Onward and Upward

A chorus of crickets echoed across the vacant brown fields on either side of the road as if to announce the absence of all other life. Occasionally a goat would cry out in search of its mother or a rooster might call out to demand his respect, but the main players were the crickets. My bald flat tires led the way across the familiar loose dirt path that cuts through farms standing between my place and the ocean.

Favorite road through the island

I was on my way to the island's center, the location of the only hill. I spent my morning lounging on my bed under the mildly refreshing breeze of the fan until the power went out and I was forced to flee the oven I was in to seek refuge in an air conditioned internet cafe. While there, I bought a plane ticket to Singapore for the 28th of this month. My visa expires on the 1st of December and the only options of renewal are to travel back to Denpasar and bribe the guy from customs who gave me his phone number upon arrival or flee the country. Seeing as how it's only slightly more expensive to flee, it was my choice for renewal. I will obtain a legal 60 day visa so I will be set for the remainder of my time here in Indonesia, plus I get to see Singapore.

After the spending spree, the decision to climb the hill again was made so I lathered up the sun-screen, threw on a lightweight (and sufficiently dirty) shirt, and grabbed my bike. The ride takes me across my favorite stretch of road on the island, due in part to the carefree farmscapes, but also because the dirt is packed enough that I am not required to dismount and walk the bike every 200 feet. Five minutes later, I dropped the kickstand and started my ascent on foot leaving my bike safely unlocked at the hill's base.

Dry ground everywhere

It is quite clear that Gili Trawangan is going through a dry season at the moment. The bare parched earth and scraggly brush are enough to give it away. On the summit, the only respite from the relentless sun could be found under the uninviting coarse naked brush and frail trees which sufficed only for the nomadic goats. After a while of looking for a shady spot, I was met with success in the form of a small tin-roof shelter next to the cell phone tower. Across the desolate hill goats gathered in the shade of small trees conserving their energy. It is a mystery to me where they possibly find any food for survival. Sitting on the hill alone, I felt as if I had ownership. I have made three trips to the top, and not a single time have I seen a soul. It was this feeling that made me suddenly want to have an instrument, perhaps a ukulele to sit under a tree and play, play for the goats, play for the brush, the birds, the dirt, the sky, to play for the sake of playing music.

In town when I began asking around I somehow picked up a guy with a personality like velcro and he has been helping me find a guitar since then. His kindness and willingness to help is admirable, but I can't help but wonder if he really is that eager to help a stranger or is he trying to get something out of me. Is this what society has done to me? Anytime someone offers an extraordinary amount of help, I automatically become wary? What sort of a world is this where kindness is met with suspicion? I will continue to keep my guard up since it is what I have been trained to do, but the experience has not passed without being noted in memory.