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.

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.

The Second Half of the Flight to Bali...

My flight to Taipei was great. There are two things I like better about Asian Airlines; the food and the movie selection. Most flights to Asia from America are long. It helps that their stewardesses are sweet and attentive.

It was a 13 hour flight, through the night, for me and I didn't have a window seat. The guy sitting next to me, by the window, was really excited. I got the impression that it was his first time on an airplane. As we took off and traveled toward cruising altitude, he took pictures every 15 seconds. I wanted to ask him if it was, in fact, his first time on a plane. He didn't seem to speak English though, so I didn't bother. Then I realized, if he doesn't speak English, he probably doesn't live in America. Thus, this is at least his second time on an airplane. Maybe he just went to LA to buy a phone to take pictures on the plane, and then returned home to Taiwan. Whatever his deal was, this guy saved my life. He had a friend sitting in the middle row of the airplane. After dinner his friend suggested they sit next to one another. Instead of asking me to switch he abandoned his window seat for the middle with his buddy. I chilled on that situation for 30 minutes, then I pointed to his seat asking with my eyes, “Are you gonna sit in this seat anymore? Because if not I'd sure like to sleep in it?” With his hands and eyes, and smile he replied, “Sure, take it.” I slept like a mouse in winter all snuggled up in my corner on the airplane. It was Heaven sent. When I awoke the stewardesses were serving breakfast. The two options were; eggs or porridge. I love oatmeal and cream of wheat so I would have gone for the porridge. Fortunately, I had been tipped off, by Arianna, that the porridge may contain fish. (or fish flavor) Based on the same reasoning as mine she had chosen the porridge (on one of her trips)and regretted it. Eggs for me it was. I can't say it was my most favorite airplane meal, but the tea and fruit were nice. While eating my funky eggs, and drinking delicious tea, I watched the sun rise over the middle of the ocean. It was magical. My buddy took his seat back for landing, which I didn't mind, and proceeded to take a million more pictures.

The Taipei Airport is the most glorious airport I have ever been in. It's not even fair to call it an airport. I could have spent my entire vacation there. The terminals are intermingled with a pristine shopping experience. The airport doubles as a high-end shopping mall. I was immediately inspired to buy something, but I settled for walking around instead. In my 5 hour exploration I discovered that all of the stores were downstairs, and the restaurants, cafes, and lounges are upstairs. They even had VIP areas upstairs. I felt the need to take photos, and the funny thing is that I didn't feel weird about it. (This is not a joke) Everyone else was taking pictures too. I found a relaxing green room. It was full of fake plants and nature scenes. This room had calming music and free massage chairs for anyone waiting for a connecting flight. 

The airport also has nice, free water dispensers. You can actually fill your water bottle and not feel gross about it. (like you do when you fill it at a water fountain near a restroom in a normal restaurant) I also found a Starbucks tucked into a nook of a lounge in the airport. There was no stopping me. I made a B-line for it. I guess I have a slight Starbucks addiction. They had other American chains in the airport, but I wasn't interested. In general, I scoff at people who seek out American chain food restaurants in other countries. I used to think that those businesses should stay in America and stop trying to take over the market in other countries. I have officially retracted that opinion from my personality, based on my reaction to my Starbucks discovery. I had to; otherwise this lust for Starbucks would make me a hypocrite and I'd have to hate myself. So go get your Taco Bell in Germany, and your McDonald's in India. I'm sipping a $5.00 Starbucks coffee in Taipei and savoring every sip.

My designer coffee was the gateway drug to open my mind up to more luxury shopping. There was an adorable Burberry short-puffed-sleeve polo I wanted and some Dior perfume. Have you smelled Addict? I think it is divine. In a matter of ten minutes all sanity had left my brain. Who needs souvenirs from Bali when you can spend all your money in the Taipei Airport on merchandise you can get anywhere?

I came to my senses and boarded my next airplane empty handed. The next flight was 5 hours to Bali. Now compared to a 13 hour flight after a 14 hour layer, it seemed like a hop. On this flight I actually had a window seat. But when I arrived at it there was a young man sitting in it. I said, “I think you may be in my seat.” His reply was, “Oh really? I wasn't sure which letter was the window, so I just sat here.” I was thinking, “I don't believe that for a second. It's pretty obvious that you wanted a window seat so you decided to take it and face whatever negotiation would follow.” I thought the kid was such a turd for doing that, but then I thought about the Universe. I remembered how on the flight before the guy was cool enough to give me his seat, and I relaxed. I said, “It's definitely mine, but if you really want it, I'll give it to you. I had a window last flight.” But I was still grumpy about it so I did my best not to make friends with him on the way to Bali. 

This is a cool graffiti exhibit I found in the airport. I'm pretty sure the artist's name is BOUNCE. He creates images of a music-loving rabbit. 

I left the airport for a brief time in the morning to stroll through the fields and photograph the local workers. Just kidding, this is more wall art at the airport.

On My Way to Bali...

I think traveling on an airplane is exactly like going on a big hike. When I first get to the airport (or to the trail head) I am excited. I rarely get to be in this place, so it seems fresh and new. When I get on the plane (or begin hiking) I am attentively looking around and absorbing my surroundings. I am dreaming about the destination and how fabulous it will be. Somewhere in the middle of the flight ( a couple of hours into the hike) I begin to get bored and uncomfortable. I am no longer looking around. I am trying to think of new ways to amuse myself in my head. My surroundings have looked the same for a while and I am ready for a change. Just when I think I can't stand it anymore, and my legs feel like they are going to fall off, and I'm tired, and thirsty, and dirty, and have a headache, and have to pee....the plane lands (I reach the top of the mountain) and I am instantly rejuvenated. The world becomes new again. I can stretch and rejoice in the fruits of my labor. The view is gorgeous and I am excited for what life has to offer. It is a small portion of the general population that flies. (or hikes) I am thankful for the unique opportunity to be where I am. I may explore a bit, but I will not stay long before I move on to my next destination.

This is a scenario I lived over and over again while getting to Bali. During flights and layovers I had plenty of time to contemplate such a similarities. It took me three airplanes, four airports, and two airlines to reach the tiny island, but as life is about the journey and not the destination I enjoyed myself along the way.

I've been to California, but I've never been to LAX before. This summer I got my chance. My first thought, after leaving Philly and entering LAX, was that there was an alarming number of beautiful people gathered in one building. As I fly to different places I wonder if it is possible to generalize the type of person utilizing particular airports. If so you could make a funny cartoon series out of it.

I have a dear friend that lives in San Diego. I met her my freshman year of college, and as life took its turns we ended up falling out of contact for four years. Recently we've reunited thanks to Facebook, and I thought it would make complete sense to call on Arianna for some entertainment during my 14 hour layover. Well, San Diego is not close to LAX. When I wrote to Arianna about a meet up her exact response was, “That is sort of retarded, but yes! I suggest a weird lunch.dinner combination and/or celebrity pool party.” (In defense of Arianna I used the words retarded idea first.) Even though there was never a celebrity pool party, Arianna did come and pick me up (as promised) and fun ensued.

It was rejuvenating to see such a great friend after so long. You know how those things go. I hopped in her Prius, we picked up where we left off, and never skipped a beat. I love catching up with old friends I haven't seen in eons. I use it to remind myself of who I am and celebrate where I've been. If you have a friend you met when you were 19, and the last time you saw her you were 24, and you never saw her again, then you had that friend for five years. But if you get together with her for a day when you are 31, then you've been friends for 12 years and counting. I like to brush the dust off of my friendships and keep them polished. Exquisite relationships are something of which to be proud.

As I was saying, Arianna swooped me up for a tour of LA in a day. First, we strolled Venice Blvd. Every side street is adorable. All of the residences have respectably overgrown landscaping. It allows privacy for the homeowner, but also adds a bit of mystery for me the voyeur. Each shop, cafe, and restaurant is uber-hip on Venice Blvd. Even at 11:00 am there was a line to get in anywhere. We ate at a place called Hal's. Basically, we chose Hal's because they could seat us immediately, but I loved Hal's because it was a jazz lounge. Their food was great and they had a nice beer selection. And lucky us, it was a Sunday. As is customary for brunch, muffins came to the table. It made me feel like a school girl to indulge in beer and muffins late on a Sunday morning, laughing with my friend about boys (a husband and a fiance) while waiting for my salad in L.A.

After brunch we went to the Getty Museum. The traffic scene we were in was the best L.A. could ever know. It was smooth sailing until we got to the museum parking lot. The museum is free on Sundays, so attendance is through the roof. In case you've never been, the architecture of the Getty is the best part about the Getty. The museum building and its grounds are truly one of the most impressive sights I've seen in a while. The sky was a bold blue, the grass was just too green, and they were interrupted yet sewn together with squares, rectangles, and diagonals of cream-colored stone.

Once I had fully absorbed all that was the architecture, we toured a few exhibits. There was a large show of the work of Herb Ritt. He is a celebrity photographer that worked largely (if not solely) in black and white. You might recognize this:

I think Ritt had such a fascinating way of isolating beauty. His photographs of tone, athletic bodies and model faces seem to materialize and energize the godliness in the human form.

On this same day, the Getty was also showing a collection of drawings by Gustav Klimt. This was a fun treat for me. Since I now live in Germany, I identify (for some reason) with German and Austrian artists. (as if they are one of my own, the nerve) The collection of Klimt's drawings was the most satisfying display I've ever seen. I think sometimes when you go to an exhibit of drawings it just seems like a curator lovingly hung a bunch of trash sketches that no one needs to care about. These drawings, however, had gorgeous lines and smudge shading. They were (to be trite) complex, yet simple. There were a couple of finished works on display. The crisp detail and exact touch to the artist's hand was impressive. I was jealous to say the least. One aspect of his work that I found interesting: the nude studies and sketches were beautiful, but when the same images would be translated onto the finished work the ladies became much more garish. Personally I read it as an interpretation of power. The models being meek and powerless, with Klimt wanting his final images to be gold, and bold, and square and powerful.

We spent a greater part of the day at the Getty and needed to make our way back to the airport. Arianna couldn't drop me off with even the slightest empty belly, so we stopped to eat again. Like me, Arianna loves an easy excuse to try a new restaurant. We had (our own personal) Happy Hour at Tripel in Marina Del Ray. I think Marina Del Ray was the perfect place to round out my tour of LA. Tripel had a sharp interior, with an impressive bathroom, tons of gourmet beers, and fancy snacks. My trendy points went sky high while hanging there.

Good times, unfortunately, can not infinitely roll on. I was dropped back exactly where I started, at LAX waiting for my flight to Taipei.

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.