December/January, 1998
No. 032/VI/97

cover story

Christians in
Paradise
How Christianity came
to Bali

Once Upon a
New Years Eve
MC-ing a New Year's
Eve party during a
blackout

bali focus:
nusa dua and
jimbaran

The Origin of
Nusa Dua
A fable

People of a
Fertile Sea
The fishers of
Jimbaran beach

Center Stage
Steve Charles revamps
the Candraloka
Amphitheatre

Nusa Dua Nights
How to survive them

The Sacred
Wilderness
Colonial encounters with
Bali's southern peninsula

arts and
culture

Latter Day
Laksamana
A.A.M. Djelantik's
recently launched
autobiography

Kulkul
new Fiction by Gde
Aryantha Soethama

The Rat Pack
Who are Bali's literati?

beyond
bali

An Eddy in The
Counter of Time
Kayaking off the west
coast of Lombok

Slick and Cool in
Sengigi
Round midnight at the
famed Lombok resort

regular

Fashion

Adventure
Into the blue

Food
Jewel of the southren rim

Jungle Drums

Bali Update

On the Road

Home Grown
Made Adi Putra

advertising index for
Bali Echo web site

The writer chose to photograph this arrangement as the only moment of the wealth of shells she discovered on the trip. After taking the photo, she returned the shells to the sea. Kayaking calls for constant attention to conditions. The Lombok Strait is infamous for whirlpools, wild currents and big sea creatures.

When the bright lights and hectic pace of Bali wrankle your nerve endings, it's easy to escape, and find an eddy in the current time. To break clear of the mundane, simply change one element of the tourist formula. My sister, Emily and I chose to change the element called transport, and opted for sea kayaks, which we deployed to explore a side of Lombok tourists have seen. that few We chose the little archipelago off the north shore of Lombok's southwest tip, basing ourselves on on island called Gili Nanggu. Although we were close to the trodden tourist trail, our boats carried us to places unreachable by other forms of transport. Adventurous travelers who don't can easily like kayaking charter a local outrigger or skiff instead.

Emily and I headed for Lombok on the Mabua Express. Upon arrival at Lembar Harbour, we let the herd pass us by and be absorbed by the din of transport touts. We were left on an empty pier, where we set about assembling our boats in the midday sun, sweating profusely. Brandishing our paddles, we glided free of the clamor.

As we struggled to put distance between us and the grubbily cluttered piers, a uniformed patrolman came jogging along the sea wall, waving and calling out a command to halt. We chose to not understand Indonesian and waved back, grinning stupidly. Heads down, we paddled hard, not looking back. Soon we were out where painted fishing boats fly bright cotton sails. Alone at last. We rounded a point into the teeth of the wind, and were reminded that kayaking calls for constant attention to conditions. There were currents to contend with and surf over the offshore reefs. We picked a route between the reef break and the inside break, and made our way toward Gili Nanggu, where a small bungalow complex called Istana Cempaka remains the only tourist service whatsoever in the whole area.

A few hours out, after rounding a small headland we were suddenly presented with a vision of four gorgeous bamboo bungalows lined up on a brilliant white beach. Speeding for shore, we surprised some German snorkelers on the reef, then beached our boats, surprising the owners even more. They run one skiff a day to Lembar Harbour, and had never before experienced drop-in guests. We were quickly installed in a bungalow where we plopped down on the breezy terrace to relax and let it all sink in. We had a tropical island almost entirely to ourselves; a hectare of flowering trees, swaying coconut palms and grassy clearings, ringed by a pristine beach. The white sands were littered with seashells, and punctuated here and there by rocky outcrops where tidepools offered a kaleidoscope of plant and animal life. Beyond the beach, a complex of coral reefs stretched in every direction, linking our island to its neighbors.

With snorkels and snacks in our boats, we proceeded to reconnoiter the archipelago. The islands and the nearby shores of Lombok were garden-like and quiet, with rustic shacks under the shady trees. As we paddled along, farmers worked slowly and methodically, high on the hillsides, where scarecrows fluttered in the wind and pastel-coloured goats picked their way nimbly across-slope.

We saw Sasak villages where children ran in packs along the sand shouting enthusiastic invitations for us to come ashore and play. Stopping for lunch one day, we found a baby on the beach, chasing fruit as it rolled down the sand toward the waves. Its minder, an old grandmother appeared from the shadows to stare at us, admonishing my sister to cover her bare shoulders. Have you no shame?! On a tiny islet made only of white sand, cowrie shells, ghost crabs and vines, with one mangrove tree as its proud standard, we stopped to nap, then sketched diagrams of navigation theory in the sand before launching again.

continued

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