Island life is very stressful so I took it easy today. Here is what I did from dawn till dusk, hanging out with Mardie, a fun solo Dutch traveler I met who arrived on Flores the same time I did. (In addition to everything below, I also took three cold showers to wash off the intolerable humidity.)

Started the day off with breakfast of champions: mango fruit juice and a plate of fresh cut tropical fruits.

After sitting around reading and relaxing, it’s time for lunch. The hotel girl fires up the grill,

cuts open the fish I just selected,

and prepares what was truly the juiciest and best-tasting fish I’ve ever eaten, really.

Then more sitting around.

We decide to be productive, and ended up finding a completely secluded beach to the north, with very warm water and this great view.

I now sit here in The Lounge, drinking an arak ginger (essentially a Moscow Mule but with locally produced alcohol), eating a pizza covered with chilis, and enjoying the tropical rainstorm outside.

Out of Flores and back in Bali — but just for the day. Before flying to my next island I had nine hours to kill at the airport, so I decided to venture into the heart of Denpasar, capital city of Bali. It’s just another overly congested, polluted, and noisy city, one that even Lonely Planet says has no compelling reasons to visit. Here I tr to cross the street without getting hit by a motorbike or ten.

However, there is good food here apparently. According to LP, the best dish in Bali can be found in a tiny restaurant deep inside Denpasar, and another well-reviewed one is nearby. Descriptions for both sounded great and I couldn’t make up my mind … so why not go to both?

First stop, Cak Asm, where allegedly I can find the island’s tastiest meal — calamari in a salty garlic sauce. After the taxi driver and I both struggle trying to locate it, we finally arrive. I enter this modest little restaurant, which was filled mostly with government employees.

I order the famed dish, which was much easier said than done, since they don’t speak English in this non-touristy area. With little regret he informs me they are out of that dish (it’s only noon though!), so I order what I think is the next best-sounding dish, calamari in chili sauce. Out it comes, and while simple-appearing — an oval plate full of large calamari circles, in a sauce – it was quite tasty. I could have eaten a bowl of just that sauce alone.

Off to destination two, Ayam Goreng Kalasan. The dish to order here fried chicken (ayam goreng), marinated in a lemongrass sauce for just over forever. As I walk in, the restaurant supervisor spots me and runs over to greet this tourist. He suggests which dish to get, and lucky for him it’s the same one I already had planned. I play dumb a little bit just to humor him  — Is the chicken good here? Is this a chair? So what country are we in? — since I really seem to be the first white person to enter this place in ages. I then take a seat under the staring eye of every customer there.

Out comes the dish that will soon become my favorite meal in this country so far … along with a small bowl of water for washing my hands. Finally, I can eat with my hands! However, I start worrying about how to attack this food with my bare hands. While I may be the master of Indian naan and Ethiopian injera, I’ve never eaten rice with my bare hands … and not only that, just the right hand (the left hand is forbidden as it wipes your, you know, poop hole). I’m afraid I’ll embarass myself by having just to throw the rice at my face in hopes of getting some in my mouth, so I start staring at other peoples’ eating habits to come up with a strategy of my own.

Out comes my food: a super crispy piece of fried chicken with the great aroma of lemongrass, a handful of fried coconut shavings, a small mound of rice cooked in coconut milk, and sambal (chili sauce).

I jump right in, grab some rice, and miraculously deliver it to mouth with one smooth movement. Turns out I’m a natural. (the trick: use your thumb and push the rice along your fingers into your mouth.) Here is Dr. Amir during and after his initial bites of food. Note the people staring at me, including the miniature thugs outside trying to sell me bootleg DVDs.

And afterwards, with a big dopey grin:

The rest of my meal was pure joy. I had an extremely enjoyable time eating, and in a stunning upset over the meal at Cak Asm, this was easily my favorite meal of the trip … and for less than two dollars!

With a satisfied belly, I head back to the airport, not at all aware I wouldn’t be eating until the next day.

So much for what started out as a good day. Satisfied but exhausted from three flights, hours walking around, and many different airports, I arrived on the island of Sulawesi in the town of Manado. I have to spend the night here before taking a boat to the tiny diving island of Bunaken tomorrow. I didn’t make any reservations for this night since I assumed that wouldn’t be an issue.

Well I was wrong. This is the only room that was available in this town. Yes you’re seeing the entire thing.

Let me start with its positives:

1. It still has a ceiling
2. It costs $4.

Other than that, this is a perverted little jail cell that barely fits me and my backpack. It is a microscopic box that has exactly the following: a desk, a window, a skinny bed, and a pillow. Did you hear me say towels? That’s because it doesn’t have them. Did you hear me say a fan? No, because it doesn’t. Did I say it had blankets? No, I did not.

I’m not too pleased with the environment either. There’s a guy moaning down the hall; someone is breaking glass bottles on the street outside; and to make things completely bizarre, there are a few white guys in orange HAZMAT suits walking around outside (no joke). What the hell is going on here?

And to top it off, I just pissed all over my feet in the public hole in the ground they call a toilet.

Good night.

Greetings from the tiny tropical island of Bunaken. This island is a one-hour boat ride off the island of Sulawesi, home of the crappy hotel room. Here we are on the boat, my poor North Face bag dwarfed next to a big pile of rice (or something).

Bunaken is a very small island — it’s L-shaped, with each leg 3 miles long — and has two beaches that are filled with tourist accomodations; the rest is filled by the native villagers. This is the shore as we near it with the boat.

I am staying at Living Colour, by far the island’s most upscale resort, which is run by a Finnish married couple. This place boasts the best service and meals. More importantly, they run the island’s most professional dive trips with the best equipment. This is the main entrance to the resort, which is accessed directly by incoming boat (I’m standing in water for the picture). Off to the left are some very useful hammocks, and to the right is the Safety Stop bar, cleverly named after the stop one needs to take ~15 feet below the surface, when ascending from a dive.

My huge terrace:

And the view from that terrace:

Days are pretty routine here since most are here to dive. We eat breakfast at 8am (three delicious home-cooked meals provided daily), go for two dives, return for lunch, go back for another dive, relax, and then have dinner. This is what I do after my dives and before dinner, putting both hands to good use:

Staying here is a cross between the Swiss Family Robinson and summer camp, given the layout of the bungalows within the trees and the (semi) regimented way the days are run. But really, in terms of accomodations, service, diving, and food, you cannot find better on this island. If you like diving or relaxing, I highly recommend it.  

There were some additional activities after dinner tonight since it was a special night for two reasons. First, it was Friday so there was a live band of local resort employees: 

and I got a cake because it was my birthday.

Fun times here in Bunaken!

Time to dive finally. Indonesia, in particular Bunaken, features some of the world’s best diving and I was lucky to get several consecutive rain-free days to enjoy its underwater beauty. This is us walking to the dive boat in the morning:

In three days of diving I did eight dives, which was a lot for me. The first day I did a refresher dive as it had been two years since my last one, followed by two normal dives; the next day we did wreck diving; and the final day we took a day trip to the nearby Bangka Island for a very pleasant change of underwater scenery. Overall I got to experience several new types of dives, including the following. (I don’t have an underwater camera, but one of the divemasters took these photos for me.)

1) Wall dive — Where you dive along a wall of a large and seemingly bottomless hole. You move around keeping the wall of coral to one side of you while looking up and down at the sights. A little scary looking down, but beautiful scenery at your side. Here is a view from one of those dives:

2) Wreck dive — We visited a World War II Japanese cargo boat that was sunk by the US Navy in the 1940s. Coral has since grown all over the boat, creating a miniature reef. This was a deeper dive, at 31m (102 feet) below. This was a spectacular experience. As the wreck came into view while we descended, it felt just like a National Geographic documentary, as usually there’s no other way to see sights like this. At this depth good photos were hard to achieve.

Here are me, Juliet, and Alistair sitting on the wreck.

Here is the wreck with angelfish swimming around coral growing on the ship:

Here you can find me at the edge of the wreck, apparently doing jazz hands:

3) Muck dive — An unusual dive that takes place in murky brown waters to explore the unusual sea life there. Visibility was very poor — ~5 feet — and the dirty brown water felt like I was swimming in sewage. At least it was warm. I never had interest in a dive like this, but I’m glad I did it. While it wasn’t my favorite dive, it was interesting to see a different set of sea life.

Diving in Indonesia was close to ideal. The water was very warm (the temperature at depth was around 30° C!), and it features a wealth of sea life: beautiful fish swimming alone and in large schools, colorful hard and soft coral, and other creatures such as shrimp, eels, rays, and sea turtles. This majestic guy was about four feet long:

Some clownfish relax in their home:

Diving in Bunaken was a great to wrap up my trip (slowly). Next order of business: buy an underwater camera … time for more moonlighting.

Some additional diving-related stories.

• More on that underwater wreck that we explored. The ship was named the Myoken, a Japanese transport ship that was used during World War II. It was sunk off the coast of Sulawesi by the US Navy by the USS Swordfish in 1942, using a torpedo that apparently didn’t detonate, based on available evidence and leftover wreckage material. Getting the historical background makes it so much more interesting when seeing it in person.
• By far the most beautiful sight of the trip was just after I finished one of my dives. I was floating on the surface, waiting for the boat to pick me up when I spotted — at about 100 feet away — a big fin coming out of the water. And then another one. I nearly shat my pants (ok, wetsuit) because I thought they were sharks and this was gonna be it for me … Indonesia was where it would all end. But then I saw 5, 10, and then maybe 20 more fins, all moving in an arc-like motion above water. I realized this was a small school of dolphins traveling at the surface, in and out of the water. It was the most amazing sight, being next to this large group of dolphins swimming so gracefully and beautifully through the water. I just wish I had my camera with me.
• Speaking of soiling my wetsuit, a few minutes into my first dive I realized I had forgotten to pee … so, I just went in my wetsuit. Yeah, we do that. And there’s no sensation in the world that’s simultaneously so soothing but so utterly disgusting as the warmth that fills up your wetsuit during this activity. (I just realized this is the second time this trip I’ve described peeing on myself. I should probably stop that — both doing it and writing about it.)

Sadly it’s time to leave Bunaken … but not without working for it. I paid a nice sum of euros for my resort to arrange a boat to take me back to the mainland, so I expected a red carpet rolled out to my front door. Well, I thought I thought.

Someone arrived to fetch me and right away offered to take my backpack. Normally I don’t like to give my work to other people, but today I felt generous and so I handed it right over … but in exchange he handed me two big empty water-cooler jugs to carry. Apparently this is the boat that takes the recyclables from Bunaken to the mainland, so I was expected to help. No big deal, so I grabbed them.

We then walked into the jungle – I thought we’d walk towards the water, but whatever — when another man joined us, this guy carrying eight of these huge jugs. I felt guilty for carrying only two, so I offered to take two of his. Up to four jugs now … no big deal still.

Finally the guys decide to head towards water. Because it was low tide, the boat couldn’t come up directly to land, and so to reach it we had to walk into the water. But first came the quicksand. I walked towards the water and immediately sunk down to my shins. I tore my feet out of the ground but the sand had swallowed my flip-flop, and so I had to put my four jugs down (and being empty they started floating away) and sent in my hand after my flip-flop. After rescuing it, I took both of them off and carried them in hand. Some sand-dwelling parasite must have latched on to my bare feet and is now inside me.

I ventured on, still in quicksand, watching the water get deeper with each step. Soon I was in a mess of mangroves, seaweed, and starfish, with the water now up to my groin — of my normal clothes, not swimming trunks. The only thing I cared about was my camera, so I used whatever fingers I had left to hold up my left pant sleeve; I let my right pant sleeve — with my money– suffer. Things I’m holding now: four huge jugs, two flip-flops, and one pant leg. The locals found me amusing to watch.

Once I got to the boat I finally emptied my arms … but then was put to more work moving cases of beer. Ten of them. No problem, I thought, since empty bottles can’t be too heavy. Turns out these were full bottles, and when I picked one up the cardboard was so soggy from the rain, 24 green bottles of Bintang came crashing down. All this for a ride to the mainland.

One hard-earned boat ride later, I now sit confined to my hotel room, waiting for my pants and money, spread out on the bed, as they try to dry.

It’s the final countdown. I’m back in Bali for 24 hours since my flight home departs tomorrow afternoon. I’m in Ubud (old friend) and while I’m in no rush, I am on a mission: to hit up three specific restaurants before I leave. I was ready to set out immediately, as it was noon and I was famished — afterall, I haven’t eaten lunch since yesterday.

(While I refer to all these places as restaurants, they really are warungs, simple open-air eateries that typically make one dish really well.)

Restaurant #1: Nasi Ayam Kedewatan
Recall this place from last week, where I walked 2.5 miles there — and 2.5 miles back — only to find them out of food. By hitting this place at noon I’d avoid that rookie mistake today. I arrived and saw it was full of food, including the famed sate lilit, minced chicken sate that is an order of magnitude tastier than any other I’ve had here. The chicken seemed doubly ground, filled with spices and lemongrass, molden onto thick bamboo skewers, and then grilled. This was also the first eatery I’ve ever been to where the server picked up the food not with utensils, but her bare hands. I started with four skewers (but ordered two more afterwards) and another tasty dish she just referred to as “chicken”. You may see fork and spoon here, but rest assured I dove right in with my hands.

Restaurant #2: Warung Igelanca
This is a temple for noodle-lovers, and being a noodle-lover I had to eat here. Actually, re-eat here, since I ate here last week. I ordered their standard, a noodle stir-fry in a curry sauce, and when it arrived I loaded it full of sambal (chili sauce), took a table near the street, and ate that big bowl of noodles as hundreds of motorbikes buzzed by. I was starting to get a little full at this point.

Restaurant #3: Bambu
The food sweats started hitting me, so I needed to go home and nap. My planned 15-minute nap turned into two hours, but afterwards I was ready to continue the battle, at Bambu. They serve good traditional Balinese dishes, and of note are the lawar (coconut and green bean salad), ayam pelalah (spicy shredded chicken with chili and lime), and sambal goreng udang (prawns in a tangy coconut-milk sauce). I really was torn which one to get, so I ordered all three. Not my wisest moment perhaps, but it was my last day here. As one dish was brought to the table, I took my time eating it, and awaited the next one. Three dishes and three bowls of rice later, I was very satisfied, and full … and maybe a little bit regretful of ordering all of them. I definitely could be banished to the third circle of Hell (gluttony) for this behavior. The spicy shredded chicken:

Walking back home — very slowly and also slightly hunched over — I sensed trouble. I felt … something … and realized this was the real deal. I picked up the pace, and by the time I got within view of my place I was nearly sprinting. This was taking away my enjoyment of the food by a lot. Needing my room key A-SAP, I asked the hotel boy to get me the key quickly, but he was shining his motorcycle calmly and without a care in the world. I urged him to hurry and he took his sweet time until I finally had to yell “TOILET!” He tossed over the key, I ran into my room, threw off my clothes (sorry, it’s what I do in really hot weather, a la George Costanza), scrambled to find something to read (gotta do that too) but was unsuccessful, and so I just ran into the bathroom.

Now, I’m relaxed as can be … and, despite not having proper reading material, still a little smarter. I learned all there is to know about Procter & Gamble from the shaving cream bottle, and I also discovered my bathroom has a mini-fridge.

I think it’s time I go home now. USA home, that is.

Back home now, safe and sound after 18 hours of flying.

Thanks to everyone who read along. Till next time … (I’ve got big plans, people, big plans)

I had a great time in Indonesia, and it’s definitely a country to which I’d return in the future. A few post-trip thoughts:

• I was surprised how friendly the Indonesians people were. However, much of this was probably because I was expecting the people to be similar to the rude, unfriendly, and aggressive Moroccans I encountered on my last trip. How pleasant it was to turn down people on the street soliciting taxis, services, etc. just once and have them retreat immediately … and with a polite “thank you.” Morocco, you on my shitlist.
• I finally finished Eat Pray Love. While the last section (“Love”) was enjoyable to read, probably because it was describing Bali while I was there, the first two were difficult to endure. She dedicated only about three paragraphs to eating in Italy (out of 100 pages), and then her account of India was monotonous and too unbelievable. She conveniently achieved all her goals: to perfect meditation, learn to love a dreaded morning prayer, and also find God (spoiler alert: He’s everywhere apparently). How convenient. Reading those sections of Eat Pray Love made me want to Choke Gag Barf.
• This country was committed to not letting me sleep in. If I wasn’t woken up by a rooster at 5am, it was by the early morning sunrise prayers wailing out in Arabic. I kinda forgot this was an Islamic country.
• On the topic of traveling solo, that concept is only strange for Americans. You encounter a lot of European travelers when you go international, and none of them will  ask “why are you traveling alone?”, mostly because half of them are traveling alone. Answering these questions gets annoying quickly. While I still prefer traveling with a buddy, there definitely are benefits to going solo.
• For the entire two weeks I was in Indonesia, I really feel I was the only person there who did not smoke. Well, me and the children. (Well, me and most children).