Holy motorbikes!

21 Mar 2012 4 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

As adventures go, today gets a perfect 10. It had all the required elements: suspense, terror, discovery, delight. To say that I have an uneasy relationship with motorbikes would be, well, a lie. I am white-knuckle-clench-jaw terrified of riding on any motorized vehicle with only two wheels. So when Wayan invited me to visit their home I was thrilled until she said she would pick me up on her motorbike. My big smile did an instant melt-down. “Motorbike?” I squeaked. “Yes,” she flashed her own lovely smile, “you ride on the back. I will take you.” Face it. An opportunity to visit this Balinese family in a village about 30 minutes away, to experience first-hand how these beautiful people live, just doesn’t come along every day. There was no way I was not going.

Suspense. Wayan was coming at 4:00. By 2:00 I was feeling knots in my stomach. At 3:00 my palms were sweaty. By the time I heard the sound of a motor approaching at 3:55 I was hyperventilating. Taking a deep, cleansing breath I grabbed my bag and went out to meet her. She strapped me into a helmet, popped the back foot rests down and I climbed on. My grip on her rib-cage probably permanently rearranged her vital organs. Terror!  Then off we went. Traffic on the streets in Bali is frightening enough when I’m walking on the sidewalk. But to be weaving in and out between tour buses and hundreds of other bikes similar to hers, horns blaring, without anything protecting my fragile body, put me in a catatonic state. I clung to Wayan’s tiny middle for dear life.

After a few miles we left Ubud. The air was fresh, traffic was light, and in spite of myself I began to enjoy the ride. I don’t believe I said that! But its true. Upon arrival at her home I was introduced to her husband, Komang, and their adorable son. Komang works at the reception desk of a high-end resort spa. Both Komang and Wayan speak very good English.

My tour of their home commenced. I followed Komang to the family temple area. As he explained the function of each of the structures and what they represent I was struck anew by the dailiness of their beliefs. There is no separation between the secular and the holy. They are interwoven so seamlessly that one is unrecognizable without the other.

Komang explained that each of the small buildings in the temple area has a purpose. One is for making offerings to honor the ancestors. One receives offerings for safety. Another, offerings for prosperity. One that struck me with particular impact was the edifice that represented caring about doing good work. They make offerings and prayers, daily, for caring about doing good work. With all these prayers, setting the intention for such goodness, its little wonder that Bali is a very special place.

Did I mention that I was an instant celebrity here. Upon arrival children began to gather around me. No matter what I did or said they found it hilariously funny. They have mastered the words, ‘Hello’ and ‘Bye.’ But they mostly like Hello, so every few minutes one of them would blurt out, “Hello!” and wait expectantly for my answering, “Hello!” Then they would all laugh uproariously.

 

 

The Balinese lifestyle is completely different from ours in the West in other ways too. They have a house for sleeping, a separate house for cooking, a place for the ceremonies of marriage and death, and the temple area. All of these are surrounded by a wall, maybe 8 feet high. The buildings are small by Western standards, but most of life is lived outside. And why wouldn’t it be in this climate where as the saying goes, “Even a rock, if planted, will grow.”

There is a stream that runs a little distance from the house. Earlier Wayan had pointed to it saying that this is where she does her laundry. Huh? Sometimes I have to catch myself so that my shock and disbelief don’t offend. A few moments later she added that this is also where the women bathe every morning at 6 a.m. “Men too?” I asked. “No, men go somewhere else.” As I said, much of life is lived outside.

When we returned from our walk through the neighborhood, Wayan disappeared into the kitchen building and emerged a few minutes later with a treat. It was fresh coconut milk, straight from the coconut, which was harvested from one of the three coconut palms on their property. Then Komang’s mother joined us. She takes care of their mischievous three-year-old while Wayan and Komang work six days a week.

 

After refreshments Wayan and Komang offered to take me to the night market. Even though it meant another motorbike ride, my curiosity triumphed and off we went. There were no tourists there tonight, and we strolled through the isles, Komang carrying his son and Wayan holding my arm. I saw many Balinese women walking arm in arm and I felt much love for this little family that has so warmly welcomed me into their lives.

 

 

There were food vendors everywhere and the knawing in my stomach reminded me that Wayan and Komang had come straight from work and were probably hungry too. Komang pointed out the various dishes naming them. “And this one is bubur ayam…” he had barely gotten the words out of his mouth and I interjected, “Oh! Can we stop and have some? I will buy your dinner. I love bubur ayam!” My gracious host and hostess agreed. Three heaping bowls of the savory dish were presented and what a delicious treat it was. Three bowls of bubur ayam and beverages set me back a whopping $2.00.

As we finished our meal the sky looked like it may be working up to another twilight downpour. We quickly returned to the motorbikes and straddling the trusty machine, I once again wrapped my arms around Wayan’s waist. Waving goodby and thanks to Komang, we set off to beat the rain. What a spectacular day. And, thanks to Wayan, I think I may have overcome a major phobia involving two-wheeled, motorized vehicles!

 

Meeting Julie

20 Mar 2012 3 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Another special day! About 2:00 I leave my key at the office, their signal that I’m ready for clean sheets, towels, and a light touch-up of the room, and head out. My mission: keep a 3:30 appointment with author, Julie Silvester. The directions she gave me take me along Monkey Forest Road lined with shops selling beautiful batiks, fine silver jewelry, wood carvings, musical instruments and art. I make note of several that require a return trip for serious shopping!

Around a long curve, up a hill, right at the 24 hour grocery to the reception desk, then another right along a narrow, walled walkway and I’m there. Julie sees me coming and welcomes me to her second floor bungalow. Sitting in the treetop balcony sipping Balinese coffee we chatter away. Then she suggests we walk over and see “the house” before the rain starts. This is what I’ve been waiting for. Julie has lived in Bali for two years and now she’s building her own home. I have read about its progress on her blog but I’m extremely eager to see it in person.

We walk to the building site, literally one house away. I make Julie stop on the path so I can snap a photo of her with the house in the background.

There are women sitting on bamboo scaffolding sanding the beams that support the roof over the balcony.

But the major work today is being done in the bathroom. She now has running water! Soon there will be a pond with fish, a rock wall with orchids growing from it, and a fountain.

As she leads me through the rooms, pointing out different features and reminding me to watch my step, her excitement is tangible. But when she shows me the giant sculpture crowning the intricately carved main door delight simply radiates from her face. Everything has been done by hand. The sculpture was just finished yesterday by a man, on bamboo scaffolding, carving the details into the plaster.

 

The tour is completed and as we leave she points out the detail at the end of each one of the roof tiles. They are frangipani blossoms, the crowning touch! I marvel at this labor intensive project. Everything has been done by hand. Imagine what that kind of work would cost in the U.S.

The tour completed we return to our coffee on the balcony. The sky has been a saturated gray all day and it looks as though it is getting ready to really pour. I have a bit of a walk home but before I leave I want to buy the book Julie co-authored with Steve Castley, A Taste of Bali. Julie has one signed and ready in no time. I tuck my autographed copy into my backpack and wave goodbye.

As I am nearing home I see the warm lights of Atman Cafe across the street. It looks so inviting and I feel a little hungry. About the time I step inside the heavens open and rain pours down in solid sheets. Curled up on a platform amid a profusion of pillows I engage in conversation with the woman next to me. She’s from Oregon and has been traveling for 3 months. I eat my tropical fruit with a sweet chili dressing (I can’t even tell you how delicious that is!) and sink into the deep sensation of contentment that envelopes me. About the time I finish eating the rain has slowed to a skin-moistening mist. I walk the three minutes home, retrieve my key from the office, and unlock the door to a fresh, clean room. Somebody pinch me!

Hanoman Street in Ubud

19 Mar 2012 4 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I love the surprises each day brings. After another superb meal at Atman Cafe I head north on Hanoman Street.

Hanoman is one of the two main arteries running north and south through Ubud. I set off, camera in hand, to capture some images that are representative of the flavor of the village. This carved, painted door with a soaring crown and gargoyle is typical Balinese architecture. It is inserted into a high brick wall that surrounds a family compound or perhaps a temple.

There are always steps up to the doorway so you can’t quite see what’s in there. Today curiosity triumphed. I climbed the stairs and took a peek  through the partially open door. There was a large open space bordered by several buildings that I assume are dwellings. The ornate facades of these homes are protected by statues of gods or fierce creatures.

My mission for the afternoon is to visit the new CoCo Supermarket and pick up a few snacks for evening munching. I hadn’t realized until now what a snacker I am! Not having a kitchen with stocked cupboards handy is definitely a lifestyle change. I comb the gleaming isles of the large store. There are thousands of varieties of chips, cookies, and candies. My search is successful and I leave with two apples and a bag of spicy Thai peanuts. There is a somber look to the sky as I head home so I pick up the pace hoping to reach cover before a downpour.

I am approaching my turn when Hanoman Street becomes suddenly quiet. No traffic. That can only mean one thing. Looking up the street I see them coming. A ceremonial procession is making its way toward me.

The black and white plaid fabric is seen everywhere in Bali. I was told that it represents balance.

They pass directly in front of me on their way to the temple to make the offerings that the women are carrying on their heads.  I don’t want to be the obnoxious tourist who intrudes upon their traditional rituals with camera flashing, so I try to be discreet and probably miss the best shots as a result.

The parade continues on and I head down the walled corridor that will take me home. As I turn the corner at the top of the steps, there beside my door is a canang sari, a small basket woven of palm fronds containing an offering to the gods. The Balinese present these offerings three times a day. Sometimes I wonder how the women get anything else done. They seem to sit for hours every day making literally dozens of these small gifts.

Finally back on my balcony I watch the threatening clouds approach.

There’s a stiff breeze and…ahhh yes! Here comes the rain!

The Seduction of the Immediate

18 Mar 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I realized this morning that I have succumbed to the seduction of the immediate. I have allowed myself to be completely engrossed in blogging because I love the comments, the interaction, the intimacy of it.

But today it’s time to get busy and make some serious headway on my novel. That was my excuse for spending two months in Bali, right? So here I am, on my balcony, computer ready, not to be distracted by all the wonderful sights and sounds I could share with you! And I figured out how to set the timer on my camera. Major accomplishment!

Notice “Bali hair!” No amount of styling of any kind works here…just FYI.

Obedient Slave

18 Mar 2012 1 Comment

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There’s only one drawback to traveling alone…it’s a little tougher to get photos of yourself! But I am here…really I am!

One of the first things we talk about in my Writing for Self-Discovery Classes is the importance of listening to your body. Way too often the mind runs the show, deciding where to go, what to do and when to do it without ever consulting the body. The body, obedient slave that it is, goes along and goes along and goes along until one day it has enough. The ONLY way the body can get the mind’s attention is to get sick. Suddenly the show stops and the mind is 100% focused on the body.

We aren’t used to consulting our bodies. So much illness could be avoided if we listened to body promptings. And I’m the world’s worst! So, the purpose of this trip, along with working on my novel, is to teach myself to slow down, be present, and pay close attention to my body.

On Friday my mind said, “Oh! Yoga is perfect for slowing down and becoming mindful of your body.” So I dragged my body through 90 degree F temps and equally high humidity the 15 minute walk to the Yoga Barn. The Level One class was not easy, but it was do-able.

This is the entrance to the second floor studio at the Yoga Barn. Whisper Zone. Those are the cleaned and drying orange yoga mats hanging on the railing.

Bing took a better photo of the inside than I did, so the Bing Search Engine gets credit for this one! It’s a huge, beautiful space, wide open to the outside. There are bamboo shades that can be rolled down in case of winds or intense sun. Just being there makes me feel uber healthy and fit!

When you’re flat on your back in my personal favorite, Corpse Pose, this view of the ceiling is equally as amazing as the rest of the space. Our yogini was a petite Indian woman with a big personality. She cracked jokes a mile a minute, some of them I got, some of them I knew were jokes because she was personally very amused. After a sweaty hour and a half I once again hauled my overheated body along narrow roads with no sidewalks where scooters, cars and trucks were zinging around curves and honking frightfully at the lone pedestrian.

But I made it and was rewarded by the sweet refrigerated air of Pertenin Spa. My mind knew that a massage is a perfect way to relax and unwind tired muscles. Wayan, woman with magic hands, was there to greet me. I climbed the curving staircase to the most exquisite chamber where soft music and exotic scents welcomed me.

An hour later, oiled and kneaded to a fine rag-doll finish, I hit the streets again, passing a monkey so close to me her hair brushed the side of my leg. She continued on, up the steps to a women’s dress shop where she looked longingly in the window, her little hands pressed against the glass. The door was open, she could have gone in. But exercising incredible restraint she allowed herself only to admire from afar.

I trudged in greasy slowness back to my room, showered, and headed out to Cafe Kebun for a little something. It’s a hoppin’ place on Hanoman Street and there were no free tables. My server lead me to one occupied by 4 women and an empty chair. I took the chair. Two were from Australia, one was from Delaware, and one from Toronto. We talked for a couple of hours. It was 9:30 when I got back to my sweet room. At 3 a.m. I awoke with a scratchy throat and stuffy nose. Uh-oh. I shook 2 packets of Emergen-C into my water bottle and drank it down. Better. Then went back to sleep.

Morning dawned, snot dripping down my upper lip. Body has gotten my attention. Then mind made a very astute decision: we (my body and me) will rest as long as we need to. Of course body was all the while screaming, “Don’t you dare try to take me anywhere until I’m good and ready to go!”

For information, $1 per minute

16 Mar 2012 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , , , ,

Breakfast happens here. I shot this photo from my balcony, and that chair by the post is where I sit every morning. The little canal is home to the playful coi that keep me entertained as they fight over the hibiscus blossoms that happen to land in the water. Each statue, and there are many, is adorned with a flower every morning as part of the gratitude offerings made daily here.

Fido appears to be dismayed that he has lost his flower! Others have been blown into the canal where the coi immediately dart toward them, imagining I suppose, that they are bright red treats.

Dewa appeared as I was polishing off the last of my egg and cheese on whole wheat toast and I asked him about the Hindu caste system. He laughed and said that it doesn’t apply anymore, then proceeded to tell me that there are four levels. Brahmins are the holy men and women who have tremendous responsibility but can make no money. They depend entirely upon the proceeds from the rice fields owned by the temples. There are other forms of revenue but that explanation was lost on me since Dewa’s English is very good but my understanding of it isn’t always spot on.  Kshatriyas are the next level. They are the military strata and Dewa informed me that he is one of these. Vaishyas, third in the heirarchy, are the administrators in the system, and Shudras are the workers. Men are born into their strata and cannot move from one level to another. “However,” Dewa says, eyes twinkling, “women can by marriage. Also, there are levels within these levels and men can move up or down in status depending upon their abilities.”

He goes on to explain to me that the Balinese also have a strict order for events in life. As a young man you find a girlfriend. Then you get your education. Then you marry. Then you make money…”Lots of money,” he grins and adds, “for information, $1.00 per minute!” I join his hearty laughter at this joke. “The the last stage of life is wisdom,” he says, “deep connection with the spirit.” He points then to a woman working in the rice paddy in front of us and explains that she is Shudras, a worker. He asks me if I would like to work in the paddy? I look at the woman, knee deep in mud, bent over to tend the young shoots, and I wonder what life must be like for her. I look back at Dewa, “I’m very lucky.” I tell him. And he agrees.

A Frog or a Prince?

15 Mar 2012 3 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , ,

I’ll start today with a photo of the path from my residence to Hanoman Street.

Yesterday about noon I set out along this path on my initial exploratory excursion with one goal in mind: Find the Yoga Barn! Dewa, son of the owner of this amazing complex where I am staying, gave me a map of sorts and pointed me in the right direction. I just want to go on the record here and say that finding your way in Ubud is 1% map and 99% instinct! At least I knew to turn right instead of left when I got to the street. And fortunately, when I saw Siam Sally’s I remembered from my time here two years ago that I should take the alley beside that restaurant as far back as it goes, enter the arched gateway and WALLAH! THE YOGA BARN! It took me about 15 minutes to walk there going very slowly, taking in all the sights. Today when I return for my first class at 2:00 it won’t take more than 10 min. at the most.

There is a wonderful, organic cafe at the Yoga Barn called Little K. After chatting with the receptionist for a few minutes I made my way down the moss-covered steps, under a tangle of vines, to a platform under a huge thatched roof.

This is a view from my table back toward the kitchen. The next photo is the panorama from my table in the other direction overlooking the construction of a new theater area in the valley below me.

It was beautifully breezy, as it is today, and the cooling nature of the moving air masked the intensity of the sun. I didn’t realize that I had forgotten to pack sunscreen until the need for it became painfully obvious! Actually, just my shoulders are a bit pink. Not bad at all. I will be mindful of my pasty-white skin as I venture out today.

The menu at Little K was impossibly delightful and I finally settled on a smoothie of coconut milk, wheatgrass and other healthy ingredients too numerous to mention. For an entree I remembered loving the raw pineapple, date, nut, porridge. Here’s what they looked like when they arrived at my table.

Every mouthful was a spiritual experience! Absolutely divine! Eating in Bali is an event every time. This morning at the restaurant here at Jati House I was served an egg sandwich on whole wheat toast with tomato and cheese and a plate of sliced pineapple, mango, and banana. The tea tasted suspiciously like pu ehr, the fermented, really expensive tea from Yunnan Province in China. The first time I tasted pu ehr tea I decided it was appropriately named: pooh air! It smelled exactly like a stinky barn! I’ve since grown to love it…interesting what the palate can be persuaded to enjoy!

Returning home I was greeted by my doorkeeper. He’s the strong silent type. I’m thinking he’s maybe Prince Charming turned to stone by some Balinese sorcerer and I need only kiss him and he will return to his human form and live happily ever after. On the other hand, there’s a lot to be said for the strong silent type…!

I realize as I sit with my breakfast listening to conversations at the other tables in German, Korean, English Australian style, and Balinese, that over the past few years there have been two words that appeared repeatedly in my writing: Happiness and Freedom. I don’t know how to define either one, but sitting here this morning I am gratefully aware that I have achieved both.

Bali Morning

14 Mar 2012 2 Comments

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , ,

How is it that this place makes me feel good from my hair follicles to my toenails?! It was after midnight when I arrived in Ubud after 28 hours en route. Putu met me at the airport as planned and he and Wayan drove me to Ubud (always exciting especially in the dark!) After about an hour we reached our destination. I was led on a path along vine-covered walls and up a short flight of stone steps to my INCREDIBLE hideaway! I think I have the presidential suite! I reserved a single room, you know the kind with the really small bed? Imagine my delight when I walked into a room with a king bed, soaring 20′ ceiling, a huge 8′ wide x 7′ tall window and a door to a private balcony overlooking these views that I shot a few minutes ago. I asked Putu if this is a temporary room or if it is mine for two months. I was quickly assured that it is MINE!

This morning, at dawn, I was sitting right here with my Discovery Pages notebook, writing. Ahhhhh!

The very large window has no glass. No need. The temperature stays between 75 & 85 at all times, day or night. The broad overhanging roof shields the interior from the daily afternoon showers. For security and structural integrity, bamboo poles, about 2″ diameter, are spaced 4″ apart with a screen behind them. That is the only barrier between me and the amazing sounds of Bali morning. Some of the roosters start cockadoodledooing at 3:30 a.m. (Since that is 4:30 p.m. for me, Minnesota time, I am awake and I check the clock!) They are accompanied by the low muttering of ducks and a constant chorus of insect voices. By 5:00 a.m. the whole thing revs up a dozen or so notches when a million birds of unknown species wake up. I heard a new one this morning and I’ve fondly named it the Worry-Bird. In a Yogi Bear kind of voice it says over and over, “UH OH!…UH OH!…UH OH!”

The lightening sky lures me to the balcony with my writing equipment in hand. A few moments later I scurry back inside for my camera, and a few moments after that another scurry to grab the binoculars. There are two indignant birds battling one another over one very special seed in the rice paddy. What a fuss! I’m watching the whole altercation close up. (Thanks mom and dad for the awesome binoculars!)

A breeze carrying the smokey scent of incense tickles my nostrils. I breathe deeply, the thick richness of the air has already brought moisture back into my winter-starved skin.  And suddenly I’m laughing, my belly shaking and joyful tears dripping from my eyes. It is so good to be here!

Revisiting

10 Mar 2012 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Last night while I unpacked and re-packed my bags AGAIN, I opened a folder marked “Bali” that I had pulled out of the file drawer about a month ago. I thumbed through the miscellaneous brochures and receipts I had collected on my first trip two years ago. Pertenin Spa where Wayan gave me the most amazing massages was in there, and the jewelry shop where I had a special ring made to commemorate the rite of passage that trip represented for me was also there. I vaguely remembered having seen some pages of writing at the back of the file. Sure enough. There were my entries from the morning I left, snow so heavy you couldn’t even see the lanes on the freeway, to my return twelve days later. After the sensory delights of the tropics, Minnesota from the air might as well have been Siberia.

Scooping up the papers I stretched out on my bed and began to read. By the end I was laughing and crying joyfully. The first few pages were worthy of a travel magazine intent upon selling the wonders of Bali and it took me right back to the magic of that place. But then I began to wax philosophical as I always do, wondering why I didn’t know what I wanted for myself. I had a firm grip on what I did not want and it had manifested abundantly in my life so far. But why, at 60, didn’t I know what I wanted? As I explored that thought utilizing discovery writing techniques over the next few days the tone began to change. “What if I sold my furniture?” I asked myself at one point. “I think I could part with…” and there followed a list of just about everything I own and the reasons why I could let it go. At another juncture I asked myself, “What if I gave myself permission to write?” What if indeed!

As I finished reading the last page I realized that every possibility I had entertained as I wrote in Bali two years ago, had come to pass in my life. Far away from the appearances of the life I had created for myself I was able to engage with a much deeper and more honest place of knowing. As Wayan’s healing hands kneaded away the fear so tightly held in my body, and the slow-paced ritual ways of the Balinese unwound my driven type-A craziness, I saw that what I wanted was simply what I had always wanted.

I returned to Minnesota and tucked my “pages” in a file and forgot about them. But something infinitely powerful had been set in motion. I began to write. I began to sell furniture, a piece at a time. And I began to imagine a life of simplicity and freedom that centered around writing. I had no memory of those pages. I have never re-read them until last night. The power that resides in discovery writing astounds me! My “What if’s” of two years ago are now my reality and I am filled with joy like nothing I have ever felt before. It is as though all the scattered edges have been drawn in, stitched up, and made whole and I have come home, home to myself.

Countdown

01 Mar 2012 Leave a comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

I think it was October when I started surfing the net for plane tickets to Bali. In December I began shopping for my tropical wardrobe. Now it’s March first and I leave in 13 days! I’m so ready! The thick, wet, slippery snowfall yesterday cinched it. This has been a mild winter so far, really quite tolerable. But the inconvenience that accompanies a heavy snowfall in the city triggered my impatience. As I skidded into the side of my car, unable to find stable footing, and caught myself just in time to avoid sliding underneath it, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud…only two more weeks!  I’m so ready!

 

Last winter

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