Appearance by: Cole's apprentice.
10/25/2008 38 °C
I haven't had the opportunity to write for a while. After leaving Ubud on the island of Bali, Jennie and I took a trip of complete spontaneity to Lombok and Gilli T islands. This led to some completely unexpected events of which I was unable to write about due to being on an island with no internet, and what internet there was, was "expensive." That's how I say, I just didn't feel like it.
Gilli Trawangan was the perfect tropical island. It is forever what I will picture when thinking of the tropics. Aside from the garbage problem, but thats just this part of the world in general, the Gilli Islands were some of the greatest beaches I've ever seen with absolutely clear water. You can ride a bike (but mostly walk because the sand is too hard to ride in) around the island in about an hour. The back side of it is largely uninhabited and brilliantly quiet. Where we stopped for a break on our bike ride, the waterfront land was all for sale and gorgeous. The water, however, was not what we expected. Jennie ran in ahead to cool off and yelled back at me that it was hotter than the air. I scoffed at this, put away my video camera and walked in beside her. She wasn't bullshitting, not even a slight exaggeration, it was scorching. Aside from such a terrible thing to have bloody-hot tropical weather system, the place was, for lack of effort to find better terminology, fucking awesome.
Absent from the Gilli's were dependable phones, any motorbikes or cars and it was even uninhabited by ugly rabid dogs (like the rest of Southeast Asia.)
However, broken-tailed cats roamed free like the majestic wild horses of the old southwest. Like people in the wild west used to tame the crazy-eyed stallions, I tamed the broken-tailed kitties to come when they were called, roam around on our patio and sleep on our furniture. I am a pussy tamer*. Two in particular were relentless in their screams. No amount of pets, captured beetles, cans of tuna or BBQ chips shut them up. They screamed like a Veteranarian## told them they only had 3 more days before their voice box stopped working. I named the twins Frankie and Mickey La Bouche.
Goats were also another semi-wild, mostly retarded animal that rummaged through the garbage areas** feeding on whatever they set their creepy little devil-eyes on. Jennie says they're cute, but I saw a hellspawn twinkle in its eye.
So I wrestled it.
Jennie claims this never happened, but she also claims that her and Lisa aren't Dragons either++. There are pictures that Judge Jennie herself took providing evidence for my case that I indeed wrestled the shit out of that little demon and whipped its ass (in a totally humanitarian and non-abusive way.) Please, don't think you're clever and add comments with responses of which state or even imply I sexed the goat up. You should be ashamed. My peeps did nothing of the sort.
Jennie and I were walking home from an Irish pub one night, just before the Rumble in the Jungle between Sugar Ray Backman and Goat (he claims his name is an acronym for Greatest Of All Time, but it's clearly not) and out of a restaurant/bar a person asked us if we wanted a drink.
"Hello nice couple. Come in for a drink? Maybe some magic mushrooms? Honeymoon mushroom shake? Make your man stay up all long time! Good for you, you know?!" We felt this to be quite an interesting selling tactic but still declined the invitation.
Before our week long stay on Gilli Trawangan, we stayed 2 nights on Lombok at a beach called Sengiggi (pronounced sen-gee-gee). We arrived late at night to Sengiggi after a 5.5 hour ferry ride that cost us 32,000 Rupiahs each, just under $4 CDN. Luckily they provided large bunk-bed styled areas where one (or 147 people) could take a nap and sleep the trip away. I couldn't help but think about BC Ferries and how they charge twice as much for a twenty minute boat from Campbell River to Quadra Island.
Sengiggi the next morning was about as creepy as creepy could be. As soon as Jennie stepped outside she found a local man sitting on the step in front of our room. He talked and talked and Jennie was polite and answered his questions and continued on with the harmless conversation. For most, a conversation with a local whom is not trying to sell you something is just a conversation. It is said that if they encroach on personal topics such as; your age, how much money you make, if you are married, if you have kids or what position you conceived them in, it is just harmless coversation. A way for them to practice their english. It is just in their culture/nature to be so open. It went beyond all of that when I noticed Jennie's nervous giggle (some call it a cackle, but thats not the point) disappeared, so I decided to make an appearance out on the patio. I said hello, introduced myself and sat down beside Jennie and listened. As if I was a ghost or an ignored, unwelcomed figment of his imagination, he continued on. And on. And on.
From what I assume, a conversation is an informal exchange of information through talk between persons. If I am right, then this was not a conversation but actually a one 38 year old local Indonesian talking at my wife explaining the finer points of his romances with western girls, how he will only have relationships with western girls and the kicker, how he sees a lot of newly married couples come here for their honeymoon and they get into arguments.
"These are the girls I like to take."
Like they're a fucking mint in a bowl sitting on the coffee table.
I don't claim that my brain is a well-oiled thinking machine, but through all of my calculations, the only answer I had come up with for how he expected me to respond was, 'It's my wife, but sure, have a go.'
Somehow we rid ourselves from Cole's apprentice and went for a swim. Bored, we floated around the shorline with our masks on trying to find peices of coral in the shapes of letters to spell out our names. After some time, the current of the ocean was able to separate Jennie and I, although I hadn't realized this until she obtained my attention by throwing a large peice of coral at me. She looked quite surprised and nervous. She had her back to the beach and was stealthily (I taught her everything she knows about being stealthy) motioning up the white-sand beach.
There he was again.
Looking at him, all I could imagine was that shortly after we departed for the beach, he grew lonesome and frustrated that his new girlfriend had left him to swim with her husband. In a passionate rage he beat the shit out of a five year old boy and stole his underpants and was now standing on the beach with his hands on his hips wearing nothing but an expression of glorious and triumphant success and the five year olds faded underpants to show his undying love. If that's not true love, I don't know what is.
"...do you take this woman for better or for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. Do you promise to beat the shit out of a five year old and wear his underpants to prove this?"
"I do. Now where's the kids table!?"
After a sufficent amount of ignoring he hung his head like a defeated goat in a wrestling contest and agonizingly walked away. We were free.
A short time later as we laid on our towels picking through the broken peices of coral, a hocker selling necklaces made of leather, cow bone and coconut shells made his way over to us. I found one I liked and made sure the symbol actually stood for Gilli Island and not something vulgar (you can use your own imagination here.) As he showed me all of the other symbols, he explained what they stood for and the names.
"Dis is Gilli Islands, dis one Lombok, dis one gecko, dis one sexy toilet, dis one girl gecko, boy gecko, I hab many more."
"Uhh, wait. Go back."
"No, it sounded like you said sexy toilet."
"Yes. sexy toilet. Good one dis sexy toilet."
"What does it mean?"
He looked at me like I asked him if I could have a go 'round with his wife.
"What you mean? It is sexy toilet. Dis is it."
"Cam will love it. How much?"
- Cats, dont be perverted.
- #These don't exist here.
- *Large areas of land designated for garbage collection that never get collected. These areas are usually called by the locals and tourists alike as "Indonesia."
++If this statement does not make sense to you, it can be cleared up by Brian McQuarrie. His email: firstname.lastname@example.org