Close to Bali, but not close enough to be an exact copy of its resorts, are a group of islands that look like three teardrops from up above. Called the Gili islands, the mini archipelago offer a boho chic fantasy world cut off reality.
Bali has its share of booze-soaked parties. But the Gili islands are even more remote, and their distance from society creates the ideal setting for a few weeks of life where actions don’t have to have consequences.
There are three Gili islands, and like the tale of Goldilocks, each has its own measure of nightlife. The biggest one, Trawangan, is the rowdiest. The one in the middle, Meno, is quiet for the honeymooners. The one closest to the shore of Lombok has both quiet and party life, and it’s where I spent most of my time: Gili Air.
Gili Air has beach parties, weed and magic mushrooms but also sandy stretches so calm I could watch sunsets with empty seats around me. To give you a sense of the culture: Tanned twenty- and thirty-somethings smoked marijuana by the bonfire at beach lounges, and the smell would waft over little kids playing in the sand.
Fantasies: No Rules Apply
There is hedonism here if you want it.
Drugs, full moon beach parties, a different boyfriend or girlfriend every night. Bars are stocked with good-looking foreign men and women looking for the same thing. The house special is a “joss shot,” or a packet of fizzy, condensed energy drink powder poured into a shot of any liquor. Neither the police nor the conservative Muslim residents of this island regulate any of this. Nor do they want to. They need the tourism after the 2018 earthquake devastated lives and business in the region.
There is also another kind of pleasure-seeking for the body, found in the upper-middle-class lifestyle of yoga class, meditation and smoothie bowls topped off with an organic eggplant burrito.
These pursuits usually took place under thatched roofs and fans, and on top of pillows and raised sofa beds on the beach. They contrasted with the everyday work and family life of the people who made the smoothie bowls, cleaned the toilets of the beach bungalows and guided snorkelers to see turtles underwater.
Still a Village
On Gili Air, most people were from Lombok but crossed over to serve in the restaurants and bars, where wages and tips are much higher than other Indonesian islands such as Java, the staff worker at my homestay said.
There was a mosque, and daily prayers from a loudspeaker. Dirt trails wound past huts with women in head scarfs cooling off in the shade, signs for “laundry with machine,” and yards with roosters, stray kittens and cows. Indonesian women balanced baskets of pineapples and bananas on their heads. Horses with muzzles of jangling bells tugged flatbed carts on dusty roads. (Cars aren’t allowed on the island.)
Shops and open-air warungs operated in slow motion. Waiting for food anywhere was a test of patience. I heard women in the kitchen chop vegetables at the slow, measured pace of a heartbeat. People kept running out of small bills. It became custom to wait at least 10 minutes after you had paid the bill for the waiter to run outside and ask friends to make change for my mie goreng noodles or Bintang Radler beer.
Everyone knows everybody’s business, said the staff worker. Hotel owners, many of them foreigners who’ve lived on the island for years, and the servers at restaurants gossiped about guests, who was dating whom, who was staying where.
“People are like walking newspapers,” he said. He never has more than one girlfriend at a time.
Struggling to Heal After the Earthquake
There’s a darker side to this oasis.
One year after earthquakes shook Lombok and left hundreds dead, Indonesians are still struggling to deal with the lingering trauma. I saw glimpses of this difficult process.
On Lombok, I ran into a crew of Red Cross workers who were collecting asbestos samples from crumbled buildings near Bangsal ferry port.
During my hiking tour up Mount Rinjani, one the drivers asked if I wanted to donate money to his “program.” He said he and a friend were taking care of dozens of kids who had lost one or both parents. I didn’t have time to check out or verify the information.
On my drives around Lombok island, I saw crumbled buildings and construction sites. Locals said they were waiting for government subsidies to rebuild, but progress was slow.
Brownouts in the area were common. The electricity went out at least three times during the two weeks I stayed on Gili Air.
Lost, and Found
One challenge of traveling is the tension between wanting to let go, and wanting to open your eyes. On Gili Air, I got so lost in the fantasyland, enjoying the nights out, eating my organic food, diving to see the incredible life in the sea, that for a few days, I disappeared. I hardly texted my family.
At one point, I wanted to come back to reality, and the way to do that was to begin to acknowledge the clash of worlds on the island. One world was secluded in palm-studded resorts and cabanas. The other was moving on from a disaster, and simply trying to make a living.
I sat up some nights talking to the staff worker. He understood the loss of intimacy that happens when fast-growing tourism goes unchecked. On Gili Trawangan, where the industry serves the biggest, loudest parties to Europeans, Americans and Australians, he says most people, even the Indonesians, pass each other by without saying hi.
“They just keep walking,” he said. “They don’t care.”
