Sunday, October 28, 2012

Oz: A brief stopover

My Jetstar flight was delayed, so I landed in Darwin at 1am. I had arranged a pickup with my Couchsurfing host Chris, but only if I arrived on time as he had work the next day. So I slept on the darwin airport floor among my bags. It wasn't comfortable, but at least I wasn't the only one. Chris picked me up at 7am. He'd planned a trip to a cultural aboriginal festival somewhere in the outback and had space in the car, so I joined. 


We drove for several hours through the outback and arrived at this small aboriginal town. I imagined it would normally be quiet, but now it was abustle with visitors and events. Chris knew someone organising it and had pledged our help in exchange for entry and a meal. A stage had been set up on a large field and we initially helped setting up a fence perimeter (to keep the non-paying folk out) and again later to tear the whole shebang down and pack it up. The concert featured a lot of regional artists, including the village's own aboriginal band 'The Emu Sisters' (which was, sadly, awful yet still entertaining in its own way).


The night was bitterly cold, especially since the bedroll had been left behind in the chaos, and I spent my second night in a row sleeping on hard ground. On the way home we stopped for a swim at a waterfall in the middle of nowhere. Back in Darwin we headed out to explore the town, watched the sun set from the coast, checked out the market and went for a beer. I was appreciating being back in western civilisation where I was merely another insignificant face amongst the crowd. 


I spent my final luxurious night on an actual mattress and Chris dropped me off at the airport early the next morning. Next stop: Melbourne to hang with Grandma for a few days. The main thing which struck me was the temperature; Melbourne was cold. They were having a cold snap it seemed, and after my summer travels I was feeling the chill. Grandma's feijoa tree was fruiting so we made feijoa wähe. I caught up with cousins, went for dinner with Grandma, Marissa and Sagar and chilled out a bit.

Feijoa wähe

Eventually it was time to board yet another plane. On to kiwiland, and to the grand sailing adventure which awaited me there. As we crossed the southern alps I noticed to my horror that the entire country was blanketed in white. Damn.

Friday, October 19, 2012

Bali

I didn't like it. No sir, I did not. The land is beautiful, the weather warm, the beaches sandy. But the people? Sadly, I can count the number of locals whose company I enjoyed (mostly couchsurfers) on one hand. There is a single reason for this: tourism. As a white person in Bali you are, in the eyes of most locals, an ATM. I was short-changed almost every time, especially in bars. Hotel staff had no qualms lying that the dorm room was full in order to fill the suites. The taxis, peddlers, beggars and massage girls swarmed like flies on a fresh turd.

The last photo my camera took,
moments before it flooded.
Okay sure, I spent most of my time in tourist places. I made an honest effort to stay away from Kuta, but when I went to another suburb looking for accommodation, I was redirected back to Kuta. Damn. I met up with some couchsurfers, hit the town like a proper tourist, travelled around with some folks from my backpacker dorm and went diving.

To be fair, I didn't have a bad time; I just disliked the way I was treated. I met with some couchsurfers and made friends with Fabrice, a newly-arrived French-Swiss guy was couchsurfing also had a backpacker guitar! Sadly we never quite managed to jam. His host (a local) was a cool guy and showed us a really cool bar by the beach.


I joined a merry band of backpackers in Kuta; Shira (USA), Narua (Spain) and Bart (Netherlands). Together we taxied out into the country with grand intentions of hiking up Mt. Batur. The cartels in Bali are well established. Even in this little place in the middle of nowhere locals were waiting for us when we arrived in the taxi. They followed us to our hotel where they sat and waited like cops on a stakeout. They wanted to know where we were going and what we wanted to do. Basically, they wanted to get a cut and were patient and persistent about it. Sometimes they boldly fared into the hotel to ask if we wanted to buy their art. Even the Arrack (homebrew rum) we bought as a novelty was clearly watered down. Well we still drank it. There was a hippy rave happening not far from us, which we went to. "Dance for peace".

Next morning, after around four hours sleep our man came to take us to the mountian. Oh, don't think we could simply have walked up the mountain - nonono. The cartels had identified a tourist demand for walking to the top of a volcano so a guide was necessary. For safety and shit. Yeah whatever. We rose blearily and stumbled into the waiting car, paid our fee and zombied our way up the hill, passing the hippy rave site, now in its death throes but still emanating a booming base pulse across the valley. The guide took us to the 'lookout' area and protested when we wanted to, like, go to the top. We went, and he led the way, albeit grudgingly. The sunrise was spectacular however.



So true
Next stop was Ubud, yet another tourist destination, full to the hilt with white fools and unscrupulous money-grabbers. I'm convinced that the restaurants across the whole town deliberately serve tiny portions to keep people ordering seconds. The locals there listen into your conversation to get your name, after which it's 'Hey Marco! Would you like a massage?' Crafty buggers.
We checked out the local monkey temple and took a taxi out to some temple other (incredibly the entry was free there, though I had to run the gauntlet of sarong saleswomen to get to it).


The group eventually disbanded and I headed out to dive a WW2 shipwreck in Tulamben, on the east coast. I had a 24 hour gut bug, did some pretty good diving and finally found myself in a taxi to the airport in Denpasar. Next stop Darwin, Australia.