Gili hatched in paradise
I'm treading water, my head above the surface, when I hear the cry. "Turtle, turtle!" A short distance away, our local guide Eddie is waving an arm above his head, clearly excited. As he should be, for these words are magic for visitors to the Gili Islands, known as the turtle capital of the world.
Swimming over to Eddie, we cluster above the turtle, the second we have seen today. My three travelling companions and I hang back, not wanting to scare the animal away but Eddie has no such qualms, diving to the sea floor and grasping it by its shell with both hands.
I watch, horrified, as he holds the turtle out to us, in case we might want to hold it ourselves. It looks smaller up close, its head reptilian, its mouth beak-like. I wave my hands back and forth, palms outstretched, in polite refusal. I'd rather look than touch, and I'm sure the turtle would prefer it that way too.
We're here offshore from Gili Air, one of the three small islands which make up the Gilis, and I'm beginning to realise capturing sea creatures is something of a party trick for Eddie. Earlier, he caught an ugly reddish fish, which puffed up, fearing its end was nigh, in his grasp. He thrust the fish into my friend's hands before she could decline, informing us a few moments later with a grin: "that one is poison".
Eddie is actually rather more amiable than these animal- wrangling incidents might suggest and, besides the traumatised turtle and the terrified puffer fish, there is an extraordinary selection of marine life in these waters. Through my snorkel mask, I see soft and hard corals, some low and dense, others delicate and branching. Large purple starfish dot the sea floor. There are tiny electric blue fish darting about in shimmering schools, striped Moorish Idols with trailing dorsal fins, silvery garfish and tapering, translucent creatures I assume to be squid.
With some regret in hindsight, we're not staying on the Gilis themselves but at a smallish resort on Lombok. This was where Eddie picked us up this morning, dragging the Starfish, his traditional outrigger boat equipped with a tourist-friendly fabric roof to provide shade, up on to the beach. He's accompanied by a young male assistant who speaks sparingly and whose name we never learn.
We arrived on Lombok only the day before, having caught a boat over from the Balinese port of Padangbai (you also can take a short flight from the Isle of the Gods, or fly direct from Perth with Jetstar). As we cruise along the coast with Eddie, it's remarkable how untouched the island appears: neat stands of palm trees fringing white beaches, broad bays bookended by rocky headlands and steep hills dense with tropical foliage.
Occasionally, we glimpse a road and the basic thatched shacks beside it from which locals sell bits and pieces to passersby. The only things to spoil the illusion are the tourism developments in various stages of completion dotted along the beaches. Some are relatively harmonious with the landscape; too many are eyesores.
In the other direction, there's a clear view to Bali, the point of Mt Agung visible with its halo of cloud. Fishing boats with brightly coloured sails dance across the clear blue of the Bali Sea. Tourist boats similar to ours with outboard engines pass us by. Eddie is not a fast driver but, for now, we're happy to cruise.
Eventually, we arrive at Gili Trawangan, better known as Gili T. Settled only 50 years ago, it is the largest and liveliest of the three islands, and is popular with backpackers. "Good for young people," Eddie offers. "Party party."
We're dropped in front of a turtle hatchery, where volunteers rear hatchlings before releasing them into the wild. Three shallow tanks contain young turtles at various stages of development, from teeny-weeny to more robust. A hand-lettered sign asks visitors never to touch turtles in the wild - Eddie clearly hasn't received the memo. It seems there's still a way to go in spreading the eco-friendly message of respect for sea life in the Gilis.
Leaving the hatchery, we wander along the shady dirt road through the island's main settlement, trying to avoid being run over by the ponies pulling carts, known as cidomos, which are one of the main forms of transport here. The ponies trot along at a fair clip, wearing bells on their harnesses to warn of their approach. Some are adorned with brightly coloured pompoms and tassels.
There seems to be everything your average backpacker could want on Gili T - simple restaurants and bars along the beach side of the road, accommodation in the thatched local style on the other. Little shops with dim interiors sell cool drinks, whole coconuts, sunscreen and soccer balls. Signs advertise "Loundry service by machine"; flyers taped to palm trees promote upcoming parties. Out the front of a dive school, wetsuited figures are learning to scuba dive in a swimming pool.
Back on the boat, Eddie takes us to the sheltered waters behind neighbouring Gili Meno, the smallest of the islands and popular with honeymooners. It's here that we see our first turtle and I have a magic moment when, the others having snorkelled on, the turtle swims languidly towards me, seeming to look me right in the eye before it dips down and glides away.
Later, Eddie drops us on Gili Air for lunch. If Gili T is the party island and Gili Meno is for lovebirds, Gili Air might be the happy medium. It's quieter than Gili T but still has a decent selection of places to eat and stay, plus a handful of the ubiquitous snorkel tour operators, who chorus "Hello, snorkelling tour, snorkelling yes" as we walk past.
We decide on a restaurant called Chillout, where we lounge on raised platforms shaded by thatched roofs, drinking Bintang beers and eating grilled seafood and chicken. A few metres away on the beach, a little girl plays in the calm, clear water. It is idyllic.
By the time we're ready to leave, the wind has come up and our little boat bounces over the waves as we head south back to the resort. Eddie suggests we stand up and hold on to the supports of the shadecloth, now safely stowed away, to avoid getting soaked by spray. It's fun at first, the boat dipping and diving like a rollercoaster as we traverse the peaks and troughs of the swell but the novelty soon wears off. I despair each time we round a headland to find this bay is not our final destination.
By the time we arrive back at the resort, we're all tired and drenched, ready for a shower and a lie down. The indefatigable Eddie, though, is raring to do it all again: "You go snorkelling tomorrow?" he asks as we bid him farewell. And despite the fact we're exhausted and sunburnt, our clothes soaked and our hair salty, it's a tempting thought.
