Month: June 2008

We check out of our convenient, lack luster hotel, stow our baggage and began our morning walk to forage for food. Our normally charming son, is sullen and Art follows suit making this the mood for the day. Without too much trouble we find a cafe and order 4 morning sets. Two may be able to live as cheaply as one, but add a growing 15 year old boy into the equation and his food consumption doubles ours. We wander the side streets of the Ueno district, into a market district with open air shops selling everything from T shirts to cosmetics. Clustered together are several high end T-shirt and jacket shops, catering to the military and to tourists. The bold graphics of the T-shirts and the heavily embroidered silken jackets of dragons, tigers and koi fish draw me in. The young man attending the stall targets Art and John as possible customers and is surprised when I buy myself a striking dragon T-shirt, styled like a body tattoo. We leave the market in search of an electronic store and spend an hour purchasing needed converters and USB cables to take with us to Bali.

John and I walk through the Uneo Park while Art checks on the train schedule back to the Narita Airport. Acrobats are setting up for a performance in the park and John and I dawdle a bit watching them warm up. When we return to the hotel, Art is anxiously standing out front with all our luggage. We dash through the ticket turn-styles and board our train with just 5 minutes to spare. Slightly over an hour later we are at the airport. We are ahead of schedule, the check in line is short and I remember to check to make certain that our seats are together. They are not and the courteous attendant reassigns us, asking if we would prefer the top or bottom deck? Never having sat on the top deck of an airliner, John enthusiastically requests seating there. With some time to spare, we browse the plastic display food in the windows of the airport restaurants, eventually settling on one and eating a late, mediocre lunch. The security check is painless and two female travelers from New York drink small bottles of saki just inside the security area. Although they will not be allowed to take the liquid onboard, J.A.L. is courteous enough to give them time to consume it if they wish. We are the first group to board and John carries my luggage up the steep stairs to the top deck of the airplane. Our luggage is too fat to fit in the overhead compartment, and the stewardess graciously stows it in a nearby closet. John is ecstatic that each seat back has it’s own personal T.V. and he and quickly plans his movie marathon. The plane takes off on time, complimentary drinks are served shortly and the dinner is actually good. I watch two movies; John and Art watch three, the overhead lights come on; I fill out our landing cards and before we know it we are landing in Denpasar.

With just carry on luggage we are quickly off the plane, hurrying towards the immigration check point. We pay our $25.00 each for our 30 day visas and then wait through a painfully slow line to enter Bali. 45 minutes later, with our passports stamped, we pass through customs, exchange $200.00 and exit the airport. Tabra and her driver are waiting for us and quickly whisk us off to the waiting car, a small S.U.V. I haven’t seen Tabra in nearly 13 years, but she looks very much the same; beautiful, exotically dressed and adorned heavily with her lovely silver bangles. For the past three months we have exchanged e-mail and the conversation flows easily. It is after 11:00 P.M. and we drive through the darkened streets of Denpasar towards Ubud. I am focused on conversing with Tabra but John is alert to all that passes outside our window. Art sits in the front seat beside Wayan, our driver, when suddenly, a flash of white blurs across our path and the motor scooter directly in front of us veers, tips sideways, spins and the riders, crash onto the asphalt. Wayan manages to veer left avoiding the two downed riders and quickly pulls over to the side of the road. Thankfully, the two riders are wearing helmets and the passenger, a woman rises, and moves shakily to the center divider but the driver is seriously injured. Within a minute, we are standing with Tabra, along side of the road beside our luggage and the injured driver is loaded into the back of our S.U.V. Wyanne drives quickly away, off to a nearby hospital. Young Balinese men appear carrying a bench over to us and we talk with them waiting for our driver to return. The night is warm and the smell of diesel fuel wafts our way as the traffic speeds along side us. There are many motor scooters, almost all with passengers and many with children sandwiched between their parents. I think of my granddaughter Molly and wish for their safety.

45 minutes later, Wyanne returns and tells us that the motor scooter rider will be alright and we continue our drive towards Ubud. After passing through the downtown streets of Ubud, we turn off the main road. The jungle foliage is lush and sweet and the night air pleasantly cool and humid. We stop at the end of a narrow road, unload our our three small bags and walk together with flashlights down steep cement stairs, over a gully and through rice paddies. The moon is full and the unfolding scene is magical. Wayan unlocks a padlock on the carved doors of our rented bungalow and we are amazed and delighted. Decorative Stepping stones span an illuminated water garden and the koi fish swim to greet us. Removing our shoes, we step up on the marble veranda, wicker chairs gracing the open air space and fresh flowers fragrant in the night air. He swings open another carved door revealing a bedroom with a 4 poster bed draped with gossamer mosquito netting. The floor to ceiling window looks out upon the water garden and steep stairs lead up to a second bedroom, also appointed with a large bed draped with gossamer netting. An open air veranda juts off the upstairs bedroom overlooking the rice paddies below. Tabra excitedly shows us the large open air bathroom, a small utilitarian kitchen and our private pool in the courtyard. The illuminated pool shimmers invitingly and on the far side of the pool is a large thatched open air veranda with yet another mosquito netted bed befitting a prince. Another small, raised pagoda stands along side of the pool, bedecked with silken lounge cushions. We wander our villa, exclaiming our delight and amazement. The price for this luxury, including our breakfast is just $45.00 a night.

We say goodnight to our friends and then have the difficult decision of deciding where we want to sleep. John chooses the netted bed on the veranda and Art and I fall exhausted into the downstairs bed, the fountains of the water garden, and the chirping of the gecko’s lulling us to sleep.

Paradise Found – Friday June 20th.

I wake to the sounds of roosters and ducks, rise and excitedly explore our villa in the soft early morning light. It is just as lovely by daylight as it was in last nights moonlight. We are surrounded by coconut palms, banana trees and rice paddies and I take dozens of photos. A thatched cafe where our breakfast will be served is one rice paddy away and Art and I walk the narrow path between the rice fields towards our morning coffee. Ducks wade in the stagnant water, slurping and quacking happily. We order Bali coffee, banana pancakes, fresh fruit and a cheese omlet. The Bali coffee is too thick and grainy for my tastes, but the banana pancakes are amazing. Returning to our bungalow, I wake John and he too is mesmerized by the magic of it all.

We meet up with Tabra late in the morning, walking along the dirt path connecting the road to our bungalow. Wyanne drives us into Ubud and we wander together exploring the shops that Tabra recommends. We need to cross over a gorge to the other side of town. Our choice is between a suspension bridge missing many of it’s boards where we can see down to the river below or the cement bridge where the cars pass over. Tabra refuses the wooden bridge and crosses alongside of the cars on a narrow cracked sidewalk. Our choice seems to be falling to our death into the gorge or being maimed by automobile. Surviving, we proceed onto lunch at a “hippy-arty” cafe with wonderful, inexpensive food. The furrow in Arts brow is gone and he relaxes into the spirit of the place.

Tabra makes massage appointments for us all at her favorite spa. This will be John’s first massage and although we all assume the spa is reputable, we reserve a shared room for Art and John. I am slightly nervous, but the experience is easy and I relax into the therapeutic hands of the young woman masseuse. She knowingly kneads away the tension of the past several days of travel. An hour and a half later, we are all relaxed and smelling of sweet oils. We drink ginger tea together, and pay our bills. Each 1 1/2 hour massage is $12.00.

We have a lovely dinner at Nomads, an open air cafe set on a raised terrace overlooking the main street in Ubud. We order an elaborate tapas appetizer plate to share, and two dozen taste treats are served to us on small leaves arranged on two large platters. We are slightly hurried but indulge in chocolate moose cake and banana creme brule before leaving to attend a Kechak dance. Wyanne drives us to the Keckak on the outskirts of town and we climb a long steep path bordered by impressive Balinese sculpture, theatrically lit in the dark. The setting has the feel of an Indiana Jones movie and a sense of excitement rises up in me. Classical dances are not always my favorite, but the Kechak is unlike any I have ever seen. We sit in an open air theatre and over 50 male performers gather in a circle, a blazing candle-lit alter in their center. The rhythmic chanting begins, a mix of guttural sounds and repetitive melody. The performers vibrate their hands and bodies, dark hand-prints silhouettes black against the blazing alter. We are mesmerized and catch the rhythm and spirit of the pagan dance. I ask what the dance signifies and Tabra tells me the dance is about good versus evil. At times the chanting is soft and then rises to a frenetic crescendo, all the time keeping the rhythm with the underling melody. A fire walk follows and two dancers, holding hairless brooms, spread glowing coals in a circle on the dirt. A third dancer, seemingly in a trance, struts rooster like through the coals, kicking up blazing sparks, brilliant red against the dark night setting. Repeatedly, the two assistant dancers sweep the coals back into a small circle and repeatedly the fire dancer struts through the coals sparks flying high.

I am taking a three week trip to Tokyo, Bali and the Komodo Islands. I know that I will be inspired by the fine arts and crafts that Bali is renowned for. I am especially excited about meeting the Komodo Dragons and I plan to create a Komodo Dragon Charm before the end of the year. My daughter, Alisha, will be running the office and taking care of all of the shipping of the orders during my absence. Marty