I thought that I’d fit one more blog in before I left Indonesia for Australia. As I touched on in the last blog, we’re all starting to realize that the end isn’t too far away and the conversations amongst the groups now tend to revolve around what each others plans are after we arrive in Sydney …. as opposed to how we found the particular days bus journey, who we’re sharing with or how many Imodium tablets were taken in the preceding twenty four hours. From speaking with the group, I would estimate that at least half of the passengers have opted to remain in Sydney and the other half will be returning to their respective homes. Lots of the younger passengers on the bus have organized work visas and will remain in Australia for a year or so – those people seem to be the most excited about the future as opposed to those of us who are returning to their home countries and back to their normal lives.
It’s interesting to think back to the very first day in London and seeing all the faces of the people who I would be sharing with over the thirteen weeks. I have learnt so much about the group members – some way more so than others obviously and have formed lovely friendships with certain people. Although it's quite understandable for people to veer towards people of their own age and expect to find more in common with them, I have also had the most wonderful conversations and laughs on bus days sitting beside people ten or fifteen years my junior. In truth, this doesn’t surprise me as I have spent the last four years in college with spent a lot of time with classmates who were years younger than I. Over this time, I have made some wonderful friends with several of those students. I suppose what interests me about every person is the individual stories that each has to tell and for that, I find that age is no barrier. I’m frequently teased amongst my Oz Busers that no matter what hotel I’m in, I’ll never be able to find my way to or from it, but yet I’ll remember how many brothers or sisters every person on the bus has and every single detail that they’ve divulged to me since they met me on the 5th of September. I frequently say during conversations ‘just don’t tell me if you don’t want me to remember it in the future’. All I know is that if I was half as proficient at finding my way around or getting my bearings in the place I’m staying, it would be far more beneficial to me. I sometimes feel like Hansel and Gretel who went into the woods and left a trail of breadcrumbs so that they could re-trace their steps and find their way home – and then the birds came and ate all the crumbs and they were well and truly lost. Well, I’m the reason that there are breadcrumbs covering the route from London to Bali. Good job the birds have played their part or the Oz Bus would have one spare seat!
Although I’ve only been here three days, Bali (and Kuta where we're staying) has been a bit of a mixed bag for me. On one hand, the beaches and water is lovely, as are the restaurants and bars and of course the weather is glorious with temperatures being close to 35 degrees since we arrived. However, it is absolutely impossible not to get extremely frustrated as you walk along the streets. I thought I had seen it all in India, especially with the constant pestering to buy plastic Taj Mahals, Golden Palaces, etc but Bali brings it to a completely different level. It’s absolutely relentless. Literally every five to eight seconds, you’re approached by hawkers and traders offering massages, sun glasses, handbags, pedicures, water, perfume …. I could go on and on. I went for a two hour walk yesterday and honestly, I couldn’t wait to get back into the hotel to get some relief from the harassment. Even when you refuse whatever wares you’re offered, the men frequently follow you down the road for several minutes shoving the same pair of fake sunglasses into your face. Now, I’m not a violent person (!), but a few times yesterday I really had to restrain myself from shoving the fake sunglasses down their throats. The only thing that stopped me is the fact that I’m not convinced that a Bali jail would be my cup of tea. I couldn’t imagine that WiFi would be too easy to come by in Cell 7D whilst I’d be awaiting trial for the permanent disfigurement of Mr. Sunglass trader. I mean how else could I start up my own Facebook campaign ‘Free Debbie Ruddy’ if I’m not able to get a good signal from my bunk? Anyway, I’d also imagine the air-conditioning could be too tempermental for me – so as a result of a bit of forward thinking, I decided not to embed the Calvin Klein glasses deep into his trachea. At the end of the day, I’m just all heart!
On our first night here, a few of us went for a dinner and ended up in several Bali Clubs. (T’would be more in my line to have gone home to my bed for myself but Bintang is a powerful beer!). In all of my life, I have never been offered as many drugs and have definitely never seen the various types being distributed so freely. Whilst walking to and from the venues, magic mushrooms and hash cigarettes were offered literally every three steps. In fact, if I had smoked all the hash I was offered in my 200 metre walk (or wobble), I’d now be in a respiratory ward awaiting a double lung transplant. But in hindsight, it probably would have done absolutely no harm to be in a semi-conscious state whilst within in the Clubs. My god, the volume of the music was UNBEARABLE! There were loads of extremely skinny, semi-clad young people dancing very energetically on top of extremely high tables. I’m still not sure if they were employed by the Nightclub or were they just party-goers who had imbibed lots of substances, who had a remarkable sense of balance and who felt confident enough to gyrate and thrust after scaling the heights of the table. There was one worse-for-wear bare-chested young Australian surfer who was about seventeen years old. He was wearing just his Y-fronts (not sure if that was by accident or design) but every time he let go of the pole in the middle, he swayed and staggered precariously to the edge of the eight feet high table. I have no doubt but he thought himself to be the coolest, most sexy and most sought-after dude on the dancing table, whereas, as I watched him, he kept reminding me of one of the The Skittles Family (for those who are old enough to remember Noddy and his friends!). In the course of Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’ number, he lost the run of himself altogether and added a ‘swivel and pirouette’ into his dancing routine and it nearly was his undoing! It took all in my power not to grab the cushions from the sofas and locate them all around the base of the table. If he didn’t have his balancing techniques perfected from his seventeen years on the surfboard, there is no doubt but he would have come a cropper and it wouldn’t have been a pretty sight. Eventually one of his friends coaxed him down – probably with some pill or other, and with a shake of his golden blonde tresses and a final thrust of his hips, he made his descent. I decided there and then that I should make my exit, follow my breadcrumbs and make my way back to the hotel. Sometimes you just know that you’re out of you league and regardless of what volume of alcohol was in the bottles of Bintang, there wasn’t a beer in the world that was strong enough to make the Bali Nightclub experience any less painful.
It’s funny writing about Bali and the Nightclubs when only two or three days ago, I was looking down directly into the Mount Bromo volcano. I think that’s the really wonderful thing about this Oz Bus trip, it’s the fact that within the space of a few days, so many things change and the experience is completely different. It really is impossible to get bored anywhere simply because we’re never in one place long enough (and I realize that this too can be a definite disadvantage) but also because activities, terrain, landscape, accommodation, food, local attractions etc. are always so different every time we get off the bus. We stayed in a type of Country Lodge resort about 45 minutes walk from Mount Bromo. It was so rural and located at such a high altitude that the coach was unable to travel for the last hour on the roads and we transferred into mini-buses for the final leg of the journey to the Lodge. At one stage on our ascent up the barrier-free cliff-face narrow and flooded road, with the torrential rain pelting down, I looked out the window to the left and realized that if the bus went over the side, we were so high up that it was impossible to see the ground below. There must have been a drop of at least three or four hundred metres and my father’s words reverberated in my ears when I told him I was going on the Oz Bus, ‘them feckin’ bus drivers in those countries drive like lunatics and they always end up toppling down ravines’. All of a sudden the thought that went through my head (and I’m being genuine on this) is …. ‘would they ever bother retrieving the bodies if our bus went over?’ I asked the same question of Stuart who was sitting beside me and he put my mind at ease by convincing me that they definitely would. It’s strange how your mind works, isn’t it? It wasn’t the fact that I was going to snuff it that bothered me, but I really didn’t want to be left at the bottom of the ravine sprouting Indonesian rhododendrons in three years time. Anyway, the bus didn’t go over the side and all my worries were in vain.
But back to the volcano, it really was amazing and again, as I stood on its lip and breathed in the sulphur-filled air as it billowed smoke below me, I felt that same feeling I’ve experienced so many times on this trip, of being so fortunate to be where I am. Because Mount Merapi, which is the Indonesian volcano which has been in the news, is still constantly erupting, there is an exclusion zone within which no body can enter. Over 200 people have been killed in the last few months as a result of those eruptions; it is now regarded as being the most active volcano in the world (according to Andy, our local volcanologist). Anyway, as a result of this, although we saw and took photographs of Mount Merapi, we were absolutely miles away and I for one didn’t get that same rush of adrenaline as when we were able to come within about 100 metres of a smoking and magma filled Mount Bromo. When I talk in my blogs about those ‘special feelings’ I get, to experience them, I don’t have to be standing in front of some amazing building or structure or …looking down at an active volcano …. sometimes they hit at the most strangest times. Just that same night whilst walking back from the nearby village with Christina, I got that exact same feeling. We had enjoyed a few beers in the only hotel and it being off season, the area was practically empty of tourists – just the odd few restaurants and small shops were even open. There were no cars about as the roads were too narrow for anything other than bikes or animal transport. Darkness had just set in and as we climbed the hill towards our Lodge, something stopped me in my tracks, and I looked back. The village was nestled picturesquely at the foot of a large mountain, the lights in the houses were all twinkling but there were no street lights and absolutely no sounds of traffic. And, … I got that feeling! It was as close to a Christmas card scene that I have ever witnessed. It was so beautiful and silent and so unaffected and I tried desperately to capture the image in my head and to always remember what it looked like and how I felt at that exact moment in time. I know you’re probably thinking, if it meant that much to you, why didn’t you take a photograph of it ….. but as it was dark, it would have just come out as a black image with fuzzy lights. Instead, I have it ingrained in my memory and when I’m in a nursing home in forty years time and I don’t know the names of my family members when they come to visit me on Sunday afternoons (to get me to sign over my house and property portfolio!), I guarantee you that I will always remember the sight of the little village that evening and remember how the scene took my breath away.
Several weeks ago when I was writing a blog from Nepal, I mentioned that I had ran out of time and had not got around to telling you about my elephant bathing experience. I’ve gone through about four countries since that time and it hasn’t crossed my mind but several people have emailed me asking me to write about it. By god, ye lot keep me on my toes. So although it has absolutely nothing to do with Indonesia (but then, that has never stopped me before!), I’ll tell you about it.
We were staying in Chitwan, which to remind you, was where we had done our jungle walk and had spent out two hours fending off leeches as opposed to marveling at the flora and fauna of the jungle. When we came out of the jungle, we were absolutely soaking to the skin and had a choice of either waiting for a boat to bring us across to the other side of the river bank, or else to walk across it ourselves. The river was about 20 metres wide and it looked like it had a quite a strong current so the Guide went across first, and fully-clothed, we all followed him like sheep. The water was waist high so when we made it across, you can imagine what we looked like and how wet we were. I’m setting the scene for you because it really has a bearing on the elephant bathing. Stay with me, I promise it does.
For days before, loads of people had said that they would love to bathe with the elephants but I always said that it wasn’t something that interested me and I would skip it. I had seen them and that was enough for me. As we came out of the river and up onto the riverbank, the Guides told us that the elephant bathing session was cancelled as it was too wet - and as you can imagine, there was mass disappointment all around and talk of suing, refunds, small print, legal obligations etc. I was in the final jeep travelling back to the resort and was more interested in removing any stray leeches that had attached themselves to me as opposed to feeling sorry for the elephant bathing cancellations. As I was getting out of the jeep, two big elephants were being led out the entrance of the complex by three men and one whispered to us ‘come on, quick, elephants are going bathing’. Again I was overcome with ‘sure what harm would it be’ and before I knew it, I was traipsing down the road with the elephants and about three other passengers from the bus (those who happened to be in that final jeep). We arrived at a different and much wider river to the one we had walked across and Nellie and Jumbo (obviously improvising here!) waded out into the middle of it. One of the Oz Bus lads, Rick emptied his pockets and took off his watch and like Michelle Smith on performance enhancing drugs, with casual languid strokes, swam out after them and in one move, somersaulted his way up onto the elephant’s back. After about five minutes, one of the men beckoned me out into the middle of the river … and in my best Nepalese, I said ‘how deep is the river because I’m not a great swimmer?’. He smiled back at me and said ‘don’t worry, I not let you die’. Now that didn’t instill too much confidence in me and I had visions of not actually dying, but being in a hospital bed in a vegetative state from lack of oxygen for 40 minutes whilst being stuck in reeds at the base of the river. And would he have been true to his words, yes he would!
Anyway, I threw caution to the wind and fully clothed, walked out to my waist into the water, and with Rick still up on her back, Nellie good-naturedly came to meet me half way. She was absolutely huge and she went down on one knee so that I could climb up onto her back and behind Rick. Now that sounds easier than it actually is and even with her down on her knee, it was still like climbing from the ground onto the top of a double-decker bus … with jungle trousers, jacket, socks and shoes on – and all sopping wet. So in deep water, after a few desperate leaps onto Nellie, I wasn’t even getting close to climbing onto her back. In fact, in the sixty seconds of desperate leaping and lunging myself at her, I almost ruptured her liver with my knee cap, dislocated her shoulder with my shin, removed her five toenails from her hoof with my jungle boot and detached her tail from her body with my trailing foot. Before I could do any more damage to his prized elephant (who was squeezing her eyes together, clenching her teeth and physically wincing every time I made another assault on her body), Nellie’s minder came out to me in the river, cupped his hand and got me to stand into it. With his free hand, he placed it on my rump, and with a weightlifter’s grunt and a sniff of his smelling salts, he eventually hoisted me up. I got my right leg up and over, and although Rick who was sitting in front of me looked as comfortable as if he were at home on his own three piece suite, I felt that I was doing the splits and my hips were on the verge of coming out off their sockets. I put my arms around poor Rick’s waist … with a ‘dead man’s grip’ type of force and thought ‘no matter what happens mate, you’re coming with me’.
The four foot tall minder then Riverdanced his way up onto Nellie’s back and stood behind me on the seven inches of space remaining on the elephant. He roared some instruction at her and she walked slowly out to middle of the river. Then he shouted something else like ‘drown the feckers!’ and with that Nellie inhaled 700 gallons of dirty water through her trunk, put the same trunk back over her head and released the water behind her at a speed of 200 kms an hour. Not anticipating it, and not having time to duck, I honestly thought that she had blown the nose clean off my face. Until then, I thought that ‘bathing with the elephants’ might mean sponging their bodies with soft soapy water and tickling their underbellies with their favourite yellow rubber ducky. I never realized that it was Nellie and Jumbo that bathed us … bathing or permanently damaging our facial structures and re-locating our eye sockets back at the nape of our necks. I don’t think Rick got the full force of the water and unlike me, I definitely don’t think that his contact lenses landed in Jumbo’s eyes …. Jumbo’s eyes which were on Jumbo’s face …. which was a full fifteen metres from where Nellie was standing. I coughed and spluttered and spat out a concoction of river water and Nellie’s saliva – and Nellie was so impressed with herself, she continued to repeat the process, inhaling the water and directing it back at us. In fact Nellie thought that it was hilarious. After the second direct hit, I decided that War was War and even though we were on the same team, I proceeded to use Rick as a human shield – grabbing him by the waist and literally lifting him from side to side to deflect Nellie’s ammunition. I was like a woman possessed and with a previously undiscovered strength, I used him like a rag doll to ward off the deluge which was coming at a rate of a direct hit every thirty seconds.
With bath time over and the time up, the minder issued a shouted instruction again – which the elephant understood but I most definitely didn’t. Now bear in mind that we were still in the middle of the river and I still had the even wetter clothes on than before. Down with Nellie on her left knee. I watched her closely thinking ‘what is she going to do?’. Then down went Nellie on her right knee and I thought ‘what IS the bitch going to do?’ and then ….with a maneuver akin to a fainting actress on centre stage, she fell to the side and rolled over. Now, gravity being what it is, an upside down elephant in the middle of the river also means an upside down Debbie in the middle of the river. Under the water I went, deep under the water, and because I had no time to take a deep breath, I could see my own bubbles coming from my mouth – and whatever other orifice was submerged! With eyes tightly shut, I waited for her body to roll on top of me and wondered if being crushed to death was more favourable a departure from this world than being drowned. After five seconds, I realized that Nellie wasn’t going to land on me but had probably made coral sand out of Rick. But I decided that was Rick’s problem! Though still fathoms under the water, I decided that I wasn’t going to die without putting up a struggle. I proceeded to do the breast stroke, the backstroke, the front crawl, the doggy paddle and the butterfly ….all at the one time. Whilst clattering myself and almost knocking myself unconscious with my own flailing arms which were coming at me from every direction, there is no doubt but I was putting up a gallant effort at trying to survive … until I hit my foot on something hard. I tentatively put down the other foot and realized that instead of being twenty thousand leagues under the river as I had thought, the water was only up to my hips. Embarrassed I stopped the swimming strokes and gingerly stood up to a round of applause and to much laughter from Nellie’s minder and Nelly herself … and whoever else was in the river. Humiliated, I bowed my head in shame, and when no one was looking, gave Nelly a sly pinch and a kick in the back of her calf and walked out of the river. That my friends, was Debbie and the Elephant Bathing story – worth waiting for … I think not!
In a few hours, we take our final flight (other than the flight home) and travel from Bali to Darwin, Australia. Our first flight was between Tehran and Amritsar (India) and the second flight was between Calcutta and Bangkok …… other than that it has been bus all the way … apart from four of five ferries, mainly through Indonesia. Our hotel days have come to an end I’m afraid and throughout Australia, it will be a mixture of hostels and about a week camping. It’ll be interesting to see if I dislike the hostel experience as much as I did throughout Europe. I’m hoping that the fact that we now know each other so much better might make it more bearable but thinking back, it was the lack of space that I found most difficult as opposed to the sharing with seven or eight people. Anyway, time will tell and believe me, I will let you know. I know that the days in Australia consist of an awful lot of travelling, with us clocking from 600 – 800 kms on some of those days. Let’s hope the roads will be good and the bus will be spacious and comfortable …. I’m an eternal optimist. Anyway, it’ll probably be a week or so until I get a chance to blog again, so until then, keep well and keep happy …and keep in touch! Love Debbie x
It’s interesting to think back to the very first day in London and seeing all the faces of the people who I would be sharing with over the thirteen weeks. I have learnt so much about the group members – some way more so than others obviously and have formed lovely friendships with certain people. Although it's quite understandable for people to veer towards people of their own age and expect to find more in common with them, I have also had the most wonderful conversations and laughs on bus days sitting beside people ten or fifteen years my junior. In truth, this doesn’t surprise me as I have spent the last four years in college with spent a lot of time with classmates who were years younger than I. Over this time, I have made some wonderful friends with several of those students. I suppose what interests me about every person is the individual stories that each has to tell and for that, I find that age is no barrier. I’m frequently teased amongst my Oz Busers that no matter what hotel I’m in, I’ll never be able to find my way to or from it, but yet I’ll remember how many brothers or sisters every person on the bus has and every single detail that they’ve divulged to me since they met me on the 5th of September. I frequently say during conversations ‘just don’t tell me if you don’t want me to remember it in the future’. All I know is that if I was half as proficient at finding my way around or getting my bearings in the place I’m staying, it would be far more beneficial to me. I sometimes feel like Hansel and Gretel who went into the woods and left a trail of breadcrumbs so that they could re-trace their steps and find their way home – and then the birds came and ate all the crumbs and they were well and truly lost. Well, I’m the reason that there are breadcrumbs covering the route from London to Bali. Good job the birds have played their part or the Oz Bus would have one spare seat!
Although I’ve only been here three days, Bali (and Kuta where we're staying) has been a bit of a mixed bag for me. On one hand, the beaches and water is lovely, as are the restaurants and bars and of course the weather is glorious with temperatures being close to 35 degrees since we arrived. However, it is absolutely impossible not to get extremely frustrated as you walk along the streets. I thought I had seen it all in India, especially with the constant pestering to buy plastic Taj Mahals, Golden Palaces, etc but Bali brings it to a completely different level. It’s absolutely relentless. Literally every five to eight seconds, you’re approached by hawkers and traders offering massages, sun glasses, handbags, pedicures, water, perfume …. I could go on and on. I went for a two hour walk yesterday and honestly, I couldn’t wait to get back into the hotel to get some relief from the harassment. Even when you refuse whatever wares you’re offered, the men frequently follow you down the road for several minutes shoving the same pair of fake sunglasses into your face. Now, I’m not a violent person (!), but a few times yesterday I really had to restrain myself from shoving the fake sunglasses down their throats. The only thing that stopped me is the fact that I’m not convinced that a Bali jail would be my cup of tea. I couldn’t imagine that WiFi would be too easy to come by in Cell 7D whilst I’d be awaiting trial for the permanent disfigurement of Mr. Sunglass trader. I mean how else could I start up my own Facebook campaign ‘Free Debbie Ruddy’ if I’m not able to get a good signal from my bunk? Anyway, I’d also imagine the air-conditioning could be too tempermental for me – so as a result of a bit of forward thinking, I decided not to embed the Calvin Klein glasses deep into his trachea. At the end of the day, I’m just all heart!
On our first night here, a few of us went for a dinner and ended up in several Bali Clubs. (T’would be more in my line to have gone home to my bed for myself but Bintang is a powerful beer!). In all of my life, I have never been offered as many drugs and have definitely never seen the various types being distributed so freely. Whilst walking to and from the venues, magic mushrooms and hash cigarettes were offered literally every three steps. In fact, if I had smoked all the hash I was offered in my 200 metre walk (or wobble), I’d now be in a respiratory ward awaiting a double lung transplant. But in hindsight, it probably would have done absolutely no harm to be in a semi-conscious state whilst within in the Clubs. My god, the volume of the music was UNBEARABLE! There were loads of extremely skinny, semi-clad young people dancing very energetically on top of extremely high tables. I’m still not sure if they were employed by the Nightclub or were they just party-goers who had imbibed lots of substances, who had a remarkable sense of balance and who felt confident enough to gyrate and thrust after scaling the heights of the table. There was one worse-for-wear bare-chested young Australian surfer who was about seventeen years old. He was wearing just his Y-fronts (not sure if that was by accident or design) but every time he let go of the pole in the middle, he swayed and staggered precariously to the edge of the eight feet high table. I have no doubt but he thought himself to be the coolest, most sexy and most sought-after dude on the dancing table, whereas, as I watched him, he kept reminding me of one of the The Skittles Family (for those who are old enough to remember Noddy and his friends!). In the course of Justin Bieber’s ‘Baby’ number, he lost the run of himself altogether and added a ‘swivel and pirouette’ into his dancing routine and it nearly was his undoing! It took all in my power not to grab the cushions from the sofas and locate them all around the base of the table. If he didn’t have his balancing techniques perfected from his seventeen years on the surfboard, there is no doubt but he would have come a cropper and it wouldn’t have been a pretty sight. Eventually one of his friends coaxed him down – probably with some pill or other, and with a shake of his golden blonde tresses and a final thrust of his hips, he made his descent. I decided there and then that I should make my exit, follow my breadcrumbs and make my way back to the hotel. Sometimes you just know that you’re out of you league and regardless of what volume of alcohol was in the bottles of Bintang, there wasn’t a beer in the world that was strong enough to make the Bali Nightclub experience any less painful.
It’s funny writing about Bali and the Nightclubs when only two or three days ago, I was looking down directly into the Mount Bromo volcano. I think that’s the really wonderful thing about this Oz Bus trip, it’s the fact that within the space of a few days, so many things change and the experience is completely different. It really is impossible to get bored anywhere simply because we’re never in one place long enough (and I realize that this too can be a definite disadvantage) but also because activities, terrain, landscape, accommodation, food, local attractions etc. are always so different every time we get off the bus. We stayed in a type of Country Lodge resort about 45 minutes walk from Mount Bromo. It was so rural and located at such a high altitude that the coach was unable to travel for the last hour on the roads and we transferred into mini-buses for the final leg of the journey to the Lodge. At one stage on our ascent up the barrier-free cliff-face narrow and flooded road, with the torrential rain pelting down, I looked out the window to the left and realized that if the bus went over the side, we were so high up that it was impossible to see the ground below. There must have been a drop of at least three or four hundred metres and my father’s words reverberated in my ears when I told him I was going on the Oz Bus, ‘them feckin’ bus drivers in those countries drive like lunatics and they always end up toppling down ravines’. All of a sudden the thought that went through my head (and I’m being genuine on this) is …. ‘would they ever bother retrieving the bodies if our bus went over?’ I asked the same question of Stuart who was sitting beside me and he put my mind at ease by convincing me that they definitely would. It’s strange how your mind works, isn’t it? It wasn’t the fact that I was going to snuff it that bothered me, but I really didn’t want to be left at the bottom of the ravine sprouting Indonesian rhododendrons in three years time. Anyway, the bus didn’t go over the side and all my worries were in vain.
But back to the volcano, it really was amazing and again, as I stood on its lip and breathed in the sulphur-filled air as it billowed smoke below me, I felt that same feeling I’ve experienced so many times on this trip, of being so fortunate to be where I am. Because Mount Merapi, which is the Indonesian volcano which has been in the news, is still constantly erupting, there is an exclusion zone within which no body can enter. Over 200 people have been killed in the last few months as a result of those eruptions; it is now regarded as being the most active volcano in the world (according to Andy, our local volcanologist). Anyway, as a result of this, although we saw and took photographs of Mount Merapi, we were absolutely miles away and I for one didn’t get that same rush of adrenaline as when we were able to come within about 100 metres of a smoking and magma filled Mount Bromo. When I talk in my blogs about those ‘special feelings’ I get, to experience them, I don’t have to be standing in front of some amazing building or structure or …looking down at an active volcano …. sometimes they hit at the most strangest times. Just that same night whilst walking back from the nearby village with Christina, I got that exact same feeling. We had enjoyed a few beers in the only hotel and it being off season, the area was practically empty of tourists – just the odd few restaurants and small shops were even open. There were no cars about as the roads were too narrow for anything other than bikes or animal transport. Darkness had just set in and as we climbed the hill towards our Lodge, something stopped me in my tracks, and I looked back. The village was nestled picturesquely at the foot of a large mountain, the lights in the houses were all twinkling but there were no street lights and absolutely no sounds of traffic. And, … I got that feeling! It was as close to a Christmas card scene that I have ever witnessed. It was so beautiful and silent and so unaffected and I tried desperately to capture the image in my head and to always remember what it looked like and how I felt at that exact moment in time. I know you’re probably thinking, if it meant that much to you, why didn’t you take a photograph of it ….. but as it was dark, it would have just come out as a black image with fuzzy lights. Instead, I have it ingrained in my memory and when I’m in a nursing home in forty years time and I don’t know the names of my family members when they come to visit me on Sunday afternoons (to get me to sign over my house and property portfolio!), I guarantee you that I will always remember the sight of the little village that evening and remember how the scene took my breath away.
Several weeks ago when I was writing a blog from Nepal, I mentioned that I had ran out of time and had not got around to telling you about my elephant bathing experience. I’ve gone through about four countries since that time and it hasn’t crossed my mind but several people have emailed me asking me to write about it. By god, ye lot keep me on my toes. So although it has absolutely nothing to do with Indonesia (but then, that has never stopped me before!), I’ll tell you about it.
We were staying in Chitwan, which to remind you, was where we had done our jungle walk and had spent out two hours fending off leeches as opposed to marveling at the flora and fauna of the jungle. When we came out of the jungle, we were absolutely soaking to the skin and had a choice of either waiting for a boat to bring us across to the other side of the river bank, or else to walk across it ourselves. The river was about 20 metres wide and it looked like it had a quite a strong current so the Guide went across first, and fully-clothed, we all followed him like sheep. The water was waist high so when we made it across, you can imagine what we looked like and how wet we were. I’m setting the scene for you because it really has a bearing on the elephant bathing. Stay with me, I promise it does.
For days before, loads of people had said that they would love to bathe with the elephants but I always said that it wasn’t something that interested me and I would skip it. I had seen them and that was enough for me. As we came out of the river and up onto the riverbank, the Guides told us that the elephant bathing session was cancelled as it was too wet - and as you can imagine, there was mass disappointment all around and talk of suing, refunds, small print, legal obligations etc. I was in the final jeep travelling back to the resort and was more interested in removing any stray leeches that had attached themselves to me as opposed to feeling sorry for the elephant bathing cancellations. As I was getting out of the jeep, two big elephants were being led out the entrance of the complex by three men and one whispered to us ‘come on, quick, elephants are going bathing’. Again I was overcome with ‘sure what harm would it be’ and before I knew it, I was traipsing down the road with the elephants and about three other passengers from the bus (those who happened to be in that final jeep). We arrived at a different and much wider river to the one we had walked across and Nellie and Jumbo (obviously improvising here!) waded out into the middle of it. One of the Oz Bus lads, Rick emptied his pockets and took off his watch and like Michelle Smith on performance enhancing drugs, with casual languid strokes, swam out after them and in one move, somersaulted his way up onto the elephant’s back. After about five minutes, one of the men beckoned me out into the middle of the river … and in my best Nepalese, I said ‘how deep is the river because I’m not a great swimmer?’. He smiled back at me and said ‘don’t worry, I not let you die’. Now that didn’t instill too much confidence in me and I had visions of not actually dying, but being in a hospital bed in a vegetative state from lack of oxygen for 40 minutes whilst being stuck in reeds at the base of the river. And would he have been true to his words, yes he would!
Anyway, I threw caution to the wind and fully clothed, walked out to my waist into the water, and with Rick still up on her back, Nellie good-naturedly came to meet me half way. She was absolutely huge and she went down on one knee so that I could climb up onto her back and behind Rick. Now that sounds easier than it actually is and even with her down on her knee, it was still like climbing from the ground onto the top of a double-decker bus … with jungle trousers, jacket, socks and shoes on – and all sopping wet. So in deep water, after a few desperate leaps onto Nellie, I wasn’t even getting close to climbing onto her back. In fact, in the sixty seconds of desperate leaping and lunging myself at her, I almost ruptured her liver with my knee cap, dislocated her shoulder with my shin, removed her five toenails from her hoof with my jungle boot and detached her tail from her body with my trailing foot. Before I could do any more damage to his prized elephant (who was squeezing her eyes together, clenching her teeth and physically wincing every time I made another assault on her body), Nellie’s minder came out to me in the river, cupped his hand and got me to stand into it. With his free hand, he placed it on my rump, and with a weightlifter’s grunt and a sniff of his smelling salts, he eventually hoisted me up. I got my right leg up and over, and although Rick who was sitting in front of me looked as comfortable as if he were at home on his own three piece suite, I felt that I was doing the splits and my hips were on the verge of coming out off their sockets. I put my arms around poor Rick’s waist … with a ‘dead man’s grip’ type of force and thought ‘no matter what happens mate, you’re coming with me’.
The four foot tall minder then Riverdanced his way up onto Nellie’s back and stood behind me on the seven inches of space remaining on the elephant. He roared some instruction at her and she walked slowly out to middle of the river. Then he shouted something else like ‘drown the feckers!’ and with that Nellie inhaled 700 gallons of dirty water through her trunk, put the same trunk back over her head and released the water behind her at a speed of 200 kms an hour. Not anticipating it, and not having time to duck, I honestly thought that she had blown the nose clean off my face. Until then, I thought that ‘bathing with the elephants’ might mean sponging their bodies with soft soapy water and tickling their underbellies with their favourite yellow rubber ducky. I never realized that it was Nellie and Jumbo that bathed us … bathing or permanently damaging our facial structures and re-locating our eye sockets back at the nape of our necks. I don’t think Rick got the full force of the water and unlike me, I definitely don’t think that his contact lenses landed in Jumbo’s eyes …. Jumbo’s eyes which were on Jumbo’s face …. which was a full fifteen metres from where Nellie was standing. I coughed and spluttered and spat out a concoction of river water and Nellie’s saliva – and Nellie was so impressed with herself, she continued to repeat the process, inhaling the water and directing it back at us. In fact Nellie thought that it was hilarious. After the second direct hit, I decided that War was War and even though we were on the same team, I proceeded to use Rick as a human shield – grabbing him by the waist and literally lifting him from side to side to deflect Nellie’s ammunition. I was like a woman possessed and with a previously undiscovered strength, I used him like a rag doll to ward off the deluge which was coming at a rate of a direct hit every thirty seconds.
With bath time over and the time up, the minder issued a shouted instruction again – which the elephant understood but I most definitely didn’t. Now bear in mind that we were still in the middle of the river and I still had the even wetter clothes on than before. Down with Nellie on her left knee. I watched her closely thinking ‘what is she going to do?’. Then down went Nellie on her right knee and I thought ‘what IS the bitch going to do?’ and then ….with a maneuver akin to a fainting actress on centre stage, she fell to the side and rolled over. Now, gravity being what it is, an upside down elephant in the middle of the river also means an upside down Debbie in the middle of the river. Under the water I went, deep under the water, and because I had no time to take a deep breath, I could see my own bubbles coming from my mouth – and whatever other orifice was submerged! With eyes tightly shut, I waited for her body to roll on top of me and wondered if being crushed to death was more favourable a departure from this world than being drowned. After five seconds, I realized that Nellie wasn’t going to land on me but had probably made coral sand out of Rick. But I decided that was Rick’s problem! Though still fathoms under the water, I decided that I wasn’t going to die without putting up a struggle. I proceeded to do the breast stroke, the backstroke, the front crawl, the doggy paddle and the butterfly ….all at the one time. Whilst clattering myself and almost knocking myself unconscious with my own flailing arms which were coming at me from every direction, there is no doubt but I was putting up a gallant effort at trying to survive … until I hit my foot on something hard. I tentatively put down the other foot and realized that instead of being twenty thousand leagues under the river as I had thought, the water was only up to my hips. Embarrassed I stopped the swimming strokes and gingerly stood up to a round of applause and to much laughter from Nellie’s minder and Nelly herself … and whoever else was in the river. Humiliated, I bowed my head in shame, and when no one was looking, gave Nelly a sly pinch and a kick in the back of her calf and walked out of the river. That my friends, was Debbie and the Elephant Bathing story – worth waiting for … I think not!
In a few hours, we take our final flight (other than the flight home) and travel from Bali to Darwin, Australia. Our first flight was between Tehran and Amritsar (India) and the second flight was between Calcutta and Bangkok …… other than that it has been bus all the way … apart from four of five ferries, mainly through Indonesia. Our hotel days have come to an end I’m afraid and throughout Australia, it will be a mixture of hostels and about a week camping. It’ll be interesting to see if I dislike the hostel experience as much as I did throughout Europe. I’m hoping that the fact that we now know each other so much better might make it more bearable but thinking back, it was the lack of space that I found most difficult as opposed to the sharing with seven or eight people. Anyway, time will tell and believe me, I will let you know. I know that the days in Australia consist of an awful lot of travelling, with us clocking from 600 – 800 kms on some of those days. Let’s hope the roads will be good and the bus will be spacious and comfortable …. I’m an eternal optimist. Anyway, it’ll probably be a week or so until I get a chance to blog again, so until then, keep well and keep happy …and keep in touch! Love Debbie x
