Snowboarding is for Kings. Surfing is for Beasts.

So after two days of sitting around with a busted belly and a busted foot I decided that I'd had enough. I was no longer going to sit on the beach watching other people surf and play in the water. I was done worrying that I was going to have to go to the bathroom, and worrying that I was going to get dirt and germs in my cut on my foot. I went to the pharmacy and bought waterproof band aids. One of the instructors told me my foot would have heeled in 48 hours if I had put placenta on it. Great advice, I thought. Where in the heck would I know where to go for placenta? Would I want to try to heal my cut with someone else's placenta? I'm thinking no. I was already on enough antibiotics. This instructor was actually the one who drove me to the pharmacy to get band aids. We rode on his moped, without helmets, in the dark, after a few Bintang beers. As we left I was trying to play it cool but at the time I was thinking, “This can't be legal, but it is Bali. If I can survive this seriously risky drive I should be able to survive a cut in the ocean.”

At the surf camp it is normal that one would go through different instructors as the week went by. You pick different waves to surf, and you get different instructors. For Phil and I this was not the case. We kept ending up with the same instructor. For both of us it was fine. We liked having the same person everyday. It made progression easier. The funny part of it was that, personality-wise, our instructors could have been our alter egos. My instructor was the one driving a moped without a helmet after a few beers, suggesting to heal cuts with placenta. He wore a bleached mohawk and had plenty of tattoos. He told us a story how he broke his neck while break dancing, broke his shoulder while skateboarding, was taught reflexology by his Japanese grandfather, and had a brief career as a comedian with his father. On the other hand, Phil's instructor was a modest dude, had another job aside from instructing, and was saving money to marry his girl. He was a bit shy, really smart, and laughed at all of Phil's jokes. Both instructors lived to surf. 

Tuesday Daniel, my instructor, took us back to Batu Balong, but I think we surfed Old Man. They are right next to one another. I can't be sure. Before we got in the water Daniel gave us a huge lecture on the structure of our situation. There's a channel you paddle out through, so you don't get hammered by the wave. The wave can get shallow in spots; you must be aware of large rocks and reef. My mind was quick to let me be intimidated while he was speaking. It took all my strength to ignore myself and pay attention to Daniel. Once in the water it was a lot to think about. Plus there was a current so I constantly needed to keep an eye on the shore to make sure I didn't drift into a danger zone. The paddle out was long. The waves weren't huge but they were big enough. I just felt like I was fighting. Daniel would call behind himself; warning us to paddle faster so we didn't have a wave crash on us, or maybe so we'd get out quick enough to catch a good set. I could never figure it out. Like I said, I was in fight mode. And the waves kept rolling, rolling. He'd say, “Go.” I'd say, “Shit.” He'd say, “No shit.”

Then, “Holy Shit, I actually caught a wave.” Almost...Yup. There it is. I stood up. Yes! Finally I am riding waves. The effort pays off. I forgot how tired I thought I was. I forgot everything other than me, waves, and a board. It was a good time. Unfortunately the waves kept getting bigger, and I did eventually get tired, and the wave started to get crowded. I paddled back to shore. 

This particular week we spent at the surf camp made me appreciate snowboarding even more. I have come to the conclusion that snowboarding is for kings and surfing is for beasts. In surfing there are absolutely no guarantees, and you are constantly working. It's hard work. There is so much you can't see. There's a lot you have to train yourself to see. There's a lot you have to think about. There's also a lot you have to force yourself not to think about. Much of snowboarding is handed over on a silver platter; a platter that we pay for in the price of admission. We definitely pay for it...$$$ 

Surfers love dawn patrol; but skiers, alike, love the first run. Is there anything better? One thing you don't do in snowboarding is call last run. That's how you get hurt. In surfing you have to call last wave. Otherwise you might never get out of the water. Another thing they do have in common is that both activities, surfing and snowboarding, need to be followed by hot tubs and local beer...in my opinion. Actually, if you think about it, a ski trail in the Poconos after a tiny snow fall can be a lot like a crowded lineup in the ocean. They're both a great way to get decapitated.

Oh man. I hate to admit it, but if I could change one thing about snowboarding; I'd make snowboarding food more like surfing food...cheap burritos, noodles, peanut sauce, and pancakes. 

Kima Surf Camp, Bali

Finding Kima Surf Camp was an adventure in itself. We took a bus from Ubud to Kuta to save a few dollars. We walked from the bus stop to the camp to save a few dollars. This would have been a great idea had we known where the surf camp was located. We didn't. A 2 kilometer walk turned into a 2 hour walk that culminated in us getting a $3.00 taxi ride around the block.

Similar to Ubud; the streets of Kuta are packed with people and shops. For the first time the streets were dominated with high-end retailers and only the occasional trinket shop. Not that I've ever been; but it was like Rodeo Dr. with surf shops. Shop windows featured tight dresses, shoes, purses, and heavy price tags. For being such a small island I am surprised at how many things are made here, in Bali. The Balinese have their own version of everything; beer, wine, liquor, tobacco, coffee, soda, furniture, cover bands, and even paintings. The Balinese can paint anything. In Kuta there are a fantastic amount of art galleries, all containing large, colorful canvases. Famous faces are a popular subject matter. If you've got a wall begging for a five foot portrait of Bob Marley, Bali is a must-visit. As is customary, the streets of Kuta were filled with incense and music. The music, by this point, had begun to grow on me. I may even like it now. I think I was beginning to find it melodic, and even rhythmic. At first it reminded me of Avant Garde Jazz; playful but not peaceful. Living in its constant embrace had finally encouraged me to develop a different opinion.

We finally arrived and got settled in. We loved Kima's accommodations. The camp was in the middle of the city, but you would never know. It was back off the street and hidden by walls and jungle. We would spend the week in the top floor of a house. We had our own room, bathroom, and balcony upstairs. We shared an open air living room, dining room, kitchen, patio, and yard with another couple.

The camp had its own restaurant, with lounge, television and game area, and a pool. This spot was called The Green Room; it's open to the public but basically enjoyed by guests. The food served was excellent and reasonably priced, the beers were cold, and you could plug your own ipod in for musical entertainment. There was always a crowd at The Green Room, no matter the time of day or night. It was a comfortable, friendly, relaxed atmosphere; exactly what you would expect from a bunch of surf campers.

We spent our first day at the camp getting equipment, learning procedures, familiarizing ourselves with a couple of local waves, checking the tides, and meeting the staff. Everyone was very nice, and accommodating. As we met more staff, and campers, throughout the day we begun to notice a pattern. There were an amazing amount of Germans, Austrians, and Europeans. A lot of the camp staff was German too. In fact, we were the only Americans. Then a light bulb went off. I had researched for the camp from my Internet...in Germany. No wonder my payment confirmation came in German...and when we arrived they were surprised that we were American. It was (some what) a camp for Germans - by Germans. We decided to have dinner that first night down the street, at Santa Fe. We had tall coconut drinks and flautas; and laughed at our circumstance of leaving Germany for a vacation and ending up in a little German village in the center of Kuta, Bali.

The way camp worked was that we had five days of instruction and two days on our own with the rental boards. Ideally you'd get your five instruction days under your belt and then go off on your own. We did the opposite. Sunday and Monday were Muslim holidays and most (all) of the surf instructors had off. Monday was a solo day for us.

We walked with our surf boards to a beach breaking wave, at the end of the street that our camp was on. We surfed. Well, Phil surfed and I paddled and got pounded. I crapped out after 45 minutes. As Phil continued to catch fun wave after fun wave, I stared up and down the beach. It was crowded, but not packed. There were a significant number of surfers in the water, but it wasn't competitive. It was mostly tourists like us, and surf guides showing off on their boards. It's great to watch how naturally a proficient surfer can catch a wave and just enjoy it. If I am ever lucky enough to catch a wave I am focused too much on staying on it to enjoy being on it.

After our morning surf session it became apparent that I was going to need a wetsuit if I was going to continue surfing everyday. We combed Kuta's surf-outlet strip until we finally found a suit that would work for me. In doing so we worked up a bit of an appetite. For lunch we stopped at a local warung. Warung is the name given to small restaurants, usually serving local fare. This particular warung looked a bit rustic, but any guide book will tell you that this is where the best food can lie. So despite it's outward appearance we gave it a go. We ordered beers and Babi Gulung. I'd read many times that Babi Gulung is delicious; so naturally it was on my to-eat list. After a week in Bali we were long overdue to try some. We were served a couple of plates each, and a bowl of soup. Our lunch consisted of crispy pig skin, pig fat, pulled pork, pork rinds, greens, bone soup, and peanuts. We ate it, but I don't think I ever could order the same meal again. (For the record, Phil ordered Babi Gulung at a different restaurant later that week and said it was way more awesome than in this instance.) After lunch I need to use the restroom. I was lucky; this restaurant had one. I had to walk behind the counter and through the kitchen to use it, but it was there. If that wasn't interesting enough; there was no toilet paper. It wasn't the first time I had found myself in this situation, and it wasn't the last. After this lunch experience was over I (kinda) felt like Anthony Bordain.

Then we visited the local supermarket. It was a supermarket and a gift shop. All of the stores in Kuta have a gift shop section. I guess they'd be dumb not to sell flower hair clips, penis shaped bottle openers and incense. We spent a bit of time cruising the isles. I picked up every other item on the shelf and excitedly proclaimed, “hey, look at this!” until Phil was ready to shake me. Once we miraculously made it to the check out, with me still alive, we had handmade soap, incense, and a thirty pack of beers for our fridge. I found the beer purchase amusing. A case of beer is something you buy at home, not on vacation on the other side of the world. It's like cooking fish and chips at home. You can do, but it just doesn't feel right.

On Tuesday we surfed at a spot called Batu Bolong. Like all of Bali's surf spots, it's famous. Batu Bolong is so famous that Jack Johnson apparently mentioned it in one of his songs. The song lyrics have something to do with banana pancakes. So every (one of us) tourists that surfs at Batu Bolong has to stop at the surf-side warung and order their pancakes. I'm glad I like bananas. A day doesn't go by in Bali that you don't eat at least one. After my beer and pancakes I needed to pee. Guess what. No bathroom. How can these guys work all day and not need a bathroom? Do they walk home and come back? Is everyone peeing in the water? I guess so. Does that mean that I maybe peed in the same ocean water as Jack Johnson?

Our morning surf session really wiped us out, so for the first time yet this vacation we took a nap. Then we woke up and surfed again; for the afternoon it was back to the beach break at Gado Gado. After this time in the water I had been surfing for two days and not caught a great wave. I was beginning to get disheartened. Phil, on the other hand, was not.

Wednesday was the best and worst day I had in Bali, yet. I woke up quite early in the morning needing to run to the bathroom. Let's just say I had a mini case of what might be known as Bali-Belly. (not sever and pretty common) Unluckily, this was an early surf morning. I did my best to get right before we left for our session. I was successful. I can't imagine what you would do if you would get the urge in the middle of the ocean...in a wetsuit. ( I apologize for any inappropriate imagery this has brought to your mind.)

The morning surf session was followed by lunch and an afternoon surf session. Planning all of this surfing can get tricky; between tides, weather, current, and wave size. You spend a decent amount of time each day researching, discussing, and formulating a plan. In a surf camp environment you also have to add in a factor of each individual surfer's ability in the group when choosing a destination. Wednesday afternoon we drove to a place called Alam Kulkul, but there wasn't much of a wave so we went to Sixty Six.

Sixty Six was my first time in the water with an instructor and a class. I had a blast. I caught a ton of waves! Actually, I think I caught eight to ten waves; but considering it was day three at the camp I felt like it was a ton. I think I was more relaxed being in the water with people that knew the wave. Being around other beginner surfers also gave me a bit more confidence, as opposed to just surfing with Phil. And I also have to confess; the instructors pushed my surfboard into 75% of the waves I rode. At first I felt a bit silly about this. Then I figured, screw it, it's what I paid for and it's fun. These pushes from the instructors actually gave me the excitement I needed to paddle into a few of my own. I had all the adrenaline, and cheer, that I needed to keep surfing and surfing, and not want to get out of the water. It was during this session that the instructors helped me work on identification of the waves, lining up with the waves, keeping my legs closed, and perfecting my paddle. The current was insane and we had to paddle constantly to stay in place. It was pretty exhausting. I'd paddle forever to hold my position and just as I'd sit up to rest the instructor would say, “This is your wave. Go. Paddle. Paddle. Paddle.” I'd say “no.” They'd say, “yes.” And I would say “shit” and do what they told me despite my inability to move my arms.

I didn't realize it at the time, but the most annoying part of my day happened an hour and a half into surfing that afternoon. I scraped my foot on the fin of my surfboard. During one of my attempts of wave-catching I was about to go tail over head in a crashing wave. Instinctively I grab the tail of my board by wrapping my feet around it. The fins of a surfboard are sharp, and deadly. The force of the water rushing over the fin, and my foot, influenced the fin to slice a bit of the soft, thin, tender skin on the top of my foot. I felt the cut, but I didn't think it was serious. It wasn't bleeding. I kept on surfing. When our session was over I got out of the water and started walking back to our van. This is when the cut really split open and started to bleed. As I would soon learn, even the smallest cut, bleeding or not, is a big deal in the Bali ocean. No one told me this ahead of time, but the water in Bali is not clean, and (in Bali in general) things like cuts can get infected pretty badly, pretty quickly. In the surf camp's desire that my medical situation not escalate I ended up in the one place you don't want to end up on vacation in Bali...the hospital.

The hospital was small, but nicer than I had expected from what I read. I was seen quickly by the doctor and she was nice. Thank goodness I did not need stitches; just a couple of glorified bandaids and five days worth of oral antibiotics. This however, did also come with a recommendation of no ocean for a T.B.D. amount of time. The doctor recommended 5 days, but the camp professionals said I'd be good after two or three days. Either way, what I was looking at was maybe not surfing for the rest of our time at camp. I felt really stupid.

Phil, on the other hand, had one of the sweetest Wednesdays his life may have ever known. He signed up for a trip to Balian. Luckily, no one else had signed up for this trip. It was just him and the instructor, Mari. Everyone at camp was speculating about how lucky Phil was for this. They were all picturing the scenario as just two people in the water with wave upon wave for their surfing pleasure. Phil and Mari had fun, but they did not have the break to themselves. It was the two of them, and around fifty Australians. There were more bodies than there were waves. But that is not uncommon in surfing; especially at a world-class location. They surfed for as long as they could and when there were no more waves to be had they went ashore for lunch.

Mari is from a town near the area where he and Phil were surfing. He brought them to an awesome lunch spot. This is where Phil had Babi Gulung again. As I mentioned, this second time around it was delicious. The two of them ate fat for under $10. Phil was stoked. It was off the radar and delicious. Mari had hooked him up with great surfing and great food. After lunch waves still had not returned back to Balian. Phil and Mari decided to leave it in hopes of finding some surf at another spot. While en route Phil requested that they make a pit stop for espresso. If there is one thing that Phil loves more than his morning coffee, it is his afternoon espresso. This particular afternoon espresso was Mari's first. Phil was surprised, Mari was delighted, and for once that day the tables had been turned.

After Wednesday Phil and Mari became great friends. I think Phil was lucky to find someone on this trip that he could talk to, get to know, and be offered insight into the life of one local. They shared a lot of stories and laughs with one another. What's it like living in Bali? I'm sure I still don't know, but Mari has a great sense of humor about it. If you ask Mari why he's never had an espresso he'll tell you it's because they don't have espresso in the jungle. They only have rice.

Bali: The Adventure of Imitation

There's a Starbuck's in Ubud, but we didn't go. We went to the Kafe instead. They claim to have true espresso. I'll never know what that actually means. I think something just got lost in the translation. True Espresso must be an Indonenglish word. It's surprising to me how many Balinesians actually speak great English; and none of them claim to have learned it in school. Is my language really that simple to learn? Why is it the only one I know?

I'm having a beet-ginger-carrot juice and we are watching a dog fight in the street. We followed the juice up with another round of coffee. We're slow this morning. Last night we went to a restaurant called Casa Luna. I think there are three or four restaurants in Bali called Casa Luna, but we went to the one with bad martinis, no spare ribs, and over cooked chicken. It was the first dinner Phil did not enjoy. Ironically, this was a restaurant that chose to handout comment cards at the end of dinner. Phil wrote down his honest opinion. As if that was not a bold enough maneuver; our waitress returned volley by taking the comment card and reading it in front of us. I expected her to say something about it, in defense, but she didn't. She just walked away with the card and showed it to all the other employees that walked by. Despite the fact that we watched everyone read our critical comment card, then stare at us, we were unable to discern any emotional reaction. Did they care? They must have. When the waitress brought our bill we looked it over. Something about the math didn't make sense. There were two charges on the bill that were for things we didn't eat. We had the mistake corrected and left. Was that one last attempt to screw with us? Chuckling to ourselves about how uncomfortable the whole situation was; on the way out we thanked them for nothing.

That night Phil and I combed the streets of Ubud. I was talking on and on about how this trip was inspiring me to write my own guide book. I was listing all the things I would have loved to have known about Bali before I came; stuff that you'd not find in a typical guide book. I want a guide book that would entice me to travel, yet not send my expectations soaring. I wanna know if something might be dirty. I wanna know if a museum is going to be dark, dusty, and cheap. I'm still gonna go, obviously, I picked up the guide book. Actually, this is probably not something anyone would pay money for. If it were free however, like a blog online, then many people would read it.

Phil thought a movie would be better than a book. We had each other in stitches over our imaginations. We laughed our throats dry and had to stop for a drink. Luckily we found a cozy little joint with 5 for 1 shots. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard? Of course not, we're in Bali. I couldn't tell you the name of the bar or what street it was on. At this point it wouldn't matter anyway. There are three to four other establishments with the same name and the street has a few nicknames too. I do remember however, that the band was awesome!!!!! I've got to try to paint you this picture. I hope I'm up for the task. They were (seriously, no lie) an Indonesian Guns and Roses, or Aerosmith. They were all incredibly skinny, wearing tight ripped jeans, some wore vests instead of shirts, and they all had stringy long hair that hung in their face. All but one actually; the guitarist had hair like Slash. It may have been a wig; Asians don't have curly hair. Two of the band members sang, but the one that sang (screamed) the loudest looked too much like a young (male) version of Yoko Ono. No kidding. They were such a spectacle. This band was one of the most intriguing things I saw the entire time in Bali. The songs they covered totally rocked. They had the sounds perfect.

This perfection actually got me thinking. They were the best cover band I have ever heard. How were they so good at imitation? Maybe it's part of their society. Similar to this music situation; I also found the Balinesian recreations of Western food to be spot on. They brew a great beer, but it's not traditionally their thing. And, unfortunately, every other shop on the strip was carrying bootleg goods; purses, sneakers, DVD's, paintings. Why not live music too? Damn it they're good.

Of course we stayed the night, to see the band. Between sets Phil tried to talk to the band. They sang in English so clearly, of course they'd be able to speak it. Nope. He complimented them, but received only a smidgen of an answer. He asked, “So man, what's your favorite band?” Literally the guy had no answer. Phil was definitely disappointed, but he didn't let it ruin his evening. There's not much that could spoil an evening of 5 for 1 rainbow colored shots.

That was our last night in Ubud. This is our last day at Hotel Puri Garden. Our driver from yesterday, Dewa, told us that it is the hotel owned by the current King's family. Is that why I feel like royalty every time I stare out the window at the serene rice paddies and scarecrows blowing in the breeze?

After breakfast we went to the infamous Ubud markets. The market is basically two-in-one. On one side you have the traditional market with food, snacks, home décor, and supplies. It's mostly for the people that actually live there. On the other side is every tchotchky and souvenir you can dream up, priced just right for tourists. As a tourist, you are welcome to go anywhere in the market you like. It is two stories tall, and absolutely overflowing. You want to purchase something just to make a dent in the merchandise. Haggling is the only sales technique practised in the market. The salespeople will, literally, give you an asking price of ten times the object's value. If you take it, no one has fun. You gotta ping-pong the price back and forth so you both feel you've accomplished something. This was the first time I actually witnessed Phil enjoying shopping. He had an absolute blast haggling and making friends. We laughed our way into being the proud new owners of fabric, bracelets, key chains, penis-shaped bottle openers, and puppets. It's all purchased at a very reasonable price; The Good Luck Price we say. At one of the stands we were the vendor's first sale of the day. He proceeded to touch all of the rest of his merchandise with our money. This was done to bless it with the same good fortune of the bracelet we bought. Totally awesome; I hope to remember to use this same practice at my next bazaar.

We had a late lunch that day, with some early cocktails. They were delicious; the cocktails. They had fresh fruits and vegetables in them along with liquor. My drink was fresh ginger, basil, cucumber and rum. I could have drank those beverages all day, but I refrained. The service in Balinese restaurants cracks me up. It is hilariously slow. You have to wait a long time for everything; and this restaurant was a shining example. Two hours after sitting down, after only one round of drinks I asked for the check. The waitress replied, “Not yet. In a little while.” Why does she get to decide when I pay and leave.? If she had told me that I needed to have another drink I may not have been too surprised. Oh well, it's all good when you're on vacation.

A Saturday in Bali

Saturday was epic. We went exploring outside of Ubud with a private driver, Dewa. He was hired by the hotel for us; and he was perfect.

Our first stop was the Batur Volcano. The top is over 5,500 feet. Dewa set us up with a guide to hike to the top. You can not go without a guide. Most people make the trek before the sun comes up; so they can watch it rise from the mountain top. Phil and I weren't interested in waking up that early. In hindsight it was a decent plan because the trekking trail is quite crowded at predawn. Technically we got a late start, but we had the trail to ourselves. Mari was the name of our guide. On our way to the top Mari showed us a bunch of interesting bits; like eucalyptus plants, fresh mint, and other vegetation. The volcano is still active so we checked out a few steaming sulfur holes too. We accomplished 75% of the climb in 45 minutes. Mari said it normally takes 120 minutes. He claimed to be impressed by our fitness. This compliment motivated us to not rest for too long so we could get to the top and have more time with a better view. From the top you can see all three craters of the volcano. You can also see where the city was; that was covered in lava during the last eruption in 1968. It covered the city of Batur; which is how the volcano got its name. In addition you could also see to lake Batur with it's fish farming and boating. Tiny neighborhoods of workers dot the lake's beaches. After a couple of photo-ops we we walked back down the volcano. Mari allowed us to return down the back way; although it can be more treacherous. This route led us along the top of all the craters and down the side of black sand. It was steep. We had to run almost the entire way. If you stop in the sand to walk you just start slipping and falling. It was crazy. You could almost surf it. It reminded me of a previous adventure we had at the dunes in Arcachon, France. Although these sand piles were much bigger, steeper, and blacker. Once we reached the bottom we had to take our shoes and socks off to empty them of all the sand they had collected. As I said it was black, and very fine. We could shake it out, but we couldn't rub it off. The rest of the walk back to base was more like a leisure walk. We went through farms of tomatoes, pumpkins, and green onions.

After the hike we drove to a hot spring. Our hotel had packed our breakfast and we ate it in route. In Bali (and probably many parts of Indonesia) they have Jasmine tea in juice boxes. It is one of the most delicious beverages I have ever enjoyed. As we dined we asked Dewa a slew of questions about Bali and its customs. He was much more talkative than our driver from the previous day. He told us the meaning behind the flag, and the gingham. He also spoke of the shrines and temples, and daily life. A typical Balinesian wakes up at 4:00 to get his/her day started. The matriarch may return form the market as early as 5:00 to complete her cooking before she goes to work. I wanted to know what time they go to bed. Dewa said around 22:00. I was impressed. If I go to bed at 22:00, there is no way I'm getting up before 6:00. Dewa claims it's easy to get up so early in the morning because everyone looks forward to the Bali Special Breakfast. “What's that?”, we wondered; thinking it must be pretty outstanding for one to anticipate it as early as 4:00. “Coffee and a cigarette”, Dewa said. We all laughed.

The Hot Spring was nice, but maybe a bit of a tourist trap. It was $40 for 45 minutes; one of the more expensive things to do in Bali. The Springs had an absolutely gorgeous view though, and a delicious complimentary beverage. At the height of the day's sun, we sipped tamarinda juice from a swim-up pool bar, while floating in an outside hot spring, listening to falling spring water and birds, and enjoying a bit of people watching. It was terribly indulgent. But considering we hiked over 5,00 feet and back, with the sun beating down and under the attack of sand, we figured we deserved it.

On our way back from the hot springs we chatted more with Dewa about Bali agriculture; and in particular asked him about Bali coffee. That's when he asked if we had ever had Luwak coffee. Nope. What's that? He began to explain it to us, (as I will to you momentarily) peaking our interest in some nearby plantations. He offered to stop at his favorite farm, so we could get out of the car, maybe grab a Special Breakfast, and see local coffee and spice manufacturing. We accepted the invitation.

Dewa took us to Satria. It is a plantation, just off the main road, that grows coffee, vanilla beans, chocolate, cinnamon, cloves, pepper, tamarind, turmeric, fruits, tobacco, peanuts, and raises Luwaks. Luwak, there's that word again. What are they? I'll get there. 

As soon as you arrive you are greeted by a guide. He takes you through the plantation and points out all the different plants, what they are called, and what they are used for. After the fields you get a mini tour of production. You go through the huts that are drying the nuts and seeds. Then you go to another tent with a massive mortar and pestle, an open fire pit, and a little old lady roasting coffee beans in an iron skillet over flames. It was an impressive sight; very primitive and romantic. I can't imagine that it is actually the way everything there is manufactured; despite the sincerity of our guide. I think it is just to impress, but I didn't care much. I loved it and appreciated the theatrics of it. As a visitor you can grab the huge mortar and grind beans in the life-size pestle. It was fun.

It is at this point in the tour that you can meet the Luwaks. They are small furry creatures that are only found on the island of Bali. They sleep all day. At night they wake up to eat. What's their diet? Coffee beans. They eat the coffee beans off the plants. The bean travels through their digestive system. They absorb it's caffeine and get their nutrition. The Luwak's body never actually breaks down the coffee bean. It passes it after using it for what it needs. What is left is a coffee bean with less caffeine, a full bodied flavor, and extra nutrients and enzymes from the animal. At the plantation, farmers walk around “cleaning up” after the Luwaks. The coffee beans are removed from their excrement, washed, roasted, ground, and packaged as the most expensive coffee in the world. In America Luwak coffee can sell for $50.00 per cup. Here at Satria it was $4.00. Would you drink it? We did.

After the tour you sit down for your tasting. Phil and I sat at the end of a long picnic table under a thatched roof; perched on the crest of a hill in the middle of a plantation jungle. A young woman came over to us with a large tray full of coffee and tea samples. I think there was probably about 15 (in all) for us to taste; coconut coffee, chocolate coffee, vanilla coffee, red rice tea, hibiscus tea, spice tea. It would be a miracle if I could remember them all. Of course in addition to all of these samples we ordered a cup of the Luwak coffee. Also on the table were large jugs of delicious fresh roasted peanuts covered in coconut paste and fried, fresh tobacco, and rolling papers. The girl that brings your beverages can also hand roll you a complimentary cigarette. Would you smoke it? We did. 

The way I look at it is if you're going to drink coffee from beans that were salvaged out of poop, you might as well have a cigarette to wash it down. You never know if you're going to have those opportunities again. Phil joked that we were actually able to indulge ourselves in the Bali Special Breakfast.

We were home by 14:00. That was plenty of time for us to continue winding down until dinner. We headed out to the spa for a 60 minute massage for $20; complete with hot tea and jasmine oil. Phil and I were in the same hut. The girls gave us a pre-massage pedicure with coffee grinds and coconut. For my masseuse it was just another day at the office. But Phil's masseuse; poor girl, she was working overtime. The heels on the feet of a soldier are no joke. (I think Phil would need a pedicure everyday to keep them normal.) It's in almost as bad a shape as the back of a pilot. Unfortunately for Phils' masseuse; he's both.The masseuse's torture was well worth it. We left there feeling like a million bucks.

From Monkeys to Bad Drinks

It's only our third full day in Bali. We've hit the road again. This time we're traveling from Sanur to Ubud. Our driver and her son are pretty quite so I just look out the window. It appears to me that the roadside is on a reel. It's a movie reel that starts with an image of a food stand of watermelons and corn on the cob. It's followed by statue stores, cement, hindu shrines, piles of junk, wood carving studios, plant nurseries, snack shops, laundry mats, and gas stands. Rewind. Repeat. Stop for traffic. Rewind. Repeat. There's a ton of traffic as usual. There's a million locals on mopeds. There making bold maneuvers; like texting while mopeding...with their kids poised in front of them napping on the handlebars. The curbs in Bali are painted in an alternating white and black pattern. It reminds of the part in Beetlejuice when he turns into a snake. I wonder if Tim Burton has been to Bali. I tried to ask the driver about the meaning of the black and white, but I didn't get a real definitive answer. I think it's a language thing.....

The hotel we happened to reserve in Ubud was gorgeous; and their staff was amazing. Did we luck out again, or is Bali always this delightful? By the time we arrived we were starving. We had lunch directly across the street at Warung Enak. Every restaurant's name begins with Warung. I think it must translate to cozy little inexpensive local restaurant. In German I think it would be stübl. It'll be no surprise to you; the food at Warung Enak was perfect. By this time I was convinced that it's impossible to have a bad meal in Bali. Normally I'll refference a guide book for restaurant tips, but in Bali it isn't necessary.

After lunch we went to the Monkey Forest. It was a skip and a jump from our hotel. It's not a place I thought we'd visit. To me, the name and purpose of the forest just reeks of being a tourist trap. But since we didn't have any other plans for the afternoon we figured why not? I was pleasantly surprised. We had a blast. It may be the best tourist attraction I ever visited. (That'll teach me to make assumptions I guess.) The Monkey Forest is a mini jungle in the middle of the city that is home to over 600 monkeys. They are amazing. Walking through the forest and observing their behavior is mesmerizing and astounding. Watching the other tourists interact with them presents an equally as amazing mental trip. Many people do many stupid things. We saw a guy walking with a bag of chips; they weren't even open. He got jacked by a monkey in about 15 seconds. The monkey ran up his leg, stole his chip bag, ran back down his leg, ripped the bag open, ate a couple of chips, and then threw the rest of the bag on the ground and moved on. His boys came behind to finish off the bag. It was almost like the first monkey was more interested in proving a point than eating the chips. Hilarious. The monkeys will steal anything. I found them to be so cute, gross, devilish, and comical; all at the same time. Being so close to these monkeys; I felt like I didn't know what to do (or make) of myself. I'm pretty sure I laughed nervously a lot. As we strolled further into the forest, enjoying the scenery and the company, Phil pointed out that if you stop to listen you can hear nothing but laughter. Laughter sounds the same in any language; and there was a representative from just about every country on the planet in The Monkey Forest that afternoon. I think it's one of the happiest places I've ever been. How can you be sad around a ton of fat, spoiled monkeys entertaining the daylights out of people? I don't think it's exactly what nature had intended, but it's pretty symbiotic.

Ready for the run-down on dinner? We ate at a restaurant called Murni's. I found it in the guide book; and just had to check it out. I guess it's pretty famous. It's been around forever. I'll also add, it took us forever to figure out where it was....not close to our hotel. Needless to say, we walked there and taxi'd back. This was another meal we ate cliffside; but mountain cliffside not beach cliffside. We were on a porch about three stories up. We were looking out over moonlit treetops. Phil had ribs; he loved the ribs in Bali. I had chicken stew; another traditional dish. That evening I also ordered a glass of the local wine, Hatten. It's something I never did again. When it comes to wine I don't think I could recommend the Indonesian; certainly not over the French, Italian, German, Chilean....etc. In Bali you are better off sticking to beer and tropical drinks. In fact, that evening Phil tried to order a dirty martini. It's a toss-up as to whose drink was worse. Unlike the drinks at Murni's, the dessert at Murni's was amazing; and the waitress was an expert at upselling. By the time she was done with us we had a large bowl half full of black rice pudding and half full of tapioca with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top and whip cream. It was marvelous. I could have swam in it.

Thursday in Bali..Am I Only on Day Three?

Ghzeesh! I am not being quick about these Bali stories. Thank you for your patience.

We took a boat from Sanur to the island of Nusa Lembongan. In researching this trip I realized that Indonesia consists of (somewhere around) 1,700 islands. I felt like we couldn't go all the way there and only see one. Visiting other islands is terribly easy from Bali. Every coastal town runs boats to neighboring islands. There are four islands you can access from the boats that leave Sanur, but we knew we wanted to go to Nusa Lemgongan. It is quite popular for not only surfing, but snorkeling as well.

We purchased our seats the day before. Showing up last minute, and hoping we would get a ride, would stress me out. So I made Phil commit and buy advance tickets on the fast boat. We showed up for the boat ride a bit too early Thursday morning. Just the way I like it; early not late. In the back of my mind I was harvesting a secret plan to sneak a museum trip in before the boat ride. (I know that sounds crazy but it wasn't a very big museum.) This would be something I couldn't tell Phil ahead of time; it would get shot down. In my head I knew how far the museum was from the boat dock, the time it opened, and the cost of entry. So when we had 45 minutes before the boat left, I suggested (very nonchalantly) that our time would be better spent exploring rather than sitting and waiting. Phil agreed. Then I suggested the small museum. Immediately Phil did not look so pleased. It was the house of the late artist Adrien-Jean La Mayeur, a Belgian painter who married a Balinese woman and lived the remainder of his life in Bali. I told Phil that the guide book suggested there may be some erotic paintings. He agreed to give it a look-see. (bingo) Tell a man he may see boobs and he'll go almost anywhere.

We cruised down to the museum, paid our dues, used the restroom, and that was about it. It took us all of about 20 minutes. The house was nice, but nothing major. In fact, a good bit of it was under construction. There were some paintings (which were a far cry from erotic), and original furniture, but it was not anything to write about. When you come across attractions such as La Mayeur Museum, you can't help but think tourist trap. Why anyone would list it in a guide book was a bit quizzical to me.

The boat ride, on the other hand, was worth every penny. I love being on boats so I found it terribly fun. You have to hike out into the water a bit to get on the boat; there is no dock. There were passengers with luggage. The crew literally carried the luggage on their back to keep it from getting wet, and then they chucked it on the roof of the boat. The boat had three motors and each one of them had an offering strapped to it. Phil and I were glad to see that; the boat gods would be pleased and this ride would be successful.

You get absolutely bombarded with solicitation when you hit the island. You don't even finish walking ashore and people are shouting at you to buy their tours. It was really intimidating; I wanted to bury myself in the sand. I refrained and Phil and I settled on a half day snorkel trip. We didn't surf. The tide wasn't right, and there were no waves. When the waves are “on” at Nusa Lembongan they are really “on.” They have names like playgrounds, lacerations, and shipwrecks. No thanks; they sound like they'd hammer me. I like waves with names like butter and cream puff.

So we snorkeled. It wasn't the best day for a snorkel trip, but when you're traveling sometimes you just take what you get. We got another fun boat ride out of the deal. Our driver was not very talkative, but he was nice. He gave us water, and some tips, and we had him all to ourselves. We popped off into the water and went searching the reefs of Nusa Lembongan for interesting fish, or treasures, and (of course) snakes. I had heard there are tons of snakes in the water in Bali. In case you don't know me, I hate snakes. I didn't want to encounter my first one while surfing. So I thought if I could face the fear while snorkeling, when I could see it in its entirety, I'd be better off. A couple of times I thought I saw one, but I didn't. My imagination however, was enough to keep my heart beating pretty fast. The closest we got to seeing a snake was spotting an eel. It would have to do. I got pretty cold pretty quickly. Cool water and no sun don't mix well for me. We took the boat back to shore and got lunch. Our lunch spot was seated right on the edge of a cliff. It might have even been hanging over a bit. The sea and rocks were (about) 40 ft. below us. The food was good, so was the lemonade, and they played dance hall reggae the entire time. I had fun; until I needed to use he bathroom and discovered there was no toilet paper. This was my initiation into never expecting the expected in a public restroom situation. I'm lucky they had running water. The restroom wasn't even in the restaurant. You had to walk about 60 ft. up the mountain side and around some bungalows.

After lunch we decided to brave a moped rental. The island was midsized; you could walk around it if you had enough time, but mopeding would be more efficient. We talked our moped salesman down to a third of his initial rental price. We actually ended up feeling a bit guilty for how much money we thought we saved. (We would learn later in the trip that we still got ripped off.) Driving through Nusa Lembongan was an experience to last a lifetime. Phil drove and I rode on the back. We had no helmets. We were unfamiliar with the island, had no map, and it was his first time driving on the “wrong” side of the road. I'm sure we could have died numerous times. We rode over new roads, and old roads, huge potholes, and bridges not big enough for anymore than one moped, and bridges that were tied in some spots with rope and had missing boards. We saw forests, and temples, and seaweed collections in process. I was feeling like we were getting more of a glimpse into real life on Nusa Lembongan. The moped ride ended with us sunning at a bar in big, scooped lounge chairs made from old boats. It was absolutely darling. The entire bar, and all of its tables and chairs, were only half covered in paint anymore and the decor was accented with buoys, nets, and seashells.

The boat ride back was crazy! I mean it. We could have died, for like, the umpteenth time that day. We were charging for Bali in three to four foot seas. I've never ridden anything like it; what a rush. I would liken it to a rapids ride at an amusement park, but multiply it by 20, and then subtract the seat belts and safety operator. I nearly fell out of the boat twice. Phil had to help hold me down. In hindsight it was probably not the smartest thing, but I wanted to sit on the edge so we'd have a good view of the islands' coasts. And I am glad we did because the view was mystical. It was later in the day, so I'm guessing this can make the air more dense. As we rode further, and further, from Nusa Lembongan it just seemed to disappear. The weather wasn't misty or foggy or cloudy; it was just as if the air was hiding it. The island slowly proceeded to turn as blue as the sky until, eventually, it wasn't there anymore.

When we reached Sanur unscathed we breathed relief; and began to take in the familiar smells of clove cigarettes, incense, and fried food stands. Also at this time of the evening everyone is out on the beach with their kites, which is the most colorful welcome home I've ever received.

The dinner we had that night was one of my favorites. The food was good, but that wasn't it. It was the atmosphere and entertainment. It was called Alice's Restaurant; and I recommend it if you're ever in Sanur. As I mentioned it was in a gorgeous setting; very romantic. The restaurant is part of a hotel owned by a Belgian, and it is wonderfully hidden from the road. They menu was great; with options ranging from the common to the uncommon, and in various portions. You could eat family style if you like. Once seated, you are greeted by the owner himself. He makes small talk, tells you a few jokes, and puts a fresh flower behind your ear, even if you are male. Alice's Restaurant also gives each of its customers a free cocktail to start. It warms you up and gets you ready to order an awesome dinner. The staff was terribly friendly, and all the girls were beautifully dressed. Alice's had live music that night. It's one of the reasons we chose it. It was a guitar duo from Sumatra, which is a neighboring island. They were spectacular. Like most entertainment in restaurants in Bali, they took requests. Like a mariachi band, they'd walk to each table and play what you want to hear. They were good at classic rock tunes, so we stuck to that. They must have liked Phil and I because they stayed at our table for a while. (It may have been because Phil's a good tipper, but never mind that.) They played us the Sumatra Honeymoon Song. It was the most suggestive song I've ever heard played live in a restaurant. The singer did a lot of heavy breathing. I actually got a bit self conscious. My cheeks, definitely turned red and I had an awkward laugh. When the song was over the guys explained that, in addition to being called the honeymoon song, it is also called The Chili Pepper Song. Breathing heavily because your mouth is on fire from spicy peppers was much more befitting for my prudish tastes.

Bali, Our Sanur Experience

We arrived in Bali as the sun was setting on Tuesday. Wednesday was our first full day. We had no plans, but you have to have a day without plans so you can investigate and make plans. We wandered around Sanur and absorbed more of the Balinese culture. 

The curbs are insanely tall along the sidewalk. It's goofy what an effort it is to get up and down them. 

I was also impressed by the peoples love for Gingham. It's black and white gingham, and it's everywhere. They wrap the fabric around trees, shrines, sculptures, and themselves. They also love their flag. If things aren't black and white gingham; they are red and white striped. 

I also noticed spiritual offerings everywhere. The Balinese have short ceremonies multiple times in one day. They make offerings to the Gods to keep them happy. An offering will consist of a banana leaf folded into the shape of a tiny box top. It will be filled with rice, crackers, candy, flowers, incense, and a cigarette. The offerings are sold around town for the equivalent of about 5 cents, and they are placed in front of every doorway along the street, at statues, and on some cars and mopeds.  

There's a lot of stray dogs in Bali. They love to fight one another in the middle of the street. Don't compliment one of these dogs, on anything. I playfully complimented a dog on her tits and she followed us for the next twenty minutes. It was annoying. Good thing she couldn't speak , she may have tried to sell us something. 

It's also hard to not notice that the favorite Balinesian past time is solicitation. Everyone, whether store owner or not, is trying hard to sell you something. No exaggeration, when you walk down the street you must say “no thank you” every five seconds. The taxi drivers can be the worst. Just because you're walking doesn't mean you need a ride. But they don't understand that; they hate to see you travel by foot. You'd like to avoid these sales scenarios by walking in the middle of the road, but you'd risk getting mauled by a moped. It makes you thirsty.

Intermittently we'd stop at a bar, to use the bathroom and WIFI. We really lucked out with the toilets on this first day. I didn't realize how sketchy the public restroom situation can get until later in the vacation. In Bali there are only two kinds of Beer, and every restaurant, cafe, or bar is consistently out of Storm Beer. So you drink Bintang; it's what everyone drinks. It's everywhere. “If you can't escape it, drink it.” That's my motto. Bintang is nothing more than Heineken with a different label; stilled bottled in Holland. Lucky Heineken; the red star fits nicely into Bali's cultural themes.

I was also pleasantly surprised to find that so many establishments offered WIFI. This made it incredibly easy to search the Internet for our next hotel; a process I thought would be much quicker than it actually was. As it turned out we would be in Bali over three (or four) major holidays. This made last minute hotel stays a bit trickier to find. Normally it's no problem because every other building has rooms. Eventually, after a couple of beers, we were able to secure lodging in another town for future days.

After lunch we strolled down the beach walk. There's lots of pop-up food stands and souvenir tents. There's also lots of nice, and large hotels. But Bali has an interesting rule. No hotel can be built higher than the highest temple (or maybe religious sculpture) so it has kept high rises to a minimum. When a hotel can't be the biggest, they'll get pretty clever at conjuring attractions. Like this giant (and hideous) diamond that you can get married in. Could you imagine? Who would do that. I find it completely ridiculous, but apologize if you're married and that is where your ceremony took place.

They day mosied along, with each of our happy, exploratory steps, and eventually we made it to dinner. The restaurant was called Cinnamon. The food was wonderful, and fresh, and they featured live dancing. Ceremonial dancing is a very popular attraction in Bali. You can buy tickets to nightly shows with varying themes, but we never did. This dinner show was plenty for us. The restaurant had a small stage with a perfect vantage point from every table. The dancers were beautifully decorated girls from age 4 to (about) 14. It's a very theatrical dance that they put on to traditional music. They don't move around much, or with much flow to their rhythm. The dancing appeared to me more like a serious of poses the girls changed in and out of. Put together in a string; the poses were used to act out characters and events in a story. This worked beautifully with the traditional music; which to me also seemed (at first) not very melodic. Initially I only heard this music as a series of sounds and tones. As I spent more time in the country though, with the music in the background, I began to notice its tune. I was impressed with how exotic I found the dancing show. My guess is that you may liken it to being in Hawaii and attending a luau. It was a feast for so many of my senses, but for the Balinese it is simply a part of their life. It is how they express their spirituality and tell their stories. Dancing starts at such an early age for women that parts of their bodies, like their neck, eyes, hands, and fingers, seem to be structured differently than mine. They are perfect for exaggerating and creating drama on stage. 

After dinner we went back to the beach for some live reggae. I can't imagine that there is a surf spot in the world that doesn't have nightly reggae music. The band covered Bob Marley and UB40 perfectly. It's funny though; do people know how much reggae exists outside of these two entities? Maybe. Maybe they don't care. We had a wonderful time, and sang along to every song because we knew the words. During a set break the lead singer came around to entertain the crowd and make small talk. When he got to Phil and I, he asked Phil if he'd like to come up to the mic and sing a song. Phil politely declined the invitation, but he was obviously flattered.   

Bali...What is This Place?

The date on my watch says 8/14, but it said the same thing yesterday. I've been finding it impossible to set the date and time, and have it stay correct. Last night Phil asked of it was Tuesday. I said, “Yes. (and thankfully it was) and everyday let's remind ourselves of the day otherwise we'll lose it.” Then I thought about what an interesting concept that was...to not know the day...and live unaffected by it. Could it be just a label for people that like order and organization? At work, Phil says he only ever knows when it's Friday because there is ice cream in the dining hall.

Now Tuesday is over. Today is Wednesday, the 15^th, to be orderly. I left Philadelphia on Sunday and the adventure has finally begun. When you get off the plane and enter the airport in Denpasar, Bali, you know you are not in Kansas anymore. Personally, I recognized I was definitely not in Taipei anymore. There's no Burberry in Bali; unless it's fake. It's a small, open air (I use that term lightly) airport. With the amount of tourism that Bali sees they could use an airport quadruple the size. It is (literally) packed with people. The air is quite thick. It's not a bad smell, but your nostrils are bombarded with ylang-ylang, clove cigarettes, and body odor. It's intoxicating. I don't think I've ever been anywhere that I was in such close proximity to so many people from everywhere. I'm no stranger to airports, but I didn't really know what to do so I followed the crowd.

Immediately the Balinese require that you hand over money for a tourist visa. No problem. I was expecting that. Handing out money, while never a lot of money, is a habit one needs to get used to. In Bali, you are given the opportunity to pay for anything (and everything) if you are willing. In the airport the crowd flows from the tourist visa line to a blob of humans; all fussing around an orderly pile of luggage. I grabbed mine and shuffled into another blob that appeared to be moving toward an exit. I honestly wasn't sure at that point if I was in the line going in, or out, of the airport. When I spotted a few people on my flight near me I hoped that meant I was in the right place. We were headed to a luggage screening machine that appeared to precede an exit route. I've never had my bag screened before leaving, but there is a first time for everything. Thankfully, the screening went smoothly and I rode the wave out the exit doors.

Once outside I needed to secure a ride to my hotel. There were many lines formed around the small exterior of the airport. Some of them appeared to lead to counters where you could purchase transportation. Naturally, I was prepared to wait in line for the “Taxi Service.” Before I managed the two feet distance to the end of this line I was (not warmly) greeted by a gentleman's query, “Taxi?” When I looked up at him I must have appeared startled and scared. Honestly, I didn't know what to do. You hear (and read) that one must be careful not to be taken advantage of in this scenario. Was he a real taxi driver? Would he rip me off? Would he rob or kidnap me? I had no idea, but the problem was I didn't want to be rude. I tried to pretend I didn't hear him. But again, “Taxi? Where you going?” While I didn't really want to wait in the long line I was more comfortable with doing so; even if it meant I would waste more time only to potentially be overcharged anyway. I decided to summon the courage to do the brave-world-traveler-thing. I said, “How much?” He said, “Where. Are. You. Going?”

“Oh right, sorry, to Sanur,” I said.

“200,000 Rupees.”, he said as he grabbed my bag and made to walk towards his taxi. In my head I fumbled to do the math quickly. I thought to myself, “I'm pretty sure that's $20 bucks. Not a little, but not a lot. Since he's already got my bag let's see where this goes.”

This may come as no surprise; the streets of Bali are insane. The traffic is incredibly dense and seems to have the same organization as the mobs in the airport. There are delivery trucks, buses, cars, taxis, and millions of mopeds (millions, seriously, with whole families riding on the same one) all cramming to get somewhere. I can't believe that any person gets to any destination in a timely fashion. It took the cabby 50 minutes to get me 15 miles. It was worse than trying to get through the Holland Tunnel.

This taxi driver was probably the least friendly Balinesian one could ever hope to meet, but he wasn't awful, and he didn't rob or kidnap me. He did his job and got me to my hotel, sort-of. Actually he dropped me off at the wrong hotel and I didn't notice until I waited at the counter and the receptionist told me he didn't have my reservation. I showed him my confirmation print out and he pointed down the street and around the corner. The taxi driver was gone. Bummer. Did he do that on purpose? I thanked the receptionist and walked, with luggage in tow, to my hotel. This was, definitely, not the last time my luggage got drug along an uneven sidewalk, over rocks, or through dirt on this trip. I want to use this space to give DAKINE a huge thanks. The suitcase toughed it out and is still intact, even if it is a bit worn and torn.

In the taxi driver's defense the hotel he dropped me at was The Bumas Hotel on Bumi Ayu Street and my actual hotel was Bumi Ayu Bungalows. In Bali lots of people, places, and things have the same name. If they don't have the same name they have similar names. To make matters more confusing you can't trust an address or street name. A street can potentially have an old name and/or a new name; and it isn't required to have a street sign. Said street could also have a nickname based on a popular restaurant or something that recently happened there. The building/house number can also be an issue. The numbers don't have to go in a sequential order. It seems the Balinese will give their spot on the street any number they want. They are big into lucky numbers. So if you and your neighbor have the same lucky number, guess what. You both have the same address even though you live one down (or up) from one another. Please, do not even get me started on numbers plus letters. Similar to my thoughts on being confused by what day it is; I find this nonchalance toward location (Is that the right word?) quite charming.

Am I in Bali, or Wonderland? Which side of The Looking Glass is this, anyway? If it is Wonderland; Phil is more like Alice. You might liken me to the White Rabbit; and I'm trying to keep my intensity to a minimum. That's why I am awake, journaling, and Phil is still asleep. I just can't sleep that much. This necessity to awaken is supported by the rooster that starts crowing at 4:45, his rooster friends that soon follow suit as they continue well past normal morning hours. There is also the constant droning of mopeds that may lessen during the middle of the night but is in full force after sunrise. It is a different energy that flows through life here in Bali. And I having recently been grounded in this, the other side of the world, am keenly aware of it. It feels exciting and I want to know how it all works.

Homeward Bound

It's been five days since I've returned from Bali. At the moment I find myself in a location I've grown quite accustomed to in the past weeks; an airport. Not a commercial airport however; it's a military passenger terminal. I think you know what this means. My Space-A adventure will begin again. I think a few of you are familiar with my last experience. If not you can read about it on the Germany page. This time around should be much easier, so they say. I'm just trying to keep patient and persevere. This of course is easy now. I'm only one hour into the waiting. There's only one flight tonight to Ramstein, or for the rest of the weekend for that matter. I'm trying not to sweat. The retirees are making me nervous. They're good at this game, but they speculate too much. I wish they would just talk about the weather and the upcoming football season.

In other news, Bali was fabulous. The Taipei airport was pretty awesome too; as was my brief stay in LA. I've taken a substantial amount of notes in these three weeks and I can't wait to share some stories with you. These tourist posts will come sporadically in the next week or two, as I will be composing them only when I have time. I can only imagine that having not been home in seven weeks, I've got commitments to take care of and journaling may not be a priority. For this I apologize to anyone who may be waiting to hear how the trip went.

Bali is, without a doubt, the most exotic place I've ever been. It's not what I thought it was going to be, but few things are. There were some pleasant surprises, as well as not so pleasant, and a few adventures in between. I plan to be honest about my trip and what I absorbed from it. Just do me a favor, don't judge Bali based on my opinions, just judge me.

It was a great place to go for Florida Scarf. I bought a couple of new fabrics that I am excited to get home and use. I've also got some new design ideas and craft tricks. Traveling is fun, but it amazes me how much work I can turn it into. Luckily, Phil doesn't mind too much. I find just as much enjoyment in exploring as I do with sharing my finds.

Thanks for checking in with me. Hopefully, if I get on this flight, you'll be hearing from me again in a few days via my nice computer at my fun desk in my home in Deutschland. (Geez, I haven't spoken a lick of German since I left. I'm glad I can at least spell the country's name.) Maybe there is hope for me learning the language.