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.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
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!
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!
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
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...
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...
Catching up on pictures
Batur Jr. is venting steam...
Baby monkeys are CUTE
Balinese Sunrise...every morning at 6:30am for your viewing pleasure
The requisite cliche picture: Rice terraces north of Ubud
Me on a Banyan Tree
The view at lunch on my second day in Bali...the Indian Ocean
The backyard of the house...
Baby monkeys are CUTE
Balinese Sunrise...every morning at 6:30am for your viewing pleasure
The requisite cliche picture: Rice terraces north of Ubud
Me on a Banyan Tree
The view at lunch on my second day in Bali...the Indian Ocean
The backyard of the house...
Monday, February 19, 2007
Life, Death, and Rebirth: A Cultural Tour through Gianyar
Today, since Colleen is in the hospital with an infection, I went driving around the Ubud area with Dewa, not to be confused with Dewa, his cousin, who is also a driver. Children in Bali are named in order of birth, regardless of whether they are male or female. In Bali, if you don't have a car, you hire someone to drive for you, since they have the knowledge both to get you where you need to go and ensure you arrive in one piece. However, I find it a bit odd - but not quite as disconcerting as the family who are caretakers of the house where Bob and Colleen are living. This family does the dishes, trims the bamboo, and makes my bed every morning. Now, I know they are paid for this, and probably make a decent living for a relatively small amount of work, but when I come home to my bed made, my toilet scrubbed, and the dishes done, I feel...colonial somehow.
Anyways, back from my colonial aside and onto my cultural tour. My driver, Dewa, is a man of great intelligence, curiosity, and knowledge. Although we hired him to drive me around, he really became my cultural tour guide, and I learned a great deal about the inner workings of Baliense kinship, religion and way of life from him. Our first stop was the archaeological museum in Penjeng, a site which Dewa had never once visited in ten years of driving people around. I suppose there are few visitors to Bali who come for the archaeology. The museum is about as extensive and well-maintained as you would expect considering the one visitor per year level of attendance. Most people, Marina excepted, don't get as excited as I do by the astonishing sight of several large ground slate adzes, almost identical to the ones in BC. As I wander through the sparse rooms, I glance at some of the labels, written in English and Indonesian. One posted near a bronze bracelet helpfully informs me that this is "a bronze bracelet found in Gianyar region". Gianyar is the large province around Ubud. So much for provenience.
As Dewa and I are basking in the archaeological splendor of the museum, we get a phone call from my father, on his way to the hospital, who informs us that he has been delayed by a funeral procession, meaning that someone is going to be cremated. In Bali, these are large, public events, and Bob thinks I should take the advantage of this relatively rare occurrence. I am a bit hesitant - years of working with First Nations communities and training by those around me has taught me a healthy respect for the sanctity of rituals and the importance of respectful behaviour. However, my cultural informant Dewa assures me that it will be fine if I take a look, so off we head.
When we arrive, they are anointing the body with all of the goods the spirit will need for its journey. I hung back, reluctant to get close, although several people, both Balinese and western, had their video cameras out. With Dewa's encouragement, I ventured forth to view the third dead body of my life. Dewa did not come with me - he wisely kept his distance. My skin was crawling and the fear of what I might see slowed my steps. I kept glancing around, curious to see if I would be stopped, but most people appeared cheerful and upbeat. I took a quick glance - curiosity won over the profound discomfort - and headed back to Dewa. All around, tourists and expats had their cameras out, capturing this cultural moment. I Shortly after, the men garbed in black t-shirts emblazoned with the word "Cremation" lit the pyre using two blow torches. That method must be more efficient than the old ways, where might take a long time to get the pyre burning. The air filled with a dense black smoke, greasy with burning flesh. A tip, if you ever attend an outdoor cremation - stand upwind. I think I was most surprised by the lighthearted way the Balinese treated what I expected to be a solemn ceremony. Dewa and I had a philosophical discussion about death and reincarnation as we drove to our next destination: Goa Gajah - the elephant cave. In the course of the discussion, I decided that I would not like to be reincarnated as a tree, but Dewa commented that a tree would need to appreciate its surroundings - a lesson we could all use.
My final cultural stop was the elephant caves. This site was excavated by an archaeologist in the fifties, who found the mouth of a cave that looked to him like an elephant. Have a look at the picture, and you decide. Doesn't look much like an elephant to me. The grounds around the cave are very beautiful, and the structure itself dates to about the twelfth century AD.
Like many other places I have visited in Bali, Goa Gajah seems to be prepared for many more people than there are at present. There were likely twenty little shops, several people selling fruit, ten guides, and six tourists. I am not sure if this is a legacy from the bombings, or whether it is a product of me coming in the slow season, but these places feel empty.
So ends the cultural tour...
Anyways, back from my colonial aside and onto my cultural tour. My driver, Dewa, is a man of great intelligence, curiosity, and knowledge. Although we hired him to drive me around, he really became my cultural tour guide, and I learned a great deal about the inner workings of Baliense kinship, religion and way of life from him. Our first stop was the archaeological museum in Penjeng, a site which Dewa had never once visited in ten years of driving people around. I suppose there are few visitors to Bali who come for the archaeology. The museum is about as extensive and well-maintained as you would expect considering the one visitor per year level of attendance. Most people, Marina excepted, don't get as excited as I do by the astonishing sight of several large ground slate adzes, almost identical to the ones in BC. As I wander through the sparse rooms, I glance at some of the labels, written in English and Indonesian. One posted near a bronze bracelet helpfully informs me that this is "a bronze bracelet found in Gianyar region". Gianyar is the large province around Ubud. So much for provenience.
As Dewa and I are basking in the archaeological splendor of the museum, we get a phone call from my father, on his way to the hospital, who informs us that he has been delayed by a funeral procession, meaning that someone is going to be cremated. In Bali, these are large, public events, and Bob thinks I should take the advantage of this relatively rare occurrence. I am a bit hesitant - years of working with First Nations communities and training by those around me has taught me a healthy respect for the sanctity of rituals and the importance of respectful behaviour. However, my cultural informant Dewa assures me that it will be fine if I take a look, so off we head.
When we arrive, they are anointing the body with all of the goods the spirit will need for its journey. I hung back, reluctant to get close, although several people, both Balinese and western, had their video cameras out. With Dewa's encouragement, I ventured forth to view the third dead body of my life. Dewa did not come with me - he wisely kept his distance. My skin was crawling and the fear of what I might see slowed my steps. I kept glancing around, curious to see if I would be stopped, but most people appeared cheerful and upbeat. I took a quick glance - curiosity won over the profound discomfort - and headed back to Dewa. All around, tourists and expats had their cameras out, capturing this cultural moment. I Shortly after, the men garbed in black t-shirts emblazoned with the word "Cremation" lit the pyre using two blow torches. That method must be more efficient than the old ways, where might take a long time to get the pyre burning. The air filled with a dense black smoke, greasy with burning flesh. A tip, if you ever attend an outdoor cremation - stand upwind. I think I was most surprised by the lighthearted way the Balinese treated what I expected to be a solemn ceremony. Dewa and I had a philosophical discussion about death and reincarnation as we drove to our next destination: Goa Gajah - the elephant cave. In the course of the discussion, I decided that I would not like to be reincarnated as a tree, but Dewa commented that a tree would need to appreciate its surroundings - a lesson we could all use.
My final cultural stop was the elephant caves. This site was excavated by an archaeologist in the fifties, who found the mouth of a cave that looked to him like an elephant. Have a look at the picture, and you decide. Doesn't look much like an elephant to me. The grounds around the cave are very beautiful, and the structure itself dates to about the twelfth century AD.
Like many other places I have visited in Bali, Goa Gajah seems to be prepared for many more people than there are at present. There were likely twenty little shops, several people selling fruit, ten guides, and six tourists. I am not sure if this is a legacy from the bombings, or whether it is a product of me coming in the slow season, but these places feel empty.
So ends the cultural tour...
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Fun run and heat stroke.
Okay, so I didn’t get heat stroke. But I certainly felt like I did! On Sunday, after brunch, I went shopping in Ubud and learned how to bargain. One woman actually commented, after I had talked her down from 70,000 to 40,000 rupia (a difference of about $4), “you are not a tourist”. I felt proud of my new abilities, but as the sun continued to beat down on my pasty white, sunscreen slathered skin, I began to get hot. Then I was hotter. I drank 1.5 liters of water, but was still hot.
Here’s the thing – I had signed up to run in a 5k, save the organgatans fun run later that day. At this point, I was thinking that I could not get any hotter. Ha. Little did I know. After a quick cold shower and a change, I was off to the run. Now, imagine me in tight black shorts and my black Sun Run training t-shirt, running through rice paddies in 31 degree weather with near on 100% humidity with Indonesians staring at me like I was insane. They were right. All I could think was …so…hot as the six year old girls in sandals faded into the heat in front of me. I nearly died, but I finished, and I was about the tenth woman across the finish line (of about 30 women in the race). Not too bad for my first 5k, though why I decided to do it in the tropics is beyond me. I hope those orangatans appreciate my 30,000 rupia and bucket of sweat.
Here’s the thing – I had signed up to run in a 5k, save the organgatans fun run later that day. At this point, I was thinking that I could not get any hotter. Ha. Little did I know. After a quick cold shower and a change, I was off to the run. Now, imagine me in tight black shorts and my black Sun Run training t-shirt, running through rice paddies in 31 degree weather with near on 100% humidity with Indonesians staring at me like I was insane. They were right. All I could think was …so…hot as the six year old girls in sandals faded into the heat in front of me. I nearly died, but I finished, and I was about the tenth woman across the finish line (of about 30 women in the race). Not too bad for my first 5k, though why I decided to do it in the tropics is beyond me. I hope those orangatans appreciate my 30,000 rupia and bucket of sweat.
Saturday, February 17, 2007
Volcanos, monkeys and a slight hitch in the plans…
On Saturday, Bob and I drove up to Kintamani, a town in northern Bali on the edge of a huge volcanic crater. As we drove from the southern climat of coconut palms, frangipani, and rice fields to the northern climes of orange trees, cloves and pines, we noticed a large crowd of men carrying oval-shaped covered baskets. Anthropologists reading this…hold onto your hats.
You guessed it. It was a cockfight. Now, I didn’t get to see the fight itself, but all the men were gathered around to participate in this Balinese cockfight. I have to admit, I am a bigger anthropological geek than I expected – the hairs on my arms actually rose at the sight. For those who have not been subjected to many piles of articles, books and other needlessly complicated anthropological jargon, there is a famous and influential article, written by a man by the name of Barth, about this very ritual.
After watching all the men leaving this now illegal cockfight, we continued our journey, and I witnessed my first volcanic activitiy – as we crested the rim of the crater, we caught sight of Batur Jr. (Batur Sr. erupted with great violence to create the crater, sometime around a million years ago), and it was venting steam. Lava might have been a bit more exciting, but I was satisfied with this more tame display of volcanic rage boiling away under the surface. We drove down a very steep, then very bumpy road (I’ll definitely need to see my chiropractor when I get home) to the edge of the last major eruption of Batur Jr. at the turn of the century. Lava fields are desolate places, tinged with the promise of life, as lichen and small plants work their way back into the unforgiving landscape.
The drive back from Batur and Kintamani took us through some of the most beautiful rice terraces I have seen, and we stopped on the side of the road to buy small, sweet bananas, prickly rambutan, and another tangy fruit that I can’t pronounce and have never seen before – all for about $2.50. Fruit is SO cheap here. A papaya the size of a football for Shaquille O’Neal costs less than a dollar. My avocado I bought today was 20 cents. And it was one of those big green ones. I took a picture.
Later that afternoon, I got to meet some monkeys in the sacred monkey forest that lies in the heart of Ubud. Monkeys have a reputation for being grabby, aggressive and a general pain in the ass, but they were partcularly well-behaved on my visit. The only thing that a monkey tried to do was use me as target practice for his urine (he missed – might need to work on his aim). The cutest thing I have seen, maybe ever, is a tiny baby monkey. I will definitely post pictures of that one. Besides the monkeys, the forest itself is a place of magic, banyan trees and carved komodo dragons that look like they might move at any second.
The slight hitch refered to in the title is Colleen’s health. She has been having trouble breathing, and had fluid in her lung. They had to admit her to the hospital to have it drained, and are still unsure about the cause. This has meant that I have had to set out on my own a few times, which is a bit more of an adventure!
You guessed it. It was a cockfight. Now, I didn’t get to see the fight itself, but all the men were gathered around to participate in this Balinese cockfight. I have to admit, I am a bigger anthropological geek than I expected – the hairs on my arms actually rose at the sight. For those who have not been subjected to many piles of articles, books and other needlessly complicated anthropological jargon, there is a famous and influential article, written by a man by the name of Barth, about this very ritual.
After watching all the men leaving this now illegal cockfight, we continued our journey, and I witnessed my first volcanic activitiy – as we crested the rim of the crater, we caught sight of Batur Jr. (Batur Sr. erupted with great violence to create the crater, sometime around a million years ago), and it was venting steam. Lava might have been a bit more exciting, but I was satisfied with this more tame display of volcanic rage boiling away under the surface. We drove down a very steep, then very bumpy road (I’ll definitely need to see my chiropractor when I get home) to the edge of the last major eruption of Batur Jr. at the turn of the century. Lava fields are desolate places, tinged with the promise of life, as lichen and small plants work their way back into the unforgiving landscape.
The drive back from Batur and Kintamani took us through some of the most beautiful rice terraces I have seen, and we stopped on the side of the road to buy small, sweet bananas, prickly rambutan, and another tangy fruit that I can’t pronounce and have never seen before – all for about $2.50. Fruit is SO cheap here. A papaya the size of a football for Shaquille O’Neal costs less than a dollar. My avocado I bought today was 20 cents. And it was one of those big green ones. I took a picture.
Later that afternoon, I got to meet some monkeys in the sacred monkey forest that lies in the heart of Ubud. Monkeys have a reputation for being grabby, aggressive and a general pain in the ass, but they were partcularly well-behaved on my visit. The only thing that a monkey tried to do was use me as target practice for his urine (he missed – might need to work on his aim). The cutest thing I have seen, maybe ever, is a tiny baby monkey. I will definitely post pictures of that one. Besides the monkeys, the forest itself is a place of magic, banyan trees and carved komodo dragons that look like they might move at any second.
The slight hitch refered to in the title is Colleen’s health. She has been having trouble breathing, and had fluid in her lung. They had to admit her to the hospital to have it drained, and are still unsure about the cause. This has meant that I have had to set out on my own a few times, which is a bit more of an adventure!
Friday, February 16, 2007
Me and a coconut
This is my first meal in Bali, begun with a young coconut - very tasty and refreshing (and I don't look as horrible as you would expect, considering I had spent a long time traveling the day before!). So much for my philosophy that I don't eat anything with a face! I ate Nasi(Rice) Campur(mixed) at Kampung Cafe north of Ubud - yummy. The only problem with Balinese food is that I cannot get away from my two old nemises - lemongrass and lime leaves.
More pics to come when I can get to the high speed internet cafe in Ubud.
Balinese Food, Air, and Rain
It's day two in Bali and it's raining. Now, some people are going to go "damn, that's too bad", but I am quite enjoying it. I wanted to experience everything Bali has to offer...well...almost everything...and rain is part and parcel of the deal. Rain in the tropics is a shower with the best water pressure you have ever seen, made for a giant.
The first two days have been amazing. I stepped off the plane, completely exhausted from 24 hours worth of travel with maybe 3 hours worth of sleep, into the Bali air. Balinese air has substance and texture - it is tangible, fragrant and full of flavour. You can roll it around on your tongue. The most prominent smell here is moist incense mixed with a very subtle undertone of pollution (caused by cars/motorbikes and burning garbage). The incense comes from daily offerings that litter small shrines over the whole island.
Bob and Colleen were there to pick me up at the airport, and we proceeded to drive the 45 minutes to their stunning residence in Ubud. This drive did not give me the sense of Balinese driving that I would come to experience the next day. Bob described it to me as "the biggest vehicle wins and the lines don't really mean anything". They drive on the left side, and everyone is equally crazy, so no one gets road rage.
I expected culture shock, but I find that although the culture and lifestyle are completely different than anything back home - you should have seen the looks I got on my jog this morning in a culture where no one really runs anywhere unless they are late - I am not particularly shocked. Fascinated, yes. It's the landscape that is more foreign than anything. The plants, birds, animals, weather - all of these things were beyond my imagination. The colours of the flowers, the bright blue kingfishers, the terraced rice fields are all amazing. I have pictures, which I will post as soon as I can. I am a bit jet lagged, but that just translates into going to bed early (10-10:30) and waking up with the sun.
Perhaps the best experience so far was a full-body massage I had at a spa in Ubud, followed by a seaweed scrub, a yogurt rinse, and a bath in a tub full of flower petals. I stood up, and the petals stuck to my skin. It was magical.
Oh, and the Indian Ocean is pretty unbelievable as well.
The first two days have been amazing. I stepped off the plane, completely exhausted from 24 hours worth of travel with maybe 3 hours worth of sleep, into the Bali air. Balinese air has substance and texture - it is tangible, fragrant and full of flavour. You can roll it around on your tongue. The most prominent smell here is moist incense mixed with a very subtle undertone of pollution (caused by cars/motorbikes and burning garbage). The incense comes from daily offerings that litter small shrines over the whole island.
Bob and Colleen were there to pick me up at the airport, and we proceeded to drive the 45 minutes to their stunning residence in Ubud. This drive did not give me the sense of Balinese driving that I would come to experience the next day. Bob described it to me as "the biggest vehicle wins and the lines don't really mean anything". They drive on the left side, and everyone is equally crazy, so no one gets road rage.
I expected culture shock, but I find that although the culture and lifestyle are completely different than anything back home - you should have seen the looks I got on my jog this morning in a culture where no one really runs anywhere unless they are late - I am not particularly shocked. Fascinated, yes. It's the landscape that is more foreign than anything. The plants, birds, animals, weather - all of these things were beyond my imagination. The colours of the flowers, the bright blue kingfishers, the terraced rice fields are all amazing. I have pictures, which I will post as soon as I can. I am a bit jet lagged, but that just translates into going to bed early (10-10:30) and waking up with the sun.
Perhaps the best experience so far was a full-body massage I had at a spa in Ubud, followed by a seaweed scrub, a yogurt rinse, and a bath in a tub full of flower petals. I stood up, and the petals stuck to my skin. It was magical.
Oh, and the Indian Ocean is pretty unbelievable as well.
In the Tokyo Airport
(Note: I wrote this on my PDA in the Tokyo Narita Airport)
It's 9:38 pm Vancouver time, but I am sitting in Narita Airport in Tokyo, where a nearby clock informs me that it is 2:38pm, February 14th. Valentine's Day.
Apparently Valentine's Day is a big deal in Japan. While I am sitting at the gate waiting for my flight to Denpasar, a band begins to set up behind me. The press gather - photographers, news crews, etcetera. After a few technical difficulties and a lot of screeching, the group of Japan Airlines employees is ready to begin their concert.
It is all instrumental (a saxaphone, trumpet and other horn player are accompanied by a keyboard and occasionally joined by a flute and electronic clarinet). Their first song is...Beauty and the Beast. Can't escape the joys of Celine Dion, even in Japan. They follow it by a little Whitney Houston and finish by getting the crowd clapping to the Copa Cabana. As we board the flight (late, thanks to the technical issues), they give us all chocolates.
I have video.
The expeience of the airport is an interesting one. To all you seasoned world travelers out there, this is going to seem basic, but try to remember the first time you stepped off a plane into a completely different place, where you are a stranger to pretty much everything around you. That's me right now - staring in wide-eyed wonderment at the large TV in front of me showing footage of a Japanese rock and roll band belting out the songs a'la Bon Jovi. I just ate a bowl of bean curd soba at a small kiosk with a glowing neon "CocaCola" sign (love that global culture) where the radio plays the Doors. Apparently they light their fires in Japan as well.
Is this how it always is in airports? The foreign and the familiar colliding in a bizzare way to create international non-space?
Crazy. Maybe I am just delierious from lack of sleep...
It's 9:38 pm Vancouver time, but I am sitting in Narita Airport in Tokyo, where a nearby clock informs me that it is 2:38pm, February 14th. Valentine's Day.
Apparently Valentine's Day is a big deal in Japan. While I am sitting at the gate waiting for my flight to Denpasar, a band begins to set up behind me. The press gather - photographers, news crews, etcetera. After a few technical difficulties and a lot of screeching, the group of Japan Airlines employees is ready to begin their concert.
It is all instrumental (a saxaphone, trumpet and other horn player are accompanied by a keyboard and occasionally joined by a flute and electronic clarinet). Their first song is...Beauty and the Beast. Can't escape the joys of Celine Dion, even in Japan. They follow it by a little Whitney Houston and finish by getting the crowd clapping to the Copa Cabana. As we board the flight (late, thanks to the technical issues), they give us all chocolates.
I have video.
The expeience of the airport is an interesting one. To all you seasoned world travelers out there, this is going to seem basic, but try to remember the first time you stepped off a plane into a completely different place, where you are a stranger to pretty much everything around you. That's me right now - staring in wide-eyed wonderment at the large TV in front of me showing footage of a Japanese rock and roll band belting out the songs a'la Bon Jovi. I just ate a bowl of bean curd soba at a small kiosk with a glowing neon "CocaCola" sign (love that global culture) where the radio plays the Doors. Apparently they light their fires in Japan as well.
Is this how it always is in airports? The foreign and the familiar colliding in a bizzare way to create international non-space?
Crazy. Maybe I am just delierious from lack of sleep...
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