Damn, how did that happen?

So that’s it. Just like that vacation is over. I have work in 16 hours. Sixteen HOURS. Interesting fact: I have been out of Singapore for 504 out of the 520 hours that make up this holiday. That’s 97%!! Quite impressive, if I may say so myself.

I’m pretty much in denial, though, that a new term is starting next week and that I’m going to have 3 new classes with 120 students to get to know and figure out how to work with. And of course I also have my regular sec 3 students that I work with all year that need to get whipped back into shape after getting pretty antsy at the end of last semester. No, you know what, I’m not going to think about this until the weekend. I’ll go to the staff meetings tomorrow and Friday, zone out, and just worry about actual class work later.

Not much else to report for today, though. I slept for about 9 hours, which felt amazing, but also meant I had to get breakfast, change, and pack in about 40 minutes. I made it just in time to catch my shuttle to Kuta Beach, where I ended up spending a few hours putting the finishing touches on my tan and reading more of this great book, “Blame It on the Rain”. It mixes my two loves very well because it’s all about how natural phenomena have affected the outcome of history. Fascinating.

Then I was interviewed by two Balinese students who were doing some kind of school assignment. They wanted to know what people in my country said and did to express different things, including love, surprise, advice, pleasure, pain, permission and...something else, I forget. Yeah, it was a little odd, especially since they took a video of it while I’m sitting on the beach in a bikini and they’re Muslim girls wearing hijabs, but you know, go with it.

After that, when I sat down for some lunch, I realized I had more of those little blisters on my arms. They’re tiny and not at all painful, but they’ve been showing up almost every day for a week now and the only time I’ve ever seen them before is after a really bad sunburn. I’m not burnt, though, and have in fact been more careful since arriving in Bali than ever before to put on sunscreen. I’ve also found a few dark splotches on my left arm and hand over the last day or so and some small new moles, all of which are making me think that a visit to the dermatologist is probably in order. Maybe I should wait until all of these scrapes and bruises die down, though, so he doesn’t think I have other skin diseases, as well. I really don’t know how I get so roughed up on vacation.

From there it was just a simple matter of hailing a cab, insisting the driver use his fully-functioning meter instead of agreeing upfront to Rp40,000, paying the 19K it actually came to, then getting the correct amount of change for my 50 that did not include paying another 10K for the imaginary airport entry fee he had no proof of (I especially loved how profusely he thanked me for my business after I accused him of being a cheat and a liar). I checked-in, paid my ridiculous Rp150,000 airport “exit tax” and was soon whisked back to Singapore on a nearly empty jet.

One last comment for the day: I think I saw the future. The other two women in the shuttle were sisters from Australia. One had left her husband and kids at home to take a vacation; the other was me in 30 years. Divorced and childless, she is a wandering soul who owns a large piece of property in rural Australia (corresponding to my goal of owning property in Wyoming when I’m older) and happily admits she has no social life (check). She travels the world, though, riding motorbikes in exotic countries before returning home to her horses. Good lord, she should just will everything to me to make things easier on both of us.

Oh, don’t listen to me. I’m just depressed to be heading back to work. But if you ever can’t find me in the US, I guess check the outskirts of Darwin, Australia.

Leia Mais…

Today was a pretty damn good day

Wow. Today was...wow. Incredible. Just about perfect. Spectacular. Well, I am a little saddle sore from sitting on a motorbike 10 hours a day for the last 2 days, but I’m taking care of that now with a couple of glasses of delicious Balinese rice wine as I wait for my 9:00 massage appointment. Ohhhh mannnn.

Last night I slept like an absolute rock. The roosters didn’t even register in my subconscious and I groggily came to around 8:15. It’s actually impossible for me to sleep in past 6 on school days and 9 on non-school days because my body just wakes itself up. One of these days, though, I am going to force myself to sleep until noon or something crazy like that. Mom and dad, all that complaining you did about how Austin and I would sleep in on the weekends has finally registered with my body. Thanks heaps.

So it’s back on the bike and I’m heading towards Tanah Lot on Bali’s southwest coast. About twenty minutes into my trip, though, I was already thinking how nice it would be just to do nothing today. Or I could ride to Kuta and sit on the beach. Or I could go back to bed. Suddenly, I realized I COULD DO WHATEVER I WANTED TO. Fly home to Singapore, even. Which was exactly the problem: when I asked myself what I wanted to do, my brain said, “I don’t know.” I was honestly excited by nothing in particular at that moment and kept thinking I wish someone else would tell me what to do. It was a seriously weird moment. In the end, I stuck with my decision to ride to Tanah Lot and the mountain lakes, but I cut the distance I was going to travel by a third so I could get home earlier in the day and relax. A compromise, if you will.

Riding through Bali’s main city, Denpasar, made me realize just how great it was to ride in the countryside and in the mountains yesterday. The smog and air pollution was just disgusting to breathe and the traffic and police presence made for a nerve-wracking and stressful ride. I felt 110% better as soon as I left the crowded city streets behind and was back out among the rice paddies.

Tanah Lot is a series of small temples built on a lava beach and along the cliffs above. For a few thousand extra rupiah each, you can see the holy snake (and I think touch it, not sure, didn’t pay) and the holy spring (you get splashed by a priest, a flower in your hair, and rice stuck to your forehead). Despite clearly being a racket, it’s quite beautiful, with waves splashing in the background and clear views down the coast.

Leaving Tanah Lot I headed north for what would turn out to be an amazing drive. At some point the people in the villages decided to start flying flags, sporadically at first then increasing in frequency until they were on every single building. Enormous flags, some so big that their weight was too much to be held up even by the brisk wind blowing today, from every country of the world (though there’s a special fascination with Germany and Denmark, apparently). And it just kept going, for dozens of kilometers, until I headed up into the mountains. With the sun shining and the wind blowing, the road became a brilliant, flapping rainbow that gave me the most incredible high. At that moment everything was beautiful, everyone was happy, evil did not exist, and all was right with the world.

It’s not hard to find your way up to the villages in the mountains; there’s really only one road going from place to place, which, while convenient for navigation, is how the cops were able to corner me yesterday. The road I’m on starts to slope gently up and up, with houses and shops starting to give way to rice fields periodically. The temperature starts to drop as I drive through the clouds that create a mist on the mountain and the number of cars on the road dwindles. Speaking of the road, it’s getting rougher and rougher. Giant potholes, sections washed out by recent rains, slippery gravel, hairpin turns, fallen branches...it’s getting interesting. By the time I get up to the top of the first mountain, Gunung Batukaru, the only other cars I see are motorbikes bigger than mine and 4 by 4s being used by tour groups to shuttle around foreigners. The fact that I didn’t fall at all today is feat I’m very proud of.

From the summit the view is simply stunning: rice paddies carving large steps in the hills as far as the eye can see. One community has started several fires in different fields and the smoke that’s carried up the hill by the wind reminds me of summers at the cottage. It is my favourite scent on Earth. Banks of clouds move through quickly, at times blocking out the sun and causing the temperature to drop about ten degrees. The cold is part of the reason I turned around when I did; I was shivering in my t-shirt, cardigan and jeans.

From there all that was left to do was take the winding road down the mountain to the pair of lakes in the valley. The first sits next to the mid-size city of Candi Kuning, which was also supposed to have a lovely temple, but it was just one of a half dozen that I tried to find over the 2 days I was riding yet couldn’t seem to locate. When I rode by the first lake, Danau Bratan, on my way down the hill the sun was shining and it was an idyllic scene of boaters, fishermen, and even a guy hanging from a parachute and being pulled by a boat. After spending about thirty minutes sitting on the skeletal dock at the second lake, eating a snack and watching the fishermen out on their platforms, I turned around and headed back to Danau Bratan. This time I couldn’t see more than a hundred feet in front of me; this colossal lake a couple miles wide had been engulfed by large, low-lying, grey clouds, as if someone had drawn a curtain. It was like the gods thought the first scene was too ‘peppy’ and decided to put an end to all that nonsense.

Back on a large road (a Balinese expressway?), I head down the mountain and past dozens of ‘pick your own’ strawberry fields. Quite cute, really. I’m sorry to say, though, that I’m going to make an observation that will support a racial stereotype my friends and I already believe--Indonesians tend to drive like they (and most Singaporeans) walk: all over the place, paying no attention to the people around them, never moving in a straight line, and swerving/changing directions without warning. It sounds terrible and at first we all thought it was just a few people doing it, but over the last 11 months I’ve seen it many, many times each day and we expats have developed very short tempers with Asian pedestrians. Phew, glad to get that out. It’s much easier getting home today, though, because it’s light out and because I know better where I’m going. I return my motorbike early, about 6, because while trying to see one last temple a dozen kilometers outside of Ubud I saw a police roadblock up the street and decided it was a sign to just go home.

After riding for only two days, I’m thinking that I wouldn’t be able to do a substantially longer trip, at least not anytime soon. It’s loud, it’s dirty, I get nervous when I see how badly others drive, I’m not mechanically-savvy enough to fix the damage I do to my bikes, and, like I said before, I’m having some serious physical discomfort issues. The hardest part, though, is that you can’t just watch the scenery, like you can as a passenger, because you have to watch the road. But the road is boring. So you start to think about other things. THIS IS THE TRAP! When you have a chance to think too much, your mind goes places it shouldn’t. Yesterday I created visions of getting a ticket I couldn’t pay and being held under arrest at the airport because I tried to just leave and skip out on it. Today the focus was on how much I miss my family. And how if I got in an accident here no one would know about it because no one knows exactly where I am. A sobering thought as you take another hair-pin turn going down a mountain. But it is true that I love the freedom of having my own transport; there’s nothing better than realizing you’re seeing something or going someplace other tourists will miss completely. And of course the look of shock on people’s faces as a single, white lady goes roaring by on a motorcycle is just priceless.

All right, enough.  I'm tipsy enough that I will probably fall asleep during my massage, but considering it's about $5 for an hour, who cares?

Leia Mais…

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.

Leia Mais…