DAY 7
Time to pay the money changer a visit once again. We always used Ladys Travel Agent in Poppies 2 and never got ripped off, they didn't even try to. The guy counts the rupiah out onto the counter in front of you and once it leaves his hands he doesn't touch it again. He always insist you then count it which of course you do. I think a good honest money changer is one who only handles your money once. Be careful of the ones who count it out then pick it back up to give it to you. It's then that they tend to slip a few under the counter without you even knowing it!
I'm now armed with another wad of money and we go shopping in Poppies Lane 2 today, I reckon some of the best shopping in Kuta would have to be here. A bit of everything and excellent for clothes. Finally brought some watches from the sellers our front of Hotel Bounty. Always new style watches and of course the old favourites. Just couldn't leave Bali without another watch or two to add to the collection! Think I paid about 10 aussie dollars per watch, maybe too much for what the average price people pay but I don't care cos I think the watches are well worth $10. Haven't had one conk out on me yet, besides the odd flat battery which is easily fixed. The sellers usually will throw in a packet anyway if you're one of these people that are concerned about spending a couple of bucks in 6 months time when it dies on you! Found a nice bag and after some long hard haggling, brought it for Rp 30,000. I then decieded to grab another one and handed over another Rp 30,000 for it. Well the lady said "no it's Rp 40,000" I said "but I just paid Rp 30,000 for the other one and they are exactly the same". She then said "no it's 1 for Rp 30,000 or 2 for Rp 70,000"........well that sure is a different approach, crazy!
The number of tourists in Bali seem to be on the rise which is excellent news. When I was there in April it was so quiet, probably resulting from the probs in East Timor. Things seem to be getting much better, especially now tourists are starting to realise there is no danger in Bali, perfectly safe!
Yep, you guess it, off to Bounty and Paddys again tonight. The staff see us coming now and automatically start making our drinks as they know what we order, now that's service! Not many locals are out this trip, I've heard it's because they don't want any trouble with the local police. They're the guys that drive around in the open back truck things in the blue uniforms. Apparently these guys are coming down on the locals pretty hard, even if they are doing nothing wrong. To avoid any probs some aren't going out as it's not worth the risk. You'll see these guys doing the rounds during the day too and the locals appear to be shit scared of them being taken off the streets to only god knows where and who knows their fate. I think usually it's a matter of being held in jail until they can find some money (corruption of course) to gee get them out. In the mean time they will sometimes cut their hair off and kick them around a little. I am not just assuming all of this as terrible as it may sound, it does happen.....Although I'm not sure as to exactly what happens, just a rough idea. The locals in Bali are so suppressed and it really jacks me off, it is far far from a free country, the locals are practically prisoners in there own country. I think that could be also why they look at us with a lot of jealousy. They see us tourists travelling to Bali, some of us several times a year and yet they could never save enough to go anywhere. Even if they could it would be one big hassle, not just a matter of applying for a passport and off they go.
DAY 8
By this stage of my trip I have been spending heaps of time with Wayan, the guy who rocked up at my hotel first day. Very nice person (well appears to be) and great looks too which is a bonus! A harmless holiday fling and I'm certainly not the first and only women to do this. I find the Indonesian men to be so kind and polite although I am well aware of the scams they can pull on tourist women, been there and learnt that!
Not much on the agenda today, just chilling out. Gill & Rick, Mandy & Tom leave for the airport tonight, back to Perth for them. So sad saying our goodbyes and who knows when we will be able to meet up again. 4 down and 4 left, me, mum, Jenny & Phill are still in paradise. If only it had of worked out that we all could of stayed the same length of time.
We head somewhere different tonight (about time aye) - Peanuts! The reggae band was playing which was really nice for a change. I don't usually like reggae but these guys also sing top 40 kinda songs with a reggae touch, the results - Excellent!! So if anyone is interested in hearing a top reggae band play, check out Peanuts. Not sure exactly what nights they play but I'm sure it's at least a few nights a week.
Before I left for this Bali trip I organised to meet up with an Indonesian guy (friend) who I'd met on Internet and been talking to for 6 months. Well he turned up at Paddy's tonight, recognized me straight away (I'd sent him a pic). I was so blown away to meet him after chatting on ICQ for so long. He just arrived in Bali today as he moved back to Bali after living in Dallas for many years. He is shocked at how much things have changed but sure he'll slip back into things real fast. We'd been talking about Bali for so long and now we both meet in paradise, but lucky him gets to stay there!
DAY 9
We go for a walk up to Adhi Dharma Cottages in Legian, trying to suss out a new hotel for our next trip. Barong is fantastic but it's nice to have a change, time for somewhere new as I've stayed at Barong on my past 4 trips. We were impressed with Adhi Dharma, they showed us one of their standard twin rooms. Very plain and simple but nice, rooms quite a good size also. Location is good, suits me being up on Jl Legian, close to all the night life :-) I have heard you can get many good packages there too which of course is another reason to give it a shot.
Macca's for lunch, not often I eat Macca's in Bali. Was nice and all but would prefer rice and noodles any old time. Actually I've eaten so much Indo food I'm surprised I'm not looking like a damn noodle! Some people tend to miss good aussie food in Bali, but not me. Although you can usually find aussie style food on most menus, doesn't mean they cook it the same as we would though! I always get a real laugh when reading the funny descriptions on menus of our style food, and then a bigger laugh when it gets served. Usually something totally different from what your expecting! For example each day the hotel has a board out by the pool advertising a lunch special. One day they had written "1 pieces of sausage in 2 piece of bread bunds" what they were trying to say was "hotdogs". That is just one example but you see many humorous things like this around the place.
A short afternoon nap and it's time to party again.....yee haa!! This is just the best place to party, so much atmosphere and would have to have the yummiest and cheapest grog of all time! Our bemo guy we catch from Bounty to Paddys is such a classic. He's been waiting for us every night about the same time (midnight) until we stagger out of Bounty and want a lift to Paddys. Poor guy thinks it's xmas as we give him Rp 10,000 for the ride and we all know how close Paddys is to Bounty (probably not even 1km) Money well spent as he's a great guy, with little English and all as he can do is laugh his head off at us pair. He puts us in the car and turns the music up full ball and off we bop down the road, I reckon he probably blares the music so loud to block our drunken talk out! We brought him over some little koala teddy bear things to hang from his mirror and he loves them!
My ICQ Indo buddy is at Paddys again tonight so we have a great time partying with him. Wayan is getting a bit ticked off with us but there is absolutely nothing for him to be jealous or worried about. These Indo guys don't seem to comprehend that western girls can have guy friends and be JUST friends! Geez I'm glad I ain't an Indo women, although their looks can be quite stunning. Seems the tourist guys think so too as it certainly isn't an unusual site to see a tourist fella with an Indo chick. Same with tourist chicks and Indo fellas, guess opposites really do attract! Anyway 3pm comes and it's time to head home and rest the weary head!
DAY 10
Went down to Matahari at Kuta Square this morning. Found the sellers, especially the timeshare people to be more hassling down this end of town. Oh well they are just out there trying to make a buck like the rest of us, even though it is in a very different way! Anyone who uses Revlon New Complexion Foundation, it's worth a visit to stock up. Only approx 10 aussie dollars which is less than half price, the counter was packed with aussie girls checking out the range, me and mum being 2 off them!
Taxied it back up to Legian, too lazy for walking any further. Speaking of taxis I must say blue is definatley the way to go, the drivers are usually more friendly and the meter goes on. Some times though we found we had to wait a while to hail a blue one as they always have passengers in them. In the meantime the locals see your obviously waiting for a cab and every other coloured cab is flashing his lights at you plus people on the street are in your face with "transport, transport, you wan transport?". I will never go with a white taxi, the drivers are rude and crazy and they never seem to have enough change at the end. We actually took our chances and caught a white cab one night and it was a ride from hell. I mean all drivers in Bali are crazy but this guy took the cake. He was driving so fast and delibratley swerving all over the road then slamming on his brakes so we'd go flying forward. He though it was real funny but at the time we didn't! Also just want to warn people about those new taxis you'll see around the place. Sometimes blue and sometimes maroon, the taxi's are nice and mod, drivers seem ok but I was a bit concerned one night with the central locking system they have in them. We'd gotten to where we were going and whilst mum was looking though her money to pay him I went to get out. Well I couldn't, all the doors were locked through his central locking. Once mum had paid he unlocked it and we got out. I understand he wants to make sure your gonna pay him first and not do the runner but it could also work against your favour. You never know, could come across a not so nice driver who could lock all the doors and wham bam your stuck in there until he's ready to let you out, perhaps a little dangerous. Since that night we never got in another new cab, especially after a few drinks!
Jen & Phill left tonight, time to wave off some more great friends in the transfer bus. Not a happy time at all, for us and probably especially them as after all we are still here but they are the ones leaving paradise. The pool bar sure quietned down a lot as it practically became there second home. They used to have so much fun spending time talking to other guests and mucking around with the bar guys, I'm sure the barman are going to miss them too.
A few kids at Bounty Bar tonight, dancing away on the podium enjoying the music and certainly not shy. So funny to go out in Bali and see kids in a club, no way would that happen here in Oz aye! Actually most nights we'd spot a few kids at Bounty having a great time but not drinking of course. They just don't seem to have any age restrictions in Bali. Parents must be stoked about that one as then they can go out for a couple of hours and have a good time and so do the kids. Midnight ticks around and time for Paddys, now time for some serious partying! Each night we would start of at Bounty only because I love the drinks there, also gets happening a bit earlier and a good place to warm up.
DAY 11
Rang Ken from Bali Street Dog Foundation and organized to go out for the long awaited visit today. Tried to find the same taxi guy as last time so he'd know where he was going but to no avail. Get a new guy and he says he knows the place but I'm sure he doesn't, turns out when we got closer he didn't know. Luckily I started to remember the way so I directed him and we were there in no time. Get led in once again through the many woofing dogs and into Ken's office for a chat about the programme. A really nice guy who took his time to speak with us about their work. Basically these guys are relying on volunteer vets to come over and to go out with them to desex as many dogs as possible. The conditions they must work under is terrible, out in the open banjars of villages but the success rate is really high and seems to work well. No vets there at this moment so they are limited in what they can do, I think some more are due to fly in at the end of the month. Spewin I missed them as I would of loved to have seen the hands on stuff. The foundation also provides training for local vet students in a quick and easy way of desexing so eventually some of the local vets can help out more. Apparently the local vets are trained rather differently from western vets and it's essential they know how to do a particular type of quick, small and easy desexing as they can't always get back to the dog to take stitches our or whatever. This foundation also treat any sick or injured dogs and find homes for many unwanted puppies, they actually had a litter there when I visited, absolutely gorgeous!
Also got to meet the famous dog "Tripod" who they featured on their documentary on the Today Show some months ago. Tripod was brought in with an injured leg, assumed he'd been hit by a car. The vets had no choice but to amputate his leg so now he only has 3. He's doing really well and gets around just fine, such a lovely friendly dog who was licking us every opportunity he got! These dogs really are normal dogs when shown love and care. Also met more very other healthy and happy dogs, so good to see. The work the fund do really is fantastic and such a huge task, they deserve all the support and credit they can get. It was sad to leave Ken's place but also very relieved in knowing the work they are doing, about time some is doing something, long long overdue and I know these guys are gonna make a huge difference, they already are!
After a long day it is great to get out on the town and have some fun. Peanuts tonight and they have a band playing "Crazy Horse" another great band indeed. The times we've been to Peanuts we've really enjoyed it, some great bands and also some normal DJ music. Not as busy as the other night we went but they still attract a crowd, especially the when band is good which they always seem to be. The talents of some Indonesian bands is incredible, if only they were given an opportunity to get there music out in the world.
Paddys till close (3am) then we are feeling rather charged so head down to the Bounty Ship (Bounty 2). This club even has air con! After Paddys everyone usually heads down here, doesn't get going until 3am onwards. They play all dance music and drinks are similar to the ones at Bounty Bar (Bounty 1) as they are owned by the same company. By the time we got to sleep this morning sun was already coming up, certainly isn't the first time that's happened though! Sign of a good night if you ask me, also a sign of a not so healthy feeling day to come. Oh well I say make the most of it as next week when I'm back in Oz I'll be wishing I was back in Bali partying again!
DAY 12
Chilled out today, only to leave the hotel once to stock up on water and ciggy supplies. Cigarettes are just so cheap. I was smoking a local brand "Kansas" for Rp 35,000 a carton! that's even cheaper than Duty Free! Mum was into the Dunhills which were a little more Rp 50,000 a carton, but still a cheap carton of cigarettes. Any smokers travelling to Bali I'd recommend you just buy them there and not even bother with Duty Free, unless of course you prefer a certain brand. They have heaps of local brands as well as Dunhill, Longbeach and Marlboro, not sure exactly what else.
Just spent the rest of the day relaxing at the hotel. We try to think of somewhere different to go tonight and decide on Bali Rock as had been told it was really happening these days. Was disappointed with it, quite and the band wasn't good at all. Atmosphere pretty sleepy as well. They didn't have their usual rock n roll music like they have on previous trips, so guess it's picked up a bit. We stayed long enough to drink one of those drinks that come in the duck container and gee they are good, guess it was worth visiting just for that! Then off to Peanuts and the reggae band was on again and they seem to be really popular, I can see why, I love that band! Continued the party down at Paddys and down Poppies Lane we stagger back to Barong.
Just want to say we never had a problem at all walking home each night from Paddys down Poppies Lane 2. I'd heard reports of this being a little dangerous, maybe we were just lucky I don't know. To tell the truth though I'd feel much safer walking down the streets at night in Bali than I would in my own home town.
DAY 13
Starting to feel down as only a few days left to go now. The goodbyes have already started today as we go out to the Turtle Farm to say goodbye with my step mothers parents and family. We have a talk although very little due to the language barrier. We have no probs speaking with the rest of the family that work there as they are young and educated in English, they are great bunch of people and they are very entertaining to sit down and have a laugh with. The glass bottom boat ride to the Turtle Farm is the highlight of the trip, you even get the option of some snorkling on the way. The boat driver will sit and wait until your ready to leave and then will take you back (the price of the tour includes this). We don't actually do the full on tour complete with boat ride anymore though as they are family and we visit often, it's just a matter of walking there for us. At the Turtle Farm you will see many turtles in a fenced of section on the waters edge. You are welcomed to go in and touch the turtles if you so wish. You will also see a couple of snakes, a bat, some gorgeous cheeky monkeys, a large lizard and a few stray ducks, birds and dogs walking around the place. The staff will take their time in answering any questions you may have regarding the animals. You are also encouraged to take lots of photo's with the animals so make sure to bring the camera! Anyway mamma cooks us lunch, noodles and friend egg which is full on traditional way, not restaurant food at all but still rather tasty. They then bring us out some bird eggs to try, no way not for me I choose to munch on the peanuts! Mum tried the little speckly eggs and said they just tasted like normal chicken eggs. It's getting late so we say our goodbyes till next time.
Time to hit the sack for an arvo nap ready for our 2nd last night on the town. Have to get that quick sleep in otherwise no way I'd make it out considering each night we have only been getting about 3 - 4 hours sleep! We do the Bounty Bar thing and order heaps of there famous 2 for 1 cocktails, gee I'm gonna miss them! We want to leave but still have a big drink left so the bar man is kind enough to make us take away. Yes that's right, he tips our drinks into an empty water bottle and off we go to Peanuts! Walks into Peanuts complete with drinks and doesn't seem to be a problem at all, although they are probably a bit annoyed as that's one less drink we buy from them. But big deal because it's only 1 less, after all we are gonna buy a lot more there!
Down to Paddys into the Jam Jars and onto that dance floor, funny how after a while you don't even seem to notice how hot it is, must be all those drinks! Back at Barong and Wayan and I feel like a bit of swimming so in we jump. The pool guy comes over and kicks Wayan out the pool as he is not a paying guest. How bloody rude is that, especially considering we had a large room for 4 people anyway so really he was paid for! If Wayan had of been another tourist they probably wouldn't of even looked twice. Anyway Wayan insist we don't argue the point (even though I felt like it) and we both get out the pool. Oh well I'm sure we can find better things to do than swimming anyway!
DAY 14
Today we went back down to Sami & Suzi's to drop our pic off for the forum album. No forumers again but we were probably a bit early this time. Sami & Suzi are really hospitable people who seem to love us forumites! For those of you who don't know Sami & Suzi's it's just a small place on Kuta beach which sells drinks, you know like the sellers with their eskys. It has become a meeting place for people who use the Bali Travel Forum.
Finally caught up with Pam from the Bali Street Animal Fund, she called me back after many messages I'd left on her phone, she is such a busy lady! As we leave tomorrow time has run out to actually go visit her at the shelter but I am lucky enough to talk to her on the phone for a good hour or so, and this lady sure can talk! Firstly I want to say Pams dedication in helping the street animals of Bali truly is amazing! She has a heart of gold and puts the welfare of the dogs before anything else. Pam runs the feeding programme for the fund which requires her to cook up large quantities of food every day which then goes to her off sider "Herman" who is a Javanese guy with a great love of dogs believe it or not. He gets on his motorbike everyday at 4pm with container loads of food and feeds as many stray dogs as possible. I left my 20kg at reception which she picked up later that day but unfortunatley I was not at the hotel when she came to collect it. Pam is so grateful for anyone who brings over food so if your heading over and have spare room in your suitcase some dog food would be much appreciated by her and especially the dogs!
As well as feeding Pam also organizes vets to desex as much as she can. If volunteer vets are short it makes this task hard but she still then does her best with a few local vets who offer their service at a low fee. I was shocked to learn that for each female desexed that reduces 150,000 puppies and that's just for 1 dog! So this whole desexing idea is working really well and I believe it's the only way to truly improve the situation. Pam also provides medical attention and protection for the many dogs who need it. At one time she is known to have up to 50 dogs in her home, not in cages either they are quite welcome to make themselves comfortable in her home wherever they so wish. Now that is dedication!
When Pam isn't cooking, feeding and treating dogs she is out in the schools of Bali volunteering her time and services in education the children about love, care and respect of animals, something every local needs to learn about but weather they take any notice or not is a different story. Pam's doing everything possible in her power to help these poor creatures and she's doing so well. She has really bad days when animals are lost due to sickness which is heartbreaking but she also has many good days when she can save them too so guess those kinda days make it all worth while. She has such a huge job on her hands although she still manages to shine through. She really does have a heart of gold and I will continue to help her in anyway I can and hope others will too :-)
2 of our dear Indonesian friends come to visit at the hotel this afternoon, husband, wife and baby daughter. She is now 1 years old and last time we seen her she was 6 months. Gee kids grow up fast don't they, too fast. She as beautiful as ever and so quite and well behaved like most of the kids in Bali seem to be. We give her some toys and she cries at first, seems to be scared of them! Guess she's not real familiar with toys. After about half an hour she gets a little more daring and proceeds to play with them, then the smiles and giggles start coming, they were worth a million dollars to see her happiness! One of the things we brought her were bubbles as many people suggest these for the local kids and she loved them. A bit of talking and heaps of photos later and it's time to say goodbyes once again. We see them off in the lobby and they hop on their motorbike baby and all.
Now it's time to hit the clubs of Kuta for the very last time :-( night starts off rather dreary as we know this is the last time we'll be able to do this in quite a while. but we make sure it's a big night as we want to go out in style! Kazza comes out tonight as well to party hard since it's our last night. Bounty first for the warm up then onto Peanuts. Met some cool aussie girls there, it was there last night too so we were all in the full swing of things. Stayed at Peanuts for hours and then started walking down to Paddys. On the way I came across this dog curled up sleeping on the street with no one at all to care for him in site. I'd seen this particular dog a few times at night and he was in terrible condition with very little fur left. Anyway I knealt down to him to share a few kind words, well the poor thing slowly lifted his head up and looked at me in the eye with the saddest face I'd ever seen. Well the tears started coming and all as I could do was get up and walk away. I was really upset now, just the thing I didn't need to top off our last night - NOT! Had a quick look in Paddys and went home rather early. Something about this dog really got to me and I will never ever forget that sad look on his face. The last night in Bali is always depressing enough without that happening too. Well we kept our rule of partying every night, still don't know how we survived it but we did and I can't wait to do it all again next trip!
DAY 15
Not a good day at all, the holiday is almost over and we have to get on that plane bound for Oz tonight. Run around today doing a few last minute things such as picking up shopping and stuff. Also picked up some photos we'd put in to be developed only to be told our film had got stuck in the machine which means only a few turned out. Aaaaaargh, so angry but nothing we an do as the film was totally ruined with no chance of saviour. Sad a few more goodbyes to our friends on the streets and in shops etc.
The time I always dread arrived, packing the bags! Took me hours and hours to get it all together, not that I'd brought a lot but because I was so depressed about leaving. In the end it all just got chucked in literally and the zip just squeezed shut, the bags are buldging and the clothes inside are screwed up but guess it don't matter anymore as back to work uniforms tomorrow!
Wayan insist he comes to see me off at the airport but I decide against it, airport goodbyes are the worse and if he was to come I don't think I would of got on the plane! So after a while he understands (I think) and we say our goodbyes at the hotel, heaps of hugs and tears later and he's gone perhaps never to be seen again. I never intended to begin a relationship with someone before I came but it just happened. Guess now it's a matter of emailing and hopefully meeting up next trip. I know what some of these guys who frequent the clubs of Kuta are like so I'm a fool for getting as involved as I did. Oh well too late now, I mean it started off light heartedly but didn't quite end up that way! But I do refuse to be one of these women who walk around with the rosie coloured glasses and believing those all famous words "I love you and am just waiting for you".
Kazza comes around to spend the last hour or so with us in the room, she's feeling really sad also that we are leaving as once we go she has no one else except her boyfriend of course. She is happy living in Bali but also misses her aussie friends dearly. After all she lives and works with Indonesians, in her face very hour of the day and it tends to get to her sometimes. The locals are top people and all but after a while I think they'd send you a little crazy. Man they've sent me a bit crazy and it's only been 2 weeks, it's a good crazy though!
6pm comes around before we know it and it's time to check out of the room as our transfer bus is awaiting. I have never walked through the hotel so slow in all my life! Kazza comes to the airport with us and her boyfriend meets us there later. Don't you just hate that hanging around departures at Denpasar airport, such a long depressing couple of hours wait! Our plane is running late so more time to wait, just hoping some miracle happens and we don't have to board the plane, wishful thinking aye! Planes due to leave in about 1 hour so think it's about time we headed inside. Mum and I both hug Kazza and all three of us in tears, her boyfriend standing there thinking we're probably all mad or something.
Sit in the boarding lounge for ages feeling sorry for myself. I look around and everyone is talking and smiling about their time in paradise. I don't know how they can be looking so happy after all they are leaving, I'm sitting there with such a long face not wanting to speak to anyone! Our boarding call comes over the PA, the last bit of Indonesian accent I'll be hearing in a long time. The airport men standing at the plane door waving passengers onto the plane is especially depressing, I can hardly even look at them without crying! I'm also thinking of the "leaving on a jet plane" song which certainly doesn't make the task any easier!
Plane trip home was terrible, not the actual flight but the feelings off leaving that come with it! As soon as I boarded the blanket went over my head and no one heard boo out of me until we landed in Sydney. Then the only boo I made was a grumble about being back in Oz after 2 unforgettable weeks in Bali, the island of magic! We had to fly via Sydney as there were no seats available direct to Brisbane. Due to the plane running late from Denapsar we missed our connecting flight back up to Brisbane. Just great, a few more hours of hanging around! But luckily we got rescheduled on a flight to Coolongatta which saved us the long transfer ride down to the Gold Coast. Landed at Coolongatta and what a kick in the guts that was, holiday over and back to the boring reality of every day life. The only thing worth coming back here for was to see my beautiful dog and cat again. I think my cat will be purring for a month and the dog wagging her tail for a month! Back to saving now ready for the next trip although not sure when it will be but the sooner the better!
FOLLOW UP - "ROCKY" THE BALI DOG
I have some great follow up news on the dog I came across that last night in Bali. When I returned to Oz I emailed Pam from the Bali Street Animal fund and told her about him and asked if there was anyway she could help. Well she emailed back and said sure she'd help, as you could imagine I was over the moon! Well since then he's had many injections to cure his mange and now his hair has all grown back, he no longer has those sad big eyes. Just goes to show you a little love and care can go a long way and without the foundation in Bali many dogs such as this would be left for dead. I can't wait to go back, walk down Legian street and see his brand new look, a moment not to be missed!
Showing posts with label Indonesia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Indonesia. Show all posts
Sunday, June 1, 2008
15 days in Kuta, Bali
INTRODUCTION
Following is a day to day just back report of my last trip to Bali which took place in October/November. We stayed 14 wonderful nights so it is rather long! I travelled over with my mother (who's as big a party animal as I am! )and we met up with 6 good friends from Perth in Bali. This was my 11th trip to Bali and it was a kick back, relax, catching up with friends, party kinda holiday. You will find I didn't do any tours and stayed in Kuta for the whole trip (I did venture out a couple of days though) as I have already travelled majority of the island and decided to have a different style of holiday this time. Each holiday brings different things for different people. I have written about general everyday stuff plus heaps of nightlife, although some things you may find of help. Anyway hope you enjoy reading about my adventures................
DAY 1
Woke up this morning at 2am with that wonderful feeling knowing I'm heading to Bali after what feels like a lifetime although it has only been 5 months. Mum and I chucked our last minute things in our suitcases and we were ready, complete with 20kg of dog food for the Bali Street Animal Foundation. Ansett wavered the excess weight fee for us as the goods were for donation to charity. Transfer bus arrives on time which was such a relief being so early in the morning and all. Flew out from Brisbane airport with Ansett, a quick stop over in Sydney and just enough time to buy some duty free alcohol then boarded the plane bound for Denpasar just in the nick of time. Wow what a feeling being on that plane and knowing all the excitement of Bali is at the other end! The flights were ok although I must say Ansetts service has gone downhill. It was a matter of waiting for a drink for ages. I'm not talking just alcohol, any beverages or anything really. They just appeared very slack but then again who cares because I was on my way to Bali!
6 hours later and the plane touches down at Denpasar airport, so great to get off and be able to light a ciggy straight away, such a smoker friendly country! Breezed through immigration and time to collect the luggage. Surprise, surprise no porters approached us at all and just at the time we needed them! Declared our duty free alcohol at customs, we had 3 bottles between us which means 1 bottle in total over the limit. The customs guy made us pay a $10 "fine" which of course we all know goes straight in his pocket. He even goes to the trouble of taking us into a little room to try and make it look "official". I mean as if we didn't know he was scamming us! $10 well spent though I reckon, better than not being able to bring it in at all. There was no dramas with the dog food at all. One local asked what it was, he thought it was peanuts for the monkeys!
So out we walked into the lovely Bali heat. We're greeted by my aussie friend Kazza who lives in Bali, boy was she happy to see us. She even made up her own little sign with our names written on it and a big "welcome to Bali"! Into a taxi we hopped direct to Barong Hotel, Poppies Lane 2 Kuta. Greeted there by our 6 friends from Perth who had already arrived, Jen & Phill, Gill & Rick, Mandy & Tom. By now I'm so excited and haven't even left the hotel yet! Checked in with no probs, go the room we booked and everything which is a shock considering every other stay at Barong there has always been some kinda stuff up. Time to unpack which didn't take long at all, so keen to get out and into it all straight away.
So much for hitting the streets right away as we'd been in the room for about 1/2 hour when reception rings to say I've got a visitor! Went to the lobby to find my friend Wayan. He heard I'd just arrived so came to say hello, gee news travels fast in Bali! Hung around and chatted to him for a while then before long it was time to hit the town for the first big night out. Taxied to Bounty and seen Roo Ted (forumer) walking down JL Melasti, made a big spectacle yelling and screaming out the window at him, still don't know if he seen us or recognized us! Kazza came out too tonight, she hasn't been out in ages as I guess it's quite different when living there. Called into Bounty Bar which was really quiet, stayed for a few drinks then headed down to sling shot. No rides for us, just looking at all the action. It's $30 per person but they do give you a cheaper rate for multiple rides. We hit Paddys and couldn't believe how busy it was in there and therefore it was so hot! We had a reasonably early night tonight, so stuffed from all the travel and excitement.
DAY 2
Had a nice big sleep in then went for a walk down Benasari Lane. Brought a few nice photo frames for Rp20,000 each. Went to visit Kazza in her room. She rents a room in a complex, same as local living style and it's so cheap. Rp350,000 per month and it's a nice clean room right in Kuta, very basic and small but somewhere to lay the head! Also guess one would get used to the cold water only shower and the manual scoop flush style loo. I mean what could you expect for approx 70 aussie dollars a month!
Then we decided to go on the hunt for Sami & Suzi's (forum bar). If it wasn't for their hats with their names on them we never would of found the place. No forumers there this arvo, it was around 5pm so I'd say Roo Ted must of been caught up drinking Bintangs somewhere else! Snapped our pic ready for the forum album. Bob (forumer) invented this idea and it's a fantastic idea.....10 points for Bob!
Back to Barong we go and hang out with our friends from Perth for a while, so much to talk about. Met their hubbies and what a great bunch of guys! Went to Bounty again tonight and hit the UFO's which is a cocktail in the big fish bowl type of thing. It tastes like coconut and Arak, god only knows what else goes it contains! They are so yum and only cost Rp10,000 each and they are huge.
Caught our usual bemo guy friend to take us down to Paddys, he hangs right out the from of Bounty Bar and is always there each trip. It was much quieter at Paddys tonight which at least gives you some space to breath! A few Illusion Shakers later, some more dancing and it's time to head home after a huge night out. Ordered room service, pigged out then crashed out!
DAY 3
Woke up this morning with a hangover from hell, guess I got pretty used to that by the time the holiday ended! Psyched ourselves up to face the streets of Kuta in that hot burning sun, torturous at times but also heavenly. Shopped along Jl Legian today, brought a couple of those singlet dresses Rp20,000 each. They are so cool and comfortable, perfect for Bali. Checked out one of the Ulluwatu shops for some nice P.J's. Everything is expensive but the quality is fantastic. Handed over some money and they would not except one of mums Rp20,000 notes. It was the old reddish colour one. Although we found everywhere else excepted them so that was just a once off.
After a big shop called into Bagus Pub for a while. I love the food there, especially their Satay and Nasi Goreng. Although the loud telle with those blaring movies drives me crazy after a while. Guess not the place to go with a hangover or if you want to have a good chat! With a belly fully of delicious Indo food we hit the sack for an quick nap in preparation for tonight's partying.
The guys from Okie House next to Barong dropped us off at Bounty tonight. Nice bunch of guys and we've known them for years now. The whole crew came out tonight and we had a ball, dancing on the podium and all! Actually drank water from midnight on as I was still a bit seedy from the night before, gee I can't pike it this soon into the holiday! Off to Paddy's again, just chilled on a stool tonight. Kicked back and watched the action on the dance floor. Gee you see some funny sights when your sober enough to notice! Early night tonight, hopefully recharge my batteries for tomorrow. I'll be right in a few days, just warming up probably.
DAY 4
This morning we decide to head out to the Bali Street Dog Foundation to deliver some supplies and just pay a general visit. I have the address and give it to the taxi man who assures me he knows where he's going. We get to Sanur only to find out he really has no idea! He stops and asks many different people for directions and about an hour later we find it. I know it's the right place as I can hear barking dogs and lots of them! I open the gate to some really scary sounding dogs but get lead in there by some locals who tell me they will not bite. I ask for Ken & Sherry who run the fund but are told they are not here today. Back in the taxi we go very disappointed and making a point to ring first next time!
Time for a bit of Matahari Department Store shopping for some CD's, always stock up on the CD's in Bali. Have a good look around the the place, so easy to shop there with no hassle but the clothes etc are much more expensive than on the street, seem to be a totally different style too. We go down to the supermarket section and brought some beautiful fruit trays for about $1 each. Bali has so many different types of wonderful fruits to offer. Some the same as ours and some not, still can't believe the lemons as they are always green not yellow!
Back to the hotel and have our usual arvo chat and relax with Jen, Gill and Mandy, comparing what goodies we have brought. I never made it out to tootsies (set price shop at Sanur) whilst I was there but the others did and they said well worth the visit, they brought up big time!
We ordered some shoes a couple of days ago and they get delivered this arvo. Excellent as usual and cost about 25 aussie dollars. We always get our shoes made from Sito Leather 2 at Tuban through a guy named Sonny and the quality is always superb, their jackets are great too.
Tonight transport out again with the guys from Okie House. Notice how everyone in Bali seems to do transport even if it is not their job, people of many trades! Some of my step family hit the town tonight and so good to see them out enjoying themselves. Of course we buy them beers as I don't often get the opportunity to see them as they are Balinese living in Bali, we all had a good time.
Off to Paddy's again, always say we won't go there again but always end up there. Just can't drive past the place without sticking our heads in. The music is sooooo loud and the atmosphere is really happening here. So many tourists and from what I can see and hear most people would prefer Paddy's to Sari Club these days. Once again another day and night in Bali is over, time for some sleep.
DAY 5
After a nice big sleep in and some Nasi Goreng it's off to the beach we go. Had a really kick back relax kinda day which is always nice to do. Kuta beach still the same but with little less hassle from the sellers. It's amazing to sit back and watch all the planes coming and going over the beach. For a small island Denpasar airport is so busy! One plane comes and another plane goes, pretty much constantly. I sit there imaging how excited the people are landing and feeling sad for the people leaving, after all that will be me next week. I try not to think about that yet as we are still early in our trip.
We head down to our friends Kazza's room tonight for a few Bintangs as it's her boyfriends birthday. He isn't all that excited as birthday seem to be no big deal to the locals. It was nice though to spend some time with them and a great exuse to be consuming more Bintangs!
Bounty Bar tonight and the whole crew come out again, our friends from Perth are so much fun to go out with and we had another excellent night. Took heaps of pic's as well which are all great memories. We leave Bounty and down to Paddy's we go, just the usual drinking, dancing, laughing and meeting heaps of great people. We met some wonderful people of all ages from all over the world, every body is so friendly when holidaying in Bali, a bit different to at home when everyone is so busy with their everyday lives.
DAY 6
Big headache this morning, has to be that Arak, tastes nice at the time but the next day you pay for it, oh well it's all worth it as I never drink here so when in Bali the hair gets let down. I've certainly warmed up into things by now with many drunken party filled nights been and plenty more to come! Down to Internet Cafe, there are so many in Poppies 2, they are really popping up everywhere now. The going rate seems to be Rp 500 per minute which has gone up quite a bit from a few months ago when they were Rp150 per minute. I found a couple for Rp 300 a minute which seems to be the cheapest now. I was surprised though at how much the speed has picked up, I found the computers there to be faster than mine at home! That's great news as who wants to be stuck in an internet cafe for longer than you have to aye!
Went down to Bagus Pub for lunch, ordered some Chicken Satay which is so tasty, oh and their lemon squashes are the real thing the way we used to make them years ago. Bagus is always packed out, bar lined with mainly aussie men bearing there beer bellies and looking like lobsters. I'd say that is from their asses being practically cemented to the stools at their hotel pool bars, such a favourite pastime for some aussie guys. Well seems to be the case at Barong Hotel anyway! And no I'm not paying out on aussie men, good on them as you're in Bali to have fun!
Won't bore you all with tonight's episode as not much different at all, the same thing really and also by now I'm having big problems in recalling things. Good sign that I've neally been here for a week, everything starts becoming a bit blurry from all the big nights out! I'm sure all of you that go on drinking holidays can relate to this!
Following is a day to day just back report of my last trip to Bali which took place in October/November. We stayed 14 wonderful nights so it is rather long! I travelled over with my mother (who's as big a party animal as I am! )and we met up with 6 good friends from Perth in Bali. This was my 11th trip to Bali and it was a kick back, relax, catching up with friends, party kinda holiday. You will find I didn't do any tours and stayed in Kuta for the whole trip (I did venture out a couple of days though) as I have already travelled majority of the island and decided to have a different style of holiday this time. Each holiday brings different things for different people. I have written about general everyday stuff plus heaps of nightlife, although some things you may find of help. Anyway hope you enjoy reading about my adventures................
DAY 1
Woke up this morning at 2am with that wonderful feeling knowing I'm heading to Bali after what feels like a lifetime although it has only been 5 months. Mum and I chucked our last minute things in our suitcases and we were ready, complete with 20kg of dog food for the Bali Street Animal Foundation. Ansett wavered the excess weight fee for us as the goods were for donation to charity. Transfer bus arrives on time which was such a relief being so early in the morning and all. Flew out from Brisbane airport with Ansett, a quick stop over in Sydney and just enough time to buy some duty free alcohol then boarded the plane bound for Denpasar just in the nick of time. Wow what a feeling being on that plane and knowing all the excitement of Bali is at the other end! The flights were ok although I must say Ansetts service has gone downhill. It was a matter of waiting for a drink for ages. I'm not talking just alcohol, any beverages or anything really. They just appeared very slack but then again who cares because I was on my way to Bali!
6 hours later and the plane touches down at Denpasar airport, so great to get off and be able to light a ciggy straight away, such a smoker friendly country! Breezed through immigration and time to collect the luggage. Surprise, surprise no porters approached us at all and just at the time we needed them! Declared our duty free alcohol at customs, we had 3 bottles between us which means 1 bottle in total over the limit. The customs guy made us pay a $10 "fine" which of course we all know goes straight in his pocket. He even goes to the trouble of taking us into a little room to try and make it look "official". I mean as if we didn't know he was scamming us! $10 well spent though I reckon, better than not being able to bring it in at all. There was no dramas with the dog food at all. One local asked what it was, he thought it was peanuts for the monkeys!
So out we walked into the lovely Bali heat. We're greeted by my aussie friend Kazza who lives in Bali, boy was she happy to see us. She even made up her own little sign with our names written on it and a big "welcome to Bali"! Into a taxi we hopped direct to Barong Hotel, Poppies Lane 2 Kuta. Greeted there by our 6 friends from Perth who had already arrived, Jen & Phill, Gill & Rick, Mandy & Tom. By now I'm so excited and haven't even left the hotel yet! Checked in with no probs, go the room we booked and everything which is a shock considering every other stay at Barong there has always been some kinda stuff up. Time to unpack which didn't take long at all, so keen to get out and into it all straight away.
So much for hitting the streets right away as we'd been in the room for about 1/2 hour when reception rings to say I've got a visitor! Went to the lobby to find my friend Wayan. He heard I'd just arrived so came to say hello, gee news travels fast in Bali! Hung around and chatted to him for a while then before long it was time to hit the town for the first big night out. Taxied to Bounty and seen Roo Ted (forumer) walking down JL Melasti, made a big spectacle yelling and screaming out the window at him, still don't know if he seen us or recognized us! Kazza came out too tonight, she hasn't been out in ages as I guess it's quite different when living there. Called into Bounty Bar which was really quiet, stayed for a few drinks then headed down to sling shot. No rides for us, just looking at all the action. It's $30 per person but they do give you a cheaper rate for multiple rides. We hit Paddys and couldn't believe how busy it was in there and therefore it was so hot! We had a reasonably early night tonight, so stuffed from all the travel and excitement.
DAY 2
Had a nice big sleep in then went for a walk down Benasari Lane. Brought a few nice photo frames for Rp20,000 each. Went to visit Kazza in her room. She rents a room in a complex, same as local living style and it's so cheap. Rp350,000 per month and it's a nice clean room right in Kuta, very basic and small but somewhere to lay the head! Also guess one would get used to the cold water only shower and the manual scoop flush style loo. I mean what could you expect for approx 70 aussie dollars a month!
Then we decided to go on the hunt for Sami & Suzi's (forum bar). If it wasn't for their hats with their names on them we never would of found the place. No forumers there this arvo, it was around 5pm so I'd say Roo Ted must of been caught up drinking Bintangs somewhere else! Snapped our pic ready for the forum album. Bob (forumer) invented this idea and it's a fantastic idea.....10 points for Bob!
Back to Barong we go and hang out with our friends from Perth for a while, so much to talk about. Met their hubbies and what a great bunch of guys! Went to Bounty again tonight and hit the UFO's which is a cocktail in the big fish bowl type of thing. It tastes like coconut and Arak, god only knows what else goes it contains! They are so yum and only cost Rp10,000 each and they are huge.
Caught our usual bemo guy friend to take us down to Paddys, he hangs right out the from of Bounty Bar and is always there each trip. It was much quieter at Paddys tonight which at least gives you some space to breath! A few Illusion Shakers later, some more dancing and it's time to head home after a huge night out. Ordered room service, pigged out then crashed out!
DAY 3
Woke up this morning with a hangover from hell, guess I got pretty used to that by the time the holiday ended! Psyched ourselves up to face the streets of Kuta in that hot burning sun, torturous at times but also heavenly. Shopped along Jl Legian today, brought a couple of those singlet dresses Rp20,000 each. They are so cool and comfortable, perfect for Bali. Checked out one of the Ulluwatu shops for some nice P.J's. Everything is expensive but the quality is fantastic. Handed over some money and they would not except one of mums Rp20,000 notes. It was the old reddish colour one. Although we found everywhere else excepted them so that was just a once off.
After a big shop called into Bagus Pub for a while. I love the food there, especially their Satay and Nasi Goreng. Although the loud telle with those blaring movies drives me crazy after a while. Guess not the place to go with a hangover or if you want to have a good chat! With a belly fully of delicious Indo food we hit the sack for an quick nap in preparation for tonight's partying.
The guys from Okie House next to Barong dropped us off at Bounty tonight. Nice bunch of guys and we've known them for years now. The whole crew came out tonight and we had a ball, dancing on the podium and all! Actually drank water from midnight on as I was still a bit seedy from the night before, gee I can't pike it this soon into the holiday! Off to Paddy's again, just chilled on a stool tonight. Kicked back and watched the action on the dance floor. Gee you see some funny sights when your sober enough to notice! Early night tonight, hopefully recharge my batteries for tomorrow. I'll be right in a few days, just warming up probably.
DAY 4
This morning we decide to head out to the Bali Street Dog Foundation to deliver some supplies and just pay a general visit. I have the address and give it to the taxi man who assures me he knows where he's going. We get to Sanur only to find out he really has no idea! He stops and asks many different people for directions and about an hour later we find it. I know it's the right place as I can hear barking dogs and lots of them! I open the gate to some really scary sounding dogs but get lead in there by some locals who tell me they will not bite. I ask for Ken & Sherry who run the fund but are told they are not here today. Back in the taxi we go very disappointed and making a point to ring first next time!
Time for a bit of Matahari Department Store shopping for some CD's, always stock up on the CD's in Bali. Have a good look around the the place, so easy to shop there with no hassle but the clothes etc are much more expensive than on the street, seem to be a totally different style too. We go down to the supermarket section and brought some beautiful fruit trays for about $1 each. Bali has so many different types of wonderful fruits to offer. Some the same as ours and some not, still can't believe the lemons as they are always green not yellow!
Back to the hotel and have our usual arvo chat and relax with Jen, Gill and Mandy, comparing what goodies we have brought. I never made it out to tootsies (set price shop at Sanur) whilst I was there but the others did and they said well worth the visit, they brought up big time!
We ordered some shoes a couple of days ago and they get delivered this arvo. Excellent as usual and cost about 25 aussie dollars. We always get our shoes made from Sito Leather 2 at Tuban through a guy named Sonny and the quality is always superb, their jackets are great too.
Tonight transport out again with the guys from Okie House. Notice how everyone in Bali seems to do transport even if it is not their job, people of many trades! Some of my step family hit the town tonight and so good to see them out enjoying themselves. Of course we buy them beers as I don't often get the opportunity to see them as they are Balinese living in Bali, we all had a good time.
Off to Paddy's again, always say we won't go there again but always end up there. Just can't drive past the place without sticking our heads in. The music is sooooo loud and the atmosphere is really happening here. So many tourists and from what I can see and hear most people would prefer Paddy's to Sari Club these days. Once again another day and night in Bali is over, time for some sleep.
DAY 5
After a nice big sleep in and some Nasi Goreng it's off to the beach we go. Had a really kick back relax kinda day which is always nice to do. Kuta beach still the same but with little less hassle from the sellers. It's amazing to sit back and watch all the planes coming and going over the beach. For a small island Denpasar airport is so busy! One plane comes and another plane goes, pretty much constantly. I sit there imaging how excited the people are landing and feeling sad for the people leaving, after all that will be me next week. I try not to think about that yet as we are still early in our trip.
We head down to our friends Kazza's room tonight for a few Bintangs as it's her boyfriends birthday. He isn't all that excited as birthday seem to be no big deal to the locals. It was nice though to spend some time with them and a great exuse to be consuming more Bintangs!
Bounty Bar tonight and the whole crew come out again, our friends from Perth are so much fun to go out with and we had another excellent night. Took heaps of pic's as well which are all great memories. We leave Bounty and down to Paddy's we go, just the usual drinking, dancing, laughing and meeting heaps of great people. We met some wonderful people of all ages from all over the world, every body is so friendly when holidaying in Bali, a bit different to at home when everyone is so busy with their everyday lives.
DAY 6
Big headache this morning, has to be that Arak, tastes nice at the time but the next day you pay for it, oh well it's all worth it as I never drink here so when in Bali the hair gets let down. I've certainly warmed up into things by now with many drunken party filled nights been and plenty more to come! Down to Internet Cafe, there are so many in Poppies 2, they are really popping up everywhere now. The going rate seems to be Rp 500 per minute which has gone up quite a bit from a few months ago when they were Rp150 per minute. I found a couple for Rp 300 a minute which seems to be the cheapest now. I was surprised though at how much the speed has picked up, I found the computers there to be faster than mine at home! That's great news as who wants to be stuck in an internet cafe for longer than you have to aye!
Went down to Bagus Pub for lunch, ordered some Chicken Satay which is so tasty, oh and their lemon squashes are the real thing the way we used to make them years ago. Bagus is always packed out, bar lined with mainly aussie men bearing there beer bellies and looking like lobsters. I'd say that is from their asses being practically cemented to the stools at their hotel pool bars, such a favourite pastime for some aussie guys. Well seems to be the case at Barong Hotel anyway! And no I'm not paying out on aussie men, good on them as you're in Bali to have fun!
Won't bore you all with tonight's episode as not much different at all, the same thing really and also by now I'm having big problems in recalling things. Good sign that I've neally been here for a week, everything starts becoming a bit blurry from all the big nights out! I'm sure all of you that go on drinking holidays can relate to this!
7 Days in Bali (Day 7)
Day 8 in Bali, Going Home
Wayansu was usually the first in the street to open her shop. At 7am, when I went to the hotel lobby to settle my account, I could see her across the road just emerging from the lane at the side of her establishment. With hair pulled back tightly from her craggy face, she peered up and down the street and then into the hotel driveway, eagerly searching out her first customers. She swept the front of the shop absentmindedly with a straw broom while her eyes scanned her surroundings, and then she spotted me and waved. It was more a beckoning wave than a greeting, performed with palm downward and fingers moving in a digging action. No doubt another bedspread had been discovered among her network of connections. I replied with a wave of greeting, pretending that I interpreted her gesture as a "Good morning" rather than a "Come buy".
Then on to breakfast and an eggless start to the day. I was feeling guilty about the quantity of cholesterol I had pumped into my system over the last seven days. Not only did each day begin with an "egg any style", but each nasi goreng came with an obligatory egg on top. Tana was right. There is some kind of ineluctable association between Bali and chickens. Not only does the island look like one, but its inhabitants appear to live on fowl and their produce. So it was toast and runny strawberry jam today, as a kind of rite-of-passage for my imminent return to a non-Balinese cuisine.
After breakfast I strolled along the street doing a final inspection of the shops to see whether they had anything that might attract my remaining rupiah. It was also an opportunity to say some goodbyes. There were sad farewells to Dini and Rika and the boys next door who processed all of my film. The hairdresser, who never gave up trying to entice me into her empty salon for a haircut, manicure or scalp massage. Tommy and Forrest, the tailors, were not around, and neither was, I regret to say, the irrepressible Wayansu who had gone off to perform some religious or filial duty. The young man in the leather shop relieved me of some of my rupiah by selling me a couple of belts. And then it was time to go.
Rooster at PacungThe bus to the airport contained other travellers. A pair of young women sported badges of a Bali holiday - braided hair and deep brown tans. They were laden with bags of purchases to take back. I hope they weren't taking anything else back because their muted conversation contained tittered references to the boys on the beach. A family group sat stony-faced, looking a little numbed by their Balinese experience. Their children were braided and looked happy enough, but mother and father wore expressions that suggested their break had not been the best thing to have ever happened to them.
We tumbled out of the bus at Ngurah Rai (it is not possible to exit from one of these wretched tourist vans in a dignified way), beat off the porters, and made our way through baggage x-ray, seat allocation and immigration to await the flight. I recalled my first trip to Bali in 1982 when a policeman at the x-ray machine demanded that I gave him money ("you give me Australian dollar") before he would return my luggage. I had refused without, I am pleased to say, suffering any mischief to my person. No such demands were made of us here and the process was quite orderly.
Yeh Panes shrineThe escalator down to the Qantas Club was still broken. It was broken on my last visit a year ago and I had the feeling that it was broken on the trip before that as well. Come to think of it, I don't recall ever riding on it, so it may be that it has not worked since it was installed.
We were eventually ushered aboard the 767 where I took up the window seat in 26J. I propped a pillow against the bulkhead and prepared to take a homeward nap, thinking back over my week away. My reverie was rudely interrupted by a young woman who looked for all the world like Kylie's sister. She stood in the aisle before me, hands on hips, and gave me a terrible glare. "You're in moi seat mite!" she said sharply. I timidly showed her my boarding pass, on which was clearly imprinted 26J, and told her in the politest terms that she was mistaken. She responded by producing her boarding pass which was also stamped 26J. She then proceeded to ignore me altogether and bailed up a passing steward, demanding that he remove me from my seat and place her in it. She was apparently unfazed by the imprint on my boarding pass and believed that her age, gender or race gave her a superior claim to my seat. I felt like informing her of the old adage that possession is nine tenths of the law, but her manifest anger dissuaded me.
To my relief the steward declined to move me, muttering something about a "stuff up" (an observation that seemed self-evident to me) as he took Kylie's sister to the back of the plane. I fantasised that she had been bundled out of the rear door or, at least, placed in a seat-for-difficult-passengers equipped with an ejection device. In any case, I didn't see her again.
I was joined by another woman who, it transpired, had also been double-booked in a seat at the rear. This was probably the seat that Kylie's sister now occupied. We both said elitist things to the steward about being members of the Qantas Club and never having been treated like this, but Yeh Panes bungalowhe was unmoved. He probably only half-heard us as his attention became focused on the agitated conversations that were breaking out between cabin crew and passengers elsewhere. It seemed that the double-booking stuff up had spread to other passengers as well.
People were waving boarding passes at desperate staff and for a moment it crossed my mind that the entire flight might have to be aborted. It took about ten minutes for calm to be restored. Somehow, the staff managed to seat people in seats that they were, more or less, happy with. I found this deeply worrying. Although I travel a lot, I confess to being an unhappy air traveller, and anything that suggests a malfunction usually makes me want to get out and walk. How can a computer at check-in allow two people to be allocated the same seat? If this is how good the computer system is on the ground, how well does it work in the air? These feelings were counterbalanced by the desire now to go home, so I put the seat fiasco out of my mind and settled back for the flight, confident that I would be able to resist any further attack on my occupation of 26J.
As we taxied I looked out of the window, trying to drink in the last sights of the island. Not that there is much of scenic value at Ngurah Rai Airport, but the thick undergrowth on the south side of the runway reminded me vaguely of our journeys to Batur and Batukau . We took off to the west, Kuta beach shrinking below the wing as we climbed steeply towards the clouds. In a few minutes we were in the clouds and our view of Bali was gone. There was a dense cloud layer over the ocean today, unlike the trip up when the speckled white waves of the Indian Ocean had been visible most of the way. The pilot threaded his way through the tropical turbulence until we reached 39,000 feet where the air was smooth and the sky above us a rich cobalt. We were now closer to the edge of outer space than the inner space of the volcanoes of Bali. The rolling green ricefields were replaced by a brilliant white layer of cloud. Small balls of cumulus bubbled through the surface of the layer, the whole cloud field stretching out to the horizon without a break.
Lunch was followed by slumber. I was woken by slight ripples of turbulence that signalled our arrival at the Australian coast. The clouds had gone and far below us I could make out the red-brown of Barrow Island and the tidal Rice threshers near Tabananflats of Onslow. A couple behind me came to life as we crossed the coast. Or, at least, she came to life but I can't vouch for her partner. The remainder of the journey was accompanied by a running commentary from her about where we were. She tracked us all the way to Perth - Onslow, Exmouth, Shark Bay, Geraldton... Each landmark was pointed out to her partner, who remained silent throughout the monologue.
When we descended to 8,000 ft, the splashes of purple across the landscape told us that we were near Perth where jacaranda trees were in flower. A little lower and the spaces between the jacaranda were punctuated by the yellow of Australian Christmas tree. You could now make out the orderly pattern of suburbs, parks and streets. The woman behind me became even more excited as she claimed to recognise her son's house, and the announcement of this even evoked a grunt from her partner. And then we had landed.
There was the usual rush to grab duty free liquor when we arrived. Some poor soul brought down an entire shelf of Johnny Walker with a hell of a crash and a resultant stink. A customs officer asked me a few vague questions, and that was that. It was all over for another year. It only remained now to go home, distribute the booty and plan the next trip.
Wayansu was usually the first in the street to open her shop. At 7am, when I went to the hotel lobby to settle my account, I could see her across the road just emerging from the lane at the side of her establishment. With hair pulled back tightly from her craggy face, she peered up and down the street and then into the hotel driveway, eagerly searching out her first customers. She swept the front of the shop absentmindedly with a straw broom while her eyes scanned her surroundings, and then she spotted me and waved. It was more a beckoning wave than a greeting, performed with palm downward and fingers moving in a digging action. No doubt another bedspread had been discovered among her network of connections. I replied with a wave of greeting, pretending that I interpreted her gesture as a "Good morning" rather than a "Come buy".
Then on to breakfast and an eggless start to the day. I was feeling guilty about the quantity of cholesterol I had pumped into my system over the last seven days. Not only did each day begin with an "egg any style", but each nasi goreng came with an obligatory egg on top. Tana was right. There is some kind of ineluctable association between Bali and chickens. Not only does the island look like one, but its inhabitants appear to live on fowl and their produce. So it was toast and runny strawberry jam today, as a kind of rite-of-passage for my imminent return to a non-Balinese cuisine.
After breakfast I strolled along the street doing a final inspection of the shops to see whether they had anything that might attract my remaining rupiah. It was also an opportunity to say some goodbyes. There were sad farewells to Dini and Rika and the boys next door who processed all of my film. The hairdresser, who never gave up trying to entice me into her empty salon for a haircut, manicure or scalp massage. Tommy and Forrest, the tailors, were not around, and neither was, I regret to say, the irrepressible Wayansu who had gone off to perform some religious or filial duty. The young man in the leather shop relieved me of some of my rupiah by selling me a couple of belts. And then it was time to go.
Rooster at PacungThe bus to the airport contained other travellers. A pair of young women sported badges of a Bali holiday - braided hair and deep brown tans. They were laden with bags of purchases to take back. I hope they weren't taking anything else back because their muted conversation contained tittered references to the boys on the beach. A family group sat stony-faced, looking a little numbed by their Balinese experience. Their children were braided and looked happy enough, but mother and father wore expressions that suggested their break had not been the best thing to have ever happened to them.
We tumbled out of the bus at Ngurah Rai (it is not possible to exit from one of these wretched tourist vans in a dignified way), beat off the porters, and made our way through baggage x-ray, seat allocation and immigration to await the flight. I recalled my first trip to Bali in 1982 when a policeman at the x-ray machine demanded that I gave him money ("you give me Australian dollar") before he would return my luggage. I had refused without, I am pleased to say, suffering any mischief to my person. No such demands were made of us here and the process was quite orderly.
Yeh Panes shrineThe escalator down to the Qantas Club was still broken. It was broken on my last visit a year ago and I had the feeling that it was broken on the trip before that as well. Come to think of it, I don't recall ever riding on it, so it may be that it has not worked since it was installed.
We were eventually ushered aboard the 767 where I took up the window seat in 26J. I propped a pillow against the bulkhead and prepared to take a homeward nap, thinking back over my week away. My reverie was rudely interrupted by a young woman who looked for all the world like Kylie's sister. She stood in the aisle before me, hands on hips, and gave me a terrible glare. "You're in moi seat mite!" she said sharply. I timidly showed her my boarding pass, on which was clearly imprinted 26J, and told her in the politest terms that she was mistaken. She responded by producing her boarding pass which was also stamped 26J. She then proceeded to ignore me altogether and bailed up a passing steward, demanding that he remove me from my seat and place her in it. She was apparently unfazed by the imprint on my boarding pass and believed that her age, gender or race gave her a superior claim to my seat. I felt like informing her of the old adage that possession is nine tenths of the law, but her manifest anger dissuaded me.
To my relief the steward declined to move me, muttering something about a "stuff up" (an observation that seemed self-evident to me) as he took Kylie's sister to the back of the plane. I fantasised that she had been bundled out of the rear door or, at least, placed in a seat-for-difficult-passengers equipped with an ejection device. In any case, I didn't see her again.
I was joined by another woman who, it transpired, had also been double-booked in a seat at the rear. This was probably the seat that Kylie's sister now occupied. We both said elitist things to the steward about being members of the Qantas Club and never having been treated like this, but Yeh Panes bungalowhe was unmoved. He probably only half-heard us as his attention became focused on the agitated conversations that were breaking out between cabin crew and passengers elsewhere. It seemed that the double-booking stuff up had spread to other passengers as well.
People were waving boarding passes at desperate staff and for a moment it crossed my mind that the entire flight might have to be aborted. It took about ten minutes for calm to be restored. Somehow, the staff managed to seat people in seats that they were, more or less, happy with. I found this deeply worrying. Although I travel a lot, I confess to being an unhappy air traveller, and anything that suggests a malfunction usually makes me want to get out and walk. How can a computer at check-in allow two people to be allocated the same seat? If this is how good the computer system is on the ground, how well does it work in the air? These feelings were counterbalanced by the desire now to go home, so I put the seat fiasco out of my mind and settled back for the flight, confident that I would be able to resist any further attack on my occupation of 26J.
As we taxied I looked out of the window, trying to drink in the last sights of the island. Not that there is much of scenic value at Ngurah Rai Airport, but the thick undergrowth on the south side of the runway reminded me vaguely of our journeys to Batur and Batukau . We took off to the west, Kuta beach shrinking below the wing as we climbed steeply towards the clouds. In a few minutes we were in the clouds and our view of Bali was gone. There was a dense cloud layer over the ocean today, unlike the trip up when the speckled white waves of the Indian Ocean had been visible most of the way. The pilot threaded his way through the tropical turbulence until we reached 39,000 feet where the air was smooth and the sky above us a rich cobalt. We were now closer to the edge of outer space than the inner space of the volcanoes of Bali. The rolling green ricefields were replaced by a brilliant white layer of cloud. Small balls of cumulus bubbled through the surface of the layer, the whole cloud field stretching out to the horizon without a break.
Lunch was followed by slumber. I was woken by slight ripples of turbulence that signalled our arrival at the Australian coast. The clouds had gone and far below us I could make out the red-brown of Barrow Island and the tidal Rice threshers near Tabananflats of Onslow. A couple behind me came to life as we crossed the coast. Or, at least, she came to life but I can't vouch for her partner. The remainder of the journey was accompanied by a running commentary from her about where we were. She tracked us all the way to Perth - Onslow, Exmouth, Shark Bay, Geraldton... Each landmark was pointed out to her partner, who remained silent throughout the monologue.
When we descended to 8,000 ft, the splashes of purple across the landscape told us that we were near Perth where jacaranda trees were in flower. A little lower and the spaces between the jacaranda were punctuated by the yellow of Australian Christmas tree. You could now make out the orderly pattern of suburbs, parks and streets. The woman behind me became even more excited as she claimed to recognise her son's house, and the announcement of this even evoked a grunt from her partner. And then we had landed.
There was the usual rush to grab duty free liquor when we arrived. Some poor soul brought down an entire shelf of Johnny Walker with a hell of a crash and a resultant stink. A customs officer asked me a few vague questions, and that was that. It was all over for another year. It only remained now to go home, distribute the booty and plan the next trip.
7 Days in Bali (Day 6)
Day 7 in Bali
Some people report problems with the monkey forest at Alas Kedaton. Perhaps I was simply fortunate, but I did not have problems there with monkeys or people. In eight visits to Bali, I had not been to any of the monkey forests and I determined on my last full day to experience one. I had been well and truly warned off Sangeh, where monkeys were said to be aggressive and I did not want to go home with a bite or two.
The word on the street was that Kedaton was the place to go, so I hired a driver for 60,000rp and set off in the morning with a fresh roll of film to photograph the place and its inhabitants. Alas Kedaton is, a short distance north of the village of Kukuh, hardly an hour's drive from Kuta. Kedaton is a sacred forest, within which there is a smallish, uninspiring temple which is home to a troop of Balinese monkeys. We were told that there were about 700 of them (several distinct families) living in the forest around the temple. They are grey and brown Macaques, relatives of the Rhesus monkey. They live in the trees and forest floor, surviving on a rich variety of fruit and berries. Just as in the Hindu traditions of India, where Hanuman monkeys occupy an important place in religious tradition, so the Macaques are important in Balinese myth and ritual. Balinese dance is full of their images and monkeys are often central figures in sacred narrative. Here at Kedaton, the monkeys share the temple with the locals who now, in turn, share their knowledge of them with tourists.
Baby MacaqueThe entry charges at Kedaton are modest. 1,500rp to park your vehicle and 3,300rp per person to enter the temple and its surrounds. The latter is paid to the village council which maintains the site and manages the local merchants. And merchants abound, as they do at most Balinese tourist centres. There are rows and rows of shops, all identical to the kinds of shops you can find in the more developed centres like Kuta. Perhaps this is why the place has a reputation for aggressive shopkeepers because tourists are probably disinclined to buy the baubles and trinkets on offer here and the turnover may be slight. Someone should do a good marketing job on some of these places and persuade the shopkeepers to stock a different range of goodies.
Whether or not they stock the right merchandise, the shopkeepers have come up with an interesting way to spread the limited tourist rupiah. Each day, a certain number of shopkeepers take their turn in a roster to act as tourist guide. The deal is that a shopkeeper will take a tourist party in tow, show them around the establishment and then take them back to their shop with an expectation that they buy solely from them. The next day a different set of shopkeepers take their places on the roster. This SHOULD result in an equitable distribution of tourist income. The problem is that noone has asked the tourists whether they like this idea and this can lead to conflict when a tourist, post tour, refuses to buy or, worse still, ignores the guide's shop for another establishment.
I was shown around by a very pleasant young woman who carefully taught me how to approach the monkeys and warned me about inappropriate actions and gestures. Never pat or handle the monkeys, she advised, and just relax, let the monkeys come to you and even climb on you if they want to. So long as you don't move suddenly and don't react with aggression or fear, everything should be fine. And it was. We strolled around the periphery slowly, she holding a bag of corn that I had bought at a stall, handing me one or two pieces to attract the animals. I had the sense that she was constantly watching the monkeys, reading their demeanour for possible signs of misconduct. A couple of times she counselled me to avoid a particular beast or to step around a group (particularly mother and child) who might resent my approach.
PenglipuranHalf way around the temple we stopped to look inside where a pemangku and helpers were preparing oblations. A wily monkey sat at a judicious distance from the event, watching and waiting. Each time the priest's back was slightly turned, the monkey dashed in to steal a morsel from an offering, then retreated to its former position and, almost mockingly, consumed its prize with a defiant glare at the congregation. This was all tolerated with good humour, the priest only making perfunctory gestures of disapproval as the monkey launched each raid.
At the end of the tour, which lasted about half an hour, my guide took me back to her shop. I really did not want to buy anything on offer. I already had sufficient numbers of shorts, tee-shirts, wooden boxes and mobiles to last me and my family a lifetime. She was disappointed, but not pushy about it, the more so after I simply gave her 20,000rp for her services as a guide.
We were back in Kuta by lunchtime. The driver thoughtfully took me on a scenic drive through some ricefields, but by then I think I was all done with scenery. I was beginning to think of going home.
Strolled over to the Amben Cafe, across the road from the hotel, and had a sandwich. I have never seen anyone eating here and suspect that I was their first customer in a month. The waitress was sitting at a table near the kerb, shelling peanuts and gossiping with the hairdresser next door. Business at the hairdressers was probably just as slow, because I didn't see anyone in there the whole week. After serving me the waitress went back to her bowl of nuts and talk of this and that. From the giggles I figured it was mostly talk of paramours and assignations.
The bride and groom, PenglipuranThe afternoon was filled with mopping up activities. A trip to a nearby silver shop was included where, holding my breath, I enquired about the prices of objects similar to those I had bought at Celuk. The prices were close enough to convince me that I had not been seduced by the skilful salespeople of Celuk. I was glad, though, that I hadn't paid the Celuk asking prices.
That evening I went to dinner with Sarah, the music teacher, her boyfriend Michel and her father Samuel. On the recommendation of the Batukau guide, we had booked at Ketupat, a restaurant on Jalan Legian. (Ketupat is the name of an Indonesian dish, eaten after the fasting month of Ramadan.) We had been told that you could get Rijstafel here, and Samuel was very keen to experience Rijstafel (from the Dutch, literally, "rice-table") before returning to England. We had, in fact, what our waiter termed "mini-Rijstafel", a collection of different dishes with rice, not as sumptuous, apparently, as the real Rijstafel. Three individual serves were sufficient for all of us. This was enhanced by a nice red and finished with excellent coffee. Our conversation wandered over the two trips we had done together and Michel's two day explorations on a motor bike. At the end of the evening we vowed to maintain contact. I am not sure that we will, but the promise seemed to be necessary to acknowledge our days of pleasant companionship.
Samuel and I rode back to our respective hotels in a taxi while Sarah and Michel stayed on in Legian to hit the nightspots. Her "dad duty" appeared to be at an end. I wonder if I will see them in Australia.
There was a note waiting for me under the door of my bedroom. The tourist company wished to remind me that they would collect me at 10am the next day for the trip to the airport. This was really it. The week had gone, and it only remained now to pack and make my last journal notes.
Some people report problems with the monkey forest at Alas Kedaton. Perhaps I was simply fortunate, but I did not have problems there with monkeys or people. In eight visits to Bali, I had not been to any of the monkey forests and I determined on my last full day to experience one. I had been well and truly warned off Sangeh, where monkeys were said to be aggressive and I did not want to go home with a bite or two.
The word on the street was that Kedaton was the place to go, so I hired a driver for 60,000rp and set off in the morning with a fresh roll of film to photograph the place and its inhabitants. Alas Kedaton is, a short distance north of the village of Kukuh, hardly an hour's drive from Kuta. Kedaton is a sacred forest, within which there is a smallish, uninspiring temple which is home to a troop of Balinese monkeys. We were told that there were about 700 of them (several distinct families) living in the forest around the temple. They are grey and brown Macaques, relatives of the Rhesus monkey. They live in the trees and forest floor, surviving on a rich variety of fruit and berries. Just as in the Hindu traditions of India, where Hanuman monkeys occupy an important place in religious tradition, so the Macaques are important in Balinese myth and ritual. Balinese dance is full of their images and monkeys are often central figures in sacred narrative. Here at Kedaton, the monkeys share the temple with the locals who now, in turn, share their knowledge of them with tourists.
Baby MacaqueThe entry charges at Kedaton are modest. 1,500rp to park your vehicle and 3,300rp per person to enter the temple and its surrounds. The latter is paid to the village council which maintains the site and manages the local merchants. And merchants abound, as they do at most Balinese tourist centres. There are rows and rows of shops, all identical to the kinds of shops you can find in the more developed centres like Kuta. Perhaps this is why the place has a reputation for aggressive shopkeepers because tourists are probably disinclined to buy the baubles and trinkets on offer here and the turnover may be slight. Someone should do a good marketing job on some of these places and persuade the shopkeepers to stock a different range of goodies.
Whether or not they stock the right merchandise, the shopkeepers have come up with an interesting way to spread the limited tourist rupiah. Each day, a certain number of shopkeepers take their turn in a roster to act as tourist guide. The deal is that a shopkeeper will take a tourist party in tow, show them around the establishment and then take them back to their shop with an expectation that they buy solely from them. The next day a different set of shopkeepers take their places on the roster. This SHOULD result in an equitable distribution of tourist income. The problem is that noone has asked the tourists whether they like this idea and this can lead to conflict when a tourist, post tour, refuses to buy or, worse still, ignores the guide's shop for another establishment.
I was shown around by a very pleasant young woman who carefully taught me how to approach the monkeys and warned me about inappropriate actions and gestures. Never pat or handle the monkeys, she advised, and just relax, let the monkeys come to you and even climb on you if they want to. So long as you don't move suddenly and don't react with aggression or fear, everything should be fine. And it was. We strolled around the periphery slowly, she holding a bag of corn that I had bought at a stall, handing me one or two pieces to attract the animals. I had the sense that she was constantly watching the monkeys, reading their demeanour for possible signs of misconduct. A couple of times she counselled me to avoid a particular beast or to step around a group (particularly mother and child) who might resent my approach.
PenglipuranHalf way around the temple we stopped to look inside where a pemangku and helpers were preparing oblations. A wily monkey sat at a judicious distance from the event, watching and waiting. Each time the priest's back was slightly turned, the monkey dashed in to steal a morsel from an offering, then retreated to its former position and, almost mockingly, consumed its prize with a defiant glare at the congregation. This was all tolerated with good humour, the priest only making perfunctory gestures of disapproval as the monkey launched each raid.
At the end of the tour, which lasted about half an hour, my guide took me back to her shop. I really did not want to buy anything on offer. I already had sufficient numbers of shorts, tee-shirts, wooden boxes and mobiles to last me and my family a lifetime. She was disappointed, but not pushy about it, the more so after I simply gave her 20,000rp for her services as a guide.
We were back in Kuta by lunchtime. The driver thoughtfully took me on a scenic drive through some ricefields, but by then I think I was all done with scenery. I was beginning to think of going home.
Strolled over to the Amben Cafe, across the road from the hotel, and had a sandwich. I have never seen anyone eating here and suspect that I was their first customer in a month. The waitress was sitting at a table near the kerb, shelling peanuts and gossiping with the hairdresser next door. Business at the hairdressers was probably just as slow, because I didn't see anyone in there the whole week. After serving me the waitress went back to her bowl of nuts and talk of this and that. From the giggles I figured it was mostly talk of paramours and assignations.
The bride and groom, PenglipuranThe afternoon was filled with mopping up activities. A trip to a nearby silver shop was included where, holding my breath, I enquired about the prices of objects similar to those I had bought at Celuk. The prices were close enough to convince me that I had not been seduced by the skilful salespeople of Celuk. I was glad, though, that I hadn't paid the Celuk asking prices.
That evening I went to dinner with Sarah, the music teacher, her boyfriend Michel and her father Samuel. On the recommendation of the Batukau guide, we had booked at Ketupat, a restaurant on Jalan Legian. (Ketupat is the name of an Indonesian dish, eaten after the fasting month of Ramadan.) We had been told that you could get Rijstafel here, and Samuel was very keen to experience Rijstafel (from the Dutch, literally, "rice-table") before returning to England. We had, in fact, what our waiter termed "mini-Rijstafel", a collection of different dishes with rice, not as sumptuous, apparently, as the real Rijstafel. Three individual serves were sufficient for all of us. This was enhanced by a nice red and finished with excellent coffee. Our conversation wandered over the two trips we had done together and Michel's two day explorations on a motor bike. At the end of the evening we vowed to maintain contact. I am not sure that we will, but the promise seemed to be necessary to acknowledge our days of pleasant companionship.
Samuel and I rode back to our respective hotels in a taxi while Sarah and Michel stayed on in Legian to hit the nightspots. Her "dad duty" appeared to be at an end. I wonder if I will see them in Australia.
There was a note waiting for me under the door of my bedroom. The tourist company wished to remind me that they would collect me at 10am the next day for the trip to the airport. This was really it. The week had gone, and it only remained now to pack and make my last journal notes.
7 Days in Bali (Day 5)
Day 5 in Bali
An early start today, off on another tour. The bus arrived at 8am without, I am sad to say, our jovial guide Tana. His replacement was very friendly and helpful, and apologised that he had a dose of the 'flu, which gave him a hoarse voice. It was a little like being taken on a guided tour of the Balinese countryside by Louis Armstrong. "Hello Ketut" instead of "Hello Dolly".
First stop Santika where the banker and music teacher joined us. It was like meeting up with old friends again and we were soon engaged in animated exchanges of information about the places we had been and the experiences we had had since the Kintamani tour. Next stop the Oberoi in Seminyak. Very posh indeed, by the look of it. The couple who joined us there, I am glad to say, were great fun and we all hit it off straight away. They had arrived in Bali from other parts of Southeast Asia and, unlike Tom and Kylie, had no apparent problems with their digestive organs or the Balinese traffic.
The five of us chattered away on the drive to Tabanan, towards our ultimate destination of Mt Batukau. This was probably just as well as the guide protected his tonsils as much as possible by only giving us the shortest of accounts of where we were "We are now coming to Tabanan." "We are now leaving Tabanan." And nothing much between.
First stop, Yeh Panes, a spectacularly beautiful place on the banks of a raging mountain stream. We visited a shrine that the guide told us was 16th century. There was no way of verifying that, but it looked very old indeed. Inside the walls of the shrine there was a hot spring, muddy and steaming, and behind that a holy banyan tree before which was a worn stone altar covered with tree ferns. A long chequered cloth was wrapped around the base of the banyan tree. Apparently the black and white squares represent good and evil, ying and yang, in a kind of constant equilibrium. One of the most important purposes of Balinese ceremonial activity is to maintain the balance between these opposing forces or, rather, to ensure that the forces of good are always slightly in front. Left to its own devices, the world would soon descend into a chaotic mixture of the two or, even worse, the triumph of evil over good. Hence the lot of (Balinese) humans is constantly to intervene, ritually, to ensure that the cosmos is balanced and the forces of good have their noses in front.
Mountain road near JatiluwihWe add some rupiah to an offering plate and move from the sacred to the secular. Further up the hill we come to the Yeh Panes Resort, a group of bungalows perched above the shrine. The bungalows overlook a huge, tranquil swimming pool surrounded by shaded areas and statuary. From a point further up the hillside, a series of hot springs stretches down to the river below. Each spring is fenced and comes complete with large umbrella and benches. The water is steamy and warm, a very bearable temperature. A couple cavorts in the springs, working their way down them from the top. This is a magical place. I can imagine that a week or so here would be a wonderfully peaceful experience, deeply conducive to contemplation and recuperation.
After a quiet time, sipping a drink and enjoying the visual spectacle, we resume our journey toward the centre of the island. The roads here are noticeably narrower and less traffic-bound. We go on tracks where no tourist coach could go. As we climb up we pass from rice fields through to plantations, enormous stands of bamboo and thick forest. The road twists and winds it way to Batukau, site of the second most holy temple, after Besakih, in the whole of Bali.
The guide had warned us that our views might be spoilt today by low cloud, and they were. By the time we arrived the mists had descended on Mt Batukau so that we could only imagine how it might look towering over the temple.
As a holy place, Batukau demanded appropriate dress and conduct. For a small sum we hired sarongs and sashes at the entrance and had our attention directed towards a notice which stipulated the categories of person who could not gain admittance. I satisfied myself that I was not disqualified by the first 5 categories, which were:
"(1) Ladies who are pregnant
(2) Ladies whose children have not got the first teeth
(3) Children whose first teeth not fallen out yet
(4) Ladies during their period, and
(5) Dvotees (sic) getting impure due to death."
I hesitated briefly over the applicability of the 6th category
"(6) Mad Ladies/Gentlemen"
which I felt certain did not apply to me, but might, for all I knew, apply to my fellow travellers. Ah well, if a lightning bolt appeared from the mists above I would know that I had chosen my companions unwisely.
I assumed from the approving glances of the guide that I had repaired any potential deficiencies in respect of the last category:
"(7) Those not properly dressed."
I hitched up my sarong and silently vowed that I would observe the codicil to the notice - "All dvotees entering the temple should maintain cleanliness and environmental conservation" - before striding on into the temple precincts.
Yeh Panes, mountain streamThis is not as spectacular as Besakih, but it is an imposing place nonetheless. The fact of the mountain being hidden in cloud probably deprived it of some of its character, but it had a certain presence which invited whispered conversation. We were restricted to the front, public area of the complex beyond which only priests and indigenous devotees (or, in the vernacular, "dvotees") could go. Looking in to this area we could see a pedanda in earnest exchange with a devout couple, finely dressed in white vestures. Our guide opined that they were probably local business people seeking divine guidance in matters of mercantile conduct. The pedanda's advice was no doubt to the effect that if they followed a pious, righteous and altruistic path they would gain their rewards in this life and the next. Whatever he was saying, they were very attentive and nodded a lot to his suggestions.
I photographed the meru and other bits of the complex and rejoined the bus for our homeward journey. This was quite a different sort of tour, so far, to the "Highlights of Bali" tour we did the other day. We took a long time to drive to where we were and, having come and looked, we were about to return. The guide croaked that our next stop was the scenic village of Jatiluwih.
From the map we could see that the road we took hugged the side of Batukau, although we still couldn't see the peak itself. On the southern, downhill side, however, the weather was clear and we were treated to some of the most breathtakingly beautiful scenery in Bali. We wound our way along narrow mountain roads, snaking in and out of forest and ricefield, bursting out of the trees into cleared areas where the paddies stretched many kilometres in front of us to the sea. Noone talked. We just pressed our faces to the windows and soaked it in. When we reached the outskirts or Jatiluwih we stopped for a while to take photographs.
From this point we could see the pattern of the fields, each separated from the other by an irrigation channel. We were told that the way to distinguish farms was to find the shrines, each plot having its own small stone shrine to the rice goddess Dewi Sri. We lingered here for what seemed like an hour, Temple at Batukauundaunted by the misty rain that began to fall. It was as if, to use that old cliche, time had stood still. I watched a woman gently sway through the fields. Despite the load balanced on her head, she negotiated a steep downhill path with incredible poise. I had the sense that she had always been here, that the woman, the fields and the shrines were elements in an eternal script. I did not want to leave this place. I wanted to run after her, to roll down through the lush, intensely green crops and tell her that I had decided to remain here for ever. This was a divine place, a nucleus, a numinous essence.
In gravelly tones, the guide told us we had to move on, and broke the spell. He brought us all back to present reality by reminding us that it was lunchtime. We all immediately became hungry.
Lunch was had at a restaurant perched on a hillside at Pacung, a village at the intersection of the Jatiluwih road and the main road across the island to Singaraja. There was just enough time to enjoy the view from the open side of the restaurant when the clouds rolled in from the west. By the time we began our first course, we were sitting in the middle of a cloud, treated to our very own thunderstorm. Thunder rolled across the valley and flashes of lightning lit up the room while we ate. The meal was concluded with a black rice pudding, no doubt from the same fields we had just seen (at least, we wanted it to be so because it gave the meal a certain geographical immediacy). With body and senses filled, we raced back to the parked van under a kind of honour guard of umbrellas held up by the restaurant staff.
Turtle sarcophagusThe heavens opened as we drove back to the coast. I had nothing but admiration for the skill of our driver who managed not only to stay on the road, but hit no cars, trucks or pedestrians on the return journey.
The day had gone, much of it in getting there and getting back. But it was as satisfying, in its own way, as the Kintamani tour had been. We dropped the others at their hotels, but not before we arranged to meet again for dinner the following evening.
After a quick change of clothes I set off to get my trousers from the tailor. The omnipresent Wayansu waved me down and asked me if I would like to see another bed cover. I declined and she, somewhat surprisingly, accepted my refusal with good grace. She told me that it didn't matter as she had had a good day in the shop and none of her contacts could get their hands on a plain bedspread anyway. That made me feel much better. I bought a drink at Dini's stall and the three of us sat awhile to go over the events of the day. I excused myself and went down to the tailor to collect my trousers. There was now not enough time for them to make me any others. With great sadness I realised that I only had one more full day in this addictive place. Tommy and Forrest would have to wait for a return visit, of which, no doubt, there would be several.
An early start today, off on another tour. The bus arrived at 8am without, I am sad to say, our jovial guide Tana. His replacement was very friendly and helpful, and apologised that he had a dose of the 'flu, which gave him a hoarse voice. It was a little like being taken on a guided tour of the Balinese countryside by Louis Armstrong. "Hello Ketut" instead of "Hello Dolly".
First stop Santika where the banker and music teacher joined us. It was like meeting up with old friends again and we were soon engaged in animated exchanges of information about the places we had been and the experiences we had had since the Kintamani tour. Next stop the Oberoi in Seminyak. Very posh indeed, by the look of it. The couple who joined us there, I am glad to say, were great fun and we all hit it off straight away. They had arrived in Bali from other parts of Southeast Asia and, unlike Tom and Kylie, had no apparent problems with their digestive organs or the Balinese traffic.
The five of us chattered away on the drive to Tabanan, towards our ultimate destination of Mt Batukau. This was probably just as well as the guide protected his tonsils as much as possible by only giving us the shortest of accounts of where we were "We are now coming to Tabanan." "We are now leaving Tabanan." And nothing much between.
First stop, Yeh Panes, a spectacularly beautiful place on the banks of a raging mountain stream. We visited a shrine that the guide told us was 16th century. There was no way of verifying that, but it looked very old indeed. Inside the walls of the shrine there was a hot spring, muddy and steaming, and behind that a holy banyan tree before which was a worn stone altar covered with tree ferns. A long chequered cloth was wrapped around the base of the banyan tree. Apparently the black and white squares represent good and evil, ying and yang, in a kind of constant equilibrium. One of the most important purposes of Balinese ceremonial activity is to maintain the balance between these opposing forces or, rather, to ensure that the forces of good are always slightly in front. Left to its own devices, the world would soon descend into a chaotic mixture of the two or, even worse, the triumph of evil over good. Hence the lot of (Balinese) humans is constantly to intervene, ritually, to ensure that the cosmos is balanced and the forces of good have their noses in front.
Mountain road near JatiluwihWe add some rupiah to an offering plate and move from the sacred to the secular. Further up the hill we come to the Yeh Panes Resort, a group of bungalows perched above the shrine. The bungalows overlook a huge, tranquil swimming pool surrounded by shaded areas and statuary. From a point further up the hillside, a series of hot springs stretches down to the river below. Each spring is fenced and comes complete with large umbrella and benches. The water is steamy and warm, a very bearable temperature. A couple cavorts in the springs, working their way down them from the top. This is a magical place. I can imagine that a week or so here would be a wonderfully peaceful experience, deeply conducive to contemplation and recuperation.
After a quiet time, sipping a drink and enjoying the visual spectacle, we resume our journey toward the centre of the island. The roads here are noticeably narrower and less traffic-bound. We go on tracks where no tourist coach could go. As we climb up we pass from rice fields through to plantations, enormous stands of bamboo and thick forest. The road twists and winds it way to Batukau, site of the second most holy temple, after Besakih, in the whole of Bali.
The guide had warned us that our views might be spoilt today by low cloud, and they were. By the time we arrived the mists had descended on Mt Batukau so that we could only imagine how it might look towering over the temple.
As a holy place, Batukau demanded appropriate dress and conduct. For a small sum we hired sarongs and sashes at the entrance and had our attention directed towards a notice which stipulated the categories of person who could not gain admittance. I satisfied myself that I was not disqualified by the first 5 categories, which were:
"(1) Ladies who are pregnant
(2) Ladies whose children have not got the first teeth
(3) Children whose first teeth not fallen out yet
(4) Ladies during their period, and
(5) Dvotees (sic) getting impure due to death."
I hesitated briefly over the applicability of the 6th category
"(6) Mad Ladies/Gentlemen"
which I felt certain did not apply to me, but might, for all I knew, apply to my fellow travellers. Ah well, if a lightning bolt appeared from the mists above I would know that I had chosen my companions unwisely.
I assumed from the approving glances of the guide that I had repaired any potential deficiencies in respect of the last category:
"(7) Those not properly dressed."
I hitched up my sarong and silently vowed that I would observe the codicil to the notice - "All dvotees entering the temple should maintain cleanliness and environmental conservation" - before striding on into the temple precincts.
Yeh Panes, mountain streamThis is not as spectacular as Besakih, but it is an imposing place nonetheless. The fact of the mountain being hidden in cloud probably deprived it of some of its character, but it had a certain presence which invited whispered conversation. We were restricted to the front, public area of the complex beyond which only priests and indigenous devotees (or, in the vernacular, "dvotees") could go. Looking in to this area we could see a pedanda in earnest exchange with a devout couple, finely dressed in white vestures. Our guide opined that they were probably local business people seeking divine guidance in matters of mercantile conduct. The pedanda's advice was no doubt to the effect that if they followed a pious, righteous and altruistic path they would gain their rewards in this life and the next. Whatever he was saying, they were very attentive and nodded a lot to his suggestions.
I photographed the meru and other bits of the complex and rejoined the bus for our homeward journey. This was quite a different sort of tour, so far, to the "Highlights of Bali" tour we did the other day. We took a long time to drive to where we were and, having come and looked, we were about to return. The guide croaked that our next stop was the scenic village of Jatiluwih.
From the map we could see that the road we took hugged the side of Batukau, although we still couldn't see the peak itself. On the southern, downhill side, however, the weather was clear and we were treated to some of the most breathtakingly beautiful scenery in Bali. We wound our way along narrow mountain roads, snaking in and out of forest and ricefield, bursting out of the trees into cleared areas where the paddies stretched many kilometres in front of us to the sea. Noone talked. We just pressed our faces to the windows and soaked it in. When we reached the outskirts or Jatiluwih we stopped for a while to take photographs.
From this point we could see the pattern of the fields, each separated from the other by an irrigation channel. We were told that the way to distinguish farms was to find the shrines, each plot having its own small stone shrine to the rice goddess Dewi Sri. We lingered here for what seemed like an hour, Temple at Batukauundaunted by the misty rain that began to fall. It was as if, to use that old cliche, time had stood still. I watched a woman gently sway through the fields. Despite the load balanced on her head, she negotiated a steep downhill path with incredible poise. I had the sense that she had always been here, that the woman, the fields and the shrines were elements in an eternal script. I did not want to leave this place. I wanted to run after her, to roll down through the lush, intensely green crops and tell her that I had decided to remain here for ever. This was a divine place, a nucleus, a numinous essence.
In gravelly tones, the guide told us we had to move on, and broke the spell. He brought us all back to present reality by reminding us that it was lunchtime. We all immediately became hungry.
Lunch was had at a restaurant perched on a hillside at Pacung, a village at the intersection of the Jatiluwih road and the main road across the island to Singaraja. There was just enough time to enjoy the view from the open side of the restaurant when the clouds rolled in from the west. By the time we began our first course, we were sitting in the middle of a cloud, treated to our very own thunderstorm. Thunder rolled across the valley and flashes of lightning lit up the room while we ate. The meal was concluded with a black rice pudding, no doubt from the same fields we had just seen (at least, we wanted it to be so because it gave the meal a certain geographical immediacy). With body and senses filled, we raced back to the parked van under a kind of honour guard of umbrellas held up by the restaurant staff.
Turtle sarcophagusThe heavens opened as we drove back to the coast. I had nothing but admiration for the skill of our driver who managed not only to stay on the road, but hit no cars, trucks or pedestrians on the return journey.
The day had gone, much of it in getting there and getting back. But it was as satisfying, in its own way, as the Kintamani tour had been. We dropped the others at their hotels, but not before we arranged to meet again for dinner the following evening.
After a quick change of clothes I set off to get my trousers from the tailor. The omnipresent Wayansu waved me down and asked me if I would like to see another bed cover. I declined and she, somewhat surprisingly, accepted my refusal with good grace. She told me that it didn't matter as she had had a good day in the shop and none of her contacts could get their hands on a plain bedspread anyway. That made me feel much better. I bought a drink at Dini's stall and the three of us sat awhile to go over the events of the day. I excused myself and went down to the tailor to collect my trousers. There was now not enough time for them to make me any others. With great sadness I realised that I only had one more full day in this addictive place. Tommy and Forrest would have to wait for a return visit, of which, no doubt, there would be several.
7 Days in Bali (Day 4)
Day 4 in Bali
Gamelan factorySaturday. I declare this to be a day of sloth and relaxation. I don't want to bargain for, photograph or explore anything. Just give me pure rest and hedonism. After breakfast (I don't even recall what sort of "egg any style" I had this morning) I loafed around the hotel lobby catching up on newspapers.
As I read an informative Jakarta Post article about why Gus Dur, the Indonesian President, should not visit Australia, I am conscious of my name being called. I look up to see Wayansu gesticulating from her shop across the road. "Bed cover!", she mouths through cupped hands. I had told her the other day that I wanted to buy a plain bedspread, partly in truth, but largely to get her to put away the selection of sarongs and dresses that she was trying to get me to buy. Little did I think she was going to order a bedspread in. I felt obliged to visit and inspect.
A word about Wayansu. I introduced her earlier as the sister of Dini, a friendly woman who sold a multitude of victuals and assorted wares in her little shop across the road. Wayansu, her elder sister (kakak in Bahasa), operated a nearby clothing shop, a small place with an ordinary collection of (mostly women's) clothes. What Wayansu lacked by way of range and quality of goods she made up for with unabated solicitation. She took up position at the corner of the hotel driveway early each morning, waiting for the guests to emerge. She knew that noone could reach the main street without passing her and she sat on a stone slab near the entrance, waiting for a catch, much like an angler waiting for a fish. I managed most of the time to slip by without being hooked, but this morning she had finessed me by producing an object that she knew I wanted.
Temple statue, Yeh PanesI trudged over to the shop, exchanged the customary pleasantries ("selamat pagi" all around) and waited to be shown her aquisition. Looking very pleased with herself Wayansu produced a bedspread from a large plastic bag. It was (how can I put this gently?) a rather brightly coloured object, covered with flowers, swirls and fiddly bits. I would be denied admittance to my home if I brought it back. "Bed cover" said Wayansu, in case I did not know what it was. "Yes," I replied, "But remember I said I wanted plain one". "Plain one?" echoed Wayansu. "Noooo. This one good one. I get you this one from my friend." How to do this nicely? I tried to explain that I really didn't want anything so colourful, but would look at a plain one if she could get it. Wayansu ignored my statement. "How much?" she asked. "I give you good price. Morning price, for good luck."
Dini and Rika had now joined us and we were also being watched by two young men from the photo shop. They all told me what a beautiful thing this bedspread was and how lucky I was that Wayansu had found it. I diplomatically agreed that it was an aesthetically perfect object, but it simply wasn't what my wife wanted, and they didn't want me to get into trouble with my wife, did they? These protestations were completely ignored and Wayansu clutched my arm and persistently asked "OK, how much you want? How much you want?" It was clear that the only way to bring this unsatisfactory encounter to an end was to walk away, which I did. As I turned Wayansu uttered what I assume to be a string of Balinese epithets, probably directed at my race, gender and parentage. The others tittered and went back to their shops.
So much for my day of relaxation, I thought. Might as well check out progress with my trousers while I am out on the street. Forrest was not there, but his assistant Tommy was. He predicted that the trousers would probably need adjustment, and they did. Not too much. The "jeans style" cut was pretty good, and they just needed to make some minor changes to waist and length. I arranged to come back the following day. I emerged from the tailor and glanced furtively down the lane. I was delighted to see that Wayansu had hooked a couple of other hotel guests. This gave me the opportunity to sneak back to the hotel without another encounter. Pure cowardice on my part, but this was supposed to be a day of rest. She didn't miss my passing, however, giving me a quick "When you come back my sop?" as I edged by. "Later," I lied.
Gamelan instrumentsRetreating to my room, I decided to catch up on my journal. I have only recently taken up the discipline of keeping a travel journal. It was when I tried to recall the details of past trips that I realised how much memory fades over time, so I now make notes as I go. I have found that the best kind of journal is a Winsor and Newton Visual Diary, a stout 120 page booklet consisting of good quality, unruled drawing paper. This makes the diary a little more expensive than a standard exercise book, but being drawing paper, you can use the pages to sketch as well as write. Everything goes into the journal. Notes, scribblings, photographs, menus, travel brochures, receipts, business cards and tickets. They all add up to a mnemonic record of a trip, each article bringing back a memory of a place, a person or an incident. Looking back on a journey, recollections can be triggered not only by the notes you write, but entrance tickets, sales dockets and the like. I even have one of those Balinese napkinettes pasted in the journal. And that reminds me of another necessary tool - a good glue stick to cement in your gathered shards. Don't rely on local glue, bring it with you, along with a good pen or two.
As I pasted in the "Highlights of Bali" brochure, the map of Bali reminded me of our tour guide's likening of the island to a chicken. Not only are the Balinese fond of chickens, he said, whether to eat or to bet on in cock fights, but the whole place physically resembles a chicken. If you look at a map of Bali you can imagine the chicken's head to the left, with its beak near Gilimanuk. The wings are to the north, around Singaraja, the old capital. The area from Negara to Tabanan is the chicken's crop, appropriate because this is an area rich in grain. The stomach and heart are the centre of the island, near the sacred mountain of Batur. The region from Denpasar to Kuta is the chicken's legs, the Bukit its feet. To the west, the Karangasem region is the tail, the coastal indentation near Candi Dasa its sphincter. Finally Nusa Penida is the chicken's egg, fittingly of the chicken, but not really part of it. I am not sure what Tana wanted us to do with this piece of geographical similitude, but it made for a good story. He was full of bon mots like that, and I only hope he will be the guide on tomorrow's tour to Batukau.
The remainder of the day was spent in splendid laziness, reading, snoozing and lying in the sun. In the evening I somewhat guiltily forewent local fare for pizza. I must say that the pizza at Pizza Hut was quite delicious and very filling.
The Indonesian news on TV put me to sleep in no time. Counting the reported conferences was as soporific as counting sheep.
Gamelan factorySaturday. I declare this to be a day of sloth and relaxation. I don't want to bargain for, photograph or explore anything. Just give me pure rest and hedonism. After breakfast (I don't even recall what sort of "egg any style" I had this morning) I loafed around the hotel lobby catching up on newspapers.
As I read an informative Jakarta Post article about why Gus Dur, the Indonesian President, should not visit Australia, I am conscious of my name being called. I look up to see Wayansu gesticulating from her shop across the road. "Bed cover!", she mouths through cupped hands. I had told her the other day that I wanted to buy a plain bedspread, partly in truth, but largely to get her to put away the selection of sarongs and dresses that she was trying to get me to buy. Little did I think she was going to order a bedspread in. I felt obliged to visit and inspect.
A word about Wayansu. I introduced her earlier as the sister of Dini, a friendly woman who sold a multitude of victuals and assorted wares in her little shop across the road. Wayansu, her elder sister (kakak in Bahasa), operated a nearby clothing shop, a small place with an ordinary collection of (mostly women's) clothes. What Wayansu lacked by way of range and quality of goods she made up for with unabated solicitation. She took up position at the corner of the hotel driveway early each morning, waiting for the guests to emerge. She knew that noone could reach the main street without passing her and she sat on a stone slab near the entrance, waiting for a catch, much like an angler waiting for a fish. I managed most of the time to slip by without being hooked, but this morning she had finessed me by producing an object that she knew I wanted.
Temple statue, Yeh PanesI trudged over to the shop, exchanged the customary pleasantries ("selamat pagi" all around) and waited to be shown her aquisition. Looking very pleased with herself Wayansu produced a bedspread from a large plastic bag. It was (how can I put this gently?) a rather brightly coloured object, covered with flowers, swirls and fiddly bits. I would be denied admittance to my home if I brought it back. "Bed cover" said Wayansu, in case I did not know what it was. "Yes," I replied, "But remember I said I wanted plain one". "Plain one?" echoed Wayansu. "Noooo. This one good one. I get you this one from my friend." How to do this nicely? I tried to explain that I really didn't want anything so colourful, but would look at a plain one if she could get it. Wayansu ignored my statement. "How much?" she asked. "I give you good price. Morning price, for good luck."
Dini and Rika had now joined us and we were also being watched by two young men from the photo shop. They all told me what a beautiful thing this bedspread was and how lucky I was that Wayansu had found it. I diplomatically agreed that it was an aesthetically perfect object, but it simply wasn't what my wife wanted, and they didn't want me to get into trouble with my wife, did they? These protestations were completely ignored and Wayansu clutched my arm and persistently asked "OK, how much you want? How much you want?" It was clear that the only way to bring this unsatisfactory encounter to an end was to walk away, which I did. As I turned Wayansu uttered what I assume to be a string of Balinese epithets, probably directed at my race, gender and parentage. The others tittered and went back to their shops.
So much for my day of relaxation, I thought. Might as well check out progress with my trousers while I am out on the street. Forrest was not there, but his assistant Tommy was. He predicted that the trousers would probably need adjustment, and they did. Not too much. The "jeans style" cut was pretty good, and they just needed to make some minor changes to waist and length. I arranged to come back the following day. I emerged from the tailor and glanced furtively down the lane. I was delighted to see that Wayansu had hooked a couple of other hotel guests. This gave me the opportunity to sneak back to the hotel without another encounter. Pure cowardice on my part, but this was supposed to be a day of rest. She didn't miss my passing, however, giving me a quick "When you come back my sop?" as I edged by. "Later," I lied.
Gamelan instrumentsRetreating to my room, I decided to catch up on my journal. I have only recently taken up the discipline of keeping a travel journal. It was when I tried to recall the details of past trips that I realised how much memory fades over time, so I now make notes as I go. I have found that the best kind of journal is a Winsor and Newton Visual Diary, a stout 120 page booklet consisting of good quality, unruled drawing paper. This makes the diary a little more expensive than a standard exercise book, but being drawing paper, you can use the pages to sketch as well as write. Everything goes into the journal. Notes, scribblings, photographs, menus, travel brochures, receipts, business cards and tickets. They all add up to a mnemonic record of a trip, each article bringing back a memory of a place, a person or an incident. Looking back on a journey, recollections can be triggered not only by the notes you write, but entrance tickets, sales dockets and the like. I even have one of those Balinese napkinettes pasted in the journal. And that reminds me of another necessary tool - a good glue stick to cement in your gathered shards. Don't rely on local glue, bring it with you, along with a good pen or two.
As I pasted in the "Highlights of Bali" brochure, the map of Bali reminded me of our tour guide's likening of the island to a chicken. Not only are the Balinese fond of chickens, he said, whether to eat or to bet on in cock fights, but the whole place physically resembles a chicken. If you look at a map of Bali you can imagine the chicken's head to the left, with its beak near Gilimanuk. The wings are to the north, around Singaraja, the old capital. The area from Negara to Tabanan is the chicken's crop, appropriate because this is an area rich in grain. The stomach and heart are the centre of the island, near the sacred mountain of Batur. The region from Denpasar to Kuta is the chicken's legs, the Bukit its feet. To the west, the Karangasem region is the tail, the coastal indentation near Candi Dasa its sphincter. Finally Nusa Penida is the chicken's egg, fittingly of the chicken, but not really part of it. I am not sure what Tana wanted us to do with this piece of geographical similitude, but it made for a good story. He was full of bon mots like that, and I only hope he will be the guide on tomorrow's tour to Batukau.
The remainder of the day was spent in splendid laziness, reading, snoozing and lying in the sun. In the evening I somewhat guiltily forewent local fare for pizza. I must say that the pizza at Pizza Hut was quite delicious and very filling.
The Indonesian news on TV put me to sleep in no time. Counting the reported conferences was as soporific as counting sheep.
7 Days in Bali (Day 3)
Day 3 in Bali
On the outskirts of JatiluwihTo have the "egg any style" fried or omeletted? That is the immediate question of my fourth day in Bali. I chose fried, but found it hard to distinguish the delivered object from the omeletted variety. I had forgotten that, unless you stipulate otherwise, some hotel cooks will break the yolk of a fried egg and spread it all over the white so that it takes on the appearance of an omelette. As I examine the egg and my runny strawberry jam (why is it that the strawberry jam in Bali is runny and not firm?) I realise that I am now in full holiday mode because the most trivial topics occupy my thoughts.
My attention is turned to the adjacent table where a large contingent from Australia has just arrived. They straggle into the dining room one at a time, nursing hangovers from their first night in Bali. They look like the Goondiwindi Darts Club, or some such. As each man arrives, he gives his compatriots what a friend of mine once called the "Darwin salute", which is difficult to describe without standing up and demonstrating it, but consists of two men facing each other, hitching their thumbs into their belts and then wiggling their trousers from side to side. All this is done without eye contact, but with muttered greetings like "Didja git into it last noit?" and "So ya made it 'ome orite mate?"
A Dutch couple at another table observe the goings on with mouths slightly open. After the greetings are concluded, one of the Goondiwindi blokes stands on a chair and addresses the throng loudly about this morning's program. Thankfully it does not include Celuk, where I am heading.
On the way to the main street I stop at Sajojo tailor where I promised the owner last night that I would let him make me a pair of trousers. We haggle a bit about the price and finally agree that he will make me a pair of cotton trousers "Chee Sty" for 100,000rp. If I liked them, I agreed to take a second pair for 150,000. It took me a moment to make the necessary linguistic adjustments and realise that "Chee Sty" was not some kind of Chinese cut but a "jeans style" garment. The tailor's shop is owned by two young men, Tommy and Forrest, in partnership. Both used to work in large shops but have decided to strike out on their own. Forrest is from Surabaya, Java. Like many Javanese he has moved to Bali to make a better living from the tourist trade.
I negotiate with a number of drivers on the main street, and finally pick one. The decision is based on a combination of factors: a vehicle that looks comfortable and air-conditioned, a driver who is not too pushy and has reasonable English, and affordable price. I think I often pay more than other tourists for drivers because I would rather have a comfortable, enjoyable ride than a cheap but unpleasant one. Made and I settle on a price of 100,000rp for a return trip to Celuk.
Cutting PVC pipe for gamelan instrumentOn the way I buy today's Jakarta Post at the traffic lights. My eye is drawn to a large advertisement from a Swiss family who have been searching since December 1998 for their son Marc, who disappeared while trekking through Indonesia. It reminds me how dangerous travelling can be in parts of South East Asia. I figure that the boy must have been about my daughter's age. How devastated the family must be, not knowing what has happened to their child.
Made and I have a little tussle when we get to Celuk. He wants to take me to a shop he knows on the main street, I want to follow Tana's advice and shop off the main street where the prices are lower. We compromise. If I can't get what I want in the laneways, we will return to the main street to the shop he knows (and where he undoubtedly gets a good commission).
I ask him to pull into a shop named Rake where I produced the designs I printed off an internet site. A small "confession" is in order here. A certain Denpasar jewelry store has been advertising on Bali Forum and my wife and I both examined its internet site before I left. She picked out a number of designs that she liked and we printed off the photographs to guide my shopping. I have now brought the printout to another shop to see whether I can get the same, or similar, objects at a better price. Before you condemn my duplicity, good reader, let me hasten to tell you that I tried to telephone the original shop, without success, and even asked a taxi driver to find it, again without success. So I did try.
Anyway, the strategy worked a treat and I was able to get the articles my wife desired at half the price indicated on the net. Save for a garnet necklace, that is. So, faithful to my arrangement with Made we returned to his shop - Dewi Sri - on the main street. Not only did they have the very necklace there, but I secured it for a third of the internet price. I did not dare enquire about the prices of the objects I had just purchased in the back streets. The discovery, in Made's presence, that they were cheaper on the main street would have been too great a humiliation to bear.
The trip back to Kuta was largely uneventful. Under instructions, I made a half-hearted attempt to buy a bedspread but my poor Bahasa did not enable me to convince the shopkeepers that I wanted something reasonably plain, not batik and sans moon and stars designs. I was somewhat relieved that I couldn't find what my wife wanted as I had no idea how I would go lugging it back to Australia.
Cockfight at PenglipuranThat afternoon I lazed around the pool at the hotel. I chatted to the in-house masseuse, a talkative soul, in her late 50s, who offered the information that she only made 10,000rp (about $2 AUD) out of each massage, the rest going to the hotel management. She had started off working on the beach, but then through the circumstances of consanguinity and affinity she found herself offered a job in a Kuta hotel. The sequence went something like this. Her mother's sister's grand-daughter married the man who ran the Kuta hotel. As part of the marriage arrangement, it was agreed that the bride's grandmother's sister's daughter, the masseuse, would be relieved of beach duty in deference to her advancing years. So she began work, happily, at the Kuta establishment. Everything went swimmingly for a couple of years until the wife died and the hotel manager took another wife. The new wife immediately fell out with the masseuse. To honour the marriage arrangement, however, the masseuse was not dispatched back to the beach, but was sent to a lesser establishment, the place where I was now a guest. There was more to it, including a disagreement with the management here, but at this stage my attention had wandered and I missed the detail.
Dinner at a little restaurant on Jalan Kartika (forgotten the name already) was followed by an early night. Why is it that doing nothing on holiday is so exhausting?
On the outskirts of JatiluwihTo have the "egg any style" fried or omeletted? That is the immediate question of my fourth day in Bali. I chose fried, but found it hard to distinguish the delivered object from the omeletted variety. I had forgotten that, unless you stipulate otherwise, some hotel cooks will break the yolk of a fried egg and spread it all over the white so that it takes on the appearance of an omelette. As I examine the egg and my runny strawberry jam (why is it that the strawberry jam in Bali is runny and not firm?) I realise that I am now in full holiday mode because the most trivial topics occupy my thoughts.
My attention is turned to the adjacent table where a large contingent from Australia has just arrived. They straggle into the dining room one at a time, nursing hangovers from their first night in Bali. They look like the Goondiwindi Darts Club, or some such. As each man arrives, he gives his compatriots what a friend of mine once called the "Darwin salute", which is difficult to describe without standing up and demonstrating it, but consists of two men facing each other, hitching their thumbs into their belts and then wiggling their trousers from side to side. All this is done without eye contact, but with muttered greetings like "Didja git into it last noit?" and "So ya made it 'ome orite mate?"
A Dutch couple at another table observe the goings on with mouths slightly open. After the greetings are concluded, one of the Goondiwindi blokes stands on a chair and addresses the throng loudly about this morning's program. Thankfully it does not include Celuk, where I am heading.
On the way to the main street I stop at Sajojo tailor where I promised the owner last night that I would let him make me a pair of trousers. We haggle a bit about the price and finally agree that he will make me a pair of cotton trousers "Chee Sty" for 100,000rp. If I liked them, I agreed to take a second pair for 150,000. It took me a moment to make the necessary linguistic adjustments and realise that "Chee Sty" was not some kind of Chinese cut but a "jeans style" garment. The tailor's shop is owned by two young men, Tommy and Forrest, in partnership. Both used to work in large shops but have decided to strike out on their own. Forrest is from Surabaya, Java. Like many Javanese he has moved to Bali to make a better living from the tourist trade.
I negotiate with a number of drivers on the main street, and finally pick one. The decision is based on a combination of factors: a vehicle that looks comfortable and air-conditioned, a driver who is not too pushy and has reasonable English, and affordable price. I think I often pay more than other tourists for drivers because I would rather have a comfortable, enjoyable ride than a cheap but unpleasant one. Made and I settle on a price of 100,000rp for a return trip to Celuk.
Cutting PVC pipe for gamelan instrumentOn the way I buy today's Jakarta Post at the traffic lights. My eye is drawn to a large advertisement from a Swiss family who have been searching since December 1998 for their son Marc, who disappeared while trekking through Indonesia. It reminds me how dangerous travelling can be in parts of South East Asia. I figure that the boy must have been about my daughter's age. How devastated the family must be, not knowing what has happened to their child.
Made and I have a little tussle when we get to Celuk. He wants to take me to a shop he knows on the main street, I want to follow Tana's advice and shop off the main street where the prices are lower. We compromise. If I can't get what I want in the laneways, we will return to the main street to the shop he knows (and where he undoubtedly gets a good commission).
I ask him to pull into a shop named Rake where I produced the designs I printed off an internet site. A small "confession" is in order here. A certain Denpasar jewelry store has been advertising on Bali Forum and my wife and I both examined its internet site before I left. She picked out a number of designs that she liked and we printed off the photographs to guide my shopping. I have now brought the printout to another shop to see whether I can get the same, or similar, objects at a better price. Before you condemn my duplicity, good reader, let me hasten to tell you that I tried to telephone the original shop, without success, and even asked a taxi driver to find it, again without success. So I did try.
Anyway, the strategy worked a treat and I was able to get the articles my wife desired at half the price indicated on the net. Save for a garnet necklace, that is. So, faithful to my arrangement with Made we returned to his shop - Dewi Sri - on the main street. Not only did they have the very necklace there, but I secured it for a third of the internet price. I did not dare enquire about the prices of the objects I had just purchased in the back streets. The discovery, in Made's presence, that they were cheaper on the main street would have been too great a humiliation to bear.
The trip back to Kuta was largely uneventful. Under instructions, I made a half-hearted attempt to buy a bedspread but my poor Bahasa did not enable me to convince the shopkeepers that I wanted something reasonably plain, not batik and sans moon and stars designs. I was somewhat relieved that I couldn't find what my wife wanted as I had no idea how I would go lugging it back to Australia.
Cockfight at PenglipuranThat afternoon I lazed around the pool at the hotel. I chatted to the in-house masseuse, a talkative soul, in her late 50s, who offered the information that she only made 10,000rp (about $2 AUD) out of each massage, the rest going to the hotel management. She had started off working on the beach, but then through the circumstances of consanguinity and affinity she found herself offered a job in a Kuta hotel. The sequence went something like this. Her mother's sister's grand-daughter married the man who ran the Kuta hotel. As part of the marriage arrangement, it was agreed that the bride's grandmother's sister's daughter, the masseuse, would be relieved of beach duty in deference to her advancing years. So she began work, happily, at the Kuta establishment. Everything went swimmingly for a couple of years until the wife died and the hotel manager took another wife. The new wife immediately fell out with the masseuse. To honour the marriage arrangement, however, the masseuse was not dispatched back to the beach, but was sent to a lesser establishment, the place where I was now a guest. There was more to it, including a disagreement with the management here, but at this stage my attention had wandered and I missed the detail.
Dinner at a little restaurant on Jalan Kartika (forgotten the name already) was followed by an early night. Why is it that doing nothing on holiday is so exhausting?
7 Days in Bali (Day 2)
Day 3 in Bali
My God, is it day 2 already? I only have eight days here and time is flying by, as always. Some people count the sleeps before they get here; I count the sleeps until I leave as well, determined to pack in as much as possible before that sad morning when you sit forlornly in the hotel lobby, waiting for your lift to the airport, watching all the happy travellers arriving with their 1 or 2 weeks still in front of them.
So, a quick breakfast ("egg any style" this morning is an omelette) and a sometimes hot, sometimes cold, shower before the day's events. I am booked to do a Kintamani tour. I usually don't do arranged tours because they inevitably include shop stops where the tour guide takes you to over-priced shops on the way with the expectation that you will buy and put some commission in his pocket.
This is a Tour East trip called "Highlights of Bali", the brochure for which declares "No shopping stops!" A little on the expensive side at $35 Australian per person, but it turned out to be well worth the price.
Lucky I was ready because the tour bus arrived an hour early at 8am. It had to collect four more people before beginning the journey. First stop at Santika to gather a father and daughter pair from the UK. She was a music teacher making her way around the world with her French boyfriend. Finding themselves impecunious in Java, she called for parental rescue and her banker father flew out from London and ensconced them at the Santika for a couple of weeks while the finances were sorted out. Santika was a quantum improvement, she declared, on the accommodations she and her boyfriend had endured until now, (which she described colourfully as "scumsville"). I can just imagine what it must have been like. Boyfriend did not join us as he had taken off on a motorbike for two days to do Bali on his own while daughter did "Dad duty". This included coming on a tour that she would normally eschew. They turned out to be charming company and we met up again a couple of times before I left.
The second stop was in Kuta to pick up an Australian couple. I was quite alarmed about the husband's condition. Youngish man but a tad overweight and sweating and puffing profusely as he climbed into our small van. And this was only 8.15am, what would he be like as the tropical day wore on? We only had an 8 seater so it was necessarily a cosy affair with the 5 of us, tour guide and driver sharing the small internal space, and there was no escaping anyone's physical condition. I am glad to say that the poor man's metabolism was soon restored by the aircon and I felt relieved that we might not have to perform some sort of resuscitation on him during the trip.
Rice fields and coconut trees, Jati BukitWe headed north, squeezing our way through the traffic as we tried to escape Denpasar's gravitational field. The roads, as usual, were chaotic, the more so because everyone was heading to work at this time of the morning. Cars, Kijangs, taxis, motorbikes, scooters and pushbikes wove a pattern along the streets, ducking in and out in what looked to foreign eyes like a mass attempt at suicide. This all proved too much for the Australian girl (I'll call her Kylie, but that is not her real name) who was on her first visit to Bali (first time out of Australia, I suspect). A motorcyclist flashed in front of us from a side street and she jumped involuntarily next to her now fully-recovered partner (we'll call him Tom). "Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, "If some bastard did that to me in 'Straya I'd punch his bloody head in!" I expected Tana, our tour guide, to reassure her about the skills of Balinese drivers, but he just turned and smiled at her. He had no doubt heard it all before. The driver, a non-Balinese looking man named "Ferry" just drove on, hand periodically working the horn with short, sharp taps as he cut his own path through the mayhem.
I settled back into a kind of torpor, watching the traffic and shops flash by, confident that Ferry was master of his vocation. There was no point worrying. Better to adopt the fatalism of the Balinese and trust that the driver and other road users had made the appropriate offerings to the gods this morning.
We passed through a set of traffic lights where opportunistic newspaper sellers thrust copies of the Jakarta Post into the windows of vehicles waiting for the lights to change. If you are looking to keep up with the news, buy something like the Jakarta Post rather than the recycled foreign language newspapers you are offered on the streets of Kuta. The latter are gathered from arriving aircraft, shrink-wrapped and sold back to the tourists at hugely inflated prices.
Heading north from Sanur, the traffic thins and the first rice fields begin to appear. I lean back in my seat and soak in the visual flood. A man slowly pedals a bicycle, laden with pots and pans and utensils of every description. A woman brings an offering to the front of her house. Dogs wander with indifference through the streets. We cross a bridge, complete with guardian statues at either end, and there below us a man is bathing in the river. I remember instructions about good manners in Bali and put away my camera. Now we go through a small village where an old woman, naked to the waist, walks gracefully with a load of wood on her head. And as we start climbing, we slow to a crawl behind two men carrying a king-sized teak bed along the road, oblivious to the traffic around them. A slight nudge would see them both tumble down a muddy embankment to the forest below, but they seem unconcerned about the possibility.
We drive through Batubulan, centre of the Barong dance and stone carving. Masses of stone statues line the street outside the shops, buddhas, demons, gods all shoulder-to-shoulder watching the passing traffic. Then we reach Celuk, the home of silver-smithing. I have a shopping list from my wife and Tana advises me to shop only in the side streets where the overheads are smaller and the prices consequently cheaper. I make a mental note of this for tomorrow.
We pull over without warning and are told that we are to visit a plantation. I look around and see nothing resembling a plantation. But we are alongside it. Balinese plantations do not specialise in one crop, but are a conglomerate of many crops grown together in apparent disarray. We are taken along a narrow path through what had seemed, from the road, like just another part of the forest. But there before us are vanilla vines, salak (snake fruit) trees, pineapples, cocoa trees and sundry other fruits and spices.
Rice makes a spiral pattern in a fieldA little stall at the far end of the plantation sells fresh vanilla - fresh, that is, after 4 to 5 months of a curing process. The cured vanilla pods contain small black crystals of vanillin, which you can see in real vanilla icecream as tiny black dots in the mixture. The music teacher buys a few pods to take with her, announcing confidently that she will make icecream with it. I wonder if she will get it past Australian customs. By the way, for those who have been paying attention I realise that this could be counted as a "shopping stop", but it is a very timid one indeed. The stall owner did not hassle us at all.
On the way back to the bus I enquire of the tour guide what the round white objects are in trays on the roof opposite. These turn out to be rice cakes, drying in the sun before being shaped into round cakes for temple ceremonies. Tana gives us a brief account of what goes into the making of offerings and satisfies my curiousity about what happens to all the clobber after the event. I was pleased to find out that it is taken home and eaten. Food that has been through a ceremony is considered to be particularly potent tucker as it has absorbed the sacredness of the ceremony.
After a short drive we reach Blahbatu where we visit a workshop that makes gamelan instruments. The workshop, which is more like a mid-sized factory, is at the back of a house. To get there we are led through the compound and Tana explains the role and functions of the various buildings we pass on the way. The grandparents have the grandest bale towards the front of the compound, but we are told that they are away visiting relatives, so we can't meet them.
On past the birds in hanging bamboo cages and chickens picking at the ground, we arrive at a dark, Dickensian building that houses a coconut coal kiln set in the earth. Here the bronze keys of the gamelan are formed, passed along a production line of men who refine each plate until they reach a solitary tuner who clinks each key against a master to tune it by ear.
Finally we see the construction of the wooden bases that hold the xylophone plates, carved out of the wood of the jackfruit tree. These days, we are told, the vibrating pipes are made out of PVC rather than bamboo because they offer a truer sound.
Jatiluwih ricefieldsWhen we got back to the bus, the music teacher gave her father an expository discourse on the pentatonic scale. Tom, looking slightly desperate, declared that he would soon need to find a loo.
Tom had his opportunity a little while later when we stopped at an archaeological museum. He raced to a small row of shops in the corner of the museum car park where he was shown to the WC (pronounced "waysay") or in the alternative kamar kecil - little house - Bahasa terms that absolutely must be included in the traveller's repertoire. Poor Tom. He shot out of the WC as quickly as he shot into it. This, I could tell, was his first experience of a traditional lavatory.
He returned to the vehicle ashen-faced. I told him that he might find a more suitable loo in the museum. He replied to the effect that he would rather die than enter another Balinese dunny. His words, I felt, might be prophetic, because when I enquired about his apparent state of Bali belly he said he actually didn't have Bali belly, but was taking a daily dose of Imodium as a kind of precautionary measure! The music teacher and I then gave him a short lecture on the danger of taking Imodium at any time, leave alone when you didn't need to, but this did not sway him. He intended to persist with his self-treatment. Any sympathy we might have had for him as a result of his encounter with the WC was dissipated at that point and no-one asked him about the state of his visceral parts for the rest of the journey.
We all then traipsed dutifully through the Museum staring through dusty glass cases at objects uninformatively labelled "chinese pot" or "ming vase" until we came to a courtyard that had an impressive collection of stone sarcophagi. I was particularly drawn to a sarcophagus that consisted of two large stone turtles in apparent coitus. Each had a hollowed section in the centre where, presumably, the body rested. The recently departed was inserted between this pair of passionate turtles, consigned to a kind of eternal m�nage a trois. What a way to leave this earth, I thought. Could this sarcophagus have been the last resting place of a Balinese Hugh Hefner?
We clambered aboard our bus again to continue our journey northward and upward to Kintamani. Kintamani is the name of a village on the edge of Mt Batur, one of Bali's two historically active volcanoes. By "historically active", I guess they mean that you could be blown to smithereens at any time, thereby rendering your person historically inactive. Many people have been (blown up, that is) over the years, especially near Mt Agung, Batur's sister volcano.
Shrine in ricefieldBatur is made up of two calderas, the largest being about 10km in diameter and containing a beautiful lake. I must say that the whole thing looks remarkably benign and not at all like something "historically active". But Tana the tour guide pointed to the black mass of lava flows from the central cone, some of it deposited as recently as 1994. The volcano apparently was first recorded in eruption in 1804.
Benign it might be, but you are reminded of being a puny mortal as you stand on the slopes looking in. You can only imagine the fantastic forces lurking just below the surface.
Back to the present, Ferry the driver reminds us of human frailty by driving into a large rock in the parking area where we were taken to photograph the scene. After negotiating all the traffic around Denpasar, he has to hit the only obstacle in a largish car park. Poor bloke was so embarrassed. Luckily there was no damage to the vehicle.
Where are the hawkers? A few years ago a visit to Kintamani was an unpleasant and sometimes frightening experience as desperate mountain folk surrounded your car and demanded you buy their wares. A local shop owner made a desultory attempt to rip me off over a sarong, but apart from that there were no hassles.
We lunched at a restaurant overlooking the lake. A smorgasbord lunch was 70,000rp, on the expensive side, but we were all starving and didn't really care, particularly Tom who was desperately trying to replace that which his tender Western stomach was earnestly trying to take out. I noticed some delicious looking sauce next to the satay and enquired of the chef whether it was excessively spicy. He assured me it was not. The moment the substance touched my tongue I knew he was lying and I was in deep trouble. My tongue curled into a tight ball and the roof of my mouth tried to separate itself from my skull. I immediately started hiccoughing and looked back at the chef, who was grinning wickedly at me across the room. A Bintang fixed it though, and we all had a stroll around the restaurant garden before climbing back into the bus.
Tana pointed out the Bali Aga village of Trunyan nestled next to the lake. The villagers are the descendants of the original Balinese, only a few of whom now survive. On a previous visit I went to the other notable Bali Aga village of Tenganan, on the east side of the island. I found the Tengananese a surly and aloof lot and I had no particular desire therefore to visit their cousins at Trunyan. I guess I would be surly and aloof too, however, if my government preserved my village as a tourist attraction, which is the case at Tenganan. Tana told me that Trunyan was well worth a visit despite the population's reputation for rudeness, if only to see how the Bali Aga dispose of their dead. Unlike the present day Balinese, the Bali Aga do not cremate or bury their dead, but leave the bodies out in the open to decompose naturally. Tana had visited the Trunyan graveyard several times and said he enjoyed it immensely, particularly the way the corpses' fingers disintegrated when you touched them. What about the smell, we asked? No problem, he declared, as the cemetery is surrounded by sandalwood trees that soak up the smell of decaying flesh. I vowed not to test the veracity of his story with a personal visit.
We then had a long conversation in the bus about life, death and Balinese cosmology. Tana revealed himself as an articulate and well-informed commentator with the rare ability to communicate difficult concepts to foreigners. We decided that the success of the tour, so far, was very largely due to his pleasant personality and deep knowledge of the culture and the countryside.
It is not only the Bali Aga who find themselves preserved for tourism. On the way back we stopped at the village of Penglipuran, an orderly place of neat traditional houses and manicured verges about 500m above sea level on the slopes of Mt Batur in the Bangli Regency. There are about 700-800 residents here, still in occupation of the houses in the village despite the tourist traffic. If they resent tourists they do not show it and people came out of their compounds to greet us and answer questions.
View of Mt Batur from KintamaniThe village elders have resolved to preserve their traditional way of life as much as possible and people are encouraged to build houses in the customary way. There is a bamboo plantation near the village growing a number of different varieties of bamboo. Attempts are being made to preserve the use of bamboo as a building material. Even television antenna can be seen in some of the villages on top of bamboo poles.
I was taken in tow by a young girl in her early teens who proudly showed me her house, the family shrine in their compound and their small plantation complete with coffee trees. I photographed a sanskrit symbol on the external door of one of closest building to the road. She saw what I was doing and told me proudly that it was her bedroom.
Further down the main street we had the good fortune to arrive at the conclusion of a Balinese wedding. We were all invited in, given nibbles and drinks and introduced to the bride and groom. It turned out that the groom worked for Qantas Holidays in Denpasar, but was returning to his birthplace for a traditional wedding. His grandfather, a stooped man with a deeply creased face, ushered us to chairs and insisted that we sample all the foods on offer. He did not speak a word of English, but such is the power of hospitality that he was able to communicate with us perfectly through gestures and smiles.
Women relatives of the bride and groom sat at the entrance and entreated us to sample the food. We all had the feeling that this was a genuine display of welcome, not something put on for the sake of tourists.
As we started the trek back to the bus I spotted a number of men hurrying down a laneway clutching some magnificent roosters. Tana confirmed that they were going to a cockfight next to the village temple. Kylie and the music teacher declared themselves to be utterly opposed to such things and Tom's frail stomach could not handle it, so the banker and I went alone to have a look. There was a throng of about 50 people in a cleared area next to the temple. The cockfighting ring itself was protected by a series of tarpaulins stretched over a wooden frame. An entrance fee of 1,000rp per person was required, paid by all, not just us tourists. Outside the ring enterprising locals had set up stalls selling food and jamu, traditional herbal medicine. One of the stalls contained the remains of a large roast pig, slices of which were available for purchase.
The action was in the ring itself, where women were not allowed to be. Handlers dressed in distinctive garb paraded two birds around the ring while the spectators shouted odds in a rising crescendo of noise. "Chock! Chock! Chock!" was being called by a large group of men, inviting takers on one of the birds at odds of 4:3. The birds themselves showed little desire to engage in combat and were eventually placed together in a wooden cage in the centre of the ring. The cage was removed quickly when one of the birds showed aggression towards the other, and the fight was declared over with the aggressor announced as the winner. I was somewhat relieved that I had not witnessed a killing as, though I find the custom interesting, I am not really keen about the violence. I am told that the metal spurs (taji) are so sharp as to inflict instantaneous death on the loser, but I am not sure whether I believe that. For those who have an interest, by the way, you can buy taji at many of the little antique shops along streets like Jalan Bakung Sari. They come in sets, contained in elaborately engraved wooden boxes. Try Yudha Antique (he only opens late in the afternoon).
Pacung RestaurantCock fights used to be officially banned in Bali, although you could always find an illegal fight if you really wanted to. Most tourists were oblivious to the fact that one of the largest cockfights in Bali regularly took place in a vacant lot off Jalan Kartika, near the Santika hotel entrance. It seems in recent years, since the fall of Suharto, the practice is returning to the open again. Tana told us that there were now numerous cockfights around Bali, all of which took place with the full knowledge of the police. Police were easily bribed, he said, and if you encountered a policeman who refused a bribe you could always threaten him with sorcery if he didn't comply (cockfights are said to have very powerful mystical powers which can be directed against enemies and unbelievers).
We left Penglipuran as the rain started and crept back to Kuta in a driving afternoon storm. Miraculously the storm cleared long enough for us to admire the view from a hillside temple at Bukit Jati where Tana produced a thermos with piping hot coffee and biscuits for us to enjoy on the side of the road. It was an opportunity to engage Ferry the driver, who had been silent most of the way. I was right about his non-Balinese appearance. It turned out that he was a Timorese refugee who had made his way to Bali a few years ago. He had decided to cut all his ties with Timor and now saw his future in Bali, where he had taken a Balinese wife. His family was still in Timor and he talked about them with incredible sadness, the more so because he believed that he would never see them again.
The tour ended with all of us being deposited back at our hotels tired but satisfied. I didn't see Tom and Kylie again, and I can only hope that Tom's system survived the holiday and Kylie didn't punch up any Balinese drivers. The music teacher and her father arranged to join me again on another Tour East trip to Mt Batukau in a couple of days.
That evening I had a light snack in the noisy food hall at the Matahari Department Store. After indulging myself with the purchase of a few shirts I strolled back down Jalan Kartika to the hotel with plans to return to Celuk the next day to shop for silver.
My God, is it day 2 already? I only have eight days here and time is flying by, as always. Some people count the sleeps before they get here; I count the sleeps until I leave as well, determined to pack in as much as possible before that sad morning when you sit forlornly in the hotel lobby, waiting for your lift to the airport, watching all the happy travellers arriving with their 1 or 2 weeks still in front of them.
So, a quick breakfast ("egg any style" this morning is an omelette) and a sometimes hot, sometimes cold, shower before the day's events. I am booked to do a Kintamani tour. I usually don't do arranged tours because they inevitably include shop stops where the tour guide takes you to over-priced shops on the way with the expectation that you will buy and put some commission in his pocket.
This is a Tour East trip called "Highlights of Bali", the brochure for which declares "No shopping stops!" A little on the expensive side at $35 Australian per person, but it turned out to be well worth the price.
Lucky I was ready because the tour bus arrived an hour early at 8am. It had to collect four more people before beginning the journey. First stop at Santika to gather a father and daughter pair from the UK. She was a music teacher making her way around the world with her French boyfriend. Finding themselves impecunious in Java, she called for parental rescue and her banker father flew out from London and ensconced them at the Santika for a couple of weeks while the finances were sorted out. Santika was a quantum improvement, she declared, on the accommodations she and her boyfriend had endured until now, (which she described colourfully as "scumsville"). I can just imagine what it must have been like. Boyfriend did not join us as he had taken off on a motorbike for two days to do Bali on his own while daughter did "Dad duty". This included coming on a tour that she would normally eschew. They turned out to be charming company and we met up again a couple of times before I left.
The second stop was in Kuta to pick up an Australian couple. I was quite alarmed about the husband's condition. Youngish man but a tad overweight and sweating and puffing profusely as he climbed into our small van. And this was only 8.15am, what would he be like as the tropical day wore on? We only had an 8 seater so it was necessarily a cosy affair with the 5 of us, tour guide and driver sharing the small internal space, and there was no escaping anyone's physical condition. I am glad to say that the poor man's metabolism was soon restored by the aircon and I felt relieved that we might not have to perform some sort of resuscitation on him during the trip.
Rice fields and coconut trees, Jati BukitWe headed north, squeezing our way through the traffic as we tried to escape Denpasar's gravitational field. The roads, as usual, were chaotic, the more so because everyone was heading to work at this time of the morning. Cars, Kijangs, taxis, motorbikes, scooters and pushbikes wove a pattern along the streets, ducking in and out in what looked to foreign eyes like a mass attempt at suicide. This all proved too much for the Australian girl (I'll call her Kylie, but that is not her real name) who was on her first visit to Bali (first time out of Australia, I suspect). A motorcyclist flashed in front of us from a side street and she jumped involuntarily next to her now fully-recovered partner (we'll call him Tom). "Bloody hell!" she exclaimed, "If some bastard did that to me in 'Straya I'd punch his bloody head in!" I expected Tana, our tour guide, to reassure her about the skills of Balinese drivers, but he just turned and smiled at her. He had no doubt heard it all before. The driver, a non-Balinese looking man named "Ferry" just drove on, hand periodically working the horn with short, sharp taps as he cut his own path through the mayhem.
I settled back into a kind of torpor, watching the traffic and shops flash by, confident that Ferry was master of his vocation. There was no point worrying. Better to adopt the fatalism of the Balinese and trust that the driver and other road users had made the appropriate offerings to the gods this morning.
We passed through a set of traffic lights where opportunistic newspaper sellers thrust copies of the Jakarta Post into the windows of vehicles waiting for the lights to change. If you are looking to keep up with the news, buy something like the Jakarta Post rather than the recycled foreign language newspapers you are offered on the streets of Kuta. The latter are gathered from arriving aircraft, shrink-wrapped and sold back to the tourists at hugely inflated prices.
Heading north from Sanur, the traffic thins and the first rice fields begin to appear. I lean back in my seat and soak in the visual flood. A man slowly pedals a bicycle, laden with pots and pans and utensils of every description. A woman brings an offering to the front of her house. Dogs wander with indifference through the streets. We cross a bridge, complete with guardian statues at either end, and there below us a man is bathing in the river. I remember instructions about good manners in Bali and put away my camera. Now we go through a small village where an old woman, naked to the waist, walks gracefully with a load of wood on her head. And as we start climbing, we slow to a crawl behind two men carrying a king-sized teak bed along the road, oblivious to the traffic around them. A slight nudge would see them both tumble down a muddy embankment to the forest below, but they seem unconcerned about the possibility.
We drive through Batubulan, centre of the Barong dance and stone carving. Masses of stone statues line the street outside the shops, buddhas, demons, gods all shoulder-to-shoulder watching the passing traffic. Then we reach Celuk, the home of silver-smithing. I have a shopping list from my wife and Tana advises me to shop only in the side streets where the overheads are smaller and the prices consequently cheaper. I make a mental note of this for tomorrow.
We pull over without warning and are told that we are to visit a plantation. I look around and see nothing resembling a plantation. But we are alongside it. Balinese plantations do not specialise in one crop, but are a conglomerate of many crops grown together in apparent disarray. We are taken along a narrow path through what had seemed, from the road, like just another part of the forest. But there before us are vanilla vines, salak (snake fruit) trees, pineapples, cocoa trees and sundry other fruits and spices.
Rice makes a spiral pattern in a fieldA little stall at the far end of the plantation sells fresh vanilla - fresh, that is, after 4 to 5 months of a curing process. The cured vanilla pods contain small black crystals of vanillin, which you can see in real vanilla icecream as tiny black dots in the mixture. The music teacher buys a few pods to take with her, announcing confidently that she will make icecream with it. I wonder if she will get it past Australian customs. By the way, for those who have been paying attention I realise that this could be counted as a "shopping stop", but it is a very timid one indeed. The stall owner did not hassle us at all.
On the way back to the bus I enquire of the tour guide what the round white objects are in trays on the roof opposite. These turn out to be rice cakes, drying in the sun before being shaped into round cakes for temple ceremonies. Tana gives us a brief account of what goes into the making of offerings and satisfies my curiousity about what happens to all the clobber after the event. I was pleased to find out that it is taken home and eaten. Food that has been through a ceremony is considered to be particularly potent tucker as it has absorbed the sacredness of the ceremony.
After a short drive we reach Blahbatu where we visit a workshop that makes gamelan instruments. The workshop, which is more like a mid-sized factory, is at the back of a house. To get there we are led through the compound and Tana explains the role and functions of the various buildings we pass on the way. The grandparents have the grandest bale towards the front of the compound, but we are told that they are away visiting relatives, so we can't meet them.
On past the birds in hanging bamboo cages and chickens picking at the ground, we arrive at a dark, Dickensian building that houses a coconut coal kiln set in the earth. Here the bronze keys of the gamelan are formed, passed along a production line of men who refine each plate until they reach a solitary tuner who clinks each key against a master to tune it by ear.
Finally we see the construction of the wooden bases that hold the xylophone plates, carved out of the wood of the jackfruit tree. These days, we are told, the vibrating pipes are made out of PVC rather than bamboo because they offer a truer sound.
Jatiluwih ricefieldsWhen we got back to the bus, the music teacher gave her father an expository discourse on the pentatonic scale. Tom, looking slightly desperate, declared that he would soon need to find a loo.
Tom had his opportunity a little while later when we stopped at an archaeological museum. He raced to a small row of shops in the corner of the museum car park where he was shown to the WC (pronounced "waysay") or in the alternative kamar kecil - little house - Bahasa terms that absolutely must be included in the traveller's repertoire. Poor Tom. He shot out of the WC as quickly as he shot into it. This, I could tell, was his first experience of a traditional lavatory.
He returned to the vehicle ashen-faced. I told him that he might find a more suitable loo in the museum. He replied to the effect that he would rather die than enter another Balinese dunny. His words, I felt, might be prophetic, because when I enquired about his apparent state of Bali belly he said he actually didn't have Bali belly, but was taking a daily dose of Imodium as a kind of precautionary measure! The music teacher and I then gave him a short lecture on the danger of taking Imodium at any time, leave alone when you didn't need to, but this did not sway him. He intended to persist with his self-treatment. Any sympathy we might have had for him as a result of his encounter with the WC was dissipated at that point and no-one asked him about the state of his visceral parts for the rest of the journey.
We all then traipsed dutifully through the Museum staring through dusty glass cases at objects uninformatively labelled "chinese pot" or "ming vase" until we came to a courtyard that had an impressive collection of stone sarcophagi. I was particularly drawn to a sarcophagus that consisted of two large stone turtles in apparent coitus. Each had a hollowed section in the centre where, presumably, the body rested. The recently departed was inserted between this pair of passionate turtles, consigned to a kind of eternal m�nage a trois. What a way to leave this earth, I thought. Could this sarcophagus have been the last resting place of a Balinese Hugh Hefner?
We clambered aboard our bus again to continue our journey northward and upward to Kintamani. Kintamani is the name of a village on the edge of Mt Batur, one of Bali's two historically active volcanoes. By "historically active", I guess they mean that you could be blown to smithereens at any time, thereby rendering your person historically inactive. Many people have been (blown up, that is) over the years, especially near Mt Agung, Batur's sister volcano.
Shrine in ricefieldBatur is made up of two calderas, the largest being about 10km in diameter and containing a beautiful lake. I must say that the whole thing looks remarkably benign and not at all like something "historically active". But Tana the tour guide pointed to the black mass of lava flows from the central cone, some of it deposited as recently as 1994. The volcano apparently was first recorded in eruption in 1804.
Benign it might be, but you are reminded of being a puny mortal as you stand on the slopes looking in. You can only imagine the fantastic forces lurking just below the surface.
Back to the present, Ferry the driver reminds us of human frailty by driving into a large rock in the parking area where we were taken to photograph the scene. After negotiating all the traffic around Denpasar, he has to hit the only obstacle in a largish car park. Poor bloke was so embarrassed. Luckily there was no damage to the vehicle.
Where are the hawkers? A few years ago a visit to Kintamani was an unpleasant and sometimes frightening experience as desperate mountain folk surrounded your car and demanded you buy their wares. A local shop owner made a desultory attempt to rip me off over a sarong, but apart from that there were no hassles.
We lunched at a restaurant overlooking the lake. A smorgasbord lunch was 70,000rp, on the expensive side, but we were all starving and didn't really care, particularly Tom who was desperately trying to replace that which his tender Western stomach was earnestly trying to take out. I noticed some delicious looking sauce next to the satay and enquired of the chef whether it was excessively spicy. He assured me it was not. The moment the substance touched my tongue I knew he was lying and I was in deep trouble. My tongue curled into a tight ball and the roof of my mouth tried to separate itself from my skull. I immediately started hiccoughing and looked back at the chef, who was grinning wickedly at me across the room. A Bintang fixed it though, and we all had a stroll around the restaurant garden before climbing back into the bus.
Tana pointed out the Bali Aga village of Trunyan nestled next to the lake. The villagers are the descendants of the original Balinese, only a few of whom now survive. On a previous visit I went to the other notable Bali Aga village of Tenganan, on the east side of the island. I found the Tengananese a surly and aloof lot and I had no particular desire therefore to visit their cousins at Trunyan. I guess I would be surly and aloof too, however, if my government preserved my village as a tourist attraction, which is the case at Tenganan. Tana told me that Trunyan was well worth a visit despite the population's reputation for rudeness, if only to see how the Bali Aga dispose of their dead. Unlike the present day Balinese, the Bali Aga do not cremate or bury their dead, but leave the bodies out in the open to decompose naturally. Tana had visited the Trunyan graveyard several times and said he enjoyed it immensely, particularly the way the corpses' fingers disintegrated when you touched them. What about the smell, we asked? No problem, he declared, as the cemetery is surrounded by sandalwood trees that soak up the smell of decaying flesh. I vowed not to test the veracity of his story with a personal visit.
We then had a long conversation in the bus about life, death and Balinese cosmology. Tana revealed himself as an articulate and well-informed commentator with the rare ability to communicate difficult concepts to foreigners. We decided that the success of the tour, so far, was very largely due to his pleasant personality and deep knowledge of the culture and the countryside.
It is not only the Bali Aga who find themselves preserved for tourism. On the way back we stopped at the village of Penglipuran, an orderly place of neat traditional houses and manicured verges about 500m above sea level on the slopes of Mt Batur in the Bangli Regency. There are about 700-800 residents here, still in occupation of the houses in the village despite the tourist traffic. If they resent tourists they do not show it and people came out of their compounds to greet us and answer questions.
View of Mt Batur from KintamaniThe village elders have resolved to preserve their traditional way of life as much as possible and people are encouraged to build houses in the customary way. There is a bamboo plantation near the village growing a number of different varieties of bamboo. Attempts are being made to preserve the use of bamboo as a building material. Even television antenna can be seen in some of the villages on top of bamboo poles.
I was taken in tow by a young girl in her early teens who proudly showed me her house, the family shrine in their compound and their small plantation complete with coffee trees. I photographed a sanskrit symbol on the external door of one of closest building to the road. She saw what I was doing and told me proudly that it was her bedroom.
Further down the main street we had the good fortune to arrive at the conclusion of a Balinese wedding. We were all invited in, given nibbles and drinks and introduced to the bride and groom. It turned out that the groom worked for Qantas Holidays in Denpasar, but was returning to his birthplace for a traditional wedding. His grandfather, a stooped man with a deeply creased face, ushered us to chairs and insisted that we sample all the foods on offer. He did not speak a word of English, but such is the power of hospitality that he was able to communicate with us perfectly through gestures and smiles.
Women relatives of the bride and groom sat at the entrance and entreated us to sample the food. We all had the feeling that this was a genuine display of welcome, not something put on for the sake of tourists.
As we started the trek back to the bus I spotted a number of men hurrying down a laneway clutching some magnificent roosters. Tana confirmed that they were going to a cockfight next to the village temple. Kylie and the music teacher declared themselves to be utterly opposed to such things and Tom's frail stomach could not handle it, so the banker and I went alone to have a look. There was a throng of about 50 people in a cleared area next to the temple. The cockfighting ring itself was protected by a series of tarpaulins stretched over a wooden frame. An entrance fee of 1,000rp per person was required, paid by all, not just us tourists. Outside the ring enterprising locals had set up stalls selling food and jamu, traditional herbal medicine. One of the stalls contained the remains of a large roast pig, slices of which were available for purchase.
The action was in the ring itself, where women were not allowed to be. Handlers dressed in distinctive garb paraded two birds around the ring while the spectators shouted odds in a rising crescendo of noise. "Chock! Chock! Chock!" was being called by a large group of men, inviting takers on one of the birds at odds of 4:3. The birds themselves showed little desire to engage in combat and were eventually placed together in a wooden cage in the centre of the ring. The cage was removed quickly when one of the birds showed aggression towards the other, and the fight was declared over with the aggressor announced as the winner. I was somewhat relieved that I had not witnessed a killing as, though I find the custom interesting, I am not really keen about the violence. I am told that the metal spurs (taji) are so sharp as to inflict instantaneous death on the loser, but I am not sure whether I believe that. For those who have an interest, by the way, you can buy taji at many of the little antique shops along streets like Jalan Bakung Sari. They come in sets, contained in elaborately engraved wooden boxes. Try Yudha Antique (he only opens late in the afternoon).
Pacung RestaurantCock fights used to be officially banned in Bali, although you could always find an illegal fight if you really wanted to. Most tourists were oblivious to the fact that one of the largest cockfights in Bali regularly took place in a vacant lot off Jalan Kartika, near the Santika hotel entrance. It seems in recent years, since the fall of Suharto, the practice is returning to the open again. Tana told us that there were now numerous cockfights around Bali, all of which took place with the full knowledge of the police. Police were easily bribed, he said, and if you encountered a policeman who refused a bribe you could always threaten him with sorcery if he didn't comply (cockfights are said to have very powerful mystical powers which can be directed against enemies and unbelievers).
We left Penglipuran as the rain started and crept back to Kuta in a driving afternoon storm. Miraculously the storm cleared long enough for us to admire the view from a hillside temple at Bukit Jati where Tana produced a thermos with piping hot coffee and biscuits for us to enjoy on the side of the road. It was an opportunity to engage Ferry the driver, who had been silent most of the way. I was right about his non-Balinese appearance. It turned out that he was a Timorese refugee who had made his way to Bali a few years ago. He had decided to cut all his ties with Timor and now saw his future in Bali, where he had taken a Balinese wife. His family was still in Timor and he talked about them with incredible sadness, the more so because he believed that he would never see them again.
The tour ended with all of us being deposited back at our hotels tired but satisfied. I didn't see Tom and Kylie again, and I can only hope that Tom's system survived the holiday and Kylie didn't punch up any Balinese drivers. The music teacher and her father arranged to join me again on another Tour East trip to Mt Batukau in a couple of days.
That evening I had a light snack in the noisy food hall at the Matahari Department Store. After indulging myself with the purchase of a few shirts I strolled back down Jalan Kartika to the hotel with plans to return to Celuk the next day to shop for silver.
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