Marty Magic Travel – Page 13 – Around the world with Marty

Sunday in Ubud, Bali

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.

John, Bread Fruit, Ubud

Rock wall, Ubud Bali

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

We continue walking and shopping and cut along a side street to Monkey Forest Road where John remembers seeing a Barong Ring. It is 4:30 and Tabra suggests a margarita and John and I concur. It is happy hour and Art finds a café offering 2 for 1 margaritas and we sit down and order our drinks. Service is “Bali time” and often frustratingly slow but we are eventually sipping on cool but smallish drinks.

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.

Elephant Caves, Holy Water and Rain

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.

Batik Factory Demonstration

Our first stop at a Batik factory is 45 minutes outside of Ubud. I was imagining a village with a number of small batik workshops and I am disappointed when we pull into the large parking lot of a mega store with tourists milling and keeping dry under a large covered outdoor reception area. There is a raised staging area where a dozen of the workers demonstrate batik techniques. The store itself is cavernous with aisles of batik shirts, dresses, bags and reams of folded cloth. There is cloth of all quality and from printed cotton, batik cotton and fine silk batik. Although much of the batik is lovely, the venue is overwhelming and unsatisfying and we stay only a few minutes.

Batuan Temple, Bali

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.

Balinese Falcon

Tethered Owl at Kris Sword Shop

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.

Waiting for Lunch at a Woodcarving Shop

We arrive at Goa Gajah, the Elephant Cave and Dedi waits while Art, John and I pay the $1.50 entrance fee each, sarong included and walk down the pathway to the ruins below.

Goa Gajah, the Elephant Cave

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.)

Goa Gajah Grotto

Banyan Tree Roots

On the way back to the car we pass a group of craft stalls and stop to watch one man painting wooden eggs. We buy three and he smiles graciously for a photo.

Egg Painter, Goa Gajah

It’s mid afternoon when we arrive at the Gunung Kawi, an 11th century shrine. Dedi cautions me that it is a long walk down and I cheerfully tell him that we will hurry. My legs are wobbly by the time I reach the bottom of the seemingly endless path and stairway. The site is impressive with ten shrines, each 7 meters high, carved into the cliff walls, five on either side of the river gorge. The shrines on one side of the river are thought to be dedicated to Anak Wungsu, his queens and concubines and the shrines on the other side of the river are believed to be dedicated to King Udayana and his queens and concubines. John climbs down into the river gorge but because of the long steep climb back to the parking area, I start my slow ascent. When we reconnect at the top, John excitedly tells us that he went on to explore other ruins and shrines along the river that were restricted to men only.

Gunung Kawi Shrine

River below Gunung Kawi

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.

John Bathing at the Tirta Empul Water Temple

Tirta Empul Water Temple

Tirta Empul

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.

Kecak Dance

Kecak Fire Dance

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.

John with Tabra’s Fabric

Tabra carrying fabric

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.

Tabra and Dekti

Jewelry Designing

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.

Rice Terrace Cafe

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.

Kecak Dance

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.

Kecak Fire Dance

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.

New Years Day in Bali

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’s Shop on Hannaman Street, Ubud

Inside Tabra’s Shop

Art and Tabra discuss business

John is quite the shopper and we wander Hannaman street looking for a Barong Ring. John carefully compares prices and quality between the many stores lining the street but later this afternoon, after happy hour margarita’s, John will buy two “silver“ rings for $25.00 only to discover later that they are silver-plated bronze. Art and Tabra discuss business over a delicious lunch at Kafe, a “hippy” sort of restaurant on Hannaman Street with organic salads and a variety of Indonesian dishes, washed down by fresh limeade.

It is late afternoon by the time we get to the Monkey Forest. I buy a small bunch of bananas and am immediately swarmed by the brazen monkeys at the entrance and toss down my banana booty to avoid being scratched, bitten and climbed on. I love this park; shady and humid with huge banyan trees and cascading vine tendrils. The green moss grows thick on the stonewalls and stone sculptures. We spend an hour frolicking with the monkeys and eventually John buys a bunch of bananas. His intent is that I take his photo with a monkey or two on his shoulder for an Instagram post. The Monkeys are big, have sharp teeth and are aggressive and one gives John a warning bite. (Art suggests that for a really good U-tube video, John should stick the bunch of bananas down his pants and see what happens?)

John, Monkeying around

John, Monkeying Around

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.

Marty with a Dragon in the Monkey Forest

Monkey Forest Grotto Dragon Gate.

Marty in the Komodo Dragon Grotto

Komodo Dragon Grotto

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.

John and Sales Girls at the Batik Shop

Geckos on a lighted sign

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.

Tabra’s Birthday, Penestanan

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.

Driving to Ubud

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.

Family Compounds, 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.

Tabra, Gypsy Woman

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.

Tabra and Marty, Topok House

Topok House Garden

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.

Tabra’s Birthday Lunch

Birthday Lunch Buffet

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.

Dedi, Art and John, Tabra’s Compound

Tabra and Marty

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.

Tabra’s Birthday at Bridges Restaurant, Ubud

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

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.

Denpasar Beach

Trash on Denpasar Beach

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.

Bakung Beach Hotel Pool

John Relaxing in the Pool

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.

15 Hours in Manila

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.

Balikbayan Box

I paid $20 additional for each of our seats in a row with an extra few inches of leg room. This proves to be well worth it and with our personal entertainment screens, we settle in, plug in and wait for dinner. Dinner is served about 11:00 P.M. and at 12:00 midnight, we toast to John’s 29th birthday. John and Art go on to watch a second movie but I take a bite of a sleeping pill and sleep until breakfast is served. Art and John also sleep reasonably well and when we arrive in Manila at 4:00 A.M. we are tired, but functioning.

Manila Street

Airport Coffee in Manila

Our flight is an hour early and the shuttle pick up from Swagman Hotel has not yet arrived. We sit outside the modern terminal, drink bad coffee from paper cups and wait. Art continually scans the arriving vans and the guides that hold up signs for newly arriving passengers. At 5:30 we have nearly given up hope and are about to accept a van ride from a different hotel when the Swagman van arrives. We drive through chaotic traffic, our van slipping in and out of lanes with just inches to spare. We see colorful Jeepneys, Manila’s “Jeep-buses” crammed with passengers and those people who don’t fit inside, hang off the back or ride on top.

Street Vendors and Trikes

The grey light of dawn unfolds as we drive through the congested city, past abandoned and dilapidated apartment buildings, dirty with grime, most windows and balconies waving flags of laundry out to dry. Street vendors are setting up their stalls but the stores are still shuttered. The city street scene is not very much different from any number of other sprawling metropolis in third world countries.

Children Sleeping in Trike

The lobby of the Swagman Hotel is nice enough and our reservation is in order, but the room is terrible. We only need to rest here for the day but it is doubtful of the sheets have been changed recently and the orange paint is dingy, peeling and depressing. We stow our luggage and head back downstairs for breakfast. Presumably, the life sized crocodile, above the bar is in keeping with the Australian name of the hotel and I am relieved that it is fake and not a stuffed crocodile.

Breakfast with the Swagman Crocodile

Swagman Hotel Room

It is just 7:30 A.M. when we walk towards Rizal Park. Today is the commemoration of the execution of Jose Rizal, a Filipino nationalist and hero. The park is packed with both dignitaries, families and school children, and we just miss seeing the President .

Rizal Park, Manila

Rizal Park, Philippine Island Map

Rizal Park Fountains

Jose Rizal Commemorative Celebration

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.

Robinson’s Mall, Manila

John and Jolly-Bee

Young Girls Outside the Robinson Mall

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.

Time Travel to Manila

Saturday, December 27th

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.

Alisha waving goodbye

At 3:00 P.M. Alisha arrives to drive us to the Santa Cruz Metro station where we will begin our trip commuting to the S.F.O airport. John is somewhat under the weather, much of it self-imposed from a late night gathering with his friends. A cream cheese bagel, purchased from the bus kiosk settles his stomach and after many parting hugs and kisses, Art, John and I board the Highway 17 bus to take us to Deardon Amtrak Station. Alisha waves cheerfully goodbye, but my heart aches knowing that she would love to accompany us on this adventure. With two children in school and the Marty Magic business to attend to, she is staying home.

Amtrak Train to S.F.O.

John however is on winter break from S.F.S.U. through the end of January. At Deardon Station we catch the train to Millbrae where we transfer to Bart for the 10 minute trip to S.F.O. International. The train rumbles along the industrial side of the upscale Peninsula cities in the fading light. John is coming alive, recovering from last night’s excess and feeling excited about our trip. He checks his phone to see if his grades have been posted and he Hi-Fives us announcing that he has two A’s; one in Limnology and the other in Biological Oceanography. His other grades are not posted yet but Art and I congratulate him on his success

Midnight flight to Cambodia

Midnight flight to Cambodia – January 1-3

John and I successfully sleep much of the way between S.F.O. and Taipei. Our China Airline flight departs from S.F.O. at 12:05 A.M. on January 2nd so after three long and tedious hours in the terminal we are exhausted when we board and both John and I fall asleep prior to take off. Our seats, two rows from the back of the plane are surprisingly comfortable. The body of the plane narrows towards the rear of the plane and there are only two seats abreast, instead of the usual three. This gives John an extra 10” along one side and he is able to extend one of his legs completely. Our seats truly recline; further than we have experienced in economy seats on other airlines and we cocoon ourselves in thick and silky blankets and prop our heads against agreeable pillows and sleep.

As nice as the seats are, the food on the flight is awful. Twice, gracious and pretty stewardess, wake us; once at 2:00 A.M. for a nearly inedible dinner of chicken and rice and then again for a breakfast omelet, cold and soggy with coagulated grease. John pushes his omelet aside immediately and after one bite, I follow suit. Neither of us dare to bite into the flaccid grey chicken sausage curling along side. I drink two cups of bitter coffee only to put a stop the a coffee deprived headache that is threatening to worsen. We land in Taipei in one hour and I must be alert to navigate the terminal and make tight change connections for our flight to Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

It is only 6:00 A.M. when we arrive in the Taipei airport and the terminal is a glitter with name brand stores and cafes. The signage is good and we head directly to the change counter where a robotic man scrawls gate A5 onto our boarding passes and points us down a flight of stairs to the platform for the train connecting the various terminals. We crowd into the train and with a whoosh of closing doors are jetted off towards the A gates. Two minutes later we emerge from our pneumatic tube into another sparkling and busy wing of this immense terminal. We check John’s watch (when did he get a watch?) can see A5 in the distance and with time to spare we walk in the opposite direction in search of decent coffee. We verve into Illi café and after scanning the illegible menu, I whisper to John that this cup of coffee may be almost as expensive as our coffees in the Abu Daubi terminal. A woman in line ahead of us signs a credit card slip and asks the exchange rate and I relax when the stylish barista tells her that her latte is just $4.00.

We savor our two Illi cappuccinos, smooth, intense and delicious. The cobwebs of my brain clear somewhat and we head to our gate to find both a high tech charging station and free wifi and John connects to Facebook while we wait for our plane to board.

The China Airline flight between Taipei and Phnom Penh is nearly 4 hours. Once airborne, we are offered another breakfast but since we are still on China Airlines both John and I steer clear of the omelet option, choosing instead the fish noodle breakfast entrée. We grimace when we peel back the tinfoil covers and look down on the slimy concoction of oily brown mystery sauce with chunks of composite translucent fish. John tells me he cannot eat it, but I cautiously push some of the slime away and take a bite of noodles. It is not awful and hunger gets the better of both of us and we nibble around the mystery chunks of gelatinous fish to fill our growling bellies.

We will need to get “on arrival visas” in Phnom Penh and I am anxious. Happily the visa line is short and I grab two applications and both John and I set to filling them out. There is a blank square for a visa photo, which we do not have and my blood pressure rises as the young man beside us tells me that he has brought his photos with him. We head to the counter and the dour face official tells me that it will cost more without the photos. I ask how much, waiting for the ax to fall but he tells me $2.00 each. Relieved, I whip out $4 dollars and the young man with his U.S.A. photos smiles sheepishly and tells us that he spent $12 for his photos back home.

We head towards immigration and John and I are directed to two different kiosks where an unsmiling official orders me to put the 4 fingers of my right hand on a glowing green scanner. I obediently oblige, following with my thumb and then a repeat performance of my left hand. I pass through and wait anxiously as John is scanned and allowed entry. We collect our baggage which has happily arrived with us and I do a quick change act, shoving my shoes and coat into my bag and slipping on my sandals. The couple in front of us have their baggage opened and searched but John and I are waved through and step out into an open breezeway with a series of exchange kiosks, phone card kiosks and tour kiosks to navigate. I exchange $200 at the rate of 380 per dollar and know that Art would really hate this, not knowing if the rate was a good one. The woman counts out a huge pile of bills and both John and I cautiously check the many zeros against the official receipt to ascertain that the amount is correct. I shove half of the thick stack at John and the other half into my wallet and we exit the terminal.

A petite woman is holding up a sign printed Marthalynn Bobroskie. We make eye contact and she puts her hands together, fingers pointed upward and bows slightly. She introduces herself as Maria and we follow her to a waiting car alongside the curb. We surmise that Maria is about 26 years old, perky and pretty but with an accent that will be challenging to comprehend. Our driver is also in his mid 20’s and we learn that these two will be our guide and driver for the next several days, until we reach Sim Reap. As we drive, Maria chatters nervously and incomprehensible about the history and government of Cambodia. Her English is passable, but her intonations are wrong and I stop her frequently and ask her to repeat herself. Mostly John and I just wish she would be quiet and allow us to gaze out the window and watch Cambodia scroll past. There are the usual scooters and tut tuts but traffic is tame compared to India and understandably so with Cambodia’s total population at just 15 million. John reminds me that there were 22 million people in New Deli alone.

A 30 minute drive from the airport brings us to our hotel, two blocks from the Tonle Sap River. Three star, Hotel Cara is centrally located and our room is spacious and clean but without a view as the only small window faces out under the overhang of the roof. It is noon when we arrive at our hotel and Maria advises us to rest and take a tut tut to the riverside for dinner later on. Within 30 minutes, John and I are showered and we walk along the bustling street in the direction of the riverside; or so we hope. It is hot and humid and the tourist map is vague and after several blocks we retrace our steps and ask for better directions. Although we are only two blocks inland from the river, we opt to take a tut tut to the heart of the “Riverside” and negotiate our ride down from $4 to 10,000 Riel, about $2.80.

The “Riverside” district is lined with tourist restaurants, tiny shops and massage parlors. We are ravenous and choose a corner restaurant quickly, sitting at an outside table facing the trafficked street. (The river is just across but all of the restaurants are on the inland side.) We each order a $2 bottle of beer; John a dark Angkor and I opt for Cambodian beer. John foolishly orders a club sandwich, the bread like cardboard, but I choose Khmer curried chicken which is excellent. Our food takes a long time to arrive but we are content to sit and watch the world pass by. We laugh incredulously when we see three motor scooters zip by, their drivers and rear passengers sandwiching 4 x 8 foot sheets of glass between them, the glass sheets pointing high into the air. What a terrible accident waiting to happen. Street children approach us selling woven bracelets strung on wire coat hangers. A few crippled and deformed men scoot along on makeshift wheeled boards and John gives each of them a 1000 note bill, equivalent to .38 cents.

After lunch, John and I cross the busy trafficked street. John grabs my hand and it is an easy game of “Frogger” and we reach the other side without incident and walk along the river bank, gazing down at the piles of garbage along the river’s edge. There are numerous large round gilded floating objects and John climbs down the steep steps to the to examine them. He yells up to report that they are gilded floating coconut decorations and that there is a small water dragon basking on the rocks.

We stroll inland towards the Wat Phnom Stupa, situated on a knoll, a lush and lovely tropical garden surrounding it. This will be the first of many temple steps that I will climb up over the next three weeks and and we ascend the stairs up to the pagodas terrace. Several wooden bird cages rest on the stone walkway, crowded with tiny fluttering brown songbirds. For a price, one can pay the attendee to set one free but we soon surmise that the birds will be caught again, caged and their freedom resold. We remove our shoes and John drops the suggested offering into the box at the entrance to the pagoda. We preamble slowly across the cool stone floor inhaling the incense and the gilded statues surrounded by offerings of fruits and flowers. Many spirit houses surround the Stupa’s terrace, each adorned with flowers and sticks of incense.

Jet lag has caught up with me and at 4:00 P.M. we return to our hotel where I attempt to nap for an hour. Although I don’t feel badly, I have been fighting a cold for the past two weeks and my sinuses are still streaming bloody mucus. Although I cannot sleep, an hour and a half later, I am somewhat revived and we make a plan for our evening. There is a night market on Friday, Saturday and Sunday and we take a tut tut to the market at the riverside. It is 5:50 when we arrive and the fading light is magical and a sliver of moon hangs in the sky. Music blares from a loud speaker above an empty stage and surrounding food stalls stir up delicious smelling concoctions that we choose not to risk. Families picnic on mats and blankets spread out on the ground in the center of it all. A maze of lighted stalls sell cheap souvenirs and clothing and John is enthralled with it all. He examines counterfeit sunglasses and wallets and I patiently stand back and watch, catching his enthusiasm and enjoying the sights and the smells of the market, all the time holding tightly to my back pack and checking frequently that the hidden zipper is always closed.

My guide book recommends a restaurant in a different part of town and we hire a tut tut to take us there but the restaurant no longer exists. John is hungry and a bit impatient with me so we tut tut back to the strip of touristy restaurants along the riverside and quickly choose one, not for it’s menu but because it has a vacant sidewalk table. Dinner is not especially good but we are contented and happy, sipping our drinks and people watching. Four young boys approach John selling woven friendship bracelets. The oldest boy of about ten wants one dollar for three bracelets but John only has a five dollar bill. The boy urges John to go and get change but John does is not motivated to do this. Thirty minute later, the boys return with change for a five dollar bill and John, having consumed several beers, ends up buying 3 bracelets each from each of the 4 young entrepreneurs.

Dubai to Abu Dhabi and Home at Last!

January 25th. Dubai to Abu Dhabi and Home at Last!

It’s a good thing that I have set John’s alarm or we might have slept several more hours. I shower, dress and leave our room quietly to check on the times for breakfast. A handful of guests are eating breakfast in the canvass covered courtyard and I am happy to discover it is only 9:15 A.M. John’s phone was set on New Deli time, not Dubai time and there is a 1 ½ hour difference. While John showers, I send e-mail to Art with our arrival information into S.F.O. and attempt Skype again without success. A few minutes later, my computer rings and it is Art calling. It’s heartening to hear his voice and both John and I talk excitedly with him for several minutes.

We sit in the canvas shaded courtyard and enjoy strong coffee, creamy yoghurt, omelets, tahini and Arabic bread and with map and guidebook in hand, make our plans for the day. For $55 each, we could take the guided tour on the double-decker “Red Bus” and be limited to their schedule, or we can take taxis to the same sites for what I hope will cost about half. I look over the Red Bus itinerary and make note of their stops, starting the farthest away and working back towards our hotel.

Bastakiya Dubai

Bastakiya guard and John

We stash our luggage in a corner of the tiny office, close the heavy wooden doors to this artsy, 9 room guest house and navigate from the maze of the historical district out to the main street. There are very few tourists out yet, but each time I lift my camera to take a photo, a nuisance-some tourist rounds a corner of this historical labyrinth and pops into my view finder. I’m sure they are equally irritated when John and I pop into one of their photographs. I am taking a photo of John in the narrow shaded lane when a security guard crosses. He spots my pointed camera, beams and indicates that he wants his photo taken beside John. I happily oblige and show him the image in the back screen of my camera. He walks beside us and tells us he is from Nepal and proudly shows us his laminated identification work card. If I understand correctly, he has a two year permit; works for 9 months, returns home for 3 months and repeats the process. In broken English, he tells us that Nepal is poor but the USA is good and is helping in Nepal. He relays that his family was “bad” but now they are a “nice” family because he has work in Dubai and can send money home. These brief encounters are much of what makes traveling such a joy.

The taxis in Dubai are metered, starting at 3 dirham, and in less than a minute we are scooped up and are driving towards the Dubai Marina. I have been told to expect the 25 minute drive to the Marina to cost about 60 dirham and the meter shows 58 dirham when we arrive.

John at Dubai Marina

Dhow at Dubai Marina

An elegant pedestrian promenade curves along the waterfront and shimmering yachts are moored in this inner harbor, reflecting the morning sunlight off the water. Wait staff are readying the sidewalk Cafes and restaurants lining the promenade. Although there are many tourists and foreign families out with their children, it is Friday, a holy day, and there are few Arabs out at 11:30 A.M. (It is no wonder since they were all at the Dubai Mall at midnight last night!) Earlier, we considered taking the metro to the Marina, but on Fridays, even the metro does not open until 1:00 P.M. Except for the futuristic high rises and sky scrapers piercing the skyline, we could be strolling along the marina at Cabo San Lucas or any number of other upscale harbors in sundrenched parts of the world.

Marty at a Dubai Marina Cafe

Arab women walking the Marina Promenade

We take turns taking photos of each other, leaning up against the railing, boats and skyscrapers in the background. Although there are many small and medium sized yachts in the marina, John wants to know where the big boats play? We succumb to the touristy lure of Captain Jack’s, 1 hour dhow cruise, a circular loop of both the inner and outer harbor. 120 dirham later, ($33) the two of us are settled comfortably into overstuffed tribal upholstered beanbags on the canvass shaded deck of a large wooden dhow.

Captain Jacks Marina and Harbor Cruise

The boat could easily accommodate over 50 passengers but we are two of less than 20 other passengers on this cruise. The dhow motors out of the harbor and I wish immediately for our jackets that we have left stored with our luggage back at the hotel. John points out several immense yachts moored in the outer harbor, but surprisingly, they pale in comparison to the jaw dropping yachts we sae in the harbor at Cairns, Australia. A helicopter sits atop a helipad and a ribbon of a runway, constructed on pylons, with yellow and black reflecting girds at its end, stretches out into the ocean. It is cold and foggy outside of the inner harbor and the skyscrapers have all but disappeared excepting the tips of a few, peeking eerily out and above the fog bank.

Helicopter and Fog

Fog on the landing strip in the outer harbor

Cranes in the Dubai Marina

Re-entering the Dubai Marina by Dhow

We catch a second taxi towards Palm Jumeirah, the “Crescent and Frond” development with the Atlantis resort at its tip. When one sees photos of Dubai, it is the futuristic Burj al Arab hotel and the Crescent and Frond community that epitomizes Dubai.

Burg Al Arab

Atlantis Resort

I am disappointed that we can see little of this artificial island community, sans for the gated entrances to each “frond.” Each “frond” is constructed along an artificial canal so that every luxury estate has a waterfront view. I catch a glimpse or two of a canal through the security gates but the aerial photos I have seen are stunning and I soon gather that this is a sight that must be viewed from above. When our driver drops us at the Atlantis resort, we are still hopeful that there might be a public view tower where we might be able to see the Crescent and Frond island community, but there are none. I have heard much raving about Atlantis resorts and perhaps the guest areas are lovely but I am not impressed. It is an unimpressive, mini-mall with shops and restaurants radiating out from a central dome. The garishly painted dome depicts a childish underwater scene that hangs heavily overhead and a series of misproportioned, leaping bronze dolphin chandeliers swing from the arched ceilings between the shops. There are 4 restaurant options and we choose the least expensive but even so, our shared bacon and cheese hamburger with fries comes in at $25.00. We pass on visiting the aquarium, knowing that we have seen some of the best in the world and make our escape by taxi to Jumeirah, the public beach of Dubai.

Handstand silhouette – Burj al Arab

Afternoon at Jumeirah beach- Burj al Arab

Bikini clad bodies bask in the sunshine and children play on the half mile strip of golden sand. John strips off his shirt and we both take off our shoes and roll up our pants. We leave our belongings neatly piled on the beach and I realize that I am not worried about them being stolen. That is not to say that the possibility doesn’t cross my mind, but Dubai feels extremely safe and we head towards the crystal clear turquoise water. There are no waves and the Arabian Gulf water is warm and children splash is the calm shallow sea.

Jumeirah Public Beach – Dubai

A Muslim woman stands waist deep dressed in her abaya and two Indian woman wade in wearing saris. I am grateful to be a western woman and almost feel that in solidarity, I should wade in wearing my jeans.

Women wearing abayas and saris in the Arabian Gulf

Three Indian or Pakistani men find a dead crab floating in the shallows and they laugh as one take photos of his friend, wearing it as a hat. I run towards them, camera aimed and they pose happily for my photos. John does hand stands and back flips on the beach and my heart fills with pride and love for this young man. According to our guide book, this is the best place to get an unobstructed view of the iconic, Burj al Arab. The sun is unfortunately, directly overhead of this futuristic architectural wonder, but we take the required photos of each other with Burj al Arab, an indistinct grey silhouette in the background. 45 minutes later, after having walked the stretch of beach we return to our pile of shoes, cloths and guide-book, dust off the sand and catch a taxi back to our XVA hotel.

Sunbathing on Jumeirah Public Beach – Dubai

Man with a dead crab on his head!

The taxi ride to the bus station is just 10 dirham and I leave John waiting curbside with our luggage while I go in search of tickets. There are dozens of busses, moving in and moving out, all new and well maintained and orderly lines of mostly young male immigrants waiting to board the appropriate busses. It appears that the immigrants are invaluable to the infrastructure to the UAE. They fill the service, construction, merchant and security jobs in a similar way that many Mexican immigrants do in California. I surmise that their work week is over and that these young men are heading back to a shared apartment in the outskirts of Dubai or Abu Dhabi, their temporary home until their work visa and contract expire and they can return home to their native land and their family. I am directed towards a low cluster of buildings, the perimeter consisting of a string of hole-in-the-wall, Middle Eastern restaurants. I enter a central courtyard and see a line of over 30 men waiting for the toilet. Another long line snakes around the ticket window and I take my place at the back. Seconds later a security guard escorts me to the “ladies only” window where I am next in line. The two bus tickets to Abu Dhabi are only 25 dirham each ($8 each) and I walk quickly back to find John. We wait in a long line as the double-decker bus for Abu Dhabi fills but luckily, we are first in line for the next bus which is already pulling towards us. An official escorts other ladies from further back in our line to the front and John is motioned to step back. I am first to board and choose the seat behind the driver with unobstructed views, saving the adjoining seat for John. John takes care of seeing that our luggage is loaded beneath the bus, takes his seat beside me and within minutes, we drive away. We fly along the 5 lane freeway, skyscrapers zipping past us reflecting the late afternoon sunlight in their mirrored glass surfaces. I relax into the journey contented and resigned that our trip will end easily at a sterile airport hotel. As we enter the outskirts of Abu Dhabi, and as dusk settles in, we see the striking and immense silhouette of the new, Sheikh Zayed Mosque, one of the world’s largest mosques. Two days is simply not enough time for these cities and I hope to come back one day and visit this impressive mosque.

Leaving the skyline of Dubai

Dubai skyscrapers

We arrive at the Abu Dhabi bus station in just 1 ½ hours and I realize I have made a logistical mistake. Our hotel is out by the airport and we are in downtown. Perhaps, had we taken a different bus, it would have dropped us at the airport? We hail yet another taxi and drive towards Yas Island in search of the Yas Viceroy Hotel that I booked for $120 on Priceline many weeks ago. After just one wrong turn our driver deposits us at the entrance to a futuristic hotel, seeming built in the center of a professional auto race track. The organic roof of our hotel is constructed of interconnecting rods and pods, surreally illuminated by changing colored lights. I have stayed at the Ritz Carlton in both London and Paris, slept on rooftops in Greece, safari tents in Africa, hostels in Europe and flea bag hotels around the world but tonight’s hotel and room is a surprise. After the formalities of check in, the desk attendant from Romania subsequently shows us to our room.

Our sitting room at the Yas Viceroy, overlooking the racetrack

The illuminated roof above our room

Our spacious, ultra modern room has a large seating area with a kidney shaped purple couch, a curvaceous white resin chair and coffee table and an extremely large, flat screen T.V. Our hospital Romanian demonstrates the remote control options for the lighting and the sound system in the room and with a push of a button he opens the automated sliding shades that cover the floor to ceiling sliding glass door. Our door opens onto a narrow balcony overlooking a slanted corrugated metal roof and a brilliantly lighted race track just below. Initially, the three partitioned bathroom with frosted sliding glass doors between the shower, bidet and toilet and wash stand and bathtub seems luxurious, but the frosted glass lacks privacy and the arrangement is confusing.

Room door opening over the roof and racetrack below

Abstract transparencies, Yas Viceroy Hotel, Abu Dhabi

As soon as our luggage is delivered, John slips into swim trunks and we head to the roof top swimming pool. The rod and pod roof has a circular opening in the center and a full moon is framed and suspended above. We are in a flight path and every few minutes the silhouette of a plane passes by the moon. The alternating colored lights illuminate the pool in an ever changing pallet of purples, greens and blues. I feel as if I have stepped into a Star Trek episode.

John swimming in the Yas Viceroy roof top pool

John, Yas Viceroy roof top pool

There are 5 restaurants in the Yas Viceroy hotel and all are expensive. We peruse the various restaurant and menu options and choose the Arabic restaurant after we spot a Mezze selection for two that includes a choice of four hot mezzes for 100 dirham. ($35) The sign at the entrance to this elegant restaurant requires “upscale casual” dress and at best, John and I are wearing “frumpy traveler.” We straighten our shoulders and step inside. The interior décor is minimalistic Arabic style with soft golden lighting and a curved bar with glimmering bottles of liquor reflected in the gilded mirror behind. A dozen or more ornate shishas (waterpipes) are clustered at one side of the bar. A hostess glides towards us, welcoming us and asking if we wish to sit inside or if we might prefer to sit outside? We were unaware of the outside option but obediently follow her to an expansive patio overlooking the race track. There are tall obelisk shaped heaters to warm the night, flames rising high, and a half dozen other diners sit at tables at the edge of the patio watching the cars race around the track. We do not have reservations and are seated at a table off from the railing but this allows us watch the other diners and we still have a good view of the race track. We splurge and order two Arabic beers, ($6 each) the mezze platter and sit back and watch the show. In the corner against the railing is a canopied table with about 8 Arabic women, the adult women all wearing black abays; a pre-teen girl, an infant and a nanny are part of the entourage. The women are between 18-24 years old and one of them is smoking a shisha, blowing white clouds of smoke into the faces of her friends with no mind for the baby.

Yas Viceroy Rooftop Arabian Restaurant

John is fascinated by the racing cars. The track is a professional one but John tells me that he thinks the drivers are just wealthy Arab men who just want a place to race their “toys.” John has watched videos about this on U-tube; that racing on the streets in the UAE became a problem and now the men with their Porches and Ferraris can reserve the track for an evening and burn rubber and testosterone without endangering others. John critics the drivers; most of who are cautious when coming to the curves but he applauds one driver in a red Porches who seems to have little fear and tears around the track much faster than the others. We soon surmise that the women, seated at the corner table, are somehow related to one or several of the drivers. Our four mezze plates arrive along with a basket of varied Arabian breads and a dish of pickles and olives. The spread is ample and we dip pieces of bread in hummus and share tiny lamb shanks, sausages and calamari as we listen to the revving and downshifting of the cars. This is the final night of our trip and John asks to smoke a shisha. A shisha, with two flavors of tobacco, costs 60 dirham ($16) John asks flavor advice from the shisha attendant and subsequently orders mint and grape tobacco. A few minutes later an ornate silver shisha is set on the floor beside John’s chair. It is 2 ½ feet tall and with tongs the attendant places hot coals in the dish above the prepared tobacco, puffs on the hose several times to get it started, and then inserts a fresh mouthpiece and hands it to John. John leans back, inhales and blows white clouds of mint scented smoke in my direction. I too take several puffs but inhaling smoke is foreign to me and my head spins on the second inhalation. We laugh, take photos of each other and when the coals burn low, head up to our luxurious room for 6 hours of sleep.

Inhaling mint and Grape shisha

Exhaling mint and grape shisha

Our trip is over and it has been amazing throughout. John and I are well matched as traveling companions and ending it with two days in futuristic Dubai has been perfect contrast to the chaos, colors and culture of incredible India.