Ahmed

Becca and I slipped out of Ubud, and pulled off into the mountians.

The motorcylce driving can be tiring. It requires a certain kind of focus for a number of factors that are not usually as necssary to take into account in vehicles with 4 wheels. We thought, given the mild ride to Ubud that we would easily navigate our way up to Ahmed for a night and be set to head off to the islands.

Not so. The driving was winding roads through small towns where women carried elaborate baskets full of bountiful offerings, wedding processions, chickens, epic roosters, and the best reveals ever. We'd be exasperated, hungry, lost, and never sure of our exact location on a map.. and then we would peak up over a mountain top and in front of us would be an intricate design of irrigation and greenery unfolding.

Rebecca Ross is an expert navigator, patient, inquisitive, and always careful. Forging ahead and stopping fearlessly to ask directions, shes quite the opposite of me who often assumes being lost is part of the necessary experience and lets herself get swept along till disaster is unavoidable. She got us everywhere in Bali and should be lauded for her ability to take charge and lead lazy old me through every corner we peaked around.

Eventually after a series of breathtaking views we were scaling down a mountain and towards signs for Ahmed (a seires of small coastal fishing villages turned French tourism hub).. just in time as I found myself getting crankier and crankier. We settled on Eco dive - a diving school run by a sarcastic Canadian - for its economical room (five dollars for each of us) and simple accomodations. I went to the beach and found Becca wading through the cold volcanic water and over spikey dead pieces of reef... because I was so cross all day I decided to get a massage and make myself more likeable for the poor woman who had managed to get us there... It was a good decision.

Dressed and showered we were recommended a place called 'La Vie En Rose', an Indonesian spot with "French Influence?" The restaurant was on a hill top with glowing christmas lights swaying in the wind at the same pace as the receding surf. We were one of two sets of guests in the place... it was us.. them .. and the Rastafarians.

NOW look I had a Bob Marley phase.. I have long appreciated that he, more than most other artists, has come define world music... and has made an important stamp on politics the world over.. playing an international folk music of revolution... However.. after a month and ten days in Indonesia.. I wish reggae had never been invented and 'No Woman No Cry' had never been written. Comodified reggae / rasta culture is a scourge on the earth that should really be stamped out. Starting with La Vie En Rose.

The merry band of newly dreaded and extremely excited 25+ year olds blasted through all three Bob Marley songs and quickly chased off the only other restaurant clientele.. so it was us and them.

The band leader approached me.. and I tried tactfully to ask if.. they knew any earlier bob marley songs? Or Toots in the Maytals ? ....Skatalites?/.....Sister Nancy... Anything? I was handed a Bob Marley song book... of which the two songs I wanted to hear .. they knew nothing about.

They asked to sit close to us, two guitarists, a congo player, and a wirey newly dreadlocked singer.. who sang as much in the style of Bob Marley as he could ..closing his eyes jerking his head and holding his ear...

I was in hell. Almost as much as poor .. squirming... Rebecca. Rebecca had become much the focus of said ridiculous singer and was trying very much not to blush under his direct scrutiny. I wanted to help her, but they had begun to sing a Balinese song one half the chorus of which went " I'm Horny Horny Horny".. which sounded like "I'm horn-ah Horn-ah Horn-ah". We tried our hardest but soon had collapsed into giggles un able to look at each other or the musicians. We paid as fast as we could and I made poor Becca's drive home in the dark even more frightening as I pulled up to yell "Hey how are you feeling? I'm good just a little.. Horn-ah Horn-ah..."

We got home, I worked on a New Yorker article about Serbian Jewel theifs that had me enraptured.

The next morning I woke up super cranky, for some odd reason. Becca convinced me in soothing tones to get on a boat to the Gili islands, to which I agreed between sips of (I asked for Unsweetened) Sweetened tea. We were allowed to store some our bikes and my little suitcase at Eco Dive. I expressed great gratitude at not have to island hop with the thing and the Canadian said "My goodness you're easy to please!" ... I replied "Well duh! I'm American". We rode the 45 minutes on fast boat to Gili Meno and thanked the Canadian and his staff after hob nobbing and trading cranky sarcastic jabs ( for which i was grateful).

We found a cheap raised guest hut with a big Mosquito net surrounding a double bed. Parking our stuff there and running to the beach Rebecca left me to wallow in my bad mood with the ipod and article while she obtained a nice golden brown hue on the beach...something I thought was encouraging about my liberal application of SPF85... perhaps I could go a bit easier?

We spent the day swimming and relaxing... not really sure what all the big fuss was about on gili.. meanwhile I was coming to the dreadful reality that we would not easily make it to Flores.. and my dreams of riding a giant poisonous lizard through the tropical island landscapes.. were squashed. We ate pizza and got in to bed giggling about some waiter who had taken to the fact that I was American and round.. and wanted very much to give us tattoos.

Next up.. Sun Burn.. and the great King Leo.