Bali & Java photos

updated: photos from Bali and Central Java are online here for anyone interested.

Bye... for now

I'm back in Bangkok and it's time to go home now. I feel so melancholy about leaving Asia. Usually I feel ready to go home, but this time, I feel ready to stay. I believe now for the first time that it's very possible that I might someday be living here. When-where-why? Who knows?

I am so drawn to this city, yet there are things I hate about it: the traffic and mosquitos come immediately to mind, followed closely by the oppressive heat and humidity. No other southeast Asian city I've been to has the heavy, sultry air of Bangkok. I'm outside walking and within five minutes I am drenched with sweat. But I can't stop walking because...this place is a fascinating, non-stop assault on the senses.

It's the smells in Bangkok that hit me in the gut, though. Immediately upon exiting the airport, the sweaty, exhaust-filled 95-degree heat smells... like home. The Chao Praya River. Incense. Pungent baskets of dried fish. Jasmine garlands. Ecalyptus bundles boiling at the Thai Traditional Massage School. Duck soup simmering in a wok on a sidewalk corner. And incense again.

At the airport, a rowdy group of obnoxious drunk Americans (wait, is that possible???):

"Fuck you, you fuckin queer," one yells to the other. I realize that I haven't heard language like this in the almost three weeks I've been in Asia. (Then again, maybe I have since I don't speak Indonsesian and barely understand a few words of Thai... ). What I haven't heard for sure though, is anyone here raising their voice. Ever.

Maybe it's that peacefulness that attracts me most.

Back to Bali

After three days in Central Java, I returned to Bali for three more days, this time to the Seminyak beach area. Seminyak isn't nearly as charming or as rural as Ubud, and after living in California for almost ten years, it takes a lot for me to get excited by a beach. The beach at Seminyak is... well, it's fine.

What does make it somewhat unique is that in one 15-minute walk I was offered everything from Balinese paintings to cold beer to intricately detailed kites to "massage: complete!!"

About a year ago, I saw a photograph in a travel book of a lakeside temple in Bali. It seemed so serenely beautiful. That photo is really why I came to Bali. I wanted to see things that looked like that!

Since it's a copyright image, I won't use the original here, but it looked very much like this. The temple is called Pulu Ulun Danu Bratur. It's about a 2-hour drive from Seminyak, and on my last full day in Bali, I was going there, again with Herry.

I was afraid this might turn into a long drive ending in dissapointment. What if the photo had created such anticipation in my mind that seeing the real thing might be a let-down. It was not. I was especially lucky because there was a special ceremony happening there that day. Dozens of women were carrying offerings on their heads into the temple. A gamelan orchestra was playing. Priests were blessing the offerings. The temple was adorned with gold and white drapes and umbrellas.

On the way to the temple, driving up a narrow, twisting mountain road, we passed a sprawling isolated hotel overlooking spectacular rice terraces. The entrance was locked and overgrown with weeds.

"Bankrupt!" Herry scowled. "After the bomb nobody want to come to Bali. They start to build many new hotels. But so many hotels bankrupt now. Still very bad for us here."

I believe him. Just a few weeks before the start of the high tourist season, the streets of both Ubud and Seminyak were very, very quiet. The hotels I stayed at were all far from full.

Across the shore at Lake Bratan, Herry pointed out another abandoned hotel.

"BANKRUPT!!" he exclaimed with disgust.

I wasn't sure if he was upset with greedy developers for overbuilding, or at the fucking terrorists who planned the 2002 & 2005 Kuta bombings, or at the tourists for being afraid to return to Bali. Possibly with all three.

Driving back to Seminyak, we were stopped at a police blockade.

"Shit," muttered Herry. "Black tax."

He exchanged a few words with the cop, handed over some rupiah, and we passed through.

"What was that?" I asked.

"You don't know black tax?"

"No..."

"Police, they stop cars and we must give them money."

"Money for what?"

He laughed. "Money for their coffee, haha. For nothing. It goes into their pocket. Some days if I have bad luck, they take everything I make."

As we made our way back to Seminyak, Herry and I said goodbye. He was a great driver and I feel lucky to have met him.

"Too bad you going home tomorrow," Herry said. "Very big cremation here!"

Well, maybe next time. It's yet another reason to return to this enchanted island.

Celebrity Status at Borobudur

I had two very different experiences at Borobudur Temple. Located in Central Java in the shadow of Mount Merapi, one of the world's more active (and forboding) volcanoes, 1,200 year-old Borobudur is the largest Buddhist monument in the world.

I went there first on Saturday afternoon. A sea of Indonesian schoolchildren - hundreds, maybe thousands of them - were climbing the steep stairs to the top of the temple. I wandered around the massive temple, trying not so successfully to avoid the crowds. Clearly this day was not going to be about peace and serenity...

Gradually kids began to approach me. "Hello, mister. Take photo?"

"Sure," I said, assuming what they wanted was for me to take a photo of them.

But, no, that wasn't quite it: they wanted photos of me! All of them did.

So one by one, each kid came and stood next to me while their friends snapped away with their camera phones.

Later a teacher approached me.

"Would you mind if my class takes a photo with you?"

"Um... sure, okay."
(but why?????)

All 20 kids gathered around me and he took their photo.

This continued for the entire time I was at the temple. "Hello mister. Take photo?" These kids weren't interested in seeing Borobudur... there was a tall white guy there and he was way more interesting.

The next morning I awoke at 4:30 to watch the sunrise from the top of Borobudur. Four Japanese tourists were the only other people there. The only sounds were, first, the call to prayer from the surrounding mosques. Then, roosters crowing in the distance. Then gradually, as the sky lightened, the purring of motorbike engines somewhere out near the horizon. Sunrise was an awe-inspiring experience. And I probably wouldn't have appreciated it nearly as much if I hadn't gone through the camera-clicking circus act there the day before.

Monkey Love

The Ubud Monkey Forest...Technically, it's the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary. And it's the home to over 300 or so monkeys (or grey-tailed macaques, for you National Geographic readers). And I was afraid. Not generally afraid - I love monkeys - but more specifically, afraid of being bitten or attacked by one of the wiley rascals who roam freely throughout the Monkey Forest.

"You will have no problem, just do not bring any food," said one of the Wayans at my hotel as I left.

No food, no sunglasses, no hat, no shiny dangling objects... I was prepared.

Within 20 minutes a medium-sized monkey was on my right shoulder. Now his hand was reaching down the back of my shirt..but there were no claws, no teeth. Just a soft, warm and gently inquisitive monkey palm. And I liked it...

Then he began inspecting and cleaning my hair, as monkeys love to do to each other, when they're not busy riding tricycles or peeling bananas. His hind paw gently caressed my right ear.

I was in love.

A few seconds later, he was gone.

I went back the next day. Had he thought of me? Would he even remember me? Was it too soon to bring flowers? Would it be better if perhaps I didn't shave today??

My monkey was nowhere to be found. It was over.

But please, if you're ever in Bali and happen to see this guy, do me a favor and let him know that I haven't forgotten our brief but special time together in the forest.

Just Call Me Wayan

My driver from the airport to my hotel in Ubud, Bali introduced himself and handed me his card. "My name is Wayan," he said.
"Hello Wayan, nice to meet you."

We arrived at the hotel. At checkin, I was greeted by a young manager. "Welcome to Alam Jiwa. My name is Wayan."
"Hello Wayan, nice to meet you."

Later that evening I was walking through Ubud after dinner at an Indonesian restaurant recommended by my hotel. The name of the restaurant? Perhaps you've already guessed: Cafe Wayan.

As you're walking, every other guy you pass on the street in Ubud calls out to you, "Hello sir, you need taxi?" or more simply, "transport???" They'll take you with their car (or motorbike) anywhere around town you want to go. I was tired so I accepted one of their offers. After the required price haggling:

"40,000!"
"20,000!"
"30,000!"
"okay, 25,000!"
we were off.

He handed me his card. "Maybe you need driver tomorrow?"

WAYAN POLLOS - DRIVER
the card read.

"Every guy I've met here is named Wayan," I told him.

"Yes, have many Wayan."

His English wasn't great, and my Indonesian was non-existant, so that was basically the end of the conversation.

I spent the next day seeing Eastern Bali with Herry, my driver. When he dropped me back at the hotel he handed me his card.

"By the way, do you know you're the first guy I've met here who's name isn't 'Wayan!" I said. Then I looked down at the card:

WAYAN HERRY - DRIVER

Aaaaggghhhh.....

Herry, being a very kind and patient driver (and a Yankees fan to boot, go figure) wouldn't let me leave without explaining:

The first born son in a Balinese family is traditionally named 'Wayan.' The naming system continues with the second-born named 'Made,' the third 'Nyoman' and the fourth 'Ketut.' And if there's a fifth, he goes back to 'Wayan' again! Thanks for the lesson in Balinese culture, Herry. Now watch out for that cat!!!

Please Don't Hit the Cat

A perfectly arranged half-circle of white frangipani blossoms laid at the entrance to a temple... a row of brown ducks following a farmer across a rice field...somewhere, always, the distant sound of gamelan music, or roosters, or frogs, or often all three at once...

The island of Bali is one of about 17,000 that make up the country of Indonesia, the world's fourth most populous nation. Luckily, most of the country's 200 million residents don't live on Bali, a predominantly Hindu region of a predominantly Muslim country. It's hard to talk about Bali without talking about religion, as it is everywhere - from the temple-like airport to the small banana leaf offerings that magically appear along with sticks of burning incense at your doorstep each morning and evening. Hinduism in Bali takes one of the world's more complex religions and multiplies that complexity tenfold. The Balinese believe that spirits, both good and bad, are everywhere and that they must be acknowledged daily.

Bali is about the size of... I don't know, maybe Conncticut?? (forgive me for that terrible analogy - no two places could be more different). You could drive around the entire island in a day, but... would you want to? Plus, many of the roads are narrow and twisting and Balinese drivers are not especially known for being cautious. So for about $4.50 an hour, I hired a driver to take me into the mountains of Eastern Bali.

Herry was my driver, a kid really - only 27 years old, but still one of the more sought-after drivers in Bali. We were on our way to visit the water gardens at Tirta Gagna. After about 45 minutes, we stopped to take some photos of rice fields. Standing out in the middle of nowhere I heard children calling, "Hello! Hello mister!" At a small school across the street, an entire class of 2nd graders had come outside to watch me. I crossed the street to say hi to them, and couldn't leave until I had high-fived every single kid... a few I think more than once.

We got back in the car and continued on our way. An orange cat darted across the road in front of us. "Ohhhh...If I hit a cat," he said, zooming into the right lane to pass the slow-moving truck in front of us, "it is very bad."

"We will need to take it home and bury it in the ground right away. If we leave it, the spirit of the cat will follow us around for all our life."

"Please don't hit a cat." I said.

"I did, about two months ago," Herry said, looking a bit worried. "But... not so many cats here."

"What if you hit a dog?" I sort of nervously wondered.

"Dog?? Dog no problem, so many dogs here."