Busted by the Popo

Well, to make a long story very short (I do not have the energy at all to write this), I rented a motorbike to explore the northern and eastern parts of Bali and came home 12 hours later an absolute mess.  This was NOT an easy day.  I found a killer spider, insulted a priest in training, paid all my cash to the cops, drifted across northern Bali on fumes looking for an ATM to buy petrol, popped the back tire of my motorbike (with no cash to pay for a new one), got lost in the middle of nowhere in the dark, and almost got hit by a bus.  Yep, I was wiped.

Took off on my motorbike about 8am and followed the (very clearly marked) road north towards Bangli and Penelokan, near Lake Batur and Mount Agung.  After about 40 minutse I stopped for a moment to take a photo along the side of the road and made the mistake--or was it a smart move?--of looking down near where my foot had been sitting.  There was a spider the size of my pointer finger.  I swallowed my shriek, took a photo, prayed it wouldn't be a jumping spider and go for my face, then shook the bike until I convinced the ground was a better place to be.  Ew ew ew ew ew I hate spiders.

Finally I make it all the way up to Pura Besakih, Bali's most important temple.  I'm told I can't go into certain parts without a Hindu guide (and I paid to get in why??), but when I tell them I have no money they say just to donate what I think is fair.  But this guy could be the best guide in the world and I've still only got Rp12,000 outside of my emergency cop fund.  There are 23 smaller temples in the complex that all have different groups that are allowed to worship there (royalty, peasants, soldiers, women, etc) and come in a corresponding degree of ostentatious decoration.  My guide is interesting enough and speaks clear English, but he keeps asking if I want to go in and pray even though I see lots of donation boxes and keep saying no thanks.  At the end I've seen some amazing architecture and clear views all the way down to the ocean.  Very nice.  My guide, on the other hand, sees the 2000 note that I'm about to give him and starts shouting to other priest trainees who immediately break out into a fit of laughter. You jerk, I told you I had no money.  I'm going to go eat a steak just to karmically get back at you.

As I was riding down the mountain, I rounded a corner and drove straight into a police checkpoint.  They were stopping everyone and checking all their papers.  A nice policeman came up to me and we started chatting ("Oh, but where is your boyfriend, lady?  You just go home and get married and come back to Bali on your honeymoon!") and we played the little game of 'oh, no international permit, oh that's a big fine but I'll take care of it if you just pay me part now'.  However, I hadn't found an ATM like I'd been hoping and so I wasn't lying when I said that all I had was Rp50,000.  Being such a nice guy he settled for that instead of arresting me and told me there was a bank back near Ubud.  At that point I had to make a choice: go to the nearest ATM back where I had come from and miss the northern coast or ride on and run the risk that I wouldn't have enough fuel to to get to a bank.  Anyone who knows me knows I'm stubborn, so of course I kept going!  And I'm so glad I did because it was an AMAZING ride.  Good road, twists and turns, views down to the ocean and across the island, perfect weather, peace and quiet, man this is the LIFE!  Although I was still very vigilant, like every Singaporean is told to be, but this time it was for cops, not terrorists, because I had $0 (sorry, rupiah) to save my ass again.

Despite being broke, riding illegally and getting dangerously low on petrol, I was really enjoying my drive along the northern coast of Bali.  The only foreigners I saw were walking near the dive shop, and locals were nearly as scarce, too.  I stopped for a bit of a picnic along the retaining wall, enjoying a loaf of muesli bread I bought at a bakery last night and enjoying the waves crashing at my feet.  It was so peaceful that my confidence in the rest of the trip going well was fully restored.  At least it was until I stopped to ask for directions one more time.  The man pointed to my tire, made a whooshing noise, and said "bad".  About ten minutes later I was able to convince them that I believed them but that I really, truly didn't have any money for repairs.  The next thing I know, someone has ridden off on my motorcycle, I'm being force-fed sugary tea (with a bug in it that must have died happily), and I've been surrounded by a crowd of about fifteen kids who keep shouting the only 2 words they know in English: "America!  Obama!"  Every time one makes eye contact with me they laugh hysterically and hide their faces in their hands.  It's adorable for about twenty minutes when I start to wonder if I'm ever going to see my motorbike again.  But I do!!  Minutes later the guy rides back on it with a BRAND NEW TIRE.  I don't want to know what it must have cost him.  I feel terrible, especially since I can't express my gratitude.  How beautiful that these people just took me in, , a complete stranger whose problem is not their own, and they treated me like family.  I'll always remember that.

Once I left the northern coast behind it got hilly again and the ubiquitous rice fields started to appear again.  I may have been very nearly on empty, but it was impossible not to stop and take photos of these gorgeous, gorgeous views.  Eventually I did make it to Tirtta Ganga and was able to force my motorbike sputtering into the parking lot through the sheer force of my will.  It was the most amazing feeling to see those 100,000 notes come spitting out of the machine.  I filled up and rolled out towards Candidasa, the next main city on my way home.

As the dark really started to settle in, I arrived at Candidasa, one of the nicest beaches in all of Bali.  It would have been nice to see it during the day, but there's a unique magic to the dusky hues of twilight, the monochrome palette that unites the sea and sky in a single, muted wash.

Is that Lombok in the distance?  I'm not sure...

One last look then the boys get ready to ride home.  It's safety first in Indonesia.

 

This is the point in the story where things go downhill again.  I really thought it would be simple to get back to Ubud.  It's a fairly major city and everything else is clearly labeled, so even in the dark how hard could this be?  Two hours later I found out, when I finally made it the 40 kilometers back to Ubud.  In reality I probably drove about 60 km just from getting lost in the dark.  I hit a dead-end at a beach, went up and down along rice paddies, gestured wildly at people I had stopped to ask for help, followed buses that I hoped were heading to the nearest big city, and passed scenery that I'm sure would have been gorgeous if I could have seen it.  I made it back in the end, but for a while I was considering whether it would be better to hide the bike and sleep in a field or knock on someone's door and hope they understand when I ask for a bed by pantomime.  Okay, it's way too late to type, I've got to go to bed.