Sunday 5 Jan
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Part 3
Part 4
Part 5 It’s surprisingly easy to leave the homestay. We just get up, pack and walk down to the Bintang Lodge where we find Mel already in her room because she snuck out at the crack of Dawn. S is in a bad mood. She wants to be alone. She wants a break from Mel. She’s pissed off I’ve managed to get the Flash video camera her mum sent us for Christmas to work – she doesn’t want me pointing it at people and then spending hours uploading the shaky results in the internet cafe. And she’s pissed off because she’s ill.
On her thigh is a raised red welt with a dark centre about the size of a 50p coin, it’s really hard and hot when I touch it. No one is really sure what it is, or where’s it’s come from. S thinks she might have scratched herself against some coral when snorkelling. Mel says, ‘uh uh, looks like a spider’s bite.’ Whatever it is, it’s royally pissed off. S, of course, insists on squeezing it, but there’s no point in saying ‘don’t’ as I’m sure I’d do the same thing.
The guide book mentions a book exchange run by a Norwegian couple in the next village, so we follow the butterflies across the fields to a small ramshackle white-washed wooden building. Inside, it’s humid and close with walls lined with book cases full of the usual Dale and Down Browns. But among the shredded thrillers and cracked chick lit I find The Outsider. There’s no one there except a local girl who nods and smiles at us to the sign on the wall where a detailed list of rules about what you can swap and how you swap it are pasted up with thick, yellowed tape. I swap in a Margret Atwood and a John Fowles. We eat some cake and drink a cup of coffee before walking back to the Bintang in time to watch the afternoon thunderstorm plunge down the side of the mountain and hammer the tin roofs of Moni.
Other people have arrived at the Bintang. We meet Chantal and Bjorn a married couple from Germany. Chantel’s a Canadian jewellery designer, German Bjorn, a former nurse who’s now her manager. Every year they come to Indonesia to get samples of her designs made up in the workshops of Bali. While they’re being crafted, they travel about, often opting for a Robinson Crusoe mini-adventure – convincing a fisherman to dump them on an uninhabited island for a couple of days with a big tank of water, a tarpaulin, some cooking gear and a couple of paperbacks.
Bjorn asks us about our Malaria tabs and we hand over our Lariam. He tuts and fills our heads with all sorts of dire warnings about liver failure and how full strength Deet is not allowed to be sold in Germany because it melts plastic. Great. S shows him her welt and he spots a thin red line running away from the welt. ‘Ah blood poisoning,’ he says cheerfully, ‘don’t worry I have some antibiotics, they’re out of date, but they should work fine.’
A tall young man stumbles into the bar and into the owner’s office. He looks pale and grips his finger. ‘It came out of my bag,’ he says to the owner, who nods and yanks his finger close before rummaging in his office for some betel nut. He vigorously rubs his finger. The boy winces.
‘What happened?’ I ask. ‘A scorpion,’ he replies. ‘Scorpion? What do you mean a scorpion?’ The boy now looks relieved as if he knows he’s not about to die from his wound. ‘Yeah it climbed out from my bag and stung me.’
Bjorn nods, ‘Yes there are quite a few where we’re staying.’ ‘You’re not staying here then?’ says S. ‘No,’ says Chantal, ‘we’re staying with Rima at his losman on outskirts of the village. I think there must be a nest or something in our cabin, there are loads.” The tall man‘s name is Miles and he wanders over, squeezing his finger.
‘How big was that scorpion?’ I ask. Miles holds out a finger and thumb about two inches apart. ‘And where is it now?’ ‘Gone man, I beat the shit out of it with my shoe.’ This still doesn’t stop me returning to our room and carefully unpacking my backpack with a flashlight, before making sure every zip and open space is carefully fastened.
I’m still on scorpion patrol when we travel over to eat dinner with Bjorn and Chantel at Rima’s, but the food – easily the best we’ve eaten on Flores – takes my mind off evil bugs. We learn a little bit more about life in Moni. We were shrewd in keeping our cool last night; the other guys at the party were watching how we handled ourselves and it seems we did the right thing. Who knew? Rima – a nice guy and something of a ladies’ man to boot – reveals Bryan’s birthday is a staged event to attract travellers to the losman. I don’t know why, the rooms are best I’ve seen on the island so far. Anyway, I can’t see his Mum letting him have a birthday anytime soon.
We leave early because tomorrow is the day we climb Kelimutu. Rima gives us a lift back on his motorbike. The three of us squeeze up on the seat and then bounce over the potholes back to the Bintang under a sky packed full of stars.
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