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Bali, Indonesia
There I was, stuck in a traffic jam miles from the largest temple in Bali. Half of the bus wanted to turn around and leave, the other half wanted to wait out the traffic jam. Our guide said we had two hours before we left, so if we wanted to hike up the road, maybe we could get a glimpse of the temple. C'ya! I was out the door, joining in the trek to the Temple Besakih. It seems the day that I had chosen to go was a combination of Good Friday, the day after a full moon, and during a festival celebrated once every 10 years. This month-long festival brought out hundred of thousands of Balinese, trekking to this temple for prayer and offering, with my arrival day the peak of the festival. So there I was, in the middle of a pilgrimage, trying to blend in. It felt great hiking with beautifully dressed natives, becoming a part of something larger than the tourist touring I was used to. I felt I was becoming bonded with the people until a guy on a motorcycle rode beside me and yelled out "transport!" Transport was a word I heard at least 100 times a day when I was walking anywhere in Bali. If someone isn't selling you something; they're offering transport, which means "Hey I'll drive you, anywhere for small fee." This is probably the easiest way to make money, that's why everybody does it. Even if they don't have a car or bike, they just get a friend to drive you, then take a cut of the cash. The guy wasn't offering transport to anyone else, no one would have paid his outrageous fee. But what is two bucks if I get to the heart of this massive gathering during my allotted two hours? So, I gathered up my ceremonial skirt I was wearing, straddled the bike, and off we went, weaving in between traffic-jammed cars and Hindu people heading for the Mother Temple Besakih.
Bali, a small island in a chain of islands that make up Indonesia, has been a long-time favorite of tourists. Indonesia has become even more popular in the last couple of years following the Asian financial crisis, which saw their currency value drop from 2000 rupiah for one American dollar to the extreme of 19,000 to 1. Currently, the value is at 9000 rupiah per dollar. Bali is what I imagined when I thought of travelling to a foreign land. A language and culture barrier that would take me longer than the two weeks I'm passing through to understand. Hindu is the dominant religion. India is the only other place where the religion is practiced to this scale. The cab I rode in was blessed and given an offering that morning. So was the bungalow I was to sleep in that night. At least once a day, an offering containing flower petals, rice, food, and whatever else they chose to appease the gods with, was given. Every shop was blessed, as well as every home. Religion is a major part of everyone's life in Bali.
I arrived at my first destination by traveling in a small van they called a bemo. The van, the size of a Volkswagen minibus, was loaded with myself and 15 Indonesians- nice and tightly. Your first bus trip across the island quickly educates you on a few things. The horn is a signal that your car is about to pass another car, telling that car to move over because we are about to turn a two-lane narrow road into a three-lane narrower road with traffic coming head on. Watching this routine of pass and swerve will quickly make you realize why they bless the cars everyday. The tourists do a lot of praying while traveling in a bemo. Following a series of prayers, and " Oh my God" praises, I arrived in Ubud, a centrally located village known for its artistry and dance. From this town, I was able to branch out on day trips and wander the streets in the evening, hopping from one traditional dance
performance to another. My first day in Ubud and still quite a highlight of Bali, was the Monkey Forest Sanctuary. Pay your 25-cent equivalent entry fee and you wonder through a wooded area where monkeys swing in the trees above and attack tourists with food in front of you. Tourists buy a bag of bananas to feed the monkeys and within a minute of walking in, three or four monkeys would be climbing them trying to get the food. Eventually, the tourists would drop the bag in fear and the monkeys would run off with the stash.
It was in Ubud that I witnessed the Kecak Fire and Trance Dance. A man entered barefoot, onto a pile of flaming coconut shells dancing and stomping out the fire while under a trance. It was also from this town that I ventured out to the mass pilgrimage in Besakih. Once arriving at the temple built upon the base of a volcano, religious amounts of rain poured over the temple. My transport and temple guide explained that the rain didn't affect the thousands seated in prayer, because the rain was a blessing from the gods. A blessing from the gods was a curse on my camera gear, requiring me to return on other day to photograph the beauty of their religion.
From a recommendation from two friends back in the US, I left Bali for a smaller, less known island called Lombok. The main attraction of Lombok is three of its small islands, the Gili Islands. In route to the Islands, I unwillingly spent a couple of days trying to recuperate from a bad case of nausea, upset stomach, sore throat, and a skyrocketing temperature. Entering this town's version of a pharmacy, I knew I'd have a hard time translating the medicine I was looking for. So with them knowing very little English and myself knowing only the word bon (which means check please), I quickly reverted to charades. Pointing at my head, making a painful grimace, she gave me aspirin. Hand on my forehead while fanning myself, she started pulling out other drugs. Rubbing my stomach, doing a dizzy-looking wobble, she decided on one set of pills and throat lozenges when I pointed to my throat. Easy enough, I thought. I hope it works and I hope I never have to act out diarrhea.
On the Island of Gili Trawangan, where the main transportation is pony carts, I finally had to experience the one thing I'd been avoiding for some time, the squat toilet. This style of toilet would make you wish you where a person of great stability and strength in a position only found comfortable by baseball catchers. One is expected to balance over a hole, while squatting, keeping your pants held around your knees. Any lower, and they are directly in a line of fire. Honestly, it's little things back home that you miss and swear you will never take for granted again.
These islands tend to be a place where travelers came for a few days and weeks pass by. I floated in the ocean watching a sea star move oh-so-slowly across the sea bed. I knew I needed to move on, for I was slipping into the familiar island art form of nothingness. Days and weeks easily sliding by unnoticed while I lay about doing nothing.
Crossing back over into Bali, I arrived in a fishing village called Padangbai. I heard that the local fishermen pushed their traditional-style sailboats into the sea at four in the morning. I could probably catch a ride out for small fee. So, there I was the next day, walking the beach in the darkness of the morning, looking for a fisherman that knew enough English to understand that I wanted to tag along, take some pictures, and I was willing to pay money. Ketut was his name. He had a traditional-style boat consisting of a meter-high version of a canoe with two outrigging logs to keep the canoe in an upright position in the ocean. Our sail was made up of bamboo poles and nylon material. Two bags of nets sat in the middle of the 14-inch-wide wooden canoe. Strapped to the back was our only real diversion of tradition- a Yamaha outboard motor. We set sail in the darkness with the mighty ocean smooth as glass. Well, ok, we didn't really set sail, but more like "gunned the Yamaha" while the sail served more as a decoration in our windless morning. Clouds filled most of the sky, except for breaking enough for a little star gazing as we spent the next hour motoring out to our spot. Before the sun was to rise, Ketut began stringing a gill net out the back of the boat while I helped with paddling the boat forward. Over a 100 yards of net stretched out to catch anything in its path. While waiting for the sun to rise and the fish to get caught, we began trolling, circling far out from our net. The sun wasn't going to disappoint this morning, with the storm clouds breaking apart and a crescent moon hanging above. Orange and blue mixed in the reflection off the still glassy ocean surface. "Dolphin!" Ketut said. I smiled and turned to see the dolphin breaking through the glassy surface of color. This is great I thought, beautiful sunrise, sitting in a traditional boat, nets set waiting the day's catch, and a dolphin putting on a glorious display. "Dolphin", I reply with a smile. "No good Dolphin", he responds back. Oh, the nets, I thought, the dolphin would get stuck in the nets. Ketut reached out and started dragging in the nets. I can see it now, we come back with our catch of the day- a dolphin. Do people actually eat dolphin? "No good," what does he mean no good? He pulls the net up and shows me a large hole in our net. "Dolphin", he says. I see the dolphin again performing for us all the way up and down our net line. "No fish, dolphin", Ketut says. Oh, now I understand. I concluded that what we had essentially been doing in dawn's early light was setting up a buffet line for this dolphin. More and more nets are dragged in with only small crabs attached. Ketut would try to fling the crabs back into the sea, but a third of them ended up in the bottom of our canoe- which was gradually taking on water from the loading of the nets. Sure enough, crabs where swimming by my exposed toes. Ketut thought it was funny. By the time all 100 yards of net sat in the boat, our fish count was one mackerel and the bottom of our boat swimming with crabs. Ketut cleared the boat of crabs except for that inevitable one which found my toe, and drew more laughter out of Ketut. One mackerel, our catch of the day, will sell back on shore for 1000 rupiah, about 12 US cents. Ketut wasn't angry. He happily motored back to shore, swapping stories with the other fishermen coming in. If I read the faces and gestures right during those conversations, Ketut carried a sense of pride. For on this day, Ketut caught the biggest fish, a tourist.
So now I set in the big city of Kuta, best known for its fake-designer watch hawkers every 30 feet and motorcycles mounted with surfboard carriers. It's funny that they sell watches when the clock is the one thing people are trying to get away from when they come to Bali. It has a huge beach, but unfortunately, a bigger population of tourists. From here, I'm preparing to move on to Java, Indonesia, where I'll spend little over a week exploring volcanoes and other cities bustling with culture. But for now, I'm enjoying the vivid dreams during the night brought on by my Malaria pills.
Sweet dreams,
Jonathan Adams |
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