Dirty Ff7 Tifa

Two nights in Lombok

Do you think of in Bali? Maybe you should start thinking about Lombok in Nusa Tenggara West as an island that offers different adventures with the same attractions that Bali did fine.

Lombok is different from Bali. He has a different type of beach, another language and, of course, a different cuisine for you to enjoy.

I recently had the chance to travel through the northern and southern parts of Lombok.The reliability of public transport in Lombok is as poor as it is in Bali, so be prepared to hire a motorbike or a car for long trips, especially if the remote site visit is included in your itinerary.

As a fun short trip around the city of Mataram and Senggigi, you can take a cidomo, a small horse-drawn cart, a traditional yet environmentally friendly public transport.

The first day I visited the Narmada district Narmada Park, a popular tourist destination. The king of Mataram in Lombok, Anak Agung Ngurah Karang Asem, built in the park in 1727, hoping to recreate in miniature Mount Rinjani.

A number of swimming pools and a Hindu temple were built in the park, but the most interesting part of the site is probably the fountain of youth.

The fountain of youth is nothing like Pirates of the Caribbean. This is a strong current of water flowing situated in a small hut that is guarded by a Hindu priest.

People in Lombok believe that the water contains minerals that are good for your body and - believe it or not - to keep you young. Local wisdom prohibited menstruating women from entering the cabin.

The priest prayed for a while as we sat on the floor above.After finishing the prayer, he allowed two of us down the fountain, pray soon, we wash your face and drink a glass of water.

The water was cold and sweet, taking all the thirst that used to hit me before entering the cabin.

We went to the north of Lombok on our second day, leaving our hotel in Senggigi. After passing the village Kekait, we went through a rough narrow road, go up a hill to reach a tourist spot known as Puncak Pusuk (Pusuk Point) in the village of Pemenang, known for his landscapes and wild monkeys . The region has two mountains, Pusu, duduk in the east and west.

fic: god put a song on my palm (ff7, tifa/aeris)

Tifa leaned against the porch railing and watched the long afternoon shadows streaking the lawn blue and purple between shafts of sunlight. The Tennessee air was thick with humidity and the drone of cicadas, quiet except for the low murmur of voices from the other side of the door. She let the railing take more of her weight as the heat soothed the ache in her limbs. The shadows had shifted about an inch by the time the door banged open, the old screen rattling as it bounced off the side of the small house, and a young woman came striding out with a straight back and a sharp look in her eye. Tifa arched a brow as the woman gave her a dismissive once-over and got into a fire-red Accura. When the Accura pealed out, it left a spray of dust over Tifa’s already filthy Toyota truck. She’d sat down at the kitchen table with the ice-pack on her knuckles by the time Aeris appeared from the back of the house, hair tied neatly back and a wide smile on her lovely face, and for a moment Tifa was intensely self-conscious of her dirty boots and the dried sweat on her neck and the tangle that her ponytail had become. The scent of leather, metal, and grass had followed her in. “To be more careful, for one,” Aeris said dryly, though Tifa hadn’t spoken aloud, and she picked up the small jar. It was half-filled with a pale waxy balm that smelled like rosemary, pine bark, and God (“Goddess,” Aeris corrected her) knew what else. Tifa didn’t understand half the things that Aeris made with skilled practiced hands, just knew that they worked and that was enough. “Mmm,” Tifa replied, not asking how Aeris had guessed that. Aeris’ hands were soft, pale and long-fingered, but the beds under her short nails were stained a few shades darker from whatever potions or tinctures she’d been making from the herbs in the garden. She watched the slender tendons flex, the way Aeris moved them with the careful deliberation of a pianist even though she couldn’t play an instrument to save her life. When Aeris reached for the jar again, Tifa could see the same herb-brown color staining the creases of her palm. “Looks like your gloves are wearing thin,” said Aeris, glancing pointedly at the bruises spilled over the peaks of Tifa’s knuckles. Tifa glanced at them disinterestedly.

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