Rice Paddy

I am really feeling a sense of accomplishment today. I got up early and hit the road on my rented scooter in search of some scenic countryside. It worked out perfectly. And, most importantly, the scooter and I both made it back unscathed. I can see why people like motorcycles - the feel of the wind hitting you and the exhilaration of having little between you and the outside world zooming by you. For those very same reasons, my motor scooter ride mildly scared the crap out of me. I had to consciously coach myself to relax, to unclinch my jaw, and to soften my white knuckle grip on the handle bars. Someone said to do something everyday that scares you.

Here are some pictures of what I saw...including a picture of my trusty little steed.

I am now back in Kuta (Legian), Bali. I finally found what draws everyone here - the beach. I walked along it and watched all of the teenagers trying to surf get chucked off their boards. I just love the sound of waves rolling in. And then I head to Gloria Jean's coffee. I will miss Indonesia, but I have had my fill of their unfiltered coffee. One regular latte, please.

My plan is to enjoy the sound of the waves once more with a morning walk along the beach and probably get in another latte. Judging by the bars and dance clubs that crowd the streets here, I expect that I will have the beach pretty much to myself.

Motoring

This morning was my last yoga class before leaving Ubud tomorrow. I took a Hatha yoga class from a tiny Indian fireball of a woman. Wow! I know I am going to feel that one tomorrow.

On Sunday, I leave Indonesia to head to Fiji (by way of Singapore and Auckland, NZ thanks to my round the world ticket with Singapore Airlines and Air New Zealand). I will have been here just under two months. As I was preparing my Lonely Planet Indonesia guide, I actually had pangs of sadness about getting rid of it. I bought the book in Thailand in March and it has been with me ever since. But I did sell it. The thing weighs about two pounds! I need to lighten my luggage all I can.

Have you seen the trailer for the "Eat, Pray, Love" movie coming out in theaters soon? I saw it a few days ago and there is a scene of Julia/Elizabeth riding her bicycle across a Ubud countryside of rice fields. I decided to go in search of my own rice field experience. I didn't get very far. Yesterday, I looked into renting a mountain bike. Renting a bike would be about $2.50 for a day. I nearly rented one, but talked myself out of it when I did a mental inventory of all of the hilly streets I had climbed here in Ubud in the past weeks.

At the end of my yoga class this morning, the sky opened up and it started pouring. When I realized how relieved I actually was to postpone my bike ride across the countryside, that solved it. No bicycling. I spent the late morning walking the now familiar streets of Ubud weaving my way around and through the tourist packed sidewalks. A pack of Aussies zoomed past me on motor scooters and I thought, "That looks like fun."

I had had the same thoughts in Thailand and rented my first motor scooter on the island of Koh Yao Noi. It was a great way to see the island at my own pace, but I wouldn't recommend a partially paved road to anyone as their first scooter experience. The roads here in Ubud are all paved...well, the roads I would be taking are all paved. The thought flashed through my mind that this would probably be my last chance to rent a scooter on my trip and, before I really knew what was happening, I was hoping on a motor scooter as the owner's wife told me repeatedly, "You drive VERY carefully."

My husband and I were going to rent a motor scooter for one day in Bali, but one look at the unending traffic on the one lane roads and my husband changed his mind. I really don't know what possessed me. Well, that isn't true. It was only $4 to rent the scooter for 24 hours. What a bargain!

And then the sky opened up again. Thirty minutes into my ride and several miles away from my hotel the rain started pouring down in sheets. Thank goodness the rental included a rain poncho. I stopped on the side of the road and waited out the heavier rain under the over hanging roof of an 'art gallery'. I put it is quotes because art galleries here look like someone crammed as many painted canvases as possible into mini mart the size of a one car garage and left them for years. I didn't feel so stupid stopped on the side of the road when a Balinese teenager on a scooter joined me. Just as it crossed my mind to leave the scooter and come back for it tomorrow, the rain subsided.

I made it slowly and safely back to the hotel and the scooter has been sitting out front ever since. My plan is to go out for an early ride tomorrow morning in place of my normal yoga class. Then it is off to Legian, another area of Kuta, Bali for one night before I fly out on Sunday.

What would you do?

Written on July 9, 2010

We have arrived to Kri, a remote island in Papua, Indonesia where relatively little has been touched of the place save for two resorts (Kri Eco Resort and Sorido Bay Resort) that have been carefully constructed incorporating traditional building methods, local materials, and the nicest amenities any Western hotel and diving resort could offer. It took my husband and I three days to get here, taking a combination of four flights and a boat trip, but it was all worth it. The moment our boat neared the Sorido Bay Resort’s 600 foot wooden pier, it all seemed worth it.

The diving is as great as everyone raves about it. And, to top it off, we basically have the place to ourselves. A French couple and their two year old son were the only other guests when we arrived and they left a few days ago. Lying on our backs last night on the dock looking up at the starry sky enveloping the world around us, we said to ourselves, “We are SO lucky!” And we are…everything was far exceeding our expectations.

We have all heard stories about how developing countries can be mired in corruption. Perhaps we have heard a story about a distance friend or colleague that was ripped off by a taxi driver or store owner. Or we hear what seem like mythical creations about how bribing government officials is a necessary cost of business. The extra amount tourists pay for things seems like a small price to pay and may even seem like a balancing of some theoretical scale that has long been out of balance. The bribing, well, if it really does happen, we’d all just like to pretend it is none of our business.

So when, for the past two days, small government boats have been arriving at the Sorido Bay Resort, I did not really concern myself with the goings on. For the past two days, police and local government have been coming to the island requesting the resort give them gasoline for free. The first day, the manager refused. The second day, he agreed to sell them half the amount requested, but refused to give gasoline away. So then, last night, the inspectors arrived. They stayed for probably twenty minutes and demanded to see all of the resort’s various permits and certifications. It was a kind of punishment dealt out by the officials.

The manager explained to us at dinner that the government uses boats to patrol the islands. Each official is given an allowance to be spent to buy gasoline. They either pocket the money or they sell the gasoline and then pocket the proceeds. They then go to the resorts and demand gasoline to use in their boats. And as Sorido Bay Resort is one of three resorts in the area (and since Sorido and one of the other resorts are owned by the same person), the expense can really add up. That and it is considered stealing in most countries. We were laughing about it last night with the manager and getting mildly upset about the corruption here in Indonesia, but only in the mild sort of way one does when distantly removed from the consequences.

Two smallish boats were unloading as we returned from our first dive this morning. The larger boat was painted black with “Police” (in Indonesian) written on the side so, as I watched the boat get unloaded, I expected to see the gasoline drums back again for filling. Luggage was being unloaded instead. Several people in very unofficial looking clothes were climbing up the ladder to the dock. Fleetingly I thought that this may have been a special escort for the National Geographic crew that was expected next week, but those thoughts were quickly dashed.

The government officials had decided that they would like to come and stay for a visit…for free, of course. There are eight guests and probably ten ‘crew’. The leader of the group seemingly a middle level officer (later we are told he is from Sorong, from where we hope to take a flight back to Bali) is here with his wife, mother, aunt and four best friends. Of course they take the best bungalows available…complete with sitting room and are normally reserved for EUR 300 per night or about three times the average monthly income in Indonesia. All of the guests and boat crew smile at us with big open and welcoming faces and talk jovially amongst themselves. When they say, "Hello", it is all I can do to glare at them, curtly shake my head from side to side, and hold my tongue as I say to myself, "Shame on you! Shame on all of you!"

It is a well practiced game and act that I refuse to play along with yet I am all too aware that in some strange way they hold the ultimate power in this situation. The crew sprawl out on the covered dock of the resort, sitting or even lying down and refuse to move for us as we try to get or wetsuits on and prepare for our next dive. They stare at us talking and laughing amongst themselves. I am wearing a modest two piece tankini swimsuit, but fight the urge to cover myself up further with a sarong as the men (I think) openly eye me up and down. They can take their hypocrisy elsewhere, I tell myself.

The black police boat is still parked at the front of the resort's dock leaving only space around the side of the dock in the much shallower water for our dive boat. As a result, the boat crew are forced to carry our tanks and equipment farther. The boat is now also nowhere near a ladder so we all have to jump down onto the boat's wet deck. I let out a loud frustrated sigh and now angrily meet the amused gazes of the crew members and pointedly ask them to move their boat. They act like they don't hear me even though they continue to look me up and down. The group's leader is a tall, thin, light skinned Indonesian man dressed in a golf shirt and khaki shorts probably in his late thirties. He is standing at the edge of the dock watching us all in interest with a broad inviting smile. I approach him then conscious to not match his smile with one of my own, but also conscious to keep an even tone although I want to call him any number of horrible names. "Your boat is in the way of ours. It makes it very difficult to load our dive equipment. Can you please tell one of your men to move your boat?"

I can only imagine that none of the resort's boat crew will say anything about the inconvenience. They have seen this all before and know it is best to take the path of least resistance, but I don't care. This is my way of protesting. The officer's face drops and he quickly yells at his crew in Indonesian to move the boat. He turns to me and ask if we are hear for diving. I say shortly, "Yes. We are here only to dive," and then I quickly cut off the conversation by going to get on our dive boat.

The dive, as always, is great. As we approach the dock, we can see that the police boat has been moved to away from the dock to a nearby mooring (a kind of parking place) - a small victory. Before that, though, we pass another dive boat. I assume it is from the neighboring sister resort, but soon realize that this is a boat load of snorkelers, very bad snorkelers. They are all kicking and struggling to stay afloat despite each lying on a huge orange life jacket. We can hear them talking, laughing, and squealing. With all that noise and movement, all fish will be long gone. Apparently after my brief conversation with the official, they all decided they must go see the fish themselves. As none of them are certified to dive or can swim, they were taken just out past the dock to snorkel....for free. It is a great dive site in its own right, but I can only imagine what the Indonesian delegation thought of us stupid westerners for flying all this way to see just a few fish and coral.

Stay tuned for Part II....

I'm back...

Today it is back to yoga. I took the afternoon Chi Chung yoga class. I had never heard of it and won’t pretend to understand it any better after a one hour and forty five minute class, but I was told that it is a kind of cross between Tai Chi and Hatha Yoga. The instructor, a thin athletically built American guy probably in his late thirties, told us that he likes Chi Chung because it includes a focus on releasing any bad tension that might build up during yoga poses. I think he gave me his Sanskrit name when I asked because I couldn’t even begin to pronounce it nor can I remotely remember it now. I should have taken that as a cue to just how yogi this yoga class would be.

For starters, he took off his shirt. He was in pretty good shape so I really didn’t mind and hardly thought twice about it probably because I am getting used to seeing all manner of shirtless men in the various beach and diving destinations I have visited across Indonesia in the past two months. Then began the series of body sways to loosen energy in various parts of the body. Fine. I could use some loosening up. Afterwards came the five minutes of skeleton shaking. We stood with feet hips width apart and bent our legs, closed our eyes, and tried to shake our entire body including limbs and head as someone would shake those skeletons kept on display in Biology classrooms or at doctor’s offices. It felt good, I will admit. And it was not half so bad since everyone else had their eyes closed too. Then it got weird.

We warmed our palms up by vigorously rubbing them together and then started stroking ourselves. First we stroked each arm, then each leg, then our chests. Hold it! My eyes snapped open and I watched as the instructor almost passionately rubbed his own pecks in a circular motion. He said, “Women should rub their breasts everyday. It is very important.” I couldn’t force myself to look at the other classmates for it was all I could do not to laugh. So, to go along with it, I circularly rubbed just below my collarbones. That was as far as I could go. I suddenly had the very real suspicion that I was on an episode of “Punked” or some other candid camera reality program. I went along with the ‘aura rubbing’ that followed (running our hands the lengths of our bodies with our hands an inch above our skin to smooth our auras that lay just above the surface of our skin), but half expected to find a film crew outside of the classroom as we exited. No such luck…or misfortune. Only in Ubud, I guess.

I feel I have been away from blogging for so long that I don’t really know where to pick up again. So, I guess I will pick up right before my husband left to return to The Netherlands. He is going to love that I am blogging about this, but I did get his permission first. We spent the one night and two days prior to my husband’s flight home in Sanur, Bali. It is another neighborhood of Kuta, Bali that lies in southern part of the island about twenty minutes from the international airport. To our relief, it is nothing like the neighborhood of Kuta referred to as Kuta. I know it is confusing, but think of Kuta as a kind of city with neighborhoods. One of Kuta’s neighborhoods is called Sanur and one of it’s neighborhoods is just called Kuta.

According to Lonely Planet, Sanur’s nickname is Snore because it draws pensioners (retired folk) and families with kids. That was fine with us. We had both had our fill of loud and slightly trashy Kuta. Decades ago Sanur built a 5km (2.5 mile) cobble stoned walkway along its man made sand beaches. It is open only to pedestrians and, unfortunately, bicyclists. With restaurants and hotels crammed along the walkway and greenery creeping along both sides, it is hardly wide enough for two way pedestrian traffic more less the holiday makers ambling slowly along on bicycles. With the great views of the water front and the ocean breeze, though, it is much better than the busy, narrow main strip of Kuta.

After we found our obligatory Balinese print in a carved wooden frame as our souvenir of the country, we went for lunch and my husband mentioned that it might be fun to get reflexology foot massages. I was completely surprised he’d be interested in the idea and since I was planning to get one myself when I returned to Ubud, I immediately took him up on the idea. My husband, like most men I imagine, is not a spa or massage person, but for some reason he was curious to try getting reflexology, a foot massage that focuses on massaging different parts of the feet in an attempt to also relieve tension in other parts of the body that are said to be interconnected neurally. We each got a one hour foot massage alongside four teenage Australian girls that had come to the salon for the full treatment – foot massages, manicures, and pedicures.

In typical fashion, the petite Balinese woman massaging my husband’s feet and calves was overtly flirtatious. It was so overt to me at least that it was not threatening as much as entertaining. Maybe because of the masseuse’s attention or maybe because of the callouses riddling my husband feet as he professed, he let himself get talked into a pedicure. And since I would be waiting around for him anyone, I also acquiesced and decided to get one too. I have pictures to prove it although I did not take pictures of the mound of dead skin they took off my husband’s feet. The poor woman! She got what she wished for, though, I guess. Despite my egging on, my husband refused to get his nails painted with even clear nail polish. In an uncharacteristically girly move, I decided to go with a shimmery pink polish. I am glad I did. It brings a smile to my face every time I look down at my toes while walking or while in a yoga pose as I remember my husband getting a foot massage and pedicure.

Kuta, Bali

Today has been a nice and relaxing day spent in Kuta, Bali while I hang-out waiting for my husband to arrive just before midnight tonight.

I am staying two nights at Febri's Hotel & Spa on the main strip in Kuta. I keep thinking of it as Febreeze. And the term 'main strip' brings to mind Las Vegas for me and that is not exactly what it is like. It is more like a medium sized Florida vacation town filled with Australians. This town is probably one of the top budget destinations for Australians. With super cheap roundtrip flights and an economy 100% devoted to tourism, it is comparable to Spain for Europeans and Florida for Americans. It has more souvenir and knock-off clothing & accessory stores and stands than can possibly be sustainable, but it is the beginning of high season here so, what do I know? It also has several Starbucks, McDonalds, and even a Coldstone Cremery and Bubba Gump Shrimp restaurant (which I gladly went to).

Yesterday in Ubud, I pampered myself with a seaweed facial. The spa was beautiful and relaxing and empty except for me. It was also an attempt to curb the break out of tiny pimples that has invaded my forehead since arriving in Ubud. I feel like a teenager again. I sweat more than this in Cambodia and Vietnam that is for sure so I can only figure it's source is a combination of my yoga classes, my now two month old straw cap that I wear almost daily, and the cheap hotel soap. The facial and splurging for some Biolage face foam seem to be doing the trick.

I plan to return to the spa in Ubud for a massage when I return for a week starting July 19. I thought the prices seemed reasonable and thought they would be cheaper than I could find in Kuta. Wrong! I found out that I could get an hour and a half massage at Febri's for less than an hour massage in Ubud. So I quickly signed myself up for an hour and a half Lomi Lomi massage this morning at Febri's (USD $20).

As a side note, might I recommend steering clear of partially cooked French toast even if it tastes surprisingly good. I mention this because that is exactly what I did this morning at the hotel's buffet breakfast. I thought I'd be fine, but oh nausea. It made for a rough first part of my Lomi Lomi massage.

Wikipedia defines a Lomi Lomi massage as, "a traditional Hawaiin massage of rubbing, pressing, squeezing, and massaging to work in and out like the claws of a contented cat. Lomilomi is supposed to be more of a holistic healing." I don't know about cat claws, but it was nice. Febri's describes it as a combination of different types of massage including reflexology, shiatsu, Balinese, and Swedish not that that makes it any clearer, though. It wasn't as deep of a massage as I normally like, but that is probably a good thing with the queasiness I was experiencing post- French toast. I did cure the tummy ache, though, and left me feeling very relaxed.

Bali Yoga

I left Ubud, Bali this afternoon to head to Kuta, Bali where I will meet up with my husband on Friday. I have taken nearly twenty yoga classes in as many days. I had this grand idea to get upto taking two yoga classes per day, but that just was not to be. When I began Bikram yoga at home last December, I herniated a disk in my lower back so I am overly concerned of a repeat performance. That and, let's be honest, I am not in that great of shape.

Yoga has been a surprisingly emotional experience for me. That is the main reason I have not written much about my classes. In the beginning, it was all I could do to hold back my tears until I got the short distance back to my hotel room. I won't go into my own reasons for the reaction, but I have started reading up on the psychology behind yoga and it is a pretty normal phenomenon. Unfortunately, I seemed to be the only one in my class that wanted to cry like a baby. Maybe that is a fortunate thing. Could you imagine a room of twenty women in yoga outfits with tears and snot running up their face while in downward dogs?

Apparently, a whole spectrum of emotions can be unleashed when people begin to reconnect with their bodies and their breath especially when they relax their bodies and begin breathing much deeper than before. It was a new concept to me, but the yoga teachers continually instruct us to breath into different parts of our bodies - our stomachs, pelvises, chests, spine, and even toes. I thought it was kind of a rhetorical request at first. I think they mean to focus your energy and thoughts on these areas. In the case of the stomach and chest, though, I have notice I am now able to fill these areas with air I breath in. I think 'awakening' these areas with breath is what unlocked the emotions for me.

That is all I will say about that...especially since I know I really don't know what I am talking about and I can feel your eyes start to glaze over. Here are some pictures from the yoga studio where I have been taking most of my classes. It is just breathtaking and relaxing.

I will try to do a better job of checking in with posts while my husband and I are travelling, but no promises. We head straight away to Papua and diving off of the Raja Amput islands, some of the best diving in the world. Then we head to Labuanbajo, Flores to dive off the Rinca islands. Included in these sets of islands is Komodo Island, home of the infamous Komodo Dragons. With much trepidation, we will tour the islands and try to see some of the dragons in the wild. Has anyone seen the National Geographic special where a few dragons kill a water buffalo with a poisoning bite? They hang out and watch the buffalo die a slow and agonizing death and then eat him. It is haunting me. Apparently, they swim as do alligators. God, I really don't want to see that!