We drove for almost an hour, passing one lovely vista after another: the coast, the countryside, mountains covered with rice paddy terraces.
Going through one town, we stopped to allow a massive funeral procession to pass by. Over a hundred mourners walked together with the remains of their numerous loved ones, who had been moved from temporary resting places and would be reburied properly en masse in order to save on burial costs.
When we had traveled for nearly an hour, the van stopped and the driver told me I needed to switch to another bemo. I paid him, but failed to give exact change, and suddenly the price changed to twice what we had agreed upon. He swore up and down that it hadn't, then pretended not to understand what I was saying, and finally simply drove off. Only then did I realize that I had left my beloved polarized sunglasses in the bemo as well. Alas.
My frustration continued when the next bemo driver quoted me a price twice as high as the last driver had said it would be to go the rest of the way to Padang Bai. I made my displeasure known but hopped aboard in any case, too exhausted and exasperated to argue, and spent the rest of my ride sitting across from a woman holding a live chicken.
When finally I arrived in PB, I proceeded straight back to the Lemon House, where Ben had the first two episodes of the second season of "Game of Thrones," as well as "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo," downloaded and waiting for me on the television. I felt infinitely better. I laid stretched out on the couch with a pack of peanut butter crackers and spent the evening as a lazy bum, watching my programs in between the intermittent power outages.
The next morning, I made up for my prior inertia by running the steps outside the Lemon House for exercise.
Afterward, I went to collect the laundry I'd turned in upon my arrival, only to discover that one of my bras had blown away in the wind as it dried. Damn! (If there's one thing I now know for future travels, it's pack extra bras. Finding a decent one without copious amounts of padding is next to impossible in Asia.)
I then reorganized my things, left yet another bag in storage, and proceeded to the dock to catch the local ferry to Nusa Penida, from which I would proceed to Nusa Lembongan, a smaller island off of Bali where I had arranged to meet up with Nick, a friend of my couch surfing host Ian back in Sydney. I figured that the ferry couldn't possibly take THAT much longer than a fast boat, and I would save so much money. Well, I was right about the last part. The ferry was three hours late, during which I had to use a toilet that the lady from whom I bought my lunch told me was the worst she'd ever seen. She wasn't lying; that toilet gave the one from "Trainspotting" a run for its money, but when you gotta go, you gotta go. Then when the ferry did finally arrive, we sat on it waiting to leave for a good hour before it actually did.
When we finally docked in Nusa Penida, I approached the only other tourists I'd seen on board and asked if they'd like to split a boat to Nusa Lembongan, assuming that was where they were going. They agreed. But we first had to get to the other side of the island where those boats were stationed, so after a good bit of bargaining with some local motorbike drivers, off we went, speeding past the coastline, where local children swam naked in the water with the mountains of Bali silhouetted behind them.
As we pulled into the dock, a pack of harried boatmen ran toward us to compete for our business. One even skidded over to us on his motorbike, knocking the bike onto its side in his hurry. We settled on a craft, made a deal, and departed for Nusa Lembongan. We realized very quickly that our captain was a bit nuts, as he babbled on throughout the whole journey, now and then yelling indistinctly but vehemently into the wind.
Our boat dropped anchor a few feet off shore, and we clambered into the surf with our things held high over our heads. My new friends Sam and Emma... at least I think it's Emma... I'm horribly embarrassed, but I think I might be getting her name wrong; this is what happens when you right a blog three months late... in any case, that's what I'll call her for now... well, they went to find a room, and I met up with Nick, his charming girlfriend Rachel, and their new friend Devon. Their hotel was full, so I got a room in the place next door. What can I say?: the name drew me in.
That evening, after Nick had come in from surfing, we watched the sunset as we ate dinner and got to know one another.
The next day I slept and slept like I hadn't slept in years. I didn't wake up until nearly noon, and when I did, I still felt asleep for another good two hours. Nick and Rachel were in a similarly soporiphic state, so we spent most of the day by the beach. Toward late afternoon, Nick headed out to catch some waves while Rachel and I rented some shoddy bicycles and took them out to the mangrove forest across the island.
I'd heard good things about the snorkeling amongst the mangroves, but since we'd gotten such a late start, we satisfied ourselves with a wander through the forest.
We started the bumpy, butt-numbing journey back just as the sun began to descend, passing locals taking their wares back to their homes.
That night, Nick impressively used some broken crockery and discarded wood to build a fire on the beach and grilled up some fish for us.
The fish-- paired with beer and some excellent side dishes prepared by the host at their guesthouse-- made for a delicious meal, most of which I spent talking to Sam and Nick about their respective fields of ecology and sustainable products. Good food and intelligent conversation? That's a desirable way to spend an evening.
Nick and Rachel departed the following morning, but I convinced Sam and his lovely lady to join me on a snorkeling and scuba diving trip...
... on which our dive crew took us to the fiercely beautiful Crystal Bay.
Those two chose to snorkel on the surface, while I took to the depths. Fortunately, from either angle, you could observe the area's main attraction: manta rays. We lucked out and six of these mighty creatures happened to arrive shortly after we did. I couldn't believe their size. They swam in circles around the cove, so we mostly stood still on the ocean floor, watching them swim back and forth above us. Generally, they stayed several meters away from us, but the largest of the bunch seemed more curious. Or perhaps he was simply used to everyone moving out of his way. On one pass, I realized he was headed straight for me. I kept expecting him to change direction to avoid contact, but at the last moment, it was me who flinched, bending backward at the knee, Matrix style as I watched his mammoth 4 meter-wide belly pass right over me. Magnificent!
After our encounter with these behemoths, we climbed back on board for a scrumptious chicken and fried rice lunch. I also indulged in a cold Coke in a glass bottle, just about the only thing that, for me, abolishes the taste of salt water after diving.
Our second dive featured a lot of lovely coral and some fish I hadn't seen before, but it couldn't compare to swimming with mantas. Still, I felt quite satisfied as we sped back toward the main town.
That night, a mix of people from the dive trip, my hostel, and Nick and Rachel's hostel gathered for beers on the roof deck of a restaurant down the boardwalk.
Yet again, the sunset lit up the sky to dramatic rose-hued effect.
Eventually, Sam, Emma, Devon, her boyfriend, and I broke off from the group and went for dinner at a little beachfront restaurant down the way, which featured a menu with the best Indonesian-to-Englsh typos I'd yet seen:
On my last morning in Nusa Lembongan, I said goodbye to my companions, realizing only then that I had spent all three days there in the company of three couples and hadn't even noticed, meaning that they were damn cool couples. With this thought, I took my leave, hopping a fastboat to Gili Trawangan.
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