Gili T was our last stop of the summer. Every traveller we had previously met that had been there recommended it highly. They were all correct and it was definitely the best end to the trip.
I would like to tell you about our adventures surfing, diving and snorkelling but the whole four days turned into a bit of a whirlwind and nothing that adventurous occurred at all. We walked to the other side of the island one evening and watched the sunset over a volcano which was probably second best to the Halong Bay sunset. Other than that our time on Gili T was a terribly good mixture of Joss shots, table dancing and naps on the beach in the day.
The island itself is beautiful and is still remote that there are no roads but busy enough that there is lots going on. The locals are friendly although there is a high crystal meth culture on the island. Yet only a few would actually give this away if you weren't told! The beaches are great and lined with bars offering beanbags and double sun loungers (perfect for when your hungover!). We stayed in Gili hostel which pretty much made our stay due to the other people also staying there. With a great bunch of people we pretty much stuck in a cycle of parties till five AM and days being hungover and eating on the rooftop bar or beach.
I don't really want to go in depth into stories about me and Franks joining a local reggae band, congo massage lines in the middle of the bars or Irish table top dancing so I'm going to end this one here. We were stuck in a Gili T island bubble so far away from reality and it's a good job it was at the end of our trip otherwise we could have spend weeks there!
Waking up after our forth night out with no voice and half the woman I was when I arrived on the island, the thought of the start of our journey home had never been so depressing. After nearly missing our boat, we were the last ones on the correct one and there weren't enough seats so we smugly walked up the top to where the crew sit. Twenty minutes in we had Frank clinging on nearly crying for dear life and me leant over a sick bag, both being soaked by the waves pouring into the top deck of the fast boat. Well the guys at the hostel said we were "travelling goddesses" in the most sarcastic way possible due to our broken states and travelling stories. Well this was us at our most godliness.
On the bright side, I wasn't sick and Frankie didn't die, so soaking wet and walking of the boat a lot less smugly we were on our way to our last stop of the trip, a hotel just outside the airport. The joys of waiting to travel home.