I am a Gili-man

I might have found a candidate for World’s Worst Beach.

Viewed from nearby hilltop, Pedangbai seems pleasant enough: a bayside village that serves the ferry from Bali to Lombok, with maybe two dozen small fishing boats pulled up onto the light-brown crescent of sand. Just how the Lonely Planet book described it – my Bali beach adventure at last!

I settle onto my $9 a night guesthouse and walk across to road to the water. Up close I realize that the beach is strewn with dried leaves and bark, plastic lids and other junk. But it looks cleaner out toward the water, so I venture off the grass and onto the – omigod, NOT sand! I sink up to my shins in what feels and smells like fertilizer granules, which fill my shoes as I fight my way back to solid ground. Later I see a local cat – and then an old woman – use this beach for personal toilette, and that ends my Pedangbai beach adventure for well and good.

About the $9 guesthouse: you get what you pay for. The “walls” between the individual rooms consisted of bamboo slats, so you could kind-of see your neighbors on either side. Toilet and shower at the end of the hall. In a matter of hours I am calling this place “Pedang buh-bye.”

A local travel agent and solves my problems: “You want Gili,” he says, and shows me the pictures. I look at him and nod: “I want Gili.” The next morning I catch the Fast Boat to the white-sand beaches of Gili Trawangan, one of three small, lightly touristed Gili (hard G) islands off Lombok.

Now we’re talking!

Gili Trawangan has no cars and very few motorcycles; folks get around mostly by bike and, get this, horse-drawn carriage. Beach rings the entire island and you can walk it in maybe two hours, which I plan to do. Guesthouses are a little pricier but well worth it, because THIS is what I was envisioning.

I amble down the main drag checking out the different bungalows, guest rooms, and even the foo-foo resort way up north. After last night’s flophouse I am in the mood to move upmarket for my first night on the island, so I ask about price.

A slight misunderstanding here: What I think she says: “Four eighty-five,” as in 485,000 rupiyah, i.e., roughly forty-eight bucks, pricey by Indonesian standards but okay. What she actually says, I learn later as I’m checking in: “For eighty-five,” as in 85 U.S. dollars.

Without batting an eye, I whip out my Visa Signature card and quietly vow to enjoy the heck out of this room because I am paying an Indonesian fortune for it.

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