Bali - Island Life

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Asia Update 2: Bali – Island Life

June 2002

We settle in to the house in the rice paddy, watching brilliant island sunsets every night from our front patio. The local people seem very nice, and not easily disturbed by the antics of foreigners - even when they blow out all the electrical circuits less than an hour after arrival, insist on wearing only purple and fear marauding ducks (see Update #1.) Our fish like to eat the festival rice cakes we keep acquiring from our new neighbors. This works out well because the cakes, resembling fluorescent pink and yellow packing materials, are first offered to the spirits and then taken down from the offering baskets a few days later for distribution to family and friends - strangely unimproved in taste or texture by the aging process.

Our pastoral existence is interrupted by frequent trips to Ubud for necessities. Because we're on foot, an errand or two means we usually spend the entire afternoon in the market hubbub. We also purchase Craig's first sarong (purple, naturally,) for the upcoming Galungan festival. Sadly, pictures were forbidden...

Many of our Ubud excursions include traipsing back and forth between the puskesmas (clinic) and the apotik (pharmacy,) for the minor maladies that plague us almost constantly. Since arrival, we've treated various allergies, a yeast infection, a rash of Plantar warts, a vicious case of prickly heat, a leprous big toe, and a bug bite on Craig's chest that abscessed and malignantly surged into a sort of third nipple, threatening to overtake the existing, peaceful nipple kingdom in a violent and pus-filled coup...to name a just a few. At least two of the clinic visits involved correction of the previous visits' malpractice. Evidently, checking prescription drugs for contraindication is not a routine part of Balinese medical training.

The would-be King Nipple is eventually subdued with high doses of Cipro, and peaceful island life resumes. Two warungs (small, family restaurants) adjoin our rice paddy, and our biggest decisions revolve around which one to select at mealtimes. For the holy day of Galungan, we visit the local pura (temple), resplendent in our ceremonial garb -- sarongs wrapped skin-tight and appropriately accessorized by Made, the jolly proprietor of our closest warung. In honor of the big day, Made treats all the foreigners of our immediate paddyhood to a special, ceremonial breakfast. Unfortunately for me, every dish is made from the babi, a suckling pig roasted for the occasion. Under Made's proud gaze, I pile my plate up with the various swine fare: babi stew, roast babi on a stick, cold shredded babi with coconut, babi-fried rice, babi-fat soup...and sneak it onto Craig's plate when she isn't looking. There's nothing in the feast I can eat except plain rice. I hate rice.

Respectively starving and nauseous, we sweat through the mid-day temple ceremony and opt for less formal attire when the next event rolls around. The festivities continue at sundown, with the entire village parading the barong from temple to temple. A mythical guardian, the Barong is represented by several men in a homemade costume that most resembles a giant, deranged Pekingese. He's accompanied on his tour by a marching gamelan (percussion band,) a few ornate, wooden boxes that contain the bad witches (obviously, it's best to keep your bad witches in a box,) and the less important, non-pedigreed barongs. Everyone in the village turns out in their finest traditional clothes to join the procession. Half a dozen foreigners straggle along, bringing up the rear. Dazed and partially sun-stroked from all the day's fun, we bow out after temple stop #3, feeling slightly guilty. Little did we know Galungan would turn out to be our most successful cultural event.

We spend most of the month lolling about in the hammock, spoiling ourselves rotten with the conveniences and luxuries of Ubud. It's not hard to understand why foreigners come here and never leave: about $20 USD buys a day at the spa; a sushi dinner for two hungry people; a new outfit (including shoes,) 3 new CDs, or two doctor visits. And I was afraid I wouldn't care much for budget travel...

For variety, we hike or motorbike to the less developed villages of the province. They all look the same and the names are tricky to remember, so we start referring to them according to craft specialties: Painted Egg village, Carved Wood Flower village, etc. The scenery is amazing, but tourism is so rampant here that it's difficult to talk to the locals. Everyone who speaks English exists in a nonstop sales mode that borders on harassment.

We decide that when our lease expires, we'll rent a car for a few weeks and drive around the island. Craig met an American woman who runs the local library, and she suggested a route through the less populated Northern and Eastern areas. I thought the motorbike was scary until I experienced Indonesian highway death-driving first hand. Secondhand, actually -- I refused to drive the rattling, toy-sized tin car. Craig bravely took the wheel and after a few words of advice from the owner (i.e., how much it should take to pay off police and/or roadside bandits, should we get stopped,) we were off into the fray. Constant hyper-vigilance is necessary to survive the road: the popular yet invisible third lane, the custom of constant passing from either side, enormous trucks driven by lunatics, overloaded motorbikes from all directions carrying everything from furniture to hazardous construction materials to entire families...and of course, it's all on the wrong side of the road. Traffic signals, when they occur, seem to be irrelevant. It's like a life-sized video game, only you don't get three more lives when they take you out.

Our route takes us up a roller-coaster track through the central mountains and we land in the tiny town of Munduk without physical injuries. The big attraction up here is proximity to three freshwater lakes. You can boat on the lakes or hike around them, but swimming is discouraged due to the presence of "bad spirits" -- e.coli and schistomiasis, we presume -- in the water. We investigate the homestay of Crazy Made, a large and permanently inebriated Balinese man who laughs maniacally every time we speak to him. My "terima kasih" (thank you) has him in stitches; "selamat sore" (good evening) makes him weep. The bungalow is sparkling clean and overlooks a breathtaking valley view all the way down to the ocean. We decide to take it, although we fear Crazy Made may axe-murder us in our sleep. For $12 a night, you learn to compromise on the little things.

After Munduk, we wander through the oceanside towns of Lovina and Yeh Sanih, then drive all the way to the Amed on the east coast. It's a picturesque route, though difficult to enjoy while your life is flashing before your eyes at 80 km/hour. Amed is nice enough to warrant a longer stopover. We select a small hotel with a swimming pool, because Craig is teaching me how to swim. In return, I'm teaching him Patience...though I really think that one's a two-way street.

We make our way around the east coast, stopping in the ghost resort of Candidasa to snorkel with giant sea turtles and the port town of Padangbai, where we catch a boat out to the little islands of Penida and Lembongan. The whole area is lovely to look at, but after two weeks of rambling around in the heat and bugs, we're ready to return to the more civilized west side of the island. By this time, Craig's become a grimly competent road warrior and we can tackle the nightmarish southern traffic. We take a loop around the peninsula and settle in idyllic Jimbaran Bay, where we hang out for a week gorging on fresh fish and shellfish at the night market, enjoying the best beach on Bali. We've decided against exploring other parts of Indonesia, and with just a week left on our visas we waddle back to Ubud to spend the remainder in cooler weather -- and away from the temptations of the fish market.

Ubud now feels like returning home after a vacation. We trade the car in for a motorbike and resume our funny little village life. It's a little strange to realize we've been in Bali for nearly 2 months. On Saturday, we'll fly to Singapore for a few days in the city. From there we plan to take a boat to Malaysia and then adventure Orient-Express style from Kuala Lumpur to Thailand, where we'll stop over for a couple of weeks until Vietnam visas can be obtained. Bali has been a gentle, dreamy initiation to Southeast Asia, sometimes rustic but rarely unpleasant. Moving onward through this part of the world will require some load lightening and belt-tightening, but hopefully the rewards will be equal to the effort.