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.
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