Gravitating toward the Gilis

The Gili Islands off Lombok have become popular tourist destinations, but the waters further south still capture the beauty and isolation that has long drawn explorers and traders. Sara Schonhardt goes in search of the sea’s mysteries.

Joseph Conrad wrote in The Heart of Darkness: “The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and sky were welded together without a joint and in the luminous space the tanned sails of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished spirits.”

We were far from the Thames in London, but I could not help recalling this passage as our wooden schooner, the Sri Noa Noa, set off on its voyage from Benoa harbor in Bali. Fishermen stood chest deep along the channel leading out to the Lombok Strait, where a darkening midday haze signaled the coming rain. Speeding motorboats replaced the red-sailed barges Conrad so vividly described, but the sparkle of the sun’s rays on the water and the sound of waves wrapping around the Sri Noa Noa stirred up the anticipation of a great exploit.

With more than 17,000 islands, most of them deserted, Indonesia is prime cruising ground for intrepid explorers. For centuries, Chinese and Arab traders have plied the waters around this giant archipelago in search of spices, sandalwood and tortoiseshell.

Later, during World War II, the Asia-Pacific islands provided the stages for Japanese and American air and naval bases. More recently these islands gained fame among surfers for nurturing some of the world’s best breaks, and awed scuba divers with their underwater wonders.

My travel companions and I had come to the area known as Nusa Tenggara to visit a few of the lesser-known Gilis, several tiny islands off the coast of West Lombok. Given the impassable terrain along the island’s southern peninsula, travel by boat is the best way to view the arid hills and barrel waves that surfers come looking to conquer. It also seems fitting given Indonesia’s rich maritime history.

Our itinerary would take us from Bali through the Lombok Strait to Gili Air, the smallest of the three northern Gilis. From there we would cruise south to Gili Nanggu and circle back to Bali via Nusa Penida.

To reach Gili Air, the Sri Noa Noa chugged along at night, which made the trip seem more akin to time travel. In fact, the difference between Bali and Lombok is stark. The Wallace Line, a faunal boundary between Southeast Asia and Australia, runs down the middle of the Lombok Strait, and many fish, birds and mammals found on one side are absent from the other.  The influence of the tides and the ferocity of the currents as the waters rush toward the Indian Ocean also make the strait a unique stretch of water, and help create some of the massive tubular waves valued by the surfers who charter the Sri Noa Noa.

Our crew crossed the strait around midnight, and the currents rocked the boat like a cradle. We awoke over placid waters that reflected the majestic summit of Mount Rinjani. The sky moved through shades of purple, scarlet and ginger as my disbelieving eyes adjusted to the surrounding beauty. Outrigger canoes called jukung puttered past on their way to distant fishing spots, and an ancient squid boat stretched its arm-like nets over the water.

We were moored off Gili Air and decided to motor into the island for a morning of turtle spotting and watching sun-browned children splash about in the water. Several visitors had gathered at the Zip Bar for breakfast, drawing local vendors selling handmade shell bracelets and pearls from offshore pearl farms.

Circled by a handful of well-preserved coral reefs, Gili Air’s tiny land mass has a much bigger underwater presence, making it the mere point of a marine pyramid that grows bigger and more captivating the deeper down one swims. For landlubbers, the island offers several palm-thatched restaurants and a few breezy bungalows, and is a pleasant spot for a snorkel or a few nights’ stay. Horse-drawn carriages are the only means of transport, and the gentle tinkle of their bells replacing the sounds of motorbike traffic is a delightful way to ease into the peace surrounding Nusa Tenggara.

We had missed an all-night beach party that Tom, Zip’s bartender, said had brought boatloads of people to the island. We had yet to see more than a few dozen tourists, but already were starting to feel that Gili Air was just too crowded. So we zipped back to the boat to revel in the space provided by the open water.

The next leg of our trip took us down Lombok’s lush, humpy coast and past Senggigi Beach, the island’s most developed tourist town. The colorful sails of distant jukung speckled the horizon, and Heri, our captain, talked about the spectacle of seeing hundreds of these boats moving past the Sri Noa Noa as they made their way back to the mainland to sell their catch in Lombok’s busy port capital, Mataram.

Many of the jukung belong to the Bugis, a seafaring people from Sulawesi who rely on traditional navigation methods to steer their tiny fishing vessels. Heri said he recognized the importance of preserving their local knowledge, despite having a boat fitted with a high-tech GPS.

The Sri Noa Noa is unique only in the love and dedication that was put into her assembly. Built in 1977 from several local hardwoods, such as kayu ulin and bunger, the boat is older than many of the larger charters available in Bali; but her age provides a character and spirit Heri says is difficult to find on modern, fiberglass vessels.

“A wooden boat has a soul,” he said, explaining the presence that triggers when something isn’t right with his vessel.

Heri knows these islands as only a captain could, and his excitement about our destination was contagious. As sunset approached, Wayan, our chef, began cutting vegetables at the boat’s aft while the deck hand, Yosi, guided the rudder. Heri pulled out maps with pencil markings of small bays and interior waterways the cartographer had failed to note. He gushed about his favorite places along Lombok’s accordion-shaped coast, describing the boulders and other natural markers that helped guide him. After 13 years on the Sri Noa Noa, Heri could navigate the way to Gili Nanggu with his eyes closed.

The island’s latest markers are three sleek wind turbines, and they were the first evidence we had arrived. The owners of Gili Nanggu’s only accommodation have started experimenting with alternative water and energy sources to help reduce the strain on the island’s natural environment. A Javanese man named Novi Santoso also runs a turtle conservation program that helps protect these endangered creatures from poaching. Novi purchases turtle eggs from local fishermen from February to March, during breeding season. He returns them to the sand so they can incubate, collecting them once they’ve hatched and placing them in tanks until they’re ready to be released after about a year. People can donate money to support the turtle project. In six years, more than 5,000 turtles have been incubated and released, according to staff member Rahman.

Rahman, who works at the reception, said he loved the island’s solitude, its fragrant flowering trees and the taste of local snapper grilled over coconut husks. Although the coral reef fringing the island provides access to some of the area’s most vibrant and exotic fish, the waters are protected, so the island’s chef buys each evening’s catch from passing fishermen.

Surprisingly, one day was not long enough to enjoy near-deserted Gili Nanggu, but the waves further south beckoned, so we pulled up anchor to cruise down to Desert Point, or Bangko-Bangko, one the world’s best-known surf spots.

The hills in this part of Lombok are arid, and drought, which is common, has in the past led to famine. The offshore islands are no less sparse – Gili Sudak supports a few families and holiday homes, while the distant Gili Poh holds only a dilapidated lighthouse.

As we sailed, we kept our eyes peeled for the famed whitecaps that lure surfers here from around the world. Heri pointed to the bay where he usually moors Sri Noa Noa before dropping passengers off at Bangko-Bangko, and we leaned out over the boat’s rails to catch sight of the famed breaks.

Those who come by land must navigate a narrow road that runs alongside tidal pools and coastal cliffs. The only thing that awaits surfers on Bangko-Bangko’s shore is some beach brush and a few empty huts. “[But] if Bangko-Bangko is working, it is one of the greatest God-given left-hand surfing breaks on our planet,” writes Leonard Lueras in Surfing Indonesia, a guide to the world’s most perfect waves.

During low season (November to February) the waves reach only around 4-5 meters, but they still achieve tubular perfection. We rocked in their wake and imagined what it would be like to glide through a water tunnel, until Heri changed course to take us back toward the Bali mainland.

After a stop the next morning at Nusa Penida, we took seats along the boat’s deck to admire the high sea walls and sandy inlets of Nusa Lembongan. A few resorts have sprouted here in recent years, and I asked Heri if this type of development worried him. The land is not his concern, he said: “There is plenty of room out here on the sea.”

Land Ho!

Gili Air, Gili Meno and Gili Trawangan: Located just off the northwest coast of Lombok, the three islands are now well-known holiday destinations. Bungalow complexes far outnumber the homestays that once provided the majority of accommodation, and the number of visitors during high season can strain the island’s fresh water supply and sanitation system. The local government is eager to promote upmarket tourist development to improve the area’s economy, and some investors have shown an interest in cashing in on the Gilis’ popularity.

Gili Nanggu: Until a resort was built here in 1987, the island was home only to local flora and fauna. Today, the 12-hectare island cannot support much more than the 10 cottages and seven bungalows that comprise its only habitation. But that suits most visitors. From June to August, the island is usually full of snorkeling Europeans, many of who spend several weeks relaxing in the island’s tranquility. If all the rooms are booked, the resort provides tents to travelers willing to rough it on soft sands protected by mangroves. The island has a homey feel, and many guests return year after year to snorkel, fish or book scuba diving trips among nearby coral reefs.

Getting there
North of Senggigi on Lombok is Bangsal Port, a jumping-off point for the northern Gilis. The islands are also easily accessible directly from Bali via a fast-boat service. To get to Gili Nanggu, visitors can take a 45-minute boat ride from Lemba harbor in southern Lombok or hitch a ride aboard a local fishing vessel for the 15-minute jaunt from Tawun village.

Greening Gili
The small size and offshore location of the Gilis add to the difficulty of providing water and electricity to island visitors. The more people that come to enjoy tranquil island living, the more they strain already limited resources. Gili Trawangan has underwater piping that carries water over from the Lombok mainland, and Gili Nanggu is working to build similar infrastructure. For now, however, it relies on tanks that trap rainwater and three daily trips to Lombok for 1,000-liter tanks of fresh water. Three new wind turbines provide 24-hour electricity to Gili Nanggu from June to August, and a generator kicks in when additional juice is needed.

For more information: www.cruisebali.com, www.gilinanggu.com

See original story at: Jakarta Post Weekender