"Eat, Pray, Love"

From 10 June...

I thought it appropriate to spend my first night in Ubud listening to “Eat, Pray, Love” read by the author Elizabeth Gilbert. Oh, thank you, thank you for this book. It brought me here. It has not brought me to Ubud for the same reasons Gilbert came, but the mention of the town got me on the path to coming here. And, once on the path, I realized that there is yoga here and a buzz that is a little less party than Kuta and a little more zen than the rest of Bali.

So far, despite my first day’s experience here, I really like it. I am really looking forward to going to the Monkey Sanctuary to see the cheeky, wild monkeys. I am slightly terrified about getting back into yoga. I will start tomorrow. I will start tomorrow. I am not going to kid myself about getting across town to the 7am beginner’s yoga which is probably the most appropriate class for me, but I hope to get there for, let’s see, what was the name of it, they have so many. Yes, either Hatha yoga at 8.30 or 10.30 Vinyasa flow. (I ended up at an afternoon beginners' yoga class. I spent the morning moving to a new hotel, but more on that later.)

I can’t wait to be a regular there. The stepping in the door for the first class terrifies me. I will be fine once I get there, I am sure. It is just the first step. To this end, I think I need to stay in a hotel close to yoga. No more excuses, sweetheart. That and the hotel I had arranged for myself for these twenty days has really pissed me off by forgetting my reservation and not having space for me upon my arrival. I have no room for pissed off in Ubud. Granted, the hotel I found is about double the price of my original choice, but $15 extra per day seems a small reason.

I so want to fall in love with Ubud that I have the idea in the back of my head to come back here again after my husband and I part ways at the end of July. Everyone looks at me skeptically when I tell them I plan to stay here for twenty days, though.

From 11 June...

Last night was a restless night. The paper thin walls and windows of the guesthouse meant I heard every door shut, every word of the conversations by family that runs the guesthouse, every rain drop dropping into the plastic bucket outside my room, every motorbike drive by on the busy street, every crow of the roosters, and every hammer of the workers on the neighbor's roof. The dirty bed sheet masquerading as a curtain blocked little of the light coming from the street lamp hung by my window or the sun that rose at about 6am. The ceiling fan above did little more than cut through the stale heat in the air.

The breakfast, served on my private balcony, was delicious (see picture). It was a huge banana pancake drizzled with chocolate sauce, fresh fruit, and a cup of coffee. But, once I was drenched in sweat ten minutes after I had taken a shower, I knew I needed a room with air conditioning. I just can't explain the relief it is to have a respite from the heat in the evening or even in midday when the sun is at it's hottest.

I returned to one of the several hotels I visited yesterday, this one the cheapest option close to my yoga classes. I met with the manager in the end and, using a tip from some British travellers I met in Padangbai, managed to get the price negotiated down from about $30 to $25. It may not sound like much, but when multiplied across 19 days, it adds up. The tip was to reassure the person that you would keep the price secret from other guests. I also forced myself to just sit their quietly with as little of an expression as I could muster. In the past it was always my tendency to either lose my patience with the bargaining process and leave or to soften my face and essentially acquiesce with my body language to the other party's selling price. I still find myself losing my patience oftentimes with smaller purchases until, in a huff, I finally give into the price from the fifth store I have visited to buy a bottle of beer or t-shirt or whatever it is I am after.

The hotel was beautiful when it opened probably ten years ago. I am sure of it. But, like I have seen in so many buildings in SE Asia, Malaysia, and Indonesia, little maintenance and the lack of routine, thorough cleaning has quickly faded the building and its amenities. Eight rooms at the back of the property stand derelict. From them, I get the idea of just how difficult it is to fight off the affects of humidity on even the finest of materials like marble.

But for now, I am overjoyed to move into my cool, spacious air conditioned room. I unpack and easily get settled before changing my clothes and heading out for my first yoga class five minutes' walk away.

I will upload more pictures of the hotel later, but here are a few of the four room bungalows nestled into the lush property and a view of my carved wooden doors that lead out onto my huge balcony. That's not cement you see, either. It is all marble!