I'm writing to you from the Millennium Internet cafe in Sengigi, Lombok. The place is very similar to a 1980's video game arcade back home. About a half dozen adolescent, nerdish thugs attend to the terminals while shooting the shit. They are listening to bad music like "Dust in the Wind" and various Bon Jovi tracks. The walls are painted like some kind of spacey surf scene. There are asteroids, planets, shooting stars, satellites, and a young white guy on a surfboard creating a comet in his wake. The young surfer is wearing Nike shorts. They deliberately put a Nike swoosh on his shorts. Isn't that crazy? They are so caught up with Western logos and lifestyle that I wouldn't be surprised if they sewed on an Abercrombie emblem onto their Muslim wife's headscarf.

Krista is at our cottage with a fever; I am battling the occasional loose stool tsunami. We are both sick, but if you are going to be sick, Lombok is the place to do it. It's a very relaxed atmosphere with plenty of gorgeous places to hide and take a nap.

Krista and I now realize how much Bali sucks. I'm glad I went, but I don't think I'd want to go again. It has been so corrupted by tourism it's sad. Places where tourists congregate can get downright hostile. The salespeople, inn keepers, and taxi owners circle around you like vultures. The only way I'd go back is if I went to the countryside -- even then it may not be worth it because it is miserably hot and humid.

Lombok is temperate with a lot of ocean breeze. The salespeople here seem lazy and they all have a good sense of humor. Last night, we were on the beach and a young watch salesman solicited his goods to Krista and I. We politely passed him over. Then, moments later, he asked me if I wanted to join him and his friends in a game of soccer. It was a very genuine offer. That's what I like about Lombok. The people here still act human. They see money signs for a second, then they take the opportunity to make a friend.