Beyond Bali to the Kelemutu Cauldrons of Flores

Wednesday, August 9th

Our host quietly opens our courtyard door a little before 4:00 A.M. It is dark as he takes one of our suitcases to the waiting minivan, along the narrow walkways edging the rice paddies and down the dirt road of Pennestana. Alisha and I carefully make our way by flashlight to meet the van. Our second suitcase mysteriously arrives on a motorcycle and after thanking our host, we slide into the back seat for an expected 1 ½ hour to the airport. There is no traffic and in less than an hour, we are dropped off at the domestic terminal. We are an hour earlier than necessary but are allowed to enter the terminal after showing our itinerary at the terminal door. Our luggage is scanned and when the ticket counter opens at 6:00, we check our bags and go upstairs to wait for our departure. We enjoy an exorbitantly expensive airport breakfast with excellent frothy Cappuccinos and both Alisha and I have a little time to write in our journals.
Although our plane boards earlier than expected, we wait on the runway for nearly 30 minutes for a 2 hour flight to Labaun Bajo.  In Labaun Bajo, se stay onboard as passengers disembark and others board for our  flight to Ende. When we land and collect our luggage in Ende, our guide is waiting outside of the tiny terminal with a paper sign printed with our names. Yance flashes us a big smile and speaks good English. As he walks us to his vintage Toyota minivan, it dawns on us that our private speaking guide and driver are one in the same, not two different people. Our first stop is for lunch and the stir fry vegetables that we order are watery but edible and the Nasi Goring (fried rice and mystery meat) is sustenance only. I remind myself that we did not come to Flores for the cuisine. As we exit the restaurant and to humor Art, I snap a photo of Alisha and Yance in front of our minivan’s license plate. The adventure begins!

Alisha and our guide Yance in Ende, Flores

I text it to Art as we pull away from the curb, fingers crossed that the internet connection will hold until the photo is delivered. Ende is one of the main cities on Flores and motorcycles sandwiched with families jostle past us and trucks sardined with passengers weave along the main street. Yance asks us if we would like to stop at the local market and I immediately know that we will like this young man. He advises us to ask permission before taking photos of the people. Alisha has never experienced a market like this one and we wander the local fruit and vegetable market greeting all those who stare at us with a smile and a warm hello.

Garlic or Shallot farmer
Gregarious Pauline



We shake hands and make serious eye contact
Marty at the Ende Market

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














Tiny dried fish
Young man making coconut milk


















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

Men washing clothes in the river
Marty and Alisha, suspension bridge

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

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

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

Stone slab graves, Saga Village
Deana, Yance and Marty, Saga Village

Looking down from the top of Saga Village

Traditional houses in Saga Village
Carving detail

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

Saga Village children
Saga Village woman, chicken and dog

Traditional Saga Village house
Maneuvering back down through Saga Village

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

Afternoon coffee at Deana’s home in Saga Village

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

Panorama view of the rice terraces
Rice terraces on the way to Moni
Rice terraces on the way to Moni

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

Tea on the balcony of our Moni hotel

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

Positive vibes and cold beer at the Moni Restaurant

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

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

Panorama view of sunrise at the Kelemutu Craters

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

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

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

Morning snack vendors
Vermillion sunrise

The sun peeks through the clouds over the Kelemutu Craters

Cloud filled Kelemutu crater
Alisha, cloud filed crater, Kelemutu

Two turquoise water filled Kelemutu craters
Walking back from the Kelemutu craters

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

Bather crossing a bamboo bridge
Alisha and Marty at the Moni waterfall

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

Moni bus passing below our balcony
Breakfast on our balcony, Moni









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

Ende City
Ende City

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

Fishing village and Mosque 

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

Surfside Swing at the Blue Stone Beach
Blue Stone Beach Restaurant
Blue Stone Beach Restaurant

Marty with blue stones
Blue Stone Beach

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

Marty and Alisha

Chicken lunch at Blue Stone Beach

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

Golden hills crossing inland to Riuing
Boys wave from passing truck

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

Afternoon view of the 17 Coral Islands
Island view over Riuing

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

Homes in Riuing Village
The road through Riuing Village

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

Riuing Village girls
Riuing Village children

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

Mangrove passage
Riuing fishing village

Young men and their motorcycles
The Riuing pier

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

Indonesian Adventure – Balinese immersion

Monday, August 7th

This morning’s breakfast is again more than we can comfortably eat. In addition to Balinese coffee and the expected and colorful fruit plates, Wayane, our gummy, cheerful cook has also prepared a plate of small sticky rice tapas, each topped with shredded sweet coconut and palm sugar and cradled within a folded banana leaf boat. She serves these almost as an afterthought, accompanying two plates of Banana crepes and toast.

Sticky rice tapas, banana pancakes and toast

Courtyard garden breakfast

We are on a schedule today and following breakfast, rush to leave our guest house paradise to make the short walk to Tabra’s and from there, stroll down the still sleepy street of Penestanan. We have a cooking class scheduled in a nearby village and will be picked up at the Vespa Cafe at 9:00 A.M. A Balinese couple teaches this class and the wife picks us up and drives us to her compound stopping first at a viewpoint overlooking fields of rice paddies. The flooded fields are a shimmer of silver in the overcast morning light.

Ubud rice terraces

Their family compound is lush with flowering plants and the herbs that they use for cooking.  Ginger, turmeric, wild fern, lemongrass etc. grows in her garden and she picks bits to show us. We taste and smell each carefully and take notes of the medicinal properties and culinary uses. She explains that traditionally 30% of each Balinese family compound is designated for living space, 10% for the family shrine and 60% for the garden. Several generations live together in this compound and we see children coming and going and a few ‘aunts’ and ‘uncles’ in background.

Inside the compound
Floral arrangement and dog

Sleeping pavilion
The family compound chicken

We move from the garden to her outdoor kitchen where cutting blocks and bowls of herbs await us. She patiently instructs us in how to make corn fritters, tuna in coconut milk, Tum Tehu, (steamed tofu in banana leaf), Sweet Tempe and Jukut Urev, mixed vegetables with raw grated coconut. We spend the next 2 ½ hours chopping equal amounts of garlic and shallots and a variety of red peppers. We then take these spices and with mortar and pestle grind into a thick paste. With my hands, I squeeze fresh coconut mixed with water to make coconut milk and Alisha kneads rice flower into fresh corn and the spicy paste we have made. Tabra mashes and mixes the tofu with a different combination of a spice paste and our instructor shows us how to make banana leaf pockets into which we stuff the tofu mixture.

Alisha at the mortar and pestle

Hand washing station

Spices
Mixing ingredients by hand

Tabra and Marty prepping tempe
Marty squeezing coconut milk

Our cooking assistant overseeing the stove
Delicious!

A young woman, the assistant to our cooking instructor tends the wood burning stove and takes our formed balls of corn fritter dough and deep fries them in bubbling coconut oil. She steams the banana leaf wrapped tofu over a contraption of boiling water. Without our teacher to choreograph the process and someone manning the stove, these 5 complicated dishes would take a full day to prep and cook.  Eventually we sit down to a most delicious meal.

Photo of the ‘chefs.’

Our meal finished, our instructor rises to take us on a behind the scenes tour of her family compound. Simultaneously a dozen tourists enter through the front gate. We are surprised and learn that this group is from one of the resorts and have arranged for a walking tour of the village and to eat a home cooked meal in a  traditional Balinese home. They have certainly chosen well because the dishes we just made were mouthwatering and although they will not be cooking theirs, I presume that their meals will be equally delicious.

Waiting for compost scraps
Songbird

We walk through the back garden area, pass three stalls housing two pigs and a cow, a caged rabbit and lines where fresh laundry hangs to dry. She takes us out the back entrance of her compound and walks with us along the street of her village, unspoiled by tourist guest bungalows, yoga and meditation centers or restaurants. We cross over and enter the gates of another family compound where a master artist is instructing a 20 year old man in the art of miniature paintings. Three teen age students are working on detailed pen and ink drawings and a young boy practices on a bamboo xylophone. I notice that two long tables in the back garden are set with a dozen water bottles each and I surmise that the group of tourists now enjoying lunch will later be brought here to admire (and purchase) this artists miniature paintings. This is the beginning of the swell of the tourism tsunami that will sweep through this village over the next few years. The miniatures he paints are exquisite and I buy an intricate painting of exotic Balinese gods.

Student artists
Practicing the xylophone
Village woman with flower offerings
A peaceful village outside of Ubud

It is after 2:00 P.M. when we return to Penestanan and our guest house. We have two delicious hours to enjoy the ambience of our private courtyard garden. The day is hot and humid and Alisha takes a dip in the small, jewel of an infinity pool.

Our guest house pool

Alisha enjoying our guest house pool

Our private cabana
Roof detail

 At 4:30 we walk to Tabra’s work compound, settle finances with her business accountant Made, and from there walk to Lala Lili’s for a disappointing dinner. Ten years ago, Art, John and I stayed in a secluded villa behind the gates of the Lala Lili restaurant. At that time, Lala Lili’s was a tiny cafe and rice paddies stretched as far as one could see in all directions. Today, the restaurant has expanded, most of the rice paddies are gone and in their place are wellness spas, mindful retreat centers, guest houses and restaurants. I know that as a traveler, I am part of the problem but the changes are awful. Balinese culture is based on a form of Hinduism and I find the ’New Age’ explosion in Ubud, distasteful.

Tuesday, August 8th.

I wake shortly after 6:00 A.M. to the crowing of roosters and bird calls. Our courtyard garden is dripping with dew and I am relishing a peaceful hour writing in our misty garden. The milk in our refrigerator has not been replenished and I  make coffee without milk. (All this bounty and I’m complaining about coffee without milk?) Alisha peeks her head from our room and comes to sit with me in the humid cool of the morning. Precisely at 7:30 A.M. Wayane, our toothy and delightful cook opens our courtyard gate and within minutes she has served us strong coffee with milk and sugar and the most beautiful and exotic fruit plates imaginable. Before us are thick purplish red slices of dragon fruit, checkerboard cut mangos, halved mangostiens, papaya and sliced bananas.

Dragon fruit and mangosteen
Sticky rice tapas for breakfast

This alone would have been sufficient but it is followed by a variety of 8 sticky rice tapas arranged in banana boat leaves and topped with shredded coconut with drizzles of palm syrup. Not enough? Before we can stop her she has made nasi-goring topped with a fried egg. Not wanting to hurt her feelings, I waddle away from the table and hand a premeditated tip to her for her welcoming and her over the top service. I tell her it is our last day here and her eyes well with tears and she turns away. I am confused and my first thought is that I have not tipped her adequately. With quivering lips she hugs us both and apologizes for her emotions.

We make our rice paddy walk to Tabra’s house and onto her work compound. As in previous mornings, we see an older Balinese woman carrying flower and incense offerings and watch respectfully as she places the folded banana leaf and flower packets in front of doorways and shrines. With a graceful gesture of her hand she motions the wafting incense towards each intentional spot and we catch the scent of the sweet essence in the clean morning air. At Tabra’s studio, we greet Dekti, sidestep the quiet warning snarls of Tabra’s dog Pumpkin and wait for Dekti’s  father to arrive to drive us into town.

Tabra and her dog Pumpkin. 

At 10:00 A.M.the traffic is already bad and he takes a detour which still takes us over 30 minutes to drive a few short kilometers. Our plan for the day is to start walking up the Monkey Forest road beginning at the entrance to the Sacred Monkey Forest. This is our last day in Bali and Alisha is looking for a few inexpensive souvenirs to bring home to her family. The day is hot and we cross over to the sunny side of the street to shop and to exchange money. I glance over at Alisha and she is pale, sweaty and clammy. I take her heavy back pack so that she can sit down in the tiny claustrophobic Tabac shop while I finish our money exchange. I am suddenly afraid that she might be coming down with a serious tummy bug or flu and we fly to Flores tomorrow. I steer her up the road and into an open air restaurant where she can sit under the rotating fan. After some time in the restroom she returns, sips at her ginger ale and rests her head on the table. I am seriously worried.

45 minutes later with plans to make it back to our hotel directly so Alisha can rest, we walk up the street towards Tabra’s gallery where we will find a taxi to drive us back to Penestanan. On the way, a clothing boutique catches Alisha’s eye and I ask if she wants to look inside? It is cool inside and she looks tentatively through a rack of clothing. I can see she has stopped sweating and her color is coming back and I am hopeful that the episode was caused by the heat, heavy back pack and the claustrophobic space of the Tabac store. Alisha is trying on a scrappy eyelet lace cut dress dress when a group of rude women shoppers enter. The boutique is tiny and I am appalled at their lack of manners. One woman casually flips clutch purses over and unfurls carefully folded merchandise with complete disregard of the mindful display. Her 4 large and loud friends shuffle though the racks of clothing demanding other sizes and although, I can’t identify their language, I am relieved that they are not American. Alisha buys the strappy eyelet lace cut dress and we exit into the heat of the street. Miraculously, she continues to improve and as suddenly as the faintness and nausea came upon her, it is gone. We drop the weighty back pack off at Tabra’s shop and make short forays out from there while Tabra takes care of shop business. Alisha revisits a boutique she stopped in two days ago and tries on several outfits, spinning in a short dress with a beaded tank bra underneath. She is runway perfect and the prices is very reasonable by U.S.A. standards. I don’t discourage her from indulging.

Ubud is a wonderful destination for many travelers, but lest you imagine it as paradise, Ubud is highly congested and there are sidewalks under repair. Motorcycles need gasoline and everyone smokes.

Sidewalk gasstation for motorcycles
Sidewalks under endless repair
Smokers warnings on cigarette packs
Indonesian graffiti 

Alisha is snared by one more boutique and exits with a wonderful wrap around skirt, secured by heavy bronze snaps and the waistband edged with suede leather. The skirt and two butterfly wing cut out shirts later, we exit. With blinders on, we walk the many blocks up to the main artery street in Ubud and left in the direction of the staircase up to Penenstana. We decide to have an early dinner at Café Artist, on a side street, this side of the bridge. We cool down with lemon squashes and Alisha and I order fish and Tabra a vegetarian entree. Although not memorable, dinner is good and a bit subdued since this is our last night with Tabra in Bali. Before catching a taxi home, we stop at the mask shop by the bridge and I buy the wonderful Hanamum (monkey god) mask that I saw several days ago. It is intricately carved and the wood beautifully painted with gilded accents. The salesman packages it carefully in layers of bubble wrap and although not unreasonable in price, because of the size and difficulty in transporting it home, it will be my major purchase for the trip. Back at our guest house, we pack and shower. 3:30 A.M. will come all too early.

Indonesian Adventure – Elephant Caves and the Sacred Monkey Forest

Saturday, August 5th.

The time change from San Francisco to Bali is in our favor and we wake rested and are not suffering jet lag. The manager of our guest house cooks us breakfast in our outdoor kitchen and we enjoy eating an artfully arranged fruit platter, succulent banana pancakes and a vegetarian omelette overlooking the lush jungle beyond.  We hurry along the path to meet Tabra at her house and from there walk to Vespa Café to meet our driver for our trip to the Tegenungan waterfalls, the Elephant Cave and the Water Temple. Because we know we will have a trek down into the grotto at the Elephant cave, we only view the waterfall from afar. There are families below on the rocks enjoying the cooling splash of the falls and were Alisha here with her family, I know they would have made the long climb down the stairway to the falls. Tabra and I however need to save our energy. 

Tegenungan Waterfall

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

Tattooed Man with python

Alisha with the Tattooed Man and his python

A python’s embrace
Beautiful Alisha in a python’s embrace

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

Mouth to the Elephant Cave, Goa Gajah
Alter within the Elephant Cave

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

Goa Gajah Grotto
Alisha in the Goa Gajah grotto
Goa Gajah park

Goa Gajah grotto
Goa Gajah grotto

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

Refreshments
Tourist shops, Goa Gajah
Sacred bathing pools, Goa Gajah
Goa Gajah Temple grounds
Elephant carving, Goa Gajah

Garuda temple god.

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

Bone carving shop in Tampaksiring

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

Restaurant  cafe
Lili pads

Restaurant seating

Koi pond

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

Curry soup 
Barbecue squid

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

Made helps Alisha with her sarong
Temple goddess

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

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

Men, Pura Tirta Empul
Devotees, Pura Tirta Empul

Pura Tirta Empul

Temple grounds, Pura Tirta Empul

Sacred spring, Pura Tirta Empul
Sacred spring, Pura Tirta Empul

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

Rice paddies, Penestanan 
Rice paddies, Penestanan
Detail, rice paddies

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

Sunday, August 6th
If it’s possible, this morning we enjoy an even more elaborate and delicious breakfast than yesterday. At 7:30 a.m. our courtyard gate opens quietly and a gregarious woman of undetermined age enters. Alisha is sill dressing in our room but our morning chef greets me happily with a gummy crooked smile offset by a few stray teeth.

Wayan, our guest house cook
Breakfast in our garden courtyard

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

Penestanan pathway
Morning in Penestanan

Ganesh
Morning walk, Penestanan

Rice fields, Penestanan
Offerings

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

Tabra, feeding the local dog
Penestanan wall dog
A new way to display sunglasses

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

Tabra, lunch in Ubud
Alisha and Tabra, lunch in Ubud

Lemon Squash, lunch in Ubud

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

Tabra’s Gallery and sales team

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

Marty, Sacred Monkey Forest grotto
Alisha, monkey business

Alisha, Monkey Forest grotto
Tabra, Monkey Forest grotto

Komodo Dragon carving
Komodo Dragon grotto
Carvings, Monkey Forest
Serpent carving, Monkey Forest

Erotic carving on upper terrace
Serpent carvings, Monkey Forest

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

Monkeys, Sacred Monkey Forest
Mother and baby monkey

Alisha, Monkeying around
Alisha, Monkeying around

Got bananas?
Venerable monkey

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

Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali
Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali
Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali

Kecak dance, Ubud, Bali
Entry of Hanamun

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

Indonesian Adventure – Bali Unfolds

Indonesian Adventure, August, 2017 
On August 1, Tuesday morning, I pull our flight itinerary out for the umpteenth time and ask my husband Art to verify once again that our August 3rd flight at 1:00 A.M. means that we must arrive at the San Francisco airport late on Wednesday night?
Both Tuesday and Wednesday vanish in a blur of list checking and note writing to Art, Jackie and Lisa so that the Marty Magic business might continue without many hiccups in Alisha’s and my absence. Alisha is checking off her own lists and writing pages of instructions to Sterling and three sets of grandparents who will relay Molly and Sterling to and from summer camps and junior lifeguard.
Wednesday evening at 7:30 p.m. Art and I pick up Alisha from her downtown Santa Cruz Victorian. Art voices concern about the parts of our Indonesian itinerary where Alisha and I will be alone in remote parts of the Flores countryside and I admit that I am slightly anxious about the one night we will spend alone on the boat offshore from Komodo Island. Art, John and I shared a similar experienced  10 years ago but I was with my two men and it will be just Alisha and me on this adventure, alone overnight on the small wooden boat with only our captain and fishermen crew. This will be my third trip to Bali a familiar and safe destination, especially since we will be spending much of our time with my good friend Tabra in her village Penestanan outside of Ubud. The Flores leg of our trip will be more remote and I have arranged for an English speaking driver to escort us around the island. On the way to the airport, we stop at Nijiya the Japanese market and Art stocks up on kimchi, curry and mochi. As much as Alisha and I are looking forward to a mother and daughter adventure, Art is looking forward to being on his own the 16 days we are away.
I insist that we arrive at the airport more than the required 3 hours in advance which proves to be a good thing. The EVA air check in line is already hundreds of passengers long. Our flight goes through Taipei, Taiwan and it is obvious that many passengers are heading home, each accompanied by multiple suitcases and well secured boxes. Once checked in we move to the security line and after 45 minutes, reach the end of the zig zag rope maze, pass our carry on luggage through the security scans and pop out at the gates. It’s already after 11:00 P.M. and my previous vision of a relaxing dinner prior to our boarding is no longer a reality. Within minutes, we realize that even grabbing a sandwich may be an impossibility and we rush down the concourse to the only eatery still open. It will close at 11:30 P.M. so we quickly choose our pre made sandwiches and grab 2 tiny bottles of white wine from the shelf. $36.00 later, we sit by the gate to eat our gourmet dinner. (I have no idea that two weeks hence, I will wish for a meal this delicious.)

SFO Airport, Waiting for our plane to board

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

Starbucks Coffee at the Taipei Airport
‘Pork Bun’ rest and meditation area.
Kids play area, Taipei Airport

Old School reading room, Taipei 

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

Bali Mountaintop piercing the clouds

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

Mosquito netting
Room view from our private courtyard

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

Dinner at Moksa
An array of dishes
Moksa crepes

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

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

Wine Tasting in the Guadalupe Valley

Tuesday, May 23, Guadalupe Valley Wine Tasting and Border Crossing at Tecate.
A family style breakfast is served at 7:30 A.M. in the large dining hall. The self serve coffee is weak but the omelet’s are loaded with bacon, vegetables and ample cheese. When I’m in the U.S.A. I avoid red meat and pork, but am not a fussy traveler and I enjoy the hearty morning fare. A serving bowl of cubed watermelon and plates of toast are passed around the table. 
Marty on the Porch of the Original Meling Ranch Farmhouse
Horned Lizard, Meling Ranch
Closeup of Horned Lizard
While Art packs, I settle the very reasonable bill. Our room was $66 dollars, lunch $2 each, dinner $15 each and breakfast $8 each. The tequila shots were $3 each, the beer $1 and the half bottle of wine free. I leave a generous tip in the community tip can and Art takes photos of me on the front porch of the original Meling Ranch house. He calls attention to a horned lizard warming itself in the morning sun and I tiptoe close so as not to frighten it and take many photos, moving closer with each shot. As a young girl, camping and living with my parents in the California deserts, my father would frequently bring me a transient horned lizard as a pet. The rules that were we never kept these wild creatures more than a day or two but I could be entertained for hours with a horned toad lizard as my companion. I would sit in the dirt, cradle the lizard upside down in the palm of my small hand and stroke it’s belly.  There are not many things softer or plumper than a lizard belly and horned lizards are extremely docile and will fall asleep in this position. Feeding time was another favorite activity of mine, although, the ants certainly did not feel the same way. I would crouch in the dirt near an ant hill, lizard in one hand and tweezers in the other and snatch ants from the army and offer the wiggling insect to the lizard. The lizards would chow down greedily and consume dozens of ants at each feeding. 
The drive back down the mountain to the main highway takes an hour. We pass a snake in the road and stop to investigate. It is not injured but warming itself on the pavement and we encourage it to move to a safer basking ground. We pass several other snakes, also basking on the pavement and I want to rescue them all but Art is anxious to get mileage traction and there is virtually no traffic on this mountain road. We presume that just as we see the snakes far in advance and swerve to avoid them, others will do so too. When we reach Highway 1, we drive North towards Ensenada. In the sprawling outskirts of Ensenada, we look for the turn off to Highway 3 North towards Tecate but get confused and mistakingly follow signs for Highway 3 South. After much confusion and some disharmony, we get back on route, pass through the heart of the Ensenada tourist district and find the correct Highway 3 turn junction on the Northern side of Ensenada. 
Within a few minutes we are in the heart of the Guadalupe Valley. At almost every dirt road and intersection there are uniform blue signs pointing to the wineries along the road. We do not have a wine guide or map and are clueless about which ones to visit. After our unplanned Ensenada detour we are both feeling annoyed and  frustrated but before we blow past all of the wineries, I insist that Art pull over. He turns off onto a dirt road with several blue signs and “suggests” that I drive. I head back along the highway about a mile and randomly choose a road with an abundance of blue signs pointing to various wineries. We park in the vacant parking lot of one and stroll from the parking lot along the edge of a picturesque vineyard and into their upscale tasting room. It is nearly 3:00 P.M. and we want lunch as well as wine tastings but their restaurant is closed during the week. The woman directs us to the Finca Altozano winery and restaurant a mile back on Highway 3 and gives me, what will prove to be a rare wine guide and map.  We retrace our route and spot the blue sign at the dirt road where Art pulled off earlier. A mile down the dirt road we arrive at the restaurant. 
Finca Altozano Restaurant and Vineyard
Finca Altozano Restaurant
The moment we walk into the stylish open air restaurant overlooking acres of vineyards, our aggravations over missed turns and with each other, abate. It is after 3:00 P.M. and there are a dozen patrons enjoying good food and the ambience of this casual open air restaurant.
Finca Altozano Kitchen
We are handed weighty menus and an extensive wine list and peruse our options carefully. The caramelized brussels sprouts, field green salad with local goat cheese and the house made sausage call to us. Art adds a fresh pasta dish to our order and I choose a glass of Torres Alegre French Colombard- Chenin Blanc. Since Art is designated driver, i am designated wine drinker, but he shares sips of the Colombard and my subsequent glass of Guadalupe Valley Pinot Noir. The meal is extraordinary and the wine paring perfect and our afternoon blissful. 
Field Greens and Goat Cheese
Caramelized Brussels Sprouts 
Although we can buy the Torres Alegre wine here, we set out in search of the vineyard, stopping at two other tasting rooms along the way.  At Torres Alegre, we share in a wine tasting and purchase two  bottles of the Colombard to take home. The Vintner seems only slightly disappointed that he doesn’t sell us higher end bottles but we are both smitten with this crisp sweet wine and there is a 1000 ml. limit on Alcohol brought from Mexico into the U.S.A. 
Torres Alegre Vineyard
Torres Alegre Wine Tasting Room
We pass through Tecate shortly after 6:00 P.M. The border crossing is a breeze and we wait less than 10 minutes to pass. We declare our two bottles of wine and are waved through. An hour later we reach San Diego and check into a budget hotel along the Hotel Circle Drive. 
We take two more days to drive between San Diego and Santa Cruz. We spend one afternoon visiting a friend in Tustin and an evening with friends in Victorville. Our final day driving between Victorville and up interstate 5 is long and tedious and in spite of the wide highway, I find sharing the road with endless rushing semi-trucks stressful. We  arrive home safely, Thursday evening at 7:00 P.M. 

The Meling Ranch – A Trip Back in Time

Monday, May 22nd, San Quintin to the Meling Ranch
I take advantage of the hotel’s wi-fi and in spite of Art’s quiet grumbling, I make a reservation for tonight at the Meling Ranch at the foot of the San Pedro Martir National Park. In 1932 my father, who was not quite 15 years old, went with his father, a professor of romance languages at Pomona College, on a trip to the Meling Ranch in Northern Baja. My grandfather was needed as translator for Professor A.O.”Woody,” a geologist who was doing field work in the rugged ranges above the ranch. My father’s extended stay there and the field trips he went on from there were what inspired him to become a geologist. Having heard numerous stories about his experiences at the ranch and his continued connection to the area over decades, I want to visit it first hand and continue the family tradition.
Turn off to the Meling Ranch Founded in 1910
Road Down to the Meling Ranch

After packing up, Art and I drive an hour north from San Quintin; stop for breakfast and fill up with gas before we turn off at San Telemo to drive to the Meling Ranch. It takes us an hour and a half to drive 50 kilometers along the ascending winding road but we arrive at the ranch before noon. The Meling Ranch was founded in 1910 and is a 10,000 acre working cattle ranch with few yuppy amenities. It is a step back in time guest ranch that has been passed down through generations.
Meling Ranch Dining Room
Meling Ranch Hearth

We park and walk towards the one sign that indicate “office;” a large communal dining room with an immense copper hooded hearth and long wood hewn tables that can accommodate many guests. A cheerful, Spanish speaking only cook is in the kitchen when we arrive and I struggle to communicate. Ten minutes later, she points us to room number 5, a short walk from the main dining hall. Our room is quaint, simple and comfortable with a king size bed and a private bathroom.  Art retires to the room to rest while I explore the grounds. Nowadays there is a pool, an expansive lawn and with advanced reservations, one can arrange for early morning activities. Horse back riding trips are only $15 an hour and there are guided trips into the national park and up to the observatory.
Meling Ranch Guest Rooms
Hot Dog on the Meling Ranch Porch

Communication is difficult since minimal English is spoken but I arrange for a 1:30 lunch in the picturesque dining room. My tostada and Art’s burrito are delicious but I have no idea how much these will cost? (when I pay the bill the following morning, I am charged $2.00 each for our meals:) 
Sierra San Pedro Martir National Park
The afternoon is hot but I insist on driving up to the San Pedro Martir National Park, another 50 kilometer ascent up the winding, cliff hanging road. Gratefully, we do not pass any other vehicles on this precarious road and we arrive at the national park an hour later. We sign the register and pay our 64 pesos each to continue into the arid pine forest park. The park pamphlet informs us that condors and big horned sheep reside here. I wish to visit the observatory at 10,157 feet which is the second most important observatory in Latin America but we find that the gates are padlocked and that visiting hours ended at 1:00 P.M. Disappointed, we drive back slowly, taking a few dirt road bypasses in hopes of catching a breathtaking view of the valley below. At the visitors center, I stop to ask about hiking trails and find myself out of breath and this door padlocked as well. It takes a few synapses for me to understand why I feel so light headed; sea level to 10,000 feet in just a few hours. 
View of the Valley Below
Detail of a Pine Tree

Back at the Meling Ranch, Art rests before dinner. I wander into the vacant dining room, hoping to buy a glass of wine with intentions of relaxing outside on the grassy lawn, sipping wine and writing this blog. In broken English, I am informed that there is just 1/2 bottle of already open wine available. Last night, eight Swiss guests purchased the only three available bottles. Somewhat desperate, I ask to buy the half open bottle and it is handed to me free of charge. It’s not awful and Art and I share the meager allotment before dinner.

At 6:30 p.m. a dinner gong sounds and the few ranch guests gravitate towards the communal dining room. I envy the party of 8 Swiss travelers who have brought a large box of red table wine to share. (I eye the volume label on the box which lists 32 glasses.) The previous night this group of Swiss travelers depleted the Meling Ranch of it’s meager stash of 3 bottles of wine but they were wise enough to bring a back up. We are all sitting together at a long dining table but unfortunately, they don’t offer us a glass of their boxed wine in spite of my flippant mention that they consumed all of the ranch’s available wine the previous night. The night is warm and I am more or less satiated with a beer. The ranch has a finger or two of tequila on it’s shelf and Art and I order after dinner shots of tequila. Had we known that the ample shots of tequila were only $3.00 each, we might have indulged until the bottle was empty. 

San Ignacio to San Quintin

Sunday, May 21st, San Ignacio to Catavina to San Quintin
Baja Cactus

Baja Cactus
White Knuckling Drive – Sharing the Highway with Big Rig Trucks
Today is another long haul along a white knuckle two lane highway with big rigs coming straight towards us with just inches to pass. The scenery however is jaw dropping and Art and I laugh at the quirky and diverse ‘Dr.Seuss’ cactus that scroll by our window. We stop several times to immerse and inspect the unusual vegetation along this route. Fields of a pinkish red ground cover blanket hillsides and on a closer inspection, this ground cover consists of millions of flower buds, each with many corpulent pustules bursting with liquid and beauty. How on earth does the desert capture this much liquid to supply these fields of succulent blossoms? 
Pink Succulent Ground Cover
Detail of Succulent Blossom

Catavina is a dot on the Baja map in a breathtakingly beautiful rocky valley of immense boulders and rock piled hillsides. Hotel Mission Catavina, the only hotel, is a comfortable modern oasis in the middle of nowhere. Although not particularly charming it offers air conditioned comfort; a pool, bar and restaurant. We are a bit road weary and would like to call it a day but we have a tentative date to meet with Fred and Cheryl in San Quintin tonight. After a 30 minute break for the bathroom at the hotel and snacks at a local market, we power on.
Catavina Boulders and Cactus
Baja Cactus

We arrive on the Pacific side of Baja in San Quintin by 6:00 P.M. I spot the sign for the El Jardine Hotel and Art turns off and drives the mile long dirt road, fringed with nopale cactus farms.
Nopale Cactus Farm, San Quintin
We stayed here in January of 2016 and it was lovely; manicured grounds, secure parking, comfortable rooms, nice restaurant and bar and reasonable prices. Unfortunately they are fully booked tonight but I ask the desk attendant how to get to the Wagon Wheel Hotel? He looks confused and suggests that I might be inquiring about the Old Mill Hotel? I quickly agree, realizing that I have incorrectly pictured a wheel rather than a wind mill. He directs us to the Old Mill, several miles away and when we arrive, we see Fred and Cheryl unloading their truck and settling into their simple room. The manager welcomes us with gusto, offers us free beers as a welcome drink but I boldly ask for margaritas instead. We settle into a worn but clean $50 room and are soon sitting outside our respective doors drinking our welcome Margaritas with Fred and Cheryl. The Old Mill sits directly on the inlet bay and Art and I wander down to the waterfront; embrace the touristy and tattered shark sculpture and an hour later, join Fred and Cheryl for dinner at the Old Mill Hotel. The gregarious and now quite drunk manager is also the cook but he has a gourmet flare and he prepares the four of us surprisingly good dinners!
Tattered and Tacky Shark Sculpture
The Manager and Cook, The Old Mill

Fishermen Enjoying drinks, Old Mill

Bay of Conception to San Ignacio

Saturday, May 20th. Loretto, the Bay of Conception and onto San Ignacio.
After sharing an omelet in a cafe across from the Loreto Cathedral, Art and I begin our drive to San Ignacio. 
Loreto Town Square
Green Archway, Loreto

There is a military check point a few miles outside of Loreto and as we approach, we watch a couple, two cars ahead during their inspection. They are asked to step out of the car and Art comments that the man looks like Fred, a Zacatitos neighbor of ours. When it is our turn, we are also asked to get out of the car and our vehicle is carefully inspected. The two police go through our glove box, console, tap on door panels and rummage through bags of snacks. They are most interested in the cooler and a partial bottle of wine and in retrospect, perhaps we should have just offered the wine to them? One soldier questions me outside the right front of of our vehicle and the other questions Art at the left rear of the vehicle. Do I have any drugs or guns? Where are we going and where have we been? I do not feel particularly anxious but it is the most through inspection we’ve encountered. They do not inspect my purse or either Art’s or my luggage but we watch soldiers take a screw driver and prod the panels of the car adjacent to ours. As we drive away from the checkpoint we see Fred’s and Cheryl’s truck stopped at a turn out and Art pulls over. We all laugh at the coincidence of meeting and decide to connect two night hence at the El Jardine Hotel in San Quintin. Fred mentions that should the El Jardine be fully booked, their back up hotel is the Old Mill. 
Dirt Road down to a deserted beach, Conception Bay
Conception Bay Beach

Art and I drive on and enjoy a fabulous morning stopping at deserted beaches along the Bay of Conception. The water is the color of Paraiba Tourmaline, each cove more beautiful and intoxicating than the last. We choose one beach with a dirt access road dropping down to a white pristine sand beach. We park on the hard packed sand of this crescent bay, alone and amazed at the isolated beauty. It is truly paradise and we wade into the crystal clear and bathwater warm water. 
Conception Bay Beach
We stop again a few miles further along to explore a secluded mangrove forest. This beach is pebbly and we walk carefully along a shallow breakwater out to a mangrove island. The water is ankle deep and the submerged rocks are slippery and our footsteps startle small rays buried in sandy spots in the shallow water. The pristine, pebbly shoreline is littered with bleached and broken shells. One could spend days along the Conception Bay, camping, kayaking and beach walking.
Art walking a natural beach breakwater
Startled Ray in the shallow water.

Mangrove Beach, Conception Bay
Rocky Mangrove Beach

We tear ourselves away from the magic of the Conception Bay beaches and drive onto Mulege at the north end of the bay and detour into Mulege for lunch. We spent the night here on our road trip down a year and a half ago and return to the same “Gringo” restaurant and share a Thai vegetable and chicken stir fry. Although tasty enough, it’s more like an iItalian stir fry and the vegetables are  seriously lacking. From Mulege we wind inland and arrive in the Oasis town of San Ignacio by 3:00 P.M. 

We are seriously tempted to push on to San Quintin but San Ignacio is preparing for a fiesta tonight. A sound stage, tables and chairs are being set up in the Zocalo and we inquire and learn that the festivities will start at 10:00 P.M. and the party will continue until early morning. We decide that we will stay the night if we can find a hotel? Just a block away from the Zocalo is a brand new hotel with a $39 rate for a king sized bed in a spacious and immaculate room. We relax in our air-conditioned room, check e-mail and F.B. and take late afternoon naps in preparation for tonight’s fiesta. Caged peacocks are a dubious feature of this hotel and their blood curdling cry pierce out afternoon naps. 
We wake about 8:00 P.M., shower and dress for the fiesta and walk into town to find dinner. There are just two restaurants choices and we opt for ‘Victors’, to the left of the Cathedral. We sit at one of their three  outdoor white plastic tables and I order a glass of red wine and Art a margarita. Regretfully, we do not take the waiters suggestion of the freshly caught fish but choose to share fish and shrimp tacos. Although the food is disappointing we are in good spirits and move across the street to a bench in the Zocalo and watch the unfolding of the fiesta. 
Fiesta Time, San Ignacio
Dancing at the San Ignacio Fiesta
San Ignacio Fiesta
This event is a family affair and packs of children cavort and couples walk arm in arm, most of the women wearing unbearably high heels and many of the men sporting cowboy hats and boots. Young men lean nonchalantly against their trucks watching the girls and drinking beer. Groups of shy teens at the beginning of the evening pair off as the night progresses and there is love and promise in the warm night air. Initially, there are speeches, presumably tedious, but perhaps I should not surmise this since my Spanish is minimal. Eventually the dancing begins and most of the couples are well versed in dancing to what i would describe as “Mexican Polka music.” Art and I dance some but even in my flat sandals, I seem to have two left feet when it comes to keeping step with this music. It is 1:30 A.M. before we tire and walk back to our hotel to drift off to the distant music from the Zocalo and the occasional screams of the caged hotel peacocks. We are told that the fiesta will continue until 4:00 a.m. or 5:00 a.m. 

La Paz to Loreto

Friday, May 19th – La Paz to Loreto
Morning along the La Paz Malecon
Pearl Monument, La Paz

In spite of our ‘alarming’ and interrupted night’s sleep, I feel rested and look forward to our long drive to Loreto. We are showered, dressed and walking the malecon by 7:30 A.M. but the cafes won’t open until 8:00 A.M. At 8:00 a.m. we choose the only open cafe and are soon sipping on our respective cappuccino and espresso and sharing a vegetable omelet.  Although both La Paz and Loreto are on the Sea of Cortez, the only highway connecting the two winds inland and north through Ciudad Constitution and Ciudad Insurgents. It’s a long haul and we make a lunch stop in Ciudad insurgents, fill up with gas and continue onward. Having heard that there is considerable military and police presence there, Art is happy to be through these two cities without incident. The two lane highway winds back through the high desert and pops out on the dramatic coastline just below Loreto. The view is stunning with Islands floating offshore in the brilliant blue Sea of Cortez. 
View Point – Sea of Cortez
It is not quite 3:00 p.m. when we near Loreto and we have time to visit the San Xavier Mission, 35 kilometers into the rugged mountains above Loreto. We stop at view points along the winding mountain road and an hour later, arrive at the picturesque oasis village of San Xavier and visit the beautiful stone mission, founded in 1699. 
San Xavier Mission

Alter, San Xavier Mission
Marty, San Xavier Mission

The single street of the village is paved with cobblestones; there are two or three restaurants, a simple guest house and flowers bloom in every garden.  After visiting the mission, we drive a few back roads behind the village, ford a trickle of a creek and get a sense of the place. 
Back Roads behind San Xavier Mission
Because our return road trip is off season and our schedule is flexible so we have not made advanced hotel reservations along the way. I drive us into the heart of Loreto; Art pops out and inquires about rates and availability at a hotel a block from the Loreto mission; $40 for the night. Before committing we decide to see if La Damiana Inn has availability, which they do, and we pay the ‘exorbitant’  price of $50 for a darling two room guest cottage in their courtyard garden. There are inviting hammocks, wrought iron tables, and an outdoor kitchen with coffee and a jug of hibiscus tea for the guests. We made reservations here for January of 2017 and stayed in a two bedroom upstairs room on our road trip down with John and Will. The Inn was full then but tonight, only one other couple is booked here. 
Our La Damiana Casita
Our La Damiana Casita

Shared Kitchen, La Damiana Inn, Loreto
After checking e-mail, Art and I wander out to the Zocalo, just steps away from La Damiana Inn and begin our search for dinner. We wander the three blocks down to the water and stroll along the quiet waterfront. The early evening light casts a golden glow on the street and the Sea of Cortez reflects a steely blue. We choose a corner restaurant and have a quiet but decent dinner. Our margaritas are a far cry from the strong ones at Zac’s that are made with fresh lime and Controy, (the Mexican version of the French liquor, Cointreau,) and in my case jalapeños, but my fresh fish and sautéed vegetables and Art’s seafood pasta are both good. 

Baja Road Trip Home – Zacatitos to La Paz

Good Bye to our Zacatitos Friends
Wednesday, May 17th – Art and I host an evening party at our small Casita to say goodby to many of our Zacatitos friends. The tequila shots flow freely, the conversation is lively and we enjoy our 360 degree view of ocean and desert for the last time this season. 
Zacatitos Mountain Sunset
Thursday, May 18th – Zacatitos to La Paz
None the worse for wear, even after last night’s party, Nancy accompanies me into San Jose to pick up a mosaic mirror and small side table that I spotted the previous day at Tienda 17. Art and I stow the new furniture in the Cactus Corner Casita and busy ourselves with the shutting down of our two properties.

We pull out of Zacatitos at 2:30 P.M. for the 3 hour drive to La Paz. Art drives the toll road towards Cabo San Lucas and then on towards Todo Santos. Our stomachs reminds us that we haven’t eaten all day and we stop in the sleepy town of Pescadero, a few miles south of Toto Santos and share a plate of chicken enchiladas. I drive from here and an hour and a half later we arrive in the outskirts of La Paz. La Paz is a big sprawling city and the traffic is confusing. I nearly side swipe a scooter and minutes later, I miss a 4 way stop sign. Art snaps directions at me and I make my way along one way streets towards the Malecon. Miraculously, minutes later we arrive at La Pearl Hotel safety, check in and our car is valet parked. Ocean View La Pearl Hotel is no spring chicken but the rooms are spacious and clean, the location is ideal and our car is secure. I packed a small cooler and thermos with last nights left over margaritas and Art and I head for the view deck overlooking the Malacon. Art sips his margarita and I pour a glass of wine but the plastic cup I have brought along is somehow tainted, making my wine undrinkable. it is 5:30 P.M. and the Malacon below is gearing up for the evening crowd. We watch a man below set out easels, stools, coloring sheets and paint in anticipation of parents paying the ticket price for their child to paint. A bicycle rally peddles by with a white mule pulled in a cart as a mascot and flanked both front and rear by a police escort. The sun dips low over the bay of La Paz that culminates in a glorious vermillion sunset. 
La Paz Malecon View from Hotel La Pearl
The evening is balmy and the light magical as Art and I stroll along the Malecon, people watching and taking our time to choose the perfect restaurant for tonights dinner. We eventually choose what looks to be a promising sushi restaurant but have the worst possible dining experience. The drinks are terrible, the sushi disappointing and the cool Thai salad we anticipated is smothered with hot thai noodles that wilt the lettuce. 100% awful.  The sunset however, ranks a ten and in spite of the dinner, we remain in good spirits and stroll back to our hotel. 
Terrace Sunset View – La Paz
We are both exhausted and look forward to a good night’s sleep. About 1:00 A.M. an alarm sounds. I startle from good dreams and not wanting to ignore a possible fire alarm, jump out of bed and peek out into the hallway. Art peers out our third floor window and announces that the alarm is sounding from the bank next door. Relieved, I snuggle back in bed, the alarm is eventually turned off but just as I am drifting back to sleep it sounds again. The bank alarm goes off many times over the next several hours.