Running to Stand Still
With five days left in Indonesia, we decided that the time had come to go to the beach. We narrowed our choice of islands to 2: 1) the fabled Gili Islands (translation in Bahasa: Island Islands), a paradise of "palm-tree fringed, white sand beaches" or 2) Nusa Lembongan, a less-celebrated island with "beaches" (but whether they are "white sand" beaches or "littered-with-syringes" beaches, we don't know). The Gili islands featured "world-class coral reef diving." Nusa Lembongan boasted "snorkeling." The choice may seem clear-cut to you. Those of you who know us well, however, know that there was one key element left to consider: karaoke. An impassioned perusal of the Lonely Planet revealed that Nusa Lembongan was home to Ronnie's Billiard Warung, a "local's pool hall that plays loud music and karaoke." The case was closed. The die was cast. The decision had been made. We chartered the next available boat to Nusa Lembongan.
Upon arrival, our first impressions were, well, disappointing. The beach we landed upon was rocky; the accomodations, uninspiring; our first meal, unremarkable. But we were unphased, awash with anticipation of the endless nights of Balinese ballads in store for us. We knew once we found karaoke we would be able to revel in our little tropical paradise, beaches be damned. But our first day, we could find not a single soul who had heard of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Curse you, Lonley Planet! You have forsaken us in our time of need, led us to this homely island with the false promise of karaoke.
We tried not to despair. We failed. We tried to keep perspective on how lucky we were to be spending this quality time together in an exotic land. Not good enough. We were nothing without karaoke. And so we committed our next 5 days to finding Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Here's how it went:
Day 1 - Hearing rumors of a far-flung part of the island called "Mushroom Bay", we embark on a hike to see if that might be the new location of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Locals tell us the road to Mushroom Bay is "very very far", so we decide to hike through farmland and forests till we find it. For the next couple hours, the trail disappears, farmers stare at us confused and cows low at us in disgust. We finally come upon a beautiful beach, frolic in non-rocky water at sunset, and marvel at the high-end acommodation on this side of the island. But no Mushroom Bay. And more importantly, no karaoke.
Day 2 - We upgrade to a cozy new place to stay, somehow staying within our $20/day budget. Take advantage of the "snorkelling" we had heard about, and decide to make our way to the local village to continue the search for karaoke. Suddenly, in the distance, we hear a woman's voice, amplified by a massive speaker system, singing! We see a group of people gathered, dressed in bright colors and fabulous headgear. We are excited. Surely these are the telltale signs of karaoke! But as we draw closer, we realize that we're at a temple, not some backwoods divey bar. The villagers invite us to sit and explain to us that we are witnessing their semi-annual ceremony to celebrate metal. A festival of metal! But while we dreamed of the metal of Guns 'n Roses and Queensryche, our local villagers were more focused on the importance of the metal in their scooters and generators, and though we were fortunate to witness their solemn prayers to their vehicles and appliances, we walked home in the darkness with no karaoke.
Day 3 - Renewing our cross-country bushwacking, we cut through the jungle and finally found Mushroom Bay, which turned out to be a haven of European tourists. We stand in awe of the $250/night villas and the funny french people and eventually swim past some cliffs to our own private little hidden beach. We cuddle up in the sand, enjoying a cinematic beach moment, but are quickly bowled over by the pounding surf tossing small boulders at us on the beach. And as it turned out, even the french people knew that Mushroom Bay was not the home of Ronnie's Billiard Warung, and it did not have karaoke.
Day 4 - Our feet cannot carry us to karaoke fast enough. We must mount bicycles and thus train for the Nepali MS 150 while we accelerate our search for karaoke. We ride to all corners of Nusa Lembongan, asking every local villager we could find for karaoke, but no one can help us. We find a rickety suspension bridge and ride over to neighboring Nusa Ceningan, up a 1000 foot climb, down a screaming descent, past a group of stoned fishermen, through a score of seaweed farmers. But no one, no one can lead us to karaoke.
Day 5 - And finally, on our last day on the island, we go for a run at 6am, desperately hoping that fate will lead us to the waning hour of an all-night karaoke party. We come across a group of 8 year-olds on their way to school, who despite the nasty humidity and their clean, pressed uniforms were more than happy to jog along with us for a while. As the sun rises, we get to run through the backroads of a beautiful island surrounded by giggling schoolkids. It is the last of many amazing moments on Nusa Lembongan. The schoolchildren can not take us to Ronnie's Billiard Warung. They, too, do not know where we could find karaoke. So an hour later, as we sit on the boat that takes us back to the mainland, we stare back at the island that has been our home for the last few days, revelling in the random adventures we've found and wondering what ever came of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. We have not found karaoke. So we climb up to the deck, flip on the Ipod, play U2 for an hour and sing into the wind. Bono is no Ronnie, but he's still pretty damn good.
Upon arrival, our first impressions were, well, disappointing. The beach we landed upon was rocky; the accomodations, uninspiring; our first meal, unremarkable. But we were unphased, awash with anticipation of the endless nights of Balinese ballads in store for us. We knew once we found karaoke we would be able to revel in our little tropical paradise, beaches be damned. But our first day, we could find not a single soul who had heard of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Curse you, Lonley Planet! You have forsaken us in our time of need, led us to this homely island with the false promise of karaoke.
We tried not to despair. We failed. We tried to keep perspective on how lucky we were to be spending this quality time together in an exotic land. Not good enough. We were nothing without karaoke. And so we committed our next 5 days to finding Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Here's how it went:
Day 1 - Hearing rumors of a far-flung part of the island called "Mushroom Bay", we embark on a hike to see if that might be the new location of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. Locals tell us the road to Mushroom Bay is "very very far", so we decide to hike through farmland and forests till we find it. For the next couple hours, the trail disappears, farmers stare at us confused and cows low at us in disgust. We finally come upon a beautiful beach, frolic in non-rocky water at sunset, and marvel at the high-end acommodation on this side of the island. But no Mushroom Bay. And more importantly, no karaoke.
Day 2 - We upgrade to a cozy new place to stay, somehow staying within our $20/day budget. Take advantage of the "snorkelling" we had heard about, and decide to make our way to the local village to continue the search for karaoke. Suddenly, in the distance, we hear a woman's voice, amplified by a massive speaker system, singing! We see a group of people gathered, dressed in bright colors and fabulous headgear. We are excited. Surely these are the telltale signs of karaoke! But as we draw closer, we realize that we're at a temple, not some backwoods divey bar. The villagers invite us to sit and explain to us that we are witnessing their semi-annual ceremony to celebrate metal. A festival of metal! But while we dreamed of the metal of Guns 'n Roses and Queensryche, our local villagers were more focused on the importance of the metal in their scooters and generators, and though we were fortunate to witness their solemn prayers to their vehicles and appliances, we walked home in the darkness with no karaoke.
Day 3 - Renewing our cross-country bushwacking, we cut through the jungle and finally found Mushroom Bay, which turned out to be a haven of European tourists. We stand in awe of the $250/night villas and the funny french people and eventually swim past some cliffs to our own private little hidden beach. We cuddle up in the sand, enjoying a cinematic beach moment, but are quickly bowled over by the pounding surf tossing small boulders at us on the beach. And as it turned out, even the french people knew that Mushroom Bay was not the home of Ronnie's Billiard Warung, and it did not have karaoke.
Day 4 - Our feet cannot carry us to karaoke fast enough. We must mount bicycles and thus train for the Nepali MS 150 while we accelerate our search for karaoke. We ride to all corners of Nusa Lembongan, asking every local villager we could find for karaoke, but no one can help us. We find a rickety suspension bridge and ride over to neighboring Nusa Ceningan, up a 1000 foot climb, down a screaming descent, past a group of stoned fishermen, through a score of seaweed farmers. But no one, no one can lead us to karaoke.
Day 5 - And finally, on our last day on the island, we go for a run at 6am, desperately hoping that fate will lead us to the waning hour of an all-night karaoke party. We come across a group of 8 year-olds on their way to school, who despite the nasty humidity and their clean, pressed uniforms were more than happy to jog along with us for a while. As the sun rises, we get to run through the backroads of a beautiful island surrounded by giggling schoolkids. It is the last of many amazing moments on Nusa Lembongan. The schoolchildren can not take us to Ronnie's Billiard Warung. They, too, do not know where we could find karaoke. So an hour later, as we sit on the boat that takes us back to the mainland, we stare back at the island that has been our home for the last few days, revelling in the random adventures we've found and wondering what ever came of Ronnie's Billiard Warung. We have not found karaoke. So we climb up to the deck, flip on the Ipod, play U2 for an hour and sing into the wind. Bono is no Ronnie, but he's still pretty damn good.
posted by Meghul at 1:32 AM
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