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.
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