We are back in Bali. The last few days at Sumba Nautil were enlivened primarily by severe itching and on the final morning I opened my eyes and put on my glasses to see, a metre away from my nose, a footlong gecko biting the head of another smaller gecko. I squawked and leapt onto the sleeping GF and was jumpy for the rest of the morning. Our driver – a different one – arrived to collect us with the mounted machete which looked lovely and very ornamental, except that it had cut through the painstakingly woven cords that held it to the board. Well, not much to be done, but a greater problem was that it didn’t fit in the box so I decided to just take it back to Bali with me and arrange for postage from there.
We returned to Pantai Oro where we were put in the same rooms as before, except this time they had truly been engulfed by wood lice. It was remarkable. We would wash them away with water and by the time the next person came for a shower the floor was more black than white. I wonder how long Pantai Oro will stay open, or if it will descend in the world to become a backpacker joint. We did have a really lovely walk along the beach, and saw a pod of pilot whales frolicking, leaping up and spouting water. Such a joyous, unforgettable sight.
We arrived in Bali to find that our pre-booked driver had not arrived, but as we were preparing to book an airport taxi it emerged that the GF’s dear friend P and his boyfriend (who had been staying at our flat in KL) had also just landed. So we left together. P and F are remarkably similar in form and character. I wonder if they are aware of it.
We are staying near Ubud in an eco resort which takes its eco credentials very seriously. Everyone here (at least all the foreigners) are clearly experienced in meditation and dressed in cotton robes that manage to be both skimpy and flowing, there are crystals, and everything is organic and grown on site. The place itself is remarkable. On entry it appears to be in a suburb, but it is green with lovely wooden houses set amongst food crops. There is a swimming hole with frog spawn and an immense yoga pavillion. In the far corner of the main garden is a bamboo lift that goes down a well shaft to a rope bridge over a river. Cross this, walk along a cliff, cross another bridge and go down a spiral staircase and you arrive at a series of terraced pools inset in rock and descending to a furious river. Again, there are ropes from which to leap into the pools. It really is a child’s fantasy. I loved this bit of it – the self-regarding spirituality not so much.
We are staying, unfortunately, in the Sumba house; the GF and I up a precarious ladder in the attic with the ancestors, and his mother in a canopied bed on the ground floor. The floor itself is of smooth, slippery bamboo, and I am a bit worried one of us will break an ankle. So not as comfortable as I’d hoped after our days of roughing it in nearly the most lavish resorts on Sumba (the most lavish was well beyond our means or inclination), but it is still nice to be clean and moderately comfortable.
People (the tourists at least) in Bali remain awful. Truly a place blighted by tourism.