Archive for the ‘Indonesia’ Category
Stasya in Wunderwaterland
Thursday, September 10th, 2009
Am I late?! I checked my watch – no, it’s seven in the morning – the perfect time to fall down the rabbit’s hole. “One. Two. Three. Go!” At the last moment I catch a glimpse of the rabbit – it bares a strange resemblance to a pair of fins crossed over each other. Boom! Pshshsh… Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles… I’m falling slowly, letting this far from imaginary world float by me. I want to grab some jelly from the shelf but it has a “don’t touch!” tag on it. That’s just as well – it’s poisonous anyway.
This world taught me how to fly, or more accurately – I had to learn if I wanted to see it, be part of it, and not destroy or even disturb it in the process. Now, if only I left behind a trail of fading sparks, and had a set of dragonfly wings where I now have the scuba tank, and I’d fit into this magical world much better. On second thought, actually, scratch the wings and get me some green tights and a hat with a feather instead.
I stroll though the garden not touching the ground. Sometimes, passing current whisks me away, and I have to hold onto a rock with two fingers letting the flow pummel me. My body flaps like a rag doll, and I finally let go letting the water carry me away.
Wondrous creatures with wandering eyes follow me curious and cautious. They hide in crimson, maroon, carroty, and seemingly greenish but really pink trees. There is no sitting on the grass, no picking flowers – everything here is alive, be it rose or a vase, and will make its objection painfully clear to those who might like a souvenir. It’s easy to find here a sea cucumber blowing bubbles while sitting on a mushroom coral. His advice will be subtle and ambiguous. I will lose myself in his countless bumps and creases enough to just politely nod my head when he is done explaining and proceed in the direction he is pointing at.
Manta drift dive next to Batu Bolong
Batu Bolong
Sebayor Kecil
Mini Wall – Night Dive
Tatawa Kecil
Siaba Kecil
Tatawa Besar
Gili Lawa Darat – Night Dive
Castle Rock
The Cauldron
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Coming to Komodo
Wednesday, September 2nd, 2009
The man sleeping on the bar awoke, stretched, then picked up two kittens that hungrily scoured the restaurant’s floor, and began kissing them. When he was finally done, and his sleepy gaze fell upon us, his eyes flew wide open and beamed not with question but with understanding. The ferry arrived to Labuan Bajo at three in the morning, and we spent the rest of the night like so many people before us on the spacious benches of the outdoor restaurant “The Lounge” in the dark and quiet of the small town. Perhaps the big sign “Free WiFi” is their guiding light for midnight visitors – I know it was ours.
Earlier in the week we’ve tested the theory that island hopping from Bali to Flores by hitchhiking on big cargo tucks is cheaper (because it’s free) and more comfortable then any bus full of children trying to out-scream the squawking of the chickens, chain-smoking men, and rotting fruit. Not only you save the bus on the bus fare, you don’t have to pay for the ferries either: once the truck driver pays for his car to go on the ferry, nobody (including the truck driver) cares who and how many are in the cab, so by catching a truck our budget also caught a little break.
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Kooky Kuta
Tuesday, September 1st, 2009
Kuta – a vibrant and teeming with tourists beach town – settled down as night fell and covered everything around with scarce light from lampposts and the occasional car or motorbike passing by. We were celebrating Masha’s () birthday by the water, with the sound of the waves and the oceans salty breeze reminding me I was yet to see all that there was to see in its blue kingdom. “You are Jewish?” asked me Masha’s CouchSurfing host – a Russian guy who now lived near Kuta after having walked halfway to Indonesia barefoot. “I never even knew what a Jew looks like…” his voice somewhere between surprised and questioning. “Like me,” I answered.
We ate grapes and cheese, drank some cheap but surprisingly good wine, and when it got too late for drinking (that would be when all the bottles were empty) set up a little camp on the beach with the rest of Masha’s friends scattered near by on sleeping mats under the stars. There wasn’t enough room in our tent for everybody, but we did fit the birthday girl in.
The next morning I had a job to do. My internet publisher from InTheKnowTraveler.com, for whom I’ve already written quite a few big and small articles in the past year, has asked me to review and write about a hotel or two on Bali. Wholeheartedly adoring cheap, atmospheric, and dingy accommodations I was scared to death of posh resorts, those who run them, and those who stay in them, but even more so of the fact I will end up with absolutely nothing interesting and worth while to write about. I chose only one – Bali Dynasty Resort – even though several others (including Hayatt!) offered to take me “and partner” in for a complimentary night. I must admit, a night in a spacious room with a flush toilet (and toilet paper!), hot shower, a flat screen TV, and fluffy towels wouldn’t be that such a nightmare (though definitely reverse culture shock), but when given the choice I much preferred spending the only night we set aside for Kuta on a beach with friends. Nevertheless, I did want to try my hand in that sort of journalism as well (Who knows? Maybe a nice vacation from writing nature travel guides would be hopping from one five star resort to the next and giving them thorough reviews in exchange for the luxuries they provide), so I graciously accepted a simple lunch instead to conduct a short interview.
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Maybe Mola-Mola
Monday, August 31st, 2009
We came to find the mola-mola – a strange creature also known as pelagic sunfish. It’s flat, has an almost perfectly round body-slash-head ending with a mostly useless tail, with one of its fins sticking out straight up, and one straight down. This fish doesn’t swim, it mostly goes with the flow at awkward angles, and always has a surprised look on its face. We’ve seen it once in South Africa from a boat while searching for dolphins, but we chose not to jump into the water in our fleece jackets and hiking boots, so we didn’t get to see it up close.
Nusa Lembongan is the best place to see mola-mola as far as we know, but it’s still a long shot with the average water temperature here being 25 degrees Celsius. Apparently, they prefer cold currents, and though we did pass though some freezing thermoclines on the dive, neither of them brought us the coveted fish. Instead, we found our share of snakes and nudibranches. Anemones and their faithful little white-orange guardians straight out of Finding Nemo. Distant relatives to starfish waved their tentacles at us but we knew better not to come too close. Once again, just like every time I find myself underwater, a feeling of calm and belonging washed over me. Now that I had my first taste of diving in the Indian Ocean, all I could think of is that I wanted more.
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Sarit Stanyslava Reizin-Bernstein
Friday, August 28th, 2009
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Ubud
Wednesday, August 26th, 2009
Ubud hummed, buzzed, rang, and quivered with tourists and “Hello Mister! Where you go? Transport?! Show? Maybe buy something?!” The sidewalks and streets are simply not wide enough to hold all the merchants and customers. All needing each other, all annoyed by each other. I’ve learnt to deal with the noise and reminded myself how I love New York and its bustle, and this is not far from it. Nevertheless, when I create my memories of Ubud, I choose to cut and leave certain noises behind. My photos can keep quiet, and I will keep only what’s inside the frame: temples and their petrified guardians with fresh flowers behind their ear – courtesy of the early risers, freshly laid out offerings to the gods to welcome wealth and peace, and the occasional macaque – there is no getting away from them.
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Fire Dance
Tuesday, August 25th, 2009
at the end of a Kecak performance a barefoot man in a plaid sarong and a straw prop, vaguely resembling a horse, went into a trance and dashed through red hot coals from a fire set in the middle of the stage
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