Gili Meno And The Case Of The Missing Tourists

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Today we did some recon of Gili Meno the smallest member of the Gili family floating smack dab between Air and Gili T. At the port we boarded the thirty-foot boat that acts as the island shuttle. We met a guy named Sy and his Indonesian wife, Nicky, who were on their way home to Darwin having done some research on setting up an Internet business in the Gilis. We traded stories about Australia until we reached Meno. Sy and Nicky went on to Bali for their flight.

Wading ashore (the word port has a lot of different meanings in Indonesia but it seldom means exiting a craft with dry feet) we peered down the main strip which consists of a half dozen hotels, a few eateries and fewer stores. We checked out four hotels to see what the rates were like and discovered that Meno is twice as expensive as Air is for lodging. Restaurants are about 25% higher. While Karen held down home base on the beach I trekked across the island to inspect the ‘Good Heart’ hotel on the NW side of the island. A good heart they might have but good rates were an entirely different matter. Crossing the island I encountered little more than a few water buffalo and hundreds of coconut trees planted in neat rows.

A word on bathrooms in Indonesia. Sometimes they are hard to come by. There are no public restrooms unless you count restaurants, which may or may not let you use their facilities if you are not a customer. If the restaurant owner wants to, he or she can make life difficult though a few cents usually smoothes the way. On Meno I discovered that there are no restaurants on coconut plantations. Karen and I have been a little under the weather the past couple of days with intestinal complaints, nothing major, but enough so that we are eating an Immodium a day and carrying a supply of Kleenex in case of emergencies. Finding toilet paper in an Indonesian bathroom indicates that the patron before you forgot to pick up all of their belongings. Hotels will provide paper but only on request. Indonesians do not use toilet paper; in fact they consider its use disgusting. That’s what your left hand is for. I’m not really sure how they accomplish this feat but I’m real touchy about shaking hands here.

Crossing a sunny plantation on my return to Karen my colon made it very clear that it was in need of some quick attention. I looked around and saw only level, open. Sun-drenched fields of slender palms. Tethered to one was a large buffalo that snorted in my general direction and dropped a steaming cow pie to spite me. In the distance I saw a small salt lake surrounded by low shrubs offering the only cover to be gained in the 60 seconds I had left to control the situation. I did a Chaplinesque waddle towards the lake looking left and right. I saw nobody about. In the shrubs I discovered that the lake’s perimeter was covered in asparagus-like plants standing 12 inches high. Unlike the flexible asparagus, these stems were as woody and as pointed as a number two pencil prepped for test day. I don’t know what the plant is or what its role is in the Meno ecosystem. I had never seen it before and I certainly didn’t need to see it now but see it I did as it covered every square inch of ground between the shrubs and the lake. You know how sunflowers will keep their heads pointed towards the Sun throughout the day. Watch a time-lapse film and sure enough those big heads will swing from east to west following the Sun’s arc day after day like a tennis fan following a long volley. Well I have discovered a plant that follows Uranus. If Uranus moves left the plant moves left. Uranus moves right and right they go. If Uranus were to shake in an astronomical shimmy the lake would look like a football stadium full of fans doing the wave. Not only that. But the attraction of these plants for Uranus is so great that they will nearly uproot themselves straining to touch Uranus. I was out of there in five seconds flat. And FYI the left hand works admirable, just scrub hard afterwards.

I got a little lost coming back to the beach and found myself passing the island’s Mosque and school. The school is a building with six large three walled rooms open to a small hard scrabble field where the kids play soccer and get into general mischief. Inside the furniture free classrooms the kids sit on bare concrete floors in circles around stern looking veiled women. As I appeared from down the path two small boys and two veiled girls approached me from the playground and asked me where I was from. I told them the United States and they looked at me quizzically. I said America, and now I had four kids jabbering at me in their native tongue Bahasa each one trying to outdo the others in volume and number of words per second. I finally got them to slow down and then the questions came. Where did I live in America and more importantly where did I get my shoes? My Wal-Mart, $21.95 trekkers were the stars of the show. They wanted to touch the laces, wanted to see the soles, hell, they probably wanted to try them on. Unbelievable. They asked me where I was headed and I told them I was looking for the beach. They literally took me by the hands and led me, two on each side to the port. At the shore, they smiled, they waved and they disappeared. It’s enough to make an old man cry.

Issuing my hotel report to Karen we decided that Meno was not a candidate for an overnight stay so we resigned ourselves to killing time on the beach until the 4 PM boat back to Gili Air. Cabanas were readily available as there were fewer people on Meno than there were on Air and given their room rates I’m not surprised. We snorkeled on a small reef. Karen called it a moonscape. So utterly pulverized by dynamite fishing that you had to wonder what the fish they caught with this technique looked like. Fish paste? Dynamite fishing used to be common all over Indonesia but with more and more dependence on the tourist trade it has been successfully banned and attempts are being made to reinvigorate the reefs. Gili Air is ahead of the game and Meno will need 10 years to catch up. There are fewer species and numbers of fish in Meno. Producing a piece of bread in Air’s waters will immediately result in your being enveloped in a huge colored cloud of fish kisses. In Meno you will get a couple dozen skittish critters at best. I did see a single green sea turtle in Meno resting on a small patch of sea grass at the reef’s bottom. Probably thinking of what he could do to raise the fare to Air.

Our waiter did not seem overly pleased with our presence. He took our order without a smile (but then again most of the waiters back in the States take my order without a smile) and paid us bare attention. When it was time to depart I asked him for the check and we had a small conversation. He asked me if I was Australian and I told him that I was American. He started beaming. Asked me where I was from and what I did and did I like the Chicago Bulls and on and on. This is not uncommon. There are few Americans in these parts. Why, I am not sure. It certainly is off the beaten track and the country is extremely Muslim (fear factor ?). Indonesians love to guess where we are from and it’s always England, Australia or Canada for us. It’s not like we’re wearing flag lapel pins and they apparently don’t hear accents well. A lot has been made over the last few years about America’s loss of stature overseas. I have even heard it called ‘hatred’. Some American travelers are cowed into staying home by this worry. I have encountered Americans overseas who will tell anyone who asks their origin that they are Canadian rather than chance a hostile audience. Karen and I travel a lot and we can assure you that it just does not happen. In the past three years we have encountered only two people out of the many hundreds that we meet that have had any sort of negative thing to say and both of those were bitching about the banks in the US because their exchange rates were dropping. Sorry, can’t help you there. When people here find out that you’re American you become the focus of the conversation. Do you have a car? What is your house like? Basically, how do you live and what do you think of my country; my Indonesia, my Thailand, my Cambodia, my island, my village, what do you think about me? And the reason they ask, the reason your opinion is so important to them is simply because you are an American. Your opinion counts more than any other nationality’s because they perceive America as being the best at living life. Forget about the wars, and the politics and the exchange rates for now. It’s about the way we live. Most people want three things in life. A roof over their heads, three squares a day and a safe place to raise their kids. So far we’ve done those things better for longer than anybody else in the modern world has so far and that fact is well known in every place we’ve been to. The water out here is just fine.

At the port we hung with the natives, smokin’ and jokin’ till our boat arrived. A man with a cleft palette amused the local kids by making monster faces. Shoeless we waded aboard the nearly full boat. Muslim women crowded the benches holding their children close to their breasts as the boat headed out. We watched the surf break over the reef at Gili Air and searched the shore for a different perspective on our favorite beach eateries. Once onshore we made small talk with the pony drivers. The natives notice anybody who stays here for more than a couple of days. It’s as if they think you may be taking up permanent residence and your relationship with them becomes more intimate. When Karen and I walk down the main drag at night the locals will call to us by name. It’s weird and fun. We took a pony cart all the way home. The harness bells made us think of Christmas.

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Photos

Longshoremen
Port workers waiting for the arrival of a refrigerator to be installed in a customerless restaurant

Shuttle Boat
This is the bus in the Gilis

Empty Beaches
Peace and Quiet rule in Meno. Party NOT dude!

General Store
The cultural center of Gili Meno. Just needs a cracker barrel.

Meno Folks
Indonesians love to have their picture taken. We met this lady at the port. Cute kidlet.

Boat Home
The scene as we left Meno back to Air.

Dinner
Our spread at the Wi Win Restaurant. Wonderfully fresh fish and great service at low prices. A joy of an eatery.