A map of Bali. Ubud and Kuta Beach (sadly the only two spots on the island I was able to explore) are circled in red.

Over a week in Indonesia, and only one goddamned page of notes, mostly from a short excursion I’ll not be writing about here (see next post).  Expect this one to be short on the verbal meat, and a bit long on pictures, as Bali‘s reputation for one of the most gorgeous and relaxing of the popular hot spots on the planet is well earned.  And sad to say, I only scratched the surface of the mecca (no pun intended) of Indonesian Hinduism amidst the near endless sea of Muslim islands (Indonesia hosts the largest Muslim population by far of any country in the world).  Despite terrorist bombings in 2002 and 2005, the island still maintains a solid reputation as a veritable paradise on earth, and despite there being 17,000 islands in Indonesia, 80% of all foreign visitors only make a point of visiting Bali.

First glimpses at Bali, from just outside Denpasar International Airport

I timed the trip carefully to coincide with a ten day yoga retreat taking place in the impossibly serene town of Ubud, located basically in both Bali’s spiritual and physical center.  The ways of the Downward Facing Dog or the Sun Salutation are mostly unknown to me, as a decade spent slouched by a computer monitor are about as far from the physical finesses invoked by yoga as one might attain in life.  Even the bulk of those gathered for the retreat don’t fall within my typical strata of social connections.  The women are Californians both in name and in spirit, all in their 40′s and 50′s; the lone male, of about the same age, possesses a particularly grating sense of humor and an unstoppable urge to talk in poorly executed ethnic impersonations for no discernible reason anyone present seems able to comprehend.

“Can you please pass the salt?” I ask him at one point over a group meal.

“Now we ain’t got no salt he-ah, man,” he responds with ebonic swagger.  “All we done got is a lotta peppa!”

Who the fuck are you, Fred Sanford?  “Oh, I thought both were in front of you there.”

“Nah, man, just messin’ witchu.  Some salt for mah man,” he says, passing over the salt.  Laurie’s eyes meet mine with a quick, burning glare clearly meant for the grating half of an Amos and Andy act in the process of painfully bombing across the table from us.

We pass this large statue on a man-made island on the way from Denpasar to Ubud. The snake plays a major role in Balinese creation mythology, though I wasn't able to track down who this character is online. I just think he's kind of badass.

“I think I’m about ready to slap him if he does another shitty Chinese or black accent every time he opens his mouth,” she swore to me earlier.  “Last night at dinner, he was talking in a bad Indian accent to the waiter.  Here.  In Indonesia.”  She’s amusingly fuming, but accurate, as well as my reason for being involved with the retreat in the first place.  An old friend from New York, it’d come to both of our attention that we’d be in the area around the same time it felt a travesty not to meet up.  Doubly fortuitous for me, their whole crew was arriving around within an hour of my flight, providing me with a free ride from the airport (past a McDonalds proclaiming “beef prosperity,” by the way) and a pseudo-guide in the form of Patrick.

An American expat who’s lived in Bali now for years, Patrick’s living expenses are too low for him to ever consider living elsewhere by now, and at least on the surface he seems to be living a dream life of sorts with his Japanese girlfriend here on the island.  Costs of living are beyond affordable here, with occasional work like the organization of these sporadic yoga retreats taking care of most of his basic expenses.  The cottages where those attending the retreat will be staying are fully booked, but Patrick has a friend with an open room across the street that’s almost as nice for just ten dollars a night.  Laurie’s cottage, located on immaculately maintained gardens replete with a wide assortment of statues of Balinese gods peering about serenely, is still only twenty dollars a night and includes breakfast and swimming pool access.

For an assortment of valid and fearsome arguments she was quick to provide, Laurie has no interest in riding on the back of the motor scooter that, for reasons unknown, the friendly Patrick has also provided for me free of charge.  From occasional comments made by the generally thrifty Laurie, I know the yoga retreat doesn’t come cheap, so it’s bizarre that the one freeloader — myself — seems to be getting the most perks from their guide; I do not complain.  I scour the rice-covered hillsides on the back of the small bike — a toy compared to the Minsk I’d just been living on in Vietnam — while Laurie meets for yoga, and then in her off-time, we stumble about through the quiet streets and shops, basking in the spirituality that just oozes through every brick, stone and grain of rice in town.

On the back of my scooter, somewhere in Bali...

Fierce and benevolent gods peer out at us from every corner; they watch down on us from the rafters and rooftops, and guard entryways and temples.  They stand prominently in the center of temple complexes, and they silently peer out almost invisibly amidst seas of dense trees and bushes where only the most searching eyes would take note.  Each evening, the massive figure of Ganesh, multi-armed elephant god of intellect and wisdom (I like him so much, I pick a large, iron Ganesh up at one of the many craft shops, despite the future difficulty that traveling with such a massive idol might cause me), greets us upon our return to the small boutique hotel.  In the mornings, he sends us off covered in garlands of fresh flowers with a newly made canang sari placed at his feet.

Literally “essence basket,” the canang sari are placed at the feet of the gods and goddesses every morning by soft-spoken women mostly wearing the same matching peach-colored sarongs.  Made of coconut leaves and filled with a variety of flowers, leaves and berries, the offerings are similarly left at the doorstep of every home, stand, temple and business in town.  During the afternoons, the same serene girls sit behind their respective counters at the shops where they work, quietly braiding the small leaf-entwined baskets for the next day’s offerings and filling them in between sales of strange Balinese masks, vividly colored pottery and a profusion of wooden penis statues (and similarly shaped bottle openers) that for some reason can be found in every store in town.

The center of town hosts a complex of temples more intricately adorned and spectacular than anywhere else in the city (or perhaps the entire island).  Outside of one, a large statue of a baby glances down at us gleefully, its waist respectfully wrapped with a large, clean sarong.  We stop for lunch under the thatched roof of a building located on an island in the center of a large rectangular pond.  Only thin walkways over the water to the north and south provide access to the scenic restaurant, where we lounge out on pillows while a large Balinese temple reflects across the water nearly to the edge of where we sit.  The food, like the view, is amazing, though the finest dining experience in Ubud requires a bit more effort from its patrons.

Fresh coconut milk for all upon arrival at the hotel.

The portly and solemn Ganesh, guarding the way back to the cottages.

Bebek Betutu for dinner. Balinese roast duck roasted underground in leaves for twelve hours. Understandably succulent.

A temporary statue being erected in a park near the center of town for an upcoming festival of some sort. It's unclear who the statue will be, but it's safe to say she's got great... pulchritude.

A road through the middle of town. Note the intricate detail even in the street design.

Note the plethora of canang sari around the statue, as well as the fresh sarongs keeping the short little fellow warm and stylish. No one can accuse the Balinese of not giving their sculptures enough love...

Our lunchtime view from atop a cafe sitting on a concrete island in the center of this quiet, lily pad-infested pond. Not a bad spot.

Laurie and I at lunch, at aforementioned cafe

The pool, back at our hotel. Most of the hotels I looked at in Ubud seemed similarly priced, and almost all of them either had or had access to a swimming pool like this.

A baby cried for much of the flight from Singapore to Jakarta that I had taken just days before. It was not nearly as cool (nor as well dressed) as this baby.

Balinese penis souvenirs. Oddly ubiquitous across the island.

A cluster of canang sari, with freshly lit incense on top (Ubud in the mornings is an incredibly pleasant smelling town), outside one of the storefronts.

At close to twenty dollars for an hour-long massage, it's one of the most expensive in Asia, though there's no question that they create the best possible environments here for getting serviced...

The Trek to Sari Organic

My interest in the Sari Organic Cafe is middling at best; the skies are overcast and hint of rain, and the most common caveat with every recommendation for the restaurant is that it requires a bit of a journey to find the elusive vegetarian restaurant.  Not being a vegetarian myself, the compulsion to roam the countryside in search of the popular cafe is not particularly high for me.  But Laurie’s interest in the place is too piqued to be denied, and despite a hand-drawn map to the cafe with less clarity than most ancient cave art, we take off down the main street, turning onto a narrow muddy road with overgrown grass to either side that eventually gives over to seemingly endless rice paddies.

A shot taken during light rainfall as we fecklessly make our way through the countryside in search of the hidden gem of a cafe

Clouds darken and what had been a soft mist in the air thickens to an uncomfortable downpour, leading us to seek shelter in one of the lone buildings along the empty dirt track.  A not particularly riveting art gallery, the building also doubles as a restaurant by night and offers cooking lessons as well; I’m vaguely curious, though the prices are significantly higher than any of the other attraction we’ve sampled in town.  As the rain subsides, we make our way back out and follow the widening track until it intersects with one of the main streets through Ubud, closer to the center.  Only the chance glimpse at paper advertisement for Sari Organic on the side of a telephone pole points us in the right direction.

Again detouring from the main road, we go against instinct and follow the sign’s directions around a small, empty garage as the sidewalk gives way to a thin dirt track just wide enough for a single motorbike.  The track stretches along for a few kilometers, with nothing but terraced rice fields and the occasional farm house to either side of the increasingly narrow path.  The last marking that signified in any way that this was the right way to Sari Organic was also the first, with no signs of life or activity since then.

Our first (of several) glimpse of Sari Organic, as we come around the bend from a small cluster of trees.

And suddenly a cluster of open-air buildings, most of them little more than thatch-roofed shacks, rise out from behind a cluster of trees and vegetation.  In place of rice paddies are several rectangular gardens offering a wide variety of different herbs and vegetables.  Most items — salads in particular — are thrown together from items hand-picked by the chefs just moments before from these gardens.  Creative guests are even given the option of picking through the plants by themselves to make part or all of their own meals.

A Canadian, about my age, plays at at guitar for a time at the table behind us.  That he’s brought the instrument this far out into the Indonesian countryside implies either that he’s been here before or that he was a lot more trusting than I was about the restaurant’s reputation.  While I dine on cream of pumpkin soup and a green pancake replete with chunks of mango and pineapple, a wizened dark-skinned guru with a long, white beard and a look of profound enlightenment in his eyes speaks to a group of Americans in their fifties and sixties who all look as though they might’ve hung out with Ben and Jerry (or Jerry Garcia) in their youth.  Nearly horizontal on a long, soft cushion, I stare out over the moist rice paddies stretching into the distance as a prismatic sky of blues, pinks, oranges and purples is reflected into countless patchwork puddles on the damp ground below.  It might be the most perfect location for a restaurant ever, if only one doesn’t mind a bit of a hike.

The relaxing environment and almost hypnotically bucolic countryside lulls us into a peaceful complacence that causes us to neglect the difficulties in returning to Ubud after the sun has set.  Stumbling through the darkness with only the light from my camera for guidance, we’re trailed for a while by a shadow about the size of a medium-sized dog.  We walk in a state of mild paranoia until reaching a building with a sloppily painted-on depiction of the lion-faced demon god Barong glaring outward at us.  Perhaps it was enough to scare the animal off, as there’s no further sign of its presence for the rest of the walk.

Over drinks later that night, an American couple speak to us of their work on the island: They’ve come to assist with the massive outbreak of rabies amongst feral dogs in Bali.  Apparently, the disease — especially here in the center of the island — is quite rampant…

A large building in the distance we pass while walking through the rice fields. I'm not sure if it's a farm, hotel or private residence, but I liked the look of it.

The extremely narrow cement path to Sari Organic. At some point, the cement gives way to an even more narrow dirt track.

Soggy, terraced rice paddies

Laurie and I at Sari Organic

A glance up at the inside of the rooftop

Fresh cream of pumpkin soup

Green pancake with mango and pineapple. Why is it green? Because it was made by hippies. Still tasted good, though...

One of Sari's gardens. Throughout our time there, we'd watch as kitchen staff from below would run out to the gardens for fresh food. We were told that visitors could pluck their own salads as well, though I didn't see any of the customers ever take them up on this offer.

Sunset over Sari Organic

The Monkey Temple

In town the next morning, we venture downhill to the base of the large hill our cottages are built into to scope out the Monkey Temple.  It’s an appropriate name.  Here, the woods are at their most dense, choking out the sky under a massive green canopy.  Already a handful of monkeys chase after tourists bearing bags of bread crumbs, industriously sold by locals across the street where for some reason the monkeys don’t dare to tread.

Feeding time, across the street from the entrance (costs a nominal fee to go in) to the "Monkey Forest". Despite no gates or barriers of any discernible kind, the monkey do mostly stay confined to the borders of their "forest"

Against Laurie’s wishes, I pick up a back of the crumbs to take into the park; she’s understandably timid around the obnoxious little bastards, and this timidity only grows each time an occasional alpha male asserts itself a bit too strongly while seeking out snacks from clueless tourists like myself.  The animals are far more friendly than their cousins in Vietnam, but still aggressive enough to make one maintain a safe distance.  For every monkey willing to dance about playfully on the ground for a few crumbs, there’s another with no compunctions about climbing up a human’s leg and angrily grabbing the entire bag with a soft hiss.

In the center of a long series of winding trails sits the temple itself, a monument to the animals that appear to claim dominance over this section of Ubud.  No less intricately carved out than any other temple in the city, busts and statues of Ganesh, Setesuyara and Kala are all replaced by various monkeys in a variety of positions, innocently mocked at all times by the living specimens that’ve made this place their home.  A cluster of infant monkeys come tripping over to me greedily upon spotting the remainder of my bag of snacks and I dump it quickly on the ground for them before any large males can swing by.  One assertively does, of course, but not before a few of the pups at least manage to sneak off with a few morsels.

At the Monkey Temple, with monkeys both living and carved out of stone

The Monkey Forest. See if you can spot the monkeys! (Note: monkeys may not actually be in this picture)

Kuta Beach

With two days left in my Balinese adventure (the lucky Laurie getting to stay on for a few more days for further exploration), we debate between treks to dormant volcanoes and sloppy beach adventures, eventually opting for the latter.  Calm, relaxing beaches can be found in all the cardinal directions, with some exciting island hopping in the southeast and a few popular beaches famous for their black sands in the north.  But after a few days of Ubud’s pleasantly lull-inducing air, the liveliness of Kuta Beach in the south seems the ideal choice.

Laurie, presenting our vast, open, unpopulated piece of Kuta

Notoriously taken over by young and wild Australians almost year round, it would appear we showed up on an off night.  By day we swim and tan on nearly empty beaches, so happily unmolested by locals (when’s the last time locals at a beach haven’t at least approached to beg or sell something?) and then wander about the fairly modern city streets through the afternoon.  There are people here, but not in any abundance.  The most people show up for a sunset worthy of even more than those that arrived, but even still it’s no Koh Phangan in terms of population or wild behavior.

At night we wander through mostly empty bars and clubs, walking back and forth in anticipation of the large crowds that never quite arrive.  Outside, some local men stand around in a huddle looking bored.

“Want any drugs, my friend?”

“Nah, not really.  Do you know how much a cab back to Ubud would be?”

In liu of excitement and adventure, and perhaps realizing we’re too old to spend a day at the beach and then sit out in the clubs until midnight waiting on the hint of a party to start, we opt for the casual familiarity of another night in Ubud.  It’s no raging all-nighter, but there’s a decent Reggae band here in Ubud and the beers are cheap.  Sometimes, pleasant adequacy after a long day at the beach is more than enough.

We're not exactly sure what this structure was. We snuck up to the side of it and there was a podium elevated in its center with maybe 10-20 seats around it. Maybe a super-exotic convention center for very, very small conventions?

The only noteworthily unpleasant thing about Kuta that I spotted: lots of these small, dead fish grouped in various places throughout the beach

The most crowded point of the day (that we'd seen at least) was here, right before sunset

Sunset at Kuta Beach