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.
Despite being surrounded by altars and temples and little offerings left on every doorstep, today I got my closest look at Bali's Hinduism. And of course more of its beaches, but there was definitely some culture thrown in there somewhere.
I rented a motorbike from my hotel and decided to first head back up to Seminyak so I could find a restaurant I had heard good things about and wanted to eat at that evening. It's all pretty swank up there so I have a feeling this will be another bill for the credit card, but I'm not about to pass up on the best pizza on Bali! Thank god I can hide my helmet under my seat, though, because everyone looks really nice up there and this red-orange monstrosity makes me look like I'm part of some fashion-forward but long-forgotten branch of Hitler's army.
Fortunately, there are lots of signs along the road that are nice and easy to follow, so after I find my restaurant in Seminyak I'm off to Denpasar to see the main city on Bali. It's got a large park and several museums that I'd like to check out if I can manage the traffic and evade the police. Without an International Driving Permit you aren't supposed to drive in Indonesia, and if they're going to get you in trouble for it anywhere, I've heard they're going to get you in Bali. I've been told to keep about Rp50,000 separate so that if I'm stopped I can say that it's all that I have. It's really an understanding between the police and the drivers: both groups know you shouldn't be driving without an IDP and you'll have to pay if you get caught, but everyone also understands that the money goes right to the cop's pocket so you're going to pay a smaller fee than you would in court. It's an interesting system, but it works.
Denpasar is a very typical large Indonesian city in that it's quite dirty, nondescript and dingy, except for the cultural center where most of the museums are. There are a lot of run-down shops, dozens of carts selling food and petrol along the street, and electrical wires run every which way like a great rubber spiderweb. My adrenaline is pumping as I try to look for police, look for signs, and lookout for the cars around me all at the same time. It keeps you awake, that's for sure. I took the highway into town and it was a great road: wide, well paved, well regulated (considering having 4 scooters across one lane is well within regulations) and quick. So at least I'm making good time!
One thing that's really cool is that I keep going through these gigantic stone gates that are very intricately carved and at least ten steps up from the simpler ones at the entrance to the beach. It would be cool if they used to be the entrance to a village or something, but they're gorgeous anyway. The main square of Denpasar follows the theme of these gates and is like a world apart from the rest of the town. The main temple and the Bali National Museum are side by side and their matching entrances promise you a trip back in time to when Bali was covered in jungle, not sprawl. I didn't go through the museum, but got to enjoy a gamilan performance and a peaceful stroll through the temple before strolling through a nearby park.
Denpasar was nice enough, but didn't have much to hold my attention so I headed back south to the very tip of Bali where I could go back to the beaches and visit the sea-side temples. The roads are definitely much quieter down here and the single-lane streets are edged by trees and fields rather than long lines of houses and shops. My first stop was Uluwatu, the southernmost beach, and my plan was to park and wander north from beach to beach, stopping for food or sunbathing or a drink whenever I felt like it.
Um, that didn't happen. Here's why------------------->
So as you can see Uluwatu isn't so much a 'beach' as a death trap for anyone who isn't a professional surfer. The only way to get your board into the water is to walk down nearly a hundred stairs and wind through a canyon that has been carved out by thousands of years of rushing water. If you go back up those stairs and walk along the top of the cliff you get amazing view and little restaurants and shops. And did I mention absolutely insane views? Gorgeous. The next beach, Padang Padang, was similar, but not as impressive and with a definite beach area. This is where I enjoyed a banana pancake and a jafle (grilled sandwich) followed by a quick swim (if you can call digging your feet into the sand and fighting against worringly strong currents a swim). I walked a little ways to see how far the beach extended, but as soon I walked around a large rock it was just me and the ocean smashing up against lava rock. So I just walked back to the beach and pretended to be as rich as the Europeans there who must have been too good for Kuta.
At this point I drove back to Uluwatu to see the massive Hindu temple there just before sunset. Were you wondering when the crash was going to come in? Well, here it is, and I'm not too proud to admit that it was pretty much my fault. If you've read any of the entries before this you have an idea of how most Indonesians drive, and weaving your motorbike between cars is considered normal practice. And of course I want to experience the "real" Indonesia, so I was weaving a bit, too, and managed to weave my left handlebar into a truck that was pulling off to the side of the road. The loud scream that came from a woman by the side of the road may have been a bit unnecessary, but it's true this was my most impressive crash so far. I wobbled to the right then fell to the left and did a somersault onto the road, skinning my hand, shoulder, and arm. I was a bit sore on my left side for the rest of the day, but big kudos to my camera bag for keeping everything intact, my helmet for keeping me conscious, my pants for not ripping, and my glasses for not shattering! My motorbike, well, that suffered a big more damage and in fact I almost couldn't get it running again. The only way the engine would stay on is if I held the throttle down, at least a bit, and revved the engine even while I was stopped. It took some practice and stalling several times to get the trick down, but at least I made it to the temple and wasn't stuck in Podunk, Indonesia.
The temple was beautiful and very extensive, and it was really enchanting to see people using it to worship. It felt good that I wasn't just going to another old building, but rather a place that is still an important part of the culture of Bali. Oh, just be careful of the monkeys--they're everywhere and very active, if you know what I mean!
Still a bit shaky after my crash, I wasn't excited to be back on the motorbike again, but it turned out to be good that I was because I was able to stop when I noticed a big crowd in traditional dress walking into a temple. I walked up to the gate and was shocked to see a large crowd watching a procession headed into the heart of the temple. There were elaborate costumes, a full gamilan orchestra playing, and a large animal (lion? dragon?) made of people like you would see in China. It was beautiful! I was totally enraptured and it gave me a huge thrill to see so unexpectedly such an incredible display! This may be an ordinary thing for the Balinese, but I was speechless and just in awe.
Finally, I continue back up to Seminyak and ask for a table at Trattoria. Lonely Planet swears it's the best Italian in the area, and based on the size of the crowd it seems lots of people would agree with that. I ordered some of the local wine (very delicious), an arugula and goat cheese pizza (yummmmm) and panna cotta for dessert. It's such a romantic restaurant, like the place Lady and the tramp ate outside of--opera playing, candlelight, the whole place open to the sidewalk--it kinda sucks that I'm the only person here dining alone, and it isn't helping me that at the table on my right there are ten girls that look about thirteen years old. They're definitely American, and I would love to know how they managed to convince their parents that 1. those outfits are ok for their age and 2. they should go to Indonesia on their summer break. But the food is delicious, even without company although it would be nice to get away from the ever-present Jack Johnson soundtrack that brings back too many memories. Next time I come to Indonesia I'm bringing CDs to ask the restaurants to play while I'm eating.
Finally, after one hell of a day absolutely filled to the brim, I clench up again and ride the throttle back to my hotel. I manage to get it parked in one of the far spots and at this point all I can do is hope that I don't have to pay hundreds of thousands of rupiah in repairs. Now, I know with these rental bikes people fall over or crash all the time (there were several scrapes on it before I hopped on), but is it really bad that I don't point out if I knock a mirror crooked or something like that? Whenever I've ridden with someone they've always said, 'Oh, don't worry about it unless they find it and bring it up. You can deal with it then.' So it seems like most people don't really have a problem sweeping a few problems under the rug, and I have to admit I'm on their side with this one. Does this make me a bad person?
Leia Mais…
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. 
