Round the World Journal
by Matt Donath
August 5-6. Our "plan" is to get some money in Ubud (no ATM's in Bedugal), wash some clothes, get a haircut and a massage, and then move on to Amed for more beach.
Ubud is so pleasant though that we just wound up hanging around here for our last week. We check into a nice room at Masih Bungalows (0361 975062) on Dewi Sita Road, not far from the soccer field. "Su" runs the place and she is one in three generations of dancers, both her mother and her daughter are talented dancers/musicians. Her mother, Ibu Masih, has taught dance for more than 30 years in Ubud.
August 7. We hike north and west of Ubud, following a route similar (but different) from the one we took with Nyoman. We get lost a few times but it's much more pleasant to be by ourselves. Walking along the Ayung River, south of the rafters, we come across a hidden ravine with a waterfall and take a dip.
For the first time we come across some sawa fields in bloom. What a treat! Usually, there are a few noisemakers and scarecrows around to keep the birds away, but once the field is in bloom the number of visual and auditory distractions is greatly multiplied. Colorful banners, rags, and plastic bags wave everywhere. All kinds of clever wind-driven noisemaking devices sound the alarm. We even see portable radios out in the fields.
On the way back we treat ourselves to a "fou-fou" meal at Casa Luna. One of the great things about Ubud is that you can quickly get away from the tourist area and out into the beautiful countryside, yet you can return to find plenty of amenities when you want them.
August 8. Saw a variation of the Kecak Dance at the ARMA museum. This version was created by the renowned Javanese choreographer Sardono W. Kusomo. We attend with fellow Masih resident Rachel, an Israeli woman who teaches Dance History.
Hmm, this version is interesting, but ultimately disappointing. The two leads, playing the brothers Subali and Sugriwa from the Ramayana epic, acrobatically dance around fighting. They even pick up flaming coconut husks (while not in a "trance") and throw them at each other. One brother is vanquished as he hits the floor violently. The other holds a mock funeral ceremony during which he pulls hairs from the "dead" brother's armpits and spits a food offering onto his genitals.
I've noticed that often in these epic stories the guy who goes down first ultimately gets revenge. True to form, Sugriwa rises up again to defeat Subali.
This version of the kecak is much more demanding on the performers. The two leads are almost up to their task but the chorus is pathetically uninspired. It's like watching a bunch of guys wandering around lost on stage. Sybil later suggests that the original chorus failed to show up so they just rounded up 100 guys off the street to do the job. Rachel's (more expert) criticism of the performance was much harsher than mine was.
August 9. Took a long, winding hike to Yeh Pulu. We pass through a village entirely devoted to the production of wooden ducks. Signs on buildings: "coloured duck producer", "thousand bebek."
Despite its close proximity to popular Goa Gajah, Yeh Pulu gets few tourists. Its bas-relief sculptures on a large rock face are fascinating.
I promised more on sawa trekking, so I'll toss out a few tips here. Say hello (in Indonesian) to everyone you see. Some older people will only speak Balinese though. Learn how to answer some of the basic questions they will ask you, such as where you are going and whether you want some coconut milk. Ask people for directions when lost. When in doubt about the way, try to pick a path that runs next to a major water flow. These are least likely to dead-end.
Scaring birds in the fields is good, but try not to disturb cows or ducks. Try not to erode the path too much. DonÆt get too cocky on narrow paths as it is easy to slip and fall into the muck. Wear a hat, sunscreen, and drink a lot of water.
August 10. We laze around and do some shopping. Sybil gets a new dress -- a rare occurrence for her. At night we stand mesmerized by bats that fly around the flowers on the tree near our room.
August 11. Just walk around the north of town and see more dances. We learn the story of Su's mother's name. "Masih" means "to remain". Masih's mother died giving birth. A wealthy uncle adopted the child and used the name "Masih" when he was surprised to learn that the child still "remained".
Su and family have been working for days to present an offering for an upcoming festival. Unfortunately, a death in her home village makes them all "unclean" and unfit to present an offering. The same is true for menstruating women. So they must wait until next month to perform the ceremony.
August 12. We go biking! Heading north out of town we wind through tiny villages, sometimes heading down dirt roads. We stop at one village and have a meal for 2.5k! Prices in Ubud are far higher, but they still seem cheap. Outside of the tourist areas prices are ridiculously low.
While the biking is great, we still prefer hiking. Eventually you must bike onto a main road and these are quite dangerous. Most major intersections are decorated with marvelous statuary though.
August 13. Our last day! We hike north with Rachel for one last look at the wondrous sawa fields. Outside of a few biting red ants, it's a perfect outing.
We race over to the airport, only to find that our Garuda flight is once again delayed. The Prayer Room at the Bali airport has separate sections for men and women, so we can't boko-maru. A Garuda worker gives us the runaround by answering with an Asian "yes". This is the unfortunate tendency of some Asian people to agree with whatever question you are asking them, even when they don't really understand the question. The trick to getting around this is to repeat the very same question in the inverse. Here's an example:
"Is this the way to the check-in counter?"
"Yes."
"So, if I go this way," pointing in the opposite direction, "will that take me to the check-in counter?"
"Yes." (This is an "Asian" yes.)
Arriving in Singapore's Changi Airport, our friend Henning appears like an angel to pick us up. He and Michael graciously let us stay at their place for a week.
August 14-21. Aside from seeing plays with Henning and visiting people, we finalize our plans for the next phase of our trip. We'll spend a week in Thailand, mostly around Bangkok doing some errands, before heading out to Nepal and India for the rest of the year.
We wind up needing this time to recuperate. Sybil is afflicted with a migraine headache so painful that she vomits. I have a terrible back pain on my upper left side that hurts when I breathe.
On Henning's advice I go for an acupuncture treatment at a place in Jurong East. The guy is a bit of a character, but he makes me uneasy. His sign has "Dr" crossed out and "Mr" pasted in before his name. He sells ancient ginseng and other herbal remedies in the front and has his acupuncture office in the back.
First he tells us that our lifestyle is unhealthy. We should move back to the States and into a permanent home. Next he shoos Sybil out of the room because she's asking too many questions. He gives me some capsules to take. I ask what they are and he gives me the bottle before walking away. The writing on the bottle is all in Chinese, but I take the capsules anyway.
He returns, has me lie on my stomach, and sticks a few needles in my back. He hooks the needles up to a box on the wall that looks like a Heathkit electronics construction set. He sends some current through the needles. "You feel pulsing?" he asks. "Yes," I reply -- feeling like a dissected frog whose leg is mechanically jumping.
Then he leaves me there for an hour. I can't believe it's taking so long. Sometimes he comes by and turns the juice up on the Heathkit dials. Finally, he pulls the needles out and has me roll over. He asks if I feel better and I reply with an uncertain yes. I certainly feel better not to be laying on my stomach with electric needles in my back.
I think I'm done, but he says "five minutes more." He rolls me on my stomach again and makes a big point of having me look at a mallet in his hand. I'm tired and don't have my glasses on, so I don't look at it too carefully. Then he starts banging the mallet on my back. "Heh, heh," he laughs as I wince in pain, "very bad pricking feeling." Yes! Very bad pricking feeling indeed. Turns out he has a pin on the mallet and he is poking me with it repeatedly. Finally he stops, lights some glass bulbs and does some suction cupping on my back.
I spend a very uncomfortable 10 minutes waiting for him to return. I can hear him chatting with Sybil in the other room. He comes back, pulls off a bulb and gives a gasp of surprise. "Aiya, so much blood! You have a blood clot! No wonder you have pain." He holds up some disgustingly blood-soaked rags with forceps.
I think he's making an excuse. Really, I think he just made too many holes in me with the mallet and left the suction cups on too long to vacuum out my blood. He mops up the mess and smears some evil smelling ointment on my back.
He's completely convinced that I'm cured. When I tell him my back still hurts he can't believe it. He thinks it's all in my head. To be fair, even though my back continues to hurt that night and the next morning I have a nasty case of diarrhea (when I had practically nothing to eat the day before and had consumed nothing at all dubious outside of his medicine) I do feel somewhat better the next day. My back still hurts as I write this but it does seem to be improving.
Tomorrow we're off to Bangkok.
Next: Part Six or see Table of Contents