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.