Lombok, Indonesia. February 26, 2016.

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Lombok. Feb. 26.

We gathered everyone nice and early after the debacles of the other tendering experiences. I accompanied Ken to see Tender Ticket Lady, who refused to hand over the 34 needed tickets saying that everyone had to actually be there. We replied that everyone was actually there and ready to go, but two floors down. Are you going to make everyone haul up two decks and then down five? Uh-huh - no faces, no tickets.

Faced with her stern refusal, we rounded up the posse and headed up to deck 5. Ticket Lady intercepted us on 4. Is everyone actually present and ready? Here you go.

First ones off after all. We were all very pleased.

We found our bus and guide with little problem. The guide was fighting a throat infection and speaking was a problem for him. He gave it a good try, though, giving us a preview of the snorkeling and some history of the island.

This is a much less developed area, more pristine, less crowded, more primitive. Rather like my erroneous preconceptions of what I though Bali was like. 44K hectares are federally protected, and rice and fruit plantations abound. Here alone, they produce five species of bananas.

This was a long drive. We left the port area and started south on the coast road. After 15 minutes or so, a bay came within view, and we saw the ship anchored in the middle of the bay, about as far from us then as it was from the tender dock where we had landed. Another 20 minutes brought us around a peninsula, the tip of which gave us another view of the ship, again still about as far from us then as it was from the tender dock. Another 15 minutes and we rounded a cliff, to be treated to yet another view of our ship at anchor, not far away at all.

This is a picturesque, beautiful, unspoiled island. It has the second highest colcano in Indonesia, the sand looks like pepper on Kuta Beach, and throughout the island you can see the thatched huts raised off the ground and the rice barns which resemble Dutch bonnets built around piles of baled rice. The island is also known for its quality pottery and pearls.

Our long boat ride out to the islands, or gillies, was thus prefaced by an hour on the bus to get there - a boat ride directly from the ship or from the tender dock would have made more sense, and would have been more fun.

We piled into the boats for the ride out to the gillies. We sat in long, shallow motorised canoes with bench seating along the gunwales, a canopy roof and pontoons on either side for stability. Our pilot set the throttle and steered with a foot while he rolled a cigarette.

It was a long, picturesque ride to one of the islands. We passed many volcanic islands covered in greens and browns, and small one- and two-man fishinh boats dotted the sea.They backed the boats in and hooked on little ladders for us to disembark in the warm surf. The first island was an abandoned day resort which had once docked launches carrying tourists out to the gillies for a day at the beach and a meal, and perhaps a moonlight cruise back to town.

The resort was mostly decrepit, with locked bathrooms and stacked, rotted beach chaises piled in the jungle behind.

The beach was rough coral sand and quite lovely, except for the high tide line of plastics; water bottles, candy wrappers, fishing net scraps and floats, sandals and flipflops and shopping bags. The currents around the gillies seemed to deposit much of the floating garbage on this particular shore. There is no industry to speak of on the island, so no local pollution, but they collect others' via the ocean currents.

The snorkeling was quite good, the water clean and clear with many colourful fish and much healthy coral. Some areas of coral had been smashed by small boats dropping anchor on them.

As I ventured further out and the water grew deeper, more and more fish varieties and colours came out. I saw several slim sea stars of a vibrant purple-blue colour, quite different from the thicker, more solid orange-yellow ones of the Caribbean. There is more colour here than in, for example, Bonaire, with fewer species but these very different from their antipodean cousins. Deep electric blue darters zipped around slim angelfish with long streaming fins, followed by fish resembling oa fluorescent green tube, its last third shifting to a bright yellow.

As I drifted out over the dropoff, I spied a ghostly figure moving limply in the current far below me. Fearing I had found a snagged body, I dove down as far as I could, until I could recognise an empty fifty-kilo rice bag stuck on the coral and waving as the water moved around it.

After a long exploration of the reef, we returned to shore to find that the guides had roasted several freshly caught fish on an open fire they built by the treeline. Large plastic thermoses were filled with hot rice, sauces, vegetable soup, and cold drinks sat buried in ice in coolers.

As soon as we had finished eating, the rains came. A solid hour of torrential downpour had us seeking shelter in a large open roofed dining area of the old resort. The roof was intact, and we sat and chatted around picnic tables as we watched the rain. With no toilets, there was a steady flow of people up the jungle path behind the building with much teasing of the more shy amongst us.

The rain finally lifted, and mindful of lost time and our all-aboard deadline, we set off for the second gillie for another round of snorkeling. This was a cut above our last gillie, with another day resort which looks like it sees at least occasional use, a nicer beach and much less plastic. Again, coral and fish were plentiful, colourful and mostly healthy, but whole fields of staghorn were snapped off at the same height, and fan and brain corals side by side were a bright vibrant green here, and a flat dead black there.

A pretty boat ride back to shore past lush islands and one- and two-man fishing punts led to an uneventful drive back to the ship, except that a small portion of the road had washed away in the rain and a line of rocks stood ineffectual guard where the pavement had been a short time before. In the distance we could see Mt. Rinjani, yet another volcano.

As we awaited the last tender, vendors at the dock were striking generous deals to get a few last bucks out of the tourists. BB struck a deal with the last remaining beer vendor, scooping up the last of his ice-cold beer stock at a price not much higher than at the convenience store.

Talking with locals, we discovered that even in this peaceful, quiet corner of Indonesia, security is heightened due to threats of suicide bombers and the like. We rather resent that the ship doesn't caution us about these circumstances, but we can't have anyone cancelling their expensive excursions just because they're afraid of being blown up, I suppose.

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