Bali is a small island of about 5,000 sq. km. and a population of 3.5 million, but within this smallness exists a diversity of fauna, flora, and ecology befitting a larger landmass. Bali reminded me of Sri Lanka from the time I arrived. The roads were congested with cars, bemos, and motorcycles, although the large belching buses and the pestilential "three wheelers" (tuk tuks) of Sri Lankan roads were missing. Paddy fields were everywhere and ramshackle dwellings existed side by side with mansions. The green landscape was choked with bumper to bumper traffic. Coconut, arecanut and frangipani trees were everywhere. Of course, the major difference was Sri Lanka has a majority of Buddhists and Bali is 90% Hindu (or a version of it). The other visible difference is that petrol could be bought from countless sidewalk kiosks. Perhaps dangerous but, with thousands of motorcycles on the road, relieving the congestion at petrol stations. Long lines form at petrol stations in Sri Lanka because of motorcycles.
We stayed at the peaceful Kori Ubud Resort, up on Jalan Sangginan, away from the filth and the permanent traffic jam that's downtown Ubud (below is a view of the filthiest of them all, Monkey Forest Road). Our location was fortunate for three more reasons; the gastronomic delights of Indus Restaurant, the tranquility of the Neka Art Museum, and the sublime Yeh Spa were all within a 10 minute walk.
We took two road trips away from Ubud accompanied by Nyana, the young resort manager, and his sidekick Made. Nyana is a university graduate trained as an English teacher (who teaches English on the side) with an intriguing pronunciation of certain English words. Because I am old enough to remember the life and times of Sukarno, modern Indonesia's founding father, the massacre of Chinese/Communists in 1966, and the Suharto family (son Tommy, daughter Tut Tut and all) that plundered the country, we had interesting discussions on our drives. Despite the billions of dollars that flow in to the local economy from tourism, Nyana says that most Balinese work hard for a pittance. The money appears to be flowing elsewhere. Apparently, corruption is rife.
On the first trip, after stopping to admire a paddy filed, we turned around to find a shack (apparently the "studio") of a village artist, Mariasta, who drew with a fine palm brush. Some of the drawings in their complication may have taken him months to complete, and I was drawn to one titled "Saraswati in Bali", depicting the Hindu goddess of learning dressed as a Balinese dancer with the local landscape (terraced paddies and a volcano) in the background. Obviously, it was Mariasta's favorite work and he was reluctant to part with it. Although the theme appeared to be common on the island, I could recognize a fine work of art and managed to convince him to part with it.
"Saraswati in Bali"
On the paved but narrow roads, we passed Balinese men and women carrying loads. Apparently, the custom is for women to carry loads on their heads and the men to balance them on a pole across their shoulder. The women were on their way to temple ceremonies. The gentle Balinese appear to spend much time on such rituals, which probably slows the pace of their lives. Years ago, men and women carrying loads on poles and on their heads were everywhere in Sri Lanka but not common anymore. But, like in Sri Lanka, we saw motor cyclists ferrying impossible loads on their vehicles. Coffee, orange, and cocoa plantations were evident as we climbed higher on the way to Batur.
This man is carrying cages built for fighting cocks.
I saw this Chinese temple on the grounds of the Kintamani Temple, a strange juxtaposition of Chinese and Hindu shrines. Nyana explained that the Hindus were so tolerant of other races and religions that even temples existed side by side. Indeed, the Balinese practice a peculiar variety of Hinduism. Unlike most Hindus elsewhere, Balinese Hindus are carnivores. They often kill the fowls and animals they eat. Nyana went into a lengthy explanation about doing these creatures a favor by fast tracking their reincarnation and the journey to Nirvana. The animals would be told this before being killed. I reminded him that the animals themselves would be praying like mad knowing their end was near.
Another oddity was the open display of finely carved erect phalluses, even in supermarkets. The phallus (called "lingam") has a venerated place in Hinduism and large, stone versions are prominently displayed in Hindu temples in Sri Lanka. But, the Hindus there would be aghast at the open display of such life-like models in homes and shops. The ticketing agent at Denpasar airport was named Indra Yoni. Yoni means vagina in Sanskrit, from which the Balinese language derives.
Another difference from Sri Lanka was the presence of a number of volcanoes. This one, Mount Batur, erupted last year but didn't cause much damage.
Koi at the Tirta Empul Temple at Tampaksiring
We wanted to see a few performances while in Ubud and were fortunate that the Ramayana was performed at the Ubud Palace one evening. The Ramayana is the preeminent Hindu epic, describing the abduction of Sita, an Indian princess, by Ravana, the King of Lanka. The epic is popular in India because Rama, Sitas's husband, later invaded Lanka with his brother Laxman and Hanuman, the monkey king, defeated Ravana and his brother Kumbakarna, and took Sita back. Simply put, India won, Sri Lanka lost. The epic is therefore not held in such high esteem in Sri Lanka. The performance at the Ubud Palace, by a professional troupe before a packed audience of tourists, lasted two hours and was, by any standard, highly professional and entertaining. I was disappointed to learn that few Balinese were aware that Alengka, Ravana's kingdom, was actually Sri Lanka.
On another evening, we watched a Kecak performance in the open air, again on a Sri Lankan figure Kumbakarna, the brother of King Ravana. Kumbakarna, a lazy fellow, is reputed to have slept for 40 years at a stretch. (I would be happy with five.) This performance, conducted with a chorus whose chanting of "cak, cak, cak" which became irritating after a while, wasn't as spectacular as the Ramayana performance, probably because it was done in semi-darkness. But, the shrill cries of cicadas in the background and the fire at the center of the arena certainly enhanced the ambiance.
The chorus at the kecak performance
On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at the Indus Restaurant for dinner and caught a Latin band performing. People got up and danced, the food was heavenly, the service was friendly, and what more could one ask for. In fact, I could have all my Ubud meals at the Indus. The mackerel curry in a coconut served for lunch the next day was the best seafood I've had since my last visit home. The prices come close to those of Hong Kong, but the service and the ambiance are unmatched. And a large bottle of Bintang beer is only HK$30.
No visit to Bali can go with the massages. Images of opulent spa treatments, with lovely women looking blissful among floating frangipani flowers. But all I wanted was a good massage in simple, uncluttered surroundings, and I found Yeh Spa only a 5-minute walk from the hotel. I was hooked and went there almost everyday, for a shoulder and foot massage, a body massage, and foot reflexology. The simplicity of the Japanese-style building was appealing, and so was the skill, enthusiasm, and friendliness of the staff.
Exterior and interior views of Yeh Spa. If I ever build a spa at my eco resort in Sri Lanka, I would follow this building style.
Kadek at Yeh Spa. Kaedek, like Madey, is the diminutive for the middle child in Balinese. Wayan is the term for the first child.
Another nearby treasure was the Neka Art Museum, which displayed many local and expatriate artists. A bargain at Rupiah 40,000/ (HK$40), we could spend hours leisurely strolling through the spacious, high ceilinged rooms, set amidst a beautifully landscaped garden. Miho is shown standing at a typical, highly decorative Balinese door at the museum.
On the way to Sanur beach on our second trip, we stopped at the Niyana Tilem Gallery, renowned for wooden sculpture. I had no intention of buying anything but a sublime bust of the Buddha caught my eye and I was hooked. In Sri Lanka and other Buddhist countries, I have seen hundreds of Buddha sculptures, in clay, wood, bronze, gold, and rock, but this Buddha had the most serene face of them all. Hand sculpted, I was told that the sculpture may have taken a master craftsman more than a month to carve out of hard wood, each chisel stroke carefully measured and executed, one millimeter at a time. One false stroke and the sculpture would have to be discarded. The finished products were polished by women. All the craftsmen and women sat on the floor of open pavilians, surrounded by a Hindu temple, carp ponds, and gardens. The whole compound is a fascinating example of traditional Balinese architecture. The Buddha bust I bought will go to Anna, my son Roy's mother-in-law, who is a practicing Buddhist and one of the most serene people I know.
We passed paddy fields like this all along the trip. To a small island swarming with tourists, with billions of dollars flowing through along with them, the sight of ordinary farmers tending their fields (hard, back breaking work), of men and women carrying loads along the road, is astonishing. I wondered why they all did not join the tourism trade, which would be more glamorous, less tiring work? Thankfully, I wasn't hassled by pimps trying to sell me women and boys, as in Bangkok. The only cries were for "Taxi!", uttered by everyone who owned a car, van, or motorcycle. The only rude people we met were sales girls at a coffee plantation, who spoke at a rapid machine gun pace, and abused us for not paying inflated prices for their coffee. (This reminded me of salespeople in Hong Kong from the late 1990s, who were openly discriminatory to anyone who was not white or yellow skinned.)
A stunning view of the Uluwatu shore, at the southern end of Bali.
With Miho and Niyana.
A few minutes after this photo was taken, a monkey suddenly jumped on Miho's back and snatched her sun glasses. Terrified, she didn't even know that the glasses were gone till someone else pointed it out the monkey, who was trying on the glasses up a tree. Two boys appeared from nowhere and threw a mango at the monkey, who dropped the glasses to catch the mango. The boys demanded Rp. 50,000/ for the glasses (now damaged), and we managed to talk them down to Rp. 20,000/. I don't know if the monkey had been trained to make some quick bucks for the boys, or if it was operant conditioning. Stealing items from tourists for food.
The day ended with a BBQ on Jimbaran beach, watching flights landing at Denpasar airport. The seafood was not clean and outrageously priced (about HK$650) but we went thru it as a treat for Niyana and Madey. Driving back to join the main road to Ubud, we passed through dimly lit, squalid slums. These didn't look like Paradise.
We also had a nasty surprise the when departing from Denpasar the next day, when we were required to pay Rp. 150,000 each as a departure tax. This looked so much like a rip off and we overheard tourists objecting vociferously. We had passed two monstrous monuments to Sukarno just outside the airport, and I wondred if the departure tax was going to build these useless structures. Sukarno, the "founding father", serial womanizer and bankrupter of the nation, is depicted in the country's highest denomination currency note of Rp. 100,000 (HK$100). Obviousuly, as in many other countries, history is being rewritten. I wrote a stiff protest note reagrding the tax for the comments box, signing it with the name of a man I dislike, fondly imagining the Airport Director contemptuously wiping his ass with the note.
So, the vedict. Yes, I'll go back. Ubud is now on the list of my favorite places, joining Queenstown, NZ; Cape Town; and Kyoto. On the last day, I checked out a less expensive guest house on Jalan Sanggingan, which would cost only a third of Kori Ubud Resort. I would still be within walking distance of the Indus Restaurant, the Yeh Spa, and the art museum. I was told of a recently retired couple that had rented a self-contained apartment at the guest house for a whole year. Well, heavenly meals, a daily massage, volcano climbs and downhill bicycle rides. Here I come.
