Category: 2017 – Indonesian Adventure

Docking at the Rinca pier

Rinca boat jam

We arrive at Rinca Island a little before noon and our crew ties up our boat and we walk along the long pier to the ranger station. Both Rinca and Komodo Islands are part of the Komodo National Park and our guide, Yosef requests 6,000 rupiah to register our names and pay for our tickets. We are not quite sure why he insists on doing this for us because 10 years ago, Art, John and I registered on our own so we are a little suspicious that he may be pocketing some of money. Alisha is persistent in requesting the tickets to “put in her scrapbook,” and he reluctantly gives them to her. When we inspect them later and all seems to be on the up and up. 

The Rinca ranger station

Komodo camp dragon on the prowl

Sleeping Komodo camp dragons

At the ranger station we are assigned a local park guide, armed with a forked stick to lead us through the scrub forest and up to the hill overlooking the bay and islands beyond. Although we see a dozen smaller Komodo Dragons sleeping lazily around the ranger station, it is our hope that we will see an active dragon or two in the brush. Rinca Island is dry forest and Savana and it is noon when we begin our climb to the top of the mountain. I am light headed from whatever bug I have caught, the heat and the exertion. We inhale the remarkable view of the bay and islands beyond but the sun is brutal and we quickly retrace our path down the grassy hill side, returning to the shade of the trees and the ranger station.

Harbor view from a Rinca hilltop

A group of Indonesian women are gathered by the ranger station watching the lazy dragons sleeping in the midday heat. The women’s attention switches from the dragons to Alisha and me and they orchestrate a photo shoot with us, the strange pale tourists.

Mother and child

Indonesian Women photo shoot

Lunch onboard our simple boat

I am better this morning and manage to eat one egg and a piece of toast before Yance and a local guide pick us up for a walk through the rice terraces and to visit a local village home. The morning is breathtakingly beautiful and I nearly forget about my malady while walking along narrow dirt paths and trying to keep my balance on the rice terrace dikes. 

We walk through the Ruteng rice terraces into our guides village. It is more modern than the villages of Luba and Bena that we visited yesterday, and this is the village where he and his father live.

Our guide invites us into his house for coffee. I dread another cup of black and gritty coffee but accept graciously and sit on their oddly formal and out of place sofa while Alisha plays singing and hand clapping games with a group of young children who have gravitated inside from the village to gawk at the strange white tourists. 

A wood cooking fire smolders on the hard packed dirt floor of their kitchen. We can see into a bedroom off of the kitchen and the mattress is strewn with clothing. 

The children are captivating and Alisha plays with them for nearly an hour before we say our goodbyes and begin our afternoon drive to Labuan Bajo.  I so wished that I felt better because I know what a remarkable experience this is and want to savor all the memories.

On the drive to Labaun Bajou, Alisha sits beside Yancy while I sleep in the back seat of the car. We pass wonderful road side scenes that I regret not experincing personally. Happily Alisha is a great photo journalist and I have the following photos to share. 

It is late afternoon when we arrive in the outskirts of Labaun Bajou—a bustling and grimy port city from which we will depart to the Komodo and Rinca Islands in the morning. 

Yancy drives us through the crowded city and up to the lovely Golo Hilltop Hotel. The afternoon light bathes the hotel and the grounds in a magical golden hue. We say good by to our delightful guide Yancy and he informs us that Yosep, our guide to the islands, will stop by shortly to introduce himself. 

There is a small jewel of a swimming pool and Alisha quickly changes into her swim suit to enjoy a before sunset dip overlooking a picture perfect view of the harbor below. I manage to take a few photos before retreating to our room to sleep. 

I vaguely remember Alisha telling me that Yosep has arrived but my fever has returned and I continue to sleep leaving her in charge of collecting any information that we might need for our trip to the Islands in the morning.  Alisha sets another pot of ginger tea on the night table beside me when she turns in for the night.

In addition to our guide Yancy, we have a local guide to take us to the traditional villages, so together we drive through lush giant bamboo forests to the start of our walk to Luba and Bena Villages. 

Although Luba village is not as colorful as I remember Bena Village being ten years earlier, we arrive early and are the only tourists. 

I ask our local guide if I may give lollypops to the children, and he cautions, ‘only if I have enough for everyone’. I show him that we have a bag and a half of lollypops remaining, plenty for all of the children.  A dozen traditionally thatched houses with peaked rooftops surround a large open dirt courtyard. Every home has a wooden front porch with steps up to the porch. Children peek curiously from dimly lit doorways. Hanging from sticks in front of most of the houses are colorful Ikat weavings, none of them exceptional. Even though we politely admire the handiwork, we are not pressured to buy and many of the villagers ask us to take their photos. We are only too happy to oblige. 

We pass out lollypops to the few children present and suddenly the population of village children multiplies. Children from adjoining houses toss balls that mysteriously roll in our direction. Alisha is the candy girl and all of the villagers, young and old alike, seem to want their photo taken. After each photo is taken we show it to everyone. They are all delighted. 

Sitting on the stone wall in front of one house is an extremely old and picturesque woman. We learn that she is 98 years old and she seems to have a wry sense of humor. Although she also wants her photo taken, she insinuates that she should be a high paid model considering how many tourists have taken her photo over the years. I sit beside her and try to connect. She is chewing beetle nut and offers me some. I don’t know how to respond and wonder if this is her sense of humor or a test. I am curious about the effect of beetle nut but decline her invitation and she throws back her head and laughs. 

We continue walking to Bene Village, just 15 minutes down the road. We wander the village for over two hours amid another 50 tourists. I watch disapprovingly as a group of young Asian travelers operate a drone above this traditional village taking arial photos for the better part of an hour and feel annoyed by the noise of the whirling drone above. Alisha and I climb to the vista point at the end of the village and inhale the view beyond. There is a precarious drop off to the valley below and Alisha makes her way cautiously to sit on the rock overhanging the valley. I remember ten years earlier, John daringly standing on this same rock to test his mother’s nerves and risking a fall into oblivion. 

Returning to the village, Alisha buys boars tusk necklaces and Ikat sashes, and examines her options of bamboo cutting machetes that she might take home to her husband. I am beginning to feel a bit off but attribute it to the heat. I wait in the shade of the visitors center while Alisha runs back to our waiting van. She uses an Ikat sash that she purchased earlier to measure the length of a machete in comparison to her suitcase. We circle the village again and she picks out the perfect machete while I sit on the wooden stairs of the house as she finalizes the deal. The woman of the house offers us coffee and not wanting to offend, I accept and sip the tepid gritty drink from a grimy glass cup. I am not feeling well.

I doze in the back seat for our drive to Ruteng. We stop at an arak distillery along the way. Yance explains the distillery process while we stand by the three ovens inhaling the cooking smoke. We listen to his explanation of tapping the arak palms to get the juice and the subsequent fermentation and the distillery process.  Although I sample the arak, I am feeling queasy and this time attribute it to the cooking smoke, the arak and the heat. I buy three Ikat sashes. Were there others of the same quality, I would have purchased more. 

Ikat weavings for sale

Irak for sale

Yance gets a call on his cell phone and suggests that he leave us at the arak distillery while he drives up the road to meet his wife and three young daughters. His wife is at her father’s farm and he wishes to give her some money. Finished with the arak and more interested in meeting his family we ask to go with him. It is a short detour and we get a glimpse of his wife and girls from the car window. Yance seems embarrassed by their appearance but they look just fine to us. Admittedly, they are a bit dust covered from a day in the village, but they greet us with welcoming smiles. 

It is nearly dusk when we arrive in Ruteng. By Flores standards, our hotel is quite luxurious and there is a bank across the street and I successfully withdraw money from the ATM. Once in the room, I take a hot shower and slip into clean sheets. I believe Alisha goes downstairs to eat dinner but I am too sick to recall anything except a pot of strong ginger tea that she sets beside me later that evening. Chunks of ginger swim in the boiling tea pot. I sweeten it with sugar and I drink several cups throughout the night. 

I wake before 6:00 A.M. feeling refreshed and walk across the courtyard to our  hotel’s restaurant and write. The back of my legs from below my shorts down to my ankle are flaming with sunburn.  I am the only one awake and am anxious for coffee but know that I must be patient. The restaurant begins to stir at 7:00 a.m. and the French Roast coffee is strong and flavorful. Breakfast is a repeat of overly cooked overly salted omelette or a dry banana pancake without palm syrup. Yanze reminds us to order a boxed lunches to go and by 9:00 A.M. we are driving towards Bajawa, via the Soa Hot Springs. The morning drive takes us though beautiful countryside. We feel fortunate to have Yance as our guide. His agreeable personality, driving skills and English are all topnotch. He stops frequently under the pretense of giving us the chance to take photos but I suspect that many of the photo opts are timed to his cigarette breaks.

The men and our sunburnt legs deter us from the hot pool and we walk a bit downstream and dip our toes into warm but not scalding water. With her protective, long sleeved sun shirt,  Alisha works her way into the water, lying down in the flowing stream. We see our Dutch friends in a cooler pool below and I sit waist deep in the warm water and visit with Jan while his two girls swim in the stream. Alisha swims along the narrow but fast moving stream and relaxes against the rocks of a small waterfall flowing from the hot upper pool. 

Downstream, young men soap their bodies and wash their hair. Although we are not looking forward to our boxed lunches of cold nasi goreng and mie goreng, our stomachs grumble and we eat a few bites each of the greasy cold meals. The Sao Hot Springs dogs are delighted that we leave most of our lunches for them.

We see a few young European travelers but the town is not overrun with tourists and feels very authentic. Alisha and I stroll along a street of shops poking into several dimly lit clothing shops crammed and hung with three levels high with lacy and sequined blouses and faux batik men’s shirts. Two men sit in the back of one, heads bent over sewing machine and I wonder how they can see with only the fading afternoon light to illuminate their work. We venture into the depths of a second dark store and peruse the many colorful ornate blouses covered with protective cellophane. One particular lime green and pick embroidered tunic catches both Alisha’s and my eyes and we ask the kind woman if she might have Alisha’s size? She pulls out several for Alisha to try on and we step into a  dressing room in the storage area. The young woman is from Java and proudly puts her English to use and to her delight, when we find one that fits I pay the exorbitant 250,000 rupees, a little less than $20.  Although I thought that I had our hotel bearings in relationship to where we have wandered, when we exit the store we are somewhat disoriented.  We spot the two European women we saw earlier and inquire if they might know which downhill street might lead to the Happy Happy Hotel?. They are taking photos in a graveyard and we observe the same dramatic beauty of the tombs in the afternoon light and take our own photos. 

They tell us to wait a few minutes and they will walk with us in that direction. We pass their hotel, which they tell us is terrible, an unattractive 4 story cement building. It is sandwiched within the one short block of ‘tourist’ restaurants. They point us down the street and around the corner to our Happy Happy guest house. Situated now, and in a district of seemingly acceptable eateries, Alisha and I choose a small cafe, order a Bintang beer and listen to the street performers outside. The ‘island’ music lifts our spirits and we order what we hope is safe, chicken sate and fried potatoes. 

I believe it is this meal on this trip that I will live to regret. Back at Happy Happy we check e-mail and go to sleep tired, tired.

I sleep long and well and without the need of a sleeping tablet. Alisha and my alarm sound in unison at 7:00 A.M. and we prepare our snorkeling equipment and day pack for the boat. The day before our flight to Indonesia, I purchased a new snorkel and mask.  When I unpack it and clean the mask with anti-fog gel, I notice several ants in our clogged bathroom sink. I dutifully rescue them from drowning only to discover that my entire snorkel is filled with large black ants. I rush outside with the snorkel and lay it in the sun and watch a parade of ants exit from the open end. How and when did they take up residency? 

Ants in my snorkel

Breakfast at the Delmar Hotel

Breakfast is an overcooked and over salted omelette, sweet papaya and mangos and weak coffee. We depart at 8:30 A.M. to drive the few short blocks to the fishing dock. 

Riuing fishing village

A block from our guesthouse, Yanze reminds me that we will need to pay 100,000 each for park fees. ($8 each) I tell him I have left most of my money back in the room and suggest that we turn around but he tells me he can pay the park fee for us and that I can pay him back.  We sign the register and pay the fee but there is an additional $15,000 each ticket fee for snorkeling and I dig into my day pack for the additional $3.00. Our barbecue fish lunch on the beach will be included and prior to the snorkeling fee, I had enough money to tip our two boatmen for the day trip, but I am already worrying and scolding myself for not having brought along an extra $5 or $10 dollars. We walk along the long pedestrian dock to our long wooden boat and meet our captain and cook. Our weather worn boat is painted blue, turquoise and white and half the length is shaded by a blue tarp; the other half by a red tarp tied to overhead supports.  I take note of the colors so that I will be able to identify our boat from the others that are motoring to the islands today. Except for the spinning tape in my head, worrying about being short on tip money, the morning is blissfully perfect. The morning sunlight reflects off of the harbor water, wooden stilt house stand askew along the shore and the coral islands float weightless on the clear horizon. 

Motoring out to the coral islands

Islands on the horizon

On the way to our first snorkeling stop, we pull alongside a small fishing dingy and our captain, Achoo buys a freshly caught, 2 foot fish for our beach barbecue lunch. Great fun to be going to the fish market on the open ocean.  

Achoo buys a fish for our lunch

Yance catches a reef fish

20 minutes later we anchor off shore from our first snorkeling spot. Alisha and I have decided not to wear sunscreen and contaminate the water but we are wearing long sleeve rash guard shirts and shorts over our swimsuits for sun protection. We climb down the three rung wooden ladder and slip into the water. The ocean is calm and bathwater warm and after adjusting our snorkels and masks we swim weightlessly along the edge of the coral reef. Initially, I am disappointed by the lack of live coral, but there is considerable fish life and healthy coral away from the anchoring area for the boats. My new mask works wonderfully and I am grateful that I discovered the ant invasion before donning my mask and inhaling a stream of ant bodies. We snorkel for an hour slowly working our way along the outer edge of the reef and towards the strip of beach where we will be picked up by our boat. At this snorkeling stop, perhaps 30% of the coral is thriving and we see many anemones caressing their resident pairs of clown fish. Alisha has her go-pro and dives down to capture two brilliant orange and black clown fish within a lush burnt orange anemone. They dart towards the camera, scolding Alisha for intruding on their privacy. Alisha records their antics with her GoPro and believes they may be protecting their eggs? Tiny lime green fish hover and dart among blue tipped stag horned coral and small fish of all shapes, colors and patterns are plentiful. I point out a small Tridacna clam burrowed deep within a rock and Alisha dives down to investigate it’s fleshy blue and purple lips. I stop comparing this snorkeling site to our over the top snorkeling experience off of Apo Island in the Philippines and focus on the remarkable jeweled undersea wonderland that surrounds me. We wade up onto the beach and my prior water weightlessness combined with a sudden cramp in my leg causes me to fall face forward in the sand. Alisha and a tall handsome European man haul me up and I struggle to release the leg cramp and regain my dignity.

A walk to the end of the island

We motor a short distance to another island and once again, slip into the ocean. The coral here is considerably more lush and teeming with life. I spot a large barrel shaped coral some 10 feet below and grab Alisha’s fin to show her. There is an open cavity in the center and Alisha dives down and reports that there are 3 – 4 lion fish taking shelter within the dark cavity. Alisha motions to a group of three young men nearby and directs them to the lion fish cavern below. Both at this stop and the prior stop, there are less than 20 snorkelers in the water and Alisha and i are two of the last to exit the water. Our Dutch friends, Jan, Marije and Famke are on another boat and they alternate sunbathing and swimming in the shallow water. Alisha asks Jan the father, what his favorite thing was that they saw snorkeling? He replies, “the sea turtles.” Alisha’s mouth drops open and he laughs and tells her he is only joking.

An island lunch break with Jan, Marije and Famke

While lunch is being prepared, Alisha and I walk to the end of the island. We find a few hermit crabs and pick up some trash until it is obvious that we cannot make a dent in the litter. The Dutch family eats their lunch on the sand but our captain suggests we eat on our boat which suits me fine. I have a bench to sit on and the tarps shade me and there is no sand in my food. The captain uncovers a round picnic bento box that his wife has prepared. The bottom layer is steamed rice, followed by spicy vegetable noodles and a cold vegetable salad. I say a silent prayer that we will not get sick and take servings of it all. The barbecued fish is excellent and Alisha and I share a nice filet and then go back for more. I feel badly that our guide, captain and deck hand wait for us to finish before serving themselves.

Yance and the crew eat afterwards

Lunch on the boat

I am still worried about being short on a tip and when Alisha takes a quick snorkel after lunch she asks Jan if he has an extra 100,000 Rupiah to spare until we get back to our guest cottage? Fortunately he does and discretely passes Alisha the bill.

The coral reef surrounding the final island is by far the best and we swim weightlessly above the wonderland of coral. At the edge of the reef are corals that I have never seen before. Huge ochre petals, many 4-6 feet across, cling and descend down the outer bank of the reef.

Castaways

In clouds over in the late afternoon as we motor over towards the mangroves to see the “flying fox” bat colonies. Alisha is awe of the trees dripping with thousands of large fruit bats.

Flying fox colony in the mangroves

Mangroves trees dripping with fruit bats

Mangrove trees dripping with fruit bats

We are able to anchor very close to the bats and before I know it, Yance begins throwing coconut shells and hooting at the roosting bats. Many take flight and their reddish transparent wings are backlit in the late afternoon light. It is a spectacular sight but I know it is wrong. I was here 10 years ago and a female naturalist guide who had left the rat race in Canada to join the bat race in Riuing, was trying to change the habits of the locals by insisting that the bats be left undisturbed. After Yance’s initial flurry of coconut throwing, the bats slowly return to roost. We watch for 30 minutes more, our boat peacefully rocking in the shelter of the mangroves. When the bats are settled again, Yance stands to throw more coconut bits but I ask him not to disturb them again.

The flying foxes in flight

Bats in flight

Alisha watching the bats

We motor back to the tiny Riuing harbor, tip our boatmen and drive the short distance back to our guest cottage. It is late afternoon and when we arrive and the generator has not yet been turned on. Last night we needed to take showers by flashlight and so as not to be left in the dark, we take our cold showers immediately and notice that the backs of our legs are beginning to flame with sunburn. We may not have added to the pollution on the coral reefs by using sunscreen but we both will be paying the price with terrible sunburns. With the salt rinsed from our bodies, we lather our burns with lotion and Alisha and I walk into the village. Last night, we were not prepared with lollypops but this evening we pass out sour apple pops to the beautiful, curious children who we encounter. Most ask to have their photos taken and we show them their photos on our phone screens and delight in their giggles. One precocious little girl, Alexis, intuitively scrolls backwards and forwards on the screen with her finger.

Riuing village children

A mother sits on her front stoop, her brood around her and bathes a fat baby boy in a tub of soapy water. She beckons us to come into her yard and her photogenic and happy family crowd around her.

Bath time for the baby

Mother and daughter in pink

Back at our guest hotel, we sit in the open air restaurant, watch the gecko channel above and share a large Bintang beer. (The gecko channel is one of my favorites in tropical climates. It is a life and death battle between the insects and the geckos that takes place nightly around bare electric bulbs.) We order chicken skewers and fried potatoes but before the food arrives my vision goes dark, narrowing to a pinprick of light in the center and I begin to spin. This happens in an instant and Alisha sees my unfocused dazed eyes and walks me the few steps to our room. I am hot, faint and my sunburn is blazing but back in the cool dark of the room, and after using the bathroom, I feel better almost instantly. Alisha helps me into bed and I assure her that I will be O.K. and insist that she go back out to the restaurant and enjoy herself. 30 minutes later she returns to the room with an offering of two chicken skewers. I nibble on one, drink some water and fall asleep. Alisha attributes my faintness to too much sun exposure.

Many want to shake our hands and they tell us their names. Alisha asks each person if she may take their photo and without exception, they all enthusiastically nod and smile for the camera. Alisha has the better camera, so I defer to her to take the majority of the photos and when Pauline, a woman of undetermined age, asks to have her photo taken, Alisha is into the methodical rhythm. She patiently shows each person their photo and in return is rewarded by more smiles. The majority of the mature and older women grin with teeth stained by years of beetle nut chewing.  The market stalls are under a shaded roof and the vendors all sit on a raised platform several feet above the hard-packed dirt. Their baskets of beautiful fruits and vegetables are all artfully arranged.

On the outskirts of town, Yance stops at a pedestrian suspension bridge and we walk across the river. Looking down we see two young men who are doing laundry and have their washed clothes laid to dry across the rocks.

Men washing clothes in the river

Marty and Alisha, suspension bridge

When we reach the other side and look back a group of older women are crossing behind us. They are obviously going somewhere special, dressed in hand woven, Ikat sarongs and wearing embroidered and lacy blouses. One of the older women is especially gregarious and greets us excitedly with a wide grin stained by beetle nut. She hugs me and is fragrantly perfumed. She immediately organizes a photo shoot and Alisha and I crowd into her group and Yance takes our photos. I ask where they are going and they disclose that they are going to give offerings for a wedding. 

Women dressed in their best, on their way to make wedding offering

We continue our drive towards Moni, stopping at rice paddies and viewpoints along the way. We stop at Saga Village, a traditional village that since the 1992 earthquake and tsunami is mostly uninhabited. Deana, a wonderful local guide who speaks perfect English explains the village culture and the earthquake devastation that befell the village.  There are hundreds of steep stone hewn steps to climb to the top of the village and I push myself to make the climb and keep up with the others. At the top of the village our guide points out many large stone slab graves where casualties of the earthquake are entombed together.

Stone slab graves, Saga Village

Deana, Yance and Marty, Saga Village

Looking down from the top of Saga Village

Traditional houses in Saga Village

Carving detail

A few of the traditional houses are still inhabited and we encounter our first Floridian who seems a little less than pleased to see foreigners traipsing through her village. The  woman eyes us suspiciousy but when her grandchildren step from a darkened doorway and Alisha offers them sour apple toffees, the woman breaks into a broad beetle stained grin.

Saga Village children

Saga Village woman, chicken and dog

Traditional Saga Village house

Maneuvering back down through Saga Village

My legs shake on the steep climb down the rock hewn stairs and I know that I will be in pain tomorrow. We accept Deana’s offer of coffee at her home and drink the strong grainy brew from glass cups, sitting outside her simple house. (No milk is offered.) The woman is articulate, teaches English to the village children and is doing her part to make a change through education. We tip her what I feel is a modest amount, to go towards her projects, and she beams with pleasure.

Afternoon coffee at Deana’s home in Saga Village

Our afternoon drive towards Moni is past fields of rice terraces back lit in the afternoon light.

Panorama view of the rice terraces

Rice terraces on the way to Moni

Rice terraces on the way to Moni

All is breathtakingly beautiful and it is after 5:00 p.m. when we check into our simple but newly built guest house. We have a second story view room of the street below and the fog is creeping into the valley beyond. We are welcomed with hot cups of tea and sit with Yance on our upstairs balcony while he gives us instructions tomorrows pre-dawn hike to the Kelemetu cauldrons.

Tea on the balcony of our Moni hotel

Our room is sparkling clean and new and the bathroom facilities are 5 star for this part of the world. After cleaning up, we set off down the street to find dinner. There seem to be just two restaurants in town and we climb the steep stairs of one and order dinner. The waiter is less than charming but we presume it is the language barrier that makes our interaction awkward.

Positive vibes and cold beer at the Moni Restaurant

Alisha’s macaroni with tomato and fresh cheese is bland and the potato croquettes are mushy. I order chicken cordon blue in hopes of getting a few bites of identifiable meat and it is edible protein only. We ask to take our leftovers back to our room, assuming that a few bites of chicken early morning before our hike to Kelemetu will give us energy. We want to let our family know that we are safe but the restaurant has no internet and after dinner we walk to the other restaurant with hopes of having a drink and sending e-mails but their internet is also down so we return to our room and go to bed. 3:30 A.M. will come much too early.

We wake at 3:30 a.m, dress quickly and open our chicken to go box. It is swarming with ants and we hurriedly put the box outside our door.  At 4:00 a.m. we meet Yance downstairs and he calls our hiking guide who arrives minutes later. It’s about a 30 minute drive to the parking lot where we begin our hike. The muscles in my legs are screaming from yesterday’s climb to the village and we are climbing the uneven stairs to the Kelemetu craters by flashlight. There are times that Alisha needs to give me a hand up a steep stair or stabilize me. We are among the first to reach the summit where we will watch the sunrise unfold over the three Kelemutu craters. In the middle of the viewing platform is an obelisk atop a stepped stone pyramid. We have our choice of seats and choose to sit on a top stair facing in the direction of the sunrise set to unfurl. We buy two cups of thick sweetened coffee, mixed with hot water in glass tumblers and sit and wait for the sunrise.

Panorama view of sunrise at the Kelemutu Craters

It is cold but we are layered warmly. John and I were here 10 years ago and he shimmied up to the top of the obelisk to watch the sunrise. Ten years ago the coffee tasted much better, not because of the quality but because a single venerable man had hiked with his thermos of coffee to sell a few glasses to the less than 30 travelers gathered to watch the sunrise.

Flash back to 2007. John sitting atop the obelisk to watch sunrise over Kelemutu

Today there are over 300 crowding the platform and pyramid waiting for the sun to rise. The sunrise itself is a bit of a letdown but I am happy to be sharing this experience with Alisha. Dawn creeps in slowly and a rosy glow illuminates the horizon turning to a brief blaze of vermillion. The mountain ranges beyond are a montage of grey and black cut outs and the mist filled cauldrons gradually turn from black pools to turquoise.

Morning snack vendors

Vermillion sunrise

The sun peeks through the clouds over the Kelemutu Craters

Cloud filled Kelemutu crater

Alisha, cloud filed crater, Kelemutu

Two turquoise water filled Kelemutu craters

Walking back from the Kelemutu craters

As the morning brightens, the crowds disperse and walk along the viewing rim of the cauldrons. Many people are taking selfies and we notice a man about to take a photo of his two daughters and Alisha offers to take all of their photos together. They reciprocate and we end up returning down the mountain with Jan and his two lovely teen age daughters, Marije and Famke. We are apparently on similar itineraries and find ourselves again in their company as we walk to a nearby waterfall. The waterfall is pretty enough but our stomachs grumble and we want to return to our hotel in the village for breakfast.

Bather crossing a bamboo bridge

Alisha and Marty at the Moni waterfall

A unappealing breakfast of cold white toast, overcooked omelets and pancakes without syrup, is served on our balcony. We wash the tasteless breakfast down with grainy black coffee. Alisha takes the ant infested chicken and our leftover breakfast downstairs to feed to the hungry village dogs and returns crying. She tells me she made three dogs very happy but had noting left when a fourth arrived, ribs protruding.

Moni bus passing below our balcony

Breakfast on our balcony, Moni

We drive the road back to Ende where Yance fills the vehicle with gas. There is a long line for refueling and I feel momentarily vulnerable as dozens of motorcyclists and truck drivers watch Alisha and me when we walk to find a toilet. Our next stop is at an A.T.M. and my blood pressure rises when I mistakenly insert the wrong “blue” card, enter my pin and find myself locked out of the machine. I step away, assess the situation and realize that I have inserted a credit card instead of my A.T.M. When I insert the correct card, the machine spits out the maximum withdrawal equivalent of about $80.00 and I am relieved to have the thick but confusing stack of rupiah in my wallet.

Ende City

Ende City

A little beyond Ende, we pass by a beach side village with a large mosque and a bit further on we stop for lunch at the Blue Stone Beach.

Fishing village and Mosque

The roadside cafe is colorfully decorated with bright parasols suspended on wires and there are stairs down to the remarkable blue stone pebbled beach. A wooden two person swing is several feet out in the surf and after ordering our lunch, we climb the stairs down to the beach and Alisha swings out over the waves. The concept is so simple but delightful and I wonder why I have never seen swings in the surf before?

Surfside Swing at the Blue Stone Beach

Blue Stone Beach Restaurant

Blue Stone Beach Restaurant

Marty with blue stones

Blue Stone Beach

 The wet stones are all a lovely blue color and we wander the rocky beach trying to find a few perfect stones to take home as souvenirs. 30 minutes later our barbecued chicken lunch and fried potatoes are ready and we choose a shady raised palapa and sit uncomfortably cross legged on the mat and eat. Even though we have only been on Flores a day and a half, the food so far has been terrible and we desperately hope that our lunch will be edible. Although our puny chickens have little meat on their bones and picking the bones is a messy business, lunch is good and we leave satisfied.

Marty and Alisha

Chicken lunch at Blue Stone Beach

We have a long afternoon drive and cut inland across the island to the other side. The terrain is diverse and the sculpted hills glow golden in the afternoon light.

Golden hills crossing inland to Riuing

Boys wave from passing truck

Worried that we have not been able to check in with our husbands since arriving, we ask Yance to find us internet at the next town. He stops several places trying to find a “hot spot” on his cell phone but to no avail. Alisha rides shotgun in the front with Yance and I doze in the back seat of the car until we stop at a viewpoint overlooking Riuing and the coral islands beyond. The sun is low and islands float on the silvery blue horizon.

Afternoon view of the 17 Coral Islands

Island view over Riuing

Fifteen minutes later we arrive in Riuing, a tiny fishing village and pull into the Delmar Cafe Hotel for the night. The small hotel is tucked in a jungle of foliage just off a dirt road in the heart of the village. When we arrive there is no internet, no hot water and no electricity but the room is comfortable and clean and we quickly take cold water rinse offs by flashlight. Our new Dutch friends, Jan and his two  daughters have also just arrived and they join us for a walk through the village down to the pier.

Homes in Riuing Village

The road through Riuing Village

Ten years ago, the two nights we spent here were a highlight of our trip and I confidently lead the way through the village in search of the waterfront. The village children appear from every doorway and beg to have their photos taken. Alisha takes the majority of the photos and patiently shows each child or group of children their images on the screen and they giggle with delight.

Riuing Village girls

Riuing Village children

Before long, we reach the edge of the fishing village and walk out along the long cement pier. At the end are two young men, fishing and smoking and leaning on their motorcycles. They greet us with curiosity and happily pose for photos. A smile, a few exchanged words and to see their images on the back of our cell phones are all they wish in return for their photo.

Mangrove passage

Riuing fishing village

Young men and their motorcycles

The Riuing pier

It is nearly dark when we walk back through the village to our guest house. The generator is now on and we plug in our cell phones and walk the few steps to our hotel’s open air restaurant. There is no menu but we are showed a plate of two fish steaks along with an eel like creature. We choose one fish steak and share a large Bintang beer as we wait for our barbecued fish to cook. Our Dutch friends soon exit their rooms and sit at a nearby table. When we see Jan checking his e-mail we ask if he has wi-fi and he explains that he has a hot spot card for his phone and offers us the use of his phone to e-mail our family back at home. This is our first official contact with our family since leaving Bali three days ago. Our meals arrive accompanied by French fries and stir fry vegetables and the fish is delicious and the accompaniments reasonably good. Alisha and I share a second beer and retire to our room. Tomorrow will be a big day of snorkeling coral islands and visiting the flying foxes in the mangroves.

Saturday, August 5th.

We arrive shortly at the parking area for the Goa Gajah Temple, (Elephant Cave) and push our way through the inevitable maze of souvenir stalls. In the center of the plaza is a familiar tattooed man entwined with a large python. I pay the requested 5000 rupiah and he drapes the python around Alisha’s neck and I take many photos of one blissful Alisha and one not so blissful python. The snake has it’s jaw taped shut and although probably not delighted by it’s owners profession does not show any signs of agitation.

We pay for our tickets and descend a wooden staircase down to the Goa Gajah temple grounds. Before us are the pools with carved stone steps leading down to the sacred water that spits from temple goddesses. We are visiting in high season and must wait our turn to take photos of ourselves alone in front of the gaping Elephant God’s mouth that is the entrance to the cave. We enter the dark cave through it’s mouth and explore the small cool confined space. Candles flicker on two small alters. 

Mouth to the Elephant Cave, Goa Gajah

Alter within the Elephant Cave

Exiting again into the bright sunlight we leave Tabra resting in the shade of an ornately carved wooden temple roof and Alisha and I make the steep climb down into the grotto. The day is hot and below, a spring flows from the rocks that are carpeted in thick green moss. Banyan trees weave their tangle of roots between the rock crevices and creep along the stairs. Vines drip from above. The grotto is lush and tropical and exotic. Alisha climbs down into the rocky pool and wades in the shallow water. Returning, her face is aglow with wonder and delight.

Goa Gajah Grotto

Alisha in the Goa Gajah grotto

Goa Gajah park

Goa Gajah grotto

Goa Gajah grotto

 We climb a short distance up to a small temple platform where a priest is blessing visitors with a few grains of rice pasted upon their foreheads. We gratefully accept his blessing and deposit a small offering. Instead of retuning the way we came, we take a narrow dirt path along the back side of the cliff and circle around past a couple of tiny souvenir shops cut into the cliff face. I am looking for an egg painting shop that I discovered three years ago but his rickety shutters are drawn and we return to the main temple grounds.

Refreshments

Tourist shops, Goa Gajah

Sacred bathing pools, Goa Gajah

Goa Gajah Temple grounds

Elephant carving, Goa Gajah

Garuda temple god.

Our driver is waiting to take us to Pura Tirta Empul, a water temple with a holy spring. On the way we stop in Tampaksiring, a village specializing in bone carving. We stop first at the Pegasus Gallery, the high-end gallery in the village. The owner is a friend of Tabra and a very talented artist and we spend considerable time visiting and perusing the exquisite carvings designed and made in his workshop.

Bone carving shop in Tampaksiring

It is Saturday and Tabra’s business manager and accountant, Made, lives in the area. Tabra makes a call and Made and her family meet us for lunch at a lovely outdoor garden café.

Restaurant  cafe

Lili pads

Restaurant seating

Koi pond

Tabra suggests we order Lemon Squashes, which will prove to be Alisha’s and my favorite drink over the next few days. The juice is freshly squashed, not squeezed, and a small pitcher of simple syrup accompanies the icy drinks. My grilled barbecue squid is excellent once I get past the tiny arms waving at me at the end of each skewer. Grilled eggplant and vegetables are served along side with a spicy dipping sauce.

Curry soup

Barbecue squid

Made is strikingly beautiful, in her late 30’s, with a perfect smile and her straight black hair tied fashionably back. Her English is impeccable as well as her graceful charm. After lunch her family leaves to enjoy their Saturday but Made offers to accompany us to the water temple. Although Alisha and I are wearing long skirts, we do not have sashes, which are available at the entrance for tourists such as us. Made explains that the “sarong” is worn within the temples as a sign of respect.  She shows Alisha how to tie the sarong and then tells us that because she is having her period, she will wait outside the temple. I believe this is her graceful way of asking Alisha if she is menstruating because women may not enter the temples during this time. Alisha confirms that she is not and Tabra suggests that Made go inside with us. Tabra asks, “How would anyone know?” Made replies, “Tabra, I’m Balinese.”

Made helps Alisha with her sarong

Temple goddess

There are outer and inner grounds to the temple and Made and Tabra wander the exterior grounds while Alisha and I enter the ornate gates of the water temple. Three years ago when John and Art were with me, John quickly changed into his swim trunks, wrapped his sarong around his middle and descended the steps of the sacred pool. Alisha wishes to do the same but refrains because we have read that the “borrowed” sarong should not be gotten wet. Both Balinese and travelers alike wade waist deep in the holy water moving from one flowing fountain to the next. The Balinese give offerings of flowers and incense, making appropriate gesticulations as they move from one station to the next.

Pura Tirta Empul

Pura Tirta Empul

Pura Tirta Empul

We explore the inner grounds, admiring the many intricately carved wood and thatched roof prayer pagodas. These sit on massive stepped stone bases where Balinese gods keep a watchful guard over those who come with offerings. The holy spring that feeds the bathing pools is in a large walled-in enclosure with sparkling water gurgling from cracks deep within our earth. Although the water itself is crystal clear, there are unworldly mineral formations and algae growth within the pool.

Men, Pura Tirta Empul

Devotees, Pura Tirta Empul

Pura Tirta Empul

Temple grounds, Pura Tirta Empul

Sacred spring, Pura Tirta Empul

Sacred spring, Pura Tirta Empul

We drive with Made back to the bone carving village and make a few stops at the general workshops. Between having previously viewed the very best carvings and our jet jag catching up with us, we are unenthused and indecisive and leave without making any purchases. Before returning to Penestanan we need to drop Made off at her home and she invites us inside her compound. It is unusual for a couple to live on their own instead of in the parental compound but she explains that there are so many cousins and siblings in the family that there is no longer any room for her growing family. Although her compound is quite new, they have plans to add a building and a family altar. We meet her mother who is 67 years old and has been watching her two boys. She greets us shyly but speaks no English.

Rice paddies, Penestanan

Rice paddies, Penestanan

Detail, rice paddies

On the way back to Penestanan, we stop upon a rise overlooking the rice terraces. The low afternoon sun casts a silvery sheen over the landscape. Penestanan, (which, by the way, means “Black Magic”), is adjacent to Ubud but on the far side and there is unbearable traffic into Ubud. Our driver swings around to take a circuitous route, but even so, covering a few short miles takes over 30 minutes. He drops us off at the corner Vespa Cafe and the three of us walk the short block to Tabra’s workshop. She has leased space for a number of years in a family compound and she shows us her endless collection of stones, beads and cast components that she has designed. Tabra was a pioneer early on at the Bay Area art shows and, at one time, sold her work on Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley. She has been an inspiration to me in her entrepreneurial drive, her creative genius and her international travel experiences.  Naturally we fall into business and jewelry talk and she gives Alisha a beautiful pair of earrings. Alisha is both delighted and honored. We walk with Tabra behind the village, past Tabra’s gem of a living compound and choose an inviting outdoor restaurant overlooking the rice paddies for dinner. Although the vegetarian food is good, after last night’s dinner at Moska’s, nothing will ever compare. Tabra seldom drinks, but Alisha and I share a bottle of wine and when we part ways to walk through the rice paddies back to our guest house, the moon is brighter and the frogs and insects much louder than the previous night. We fall into bed exhausted.

Sunday, August 6th

If it’s possible, this morning we enjoy an even more elaborate and delicious breakfast than yesterday. At 7:30 a.m. our courtyard gate opens quietly and a gregarious woman of undetermined age enters. Alisha is sill dressing in our room but our morning chef greets me happily with a gummy crooked smile offset by a few stray teeth.

Wayan, our guest house cook

Breakfast in our garden courtyard

She sets to work in our outdoor kitchen and soon serves us steaming hot Balinese coffee followed shortly with elaborate fruit plates. Alisha and I have it figured out. I trade Alisha my watermelon slices for her papaya and we do our best to each eat the generous pineapple slabs and banana slices. Following the fruit course are two plates of savory Nasi-goring topped with a fried egg; toast with butter and jam and, just in case we haven’t had enough, crepes stuffed with fresh bananas. Although I am not a banana fan, I have always loved the Balinese banana crepes, so under the watchful eye of our congenial cook, I eat.  We check our e-mails, make FT calls to Papa and Sterling and during one call, introduce our morning friend to Art. The woman is delighted to meet “Papa” and if possible glows and smiles even more broadly.

Penestanan pathway

Morning in Penestanan

Ganesh

Morning walk, Penestanan

Rice fields, Penestanan

Offerings

Between all this food and congeniality, we are running late. At 8:45 we walk quickly along the rice terraces to Tabra’s house. As always, she is dressed beautifully in gypsy fashion and she carries a container of dried dog food to feed a local dog. He is anticipating her morning visit and squeezes out from under his family’s compound gate and greedily inhales the food. Tabra tells us that even after all this time, he still will not let her pet him. Rather than taking a car, we choose to make the long walk into Ubud, stopping frequently along the way. I show Alisha the guest bungalow that Art, John and I stayed in 2 ½ years ago and although it’s difficult to point out something that no longer exists, Tabra and I talk about the vanishing rice paddies and where the villa we stayed at 10 years ago is now sandwiched between guest cottages, restaurants and yoga centers. When we pass a bakery-restaurant selling chocolate coconut balls, Tabra buys three and and when Alisha and I decline her offerings she eats two of them on our walk. I am learning more of Tabra’s quirks and addictions and that she is passionate about dogs and chocolate. (If you’re not good at reading between the lines, I love and admire this woman greatly.) 

Tabra, feeding the local dog

Penestanan wall dog

A new way to display sunglasses

We climb down the steep staircase connecting Penestanan to Ubud. The stairway is lush with ferns and hanging vines and deposits us onto the main artery of Ubud. Instead of air laced with incense and humming with birds and insects, we breathe the smell of exhaust and listen to the roar of traffic. We power-walk through a long tunnel and when we reach the other side, the boutiques and galleries begin to unfold. We stop in a high-end ethnic gallery alongside the bridge and spend nearly an hour perusing the Indonesian tribal and handmade Balinese goods.  Tabra visits with the owner while Alisha and I shop; he is interested in carrying a display of Tabra’s jewelry on consignment.  Had we been hurried, Alisha might not have noticed a wonderful collar of silver “claws” interspersed with green jade beads. I browse. Alisha asks both Tabra’s and my opinion and we give her a unanimous thumbs up. Alisha later tells me that had either of us nixed the purchase, she would not have bought it. On the other side of the bridge is another great shop with upscale masks, shadow dancing dolls and ceramics. I take note of a beautifully carved wood and painted Hanuman (Monkey God) mask that I may want to buy, but first I must explore other tribal and mask shops in Ubud. We continue along the main road, crossing over to a clothing shop that specializes in cut embroidery clothing. I have been here before with Tabra and she orders several blouses in various colors. Alisha and I try on various styles of skirts, dresses and blouses and all three of us exit with purchases. We manage to make several blocks headway before stopping at an Ikat weaving shop where I find a beautiful shirt for Art in subtle colors and geometric patterns. The woman’s loom is centermost in the tiny shop and when all three of us agree on a particular pattern, I pay the reasonable price. We cut down from the main road window shopping along a side alley and allowing ourselves time to pop into the many shops. At a gourmet chocolate shop, Tabra buys three pieces of raw chocolate and hands Alisha and me each our own logo imprinted bag containing a generous square each. She devours hers immediately but Alisha and I nibble slowly on the rich goji-berry and cashew nut chocolate squares. The chocolate is extremely rich and satisfying and Alisha and I save half of each of ours for later.

Tabra, lunch in Ubud

Alisha and Tabra, lunch in Ubud

Lemon Squash, lunch in Ubud

Needing a break and a restroom, we spontaneously choose an open air restaurant for lunch and are fortunate that the food is excellent. Three Lemon Squashes and three delicious vegetarian entrees later, cost just $25. It is past 2:30 when we pay our bill and, with blinders on, we make our way directly to Tabra’s gallery. We meet Tabra’s two sales women, ______ and ______ , both exotically dressed in skirts and sarongs that Tabra designs and dripping in Tabra’s jewelry. The artful displays in Tabra’s tiny, exquisite gallery are enticing and we spend close to an hour visiting with her two gals and browsing the exotic jewelry and clothing on display. I buy a small pair of Jaguar and turquoise earrings. I now belong to the “tribe.”

Tabra’s Gallery and sales team

From here we walk to the Monkey Forest. Tabra has purchased two bunches of bananas and has them tucked in her bag. It is nearly 4:00 p.m. when we arrive and I try to steer Alisha past the monkeys just inside the entrance, but she is captivated by mothers with their babies and handsome males with their intelligent eyes. We eventually move a few hundred feet into the park and descend the stairway down to the sacred grotto. We walk across the narrow Naga (serpent) arched stone walking bridge, precariously spanning the gorge below. A waterfall of vines drip from the banyan trees above and, when I step from the bridge and look back, I wonder how structurally sound this stone bridge is, spanning several hundred meters with seemingly no reinforcement below? The carved Naga bridge is blanketed with moss and a sea of pedestrians funnel into the sacred grotto. We wait impatiently, along with the throngs of other tourists, looking for that moment when we might take an unobstructed photo of ourselves in front of the Naga gatekeepers. A few meters along, the pathway widens and there is a sacred spring shrine with brilliant koi and shadowy catfish lurking at the bottom. It begins to drizzle but we are somewhat protected by the umbrella of trees and vines above. We walk along a narrow, slippery pathway, wet with the raindrops, and pay our respects to the Komodo Dragon carvings, tucked off in a side grotto and nearly invisible with their camouflage of green moss. We have whiled an hour away here and the crowds are thinning when we return along a new bridge back to higher grounds and more monkey business.

Marty, Sacred Monkey Forest grotto

Alisha, monkey business

Alisha, Monkey Forest grotto

Tabra, Monkey Forest grotto

Komodo Dragon carving

Komodo Dragon grotto

Carvings, Monkey Forest

Serpent carving, Monkey Forest

Erotic carving on upper terrace

Serpent carvings, Monkey Forest

On an upper terrace we find fascinating stone sculptures that I had not noticed on previous trips. Erotic and wonderful, snakes, lizards and strange deities entwine suggestively.  Monkeys cavort and we offload many of our weighty bananas. A baby monkey extends its hand to Alisha and she holds it reverently. Alisha is baiting the monkeys with bananas and they jump onto her back. I’m not certain if Alisha looked happier with a python entwined around her body or with monkeys on her back, but she is beaming with delight. Most of the park rangers are trying to prevent this but it is closing time and one ranger is seemingly taking bribes and I pass a 2,000 rupiah note to him after I take photos of Alisha. So many monkeys…so little time.

Monkeys, Sacred Monkey Forest

Mother and baby monkey

Alisha, Monkeying around

Alisha, Monkeying around

Got bananas?

Venerable monkey

 It is 5:45 p.m. when we leave the Monkey Forest. We have been walking since 8:30 a.m. and my back aches and my feet throb. Nevertheless, I stoically fast-walk the half mile back up Hanamun Road to where we hope to watch a Kecuk dance tonight. We arrive at the open-air Kecak theatre at 6:15 p.m. and purchase tickets for the 7:00 p.m. performance. Tickets are 75000 each, about $20.  We choose front row center seats and I leave Tabra and Alisha to hold mine and I walk a few long blocks up the street looking for snacks and water to eat and drink during the show. When I return, the theater is nearly full and as 7:00 p.m. approaches, people are seated on the floor in front of us. The venue is completely packed and we have the best seats in the house. This is a much more intimate venue than the two other Kecak dances I have seen on previous trips. The Kecak is based on the great Indian epic the Ramayana. More than fifty male dancers appear, wrapped in black white and red sarongs and the rhythm of their chanting and hand clapping is mesmerizing.  Soon, two elaborately costumed women emerge from an ornate stage archway, undulating their lithe bodies to the rhythm, their slender hands, gesticulating in the traditional Balinese dance style. There are three acts and the final act is a fire dance and the rooster horse man dances among burning coals and kicks glowing ashes into the audience.

Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali

Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali

Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali

Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali

Entry of Hanamun

Throughout, there is the intoxicating chanting and hand clapping that I will continue to hear in my dreams tonight. The audience is not disappointed and after a final applause we exit onto the street in search of a taxi home. Our taxi drops us off at the the corner Vespa Cafe in Penestanan. We are so exhausted that we say good night to Tabra at the entrance of her compound, skip dinner and walk home along the narrow paths edging the rice paddies. The frogs and insects serenade us and the moon lights our path. 

Indonesian Adventure, August, 2017 

On August 1, Tuesday morning, I pull our flight itinerary out for the umpteenth time and ask my husband Art to verify once again that our August 3rd flight at 1:00 A.M. means that we must arrive at the San Francisco airport late on Wednesday night?

Both Tuesday and Wednesday vanish in a blur of list checking and note writing to Art, Jackie and Lisa so that the Marty Magic business might continue without many hiccups in Alisha’s and my absence. Alisha is checking off her own lists and writing pages of instructions to Sterling and three sets of grandparents who will relay Molly and Sterling to and from summer camps and junior lifeguard.

Wednesday evening at 7:30 p.m. Art and I pick up Alisha from her downtown Santa Cruz Victorian. Art voices concern about the parts of our Indonesian itinerary where Alisha and I will be alone in remote parts of the Flores countryside and I admit that I am slightly anxious about the one night we will spend alone on the boat offshore from Komodo Island. Art, John and I shared a similar experienced  10 years ago but I was with my two men and it will be just Alisha and me on this adventure, alone overnight on the small wooden boat with only our captain and fishermen crew. This will be my third trip to Bali a familiar and safe destination, especially since we will be spending much of our time with my good friend Tabra in her village Penestanan outside of Ubud. The Flores leg of our trip will be more remote and I have arranged for an English speaking driver to escort us around the island. On the way to the airport, we stop at Nijiya the Japanese market and Art stocks up on kimchi, curry and mochi. As much as Alisha and I are looking forward to a mother and daughter adventure, Art is looking forward to being on his own the 16 days we are away.

I insist that we arrive at the airport more than the required 3 hours in advance which proves to be a good thing. The EVA air check in line is already hundreds of passengers long. Our flight goes through Taipei, Taiwan and it is obvious that many passengers are heading home, each accompanied by multiple suitcases and well secured boxes. Once checked in we move to the security line and after 45 minutes, reach the end of the zig zag rope maze, pass our carry on luggage through the security scans and pop out at the gates. It’s already after 11:00 P.M. and my previous vision of a relaxing dinner prior to our boarding is no longer a reality. Within minutes, we realize that even grabbing a sandwich may be an impossibility and we rush down the concourse to the only eatery still open. It will close at 11:30 P.M. so we quickly choose our pre made sandwiches and grab 2 tiny bottles of white wine from the shelf. $36.00 later, we sit by the gate to eat our gourmet dinner. (I have no idea that two weeks hence, I will wish for a meal this delicious.)

SFO Airport, Waiting for our plane to board

We watch three movies between SFO and Taipei. Snatched with Goldie Hawn and Amy Schumer is the perfect movie for a mother and daughter about to embark on an international adventure.  Although it won’t win any awards, I enjoy every minute of the mindless comedy. Between dozing and watching Paris can Wait and the Midwife, the time passes painlessly and we land in Taipei.  The airport is still sleeping when we land and I inquire about private lounge access at one of the clubs. While I’m making inquires, Alisha snaps a photo of the free lounge access wi-fi password and after we are denied entrance, we opt to sit at one of the many food court restaurant tables and check e-mail until cafes and restaurants open.  We watch the transit passengers do the same, everyone’s nose to their phone screen. At 6:00 A.M. Starbucks opens and although we don’t have Taiwan currency or a clue as to the exchange rate, I simply pass my credit card to the barista, whispering to Alisha that I have no idea how much our two cappuccinos and shared breakfast sandwich are costing us? In perfect English, the cashier replies that our total is about $12 U.S.

Starbucks Coffee at the Taipei Airport

‘Pork Bun’ rest and meditation area.

Kids play area, Taipei Airport

Old School reading room, Taipei

It is a glamorous terminal with duty free shops, wonderful boutiques and inviting restaurant. This is a major Asian hub airport and I have passed through here before. Each gate is themed and there are inviting nooks and crannies where one can sit or sleep. We admire the pinkness of the Hello Kitty World, a whirl of bouncing children and step into the calm of the faux jungle forest retreat where one can rest relatively undisturbed in massage chairs behind images of tropical forests. There is an an old school library where one can sit in straight backed chairs and turn the pages of real books as well as many high tech bubbles where the connected can stay connected. We giggle as Alisha sits cross legged in a seating area where the cushions are styled like pork buns. I am fading and she deposits me by our gate along with our carry on luggage and continues her exploration of the terminal.  Eventually we board our flight between Taipei and Denpasar, Bali. I stay awake the first two hours of the five hour flight waiting for our meals and attempt sleep the final 3 hours.  When the captain announces that we will be landing soon, we raise the shades to see a volcanic  mountain jutting through a blanket of clouds below. Magical.

Bali Mountaintop piercing the clouds

August 4th, Friday

We have lost a day traveling and it is August 4th when we land in Denpasar, Bali. Immigration is quick and painless. Alisha’s bag is spit out of the luggage carousel quickly and I suffer ten minutes of angst before my bag is launched onto the carousel. We roll our luggage through a final declaration check and exit into the humid afternoon air arrival where hundreds of anxious tour guides hold signs printed with their clients name. Around a final turn I spot Tabra and after excited hugs and introductions, her driver takes our minimal luggage from us and we follow him toward the car. As always, exotic Tabra is dressed in a tiered gypsy skirt with armloads of silver bangles and wears chunky Jaguar motif rings and earrings that she designs. The traffic is terrible on the two hour drive into Ubud and into Penestanan. This is my third time visiting Bali and I actually relax into the chaos of the sea of scooters zipping in between the cars. Most are sandwiched with one or two children, wedged between their parents. Alisha is mesmerized by the chaos of the street and the rich workshops that we pass, crammed with carved wooden doors, sculpted Hindu Gods and tile friezes. Ornate family compounds intersperse the line of work shops, each stepped and carved doorway more intriguing. We stop at an exchange office and change $500 and exit with hundreds of thousands of Rupiah. The wad of electronically counted bills will barley fit into my zipper pocked of my purse. It is after dark when we arrive in Penestanan. Our luggage is whisked away by scooter and after struggling to count out the approximately $35 for the transfer from the airport, we walk with flashlights along the narrow potholed back path of the village towards our guest house. It has rained recently and the path is wet and muddy. To the right of the pathway is the village and to the left are rice paddies. Our accommodations are lovely.

Mosquito netting

Room view from our private courtyard

The guest house has at the most 6 or 8 rooms, each with it’s own enclosed courtyard. Ours looks out upon the river with it’s own outdoor kitchen and a covered pagoda style seating area. Couples are the usual guests here and Alisha and I knew we would need to share a bed which is not an issue for us. Mosquito netting hangs from the rails of the king sized four poster bed. We drop off our hand luggage and make a quick turn around before returning to Tabra’s jewel of a house a few rice paddies back.

Dinner at Moksa

An array of dishes

Moksa crepes

Tabra has warned us that it will be a long walk to Moksa, a vegan restaurant with a reputation for fabulous food. After edging the rice paddies, we walk along the darkened  street of Penestanan, turn left and continue winding downhill and around for some distance. Many other restaurants cast an inviting glow onto our path but we do not allow ourselves to be seduced by others and determinedly  continue onto Moksa. We sit outside on the raised deck, in the warm humid air and order remarkable juice smoothies infused with herbs and flowers.  The menu is interesting but unfamiliar and after much planning between us, we order two, three prix menus plus an additional entree. We share every delicious morsel. I have linked the menu here so that you too can salivate vicariously over one of the best dinners of my life. This is my treat and including tax and tip, the bill comes to less than $50.  https://www.moksaubud.com/#dojo-front-page

Surprisingly, the walk home seems considerably shorter than the walk to dinner. Alisha and I part with Tabra at her house on the edge of the rice paddies. We use our flashlight (kudos’s to Alisha for brining it.) The moon is bright and we are serenaded by frogs and the hum of insects on the way back to our guest cottage.