Bats! June 28th

Bats! June 28th

Breakfast is less than stellar, but I appreciate that yesterday, Mansor picked up plain rolls for this mornings breakfast. A thin wrapped piece of processed cheese rests in the center of each of our plates and cold fried eggs are in a covered serving dish. We spread magenta jelly and margarine on the rolls, and sandwich our egg and cheese in between. I wash it all down with two cups of the strong grainy coffee.

Cita drives us to the dock and we board a small wooden boat, much smaller than the craft we took to Komodo and Rinca. I am surprised when a pretty 30+ year old blond woman climbs onboard until Mansor explains that she lives in Ruing and has made the arrangements. She owns a bungalow complex for travelers and has left the high presser banking world of Switzerland to make Ruing her home. Two boys make up our crew; one of the boys is about Johns age and the other is 11 or 12 years old. We motor across calm clear water and I squint from the reflection of bright sky and full sun bouncing off of the water and pull my hat down low to shelter my eyes. We sail pass small golden carpeted islands, floating mirages on the glassy ocean. We are going to the Pulau Kalong nature preserve to see the bats. As we near the bat colony we can hear the high pitched chatter of the millions of bats. They are resting in the tops of the mangrove trees surrounding the island and the trees are paved black with their bodies. As the motor of our boat disturbs them their calls crescendo and many take flight. The Swiss woman and the two boys begin beating the boat with stick and yelling to make all of the bats take flight, but it is difficult to focus my camera on the moving targets and we regret that our crew has been so inconsiderate of the bats well-being. With Art's backing, I eventually get courage to suggest that they not do this, and as the bats settle back into their roosts on the trees, we motor in for a closer look and I am able to take some amazing photographs of this most remarkable and magical bat colony.

We watch the bats for nearly an hour before motoring a short distance away to the Pulau Tujuh Belas nature preserve, a small island where we will snorkel and a have a picnic lunch. As we near the island, we see the white crescent of pristine beach with intoxicating turquoise water off its shore. We moor up onto the sandy beach and wade ashore. The fine white sand crunches softy beneath our feet and we stow our belongings under the minimal shade of a small covered thatched table. The blond woman, points to a snorkeling spot at the curve of the island and John is off in a flash. I watch him wade slowly into the ocean, his swim trunks a flash of red against the turquoise of the water and the cloudless sky. He adjusts his mask and snorkel, submerges, and is off to explore the magic of this reef. I feel an immense love, great joy in this moment, and fear for the fragility of life.

After struggling with my mask and snorkel, I wade offshore into the calm and tepid ocean, swim a short ways out to join John, and float easily above an underwater garden of living coral, brilliant fish and spiny sea urchins. There is almost no current and the water is only a few feet deep. We watch territorial clown fish protectively guard anemones from the masked monsters floating above. Clown fish actually darts up towards John's mask in an effort to chase him away. Beds of spiny sea urchins cluster on the sandy bottom and colonies are wedged between coral formations. I make note to be careful where I might step, since their 8" spines are threatening and most certainly toxic. We see small tridachnid clams, their scalloped edges fringed purple to lure unsuspecting guests into a deadly trap. Psychedelic star fish decorate the reef and the reflected sunlight shimmers off the beds of pastel coral. Art still sits on the shore and I surface and implore him to join us. Reluctantly, he dons his mask and snorkel and is soon captivated by the beauty of this living reef. Time seems to stand still and I imagine that I could float over this reef indefinitely but the trance is broken when we are called to lunch. Surfacing, I wonder whose hands and fingers are attached to my wrists, my fingers puckered and my skin a mottled blue-white. While we snorkeled, the Swiss woman barbecued marinated pieces of fresh squid and we sit together in the shade of our thatched table and eat our lunch. The squid is chewy and flavorful, and she has prepared a Juliann salad and rice.

After lunch, John and I walk around to the far side of the island, where mangrove trees meet the sandy shore, and he finds hermit crabs scurrying in the sandy mud between the roots of the mangroves. We watch the antics of these crabs and John picks up several and blows his hot breath into their shells, urging them to make an appearance. The crabs here are all small, but we remember with fondness, the giant hermit crabs we found on the beaches of Okinawa. We loose track of the time and when I glance up I see Mansor pacing at the curve of the beach and we hurriedly walk back and climb aboard the wooden boat for the return trip to Ruing.

We have 15 minutes to shower and pack before beginning the 6 hour drive to Moni. It is 1:15 P.M. when we start our drive. We drive along the southern coast of Flores Island, our driver competently maneuvering around pot holes and ditches, avoiding children and live stock, motor scooters and buses. Our car is not equipped with seat belts, but we feel surprisingly safe as Cita speeds along the obstacle course unfolding at every turn. He drives by honking, speeds around the many blind turns and passes buses and motors-scooters on the single lane road. I grow anxious as daylight turns to night, but John and I sing folk songs and then the theme songs to some of the classical T.V. sitcoms. John asks questions about the early T.V. programs that Art and I watched as children and the conversation flows easily in the darkness of the car, the road jostling beneath our seats. Shortly before 8:00 P.M., we pull into our hotel in Moni. The facade and entrance is under construction and we duck under scaffolding and enter an inner courtyard. The hotel is very weird, but we have become accustom to this and I try to be appreciative of our room. The room is very large and appointed with a rickety king sized bed. The windows are covered with voluminous ruffled curtains and the walls of the bathroom are paved with the same blue pebbles we saw collected on the beach several days ago. Someone brings in a mattress and makes up a makeshift bed on the floor for John. There is only cold water, but the water doesn't run in the sink or the toilet. A deep tiled tub, already filled with water and a plastic scoop sits beside the toilet for flushing. We have a late dinner in the hotel’s vacant restaurant and order fried noodles, but they are out of noodles. We change our order to rice, but are informed that the rice isn’t cooked, so we settle on bowls of chicken soup with mixed vegetables and return to our room to sleep.