Gili T

Sometimes I just wanna write. Look out of the window and bring to memory the times gone by. Like the time on Gili T. Remember when our eyes happened upon a shooting star, ripping through the sky?

The Gili islands we once knew were a group of 3 islands off the coast of Lombok. Lombok is home to an active volcano, Rinjani, surrounded by the clearest blue lake. Since climbing the volcano would require 4 days, we decided to check out the smaller Gilis (Gili for little). Gili Air, Gili Meno and the one that we were particularly interested in as it was locally known as the “party” island - Gili Trawangan. So we ended up booking 3 nights at Villas Edenia on the southern’ish point of the island. Home to psychedelic shrooms and other nefarious entheogens.

We took the “fast boat” from Padang Bai. Our arrival at Padang Bai was battered by a magnanimous monsoon that chased us from Ubud to here. Again down went my hopes for this trip. After an incredible time in Ubud, I had very little to desire for in Gili T. I didn’t want to leave behind my colonial villa, creeping with vines and ferns, in the very epicenter of Ubud. Where only two days ago, we spent getting lost in the art markets and temple runs and paddy fields. Discovering Warungs perched high on papaya fringed ridges, in the midst of rice fields (Sweet Orange Warung!). Where we spent 2 spoilt days bathing in our private pool as the rains of the heavens washed over our bodies.

Monsoon showers. Wet Fantasies.

The next day, the monsoon never stopped, it became worse. And worse. The engine light on the cab driving us to Padang Bai came on halfway into the journey and remained critical the whole way there. Flood water poured out of the taxi, as we were swept in the torrential rain.

And then in the sea, in our cramped fast boat, we were tossed up and down amongst the dizzying waves, crashing upon the windows. My eyes fixated on the horizon, I wondered how on earth would we survive if the boat capsized? I began drawing up elaborate plans in my head of what the doors could look like, bearing in mind pressure and other measurables of the sea. Doors that slide up, I decided, were an absolute necessity in boats.

But we eventually did arrive. Unscathed. The rains were still there but they were tolerable. Gili T, like the rest of Indonesia, wasn’t love at first sight. A tiny road lined with fish markets, foreign exchanges, irish bars and calls for bar crawls. Horse carriages lined up the streets and carried away a load of tourists at a time. Bags piled at the front of the cart whilst the passengers hung on slanted carts, holding on for dear life. People in bikes swerved infront of us, smiling in wonder and delight.

The driver whipped our horse as we turned left, going further inland into the island. Burning smoke and vast fields of coconut trees, native inhabitants under tin roofs, cocks covered in giant baskets, a shop selling incense oils, several notices announcing Balinese massages and spas. Coconut shells, wet soil, cows grazing. I looked on with despair.

We checked into our hotel. A young man, with bright teeth greeted us, saying how glad he was for the rains. Normally, you see vast clouds over Lombok, he continued, but Gili T always seems to miss the rain. We stifled a laugh. Yeah right.

We walked past the front gate to our villa, it was painted white. The floor was made of a dark wood, that looked faded in the pictures, but now looked brown and mottled. A pool lay on the corner, overlooked by a tree with shocking pink, yoni shaped flowers. A seating area, a small refrigerator, sliding doors that took you into the bedroom. On the bed the words “Honeymoon” written with the same pink flowers and flowers of frangipani.

I crashed into bed, hopes crashing inside of me. I wanted the bed to cradle me. To forget these next three days and sleep them away. I couldn’t imagine them getting any better. I said to Charlie, I’m just going to sleep it off.

Charlie insisted we get bikes and ride around the island. It was 5.15pm. The Sun was to set in an hour’s time.

I looked at him. ‘this isn’t just your honeymoon,’ I remembered him saying.

“Let’s go”.

Our bikes waited for us at the front of the lobby. Black and Yellow. 50,000 Indonesian Rupiah for 24 hours. We jumped on them, and immediately I felt good. The ground had an amazing feel to it, the rains had made the firm sand hard and spongy. We rode past couple of wooden shacks converted into boutique hotels. A treehouse. Another hotel where we ate chicken nuggets and chips.

We rode past swathes of empty beaches fringed with dwarf pine. The tide had gone far out and what we saw were old reef faded in the hot sun, a few people collecting cockles. On our right a big resort was being constructed. A little further more resorts, fancy looking ones with individual cottages overlooking the sea. Infinity pools, a DJ setting up for the evening, bbq seafood. A lazy concentric circle of beach beds, the smell of sunscreen. We rode past a sweet little restaurant furnished with white tables and chairs, driftwood and a beautiful hammock. Pendulous Bali lights hung from the ceiling. People already milling about, expectant to find a seat. I made a mental note to find this place.

We rode on past shocking pink hotels with clouds of pink bourgainvillae flowing out of the walls. Pink beanbags framed a beautiful sunset. Melodic Techno. Fire Breathers.

Sunset point, a sharp curve into the face of the tallest mountain, fringed by words of I Love Gili T. Lovers of all types embraced. An old Balinese temple carved into the rock face streamed with scents of spicy sweet incense flowing out and into my nostrils. The scent of Dark Gods.

A little further on the busy strip of Trawangan’s main centre. Irish bars and raucous cheer. Pubs and cafes selling cheap caffeine and candied sugar. Crepes, cocktails and tender coconut. Sticky doughnuts and sloppy pizzas.

We stopped to acknowledge the busy harbour area and the route we first took to get to our villa, and realised how much we judged Gili T too soon. And when I say we, I mean primarily me.

Very soon we began cycling past vendors that began supplying far more nefarious goods. “No shroom, No Fly”, “If you never try, you never know”. “I’m all natural, I’m a fun gi.”

Little beach warungs that seemed also to sell Magic Mushrooms. We couldn’t cycle any further, so we walked our bikes right to the end of the north side. Reading handwritten psychedelic prints of ‘enjoy your life before you die’.

When we could walk no further, we walked back, and later rode our bikes away.

We stopped at Pink Coco Loco for Aperol Spritz. We remembered this place fondly from our time in Jimbaran/Uluwatu, where we ate at their Tapas Del Mar! Their Aperol Spritzs had something wonderfully lemony and spicy in them that had us intoxicated. And the bintangs in ice cold tins. The candle light and calamari cooked in squid ink rice. The heady scent of jasmine in the bathroom and the picture of the Balinese girl bathing her hair in the green waterfall.

We watched the sun go down between thick rain clouds, leaving gashes of red in the sky, splinting the lights so shards fell on us. Fire breathers moved to the hypnotic beats of drum and electro. Heart Pounding. The breeze awakening us into the night. When we finally rode back home, we rode past lonesome fires calling to the moon, to the sea, howling in memory of the shimmering blue sea.

We fell asleep with Trawangan heavy on our bones. Deep Sleep.

A lone boat anchored on the seashore

A hammock at Pondok Santi

A typical warung, a local Indonesian eatery

..in case we forget