Garden on Steroids

25 Aug 2012 6 Comments

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“Want to see garden?” Ketut, the master of understatement, asked. We had just finished up a quick errand and I was planning to get back to my neglected writing. But who can resist a lovely garden as long as it belongs to someone else? I grew up pulling weeds, picking beans, shelling peas and not loving it. I revisited gardening once as an adult and quickly realized I did not inherit my father’s green thumb. “Sure,” was my immediate reply and off we went.

A few miles down the road Ketut pulled into a parking area and I read the sign, Botanic Garden Ubud. Of course I started laughing. My assumption versus Ketut’s reality is always off by about 180 degrees. I thought we might stroll for a few minutes through a temple garden or a pretty landscape. But the extravaganza of flora and fauna that awaited me was beyond my imagining. Two hours and thirty minutes later we emerged from an adventure that neither of us had anticipated. There were stone paths through groves of bamboo. There were steep staircases beside a bottomless river gorge. There was a temple meditation area and deep in the heart of that jungle garden, a rainforest. I think I must have said, “Oh wow!” a thousand times. So, want to see a garden?  Come with me!

The journey begins in the Orchid House where some ordinary, and some very rare orchids are raised for sale commercially.

The Orchid House

The Orchid House

The Orchid House

The Orchid House

Leaving The Orchid House

We left the Orchid House and descended a broad staircase into incredible layers of green.

The Path and Benches

Here and there a bench, free-form and organic, offered a place to rest and gaze. The path surfaces varied from tight, smooth pebbles to lumpy rock, to asphalt, to dirt and in one area, beautiful mosaic. You want to wear hiking sandals for optimum enjoyment of the walk.

Heliconia Hill

Heliconia

The Fern Garden

Entrance to Meditation Area

The Bamboo Grove

More of The Bamboo Grove

Small Waterfall Approaching Deep Gorge and Rainforest

The photos of the rainforest do not come close to doing justice to the magnificence. There was a river somewhere far below the dense jungle growth. All I could see through the layers was blackness.

Rainforest and River Gorge

Mother-in-law’s Tongue

I had to photograph this for my mother. She has a pot of Mother-in-law’s Tongue (I’m sure the name comes from the fact that the leaf is sharp and pointed!) in her living room that is from a plant that my grandmother brought with her on the boat from Norway in the early 1900’s.

Rainforest, green upon green upon green!

Approach to Lotus Ponds

Mosaic Lotus Motif in Path

The Maze

It was much darker than it looks. Don’t go in if you are even slightly claustrophobic. The paths twist and turn and YOU WILL GET LOST! I thought I was on my way out, turned a corner…dead end. It’s a good way to get the heart rate elevated without strenuous exercise.

The Palm Hill

Sculpture Garden and view of Orchid Houses

As we emerged from the intense density of jungle into this airy, open space at the end of the trail I had just a momentary flash of what it might have been like for those first adventurers. They wouldn’t have had the luxury of paths. Nor would they have had the little signs to tell them what they were looking at. There would have been no bamboo rail to warn them of the edge of the cliff that drops into nothingness. There might have been snakes. I was jolted back into the now by Ketut. “Go home?” he asked. “Yes, go home. This was a good adventure Ketut!” (We like that word.) He laughed then said, “What you want to eat?”

Reggae with Fredi Marley at Napi Orti

21 Aug 2012 3 Comments

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I climb the stairway that thumbs its nose at every building code ever written.  At the top, in the dim light of Napi Orti, I find some benches around a rough plank table. We sit then, five of us, one from Italy, one from Qatar, one English, one Balinese, and me. At the other end of the table is a group of seven young men and women from Spain. My eyes do a quick scan of the decor…they always do that. My years of interior design just won’t die. The ceiling vaults up to a peak where a fan slowly stirs the air. Art is mounted at a slant following the pitch of the ceiling. At about ten feet there’s a stunning black and white drawing of a bare-breasted woman. There are posters, landscapes, and dozens of origami fish skeletons hanging overhead.

I am here at Julie’s invitation to hear reggae music. But not just any reggae, tonight Fredi Marley and his band are performing. I hope that he will play Bali Holiday. Julie wrote the lyrics of that song. Fredi put music to her words and it’s on his latest album. My eyes continue their scan. It’s a mellow crowd and none of them look like Minnesota. I’m okay with that. The low hum of many languages confirms the international flavor.

Then he’s there, in front, and the first chords of his guitar vibrate through my soul. “Don’t worry…about a thing…’cause every little thing’s…gonna be all right…” Oh Fredi! How did you know that is my very favorite reggae song in the whole universe? Fredi and his backup guitarist harmonize on the vocals and pump out a perfect blend of fabulous. The djembe drummer in his blaze orange t-shirt and black mafia fedora nails the beat and the place rocks. There is no way to sit still to reggae. The body does something involuntary and it doesn’t matter what. A slim Japanese man, shirt unbuttoned and all in white, does tai chi on the dance floor. A round-faced Chinese fellow whirls a willing woman in a version of East Coast Swing.

performance
Fredi Marley

The crowd adores and Fredi delivers. Then Julie is clapping excitedly, “This is it! This is Bali Holiday!” (Click to listen) Suddenly it was like I was sitting next to a celebrity. Fredi’s voice is compelling, “Thirty days are not enough…60 days are not enough…90 days are not enough…still not enough…”  The message is one that speaks to me. No matter how long I am in Bali, it is never long enough. The band takes a break and Fredi walks over to our little group. He is glad I like his music, he says. Like every other Indonesian person I’ve met, he is warm and engaging. He shakes my hand. In a few minutes he’s back at his guitar for another round of irresistible sounds and rhythms.

The clock strikes midnight and the magic ends. However many hours it has been, it’s not enough. But Napi Orti is only about a block from my house. Fredi plays there often. I will go back.

Snake for Breakfast

16 Aug 2012 5 Comments

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I’ll try just about anything once. This morning Ketut was excited. He would bring me a special Balinese breakfast, fruit and tea and…snake.  I’m sure my face registered an element of concern. I asked, “Is it a Balinese dish?” Ketut was all smiles, “Oh yes, makanan kecil, snake.” Well, I LOVE Balinese food and I also have an incredibly tolerant digestive system. “Okay,” I said, “Good! Snake for breakfast! Good!”

So while I’m waiting for this unusual treat to arrive I put on Balinese music and try not to think too hard about what might appear. When I am served fish it comes whole, head, fins, tail, and eyes. The eyes are the worst. I have yet to see a live snake in Bali. What might a breakfast snake look like?

Now, as a storyteller I’m about to do a flashback to yesterday morning. Ketut and Sudi, my neightbor, and I were pouring over the pictures in the Indonesian cookbook I had purchased. We were especially drawn to the large dessert section. They are works of art, and why wouldn’t they be? The same women who make these confections also create the amazing fruit arrangements for ceremonies and the decorations for weddings and cremations. They are a fabulously creative bunch. The photos were gorgeous, mouth-watering, and Ketut explained that all of these delights could be found at the early morning market. We chattered awhile longer then went our separate ways.

About this time (back to my story) I heard Ketut’s soft “Hallooo,” letting me know he had returned with breakfast. “Yes, masuk Ketut, come in…” I was sitting in my breakfast spot on the balcony. Ketut lowered the tray and WOW! In a flash I knew my mistake. The word Ketut had been meaning to say was SNACK! In Bali those dreamy desserts I had been drooling over the day before are called by the English word snack, not dessert, not snake! I started laughing hilariously, a thing I do a lot here. When I explained to Ketut what I had been expecting to appear for breakfast he lost it too. When he could finally talk again he said, “People eat snack, snake eat people!” Well, yes, sort of! And we laughed again.

Here’s the photo of my SNAKE BREAKFAST!

The morsel I found wrapped in the banana leaf was, oh my…delicious!  And the striped goodies were a close second. So life continues to be a series of delightful surprises and before a thought can even become a wish, it is granted.

Speech to Harvard Graduating Class the Diamond in the Dung Heap

14 Aug 2012 1 Comment

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I would think, of all the fine institutions of higher learning in the U.S., the graduating class at Harvard would rate a top-notch commencement speaker. I won’t say who it was, if you’re interested and tech savvy you’ll find him. I watched, and listened, at times incredulous at others times embarrassed for him. But when all was said and done I was able to glean one sentence from his speech to that illustrious crowd that I found of any value whatsoever. It was a piece of advice that by his own admission he felt qualified to give.

CUT A HOLE IN THE BOX

There it is. At first glance you’re probably thinking, Huh? And you didn’t even hear the absolute rubbish that preceded it! But that sentence worked on me, chirped at me in the half-awake moments of morning, nagged at me in the nodding-off moments at night. And I realized that, in spite of himself, that speaker had given me something of worthwhile brilliance to ponder.

Think outside the box. We’ve all heard that one and we know what it means. But what if ‘the box’ represents norms, standards, social and familial expectations, rules, guidelines, in short, expected and accepted behavior? And what if cutting a hole in the box allows anyone inside to see, taste, hear, and entertain the option of admitting unfamiliar information into his/her experience? That would be a good thing, right?

I tried to work with that, to make it work for me. Then suddenly I recognized the elephant in the room…the monster under the bed. No wonder I couldn’t make it fit. I exist completely outside ‘the box.’ The choices I have made for my life at this particular time do not align with norms, expectations, or accepted behavior for someone of my age and circumstance. But (and I have the utmost gratitude for this) the hole I have cut in ‘the box’ allows me to crawl inside once-in-awhile for love, support, comfort and reassurance that even though I am unconventional, I am still a valid part of the structure that made me who I am.

So thank you, you who will remain nameless until someone finds you online with the information I have provided. You made me think. You made me sort through the dung heap to extract the diamond. Aren’t you the cat’s pajamas.

Kintamani, Mt. Batur, and the ride of my life!

14 Aug 2012 1 Comment

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Kintamani. Even the name sounds magical, like Shangri-La, or Katmandu. Getting there was equally as perilous, or so it seemed on the back of Ketut’s motorbike. Kintamani is a village high on Mt. Batur overlooking a lake of the same name. We passed these spectacular terraced rice fields on the way.

Rice terraces

Farming the mountainside

The elevation of Mt. Batur is 5,600 ft., and the road up has the tightest switchbacks I’ve seen this side of Norway! As it happened, the road down did too. I so wanted to take a photo of the impossible curves but stopping would have meant instant death, and letting go of my stranglehold on Ketut to grab my camera and shoot from the back of the bike…well…that wasn’t gonna happen! I think I held my breath for 30 minutes. Then, suddenly, we rounded a curve and there it was!

Lake Batur

A flat, straight stretch of road in Kintamani

Behind me is a vast desert of lava from the eruption of Mt. Batur. At the left is a tomato garden. There are red onions, cabbages, and tomatoes in plots nestled among the outcroppings of volcanic rock.

There are two peaks, Mt. Batur and Mt. Abang, and between them is the caldera, the flat open land that resulted after a major eruption. The ground is jagged and lumpy where the bubbling, flowing lava solidified. It more closely resembles desert than tropical island! Bali has many faces.

Hot Springs

One of the advantages of an active volcano in your back yard is the occasional fissure in the earth that allows hot water to bubble out. There is a charge of 150,000 Rp or about $16 to use these pools.

Hot pools of varying different temperatures by Lake Batur.

There were three women in the far pool and while we watched a young man in a sarong served poolside drinks. I felt the water…it was HOT!

The view from the pools.

The sun was out and there was hardly a breeze, but the air up here is much, much cooler than the daily average temperature in Ubud. There were times on the motorbike when my polar fleece would have been a welcome addition!

Leaving Batur and Kintamani…

What a delightful day, and the icing on the cake was meeting Ketut’s parents! They don’t smile for photos, but they laugh and joke constantly the rest of the time.  I do love the Planet Hollywood t-shirt with the sarong!

The one time in my life I felt really really tall!

Then it was time to head back to the curves and swerves for the trip home. Ketut doesn’t drive slowly, but he is careful. I only screamed once. That’s really good for me.

Getting MORE of ALMOST What You Want

10 Aug 2012 3 Comments

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I had a craving for young coconut water. I mentioned it to Ketut one day in passing, I wasn’t suggesting or insinuating, I just innocently asked if we ever had young coconut water. “Young coconut?” he asked. “Yes, coconut milk, coconut water…” The conversation ended in that sort of foggy never-never land, a little like the feeling when two socks go into the laundry and only one comes out…! But the following day, sometime mid-morning, Ketut called to me from the garden, “You like young coconut water?” It’s a strange sensation, sort of like I flipped the switch yesterday and the light came on today, startling me in a pleasant way. “Yes,” I said, wondering what he was leading up to. Ketut pointed to a cluster of coconuts in the palm next to him. “I get for you.” Okay, this was good. I grabbed my camera and raced downstairs in time to capture the whole process.

Ketut on his way up the tree

Selecting just the right one

Ah…got it!

Trimming the top and bottom

Poking a hole for the straw…

Hurray! Young coconut water! It doesn’t get fresher than this!

For those who have never tasted young coconut water it is…unusual. There is a slight sweetness, a hint of coconut flavor, and a sense that you are drinking something that is very, very good for you!

So this morning, based on my current success rate, I decided to go out on a limb. About once a week I treat myself to coffee with breakfast. I always regret it because I drink the whole pot and I tolerate caffeine poorly. But it’s just one of those things and it’s only once a week. So this morning I asked for coffee, then said, “And Ketut, do we have milk? Susu?” As is our routine he repeated, “Susu?” I agreed, “Yes, milk, susu, with coffee.” Again, never-never land. A few minutes later I saw him disappear through the gate and head off down the path. I thought nothing of it until he reappeared a few minutes later and called up to me from the garden. He was holding up a little can and asking me if this was okay. “Just a minute,” I called back, grabbed my flip-flops, and ran downstairs. I studied the can and in the jumble of Indonesian komposisi (ingredients) I saw the word creme. Well, maybe in Bali cream comes in a can. Milk would be fine but cream would be absolutely wonderful. “Perfect!” I exclaimed.

I went back to my writing fantasizing about coffee with sugar AND cream. I could already feel the onset of jitters. Pavlov again? But I didn’t care. Pretty soon the soft, “Hallooo,” told me Ketut and my coffee had arrived. “Masuk, Ketut, come in!” The tray laden with half a papaya, toast and peanut butter, and the thick, black Balinese coffee I’m beginning to love made my mouth water. And there is was…the little silver pitcher of…oh, oh…sweetened condensed milk??? Note to self…creme does not mean cream. Once again I was profuse with my thanks and Ketut left beaming. I spooned a glob of the sticky, yellowish goo into my coffee trying not to think about the calorie count. I could take an extra long walk today, I told myself, knowing I wouldn’t. And you know what? It’s good! And there’s 9/10th of a can left in the refrigerator. I could have this in my tea, too.

Getting What You Want

08 Aug 2012 2 Comments

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Oh sweet success! Who would imagine what a thrill breakfast could be? I’ve been here three weeks and until now the first meal of the day has been a rotation of 1) scrambled eggs, toast, strawberry jam, and fruit, 2) omelete, toast, strawberry jam, and fruit, and 3) banana pancake and fruit. I shouldn’t complain. In Minnesota I ate steel cut oats and fruit 365 days a year and loved it! But here? I was beginning to see the months stretch out in endless repetition.

My first attempt at requesting a whole papaya, cut in half, skin on, and peanut butter for my toast turned out badly. I was served my regular breakfast but the bowl that usually included watermelon, pineapple, and banana had only chunks of papaya. A bubble of desperation formed in my throat. That afternoon I went to Ganesha Bookstore and bought an Indonesian Dictionary. As soon as I got home I looked up the words for butter and peanut. Selai kecang. Good. Moving right along I found words for papaya, skin on, cut in half, etc. etc. The complex mixture of consonants and vowels were baffling and overwhelming to me. I found Ketut in the garden, and with sign language and the dictionary I tried again. The next morning the egg was absent, and the papaya appeared in quarters, peeled, on a plate this time instead of a bowl, with toast and strawberry jam. We had gotten a teeny-tiny bit closer.

About that time the afternoon meals were encountering the same issues. I realized that if I wanted to enjoy the wonderful Balinese food that I love, I needed to accelerate the learning curve. I needed flash cards! On an outing to CoCo’s Supermarket, I found wooden ice cream spoons and began writing on them the new Indonesian words and phrases I was learning. Then I practiced, and practiced, and forced my atrophying brain to simply memorize all those unfamiliar sounds.

Studying my flash sticks.

Fortunately, Ketut is a willing tutor. Each morning I tried out my emerging language skills on his Balinese ears and noted the subtle corrections he made in my pronunciation. Sometimes he had to look at the Indonesian word I’d written to understand my version of it! Take for instance, peanut butter. I was pronouncing it see-lie ke-kang. The correct sounds are seh-lay ke-chang. No wonder it had not shown up with the toast! But I’m slowly making progress and he is getting steadily more adept at interpreting my pantomimes. Then this morning his patience and my persistence finally paid off!

Half a papaya with skin and toast with peanut butter!

Bliss! You cannot imagine my excitement and the expressions of gratitude I showered on poor Ketut in English and Indonesian and probably a little leftover Spanish that still hangs out in my memory banks. After I finished the delightful and long awaited breakfast I scurried off to CoCo’s Supermarket and snatched up four more packages of wooden ice cream spoons. Getting what you want, especially when it’s food, is a powerful motivator. Wasn’t it Pavlov…?

Mr. and Mrs. D. and The Acceptable Tree

06 Aug 2012 1 Comment

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I’ve introduced you to Mr. and Mrs. M. Dove. You know the grim saga of The Naked Tree. You also know that Mr. had proudly presented my Bougainvillea bush as a hopeful nesting site and was promptly put in his place by Mrs. D. I’ve since learned that in dove etiquette, the male is always the one who scouts out potential home sites. Whether or not they suffice is a decision that is exclusively up to the Mrs.

At this point you have probably discerned my fascination with the lifestyle and habits of my busy neighbors. The thing is, perched here in the treetops with them, I am privy to the most intimate details of their lives. It is impossible not to watch, and marvel, and wonder.

The other day I was minding my own business (for a change) when I heard the sound of wings flapping loudly and wildly. It was Mr. Dove. Oh no! What terrible injury has that poor bird sustained. Doves can fly soundlessly from tree to rooftop and soar so softly you would never know they were there if you didn’t look up. So what had happened to my feathered friend. I peered into the branches of The Acceptable Tree home that Mr. and Mrs. now share and where his ungainly flight had terminated. Although he had executed a safe landing, the wild flapping hadn’t stopped, and the leaves and branches were shaking furiously. Trying to be discreet, I peeked cautiously from behind my bamboo shade. I caught a glimpse of the two of them in a sort of dove love dance.  After a few moments they flew off quietly together. Hmmm.

A short while later I heard the uncoordinated flapping again. This time Mr. joined Mrs. on a nearby rooftop. He had more or less landed on her back! There was a flustered moment when the two struggled for balance, but after that Mrs. didn’t seem to mind. It lasted only a few minutes, then they were side by side grooming each other with meticulous care. Since then I’ve heard the crazy flapping many times and it always precedes a visit to a special lady. When there’s no female to impress the flight is soundless.

After consulting Google and Wikipedia I learned that, in warm climates like Bali, mating is pretty much a year-round activity. Doves tend to reproduce about six times a year and that requires a whole lot of flapping and cooing! The soft, soothing coo, I’ve discovered, is a mating call and is exclusive to males. Sometimes Mr. D puffs out his chest feathers, too. They are shameless attention grabbers! But all that flirtation and affection obviously pays off. There is a handsome dove population here in my garden! Like the Balinese, extended family seems to be a valued way of life.

Domestic Partnership – I’m Giving it a Try

04 Aug 2012 4 Comments

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I met him awhile back. I’ve kept pretty quiet about it, didn’t want questions…you know. It wasn’t a case of love at first sight, more like fascination. We’re very different. He’s really not my type at all, shy, but it’s true what they say…opposites attract. I wasn’t even sure we would be friends, but I was drawn, curious. Even now I hesitate to announce our ‘arrangement.’ We’re both still getting used to each other and it’s tentative.

Charlie is that enigmatic kind of guy who really needs to be drawn out, although once you get him going he won’t shut up! And talk about a night owl, we’re a bit at odds in that respect, too. I’m in bed at sundown and up with the chickens. But, as I said, we’re getting used to each other.

I really didn’t ask him to move in. One day he was here and, come night, he stayed. It was mutually agreeable. I was beginning to miss companionship. And he loves to surprise me in so many little ways. I always said, the guy who could keep me surprised and on my toes was a keeper! Charlie’s all of that. So it’s really, really good…to date I only have one complaint…I know I shouldn’t hold it against him but…he’s so small…

Charlie, Common House Gecko

Kamikaze Maniacs!

01 Aug 2012 1 Comment

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I should have stopped with the first cup. I shouldn’t have drained the whole pot. Coffee. It gives me the jitters, and I did not need a panic attack perched on the back of Ketut’s motorbike in the midst of a traffic jam on Jalan Raya, the busy main street of Ubud central.

Days ago I had mentioned that sometime I would like to explore the area of Ubud that lies south of the palace. I’ve walked the village for a couple of miles in all directions, but I know there is more to see. Touring the streets by motorbike seemed a good idea. This morning when Ketut brought my breakfast he inquired, as he always does, “What is program for today?” I told him I was going to work hard, write-write, all day. “Oh…no program?” he asked. Obviously writing does not qualify for program status in his world. In the next moment he was making a circular gesture with his arm saying, “Go look Ubud?”

A few hours later I climbed on behind Ketut, fastened a death-grip around his waist, and we were off. Okay, this is why I am determined to learn Indonesian. I pictured a leisurely weaving back and forth through narrow streets just south of the palace, up one, down the other, and getting a general lay of the land. I had also mentioned finding the large Delta Dewata Supermarket and the Seniwati Art Gallery, all well within the general area of my frame of reference.

As we pulled into the congested flow on Monkey Forest Road Ketut hollered something about did I want to see Bintang Supermarket too…big big? “Sure!” I hollered back. A big big supermarket would be fun…right? We rounded the corner onto Jalan Raya and were absorbed into the teeming sea of motorbikes, tourist buses, mini-vans, bicycles, and clueless tourist pedestrians. It isn’t a total free-for-all like the kamikaze maniac drivers in Sicily, but it is cause for hyperventilation if you’ve had too much coffee.

For what seemed like hours we squeezed through openings that I would have sworn on my life were impassable. We challenged tour buses for our right to the road…I would have slunk, cowering behind them, sucking up the noxious fumes, grateful to be alive. Not so Ketut! Then, suddenly we were free, speeding along an open road, breathing great gulps of clean air. And on we went, and on, and on…. After several more miles I asked Ketut, “Are we still in Ubud?” “Yes, yes, very good area,” he assured me. And on…and on….

The landscape began to look rural, and as we rounded a tight curve I gasped…”Stop!” Before us were rice terraces, those ethereal masterpieces of agriculture that seared their beauty into my memory when I first beheld them in Bali three years ago. “I take pictures, Ketut!” I explained as I clambered off the motorbike fishing for my camera.

My heartbeat triples its cadence whenever I see the terraces. I don’t know what it is about them but to me they are the essence of prayers.

Ketut and my chariot patiently waited. Then I resumed my perch and off we went. Bintang Supermarket is huge compared to CoCo’s and small compared to Sam’s Club or Costco in the U.S. I took a quick swing through, didn’t see anything I couldn’t live without, and was back in the saddle in no time, still headed farther away. Then, without explanation or apology, the road made a giant loop and, yes! We were going back toward Ubud!

Upon re-entering the part of the city I recognize (I used to call it a village…it has today, in my mind, graduated to city status) we finally began the weaving process I had originally imagined. But it wasn’t easy. There are north-south streets but very, very few east-west connectors. And sometimes what begins innocently enough as a road, ends as a trail through the rice paddies.

The road above with no warning became the trail below.

We turned down a street. It became a bumpy lane, then a cart path, then the trail you see here, and then…we turned around. With expert maneuvering Ketut got us to Delta Dewata, but today Seniwati Gallery was nowhere to be found. It was totally my fault for not having an address.

Our adventure had taken two hours. Where were we? I have no idea. But I saw new sights, took some great photos, bonded with Ketut and the motorbike, and made it, once again, safely home. What could possibly be better than that?

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