'The past beats in my chest like a second heart.'
- 'The Sea', John Banville
For the months that I've been travelling I've been aware that an old school friend has always been one step ahead of me on the backpacking trail. He and his girlfriend have been away for 5 months now, and I've kept in regular contact with him just in case we should happily find ourselves in the same place at the same time. That has now happened, but not entirely by accident. We realised we would be in or around Bali at the same time, and a week or so ago he let me know that he is living on Gili Air for 5 weeks whilst he completes his Dive Master course here. Gili Air is a tiny island belonging to Bali's neighbouring Indonesian country, Lombok. I always intended to come to the Gili Islands having heard so many superfluously glowing reports of them from other people I've talked to along the way, and knowing an old friendly face was here was just another reason to take leave of Kuta and jump on the boat over. So this is what I did on Friday morning.
Gili Air is the island that time forgot. There are no cars or motorbikes here, if you don't want to get around by foot or bicycle then your only other option is pony and trap. Woodworm ravaged rowing boats line the deserted shore, moth eaten lace parasols sit propped in wooden lamp posts like abandoned remnants of ghost guests. The few local Indonesians who man their beach-side restaurants sit languidly under palm trees strumming buffeted old guitars, weather beaten shacks stuffed with carbonated drinks and chocolate biscuits for the few stranded homesick tourists hide amongst inner island greenery whilst the odd lonely, untethered cow grazes through the thick forest floor. The tide is high, the crystal sea is deep and crowded with schools of hazel-eyed, marble-shelled turtles tranquilly coasting in the ripping currents. I have spent an inordinate amount of time in a hammock.
The Indonesians here are similarly at peace. They are so welcoming, so pleased to be in your company, and incredibly trustworthy of the backpackers that have chosen to visit. I have been asked 3 times at 2 different bars and at my guesthouse if I would like to set up a tab and 'pay before you leave Miss Grace, or just whenever you can'. It's like living in an age when people trusted each other and had reason to. This is what Thailand must have been like 50 years ago before the tourists descended. The pace is slow, practically at stop. Even Toby, the island's one resident beach mongrel, has very little time for chasing cats or for marking his territory (why bother I guess, he's the only dog here), he's too busy having a little paddle, or reclining in the afternoon sun.
For the first time in a while I have had the time to finish the book I've been reading*, this is because, if you are not a diver as I am not - having so far been too nervous regarding my imperfect deep-sea swimming attributes of occasional asthma/contact lenses/intense and paralysingly irrational shark phobia - there is blissfully nothing to do here. I originally intended to spend 2 days on Gili Air as I knew this would be enough time to see the whole island, but it turns out, seeing it just isn't enough. I needed to soak it up a while longer. One of the main reasons I've extended my stay though, is that it has been really wonderful to see my old school friend, Dean, after such a long time, and especially wonderful to meet his stunning girlfriend, Katie - the boy done good.
The three of us have spent a few gentle and easy few days here together, and Katie has been very patient with mine and Dean's need to reminisce and laugh about our school days. We talked about Mick Lavers, our gregarious and lovable GCSE English teacher who would ask us to take turns at reading aloud from the set text before becoming frustrated at our lack of animation, and so would, in mock agitation, pick up the book and read it to us himself - doing all the required character voices and having the time of his life. We remembered the time that Spencer thought it would be funny to see what would happen if he didn't take his Ritalin and ate loads of Skittles instead (it ended with him pulling a fire extinguisher off the wall and jumping in to the swimming pool), or the drugs scandal that plagued our year group when a few disagreeable characters were expelled at the end of Year 11 for dealing to 12 year olds, or when Richard locked Mr Appleby in the stationery cupboard, or the infamous 'manky locker'.
We laughed about our drama classes - both of us having been committed thespians at school - and recalled with a mixture of horror and delight our brilliant, talented and eccentric Theatre Studies guru, James French, daintily describing to a group of 16 year olds why one character (from a scene in The Changeling) would be able to tell that his supposed virgin bride was not actually a virgin, 'You see guys, when a woman has sex for the first time....'. Or that day when Daryl forgot to bring a change of clothes for our practical class and as a forfeit had to perform a pole dance with a mop in the middle of Coborn Court, whilst the rest of us, Mr French included, hid behind bushes and wet ourselves laughing. Or when we all came to class offering reviews of plays we'd seen at the weekend, and Amy talked about how Finding Nemo was good, but that it was 'just fish really'.
There were things we'd both forgotten that we reminded each other of, Dean writing off two cars within 72 hours of passing his driving test, singing I Believe In A Thing Called Love at the tops of our voices with Luke, Sarah and Emma, in his car on the way to rehearsals for a play we were all in, the dramas and tensions surrounding who everyone was pairing up with for our Year 11 Leavers Party. We've talked about the people we're still in touch with, the friendships that lasted, the ones that didn't, the people who are doing well for themselves and living up to their potential, the ones who let it all slip away from them, the ones who have surprised us with their choices, or in other ways, not surprised us in the slightest. I'm sure these people couldn't give two hoots what I think of them. Whether or not I agree with their life choices or lament the way some have changed beyond recognition, no longer the people I once loved. I'm in no position to judge anyone but myself, and thankfully today, having been drawn back down memory lane on this island out of time, the judgement isn't falling too harshly.
Some things we can never forget. My past sits more heavily in me than my present or my future, it has the weight of permanence. It is very easy to have regrets, to think back on what has been with sadness and a desire for a second chance. To say the things we should have said, to have stayed silent when silence was needed, to have held back or acted more quickly, to have realised our worth at an age when everyone feels worthless, to have been kinder, happier, less angry, more patient, more forgiving. I write to you now from an island that I had never even heard of 6 years ago. I'm trying to surprise the 18 year old girl inside me, to show her who should have hoped for more the things she didn't know existed, to let her know it's OK that there's no second chance, because look where you are you silly girl, you can't have done too bad in the first place! Parts of me, like this island, will always be cemented in the past, but that's alright, because our foundations are there for us to move upwards from. I'm learning from the stone I'm clad in and trying to build the wall better in future, and I shan't expect more from myself than that.
*Regarding this book I've finished. It is an incredibly moving and intricately researched, painstakingly architected novel by Siri Hustvedt, 'What I Loved'. I am at a loss to explain why this book has never been nominated or indeed bestowed a literary prize, I happened upon it by chance in a bookshop in Kuta and it has been a rewarding find. It is wise, brutally honest, acutely intelligent and emotionally comprehensive. If my words of advice and recommendation bear any weight with you... well then go and read it.
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