The Gilis -- How You Say Island Bliss

(Dec. 22) I know it would be an exaggeration to say that here on Gili Air we have truly reached the other side of the planet, in all things literal and figurative. But, we are getting close. Gili Air is a tiny island, maybe 4 miles around. It sits in the South China Sea about a 4 hour ferry ride east of Bali alongside its island sisters Gili Meno and Gili Trawangan. These tiny islands serve as stepping stones off the coast of Lombok, an Indonesian province that will soon be a rising star for savvy jet setters. Stepping off the longboat that brings us to Gili Air, your personal decompression process begins to take hold. Not that what preceded this destination was stressful, but this place sets the standard for all that is laid back. It is one thing to say that there are no roads here or cars as was the case in Koh Phi Phi, but the difference between Phi Phi and Gili is the difference between New York and Mayberry RFD. There is only a dirt path that hugs the shore around the island, and the only thing that moves faster than the always strolling humans is the occasional pony-drawn cart and a random bike. There are a few bungalow-dotted “resorts,” a string of beach front bars and eateries, and, after that…..nothing.

This is an island devoted largely to divers. There is really nothing else to keep you here except perhaps a driving ambition to lower your blood pressure. No credit cards here, no ATMs. Things here are pretty much a half step ahead of the barter system. Our hotel, Gili Air Bungalows, offers 4 steeply roofed thatched bungalows, each with a front deck and a bathroom in the rear that is open to the sky. Sink, shower, and toilet -- all alfresco. Pretty cool. The pool is salt water as is the tap and shower water. Bottled water is, naturally, essential. The beach bars offer covered, raised thatched platforms each with overstuffed pillows you can lean against while you throw down your Bintang beer and your shrimp or calamari schnitzel. There you can while away the afternoons between dives or after dinner hours, reading, sipping cocktails, playing hearts and trading stories. And the dress code? Let me just say that dressing for dinner means putting a tank top over that bathing suit. And, if you simply insist on footwear, let it be flipflops.

Oh yeah, there’s stress here -- will it be tequila or beer, red snapper or calamari? It really doesn't get much more complicated than that.