Bali Building Codes

04 Mar 2013 14 Comments

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

I have seen construction sites in Bali that make me shake my head. After working on commercial projects in the interior design industry for years, I was familiar with strictly enforced building codes.  In Bali I’ve heard of only one: nothing can be built higher than a palm tree. There are some mighty tall palm trees, but a building over 3 storeys is rare.

That leaves the playing field virtually wide open for creativity, nevermind safety or accessibility! The Balinese are artists and if they can think it, they will build it. Or if YOU can think it, they will build it. Which brings me to the subject of my latest residence.

Approach to Front Door

From the outside it looks like a normal structure with handsome brick and stonework. There’s a wide tiled terrace a step up from the yard and a garden of banana trees, coconut palms, frangipani, and thousands of unknown plant species.

Right of Entrance

Lush foliage borders the right of the entrance.  The gap between the wall and the roof allows fresh air and light into the luxurious bathroom.

Stepping through the door, however, all similarities to Western design cease. The front entrance allows a view straight through the house to the back garden, and there are no walls or windows blocking the sight. A wooden platform floats serrenely in the air above the tiled living area. The stairway access has no unsightly railings and the surround enclosing the platform has openings large enough to allow countless small children to fall through unhindered.

Platform Overlooking Garden

It is something like heaven to wake up at dawn, pull out my yoga mat, trundle up the steps, and greet the day with sun salutes while nature sings it’s lungs out around me.

Daybed on Platform

A daybed occupies one end of the floating deck and I could easily live right here. This is where I enjoy morning coffee and start my writing for the day. The view of the inside of the house from this perch reveals a sweet informality. The furnishings, although not entirely my taste, work for me. The home was built to last 25 years ago, with brick walls 10′ high, tile floors, and a ceiling that soars 20 feet.

View of House from Platform

Below the platform is an extensive terrace living area. It is open on three sides and as one friend remarked, “It looks like anyone or anything could walk right in.”

Terrace Below Platform

Indeed they could. But the bedrooms and the kitchen have locking doors, and I tend to like the security of that when I sleep! However, the bedroom window has only a decorative wooden design that would prohibit an adult from entering but it wouldn’t stop a monkey! I just lower the bamboo blinds, arrange the diaphanous mosquito netting to make a cozy tent, and sleep more soundly that I have in years.

Bed, Mosquito Netting, and Window

This house comes with staff. Ibu is a 67 year old woman who wades across the river every morning (there’s no bridge) to make breakfast, clean the house, and do whatever else I need. The first day she disappeared for about an hour. When she returned she was carrying a box of a dozen two quart bottles of drinking water on her head. I fussed at her and she left again and returned with a second big box of 12 more. I can barely slide the darn thing across the floor and she not only lifted it up to her head, she carried it all the way from the market. And she did that twice. Later, she was nonplused when she saw I had made my own coffee and she apologized profusely for not knowing I wanted it. 

It’s hard for me to let her do anything. She’s a grandmother and has worked hard all her life. But this is her livelihood. She speaks no English. I am grateful I know a little Indonesian by now, but it’s not nearly enough. Still we are making each other understood, and it is fascinating to see how much is communicated non-verbally with absolute clarity.

I did , however, ask one thing of her. It is something I want done that only she can do. The Balinese fill their homes and businesses with offerings daily. They spend hours making the little palm dishes that hold the bits of moss and flowers. My new home has the traditional house temple. P1020771

There are statues of Rama and Sita, Buddha, and Dewi Sri. It was a strange feeling to know, though I am not Hindu, that something needed to be done, that there was unfinished business here. So I asked Ibu if she would honor my house and make the daily prayers and offerings. The next day she arrived with no less than 15 of the little palm dishes filled with flowers. She lit sticks of incense and put on her sarong. Then she went through the rooms placing each offering where only she knows it should be placed, sprinkling holy water, and making prayers.

P1020775

There was one on either side of the entrance to the house. There were three in the front yard, one in the back. There were two in the kitchen, one on the dining table. I watched with moist eyes.

P1020770

My heart overflowed with gratitude for Ibu, and the grandmothers who know what to do. They are a dying breed. When she finished the ritual, she told me that now the house was protected. We had appeased the high gods, the low gods and the animals. We had blessed the plants and the ancestors, and brought safety to my home.

Pasek stopped by later. “How much you pay?” he asked, noticing the offerings. When I told him he quizzed me again, “How many?” Again I offered up the requested information. I’ve gotten used to the direct questions of the Balinese. If they want to know, no matter how personal, they ask. When I approached a temple a few months ago with a Balinese friend he turned to me and in all seriousness asked, “Are you menstruating?”

I don’t know if Pasek approved of the price or not. It doesn’t matter. For sixty cents a day I have the joy of watching Ibu perform a ceremony that has deep meaning for her and has its roots in the oldest belief system on earth. Even if the complexities of it are beyond my understanding, it nourishes my soul, and that’s a bargain at any price.

Antidote for Blue Mondays

18 Feb 2013 5 Comments

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

At first I thought it was an obnoxious crowd of drunks creating noise pollution in my already noisy neighborhood. It came out of nowhere, all at once. Folks who are partially pickled don’t usually hit the same level of inebriation at the same time. I’m not an authority, but it seems to begin with one or two, then as the night wears on the rowdiness escalates. My neighbors were full bore from the get-go. Forget trying to think, or read, or concentrate on anything. It was like having a college frat party in my back yard. The racket was continuous. Raucous howls of mirth, peals upon peals of shrill hee-hee-heeing, deep guffaws and whoops and cackles went on, and on, and on, non-stop, for an hour. Inquiring politely into the sudden deterioration of the environment, I had my answer: laughing yoga.

foghorn-blue-maran-rooster-crowing-in-fruit-orchard-8This is a residential neighborhood in Ubud, Bali. Unlike a residential neighborhood in the U.S. where four walls, a closed door, a yard, a fence, and laws about disturbing the peace keep things quietly controlled, here it is not so. Life in Bali is lived openly, on terraces, balconies, and in the streets. So when Dayu next door is talking to Wayan, I hear the conversation. When Nyoman’s cocks are crowing in a wild call-and-response contest with Putu’s roosters, they’re within spitting distance. But you get all that going and add about a hundred people doing laughing yoga and…holy buckets!

It’s every Monday night. I could set my clock by it. I need to make plans for Monday nights. I need to be far away. Although I have to admit, the quiet is tangible when they stop. The absence of their cacophony leaves a silent void.  The roosters are so shocked they don’t crow for a good 15 minutes. Nobody says a word. Peace. It’s almost worth it to hang around just for that.  Or…I could join them…hahahahahahehehehehehohohohohoho…!

Battling the Terrors

29 Nov 2012 8 Comments

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

My past frightens me. It is a long, arduous trek through unconsciousness. So much of it seems to have happened to someone else. In all fairness, I should have been institutionalized long ago. I should have cracked. But I was lucky. I perfected a serene, composed exterior. No matter what kind of hell was breaking loose just below the surface, it was my secret. No one ever knew, no one but me.

I rarely tell my life story. When I do, people are aghast. Some refuse to believe me. Some are awed. But all listen unaware of their gaping jaws. The things that are easy to reveal, the five marriages and five divorces, are startling enough without getting into the more disturbing details. “You seem so normal,” they say. I smile, serenely, “I am,” I reply.

Trauma remains in the body. No matter how good a person is at coping with life and covering up the scars, trauma lurks in cell memory. It can manifest as depression, panic attacks, or hundreds of other psychological disorders that keep therapists in business. There were times when the roar of terror and hopelessness in my ears threatened to tear me apart. But I have always seen myself as a happy person. Terror and hopelessness are unacceptable to my self-image. Writing became my salvation. I could scream the outrage into poetry or prose, pound it out on the keyboard turning the insanity into something manageable. But ‘manageable’ was merely survival. I needed to believe there was more to life than that.

Then three things happened almost simultaneously. I began doing Qigong meditation. It quieted and focused my mind. I developed a way of writing that took me behind the scenes in my psyche. I learned my truth. And I made yoga a daily practice. Yoga opened my heart. I’ll never forget the moment I first saw myself with compassion. I felt an outpouring of love for the brave soul who had  willed herself through life, raised three daughters, owned businesses, worked so very hard to be perfect while neatly, in quietly civilized fashion, battled the terrors within. I made a commitment that day to her. It was a promise to pursue the joyous journey no matter what. It was an intention let loose in the universe. I had no idea what metaphysical magic I had put in motion.

But any of you who have been following my blog have an inkling of the results of that promise. I have achieved what few are able to in this lifetime, bliss, in giant portions. I live in a place that nurtures and supports my journey. And the terrors? They are being squeezed out. I love the Leonard Cohen lyrics, “there’s a crack, a crack, in everything…that’s how the light gets in…” My tightly held perfection has cracked wide open and light is pouring in. Natural light. Healthy light. And when the little terrors poke their ugly heads out, they’re zapped!

 

Crazy Hot

28 Jun 2012 2 Comments

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

It’s hot in the Midwest. People do crazy things when it’s hot. Like my artist friend, Carol, for instance. We had a nice chat while she watched butter melt in a frying pan on her 104 degree deck. Her plan? Cook an omelet right there on the sweltering deck. That’s right, an omelet with mushrooms, peppers, onions…the whole shebang. She e-mailed me later. It didn’t work. The whole project was relocated to the kitchen stove. But hey! I give her credit for trying.

Then there’s my other friend Gina. She’s into yoga. Now some people like hot yoga and this weather doesn’t even register as warm in their book. Gina, however, decided it was too stuffy in the house for her personal practice so she took it out on the patio. Nothing wrong with that, right? But she felt that clothing was also a hindrance in the triple digit heat. She was upside-down when, through the splayed legs of a perfectly executed downward facing dog, she caught sight of the UPS man coming around the corner of the house. She had forgotten the note she taped to the front door specifying that, in her absence, the package should be left on the back patio. You don’t want to hear the end of that story. It wasn’t pretty.

For me, however, the weather is a perfect conditioner for my return to Bali in a few weeks. I’ve been shivering ever since I came back to Minnesota. Now summer has finally gotten her act together and other than an insatiable craving for DQ Blizzards which must be indulged, I’m as happy as a (steamed) clam.

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.

Yoga, Intention, and Geocaching!

23 Apr 2012 1 Comment

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

There are heart-opening poses in yoga. Some are quite easy, others require a mind-over-matter approach! There is also the opportunity to set an intention for the day. I set my intention this morning to allow my heart to be open to new opportunities in whatever form they presented. I held my intention through the poses which leaned decidedly toward the more strenuous.

(The following pbotos were taken from the Bing search engine.)

We did a lot of this only our arms are outstretched reaching, lifting, holding in front of the body.

And a lot of this, holding, holding…

And the full sun salute series 6 times on each side.

The one pose that was over-the-top doesn’t have a photo anywhere on the internet! Picture this: Stretch out full length on your stomach, legs together. Stretch your right arm straight out from the shoulder, perpendicular to your body. Roll your entire body to the left toward that arm as far as you can keeping the right arm extended. Bend your left knee and bring your left foot close to your left hip but keep it on the floor. Bend your right knee and bring it up beside your left. Now raise your left arm toward the ceiling and then stretch it back as far as you can toward your right arm. Then hold the pose for 2 – 5 minutes. Your shoulders crunch, your heart opens! Wallah!

I walk back home and sit down in the little cafe for breakfast after greeting the others already assembled there. Pulling out my notebook I start working on the next piece of writing when I overhear a conversation between two tables at my left. The man from the Netherlands is explaining to the couple from Canada about his travels geocaching. As I eavesdrop I learn that “treasure boxes” are hidden all over the world with specific GPS coordinates for locating them. They are placed by individuals who have an interest in or love for a particular place. There are actually three right here in Ubud, he says. By then I am shamelessly listening and asking questions. The one he plans to see this morning is in a school for handicapped children. Then the invitation, did I want to come along?

Cause and effect is a reliable force. Here was an opportunity presenting itself not more than a half hour from the time I’d set my intention in the heart-opening yoga class. I ask a few initial questions then accept. We head out, Rob from the Netherlands with GPS in hand, and me, open-hearted, opportunity-seeking adventurer. Twenty minutes later we enter the huge open main floor area of the school. It is spotlessly clean with some structures that appear to be built for large motor skill development. Then we’re directed up the stairs. Three-quarters of the way up Rob exclaims, “There it is!” and picks up a brightly-colored woven basket sitting on the ledge by the stairway. He opens it and removes a notebook and pen, writes his name and the date and something else in Dutch, and returns the notebook and the basket. Then he shows me his phone slash GPS and the button to push indicating he found the treasure.

Wonders never cease. We then observed two classrooms. In one the children are singing, beautifully. In the other they are paying close attention to their teacher. She gives an instruction and they perform the task, then she issues another instruction. A woman tells us that there are children with Downs Syndrome, Attention Deficit, Hyperactivity, Autism and other disabilities. At 10:00 they will be downstairs in the gymnasium for exercise…that is what I saw coming into the building…and we can watch.

The school has a restaurant and is attempting to be self-supporting. All the children and everyone I see working there is Balinese however the school (and orphanage) was founded by Europeans. This is not a tourist destination so information is a little tougher to come by, nor did I find a website.

We thank them and leave, conversing congenially as we walk back. Rob catches his motorbike taxi to the next treasure location. I retire to to my balcony to once again share the events of the day with you swearing never again to underestimate the power of intention.

A Visit to Michael Franti’s Soulshine Retreat Center

31 Mar 2012 2 Comments

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

I’m terrible with names. It comes naturally. So when J.J. mentioned that there was an open house at Michael Franti’s Soulshine Retreat Center, just outside of Ubud I did one of those, “UmmHmm,” comments that translated means, “I think I should know who you’re talking about but I don’t have a clue.” She wasn’t fooled. “You know, the singer?” she was trying to help. “Ahhh, maybe?” The thing is, I know SONGS. I don’t know SINGERS. Anyway, it sounded like a nice outing for the morning so we set out on foot. Well, it may be five minutes from Ubud by car, but it was a full hour hoofing it. First we had the rippling sidewalks of Ubud proper. Those turned into narrow dirt paths by the side of narrow roads with traffic whizzing by. And then even the narrow paths disappeared. Mix that with blazing sun beating down and you have a perfect recipe for heatstroke! When we saw the Soulshine landmark, five yellow flags by the side of the road, we hoped we weren’t hallucinating. Turning right off the street we were immediately drenched in Bali beauty.

We followed the path along this lovely little stream and it turned into a rushing torrent splashing through holes in volcanic rock formations.

Then it became a waterfall.

Finally we reached the Center itself, an oasis of serenity.

We were greeted by smiling, friendly staff who told us they knew nothing about an open house. There was a retreat in progress and they were so sorry…. Well, J.J. wasn’t about to roll over and play dead. “It says in the Bali Spirit guide that during the Festival the Soulshine Retreat Center will have open house 11 – 4 every day.” The smiling staff looked confused. One of the young men asked us to “Please wait,” and he disappeared. After only a few minutes a woman appeared at the top of a long stairway and motioned us to ascend. We did. The woman was Carla Swanson, co-founder and Michael Franti’s partner. She personally took us on a tour of the center. The photo below is the third floor yoga studio with gleaming wood floors and a panoramic view of the surrounding rice paddies and jungle.

The accommodations are sublime, and the carrot juice drink we were served, compliments of Carla, was unparalleled. My photos do not do justice to the tranquil beauty, the exquisite detail of the architecture itself, and the serene aesthetic that permeates the environment.

This is a view of the grounds from an area by the pool and restaurant. It is luscious. Everywhere you look is a feast for the eyes. We rested, soaking in the restorative energy, sipping our cool drinks, imagining hosting workshops here. It is the stuff of future dreams that have a way of manifesting if you see them clearly enough.

Our tour completed, J.J. and I parted ways. About half -way back to Ubud the sky was threatening to dump its afternoon deluge so I sought cover at the Nuriani Cafe. It was a splendid choice. After a refreshing glass of watermelon juice I feasted on this plate of Ayam Pedas Sambal Matah, which loosely translated means grilled chicken, vegetables and rice. The prawn chips are crisp and delicious but you have to eat them immediately. If they have a chance to sit even briefly they soak up the humid air and become like fishy tasting leather.

I lingered here, enjoying every morsel and resting my eyes on the green of the paddies from my elevated perch. This particular view has special memories. The buildings just across the field belong to Tegal Sari where my daughter and I stayed two years ago. Then the rain came and lasted once again for about 4  1/2 minutes.

 

Thoroughly satisfied, happy and hot, I trekked the rest of the way back to my room with single minded focus: TAKE A SHOWER. Now, sitting on my balcony refreshed and revived I am convinced it doesn’t get better than this.

Nazi Yogini

26 Mar 2012 1 Comment

by writingforselfdiscovery in Bali Tags: , , , , ,

I’m usually pretty mellow. Take things in stride. Make it work. Last night’s Restorative Yoga Class tested my limits. Some people just shouldn’t teach. From the get-go there was a weird vibe in the room. I can only describe it as tension. Nobody seemed at ease. About 20 people turned out for the class and we were seated expectantly on our mats. The instructor began by saying that she had nothing really planned, we would just “let it go where it will.” Well, that’s fine, I do that all the time. Nothing alarming yet. But soon it was clear there were issues. Her manner was condescending. Her suggestions came across like commands. There was no easy flow. It was a painful.

Then, in the middle of who-knows-what, she wanted us to do some partner yoga. Nobody was even remotely interested. She lost a couple of people on that one. They exited without even putting away their mats. My flesh was crawling and I seriously wanted to bolt! But my eyes connected with the young woman next to me and we managed to do the partner thing that was being required. Somewhere in the midst of it all I had the blinding flash of insight that it probably wasn’t all about the teacher. Some of this discomfort was about me. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Okay. That’s what it’s all about, right? Self-discovery. I’ll work on the ‘me’ part later. Right now I just want to go on record saying that she was one really terrible yoga teacher!

It was finally over and I ran.

This morning dawned bright and clear and I headed out to Early Bird Yoga. There was a fabulous instructor! Lovely class! My faith is renewed.

Tonight I by-passed Nazi yogini’s class and opted for a luxurious massage at lovely Pertenin Spa instead. Smart move! Then stopped at Atman Kafe for a Vietnamese Chicken Salad and some great people watching.


After two, blissfully pleasant hours in the Cafe, listening to conversations in five different languages, I left for home. It is a spectacular night and my pathway is well lit. I can hear music playing, children laughing,and some confused nocturnal rooster crowing.

The moon, flanked on either side by stars, illuminates the night sky.

I know, no one in paradise should be allowed to complain. Sorry. I just needed to vent. Thanks for listening!

What a day!

24 Mar 2012 3 Comments

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

It’s 6:30 a.m. Light rain is falling as I head down a deserted Hanoman Street. For days now I have allowed the morning rain to deter me from walking to the Yoga Barn for the 7 a.m. Early Bird Yoga class. It is one of the few Level 1 classes offered and my body is happiest at Level 1. I am the third to arrive. I take a mat, blocks, and a blanket and make my way to the far side of the room settling into a seated, meditative state. When I again open my eyes, the room is filled. There are, at quick glance, at least 20 people on their mats, waiting. The class is perfect, flowing from one pose to the next, fluidly, slowly, with the breath. I leave, calmed and energized.

Back to my homestay for breakfast and a quick change of clothes, then I’m off to the market. The sky is now a brilliant blue with bright sunshine. I gaze upward and can’t resist this shot. Who says you can’t take a picture directly into the sun?!

One must be mentally and physically prepared for a visit to the market. As with markets everywhere (with the possible exception of stoic Budapest) I am accosted every step of the way with, “Miss, a sarong today? A beautiful sarong?” “Miss, silver bracelet for you? Silver jewelry?” “Miss, Miss, good price for you today!” I find that the best answer is to respond in a sing-song voice, “Not today…thank you.” Most often I get a sing-song “Thank you…” in return. Sometimes I hear, “Miss, tomorrow?” I smile and move on.

The air here doesn’t move. There are offerings and incense at every vendor’s stall. I’ve wormed my way deep into the bowels of the marketplace. In the mid-day Bali heat I start feeling slightly woozy. I find my way to a balcony and inhale a deep breath of fresh air.

Yes. All those rooftops house more of the market. I wonder how many of the thousands of sarongs available here are sold on a given day, or how many of the I “heart” Bali T-shirts?

Finally, 200% over-stimulated, I look for an exit and escape. Uh oh! This street isn’t familiar. I go back inside, wend my way in the opposite direction, or as close to that as possible, and emerge somewhere else. Once again outside I recognize a landmark. The Oops Bar. I strike out confidently in the wrong direction. After a short distance I realize my mistake and make the necessary correction. I am heading for the Wayan Cafe, sweet oasis in the midst of sensory overload. It is a fair distance from the market but, dripping with sweat, I am bound and determined that a long, leisurely lunch there is just reward for the trials I have endured.

My persistence pays off. I ask the blue turbaned attendant if there is an available table in the garden. He invites me to go in and choose for myself. As I follow the winding path through rich foliage bursting with blossoms, I hope that I will find the perfect spot, secluded and tranquil. I pass many opportunities for seating but they aren’t quite what I’m hoping for. Then, on my right, is a high platform with a thatched roof overlooking a lovely lotus pond. It sits all by itself as if just waiting for me to find it. I remove my sandals and ascend the platform, sinking gratefully into the cushions.

And now the part my “foodie” friends have been waiting for. You know who you are! The menu is extensive and every dish delectable. I decide on an iced latte to start. The smiling blue turban appears and wallah! Iced coffee.

I’ve decided on an Indonesian dish called Cap Cay (pronounced Chop Chay) for my main course. It is described as “cabbages, carrot, cauliflower, onion, and green vegetables in  a red sweet chili garlic sauce served with plain rice.”
My mouth waters and my stomach rumbles anticipating the flavors.

Oh delight! I am not disappointed. I savor every mouthful and wonder how I will summon the capacity for dessert. Exercising tremendous restraint, I do not lick the bowl. My happy attendant returns to remove the empty dishes and I tell him I must have dessert but I will have to wait a bit. “Take your time,” he says. I’m grateful for that. It is the perfect opportunity to take a few more photos of my idyllic surroundings.

The view to my right…

The view to my left…

And the view straight ahead. I’ve studied the dessert menu and, much against my better judgement, I order two: coconut meringue pie and green tea ice cream. The ice cream comes first. It is every bit as refreshing as it looks.

Yes, I should have stopped there. But Wayan Cafe is also a bakery. One should never leave without tasting at least one of their specialty desserts. Their coconut meringue pie is a pastry lovers dream.

The pie arrives. Gorgeous! I manage to polish off the whole thing. Did you have any doubt?

Reluctantly I know the time has come to leave my little island of calm and head home.

I thank my server again and slowly take myself and my very full belly, down off the platform and back through the serene gardens and home. It has been quite a day and it’s only 3 p.m. I make myself comfortable on the balcony with my laptop and find the place in the Word document where I left my protagonist hanging yesterday. The story starts to unfold in my mind and my fingers follow it, clicking over the keys.

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