Shipwrecked....well almost

Nusa Lembongan - a tiny island paradise off the coast of Bali replete with snorkling and surf, the best spring rolls known to mankind, swaying palms, and friendly people. Aside from a few day trippers on a luxury yacht and a flock of serious surfers, the island is generally quiet -almost deserted in the off-season (which it is now). Most islanders make a living harvesting seaweed and fishing. We arrived on a clear sunny day after a 90 minute ride from Bali in an outrigger ferry (see picture, although the ferries are much bigger). The ferries make this journey only in the mornings since the swells become too large in the channel to safely cross later in the day. After a somewhat rocky ride, we disembarked by jumping off the stern of the boat into knee deep water and then waded to shore where we awaited our bags which had been stowed on the roof. We met a British surfer on the ride over who was making the 6th of his yearly pilgrimages here. Figuring he would know best where to stay, we followed him up the beach about 300 feet to Bunga Bungalows. Fabulous! Slightly run down and no hot water (which is par for the course in this part of the world) BUT a balcony with an ocean view, a room with intricately carved doors and windows, an owner who had studied massage, and his cousin at our disposal with his own outrigger to ferry us anywhere we pleased. Who could ask for anything more? Three days of swimming, snorkling, and dodging rain storms followed before the real story begins - our return to the mainland.

The weather had been getting progressively worse during our stay; sunny mornings dissolving into fierce rainstorms and heavy winds. Later I was to learn of a cyclone developing off of Australia - apparently very rare but probably responsible for this. By our final morning the storm didn't allow the sunny prelude we had grown accustomed to. The winds were swirling all night and we awoke to sheets of warm rain and the doubts of the locals that our boat would even leave. Determined to leave the island that morning (Traci's flight left that night), we sat in the ferry office draped in our plastic rain capes, raindrops dripping off the tips of our noses, wondering if we should even get on he boat if it did come. The boat finally did arrive- it had survived the crossing intact. With more than a little trepidation, we boarded, ignoring our fears and trusting that the captain knew what he was doing.

We knew we were in for a wild ride as soon as we sat down and saw that our bags had been stowed in the more sheltered bow rather than the roof, and the only other passengers, aside from us and 2 Japanese tourists, were 5 Balinese men who were huddled together in the bow with the lifejackets and luggage. The varying expressions of fear in their eyes belied their calm exteriors. Following was perhaps the most harrowing experience of my life (have I said that before? This time its really true, really). We started off with sputtering engines and an inability to get past the waves crashing onto shore. At one point we just floated - no engines- just tossed like a beach ball from wave to wave. Sometimes back sometimes forward. We inched ahead gradually and it seemed to me we weren't going anywhere. That combined with the dying engine convinced me that surely we would turn back. I was comforted by the fact that we hadn't moved too far from shore and spent a lot of time gauging the distance to shore, the condition of the surf, and location of the lifejackets so I would be prepared when we capsized. Surely we would. The waves were crashing up against the sides drenching us with every hit. I tried to read a book at one point to take my mind off of what was happening but it just got wet. After about 30minutes of this, the engines started up in full force and we were out - broken free from shore and battling the swells of the channel. I was both relieved and frightened to death. Relieved that the engines worked and seemed to be at least pointing us in the right direction, however, the thought that we were zooming further from the safety of shore and confronting, literally head-on, the immense power of the sea was one of the most frightening experiences of my life. Following was about 45 minutes of continuous pummeling by an angry sea. I watched as our little boat confronted head on waves with the power of a heavyweight's fist. Determined, we forged on, each wave striking with a jarring slap. Visions of 'A Perfect Storm' flashed before me and I pictured our wooden craft dwarfed and consumed by a grey wall of ocean.

Gradually, the waters began to calm and the rains ceased as we neared shore. By the time we disembarked, dazed and soaked, it was a beautiful day in Bali. We retrieved our bags and hopped on the first taxi offered (after some bargaining on my part - I'm now addicted to it) to Kuta - Bali's version of a year long spring break. We spent the day wandering around the markets and stayed off the beach, we were a little sick of ocean I think. Later, Traci left for Bangkok and I was alone once again to begin the final leg of the journey.