Yesterday was the perfect climax to this whirlwind week. Up early in the morn to catch a boat for a day trip exploring Tujuh Belas Pulau (Too-Joo B'Las Poo-Lao) a sort of marine sanctuary under protection of the Indonesian government. Out on the sea our captain drops anchor over a reef. I throw on a snorkeling mask and descend into clear water. O·M·G. This place is unreal. Due to some trick of the light coral here appear luminescent. Spindly things of electric teal fade through brilliant cobalt into deep ultramarine. A branchy mass of bumpy fingers, white in the sun yet miraculously black-light violet in the shadows. Sunshine stroking waves above produces flickering tendrils of light that course over magical landscapes.
Voluptuous violet velvet vulva retracts at the slightest hint of my presence. Technicolor fan forms reticulate at my approach. Schools of fish jerk in unison as response to my propulsive kicks from above. Submarine fauna is somehow sensitive to subtle nuances of motion I'm only just beginning to grasp.
Later the captain moors the boat at a deserted island and commences preparation for lunch. Alexy and I take to higher ground in search of superior vantage. The scenery is absolutely sublime. Minute islands such as the one we stand upon stretch out in line across crystal clear water. From this height we can see down into the blue-green depths, spotting coral blooms in the shallows. On the horizon a volcano is smoldering, setting off a plume of thick white smoke. I keep creeping towards the edge in search of the best view. "Always curious," Alexy chuckles behind me. I'm reminded of family vacations, years gone now, mother in constant worry mode as I push luck in a similar manner. Despite her concern, and as Eddie Vedar might sing, "Ahhh-I'm still alive, hey-hey ahhhh-I, woah I'm still alive, hey-heyyy ahh-I..."
Back down to the beach to gorge on flesh of sea creatures. Cumi-cumi (choo-me, choo-me or squid), some red beast with jagged mandibles, and a large fella I coulda sworn I seen earlier, weaving in and out of the coral forest. Flavored just right and I don't particularly enjoy seafood so that's sumfin.
The day progresses with more short treks and snorkeling. My exposed back burns frat-boy red under unmitigated sun. All this paradise is exhausting. Finally, as Sol begins to sink we make way for a mangrove sheltering a huge colony of Flying Foxes (fruit bats.) Alexy and the captain begin chortling loudly while thumping the deck with bamboo poles and shaking the nearby trees. "Bangun! Bangun! (bah-Ngoon) Wake up, bats!" Their agitation pays off. Scores of the large mammals take wing, screeching their discontent. The best sights are infants clutching tenaciously to mothers in flight. Having scrambled through the mangrove thicket, the captain returns triumphantly with a baby in his outstretched hands. I can't help feeling sympathetic towards the traumatized creature. Upon release the maligned beast employs thumb hooks at the corner of its wings to climb clumsily back to roost. As we take our leave we spot an eagle on the wing, hunting the furry flyers. A meal that size would make for a good catch but he must act fast. In air the eagle is the superior power but the bats will prevail in the trees.
After chugging our way back to port Alexy and I stop at the hotel to refresh before heading out for dinner. The restaurant turns out to be a cozy shack with shell mobiles hanging everywhere. Two Australian lasses, a french fella, and his Chinese girlfriend grace the few available tables. Over supper we all get along famously and when Alexy busts out the guitar we share the songs we know in entirety, and afterwards a few not so well known.
The Lasses of Oz have purchased fireworks and are eager to set them off. Due to the abundance of grass roofed shacks in the area we decide to engage at the docks. Assuming there are no massive oil spills firing off into the ocean should prove innocuous. Pitiful little bottle rockets and whizzbangs, but that's not really the point. Ice crystals in the atmosphere above conspire to form a soft hoop of light in hopes of ensnaring the full moon. Paraselene straight out of a sweet dream. A mystic cap to this most enchanting day.
Up early again the following morn for tedious road trip. A return to Bena with intent to witness pagan bull slaughter. Unfortunately the ceremony was slated for evening hours, a time our itinerary will not allow. Instead we must turn back towards the beginning to close this loop, Labuan Bajo, our final destination.
Petrol station is fresh out and Lexy is beginning to fret. Not sure if we can reach the next one available with tank at current level. Hours of endless switchbacking, miraculously we arrive. Thank heavens, we're saved!
Arak producers are still on holiday so Alexy must deliver the ten cent version of the distillery tour. Over generations the people on the coast have mastered the art of boiling palm syrup down to liquor. I test out the varying degrees and settle on the hard shit. Five bucks for a twenty ounce bottle, a steal if you ask me.
Night falls as we reach Ruteng. Delicious Sate Ayam (chicken sate) with Gulai (goo-lie), a sort of curry soup, for dinner. Nearly abandoned hotel that hasn't seen business in two weeks. Nice rooms and real cheap, gotta love traveling this way.
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