Selamat Datang Bali!

When I say 'Bali', what do you think of?

Do images of white, sandy beaches come to mind?  Do activities such as surfing, scuba diving, or fishing tickle your imagination?  Perhaps a lovely and exotic Balinese dance performed in front of an historic temple?  These are the images of Bali often portrayed to the Western world, and they are all you will find if you choose to limit yourself to them.  However, should you want more from this small but diverse island, it is yours for discovery.

I began my ten-day jaunt in Legian, a sister city of Denpasar, Bali's capital.  If Denpasar were Pasadena, Legian would be Venice Beach.  It is the easiest and most affordable place for tourists to go immediately after deplaning.  It struck me as a fast-paced, crowded, dirty place with vendors pushing their products or services on any foreign looking passer-by.  To some degree it is, however, I have since returned after seeing other quieter, more serene parts of the island and have more tolerance for it.  Therefore, I can only conclude that some of my initial distaste was my own inexperience and shock to the culture.  With that said, Kuta Beach, a very big tourist trap, was actually the site of my first, and perhaps favorite, Balinese memory.

I sat on the beach awaiting the sunset trying hard to decline each approaching vendor with as much patience as possible.  "No, thank you."  "That is very beautiful, but I don't want it."  "I already have a pair of sunglasses, thank you."  The vendors, like the people, come in all ages and both genders.  Sometimes one cannot even see what it is they are peddling.  Therefore, when a young boy not more than 17 approached me I thought to myself, "Okay, what will he want me to look at and buy?"  This gentle looking and soft-voiced boy began much like any other peddler, "Hello.  What is your name?  Where you from?"  I replied with my stock answers, but was not answered back by the typical sales offer.  Once he knew I was from California he asked me if he could practice his English with me.  He was traveling with his school from Java on a trip they had waited to take all year and he "very badly wanted" to talk to an American.  I was incredibly touched at his eagerness not to mention his courage.  I must outweigh him by a good 50 pounds, yet I do not possess the guts to walk up to someone ask them outright if I may sit and speak with them.  We spoke about the deforestation of his home and how sad it made him.  He asked me if I thought Hillary Clinton would be President.  And he remarked how great America must be with people like David Copperfield and Criss Angel.  His simple happiness gave me great joy and reminded that some ignorance is, indeed, a bliss.  Slowly, thanks to his courage to break the ice, more of his classmates approached and spoke what little English they knew with me.  Before I knew it, I was taking pictures with pairs, trios, and entire groups of them.  They thanked me with the boy being the last, and he wished me a very good time in his country.  I almost cried behind my sunglasses.  It is appropriate that this boy's name is Yogi.

With the help of some of the hotel's staff, seems the way to get information, help, and services in Bali, I hired Kynky (yes, "kinky") to drive me to other towns with sight-seeing stops along the way.  At first, it seemed relatively expensive for Bali, but it developed into a wonderful service.  We talked about many things during the lengthy trips through the middle and around the eastern side of the island.  Topics included but were not limited to politics of each of our countries, religion and disputes caused by each, and, naturally, women.  Our first stop would be Lovina, a sister-town to Singaraja, the former capital of the island.  And on the way to Lovina we saw many interesting things that I had not associated with Bali until this point: 3000m mountains, a forest literally crawling with monkeys, birds indigenous only to Bali, crops specific to just a small region of the island, the beautiful Bratan Lake, and enchanting Gitgit waterfall, which resonated so deeply with me I had to buy a sarong.  It was on this first excursion that I realized the catch, or seemingly so, to Bali's inexpensiveness to Westerners: one must pay for everything and usually a price higher than what the locals would pay.  However, the absolute amount was literally pocket change, and as there is no contribution to the local economy by us visitors save this, I really can make no argument against it.

It was in Lovina, that I began to realize that some parts of Bali function as a fraternity might.  The more you pay into the club, the more friends you receive and the more activities become available to you.  I don't mean this in a cynical way, it just seems to be part of the reciprocity here.  Well, I joined the Lovina chapter of Bali brotherhood big time.  It all began with a 3-night stay at a small family run hotel on the beach.  I made a deal with Wayan, the patriarch and proprietor, which included accommodation as well as a diving trip off nearby Menjangan Island, which I will write on in a later entry. :)  Because of that deal, he and his cousin, Gede, took me to Cafe Joged, a karaoke bar, that evening to celebrate.  However, prior to the evening's merriment, I walked along the volcanic sand beaches and wound up playing football with a group of locals.  I have scrapes, gashes, and bruises on both feet and ankles from the course sand rubbing on my pink, virgin feet, but I would not trade them for all the Rupiah on the island.  It had been a long time since I played football and even longer since it was on the beach.  The locals started calling me 'Cristiano Ronaldo', a famous Portuguese striker, however I think this was due more to my appearance and size rather than ball-handling ability.  Nevertheless, a sweaty, dirty, sunset game of football became my nightly tradition followed by a wonderful sea dip and freshwater shower.

The first night at Cafe Joged, I thanked Wayan and Gede for bringing me to a local club with a bottle of Bintang, Bali's wonderful local brew, apiece.  Unbeknownst to me at the time, this earned me new status in the fraternity.  On my free day, Gede took me several places he enjoys: The hot springs near Banjar, his woodcarving shop (read: his one-room apartment), and even to a cockfight.  Although the day was warm, it was also cloudy and breezy, which made the hot springs quite nice.  The drizzle that began once I was in the main pool was also a welcome addition.  Gede's woodcarving skills amaze me.  I took photos of his collection, which he makes entirely from memory or pictures in his head.  I was so struck by one of the ebony carvings, I bought it from him and have since sent it home.  Hopefully, it clears customs, otherwise the picture attached to this album is what I purchased.  The cockfight gave me moral troubles, as I think it would many of the people with whom I associate.  I wanted to experience this very popular local sport, yet, without ever having witnessed one, I felt they were cruel exhibitions.  I went, shot some photos, but refused to gamble.  About halfway through a fight, I realized that much like other animals are bred for slaughter and consumption, so are these birds, it's just slaughter usually doesn't come from the peer after being aggravated.  The losing cocks are immediately butchered and thrown into one of the many local chicken dishes, quite often soup.  The winning cock, if it is not too badly injured, is treated and pampered so that at some point in the future it may fight again and bring more wealth to its owner and keeper.  In a country where poverty reigns supreme, this sport seems to be one of the main reliable sources of income for a family unit.

After Lovina, I spent three days in Tulamben, so I could dive some of the many highly rated sites there.  It was on the way here, that I stopped at the salt panning fields of Tianyar.  Kynky told me that it was the eruption of the nearby volcano that helped make the salt here so unique and sought after.  Supposedly, the volcanic soil through which the salt is filtered helps give it the large crystalline structure and delicious flavor it has become known for.  In addition to my diving home, Tulamben was also my home for Galungan, the Balinese version of Christmas.  On Galungan, Hindus everywhere dress in their finery and go to temple to pray.  After prayer, they eat Babi Guling (suckling pig) with many other friends and families, and drink Bintang all evening long.  The next day, Manis Galungan, is their day of rest and holiday with family.  They usually take a small local trip to a beach, water temple, or other peaceful area to enjoy the previous day's culinary treat as well as each other's company without the common stresses of work and family.  Because I was in town two days prior to Galungan, I had befriended several locals when the holiday came to pass.  This earned me an invitation to go to the temple at 7am clothed in a dress shirt and wearing my best, and only, sarong.  I was a bit reluctant for fear of imposition, however, I did not want to miss this chance.  As in every other place I've been in Bali, I was welcomed not with scorn or suspicion but with smiles and "good mornings" when I stood in the temple and attempted to shoot photos without disturbing the reverence within.

Yesterday, Kynky picked me up and brought me back to Legian and the Suka Beach Inn via two stops: Tirtagangga, the water palace dedicated to the last king of Bali, and Luhur Uluwatu, one of the more important and scenic temples in Bali.  Tirtagangga might be my singular favorite stop of this trip.  Despite the crowds of Manis Galungan, the place commanded respect as well as incited happiness.  Stone pools cover this acre-plus palace, some just for looking, others for walking on, that's right..."on", and even some for the usual swimming pool mayhem.  Uluwatu was a great follow-up to Tirtagangga.  Despite the outpour of sweat, I found much peace in this great temple.  Seeing worshipers use it kept it from being a stale monument loitered by Japanese and European tourists.  Plus, it's position the cliff seaside is to be envied by any homeowner or real estate agent.  The one thing I did not know about the temple were its inhabitants.  Typically, no one is allowed to stay overnight in a holy place, however, the locals have made an exception for Uluwatu.  The temple is crawling, literally, with Balinese monkeys.  They populate the grounds as though they were pigeons.  Should they feel the need to rebel against the humans and create an uprising, I'm sure they'd be successful despite them being one quarter our size.

24 hours remain in Bali, and without reservation, I can safely say I would very much like to return and would recommend this place as an easy gateway to Asia, for any who are interested.  The commonplace paradise awaits, but so does the thrill of an uncommon one.

Terima Kasih.