Trip to Padangbai: A Little Old, a Little New: Part II

The large beer disappeared quickly, as did the two bottles of water. The lumpia were different from what I usually eat – larger, softer and in a sauce – but excellent. Refreshed, I engaged in the usual friendly banter with the two young women who were waiting on me: where are you from, where are you going, are you married, how many children do you have, is your wife from here, how long have you been in Bali? As always, this was a pleasant way to pass the time while the ngaben continued slowly moving south with traffic still backed up in front of the hotel.

I was watching a tattooed Indonesian fellow give instructions to a guy who had pulled into the driveway in a small flatbed truck. They loaded the Harley onto the truck, made sure it was secure and then sat down at the next table to have coffee. The tattooed fellow jumped up right after he had sat down and introduced himself to me as Edi, owner of the Bali Permai, the motorcycle and the Kijang. He sat down at my table, ordered me a coffee and started up a conversation. Originally from Jakarta, Edi has a Harley business in Jakarta, but he also has this hotel and a new place down the road in Amed. We passed some time discussing our marriages, kids, land prices in Bali, the hotel business, Edi's love of Harleys, his tattoos and the changing nature of Tulamben. In the middle of the conversation, Edi jumped up again – this guy has an amazing amount of energy – and ran off into the hotel, returning with a large key chain imprinted with the hotel's name and a Harley symbol, which he presented to me as a gift. He also reminded me to recommend his place to any friends of mine who might be visiting Bali. Eventually the ngaben moved off the main road, the traffic cleared up and it was time to be on the road again.

Driving through Tulamben, I briefly consider spending the night there, but I have fond memories of staying in Tulamben back in the old days when there were only a few accommodations in the village before it became a busy diving center. I decide to head on through the east coast's lunar landscape to Candidasa with the idea that I might stay there for the night rather than continue all the way to Padangbai. Once past Tulamben the road veers off from the coast and up through a series of hills that offer some of the most beautiful visions of rice paddies in Bali. Over the years, I have taken hundreds of photos in this area, and when I have visitors they always want to stop and absorb the magnificent landscape. I cruise up and over the hills, rice paddies glistening under a Balinese sun.

The traffic in Amlapura is a bit more congested than usual. Probably another ceremony. This is a town that I have always found attractive, spacious and clean. I'd like to live here for a while. Why isn't there enough time to live in all these places that I find attractive. Traveling – I find traveling somewhat less than satisfying – it's too quick, too ephemeral, if this is Tuesday it must be Belgium. The anthropologist in me wants to know what the people are like; what do they do at night, do they argue loudly or in whispers, where do they shop, what is it about this place that they love? But to live somewhere, to occupy a place, to bend time and space to squeeze inside the hearts and souls of the people. Well, not today for sure, not this life most likely, but maybe another time around.

As quickly as the traffic appears, it disappears and before I know it, I'm entering Candidasa. Clusters of well-dressed tourists roam the main street – this is definitely not Kuta. But, the vibe doesn't seem right for me to stay and despite my sunburned hands, arms and face, I decide to cruise on through the village to Padangbai because that's the real mystery for me. A place that I've passed through dozens of times, yet never explored. Thirsty again, I'm in the rhythm of the road. The bike and I have reached that place where we're joined – it's been over 200 clicks today over the rough Bali roads and I feel that I can ride another 200.

I hit the turnoff to Padangbai and get a rush; without realizing it I have the bike over 100kph – fast for a Balinese road. I pull back some and cruise into the village almost entering the ferry terminal from the memory map based on almost ten years of ferry trips. Sharply turning left onto a small road, I think that I must have missed a turnoff – this can't be Padangbai because there's nothing here. Piles of garbage on a narrow, nondescript street and some guides looking for business. But as I negotiate a sharp corner just ahead, I see the Zen Inn. I've reached the tourist section of the village.

Slowly cruising past small shops selling water, biscuits, batteries and everything that a tourist might possible want. A restaurant with a few attractive ladies in front, a dive center, another restaurant, another shop. I'm trying to reach into the recesses of an old, somewhat battered memory bank for the information from a travel article that I wrote on Padangbai a few years ago for the USA Today. Nothing is coming forward, and as I'm thinking of turning back to check out the Zen Inn, I see a young woman sitting on the street in front of a sign for Marco Inn. 

I pull over, suddenly exhausted, and ask if she works for the inn. Yes, she owns it with her foreign husband. How much is a room? I ask. Hoping that it will be under my limit of 150,000 per night. Ah, it's 100,000. No need for me to bargain. That magical number that I love. I've never been let down in rooms that go for that price. Now 150,000, I've had good and bad experiences, but 100,000 just perfect. I stumble off the bike feeling a bit bowlegged. The young lady giggles and tries to hide it. I just smile, I feel like I'm home. I don't even need to see the room to know it will work. But, of course, there are conventionalities to be followed. This is Bali after all and even a weary traveler looking for whatever it is that brought me here must follow conventions.  

Back from a Long Trip to Ubud: My Oasis in Bali

Generally my trips to Ubud only last a day or two; this time I decided to stay down there for a while for a needed change of pace. There are times when living in a small, crowded kampung just gets to be a bit much. My favorite place to stay in Ubud is a small homestay – they actually call themselves an inn – with a friendly family, decent rent, good breakfasts and a quiet peaceful garden that is ideal for just sitting, thinking and writing. No TV, no internet connection, just some books, some time and a little peace.

I've been staying there for 23 years. I've brought my eldest son, my wife and close friends with me on a few trips, but mostly I stay there alone. It's the place where I go when I need to reflect and not concern myself with what's happening outside of my inner landscape. Artja's is the closest I can get to occupying a remote world while being right in the center of the teeming tourist/expat world of central Ubud.

I drove up to Kintamani and then down to Ubud as usual. The trip has become so routine that I can get lost in my thoughts while driving through some of Bali's most spectacular countryside absorbing the almost timeless spell that this region casts upon me ; a rare treat and something that I never take lightly. The sweet smell of cloves drying along the roadside; the warmth of sunbeams piercing through the tall trees outlining the road.

Stopped by a large police contingent checking all foreigners's driving documents, I had a quick smile and bit of banter while they checked my licenses and registration. Pulling into Artja Inn, I was warmly welcomed and led to my favorite room in the far back: a simple, but comfortable bed, a small fan, an open-air shower and a small verandah. The small mirror in the bathroom a welcomed addition for morning shaving.

The family and I exchanged greetings and small talk about the weather in Ubud and Buleleng (my home region). I unpacked my gear, finishing just as the hot water arrives for use with the endless supply of coffee and tea that sit on a small table on each verandah.

This trip was unusual in that I stayed five days; a long, curious encounter with a group of local expats; wandering through areas of Ubud that I haven't visited in decades, and spending a few days engaged in delightful conversations with a couple of young tourists from France and Germany. Those people that know me well, know that I tend to shy away from contact with new people, but on this trip I met more new people than I have met in the three years that I've been back in Bali after my six year stay in Sumbawa.

Hours of tales, reminiscences, cautions, culture and history lessons. Speaking with a fellow Chicagoan we spin tales of writers, politicians, wars, riots, money come and gone, women loved and lost. New Yorkers, Californians, film-makers, antique dealers, everyone with a fascinating history, but now somehow all gathered here in Bali. It's a long way from the kampung; some needed stimulus for my own work which gets confused and contorted with too much isolation.

I dread the entrance of the two young tourists who take the room next to mine. Young, beautiful people; laughing they introduce themselves and ask for advice about where to visit on their two days in Ubud. I take the role of the old-timer and offer a few suggestions. They wander off to explore the area. The next day they arrive excited from a long day out touring and shopping. The young lady, radiantly beautiful, excitedly describes her purchase of a silk sarong. She pops inside and quickly appears to model it for her companion and me. It is indeed lovely, but as I've often found, local clothes somehow fit better on locals. But, we both offer our congratulations on her purchase of such a lovely piece of cloth. She wants to go out and try the nightlife. Her companion opts to relax in his room, but he asks a question and it begins hours of talk about the culture of the island and the country, about his interests and mine. It's a rewarding few hours of sharing – a long time since I've done that with a stranger.

In the morning, he takes his leave for Sanur thanking me for the evening's talk. I'm somewhat amazed that he hadn't found it another long, boring discourse on local culture from an old anthropologist. She stays for a while, has a coffee and a short chat and then is on her way with new companions who will share her last few days in the country.

I spend another few days exploring the lanes of Ubud; arriving back each day sweaty, thirsty and filled with wonder at how despite the hordes of foreigners that crowd the streets and lanes of Ubud, it has somehow managed to retain its charm; maybe not quite as quaint as it once was many years ago, but still somehow intoxicating when viewed in the fading light of an afternoon's sun.

Trip to Padangbai: A Little Old, a Little New: Part I

With a house full of people, only half of whom I knew and a continuous, deafening booming from some terrible dangdut that started at 6:30 am and was scheduled to go on until midnight, I was getting to feel like a cranky old man complaining about the noise and the people. Indonesians, like many other Southeast Asians, love loud music – the louder the better – and crowds of people – the more the merrier. No matter how long I live here, my core personality is not going to change. So, in the interests of everyone, I decided that it would be a good idea to hit the road. I wasn't planning on one of my overnight trips, so I hopped on the bike with just my handphone and digital camera. The plan was just to get out of the house for a while and give everyone some space to do their own thing.

A visit to Pemuteran seemed like a good drive on a lovely sunny Sunday morning. Passing through the Lovina area, I was struck by how ugly it's become – full of villas, furniture stores, bakeries, repair shops, restaurants, bars and one hotel after the next. The bucolic scenes of the past are gone forever, as Lovina strives to become a cut rate version of Kuta and Legian. The old Chicago Transit Authority songs, Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? and 25 Or 6 To 4, kept running through my head as I blasted through Kalibukbuk, Temukus and Banjar heading towards Seririt.

scenes from the past

I was surprised to see that Seririt had a Hardys – seems they're everywhere on the island now since they're popular with both locals and foreigners. Seririt looked more prosperous than in the past, and without the glut of tourist-oriented businesses, I felt that I was getting back into an easier, less crowded and less hectic past. Through Grogak thinking you may think that you lost out on the much discussed second Bali international airport, but you've won. I had to pull my bike over for a short break while a ngaben wove down the main road. Then up to Pulaki where there was a major ceremony in process. I took a quick look and headed into Pemuturan.

By this time my wife texted me to let me know that the ceremonies in the house would be going on until midnight and I might as well just stay over night. I texted back to make sure I understood her message. I pulled over in Pemuturan looking at possible accommodations for the night. The vibe just wasn't right; something seemed uncomfortable and out of balance. Working more on instinct than logic, I turned the bike around and headed back to Kalibukbuk to have a few drinks at my favorite beachside restaurant. Pulling in at the beach, I was surprised, disappointed and depressed to see my favorite place torn down and something new under construction. A feeling of having something wonderful from my past disappear enveloped me; I headed back towards Singaraja not sure of my next step.

As I drove down Jalan Diponegoro, the destination Padangbai popped into my head. I've long wanted to spend a night there and as I hadn't received a reply from my wife yet, I drove on through Singaraja heading west. Passing through Air Sanih, I thought about stopping for a snack and a drink, but the road was filled with restless looking young men waiting for something to do. I wanted to stay small, under the radar, an invisible old man driving through the countryside. I drove on towards Tulamben, one of the old places during my early years in Bali where I'd go to have a swim, spend a night or two reading, drinking beer, writing, chatting to the local guys. Maybe I'll stop there I thought. Save myself from more driving as I was suddenly aware of a sunburn developing on my hands and forearms.

ngaben in Tulamben

I love the drive down the east coast with the change to a drier ecosystem with cacti lining the roads. Entering the village of Kubu, I had to stop. Traffic was backed up, and I could see far ahead of me one of the magnificent creamation towers swaying in the breeze coming off the sea slightly cooling the cloudless heat of early afternoon. Passing the long line of cars and trucks, I moved close enough to take a few photos and then quickly retreat to a small patch of shade under a few trees lining the roadside. I waited for an hour with a changing collection of Balinese – families of four and five on a small motorbike, a few grizzled veterans of many ngaben sharing a kretek cigarette on an old Honda, two dazzling young beauties in their finest ceremonial clothes pulled alongside to say hello, and I was transfixed by their huge dayglow sunglasses that rocketed me back to the 60s. Every so often I would move up along with the gathering crowd in the back of the procession and look for a new bit of shade. Seriously burned now and more than a little dehydrated, I started looking for a warung or restaurant to take shelter in for some shade, food, water and beer.

Like a mirage in this coastal desert, a sign appeared – Pondok Wisata, Bali Permai. I inched forward to see a few young women sitting around a table watching the scene. In the small driveway was a shiny new Kijang and a gleaming Harley Davidson. Signs from somewhere, I pulled in, slowly peeled myself off my burning saddle, and slipped into a chair in a table in a shady place. I decided to save the usual chitchat for later and ordered two lumpia, a large beer and two cold bottles of water.