Today was the first true day of the holiday as the first one was basically down to culture shock and recovery from Walt Disney’s 1000 year Reich (Singapore).
Last night as we were wending our way down the street (best to walk in the street at night as the sidewalk can be a bit dangerous what with caverns lined with rusty re-enforcing steel hiding behind flower pots spaced along the way) the best woman in the universe struck up a conversation with one small, smiling man offering to show us the delights of Bali from the confines of his ancient Honda (number 453). We had decided, previously, to first plan our “attack” on the island and then approach one of these worthy tour guides with our “demands”. Well, I say “we”, actually I had decided for us and the best woman in the universe (bwtu) had agreed, as she does – and proceeded to completely ignore this agreement – as she does. The long and short of it is that as of 1:00 the next day we were off.
Just to back track a little we met Helen Flavel (sp?) in the swimming pool (where else?) and take it from me – a force of nature. I guess she needs to be, being the guiding light behind her own foundation for the poor of Bali. I happened at the time to be playing with a little dark skinned girl (yes, really, only 5 years old, you filth) in the pool with the bwtu along (sad world we live in isn’t it when you have to mention or think that?) when Helen, very forthrightly asked if she was ours and if not why not and would we like to contribute and the Balinese really need it and she only personally uses 15 cents in each dollar, not like the 60 everyone else gets and the food was good here at Ayu Whatever Hotel, especially the Chicken with mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables (YUK!) and be careful of our money, and she was leaving soon and could we donate and etc. etc. I had to lie down afterwards, the bwtu is converted and now doubles every tip I leave, no matter how much it is – now, I just leave half as much as I normally would.
All I can say is that anyone out there thinking of doing Bali for the first time on his or her own as we (I) had planned – forget it! There is simply too much to do and too little time to do it in and if you want to see half of what you intend you will need the strategic planning abilities of a master chess player or our cheerful and very knowledgeable little brown tour guide Kim (Ketut Sarwata Kim: mobile number 081 239 58613) or someone like him. OK, he took us around some of his pals, like the first visit to Tanjung Benoa and its nasty beach (white, but so what?) crowded with Costa-like bunkers – god I’m glad they have those, otherwise all those horrible tourists would be staying with us (tongue planted firmly in cheek). But we would have gone there anyway and his “pal” who wanted us to do some type of watersports took it with very good nature when we thanked him and left on our own.
After that it was a whirlwind of events:
The Nusa Dua concentration camp – rich people’s idea of a good place to stay on Bali and a light year away from anything to do with the “real” island. This is where most of the delegates from the climate conference stayed and our guide pointed out that the security check upon entrance (mirrors under the car, hello from the guard) would have been more earnest and thorough if he hadn’t had the forethought to have a Hindu offering (remember the “salad bowls”) on his dashboard to prove he/we weren’t Muslim – gosh, hope those devious Muslims won’t read this. Altogether very pretty in a sterile and sumptuous kind of way – not for us at $1000/night, anyway – stay with Disney (or SingaPOOR) if you want fantasy.
Garuda Wishnu Kencana Cultural Park – we didn’t expect anything like this in central Bukit and I really don’t know where to put it – in short, an enormous gallery of derelict limestone quarries connected by 10 metre deep corridors on top of the local mountain where the final plan is to erect the largest statue (Garuda with Vishnu sitting on him) in the world. Look out Miss Liberty, this is planned to be over 146 metres high. Only small problem is that they have just the 2 ends finished – the head weighs in at about 20 M (Vishnu and Garuda) and one foot and a hand are also laying around too. Even without all the stuff in the middle the location is simply stunning, with views over the city to the coastline and an otherworldly ambience with some fine Gamelan music to go with it.
Then it was warp-speed to Uluwatu and the beaches/surfers where I can proudly say we were able to find the “hidden” beach suggested by Tintin. The bwtu and I climbed down the precarious steps, that the surfers with boards all jump down like goats, very carefully, not to say slowly, enjoying at every switchback the unwanted attentions of numberless “you buy my t-shirt/dress/donkey/etc.” looking for “the cave the surfers use at low tide to get to the water” as advised.
After being warned to watch out for the sea snakes! We found the promised beach! Only one slight drawback Tintin, since the beach is only accessible at low tide – there wasn’t any water on the beach – the tide was OUT! Great beach though…
On the way back up received a further warning about sea snakes. Well, those who have read my lines before realise I don’t suffer idiocy with patience and this time was no different – laughing out loud this time, I mean it’s patently obvious that sea snakes are in the sea and we were not, hence no imminent danger of death by sea snake you would think?? Well this was obviously a “raise the tourist” ploy by the surfer scum (who says youth is wasted on the young, anyone seeing these beautiful Greek-gods like boy/men curving though the water couldn’t think so).
This is where we met the MINK (Paul Minkov) and got his life story faster than any on record. Within 5 minutes we learned that he was, serially, Californian, been here 20 years, spoke Bahasa, originally traded in Balinese Baaaahtik (as opposed to plain Batik, bwtu stood corrected – Mink was never closer to death by poisoned fangs, and I don’t mean the sea snakes). After all Californian surf bums decided to import Baaahtik to CA he had to diversify into….. you’ve guessed it – Sex Wax. Without the accompanying hand movements it aint half so impressive – between what you think Sex Wax is for and how to wax a surf board – same movements different just sizes.
Speeding on now to the sundown event at the Temple of Pura Luhur Uluwatu. When I learned that this included a dance feature my heart fell – I’m not much for these made for tourist consumption dance features and generally prefer the more secluded pleasures a good bottle of cold beer.
Wrong this time, as usual some will say, I was blown away – 40 chanters all doing the chucha, chucha, chuchita, chuchita with emotional and tonal variations are the backdrop and medium to one of the immortal Hindi stories of love and betrayal including all the usual characters Rama, Hanuman, etc. – read up on it, and then go to Uluwatu to see it – call me a Philistine but I was captured and loved the way it was produced, not to mention where. Forget Hollywood, just find some believers and you may just get carried away.
Oh, if you go, take some cyanide bananas with you - for the ugliest, nastiest f**king bunch of monkeys that I hope die in a zoo. Tell em it’s from Mark.
When the sunburn goes down I may write less…
P.S. the sea snakes are real...
