Java
to
Bali

I'm not quite sure what goes through Tim, Dean and Rich's mind as they see Andrew and I paddling off into the pure waters of another fantastic Indonesian Crossing. We certainly can't underestimate the support they are giving us, and when finally after 3 weeks of pedaling Java came to an end, it was good to see the whole team were in good spirits as Andrew and I pushed off, amongst the colourful jamboree of Outrigger fishing canoes.

The volcanic black sands of Ketapan beach dwindled rapidly beneath our kayaks and before we could wave farewell to Java we were in deep water, of an interminable blueness. The crossing only being straight line about 4km is rather straightforward. Somehow we want to make something more of it, after the heartache and perspiration of getting the kayaks here. We make a slight dog leg in our journey and head for one of the white sand beaches that beckons us on the other side. The bold reds and blues of the local fisherman's sails bob gently on the rhythmic swell. We make a special point of pulling in close to these farmers of the sea. We watch as one puffs on his Cinnamon cigarette, and tugs at his fishing line , trying to encourage a bite. With his pointed 'chinese' hat and civvy clothes he hardly seems to notice he's out at sea, and indeed, in the perfect weather that we have there's not much to worry anyone in the strait.

As we draw past halfway and begin to make our way in towards Bali, I have a strange feeling about marine wildlife, sensing that we might see something. My rational perspective however, tells me that its not so likely in this narrow channel of water alive with fishing boats and ferries. Andrew and I chat about dolphins as we paddle, and joke about how it would be a dream come true to see such creatures. Then, just 15 metres away to our forward port side, a dark fin breaks the surface of the water for a moment, gracefully cutting the waves. As it dips into the blue, Andrew and I turn to each other as if to start jabbering about what we had just seen. No time, and in a flash, the surface has been broken again. The dark expanse of flesh this time however, just keeps growing and growing. An almighty whale, without exaggeration, a full five or 6 metres worth, arches smoothly and serenely out of the depths, surely the same length remaining concealed. Our hearts pound, and adrenaline shoots around our veins. A powerful blow of air and spray shoots forth from his back and then within seconds he's dipping once again beneath the surface. We desperately want to see this magnificent thing again, and yet we're truly terrified of being knocked flying from our tiny kayaks by such a huge beast. We scan the horizon for further sightings, but the fleeting moments of this dream have come and gone. Our giant friend is swimming peacefully somewhere deep beneath us, gone forever, but never to be forgotten. We can't believe what we have just experienced, and we paddle on breathless and amazed. Even the crystal waters of the sand bar don't stop us chatting about the big fella. We paddle above the 3 or 4 feet of turquoise water, all the while looking beneath us for further signs of life. Only find a perfectly emptysea. As we pull into Bali our thoughts turn once again to the stories we have been tuning in to ever since we entered South East Asia; of a busy, commercialised, tacky and verging on ruined island. Our way to the island has been such a jewel, so perfect. How can this be anything other than a good omen for us.

Our good feeling for Bali continues as we set foot on the small beach in the ferry port of Gilimanuk. We're swamped by a gang of boys swimming in the harbour. They clamber all over the kayaks, and enjoy the sport of trying to stay on the back as I rock them from side to side. They get their own back when I'm turned over and they do their level best to hold my boat upside down and stop me from rolling back up. Ashore and they seem to love wallowing in the volcanic sand. They roll like hippos in mud, and coat themselves from head to toe. They're also over the moon when we ask them to pose for a photo with the kayaks.

Our good run of luck continues further when Tim flags down a half empty truck fresh off the ferry - bound for Negara - our chosen night stop. We throw the kayaks and Tim's bike aboard - and within just a few moments of arriving on Bali we're on our way - the kayaks by lorry and Andrew Rich and I by bike. A toasted cheese sandwich - otherwise known as a Jaffle on Bali - tells us that we've made it to our next European holiday destination, and not a moment too soon. If I never see a plate of Nasi (Nasty) Goreng - Indonesian for fried rice - again, it will be too soon. Numerous days on the road have seen us tucking into the delights of NG at breakfast time, lunchtime, and yes for a full house, at dinner time too. There's not too much wrong with it, but faced with the choice of a Tomato Cheese and Ham Jaffle, well..

Our road continues along the south side of Bali and the next day we're making our way towards Sanur; one of Bali's three main beach resorts. The feel of the island, as we had been warned is altogether different from Java. This is a culture firmly centered around temples, and everywhere one casts one's eye, a shrine or ornately carved temple comes into view. Every bridge we ride across is adorned with a pair of guardian dragons at each end. Fields of crops are patrolled by sentries of tiny shrines along each edge. Villages, even in our short journey, are often to be seen out and about, entire communities taking part in sacrificial festivals. Women fill the road, their heads piled high with baskets of fruit and cereals, to be offered up to their Hindu deity. What is even more exciting, is that there's not a tourist in sight for our whole journey along the south coast, this is Bali going about its own private business. We reach the outskirts of Denpasar, and still we find a rural and untouched Bali, village communities undisturbed by the hoards of tourists who pile onto the idyllic beaches from around the world.

Our arrival in Sanur is a wonderful feeling. We shall be meeting Gary (last seen in Dumai hotfooting it back to England for a couple of hectic months of work) and Alison (Rich's Girlfriend). Although we have many issues to resolve about our onwards route, our support boat, journalistic opportunities, and our finances, we also know that Bali will offer us every opportunity of relaxation, and some creature comforts that we have craved for such a long time.

Andrew spends his hours chasing support boats. Tim investigates avenues for support from Adventure companies on the island, Dean arranges for our press conference and forward plans for Novotel, whilst I try to identify some avenues for generating income through selling our stories to local, and not so local magazines. We're helped by Mark Wilson, the Honorary British Consul for the island, and whilst meeting with him we enjoy a glorious Cottage Pie in The Tamarind Restaurant - that we can heartily recommend to any homesick British travelers passing this way! In the nick of time we also make arrangements with Ingo, a German dive instructor, who agrees to support us in our kayak crossing to Lombok. A worrying reference to not taking solid breakfast, or coffee in the morning, and preferring to wait a while for his first beer, does nothing to dampen our enthusiasm for Ingo. His Aussie German English is a wonder to hear, and his sharp sense of humour soon breaks down the barriers. We're all set to leave Bali!

On our last evening in Sanur we finalise our discussions about our forward route. We have been circling at 30 000 feet with regard to our plan for how to get to Australia, and turning in ever decreasing circles at an incredible speed. Our deliberately sketchy plans for this leg of the journey have been further complicated by the ongoing situation in Timor. But equally responsible in our decision to resort to wind power for 6 days to carry us to Darwin is our dire financial situation. Whilst everyone we meet is utterly fascinated and in awe of the achievement to date, we still have never managed to locate a significant cash donor to our cause. Tim gets really quite emotional as I put my point across that I feel that we need to be realistic about both our kayaking abilities when faced with a 700km crossing of the Timor Sea, and our cashflow situation when faced with an estimate of 700 US dollars per day. "But this is it..13 months of endeavor... you'll never have this chance again..A Great British First". Our emotions all run high as we throw our views into the melting pot. Have we failed? Or have we scored a resounding success? We know very well that no-one has ever trodden these steps before us. We also know that most of the key concepts behind the expedition will still be held intact if we manage a wind assisted crossing to Darwin. And yet we also are painfully aware that this is it. This is the point where we are taking the decision on 'Human Power'. The concept that began as no more than a throwaway catchphrase. But now has captured headlines in London, Vientiane, Bangkok, Melaka, Singapore, Jakarta, Yogyakarta, and Bali, and has been a part of all of our lives for now almost 2 years. Oh, and I forgot to mention that our visas are also running out in 30 days - just enough time to take us by Human Power up to the end of Flores - so we also find ourselves facing that dilemma - of whether to fly out of the country to extend once again.

As Andrew and I ride up to Candi Dasa, and leave Tim and Gary behind to take care of arrangements for getting the kayaks up to the Eastern tip of Bali with Ingo, we both know that Human Power, a financially unsupported British expedition must take this tough decision - and get on with things. We shall make the best of the time remaining, and hope to get out through Komodo and on to Flores before striking our by yacht for Darwin.

We spend a single night in Candi Dasa, and continue onwards to Amed - on the Lobok facing promontory right at Bali's Eastern Cape. The island once again reverts to a green and peaceful wonderland. Traces of the booming tourist trade of Sanur, Nusa Dua and Kuta recede, and are replaced by chuckling mountain streams, damp green rice paddies, and jungles of high swaying palm trees.

We reach Amed mid afternoon, to find a million tiny triangular sails wandering across the Java Sea. Fishing is the main industry here, and the locals are hard at work. We meet up with Ingo, Dean, Gary and Tim, and despite some mayhem in trying to get ourselves ready for an alpine start, we settle in to a fantastic hostel facing the sea. Andrew and I force down bottle after bottle of mineral water, and a good supply of rice and pasta. Stories of the crossing to Lombok have gone from the mildly hair-raising into the realm of seafaring myth. The allegedly nine thousand metre deep trench commonly referred to as the Wallace Line, has a folklore all of its own; of racing 7 knot currents, bound to sweep us all the way into the Indian Ocean never to be seen again, and of mighty 4 metre waves capable of giving the car ferries a run for their money. How on earth could we think about such a foolhardy crossing. Even Ingo was worried, trying to pull forwards our departure time at every opportunity; and Ingo was not a man to be troubled by trifles! As we dropped off, we wondered what on earth the next day might hold!