I’d seen the movie, of course. Hasn’t everyone watched the ever-endearing Julia Roberts amble across the globe on her soul seeking journey that all started in Bali with Ketut, the toothless medicine man who read her palm and set her future in motion? It’s a heartwarming tale, based on the author’s own life, worth a watch for the beautiful scenes of Ubud with it’s jungles and rice paddies alone. What I hadn’t realised was that Ketut’s character in the film is actually the same, real-life Ketut that the author had met and been so influenced by. And that he was still living right here, in Ubud.
When I spotted the sign pointing down a nondescript side road, I yanked my boyfriend so hard in excitement that our scooter nearly went careering off edge of the road and into the jungly undergrowth. The sign read simply, ‘Ketut Liyer’s House’ and we followed the road to a small, pretty guesthouse. Since the movie’s release, Ketut has become a local celebrity and his house a magnet for tourists who come to visit him and get their palms read by the cheerful medicine man. When we visited however it was late 2015 and Eat, Pray, Love had been released over 5 years ago. Remembering his crinkly face and toothless smile from the movie, I had to wonder how old Ketut could possibly be now…
The entrance to Ketut’s house and garden leads into a pretty courtyard, filled with flowers, caged birds and the heady smell of incense. The raised platform where Ketut does his readings is adorned with ornate images. I spot a faded photograph of a smiling Julia Roberts with Ketut and his family, but no sign of the man himself. The friendly man who welcomes us introduces himself as Ketut’s son and tells us that unfortunately his father is too tired to greet visitors today. ‘He is very old’, he laughs, ‘100 years old!’ Incredible. No wonder the guy wanted some peace and quiet. We wander around the guesthouse grounds which are serene and beautiful. It’s not hard to see why Elizabeth Gilbert was so enchanted by this place.
Sadly, I recently saw in an article that Ketut passed away in the summer of 2016, at the age of 100, only a few months after we visited. I’m sure though that his memory will live on. In those who will watch the film and be seduced by the mysticism and serenity of Ubud and will flock to visit his guesthouse to sit cross-legged on that well-worn platform in the hope of catching some words of wisdom from a wise, old medicine man.
Rest in peace Ketut, or as you would say, ‘See you later, alligator.’
I have been wedged between my boyfriend and a sweaty stranger, my bare thighs sticking uncomfortably to a plastic seat, for almost 3 hours. The window nearest to me stubbornly refuses to open more than a crack and the colour of most of the passengers faces combined with the relentless rocking of the stiflingly hot boat explains the pervasive smell of vomit. A wooden dock comes into view finally, and the overloaded boat slows down to moor beside it; exquisite turquoise water lapping at its sides. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief before the captain calls out, ‘Lombok.’ Around half the passengers scramble to the exit, leaping from the side of the boat into the cool, clear water, bags in tow as the rest of us groan in our seats, reluctantly moving over as a new load of passengers embark. Apparently this is not a direct service to Gili Trawangan island I grumble to my boyfriend reminds me of that classic paradise found, paradise lost movie The Beach. Remember the beach was a bloody faff to get to, but it was worth it in the end he points out. I decide not to mention that most of the characters in that movie ended up dead.
Another sweaty hour later the boat finally docks at Trawangan. As we walk up the jetty and onto the island I forget all about the hellish journey that seems to have brought us to another world in another time. Colourful horse-drawn carts, or cidomo, trundle down dirt tracks, carting tourists and supplies past open store fronts and beach bars, passing under decorative umbrellas suspended overhead. There are no proper roads on the island and so no motorised vehicles. It’s a relief from the chaotic mess of taxis and motorbikes back on the mainland in Kuta, however we soon realise Gili T has a madness all its own. We dodge cyclists and jump out of the way of the horses, their drivers incessantly honking their little plastic horns. But as we venture away from this bustling drop-off point the crowds disperse and the ‘road’ becomes practically empty save a few locals.
We discover our hostel tucked down a dusty side road, the Woodstock home stay, where we check into a wooden bungalow nestled in greenery by a shady pool. This place is a peaceful haven, away from the bustle of the harbour, run by a super chilled German lady and a handful of friendly locals. Each bungalow is named after a classic band or singer: Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix or in our case, The Who. We try a plate of delicious mie goreng (Indonesian fried rice) and fresh watermelon shakes as we sit by the pool, petting the resident cats.
The quickest way to get around the island is by bike, with the island only 3km long and 2km wide you can get from one side to the other in less than 20 minutes. The Woodstock home stay offers free bike hire and we head inland, over dusty tracks and scrubby, undeveloped patches of land. The locals eye us curiously as we pass. It seems that unlike other popular island hot spots, such as Koh Phi Phi which has been all but destroyed as a result of over-development, pollution and too many tourists, the Gili islands still remain relatively obscure and untouched, though sadly this is bound to change. For now the tourist scene is confined solely to the beaches on the edges of the island. But venture further inland and the heart of the island lies quiet and unexplored, reserved for the locals leading a simple life, unmoved by the steadily growing tourist presence and building sites cropping up around the tiny island.
We have dinner at a beach restaurant, nestled on cushions in a little wooden hut. The restaurant is almost empty and we see only a few other tourists wandering around. Peaceful though it is, I am confused. Isn’t Gili T supposed to be the party island of the 3? I wonder. This is high season, where is everyone? All becomes clear after dinner when we follow the road further around and find ourselves suddenly in the hustle and bustle of Trawangan’s main ‘strip’. Here, there are heaps more restaurants, bars, gelato stands and many a painted sign freely advertising ‘Bloody good magic mushrooms.’ It seems islanders have taken liberty with Bali’s strict drug laws. We decide to skip the shrooms and opt for the open air beach cinema instead. Tonights movie is, of course, The Beach.
We wake early the next day (hard to sleep in with the island’s only mosque so close by, the reverberating call to prayer can be heard all over the island) and head off on a snorkeling trip. The clear, warm waters around the islands are perfect for spotting fish and turtles, just be careful if you opt for a lunchtime cocktail. Pretty wobbly legs after a Gili island ice tea, they don’t muck about with their measures! In the evening, it’s time to to see if Gili T deserves its title of party island. After a delicious plate of cheap eats at the night market we head straight to the infamous Sama Sama bar where we get talking to English Sam, who dreams of living a nomadic life in the Peruvian hills and Nora, his statuesque (6ft2), Californian girlfriend. After making the most of the ridiculously cheap cocktails the night passes in a blur of beer pong and pulsing music and we spend the next morning sweating out a pretty heavy hangover by the pool. But hey, there are worse places in the world to deal with a sore head! By the afternoon we have recovered enough to cycle over to the other side of the island where we perch on the famous Lombok Swing and watch a spectacular sunset over distant Mount Rinjani.
The next island on our itinerary is just a hop across the water. Gili Air is Gili Trawangan without the party, a favourite spot for couples. (Fun fact: ‘Air’ actually means ‘Water’ in Indonesian.) We check into the tranquil Toro Toro bungalows, tucked away down another little side road near the beach.(Of course, everywhere here is near the beach! Air is even smaller than Trawangan) This island is much quieter, sparsely scattered with tourists and here the roads are lined with seafood restaurants and beautiful hotels rather than bustling bars. The gorgeous white sand beaches are almost empty and the water is clear and unpolluted. Huge turtles swim lazily beside you in the shallows, only a few feet from the sand. Here, the locals go about their daily business, hauling their fishing boats out or loading building supplies onto the cidomo.
This time we skip the bikes and explore the island on foot. It’s become second nature now to dodge the cyclists and horses charging down the tracks. We stumble across a cooking school and decide to try our hands at some Indonesian cuisine. We start with kelopon, sticky, coconut based desert balls which look like playdough (and kind of taste like it too.) We make delicious fried noodles, or nasi goreng, and a spicy peanut dipping sauce with crushed peanuts, palm sugar and chillies. So simple, but so tasty.
The days here are spent in typically indulgent island style, sunbathing, strolling around, taking lazy swims and eating everything we see; refreshing coconut gelato and the local specialty pepes ikan, spicy fish wrapped in banana leaf with fragrant rice.
On the last night we have dinner on the beach, the tables sat inches from the ocean, the surf lapping lazily around our ankles as we eat. One thing is certain, these idyllic islands were definitely worth the journey and I’d happily stay here another week, or a month, or maybe just build myself a little beach shack and live on island time forever! I’m sure I’m not the only one with the same idea though.. so word to the wise, check out the Gilis sooner rather than later. Something tells me this little patch of paradise won’t stay this way for long…
Getting there: We booked through The Island hotel in Kuta, this included the bus to Padang Bai and the (very) slow taxi boat to the Gilis. Fast boats are available if you don’t mind spending a bit extra. Boats between the islands are quick, cheap and run often.
Where to stay:
Woodstock homestay, Gili Trawangan – super cheap, super chilled and in a great location. Definitely on my list of favourite hostels.
Toro Toro Bungalows, Gili Air (also confusingly known as Limitless hostel.) Good value, lovely bungalows, no pool but with the beach so close you won’t miss it!
What to do:
Anything that starts with an ‘S’: sunbathe, snorkel, shop, swim…!
Gili Cooking classes, from 275,000 Rupiah (about £14)
Eat at the night market
Watch a movie at the open air cinema next to Villa Ombok, for a couple of dollars you get a beanbag, free popcorn and drinks service
There are places that have a certain allure to them, countries that seem impossibly exotic. Hawaii for example. Fiji, Bora Bora. And Bali. Bali has an irresistable appeal, the name conjures up images of pristine beaches, delicious food, monkeys and jungles, rice terraces and temples. I tell my Sydneysider friend that I’m heading to Bali as soon as my Australian visa expires expecting her to be green with envy and beg me to take her with me. Her reaction is unexpected. ‘Why would you want to go to Bali?’ she snorts, ‘it’s horrible. Full of drunk Aussies getting into fights and pissing in the street.’ Apparently Bali is the Aussie equivalent of a cheap holiday to Magaluf. In other words, a hellhole.
Determined to keep an open mind however, I jump on a plane from Sydney, boyfriend in tow and land a few hours later in Denpasar. Sticky heat envelops us as soon as we walk out of the airport and are immediately accosted by insistent cab drivers. Our cab weaves through Kuta’s late night mayhem, narrowly avoiding mopeds, pedestrians and stray dogs, passing busy bars with flashing neon lights. I worry that, maybe, my Aussie friend was right…
We have booked a room at the great value Island hotel in Legian, the halfway point between the two hotspots: crazy Kuta and posh Seminyak, hoping for a mixture of the two. Our cab stops at the top of a dark, narrow alley. ‘Your hostel, down there’, our driver points into the darkness before speeding off. We exchange concerned glances before heading down the alley where we find ourselves at a dead end. Eventually we realise, after a few frantic phonecalls, that the hostel is right next to us, the entrance hidden behind a huge bamboo curtain. The website wasn’t kidding when it said this place was tucked away.
In the morning, we wake up to brilliant sunshine and the thick, sticky humidity that is typical of SE Asia. Our room looks over a small courtyard with a pool and beanbags dotted around. Tucked away in a corner sits a sacred shrine, flowers and offerings at its base, filling the courtyard with the sweet scent of incense. There are hundreds of these shrines scattered around Legian, hidden down narrow streets, tucked unassumingly into corners or holding pride of place in gardens and at shop fronts. Each morning, the locals place small offerings on the shrines and in the doorways of their homes and businesses, small woven baskets of incense, flowers and some form of food (often, for some reason, packets of mentos.)
During the day, we explore the streets of Legian, peering down the many little alleyways, or ‘gang’ and stepping over countless offerings scattered over the ground. We walk until we find ourselves on Seminyak beach, a long stretch of white sand sprinkled with chilled out beach bars and colourful parasols. We pick a spot and try the famous Bintang beer and fresh coconut milk. Later, in search of food, we try hiring scooters. Originally we decide to take one each but it becomes very clear, after I almost crash into a sunglasses stand and at the insistence of the very concerned shop owner, that this may not be the best idea. So instead I hop on the back and cling to my boyfriend as he navigates the way through the narrow, bustling streets that seem to have no traffic rules whatsoever, (overtaking from any direction, 4 people and a baby squeezed on a moped, no helmets etc…)
It’s chaos, but everyone we meet during our brief stay here, especially the hotel staff, are smiling, open and friendly and despite the traffic madness and the night life, I wonder where Kuta’s unsavoury reputation has come from.Give me Kuta over Magaluf any day…
After exploring our Balinese starting point we go to sleep early in our hidden away little hostel. We wake up at dawn the next day to board a hot, stuffy bus to Padang Bai where we board an equally hot and stuffy boat that will take us to our next highly anticipated destination, the enticing Gili islands…