Tadpoles, Caterpillars, and a Naked Tree

22 Jul 2012 Leave a comment

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

There is a lesson here. I’m sure of it. The Tree, rounded and lush, was home to a pair of cooing doves. Many times daily they sought cover in  her protective branches and rustled around copiously completely hidden from prying eyes. Mine.

The Tree

That morning I spied a ladder propped against the trunk. Look closely…it’s there. Being unfamiliar with the species of Tree or the possible nature of her fruit, my first guess assumed harvest. The Tree had produced something delectable that Ketut would gather. I parked myself on the balcony in a position affording the most advantageous view and waited. My patience was rewarded. Ketut climbed the ladder with a wicked-looking curved knife in hand. On his way up he chopped at a few stray branches and sent them crashing through the vegetation below. Next thing I knew, the ladder was below him. He was scaling the trunk and hoisting himself into the thick crown of leaves above him.

Ketut in The Tree

In the next instant he was hacking off branches at an alarming rate. Well, I mused, maybe this is a pruning rather than a harvest. What if the doves have a nest in there? What if he upsets it and they can’t go home? Anxiety was setting in. At the onset I had feigned nonchalance, observing but trying not to be obvious about it. Now I was fully engaged, horrified, not wanting to believe my eyes. Hack, hack, hack. More and more branches crashed through the palms and frangipani below. I had to bite my tongue to keep from shouting Stop! Please stop! Ketut, after all, is the gardener and the garden, after all, is not mine. With each loud whack of the knife and each crashing fall of a branch my heart sank a little deeper into grief. I turned away and busied myself with distractions not wanting to see what I feared.

Later, after all had been silent in the garden for some time, curiosity compelled me. I had to look. Mon Dieu! Butchered! Denuded! The Tree stood naked and grotesque against the sky. This was abominable! I needed an explanation. My thoughts were stormy…Where is he? Where is that Ketut…that butcher! He’d better have a good story because I an not happy.

Naked Tree

I found him, of course. Summoning as much composure as possible I inquired, politely, about the tree. It was for safety, he said. Too much wind, tree fall on house. What about the birds? I needed to know. Was there a nest? Many nest, Ketut smiled, but no egg. He further explained that he was not finished. The whole top of the tree would be cut off but his knife had broken. The whole top of the tree. Then what? I asked. He smiled that angelic smile…Then, one month maybe, new tree!

I’m sensing a theme here…first the frog, now the tree. Death and rebirth. Transformation. For my last visit to Bali I lived at the edge of a rice paddy. I arrived when the new shoots were tender green rows against the muddy earth. I left just before harvest. The paddy was a golden field, ripe, mature, and I had grown as well. This time I live at eye-level with the treetops. My neighbors are the birds. I am in mid-heaven, halfway between the sacred and the mundane. And I know why I’m here. Yes, to rewrite the manuscript…yes, to hold a workshop…but the greater purpose, wrapped all around in this beautiful cocoon of my home, is to liquefy. I’ve already felt the beginning of it. I could be terrified, or I could yield into acceptance. What choice does the caterpillar have? What choice do I?

A lone dove sits on a naked branch of The Tree. One month, little friend, I tell her, one month.

Rumah Kita…way better than “The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel!”

17 Jul 2012 7 Comments

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

If you haven’t seen The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, I highly recommend it. That and four other movies helped me pass the 26 hours en-route to paradise. It is one of those heart-grabbing tales that touches truth with humor and sensitivity. The movie evoked tears and laughter, both in abundance.

And now I’m back! I’m living in the house of my dreams,  in the place of my dreams, doing what I love. (Pinch me!) When I first saw these rooms filled with light from the 8′ windows on three sides, my first thought was If I ever have the chance to rent this house I’d take it in a heartbeat. I inquired and my name was added to the bottom of a long list of “hopefuls.”  In early June, about a month after returning to Minnesota, I found out my name had, by some miracle, risen to the top of that list. I could have the house for 4 months starting mid-July but had to decide in 24 hours. Although I pretended to weigh the pros and cons, the decision had been made months earlier when I first walked through the door.

Here is my 10′ x 25′ balcony overlooking treetops and rooftops.

My breakfast is served here, on the balcony, by Ketut, my ‘house helper.’ Just so you can be completely envious, this house comes with staff. There is a house manager and a house helper. Pasek, the manager, takes care of the financial affairs of the property and shops for food and other necessary supplies. Ketut’s job is to take care of me. He prepares and serves my breakfast, cleans daily, and changes the bed and bath linens every three days. He keeps the house filled with fresh flowers…truly filled…and tends the gardens. When I want tea, or coffee, or a blended fruit drink I simply request it and it appears with Ketut, on a tray, along with another fragrant bouquet. I am already spoiled beyond recovery!

The night I arrived it was approaching 2:45 a.m. and I had told them to expect me between 1 and 1:30 a.m. But I no sooner stepped out of the taxi and Ketut was beside me, all smiles, in his grey hoodie sweatshirt. He hoisted my HEAVY suitcase over his shoulder and off we went, winding down the narrow path that leads to Rumah Kita, my beautiful new home. As I turned in at the gate I glanced up. The upstairs shined like a beacon. We walked up the staircase to the private entrance and opened the door. Every light in the house was on, the white tile floors were spotless and glistening. And flowers…the perfume of frangipani and blooms of unknown species wrapped me in fragrance and welcomed me in.

Ketut made sure I was comfortable, told me he would see me in the morning, and left me to unpack. Yes, I’d been up for about 28 hours straight by then, but there is something about unpacking that grounds me. When I finally peeled back the blue quilted comforter on the bed it was approaching 4 a.m. But all I could do was gaze in awe out the windows at shadowy palms and a sky full of stars and laugh and laugh and laugh. I was home.

As promised, Ketut appeared in the garden below about 7:30 (sunrise is 6:30 and the roosters and I were up at the crack of dawn!) “Would you like your breakfast?” he called up to me. My stomach had been rumbling for several hours by then…”Yes! Please!” He flashed a big smile…”What would you like?” Uh oh! I didn’t realize I might have options…”What are my choices?” I asked. Come to find out, I just have to let him know and I can have anything I want. I settled on fruit, omelet, and coffee, took my journal out to the balcony, and within moments breakfast (and more flowers) appeared before me.

I dined in sheer bliss listening to the Bali morning noises that I love. The house is near the river and overlooks banana palms, coconut palms, and a profusion of flowering bushes and trees. Some of the sounds are different from the chorus of the rice paddies that had become so familiar during my last stay. I love them all!

And I am intrigued by what I am beginning to call the ‘bliss factor.’ There have been times when there were one or two aspects of my life that brought me happiness. I learned to focus on those and if you asked, I would have told you that I was happy. There have been times of tremendous stress and pain but still there was happiness.  Here I experience something else. When I step off the plane and feel the warm softness of the air, see the brown faces and white smiles, my heart leaps into my throat. Tears well in my eyes. I feel a blinding shock of joy explode in my heart. It is a sensation I’ve never experienced anywhere else. I can only call it bliss. Some people meditate for years to achieve this altered state. I simply step off the plane.

From the edge of my balcony….Bali night.

Global Cooling Hits Bali

05 Jul 2012 Leave a comment

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

I had a Facebook chat with my friend, Komang, this morning. He was complaining. He said it is cold in Bali right now. I asked him, “How cold, Komang?” There was a pause then the message popped up, Komang is typing…I’m glad that little note appears. At least I know that the answer to my question is being thoughtfully prepared, that the other end of my correspondence hasn’t decided to walk the dog or take a shower. In a few minutes I was rewarded with his answer, “I don’t know…it is so cold I use shocks.” That stumped me. Shocks. Hmmm. Whatever shocks meant to him, I didn’t think it meant the same to me, so I typed my next question, “Are shocks blankets, Komang?” I needed to know. I watched the white blank space waiting for his answer and pretty soon the message popped up again, Komang is typing…He was apologizing,”I’m sorry, I mean socks…It is so cold I sleep with socks AND blankets.” Meanwhile I Googled temperature in Bali just to get a feel for how miserable it actually is. Daytime temperature 77 degrees Fahrenheit the website said, tonight, mid sixties.

Here in Minnesota, in the midst of a record-breaking heat wave, 77 degrees sounds like paradise. I’m guessing the rice paddies and bananas won’t freeze!

As I was zipping along the freeways today, from the skyscrapers downtown to lunch in the suburbs, I couldn’t help but think how radically my life will change in ten days. I am returning to Ubud for four months. In a country where, by law, no building can be higher than a palm tree, there’s a different code. The pace is slower. Everything I need is within a few minutes’ walk. I like seeing chickens on the side of the road, clucking and pecking. I like watching the motorbikes come early in the morning with huge crates of produce, fresh from the fields, strapped on the sides. I like the pageantry of the cremation procession that stops traffic for hours. And I know that I am viewing it all from my white, Anglo Saxon, privileged perspective. But there is an authenticity there that disappeared from our Western culture about the time plastic was invented. It calls to me.

I have always felt a deep relationship with antiquity. The ruins at Pompeii, the architecture of European cathedrals, Chichen Itza, all fascinate me and create a desire to know more about the people who lived during that time. In Bali the ruins are there but so are the people, living and believing much as they did hundreds of years ago.  And if Komang says it’s cold, who am I to disagree? In a land that rarely sees the thermometer dip below 83, a night in the mid 60’s would seem frightfully chilly.

Painting Outside the Lines

14 Jun 2012 4 Comments

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

3800 people from 37 different countries have read my blog. Amazing. And the fact that somewhere behind the scenes that information can be gathered and available to me is even more incredible. But better than all of that is the technology that makes it possible for me to find Rita Golden Gelman, send her an e-mail, and have a response within twenty-four hours from her laptop in Turkey.

So who is Rita Gelman? Backing up just a bit, I met a woman from Iceland who had read Tales of a Female Nomad. She highly recommended the book so I ordered it and began reading immediately. Rita Golden Gelman, the author, lived in Bali for eight years. As I read about her experiences there I began to understand and appreciate more fully my own journey. So I emailed to let her know how profoundly her book had touched me. She answered immediately and included in her response the name and e-mail address of a person who lives in the seaside village of Kerambitan, Bali. She encouraged me to contact her friend if I wanted to see that area, and of course I will.

Rita is now 75 and has been traveling the globe and living with indigenous people all over the world since 1986. She’s had no permanent address.

The thing that becomes clearer day by day is that there are many ways to do this life. The roadblocks to pursuing dreams, finding peace, experiencing joy, are often our own limiting assumptions. The stories we tell ourselves determine how we live. Often they are just stories with no basis in truth, they are perceptions of how we think we should be.

Last night I got together with a group of friends. One of them said that she had been reading my blog and her favorite post was the one called My Wife is Fat. The Balinese man who said that also told me that he likes it. Fat, to him, means something far different than it does to us in the U.S. He tells himself a story about his wife that allows him to appreciate her ample girth.

When I utilized discovery writing techniques, I found new ways of perceiving my reality. The tagline on my website says, “Creating a life that fits like skin.” It’s trial and error. I’ve let go of the need to get it right the first time. I’ve given myself permission to paint outside the lines. Have you ever seen the view from there? From outside the lines? It takes my breath away. That’s where I’m finding my skin. That’s where I seem to fit. But I still have to fight the ‘stories’ that play in my head. They are full of shoulds and shouldn’ts. They want to keep me small and sad and caged. I see them for what they are, old fears, old old stuff. So I give my head a shake to clear the cobwebs and click the BUY button. A confirmation number for my return flight to Bali appears on the screen and my soul sprouts wings.

Returning

09 Jun 2012 3 Comments

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

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Longing
 
It haunts me,
calls gently.
Return, it says.
I don’t have to ask
the knowing is written
in my bones…
the longing
speaks more loudly
than love
or anger
or pain.
Return, it says,
to my green arms
to my heat
to my fragrance
to joy.
Return.
And I will…
soon.
 
This poem needed to be written. It was tight around my heart. I couldn’t put words to it because I didn’t know when. I didn’t know if soon meant weeks, months, or unbearably longer. Today I know. Weeks. I will return to Bali in July, in four weeks. That is just long enough to get a new visa. Just long enough to see friends one more time…just long enough.
 
I have never loved a place before. I’m trying to understand the improbability of it. Why this place? Why half-way around the world from everything I know?
 
 
Of course I explored the question in my discovery writing and the answer rang like truth when the words of it appeared on the page. With truth comes freedom. Freedom allows. And it is all about allowing ‘havingness.’ Havingness is about worthiness. Worthiness is about self-love.
 
There! Did you follow that process? Discovery writing unlocks truth. I love it! I created it and I believe in it. It has informed and transformed my life. And for those of you who have faithfully followed my blog, I am returning. Please come along!
 
 


Yoga Makes Love Space

20 May 2012 2 Comments

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

In my yoga practice I enjoy the heart opening poses. There are many benefits to drawing the shoulders toward the spine and down. Anyone who uses a computer for any length of time each day can see the value in reversing the hunched back and concave chest. This opposite action gives the lungs more room. The body can breathe deeply adding a higher measure of oxygen to the blood which in turn increases brain function.

There’s another benefit. One of the things I found delightful about yoga in Bali was the opportunity to experience teachers from all over the world. Sitara, my petite yogini from India whose manipulation of English was always entertaining, insisted that the heart opening poses create more ‘love space.’ Sometimes it’s a stretch for my Midwestern mind to embrace the less tangible aspects of the discipline. To imagine that by thrusting my sternum forward and breathing deeply I will invite more love and compassion into my heart is an idea I would like to simply accept without the skeptic in me saying, “Seriously?!”

The thing is, the longer I devote myself to a regular practice of yoga the more I notice subtle changes that have nothing at all to do with the physical and everything to do with attitudes and perceptions. While my body becomes strong and flexible, my mind and heart are getting an unexpected overhaul. I find myself thinking more clearly. I am seldom worried. Instead I feel intense joy just being alive. Emotions touch me more deeply and I have a new tenderness toward myself and others.

Shortly after Sitara made her comment about the results of heart opening poses, I was wandering Ubud streets that I hadn’t previously explored. I came upon this two-story hut and the unique sign advertising its function. The whole concept was so incongruous I stopped dead in my tracks and stared. I’m sure I had the open-mouthed, glazed eyeball look going on as I tried to assign some appropriate meaning to the sight before me.  Failing that, laughter came bubbling to the surface and I laughed and laughed and laughed until my face was wetter from tears than the usual rivers of sweat.

I eventually pulled myself together and continued on my way contemplating the strangeness of life. What are the chances I would stumble upon this landmark and have Sitara’s lesson so humorously  reinforced. For me it was an affirmation, a synchronistic sign that creating more love space is a vital piece in my continuing evolution.

Solving the World’s Problems at Murni’s Warung

10 May 2012 3 Comments

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

MY LOVES

Leaving beauty, warmth, friends.

Returning to beauty, warmth, friends.

My heart has two homes,

both equally dear.

It is an emotional day. My last day here in Bali where I have been so utterly happy, is a tough one. Half of my heart breaks while half eagerly anticipates reuniting with family and friends. I had to write the little poem, above, to remind myself that here is not so different from anywhere else, and it is okay for a piece of my heart to reside on an island half way round the world no matter where the rest of it chooses to be.

This will be my last blog from Bali. Blogging has become a lovely piece of my life and I am not sure what kind of a metamorphosis it will make to continue once I return home. But I’m not going to dwell on that just now because the end of my amazing day yesterday was worth some photos and a blog post as well.

After the sacred cleansing pools, the batik factory, the fishing village with the mouth-watering shore lunch, Karin, Halle, and I decided that you can’t have too many farewell dinners. Our destination last night was Murni’s Warung. Murni’s was the first real restaurant in Bali. It has been in operation since 1974 and is a must-see landmark in Ubud. Murni’s occupies four levels on the cliff overlooking the Campuan River.

We were on the very lowest level with the most spectacular views.

Whereas our table at Indus had us perched at the top of a plunging river gorge, at Murni’s we were deep in the valley with the rushing sound of beautiful water music just below.

We again had our table at the edge. Often the first to arrive for dinner, we have the undivided attention of the staff who are always eager to please.

There are statues everywhere, some are old and some just look old which everything does in Bali after a short time because the humidity creates ideal conditions for moss to grow! The Warung houses many antiques from Java and Bali.

I love the flowers in this bowl in front of the giant Ganesha statue. Ganesha, the elephant, is called The Remover of Obstacles and is a beloved Hindu deity. How appropriate, don’t you think? If anything can remove obstacles blocking your path certainly an elephant can!

Here is another one of the cozy rooms for dining at Murni’s.

The three of us had such a wonderful time talking that I completely forgot to take food photos. You’ll just have to forgive me!  Halle and I had the vegetable curry with red rice and a rum soaked chocolate cake with coconut ice cream for dessert. Karin had the traditional Balinese duck and banana fritters. I will admit that the food played second to the fun of being with friends and enjoying lively conversation. Eating was a bit of an afterthought, although the three of us walked out stuffed to the gills and chose Murni’s complimentary driver over any thought of getting home on our own feet!

You will be relieved to know that between an Icelander, a New Yorker, and a liberal Minnesotan, we have solved the world’s problems. It only took three hours.

Goodbye, Bali. I’m shedding a few tears for the precious people and the beautiful memories here.

Meet Dewa, #1 Guide, Host, and Friend

09 May 2012 1 Comment

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

Dewa says I must bathe in the sacred waters of Tirta Empul before I leave Bali. It will purify my mind and body. So this morning at 9 o’clock sharp I do as I have been instructed, don my sarong and sash then off we go. “Why the sash?” I ask Dewa as he weaves through the maze of motorbikes in early morning traffic. My Balinese walking Wikipedia thoughtfully asks a question in return, “There is the mind, and there is the body…what is a better English word for the desire of the body?” Now it’s my turn to ask a question. “Do you mean all the desires? The desire of the body for food, for sleep, for sex?” (It’s okay. We’ve had these conversations!) “Yes, for sex,” he replies. “Well, that depends,” I say. “If desire is accompanied by caring and deep feeling it is a good word. If it is purely desire with no emotional attachment you could call it lust.” By now I think I have an idea where this is going. Dewa confirms my suspicions. “The sash is to separate the mind from the sexual desires of the body when you enter the temple,” he tells me. In this culture there’s a purpose for every item of clothing, every ritual, every ceremony.

We arrive at Tirta Empul and walk through the serenity of the the gardens.

The statue is Saraswati, a female Hindu water deity.

There isn’t really grass anywhere. It’s a tiny, round leaf plant that is used for ground cover.

And here is Dewa. Always happy, always patient. The plastic bag contains offerings for our time in the sacred waters.

Before we enter the cleansing pool, Dewa takes out the three offerings made by his mother, and lights the incense.

He places the offerings on the altar along with many others. Now it is okay to enter the water.

He says I should go first. I sit down on the edge and notice there are a great many fish that are sharing this experience with me. Some are medium, some are an edible size. I decide it isn’t much different than swimming in a Minnesota lake. As I put my feet and legs in the water I detect another similarity. It’s COLD! This is fresh spring water and as such it is deep-earth cooled. I slip into the chest high water with a little gasp. There are 12 gushing spouts and I am to bow under each one of these and make a prayer.

That’s me about half way through. By this time I’ve got it down and I’m totally into the experience.

Dewa follows. It’s quite a lengthy process, this cleansing of the body!

The second pool is for the mind. There are six spouts but you only use one. I wait patiently for the privilege of cleansing my mind.

The ritual cleansing completed, we go back to the locker room, change into dry sarongs, and depart for the next leg of the journey. Our second stop is the home of a famous batik designer. Following a narrow walkway from the street, we come to a large room. Thirteen women sit at makeshift drafting tables, each with a length of fabric and a bowl of hot wax. Using a paintbrush they painstakingly apply wax to the fabric in all the areas where the dye is not wanted. The wax is a deep amber color and the waxed pieces are beautiful before they are even dyed.

The next room holds the huge vats of dye. The fabric is soaked in the color then hung to dry.

Once dry, the pieces are moved into the next room to await wax removal. In this factory the batik is done on cotton, linen and silk. They are limited edition fabrics. Only a few of each of the designs are made. The quality is magnificent. You won’t find these in the market!

The contents of the two huge, black cauldrons in the center of the room is heated with a wood fire. The dyed material is placed in a cauldron and the wax melts leaving the raw white fabric showing through creating the design. If more pattern and color is desired the piece is returned to the wax room to have a new application placed over the dyed areas. Now when it is dipped in a different color the already treated portions will not be disturbed.

Here is a block of the amber wax. Pieces are sliced off and melted for the women to use in the fabric waxing room.

I so appreciate the opportunity to see the Balinese people doing what they have done for hundreds of years for the most part unchanged. It can be a severe shock for those of us coming from the industrialized West. Most tour guides take you to the showrooms. There you will find a few pretty vignettes where Balinese people demonstrate how jewelry is made, or batik fabrics are created. Then you are ushered into the main area with row upon row of glittering jewelry cases or racks of fabrics for sale. The average tourist doesn’t have a clue that these staged presentations are light years removed from the reality of how the products are created.

We thank the batik workers for allowing us a peek into their world then head for the ocean. The last stop today is a fishing village where we will have lunch. The roads get narrower and narrower. Dewa reminds me that this is not a place where tourists go. This is a village of Balinese fisherman and our ‘shore lunch’ will consist of today’s catch, whatever it is.

The road ends at the beach and the black volcanic sand begins.

Dewa poses beside one of the colorful fishing boats, still smiling!

Our mystery fish is being grilled over a coconut husk fire while we watch. As it sizzles, it is basted with a mixture of garlic paste mixed in coconut oil then flipped and basted again. The skin is scored with several diagonal cuts before it goes on the grill so the garlic mixture can penetrate into the meat. The end result is yet another gastronomical delight!

Here it is, grilled fish, water spinach, and rice mixed with sweet potato. Notice the candle. We had a good laugh about our candlelight lunch on the beach!

Last but not least, fish satays. These are wickedly hot little globs of fish mixed with various chilies and spices then grilled. I ate one. Dewa polished off the rest.

The shoreline gracefully curves, embracing the incoming waves. Mountains at the horizon are hazy blue.

This one almost got me!

Time to go, but as we leave we stop to watch this woman make short work of a fish. It is round and flat, I’m guessing flounder. Squatting by the side of the road she has it gutted, the fins chopped off, flesh scored and ready for the grill in a few swift flicks of that knife. Even dressing a fish, in the skillful hands of a master, is poetry!

What an amazing day. I think I have said that about every single day for the past two months. I also think, no matter how long I might stay, there would be no end to amazing days.  I love this place, my new friends here, and the ancient ways that anchor me to something more permanent than my life.

Little Pig, Little Pig…

08 May 2012 1 Comment

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

I ventured out later than usual today. The morning dissolved in an amazing conversation with a new friend that lasted several hours over breakfast and multiple pots of tea. I could write a book just on the people I’ve met the past two months and it would be a page turner! So after catching up with e-mails I set out to run some errands. Somehow I ended up at the huge Ubud market about 3:00 p.m. That’s a terrible time to go to the market. The vendors are cranky, its hot and crowded, and everything looks tired. To make matters worse, I was hungry. When I’m hungry I can’t make up my mind. My stomach distracts me. So after looking at one woman’s sarongs for about half an hour I told her I had to go eat and I would come back. She told me I made her sick. Whoops! Oh well.

I shouldn’t have wasted my time with her wares. She really didn’t have what I wanted. I went a few stalls down, looked at two items, negotiated briefly, made my purchase and got the heck out of there! Now it was 4:30 and I was starving! I wanted to avoid the busy cafes on Monkey Forest Road and Hanoman so I took a little side street to see what might turn up. Just a short way up Jl. Gootama I saw a sign, Dewa’s Warung. I like places that sit high over the street and this one did. I climbed the steps and took a seat on a bamboo mat and started studying the menu. The prices were really, really low. Must be small portions, I thought, paying attention to my growling stomach. The Gado Gado sounded delicious, and I decided to order a side of Green Fern with Shaved Coconut and Rice along with my turmeric, lime, and honey drink. My order was taken and I busied myself people watching from my perch. A French couple came in and sat at the table across from me.

My drink came first. I inhaled it. Delicious. After about twenty minutes I was presented with a large plate, piled high, of tempe and vegetables with a rich brown peanut sauce and prawn chips. It was the largest serving of Gado Gado I had ever seen. I thanked my server and took a bite. I almost groaned with delight. It was absolutely divine. I wondered about the other dish I had ordered, but decided my server could easily have misunderstood. It happens and this would be plenty. I was half way through the amazing meal when suddenly the other plate with equally as much food appeared. “Oh my!” I said and out of the corner of my eye I saw the French couple look askance at my two dinners. The mistake was mine but I vowed to make the best of it. I tasted the mound of green fern with sweet fresh coconut shavings and then I did groan. How can anything be this good?

Yes. I ate them both. Unashamedly. My bill came to $2.75. I paid $3.50 and waddled home. I am so dreadfully spoiled! How is this going to work when I get back to meat-and-potatoes-Minnesota and have to pay real money for groceries and then cook them myself? I’m a dreadfully, dreadfully spoiled little piggy.

Bye-Bye Bali at the Indus

07 May 2012 7 Comments

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

A fabulous, farewell dinner seemed appropriate as my departure date looms ominously closer. I didn’t know what to expect from Indus, a legendary eating establishment outside of Ubud, but what I got far exceeded whatever I could have imagined. When our driver pulled up to the entrance I thought he’d made a mistake. I was visually blown away. It looked like we had arrived at a palace. A flight of incredibly wide buff colored steps flanked by lions lead to a spectacular door, blue highlighted in gold. Stepping through the doorway we entered a gallery space with exquisite Indonesian art adorning the walls. Passing through yet another portal we found ourselves at the top of a second broad staircase overlooking the restaurant itself. Anyone who stands there for the first time and does not feel like Cinderella entering the ball is in the wrong story!

A gracious Balinese hostess welcomed us and led Karin, my friend from Manhattan, and me through the inside dining area to the terrace. The view of the Tjampuhan River gorge plummeting hundreds of feet downward, just the other side of the railing, absolutely took my breath away.

There are layers of terraced yards stepping down to the rushing river at the bottom. I had specifically requested a “table on the edge,” and that’s what we got. From our seats we could see another of the restaurant’s terraces below us and then nothing but down, down, down!

The fragrant breeze helped maintain a perfect temperature.

The little table for two hugging the railing is our table on the edge!

This is the view looking back into the restaurant from our table.

The menu was one of those that makes you salivate just reading the descriptions of the food! It took awhile, but I finally chose the Tempe Curry with Sweet Potatoes, Shredded Bean Curd and Red Rice.

Oh! Oh! Oh! I never get tired of eating in Bali! Every dish is an adventure and they all have happy endings!

This time I yielded to temptation and ordered rice wine with lime juice and seltzer. It was remarkable.

I had dessert too of course, my favorite, coconut ice cream, but I forgot to snap a photo. It looked just like coconut ice cream!

I happened to look across the gorge just in time to see the faint outline of Mt. Agung before the clouds once again piled up around her obscuring the view.

Here’s Karin in her new silk sarong and me in my flowy, tie-dye pants!

We had stretched dinner out for 2 1/2 blissful hours, but these cliff-side tables all have reservations and our time was up. We paid the ridiculously reasonable bill and I asked the hostess if I could use their phone to call a taxi. She asked where I was staying then said, follow me please. She led us out of the restaurant and told us that their complimentary driving service would take us back to our hotel. What a lovely ending to another perfect day. But if I thought it would make me feel better about leaving…not so much.

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