Paradise in Low Season: Gili Islands Edition
Chinese New Year has come around again and a flurry of Red decorations, mice standing in for unphotogenic rats and, of course, shopping appeared throughout Singapore. As is traditional (if you’re not staying behind to get smashed) as expats we decided to head out of the country.
“You do like a holiday don’t you Croll.” As one of my football teamates so eloquently put it.
This time the tiny Gili Islands off the coast of Lombok, Bali’s sister island in Indonesia. Described in the Lonely Planet as a haven for backpackers and quoting that people often stay for weeks rather than days – this sounded promising for ten days of snorkeling, reading but mainly sitting down.
We had known that it is currently rainy season across some of SE Asia (including Singapore) but considering rainy season generally means a brief storm and then sunshine bright enough to roast me in under half an hour we figured we’d be fine!
We made our way to the Islands by getting a cab to Bangsal, which is a dreadful place with gangs of ‘tour operators’ haranguing you to get their return charter boats. Imagine twenty Foxtons Estate Agents but without the cheap suit and tie, and slightly more aggressive. The four minute Cidomo (horse and cart) ride, fleeced again (!), to the tour operator hut was not exactly worth the quoted price.
Our first three days on Gili Air (Air is to Mummy as Gili Islands are to Three Bears), were spent in a delightful garden at Coconut Cotttages, whose picture of the Scottish parliment on the wall is explained by the lady owner. Thus provided with a second hammock we settled in for a few days of lazing. We snorkled when the sun came out, only received a few mosquito bites and the rainstorms, although extraordinarily loud, were only at night.
The food was pretty decent on Air too, proving you can’t beat fresh barbecued fish, and the service was also good but you’d expect that when you are two of only about twenty people on the island. With the lack of cars, replaced by donkeys, and the lack of people, replaced by no-one you really did feel you were pretty far away from the rest of the world!
At one of the beach bars we were invited by a barman to sample some magic mushroom pizza, which we declined on the basis that walking home in the dark with several Bintangs inside us would be difficult enough, without being led astray by multi-colored lights and pixies.
Losing some of my faculties was also not ideal given the level of hitting on Jo that managed to occur during my brief visit to the hole-in-the-ground that passed for the gents. Considering the Lonely Planet advises covering up to avoid offending the Muslim local’s sense of decency, there was an awful lot of intense chest inspection going on. The unapologetic South East Asian boob-stare was very much in effect.
A change of location on day four to the smallest island, Gili Meno, even smaller, even quieter, but with the best snorkeling – seemingly ideal! However when we alighted from the island shuttle it soon became clear we were pretty much in a ghost town. As the Cidomo-man took us on a jaunt the island it became clear that a lot of places were completely shut.
As we lapped the island in search of empty but not abandoned huts we were pursued by a fleet of mosquitos the like of which I have never seen before. Clearly it was low season for them as well as they were extraordinarily persistent; biting through clothes as well as attacking any tiny areas of exposed flesh. Despite the constant insect death dealing I was able to provide when we dismounted we looked like plague victims, much to the amusement of the Cidomo driver.
We checked into a clean but unglamorous hut. I’ve subsequently checked in the latest version of the Lonely Planet, discovering that although listed in the ‘mid-range’ places in our four year old copy, it’s now in the ‘slightly shabby’ section! I was getting a bit grumpy now: bitten (lots), tired, permanently damp and having to limit our spending as there was no way to get more cash on the islands. I was joyfully rechristened ‘Five Star Andy’ due my perceived inability to rough it in backpacker style.
I was soon joined by ‘Five Star Jo’ as the sun failed to materialise and it became clear that the jellyfish in the sea would prevent much snorkeling. Despite being reassured “only red skin – no kill” by one of the five teenagers running the resort. When I say ‘running’ I mean ‘played cards all day’; only one of them appeared to notice guests at all.
So Jo and I plotted our escape to Bali, as the French couple rowed loudly in the hut next to us and the clouds got thicker – rendering any chance of sunshine impossible. We did manage to get out on a snorkeling trip and saw some turtles, using a boat to get past the worst of the jellyfish. At dinner that night the return of the mosquito fleet and shabby offseason food reconfirmed our plan to head to Ubud.
Early the next morning, fueled by an embarrassed breakfast where the crack team of teenage chefs had skillfully removed all the flavour from the fruit, we left the Gilis behind and headed for Bali. A combination of taxi and ferry got us to Bali whilst being exploited in ports by bag-stealing ‘porters’, food vendors and fat and grumpy taxi mafioso.
Ubud was as delightful as always, days of massages, eating and walking the rice fields were accompanied by unseasonal skies of sunshine. Plus the bathrooms weren’t permanently moist. We stayed at Lady Bamboo which we’d scoped out before when researching parental holiday venues. It’s German run (as you might tell from the website) so everything works, but with a Balinese staff there’s less rigidity to it’s efficiency!
So perhaps a failure as far as ‘enjoying the basics’, but I’m sure the Gilis are much more attractive in high season, when everything is open and the islands are relatively busy. Plus, one has to assume, less mosquitos. Maybe we’ll go again, when the sun is out?
Andy 15 February 2008
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