After spending eight hours fanging along dirt tracks on a motorbike, my back door feels like it’s been banged in by Lexington Steele. But, along the way, I was treated to an astonishing view of the incredible island that is Nusa Penida.
I was meant to go scuba diving with manta rays, but the weather was so shithouse that it had to be cancelled because we might get wet. Deadset, my head hasn’t been splashed with this much water since the local priests decided to gang bang me as a child.
That was a joke.
The first stop was Crystal Bay, a delightful little beach where I snorkelled amongst jelly fish (and the odd plastic bag), and bumped into a shrimp. Seriously, are they the stupidest fucking things on the planet? They live in the water, but have legs and shit like that. Anyway, it’s the first time I’ve encountered one in the wild, and it was aces. I called him Shawn the Prawn.
Then I went to Smoke Beach, so called because the waves spray up and create a big, smokey effect. The raw power of the water here was awe-inspiring, just watching the massive waves roll in, smash into the rocks and send crap spraying everywhere. It was a good metaphor for Nusa Penida as a whole – beautiful, wild and untamed.
We then headed to Broken Bay, and the name alone brought back uncomfortable memories of being molested by a school camp counsellor as an 11-year-old (yes, that’s two child molestation jokes in one article. I’ll stop writing them when you stop laughing). This place was cool, and had a massive ocean trench that reminded me of my ex-girlfriend’s vagina.
This island, while quiet and sparsely populated, has a maze of roads crossing it that could confuse and trap anyone coming in unprepared. Roads and tracks, most un-signposted, head off in every direction. As I went past, most of the locals called out and waved, a testament to how few tourists ever come here. I originally planned to hire a bike and see the place by myself, but was glad I ended up getting someone to ride for me while I sat on the back of the bike grinning my head off.
Somewhat disconcerting is the fact that, after using the toilet, I’m expected to wipe my arse with my hand. Seriously, I just finished up and my hand looked like I’d been holding a Picnic bar while running a marathon. More upsetting is that forks aren’t commonplace on this island, so I’m expected to eat everything with my hands. That made it a little bit harder to eat my fish dinner. I certainly wasn’t licking my fingers at the end of it.