Between Bali and Lombok

Off Bali’s mainland, to the southeast: there are three nusas far less crowded with toursts. Nusa Penida, the largest of them, is now one of my favourite spots in Indonesia—competence on a scooter preferred, though not required.

After almost a week in Canggu, it felt like time to leave. We had stayed as long as we did because we were waiting for word on Gunung Rinjani, which had been spewing ash and debris, hoping the evacuation notice would be lifted so we could hike it as planned— but no such luck. In the end, we decided to head to the cluster of small islands between Bali and Lombok — Nusa Lembongan, Nusa Ceningan and Nusa Penida — before continuing east to Lombok, where B. would catch her flight home and I would continue on to Flores, which I’d had my eye on since a fellow traveller had told me that it was his favourite of Indonesia’s thousands of islands. It was all very off-the-cuff and we didn’t have much of a plan since Rinjani had fallen through, and I felt that B. was feeling a little unsettled by what she thought of as a lack of purpose to our next few days. At least, in Canggu, she could work on getting better at surfing; and in Rinjani we would have been going for the summit, which was reputed to be difficult for the average hiker. But now what?

It’s true that it did feel vaguely like we were going to the nusas just to bide our time, especially since we were limited in how far we could stray because of B.’s rescheduled flight out of Lombok. I was partly apprehensive and partly excited: apprehensive because there’s always more pressure when you’re travelling with someone else to make sure that they also have a good time, and excited because I’m always curious about the unknown and regard any uncertainty as an opportunity for — hopefully, pleasant — surprises, and was looking forward to how the nusas would present themselves to us without prior planning or knowledge, since it had been such a last-minute decision. We really only made the decision to go to the nusas when we were at the port of Padang Bai on the eastern side of Bali. We had originally decided to go straight to Lombok, but right before we were about to buy our tickets to board, we found another boat company that sold tickets to the nusas and then onward to Lombok on a date of our choosing, despite countless touts telling us that there were no boats to the nusas from Padang Bai, and that we would have to go to the port of Sanur So far, this feels typical of the Indonesian travelling experience: it’s hard to know if you’re getting the right travel information once you’re on the road (or if someone’s just trying to sell you what they have), so do as much online research as you can beforehand.

Finally, we departed Padang Bai on a catamaran to Nusa Lembongan, which is the closest of the nusas to the mainland and purportedly the most tourist-friendly. We learnt that it’s best to wear slippers and shorts when riding these boats, as they are usually moored some way into the water and you’ll have to hike in knee-deep or thigh-deep to get on it. It didn’t take us long to get to Nusa Lembongan — roughly thirty minutes — with the dark-blue silhouette of Mount Agung constantly in our line of sight.

Arriving at Nusa Lembongan

When we arrived at Junggut Batu on Nusa Lembongan, there were the usual touts waiting for us as we stumbled onto the sand. They watched us pull on our socks and hiking shoes and hoist our heavy backpacks on, laughed at us when we tried bargaining for an ojek — code for mototaxi in Indonesia — to take us the fifteen to twenty minutes to Mushroom Bay, on another side of the island (some boat companies will drop you off there instead of Junggut Batu). They wanted 50,000 rupiahs per person to take us there, which was a relatively hefty sum in comparison to the 10,000–15,000 rupiahs we would pay for a ride of the same duration in Bali. We declined and said we’d look around some more, and you would think that only rich tourists ever came here by the way they laughed at us 😆. We had anticipated that these less-frequented islands would be more expensive, but not that much more expensive. To give the touts the benefit of the doubt, however, I wondered if perhaps we were just woefully uninformed. Perhaps 50,000 rupiahs really was a fair price, though comparing it to scooter rental prices I saw posted on a travel guide, I doubt it.

I had also thought, relying on past experience travelling in Latin America’s developing countries, that it is always possible to travel cheaply even in conventionally more expensive places, if you’re willing to make do, and if you’re willing to hold yourself out, not as a tourist and all the baggage it implies, but as somebody who is simply travelling through: a visitor, so to speak, in the old-fashioned sense of the word, provided you also comport yourself as such. But I guess the dock just isn’t the place for such sentiment — it hardly ever is; and perhaps no one deserves special treatment. Asian travellers in Asia often think they would be regarded differently, more benevolently, especially Malaysians, since we speak a similar language to Indonesians, with variations in words. But to many Indonesians, we’re their rich neighbours, and we live in a country where many of their relatives and friends have flocked to for better earnings as domestic servants and construction workers. Sure, we’re not Americans, Australians or Europeans, but still—“You’re Chinese Malaysian. The Chinese are rich!” one of them said to us. (I should note, by the way, that I have no problem with a dual pricing structure: one for foreign tourists and one for locals, but it would help if it were applied relatively consistently so you know, upfront, roughly how much more you have to pay.)

Walked right into a cremation ceremony in Junggut Batu

In the end, we determined to walk instead. The heat beat down on us as we trudged along the main path into the interior, and came across a crowd of locals in the middle of a cremation ceremony. On one side, men were digging around in the ground; and on the other, a few makeshift trenches had been set on fire, and I could see the bones sticking out of them as two men wielding long forks nudged the bones around to distribute them more evenly in the flames. It was more a festive than a solemn occasion, and the women who were watching on the sidelines were beautifully dressed, in kebaya of resplendent yellow or white lace, with their hair done-up and make-up applied, and I wondered how they kept their composure in this heat. How does anyone keep their cool in this heat?

We stayed for a while to watch before moving on, and soon came to an uphill path, which looked to be the shortest to Mushroom Bay. B. and I stood at the foot of the slope for a bit, deliberating on how long it would take us — perhaps forty-five minutes going slowly — and whether it was worth the effort. We decided that we might as well put our hiking shoes to good use since we were no longer going to make it to Rinjani. We took selfies on the way and laughed ourselves silly — our way of distracting ourselves from the trudge and the heat at hand — and soon, we passed two men on motorcycles who offered us a ride, also quoting 50,000 rupiahs each. We declined again, and one man said he would take us if we gave him our hiking shoes in return.

“What? Then what would we walk with?” I asked, and he shrugged.

“You wouldn’t even be able to wear it,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I can give it to my wife. Yes or no?”

Briefly, it crossed my mind in the way worst-case scenarios do — in a vaguely comedic hahaha-this-couldn’t-possibly-happen sort of way — that the men might move to take our shoes off our feet, and we moved to put some distance between them and us, declining politely but profusely. Worse crimes have been committed in the name of a good pair of shoes, right?! But I’m just joking. We never really feared for our safety.

Later, we managed to hitch a ride on the back of a pick-up truck. The driver didn’t charge us since he was headed the same way, which restored some of our faith in the kindness of strangers. The next challenge was to find a place to stay that wouldn’t blow our budget, and to our very good fortune — as you’ll soon see — we stumbled upon a makcik who was sweeping the open pavilion of a yet-to-be-opened warung. When we asked if she knew of any rooms available nearby, she directed us into the backyard, where there were several villas and a pool.

“Uh-oh,” I said to B. “This place looks expensive.”

The makcik called out to someone and a man came out of one of the villas carrying a baby in his arms. “Hello, I’m Grodak. This is Warisan Villa, but it isn’t ready yet. We’ll be open for business in a few days,” he said in Indonesian, and recommended we try a few other places nearby. We must have looked tired and sweaty when we asked if he knew of any place cheaper, because he looked at us and said, “How cheap?”

“About 150,000 rupiahs?” we said, going by what we thought were budget Bali prices.

“It is hard to find anything that cheap here. Maybe 200,000 or 250,000 rupiahs is possible,” he said. Then: “Actually, you know what? My rooms here go for 350,000 rupiahs, but since they are not ready yet you can stay for 150,000 rupiahs. We haven’t installed a lock on the bathroom door and we haven’t properly cleaned the floors but…”

“Not a problem!” we chorused, before Grodak could even finish. We thanked him effusively as he showed us into one of the villas, and I have to say I’m not sure what he was talking about when he said it wasn’t complete. The floor was a little dusty but it was clean, and who cared if the door to the open-sky bathroom didn’t lock, since it was in a closed compound with high walls anyway. There was a plush double platform bed and even air conditioning and a large flatscreen TV. There was nothing to complain about. In fact, this was an absolute bargain. Even the water pressure spurting out of the showerhead was strong. Most of all, Grodak and his family were incredibly hospital— and for that reason alone we would recommend Warisan Villa. (Tell them the girls from Malaysia sent you, and let us know if he remembers us!)

Sunset Point

In the evening, we set out to catch the last vestiges of light on a scooter Grodak had got someone to drop off at the doorstep for us, for 80,000 rupiahs until we left the next morning. We stopped for dinner at a warung for the usual fare — mie goreng, nasi goreng, bakso ayam, cap cay — on the way to Dreamland Beach and Sunset Point. There were nice views, but nothing spectacular. Riding on the scooter was the real experience, especially on dirt paths in the dark.

Later that night, we headed back to Mushroom Bay looking for a spot of nightlife. We were surprised to see how quiet it was despite how many restaurants and bars and little shops populated the path leading to the beach. B. observed that everyone here seemed all coupled up, or were in families or groups, and we marvelled at what a world away this was from mainland Bali. If Nusa Lembongan was supposed to be the most touristy of this cluster of nusas, then what would Nusa Ceningan and Nusa Penida be like? Then again, wasn’t that what we wanted? Something unlike Canggu, with more to offer besides the usual lounging on beaches, swimming, snorkelling or diving, surfing and partying? Except that Lembongan seemed to offer much of the same, but with less fanfare, like a theme park with a rollercoaster no one was riding.

In the end, we decided to have a drink at Hai Tide’s attached restaurant, which looked to be the liveliest spot. The service staff were very friendly, and we started talking to two Indonesian waiters who encouraged us to head to Nusa Penida when they heard of our tentative plans. Later, their manager, an Australian who had been to Nusa Penida, came around to chat to us, and told us that Nusa Penida were few and far between; and that he had loved it when he was there, though it could be tricky getting around with a scooter on some parts of the island — the inclines, the potholes on some stretches. Still, we left with renewed vigour and resolved to leave for Nusa Penida the next day and spend two days there. It’s the largest of the nusas, and would warrant more time. After we left the restaurant, we walked barefoot along the beach to a quiet bar with beanbags in the sand. We sank into them alongside a smatter of other tourists, some necking and some drawn to the glare of their phones and tablets, and took in the pendulous music playing on the speakers. Laying back, the white lantern swinging gently overhead seemed strangely hypnotic.

Later, back in Warisan Villa, we had the place all to ourselves. Grodak and his family live in another house nearby, and they had left the pool lights turned on for us. We changed into our swimsuits and took a dip in the pool’s warm waters before calling it a night.

Leaving Nusa Lembongan

Early the next morning, we rode the scooter to the yellow suspension bridge that connects Nusa Lembongan to Nusa Ceningan, where Grodak had told us we could catch boats going to Penida for 50,000 rupiahs per person, one way. We left the scooter parked at the dock as Grodak had instructed us to do, with the keys in the ignition; the owner would come by later to collect it. We took some coffee and breakfast until a man called Pak Sudirati came to tell us we could board his boat. We chugged about slowly in the shallow waters between Nusa Lembongan and Nusa Ceningan before picking up speed, and about thirty minutes later, arrived on Nusa Penida. Pak Sudirati gave us his mobile number, told us to call him early on the day we planned to leave to let him know what time he should fetch us.

He had dropped us off at Toyopakeh, a hub of small commerce lining the waterfront. I’d read somewhere that most of Nusa Penida is Hindu, except for Toyopakeh, which is a predominantly Muslim. We ordered some bakso ayam from a street stall and sat on a sidewalk to eat, preparing ourselves to haggle for a scooter.

(Left) Pak Sudirati / (Right) Arriving at the port of Toyopakeh in Nusa Penida

In the end, we found a young Indonesian who was willing to rent his to us for 80,000 rupiahs a day. His scooter was adorned with a red slogan that read, “MY LIFE MY ADVENTURE”, which I thought was cute. We mentioned in passing (we probably shouldn’t have) that we had just learned to ride a scooter, and he seemed to think about withdrawing his offer, wondering, I presume, if it was worth risking his scooter for the money he would earn. Scooter rentals in Indonesia are completely informal: it’s a purely verbal agreement, with no conditions set on liability in the event of any damage to the bike or any injury in the course of malfunctioning parts. It was clear he was worried about leaving his sleek ride to two women who didn’t particularly inspire his confidence when we revved it around for a bit to test it out. The look on his face when we waved goodbye as we sped away on his scooter… he looked to be wondering if he would ever see his scooter again. To be fair, I think it’s the scooter owners who risk more in these transactions. What’s to stop a tourist from abandoning the scooter somewhere, never to return?

We headed east on the paved coastal road to the village of Sampalan, where most of the island’s accommodation options are centred. The black asphalt of the road contrasted against the brittle wheat-yellow of our surroundings, caused by the dry and arid climate. When we arrived in Sampalan, we went straight to Made’s Homestay, where a stooped, elderly man came out to welcome us. To save some money, we took a double room with no air conditioning for 150,000 rupiahs, which we would later regret when he felt the shuttered room’s sweltering heat (it was either the heat or the mosquitoes giving us grief), especially after the comparative luxury of Grodak’s villa at Nusa Lembongan.

Points on a map the Frenchman circled for us

After dropping our bags off, we asked around for the Kubu Ganesh Guesthouse, which the manager at Hai Tide had told us to check out. We were told it was owned by a Frenchman who was pretty knowledgeable about the island, and we thought he might be able to tell us where to go. We spent the rest of the day exploring Nusa Penida’s eastern flank and the day after exploring the western flank.

But enough of all this talk. Here’s a photo diary of our time in Nusa Penida.

Day 1

Philippe, the owner of Kubu Ganesh Guesthouse, doing some cleaning and gardening. He let us take a peek at one of the three villas, which was surprisingly cool indoors even without the air conditioning turned on. We followed his advice and decided to head to Atuh Beach for the day.

The black asphalt is a stark contrast against the arid landscape of Nusa Penida. As Philippe told us, the eastern ring of the island is traced by relatively smooth paved road, but not so much the south or southwest shores, so we would have a little difficulty when we turn off the main road to get to the secluded Atuh Beach.

As in Nusa Lembongan and Ceningan, seaweed farming is big here, and you’ll see evidence of it all along the seashore. The Indonesians don’t really eat seaweed here, though — it being different in kind and taste from the Japanese seaweed we are used to — and the only thing we found was some seaweed-flavoured keropok (crackers) in the warungs we came across, and Lays seaweed-flavoured packaged crisps. Food Navigator reported that Indonesia accounts for seventy-five percent of global cultivated tropical seaweed production, but that most of it is exported for processing into their final products, especially to China and the Philippines, though there is talk that the Indonesian government plans to process half of its seaweed domestically by 2020.

We stopped by the Batu Mularan Seafood restaurant, located by the side of the road overlooking the seaweed farms on the coast. It’s owned by a friendly guy called Made, who has three sons, one of whom is hiding behind him in this picture.

Made took us out back into his kitchen and showed us what he caught from spearfishing that morning. “Which would you like?” he asked. “The barracuda, please!” (That’s the thin, silver one.) Novelty factor of the barracuda aside, snappers taste better and are more tender.

Lots of school kids around

As you move inland, the terrain turns hilly with many hairpins, and sometimes we had to get off our scooter and push it along, which meant it took us a lot longer to reach Atuh Beach than it might have taken someone else. Here’s B. checking the scooter for scuffs after we fell off at a particularly steep curve.

All the children here can handle a motorbike, even eight-year-old girls and sometimes three to a bike.

Cheeky schoolboys trying to get us lost. They’d turned the sign for “Pantai Atuh” around so we couldn’t see it. Then when we spotted it, they became inncocently obliging, turned it back around and pointed us in the right direction. Haha. Boys be boys.

Farmers we pass along the way

Almost there. Pak Rai and his family lives along a dirt road about a five-minute walk from the steep stone steps leading down to Atuh Beach. We followed a sign that pointed to coconuts being sold and that’s how we found them. We spent maybe an hour here just taking a rest and chatting to him and his wife. We’d exchanged numbers and he even called us a few days after we’d left to check up on us. (By the way, they also offer rooms if you want to overnight it here.)

Pak Rai’s blue shorts peeking out from tree leaves as he plucks us fresh coconuts.

Walking down the path that leads to Atuh Beach

A valley of coconut palms spill out onto the secluded Atuh Beach

Diamond Beach, which isn’t accessible by steps. And in any case, the tide was too high.

This did no good for my ego. Leaving Pantai Atuh, we asked Pak Rai for help to steer our scooter past a particular steep stretch. B. rode with Pak Rai; and I with his, umm, ten-year-old son, who had to tell me to get off momentarily every time he stopped the scooter because “You’re too heavy.”

Saying goodbye to Pak Rai and his son

Day 2

Spearfishing with Made!

Pushing off! The boats are incredibly narrow — just a human body’s width and half a human body’s depth, with spider-like talons to stabilise it on the seas. Made doesn’t actually lead tours, but we asked if he could take us out and he obliged. He said that spearfishing isn’t an activity indigenous to the place, that he had been taught how to free-dive and spearfish by a visiting German who eventually settled in Indonesia.

One of Made’s catches. Excited that he caught a few, but still a little sad to see this beautiful sweetlips go. At first, I’d asked Made what fish it was, and he’d said it was a snapper. But much later, a friend of mine told me it was a sweetlips, and googling seems to confirm it.

We had it for lunch 😑

We ended our time in Nusa Penida at Crystal Beach, on the other side of the island close to Toyopakeh. Compared to Atuh Beach, it’s a lot more ordinary.

Taking the boat back to Nusa Lembongan.

The silhouette of what I call a “spider boat” (called “jukung”, outfitted wiht a balancing device), under the yellow suspension bridge back at Nusa Lembongan.