops
which lay half sunk along the muddy shore. The Captain explained
that the boats which were built in Sulawesi needed repairs
but it was too expensive to send the teak timbers to Lombok
so the boats were scuttled. It would be less expensive for
the owner to build a new sloop back in Sulawesi where timber
and labor were cheap and plentiful.
After several hours we dropped anchor at
the severely damaged reef surrounding Perama Island where
bomb fishing had destroyed much of the coral. Tons of the
coral had washed up on the beaches and it was sad too see.
The crew ferried us to shore in a wood dinghy with a small
motor. They lit a bonfire on shore as the sun began to set
and cooked us dinner of fresh tuna steaks and vegetables.
It was one of the better meals we had eaten in the previous
few days. Several hours later we set sail as a full ivory
colored moon rose over the island of Sumbawa to the South.
We would travel through the windless night along the sixth
southern parallel from the Equator. Under the power of the
diesel engines we made our way East, away from civilized Indonesia,
through the inky black sea within sight of the silhouettes
of the volcanoes of Sumbawa to starboard and an occasional
cruise ship or freighter in the shipping lanes several miles
to our port side. We found our “cabin” (more like
bunk-beds in a closet) a nice place to store our packs but
sleep was not exactly comfortable.
As the sun rose the next morning we were
awakened by the shift in tempo of the diesel engine as we
approached a small island which was an ancient caldera of
a long extinct volcano. Of the 13,766 islands in the Indonesian
archipelago this island's claim to fame was that a decade
ago a volcanic eruption several hundred kilometers away generated
a tsunami (tidal wave) whose crest had delivered salty sea
water to a lake one kilometer inland protected by the ancient
caldera rim rising 20 meters above sea level at its lowest
point. The first thing we noticed upon our arrival was how
clear the water was. It glowed a cobalt blue in the long rays
of the early morning light and we could see the bottom of
the sea bed a good 15 meters down (45 feet). We went for a
late morning swim after a sweaty hike up the caldera rim and
down the other side to the salty lake.
We explored the island and returned to the
sloop for breakfast as the sun gathered strength and climbed
higher into the sky. We shared travel stories with our fellow
travelers. George and Holly from Canada who had been teaching
English in Taiwan had been deported for Visa violations. George
had a nasty oozing parasite wound in his leg that looked like
someone shot him in the leg with a shotgun. Yuck! Michael
from Holland told us his story of having to walk out of the
jungle for several days in Kalimantan after acquiring Typhoid
fever. Everybody had really intense stories to tell after
being on the road for some time and it was fun learning about
people’s motivation for travel.
After moving several hours along the coast
of Sumbawa we dropped anchor again and cast off in the dinghy
to visit a local village. After 7 months on the road these
brief village visits lacked any substance and we rapidly grew
bored and returned to the ship. We did pass out our supply
of cookies to the local children whose smiles warmed our hearts.
We returned to the ship anchored in the
village harbor to find that two of the live chickens onboard
had disappeared and the crew had prepared dinner. Coincidence?
We didn’t think about it too much when fried chicken
was served up. After the sun set around 6:30 PM and the ambient
light died away the stars bloomed in the Southern hemisphere
sky. After dinner I found solitude nested up on the mainmast
yard arm 9 meters above the water. This would become my favorite
place to perch and watch the watery planet Earth slowly slip
beneath us as we made our way East into more remote areas
of Indonesia. The stillness of the warm air and the calm seas
reset our internal clocks so conditioned to a faster pace
of life. We located the Southern Cross in the otherwise dark
sky. At 8:30 pm a proud moon beam broke the crest of the volcanic
peaks stretching across Sumbawa. The crew readied the sloop
and I remained quietly on my perch drinking in the slow movement
of time: the moon, the sloop beginning to drift free as the
anchor was heaved up. I felt so detached from civilization
and isolated from the “real” world….or maybe
this was the “real” world. As we got underway
I just sat in awe of the raw beauty I was seeing. And then
I stopped looking at my wife on the deck below.
I reluctantly came down from my perch as
the hour grew late and Lisa beckoned me for bedtime. I recalled
those summer nights as a child in the Santa Cruz Mountains
where I grew up. As the sun faded and being called in on account
of darkness a heavy disappointment surged through me. The
same feeling enveloped me as I climbed down from the mast
for the night vowing to be right back for sunrise.
Sunrise came early as we navigated through
the channels amongst the many small islands to the East of
Sumbawa. The island of Komodo, inhabited only by the famed
dragons and their prey, is one of those islands. The sun exploded
on the horizon as we wiped the sleep from our eyes on deck.
The captain called out for us to look starboard as the dorsal
fins of dolphins, flirting with our approaching wake, broke
the calm surface of the sea. We rounded a point and slowed
as we arrived at Komodo Island.
As a kid I remember reading of the fabled
dragons and it was surreal to actually be stepping into their
world. Within an hour we were hiking up the hills of Komodo
in search of the fabled dragons. Before beginning our hike
we were told by a park ranger of how a 100 pound 5 foot dragon
catches and consumes a 350-pound water buffalo. Apparently,
the dragon waits by a water hole and when the buffalo (or
deer or whatever) walks by, the dragon bites the buffalo's
leg. The leg gets infected with all the nasty bacteria in
the dragon’s teeth and the prey dies in about 2 weeks.
The dragon patiently follows the buffalo until it starts to
slow down, then it attacks it when it can. Armed with this
bit of trivia we began our walk in search of the beasts. With
no instructions of what to do if we were chased we kept a
weary eye out low on the trail ahead. “Hopefully Lisa
would drag me back to the dock before I weakened and the dragons
moved in for the kill,” I thought to myself. None of
the travelers knew what to expect which added to the excitement.
The island of Komodo is dry and hilly much like the hills
around San Luis Obispo and Paso Robles. We quietly walked
in a single file formation with a guide leading and one at
the rear of the group. They searched for signs of dragons
and we marched on.
All of a sudden the rear guide ran off into
the trees and started talking to the front guide in some language
no one else understood as he disappeared. The front guide
turned every around and we all headed off the trail into the
scrub brush. Keeping an eye out for ankle biters we come upon
a grassy
field. The group was a bit agitated because no one seemed
to know what is happening and all of a sudden the guide came
out of the trees and points into the long grass. There it
was: a juvenile Komodo dragon maybe six feet long trying desperately
to avoid being seen. We terrorized this poor dragon, chasing
him through the grass and down an embankment. After cornering
him on the crest of a ridge and assaulting his dignity with
our cameras we pulled back and allowed him to escape. So much
for responsible tourism!
I guess the guide thought his job was done
and he herded us back to the visitor center. Initially we
were disappointed by the brief encounter. Then we saw the
big dragons. Five adult dragons who had grown quite comfortable
with the attention they received around the visitor center
were lazing near a waterhole. They were massive! Twenty feet
tip to tail. They eyed us judiciously, sizing us up for their
next meal. The guide told us the grisly story about a Japanese
tourist who got too close. It always seems to happen to the
Japanese tourists. Anything for a quality photo!
The sun killed our desire to do anything
but swim so we returned to the boat and moved away from the
beaches frequented by the dragons. After a late morning swim
at Red Sand Beach so named for the red corals broken up into
sand, we set sail for Flores 3 hours to the East. The tide
was shifting and the currents were moving swiftly between
the islands as we navigated amongst the numerous islands.
I looked down from my favorite perch on the mainmast yard
27 feet above the water and witnessed a marvel of nature I
had never before seen. A large whirlpool wider than our sloop
was rotating in a hypnotic pattern. I nervously eyed the Captain
to make sure he was aware of it. He just smiled. I have never
seen a whirlpool other than in the cartoon "The Land
of the Lost".
Fifteen minutes later as our sloop passes
along the shore of Komodo Island I see the upwelling of the
water breaking the glassy blue surface several hundred meters
in front of us. This is where the water from the whirlpool
is pushed back up to the surface. It is a humbling demonstration
of the power of the elements. Respect is in order and I suddenly
feel very insignificant.
It all ends too quickly as we arrive in
the sleepy fishing village of Labuanbajo, Flores. I didn’t
want it to end and I was filled with a sadness. The town was
small enough so very few touts were around to harass the tourists.
They don't have many visitors in these parts, but the locals
didn't take much notice. We found a guest house, simple but
clean, on a hill overlooking the harbor. For the next two
evenings we would watch the sunset over the islands dotting
the ocean to the West from where we had just come. It felt
good to sleep on dry land.
One of our days in Labuanbajo we took advantage
of our recently minted SCUBA certificates and enlisted in
a dive around some of the local islands. Our guide was an..umm..
interesting character. The first sign of our inexperience
should have been me wrestling with my wetsuit on backwards.
But he had confidence in us. Maybe that’s why he took
us so deep in such heavy currents. The dives started out innocent
enough. We were overwhelmed with the sheer number and diversity
of fish and corals at our first dive site. By looking at the
surface of the water you could never imagine how much life
was concealed underneath. And the colors of the fish seemed
unnatural. Neon blue fish, yellows with silvery tints, and
red fish contrasted against massive white corals of every
shape. It was incredible and quite overwhelming. As we worked
hard against the current a giant tuna (Lisa initially thought
it was a shark) swam up from the depths to check us out. He
swam back and forth with a big silvery eye shifting on his
head as he moved. The whole dive was a little over the top.
We were sad that the boat trip had
ended but we were excited about the next portion of travel:
Overland through the inner jungles of Flores to the three
colored volcanic lakes in the far East. But that's another
story.
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