Weren’t I so lazy, would I describe in more details the impression that time had stood still on Gili Air, small island a stone-throw from Lombok that welcomes a melting pot of modern-day Instagrammers who, right after landing at the jetty by ferry or brightly painted long boats, photograph themselves wandering in Porsche or Ferrari horse carriages or riding rented dutch bicycles, loosely following quirky handwritten signposts to get to the Rabbit Hole (whatever that is), traditional bamboo tattooists, or fancy European cafes, restaurants like De Puta Madre or Italy.
And weren’t I so jaded, would I conceal the backstage of this divinely crafted resort island with its beachfront streets crumbling under the progressing shoreline and its crystal-clear waters alas not pristine but littered with countless plastic wrappings and other rubbish carried by the strong currents affecting the area, which make snorkelling with zen turtles and the myriad of colourful fish congregating by thousands, especially when fed breadcrumbs by local diving guides, not exactly the fantastic experience sold on touristic websites, because, we all know by now, plastic isn’t fantastic.
In spite of everything, isn’t one picture of a dramatically dark horizon, filled with the promise of lightning and thunder, over aquamarine water, to which echoes a large umbrella of the same color, enhanced by royal blue beach loungers in the foreground, and contrasted with a drop of cardinal red from Zephyr’s rash top in the background, worth a day spent at this overly touristic but nonetheless charming place?
Obelix Odyssey 