Tag Archives: Nusa Lembongan

Sailing the seas in a fucking bathtub

It was supposed to be a quiet cruise between tropical islands. Instead it became a terrifying game of life and death that almost led to dozens of deaths.

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Alright, so I’m exaggerating a bit (and not for the first time. Ask any of my ex-girlfriends). But my trip between Lembongan and the tiny isle of Gili Meno, off the coast of Lombok, was one of the most frightening experiences I’ve ever had, one which had me fearing for my life and wondering whether I’d be going home in a box.

It started out pleasantly enough. The sea was calm, the sky was overcast by not stormy. The boat, but ‘Indonesia’s safest tour company’ Scoot was smaller than something I’d expect to take to the open ocean, but as we piled in there was nothing to warn us about what was to come. Even as we headed out, I sat back, relaxed, and played Sonic the Hedgehog on my phone. And then everything changed.

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The sky turned black, the boat started to rock, and then we were hit from the left by a wave that almost flipped us over. And then another wave barged in, hitting us even harder, knocking one girl out of her seat and sending her crashing to the other side of the boat, splitting her head open. There was swearing in half a dozen languages. One guy with an orange afro started spewing his guts up, and that set off a couple more. Then another wave smashed into us, rocking us so hard that the windows on the far side dipped into the green ocean, sending water pouring into the cabin.

The captain did his best to fight the waves, yanking the wheel from one side to the other while swearing in Indonesian. Water raged in through cracks in the roof and soaked us. The little guy next to me started praying to whichever God he has. I hoped he was putting in a word for me.

One final wave almost skittled us, then the sea calmed and we rolled into the Gili Islands. When we pulled into Gili Air, the boat was caked with blood and bile, tears were flowing freely and most of us were vowing never to step onto a boat again.

Honestly, that boat had no right to be out on the open water. It was little more than a tiny flat-bottomed piece of shit (I think I just described Bill Shorten), and it’s no wonder that these things sink from time to time. If it was the high season, it would’ve been overloaded, too, which probably would’ve been enough to take it down, at the cost of 50 lives. I get that they don’t have the same safety laws here as we do in Australia, but to run boats like that is fucking stupid and shows a complete disregard for human life.

Being heaps brave and shit, I wasn’t too worried. Plus, there was this really cute Indo girl who worked on the boat across from me who kept my mind off potentially dying, and she must’ve thought I was a bit of alright, too, because she gave me her number when we got back to land. I dunno, maybe almost carking it made her feel like taking her chances with the nearest fella, but I think she was keen as mustard on the Row Row. Apparently she spends a few months in Australia every year and  wants to meet up when we’re both there, so I’ll see what I can do to put her off Aussie blokes for life.

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As for my home for the next three days, Gili Meno, from what I’ve seen it’s very quiet and relaxed, with plenty of good beaches. I’d heard that it’s largely an island for couples (with the nearby Gili Trewarrawarrarangayangoontinytoon catering for party yo cool dudes who want to eat mushrooms – no thanks, getting chased through the streets of Amsterdam by fucking cartoon characters was enough for me), but I’ll see what it’s like to be here on my Pat Malone.

Sitting on my balcony, I can hear the music from Gili T and know that, while I love getting shitfaced drunk more than pretty much anything else in the world, that’s not the place for me. At the same time, right now I’m a single man amongst happy couples, so I don’t fit in here. Sometimes I think my opportunities to be part of either are gone, and that’s why I’m still here, travelling around from one place to the next, never content with where I am or what I’m doing.

The rest of the time, I just think I should have another beer.

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A woman laughed at my penis (so what’s new?)

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I must’ve been a good boy, because the big fella upstairs decided to present me with bright sunshine when I woke up. After 10 days of rain and shittiness, I didn’t quite understand what I was seeing, but made the most of it by getting out there and exploring Nusa Lembongan.

I wanted to go snorkelling, but the thought of going out with a tour group full of Japs wearing floaties didn’t appeal, so I just wandered up to the north of the island, looking for somewhere to go for a dip. As I swaggered along, I saw Malcolm McDowell’s twin sitting at a table with a coffee in his hand. “It’s not too late to have an encounter with ‘The Human Vacuum Cleaner,’” he purred, then made loud sucking sounds. I hurried to my destination.

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Unlike Penida, Lembongan is largely rubbish for snorkelling, but there’s a good spot out behind the mangroves at the top of the island, and that’s where I went. I just looked for the tour boats a couple of hundred metres from the shore and splashed out there, and when I made it, I got quite a treat. Plenty of coral, buckets of fish, and a nice snork was had by all.

Being the mature, sophisticated gentleman I am, I decided to take a photo of myself underwater with my cock out. So I set the camera up in an area full of fish, swam past it and pulled out my knob just as it went off (the camera, not my knob). I thought I was pretty clever, until I resurfaced and realised that a Japanese woman was swimming about three metres away and had seen the whole thing.

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She just looked at me, smirked, and said, “In didn’t think the water was that cold,” and ducked under the waves. I think she wanted me.

As I was walking back to my hotel, an old local bloke with some sort of massive growth on his face stopped his bike next to me and said the obligatory, “You want ride?”
“I’d love a ride,” I replied. “But I don’t have any money.”
“No money, no honey,” he squeaked, then blew me a kiss.

My afternoon was somewhat less relaxing, however. I’m heading to the Gili Islands tomorrow, and getting a ticket was more hassle than it should’ve been (big fucking surprise, this Asia, where even cooking two minute noodles take six hours and involves a stop-over at some dickhead’s shop). The locals around this place swoop on you like seagulls when they want to sell you a boat trip or rent you a bike, but they’re no help whatsoever if there’s not a cent in it for them. I always hear about how helpful the people are over here but, fuck that, only when there’s money in it.

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Mentos as currency (and why it might be a good idea)

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It was time to leave Penida, which meant a ride on the back of a motorbike with my suitcase, before spending an hour negotiating a relatively cheap price for the boat ride to the nearby Nusa Lembongen, and ended with an offer of oral sex.

This place is completely different from Penida here, but equally as lovely. It’s still quiet, but there are plenty of tourists, tour companies, hotels to go along with the beautiful (by Balinese standards – it ain’t no Maitland Bay, that’s for sure) beach and clear blue water. That certainly isn’t a bad thing. While I hate being hassled every time I walk out to get a beer (“You see manta ray?”), there are heaps of decorative women here and… well, what other reason do you need?

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Amazingly, the sun even came out for the first time in 10 days, and I spent a pleasant afternoon lounging around in my underpants reading a book and drinking beer. Lembongan is a good place to do that. Sure, tomorrow I’ll probably go for a long walk and find somewhere remote to snorkel, but a fella could easily spend his whole trip here just sipping suds in the sun.

Because of my lack of movement today, I don’t really have a grip on this place. There’s the poor tourist area (where I am, even though I can sit on my toilet and look out over the ocean), there’s the rich tourist area, and there’s the people who live here, who I assume are somewhat similar to the people from Penida (who I call Penidaphiles).

The second-strangest thing to happen to me since arriving came when I bought a beer at the local mini market. The woman behind the counter didn’t have enough change, so she gave me three Mentos lollies instead. There was no negotiating, I was simply handed the Mentos, leading me to assume that this is a common and accepted form of payment. Fore reference, the conversion rate is 30 Mentos to the dollar, which is actually pretty good. I can only imagine one of the locals heading into their local car dealership with a bag full of Mentos and a couple of ropes of licorice to buy their dream car with.

And, as it turns out, Mentos are quite likely a needed commodity around here. As I swaggered away with my beer, admiring the sunset and thinking how cool I am, the first-strangest thing happened. I heard a husky voice say the word, “Blowjob.” Of cours, I was all like:

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When I turned and looked, an older fellow who looked like Malcolm McDowell with a ponytail and a Bart Simpson T-shirt was smiling at me. “Glad I got your attention,” he said in an English accent while thrusting his hips back and forth and licking his lips. “Fancy a blowjob?”
“From you?” I asked, and he nodded.
“I’ve been told I have lips like velvet. Sucked off a whole battleship once. I guess you could say I swallowed a lot of semen that day.”

And I was all like:

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I told the bloke that I’d probably be alright without his velvet lips, at which point her told me, “So I’m good enough for Christian Slater, but I’m not good enough for you?” That’s right, he claimed to have had the world famous penis of world famous actor Christian Slater in his mouth. Now I’m not saying for a second that he did suck off Christian Slater (and I’d say the odds are against it, seeing as he was in Very Bad Things and is, according to Wikipedia, married to a woman who has a vagina and everything), but I congratulated the fella for it and gave him a high five, and then handed him my Mentos. If any more Hollywood superstars wander up to him, he’s gunna need ’em.

Shit… is that Liam Neeson?