OK, for once this will actually be a genuine short post.
Woke up. Read lots. Filled lots of exercises in. All day.
Finished Divemaster handbook review.
Went to pub, watched very bad football results (I mean, come on – 3-1 away at West Ham… and the mackems won).
Went to bed.
A slightly earlier start today, but again the staff here ensured I had my breakfast before I left and was picked up by the van. Today I was joined by two Dutch guys and a German, Lars, who was to be my buddy for the day.
It was quite a mixed group. One of the Dutch guys had done about 8 dives and was starting his Advanced course. The other had been underwater once, for about five minutes, as part of a discovery course somewhere. Lars had about 25 dives to his name, but had decided to stick with Open Water as he was only interested in enjoying himself and photographing things.
The day was spent assisting Kadek, the Instructor who was taking myself and the Advanced student out. There was a long drive ahead of us to Tulamben over on the east coast – about three hours. I’d had an offer the day before to stay over there and I wish I’d taken it! We got on well, though, and the van was full of chatter for most of the journey.
Rather than whinge about how long the drive was, we took it as an opportunity to get a glimpse of Bali away from the tourist resorts. I’ll tell you, the prices drop a bit. We stopped at one garage and I picker up a Powerade. I misheard the woman when she charged me and handed her IDR12k – she only wanted four! That’s around 25p. The former is what I’d expect to pay at an Indonesian petrol station based on the price-hike fuel stops usually charge. Only I’m used to Kuta/tourist prices. Outside of these areas, things are even cheaper. So if you’re ever in Bali for a while, stock up on this stuff by taking a trip out of town.
Finally we arrived at the resort, which was quite swish. We pre-ordered lunch and got down to sorting equipment out. Porters – women with folded towels on their heads – carried all the gear down to the rocky beach. Amazingly, they stacked two tanks and BCDs on their head for each trip. Pretty impressive.
I took my camera on our first dive which was onto the Liberty wreck. It’s the remains of an old US freighter torpedoed by the Japanese in 1942. It was towed as far as Bali and beached rather than sunk. The locals pretty much tore it apart, then a volcanic eruption in 1963 caused it to tilt and slide into the sea, finally being put to rest. It’s a great wreck dive as it’s in such shallow water, making it ideal even for those with Open Water.
Wreck Dive is one of the optional courses for the Advanced certification, which was one of the reasons we were doing it. There were huge shoals of fish everywhere, from the bright yellow to the dull grey. Some enormous species were spotted near the bottom, and Kadek located a very elusive stone fish. As in Lembongan, I found the fish less “shy” than anywhere else. They would all come up and stare you right in the mask before zipping off again.
All too soon, the dive was over and we staggered back up the rocks for lunch. I made sure to coat myself in suntan lotion as my back was pretty scorched from forgetting the day before. Owies. More chat as we chowed down and then got ready for the second dive. I spent a bit of time with Lars and the Dutch chap (I wish I could remember his name – I think it was Chris…!) going over some stuff. Chris had been having problems equalising, particularly his right ear. I’d had something similar when I started diving, only I think it was my left for some reason. He did say it got a little easier with each dive and I sympathised, so at least he knew he wasn’t alone and that it would eventually sort itself out.
Both he and Lars had had problems sinking on the first dive, so we made sure the extra weights they’d been given were transferred to their weight belts. A short distance the opposite direction from the wreck was the Drop Off where we geared up and plunged in.
The visibility here wasn’t a patch on the earlier dive, but the scenery was vastly different. Chris used this dive to do his Navigation, one of the compulsory components which he passed no problem. We then swam gently over some sandy plains for a hundred metres or so until we started to find signs of life.
The fish here certainly weren’t as numerous as at the wreck, but there were still some sights to see. Some spiny fish that would jump out of their coral and “kiss” you if you blew bubbles at them. Pygmy seahorses that looked like tiny lumpy clay models. Some very rare fish that look like leaves.
The last ones we only really spotted as a diver with some serious looking photographic equipment was poised in front of them for ages. The really looked like two thin leaves, or perhaps some kind of grass just sticking up from the ocean floor. But look close enough and they were, indeed, fish.
Chris suffered one of the problems I used to have when I was learning to dive – get to 3m or so and up he popped like a cork. I gave him a hand staying submerged and when we were out I handed on some advice. It’s something I did until fairly recently, and it’s largely an experience thing. Make sure you dump all your air from the BCD by the time you hit 5m or so, and if you do keep rising, don’t panic. You’ll breathe in a lot more which makes you more buoyant and just increases the problem. Instead, breathe out fairly quickly then in slowly so that you sink again.
Back on shore, I haggled a t-shirt off a local for IDR50k. I need a new one as my Blue Dragon one seems to have gone missing in a wash somewhere. I’m gutted as I don’t think it’s replaceable. Ah well, worse things happen etc etc.
We sorted out all our equipment and I had a word with the other ProDive staff about what was coming up. As I wasn’t staying over, tomorrow will be a study day for me to work through the entire Dive Master manual and exercises. On Sunday morning, I’m to take the book to the office and get the rest of the texts I need, and perhaps do some more diving. Essentially, I’m at the mercy of customers – if there are any then I’m to assist the Instructors.
I do have a huge amount to get through to pass the course, though. Exercises, stamina tests, rescue scenarios, knowledge of Open Water technique to demonstration standard as well as all the theory and dive experience to get in.
It’s going to be a busy couple of weeks!
Oh, dinner at the usual place. Chicken steak which was – need I say it – utterly delicious.
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Yesterday was a pretty quiet day spent chilling out and relaxing as I prepared for the regular sleeps I’d need for the next two weeks. Sadly, despite being in a complete party capital, there’s no way I can go out on the ale of an evening and then do 2-3 dives while in charge of other people the next day!
I didn’t quite get the sleep I intended. My alarm set for 6am, I was woken up by noise from next door. Not that I’m saying my neighbour is noisy. But the girl he brought home was – *ahem*. I thought it was a bit of a giggle and only an hour ahead of when I planned to wake anyway. The girl opposite, however, went banging on his door shouting “maybe you should get a place with windows!” The rooms here just have mosquito-proof mesh behind carved wooden pillars – no glass – so sound does leak from rooms easily.
When I woke early, the staff asked if I wanted breakfast which was great as I was actually kicking about half an hour before it’s meant to be served. I had my usual banana and jam jaffle (kind of a toastie) and some sweet tea then made my way around the corner where the ProDive staff were waiting for me.
Today was to be an easy introduction, to say the least. Not that I’m complaining. We picked up two Thai girls who’d been diving all week and headed for the dock where we loaded the boat and jetted off around to the other side of the little peninsula that Kuta’s on. There we were joined with three Japanese tourists staying at a posh resort. Around the resort were “fun boats”, large vessels with water slides and so on hanging off them – they looked great fun!
Our first dive site was just around the corner and we all jumped in off the back of the boat. And I swear it’s the coldest water I’ve ever dived into! Unbelievable given the surface temperature but that’s the sea for you. Deeper down, there were occasional “wafts” of warm water but that could have been one of the other divers having a pee. All it really succeeded in doing was making the water seem oily – a strange effect you get when cold and warm water mixes. The other thing I found out was that I need an extra weight when diving with a full-length wetsuit… thankfully my buddy had a spare or I’d have been sitting on the surface for forty minutes.
The quality of the dives here seems superb. Vast expanses of coral and a huge number of very brazen fish. I don’t recall ever getting so close to so many individual fish without them darting off. Playing with clown fish is a giggle – go up to the anemone they’re protecting and wiggle at it with your fingers. As it dashes towards you, put your arms into a ring and you’ll find the fish will often “climb” up to your shoulder before realising that home’s about two feet away.
Highlight of the dive was an unexpected sighing of a medium-sized (I was told) mola (or Ocean Sunfish – the heaviest bony fish in the world). We were around 20m down and it was nearer ten, but it was a sight to behold. I also like the diving sign-language symbol for it – a fist with the thumb up and little finger down. It really does look like the fish in question. The photo above isn’t one of mine (obviously, as it’s from an aquarium), but does give an idea of the size of these things.
Back on the surface, I wasn’t feeling too great as we had lunch. I’ve been good on boats recently and don’t think I was that close to being ill, but it took me ages to eat my sandwich and orange. I gave my cake (delicious though the nibble I had was) to another couple who boarded for an afternoon dive. They’d not eaten since 7am, so I took pity.
The second dive was also superb, but subject to a lot of current. I was pleased on this one to spot a huge stone fish. Unfortunately, I’d not taken my camera with me on this trip so didn’t get any photos. One of the Thai girls went snap-happy and I hope they’ll email me so I can ask for copies. Stone fish (hand symbol – clenched fist as in the rock/hammer/scissors game) are damn hard to see. After I spotted it, I was trying to get my Divemaster‘s attention. Every time I glanced away, I lost it and had to find the thing again.
After this dive, the newer couple and the Japanese left is and the girls tanked up for a third dive. I was only doing the two, but after missing sleep I was quite happy to lie on one of the comfy padded benches and snatch a bit of a kip in the sun. Of course, I’ll regret it when the sunburn comes up.
Then back to shore, a meeting with a cute dog at the equipment store and paying my bill at the office. I picked up my Divemaster manual and DVD as well. Got those to start studying this evening. $750 for this course is a bargain. If I was doing 2 dives a day over 14 days, the least it would cost me would be $840 and much more if I chose anything other than the cheapest dive sites. Having said that, they get another Divemaster on their crew for the duration of the course (and perhaps for a short time after depending on my plans).
I did find out I can renew my visa here, regardless of what it says on my passport stamp. Thing is, it costs IDR1.5million – around £90. Given that the original visa is US$25, this is pretty steep but still far cheaper than going anywhere else outside of Indonesia and re-entering. I also think it’s slightly dodgy!
Dinner was at my now-regular Gong Corner 2 hangout where I went for the pork steak. Which was – and this is no surprise – bloody delicious. And just over a quid. No wonder I’ve gone there three nights in a row. Every time I order fruit salad for dessert, it gets a little bigger as well. I wonder how much they’ll be cramming on my plate by the end of next week?
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I did the usual and went online for far too long. I’ve looked for somewhere to stay with free wi-fi, but they all charge premium rates and most don’t even have rooms free. So it’s cybercafes until I leave thus less internet time. A shame, but there you go. I’ll just have to read or something instead.
This isn’t a bad thing as there are many really good second hand bookshops here.
I think I wandered for about three or four hours, just exploring the area. Kuta‘s very touristy but also nice. Yeah, you get the annoying “Massage? Hash? Lady?” nonsense, but you learn to tune it out. It’s big enough to wander around, has posh shops and cheap places, a decent beach (which is being dug up for a pipeline at the moment), great surf and apparently good diving.
Ah, yeah. Diving. I located two dive shops and checked them out for Dive Master courses. One was about the same price as Cambodia. The other, Pro Dive, knocked it down to US$750 and the ability to borrow the manuals I didn’t have to keep for the duration of the course. Superb. Less stuff to mail home and $300 or so saved.
It’s going to be tight with my visa, annoyingly, but I reckon I’ll be here for 14 days and probably run my visa out diving for free afterward. Full reports as it goes on.
The only really notable thing I saw while walking was the Bali Bombing memorial. It’s really rather nice and very poignant, listing all of the dead by country. A handful of flowers are laid by passing tourists and it’s kept very clean.
Sadly, while I was stood reading the names, all I could hear was on woman constantly shouting “Mister! Mister! Massage, mister? Mister? Mister, massage, mister?” As I walked off, completely ignoring her, she actually started to follow me. Of all the places not to try and sell a massage.
I had a KFC for late lunch and I think that’ll be my only trip there as the food nearer the hostel is far better and way cheaper. KFC here is really limited in terms of menu, though the spaghetti (yes…) that I had wasn’t bad. The chips were unsalted and the Pepsi warm and flat. I paid IDR26k for that and later that night I had some superb deep fried chicken nuggets and a barrel of chips for IDR15k at Gong Place up the road from my room.
I caught up with Maria outside McD’s and we had a quick drink while we waited for Steff. However, it turned out that the Swiss contingent had arrived in Kuta and immediately left as she hated it!
Zane also didn’t show – I think we were too early for him – so we wandered off to have a drink or two.
We found a random bar up one of the streets, the Twisted Monkey. A nice place with a free pool table and cheap beer. After a while we were invited into a game of pool “winner stays on”. The current winners were an American couple who’d done well against varying opposition, always ending up slaughtering them.
Well, it was free, so we racked them and I broke as someone handed me the cue.
At which point I had American Woman in my face. Literally, in my face.
“Hey, ***hole. We’re winners, we break. Re-rack them.”
Nice. It took us a while to find the triangle, and when we re-racked, the ball at the top kept rolling loose as there was a tear in the cloth mended with some gaffa tape.
Of course, I got the blame for this, too. “You can’t rack for sh*t. Do it again. Jesus. The balls are supposed to touch.”
I informed her that the table is not means to be covered in gaffa tape and if she can’t handle a cheap table, she really ought to be playing pool somewhere else. Like back home.
As ever… OK, as sometimes (I usually am – or try to be) I was firm and polite rather than letting loose. Damn my British reservedness.
She broke and play went on. I’d had just enough beer to have a decent game and Maria certainly held up her end, knocking a couple of decent shots in. After a while we were actually leading them – something nobody else had done all night.
I’d been talking to her partner who was a really nice guy. How he’d ended up with such a sour trollop, I’ve no idea. Then I overheard them, him first:
“Hey that guys not bad. He’s got some skill.”
“Skill at being an ***hole.”
“Eh, what? He’s made some decent shots.”
“Oh come on, he’s a jerk. Who wears a sleeveless top these days?”
I looked around at the largely Australian population of the bar. Erm… most of them, for a start. Silly cow. So basically she disliked me for two reasons:
1) I was beating her at pool
2) I was wearing clothes she didn’t like
So she’s an insecure snob. Gotchya.
Anyone who’s been out with me knows I play pool for fun. I’m not really any good. I have little flashes here and there, but it’s more luck than judgment. I don’t set out to win, as long as I have a good time I don’t mind.
However. For the first time in a long time I really, really wanted to win. Just to rub it into her face.
I wish I could say we did.
But we got down to both teams playing on the black. And Maria took a wild shot. And sank the white. Game over.
However, by this stage I think the rest of the crowd had got roundly sick of the big gob in the frock and congratulated Maria and I on a good game and roundly ignored Her High Moodiness. A moral victory, I’ll settle for that.
After getting annihilated by a local guy in the next game, they left. Mr America with a nice smile and a handshake, Ms Sulk with her eyes to the floor.
As I’ve told people in all my travels, I’ve met one American I didn’t like which is a good indication that the majority of the population aren’t as idiotic as their ruling classes. Well, I’ve now met another one I do like and one who really is up there in “morons who give their country a bad name”. Again, though, I’m glad to see she’s still very much a minority.
Maria and I stayed a little longer and started the walk back to the Bungalows. On the way she spotted a bar with two guys dancing rather erotically together and decided to stop off. I was knackered, so I continued home. An early night, at 1am according to my now-correct watch!
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Maria and I left Green Hut at 10am on the nose for our lengthy trip to Bali. On the way I think we used pretty much every available type of transport we could have.
Monorail
First up, we jumped on the monorail to KL Sentral. This is a great way to get around Kuala Lumpur, being regular and cheap. I still can’t figure out why the platforms are maybe 75m long when the train’s are barely 20m. Also, there are three “lines” with no financial connection although they do intersect. You have to get off one train, go to the ticket counter and get another ticket to continue your journey on the next line. Not an issue between Bukit Bintang and KL Sentral, but it does make hopping about the city slightly less convenient than it could.
Private Bus
Once there, we boarded one of the budget buses to the Air Asia terminal at the airport. There are two services (at least) running there. One’s actually a subsidiary of Air Asia and charges MR9. The other’s a competitor who charge MR8. Amusingly, we were joined on our (packed) budget-budget coach by two members of the Air Asia cabin crew! Looks like they don’t get a free or discount pass to get to work. I do know that if you book a flight to KL via Air Asia, a popup appears on the web page offering you the transfer to Sentral for MR6.50. No such offer when going the other way, though.
I snoozed for a lot of the journey to the airport, and we arrived in good time to check in. The queues weren’t too bad and we settled on a McD’s for breakfast as we’d not had anything else. Realistically, it was that or food from one of the convenience shops. Rock / hard place.
For a budget terminal it’s not bad, but if you do want something approaching a meal, get it from McDs outside the security check. Once you go through there’s nothing approaching a restaurant. The whole place has free wi-fi as well, in line with the “grown up” terminal nearby.
Aeroplane
Our flight was called on time and we joined the crush for boarding which is common in Asia. People here generally queue but they’re hardcore about it, though thankfully not as intimately as in India.
The flight was two hours and crossed one time zone, so our watches went back an hour. This was to get confusing as I’ll explain later on…
We landed a little ahead of schedule and battled our way off the plane, almost having to shove some aging Germans out of the way as they key stopping for conversations in the narrow corridors. The visa fee for Indonesia is US$25, also payable in Malaysian Ringgit at Jakarta airport (and I’d suspect Indonesian Rupiah). The Ringgit charge is a flat MR100, so the only way you’ll get screwed is by a big change in exchange rate. I’m not sure of the Rupiah price.
Annoyingly, I only had about MR75 on me. And there are no ATMs within eyesight of the visa desk – the first we found were past immigration and customs, which isn’t too convenient. Fortunately, Maria had enough to lend me and I paid her back with my first Rupiah withdrawal.
Another thing to note with the Indonesian visas as – for tourists – there are essentially two to choose from. A 7-day transit visa and a 30-day visitor’s one. Neither of these can be extended once you’re in the country, which is a pain for somewhere the size of Indonesia. You have to do a border run, and if you’re somewhere like Bali this is a long trip. Even Vietnam with it’s annoying initial application allows a single renewal and it’s a much smaller nation.
However, we got in OK and walked outside. My first steps into Indonesia – country number 38 on this trip if I’ve counted correctly. Our time on Java, the island which holds Jakarta, was to be very short, though. If I’d had the time I’d have sent postcards, but believe me this simply wasn’t possible!
Public bus
We located the Damri bus stop which runs a shuttle service to the Gambir train station. It’s currently IDR20,000 (About £1.30) for the 40-minute journey – although this time is traffic-dependent.
It’s an interesting bus ride along the roll road looking at the buildings. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a mix in my life. Big buildings, small ones, shacks, wooden, brick, lean-to’s, detached villas… name it and you’ll see it. If you’ve been to Bangkok and think the random residences along the river are unusual, wait till you see Jakarta.
At Gambir, we disembarked to the expected throng of taxi and tuk-tuk drivers. There are three train services to Surabaya, which we needed to get to next. Two of these, the eksekutif and bisnis ones, run from Gambir and are air-conned with bunks and the like. Their journey time is around the 10-hour mark, and they’re comfy and clean. They’re also around IDR200,000.
So we flagged down a tuk-tuk to take us to the nearby Pasar Senen station where we could get one of the ekonomi trains. Hey, the idea here was to save money based on a direct flight to Bali!
The tuk-tuks are somewhat different to the Thai ones, sounding more like they have dinky lawnmower motors in than motorbike ones. We also got a better price by walking outside the station than taking one of those which had parked up. The 20,000 fare was haggled down to 10,000 and we sat back as we… well… crawled through the streets. These things don’t accelerate as well as the ones owned by the speed-junkies in Bangkok, believe me.
Maybe ten minutes later we were dropped at the entrance to Pasar Senen, where we walked up to the ticket counter and explained that, yes, were were in the right place and, yes, we did want the ekonomi train despite being foreigners. No, really. Yes. Not the expensive one from Gambir. We’re sure. When does it leave?
“Four fifteen”
What time is it now?
“Four fifteen”
Train
With the help of the guards and a couple of passengers we jumped on with the door hitting our bums on the way in. Well. It would have if there were any doors. One of the guards removed two guys from our seat and we settled in for a long trip.
Our IDR46,000 tickets got us a decent sized seat, but not a lot of padding. Or leg-room. Forget air-con, or working fans. The breeze from the open windows was the only thing stopping the train turning into a huge cooking vessel as we clickety-clacked along the north coast of Java. At least the lights worked so we could read once the sun set. We were lucky to be at the end of the carriage – the light in the middle section was burnt our which would have made things even more tedious.
Oh, did I mention the journey was around 14 1/2 hours?
The journey reminded me a lot of India, predominantly because of the crammed hordes and the number of people who boarded at each stop to sell things. I recall four groups who got on to sing and try to get money – two girls with karaoke units and two bunches of boys with guitars and very loud voices. And whoever thinks it’s a good business decision to try to sell coffee to people they’ve just woken up at 3am when all they want to do is get back to sleep is beyond me.
As it’s Ramadan at the moment, food sales weren’t exactly rampant until sundown when all of a sudden hundreds of bags were opened, plastic cartons crinkled apart, and so forth. Oh, and far too many cigarettes lit.
Maria likes her food and tried a couple of the things from the hawkers. The kopi (coffee) sellers also do pot noodles, then there are fruits, nasi (rice), sweets (Indian and Western versions), and so on.
One young lad opposite talked to us on and off for a fair portion of the trip, as did some behind us as well as a handful of older travelers using the youngsters as translators. The main topic – why are you on the train? And why this train? Foreigners either fly or take the eksekutif services!
However, they were genuinely curious not accusatory. I swear we were the only non-Indonesians on the entire train, not just the carriage. And with that came status. And generosity. Whether it’s an Indonesian thing or a Muslim thing I don’t know, but we found ourselves being offered little bits of food from many of the people sat nearby. It was like being in Bangladesh again as we posed for photos. Between my (now pretty impressive) beard and Maria’s bright blonde hair, we certainly stood out as different from the locals.
Sleep, however, was a nightmare with barely forty minutes of undisturbed slumber at a time. Either someone moved and jostled me, or I cramped up, or my leg went dead, or someone started yelling “NasiNasiNasiNasi” at full volume. The smarter people slept in the aisles, or under the seats, though that left them at risk of being stood on as the traders marched up and down the carriage.
Finally, thankfully, joyously, we arrived at Surabaya at around 7:30am. We said goodbye to our traveling companions. I wanted to hug the little old lady who’d fed us bananas and doughnuts but didn’t think it was appropriate. I did pass my card on to one or two people who asked if I had email. If they visit this blog – thank you each and every one for making a very long journey that bit more enjoyable than it would have been otherwise!
Pedalo
As with Jakarta, Surabaya has a handful of train stations. We’d arrived at Pasar Turi and needed to get to Gubeng for the Mutiara Timur service to Banyuwangi.
Transport options were the usual – taxis, motorbikes… and pedalo. The taxis were quoting IDR50k while we got a price of IDR20k for two pedalos, IDR10k per person. Why not? One of the passengers off our train was also going to Gubeng and I think wanted to share a cab, but we’d already made a deal with the cycle-guys.
The ride was maybe ten minutes, and just what I remember from the likes of Ho Chi Minh city – cyclos are exempt from traffic laws. Silly things like red lights and direction of traffic flow mean nothing to a man with a passenger in front of him to cushion any collision.
Once we pulled up at the station, the two guys even insisted on giving us a hand with our luggage and getting it to the correct window for our tickets. Wish a smile, a handshake and an exchange of cash they waved us farewell.
Train again
When buying the tickets, Maria mentioned we were heading for Bali and they offered us a ticket which would cover us all the way there. However, there was a little breakdown in communications and we couldn’t figure out exactly how this worked. We just got the train tickets for Banyuwangi and decided to sort the rest out when we got there.
We’d just sat down to eat some “food” (pot noodle) when an announcement (and several members of the public) informed us that the train was here and we should board. They all seemed in a hell of a rush about it so we grabbed everything and jogged for the train. A local showed us to our seats (in exchange for IDR1000) which were much more comfy than the ones on the last train. I think we were bisnis class – we just asked for the backpacker-friendly “cheapest” which were IDR50k apiece.
This trip was to take around seven hours. As we neared Banyuwangi, a couple of the other passengers talked to us and asked where we were going to. Once they knew we were going to Bali, they told us there was a bus we could catch once we arrived which would take us all the way to Denpasar for IDR50k. This included the ferry fee as well. Bonus.
They even ensured we found the right bus by informing the train guard where we were going. At the station we were herded out and onto the coach.
Bus again
The ferry terminal at Ketapang is definitely walking distance from the train station. Walk out past the village green (which reminds me of Sri Lanka for some reason), then turn right on the main road and keep going. Ferry prices for foot passengers are IDR7000 per person if I read the signs correctly.
Our coach pulled in to wait for the ferry to dock – they’re every thirty minutes – and we were once again inundated with people selling stuff. Maria bought some new sunglasses that were either crooked or she has wonky ears. One guy was trying to sell “very good!”. We’re not sure what it was, because every time we asked him he just told us it was “very good!”. But what is it? “Very good!”
Ferry
We took the time on board the ferry to stretch our legs a bit. It’s a very short trip, maybe twenty minutes, and we saw our first white people in over 24 hours on the upper deck. Two Belgians who’d worked their way over from Sumatra and were heading for the Gili Islands.
As we neared the island of Bali, the sun started to set and once we were back on our coach, darkness was setting in.
Bus once more
The roads here aren’t bad and we made good time from the port. Despite our driver obviously having a death wish and a heavy right foot, we got to Denpasar in a little over three hours after we docked.
Denpasar treats bus stations like the Javanese cities treat train stations. To get a public bus to Kuta, we’d have to get from Ubung station down to Tegal.
Stuff it.
Bemo
We hopped onto a private minivan (I think these are the bemo) for IDR20k which took us to Bemo Corner in Kuta, not far from all the cheap hotels.
We started on Poppies Gang I looking for accommodation, finding most places full. Those that weren’t were asking IDR70k upwards for very basic rooms. I think we checked around 10 places until a local pointed out one of the side streets and told us there were many places up there as well.
Given that he wasn’t pushing one particular place, we walked up and had a look. The first place we found which had a “room available” sign was Taman Ayu Bungalows.
The friendly owner was more than happy to show us a room. Basic, but clean and IDR50k per night, which was the cheapest we’d been offered. But… only one room and despite two beds, Maria didn’t want to share. I told her to take it and I’d go wandering.
Fortunately, the guy then said he had one more room but only for one night unless someone checked out the next day. Existing tenants get priority, so as long as someone left, he could put the booked person into that room. Fine by me.
So there you have it. Kuala Lumpur to Kuta. Door to door it was 37 hours. almost exactly. And we did save a fair bit on what we’d have paid for a direct air fare. Off the top of my head, around £40. It doesn’t sound a lot, but it costs £3.20 for a night’s accommodation here and you can eat ridiculously well for the same amount again.
My night didn’t end there, though. I was hungry having eaten one pot noodle and a doughnut since we’d left KL airport. Unfortunately, all the nearby restaurants were closing which I thought was a little strange as it was only just after 10pm. I ended up in McDonalds as it was the only place doing an actual meal.
Time for a quick one as well, so I stopped off in a nearby bar for a Bintang – the local brew. And got talking to an Aussie couple (she from Newcastle). And another Aussie (from King’s Cross). And a Brit (from Liverpool).
One beer turned into… erm… a few. Small bottles became large ones and then Zane (the one from KX) and I went in search of a bar that wasn’t closing.
Amazingly, we didn’t have much luck as we walked out to the seaside area. Only one place was open and it was IDR50k to get in. And the music sucked.
So we did what any self-respecting backpacker would do. Headed to Circle K and bought bottles from the fridge to drink on the beach.
While we were there, a local guy that Zane had met joined us with two of his friends. We stayed out there until the sun just started to rise before we all staggered to our respective hovels.
On the way, we were accosted by a motorcycle-riding prostitute. Who told me she liked me very much and grabbed a part of me I’d rather wasn’t grabbed by anyone I didn’t at least already know over a couple of drinks. I knew what to expect this time, though. My first reaction wasn’t to push her away – it was to jam my hand into my pocket and clutch my wallet. One bitten… She seemed a little put out when Zane and I told her we were very much in love and didn’t like women. Eventually she just left, empty handed, and I wondered if there was anywhere open I could get some disinfectant to dip my manhood in.
Now, I thought it was 4:30am. I was wrong. Remember waaaaaay back at the top I mentioned something about the time zones? Well, they’re weird down here.
As a general rule, you go east and your watch goes forward. You head west, it goes back. North/south, no change. Of course, country borders and the like do mess with the pattern, but I’d hit a weird one with Indonesia.
Right, folks – Google for a map of SE Asia. Malaysia is generally east and north of Sumatra and Java in Indonesia. Yet if you fly west or south to either of these, you put your watch back an hour. This quirk is what threw me.
When you leave Java heading east (Bali is your first land stop), your watch does what it should do and goes forward an hour, which nobody told us.
This is why the restaurants were closing when I went looking for food. And why the sun was up when I went to bed at 5:30.
It’s also why I missed my inclusive breakfast as they only serve till 11:00 and my incorrect watch was telling me it was 10:30. The owner told me I had it set wrong. Gah.
For reference, the third time zone (GMT+9) starts at East Timor and extends into Papua. And despite being a huge distance east of Kuala Lumpur I’m actually in the same time zone!
Peninsular Malaysia is the place that throws the system. The time zone for Borneo is extended west to include the mainland, I guess so the whole country is in one zone.
The things you learn while travelling…
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