Bali: seaworthy

I was so exhausted last night from the Mt. Batur assent that I couldn't even make love to the beautiful Javanese woman I met last night at a club. The climb pushed my body passed the breaking point and I am now paying the price. I feel fatigued; my muscles are sore; my already sketchy knees are swollen. A more immediate problem is the severe food poisoning that is keeping me within running distance of a toilet. Not the best condition for exploring a developing country, although a problem that is no doubt common among my type. I am now sitting on a small, isolated island, Nusa Lombongan, that sits off the southeast coast of Bali. Sudi and I reached the island early this morning via a barely seaworthy wooden ketch that held provisions and far too many people for the size of the vessel. The boat is clearly not U.S. Coast Guard compliant. Actually, my greatest fear was not the sinking of the boat but my unfortunate problem with motion sickness. I prayed to the Bali God not to let me get sick. The prayer worked. As I sit in a picturesque bungalow overlooking the harbor, my only thought is that I wish I could be home. This is the first time I have felt the homesickness. I miss my son Eli. I hope he is doing well in LA. I drank a banana smoothie for dinner and hope that I don't shit my pants in my sleep. I am a realist and keep my hopes simple and attainable.

Bali: Mt. Batur

We woke on time and had a hell of a time waking up the night clerk to pay him. He slept on a blanket on the restaurant floor. We rode the motorbike down a steep hillside road that lead to the base of Batur Lake and heading for the starting point. Our guide had us put oranges and bananas in our packs and we began our several kilometer trek through the lava fields to the base of the mountain. I was exhausted by the time we reached the start of the upward assent. We pocketed out flashlights, since there was a bright moon and we used the natural light to negotiate our foot holds. Around halfway up the mountain, I began to get a sick feeling and we took a couple of short breaks. Perhaps the nausea was caused by my dismal lack of physical shape for the climb, or the mild food poisoning, or the lack of sleep or the fact that I hadn't eaten in almost a day. In any event, I got sick and Sudi and guide helped get me squared away. We continued to the summit where the guild got me a banana sandwich, which calmed down the stomach. During our break at the summit, I met a children's book author from Singapore. We had a good conversation. We than walked along a ridge at the top of the mountain to the volcanic crater. Over 1,000 Balinese perished in 1963, when the crater exploded. As we sit at the edge of the crater, I can see the magnitude of the explosion. We look out over the valley and the view is spectacular. After our descent, we drove the long journey back on the motorbike and my body is a mass of pain. I am sore from the assent and my ass is in unbearable pain from bouncing on the back of the motorbike through kilometers of back roads. Tonight, we go to the clubs to look for more women. Tomorrow we leave for a small island off the coast with a couple of Tokyo women. I am too tired to think. I will sleep soundly.

Bali: base camp

We are sitting in a cold, damp hotel room not far from Batur. We awake at 3AM for the assent. I am too cold to contemplate the upcoming experience. We rode through dozens of rice fields and small villages to get here and a thick fog had descended on the roadway just after dark. It was a bit nerve-racking to be riding a motorbike through the fog, far from the hospitals and medics of Kuta. Now we are here and will attempt to get a few hours of sleep.

Bali: rice and temples

Diah's father is driving through rural rice fields and I am watched little children bathe naked in the cool stream of water on its way to nurture the terraced rice patties, their school uniforms cast aside. There is an innocence here, not blind innocence, but a kind of view that comes from understanding the world but deciding to be happy anyway. Later we go to see a sunset near a temple north of Legion. Tonight I prepare to climb the mountain.

Bali: the night

My friend Arie and I are sitting in an upscale nightclub sipping Bintang beer and listening to our new girlfriends sing Indonesian songs on the karaoke. Yuliana, a tall lanky woman from Jakarta, is sitting with her beautiful black booted legs across my lap. She looks like a supermodel and I'm having a raging debate as to whether to be a good boy tonight or a bad boy. I'm leaning to the bad.

Bali: temple ceremony

I began the day by riding my motorbike, with Sudi, to Dreamland Beach. The location was reached by going down a long modern parkway that lead to the sea. The land along the expressway is all owned by the Suharto family, who are alleged to have pilfered up to $35 billion from the nation during their long rule. The beach is reached by negotiating down a long set of stairs cut into the cliff, down to a small, enclosed beach. The beach had a Baja 1967 sort of feel, kind of hippie, kind of surfer dude. We hung out on the beach for a couple of hours to get a tan and two attractive Aussie women next to us were discussing how whether to take us back to their hotel and lamenting that we just want money for our services. They clearly think I'm a native Balinese. For a moment, I contemplated the possibility of playing the part of a Balinese and letting the Aussie women have their way with us, while getting paid for our troubles. Not a bad game. Later, we had pasta at a cheap Italian joint in Seminyak, before heading back to the hotel. It is evening now, and I am dressed in the traditional temple garb of Balinese and am sittng next to the temple gamelan band pounding out a mind-bending sound. I have already undergone purification and prayer at another temple and have been given the honor of witnessing a rare temple ceremony, which culminates in a sacrifice to the Bali god. I am entranced by the spectacle before my eyes. I feel part of something grand.

Bali: The heart of lightness

My friend Sudi and his cousin picked me up from the hotel at 8:30. We headed to the interior, where I witnessed another enactment of the Barong and Kris dance. It was even more spectacular than the one I saw the other day. Many Germans and northern Europeans attended this one. The dance is about the eternal battle of light and darkness, good and evil. This Manichaean story seems to show that neither good nor bad will ever truly win out and that humor and light-heartedness are the best way to thrive amongst this battle. Not a bad philosophy. After the barong, we went to the Monkey Forest, where the little bastards were much kinder than the previous ones I had met. After the forest, I bought a cool drum for Eli at the market in Ubud, the artist community that attracts expat artists from all over the world. Ubud is the former royal capital of Bali. It is surrounded by jungle, rivers, lakes and alpine mountains. It is breathtaking. If I ever choose to move here, it will be to Ubud. We are now enjoying a cup of Balinese coffee at a plantation. It is relaxing and rejuvenating. I'm discussing American politics with an African businessman who works out of Hong Kong and went to college at UT during the Watergate era. He knows more about American politics than most Americans. Tonight, I will take my regular glasses to the optical store to get the monkey-nibbled nose guards replaced. I am writing this in the future tense but it actually occurred last night. Unfortunately, I ran into the young Balinese woman who I have been avoiding. I think she is a hell of a lot younger than 27 (her claim). I'm getting creeped out. She will accompany on a tour to the lakes in the north on Wednesday, then I will have to say good bye to her. On Saturday, Sudi and I are going to a nearby island with a couple of Tokyo girls who we hooked up with in Ubud. They are more my age. Tomorrow night, we go to Sudi's temple for an evening worship. Next week, we climb one of the hightest mountains on the island, Mt. Batur. It is still very active and I plan to wear my Puma for a quick getaway should things get hot. The mountain looks like freakin' Mt. Rainier (I'm exaggerating). It is only 5,633 feet high. It will take approximately three hours for the assent and two hours back. We must start at 3Am to avoid the afternoon heat. I may actually bring my camera on this little walk.

Bali: sacred culture

I attended a traditional barong dance this morning at a hall near Kuta. The dance work was simply stunning. The story reminded me so something from Shakespeare, with its harmony of drama, conflict and comedic relief. The acting and dancing was breathtaking. I felt like I was witnessing a spiritual moment. Later, the spiritual moment faded when one of my new "friends" tried to rent me his wife. The inequity of wealth between western visitors and the Balinese has clearly created a cultural shock to this culturally and spiritually rich (and economically destitute) place. I have attempted to interact with the locals as an equal but the reality is that a fully-employed Balinese worker makes between $50 to $100 per month. One cannot interact with such an individual without the fact that I could support an extended family here for a week on what I spend back home for a movie and popcorn. Not withstanding this fact, the people here are beautiful in every way. I am particularly taken with Balinese women. Perhaps, subconsciously, I tend to remember the women names much more readily then the mens'. Go figure. I am watching two bodies being carried down a funeral procession in Denpasar. It is remarkable. There is color and incense and drums as hundreds of people move down the road to the cremation side. I feel honored to be invited to this rare event and am in awe of these people. If there is hope for mankind in this world, I see a glimmer of it here, amongst this noble, strong people.

Bali: Naughty monkey!

The monkeys in Bali have a good sense of humor... at tourists' expense. That is one absolute I have come to appreciate during my short stay here. I began the morning with a breakfast of fresh fruit and fried noodles before my friend Arie (like Harry) picked me on his motorcycle and took me first to a crafts market out in the country, where I purchased traditional garb (sari, shirt, hat) for my visit to a traditional funeral procession tomorrow. I will look like a true Balinese. I also purchased some cool gifts for fam and friends back home. Then we headed to a temple on the south side of the island with a massive iron statute of the Balinese god. It was situated on a mountaintop with massive cuts into the sandstone that actually looked vaguely Mayan. We then went to a monkey temple. Dozens of naughty little monkeys begged for food and then grabbed my glasses and tried to eat them. A docent finally through a banana to the little bastard and I had my glasses back, albeit with tooth marks and the nose guards missing. Luckily, I brought a backup pair of glasses and am still mobile. Damn those monkeys. I am exhausted now and will have happy dreams.

Bali: no comment

Today was an interesting day. I say that in the same manner that someone says someone's new haircut is interesting. It started off well. A waitress invited me to attend a cremation on Sunday. I'm looking forward to seeing the real deal. She will be dressed in the traditional garb. Another waiter is going to take me to the shopping district tomorrow for little toys from my family and friends. All good. Then there is the tattoo. Let's not discuss that matter now. There is another local girl I met and I can't tell exactly what's going on but I'm trying to avoid having to marry her. God help me. As an aside, I just read that an American was just sentenced to four years in an Indonesian prison for possession of hashish. Possession. The sign at the airport said conviction for trafficking is death. I guess the guy got off light. That's one avenue I won't be going down. Motorbike or not!

Bali: the sacred and the wealthy folks

I quickly eat my breakfast and head to my meeting with the motor bike guy, who is supposed to ride with me to a local village that performs the barong dance, something I must see for my novel. He doesn't show up so I read the Jakarta Post on some steps and then ride my motorbike to Nusa Dua, a place that is known for its 5-Star hotels and temples. After a harrowing ride on the bipass road, essentially a freeway with no lanes or rules, I reach Nusa Dua. I park my bike at a beach and buy a bottle of water. The old couple laugh because they thought I was Balinese. I am flattered. They ask me if I'm single. When I nod yes, they laugh again and say maybe I like Balinese women. I smile back and say that I concur. I watch a European couple that look like models in swim suits walk along the beach. They look too perfect. I ride to a hot air balloon and take a ride up several hundred feet to get a good look at the peninsula. It is breathtaking. The natural beauty of this place is magical. The young man operating the balloon is from Sumatra and I offer to help see what I can do to help him get a visa to America. He wants to develop his music in America. The guy speaks great English. I ride back to Kuta. I plan on exploring the night life this evening. I might go over to say hi to the sexy clerk at the check-in counter.

Bali: kindness and motor bikes

I walk downstairs to a buffet breakfast of pineapple fried rice, noodles and toast made from Australian-style white bread and jam. The coffee is excellent. The waitress is beautiful, like all the rest of the women here. I can't believe there is a place on this planet where people are this friendly. Indonesian satellite television showed some footage of some kind of riot in Kuta from the day before I arrive, so I know it isn't all roses. I walk to a Circle K down the street to get some cash from the ATM. Perhaps Tom Friedman was right with that "The World is Flat" business. I walk another block and get a latte from the Starbucks. The clerk gives me a sample of the Anniversary Blend. He wants to know what I think. I say the stuff smells like Seattle. I decide that walking just won't do. I rent a fast motorbike for my entire three week stay for $60. I'm told later from a Sumatran friend that I was ripped off for paying so much. Oh, well. I drive into a hive of activity, with motorbikes and minivans buzzing around with no discernible traffic laws. I dive in and eventually feel a part of the giant sea of urban Bali. I dig it. I drive down the motorway to Denpasar City with its warren of alleys and typical Southeast Asian chaos. I love it. I get lost and eventually end up driving through little villages and rice paddies. I am almost out of gas. I stop at a roadside store for directions. By the time I get to the gas station, a traffic cop, truck driver and another motor bike rider guide me to the nearest petrol station. My point me in the general direction of Kuta and I am back at the hotel. My ethic background and demeanor fools the locals. Only my American accent gives me away. The young women seem to be particularly interested in me. I am far to kind to resist. I want to be a good American. The security guards wave me through the blast gates. They think I'm a dish washer, I think. The door man asks for my business after I park the bike and enter the lobby. When you hears my American voice, he suddenly puts on the smile and it seems apparent that the locals are stunned by my recent attachment to motorbiking on Bali. It is a nasty business and many tourists are too afraid to take the plung. They hire drivers for the day to take them to crafts markets and Italian restaurants. I sleep for six hours and then write a chapter of my novel.

Bali: even the graft is done with a smile

The plane landed, thank god. I paid my $25 dollar visa fee and the customs guy kindly asked him for a rp. 500,000 bribe. I almost kissed him when I handed him the bill. I just wanted to get to my room and curl into the fetal position. A young man pulled me from the line, grabbed my bag and got me a taxi within five minutes. A $5 tip works wonders. The hotel exceeds my expectations. The place feels like a four star Scandinavian hotel. Clean, fresh and uncluttered. The only difference is that the room was had for less than $50 per day. As I check-in, a young man hands me a glass of iced tea. I retreat to my bedroom and sleep for 9 hours. I wake in the middle of the night and unpack my bags. I pinch myself to see if the air conditioned room with marble floors and stocked fridge and room service with a view of koi ponds and an infinity pool is for real. I feel the pinch. I go back to sleep for 6 hours.

Bali: barf me a river

I'm not yet too Bali and I wish I would just die. Not for real. I just want to be off this god damn plane before my insides explode. The flight from LAX to Taipei was okay, but changes of altitude caused me to occasionally start coughing jags. By the time my layover in Taipei was over, my intuition told me that I might need some special attention for the final five hour flight. I begged for an upgrade and was escorted to the first class cabin. It was astounding. The seats lay down to make a bed, should one be so inclined. I was inclined to recline. We hit a spot of turbulence. It lasted awhile. About three hours was all. I declined the four star lunch for ginger ale and repeated an internal matra that went something like this, "God grant me the strength not to puke." God wasn't being generous. I got to know the inside of the extra-big first class loo in great detail. Please make this plane land. I just want to sleep.