Idul Fitri on Lombok

It's the morning of Idul Fitri (the most holiest of days on the Muslim calendar), and we're cruising the island of Lombok on our little 110cc motor bebek. As we wind our way around the coast road, we're passed by truck after truck with twenty - sometimes more - people standing in the back. They wave and smile as they lurch and grind around the corners and up the steepest inclines in a belch of stinking diesel fumes. Everyone's in a good mood - after all, they're on their way home to their villages and their families. 

The women we pass walking through the shadows of the palms look like brightly coloured bourgainvillea, a riot of pinks, oranges, and yellows. New clothes go hand in hand with Idul Futri, and you can still see the creases in many of the men's crisp white tunics. 

As we head futher into the mountains the air begins to cool. It's immediately lusher, and the sound of the cicadas in the trees is almost deafening in places. Up, up, up: through the jungle and up over Pusuk Pass. The monkeys sit and sun themselves on the warm tarmac; each yawn reveals startlingly large fang-like teeth. I try not to be intimidated.