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

AN EDDY
IN THE CURRENT OF TIME

The Lombok Strait is infamous for whirlpools, wild currents and big sea creatures. We were on the edge of it, sheltered by the islands, but we remained wary. Emily suddenly shrieked in alarm. I looked back just in time to see a huge, pale body roll and submerge again alongside her boat. A dugong, I reassured her. They're increasingly rare in Indonesia and we felt honoured by the sighting, while it hinted at the mysteries beneath us.

One afternoon, we stood in our bungalow, looking out over an empty beach at a sunset blocked by chaotic clouds. We were up all night, fighting banging shutters, rescuing wind-snatched laundry and battening down storm-threatened belongings. In the morning we found our bungalow leaning desperately downwind on its tentative footings. While the rain poured down, we played ping pong in a pavilion, while philosophising with a pearl farmer to the repetitive rhythm of the ball and paddle. Our lone spectator rushed to collect the occasional errant ball, while the conversation flowed on.

Next day, the rain let up and our bungalow looked more lopsided. Time to head home before the dream caved in on us. We launched with a gale at our backs, surfing downwind back toward Lembar. Gradually re-aclimatising to the real world, we slowed our pace as we entered the harbour. The piers thronged with crowds pushing to get on the ferry. As we disassembled our boats, the harbor patrol came to scold us. It was he who had tried desperately to apprehend us when we first set off. There were storm warnings out, and the very thought of tourists paddling around unchaperoned was terrifying. He was happy we were back. Back in the world of rules and road signs and schedules. Back in the mayhem of crowds and tickets and time. But why should he be happy we were back? We were better off in the islands, I thought, where time was no more measurable than the sea, the storm clouds, and the sound of the ocean in a big, pink seashell.

photo above:
Camping gear and supplies can be carried in the bow of these kayaks which, when disassembled, fit into a regular size back pack.

by S. Johnston-Graham

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