No piss off and leave me alone.
Seriously, this place is twisting my melon, man. Every single friggin step you take outside your hotel or down the road or over the hill you’ve got this pounding soundtrack provided by these Indonesian youths who sit in their little shacks or on their mopeds and harrass you. ‘Just being friendly’, the guidebooks tell you, be nice, say hello. NO. Piss off and leave me alone you nosy sod.
Then they want to know where are you going, where do live, where are you from, where do you stay, are you married, can I have your cap, can I have your bike…. and on and on and on…. all the way from where I left you in Kupang to here, Lombok, an island next door to Bali which I’m told is lovely, just not the part I seem to be staying in.
Okay, so last Thursday I got a ferry from West Timor to Flores. That took 20 hours and was made hell by a woman with a a sinus problem snotted into her hand and then flicked it wherever she wanted every five minutes. There’s probably some on my back or still in my hair because there was no other place to sleep but the same floor as where she’d been flicking it.
Anyway, so we landed in Flores on Monday and since then I’ve been island hopping, first from Flores to Sumbawa, then Sumbawa to Lombok, now I’m about to jump on a ferry to Bali. I still don’t have any maps or clue as to where I’m going, I just keep asking and follow the direction people are pointing, it’s not failed me yet and i reason that you can’t get lost if you don’t have a map because actually you never know where you are. Like now, I think I’m in a place called Mataran, but all I really know is that I’ve just had a Big Mac for breakfast and it was sensational after all this rice and noodles I’ve been eatingthese last few weeks. They even had a Lighthouse Family soundtrack playing when I sauntered in. Ahh I thought, this is lovely…. Ocean Drive…. we’ll get high… dum di dum,,,,
So I’m making good time and still have two weeks to get to the other end of Indonesia and cross into Malaysia. With the way Dot’s travelling at the minute we’ll be there in no time. She’s now ready for her second tyre change and already done nealry 7000 kays. She’s my Paul Burrell, my rock.
But for now Bali. And let’s hope the spitting bitch is on another ferry.