Tag Archives: Kuta Lombok

Male-male-female threesomes are a pain in the arse

Last night, I was kept up by an epic combination of explosive diarrhea and brutal group sex – and, for a change, I wasn’t directly involved in either. No, I was just a tired, teary-eyed observer to the whole sorry mess.

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The scene of the crime

Alright, so some background on this one: the place I’m staying at here in Kuta is basically a series of connected bamboo bungalows, built in the traditional Lombokian style. They’re lovely and rustic, but to say that they have thin walls is to say Julia Gillard has a fat arse – it’s an understatement so huge that the person making the understatement should be slapped so hard their teeth fall out. The walls between the units are made of palm leaves (I assume) and are only a couple of millimetres thick. Because of that, you can hear everything. Everything.

If the person next door coughs, it’s like they’re right there with you. You can hear them moving in bed, or wanking (let’s make that they can hear me wanking). And, of course, you can hear every time someone goes to the toilet one metre from your head, with only a few blades of dead grass as a barrier. It’s an uncomfortable situation that makes staying here feel more like staying in a hostel.

Right, so last night I wanted to have an early one after my epic walk through hillbilly territory. Then I heard the door to the toilet of the bungalow to my left swing open, and three seconds later it was like someone had emptied a swimming pool into the brasco. And there was screaming, lots of screaming. The avalanche finally stopped, I finished gagging, and then closed my eyes again.

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This is also my orgasm face

And I could hear moaning coming from the bungalow to my right. A couple of South American chaps who are apparently allergic to shirts are staying in there, and from the sound of it they were rooting up a storm! But then I heard a third voice – one of a young spunk who was obviously the meat in that Colombian sandwich.

They were fucking going for it, too, pounding the shit out of here an arm’s distance from where I lay. I could even see them through the cracks in the palm fronds, and it was like watching a massive, deformed spider dancing.

And then the toilet door opened to my left again, and the bloke in there was shitting. And the Latino heartthrobs were fucking. And I was stuck in the middle of it, just wanting to go to sleep. I could hear Eduardo and Dustin (that’s a South American name, right?) high-fiving as they went for it, and the girl was either having the best time of her life, or the worst, I really couldn’t tell.

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At least I wasn’t biting the pillow, right?

I stuffed my head under my pillow and yelled out in terror as shit came from one direction and demented doinking from the other. The sound grew from both sides until it all came to a crashing crescendo. The Vomitron sounded like he’d finally succeeded in coughing up that lung, and the Latin lovers sounded like they blew their loads at the same time, probably while staring into each other’s eyes. I, meanwhile, decided to always book hotel rooms with fucking walls from now on.

And to make it worse, bizarre Islamic chantic is blasted through loud speakers all day here, and this warbling makes Meatloaf’s VFL performance sound like, well, a normal Meatloaf concert in comparison.

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Tell ’em the price, sun!

Despite that, I managed to get up early to watch a grouse sunrise, then spent the whole day doing nothing on the beach except swatting off beggars. Tomorrow I’m leaving the beach scene and heading to Jakarta, which is both the end of my Indonesian adventure and the start of my time exploring cities, rather than small, tourist-oriented villages. I’m really looking forward to it. To be honest, I’m bored of what Bali and Lombok have to offer. While I enjoy nothing better than stuffing around on the beach all day, when I’m overseas I like to explore, and cities are the best place to do that.

Plus, people in cities don’t usually build their walls out of fucking leaves.

Eating, fucking and sleeping: Ekka’s guide to the galaxy

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Yesterday, my journey moved on to Kuta. No, I didn’t go back to that rubbish shithole with all the roid midgets and fat fucks on scooters, I came to Kuta Lombok, a similarly-named but completely different place that is actually quite stunning.

But it was a memorable trip here…

My driver was Ekka, a lovely chap who revealed the secret to a happy life: “Eating. Fucking. Sleeping,” he explained, while spending a bit too much time grinning at me and not nearly enough time watching the road. “You have good sleep last night?”
“Not bad.”
“Ekka get no sleep. He up all night making fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, all night. If Ekka fall asleep while driving, you wake him.”

Thankfully, Ekka no fall asleep.

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Ekka went on to tell me that he didn’t waste time with girlfriends, he just had fuck friends, and he didn’t mind paying for it. Javanese girls apparently make the best fuck, and his favourite position is doggy style. “Not chicken style,” warned Ekka. “Never chicken style.”

I didn’t ask what chicken style is, but I’ll never be able to go past a KFC without imagining Ekka furiously fucking a Zinger burger.

Kuta is heaps different to its Balinese namesake. There’s very little development here, the beaches are wide and relatively clean (by Indonesian standards – I’d still advise keeping an eye out for syringes) and the scenery is jaw-dropping. Steep mountains jut out of the ocean, palm trees roll off in every direction – it truly is a paradise.

The town is little more than two streets, and there are no hotels on the water… yet. In fact, the only thing close to the beach is a small, run-down village full of peasants and chickens, with all the accommodation and restaurants set a little way back. The tourism industry will change this place, but for now I suspect it like the other Kuta was 30 or so years ago.

Of course, most people are here to surf, and even the scooters have little racks for boards. But I, uh, don’t surf, so ah… Some of the mountains round here look bloody good for paragliding, though.

While Kuta Beach is pleasant enough, the real star of the show is Mawun Beach, around 9km by road to the east. I, of course decided to walk it, not realising that the road ran up and down a series of mountains. I was sweating like a fat chick at a David Hasselhoff concert by the time I got there – and it was worth it.

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Mawun stands heads and shoulders above any other beach I’ve seen over here, and even gets pretty bloody close to Maitland Bay in beauty. The most noticable thing was the lack of rubbish on the sand – an anomaly for Asia – and the palm-fringed cliffs, storming out of the clear blue water. There’s a couple of shacks at one end of the beach and nothing more than that. It’s a pretty, quiet, relaxing place that is certainly out of the way and definitely worth visiting.

Just don’t get on the wrong side of the small number of hawkers – one called me an arsehole!

Which brings me to my next point. I can’t wholeheartedly recommend Kuta for two reasons, and they both have to do with its current status as a developing tourist destination. The first problem is the dogs. The place is crawling with them, most of them look malnourished, they don’t have a problem aggressively chasing a person and THEY’RE FUCKING DINGOES. Dingoes are bad arse. The ones here are domesticated, but they’re still fucking dingoes, and they make walking around scary and dangerous.

The second problem concerns the locals. At best they’re overenthusiastic in trying to get you to buy whatever crap it is they’re selling, at worst they’re openly racist and angry. Of course there are lovely people here, but during my walk today I was called every name in the Sasak language, and most of the English ones, too. I was yelled at and sworn at just because of my ethnicity, and that’s something that, thankfully, doesn’t happen in most tourist destinations and which would definitely come as a shock to most. I get it, the people here are extremely poor and probably resent the rich Aussies who come here (even if that rich Aussie has no job and a fucking mortgage to pay for), but it still sucks to walk around and know you’re seen as the enemy.

Still, it’s pretty bloody nice here…

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