Indonesia Part Two: Labuanbajo to Gili Air

We knew before we set off this morning that we had a long journey ahead of us, some reports say it takes 24 hours some as much as 36 but we could never fully plan for what the journey actually entailed. The plan was to catch a ferry from Labuanbajo to Sape, a mini bus to Bima, a sleeper bus and a ferry to Lombok, a taxi to the pier and a local boat to the Gili islands. We knew the first ferry didn’t depart until 9am but as the tickets were sold on a first come first served basis you had to get down there early to guarantee a place for the 6 hour crossing. We stood, first in line at 6.30am and were soon joined by two Chinese ladies who were in their mid to late 50’s.

As we waited tickets touts came round and offered us bundle deals for the ferry and the bus journeys to Bima, they wanted 400,000IDR per person which is about £20 but the official ticket office sold the ferry tickets for 60,000IDR (£3) and we had read that the buses wouldn’t amount to any more than 250,000IDR each (£12), a £10 saving is a big deal to us so this was the route we took.

In order to secure this we needed the ticket booth to open soon as the touts were filling the boat up with people either less interested in saving money or unaware of the fact they were paying a premium.

7am came and still the office wasn’t open, the Chinese ladies, who spoke no English but instead conversed with us through an app on their phone explained that they wanted to go to Lombok and do it for as cheap as possible. As we obviously exuded confidence in our knowledge of the journey we became surrogate parents to them.

Around 7.30am the ticket office opened and we purchased our tickets and two more for our children, we made our way to the ferry and found a seat. The kids asked how long the boat would take, to which we replied, “6 hours”, they seemed a little depressed at this response but came back with, “then we in Lombok?”, we shook our heads, “boat, bus, boat, bus 24 hours then Lombok”. “Oh WOW” came the reply, this time from them not the screen of the phone. They found a seat and set about taking photos of everything from the scenery outside to groups of Western backpackers, some very extreme close ups of western backpackers.

The ferry remained in the harbour and steadily filled up with passengers, luggage, live stock and just about anything else you can imagine. Our Chinese ladies wondered off and returned with gifts of bananas and oranges and other purchases they’d made from the hawkers. We had eaten their fruit we were now indebted to them, we had adopted them.

9am came and went, as did half past and 10am, still the boat remained in the harbour. We were approaching five hours into the trip and we hadn’t even left Labuanbajo yet. The hours rolled by watching our offspring barter with the hawkers for watches, sunglasses and yet more food. Their iPads had run out of battery and their phones were low too, I was scared for them as the journey hadn’t even begun and they had used up all their resources.

Around 10.30am the boat sounded its frog horn and pulled away from the shore and we began our journey. The ferry ride vanished thanks to the mesmerising scenery outside, we sailed past uninhabited islands and volcanoes which jutted out of the ocean and sometimes high into the clouds, we went past Komodo island which was stunning to see from afar, in the sky we saw eagles circle the waters and dive down to catch some fish, a pod of about twenty dolphins swam beside the boat for a while, darting and diving around in the water. It was a magical experience, one that made the six hours disappear in an instant.

When the ferry arrived at Sape there was another boat still in the harbour, traditionally you would wait for this to leave before docking but in Indonesia the method is somewhat different. Pull up alongside, climb out of the small windows of one ferry and through the windows of the other, then work your way through the boat, down the stairs and onto dry land. This is an adventurous task made all the more entertaining when you have a 15kg bag on your back and another on your front. Of course our bewildered and bemused Chinese ladies, who had wheely suitcases and half a dozen carrier bags of stuff they’d bought on the boat (one was actually wearing two hats) found the whole ordeal to be quite difficult. Lady two hats actually got wedged between the two boats at one point and it took three of us to unhook her from one boat and shove her onto the other one.

After about ten minutes of them gathering up their belongings we escorted them off the boat and into the crowds of touts who were angling to get you on their bus, offers of 300,000pp to get to Lombok were instantly ignored and with each step the price plummeted, we settled on a deal of 150,000pp and were ushered over to a series of beat up old buses. Our luggage was thrown on the roof and we were piled inside, Hatty got a seat, shared with about four others while I got the passenger seat beside the driver, our Chinese ladies shared the engine box.

The driver, dressed in camo trousers and an open, sleeveless denim jacket with a matted bear like chest on display barked and howled and laughed as we all crammed in. He was high as a bloody kite no question of it and as unfit as he was to drive so to was the bus unfit to be driven. The windscreen was smashed, all the electrics were missing from the dashboard, the gearstick had become nothing more than a coat hanger and I can promise you the rate of the breaks were no better.

When the bus was full to bursting he fired up the old engine which spluttered and blew out a cloud of thick smoke before he jumped on the accelerator and drove head on into a group of four men carrying a mattress, they used it as a shield and got out of the way, it flew across the window and into the road, the view cleared just long enough for him to hard steer us out of a head on with another bus, the furious swerve titled the bus and we almost lost one the children.

We left the bus park having only killed about twenty people and into the town, I was instantly taken back to that first night driving through Agra in India. Goats, children, trucks just about anything that could be in the way was in the way, the driver who was absolutely loving every second did little to avoid these obstacles, he just pounded the horn and cackled like a man possessed.

It hadn’t been entirely clear to us whether this would be the bus to Bima (2 hours) or the one to Lombok (in excess of 10 hours). I decided to stop look out the front window and instead tried to wedge myself in a position that would hopefully allow me to survive the night on the fun bus.

We screamed around the mountain roads, often never leaving the lower gears, the engine squealed at an ear shattering volume, the breaks failed on the downhills and the bus never got any speed on the uphill. The driver was more concerned with his phone than the road and would often severely overcompensate when he veered too close to the edge of the mountain road causing us to snake wildly. I had long since written off my luggage, I had my wallet and my passport on me which gave me comfort, not because I could continue my travels but more so they could identify by body when they found it amongst the wreckage after the bus inevitably burst into flames as it flew of the mountain edge.

After I had said my blessings I took a moment to look out of the side window and was treated to some truly heavenly visuals, the rolling mountain landscape offset with different shades of greens from the rice paddies to the dark forests were stunning, the sky was getting fired up as the sun began to drop, purples and reds sprouted out and silhouetted the mountains and a soft glow entered through the cracked windscreen.

We drove up behind a similar bus which was loaded with passengers both inside and on the roof, they were all clinging on for their life as the bus swung them about in its quest to drive as barbarically as possible. The majority of those on the roof were Westerners who I assume thought it would make a good story but once the bus set off I would be surprised if they felt the same. Lady two hats came up beside me with another iPad and began to furiously take photos of the bus in front, I lost count after 30 clicks.

We pulled over briefly to, I assume pick someone up, the driver was beeping his horn and shouting out the window (at nothing), no one got off, no one got on but while this scene unfolded two goats were having a fight on the side of the road, one head butted one on the edge of the pavement and before their hooves had hit the ground we were off again.

Two hours later and we arrived at another bus station where we were offloaded, reconnected with our bags and ushered to another bus. This was a larger coach style bus in slightly better repair, it had the traditional broken windscreen and knock and scrape but on the whole looked safe and comfortable.

We paid 200,00IDR for the mini bus and coach, I’m not sure where the 50,000 (£2.50) increase came from, maybe it was the cost of the thrill ride…whatever the reason I was happy to be alive. Our total price per person from Labuanbajo to Lombok stands at 290,000IDR (£14) which we considered a success on the price we were quoted back in LBJ, the Chinese weren’t so happy. They typed on their phones and showed me, “cheap? Too expensive!”. They then started to draw numbers in the air with their fingers which obviously made no sense. I gave them the calculator on my phone and they typed in 200,000IDR and made gestures to the tune of “this is what we were told in Labuanbajo”.

We were now in a very awkward situation where we had managed to get a decent deal for ourselves, adopted two Chinese tourists and ended up costing them money. The embarrassment continued when they refused to pay the tout anymore than 150,000IDR. Lady two hats actually rolled up the money, gave it to him and walked off leaving him following us and shouting for the extra money.

No one else we spoke to at the bus station had managed to get the full journey for any less than 300,000IDR so we struggled to believe that these ladies who firstly had no idea what the journey entailed, secondly how long it would take and thirdly had zero ability of communicating could actually get it for 200,000, they were simply trying to pull as fast one or at best were very confused about what the 200,000 was for. We were a little stumped they didn’t mention “their price” before we went ahead and booked the tickets but that was fast approaching 15 hours ago and wasn’t worth the argument.

We managed to calm the tout and get the Chinese onside who eventually pay the extra  50,000 and board the bus.

The bus leaves the station after about 45 minutes and as its engine fires up we learn that we have secured ourselves seats aboard the “karaoke bus”, from about 7.30pm until midnight the Indonesian tunes blared out of a load speaker about six inches from my face, unreadable words flashed up on a tiny monitor at the front of the bus and not a soul sang along, with the exception of the drivers assistant who loved every minute. The music ranged from traditional folk, RnB, rab, death metal and just about every genre known to man.

The driver, not to break the mould drove the bus like a complete lunatic, the pounding music was drowned out by the repetitive drilling of the horn and screeching of the tyres. The back of the bus filled with the unmistakable stench of a burning clutch and as we skated around corners the toilet door would fling open filling the coach with a potent whiff of stale urine. Ahhh backpacking, it’s the life.

At midnight we pulled over to a service station where we were handed a voucher entitling us to a buffet dinner, this was actually pretty decent and offered delights such as soups, curries and the normal noodle and rice dishes. We shared a table with the Chinese who had slept the whole way through the journey, they had about six bowls of food each and were eating from them like a big does a trough. It was a sight to behold.

The driver sounded his horn and as we well know this means “stop-what-you-are-doing-and-get-the-heck-back-on-the-bus-unless-you-want-to-be-left-here”. We pushed our plates to the side and climbed back on the bus, the Chinese seemed less rushed and more intent on finishing our half empty bowls.

The engine fired up once more and the wheels started turning, our crazy companions ran alongside and jumped back on to join us, armed with stolen buffet goods and yet more offerings of fruit. They passed these about before reclining their chairs and falling back to sleep like good little babies.

The bus drove onto the ferry around 2am, we exited the bus and found a quiet spot on the deck, the night air was cool and the moon illuminated the sea, its dark waves crashed against the side of the boat creating a calming rocking motion. We took in the fresh air and stretched our legs and watched as the night slowly day.

The ferry arrived on Lombok around 4.30am and we boarded the bus for the final leg of this journey. Its at this point I fell into a comatose sleep and didn’t bat an eyelid until I was woken by the conductor telling us we were at the bus station where the journey terminates.

We had been told that the bus would go to Mataram, which is reletivily close to the port where we would catch another boat to Gili Air but instead the bus had dropped us the compete opposite end of Lombok island. The taxi from wherever we were to the port was quoted at 400,000IDR, the taxi from Mataram should have been 75,000IDR so you can imagine how far away we were.

We managed to barter the driver down to 200,000IDR for both of us, we bid farewell to the kids and carried on our journey. The taxi ride took about an hour and gave us a high speed tour of Lombok island which was every bit as beautiful as the rest of Indonesia, it reminded me of Camiguin and that’s no bad thing. We drove moneys and children off the road before eventually being dropped outside “Bunga Bunga cafe”.

It was now about 8am and the boat to Gili Air wasn’t due to leave until 9am so we ordered some breakfast, I had a Jaffle or as you may know it, a cheese toastie and a strong cup of Lombok coffee. After breakfast we walked 15 minutes towards the port and went into the first place that was selling tickets to Gili Air. Outside the sign advertised the tickets at 12,000IDR each but the man inside was much keener to sell us tickets for the speed boat at 385,000IDR each, that’s our £0.60 to his £19. This was obviously not going to happen despite his stories of the cheap boat not leaving until it had 50 people on it and so far he only had our names…he tried to cut us a deal for the speed boat to Gili Air and then later a fast boat to Bali and a bus to Ubod. This is a journey we plan to take but with no concrete plans and his prices we moved on.

A further five minutes down the road we find the official government ticket office who sell the cheap boat for 12,000IDR plus 6,000IDR tax but despite having this on their sign they don’t actually sell the tickets. We are gestured to a shed on the edge of the sand and make our way over there where we finally purchase two tickets to Gili Air for 12,000IDR each, no tax.

We join a large group of locals and wait for the boat to arrive. Within ten minutes its there but before we can get on it is loaded with large baskets of fruit, vegetables, fish and a few unspecified bags. The entire floor space is piled with goods, next go on the motorbikes and other machines before finally the call comes out for the passengers to climb aboard. Around 50 people jostle their way onto the boat and as they shimmy along the seats the boat sways heavily in the water. Fitting us and our backpacks on is a job only the Tetris expert should attempt. Hatty gets a seat while I stand precariously on the edge of the boat.  Within ten minutes its fully loaded and we’re off.

The crossing takes no more than 20 minutes and we climb off the boat, wade through the water an onto the soft sands of Gili Air. Hatty is laughing so I ask whats tickled her, she points at a man in front of us then down at the sack he’s holding. It’s wriggling about.

Inside is a live chicken which had been on the boat with us, besides Hatty. The whole time it had been pecking her foot. Brilliant.

The only transport on Gili Air is by horse and cart and as this is it they run a monopoly, a short ride costs about £5. Well we weren’t about to undo all our good work so we used our legs and set off around the island in search of our place to stay.

Gili Air is small but when you’ve been travelling nonstop for almost 30 hours your bags start to feel very heavy, especially in the heat. We arrive at Star Bar a soggy, exhausted mess. Check into our room, shower, order an ice cold lime juice and pull up a space on the white sandy beach. We have arrived.

Tune in next time for our adventures on Gili Air, Gili Meno and Gili T.

As always thanks for reading.