Backpacker :The art of doing nothing

I HAVE just spent two weeks of pure bliss on Indonesia's Gili Islands, reaching levels of relaxation usually only achievable in deep meditation or death.

Whereas, in the fortnight before coming to the Gilies, I managed to get all the way from Vietnam to Bali via Cambodia and Bangkok, in the same amount of time on Gili Air (one of the three Gili islands) I didn't even make it to the other side of the island - a feat of unprecedented laziness as the island measures only a couple of kilometres square and takes no more than two hours to walk around.

But this divine trio of islets nestling in the tropical waters between the islands of Bali and Lombok have a kind of stupefying effect over the visitor. The sea laps gently at the shoreline, the charming locals invite you to sit with them and watch time pass. And before you know it, hours have turned into days and days into weeks.

The only transport on Gili Air is the horse and cart and the nightlife rarely gets wilder than fires on the beach. In the end, all you can do is give in to it and do nothing. And I became very good at this. In fact, my extreme laziness got me some notoriety among my fellow islanders. When a friend recognised my name signed up in the local diving shop and inquired after me, the response he got was: "Paul. Ah yes, you mean the slow one."

I found myself having to explain to locals and tourists that, normally, I do actually do things. Indeed, between the lounging around and eating fish, I got in some scuba diving and snorkeling. We saw sharks and turtles and a profusion of fantastically-coloured tropical fish. I also saw a couple of incredible, kaleidoscopic sunsets over the volcanoes of Bali.

But, as George Harrison once sang, all things must pass. So, after two weeks, I dragged myself away with much reluctance but a certain amount of excitement at getting back on the road. Now I'm off to Java, the densely populated heartland of Indonesia, to see active volcanoes. That should wake me up.