At Ankermi (www.ankermi-happydive.com), one our East of Maumere by Waiterang, we find the wee bit of paradise we’ve been craving
. The staff is disturbingly undisturbing. Only the menu includes dishes like "Hello Mister Omelette" and “Gado Bloddy Gado” (a very tasty peanut sauce vegetable dish that we have tasted just a bit too much of), leaving us convinced that the personel here has been trained to leave tourists alone. Very nice. The salad we order for lunch makes us produce sounds that would surely cause public disturbance calls if this was a Western country. And if there was anyone else around us. But it’s just us in front of our waterfront bungalow. The afternoon coffee and snack is part of the daily rate and arrives 30 minutes later, delivered to our sun beds on the beach. This extravaganza is ringing in at 370,000 Rupees for the bungalow. That’s $42 and includes breakfast, afternoon snack and dinner buffet cooked from the on-site organic garden and rice field for the two of us.
The one noteworthy excitement from our days here is a humongous gecko pooping on the mattress we have been lazing around on, reading all day. It is late afternoon, we are awaiting sunset in this gazebo style platform perched on stilts overlooking the ocean. I am finally getting the hype about Stieg Larsson’s novel 'The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo’. I was questioning what the rave was all about with this book until I got half way through it. Now, I am determined to finish it before we leave this place. Maybe interrupt with a few episodes of Lost. And some Arak Mojitoes.
Several days later we accomplished the severe relaxation and laziness exercise and leave for our last stop on Flores.
An uneventful stop in another airport and harbour town. We get lucky and find out that we can extend our visas here at the immigration office, saving us a rushed trip to West Timor for a visa run to East Timor. Days spent lazying at our hotel with AC and hot water, napping and watching Lost. Splurging on comfort once again. Evenings at the sticky Telkom office, the only internet spot open late enough for Manu's work schedule.Another gut-shaking musical drive in a bemo (= public mini bus with open doors) feels like a bass-induced intestinal massage. Our driver looks like a less funny version of Ali G., ghetto style cap pulled low on his forehead. We negotiated our price with the 10-finger method due to lack of mutual languages, supported by at least a half dozen other bemo and ojek (=motorcycle taxi) drivers gathered around us.