I’m working on my “macro” photography skills… so with that as an excuse for a Trip Re-Post, here are some shots of puppets and things we got in Bali.
Stories below.
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My original recap of Bali, written in 2006:
Ditty about Bali:
Well…. how to sum up Bali?
Since recaps of someone else’s vacation are about as boring as the
pictures of someone else’s vacation, I’ll just recap for myself…. to
remember our time there in 50 years. And share with whomever is bored
enough to read it. (grin)
One Day in Bali
The Balinese are a strange breed. They are generous. They are kind.
They are friendly. They are greedy. They are jealous. They are like the
biggest mosquitoes you have ever seen, and immune to repellent. Yet,
despite the flaws, they are amazing, and for me, I started missing Bali the
moment I left it.
Bali was much more primitive than I expected. You are greeted the first
breath you take, by several things: 1. Porters that carry your bags no
matter what you say and b) want large sums of money for their efforts.
They then take the whole DOLLAR you give them, and share it with their 2
other buddies that helped him. Not because they want to share, mind you.
It’s the system they have. There’s a smell in the air, burning rice stalks,
and something cooking. It’s hotter than you ever thought it could be, but
none of the locals are sweating. You’re dripping; they are dry as a bone.
No deodorant for them either. And no smell. And no sweat. It’s quite odd.
Bali is made up of 9 zillion villages. Most of our time was spent in Ubud,
(say Ooooh-Boood, Bah-Leeee) in the center of Bali. In the small village of
Nyun Kuning, just south of the main drag that is Ubud. This whole area is
known for its artists and good food. There are plenty of both. Each village
has the same things… their particular trade or craft they are known for,
warungs for food (little stands that people set up and cook for you – about
$1 will get you anything if you’re willing to trust the safety of it. Being
green, we avoided them, but they are staples to the folks there. I just don’t
trust the rear end of a raw goat, hanging in a glass box in the hot sun all
day, getting sliced for cooking when the customer comes)
We are at a little hotel called “Garden View” that we have basically to ourselves. (A Dutch
couple is here also, shopping for their new Balinese restaurant back
home) A nice pool, huge room with 4-poster bed overlooking the rice fields.
Our neighbors: There’s “underwear man” to the right, who is white,
obviously from out of town, and enjoys sitting on his gruns and reading the
paper. There is “Lady ChiCha” next door who runs a little store where we
get water every night. She teaches me about the lizards that run around.
The small ones are harmless, but the bigger ones are the great find – you
can hear them at night…. first they grunt, then they yell out “Gekk-Ko” that
sounds like someone saying “Ohh ohhhh!” Our hosts are all named
Wayan, Like 80% of the Bali. They have a “birth order” thing to naming
their kids. All first born are named “Wayan”, adding I first for boy, and Ne
for girl. The second born are Made (Mah-day) Third is Nyoman (No-man)
Fourth is Ketut, (Ka-Toot) and if you have more than that you are a) rich
and b) starting back at Wayan, but adding more suffixes. Everyone has a
second name they go by with friends, but to tourists, they are all Wayan,
Made, etc.
The main Wayan is very serious, and loves to teach about Bali and the
Hindu ways. He explains the basic of Bali, which I embrace: (and I
paraphrase his quote) “When we sit together, and talk about life, I may
show you a number. It is SIX. To me, it looks like a 6, and that it was it is.
But to you, it’s a 9, and that is also true. We must both agree that each
other’s way is true.” They are all very peaceful about things in their life. It
is the way the Gods want things, and this rings particularly true when it
comes to the tragedy of the bombings in the village of Kuta.
My other Wayan, and my favorite, is “Driver Wayan” is as cute as hell, and
a joy to be around. He took me on a shopping spree one morning, to each
village to gather treasures for our crate. We are having an artist make us
a custom Armoire and shipping it home (costing more for shipping than the
art itself) we pick out paintings, stonework’s, etc. and have a blast. I think if
“metrosexuals” existed in small rural villages outside Manhattan, he would
be it. His heart hurts for the girlfriend he recently lost. She was Christian
(but Balinese) and her father would not allow them to marry. (He’s Hindu)
He’s lost, he gives many offerings, but it is not what the Gods want. So
sad…..
Offerings….. They are everywhere. EVERYwhere. Each morning, on my
stroll, I’m bombarded with the smell of incense, and stepping over little
palm boxes filled with gifts. 3 different flower petals, some leaves, and a
small lump of rice or half a Ritz cracker. There are a ba-zillion scooters
around Bali, very few cars, and on special days, these offerings are put on them to honor the God of
Metal. They are put in front of every store front (1000′s in Ubud) and on
little pedestals they all have every 10 feet or so. It’s all part of the
ecosystem, because as soon as they are all laid out, the dogs come and
have breakfast. Stray, mange-ridden, mutt dogs that roam everywhere.
Yum, rice and crackers.
Speaking of scooters, they are the Bali mini-van as well – baby in front, the
Dad driving. Mom has another toddler stuck between them, and she’s
usually sitting side-saddle, with her flip-flops or cute kitten-heel slides
dangling from her perfect toes, never falling off. (These women are
workhorses, but have perfect feet. I don’t get it.) The baby in front might
have some goggles, or maybe a wool cap, but that is the extent of safety. I
cringe every time I see this, which is every 4 minutes or so when we’re in
town. Unreal.
Each village also has a temple area, that people flock to with offerings as
well, and also serves as their cemetery and cremation place, when you
can afford to have your loved one cremated. (It often takes months to
raise enough money)
***edited/added***
Each day I would walk down the little road, to the little Monkey Forest, and on the way is a little shop, with a little family… consisting of a little Dad (Wayan, I’m sure) his little wife and a 4 yr old little girl. They live in their shop, and it’s about 10ft by 5ft at best. It’s very little. He carves little puppets, she paints them (a little), and the daughter was even helping a little bit, where she could. As you see by the pictures, the workmanship is a little bit amazing.
We had a wonderful family take care of Baloo (our Springer) while we were gone, and taking on this crazy hound was no small feat. I knew it would be a mission to bring home the right souveniers to thank them! But the moment I saw the puppets, I just knew this little family could help!
I was somehow able to get a picture of my dog, and Sadie, his “woofmate”, a Goodledoodle, and print it out. I brought back the pictures, in hopes they could make their likeness into puppets.
I remember there being a huge language barrier. Well, not so much a barrier, but road block. But with the help of charades, and a smart-thinking young girl with a book, we got the job ordered. Dog puppets to look like Baloo and Sadie, and I’ll buy a couple more because they’re cute. (and embarressingly cheap, the one time in 6 months I didn’t even THINK of bartering.)
(excuse the primitive piks, they were taken quickly before our stuffed armoir crate was sealed up to ship to our home. A crate marked as well as Woodworker Wayan could with the english he had… “pragile” written all over it, to indicate it’s precious cargo. )
It ends up that Baloo’s hosts were beyond excited to get such a gift. Almost as excited as they were to see him pack his bones and move out, I’m sure.
Back to the original story…
Monkey Forest, which hass a wooden path in the middle of
everything, with over 300 grey monkeys around doing monkey business.
There is a huge batch of babies, and protective monkey moms. The men
keep their harem in line, and they jump on you if you have food. I learned
that quickly. Best line ever came from a German tourist with the thickest
accent: “Sir, (David) I ‘zink zay like your trous-zahs!” as one hung onto
David’s pants. They swim, they fight, the pick nits… it’s a great way to sit
and do nothing.
Each morning, we wake to the sunshine and morning haze lifting over the
top of Mount Agung in the background. It’s HUGE, and still an active
volcano. We have breakfast with Wayan, learning the lesson for the day,
and to answer some inquisitions about our home.
For the day… what to do? We just got a 2-hour massage (for $6)
yesterday, to repeat two days in a row would just be glutinous. (not!) No
more shopping, our crate is full, and I’m tired of the game:
“Hello Lady, where you from?”
“America.” (Each country calls us something different)
“America!!!! Come shopping. Best price. You buy from me. Morning price.
(It’s good luck to get a good sale off the bat) How long you stay in Bali?
Where you stay? What room number? You need transport? I will have my
friend Wayan come give you best price. You shop in my store. You have
child? Where’s your husband?”
*** This is all said in one breath. Quickly. 1000000 times a day. ****
It’s an exhausting process, but only outdone by the bargaining process.
They give you a number, on a calculator. You laugh. They hand you the
calculator and you type in about ¼ the price. They laugh. You take a step
back, and you usually get it for your price, or just above. Everything in Bali
is 50,000 rupee. About $5 bucks. A gal can pack a crate quite well for a
few thousand rupee!!!!
We may lay by the pool for a while, or hire Wayan to take us to see some
temples and rice fields. It’s too darn hot to do much of anything, but we
hate to spend our time inside by an AC unit. (Well, David does not mind it
so much…)
At night, we eat like kings for pennies. Fresh Lobster, prawns, and a slab
of fresh tuna (with fries and veggies) for $4 USD. Add a couple of large
Bintangs, and some local Arak wine, (served on sterilized ice and lime) and
you have yourself a huge tab of maybe $20 total. Including tax & tip. It’s
unreal. And so very delicious.
We hop on our scooter and ride back thru the little path in Monkey Forest.
It’s finally cooled off, but still 99 percent humidity. We beg some ice off the
front desk guy, and have ourselves a nightcap & midnight dip under the
stars. There’s the music in the background from the Kecuk dance at Laka
Leke… where 100 village men pretend to be monkeys and there’s 2
sisters, one must love the bad prince….. etc. and all you hear is the “chuk
chuk chuk” chanting of this hilarious traditional dance.
There are rice patties all around us, and the gecko’s are “Oh ohhhh” while the dirty ducks
(they are a funny off-white color) are laughing like a hundred little old
Chinese men chuckling at a funny joke. They crack me up every time.
We might play cards (I’ve gotten good at Gin Rummy) or just read, making
it a rule that we can’t fall asleep before 10pm. We are old. (grin)
Bali is a magical place, only if you stop and look around, listening,
learning…
There are a million things wrong with how their system works, but it’s old,
and it’s never going to change. I’d go back in a heartbeat. (I’m just going to
wait until it snows there.)
