Journal Entry 1

I really don't want to write about the travel-time in the airports and on the planes from Colorado to Bali, Indonesia, and nothing even went "wrong".  It was just more tiresome than any traveling I've ever done before.  From standing in two hour check-in lines in the middle of the night (with a tired child); forced listening to loud speakers repeating in Chinese language over and over incomprehensible translations of useless information on crackling, loud, audio equipment; unpalatable, unfamiliar food on an already queasy stomach; to not knowing how to sit in the mini sized seat anymore.  

Well none of that matters now, though it was enough to rattle up some fears and doubts in a woman traveling with her eleven-year-old daughter to a third-world country that has government issued security warnings.  When we finally did arrive, I was relieved that I had booked ahead our first few nights of lodging. And now, as I sit and write this first entry in these fragrant, jungle-like, shade gardens relaxed now after a recent sprint with Morgan having run from the crashing surf on the nearby beach it all feels really good now.

The Balinese have already convinced me of how warm and friendly of a culture we have arrived to.  Curious about us, and ready to have a conversation at any time, they approach us easily just about everywhere.  Morgan is enjoying the newfound respect she receives, as she is nearly the size of a Balinese adult.

Less than 24 hours and already I have rented a motorcycle, albeit a 110 cc, Honda  which is really more of a scooter with the exception of manual gears.  Conveniently the motorbike was delivered to us at our beautiful lodging, which was a relief, as I was panicked at the thought of having my first driving experience to be riding out of a busy city center.  The price was kindly negotiated for us by one of the flowered-shirted staff members down to only $4 US per day.   I did engage in a little bargaining myself to have insurance included, which was just another scribble on the little slip of paper that was our contract.  Also at my request two bicycle-quality helmets were delivered, bearing the same foam as disposable igloo containers, both the same size (one-size-fits-no-one).  The straps at  least seem secure so we’ll use them as they will at least keep the sun off of our heads.  Insecure about driving in a place so different and knowing I am going to need all the safety benefits I can get, I decided to be accepting also, of the bold red color of  the motor-bike, as it will at least allow us to be more visible (then we already are with our tall bodies and blond hair) and so possibly have an added safety advantage. 

Well, time to order up lunch, IN the pool, an eleven year olds dream.  Morgan will have the noodle dish and I'll have the avocado salad with crab meat and a watermelon juice "silaken" (please).

Journal Entry 2 May 7, 2004 Hotel, Puri Bambu, Jimbaran, Bali, Indo

Taking Morgan here, before entering Jr. High, I had hopes of exposing her to something beyond. Hopes of pre-expanding her, a sort-of 'let's help you skip the Jr. High illusions ahead” and forge god-speed into the light.

Late in the day we rode little "spicy-bike" a few miles down from our lodging to the fishing-end of the village, exploring, down at the end of the road that runs parallel behind the beach bumping along as it turns into washed-out road.  We pulled over in shock as all six senses were erupted with our first exposure into the third world (at least a block of it).  Packed with people, animals, noise and scents.   Strong, weathered men pulling in their colorful brightly painted boats, chipped paint worn from the sun and sea.  Women sweating in colorful sarongs as they carry the catch, baskets spilling over with shiny, flapping fish. Roosters and Hens squawking in beautiful baskets held by women dressed in lace tops, wrapped sarongs, hair dressed with flowers while the men drive, zooming by us on motorbikes. Where they are headed we do not yet know.  Kids piled on the men and women on the motorbikes, entire families on one bike.  Kids running about barefoot in dingy colored shorts with running tasks or playing.  Aloud shouting voices of sellings of fruit and clothes and fish in obvious words but that we do not understand.  Smells so pungent they are not of the world we know.  An ancient lady with a caved-in mouth coming slowly and deliberately towards us, looking in my eyes, in way that makes me start the engine slowly go, though it was likely just to look and feel Morgan’s yellow hair and not a curse as our insecurities creep up. All of this and more, amongst dingy shack warungs stacked with rough food cooking and grilling for the locals, a smell divine  if it were only isolated from the others.

We were too rattled to stop for more than a minute.  It was surprisingly overwhelming so we

decided to head back and eat in the comfort and security of our lovely rooms.  Barely making it through our light dinner of Indonesian soup with a banana pancake (YUM!), she slept 12 hours again! 

I thought I would pick up a mirror for the missing one on the left side of my (new?) Motorcycle when after riding around the death-trap circuit, (and this was just in little Jimbaran),  I realized it was the only thing keeping me on the left-hand side of the road!  There appear to be no rules here! "We" would go straight to jail (with out a "get-out-jail-free-card") if WE road like this in the little town where I come from.  On the up-side, it is rather thrilling and fun, a little bit like the go-cart track as an adolescent, only faster and without the bumper.  Morgan thought it was much less dangerous than walking (and I am being serious here).  Reason: not EVERYONE is passing you.  Passing is usually within a few scarce inches whether it's a small or big vehicle or walking. The bigger the vehicle the more right-of-way they decide to have.

Journal Entry 3 May 9, 2004 Puri Bambu, Jimbaran, Bali, Indonesia

Carefully following the narrowing road on our little, red motorbike to the end of

Bukit Peninsula we gasped at the view at the end.  Hundreds of meters
down in the blue ocean were tiny dots of surfers riding gigantic swells.
The waves are world famous here and for only the most daring of surfers.  We soon
discovered one reason why as a Balinese woman set her basket of goods down to lead
us to the bottom.  Hiking down narrow make-shift steps passing seven or so
switchbacks of surfer lounge-and-live hang-outs we reached the tiny beach which is inside a great thundering cave of pounding waves, echoing as they pummel the rocky entrance from the ocean.  It was very exciting, and we were both a little nervous.  A few old-timer surfers were waiting for just the right break to navigate the dangerous exit of white-water and rock into the ocean.  Some locals followed us down to in hopes of selling us some of there goods.  Instead we relaxed and felt the energy of this great ocean power, not wishing to leave the grounding power of this cave.

Later, after climbing out we rode

a few tight curvy and steep

kilometers down the peninsula to another famous paradise surfers beach Pdang Pdang.  This one only had a cave we had to walk through to get to the beach.  Only a few people were here again as this is another very tricky surfers wave, coming in onto harsh coral.  We got our first look at the adorable little gray monkeys that were hanging out at the lagoon behind hoping for a banana from a tourist.

Looking beyond and above was a large cement bridge that had an ancient
look surrounded by jungle vines and plants one would need a bush-whacking
knife to get through.  We watched the tide go slowly out while the coral
surfaced, the surfers riding the waves in only to leave.

A man appeared at the top on the road dressed in an old parking attendants shirt claiming we owed him a fee for parking, hmmm…on the edge of the road?  “How much?” I asked, surprised.  He said 3000 Rupiah.  It shocked me at first but with a quick calculation I was not about to argue in another country for a mere 40 cents.

Journal Entry 4 May 8, 04

The monkeys were a little different on our walk up to the famous temple Uluwatu which is perched fantastically on the edge of the high limestone cliff’s.

These guys are not shy of tourists and very in charge of their temple gardens.  

We happily purchased three little bags of peanuts from the old man at the entrance and carefully hid them as we were told so that we could feed the creatures, one-by-one just as we were told.  Ya, RIGHT!  

I'm glad we were warned to resist the temptation to touch them by the old man who, by his own means, decided to "guide" us for a small fee when I saw a big male bare all of his sharp teeth and hiss at Morgan who had decided to SAVE it from chewing the plastic of the bag he had already stolen from her!!  If only I could have captured the look on HER face.  

Hearts beating fast and nearing the end of our walk I decided to capture a lovely, peaceful grooming session on my camera.  As soon as that monkey heard the ZIIIPPP of my pack open he was on me so fast snatching my sunglasses right out of my bag!  I was thrilled that I still had my more valuable camera so I began to shoot photos of him dangling my favorite Oakley sunglasses hundreds of meters above the crashing rocks below with the drop back of a pink ocean sunset behind.  The beast seemed to be enjoying the idea of a fight!   Our "guide" gave him our last bag of peanuts but he only hissed and bared teeth and even came at us the more he tried.  Then out of nowhere appeared a man with a case of peanuts and an enormous First Aid Kit (prefer not to think of why).  He tossed him a bag of nuts while saying some magic words and bingo, quick as a wink he grabbed my glasses, and I got the photos, which were best of all!

Journal Entry 5 May 8, 2004

After the monkey trouble we made it to our seats around a massive stone platform just in time for the Kekuk and Fire Dance (my favorite).  Our self-hired guide finding a nice one for us, right up close near the area reserved for the locals.  What could be better than watching 70 half-naked men performing on a striking ancient stage at sunset?  (the answer could be 70 men that aren’t half over 70).  

Anyways, looking to the right were the jutting limestone cliffs dropping off into the beautiful ocean with a most brilliant pink and red sky.  I had so much to look at I didn’t know where to keep my eyes.  Wow talk about a choir of men.  Scantly dressed in black and white sarongs (representing the balance between good and evil) they together made sounds with their voices almost like high pitched drumming or something very rhythmic with the intention of going into a trance.  I think we went into a trance.  Eventually when the moment was right the beautiful Balinese women dressed as deities entered portraying a battle of the gods. Frightening creatures came out to battle; one even leaping into a tree off stage. , looking to the right were the jutting limestone cliffs dropping off into the beautiful ocean with a most brilliant pink and red sky.  I had so much to look at I didn’t know where to keep my eyes.  Wow talk about a choir of men.  Scantly dressed in black and white sarongs (representing the balance between good and evil) they together made sounds with their voices almost like high pitched drumming or something very rhythmic with the intention of going into a trance.  I think we went into a trance.  Eventually when the moment was right the beautiful Balinese women dressed as deities entered portraying a battle of the gods. Frightening creatures came out to battle; one even leaping into a tree off stage. 

As the hour wore on the men kept-on with the chanting sounds, intensifying and becoming more mystical and exciting (I don’t know how they could continue to breath).  Finally when it was very dark, one of the good gods overcame the evil one and showed his power by dancing, jumping and kicking great balls of brush that were set to fire, which was a both exciting and frightening as we were in the front row and could not only feel the heat but flames were kicked near us.  The whole event was both exciting and yet we could sense the very sacredness of it too.  

HERE IS A LINK TO AN EXAMPLE OF THE KECAK DANCE AT THE SAME TEMPLE, ON YOUTUBE  http://youtu.be/vqke2IrdZxQ

Journal Entry 6 Sunday May 9, 04 Yulia's Home stay, Sanur, Bali

Why is it kids always know what not to eat with there dog-like instincts and adults don’t listen to theirs; afterwards they say “I know exactly what it was that made me sick”!  In my case it was the deserted restaurant at the top of Uluwatu, and the Chicken Sate, which was less than fresh! Ewwww!  So after an uncomfortable, delayed day with Bali Belly, it was a relief to get on with our travels.  

We were both a bit nervous and excited as this would be our first adventure out to find the next village wherever and lodging and carrying our packs on the spicy bike.  We made a good decision and left a third of our, not really needed, stuff at Hotel Puri Bambu along with passports/tickets/back-up credit card we could go back for if necessary.  

Our packs were now much lighter though Morgan still felt unstable behind my pack while wearing hers so in the end we attached mine to the bike right in front of me.  This seemed a little scary for making slow turns but we have since worked out the details in how it's strapped on.  

 I wish I had picked up that left-hand mirror after all.  These two lane roads are very exciting
without one.  It's nice though, to use the horn whenever I like without seeming rude.  Basically a
horn is used right before someone invades someone else’s driving space.  I am getting used to cars
and huge trucks passing me in MY lane, or sharing it with two other bikes....

Arriving in Sanur the beach town seemed more deserted and quiet than I would like.  Got a coffee and a great tip on a Homestay (Yulia’s) that came with a cute, tan puppy named "Joe Jo" whom we took to the beach for a walk only to discover more puppies and why the Balinese believe evil spirits have something to do with the dogs!  The little bugger got off of it's chain and took off romping down the beach and when I finally grabbed him, he bit me!  

Morgan was too tired to see the humor in the whole thing and passed out without dinner before 7pm Bali time.

Journal Entry 7 Monday, May 10, Respiah Bungalows, Beachside Sanur, Bali

It's not that hawkers (roving sellers) are so terribly aggressive in trying to sell their wares, but that WE seem to be the only tourists around here.  One sarong shop lady said she has not had business in three days.  Though I appreciate the quiet, it's a little odd to be the only person in an entire bungalow complex or restaurant.  We have not yet run into another tourist from the U.S.  Most are from elsewhere in Asia, Australia and a few Europeans.  We upgraded for double our money from yesterdays hotel fare to $24, but the regular advertised rate for this nice place is $60.  We decided to stay one more night in Sanur as Morgan seems so tired still, and she needs a pool or something fun.  She is terribly unimpressed with the beach which has some sort of erosion issue and is all sea weedy which "freaks her out".   

We drove up to the beautiful Bali Bird Park today, which was both soothing and exciting as most of the 200 species and thousands of birds were free in the park.  It was nice to see Morgan so happy (and cooled off) here.  The birds were very in charge! A beautiful red bird kept diving at my head (nesting material?).  Best of all was the very cool rope bridge going up into the giant trees so where we could really upset them. 

 
Could only glance at the beautiful pink sunset while driving the two of us downthe highway of hell back to Sanur during rush hour.  But the real cause of being rattled were all the cops, who are known to be very corrupt, I think one may have been trying to flag me over, I just kept driving...hoping I wouldn't be worth coming after, heart beating fast.  

Journal Entry 8 Tue. May 11, Mawar Homestay and Artist Studio, Ubad

We fired up spicy bike after breakfast in Sanur this morning.  


We have developed a great packing and attaching system.  


At this point, it would take a lot to convince either of us to give up the freedom and spontaneity we are getting from the motorcycle vs/ a hired taxi or any other method of travel.  The nose gets it's own tour of Bali, and the warm breeze is a caress on my skin.  


And there is nothing more lovely, than hearing Morgan sing little tunes, behind me while cruising along.


Stopping for petrol is always interesting.  The fuel is kept in jars on rickety shelves, sometimes out in the sun.  


Most typically, the men or younger women go and alert the most senior woman. 


She arrives with the usual warmth and open eye-contact of the Balinese, and fills the tank as if she is quenching the thirst of a good friend. 


Spicy bike is a good friend at this point, I feel we are making great progress with her and appreciate that I have overcome the more intense and frightening driving experiences.

 Driving the back roads through little villages full of wood, stone and bone carvers I got tickles in my tummy it was so beautiful, rugged and quaint.  There is just something about this humid part of the world that excites all the senses and traveling this way allows them all to come out. 

 Staying at another Homestay near the Palace and town center in Ubad we climb many steps to our room, which gives us a tiled-rooftop view and is surprisingly quiet, in fact just us again.  Morgan was a little shy to use the bathroom as it's very open and it has a few friendly bugs.  She likes the lizards though, and I think she decides on if a room is acceptable to her based on how many wall lizards are in it.  I like them myself.

The Legong dance tonight was on a beautiful stage at the back of a large Lotus pond.  We watched it from our tea-room perch on the side while we ate dinner at “The Lotus” restaurant, which was more about the show than the food.  In this show, all women dance the young girls ages 8-12 yrs are costumed up outrageously in flashy colorful sarongs with gold and more makeup than a geisha.  Performing complete ritualistic dances with specific eye and hand movements in unison while the less dressed up ladies (probably mom, grandma, sister, aunts) play all the mysterious gamelan instruments at several speeds together.  As always a priest of the Brahman caste (highest of the four main society castes) begins with a blessing and sprinkling of holy water, (they seem a bit arrogant to me).

Journal Entry 9 May 12, wed, Nicks Hideaway, Ubad

I would never be staying in this out of the way, weird little place, if it were not for my idealist eleven year old, Morgan, who thinks it is "just the greatest!', and the tout who begged us to follow him to it.   First of all, to get to it, one has to drive 2km up a steep, rocky, washed-out dirt road, ugh.  Then at the sign turn right onto a two-and-a-half foot (not-so) wide retaining wall which is considered to be the drive-way and the only access I guess, crossing several layers of well fertilized rice paddies (which are very smelly mud right now) only to park spicy-bike in an impossible slippery little space where my left foot slides into the muck upon parking and now smells very bad.  Once inside this 'hide-away' everything is new and nice though the padlocks on the fancy carved doors seem a bit archaic and the jungle seriously surrounds it which could be cool except for that once again the ONLY people (dumb enough) to be here, besides us, are the two guys who work here.  So much for cultural ambiance in Ubad!

Hey, it's got a pool, she's happy...  and her hair is totally GREEN, I think it's getting greener from pool to pool.  Even the best pools seem to be off-balance chemically.  I think she's going to cut it off before the Balinese determine she's a witch-child, which some of them clearly already do.

We spent the afternoon staying cool in the Sangeh Monkey Forest.  We saw maybe 50 of the 200 rascals that guard the 14th century temples and bathing pools. Offerings are placed along the paths, which show the sacredness of this forest to the Balinese.  The just arrived, baby monkeys were especially adorable.  Two of the adolescent monkeys came and SAT ON OUR LAPS!  But suddenly turned aggressive and one slapped Morgan for no noticeable reason, unless they knew what we were saying.  I could swear they understood us talking about how we wanted to touch them.  The big males are REALLY scary; we continually tried to avoid those testosterone beasts.  One climbed up a lady and boldly took her water out of her pack, opened it and casually drank out of the bottle, another grabbed my shorts and pulled hard, the monkey police-guy told me it was because my arms were crossed he thought I was hiding food.  I was just protecting myself.  These guys are fun to watch though!  It’s even more fun to watch the OTHER tourists with them!

Journal Entry 10 May 13, Thursday, Grand Natia Bungalows, Candidasa

Driving through the Cultural Center, Ubad was lovely last evening, until we got to our creepy turn-off to our deserted Hideaway.  

We got the heck out of there first thing, of course, after our tasty (always included) breakfast of the usual which is: a pile of ripened meticulously cut fruits (pineapple, papaya, watermelon etc.) with lime, an egg or two, toast or banana pancake with some very rich delicious Balinese coffee (sometimes they even serve it with sweetened condensed milk!).  Morgan instantly sucks up a banana milk shake with every meal and loves the Indonesian pad Thai-type dishes.  The prawns cooked with special sweet soy sauce have been my favorite.

Driving up that morning through the lovely little villages taking back-roads towards Taro we saw sun weathered farmers working in their rice paddies, beautiful old women carrying large bundles on their heads, and people coming out of the forests strapping bamboo, enormous bundles of vegetable greens and other resources to their motorbikes and bicycles.  Riding was enjoyable on smooth, winding roads, though I think my top speed has been 70km but usually am cruising at 40km because of the unknowns such as potholes, piles of dirt, vehicles in what I think of as my lane, dogs, dogs and more dogs few healthy some half-lame.




We stopped to play with the rescued gentle giants, the Sumatran Elephants in what is a nice but somewhat touristy park.  This time, happily being the only ones there, we were able to feed and pet them and one even placed a ring of flowers around my neck.  It was nice to know our entrance fee helped to keep them well, as they had a lot of space a big bathing pool to bathe in and appeared very well fed and cared for.



The views on the roads heading North towards the big Volcano Batur were wonderful.  We kept driving with ohhs and ahhs for little switchbacks through hanging jungle vines and little villages lined with farms.  Nearing the top we  stopped at a tidy fruit stand on a steep road where big trucks were braking hard to get down.  A kind village woman opened or peeled several fruits for us we have never seen before.  We slurped up several samples most were sweet and delicious.  One that looked like an orange was filled with what looked like little sweet clear bags of seeds.  It was our favorite.  One was like a nut, but had a pretty pink outer shell.  The experience changed when a dog started barking at the jungle bushes to the side and an old mean-looking man finally came out.  He glared heavily and suspiciously at us.  The dog kept barking at him.  When we turned to leave our bike was covered with flies. We left, lifting his curse.  This was the beginning of our uncomfortable feelings about the area.  




Arriving at the top we were greeted by several security posers and “polici” who extracted a toll to view the lake and Volcano.  We were hustled harsher than usual to "stay at my hotel," "eat here" etc.  We drove up the road and feeling threatened decided to have a quick lunch to appease the tourist Cartel who seemed like they were following us.  The lunch was an overpriced buffet of soggy, sick food, even the coffee was wrong.  We left amid a swarm of very pushy hawkers, riding down the Mountain just as fast as we could go, Morgan saying "let's never come here again"!!  

Both of us could breath again after we passed the turn off the most important temple in Bali, Besakih at the foot of the Volcano.  In Bali, it is said, the center of the Hindu Universe collides at the center of Batur Volcano.  We must have been on the 'evil' side today.  The villages seem to vary in this feeling for us too.  One village will be unbelievable warm and friendly as we slowly ride through it, another equally hostile and suspicious about us. 

A full and long day of driving we rode into Candidasa the beach town, at sunset.