So we arrived Bangsal, thinking hell is over because we managed to convince the Anjani guys to leave us alone. We called the resort to inform them that we were going that day, they are supposed to arrange transportation for us from Mataram airport, but when we call the resort, they told us to just take a taxi to bangsal and the girl claims she will meet me in the "RCI booth" in Bangsal. We got there (with the anjani rats), but no girl, no RCI booth.

Then a bunch of boys chased us down. They ask us if we are going to Gili Meno, I said yes, and ask them if they are with the RCI. They said "yes, yes, we are RCI," but knowing people here will lie to get you to use their service, I got more careful this time, "do you know what hotel we are staying at?" They can't tell me, they started randomly guessing, I was about to told them off when I look ahead and realize they are already carrying my dad onto the boat, four guys actually picked him up by his armpit and his knees! I chased to follow and shouted at them, and they just keep saying "don't worry, we are going to gili meno" I told them, "no, somebody else is waiting for us here, we have transportation arranged."

They forcefully picked me up and put me on the boat anyways, I kept trying to jump back down, and my dad followed suit. Finally, one of the guys passed me a cell phone, a girl on the other end of the phone spoke to me. She sounded like the girl in RCI I spoke to earlier, but i thought I would be careful. "Okay, if you work for RCI, do you know my name? I called you an hour ago and gave you my name. Can you tell me my name, or where I am from?" Like the porters, she randomly guessed our names and guessed that we are from Taiwan, I was desperate. Here I am, being carried by money hungry people into a tiny boat in a very rough sea, on the phone with a girl who claim to work for the RCI but apparently have no idea who we are or any of our resort booking informations.

Finally, we went along. Of course the porters want an arm and a leg for their "services" that we didn't ask for, my nice, rich dad docilely paid them, I wanted to bite his head off. Whatever, we got going.

I thought the sea was rough by the harbor; I started to seriously regret not taking the water safety trainings in Tofino more seriously. I sat at the front of the "charter boat," which is no more than a 30 ft long (and very narrow) dingy with a humble motor at the back. The wave was so violent, my dad puked three times. Having some experiences at rough sea, I was on hyper vigilance. I look down on the piece of paper I was holding and realize my hands were trembling. I was dranged from head to toes, I looked at the two local women on board with their baskets of big fishes, they were speaking in Sasak, which I don't understand. What I do understand, was that even they were freaked out. Their face were distorted into a grimace that told me they too were extremely worried for their safety. I faced the front of the boat with my elbow resting on the side of the boat, it actually touched the water a few times, and a lot of water spilled into the boat. The motor stopped many times during our 20 minutes trip to Gili Meno. At that point, I suddenly realize none of us have life jacket. Bronze Medallion holder or not, I don't think I can survive it if the boat flip. But, determined to survive, I kept watching for the waves, the direction of the current, where are the waves forming and merging, where is the closest landing point etc.

Finally, we got close enough to the Gili Meno beach that I knew I could swim there if I have to... and at the end, we got to the shore safely. For the first time since we got on the boat, I looked back at my dad, I didn't want him to see how worried I was. He gave me a strange expression of embarrasment and maybe fear, and told me, "I puked three times, I don't even have any bile left." At least he wasn't freaked out like I was.

After this was a series of communication breakdown between the resort and RCI, I won't bore you with the details, but needless to say, it was less-than-pleasant. The most unpleasant of all, is that the resort staff "forget to tell us" there is no electricity between 2 to 6; innocently, I went in for a shower, noticed the water pressure was weak but did not pay much attention. I lathed myself with soap and turn on the tap again, only to realize there is no water to wash it off until 6...

Later that night, we got some dinner, took a brief stroll down the beach and retired early. We reported the bundence of insects, dust, and most importantly, the leaky faucet to the resort staff 7 times that night, with nothing done to remedy it. By 2am, my dad was on all four on the floor soaking up the water flooding the entire room with a towel.

So next morning, when we reported the severity of the leak again and they still didn't do anything, I decided to ask for a different room. They told us the other twin-beds room A/C is broken, they only have rooms with double bed. I said I don't care, and the staffs exchanged glance and sly grins. At that point, I really didn't care what the local think of us, I just want to live in a human condition.

Probably because we shared the room for so many days, it almost became a habit. It was so hot in Gili Meno we ended up spending a lot of time in our room, and we chatted a lot. Dad told me a lot about his childhood, and a lot of other very personal issues, such as issues he has with his parents, moral issues he has with some extended family members, etc. For the first time in my life, I feel like dad is taking me seriously, as an adult, who can think and speak for myself. Even though the things dad told me make me cry, it felt good to know dad respects me enough to share with me.

Of what little time I spend at the beach, with my dad, I was constantly pestered by beach cowboys, children who pull extremely dramatic sad face who ask us to buy their merchandises, and more adults who all sell the same thing who all want us to buy from them. One of the Sasak boys kept showering me with compliments at our first meeting. He was patient enough to speak with me in Indonesian, naturally, I didn't understand when he asks me where is my boyfriend, and when he finally translate into english for me, I was so unprepared for it, I blurted out that I don't have one. Second grave mistake.

For the rest of my stay in Gili Meno, I was fighting the dilemma of staying in hotel to enjoy A/C and avoid beach cowboy, or to enjoy the pristeen water, corals, and endless beack. By that evening, he already told me "aku suka kamu." Taught to be a nice asian wall flower, I just knew it's not okay to hurt people's feelings (!), so I told him "I like you too, but I don't want a boyfriend." In Canada, boys usually respond with a brief goodbye, followed by a long period of disappearing in front of me. But here, boys don't seem to know when to quit, or how to quit. No amout of I don't want a boyfriend deters him. When I use the phone to make reservation at a losmen in Mataram at the watel that he works at (the only watel on the island), he copied my number down and told me he will look for me in Mataram. Then he started kissing up to my dad, he even send regards for my mom!

Later, Dad and I went to a more remote beach on Gili Meno, where there is no hawker, or anyone else ... except for my Gili Meno Romeo. The ocean floor is covered with beautiful corals that are extremely painful to step on; I walked gingerly into deep water for some swim, but my "Romeo" kept trying to molest me in the water, and I was so startled that I struggled to get away at once... and got my feet all cut up. Even as I limp back to my hotel with my bleeding feet, the guy kept touching me when my dad is not watching, or to hold my hand. How do local women deal with these? DO local women even have to deal with these?

That night, dad and I went out for dinner again. I had to repeatedly refuse to go to the pub, or to play pool, with "Romeo" that night; we also had to guard our food from the watchful cats. Actually, ever since we arrived in Gili Meno, every meal we take was surrounded by cats and kittens. So far, they have been shy or even afraid of human; it took some perseverence for the kitten to take food from my hand. But this time, the kitten actually jumped onto our table to eat with us.

My little Kirara will never eat salad, tomato soup and rice, or so I think. But, by the time dad and I had enough to eat, there was no meat left on the plate, and the hungry kitten ate the rice, vegetables and extremely salty tomato soup greedily, as if it was going to be his last meal.

On our way back to the resort after dinner, (Romeo tries to invite me to the pub again, which I again turned down), I failed to resist a group of Sasak boys who invited me to join their music group. I told dad I will just spend a few minutes with them to enjoy the music; but I think I ended up spending an hour there. I think, this has been the most enjoyable experience of the whole trip. Two of the boys were actually quite good, they sang both English and Indonesian songs, they played guitar, drums (with empty water bottles) and sang; they sounded really good. They passed the two guitars along and I tried to play the few songs that I can play, which is embarrassing compared to these amazing musicians. They even took English song and improvised lyrics on the spot with a mix of Indonesian and English words, it was great.

Early that morning, we went to the ferry ticket office to inquire about public boat ticket to go back to Bangsal. On my way here, the resort staffs charged us 155 000rp for the charter boat service that they orally agreed to arrange for us for free when we booked the resort. But it turns out, public boat is only 7500 rp/person (about $1 Canadian Dollars). At the ticket office, we ran into Ogi, one of the musicians from the night before. He says he is also leaving next morning for Mataram and offered to be our guide. For the first time, I let my guard down when people come offering services to us in here. I guess I am really weak against good music, I just can't resist.

We made it to Mataram in one piece, the negotiation with the University was unsuccessful, they refused my registration as a student when I entered with a VOA visa. So instead, I spend the rest of the day looking for a place to stay for the next little while -- alone. Ogi seems to have a lot of connections, he knows lots of places with room for rent etc. I finally chose an upscale place ... more expensive, less local, true, but I thought, this way, I will not be constantly surrounded by beggers and hawkers thinking I am a rich tourist with lots of fortunes to disperse.


Ogi also wanted me to open a joint-name bank account with him, which I turned down flat. Do I really look that stupid?

After I found a place to stay, Ogi and I send my dad off at the airport. As soon as my dad got off the car, Ogi got really aggressive with me. I sat in the front seat with him and he grabbed me from the driver's side, and kissed me really roughly. I was so shocked I didn't know how to respond. Here is a man, friend to my neighbours, civil for the last 3 days to me, and as soon as my dad disappears, he turns into a lusting hound. It took a LOT of time and patience and efforts and a few "cultural difference" cards to convince him that 1) I am not interested in him and 2) his actions are not okay, without being rude or offensive. In fact, I was ready to tell him that "I am a Christian and it's sinful to kiss before I marry."

The place I stay in is very nice; it's a little housing compound with walls surrounding a garden and many individual small bungalows. My bungalow has two levels, a double bed, a dresser, A/C, and western bathroom, though no hot water. The garden is filled with fruit trees, such as rambutan, mangoes, jackfruits, and coconuts. I have already enjoyed a lot of the fruit and even my neighbour's cuisins ... even though they want a small sum of cash for their hospitality.

The money issue is starting to get to me; everywhere I go, people want money from me. I think paying my neighbour for the fruits they "gave" me is fair, but it sucks that every little things you do, or everywhere you go, you have to negotiate money.

I am used to being "different" in Canada; my host family used to bring guests to the house to look at/ talk to this girl from Hong Kong; and even in University, from time to time, people come talk to me and ask me strange questions, just because I am Asian. But it was all in good nature. But here, I am visibly different, and people are interested in me .. and the money they can make out of me. It's really wearing me down. So this morning, when I walk out of my bungalow and sat in a pagoda to make conversations with the neighbours and friends... I got really frustrated.

One of the friends of my neighbour was there, alone with me, and he asked me,

"mau ke mana?" (where do you want to go?)
"mau ke buku kotor," (I want to go to the book store)
"dengan Deddy?" (With Deddy?[my neighbout's name])
"ya" (yes)
"ada uang?" (do you have money?)

Here, I thought he meant whether I bring money with me to buy dictionary, but it turns out...

"ya"
"??????????????????????"
"tidak mengarti!" (I don't understand!)

I can't remember what he says, but it turns out, he speaks some English.

"give me money! Give me money! Lima-ribu saja, saya tidak ada uang!

then he pulls out his pockets to show me he has no money. I looked at him with an expression of increduality. He repeats himself a few more times, in Indonesian and in English.

"uang untuk apa?" (money for what?)

I am so used to people asking me to buy from them, I thought he was trying to sell me something. But apparently not. He just repeats that he doesn't has money,

"I want money, you have lots of money, give me money."

I notice he has been smoking non stop, which seems to be generally true with local men, so I said to him,

"tidak ada uang tetapi ada uang untuk rocco?"
(you don't have money but you have money for cigarettes?)

"ini rocco Deddy, Deddy ada banyak uang, saya tidak ada uang. I want money, give me money, lima ribu juga, give me money, I want money." (I am smoking Deddy's ciggarettes, Deddy has a lot of money, I have no money. ... the rest is Eng)

I am used to people wanting some money out of me, but I am not quite prepared for a begger right at my door step, who was introduced to me as my neighbour's family friend. I told him no in English and Indonesian a few times, and proceed to ignore him for the rest of the morning and pretend to read, even though his persistent begging is really disturbing and hard to ignore.

Finally, Deddy comes back, I left with him; I almost wanted to cry. How do I tell him the friend he brings home to meet me is pestering and begging me for money behind his back? But, conveniently, I don't have to. I don't even have the vocabularies to retell to him what just happened.

Deddy took me to see his brother's family, I met his wife and their children. Their children were still shy, I asked the older child some questions in simple indonesian and she answered, but then she start running for her mom. I hope I didn't say anything strange or stupid. I was then introduced to Deddy's parents, they speak more English than everyone else I have met in Mataram so far (except for my guide and the University professor), which is still not a lot. They lent me dictionaries, children's book, and English text books for Indonesian schools for me to learn on my own. We make simple conversations, making frequent consultation with the dictionary, it was great.

Right now, I am trying to decide whether to buy a bicycle, because I live just outside of Mataram and it's quite far to the University. It's probably faster (because of traffic jam) and eventually, cheaper, to get a bike instead of riding bemos, but the traffic conditions here seriously scares me. I tried out a few bikes today, but the roads are so narrow and traffic so hectic, I was too scared to make a U-turn. Deddy offers to be my limitless taxi driver (with motor cycle) for $300 000 rp a month ... more money dealings with my neighbour, true, but i will probably feel a little safer.

I enjoy the kids in the compound a lot. Because the place I am staying at is a bit upscale, most of the people aren't so poor, so at least the kids aren't constantly begging for money. The neighbour's 3rd daughter likes to draw and color with me. She keeps bringing fruit to me and knocks on my room as soon as she comes back from school. She talks a lot considering that I can't really answer or understand her! I am trying to talk to the people who hang out in the pagoda in the garden, so in a way, I am learning Indonesian.

So that's my life for now. I hope things are well in Hong Kong and Canada for you all, take care, and take care of my cat!

-C