Reality Check: Back on the Road

I'm not much of a traveler; I lost most of my interest in visiting new places over the 20 years that I spent as an international teacher. During that period, I traveled a lot: international conferences, holiday trips with my wife when the kids were small and we had their grandparents around to watch them, and the coming and going from the places where I lived and worked back to Bali on each vacation. I enjoyed the travel for the most part, but now that I have no reasons to visit another country, I'm content with staying on this tropical island. However, I do like to get out and around Bali to visit friends, shake out some cobwebs and see what new developments are happening in other areas.

Since my last stroke in May, I've been following doctor's order to restrict my activities on the motorcycle. But, the kampung can get claustrophobic, the weather has been lovely, the main tourist season is winding down, and I've felt the need to prove to myself that I can still do the 2-3 hour trips around Bali that I love. Being out on the road in the countryside where the air is clear and laced with the sweet fragrances of cloves, oranges and frangipani is one of the activities that I most look forward to. And, the road from Singaraja to Kubutambahan to Kintamani to Ubud is one of my favorite roads on the island; the lack of traffic, the incredible scenery, the smiling faces and the transition from the heat of the coast to the coolness of the mountains is exhilarating.

So with a few trepidations – would I have another fugue state, would I have another stroke, how would I deal with traffic once I reached Tegallalang – I packed a bag for a few days and headed off into the brilliant morning sun. After four months of being confined to Singaraja, the openness of the road and the possibilities of some new adventure in Ubud heightened all my senses and the sense of foreboding quickly vanished. This sparsely traveled stretch of Bali's over-congested roads can take a driver back to the simpler days of the past. As I left the coast behind, I could breathe deeply the intoxicating essence of cloves drying in the sun alongside the road.

Up through Kintamani and down to Ubud, the road was clear and the weather gorgeous. Making the sharp turn to the west in Kintamani, I was surprised that the usual police detail checking licenses and vehicle registrations was absent. This alone was enough to make me think that I had slipped into a fugue state again and taken the wrong road; my confidence was suddenly shaken and I was sure that I had never taken that road before. I missed imagined roadmarkers that would tell me I was on the correct path to the southern entrance to Jalan Raya in Ubud. I pulled over, smoke a cigarette and gathered my thoughts. Calmed, I drove down the road still concerned about the lack of vehicles carrying tourists. But, just as I was about to pull over again to check on directions in a small warung, I came up to the tourist spot where carloads of holiday visitors stop to get a few photos of Bali's fabled rice terraces. Ah, I was on the right road; time to forget about the earlier signs, things were all right in the world.

Pulling into Jalan Kajeng in Ubud, I parked in front of my favorite homestay and wandered in. One of the family members shouted out, “Bapak, you're back. How are you? You're room in the back is free.” And, indeed, it was. All of the other rooms were filled with young tourists, but my room in the back of the homestay was empty, as if it was waiting for me to come on this test drive. Shortly other family members came back to greet me and inquire about my health. Did I go the hospital after the last visit? What did the doctor say? Did I want some food?

I settled in long enough to text my old American friend to inform him that I was back in Ubud and almost instantly he called to invite me for lunch. The family brought me some hot water for coffee and an ashtray. I took off for a delicious lunch at my friend's house along with the usual rapid fire conversation about the state of Bali and Indonesia along with a few grandparent stories. Back at the homestay later that afternoon, the family informed me that they were having some family ceremonies the next day and I was not to eat outside because I would be eating with the family.

Living in the city of Singaraja has its benefits, but the downside is the ceaseless amount of noise coming from multiple sources. The homestay in Ubud, on the other hand, is an island of tranquility in the center of one of Bali's favorite tourist and expat destinations. I spent my first night relaxing with some reading, writing and listening to old hippie music from the 60s. Unlike the old days, my bed at the homestay is just the right amount of softness and with the fan, I can easily lapse into a comfortable sleep unbothered by the trials and tribulations of life on a tropical island.

An early morning walk up Jalan Kajeng confirms that the long arm of the spiritual seekers and the greedmongers is spreading everywhere. New spas and “traditional” (non-Balinese, however) therapy shops have sprouted along the street like mushrooms after a night's rain. The Eat, Pray and Love ladies scoot up and down the street on their small motorbikes making their social connections for the day. Unlike the scene 20 plus years ago, these are foreigners connecting to foreigners. Despite the usual PC Bali expat line, the gap between “locals” and foreigners seems to be growing. I beat a hasty retreat to the homestay, take a shower and wander off to visit my favorite bookstore. The family stops me as I'm leaving to remind me not to eat in a restaurant today.

Down Jalan Raya in central Ubud, I give my friendly “no thank you” to the many offers of transportation. Arriving at the bookstore, I see a sign that it's closed; I check around the side door and it's open. Within five minutes, I've found a 1956 edition of Being and Nothingness, a copy of Tim Hannigan's excellent book on Raffles in Java, and a copy of Graham Greene's Monseigneur Quixote. And, I tell the shop girls that the front door says the shop is closed.

Back home, I get a huge plate of lawar – a Balinese specialty. I finish the plate and lay down on my bed to read Tim's book on Raffles. I'm asleep in ten minutes. Off again on another walk, I stroll down to the music shop that has been around since my first visit to Ubud in 1989. I buy some earphones so that I can listen to music while writing later in the night. I stop in one of the chi-chi restaurants for a beer and listen to a rather loud conversation about spiritual cleansing. I think that perhaps my problem is that I haven't had my chakra aligned correctly. But, as the Aussies say, no worries. I head back home as the sun is beginning to set. I do my ritual greeting with the family grandpa only to realize that many years ago he and I were the same age. I have to check my mirror or that painting in the attic. One of the ladies follows me with another plate of lawar. I finish off the lawar, have a few vodkas and tonics, work on the new introduction to my book on Bali and drift off to sleep.

As I leave for Singaraja the next morning, I make sure to say good-bye to everyone in the family that is around. Clouds fill the sky and a light rain falls gently on my helmet as I pull out of the homestay. Fifteen kilometers up the road the sun peeks out and by the time I reach Kintamani, I have a sight sunburn. Two schoolgirls shoot past me on their little motor-scooter and giggle. Life could be worse than living on this endlessly fascinating island.

Walking with Zoey

As noted in my last post here, during the late months of one of my daughter's pregnancy, we used to go out for daily walks to prepare her for giving birth. I enjoyed having someone to accompany on my walks around the city and it was a new experience for Rebecca (not being one to go out walking if there was a working motorbike nearby). With Rebecca away in Denpasar, I've started taking my morning walks with my new partner – Zoey, my granddaughter.

Early morning from 6:30 on is the preferred time for adults around the island to walk their infants and toddlers. Sometimes, it's a grandparent, other times a parent or older sibling, and lacking those an interested neighbor will take a small child out for a walk. Indonesia is one of those “it takes a village to raise a child” places. The older kids wander the kampung playing with friends, watching adults work on fishing boats or construction projects or do duty babysitting younger siblings. There's always adults around to guide children when they get into something dangerous (like jumping off the pier). But, for right now, I'm Zoey's transport, guide into life in the kampung and live-in English teacher.

I pop Zoey in her little front carrier, put a cap on her head to protect her from the morning sun and we're ready to go. We wander east through the kampung towards the harbor. Adults and most children already know Zoey and greet her as we pass. There's always the comments about Pak Guru (me) speaking to Zoey in English and about how much I'm spoiling her (a good thing here until kids get older). Small children shout out “What's her name?” I tell them her name is Zoey, and they repeat it over and over, “Zoey, Zoey, Zoey.” Zoey doesn't care – she hasn't figured out what her name is yet, apparently because she hasn't had the right ceremony for that sort of thing.

Zoey stares at the tall trees along the seawall fascinated by the large green leaves. We head out behind the Hindu temple and come out into the harbor area. There's a small merry-go-round and some miniature electric cars for kids to play on along with sellers of balloons and cheap Chinese-made toys. We pass the Chinese temple with it's bright red and white colors and closely manicured grass glistening in the morning sun. I say hello to my friend who's chatting inside. We come out at the bridge, pass the policemen directly morning traffic and head along the street past the still-closed building supply shops and then further on past the automobile parts shops and furniture stores. I wave hello to the lady who owns the large bicycle shop on the corner and we're back in the kampung. We wander over to my brother-in-law's house and chat until Zoey has had enough with not moving and starts to fuss. As soon as we get on the move again, she laughs. It's clear who is in control on our walks.

Back past her grandmother's shop who checks to see if Zoey is asleep. We wander west along the small street that skirts the seawall. Old friends and acquaintances say hello and come up to comment on Zoey's chubby cheeks barely holding themselves back from pinching them as everyone loves to do here. They've been warned off this by my wife who's told them that I'm overprotective so only look and don't touch. We stop at the small bridge for a few minutes and watch the men fishing and then head over the Hindu cemetery to look at the goats who are out every morning scavenging through the rubbish that is washed up on the beach. The sun's climbing, I'm hot and Zoey is hungry. Time to head back home.

Back at the house, Zoey and I go up to the third floor, where I turn on the fan, make a bottle and tune in the morning baseball game on Fox Sports. I lie down besides Zoey and we relax watching the game. It's not long before we're both asleep after another morning's adventure.

Living in Singaraja Bali: Walking with Rebecca

Back in Singaraja once again after a few months in Denpasar (written about over at lifeinthetropics), Rebecca and I have been taking hour walks around the city early in the morning so that she gets some doctor-ordered exercise before she gives birth sometime later this month. I tried to get the other children to accompany us, but they are definitely not up for early morning exercise. Today we took off to wander the streets and neighborhoods to the west of Kampung Bugis. Even at 6:30, the streets are teeming with traffic and the small, local markets packed with throngs of ibus (ibu is a generic term of address for adult women similar to Mrs. or Ms.; it also means mother ) doing their shopping for the day's cooking.

Unlike years past, many of the neighborhoods now have narrow sidewalks, although using them can be a challenge as they are often used as parking spaces for motorbikes, convenient spots to expand the boundaries of small shops and eateries called warungs and places of rest for the irritating presence of Bali's wandering dogs (still here despite the roundups over the last few years due to the rabies epidemic on the island). We navigate our way through these obstructions, carefully hugging the edge of street so as not to become one of Bali's many traffic fatalities. A young mother-to-be and her old father gather a few stares and some smiles along the way, as well as some surprised greetings from neighbors, family and acquaintances who are also out shopping, having some exercise, or just passing the time watching life in neighborhoods.

Out on Jalan Dewi Sartika, we pass an old acquaintance who built one of the first discos in North Bali several decades ago. I rarely see him these days and am surprised to notice his graying, thinning hair. I still have a mental image of him as he looked decades ago when we'd sit in his bar/restaurant having a few beers while talking about life in North Bali. We chat about what we're up to these days and how many grandkids we have and make some plans to get together in the near future. The chance encounters with old friends that I've had since I've been back in Singaraja reminds me of just how long I've been here in Bali and how much things have changed here over the past several decades. The north coast is in the process of changing from a quaint, sleepy, laid-back melting pot of Bali's diverse population to a bustling large city somewhat marred by the lack of central planning in its development (something common to all areas of Bali these days, as everyone from locals to Western expats to monied Javanese rush to get a piece of Bali while prices for land and houses continue on in a crazy spiral onwards and upwards).

A nephew drives by in his bemo and gives us a few honks and a wave, a brother-in-law pulls over to the side of the street to ask where we've been on our walk today, a neighbor corrals Rebecca to check her tummy and ask when she got back from Denpasar. We walk out onto the main road, Jalan A. Yani, and surprisingly the traffic here is less intense than on the little sidestreets. A few policemen are out controlling the traffic; one waves and I gesture to inquire if I can take his photo. He gives me a big smile and the thumbs-up sign.

Farther along A. Yani as we head for home, I notice a new bakery. I know that there's another one on Jalan Diponegoro. As I take a photo, I wonder what market forces have brought about the openings of all the bakeries that I came across while living in Denpasar and see now opening in Singaraja. Baked goods have long been a part of the Indonesian diet, but in the past they were generally sold in small shops along with a variety of other goods; now we have gleaming, Western-style bakeries specializing in cakes, donuts, and a variety of breads. I know now where to buy my wife's birthday cake this year.

Back home again, the cat that Rebecca and I rescued a few months ago in a field in Denpasar is racing through the house looking for our rabbit; the two have become somewhat unlikely friends. It's time to begin the chores for the day under the cloudy Singaraja sky.