INDONESIAN ADVENTURE

It is not my custom to publish other people's works here, but a friend sent me an article on a recent trip he took, and one that I would also like to do.  I just thought you might like reading the article as it was so inspirational to me.  Here it is:

Lost in the isles

Amankila an amazing resort above the Bali Sea

by Kendall Hill

OF all our near neighbours, Indonesia is the country we're most familiar with, and also the one we know least about. Its trophy island, Bali, receives close to a million Australian visitors a year, most of whom return home with a working knowledge of Bintang beer and the going rates for beach massages and cornrows. But beyond Bali - beyond Seminyak even - is largely terra incognita.

My Indonesian ignorance came into embarrassing focus on an intrepid, 11-day tour to four islands that taught me more about the cultures of this diverse nation than a year of Indonesian studies ever did at school. It felt like a different country altogether.

The education came courtesy of Aman Resorts, which pioneered designer retreats and cultural engagement 25 years ago and still sets the benchmark for resort style, and the aptly named Epic Private Journeys. Epic's tailored itinerary was a decadent crash course in how to lose yourself in another land without ever stressing about the actual mechanics of travelling. From hiking the emerald heart of central Java to sailing across the Bali Sea aboard a two-masted schooner, every detail was already taken care of.

You've heard of the proverbial trip of a lifetime? This was it. The highlights are too many to mention; what follows are some of the more magical moments.

Breakfast Epiphanies

At 4.15am a chorus of azans (Muslim summons to prayer) rises from the Kedu Plain and stirs me from my bed at Amanjiwo in central Java. Within the hour I am on the top platform, or nirvana level, of Borobudur. There are many dozens of other travellers assembled on this 9th-century temple complex, which is hardly surprising given it is Indonesia's top tourist attraction and a world heritage site hailed by UNESCO as "a masterpiece of Buddhist architecture and monumental arts".

We are all facing east, just like Borobudur's 504 Buddha statues, but only the tourists have trigger fingers poised over cameras as the sky blushes pink and gold. When the sun crests Mount Merapi, Java's most active volcano, the Buddha faces come to life above a mist-shrouded plain.

The sight is even more impressive from a grassy terrace on nearby Dagi Hill, where we walk for breakfast. Bamboo tables and batik seating have been laid out on rattan mats beneath white parasols. A cream-suited Amanjiwo staffer stands to attention beside our glorious garden party, ready to serve breakfast. As we tuck into homemade muesli, tropical fruits, smoked ham and cheese croissants and muffins, it is impossible to imagine how this moment could be improved. Then an elephant looms into sight through the mist, and then another, and another. And of course now it seems obvious that, yes, a parade of elephants emerging from the mist is exactly what this moment was missing.

Old-School Bali

Ubud is not what it used to be. Once a byword for blissed-out island indulgence, now the traffic along Jalan Raya Ubud is enough to make you long for the relative peace and tranquility of home. But the Ubud of old can still be found in Kedewatan, a serene hamlet of rice terraces, jungle gorges and the Amandari Resort.

For 25 years the resort and the farming community have been interdependent, sharing people and produce, preserving culture and ideas. Even architecturally, Amandari blends right in with its open-sided lobby inspired by a wantilan or meeting place, a pool that mimics the form of a rice paddy and suites modelled on individual village compounds (though with untold luxuries inside, and 24-hour room service).

Amandari's sponsorship of temple ceremonies, festivals and waning cultural traditions has benefits for guests as well as for the people of Ubud. We witness a rare performance by one of the semar pegulingan orchestras that used to serenade royal palaces, complete with expert commentary from Australian ethnomusicologist Douglas Myers, an orchestra member who has lived in and studied Bali since 1970. In between gamelan movements Myers explains that the sole purpose of playing music in Bali is "to make the world beautiful for the gods of the ancestors". It is so vital to the culture that, every 210 days, a special temple ceremony is held "just to keep the instruments beautiful". Ubud might have changed, but this still feels very much like timeless Bali.

Most Fun On Two Wheels

From the glamorous east-coast outpost of Amankila - all tiered pavilions and jungle peaks above the Bali Sea - the drive to Budakeling village is all uphill. From here, in the shadow of Mount Agung, gravity propels me downwards on a 90-minute bike ride past unspooling scenes of country life. A man walking his pig on a lead; teenagers playing pool in an open garage; everyone from shop owners to children to a wrinkled grandpa calling out "Hel-lo!" as an unexpected guest flies by on two wheels. Terraced fields, skinny roads lined with mangoes, a brace of buffaloes ploughing a field, coconut groves, bamboo forests, sway-hipped women with pots on their heads, mechanics, woodcarvers, blacksmiths. And, most exhilarating for all concerned, a stationary truck with a trayload of schoolboys who squeal when they see me approaching and crowd to the side for high-fives. With all that spinning and slapping I feel like a human prize wheel.

Best Beach Barbeque

At Serangan harbour in south Bali we zip across the water by zodiac past vessels of all colours and shapes until we arrive at what looks like an 18th-century schooner. Mutiara Laut (Pearl of the Sea) is a 48m, classic two-master of hybrid European-Asian design, and it will be home for the next two nights. Also along for the ride, thanks to Epic, is the swashbuckling explorer, filmmaker and anthropologist, Lawrence Blair.

Blair is a born entertainer who draws on his 35-year career in Indonesia to provide the context for our journey. Under full sail on the Bali Sea, the world-renowned naturalist informs us we are crossing the Wallace Line, the zoographical boundary that separates the primates, elephants and tigers of the west from the singular flora and fauna of Australasia. He's endlessly fascinating.

In the lee of Sumbawa on day two we drop anchor and motor across to Bedil, a green islet with shiny white-sand beaches. While we comb the beach and swim and marvel at the hysterical sunset, staff rig up a drum barbecue and assemble a torch-lit dining table in the sand, complete with well-stocked bar. Robinson Crusoe would weep to see this set-up. When we sit down to eat (gigantic, fleshy prawns, chicken, pork, vegetable skewers, salads) the night's entertainment begins. In the glimmering twilight hundreds of thousands of bats billow into the air like a volcanic plume until the sky is black with them. The sight is awesome, in the true sense of the word. After dinner the crew, armed with guitars, pot lids and bottles, performs Happy Birthday in Bahasa and English in honour of Blair, who is 70 today. Then they settle into the sand for an Indo jam session. Chef Cookie is the life of the party and an accomplished interpretive dancer. He leaps to his feet repeatedly to perform routines such as "Hanging Out the Washing" and "Scattering the Chicken Feed", the latter complete with clucking noises.

Stand On Your Man

The small spa at Amandari is tucked at the end of a stone path just past the tennis court. I am looking forward to a vigorous massage to sort out shoulder knots and spinal spurs but when my therapist, Sari, appears she is tiny. We meet in an outdoor treatment room where the bed lies beside a pond of water poppies fed by a constant waterfall. The cascade is so loud there is no point in speaking so we get straight down to business. I'm lying on my stomach expecting a pathetic pat-down but then I feel pressure on the bed, as if a tiny woman has just hoisted herself up beside me. She's now straddling my back. Alarming. Sari grips my left shoulder and right buttock and throws all her weight into manipulating my frame, intuitively locating all the knots and kinks. She attacks them with a grim determination, flattening me into the bed. I picture a flower being pressed in a book. It's a wonderful sensation.

Ultimate Castaway Island

After three days at sea, Amanwana on Moyo island shimmers into view like a mirage on the horizon. It seems incredible to find, on a rainforest island in the middle of nowhere, a languid resort of 22 tents (all of the five-star variety) set around a coral reef cove. As a bonus, its kitchen and cocktail bar are excellent. We're tucking into lunch of rice paper rolls and roti stuffed with spiced chicken when a Swiss couple drops in by floatplane. The man - I only know his initials, JPL - apparently invented a bit of hardware that is essential to every computer on the planet. As a result he is very, very, very rich. If you had all the money in the world, where would you go with it? For Mr JPL and his wife the answer is easy; they fly to a remote dot on the other side of the world for a three-month beach holiday each year. After a couple of days in Moyo's hedonistic embrace, it's easy to understand why - this is the ultimate castaway island.

A Man Possessed

One morning before breakfast at Amanusa an attendant arrives to dress me in a sarong, a saput (ceremonial skirt) and a white shirt. Then he gift-wraps my head in a pleated udeng. I'm ready for temple.

On a rise above the ocean the women kneel and men sit cross-legged before a priest as he performs a prayer sequence honouring the Hindu trinity. The ceremony has been shortened and sanitised for us; there will be no chicken sacrifice today.

The priest intones five prayers while we clasp hands to foreheads, flowers gripped in our fingers. It is uncomfortable and sweaty but the priest's rhythmic bellringing eventually distracts me from the physical to a more reflective place. By the time he is sprinkling me with holy water and pressing consecrated rice into my hand I'm thinking how nice it would be to start every day with 30 minutes of meditative calm like this. Minus the fancy dress, though.

That afternoon we fly to the stunning Amanjiwo in central Java. Dinner is at the bamboo-thatched home of a Muslim villager called Pak Bilal, where Aman has catered all the food, so we can have the rustic experience of dining inside a traditional Javanese home with none of the gastro.

Afterwards we head into Candirejo for a Jathilan dance performance at the village square. The amplified chanting booming from loudspeakers sounds like an excited muezzin and stirs the crowd into a state of excitement. Most onlookers seem to be 10 or under, which is surprising given the MA15+ content of what's to come.

A gamelan troupe heralds the arrival of dancers in exaggerated monster costumes and grotesque painted faces. A whip-wielding shaman drives in six men riding hobby horses. At first they just look like an Indo flashmob but the surging gamelan, chanting, drums and shouting eventually send players whirling around the arena like dervishes. Apparently some have been possessed by spirits. That would explain why one horseman lunges at another with a cutlass, others begin chewing glass, and still others start fitting violently in the mud. Deranged episodes erupt all over the place and keep the shaman busy dashing from one possessed to the next to perform exorcisms. All very disturbing, to be honest, but the kids seem to love it.