Ah, Paris! - Part 2

The next morning dawns, hot and hazy. We head out early in search of breakfast, armed with a better sense of the city and enthusiasm for the upcoming day. Our goal is to do the Louvre and la Tour Eiffel –a bit ambitious, but it’s me. I have to maximize my time in Paris – no sitting around unless it is doing something distinctly Parisian. We take a bus back to Ile de Cite, planning to find a bite to eat and walk to the Louvre. We wander through…and wander…and wander…and don’t find breakfast. There are places that advertise le petit dejeuner (incidentally, instead of calling me “ma petite amie”, Jason takes great delight in calling me “ma petite dejeuner”), but they are expensive – a coffee, an orange juice and a croissant for ten euro. Even if I had the money, I’d have a hard time spending that much just on principle!

Over an hour and a half pass – I’m tired, stressed, sick, hot, hungry, and haven’t yet had coffee. Dangerous state of mind, that one, and Jason isn’t much better off – you can imagine that we weren’t exactly getting along. We finally find a nice bakery and stuff ourselves full of flakey, buttery croissant, laced with apricot or chocolate. I down my espresso and we begin to make our way towards the Louvre. The food kicks in pretty quickly, but our moods need a bit more recovery time. I have to admit that at this point, I am feeling disillusioned and a little despondent – not my normal chipper, happy self. Luckily, Paris has something at every corner, such as the Louvre, that reminds me how amazing even a bad day in Paris can be.

How many times have I seen that glass pyramid and imagined wandering through one of the most amazing museum collections in the world? And here I was, passing down through the filtered sunlight and into vast palatial expanse of the Louvre! My excitement grew as I began to grasp the extensive history not only contained within the collections but built into the museum buildings themselves. We first encounter the excavated foundations of a fortress that was built on the site in the 13^th century, just before one of the crusades. I love the feeling of walking in the footsteps of history – it is one of the perks of being an archaeologist, as I can indulge that feeling often.

Everywhere I went in the Louvre, there was something more astounding to see. I turn a corner and voila! The Venus de Milo! I walk into a mostly empty room, only to be stared down by the seated bulls from the palace of Sargon. I know that means nothing to most of you, but I nearly fell over in delight. Normally, museums seem to focus on a particular topic or region, but in the Louvre, we saw exhibits on Egypt (including the seated statue of Ramses II), Greek and Etruscans, a history of sculpture, Renaissance art, Medieval tapestry, and Mesopotamia/Babylon. We skipped a lot of the paintings, because I wanted to see all of the archaeological collections and Jason prefers sculpture as a medium for art.

Our final stop in the museum involved the most famous piece of all: the Mona Lisa. Crowds of people stood and stared, some there to say they had seen one of the most famous pieces of art, immortal even before Dan Brown and Hollywood, some to appreciate it for the talent that went into creating it. Me, I wanted to look at the canvas and bask in the aura of the master himself. Five hundred or so years ago, Da Vinci picked up a paintbrush and created a work that captured one aspect of his genius, and now I get to stand in front of the same painting. Again, my fascination is with the history of the art, not so much the art itself, because I believe art has the meaning that we give to it.

Five hours later, we emerge back into the sunlight and heat of the Paris afternoon. Our next destination is another aspect of Paris that has captured my imagination for years as the icon of the city – la tour Eiffel. I had caught several glimpses of the dominant feature of the Paris cityscape, most notably from our hotel window. After five hours of walking in the Louvre, plus the walking earlier in the day, we are both pretty exhausted, but Jason has the luxury of comfortable shoes. When packing my small carry-on bag for three days in Paris, I decided that I could live without my running shoes and packed a pair of flats and my stylish Balinese flip-flops. As I repeatedly reminded Jason when he pointed out the impracticality of my shoes, I was not about to wander around Paris in my skirt with running shoes! When in Paris, one must consider fashion. And it is true – Parisian women dress to the nines, even at nine in the morning. I went into a drugstore, and I was surprised by the amount of creams, masks, powders and other substances for firming, toning, buffing and perfecting every part of the female form. I thought we were concerned with image in North America, but apparently France has the market cornered.

Anyways, we took a moment to sit and eat our snack and drink a bit of wine (in public no less!) before braving the crowds at la tour Eiffel. I wanted to go up, even if Jason is a wee bit leery of heights. We fight our way through the crowds milling about under the structure and tried to avoid the clouds of exhaust produced by all of the tour busses, only to get in a long line for the next 45 minutes. About fifteen minutes into our wait, a sign flashes above the ticket booth, informing us that the top level is temporarily closed due to “affluence”. By the time we get to purchase our tickets, the top is still closed, so we are only permitted to buy a ticket to the second level. We board the tram – a great piece of technology that I don’t think has been replaced in some time – you can see the gears and counterweights. The view is amazing, but it was very crowded, and in order to get up to the top, we would have to wait in line for another ticket and then wait in line to go up. By this point, it’s 7:30 and I’m hungry and ready to call it a night.

Unlike our stressful attempts to find food in the morning, we have a bit of luck finding dinner. The Eiffel Tower is right on the Seine, so we wander down to the water’s edge and discover a restaurant on a boat. We eat dinner floating on the river as the sun sets on our second day in Paris…

Ah, Paris! - Part 1

Before I begin with the account of our trip to Paris, let me first paint you a picture. My ideal version of Paris was taken out of the movies and my imagination – romantic walks along the banks of the Seine with the Eiffel tower in the background, eating late dinners in small bistros with wine and candlelight, drinking espresso with croissant in the dewy morning light…

Unrealistic? Just a little.

Paris didn’t fall short of my imagination – it was amazing. Unfortunately, my imagination had rather judiciously edited out the more pragmatic details of international travel in a new city with a limited budget. I had forgotten about the stress!

We took a morning flight to Paris, and as you can imagine, I was pretty wound up the night before, so sleep was late in coming. On the trip to the airport, I was trying to suppress the urge to bounce up and down on my seat...I was on my way to Paris with the man I love! The flight was short and simple, but it was very nice to be flying with someone for once. Apparently there are no customs travelling between countries in the EU, and part of our deal was no checked baggage (meaning no liquids), so we were out of gate in no time. Charles de Gaulle airport, however, is not particularly small, so it took considerably more time to get out of the airport. Our first indication that Paris is a little pricey was the ten euro train ticket we had to buy to get us in the vicinity of our hotel.

We board the train, and I am still quite bouncy, although the lack of sleep and hunger begin to catch up to me, putting a bit of a damper on my spirits. Part of my excitement was the chance to use a language I was at least a little familiar with – French, and since Jason is not a big fan of the language, it was going to be up to me to talk to people. I quickly learned, however, that my four months of classes meant I might be able to order food, but didn’t help nothing in terms of getting around, since I couldn’t read signs in the metro stations. When transferring from the train, we decided to find a bite to eat, since I don’t handle stress well without food or water. What we didn’t realize is that you can’t re-enter a train station in France – you have to buy a new ticket. Luckily the guy at the ticket booth took pity on us poor ignorant tourists and let us back on to the train without having to pay another ten euro.

We were staying in La Defense, an area outside of the main part of Paris. La Defense is the business district, and the train station is right in the middle of a whole lot of tall buildings with poorly marked streets. For those of you who haven’t been to Paris, let me explain something about the city planning. Instead of a grid system, streets tend to spring up wherever and end wherever – usually at a roundabout of some form. I suspect this is not some sadistic trick but rather the result of the long history of how Paris has evolved. The city almost forms a series of networks, but to Jason and me, the left-brained, grid-based Canadians, the streets seem to meander without rhyme or reason. As he knew I generally like to navigate, Jason left the reading of the maps to me, a good plan when one has a map. Navigation in a strange city, however, is inherently stressful, but not having a map makes it much worse, as I found out during the next hour and a half of trying to find our hotel. The map we bought of Paris conveniently did not include this section of the city.

At this point, I should mention one other fact that impacted my trip to Paris – the day before we left, I developed a nasty UTI. Most of the women reading this are likely nodding in sympathy…let’s just say it interferes with normal bathroom functioning. I spent WAY too much time in Paris hunting for cranberry juice.

It is now almost 4pm, and I’m hungry, dehydrated, and my feet hurt, when the sign for our hotel finally appears. A bit of a rest and a few glasses of water later, we head out with a map and helpful directions from our friendly concierge, our destination: Notre Dame! The excitement, dulled by a frustrating afternoon, begins to build once more.

We take Le Metro into Paris, and the minute I step out of the tunnel into the warm afternoon sunshine, I discover the Paris of my dreams – old apartment buildings with wrought iron grates, studded with ruby flowers. A new tower/statue/fountain at every juncture, a testament to old glory, figures frozen in bronze and marble. Delicately arching bridges spanning the boardwalks of the Seine, leading to Ile de Cite, an island so full of historical architecture that the cars seem out of place. Jason and I wander through this visual wonderland, catching little details in every glance – a gargoyle here, an old clock there, a Roman soldier watching over the modern world.

Then, the most intricate and astounding of all: the Cathedral Notre Dame. The incredible detail of this church, both inside and out, is overwhelming – the stained glass alone is remarkable. We managed to get there just before it closed, the dark wood interior lit by jewelled sunlight through the patterned glass, perfumed by the incense at the altar. It was an interesting combination of sacred and public space, as we followed a priest taking pictures of all the patron saints. As we walked to the garden out back, the sun began to burst forth from the clouds, creating an almost heavenly light in the sky.

Afterwards, we sat outside and ate crepes, which I followed with a dinner consisting of four types of cheese, a tiny handful of salad, and crusty bread.

Ah, Paris!

More to come…

A week in Germany…

So I’ve been here for one week, and I can now say: Guten tag, tschüss, ein…(random bakery item) bitte, entshuldigung, ich spreke nitch Deutch, and Spreken sie English? Oh, and I can order Kaffee mit Sojamilch. I can recognize the German words for pork (very important for someone who does not eat pork in a country where they put pork in just about everything), chicken, cheese, milk, bread, strawberry, asparagus and the mighty potato.

I’ve seen the bust of Nefertiti, a piece of the Berlin wall that is still standing, and the Brandenburg Gate where Ronald Regean made his famous speech. I’ve also eaten more baked goods than I would in a month in Vancouver, pedaled along the banks of the River Havel, and had my first-ever (and last-ever) bite of sausage.

If you had asked me where my top places to visit were, Germany would not have been among them. It is not a place I have had any real connection to through history, nor is it a culture I have been particularly drawn to (especially as a vegetarian, lactose-intolerant person who does not care much for cake).Travelling to a place to see someone is definitely a different experience. I did not come to Potsdam explicitly to see Potsdam, but to spend time with Jason. What I find, however, is that it doesn’t matter where you go, there is so much to see.

It’s been quite the experience so far, beginning with the misplacement of my luggage, as the first thing I had to do in Germany was buy underwear and socks. Luckily, my luggage arrived via delivery the next day, so I had my delicates back. On that Thursday, Jason took me to Potsdam. Potsdam has a history as the hunting and leisure capital of the Prussian court, with palaces and manicured landscapes along the scenic banks of the Havel. After WWII, it was the site of the dividing of Germany into different areas controlled by France, England, the US, and the USSR. The Berlin wall also ran along the river here. Much of the historical part of the city has been restored, so I wandered, jetlagged and wearing Jason’s shirt, through the cobblestone streets. It was lovely, and the architecture, to me, was novel.

On Friday, we went to the Max Planck Institute for Gravitational Physics, a high tech research facility located incongruently in the yellow-checked, pastoral landscape of Golm. The easiest way to get there is by train, and once there, you are confined to what Max Planck has to offer. Luckily, what it has to offer is quite a bit. Jason shares his office with two of his fellow grad students, but his large desk gives me room to work. The building is new and very spacious – a far cry from my little former office in ANSO. There is a decent cafeteria, free carbonated water that simply flows from the tap, and espresso for .40 Euro, a substance instrumental in helping to ward off the unexpected and sudden jetlag induced desire to fall asleep on the keyboard at 2 in the afternoon. Qwerty face would not be appreciated, I’m sure.

Saturday, we venture to Berlin, armed like good tourists with maps, cameras and sturdy walking shoes. I know tourists are often ridiculed, but I am going to make the most of my trip to Europe. For me, the archaeologist, no trip would be complete without braving the tourist crowds and going to the museums and monuments that are of historical significance. I am not going to come to Berlin and not see the Brandenburg Gate. And there is no way I am going to Paris and skipping the Eiffel tower. If that means wandering around with a map and a confused expression, paying three Euro for a tiny bottle of water, then so be it. Clearly I feel I have to justify this…damn anthropology!

Berlin is an interesting mix of modern architecture and historical buildings. We got off the S-bahn (the much more efficient and extensive version of the Skytrain) in the centre of Berlin with all the other map-followers, but our first goal was lunch. In this part of German, people speak a fair bit of English, a trait I meet with a mix of relief and disappointment. I want to learn, but I know so little. We order a beer – hefewisen for me, kostritzer for Jason – and peruse the menu. I read, and read, and read – sausage with onion, sausage with bread, sausage with pretzel, pork chop…farmer’s cheese salad. It’s one of two things I can have on the menu, so I order it and…they don’t have it. Lunch consisted of a large beer and a small piece of toast with some very yummy cheese. Jason got a white sausage served in a bowl of hot water, with pretzel and mustard.

We were a bit tipsy by the end of it, so we wandered through the market, checking out all of the kitschy touristy things and noshing on some rhubarb tart. Our next destination was Museum Island. I was quite entranced by the architecture, the bridges, and just the general ambience. The Egyptian exhibit at the Alte Museum was amazing for me, particularly the bust of Nefertiti.

The most powerful experience that I have had so far, however, was the Holocaust Memorial. Remnants of the war have mostly been erased in Berlin, with the exception of a burned out church and a city block covered in large, unmarked concrete blocks. We arrived there to a bunch of kids playing hide and seek and a bunch of adults jumping along the tops of the blocks. To me, it was not a place for laughter.

Jason and I weren’t sure what the memorial was about until we found a door leading underground below the blocks. Free admission and a security check later, we moved through the memorial.

I won’t describe it for you.

When we moved back into the sunshine, I was experiencing a whole series of emotions, the strongest of which was pain, followed by a sense of disbelief that one group of humans would treat another so horribly. The worst was the words of children on postcards thrown from “deportation” trains.

There was also rage.

I spent the next couple of days being ridiculously productive at Max Planck and mingling with physicists. However, I’m not just here to work, so on Wednesday I decided to stay here, so I rented a bike and pedaled my way through Babelsburg, but trying to see things by myself just isn’t that fun…

Next up…Paris!

O, Air Canada, never again

April 29, 1 pm:

I am at the airport, boarding flight AC148 (a Boeing-767) excited for my upcoming month in the fair country of Germany, when an announcement comes on.
"We have temporarily suspended boarding while maintenance replaces something in the cabin. We will resume boarding shortly".

Forty-five minutes later, I'm sitting on the edge of my seat (38K), watching more and more maintenance crew collectively scratch their head, and getting more and more nervous. The plane was supposed to leave at 1:15 and arrive in Toronto at 8:45. My connecting flight to Frankfurt leaves Toronto at 10:05. It is now 1:45 and it is not looking good.

Another announcement: "The maintenance crew has been unable to resolve the problem. At this time, we would ask you to please gather your things and leave the plane so they can continue to work. We thank you for your patience."

My patience is wearing a bit thin as my excitement begins to cross that fine line into anxiety. I leave the plane, somewhat frustrated, and join the other frustrated people talking to the Air Canada employees. I go up and let them know about my connecting flight, to which the woman responds "oh, I paged you". She paged me in the airport, but I was on the plane. So smart, these folks. The good news was, I had been transfered to a flight at the next gate leaving Vancouver at 2pm. I trickle over with the rest of the Frankfurt bound folks, and find my window seat, after being assured that my luggage was also being transfered (famous last words). I'm a little anxious, since this plane is not supposed to arrive until 9:30, but I figure that since we were given seats on this flight, the Air Canada people have the situation in hand.

Somewhere between "Juno" and "The Golden Compass" (767's have awesome personal touch screen entertainment units, and although there is only expensive food to eat and I don't have any Canadian cash, I manage to stay amused), I decide to ask one of the flight attendants about the connection. She seems confused, so I explain the situation further. Apparently she doesn't know anything about the need for about ten of us to try and make that Frankfurt flight. Luckily, once she finds out, things go into action - the captain radios ahead to ask if they can hold the flight, and they arrange to have someone meet us at the gate and direct us to our transfer.

The plane arrives at the gate at 9:45. I don't know how many of you reading this have been to Pearson Airport. It's a good sized airport. I have to go from Gate 140 to Gate 170. Doesn't seem to bad, right?

I get of the plane quickly, thanks to the guy in the aisle seat that switches with me for the last part of the flight. I get to the agent, and he says "go that way, and we don't have your bags, so you'll have to tell them at your arrival point. Oh, and you better run!"

I take off as fast as I can, carrying two heavy bags. I hit the next agent, who says, "You'll make it, but you'll have to run!"

I pick up the pace. The dominant thought in my head is "I'm making this damn flight to Germany if it kills me. There is no way I am waiting one extra minute before seeing Jason!"

Ten minutes and lots of moving sidewalks later, I am seriously out of breath yet grateful that I picked up and wore my new running shoes, I arrive at the gate, gasping something fierce. I haven't eaten in hours, and now I am feeling sick, but I board the plane (they had given away my lovely window seat and stuck me in the middle). I'm finally on my way to Germany!

The rest of the flight, once my heart stopped beating at such a high rate, was pretty smooth. I managed to get my veggie meal and a beer - gotta love international flights when they give you free booze! I also was able to sleep for four hours (thank you, melatonin), as well as watch "Atonement" - an excellent movie. Breakfast was also quite tasty, but by that point I was getting excited to see Jason (oh, and to be in Europe).

I arrive in Frankfurt and get to de-plane onto the tarmack via a flight of stairs - deplaning it old school! It is my favourite form of deplaning. Just an aside - I find that a very odd term. De-plane makes me think of defenestrate, or throw out a window. It's just awkward. In Berlin, I don't have to run, and going through customs is a breeze. I arrive at the Lufthansa gate after walking down a long, tubular structure lit with funky flashing blue and green lights and accompanied by what can only be described as techno elevator music (tube music?). During my walk, I hear several different languages (none of which are English) and marvel at the novelty of being in Europe. Most things around are pretty familiar, with subtle differences: a bathroom smells like grapefruit, the toilet paper is recycled, and the paper towels are green.

I am starting to bounce a little now - those of you who know how I get when I am excited can picture me rising up onto my tip toes, suppressing the urge to clap. The free Lufthansa coffee is not helping. I go to board, and my boarding pass (which I printed in Vancouver) doesn't work. The gentleman who took my ticket speaks English and is very polite, passing it off to his colleague. To my great relief, the issue is one of finding me a seat. They print me off a new ticket, but again bump me from a window seat into 19D. I'm a bit annoyed at this, but it's better than hanging off a wing! I walk into to find my seat, automatically bypassing business class, only to find that economy starts at row 22. Yes, I've been bumped! This is the second time I've been upgraded, in a grand total of two international trips. Pretty good, if you ask me. This trip is only an hour, but in business class we get fed - a roll, some cheese, a salad and a yummy chocolate square with an airplane on it. Economy gets nothing...welcome to Germany!

That plane ride went by very quickly, and at this point I can't wait to get off the plane and into the arms of my man. I am still not sure about the status of my baggage at this point, because I was told in Toronto that the Frankfurt plane had waited for our luggage. So I get off the plane in Berlin, where the luggage conveyor is right by the door. I decide to wait just in case they didn't screw up, but it means waiting just a little longer to see Jason...

I look around, and lo and behold, the nice German people have put glass in near the door. A huge smile lights up my face as I catch sight of Jason behind the glass...and the smile is returned as soon as he catches sight of me. I make my way over to the glass, but we can't hear or touch each other...I have to wait a few moments longer.

I wait, and wait, and wait, but no luggage. I finally give up and rush over to throw myself into his waiting arms. I have arrived, safe, sounds, sans luggage, but happier than I have been in weeks. We make our way to the baggage office, where they put a trace on my bags, take my address and give me a "female overnight bag" consisting of some basics, including a white t-shirt, toiletries, and some laundry soap. Of course, the greatest essential, underwear, is nowhere to be seen. Now, although I really appreciate the brush that folds in on itself with a mirror on the handle, I wonder how they expect me to do laundry. I get this mental picture of me only wearing an Xl t-shirt trying to wash my other clothes. Note to self - whenever travelling, bring a spare pair of undies in the carry on!

Now to navigate the German transit system...but that's a story for another blog! Stay tuned...

Mercuries retrograde = 1, iPods run over = 1, paradise found = PRICELESS

For those of you who may not know, I put a fair amount of faith in the influence of the planets on our lives - having a mother as a practicing astrologer will encourage that belief. No more proof do I need than the frustrations caused by the planet Mercury than the morning Bob and I had trying to get to Gaia Oasis, a beautiful retreat and resort run by a German woman who is friends with Bob and Colleen. First, since Colleen was stable, Bob and I decided it would be good for me to see the north coast, and good for him to get a bit of space from the stress of both trying to entertain a daughter and take care of a sick partner. When we first called, the said they had no availability, so we tried to find a number for a similar place in the same area, but we couldn't get through. A few minutes later, Bob gets a call from the owner, who informs us that there is room at Gaia Oasis, so we head out for what should be no more than a two hour drive, ready for some serious relaxation.

I should explain something about maps and roads in Bali. First, they don't have street signs visible at intersections. Also, when a road is drawn straight on a street map, it is usually a steep switchback. Roads and turns appear when it appears on your map that there is only one way. Keeping these things in mind, you might be able to imagine how Bob and I ended up on a very sketchy, potholed, cocoa-lined road in the middle of the mountains. Luckily, a kind stranger pointed out the right way, eventually, but not after I had hopped out of the car with Bob's iPod nano in my lap, and hopped back in without it. I soon realized the lack, but when we went back to retrieve it, we had run over it with the Jeep. It was yet another glorious moment in our frustrating day. Still, even the most annoying day in Bali is not too shabby.

Fortunately, the beauty of Gaia Oasis soon soothed all our irritations. This retreat has a beach side section and a satellite mountainside resort in one of the most glorious settings I have ever seen. Pictures just don't do it justice. We stayed in the lovely guesthouse on the mountain, with a view of palm trees and the Bali Sea. After a welcome drink of a whole young coconut and a drip in the pool, we headed to dinner with the other guests. Turns out, most of them were German, and since my German is limited to "thank you", "goodbye", numbers from one to ten, and a couple of dirty words, we didn't have much to talk about.

The next morning I awoke to the dark silhouette of the mosquito netting above my bed, the clock reading 5:30am. In the hope of seeing dolphins, Bob and I had hired a fishing boat to take us out for sunrise. No dolphins came to visit us - I tried to call them, but I doubt these dolphins have much fluency in English. However, I did get a close personal view of the fine, delicate art of catching tuna, using kites and buoys. The early sunlight casting shadows on the ocean and illuminating the mother mountain, a volcano by the name of Agung, made it worth the scratchy eyes and early bedtime. Being on the water always makes me feel at home.

I spent two nights in the paradise of paradise, having facials, reading, swimming and trying to make conversation with Germans. Bob went back one day earlier than me, so Dewa picked me up and we drove home along the north and east coasts of Bali, past two shipwrecks, a great deal of fabulous snorkeling that I plan to try next time, and a floating water palace. We ended up back in Denpasar on Saturday to visit Colleen. We are hopeful that she will be out of the hospital soon - it would be great if she could be out before I have to leave!

I certainly covered a lot of ground on my trip...I have seen nearly half the island...and the end of my trip draws near.

If anyone calls me "darling" one more time, I am going to SMACK them.

Kuta got the best of me. I know it is the main touristy area of Bali, but it's only somewhat redeeming quality is the beach (and maybe the nightlife, which I did not get to participate in). Today, with Colleen still in the hospital, Bob dropped me off to experience the glory of Kuta and Legian beach. He warned me that it was not like other areas of Bali, and that I might get hassled, especially as a single female. I thought "I can handle it - I know how to protect myself". What I did not consider is the drain that saying "no" to shopkeepers and a Kuta cowboy for four hours has on a person.

When I arrived in Kuta, I got out of the car, thinking to make my way down to the beach to see the famous surf. However, in my assiduous preparations for Kuta, I had forgotten to bring an umbrella. In the rainy season, in a tropical country, that is not an acceptable oversight, as the skies were quick to remind me. As the rain threatened to drown me, I ran for the nearest building with a door (the open shops were not appealing, as I would be unwillingly trapped and cajoled into buying something). I was searching frantically for somewhere dry when what appears before me but....a Starbucks. Seriously, it was the only dry place in a block where the people behind the counter will not be convincing you that you could use just one more sarong. Starbucks is a bit more subtle and insidious in its marketing practices.
I enter the cool, serene Starbucks and for a moment wonder if I am back in Vancouver. The only trace of Bali in the place is the prices - a tall frap costs 30,000 rupia, a price which is absolute robbery. Starbucks coffee is the only thing in Bali MORE expensive than back home. I had to take a picture, just to prove that Starbucks can suck the culture out of anything.

I wait out the storm - one thing you can count on with a tropical rainstorm is that because it dumps so much water at one time, the cloud is quickly exhausted and has to take a break. As the rain tapers to a drizzle, I venture back out into the streams that used to be streets, trying to avoid the puddled potholes. I spend the next half hour wandering the beach and checking out the many surfers attempting the waves. Along the way, I am offered beer, a beach umbrella, a manicure, a massage, sarongs, and countless surfing lessons, all for the right price of course. Although irritating, most of the people on the beach are not overly pushy, while some are downright friendly. I think to myself that this is not half bad - famous last thoughts. I take to the streets, where I can't go five feet without calls of "darling, you look" and people trying to use every possible ploy to get me to spend money, from the endless calls of darling to the sweet voices of children. Some of the very bold follow me down the street or try to physically pull me into their stores. As you can imagine, I don't particularly appreciate this, especially after I begin to get more and more dehydrated and hungry. Bob says that many people in Bali think of tourists as their ATM, and for good reason. It is the biggest industry on Bali. I don't mind people trying to sell me stuff - they have to make a living to - but I am not a fan of aggressive tactics. By the time Bob picks me up at 3:30, I was literally ready to bite the head of the next person who called me darling.

Luckily, a shower and a delicious dinner (involving a dolphin-stemmed glass and a dessert soufflé) cheer me up immensely, as I recall that most Balinese shopkeepers are not nearly as annoying as the ones in Kuta. Food in Ubud is great - a lot of variety and selection, both Indonesian and Western, but the best part is...it doesn't cost much!

Prima Medika, Uluwatu and beaches both private and public

One site I never expected to see on my trip is the inside of a Balinese hospital. Colleen is still there, still trying to figure out what exactly is causing her lung to fill up with fluid. I went with Bob to visit her today, in a very nice, very clean, very professional hospital, with some of the most tasty-looking hospital food I have ever seen. She was a trooper, but we are all bummed that she has to be in there instead of showing me the sights of Bali.


After setting up Colleen with some snacks and her computer with a number of DVD's, Bob and I headed out to explore the southern portions of Bali. I had expressed a desire to go to a beach, and Bob, being the adventurer that he is, found a small, secluded and fairly inaccessible beach along the base of the limestone cliffs. It was perfect - our own little world of sand, surf, waterfalls and sea caves. The beach itself was not very big, but the views were spectacular and the waves were large. I can see why this area is a surfer's paradise.

Reluctantly, we left our little beach world and headed back onto the roads and into the crowds at Uluwatu temple. This temple is located at the southwestern most point in Bali, on a limestone outcrop overlooking the Indian Ocean. Our weather timing was perfect, since we arrived a few minutes before sunset, but our crowd timing was a bit off, since the place was packed. Our guide, an Indonesian woman, began the tour by picking up and brandishing a three-foot long stick to protect us from grabby monkeys. It came in very handy, as these monkeys were generally more aggressive than the ones in Ubud. Still, baby monkeys are even cuter when they are sleeping...



The sunset was glorious, reflecting off the crashing surf and temple architecture in a riot of colour.



After leaving Uluwatu, mercifully without any monkey bites, we headed to an area along the coast where they grill freshly caught seafood, and you eat in on the beach. Great concept, but we made the mistake of ordering prawns - not the cleanest of animals. Up until this time, my digestion had been taking to Balinese food without to much trouble (unless I was unfortunate enough to encounter the vile scent of lime leaves), but this meal did not sit well with either Bob or I. I was not violently ill or anything...next time, no prawns, and I am going to make sure I wash my hands before digging in...



Tomorrow, to Kuta...