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.

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.

Some Quiet in Ubud

I didn't realize how long it has been since I've been to Ubud until I look at this blog – six months. So, I decided to get out on the road since the weather seems to have turned and the dry season is peaking out from behind the masses of rain clouds that have filled the skies of Bali for so long. It was during this trip that I realized one of the major reasons that I love spending a night or two down in Ubud: it's quiet. Really quiet. Life in Kampung Bugis is a never-ending stream of auditory assaults from chickens, motorcycles, hordes of children, trucks, cars, neighbors, the local mosques and puras and the occasional plane or helicopter buzzing overhead.

I was sitting on the little veranda outside my room at my favorite homestay in Ubud reading a little book about Rimbaud in Java while enjoying the quiet and peace when an American tourist came by to look at the room next door. I overheard him unsuccessfully trying to bargain down the price of the room. He asked if he could bother me for a moment and inquired about “that sound.” I asked him what sound, and he replied “that buzzing, is it a saw or insects?” Oh, that sound. Insects. Nature. Life in the tropics. “I guess we could live with that,” he muttered. Probably not though as he didn't come back.

 I stayed an extra day this trip and wandered down Monkey Forest Road to see if it had changed as much as the main road which is definitely more upscale these days than it was back when I first started staying in Ubud. Surprisingly, it's not all that different – just a little more crowded with cars, buses, motorbikes and tourists. A stroll along Monkey Forest Road can get hot with all the exhaust from the stream of vehicles, so I stopped at a little cafe to have a few cold Bintangs and watch the tourists passing by. I noticed that they have a determined little march, not looking left or right, charging on ahead to their destinations, generally ignoring the calls of transport from the line of guys sitting along the road trying to drum up some business. The eat, pray and love ladies with their flowing white dresses or baggy hippy pants, however, tend to float dreamily like eagles scouring the landscape for some tasty prey. The new additions to the hodgepodge of shops along the road were the aromatherapy shops and the spas that offer a variety of massages, tonics and pampering. I glimpsed two of the ladies in white blissfully exit an upscale-looking spa and enter the hot noon sun and chaos of the road still under the trance of their retreat into the world of alternative therapies and escape from the stresses of the mundane world.

For me, the trip was a chance to talk to some old friends and meet two new ones, as well as travel the road to Kintamani that passes through some of the most magnificent of Bali's natural beauty. And, of course, there's always that thrill of riding a fine motorcycle around the island.

A Warm Breeze from the Coast

It's been a while since my last motorcycle trip (Ramadan isn't ideal for traveling and my eldest daughter was visiting from school), so I decided it was time to hit the road and visit a friend down in Ubud to chat and pick up an antique keris that I bought many years ago. My friend kindly offered to have it cleaned for me, and now that it was done I had a great excuse to visit Ubud.

I've been dropping in to Ubud for short visits since I first arrived in Indonesia back in 1989. My trips back in the early days were mainly to look for Balinese art. I'd stay a night or two in a local homestay, get what I wanted and then head back home. What I mostly remember about Ubud back then was how early the village closed down. The streets would be dark and deserted by 10 pm. Years later, I started visiting Ubud with friends to stay a night or two, hear some music, do a little shopping and spend a lot of time in one or another of the bars or clubs. Now, I mostly visit Ubud to visit my American friend and discuss expat life, local and world politics, kids and school and anything else that pops up during the three or four hours that we spend together.

After visiting my buddy, I return to the inexpensive homestay that I've been using as my base in Ubud for the past 22 years. The homestay offers basic rooms with two beds, a fan, an outdoor bathroom with cold water, and the traditional Balinese double doors. No frills, although they do have two new rooms with hot water. What I love about the place is that the folks are friendly but not intrusive. We always have a short chat when I arrive, and then they just go back to their daily household routines. They do provide plenty of hot water along with coffee and tea, and the breakfast is quite good: a large fruit salad along with either an egg or a banana pancake. While the price has gone up over the years, the 100,000 rupiah they charge now is reasonable and fits in my traveling budget of 150,000 a night for a room.

So after returning from my visit, I have a shower and nap, and then wander around a bit. This usually includes buying a book and then having dinner at one of Ubud's many restaurants. While Ubud is one of the top destinations for visitors to Bali because of the cultural attractions (dances, music, art) and the gorgeous countryside, it has limited interest for me because I've been to the ceremonies and dances. I do enjoy watching the tourists, however. We don't get many in Kampung Bugis, so they're some akin to a birdwatcher catching sight of a rare species.

While I was driving down to Ubud from Kintamani, I passed three groups of tourists doing one of the bike rides that go down from Kintamani to Ubud, and then later several groups getting ready to do one of the rafting trips on the Ayung River. There are a number of companies that offer biking and rafting like Bali Adventure Tours and Sobek. So, there were plenty of tourists around Ubud to keep me amused.

Coming back to Kampung Bugis from Ubud, I drove up to Kintamani through a soft morning rain. I love getting out on the road early with the markets full, kids on their way to school and the smell of wood fires burning in the villages. By the time I hit Kintamani, the fog was so thick that visibility was down to 3 meters and a stiff wind was blowing up from the west. Indonesians on motorbikes tend to dress like I used to during the cold Chicago winters when I was a kid: gloves, scarves, heavy jackets. I wore a t-shirt, and I was freezing. My hands were numb from the cold and the vise-like grip that I had on the motorcycle because of the hazardous driving conditions. As I moved down the mountain, the fog cleared up and a dazzling blue sky appeared overhead. A warm breeze from the coast let me know that I was getting close to home. North Bali's brilliant coast never looked better.

Now it's time to figure out where to go on my next trip around Bali.