Dear LA Apartment

I know you think I don’t love you anymore but I do.  I love the new yellow walls in the bathroom, and the burnished bronze fixtures. I know it was a little painful getting rid of the old stuff but you look so good now.  I love the shelf in the kitchen with that perfectly polished piece of plexi the boys in the shop cut for us.  Not to be too risqué, I love the bed most off all.  Plush.  Fluffy.  Sumptuous.  Bed.  I dream of your bed and the fact that I don’t have to share you with anyone.  I  can nestle in its comforting soft goods for days and no one will interrupt us.  On occasion bed and I even share a pint of ice cream.  Oh, your bed is the best. 

I am writing to you from Maui.  I am sharing a room with my friend Jami.  Don’t worry, we are just friends.  I’m not going to leave you.  Especially after having spent every waking hour with my friend for the last 4 days.  You know how much I love my privacy LA Ap, you know.  That is not to say that we aren’t having fun, but no cottage, no couch, no seat in a plane can compare with you.  I see you each time I close my eyes.  Blue walls, red couch, black framed photos, hardwood floors.  I hear you in those moments of quiet solitude when I am either alone, or my friend and I are in time out.  I think of exactly where I am going to put my new souvenirs when I get back to you.  Oh, LA Ap, I miss you.

But let’s not be maudlin or dwell on what is yet to come (3 more days until at last we reunite).  Let us discuss the good things in where we have been.  You’ve had some alone time to work on yourself.  The exterminator may have come.  Perhaps you’ve had a checkup from the apartment manager?  I’ve been places and seen things.  I have been on A LOT of airplanes.  Today I did both.  We left the Big Island at 7am and got to Maui at 9am.  Then there was a lot of driving to be done – we covered the entire eastern part of the island. A little under 10 hours of driving for Jami.  She always liked to drive (I blame her twin sister’s early commandeering of the family vehicle for this).  I figure she will let me know when she wants to rest.  We visited a red sand beach on our quest to see all 5 colors before we head back to O’ahu.  We visited Charles Lindbergh’s grave.  She drove one of the craziest roads in Hawai’i. We bought t-shirts.  It was a very full day.

Tomorrow we are getting up ridiculously early to go watch the sunrise from the top of the volcano/mountain at Haleakela National Park (Apartment, I love that you don’t judge me for my inability to spell).  I promise you this, when we are huddled in a car while wearing all of the clothes that we have brought with us on this trip to keep from freezing, I will be thinking of you.

Yours, always,

LO

Of lava, cool to the touch

Today was the day.  Today was the day this Midwesterner was going to see lava.  It was going to be epic.  I was going to see heat rising from orange ropes of liquid hot magma.  I would hear the hiss of the steam created when the lava met the sea.  At night, I would eat s’mores by the glow of the cooling seepage.  Not so much.

 I am here to tell you that even though the volcano is technically erupting the only observable surface activity at this moment is a smoking cinder cone and some kind of cool steam vents.  That is not to say that this leg of the trip has been a bust.  Oh contrare mon frair. Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park is awesome to its smoking core.  There are massive craters here (one of which is admittedly a dud) where you can see the edges of lava lakes.  There are hollow lava tubes you can explore Indiana Jones style.  You can hike to the end of the road, which is not actually where the road ends so much as where the road becomes buried under lava and is impassable by vehicle.  You can hike over a lot of the cooled lava which looks like giant welds over a lunar landscape. The view from the cliffs is pretty spectacular as well.  The park is worth the price of admission and worth the hassle of a flight from Honolulu.

Activities outside of the park today involved checking out the Mona Lau macadamia nut factory, a black sand beach and a waterfall.  The driveway to the factory is three miles long and takes you through a macadamia plantation.  Every few hundred feet there are little fun facts posted along the road classic Bryl Cream ad style.  You can also take a factory tour but it was closed for the day.  I felt cheated as this was as close as I would ever get to reenacting the key scenes of my favorite character from Willy Wonka – Veruca Salt.  Such is life.

Then it was off to a beach for a little more sand larceny and a turtle sighting.  Sand larceny you say? Fine, more like petty theft but larceny has such a dramatic ring to it.  While many places state you should “leave only footprints, take only memories (or photos or whatever)” I have yet to see such a sign in Hawai’i.  We did hear tell of such a sign implying a large fine for those apprehended in the act of relocating sand from the beach to an unspecified location.  However since that sign was never viewed by myself or my companion its existence remains hearsay.

The waterfall was lovely but a bit of a cheat as far as such things go.  This may sound odd coming from me, but I think waterfalls are something you have to earn.  You need to drive out of your way or hike a mile or solve pi to the 7 digit or something.  This waterfall, Rainbow Falls, required driving 2 minutes off a well-marked road to a parking lot and walking 15 feet.  Even the stairs to get to the top of the fall were  easy to navigate.  Such victories just feel hollow.  The pictures are nice though.

Laundry duty called us back to the lodge early tonight as we fly out to Maui tomorrow bright and early and really needed to wash yesterday’s adventure off our clothes before we packed.  Those of you paying special attention may notice I said Maui and not Kaua’i.  Slight change of plans. You see Maui is where the other national park is.

Victory or Death!

Jami and I headed to the Big Island today in search of volcanoes and adventure.  We found both.  We are just that good.

The airport was a little exercise in not slapping a customer service representative even though they really deserved it.  A couple changed tickets, seat reassignments, and plans to call the hotline and complain later and we were on our way.  The airport on the Big Island is tiny and not completely walled in. If anyone has ever been a mall in Florida or California it is a lot like that.

Once we had picked up our luggage and our car it was time to get the show on the road.  Volcanoes National Park get ready for trouble.  Trouble in the form of two Midwestern gals in a Scion.  One of the coolest things about this particular part of the trip is that I get to stay in lodging in the park.  Not just any lodging, military camp lodging.  Lodging that I wouldn’t normally have access to.  Also, this camp was used to house prisoners of war during WWII.  It is much nicer now.

Here is where the adventure kicks in:  it’s a little late in the day so we decide to save Volcanoes NP for tomorrow and head out on a little sightseeing/sand gathering mission.  This would almost lead to our doom.

Technically the road that leads to the places we want to go is not to be driven on by rental cars.  The map clearly says “Do not drive on this road”.  This should have been a clear clue to us not to go here.  However, we are both fairly stubborn in our own ways so we said screw it.  We passed an old wind farm, a new wind farm, the detritus of the old Pacific Missile Command, and finally got to the southernmost tip of the US.  Eat your heart out Florida.  The cliffs were steep and it was windy but also really gorgeous.  Phase one of the mission completed it was time to move on to the next step.

Normally I am not much of a hiker.  I have made attempts in the past.  Mostly when it involved boys.  I have already told Jami that she should feel honored I even attempted the hike I am about to describe considering I had nothing to gain.

As we parked at the trailhead we ran into a few people who had finished the hike.  They looked wiped out but assured us as we passed “it was worth it.” In all of my guidebooks the hike was described as long and undulating.  About halfway in Jami admitted her books called it treacherous.  The 2 ½ mile hike itself is actually no big deal.  Then you get to the payoff and you are done for.  At the end of the trail is a set of two adjacent coves.  The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is emerald sand.  To get to the sand you have to climb down into the coves. The most sand is in the big cove just off the trail.  The sand we collected was from the small cove down the grassy, rocky, steep side.  This is best done at low tide.  It was done by us as the tide was coming in.  At this point I will say only that both Jami and I survived the unintentional swim we took, and as a bonus my phone and camera also survived.  Jami’s did not.  We got the sand.  We also were a little delirious and a lot wet as we slogged the 2 ½ miles back to the car. 

But we both agreed, it was totally worth it.

Back to work, er, vacation...

Some of you may have noticed that I didn’t post anything yesterday.  Was I having computer issues.  Was I too busy?  Nope.  I took the day off.  Did you know you could do that on vacation?  Well, I am here to confirm you absolutely can.  After 3 weeks of constant sightseeing and moving about the Pacific Rim I pulled the covers over my head and slept til noon.  Then I went to the movies.  That was my entire day (except for a wee little run to a Destroyer).  I didn’t even take any photos.  It was a pretty excellent day altogether.

And today?  More of the same?  Uh uh.  Back to the business of travel.   I met up with a friend and took a little tour of the North Shore.  Now, I don’t know about the rest of you but my visions of the North Shore are based almost entirely upon the cheesey Nia Peeples movie North Shore.  Never heard of it? Shame on you it is a classic, 1987 style.  It is also a bit misleading.  For example, the movie takes place in the summer but the waves suck in the summer.  Wanna see a big wave here?  Come back in January.  However, this blog has never really concerned itself with the factual integrity of pop culture so let’s just move along shall we?

I had very strict orders today to go to the Dole Plantation.  I very well may have had to find a new place to stay for the rest of my time in Hawaii if I had failed in this directive.  Like a good girl I stopped by Dole, had my Dole whip (pineapple ice cream), toured the garden and taunted the fish.  I did not partake in the “Pick A Pearl” souvenir hustle though I was accosted by a few shills throughout the plantation.  Has everything turned into just another excuse to buy a cheap bracelet?  On the tourist circuit the answer is yes.

After the Plantation it was time to head someplace a little less commercial.  Less commercial but still featuring a cover charge – Waimea Park.  A little less than a mile into the park there is a pretty decent waterfall.  As I am a big fan of waterfalls I enjoyed this particular feature.  The fact that there were lifeguards at the base of the waterfall was an interesting new take on a classic.  There was also a rack of little kid life jackets.  I am sure they were available for rent.  Also in the park was this amazing Disney-style tree that was covered in wild orchids.  The way the orchids hung from the branches created these hiding spaces near the base. It was like the dry land version of the Kiss the Girls set from The Little Mermaid.  Of course I went in to explore.

There is a spot just north of Haleiwa where sea turtles hang out onshore.  They rather imaginatively refer to it as Turtle Beach, not to be confused with Turtle Bay which is the ritzy resort on the northernmost tip of the island.  The turtles look bored yet endlessly patient.  There were five partially buried in the cool sand at the edge of the beach, kept safe from tourist by a six foot perimeter denoted by what appeared to be very long jump ropes.  This is interesting for about three minutes and then you are good to go.  They are turtles.  Bored turtles.  Only so much entertainment can be mined from animals that appear to be judging you.

Have you ever heard about the infestation of pigs on O’ahu?  I hadn’t either. Today I get asked if I have seen them yet.  Nope.  Then, at dusk, as I am driving in the low light on the black top I see a small black object dart toward my car.  A suicidal pig.  A suicidal pig trying to run me off the road.  I much prefer the Bali beach cows if I am going to continue to have livestock run-ins on this trip.

I ended my day hoping to recapture some of the magic of the sunset in Kuta at Sunset Beach here on O’ahu.  Clouds conspired against me.  While I was denied the sun at sunset, I was not denied a certain kind of beauty.  The clouds looked lovely backlit.

Tomorrow it is time to jet off to the big island.  As Katie says, even in Hawaii I can't stay still for more than a coupld of days.

To Do and Do Not

Have you ever been to the Pearl Harbor memorial?  It is technically called the WWII Valor in the Pacific National Monument, but you know what I’m talking about.  It’s that sunken ship that is literally a water-filled tomb to over a thousand men that bleeds 2 gallons of oil every day.  It still holds 400,000 gallons within its massive bulk so it is pretty safe to say that unless ordered to be drained it will continue to bleed through our lifetimes and even those of our children and their children.  Unless a war even worse than the one that caused the monument turns the tides once again and there are no more generations to fight.  Why bring up such business?  Well I went to the memorial yesterday after landing here in good old Hawai’i.  Despite exhaustion and my bone deep cynicism I was touched.  I am not one to express emotions or feel an overwhelming sense of…anything, so when it does happen I feel it is something to share.  Just remember, good old Boris let us know when the Grinch’s heart grew 3 sizes.  Some things are just noteworthy.

To keep things somber and reflective we could continue with a discussion of the recent episodes of Glee, but let’s face it you didn’t come here for that.  You came to hear tales of adventure and romance.  Obviously you haven’t been paying attention.  The most you will get here is PG travel with a side of pop culture.  And away we go…

Today it came down to the age old struggle of whether or not to leave the house.   Yup, 3 weeks in and that is what it’s come to – the honeymoon is over.  What I truly wanted was to do nothing more than sit on my couch and watch Sex and the City.  That’s right Gina, I want what you got.  I did drag myself out of the house eventually and went to the oh-so-glamorous Aloha Swap Meet.  It happens at Aloha Stadium which once a year hosts the Pro Bowl and thrice a week hosts a dirt mall.  However, it is a well-publicized and respected dirt mall. I may have gotten a present for you Rachel.  Perhaps.

It was now time to start exploring the island like a big girl.  This is when I discovered the unifying theme of the Pacific Islands – Lexi getting lost.  There are road signs here.  They just don’t tell you the information you want to know.  When trying to get on the H3 from Aloha Stadium maps all look like it is a direct shot from the stadium to the freeway. What the maps fail to show and the signs fail to make clear is that at that exact point you have to go via the 78 which turns into the H3.  I like to call the search for the proper freeway “getting to know your surroundings”.  I feel it has a nicer ring than “groping for direction with annoyance bordering on homicidal rage”.  Were I in Bali I would merely pull over and converse with a local.  These conversations would range from a lovely interlude in broken English while sitting on a stoop with a Coke to ludicrous pantomime while pointing in front of you and saying the name of the town you wanted to go to in different tones and stresses until a spark of recognition took to light. 

Despite my rather poor sense of direction I did complete the preplanned itinerary for the day.  I just didn’t have time to stop very long at any place.  I can tell you this:  O’ahu is breathtaking, tiny, and the speed limits suck (25/35 in town, 45/50 highway).   Throughout my travels of the windward side of the island today the whimsy with which roads change names and maps gloss over facts was a recurring reminder that while I am in the USA, I am definitely not home. Grid system cities, I miss you.  Speeding, I miss you. Annie, my darling Hyundai, I miss you most of all. 

Mother, please don't take that last part personally.

Good Morning USA!

[ed. note: due to the glories of blogspot, while this post was written at about 11am yesterday I am only now able to post it.]

Miss me?  I missed you.  Excuse the cheeky tone but I’m about 30 hours into this day, have had 2 breakfasts, a lunch, a dinner, 3 flights and it is still not yet noon. Apparently if you are a smart ass long enough, and you work at it hard enough then the BS you spew becomes true.  I have in fact become a Time Lord.  Eat your heart out Dan.

Here is what I have to say for my adventures of the last 30 hours:  a) All the signs look the same in Bali, Taipei, Tokyo, and Honolulu airports,  b) The new Adele albums is awesome, c) the Taipei airport is the best of those listed above because it is the only one where I got free internet and could download the Adele album, d) there is nothing better, NOTHING, than an overnight flight where you are the only person in your row. 

A few days ago my friend Katie Carroll (who was supposed to be my travel companion for part of this trip but is in fact an incredible slacker and therefore is just now headed Asia way) asked for advice about Bali.  What was worth it, what wasn’t, etc.  So here is a primer for all who may be planning a visit, or not.

Balinese Etiquette:

1)      The car horn – The car horn (or bike, or big truck, what have you) is used often though never in anger.  In Bali it is used as a greeting and a gentle warning.  It says “Hello scooter. I see you and I am going to go around you so don’t make any sudden moves.”  It is a comfort and just a little heads up.  Brilliant in theory and mostly brilliant in practice.  Mostly?  There are a number of different sounds to horns from the comical to the thunderous.   When the Balinese equivalent of a mac truck blares its train-esque call at you the idea of a gentle warning to not move is pretty well blown as you have jumped a foot off the bike through a pothole.

2)      Never do anything in public with your left hand if you can help it.  They are thought to be unclean.  It has to do with this being a country devoid of toilet paper.

3)      Spitting on sidewalks is allowed, though people do try to spit in the grass instead.  Still the left hand is taboo.

4)      There are no such thing as “personal” questions in Bali.  A woman (me) can and will be asked repeatedly if she is married.  If the answer is no the subject will NOT be dropped.  Boyfriend?  No.  Why no boyfriend? Fight the urge to say something smartass.  They are not mocking you.  Or they are at least not mocking you on purpose.  Even when the group of teenagers on the beach (who followed up this line of questioning with asking me my age)  sang “30 30 30” at me in Indonesian they were not mocking me.  Per se.  Also, if you are seen eating with your left hand they will ask you to use your right hand.  Just so you know.

5)      If you are white they will tell you so.  Many times I was told I was white. They don’t know the fine distinction of the word pale. For the record, I am a tawny amber for my people.

6)      If you are white it is very likely that at random times people will ask to take pictures with you.  Go with it.  It is excellent practice for later in life stardom and dealing with paparazzi.  It is also good for the ego when you feel like an old unmarried left handed white lady.

There is much more to know about Bali of course, but you should really just go and find out for yourself.  Besides I’m sitting on a bench in Hawaii soaking up the sun so I really have better things to do just now.

xoxo

Moving right along

Today was moving day if you will.  For the last time I packed up all my gear (fun new combinations with every homestay), loaded Grohl, and headed off to points only imagined and vaguely located on a map. I was greatly cheered by the fact that I only had to go about a kilometer through Ubud. 

The plan was to take back roads to get to/bypass Denpasar and head over to Petitenget/Kerobokan.  The back roads were in part necessity – there are no main east-west roads except at the coast – and part being a big fat chicken.  You see, Denpasar is the central hub of Bali and “central hub” should be read as “potential for a ton of traffic and cops looking for blondies to harass”. As all of my plans with the intent to spare myself hassle go, this one too failed.  I like to think of these failures as character building.  Through the center of Denpasar I went. Wishing I had a better map. 

Was I pulled over? Nope.  Was there traffic? Oh yes.  Did I cause any accidents?  There were a couple of not great maneuvers on my part but no collisions or loss of life.  Horn honking only.  Do you remember that part in The American President where Annette Bening says she got stuck on Dupont Circle again?  Yeah, I understand how she feels.  Asia being largely colonized by most of Europe there exist in fits and spurts evidence of such colonization.  Case in point: traffic circles.  I hate them.   I especially hate them when I am trying very hard to balance really heavy bags on a moving vehicle and apparate through a lane of Balinese scooters, which can be 4 side by side-ish.   Two round-and-rounds and a Hail Mary later I was on my way in roughly the right direction.

After the adventure of driving through Denpasar it was not long before I reached Grohl’s final stop.  Now I would love to recount to you tales of a teary good-bye for my trustworthy and loyal friend.  For God’s sake Atreyu was inconsolable when Artax got stuck in the quicksand! Me? I hopped off, handed over the key and walked away like a 3 year old who has finished unwrapping her last birthday present.  I walked about 50 feet and decided to celebrate my sweet release from the pressure of driving and fear of discovery of my lack of license (did I forget to mention that part?). 

I saw a menu board for a salon down the street and had the best massage of my life.  If this woman had asked for the keys to my home I very possibly would have given them to her, had they not already been in Michelle’s possession back in LA for safekeeping.  I opted for something a little fancier than just a massage and got the massage and scrub.  That is how I found myself topless on a table having my boobs lightly rubbed by a pregnant Balinese woman.  She also did my underarms.  What is the appropriate thing to talk about at a time like this?  We chose taxis.    Afterwards my skin felt so good I still might have given her the keys.

I was about 10km from Kuta (the next stop on my island tour) at this point and was very toughly going to hoof it with all my bags.  Five minutes and 40 men asking if I wanted a taxi later I caved.  It was one of the better decisions I have ever made.  Traffic was terrible (going to Kuta after dropping of Grohl better idea than getting a taxi) and the ride took about 30 minutes which is about half the time it would have taken if I had walked, and only a third of the time it would have taken me to walk and get lost at least once.

Jenny, don’t judge, but the one and only reason that I went to Kuta was because I needed to pick up a guitar pin from the Hard Rock Café for a friend from work who collects them.  If not for this one piece of consumerism wild horses could not have brought me to Kuta.  I am very thankful for that overpriced piece of cheap metal alloy with thin enamel covering.  Without it I would not have sat on the beach for two hours as I watched the sunset.  I didn’t only watch the sunset.  I watched people too.  About 20 kids approached me during that time to take photos with me and practice their English.  Gina, these were kids after your own heart – when they heard I was from LA they giggled and started shrieking “Justin Beiber!”.  There was one main talker and he asked me to friend him on Facebook which I am going to do.  He is either going to cure cancer or stage a coup the likes of which we have never seen, but I want to see how it turns out.  For now he wants to study accounting and is very curious about the differences between America and Bali.

I’m sitting in a café using the free wifi and having my last Indonesian meal for a good long while.  The guidebooks say Kuta is one long traffic jam set against the sounds of constant building.  As I watch the one-way traffic saunter by and listen to the sounds of welding next door I have to agree with the books.  But like much of Bali, when viewed with a relaxed eye it is in its own way beautiful.

Here's looking at you Ubud...

Tomorrow I will have one last leisurely breakfast at the hotel, hop on Grohl, and wing my way south toward the airport and ultimately (and not southerly) Hawaii.  So tonight I dance.  Well, I didn’t dance, but I watched people dance.  Yup at the end of my two weeks in the relaxation/artistic mecca of Indonesia I thought I might get me some culture.  Or something like that.

I did not set out on such a mission.  While I am all for museums and have an actual degree in theatre I don’t tend to run out to see a show.  So when I passed the usual ticket tout I just kept walking.  Then I passed the entrance as if it wasn't even there.  Sometime after I turned the corner to search out a cheap little warung for dinner I said to myself, “why not”, and turned around.  See people, I am capable of changing my mind.

Tonight’s bill included a Kecak dance and a fire dance.  While the fire dance may in actuality be a very old traditional dance the kecak is open to more interpretation.  It evolved in the ‘30’s at the suggestion of a couple American hoteliers who had opened up the very first beach resort in Kuta. So the dance was inspired by the first tourist wave. As tourism dried up a couple years later and didn’t get going again until about 30 years after that, the dance is not dependent on the tourists.  Whether you chose to give it credit as a legitimate piece of their original culture or not, it is an undeniably Balinese form.  The dance involves about 70 shirtless men age 20-78 sitting in a circle wearing black and white checked cloth and singing a cappella.  Like a tribal version of the Warblers.  Eventually 5 or 6 nymph types and a couple of hefty gentlemen enter the fray as specific characters from the Hindu stories that make up most of Bali’s religion and artistic subjects.  The rest of Bali’s artistic subjects are the landscape and the landscape of topless women.  Really.  Check out the museums here sometime. 

                Between the Kecak and the fire dance there was a shorter form dance that involved a female chorus, a few of the kecak singers, and a couple of very hardworking 7 year old girls doing pretty impressive maneuvers with fans while wearing Rockettes training headgear.  It was totally adorable.

                The final dance of the evening was the fire dance.  I have yet to decide if this is supposed to be a dance reserved for a revered talent or more of a jumping in to join the kecak chorus. You see, this dance involves a large pile of coconut husks, a liter of petrol, and a man in a straw horse costume.  Seriously.  While the flames burn high and bright HorseyMan dances around the fire.  What the story of this is I do not know.  [I am still very proud of myself for following about ¾ of the Kecak based solely on the art I saw in three of the 4 museums I visited.] Once the flames go down a bit he dances THROUGH the fire.  At this point the largely tourist crowd actually said “ooohhhhh” in unison in a way that no amount of coached background would ever pull off.  Once he has done the initial dance through the fire, he proceeds to dance and splash about in the embers of the fire casting sparks everywhere like a mad combination of Tinkerbell and Michael Jackson from the Billie Jean video.  The sparks are very pretty, but I assure you the smoke blowing all over the place as they sweep the bigger coconut pieces into piles for him to jump through is a bit of a mood killer.

Speaking of mood killers, I have found after careful observation this last two and a half weeks of vacation, that I tend to get cranky in the afternoon in particular.  This was the case today as well.  Do you know what a great killer of crankiness is?  A walk through a rice paddy.  Ubud is a real town which is hard to come by in Bali, so let’s give it credit where credit is due.  That being said, if you take just the right alley up just the right hill you find yourself in the middle of 1943.  That is to say, a stone paved path through a rice paddy where people are harvesting the rice by hand while wearing conical hats and workers bath in the river after a long day.  I know because I happened to come upon a bather while taking a shortcut.  I think we were both pretty glad he was in the dunk portion of his routine and not the inspect myself for bug bites part.

Throw in some ribs and a pretty decent art museum and that was my day.  Not bad Ubud.  Not bad.

Spanking the Monkey

Well, that got your attention, didn’t it?

When one is in a forest surrounded by monkeys it is best to keep calm.  And perhaps carry a towel.  In this way the Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy is spot on.  Monkeys look very cute and innocent.  They are not.  Do not be fooled.  Tiffany, I can feel you wavering, “but they have those cute little faces”.  That is when, BAM, there is a monkey on you as you scream in TERROR!  (I am really feeling the capital letters today, so dramatic.)  Like this silly tourist I saw today.  Who bought bananas for the monkeys.  Trust me, this did not end well for her. 

I’m sure you all know this as it is an incredibly well known fact, but monkeys have opposable thumbs.  That’s right, they have tiny little human hands.  They have them so that they can climb trees and pound coconuts.  Also, so they can cling to shrieking, hysterical tourists until said tourists throw far from them any object that the monkey may possibly want to possess and run away weeping.  I watched this happen today.  I may have been giggling to myself as I watched.  I don’t know if you are aware of this, but I am not a nice person.

That is why karma frequently likes to teach me lessons.  I did not bring the monkeys food.   I did not want to get jumped by a simian.  A desire I have stated in previous posts.  I kept all bags zipped and my camera lashed around my wrist.  I read the brochure.  I knew the rules.  Then a monkey decided that people were more fun to climb on than trees and suddenly there I was, the newest perch in the Monkey Forest.  I didn’t make a sound, I just stood there for a second while it decided what to do.  Then I heard it behind me – the giggling.  Not from a monkey, they don’t giggle.  They probably do know sign language for “who wants to climb the blonde girl next”, but the giggles I heard were from the staff sitting at a nearby table.  Everyone has their moment to look stupid and I assure you, with a gray macaque on my head, my time was this morning.  Satisfied for the moment that I had nothing worth grabbing, the monkey took its leave from my person.  It did continue to stalk me through the outer grounds of the temple at the forest’s center.  Vindictive little bastard.

But enough of the monkey talk. 

Today was supposed to be rapture day.  Wait, let’s try that again, RAPTURE DAY!  A day for one last rose ceremony from God to be followed by volatile reactions from the earth itself, just like on reality tv.  Spoiler Alert:  No such reactions happened here in Bali so I think you guys are probably safe.  As for the disappearances, well…the chances that I know even one of the 300,000 or 144,000, or 12 people who made the cut (and the number schemes do seem to vary wildly) are very slim.  My chosen people have far too much respect for living to have been nominated to that homecoming court full of goody-goodies. So let’s just take a moment to celebrate each other for all of our glorious little faults.  Friends who drink, swear, fornicate, masturbate, pontificate, judge, eat meat on Sunday, and all of the other stuff that we know we aren’t really supposed to do, I love each and every one of you just as you are.  Besides if we are all going to hell, won’t hell just look like LA?

Feeling Arty

Having the luxury of a few days in one place, I decided to take a break from commerce and travel requirements and do something unheard of in Bali – enjoy the arts.  Now there was a little sarcasm in that last bit as Ubud is known as the artistic center of the island.  It’s just that most tourists really only take the art factor so far as “wow that artistic batik dress will look great once I hem it a bit and get the vendor to lower their price by 50,000 rupiah”. 

I had a plan and it went fairly well except for a vanished art shop, a closed palace, and a case of the afternoon crankies that vetoed my last stop of the day.  I started off strong, looking once again for the Atlantis of local art stores.  Finding neither the store nor a mysterious pool of water large enough to contain it I sallied forth to the lady art museum.  Here is the thing about Balinese art – it’s all about the ladies.  Topless usually.  Pouty always.  Strikingly beautiful without question.  Painted by men.  In the main museum here in Ubud while women are the subject of about 80% of the artwork in goddess or mortal form, only “a handful” of the artists in the museum are women.  So this British chick decided to do something about it and founded her own museum for female artists.  There is even a room full of artwork by 8-11 year olds to encourage them to develop their talent.  Not bad.

I had another lady place to go – Threads of Life (a textile gallery celebrating the art of back straining labor/tedious drudgery known as weaving).  There was an exhibit here on ikat weaving that was actually pretty interesting but that was about all she wrote.  Unless you are into very overpriced textiles in which case right this way and bring your pocketbooks.

Then it was on to the men.  Lempad, the architect/artist/sculptor to the royals who lived to be 118, is revered here.  His house is now open to the public and is pretty interesting to see though spending more than a half hour here would be mightily indulgent.  Speaking of indulgent, another personal residence turned place of interest is the Museum Blanco.  Blanco is the self-styled Dali of Bali and to say he had a healthy ego would be putting it ever so mildly.  He painted  3 things and he painted them over and over – topless/naked women, inanimate objects, children.  Every once in a while he would do a variation on a theme – naked women obscured by inanimate objects.  My last stop in the Land of Men was Symon’s Studio.  Symon is an expat artist who has been bumming around Bali for about 20 years but whose work is still clearly influenced/derived from the western world.  Obama done Warhol style, some nice Marilyn Monroes, and foray into homoerotic painting and sculpture that had not the hint of subtlety.

In addition to a bunch of small galleries the formal part of my day involved a trip to the only true state run museum in Ubud, the Museum Puri Lukisan (the Palace of Paintings) which is sadly a little too like the Getty for its own good – beautiful grounds but a collection that is nowhere near as impressive as it should be.  It is also in the midst of a renovation which can be a muddy nasty place when it downpours, like it did all morning today.

Tomorrow I plan to conquer one more museum and a woodcarving village to the south.  Plunder for all upon my successful return.

What goes up...

Greetings to new blog follower Ken Ferrigni, a blast from my Florida past.  No mom he is not one of my mistakes nor is he likely ever to be as he is happily married to a fellow thespian.  Now that we have that out of the way, shall we?

As you may or may not have gathered from my previous posts, Bedugul is in the mountains.  Actually it is in the crater of an ancient volcano but you get the picture.  Driving to Bedugul was long and exhausting due to my pre-drive insomnia, faulty sense of direction, and hitting all the curvy twisty bits during the last hour of the drive.  Today, it was my turn to go down the mountain.  In a bit of a hurry.  Was I running from the law? A jilted lover? My hotel bill? Nope.  I was outrunning mother nature herself.  One day she may one up me and flip the switch on my biological clock but I will be damned if she will rain on my parade, or scooter ride down a mountain.  Clouds were low, thick and dark at 7am and the time to hesitate was through.  After getting Grohl out of the adjacent room he had been parked in for two days and loading him down with my market goodies it was time to roll. 

When you head down a mountain fresh from a quick breakfast and telling yourself the little flecks of moisture you keep feeling are just dew you tend to be a bit looser with your driving.  Not reckless, just not quite as tense.  Here is the thing about Balinese driving – it is like the bastard love child of ballet and jazz. [Modern Dance? (You may ask) NO! I hate modern dance, and Spencer as much as I adore you no amount of explanation will change that.  I will continue to smile and nod and REFUSE to understand.] So, bastard love child – there are definite tenants that underlie the movements but a more free form execution than you might see in a “civilized” society.  That being said, when viewed with a relaxed eye it can be quite beautiful. 

Now that we’ve taken  a whack at driving in Bali let’s talk religion.  I hit a couple of temples today and here are a few things I’ve noticed.  1) There are 3 kinds of Hindu temples here – a)Touristy ones, b)Decorative ones, and c)Actual places of worship.  2)The key to a good Hindu temple? You gotta get a gimmick.  It’s just like the strippers tell Rose Louise in Gypsy. There are about 2000 temples here (that is not a made up estimate) and they are all just trying to get a piece of the pie.   One of the temples today had a moat surrounding the grounds, the other had no grounds to speak of, just large lotus pools.  Yesterday, the only temple on actual water (it also happens to be on the back of the  50,000 rupiah note, meaning it totally has a better publicist). 

I’m in Ubud now (ew-boo-d).  All checked in to the most luxurious place I’ve been in Bali (hot water AND a flush toilet, someone pinch me).   I got a facial and one of those dead-skin-eating-fish pedicures. All in all, not a bad day.  And I didn’t even get rained on.

P.S. I think it is fair to say Facebook may be the place for photos from now on.  I will of course continue to try to upload here.

What care I for men when there are rocks and trees?

Jane Austen said that or something like it.  She was of course a noted spinster.  As am I.  I say own it. How did this spinster spend her day?  Going to a temple, wandering through parks and gardens, having conversations about old school music and children’s books with a middle-aged Australian man.  The usual.

If there is one thing Bali has going for it, that would be it’s lush vegetation.  Up here in the lakes district we are in the crater of an ancient volcano.  That being the case it is like living in a cloud.  The humidity is 70-90% daily.  That is a published fact.  It rains every day.  That is just common knowledge.  The mornings dawn bright and clear and by about 3 or 4pm the clouds have come to town to give everything a good watering.  I feel it is worth noting at this point that my rain gear is back in Kuta in my luggage. 

The temple has the distinction of being the only one in all of Bali that is on water.  Sure there are about 700 around the lakes and the coast, but only 1 can claim to be on the water.  Guess who saw it this morning?  Yup, me!  Taking the advice of a trek guide I ran into yesterday I went very early this morning.  I was in and out just as the first tour bus parked.  While it was just me walking the grounds it was very lovely and still.  I kind of missed the monkeys though. (By the way Ryan, consider your penis shaped souvenir in the bag.  The checked bag that is because it would be super embarassing to carry that through airport security.  And why is this listed in the temple section?  Well, remember what I said about vendors near temples?  You're welcome.)

For a taste of hullaballoo, I went back to the market.  I had done a bit of shopping yesterday but I had tons of shopping left (there are just so many of you who need souvenirs).  This morning I cleaned up.  And out.  My wallet.  It was a very productive trip.  I am down to my last 5 people to buy for.  I have never been good at bargaining but I have found silence and the willingness to walk away invaluable in these transactions.  Also, it is a great idea to go to market very early as the first sale of the day is thought to bring luck so the vendors are more bargain happy.

There is an amazing free park in town with an orchid garden (sadly not in bloom), a coffee plantation, and a bamboo forest.  It is also the only place in town for free wifi.  I go there alot.

The town’s other claim to fame is the Bali Botanical Gardens.  A massive, manicured garden glory with a begonia house, a cactus house, a wild orchid garden (some actually in bloom), and so much more.  It was here at the lake view that I ran into John the 50-something Australian who sat and chatted with me for an hour.  Why is this of note?  Was he strikingly handsome and oh so available?  No.  For years I have looked down on ex-patriots for their cliquish need to band together and I take that back now.  After 2 weeks of being in the Pacific Rim what I crave more than anything is a conversation carried out in English without the intent of a monetary transaction.  I had a bit of that yesterday at a rest stop with a middle aged Australian couple. Today I had enough to get me through to Hawaii. 

Ex-pats, don’t think you are off the hook.  I still think the term ex-pat is snobby and I do judge all who willingly call themselves that in public.  You’ve been warned.

P.S.  While blogspot wouldn't let me download photos, Facebook was totally okay with it. If you want to check in on some photos from today they are in the Bali album.  The first 5 were from a few days ago, but after that it's all new stuff.

More road

I am writing today’s post at 230pm which is decidedly earlier than usual because I wanted to post today and yesterday as soon as possible. Before Mom thinks something tragic has befallen me. 

Remember what I said about monkey’s yesterday and how I had my fill.  Well, I was wrong.  I stopped at a really nice temple this morning that was crawling with them.  Here is what I liked about this temple as opposed to Pura Tannah Lot – this temple was actually for the devout.  Tannah was surrounded by souvenir stalls and tour bus parking and while there were quite a few Asian faces, they were all tourist Asian faces.  This morning’s temple Pura Agung Pulaki had roadside parking, not a vendor in site and I was the only cracker in 15km radius.  The temple itself was beautiful and it was interesting to watch a service  and see how as different as things are here they are also much the same.  There may be monkeys stealing the offerings (they were little scamps), but there were also little kids having a hard time concentrating in church. They were speaking Hindu prayers, over the backup PA system because they were having AV problems.

After that I was in search of an ATM, a post office, and a backroad up a mountain.  I found all three, but not with as much success as I would have liked.  The ATM was pretty easy, though I did have to go to two in order to find one that took Visa.  The post office was right next door as promised.  It was also closed for the day.  The mountain road?

I had a pretty long drive today, made longer by the fact that I missed a turn and had to cover some ground twice.  I never claimed to be a perfect navigator and I never will.  That being said I have decided the lesson of the day is that I do not give myself enough credit for when I don’t screw up.  I was really starting to get frustrated at one point thinking I had missed another turn and was headed in the wrong direction when I caved and pulled over to consult the map.  I was not only going the right direction, I was a lot closer to the target location than I thought. Hurray for me.  Considering this was in part of the steep twisty turny bit of the drive even if I were going in the wrong direction there was no way I was turning around.  Onward and upward.  Excelsior. 

And that is about all for now.  I plan on hitting the market on the way back to my hotel but that is a story for another day.

xoxo

On the road again...

I got a start on my day pretty early as I have absolutely no basis for time vs. distance estimates and felt it could take all day to get to Permuteran, which was my intended stop.  I got there at 1130am, but starting there would miss all the excitement of the day so lets just begin at the beginning, shall we?

It seems that I managed to grab every physical possession that I came with from my room in Medewi but my nerve?  It must have been hiding under the bed.  I found myself on the road very early and just a little off balance. Even the monkey song wasn’t working.  I tried the Ukranian’s tip to “feel the energy flow through you to the ground”.  I tried my friend Rebekah’s trick of “feeling connected to everything”.  My friends are obviously very feely.  Or maybe it’s just that when driving in Bali you are inspired to skip logic and go straight for appealing to higher powers like Mother Nature or Sister Sky.  Any way you slice it I was just not feeling the love today. 

About half an hour into my journey of self-doubt and tension I came up with my magic idea – I could stop anytime I wanted.  I didn’t have to make it anywhere today.  I could stop in the very next town.  Little Golden Books and your “I think I can” mentality, take a hike.  I choose “I don’t have to.”  I don’t have to get to the coast.  I don’t have to see another temple.  I don’t have to do anything but return my scooter in 7 days and make it to the airport.  Take that Little Engine, Mr. Rogers, Mary Sunshine.  I’m an American and this is my world.  Suddenly, I was feeling a lot better.

That is to say until I got to Negara.  Negara is one of the first honest to God towns that I have driven through.  They have a stoplights, divided highways, Police Headquarters and shiny cruisers.  Which I pulled up next to at a stoplight.  Being a law abiding citizen and general goody-goody, the police make me incredibly nervous.  Being an American in Indonesia marks me as an easy target for extortion for police.  So, the 25 seconds (seriously, the stoplight had a countdown) that I was parked next to the Polisi was nerve wracking.  Especially since they called out hellos and the like.  Once the light changed and we were both on our way they followed me and my tension did not abate.  Then they pulled me over.  I felt done for.  However, these were apparently the nicest cops in Bali because while they did do a full pullover, block my bike, ask where I was going and so forth, they only appeared to have done it because my bag (though tethered to the back) had slipped off sideways from the bike.  Or perhaps they weren’t that altruistic but were stumped about my nationality.  Where are you from?  (Don’t say LA, everyone has heard of LA) Missouri.  Misss-ooo-li?  Nod and speak as little English as possible.  They told me I could go and to be careful then proceeded to follow me for the length of this surprisingly large town.  I was so very glad to be out of Negara.

The rest of the drive was a lot easier after that.  Once you get up to the northwest corner of the island you drive through their one national park, Bali Barat.  It is a beautiful drive.  The road cuts through at a bit higher elevation and more inland so there are real forests and not just tropical lushness all around.  You could see the western mountains inland.  Then there were the monkeys.  A large group of gorgeous wild monkeys were crossing the road.  I kid you not.  I was glad to see them.  It alleviated any need I had to go to the Monkey Forest where the monkeys are notoriously aggressive due to interactions with humans.  I dig you wild monkeys, I just don’t want you to jump me on my scooter.

Tonight I am in the lap of luxury – a hotel with a flush toilet.  The internet situation in this town isn’t great though so I will probably post this tomorrow.  On tomorrow’s adventure list?  Chasing down a local myth of an ATM and a post office RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER!

Until then…

P.S. wifi still not strong enough for photos.  Sorry.

And scene!

For those of you who are not in the entertainment industry that is what an actor or some other such revered individual says when they have completed a scene for class.  It is also frequently said by sassy peeps like my friend Gina when she has completed a monologue in real life.  What does it mean today?  It means I am done.  I cave.  I crack.  I cannot possibly relax ANY MORE.  I have been in one place for 4 days.  I have walked on the beach.  I have gotten three massages.  I’ve read a book.  I’m through.  Time to get this show on the road.  Tomorrow I’m packing up and hopping on Grohl for a good time up North.  Lest Mandy Cline get the wrong impression, (or you Josh you cheeky thing) by “good time” I mean “see a temple, check out another beach, and put some space between me and everything I’ve ever seen”.   Get your minds out of the gutter!  My mother reads these posts.   

What did I do today?  I walked on the beach, got a massage, and had dinner with Ul and her family at the warung next door.

Now the massage was notable because I went to the OTHER tent (Urna’s) and not the one I usually go to (Ul’s).   I was just tired of being stalked by Balinese women.  Urna was busy so her mom took point.  It was a pretty great massage though at one point there were suddenly two sets of hands on me and I felt like I was at a PiKA party.  Also, the amount of attention they paid my tush would have made Russell Brand proud, but I digress.  Interesting point: I am used to a two position massage – lay on your front, lay on your back.  From now on I shall call that the missionary massage.  These ladies added a little variation.  Lay on one side and then the other with one knee pulled up to your chest and the top arm down your side.  I haven’t decided if I want to call this the Comaneci or the Fonda. Either way it was well worth the $7.

Feeling a bit guilty for not getting the massage at Ul’s, I went to her warung for a snack.  Did you know Lay’s made Nori Seaweed flavored potato chips.  They also do a chicken teriyaki that I have yet to try.  Once I had bought a little snack she force fed me a really good meal that she would not let me pay for.  So much for alleviating guilt.  [Michael Schwartz, in case you are getting your “taste of Bali fix” right now, she made me eat this plantain/coconut rice thing that was wrapped in banana leaves and this really good shredded toasted coconut chicken skewer with a piece of fried tofu and a hardboiled egg.  Also wrapped in banana leaves.  They are apparently better than saran wrap. ] Then I had the rare honor of watching someone cut a coconut from a tree, hack it to bits, and then share the inner workings.  How often does one get to see a coconut go from tree to table in under 5 minutes?

No work.  Just relaxing. Do you see why I have to move on?

P.S. Still no pictures.  The WiFi at the internet hookup is just not up to it.  Then again, maybe if I edit this and add them from a landline...
P.P.S. Nope, the landline trick didn't work.  No photos for the good people of America.

Getting to know you...

Up to this point my contact with any actual Balinese has been fairly minimal.  When I was in Kerobokan for the first two days of my visit I was with LA ex-pats who, while incredibly kind, generous, and all around awesome, had not so much as explored a traditional Balinese diner.  Thus, on day three, otherwise known as Ride of Terror/Liberation Day I had my first Balinese meal.  It was delicious. 

Now that I have been in Medewi for a few days the locals are starting to recognize me to an extent and start conversations.  Rudimentary, broken conversations.  There is a language gap and egotistical traveller that I am, I had not bothered to get a phrasebook.  Americans. Really!

I ever so briefly walked through a fishing village just by the G’de before starting to feel self conscious, notching right and heading for the main road.  I walked through town for a bit. That is if town is what you would call it.  It’s mostly just a string of houses along the roadway with tiny convenience stores run out of the front here and there.  There is a school which was in session on Saturday and a Mosque under construction.  The nearest post office is at least 7km away. There is no sign marking the entrance to town so I have no idea what the population or elevation is.  The roads are unmarked and frequently have more than one name anyway.

On my  way back toward the G’de I was flagged down by the lady who runs the massage tent next door, Ul.  She ushered me into her house to meet her daughter and grandbabies.  It was very sweet and a bit awkward as her daughter was in fact nursing her newest grandbaby at the time.  She told me about her daughters cesarian, her 7 brothers and sisters, and other little family tidbits.  She insisted on making me tea and I only just managed to get her to not make me breakfast.   When her brother-in-law came over we had a bit more awkward conversation before I managed to politely extricate myself but not without promising to come to the BBQ by the warung tonight. 

Over lunch there was more of the same awkward conversation with Urna, her mom, and her dad.  They took turns coming and sitting down with me chatting and seeing if there was any way I might like to spend my money.  Massage?  No thanks.  Sarong? Not today.  Fishing boat tomorrow, two hours?  Nope.  But thanks for asking.  Eventually they drift off and I head back to my room for a shower and a nap.

And so, at 7pm I walked back out to the common area, took up a place on a bench and watched the surfers come in with an old Balinese man who very generously kept offering me Bintang and cigarettes. 

Photos are not uploading well today, so until next time...

P.S.  Mother, it's never going to happen.  Though I appreciate your interest. xoxo

Medewi Dua

Happy Friday the 13^th everyone! 

People are gathering on the warung patio to watch the storm come in.  It’s humid and a little chilly at the same time and lightening is flashing over the water.  It’s getting pretty dark now so the surfers would have been heading in anyway. 

There is chanting from next door because they are building a mosque next door.  The further north you go on Bali the more Javanese settlers and the higher the Muslim population.  Also, fewer tourist hot spots oddly enough.

Thunder.

I spent my day relaxing.  I walked a few kilometers to the south and hit about 3 different kinds of beaches.  There is an incredibly creepy boat statue outside the fancy resort down the way that appears to be manned by Asian zombie militants but there is no sign so I have absolutely no idea what the statue is supposed to convey.  Mostly it just gives you the heebs.

There are little children everywhere here which is a pretty direct contrast to Hong Kong where the little children stay hidden all day as though they are afraid the child catcher will come for them.  Here they mostly accompany their mothers and grandmothers to work and shout to the tourists.  “Hello.  Hello.  Massage?”  It is kind of cute and kind of sad at the same time.  Then again when you are topless in a massage tent with your bottoms pulled down like the Coppertone baby your ability to feel anything but ridiculous is pretty low.  Well, ridiculous but relaxed.

The main gathering area of the homestay is smack between two massage tents and the guests here usually hang out to watch the surf.  Occasionally the masseuses or any other Balinese with an agenda will sit down at your table and chat you up.  It reminds me of this hostess bar in Shanghai only I’m pretty sure no one is trying to get paid for sex here.  Pretty sure.

It’s completely dark now and except for a couple of houses spread out around the coast there aren’t any lights on.  It makes the lightening that much more brilliant.

Balinese beach cows

(a repeat for those who check facebook)

Lextopia!

 [Tiffany, only the English travel with land claiming flags on a regular basis]

What you get when you order lemonade in Bali

A rice paddy right off the beach.

look out.