Boat Rides and Banana Sandwiches

Before I devote a blog entry to describing a 'day in my life' here at Slukat (spoiler alert: it involves geckos), I feel compelled to recall last weekend's jam-packed adventure. In the spirit of travel, which almost always brings out one's inner crazy person--let us not forget that I tried surfing for the first time in the dead of Irish winter--a few of us Slukat volunteers decided it would be worthwhile to make a sunrise summit of Gunung Batur. Not quite as tall as Agung, Batur is Bali's second highest volcano--peaking at just over 1,700 meters (so 5,630 feet). Though it is probably beautiful at any ol' time of the day, Bali has a tendency to shoot up to 90 degrees before breakfast has been served--and we decided to make the trek at sunrise. Sunrise, you might ask? Doesn't that mean you would have to leave at, like, two in the morning in order to make it by six? Why yes! You're correct. Two-fifteen, to be exact. At a time when most people my age are just beginning to think of sleep, we were already up and sunscreened and waiting for the car that would drive us to Batur. For many of us, it was the first time we'd worn shoes in weeks.

We stopped for a 'snack' about 10 kilometers from the trailhead, which consisted of semi-cooked pancakes soaked in syrup and warm bananas, coffee, and tea. I should mention that we were at a Kopi Luwak plantation, which means we were surrounded by a forest of dense trees and about a dozen caged civets--rat-like critters who produce the poop that the coffee (kopi) is made from. That's correct. The animals eat the beans, poop them out, and their waste is used to make the coffee. Apparently the fermentation process blah blah blah... they POOP! The animals POOP out the coffee you drink! Can anybody hear me?!? The Balinese think it's very delicious, but alas, I am beyond taking food recommendations from people who store corn flakes and organ meat in the same drawer. We ate our pancakes, peed into a hole in the ground, and the clock struck three.

When we finally arrived and were ready to hike, equipped with flashlights and bottled water, the sky was still pitch-black. It wasn't a problem at first, when the trail was rocky but relatively flat--but about 45 minutes in, the incline got steeper and steeper until we were all practically on all fours. For whatever reason, I had moved to the front of the pack early on... something about the relative discomfort of the whole thing, combined with the stars and the fact that I desperately needed to unknot some things in my mind, pushed me forward. I didn't feel great, certainly--my legs ached and every inch of my skin was itching with bugs--but I didn't have explosive diarrhea, and was therefore doing considerably better than some of the other hikers. I moved forward, using every muscle in my legs and feet to keep from slipping on the volcanic rocks, using the flashlights from the groups ahead of us--tiny lights dotting up the mountain like fairies--as a roadmap. As uncomfortable as it was, my hours on the volcano were some of the only ones in my life that have been truly zen. I went into a trance. Each step that I took up the side felt like a step away from the anger and sadness that I had been experiencing on the ground.

About twenty minutes from the top, the sun crested from behind the neighboring peak. Surrounded by mossy clouds, it came out--a little at first, a little more--until everything around us was bathed in a cool, golden light. It was like being on a different planet. Standing on the top of that volcano, drenched in sweat and surrounded by Balinese women trying to sell me coca-cola, I felt a million things: exhaustion, disorientation, victory, comfort, joy. It was incredible.

And then they served us "breakfast": boiled eggs and mashed bananas smeared between pieces of stale white bread. Let me tell you, when you've hiked for hours, there are few things that sound unappetizing...but as it turns out, that sandwich was one of them. We spent an hour or so wandering around the top of the volcano, holding our hands in front of the various openings in the ground to feel the hot, volcanic air pouring out. It was surreal to be standing on top of something that felt so alive, so full of energy and heat. I watched a group of imbecilic Dutch boys feed their sandwiches to the monkeys, who quickly spread the word and increased in number from 5 to about 500. I retreated into the corner, bemoaning my lack of rabies vaccination, and waited for one of the boys to lose a finger... or at least a chunky man-necklace. It never happened, but not for lack of effort on the monkey's part. The descent was less physically exerting than the climb, but definitely more difficult... demanding a whole new set of muscles in order to keep from pitching forward on the slick rocks. We made it, though--every last one of us--and by the time we arrived back home at Slukat, not yet noon, we felt as though we could rule the world... as long as they let us nap first.

Fast forward 4 hours, and we're on our way to Nusa Lembongan, chugging across the sea in a "Scoot: the Better Way to Getaway!" motorboat. What they DON'T tell you in those colorful green pamphlets is that, after wading through the ocean to hop into the boat, the crew takes their sweet time getting out of the channel. I don't speak in knots, but if I could, I'd say we were going at 0.5 knots per decade. "If this is the fast boat," Mayke said, "I don't want to see the slow one." Then, with absolutely no warning, they revved the engine and we literally tore across the ocean--and I'm not normally one to get motion sick, but oh boy. Every time the boat flew into the air and slapped down into the waves, I said a prayer. When we finally approached the shore of Nusa Lembongan, a beautiful little island off the coast of our slightly larger beautiful island, I had lost all feeling in my buttcheeks... but I didn't care. The sunset over the sea, speckled with little boats, was the most spectacular I've ever seen. After a big dinner (and even bigger dessert), followed by a nice digestif of bug spray, we fell into our tiny, crappy beds and slept the deep sleep of those who have conquered a mountain (and a Balinese motorboat. No tiny feat.)

If I'd known that would be the last of our boat rides, I might have relaxed... but it wasn't. It wasn't even the second to last. Fast forward through Saturday, which was spent lounging on the beach, walking the length of the island, and attempting to go to a "beach party" where I was very quickly pummeled in the face by an Australian man attempting to "dance," and we rose early to go snorkeling on Sunday morning. Now, I cannot make this clear enough: we did everything right. None of us were hungover, we ate a simple yet satisfying breakfast, drank tons of water, and Mayke even took motion-sickness medicine. We wore sunglasses and sunscreen and were prepared for anything--and still, one hour into Snorkelfest 2012, we all wanted to puke our brains out. At our first stop, the boat was literally ga-THUNKING over ever single ripple, wave, and slosh. It was brutal. Putting on the snorkel mask was brutal. Finding flippers when all I wanted to do was close my eyes and never ever open them was brutal. Getting into the water while the wind was whipping around my shoulders was brutal. And then--we were in. Submerged in the water, greeted by hundreds and thousands of the most colorful, beautiful, and frightening fish I have ever seen, I felt all my sickness melt away. It is impossible for me to describe the colors of a Bali reef, except that it is like being inside a particularly elaborate lava lamp... in other words, it's surreal. Being in the water like that, listening to my own breath magnified through the snorkel mask--running my fingers through the crystal water, peering into mangroves and coral reefs--was complete and utter bliss. It was the second zen moment that I experienced this weekend; I could have stayed there forever. I'll never forget it. Couldn't, even if I wanted to, because I'll probably always have the sun blisters to remember the horrific burn I acquired while out there on the great sea.

On the motor boat ride back, I stared out the window and sighed the sigh of someone who has spent entirely too much time in the sun. I felt wiped out, starving, but wonderful at the same time. Somewhere between Lembongan and Bali, we heard a gigantic THUD off the back of the boat, and watched the engines bob up and down... not exactly a welcome sight, if you know what I mean. "No worry!" the driver said. "Was only a suitcase!"

From now on, my luggage stays with me.

So! Between Friday and Sunday, I climbed a volcano, drank beverages that may or may not have had contact with a civet's butthole, swam in an infinity pool, snorkeled in the Bali sea, rode a motorbike, saw the preparations for a Balinese cremation, got punched by an Australian, and watched a cat gut a live fish. How was your weekend?