The Gili Islands

There are no cars on the Gilis, no motorbikes and no touts screaming "transport, transport". Horses clip-clop up and down the one street on the island and bike bells tinkle as locals and tourists go about doing as little as possible. This is the kind of paradise that books are written about and films try to capture.

As for our time here, we spend the days swimming in crystalline turquoise water or watching movies in little beach huts when the rain comes. At night, the smell of fresh fish and satay grilling entices everyone to the strip of bars and restaurants that line the beach. Groups form to create a sort of alcohol fuelled U.N. at the various raves; Blue Marlin in a loft, Tir Na Nog on the street and Rudy's in Rudy's very ownpot-hole covered bar. Every bar advertises magic mushroom smoothies with eye-catching signs like:

We have bloody fucking fresh muchrooms
Take you to the Moon and back
No Transport Needed

Rudy's staff are particular advocates of mind expansion and eat a few shrooms before each shift.

Somehow it all works to create an amazing harmony of cultures. This is not Kuta. There are no 'Bintang' laden morons, no groups of Australian clones trying to see who can be the biggest dick. Leonardo DiCaprio went looking for an idyllic paradise in 'The Beach", he went to the wrong island.

After a week spent with our favourite Swedes, Jax strolled through our door on a sunny Sunday morning. Cue a day, no, wait, make that week, of dancing, drinking and myself and Jax's own brand of unintelligible humour. We're now known on the Irish as either "crazy Irish" or "double whiskey" by the locals. We have actually tried to leave the island twice now but winds and swells of up to 6m have meant that no boats can come or go. It's like theres a bubble around the island and we're stuck at the center. So for now, all we can do is sit back and enjoy all that the island has to offer. Not a bad problem to have really.

Half-time...

4Am and we're standing at the base of Mt Bromo wrapped in Jeans, jumpers, woolly hats and scarves. We've been waiting for the jeep for an huor in the freezing cold at 1500m. The jeep finally arrives to take us the further 1500m to the sunrise view point. We bounce up and down, clinging onto bits of the jeep, each other and anything in sight to stay in. It's pitch black and we're in the clouds so when our lights decide to retire early, what can you do but laugh? Our maniac driver does anyway so we chuckle along and prepare for our deaths.

Surprisingly we make it above the clouds and find ourselves peeling layers off as the sun rises over Bromo and 3 more very active volcanoes. We take phots of the spectacle as everyone else takes photos of us. Still not used to that particular Asian custom. Some do it on the sly, some ask but no-one ever explains why they do it...weird.

We hurtle down the hill and the driver decides to get involved in a race that exists only in his head.Swerving around jeeps, cars and motorbikes we get to the bottom only to be put on horses to go back up.

"Ah, we go fast, yes?"

the horseman asks and without waiting for a response, takes off at a sprint beside the horse. We bounce up to the 253 steps and begin our assault on the crater. Thankfully the horse doesn't attempt the steps too. We climb up to witness an active volcano spit smoke into the sky meters from where we stand. A nice pay-off for what was a fairly blurry start to the day.

A few days later, we climb Ijen Plateau which was a far more arduous task and continued our Javan fitness regime until we realised that we were headed towards Lovina with two sets of French folk.

"Ah, sure look" we exclaim, "we should all go together. And we have Arak!"

"Super" the French reply, " we have Calvados!"

So Yann, Bernard, Dewi, Sophie, Alex and ourselves end up celebrating Laurant's birthday on a beach in North Bali. Nice.

After a few days of speaking bad French and eating good food it's off to Ubud with Sophie and Alex before heading Eastwhere Christmas flies past in a flurry of Arak, phonecalls and photographs. Next it's Kuta's turn to welcome us and it does so to a soundtrack of shit music and drunken "schoolies". After managing to rope some Swedes into song-writing, drinking and general Kuta banter we've reached New Year's Eve and the halfway point of the trip so far.

Some particularly brilliant moments stick out and last night's very Irish conversation about our fine army is up there.

Alan: He was a sniper, did mad shit
Eoin: What the fuck was he sniping though?
Alan: I don't know..........Bosnians.

Classic stuff Duffman.