Category: Bali-2015

Tuesday, January 6th.

Sadly, this is our last day in Bali. We check our e-mail, call Alisha and John walks up to the laundry to retrieve our clean clothes. The manager of our bungalow comes to collect the money for our 6 nights. I was under the impression that I had already paid so there are a few awkward moments while we decide if we will pay in dollars or will need to go to an ATM for more rupiah. I will need to double check my credit card statement when I am back home but when I go to pull out the receipt for our bungalow, I find that I have misplaced our flight itinerary.  I imagine that I have left it at Tabra’s workshop but there is another moment of angst until we have a chance to retrieve it. 

Good Bye Tabra

At 11:45 Dedi and Tabra arrive, we load our luggage for our drive to the airport, but first we will go  go to the bird and reptile park. The bird park is remarkable. The grounds are a botanical paradise and impressive macaws and cockatoos of all sizes and colors sit uncaged on sheltered thatched perches. Several employees assist visitors to put the birds onto their arms and the parrots are extremely tame, sweet natured and well cared for. The highlight for me is a black Palm Cockatoo from Papua New  Guinea, the Hornbills and the watermelon shaped bird carving that adorns Tabra’s lemonade.

John with Hornbills

John with Blue and Gold Macaw

Marty with Black Palm Cockatoo

John and Tabra, African Grey

We walk next door to the reptile park, not nearly as good as the bird park but there is a large walk in enclosure where the Iguana’s roam free. I hold several big iguanas, loving the feel of their solid weight against my body. An Indonesian family comes into the park sized enclosure and the attendant offers their teen age boy the chance to hold an iguana.  He cringes and literally jumps backs in horror, as do the other members of his family.  I step forward and take the beautiful and docile lizard in my arms again. 

Lunch at the Bird Park

It is time to say goodbye and we drive Tabra back to Pennastanna and say our sad farewells. Dedi drives us to the airport via another temple stop (?) where the full moon celebration seems to be continuing. We arrive at 4:15 and are surprised and delighted that we have stumbled upon yet another festival.  Colorfully dressed Balinese women wearing their lace kabayas with basket offerings on their heads and the men mostly dressed in white parade the walkway and steps leading up to the temple. A full Gamelon group plays beneath a large thatched staging area.  We follow the parade of worshipers up to the ornate gate of their open air temple but are not dressed appropriately so we only peek in. 

Temple Celebration

Temple Celebration

Temple Celebration

On our way to the airport, we visit the Tanah Lot Temple to watch the sunset. Dedi parks and waits for us in a tourist bus clogged parking area and we push our way through a maze of souvenir shops towards the beach.  The temple sits out on a rock, mini Mount St. Michelle style and wading distance from the rocky beach. Last month two Japanese tourists were washed away and drowned here. Hundreds of visitors throng the black (iron sand) beach and many stand silhouetted on a large rock watching the surf beyond. The sea seems calm enough but that is probably what the unfortunate Japanese couple believed. 

Tanah Lot Temple

Art, John and I wade barefoot between the beach and the rocky base of the temple. The water is only up to our ankles and there are several venerable old men, trying to help the tourists cross but Art takes my arm firmly and we wade across the 20 foot stretch where the tide ebbs and flows from both sides of the island temple. There is a fresh water spring in a small cave below the temple steps and after anointing ourselves from the holy spring, a temple priest presses several grains of rice to each of our foreheads and places a flower behind our ears. We then wade the shallow water to the spiraling steps encircling the rocky base of the temple.  We can only ascend 20 or 30 steps before there is a gate blocking the way of the tourists but we have a view out to sea and the sun is low on the horizon.

Tanah Lot Temple

Art, Tanah Lot Temple

We stop in Simayat for dinner, a town adjoining Kuta. The upscale shops are very different from those in Ubud and this is not the Bali I have come to know and love.  We stop Mandy’s Restaurant, a touristy mega restaurant with a dance floor where Balinese dances are in progress for the benefit of the tourist (and for the benefit of keeping the Balinese culture.) A table of ten beautiful costumed girls (age 8 – 15) sit alongside the stage and I presume these young girls are being trained in the traditional Balinese dance, not much different than our American girls taking ballet or modern dance.  The youngest of the dancers leans up against her mother waiting for her time on stage.  We invite Dedi to join us for dinner and watch the performance as we dine.

Young Balinese Dancers and John

Monday, January 5th.

It is Monday, a work day and Art has arranged to meet with Tabra and Dekti to discuss e-commerce and Etsy.  We drop off another load of dirty laundry at the laundromat before going to Tabra’s work shop compound.  When we arrive, Tabra shows John two finalized arrangements of gemstone pendants with, jaguars, fish and sun faces and quotes John a very reasonable price. He is thrilled and  wants both of them and they discuss the details of the pendants; where tiny silver bead dots will go, the placement of an emerald, a ruby set as the jaguar’s third eye, the size of the bail and where the piece will hinge.  It is fun to watch the two of them design.

We move from the design room to where Dekti runs the office and John brings in three chairs for our business meeting.  Art talks with Dekti and Tabra about the strategies of Etsy and e-commerce and I interject occasionally.  At noon we walked down the village road to Vespa for lunch.  John, Art and I have bowls of steamed vegetables; extremely healthy but not very exciting. After lunch, Art goes his own way and John and I tag along on business errands with Tabra and Dekti.  Their first stop is the tailor where Tabra expects to pick up fabric belts but they are unexpectedly closed.  We drive to Kutuk’s, Tabra’s caster for the past many years. We sit on the terrace inside their family compound and Tabra inspects a bag of her finished castings and bone carved jaguar faces.

We drive to a second casting compound where Tabra picks up a number of unfinished castings; moon faces, cuff bracelets and bead components.  The manager of the shop offers John and me a tour and we enthusiastically accept.  5 or 6 young women sit in one small room, shooting waxes and freeing them from their rubber molds.  In the second room, several other workers create the trees with the green waxes in preparation for investment and casting.  Behind these two rooms is an open air casting area and we are cautioned that the kiln is firing. We step carefully around the kiln and smile at a young man with his mask pulled down and his goggles on top of his head.  John and I return to the courtyard and wait for Tabra to finish her business.  A twitter of female voices and laughter floats from the open doorway where the young women continue to work and we presume that they are talking about the handsome young American man who just visited their workshop.

Our final stop is at a roadside hardware shop. Tabra is looking for display hooks and embellishments for her shop. The bronze hardware is cast in Java and I pick up a card. There are some interesting designs  and Tabra buys a series of 4” bronze cast shadow puppets for decorations and a number of simple hooks.

The Barong, Art and John

John and Marty

Women in Lace Kabayas

John, Marty, Tabra, Art

Penestana Full Moon Procession

Penestana Full Moon Procession

Penestana Village Boys

Marty and Village Girls

Penestana Full Moon Gathering

Full Moon Temple Ceremony

Sunday, January 4th, Ubud, Bali

After yesterdays intense sightseeing we plan a relaxing day in Ubud.  A little before 11:00 A.M. we walk to Tabra’s work compound where John is immediately absorbed in her trays of stones, beads and cast components.  While Tabra, Art and I talk, John arranges abalone, a carnelian carved fish, a silver jaguar head,  bronze sun face and crescent shaped fire agate into a row. He shuffles his arrangement adding other castings and interchanging stones. Tabra takes interest and encourages his creativity. Just as in my studio, there are trays of oddities and pieces that need repair or are discontinued.  John hones in on a boulder opal and emerald bracelet connector and is admiring it. Tabra points out that the larger of the two boulder opals is cracked and that she will have to take the piece apart and redo it. John tells her it is beautiful just the way it is and she takes his hand in hers and folds his fingers around the piece, giving it to him.  John is thrilled and within a minute has engineered a cord to wear the piece as a necklace.

Tabra’s Store on Hannamum Street

Arranging bead and stone components

It is Sunday and Dedi  has the day off so his father drives us to Hannamun street to drop us off in front of Tabra’s shop. I have been thinking about buying one of her gypsy skirts and slip into a rusty red and black skirt, sewn of printed Indian cotton that Tabra purchased on a recent trip to India.  I pay Tabra the family/friend price, exiting her shop feeling much prettier than when I entered in rolled up jeans. We exit and walk up Hannamum street, stopping into shops that interest us.  John and Art are usually a few shops ahead of Tabra and me but there is so much of interest that pace is easy and no one gets impatient.

We stop for lunch at a simple open air café. We order the usual, curried rice noodles with tofu, nasa goring, chicken curry, lime soda, lasses and special ice teas. My ice tea has two leeche fruits in it, is not too sweet and is oddly delicious. I order a second just so that I can have two more leeche fruits.

After lunch we walk around the corner, up a side street and enter an upscale batik shirt shop. I remember being here 7 years ago. The shop is elegant and it is cool inside and the stacks of hand printed batik shirts are neatly folded and arranged by size. My fashion boy, John slips into several and preens in the mirror. He decides to buy a purple shirt and Tabra and I encourage Art to buy a more subtle, steel blue and brown shirt that will go well with both jeans and kaki brown pants. The shirts are about $35 each and I pass over my credit card and Art and John exit the shop wearing their new clothes.

Flower Mandala

At the bottom of Monkey Forest Road, John buy a high quality, sterling silver Garuda ring and bargains the price down from $10,000. to $8,000, or about $65.00. We take a taxi from Monkey Forest Road to the bottom of the stairs leading up to Penestanna.  Climbing the stairs gives Tabra and me a work out but we are rewarded by the Sunday night Bali buffet at the Yellow Flower Restaurant.  It is a full moon (or nearly one) and we sit at the edge of the terrace looking out over the valley and Ubud city below.  I am not thrilled with the banana leaf soup that is the first course and by the time we take our plates to the buffet, it is dark and difficult to see what I am spooning onto my plate. Nevertheless, it is a lovely balmy evening spent with our good friend Tabra underneath a full moon.  We walk the pathway back to our bungalow and say good night. Her walk from our bungalow to her house is less than 10 minutes and she tells us that she has no qualms walking alone at night; that Bali is safe. 

Saturday, January 3rd

I sit on our outdoor patio drinking coffee and writing until breakfast is delivered to us at 8:30 A.M.  Fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and toast is today’s menu. Promptly at 9:30 our driver, Dedi enters our gated garden compound and we briefly discuss our plans for the day. John has temples on his agenda and I inquire about visiting a batik village, kris making village and wood carving village along the way? Dedi carries a picture “menu” card in  his black Toyota minivan and John points to a variety of places that he would like to visit.  John’s and my mode of sightseeing, packing as much into a day as possible  is not Art’s style and he is in a sullen mood.  After changing money in Ubud we drive along one of the main “highways” connecting Ubud with Denpasar. I find the passing scenery fascinating and notice familiar landmarks that we passed several days earlier on our drive between Denpasar and Ubud. The road is lined with craft shops and workshops interspersed by family compounds. Steps rise to the ornate gated doorways of each compound and the ornate thatched and gilded cupolas of the family temples peek out above the walls. The traffic is heavy and scooters, often with three or four family members weave between the cars. The adults wear helmets but the children, sandwiched between are usually without. It is the rainy season and there are sudden bursts of heavy rain followed by shimmers of sunshine.  

We visit the Hindu, Batuan Temple, along the main road. After paying a modest entrance fee we are handed sarongs and belts so that we may enter the temple grounds respectfully dressed.

Our next stop is a Kris (Balinese knives and sword) workshop and showroom.  Dedi drives down a narrow side street to a family compound. The rain is torrential as we enter and I take off my shoes and “wade” barefoot up to the steps of the showroom. The wet tile and marble floor is slippery and I take care not to slip and fall.  A hundred or more Kris are for sale and John carefully examines them all but they are either not very pretty or extremely expensive and after 30 minutes we leave, wading back out to the car past two tethered birds, a Balinese Falcon and an Owl. They cock their heads and peer down from their perches.

We stop at a wood carving factory, another cavernous showroom where we are shadowed by a polite but insistent young sales man, anxious to make a sale. Although some of the work is striking, there is no soul here and nothing interests us.  Seven years ago, we went to a Garuda wood carving village where a dozen separate workshops lined the street with rice paddies just beyond. We were inspired watching the men work and ultimately purchased one antique carved lion that we laboriously carried back home with us. We try to describe this village street to Dedi, but there has been so much growth in the last seven years that he does not know where this village is or if it still exists. We have lunch at a restaurant adjoining another wood carving shop.  The food is simple and we sit with Dedi on the covered marble terrace, eat and watch the torrential rain fall. 

Water Temple Goddesses

Goa Gajah Water Temple

Goa Gajah was built in the 9th century as a sanctuary and the primary figure above the cave entrance is thought to be an elephant, thus the name. The bathing pools were not excavated until the 1950’s. There are a few visitors bathing in the pools, anointing themselves with the spring water spouting forth from the goddess’ urns. Down below the cave is the river and we hike down the stone stairs to where earthquakes have tumbled mammoth sized boulders into the river. The boulders are felted with green moss and roots of venerable banyan trees weave intricate patterns and vine tendrils hang low. It is a strikingly magical Utaki. (According to Okinwan folklore, an Utaki is a sacred and magical place.) 

Gunung Kawi Shrine

It is late afternoon when we arrive at the Tirta Empul Water Temple. Dedicated to the Hindu God, Vishnu and built between the 10th and 14th century, the baths are famous for their holy water. The pools are crowded with devotees and John quickly finds a place to change into a sarong and is soon waist deep in the water, making the progression from one spout to the next, anointing his head with the holy spring water.  Art and I watch him with pride and delight, our son who embraces just about everything with wonder and an open mind.  

It is 7:00 P.M. before we arrive back at our Topok House and the rain is torrential. We slosh through the mud and grass to our bungalow, clean up quickly and wait  on our front porch for Tabra, hoping that the rain will subside some so she can come to meet us as planned. She arrives graceful and unbothered by the rain, sheltered under an immense umbrella and we walk down the pathway in the direction of the stairs holding flashlights and umbrellas until we reach Laili Restaurant. The simple open air restaurant is lovely and I enjoy watching the rain fall from our sheltered seats. Since New Year’s John has stayed on a vegetarian regime and I am doing my best to follow suit, but this limits our options and stir fry rice and vegetables are becoming monotonous. 

     

  

Friday, January 2, 2015

Sue, a pretty 34 year old Balinese woman (with a 10 month old baby boy) brings us breakfast of banana pancakes and plates of fresh fruit and we enjoy a relaxing morning in our garden paradise.  At 10:30 A.M. we gather our dirty laundry and walk up the road towards Tabra’s compound.  We leave our laundry at the village Laundromat and buy a carton of milk and take it back to our bungalow’s refrigerator so tomorrows instant coffee will be somewhat better. 

Tabra is not at her workshop yet, so we walk further up the road and see her walking towards us down a narrow village lane. She is dressed in a beautiful sarong and floppy straw sun hat and she is carrying a pile of colorful folded fabrics.  John takes the fabric from her and we walk with her to her workshop.  We sit in the compound courtyard and talk with Dektie and Tabra about Etsy; keywords, naming products, paying for ads etc. John shuffles through more trays of beads and stones  and arranges them in lineal patterns.

We will spend the day on our own and we leave Tabra to her work. Art, John and I walk back through the village turning left at the banjan where the men rest on a raised platform and meander down the narrow rutted pathway, past our bungalow, across the bridge and down the worn mossy steps into Ubud. Turning right at the bottom of the stairs we walk over the bridge where we ate New Year’s dinner at “Bridges” restaurant.  Down to the left, in the gourge below,  is a renovated temple complex and we climb the stairway down to the temple.  Unfortunately the temple gate is padlocked but we look through the iron gates into the courtyard and return to the street above. We meander the main street slowly, poking into a few shops that interest us before veering off to the right to enjoy lunch at the Café de Artist’s. Art and John suggest an adjoining hole in the wall but I remember Tabra recommending this restaurant and we sit on the raised terrace of the elegant restaurant and drink lime juice and ice tea and enjoy delicious plates of nase goring and chicken sate. John is sticking to vegetarian diet and he orders fried noodles with tofu. It is raining when we leave the restaurant and Art buys a second umbrella and we continue our walk along the shop lined street. At the palace we turn left and go uphill away from the touristy  section of town. It is pleasant to simply wander and we eventually cut across along a narrow mossy alley and see signs pointing to a market. The “market” is dismal; two semi outdoor levels of tourist junk and aggressive vendors. The smell of putrid garbage hangs in the air and the cement is slick with slime.  Art and I cannot get out of there quickly enough. 

Art wants to have a drink at the Rice View Terrace Café, a café we passed yesterday  that backs up to a rice field and John is certain that he knows where it is. We eventually find it and sit on the shaded terrace and looking out onto verdant green rice paddies. Art and I sip ice coffees and John orders an Arak and lemon drink. Arak is a local liquor and we all take cautious sips and decide that I could probably use Arak to light my alcohol burner for wax carving.  

It is late afternoon when we take a taxi to the Sedona Spa, behind the Bintang Market, where we hope to have three massages.  We look over the spa menu and Art and I request 1.5 hour couples massage and John orders the hour massage followed with a green tea body exfoliation, yogurt lathering and a bath in a flower filled tub. My massage girl is remarkable. She irons out every knot along my spine and works the tendons in my shoulders and arms expertly. The 1.5 hours passes quickly and Art and I are soon showering, dressing and meeting John at the entrance to sip jasmine tea and nibble on sliced watermelon.  Our massages were $12000 ($10- $11) rupiah and John’s was $18000 ($16) Art pays the bill and we pass each women $3000 rupiah for a tip.

The Kecak dance will start at 7:30 and I want to take a taxi, but none are readily available and we walk the mile quickly in the dusk, dodging motorbikes and cars. My feet are tired and blisters threaten.  We reach the Kecak dance at 7:10, pay the $8000 for each ticket and climb the stairs to the stage. Along the stairway, there are beer and soda vendors competing for business and John asks one man the price of a large Bintang Beer for us to share. A women competitor pops open a beer and pushes it at John asking considerably more money for the same beer. There is a moment of confusion when John refuses her and turns back to the man but she quickly concedes to the first price and with beer in hand we hurry up the stairs to find seats. We get three of the last front row seats off to one side but we know that this is a circular show and are happy that the beer confusion didn’t cost us good seats.

When we visited seven years ago, we went to this same Kecak dance which was mesmerizing. The Kecak is a Balinese music dance and drama, first performed in the 1930’s depicting a battle from Ramayana. It is performed only by men, traditionally 150, all bare chested and wearing checkered sarongs. (Tonight, I count about 80 performers moving rhythmically in a circle.) Their syncopated clapping and chanting “CAK” is mysterious and pagan and we slip into the magic of the music. The dance culminates with a fire dance, the rooster outfitted performer walks barefoot on glowing coals, kicking the coals so they fan and blaze in the dark.  The clapping and chanting is intoxicating and the dance ends sooner than I would like.  After the performance, a Russian man sitting beside us, leaves his cell phone on his chair and John sprints through the crowd to find him. He returns for his phone but doesn’t seem very grateful but a few minutes later he seeks John out in the departing crowd and tries to give him $10000.  John refuses but we all feel a bit better about the “playing it forward.” We have an inexpensive noodle and rice dinner at a nearby restaurant and catch a taxi back to our bungalow in Penestanna. 

January 1 – New Year’s Day

Breakfast at Topok House

After so much traveling and a New Year’s Eve out, we sleep until 9:00 A.M. I wander from the walled oasis of our bungalow to inquire about breakfast?  Apparently they tried to bring us our breakfast earlier but we were still sleeping. A few minutes later, a lithe young man brings hot water, packets of cream and powdered coffee and we mix our grainy morning coffee. He disappears and returns a few minutes later with scrambled eggs and toast. It’s not a memorable breakfast but it will do and we sip and eat on the terrace of our secluded bungalow oasis.

Proposed Jewelry Designs

John sorting through bead components

We walk the few blocks up to Tabra’s workshop compound and are once again absorbed in the visual opulence of her trays of beads and piles of fabric and boards of sample displays. We talk design, Etsy business and about homesteading her 350 acres of undeveloped property outside of Limon, Costa Rica. John eventually grows impatient and at noon, we take a taxi to Tabra’s shop on Hannaman street.  We spend another hour in her shop, absorbed and admiring the jewelry and her clothing line and making a few too many suggestions.

Tabra and Art sit on a moss covered wall and wait while John and I climb down the long flight of steps to the grotto and the river below.  The grotto is my favorite part of the Monkey forest and we visit the large mossy stone sculptures of two Komodo Dragons and walk along the pathway above the river and see a large monitor lizard slinking along the rivers debris. The Komodo Dragon grotto seems to be  a secluded secret, but there are many tourists and a wedding party taking photos along the gorge pathway. In spite of the activity, this grotto is magical and worth the many steps both down and back up. 

After returning to meet Tabra and Art, we continue our meandering along the shops of Ubud; wall to wall shops with many intriguing and lovely things to spend our money on. It is Happy Hour time and we are enticed into a small restaurant and order two for one, margaritas. We sit in the grassy back garden and watch three white rabbits nibbling contentedly on the grass. (Did we perhaps we drink one too many margaritas?)

We have a mediocre dinner in the heart of Ubud but we enjoy good conversation; political, business and talk of developing Tabra’s Costa Rica property into a self sustaining art community and organic farm.  We stroll after dinner and buy John a beautiful and expensive Balinese shirt at an upscale shop. Tabra is interested in our purchase and the dynamics of the sale? The prices in the shop are fixed and we willingly pay the full price.  I explain that;  #1 We wanted the shirt. #2 The sales girls were darling and posed with John wearing their uniforms (that were of the same fabric of the shirt that John wanted to buy) and #3 We had recently enjoyed happy hour margaritas. The perfect storm to sell a $60 shirt when others in the market could be purchased for $10.

We take a taxi back to Penestanan Village. Even late at night, men are still sitting on the Banjan, a raised and covered platform keeping watch along the dark village road. Tabra tells me she is never anxious about walking alone at night and we part ways at the intersection and she walks to her house and we walk downhill to our Topok House Bungalow.

Dedi picks us up at 10:30 for the 1.5 hour drive to Penestanan (Ubud.) Dedi is Tabra’s driver and he speaks good English and chats with us as we make our way to Ubud. The road to Ubud is congested with traffic and scooters carrying entire families zip by. We see parents with their young children sandwiched four to a scooter and very few wear helmets. The craft culture is rich in Bali and the road is one continuous craft market of statuary, carving factories and shops, all blending into one another; wood, marble, metal and cement. 

We pass rice paddies along the way; walled family compounds with ornate decorative doorways and the towers of the family alters rising above the walls. The temples are beautifully decorated with flower and food offerings, palm leaves and bamboo towers. 

 When we arrive in Penastanan-Kaja and see Tabra walking down the road in front of her tiny new shop. She wears a sarong that she has designed from hand printed Indian fabrics and a straw hat and is adorned in her striking jewelry; silver bangles, earrings and a Jaguar ring. She is a lithe and graceful gypsy woman and she welcomes us warmly. 

The fare from the airport is $40,000 Rupiah (about $32.00) and Dedi drops us off at the Topok House, just around the corner from Tabra’s new shop. It is the same bungalow complex that we stayed in 7 years ago except that the compound has been divided into two properties, presumably because of a family disagreement and division.  Our two story family bungalow is lovely; overlooking the river with a lush and private garden. There is a small pond,  a spirit wall and a gate to the river below. Orchids grow in the crevices of the rock walls and ferns and flowers frame the walls of our tropical paradise.  Art and I choose the upstairs bedroom with a not so private outdoor rock shower. (When I look up I can see the widows and the balcony of a bungalow above….and I surmise that they in turn can look down into our shower enclosure?)   We settle in briefly before accompanying Tabra a few short blocks to the compound where she works. 

It is Tabra’s birthday and the family where she rents her workspace has prepared a feast in her honor. They welcome us with tall icy glasses of grapefruit juice and we are introduced to Dekti, Tabra’s manager and Made, Tabra’s accountant and book-keeper.  The extended family lives in this walled compound and we meet and greet them all including Dekti’s and Dedi’s 12 year old son and several other children. The compound has a number of family spirit temples, several cages of birds and three dogs. 

They must have been cooking for days to prepare this beautiful buffet. We sample chicken tu-tu, chicken ayam sate, a spicy flower salad, curried long green beans and red rice.  I fill my plate cautiously at first but all is so delicious that I return for seconds. We sit in the outdoor enclosure of their compound, eat and visit. Dessert is a decadent chocolate mousse cake from the best bakery in town. We are extremely fortunate to be meeting and experiencing life with this Penestanan village family.  We learn that Penestanan means black magic and Tabra tells us that the villagers believes in black magic.  

After lunch Tabra shows us around her workrooms. She rents two rooms, each filled with trays of stones and beads and cast silver components. John and I are especially fascinated with her process and her extensive and delicious collection of stones.  Recently, Tabra has expanded into making skirts and sarongs and there are piles of fabric tucked in the corners. Her space is rich with creative energy. She rents a small bungalow a few streets away and we follow her to her home, one large room secluded behind rock walls with a lush garden.  There is a wrap around outdoor porch for sitting and a small kitchen in a separate room off of the porch.  Folded fabrics are piled on an outdoor table, soon to be sewn into gypsy skirts and sarongs. Tabra has a remarkable eye for color and texture and her clothing collection is beautiful and I imagine that I will be buying a skirt before the week is over. 

At 4:00 P.M. we return to our bungalow to shower, rest and write. John goes swimming in the pool in the adjoining compound, a privilege that we are charged $5 per day for. Tabra calls for us at 7:00 P.M. and with flashlights, we walk down the narrow path towards the stairs and into town. It is New Years Eve and we have unfortunately late (9:30 P.M.) dinner reservation at Bridges, one of the top restaurants in Ubud. The locals are celebrating with fireworks and sky rockets  that burst into flowering cascades of sparks. We walk along the shop lines streets, looking for an open money exchange. John is ravenous and getting cranky and we take a taxi back to Bridges in hopes that we can be seated early and are soon seated on the outdoor terrace of this upscale restaurant.  John and I order Mojitos and Tabra and Art order Mango Margaritas. The drinks are expensive, American prices at $12 each, but the food and the ambience is perfect. I order Mushroom raviolis and a vegetarian napoleon; remarkable. John orders mushroom raviolis and filet mignon; Tabra  a chicken dish and Art seared scallops and duck. Bridges is one of the top 6 restaurants in all of Ubud and our meals are superb.  When we order we let it be known that it is Tabra’s birthday and after dinner, a white dish arrives with 4 chocolate bon-bon’s, a candle and Happy Birthday Tabra written on the plate  in chocolate syrup.  It is a delicious and beautiful presentation and the end a lovely evening.

It is midnight when we catch a taxi back to Pennestana. At the intersection of the village and our road to the Topok House, a group of men are setting off fireworks.  These are unregulated rockets and the sky blazes with colorful bursts of fireworks the sparks and trailings raining down upon us.  I am afraid to look up lest a spark fall into my eyes.  We laugh and dodge the villagers and disappear down the dark street to our bungalow where we fall into bed exhausted and listen to the seemingly unending bursts and cracks of the fireworks a block away. I am so tired that I fall asleep to the sound of fireworks and wake later to the soft sound of rain on our roof.

Denpasar  Bali – 12:30 A.M. December 31 

With carry on luggage we are off the plane and through immigration quickly.  Art changes $100  into rupiah and we set off to find a taxi. Several drivers surround us and Art asks the rate to the Bakung Beach Resort Hotel, supposedly very close to the airport. $2500 rupiah is the first bid and groggily, I encourage Art to just go for it; always a mistake. The driver drops the price to $2000 ($16) rupiah and we follow him to his waiting van. 10 minutes later we are dropped off at our hotel. Art will grumble and remind me of my haste and waste for the remainder of our trip.

Our reservations are in order and the night manager shows us to our room; through a pretty garden, past the pool up to the third floor.  It is clean with a  balcony and three single beds. We are asleep almost instantly.

At 7:30 A.M. we wake to the sound of bells and a crying of a baby and step out onto our balcony.  Art and I leave John sleeping and walk the several blocks down to the beach. Fishing boats are out on the placid water and drift wood and debris, from the recent storms are in piles, waiting to be hauled away. We walk to the end of tip of the crescent beach and find other side strewn with washed up yogurt cups and plastic garbage, a sad reminder of human impact to our environment. 

The three of us have breakfast in the outdoor dining patio; a selection of fruit, eggs, omelet, toast and a meat and vegetable stir- fry. We drink multiple cups of coffee, watch John swim and wait for Dedi to pick us up to drive us to Penestanna, Ubud. 

The Philippine Airline check in is at the far end of the international terminal and we snake through a long line of returning Filipinos, all with luggage carts piled high with 18” x 18”  Balikbyan Boxes, filled with gifts for their families and friends back home. When we get to the counter the attendant informs me that although my bag is carry on size, it is too heavy so we do an awkward shuffle of my carefully folded clothes into John’s and Art’s back pack to bring my bag down to the allowed weight.  Checked in, we eat an uninspired Japanese bento box dinner before heading through security to wait for our 9:30 P.M. flight to Manila.

We are functioning but jet lagged and drift through the park and the streets in a hazy time warp. We stop at McDonalds for lunch, with an armed guard at the door.  The restaurant is packed, clean and cheerful and our meals  familiar and safe if not inspired. I want to stow my tray but this is not the Filipino way and the many employees scurry efficiently, wiping down tables, clearing away trays and recycling appropriately.  We walk back to Swagman’s to shower and rest, returning to the Robinson’s Mall late afternoon.  John did not pack well for the trip and he buys some flip flops and chap stick at the Robinson’s supermarket. December 29th, John’s birthday, did not exist because we lost that full day in time zones and we want to treat him to a nice dinner at the Mall. (Already, we are learning that the modern, brightly lit and clean malls are a popular gathering place for the locals and offer a wide selection of restaurants.) We choose a Shabu Shabu restaurant, where we cook our own meats and vegetables. The cooking process is confusing and the food bad and we leave disappointed. 

Swagman’s wants to charge us 500 Pesos for a late check out but they politely waive it when Art reminds them we had a late check in and we take their free shuttle back to the airport. Dusk is settling in and the afternoon rush hour traffic is terrible but the traffic miraculously clears and we arrive in plenty of time. Although we already have our boarding passes, we must pay a country exit fee of $60 but Art discovers that because our stay was so short that we are exempt and we go to a special office and get the stamp free. Jet lag has hit us hard and it is a painful 2 hour wait in the terminal and there is virtually no food available. When we finally board our plane to Denpasar,  we are all asleep before it even takes off.

When I walk into Art’s office after running last minute errands in preparation for our trip, Art is reading the news online.  He tells me that an Asia Air plane traveling between Indonesia and Singapore carrying 162 passengers has just gone missing and is presumed down.  Just three months back the Malaysian airliner 370 vanished with 239 passengers onboard traveling between Kuala Lumpur and Beijing. I want to pretend that this doesn’t concern me, but it does and a dark cloud hovers in my subconscious as I pack for our upcoming trip.

                                                                                                                              

Sunday, December 28th 

I wake at 6:30 A.M. with a list of unfinished tasks spinning in my head.  Our flight to Bali with a stopover in Manilla leaves tonight at 9:30 P.M.  For two early morning hours, I sit at my wax station to put the finishing touches on my new Wave Wrapture Ear Wrap.  It is a quiet, meditative time, detailing the wax and sipping coffee.  The remainder of the day is a blur of pre-travel tasks.  Alisha will be taking care of the Marty Magic business in our absence and throughout the day, I write notes to her and enter time related tasks into her calendar.  I check and re-check trying to remembered everything – passports, flight information, hotel conformations, dive cards, travel insurance and credit cards.