Around the perimeter there were hotels boasting fresh water showers and air conditioning and serving Mexican food and imported booze. In the middle of the island there were palm trees and a few goats and cows. No crops could grow. An elderly neighbor woman was constantly keeping a fire going to boil water and cook over (outside). They shut off the electricity and water in our room in the middle of the day. Basically everyone worked in tourism somehow because that was the only source of income. Islands are interesting. Everything must be brought there. As we waited for the ferry to take us back to Bali we watched them unload crates of beer and food for the restaurants. They loaded them in this horse drawn wagon and brought them around the island.
There's just something weird about eating corn tortilla black bean enchiladas and sipping sangria on a tiny Muslim Indonesian island.