Meno Madness

In addition to the incredibly unique and perhaps somewhat random events that light my way as I stumble through what my prankster universe continues to lob my way, there are occasional coincidences, paths crossing and re-crossing, that make me happier than I’m sure I deserve to be. My week-long holiday at the beginning of October was all about taking full advantage of one of those path re-crossings. I was off to Gili Meno.

The Gili islands are 3 small islands between Bali and Lombok. “Island” being a relative term here in a country consisting of anywhere from 17,000 – 18,000+ islands. Irrelevant. A few short weeks after I arrived in Surabaya in July, a sweetheart South African friend from Mozambique became the latest and greatest dive instructor on the island of Gili Meno, the smallest, quietest, and least developed of these 3 small islands. Too far for me to travel to on a weekend but perfect for a week long holiday. After a quickly bought plane ticket and an agonizing wait, I was off to fill a Mozambican void that had been tearing at my heart since I left that beloved country far too long ago.

My first term ended and I was facing a few significant changes. As I had mentioned previously, my instant friend Xenia was departing for cold lands far away and I was moving into a new house (more on that later). Bittersweet emotions as the Friday night came to a close. Now yes, most of you know that I tend to be excitable at sometimes small things but rarely am I ‘can’t sleep like a kid on Christmas Eve, running around the house, can’t stop moving, need to get there NOW’ excited. THIS is exactly how I was anticipating my upcoming holiday to Gili Meno. I had booked the first flight out on the Saturday morning, placing me on the beach for early afternoon. Let’s get this party started.

A small newspaper article the previous week happened to mention that October 1st, the day I was to fly into Lombok, was the opening day of the new airport. Oh shit. I’ve played this game before. This is not going to go well.

Waiting at the airport, I watched as my flight went from 30 minutes delayed to almost 2 & ½ hours. Perfect weather, no cause for concern. I’m thinking they were simply busy brushing the remaining cows and villagers who used to live on what I was convinced was a grass landing airstrip off their former homeland. Sigh. I’m on holiday. No need to freak out. I’m on my way, that’s a good thing. Forward motion, forward motion, forward motion.

Arrived in Lombok and was greeted by a newly opened airport which means that it is nowhere near ready to be open. Found out that instead of it being a 45 minute ride to the harbor, it is now an hour and a half (if all goes well) ride to the harbor. Annoying taxi touts tried their hand at getting me to shell out a week’s worth of accommodation prices to get me to the harbor while I plopped my tired, no-sleep ass on a local bus and waited for it to take me to where several people assured me it would take me, the old airport bus stop, so I could make my way from there. *sigh* I never ever learn.


The ridiculously long bus ride takes me to a random town and stops on the side of a random rundown street. Finished. Everyone out. I’m sorry, pardon me? Bus station that way. Bus to harbor, right? You said bus to harbor. Oh. No, no. No bus to harbor. Taxi. Only taxi to harbor. F**k. So it was on. Assaulted on all sides as they closed in like vultures. Backpack is a flashing red neon light – I’m screwed. It is now midday sun, in Indonesia. Smile and nod, argue and haggle, smile and laugh, work it… work it. I finally convince one of the bemo drivers (a broken down minivan that is the usual means of local public transport) to take just me directly to the harbor without picking anyone up. Let’s go. Bless his heart this man made every attempt under the sun to chat with me, in the kindest, most innocent of ways, but by this point I simply had nothing left. I stared out the window, soaked in the wonders of where I was, and pretended that I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Sorry sir, I just can’t do it today.

A hot, sweaty ride drops me at the entrance to Hell. Bangsal harbor, the departure point to get to the Gili Islands, is well known for the aggressive, horrible, evil shitesters who have done its reputation proud. As soon as I was on the radar, the game was on.

There are scheduled public boats that run but they are very infrequent. I was told I would have to wait 2 & ½ hours for the next boat, at 5:30pm. What else could I do? Oh yeah, get swindled. There are festering nests of slithering vermin prowling around offering to take you on their private boat whenever you’re ready to go. Asking insane prices then yelling at me when I declined their oh so generous offers was starting to take its toll. At one point I was talking to the girl who books the public boats asking about any earlier options when one of the rat pack came up and started freaking out on me. I’m not even sure what he was yelling about, saying something along the lines of if I want to go earlier I have to go with him but he’s not going to take me because I wouldn’t give him money earlier and some other random crazy talk. I stared at him, open-mouthed, shaking my head in utter confusion. I quietly thanked him for his offer (?!?!?) and said that while I had no idea what he was talking about, I was quite happy to wait until 5:30pm. He continued his rant until he got tired and then stomped off. Only at this point did I notice two white guys sitting just behind where the crazy guy was standing. One of them looked up from his seat and asked me if everything was okay. Ummm, yeah, thanks dumbass, speak up now that he’s gone. Not that I can’t handle my own, because I can, but really, yeah. I got it covered.

Ended up getting repeatedly approached and hassled and endlessly impatient. I paid 5 times what I should have paid but convinced myself to be okay with it just to get me out of that place and to the blissful beaches of Gili Meno. Yep, fell eyes wide open into their trap but simply didn’t care.

Meno! Hopped off the boat, turned left, walked 50 meters along a broken and sandy cobblestone “main road” and squealed at first glimpse of that bright, white beacon… Bags thrown to the ground…. Darrrrrrrryyyyyynnnnnnn!!!

I couldn’t stop bouncing as he showed me around his new shop and I had to keep poking at him to make sure he was real. That South African accent, that feeling of “Oh my gosh! I KNOW you!” The dive shop, the sights and sounds, the sand and sea just right there. It wasn’t Tofo, but it was. My whole life fell back into place. I have needed this.

He was able to wiggle out of work early to take me on the little village tour to his local house and then we found our way to the opposite side of the island (a 15 minute walk, it’s THAT small) just in time to watch a much appreciated sunset. Am I really here? Are you really here? Another place, a different life but I’m sitting here chatting with you. I love my life.

I have missed Africa desperately, painfully, physically somedays, so to see this face, to hear this voice, to be in this company filled a hole in my heart that has been there since my bizarre departure almost 7 months ago. I was at peace. Darryn has a perfect little house in the middle of a sparsely populated village. There are no vehicles on the island, there is one small bar representing the local nightlife, and the chickens, cows, goats, and children all run free. The beaches are near deserted, the water is clear, the diving is spectacular, and I settled right in. THIS is what I needed.

Darryn had to go to Singapore for a few days in the middle of my visit but not once did I feel alone. I spent time with the other people who work at his shop, SO nice!, three of the other teachers I work with came over for a couple of days, and I was under the sea. I very quickly took over Darryn’s life while he was away and was quite happy to carry on that way. I'm not meant for the city, I'm not meant for crazy corporate chaos, I'm not meant for concrete and flashing lights… I am meant for this.

A few slight mishaps to prove that my while my heart was on Meno, my brain was left in Surabaya. Hmmm… to share or not to share? Oh gawd, why not!?

The “party island”, as the Gilis are a string of three with Meno being the middle, mellow one, is Gili Trawangan or Gili “T”. You MUST hire a boat to get between the mainland and any of the islands. Too far to swim and vicious currents. But, boats are hard to come by, as we’ve already discussed. When the urge to socialize with more than the handful of people you work with hits you, you have to convince someone with a flash of cash to take you over to the party island in their boat. The Friday night before my departure was a last minute lets go! A dozen eager beavers on a bit of a splashy ride over and we arrived in tourism central. Even though there are still no vehicles on this island, I was overwhelmed by the endless stream of bars, restaurants, shops, lights, people, chaos. There was not one bit of unoccupied or quiet space. This was party central.

We made our way to the dance scene; the typical night of drinks and dancing ensued. Too much fun. Later, much much later, Darryn and I found each other amid the crowds of new friends and figured that we should probably try to make our way back to where the boat was and wait for whenever whoever was ready to take us back to Meno. At some point, I fell asleep on the beach and apparently he did too. I remember being startled awake to two shadows standing over me (nightmares from Tanzania!) and in an instant I was up and they were running.

I looked around, my bag was gone. My money, my phone, my cards, my bag. Gone. Darryn! Wake up! Someone just stole my bag! Dazed and confused he was up and wandering towards people shouting for us to get on the boat, as it was leaving, while I was running the opposite way determined to get my bag back. The next thing I knew, Darryn was gone, the boat was gone, there was no trace of whoever I thought was standing over me, and the sun was coming up. I was stranded.

A bit on the frantic side, I was up and down, up and down, up and down the beachfront. Several incredibly kind people stopped and attempted to be helpful but with no cash and the public boats not running until 9am, I was out of options. NO! NO! NO! I need to get back. I don’t want to be here. Please, someone has to help me. Chug, chug, chug. In the early morning light, a massive overloaded boat groaning under the strain of building materials and who knows what else came puttering up to shore. I flew out to them like a madwoman and a very sweet local man who was trying to sort me out followed with translation so they didn’t think I was some lunatic pirate bent on stealing their broken down cargo ship. After MUCH pleading, they turned their boat around and agreed to bring me across the water to Meno. It’s so close, really, 20 minutes, but massive pain in the ass. I cried tears of appreciation, making them all the more uncomfortable. Nicely done, Janice. Nicely done.

As we approached Meno, they told me that the tide was too low for their big boat so I’d have to walk. Ummm… what? sorry, you walk now. So I hopped off the boat, in my jeans, water up to my boobs, and trudged through the warm morning sea to the far side of the island that I needed to get to, mainly to murder Darryn for leaving me on Gili T. Darryn lived on the OPPOSITE side of the island and I had no idea how to get to where I was going so this mad as a wet hen (quite literally) stomped her way round half the island, recognizing some of the staring and questioning faces in the fully risen sunlight as I had been there a week already and like I said, it was a small island. Grrrr!!!!

SLAMMED into his house and attempted to drown my friend in fits of fury but quickly fell into helpless laughter. DARRYN! YOU LEFT ME!!! Janice, you always figure something out, you made it back didn’t you? SHUT UP! YOU LEFT ME!!! Did you have fun? SHUT UP! YOU LEFT ME! MY BAG GOT STOLEN AND YOU LEFT ME! Did you make it back? SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!!! Doesn’t it feel a little like Tofo all over again? And I was done. Just another one of those nights. Arriving at the dive shop later that day I was shocked into silence to see my bag sitting on a chair. Apparently in my dancing frenzy, I had placed my bag on the floor in front of me. One of the boys, knowing the islands all too well, knew what would happen so he shouldered my bag for the rest of the night and brought it safely back. Those two shadows standing over me? Who knows. Oh my life, my life, my life.

Hang on, this isn’t the end. It does get better…

With a heavy heart and another swipe of swindling, I set off on a boat to make my way back to city living on Sunday afternoon. I had booked the last flight out so I could get in as much beach time as possible. I arrived at the airport around 4pm and attempted to check in. The sweet attendant slid my e-ticket back to me with a sympathetic smile as she pointed to the date she had circled. My flight was the day before. I just stood there, blinking, blank, frozen. I looked at her and she gestured over to the airline offices. Who does this? Who misses their flight by an entire day? I was SURE, I checked and double checked. WHO DOES THIS?! And SNAP! I was in problem solving mode.

I marched up and down a very small hallway with four kiosks of airlines trying to figure out how to get back to Surabaya. After a crash course in wheeling, dealing, and fast talking, I was introduced to a tour guide who had 3 no shows. I could buy someone else’s ticket. Done. He checked in my bag, I smiled my way through security under a fake name, and the plane door closed behind me. But this was only to Jakarta (and hour and a half PAST my destination). Once in Jakarta, I had to wait almost 5 hours to catch a flight back to Surabaya. I paid about $100 for my original return flight, I paid another $200 for that last minute trip back. Holy eff. WHO DOES THAT?!?!?


But all being said and finally done, I made a quick stop at my “old house”, picked up a few remaining boxes and arrived at my new home just after midnight to start my new term with the same bittersweet emotions of the week previous; missing a life by the sea, where I’m meant to be, but looking forward to the new adventures of a new term with some pretty fabulous new friends. My rollercoaster never, ever ends.

Thank you, dearest Darryn, for opening your home to me and for reconnecting my heart with what it has been so desperately missing. Trouble, terrific times, Tofo. Thank you, my boy, thank you. And my incredible universe... carry on, carry on.