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Welcome to my travel log! You will find here a lot more than in the travel reports, stripped from political correctness. Enjoy! 
Aug 18, 2007 02:00 PM Lombok - Senggigi
When I got up in the morning, it was still dark. The pavement was wet from the rain that fell in the night. Clouds were still covering the sky and perhaps it would have been brighter at that hour, had the clouds been gone. The taxi was already waiting. We started the engine and moved around the narrow streets of Kuta. Traffic was light, but a fair number of people were already on their feet moving around. I loved the fact that although it was 6 o’clock in the morning, many cafes and simple eateries were open. A few people sat here and there in them and ... frankly I have absolutely no idea what the heck they were doing there. Including white tourists!
Indonesia Air Transport, which was supposed the most reliable of all domestic air operators, annoyed me a little since their check-in desk was unmanned for a long, long time, despite the information that it was to be open since 6 am! Well, they let me take all my bags with me into the cabin, which was good. However, they asked me to step on the scales to see my body weight. I did not enjoy that! And the luggage handling officer, who might have been half my size, made a shocking face. I was not amused with that either. Somehow, and nevertheless, it was a little motivating.
The flight was on time, although it took the aircraft a long time to taxi and take off. I landed in Lombok 7 minutes late!
I only heard about Lombok from acquaintances who decided to venture there one day. They came back and raved about it. I had a problem with the island though. From what they told me, I understood that there was actually nothing to do there. Apart from lying on the beach.
Naturally, (me being me) I grabbed a guidebook and looked for highlights. The number one ‘must do’ activity was trekking Lombok’s highest peak. I saw pictures of the inner cone of this mountain and I loved it! I would most definitely want to come up there and take even more spectacular photographs than those in the guidebooks. However, this holiday was too short for this activity. The trekking takes approximately three days. I was planning to stay in Lombok for two nights only. I needed to look for Lombok’s other sights.
I discovered that Lombok retained some of the Dutch colonial architecture, which I found pleasantly unusual in this part of our planet. The surroundings of the island’s capital, Mataram, nest lovely villages and a few Balinese and Hindu temples. Certain districts of the capital itself were said to be picturesque. A plan was growing in my head.
As I arrived, I took IDR 400,000 (€40) out of a cash dispenser at the airport and grabbed a taxi to my hotel. The ride took about 25 minutes and set me back by IDR 50,000.
The taxi driver was very smiley so I asked him what he was doing in the afternoon. And offered him a job - to take me around in the area - a some 3-4 hours ride. He said that it would cost me IDR 200,000, which I thought it was fair. I told him to come back to the hotel at 2:30 pm.
I was really hungry, and I had my hopes high as soon as I saw that the restaurant in my hotel served Thai food. Well, it was closed in the morning. However the one on the beach was open and was open for business. Still when was in the taxi travelling from the airport, I was dreaming of a nice real Asian breakfast: egg fried rice with some prawns maybe.
The beachfront restaurant was indeed serving Indonesian breakfast, but it was not great. I had to use a fair amount of hot sauce to spice up my fried rice and fried noodles. Instead of prawns there was chicken and the egg had to be fried separately. Eventually I got there, but it might have been so much better! At least fresh papaya and pineapple made me slightly happier. Oh yeah, and surprisingly tasteful black tea! It made me realise how long I had not had a cup of nice black tea.
My room was facing the ocean, but I could not see the beach, as the hotel was located on a small cliff. Between my room windows and the beach, there was a lawn and a few large wooden tables covered with a large straw-made roof elevated on six white concrete columns, which obscured my view a little.
The driver was very keen and arrived one hour early. Just in time for me to finish lunch. We immediately went on the road and the first stop was the important temple Pura Lingsar.
A local guide attached himself to me and then obviously demanded $10 for his 15 minute long service. I almost told him where to go, but I did not. I gave him some money - much less than he demanded. When I told the taxi driver about it, he said that I must just have paid for all the guides in the compound and mist definitely used up an entire budget for guides that day.
The next stop was a small but striking Pura Segara. I think it is a relatively new temple, which was very active. I was stunned to see so many, thug looking guys actually praying on their knees, or knee-sitting to be exact.
I wandered only for a short while as I felt like an intruder there whilst others were sincerely praying.
Now, Pura Meru is the temple to be visited in Mataram! It is the tallest and the most striking. And it actually looks like a Balinese one (pictured on the the next page).
It has three courtyards and three gates. The main temple is a lovely complex of sitting platforms, three stupas in the centre and a well. The sun was low, the afternoon created long shadows and the light was great for snaps.
I might have actually violated the temple code there, because I was not wearing the scarf around my waist. Well, I did want to comply with the rules and all, but there was no-one manning the scarf desk and I was not sure if I should just help myself. So, I was quickly in and out of there. Not that there was much to see anyway. I took a few pictures of the main temple and made my way out.
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Aug 17, 2007 02:00 PM Bali - Kuta, Arriving
The travel agent, with whom I booked my flight to/from Lombok, was supposed to leave the tickets for me at the reception of my first hotel. He did not. I started to worry. I took a quick shower and went down to the reception to establish why oh why I could not call the mobile number the agent left me. It turned out to be a wrong number.
The very helpful receptionist started:
‘Where did you buy the tickets?’
‘I booked them via Internet and email, straight from London’, I replied.
‘Did you already pay for the tickets?’ He asked.
‘Yes’, I said and started to be increasingly more concerned.
‘What was the name of the agent, again?’
‘Komodo Tours & Travel’ I said slowly with a trembling voice.
‘OK, I will call information and we will see’.
The information desk did not know the company of this name. The receptionist did not believe that Indonesia Air Transport, as an airline, existed and the airport information desk was not answering their phone. It was 9 o’clock at night, and I could feel that a dozen of grey hairs spontaneously sprang on my temples - right and left. I was tired and almost resigned. Few options were popping in my head.
Eventually, we managed to identify the airline. Called them. Asked if I was on the list. Enquired who made the reservation and obtained their number. The last digit was different from what I had in my records. I called it, and it was the right person at the other end.
I spoke to him for about a minute. He apologised for mixing the dates and arrived within half an hour to deliver the tickets. We had a chat about travelling, booking things in advance, the appalling safety record of Indonesian airlines, quality of hotels, among other things. I had a large beer and went to bed.
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Aug 16, 2007 02:00 PM Indonesia - I'm coming!
The flights on the Singapore Airlines from London via Singapore took, on the clock almost 25 hours to deliver me to Bali. In real time, it took 16.5 hours.
Singapore Airlines did not disappoint, as usual. The multimedia system offered 80 films and 160 CDs to choose from, plus TV programmes and games. It was more than enough for the 12 hours flight from London. I watched ‘Shrek the Third’, ‘Kenny’, ‘Lost World - Jurassic Park’ and ‘Fracture’.
Still at Heathrow’s T3, I bumped into a colleague from work, who was transferring to the office in Melbourne, Australia and was on his way to Singapore to visit friends of his family. So, we spent some time chatting on the flight as well. We meant to try the Singapore Sling cocktail, however the flight was rather bumpy and we were ordered to return to our seats.
Anyway, I decided to stay awake for the duration of the travel. Since I was arriving in Bali in the evening, I figured (and from previous experience knew) that it would be easier to fight jet lag. I would make myself really tired and then go to bed at the normal time at the destination hoping to wake up relaxed in the morning like I never crossed eight time zones.
The Denpasar Airport in Bali was compact and it took me just five minutes to reach the counter for the visa on arrival. The polite lady officer at the desk charged me USD 25 and I was promptly issued a visa at the next desk. Then, at the following desk, I was stamped in - issued a leave to remain in Indonesia. Three desks, three people for a process that could really be done by one person at a single desk. Well, I am not hear to judge, of course. Surely Bali is rich enough to allows itself a little over employment.
Immediately after customs, which were unmanned (like in most European countries these days), a line of bureaux de change displayed their exchange rates. All showing exactly the same rates making it hard to decide, which desk should deserve business from me. I scanned through the bored faces of the clerks their going rates, and decided to move on to the proper arrival hall, where ATM machines offered better rates. This way, I got an idea that if I withdrew 200,000 rupiahs, I would not give my bank manager an heart attack.
The arrival hall of the international terminal was less aggressive than I expected. I mean there were less aggressive porters and taxi drivers. No-one was pushy. Yes, they would ask a question, if you needed a taxi, but they were not nuisance.
I landed after sunset. My taxi ride from the airport was short, but did not provide much sightseeing. It was dark, and all I could see were shops and grand entrances to expensive hotels. I spotted some funky water holes, which looked very promising. I mean very, very promising. I could not wait to go out. But perhaps not that night.
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Jul 02, 2007 02:00 PM Bulgaria - leaving
This time I was not late for my plane on the easyJet flight back to London. I decided to stick to the plan. I could have gone on an exploring Burgas a little more than the night before, but I just could not get up on time. It was all due to the late night spent in the beach clubs... I never overdid it, but it was holiday, I could not bring myself to get up early. Plus my hotel was fantastic, and I could splurge a little.
So, I ordered myself a taxi and went to the airport. The airport claimed to be in operation for 60 years with regular connections. It looked upgraded, but the check-in process was terribly slow and I wish had gone to the beach that morning...
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Jul 01, 2007 02:00 PM Bulgaria - Burgas and Nassebar
I did not appreciate Burgas on the first sight. It was because I did not discover the beach then. When I returned and found it, I was quite impressed with the number of decent (decent to very good) beach bars, beach restaurants and beach clubs. I loved the Barcode Bar. It was trendy and had great music, put by a live DJ. Quality drinks on offer and very friendly staff.
One of Bulgaria’s hot tourist destinations. It is an old settlement constructed on a small peninsula. The remains of the old city walls with a missing main gate are a good sign. Inside, there are uncountable craft shops occupying old wooden houses, or half-wooden, the bottom being rock-based. A few ruined very old churches (pre X century) stand here and there. There is no beach, but many bars and restaurants offer local meats and some (to my surprise that not more than a few) seafood. Overall - not bad.
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Jun 30, 2007 02:00 PM Bulgaria - Plovdiv
I took a train to Plovdid, to catch up with my original itinerary. Train are painfully slow in Bulgaria and the hygiene is... well, there is little hygiene. Plovdiv made it up for me. It is a great city with interesting Ancient Roman monuments and picturesque old town complete with cobble-stoned narrow streets lined up with traditional wooden houses. Nice!
I loved the ancient theatre and the old town's wooden houses. It was a great town to visit. The only disappointment was that the Roman Stadium was buried below the city centre and it was unrealistic to be restored. ANd the grand mosque right in the centre was a great surprise as well. What a place!
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Jun 29, 2007 02:00 PM Bulgaria - a night in Sofia
The state of Bulgaria is emerging. Slowly. Its attributes rocketed with the accession to the European Union. Quickly, it established itself as a hot summer and winter holiday property market. A few interesting Black Sea resorts had long been holiday destinations. In recent past for the Eastern Block nationals but now they experience a renaissance.
The country’s main city has not much to offer in terms of sightseeing. The single most remarkable building in the capital (by far!) is the Aleksandr Nevsky Cathedral. Wow! Anyway, I only landed in Sofia by an error. I missed my direct flight to Burgas, and had to acquire a ticket via an alternative route. So, I had just a short night in the capital. I spent on checking out the nightlife. It was a lot to check! My favourite was the Buddha Bar, behind the President’s Office. The DJ played funky buddha bar music, and the bar/club played videos on a large screen - all outside in the open-air.
In the morning, I took a short stroll to check the main sights again and it was great to see that the capital was tidy. The cathedral looked great.
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Jun 26, 2007 02:00 PM Botswana - Okavango Delta, last bush walk
The next morning, I saw the reed below the terrace and around flattened by something really heavy. My last morning in the Okavango Delta was marked by a three hour hot walk in the bush. I think Jack wanted to show me more elephants, but got scared when we saw many tracks of the young ones. We also heard a baby elephant crying behind of the not-so-distant trees, yet Jack did not dear approach it. It was a really hot walk. The island, which Jack chose, was rather quiet and despite early hours of the morning, no animals were in sight. After about an hour, I managed to startle a wild African cat (it was big for a cat, but grey – as wild cats are) and spot two large giraffes. They were relaxing on a meadow. Although I could come up quite close, I could not snap them as they were standing between me and the sun. It was not until another hour past that I saw another wild animal. This time it was a young female elephant. We nearly came right in the front of her tusks – this is how well she disguised herself among the bushes. She was not supposed to be there as we were coming with the wind and she should have moved away from our path. Yet, we found her on our path, almost like she was waiting for us. Despite mild insinuations that we ought to leave, I lingered a little, about forty yards away, and snapped a few photographs. I had just put a fresh layer of the insect repellent with SPF15 on my face, so my smell was rather strong. The wind carried it towards the elephant unquestionably. For a while she appeared not to take any notice of us. Yet, as she eventually raised her trunk and pointed it in my direction sniffing inquisitively, I knew the time came to back off and leave.
Later, I had a chance to snap a giraffe family. This time positioned well for photographing. And that was it. my last close encounters with wild African animals on foot and with only fists, feet and teeth as my defence weapons.
I later found out from my African friends that bushwalking without a gun is widely considered as mad. Not stupid or irresponsible – mad! When I signed up for this activity and went on my first bushwalk, my arse, and the brown balance within it, did send signals to my brain that this might perhaps be something that my travel insurance did not cover. Hmm... I kept rightfully deluding myself that it was not dangerous – it was simply risky. Not more risky than sky-diving (I already had done that), base jumping (yet to be tried), rock climbing (I am now too heavy for this), or simply skiing (I do not want to learn). Actually, more people get hurt while skiing than while bushwalking without a rifle! Well, this is me, though. My friends still think that I am a nutter.
Anyway, I most definitely welcomed this as my new experience, not being considered a nutter but the gun-free bushwalking – something I had not done before. And something to tell my grandchildren in the future! Now, I perhaps should make sure I have grandchildren to tell the story to, before I get eaten by a hungry lion, stabbed by a fuming buffalo, stampeded by a randy elephant or drowned by a paranoid hippopotamus.
The same pilot of the Kavango Air took me back to Maun – on the same light aircraft. He was surprised to see me. He said: ‘Didn’t I just bring you here the day before yesterday?’ Well, he was a friendly chap and he knew hot to fly a plane. He told me that if I saw some game, I should tell him, so he could take a turn and let me look at the animals or take pictures. As it happened it was him who spotted the game, as I must have been sitting on the wrong side of the aircraft (left side). On his side of the airplane, he saw a herd of elephants and a very large group of buffaloes. As I attempted to take some decent photographs, he actually ducked in the front of the steering panel, so I had more room to manoeuvre. As I was sitting on the seat of the co-pilot, he had to duck pretty well! I was not expecting these photos to come out any good, as I did not have time to compose the frame or even focus well. But it has become my favourite photo.
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Jun 25, 2007 02:00 PM Botswana - Okavango Delta, a day in mokoro
Getting up before the sunrise was not a problem. For I went to bed at about 8:30 in the evening. It was still very cold. After breakfast, my mokoro captain arrived. His name was Jack. At the beginning I was not very comfortable in this tiny and wobbly mokoro, a traditional African canoe. Well, the traditional mokoro is dug out of a trunk of a tree. This one that I was using was moulded from a special type of raisin. I did not mind what it was made of. I cared that it was dry inside.
I was not quite sure how to position myself in the seat, which was just an upper part of a plastic chair – without the legs. Luckily, after ten minutes or so, I spotted young male elephant eating leaves from a tree and repositioned myself in the seat as I was taking a few photographs. Ten minutes in the trip and a fairly close encounter with an elephant! It was promising. However, for a longer while there were no other animals in sight.
The mokoro was gliding low on the water’s surface. So low that as it was passing through reed, the top of the grass reached higher than the top of my head. It was not very dense and the mokoroing had its unique character. I had two issues with the reed, though. First, it did obscure my view, making it harder to spot game. And second, it acted as pylons for spreading cobweb. I lost count how many times my nose and eyes suffered from icky spiders’ nets, before it really began annoying me. It was an uncomfortable feeling to peel off the strings. They were strong, thick and did not want to come off very easily.
Maybe a half an hour after my elephant encounter, I saw and heard a group of baboons sitting on a tree and loudly complaining about something. It was a young male lion. It was lying under the tree and annoying the apes. At first, I thought it was eating something. As my mokoro approached the cat at some 150 yards, it got up and left. The baboons were delighted and came down from the tree. The lion was not eating anything. It just lay there teasing the monkeys.
So, it was two of out four of the Africa’s Big Five, which could be seen in this part of the delta. As no rhinos (no white rhinos and no black rhinos) were present, I just needed to spot a leopard and a buffalo to tick all four. I knew that buffaloes were going to be easy, since leopards were famous of their illusiveness.
By the time we stopped for a bush walk, I saw another elephant crossing one of the canals in the distance, and a shy giraffe, which could not decide whether to cross or not.
This was going to be my first bush walk without a gun. As we stopped, Jack laid out a few rules. When we see an elephant in an open space, we are almost doomed. First, we should stand still, and if the elephant charges, run as fast as we can. If we encounter an elephant in the bushes, then, if we need to run, we zig-zag between the bushes and hide so the elephant loses interest. If we manage to startle a buffalo lying in the tall grass, it will most definitely charge at us. There is no other option but run, run, run and climb a tree, hoping there is going to be one nearby. If we are extremely lucky to spot a leopard, it will almost always run away. So no worries there. However, if meet lion cubs then they will usually approach us with wild curiosity. Their mother would often be not far. If she sees that her babies come too close, she would call her husband and attack us. Running away is out of question. We should always stand still. The lioness would come up to our feet, make a few circles and make some noises like cats do. Domesticated cats usually come by people’s feet, encircle them purring a little. This is what a lioness would normally do in such situation. As soon as the cubs achieve safe distance, she leaves, and then we can also move. Hopefully, this happens before the father appears. Otherwise he would bite our necks and have us for breakfast (lunch or dinner – depending on the time of day).
It all sounded extremely serious, and I was not sure whether I ought to go to bush toilet straight away or risk shitting myself when any of the aforementioned close encounters happen to me. I decided to risk it, even as Jack went off for a piss. I knew I just needed to be strong.
Soon, Jack found leopard’s tracks and we followed them. Then its track met with foot marks left by a lion. And after a few moments, we saw her - a beautiful, muscular young lioness stalking a group of impala. She was only about fifty yards away from me. As soon as she saw us, she ran away. I actually felt a little tremor under my feet when she moved. When I realised that she was scared more than I was, I felt a little safer there. Lone lions would normally avoid people.
I just asked him to show me an elephant. He then became even more nervous. Little did he know that a large bull elephant was just few hundreds yards away. We quickly spot it. He then stopped the mokoro, stepped on the island and started stalking this magnificently graceful beast. The elephant was calm. He most definitely noticed us, but since we were still about fifty yards away, it provisionally ignored us. It was reaching for bushes and slowly eating their leaves. It would look at us occasionally checking if we were keeping appropriate distance. We were. Jack knew what he was doing. After about ten minutes, the elephant decided to leave. It slowly moved towards the flooded meadow and we also made our way to the mokoro. I snapped a few more photographs from a distance with a wide smile on my face. I was happy.
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Jun 24, 2007 02:00 PM Botswana - Okavango Delta, finally here
The Bush Camp, a part of the Gunn’s Camp company, was rustic. Its facilities were basic, but appropriate for a camp in a bush. It had open-air showers, warthogs in toilets, small swimming pool, cave bar complete with swallow nests, dark green bush tents pitched on wooden platforms. There was also a nice terrace overlooking one of the main canals of the Okavango River, a large part of the flooded meadow and a few islands housing tall palm trees. The terrace was also a wooden platform on stilts and it had a few large solid wood tables, benches and camp chairs – this is where I have been typing these words.
I did not expect that. I did expect a place in the Inner Delta but a little less rustic. At least for the price I paid to stay there. I did not mind staying in a very basic tent. I did it before and I enjoyed it. Yet, I did not like the idea of the possibility that I was being ripped off. Although the price included the very spectacular air lift from Maun, all meals and activities, I still think it was a little too steep.
I arrived at the camp at 4:30 p.m., which was rather late. Well, too late for any activities. I had an option to arrive three hours earlier, if I took the first flight from Johannesburg to Maun. As I landed 30 minutes late from Zurich, this flight was already boarding and I might not have made it. With a theoretical (per schedule) one hour window for a transfer, I am always a little nervous, so from the outset, I did not book myself on this flight anyway.
The night came quickly. Frogs were loud as millions of them were having sex all simultaneously, and all night long! For it was a mating season and the water was high. Hippos could be heard in the distance but then came close, right by the camp and kept breaking the monotonous frogs’ moaning with loud splashes and their unmistakable grunting. The distant hyenas with their hungry laughing could not compete with either hippos or frogs. I thought I also heard a lion roar, but I might have dreamt it instead.
Loud cicadas never stopped to the extend that one could actually forget they were even there. They were just an inherent noise of the bush. A given humming of the bush that one no longer notices after a while.
I could not believe how cold it got at night. I think I had never been so cold in Africa. I slept fully clothed covered with a blanked in a heavy duty military-style sleeping bag. The tent was completely closed and no vents were uncovered. Still, I felt when I managed to uncovered even the smallest part of my back, as my t-shirt kept rolling up a little.
The lion roar was no mistake. Then, I knew it was very close. So were the splashes of the hippos. I needed a piss, but had to think twice whether I should risk my life and step out to the loo. If I went in my ‘bed’, it might get warm for a little while, but then later it would become stinky and wet. I had to rule this option out. As I arrived, I was told that guys were allowed to urinate directly to the delta from the immediate vicinity of their or others’ tents. After about an hour of thinking, I jumped out of the tent and shot the quickest piss of my life. I was impressed that I did not pull any muscles in my penis. Or my butt, actually.
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