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.
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