Marty Magic Travel – Page 12 – Around the world with Marty

A Birthday Spent with Whale Sharks

January 14th – Swimming with Whale Sharks at Oslob

Today is my birthday. We are up at 5:00 A.M. and Art, John and I eat breakfast at the restaurant next door. The young waitress who served us eggs and beers last night is still working. Her 12 hour shift is 7:00 P.M. – 7:00 A.M. and we order more eggs and rice but instead of beer, wash these down with coffee (pre-sweetened Nescafe.) I order an omelet which has been cooked in rancid oil and I hurry to the toilet and spit it out. Unfortunately, Joe is still ill, but the swim with the whale sharks is high on everyones list so he is going anyway. The morning is not starting out as I would like.

We are picked up at 6:00 A.M. for what is supposed to be a 2.5 hr – 3 hr. drive to Oslob, the whale shark park at the tip of Cebu Island. Unfortunately an hour is added to the trip, driving the opposite way across town to pick up a young Australian couple staying at the very upscale Marco Polo Hotel. The traffic is terrible and our driver extremely aggressive and he passes motor bikes and pedestrians with inches to spare. I am not overly concerned for our safety but fear for the safety of the others.

Whale Shark Orientation Area

About Whale Sharks

We arrive at the whale shark “park” a little after 10:00 A.M. and are ushered to a staging platform where we listen to the orientation. We will have 30 minutes allotted time to swim with the whale sharks. No sunscreen is allowed, no touching and we must keep 3 meters away from them. (We will soon realize that the whale sharks have not listened to this orientation because they swim within inches of us, gaping mouths open and it is impossible to keep our distance from these gentle giants.) The 6 of us (Australian couple included) climb into a small wooden outrigger boat that takes us a few hundred of feet out to where another 15 – 20 boats float idly. Dozens of snorkelers bob in the water all wearing orange life vests. (The three whale images immediately below below are borrowed from tour company web sites.)

Whale Shark and Outrigger Canoes

Oslob Beach

Swimming with Whale Sharks

Gaping Whale Shark Mouth

I slip on my mask and lower myself over the side of the boat and come face to face with two whale sharks. Their immense toothless mouths slurp in gallons of water with each swallow. They have white spots speckling their black skin, patterned rather like snowflake obsidian. The spot pattern on each whale-shark is unique, like a fingerprint and is how scientists identify and track them. They have five gill slits on each side, tiny eyes and their immense bodies glide through the water effortlessly. Although we have been cautioned not to get within 12 feet of them, it is an impossibility, because they swim within a foot or two of me, and often two or three at a time. They are 15 feet to 20 feet long and slurp in the chummed krill through big gummy toothless smiles; the krill tossed to them by the crew onboard the outriggers. Our 30 minute swim passes all too quickly. I think a whale shark will be one of this year’s new designs.

We shower and change in a mixed sex bath house with just a few stalls and proceed to the restaurant next door for the included breakfast. It is an unusual breakfast of mango and a Japanese style sticky sweet rice flavored with cinnamon. There is no coffee but instead a thick hot chocolate is served to us in an espresso cup. I am quite satisfied with the breakfast, a huge improvement over this mornings rancid omelette.

Tumalog Falls

Pool Tumalog Falls

Bathers at Tumalog Falls

Tumalog Falls

After breakfast our van drives us 10 minutes down the road, turns inland and drives further up to the road leading down to Tumalog Falls. The road to the falls is too steep for vehicles and there are half a dozen enterprising young men with motorcycles ready and waiting to ride tourists down and back up. I appraise the trek, appraise the motorcycles and choose to walk. The road is extremely steep but nothing compared to the treks we made recently in Banaue and I fell like the exercise. The cascading falls are several hundred feet tall, broken into multiple fan-shaped sprays by outcropping rocks and trees. (Even with the help of Google, I cannot find the exact hight of the falls.) The mist and spray from the falls drenches us and I can only take a few photos for fear of damaging my camera in the spray. John goes swimming under the powerful falls and I manage to take a few photos before escaping for higher ground and making the slow trek back up to our waiting van.

Lunch in Oslob

The View from our Table

Lunch is included in our tour and we stop at a tiny beachside restaurant. The family style lunch is all meat and rice and I request something vegetarian and they bring John and me a reasonably tasty plate of stir fry vegetables. It is a three hour drive back to our hotel in Cebu and our aggressive driver passes vehicles at unsafe speeds, playing chicken with oncoming trucks and jeepneys. He clears within inches, scooters loaded with entire families and children playing precariously close to the side of the road.

It’s 4:00 P.M. when we are dropped back at our hotel and after quick showers, Art, John and I walk up to the old part of town. All of Cebu is preparing for their annual Sinulog festival which will take place this weekend. Colorful pennant flags are strung along the main streets and countless market stalls selling colorful Sinulog T-shirts. We watch young men silk screening them on the spot and other entrupernal young men sit on the pavement and for a few pesos, paint “Henna Tattoos” on arms and bare legs. They are talented artists but the “henna” is actually just paint applied with fine brushes and I wonder how toxic and difficult it is to remove? Art and John play a ball toss gambling game in the square, John confident that he can beat the odds. He comes out a few pesos ahead.

Festive Flags for Sunilog Festival

Sidewalk Cell Phone Repair

Silkscreening Sinilog T-Shirts

Ball Toss Gambling Game

Because it’s my birthday, I get to choose the restaurant for dinner. My guide book recommends a number of restaurants at the “Terraces” a section of the Alyana mall and at 6:30 we catch a taxi to take us there. Twenty minutes later we are deposited at the elegant circular drive entrance and after a security bag check we enter the mall. It’s an immense and beautiful mall, especially in contrast to the polluted, grimy and chaotic city beyond. I locate a directory and punch in the names of the several recommended restaurants. Most of the restaurants are located on one of three outdoor terraces overlooking a large public garden and event space. The “Terraces” are lovely and remind John and me somewhat of the outdoor restaurant area at the Dubai Mall. After much debate and menu checking, we choose “Siam Restaurant”, where after a game of musical tables, we settle ourselves down for dinner. The cocktail prices are extremely reasonable and we order drinks and vegetarian appetizers. The drinks are excellent and the spring rolls and coconut encrusted tofu delicious. We share plates of Pad Thai, curried vegetables and pineapple rice and enjoy it all. After dinner and a second, (or was it the third round of drinks?) Art pulls a plastic bag from his backpack and passes it to me. Inside is one of Tabra’s beautiful leather bags crafted of thick chocolate leather, embellished with an iconicely Tabra; jaguar, fish, moon-face, carnelian and dinosaur bone pin with lovely embossed metal beads decorating it’s long rounded straps. This bag was a prototype for others she plans to design and she carried this bag personally when we visited her in Ubud Bali just last week. I’m thrilled to have it and I will carry it often as a reminder of this trip, my husband’s generosity and Tabra who for the past 35 years has inspired and influenced my life in so many ways.

The Rough Guide to the Philippines

Siam, a Recommended Restaurant

Curried Cauliflower

Brotherly Love

After dinner the four of us wander to the edge of the terrace and lean on the railing overlooking the terraces below. Many other people are gather along the railing enjoying the warm evening and John strikes up a conversation with three college coeds. Since English is a primary language spoken in the Philippines communication is easy. All three of the girls are attractive and all going to the University but John is charmed by one in particular and before long he has become Facebook Friends with her. We follow the three young women out to the taxi station and wait for 20 minutes in a quickly moving line as taxi after taxi swoop in and swallow up the exiting mall patrons. It is soon our turn to pile into a taxi for the return ride to our hotel.

Joe, John and Art at the Terraces at Alyana Mall

Goodbye Paradise – El Nido back to Cebu

Tuesday, January 13th El Nido to Cebu

The Cliffs of El Nido Town

Good Bye El Nido

It’s another early morning and our driver picks us up at 6:30 A.M. for the trip back to the Puerto Princessa Airport. We leave before our hotel breakfast is served and stop for coffee at a roadside restaurant along the way. It’s an uneventful drive and we make very good time and when we realize that we will be a couple of hours early for our flight to Cebu, we stop at a mall on the outskirts of Puerto Princessa for lunch. We eat an uninspired lunch at a food court, each going our own ways to pick and choose from the meager options.

Cock Derby Banner

Roadside Coffee Stop

We arrive at the Puerto Princessa small town airport a little after 1:00 P.M. for our 3:00 P.M. flight to Cebu City. Check in is chaotic and their ex-ray machine not working. When we are finally checked in, we are informed that our plane will be two hours delayed. I am not too bothered by this and take advantage of the time to write this blog. When it is announced that our plane will be delayed another hour more, Art decides to have a chair massages at the airport. The massage is not great, but cost less than $8 and it helps to pass the time. When our plane is delayed yet another hour, I choose to follow suite with a chair massage. The massage area is in a corner of the overcrowded waiting room and I awkwardly sit down on one of the four plastic chair and wonder why my masseuse is wearing sun glasses? He expertly massages my neck and shoulders and keeps contact with some part of my body as he pivots around me. I soon surmise that the three masseuses are all visually impaired. The hour passes quickly and when my massage is over, I grasp his hand and pass him the posted amount plus a generous tip. For the past hour, a not very charming woman has overseen the massage transactions and when I pass him the money she grabs it from his hand and barks that I must pay her. I wonder how much this gentle man is paid and if he will ever receive his tip?

The Waiting Game at the Airport Terminal

We are all very hungry but aside from snacks and “Instant Ramen” there is little food available. Joe buys an out of date airport sandwich and just as our plane is beginning to board he gets violently sick and heads to the bathroom. We are frantic that he will miss our long awaited plane and he is green when he stumbles on board and he sleeps in the back where there are empty rows of seats and a bathroom close at hand. When we land in Cebu he is still sick and sporting the alien color of E.T. It is an hour taxi ride to our Skypark Pension @ 58 Landon Street near the corner of CNU Osmena Blvd. Rates for a double room are $18. It is a bare bone minimum room but clean with comfortable single beds, working air-conditioning and hot water. Joe has reserved three rooms, a good thing with Joe being so sick, in case Joe’s ailment is not food related. It is close to 9:00 P.M. and Joe is too sick to eat and Art just wants to go to bed so John and I go next door to a 24 hour fast food restaurant where we sit and drink a San Miguel beer and eat scrambled eggs and rice. A pretty waitress has just come on duty and she tells us that she earns the equivalent of $11 a shift. Our two meals cost under $5.

El Nido Island Hopping

Monday, January 12th, El Nido Island Hopping.

Motoring out to the Islands

The morning is bright and beautiful and breakfast is on the open air rooftop terrace of our hotel. Disappointedly, the morning coffee is again Nescafe 3 in 1, mixed with hot water and we wait a long time for our toast and fried egg but the hotels wi-fi is working and I check and send e-mail. Frank Murphy has contacted us with a potential buyer for our Lincoln Street house and Art responds telling him we will talk when we are home from the Philippines. Today we are going island hopping and at 9:00 A.M. our guide meets us at our hotel and we walk with him to the beach and his companies shop. We wait in the shade of the open air shop while the other passengers arrive for our catamaran island hopping tour. The dozen of us wade to the boat, slip on our life vests and we set sail past the spectacular craggy limestone cliffs of El Nido.

Boarding the Catamarans at El Nido Beach

Our Catamaran

Seven Commando Island is our first stop, a small crescent stretch of sandy beach, book-ended by two rocky points and fringed with palm trees. There is a traffic jam of the wooden outrigger boats servicing the tourists on tour A and each of the tour boats throw their anchors into the sand (or what was once presumably coral.) We need to wade to shore and regrettably, I don’t take off my jean shorts or shirt and the water is deeper than I expect and I am soaked when I reach the beach. John quickly dons his snorkel and mask and swims along the edge of one rocky point. He reports that he sees anemones with both cinnamon and traditional clown fish, a large field of stag-horn coral where the tips were beginning to bleach and fan corals; (one in particular is green and 6 feet across.) Our stop her is only 30 minutes but the wind comes up and are unable to leave and we stay nearly an hour. Art and I wander the short stretch of beach and I step on a sand fish that slips, flips and flops back into the surf. I imagine the small fish is more startled than me.

Seven Commando Island

Shimizu Island is our lunch stop and our longest stop. It is a beautiful island with jagged, black limestone cliffs and a small jagged island centered in it’s crescent bay. Art draws a circle in the sand and he challenges John to a sumo wrestling match. It is a beautiful day and we are all in great spirits.

Sumo Wrestling in the Sand – Shimizu Island

Beach Bums – Shimizu Island

Snorkeling Shimizu Island Reef

John snorkels out towards the island and around the edges visible from shore. I keep watch for the flash of his red trunks in the distance and try not to worry unnecessarily. The change of water color from intoxicating turquoise to deep blue makes it easy to see where the coral shelf drops away to the abyss. After John has explored the edge of the rocky island, he works his way into open water swimming above the edge of reef’s shelf and it is more difficult to keep him in sight against the glare of the sunlight on the water and the choppy surface of the ocean. To distract myself from worry, I watch our three crew members prepare our lunch in the shelter of a cliff’s face. Two build two charcoal fires and grill pork and calamari while another slices cucumbers, tomatoes, onions, pineapple and watermelon. 45 minutes later, when John swims ashore, a beautiful buffet lunch is ready. It amazes me that these men have prepared such an elaborate and delicious meal with minimal equipment.

Barbecuing Lunch, Shimuzu Island

Lunch Buffet, Shimuzu Island

Cucumber and Tomato Salad

Enjoying the Lunch Buffet on Shimuzu Island

After lunch we motor to the Secret Lagoon, another island paradise, aptly named because when the tide is low, one can crawl through an opening in the jagged limestone rocks and step into a shallow and sandy lagoon, surrounded on all sides by rocks. The water inside is murky and warmed by sunlight and possibly the pee of many island hopping tourists with no restroom facilities available.

Secret Lagoon

We motor to the Big Lagoon which is actually smaller than the next one on our itinerary, the Small Lagoon. Go figure. We motor into the shallow lagoon clogged with other catamarans and with the tide low our boat bottoms out on the sandy bottom. Art, John and several other men are needed to push us back out into open water. I am throughly enjoying this day of island paradise and it is great fun to watch my boys playing at Swiss Family Robinson.

Hitching a Ride

Catamaran Goes Aground

It is late afternoon when we reach the Small Lagoon and I can’t imagine the day getting any better or that this lagoon might surpass the previous lagoons, but it does. We drop anchor in intoxicating turquoise waters and have 30 minutes to swim or kayak. John chooses to snorkel and swim but Art and I rent a kayak for a few pesos and we are pointed towards a small opening in the cliff face. Art paddles us through an opening in the rocks and we pop into an enchanted lagoon, framed by tall cliff faces. I have left my camera in our catamaran for fear of dropping it in the water and I am regretfully unable to take and photos, so the photo used here is from an image search on google. John soon swims up beside us, hops atop the kayak and takes the paddle from me. I relax blissfully into island time.

Small Lagoon – Photo by John Baldon

Our Island hopping day is at an end and we wish we had several more days to explore the El Nido islands. There are three standard Island Hopping excursions offered out of El Nido and today’s trip was remarkable but unfortunately we must leave tomorrow morning. We enjoy another evening of drinks and dinner on the touristy beach strip, an easy stagger back to our hotel.

Returning to El Nido

Toasting to the Islands

The Town of El Nido – Art and John

An Unhappy Pig

Palawan, an Island Paradise

Sunday, January 11th, Manila to Palawan Island.

El Nido Islands

At 3:45 A.M we are shaken awake by an earthquake and our hotel sways noticeably. I jump out of bed expecting aftershocks and wonder where the safest place in this not up to building code hotel might be? I slip on clothes, use the bathroom and locate my purse should we need to evacuate. I worry about John and Joe on the floor above but there are no aftershocks and I drift back to sleep for 45 minutes until our alarm sounds at 4:30 for our morning wake up. While Art showers, I check my phone to find out the magnitude of the earthquake. It was a 6.2 ; 85 miles west of Manila and 10 miles deep. There is no significant damage and there are no reported casualties. Because of the earthquake, the elevator is out of commission and I start to carry my bag downstairs but a bell hop (or elevator repair man?) appears from nowhere to carry it down two flights to the lobby. Joe and John appear momentarily and we catch a taxi to the airport.

There is little early morning traffic and the ride to the airport takes just 30 minutes. We check our bags and search for breakfast and fueled with coffee, we go through security and proceed to our gate. My rattan back pack gets a lot of attention from the x-ray technicians and passengers alike and I am able to slip my jacket, my computer and my extra shoes in the back. I sleep the hour and a half plane flight to Palawan.

We deplane and walk across the tarmac to the tiny airport terminal and our luggage is off-loaded quickly. The climate is warm and I am happy to be down from the cloud forest highlands of Luzon and to slip into “Island time.” I spot a young man holding up a sign printed with Shosku Bobroskie and catch his attention. He takes my suitcase and I start to follow him to the waiting van, but Art, John and Joe have halted and are watching a welcoming dance performance, an eclectic and odd combination of Spanish dancers and loin clothed male dancers. Our driver asks me where the 5th passenger is and I tell him that there are only four of us. Was Julie Ann, Joe’s friend planing on going with us?

It is a six hour drive to El Nido and the two lane road takes us past small villages of houses built of bamboo, corrugated tin and cinderblock. Woman, children and animals walk and loiter along the side of the road. Men ride scooters and (water buffalo) and trikes zip along beside us. The countryside is lush and green; a patchwork of rice paddies, banana trees, coconut palms and bamboo. We have glimpses of the ocean, a steely blue in the distance and we cross over a wide jungle river where longboats float idly at the water’s edge.

El Nido Town

El Nido Street Stall

Hotel Silla Del Vincejos

We arrive in El Nido around 3:00 P.M. and check into Silla Del Vincejos hotel on the main tourist street. Joe has stayed here before and although our hotel isn’t on the beach, it is in the heart of town and just a 5 minute walk to the beach strip of restaurants and bars. There are about 20 rooms in this clean and family run hotel. The rooms are simply furnished but the management is trying and a pair of swan folded towels form a heart on the king sized bed in our room; the air conditioner works and there is hot water.

El Nido Beach

El Nido Catamarans

El Nido Beach Front Restaurants and Bars

Beach Front Bar

Ten minutes after checking in we are walking the shop lined street towards the ocean. Beach front restaurants line the shore, all with tables set in the sand and sandwich boards advertising their happy hour specials. John wants to sit and enjoy a beer in this beautiful bay, fringed with jagged black limestone cliffs and dramatic “Jurassic” islands jutting up from the sea. It is 3:50 P.M. and happy hour starts at 5:00 P.M I procrastinate drinks on the sand and suggest that we walk the pathway around the island and see what might be around the next corner? This area isn’t as touristy and there are guest houses interspersed with village houses. Joe knows a Japanese, American women who owns a guest house and we walk to her inn and find her in the courtyard. She is about 70, slight and genky and greets Joe warmly. They banter as old friends about gardening, Koi ponds and her apparently failing husband who repeatedly reads the same book over and over.

Taiyo Village Guest House

Handstands in the Sand

We return to the tourist strip of beach front restaurants and choose one at the far end for happy hour. Joe orders a banana smoothie which proves to be more expensive than the gin and tonics. We move to the restaurant next door where they have happy hour margaritas and appetizers. The margaritas are good and strong and the fried mushrooms are delicious. I leave the restaurant feeling a bit tipsy as we move down the beach to choose a restaurant for dinner. We choose on on the sand and our dinners are all pretty awful, but in spite of this we have a good time. We make our way back to our hotel along the side streets, past tourist shops, tiny massage parlor, nail salons, tattoo parlors and bars.

Happy Hour, El Nido Beach

Ten Hours to Manilla

Saturday, January 10th. Bangaan Village. Heritage village.

We wake early, check out of our hotel and are finished breakfast by 6:45. I have still not purchased a Hunter’s Backpack and I walk to the gift shop to buy the small rattan hunters back pack that I examined last night but it has been sold. I am very disappointed and don’t want to leave Banaue without one. Having shopped and compared in the village, the two at our hotel were/are the best. I tell the sales girl that I was prepared to spend $3500 pesos for the one that was sold but not $5500 for the larger one. She offers the large one to me for $4500 but the owner is not here and she is not authorized to discount it further. Just as I am exiting the lobby, the owner comes running after me and offers me the large one for $3500. ($45) I am still disappointed because I would have preferred the smaller one, that got away, which was beautifully woven and designed for a women with a closing cover. I quickly pay the $3500 and exit the hotel with my purchase.

Bangaan Rice Terraces

Bangaan Heritage Village

Bangaan Rice Terraces

Vista, Bangaan Rice Terraces

We meet the boys at their guest house for our morning tour of Bangaan Village. We drive the muddy cliff hanging road, clogged with heavy road work machinery and with jeepneys trying to pass each other on the narrow mud slick road. Our jeepney has isinglass windows that diminish the view yet not the morning chill. The mountains are shrouded in fog and we stop at several view points for the required photos and John and Marky climb on top of our jeepney for the final leg of the drive to Bangaan.

Trekking to Bangaan Heritage Village

Bangaan Heritage Village

This is my third day of rice terrace trekking and I feel somewhat conditioned and I appraise the trek down to the village in the valley below as an easy one. The initial part of the trail is steep and there are countless stone steps to descend. Once down the steepest section we descend more slowly, walking carefully along the narrow dikes dividing the terraces. The raised dike pathways are between 18” – 24” wide with irregular rock stepping stones imbedded in the mud. A few of the rice fields are lush and green with sprouting rice shoots and women, knee deep in mud, separate these brilliant green shoots and replant them with optimal spacing in the empty fields. There are just a few women planting and I take particular notice of a girl of about 13, wearing ear buds who thrusts the shoots deep into the thick grey mud.

Rice Fields, Bangaan

Marky Pounding Rice

Husking Rice

Fighting and Acrobatic Carvings

Relief Carvings, Bangaan Heritage Village

At the bottom of this steep valley is Bangaan village, a UNESCO heritage site and the villagers are subsidized by the government to keep the old traditions. Children scamper nimbly along the dikes, peeking shyly at us and a village woman shows us how to pound and husk the rice. There are a few souvenir trinkets to buy and John and I argue who will buy the one wooden lizard box. We are the only tourists and we wander the authentic village where pigs, chickens and one proud rooster wander. Three old and bent women walk by, presumably walking the steep terraces to the road above and I marvel that they are able to make the climb.

Stooped Women of Bangaan

Stone Stairway, Bangaan

Marty in front of Bangaan Stilt House

How many feet do you see?

I take my time climbing the pathway and many steps up to the road and the return climb seems relatively easy.

It is 11:00 A.M. when we leave Banaue for our 10 hour drive back to Manila. Two hours into our drive we stop at a McDonnalds in Solano for lunch. John is sticking to a strict vegetarian diet and orders macaroni and cheese and French fries; a carb and trans-fat meal. I regretfully have the same, thinking how displeased Stephanie would be with my choice but I am unwilling to complicate travel by bringing food alternatives from home.

Art, Marky, McDonnalds

Solano McDonnalds

I withdraw $20,000 pesos at the ATM and we are on the road again. We pass the time talking. John talks about the electron double slit experiment and uses his phone to write an analogy between this experiment and proving the existence of God and how observation can change the outcome. The conversation shifts to Mizuho and the Mishima family history. Their eldest brother, Mizuho, who passed away 8 years ago, was a Green Beret in the Special Forces and flew 26 missions in Viet Nam. It is fascinating listing to the two brother’s memories of their childhood on Okinawa. The subject shifts to John’s beliefs and John tells us that he feels that he would have been a good fit for the military; a good and disciplined leader but that he doesn’t believe in what the U.S. is doing overseas and that he would not want to kill people. Art talks about Japanese history…..John more about our environment, species going extinct…etc.

Joe’s ex fiancé lives in Angeles about three hours outside of Manila. Joe has been texting her and the plan is to meet her briefly tonight. Our driver misses the turn for Angeles and I am not clear why we don’t turn back but Joe is quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of our drive. We drop Marky off at a bus terminal in Quezon City, a suburb of Manila. We say awkward good byes’ by the side of the road. The Sunday night traffic is light for Manila and we are soon pulling up in front of our Manila Crown Plaza Hotel. (Do not be fooled by the regal name; this hotel wears a very tarnished crown.) Art’s and my room has a king bed and all the expected amenities, but the paint has formed cancerous bubbles above the air conditioner and the smoke detector will later cause us sleep deprivation.

It is 8:30 P.M. when we step out onto the streets of Manila to find dinner. We are exhausted and want to choose a restaurant quickly. There are several sushi restaurants on either side of our “Royal” hotel and various female hawkers try to persuade us to enter their restaurants. One woman sidles up to John and asks him what he is looking for; would he like her? Another hawker asks John if he wants to go to a K.T.V; (Karaoke, T.V. and Video?) We do our best to sidestep these aggressive hawkers and quickly choose a busy, smoke filled Japanese restaurant. Art and Joe order beef and vegetable rice bowls but as vegetarians, it is more challenging for John and me. I order a spring onion omelet and stir fry vegetables and John orders a croquette and rice. The vegetables are delicious and we order a second serving and wash our meals down with St. Miguel beers.

Japanese Restaurant, Manilla

It is 10:00 P.M. before we are back in our hotel. After quick showers, we fall into bed, anxious for sleep because our alarm is set for 4:30 A.M. to catch an early morning flight to Palawan. I am beginning to drift when there is a chirp from a low battery smoke detector in the hallway just outside our door. The chirp sounds repeatedly at 1 minute intervals and Art calls the front desk. They tell us that they will call housekeeping. Chirp….chirp….chirp. Housekeeping comes and there is commotion outside our door but the chirp continues. Art calls again but no one comes to change or remove the battery. Chirp….chirp….chirp. My blood pressure is rising and there is no chance of sleep. I make a third irritated call and shortly, there is a sharp knock at our door. Art pulls on his clothes and opens the door and 3 maintenance men step into our room abruptly turning on the lights. They incorrectly assume that the detector is in our room and Art goes into the hallway and points up to the offensive alarm. There is more noise as the crew scrapes and bangs a ladder and it is midnight before the chirp is terminated. What we didn’t realize earlier was that the annoying chirp was distracting us from the thrumming beat and vibration from the disco a floor below. I manage a couple of hours of sleep before the 3:45 earthquake wakes us and our hotel begins to sway.

Guihob Hot Springs

Friday, January 9th

Trek to the Hungduan Rice Terraces.

Hungduan Rice Terrace Vista

Art riding inside the Jeepney

Vista stops on the road to Hungduan

John and Marky on top of the Jeepney

Hungduan Rice Terrace Sign

Papa and Son

The trek down is not as strenuous as yesterday’s and is mostly along the narrow, meandering, stone dikes framing the rice terraces. The uneven stone pathways vary between 12” – 18” wide and are slippery with mud so I must pay close attention to my footing and balance. We hike down, edging along the terraces for an hour before the rain begins in ernest; cross over a bridge footpath in the valley and begin our ascent on the other side.

Walking along the rice terrace dikes

Stepping stones along the dikes

Planting Rice, Hungduan

Hungduan Rice Terraces in the rain

Hungduan Rice Terrace Vista

Everything is deliciously green, slick and lush and I am chilled when we arrive at the Guihob hot springs and we all look forward to slipping into the warm sulphur water. When we arrive, we sign a simple guest book and our guide pays the modest fee (included in our “tour.”)

Sulphur turns my ring black

Guihob Hot Springs

Frigid river beside the hot springs

Guihob Hot Springs

My swimsuit is underneath my clothes and I slip out of my damp jeans and stow my gear under wooden benches protected from the drizzle by an open round tin roof shelter. The natural hot spring is dammed and a half dozen other bathers soak in the clear hot pool. The frigid river is diverted and rushes along side the hot springs compound. I am wearing my silver Mavericks Wave ring and I notice it has immediately turned black from the sulphur. We soak and visit with the other bathers for 30 minutes before drying off and eating our meager lunch under the shelter of a picnic area. My egg and cheese sandwich is pasty and cold but I chew it dutifully, knowing that I will need the energy in order to ascend to our jeepney high up on the cliff road beyond.

Mossy stepping stones

Stone stairway to Hungduan

We arrive back in Banaue mid afternoon and treat ourselves to afternoon coffees and hot chocolates at a local café. There are no Starbucks here and no other patrons in the cafe which is dark when we enter. The waitress turns on the lights and a small T.V. glows from a corner of the ceiling. A science fiction movie is showing that is of some interest to John, Marky and Art and just like back home, we check our phones for wifi. There is a bakery next door and Art steps out to buy pastries and returns with the uninspired sweets. Although this gloomy cafe is a far cry from the trendy cafes back home, I feel an overwhelming contentment, sipping the warm drinks and nibbling on odd pastries in this remote mountain town with my extended family. Late afternoon, Art and I hire a trike to take us back to our hotel to shower, rest and write. We ask our driver to pick us up at 6:15 for the return ride back to town.

Chess Game, Banaue

Banaue City

Banaue City Cafe

Video Game Arcade, Banaue

Our trike is waiting for us at the appointed time to take us into the town meet our family at the Las Vegas restaurant, just across from the Greenview Guesthouse. I have come to expect little from the food but surprisingly this meal is reasonably good. John and I are trying to be vegetarian, but tonight, following Marky’s lead, I choose a saucy chicken dish and we order a bottle of wine for $400 pesos ($9) that tastes rather like a fruity “Thunderbird.”

Las Vegas Restaurant, Banue City

John, Marky, Karaoke Bar

John, Art, Karaoke Bar

Marky, Karaoke Bar

Not ready to call it a night, we walk up the street to a Karaoke Bar. The bar is on the second story of a rickety wooden building with a plank floor and wood shutters thrown open wide. The mountain air is cold and damp and Art who is looking forward to a real drink is disappointed that the bar serves only beer. We order beers and Marky shows us how to operated the karaoke machine and soon Marky, John and Art are singing away. Joe and I are more timid but I eventually decide to try my skills at “On The Road Again,” and completely humiliate myself. An hour later, the boys walk back to their lodge and Art and I take a tricycle back to our hotel.

Trekking the Batad Rice Terraces

Batad Rice Terraces

Thursday, January 8th Batad Rice Terraces

Greenview Lodge, Banaue

Jeepneys, Banaue City

Our rambling Banaue Hotel, a 15 minute walk from the town center, is cold, dark and cavernous but we have slept well and are hungry for breakfast. The warming trays of scrambled eggs and mystery stir fry dishes are unappealing to me, but the brewed coffee is a welcome relief from the instant coffee we’ve had during most of this trip. Our driver picks us up at 8:00 A.M. to shuttle us to the Greenview Lodge where we meet up with Joe, John and Marky. Their rooms are extremely sparse and drafty and John tells me that he froze during the night with just one thin blanket, but their hotel has more charm than ours and is in the center of town.

The Road to the Batad Rice Terraces

Road Construction, Batad

We climb into our private jeepney for the 45 minute drive to the departure point for our hike down the rice terraces of Batad. There are two long bench seats along either side of the vehicle and support bars overhead to hang onto when the going gets bumpy. The cliff road is under construction and we jostle along the narrow road as workers dynamite the hillside. I am a little worried that an avalanche of rocks will cascade down and crush us but I have obviously survived to write this account. We stop frequently to take photos of the jaw dropping vistas of rice terraces below and the verdant green mountains beyond. We are at 5,000 feet and mist hangs in the saddles between the mountains. As the morning warms, John and Marky climb on top of the jeepney, holding onto the luggage rails for the ride to the end of the road. It is common for overloaded jeepneys to pile both baggage and passengers upon their roofs, but I am anxious that an unexpected stop or bump in the road might send my boys flying.

Marky and John on top of our Jeepney

We leave our jeepney at the end of the road and I give myself a silent pep talk as I stare down into the steep valley below and begin our trek down the to Bataad Village, hundreds of feet below. Sometime later this afternoon, I will need to climb back up to this saddle point to meet our jeepney for the return. The cliff road ahead is still under construction and we begin our hike down along it, sidestepping piles of rocks, gravel and road working machinery and soon veer off to hike down a lush jungle path. There are occasional breaks in the foliage where we have glimpses of the rice terraces below but with each step down, I worry about how I will manage to climb back up. The flooded rice terraces are silvery reflections in the overcast morning with occasional patches of green where the starter shoots are growing. The pathway is steep and varied, alternating from dirt to chiseled stone steps cut into the hillside.

The trail down to Batad

Marky, Batad Rice Terrace

Art, Joe, John and Marky, Batad Rice Terrace View

Half way down there is a tiny village, clinging to the hillside and we register our names and pay the Heritage fee. There are two simple restaurants, several home-stay guest houses and a village school. Our guide instructs us to order our lunch now so it will be ready on our return hike from the Tappiyah Waterfall, sill far below us in the valley.

Keep Batad Clean and Green

Signing into the Batad Visitor Center

We continue our climb down and enter the labyrinth of terraced rice paddies. We walk along the narrow dikes, a narrow stone pathway framing the edges of the flooded rice fields, stepping carefully upon the uneven stones, set deep in the mud. We pass a few tourists returning from the falls and I ask how difficult the final climb is down to the waterfall? If given time, I am quite sure I can make it both down and back up, but I do not want to be the one to slow up our group so I opt to return to the village above and wait for the “boys” at the restaurant.

John trekking the Batad Rice Terrace Dikes

Batad Rice Terrace Dikes

It is lovely to walk back alone and at my own pace. I retrace the stone pathways edging the terraces and as the pathway grows steeper, I stop frequently to catch my breath and inhale the view. Two young boys, perhaps 4 or 5 years old offer their guide services to me and I laugh and take photos of the young entrepreneurs.

Marty hiking the Batad rice terraces

Children along the path

Children of Batad

When I reach the hillside village, I choose one of the simple cafes and drink an especially delicious beer sitting on a wooden bench with an amphitheater view of the rice terraces below. For an hour, I am the only patron at the village cafe and I enjoy the solitude. The beer that I have consumed eventually requires that I find a bathroom and I ask to use the toilet behind a stained curtain and am surprised that the latrine also overlooks the valley below. An hour later, my boys return and we eat our pre-ordered lunches of fried rice and vegetables before starting our trek back up to the saddle and the waiting van. The return trek is not as difficult as I anticipated; my family is patient with my slower pace and an hour later, we are back in the van, jostling along the hillside road towards Banaue town.

Upper Batad Village

Beer at a Batad Village Cafe

Hillside Inn, Batad

Lunch after the hike, Art and Marky

Return hike along the road

We poke into a few dimly lit shops with a smattering of souvenirs displayed on dusty shelves. Banaue is not your typical tourist town and there is little to buy here outside of necessities but John and I admire several “hunters” packs, made out of a rattan fiber and worn both as a rain covering and a day pack by the rice farmers. There are only a four for sale in three different town shops and we examine each carefully, comparing the workmanship and trying to discern whether the hunters packs are vintage or newly made. One is an obviously antique; brittle, stained and with a broken bottom and John and I decide to sleep on the decision and make our purchases tomorrow.

Hunter’s Backpacks

It’s after 4:00 P.M. when Art and I squeeze into a cramped trike to take us back to our hotel to shower and rest. A motorcycle powers the trikes which can carry up to 3 passengers, but two fat Americans make a pretty full load. It costs 20 pesos, about .50 cents, for the ride back to our hotel.

Banaue City Trikes

Marky shopping in Banaue

We assume that finding a trike to take us back into town will be easy but it isn’t and we end up walking the 20 minutes back into town. We meet Joe, Art, John and Marky at the Greenview Lodge for diner. John has just downloaded his grades online and tells us that he has all A’s so we are in celebratory moods; order a bottle of reasonably good Chilean red wine for $750 pesos, about $18 and toast to his success. (Joe points out that one of John’s A’s is an A-)

John, straight A celebration

Joe and Marky Greenview Lodge, Banaue

Rewind to Manila

Wednesday, January 7th.

Parade Preparations – The Pope will be coming soon

We arrive in Manilla at 10:45 A.M, clear immigration and retrieve our bags easily. I see Art’s brother Joe waiting for us outside of the terminal but I don’t want to exit until I have changed money. I wait in line at a non-working A.T.M; eventually admit defeat and exit without pesos. Joe has arranged for a 6 passenger van for our 10 hour drive to Banaue. The van and driver are waiting elsewhere and when I exit, Joe welcomes me and calls for the van. “Marky” is waiting in the van, is 19, slight, handsome and soft spoken. We connected with Mark Anthony about 12 years ago, through Childreach or Plan, when he was assigned to us as a foster child. English is spoken in the Philippines and he (with the help of his mother and the plan sponsors) would write laborious letters and send photos several times each year. Because our son John is of similar in age, it was easy to identify and to connect with him but at 18 years old, children “time out” of the program. Thanks to Facebook, Mark Anthony contacted me and we have communicated sporadically over the past two years. We have now invited Marky to be our guest on a three night trip to Banaue, a Unesco heritage site in the mountain provence of Luzon and meet him face to face for the first time.

John and Marky

Lunch at Jollibee

Our van is spacious enough but is lacking several seat belts which to me is of considerable concern, but at least some of us are belted in. John and Marky sit together in the rear seats and we begin our long drive towards Banaue through the noon traffic of Manila, clogged and barely moving. Long, ornately decorated Jeepneys, (Manila’s style of a mini-bus with two long bench seats along the inside and rear ladders and roof racks for extra passengers and for baggage,) and trikes, (three wheeled vehicles, powered by a motorcycle and with a passenger side car adequate to carry 2-3 passengers, sardine style,) slip in and out of traffic. Scooters, often carrying 4 family members, children sandwiched in between adults and usually without helmets, add to the chaos and congestion. It is amazing that we don’t hear the crunch of metal regularly. It takes us two hours to work our way out of Manila and we use this time to get to know Marky. We ask him about his work, his family, his education and his goals for the future. He is the oldest of 5 children. He has 4 sisters, 15yrs, 13 yrs, 9 yrs and 6 yrs. His 15 year old sister is in 8th grade in Manila and lives with their aunt and uncle. Marky finished high school and has completed one year of university where he studied marine engineering. He would like to be able to finish his studies at the university but rather than being a marine mechanic, he aspires to be a neurosurgeon. He now works full time to help pay for his sisters high school and to provide for his mother and his younger sisters back home in Samar. Marky is a sales assistant for a Japanese clothing shop in Quetzon City, (a suburb of Manila) and makes a little over the minimum wage which is about $10.00 a day. He works 6 x 12 hour days at his job and shares a room with a friend who works at the same company. He is still on probation but they gave him this week off for vacation and he expects to be a regular employee soon.

At 2:30 we stop for lunch at a Jollibee fast food restaurant. John and Marky pose beside the Jollibee mascot and I take photos. (Art passes Marky a little spending money so that he won’t be stressed about personal expenses and at the same time tells him that he is our guest on this trip.) I am not impressed by the Jollibee experience but Joe tells us they are everywhere in the Philippines. Joe, John and I order spaghetti with a red meat sauce with a few chunks of hot dog mixed into the oddly sweet sauce. Art orders a hamburger and Marky has fried chicken.

The drive to Banaue is 10 hours and we still have 8 hours to go. Once outside of Manila we speed along a new freeway above delicious green rice fields, lush vegetation, banana trees and palm trees. The countryside is flat except for Mount Arayae that rises above the rice fields in the distance. About 8:00 P.M. we stop at a simple rest stop for dinner. The food is unappealing; uncovered cold pans of unidentifiable stir fry and the rotisserie chicken, that looks promising, won’t be ready for 30 minutes. We order simple bowls of noodle and vegetable soup which are at least hot and continue driving another two hours onto Banaue.

Greenview Lodge, Banaue

We arrive in Banaue at 10:30 P.M. Art and I have a room at the Banaue Hotel on the outskirts of town, a large sprawling tourist hotel that has seen finer days, and the boys; (Joe, John and Marky) have a triple room at the Greenview Lodge, a backpackers lodge, in the heart of town. (Apparently there were no triple rooms available at the Banaue Hotel.) We part ways and after much needed showers, Art and I fall into bed exhausted. (Our hotels are a 15 minute walk , or 5 minute trike ride, from each other.)

Bird Parks and Bird Strikes

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.

John and Iguana

Marty holding Iguana

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

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

Dedi drops us off at the airport at 10:30 P.M. Our plane will not leave until 1:00 A.M. We are early for check in and sit drinking beer before checking in and proceeding through security. The airport departing tax is $20 each and we pay that and proceed to our gate to wait. At 12:00 A.M. there is an announcement that our plane will be delayed 30 minutes due to a mechanical problem. (not a comforting announcement.) We watch the mechanics through the large plate glass window, taking inspection photos of the engine. At 1:00 A.M. there is another announcement telling us that the plane has been further delayed and at 1:45, a final announcement telling us that the airport is closing and our flight will not be until 7:00 A.M. We are to meet Art’s brother Joe and Mark Anthony at 5:00 A.M. in Manila and our plane will not have even left let. I send face book messages and e-mail and briefly curl up on the stained carpeted floor of the terminal. The Philippine Airline gate agents are mobbed by the stranded passengers and I move in to listen to the explanation of the delay. Previous to our plane landing, our plane struck a bird or birds that may have compromised the engine. The agents tell us that we will be taken to a hotel but this makes little sense. I wake Art and John who have been sleeping on the carpeted floor and we groggily follow the agents through the airport and to immigration. I am stupid with sleep deprivation but John halts me at immigration and says he just wants to go back to the gate and sleep on the floor. By now it is 3:00 A.M. and he tells me that it is crazy to go to a hotel because we will have to return to the airport at 5:30 A.M. and check in again and go through security. We try to resist passing the immigration counters but are firmly instructed that we must exit and an agent stamps VOID on our boarding passes. Another 30 minutes of confusion unfolds and we decide that as nice as a shower might be, we do not want to go to the hotel. We walk back up the escalator to the Bintang Beer restaurant where we drank beer earlier and commandeer two of their couches. I try to sleep but Art, still uncertain of our situation continues to wander the airport, talking to other stranded passengers.

Full Moon Ceremony

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.

The business end of being an artist.

Art and Dekti

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.

We have agreed to meet Art back at our bungalow at 4:30 P.M. to have time to dress for the full moon ceremony at the Penestanan Temple. Dekti drives us home, battling rush hour traffic along the narrow roads of Ubud and drops John off at the village intersection to meet Art. I go with Tabra to her home and she changes into a sarong and lends me one for the ceremony. Sashes or belts are a requirement and she ties one around my waist using one of her new and innovative bronze belt closers. We walk to her work compound and find Art and John waiting and looking very handsome in their borrowed sarongs.

The Barong, Art and John

John and Marty

We go to Vespa again, for drinks and appetizers and to wait for the full moon temple ceremony to begin. The Vespa Cafe is at the main intersection of Penestanan – Kaja and the villagers begin to gather.

Women in Lace Kabayas

John, Marty, Tabra, Art

The women are dressed in beautiful kabayas, form fitting lace tunics, many quite seductive with lace cut outs and nude netting that reveals the skin. Many of the women carry baskets on their heads, food to offer at the temple ceremony. Most of the men are dressed in white sarongs, white shirts and white head-dresses (hats) with turned up corners. The entire village has turned out and the procession parades down the street, the odd Gamelon music reverberating in the air.

Penestana Full Moon Procession

Dekti walks in the procession, lovely in her kabaya, her posture rod straight and her head supporting a basket offering for the temple.

Penestana Full Moon Procession

Penestana Village Boys

Marty and Village Girls

Penestana Full Moon Gathering

Dedi walks with a group of men, alongside his Barong Beast. We follow the procession down the village street to the temple, mesmerized by the beauty of the villagers, the fading afternoon light and the music. There are only a handful of foreigners present and we are dressed appropriately and respectifully. We take many photos asking permission of the village girls and boys who smile and giggle with delight. We are experiencing the real Bali.

Full Moon Temple Ceremony