Ubud, Bali

I have my first massage in Ubud. I’ve only had one other massage, in Texas, and I must say I am a bit more nude this time than the first.

The Deli Cat is a restaurant/expat bar where I meet the most interesting people. One of them is an artist from Java (the island to the west of Bali) and you can tell he has no problems with ladies. He sings soft songs and woos women over to the table.

Apparently doesn’t like that kind of life. Later, on my last night in Ubud, he and I are alone at the Deli Cat and he laments being used by women on vacation all the time who get angry when they discover he has other girlfriends (about six in the states alone, who always call him up when they come to Bali on vacation). It’s interesting to see such a vulnerable side to someone who exudes such confidence.

I go to see him play one night at an open mic. He doesn’t get the chance to play, but I meet two Aussie girls there. One lives there on Bali and one is on vacation. The vacationing one is going white water rafting in a couple of days and needs a partner, so I tell her definitely! Very excited to do something like this that solo traveling might sometimes be a hindrance to.

I go to the Neka Museum, the largest collection of Balinese art which is all owned by this collector, Neka. I like the picture of the wave with the title Don’t be easily bored by Daoed Joesoef.

The next day Gusti, the sole guesthouse employee who checked me in last night) takes me to the rice paddies, which I was told I should see at least once. It’s about a 30 minute ride out there. We get to it and it’s very pretty, all these paddies terraced on a hillside. I snap a few photos and a woman with a little shop of handicrafts (that are truly everywhere in Bali) asks me to have a look. I say no and turn around. In the picture you can’t see what is waiting behind me: a horde of hawkers, about 7-10 of them, with wood carvings, sarongs, hair brushes, all surging forward yelling at me. “Two dollah!…one dollah!” they seem to be bargaining with one another. I start to say no but realize they can’t possibly hear me over their screaming so I just look around for Gusti and make my way to the bike.

On the way back we take a back road and pass through some beautiful country. Most of it is rice paddies (flat ones though) and we pass many farmers who don’t seem to get many tourists. We see lively tented area and Gusti stops and asks what it is, then asks if I want to see cockfight. As much as my bloodlust has needed a recharge, I am content to watch from a distance. We can still see the feathers and flesh flying. He seems disappointed that we aren’t there.

The night before going to the rice paddies I meet this young guy at the entrance to my hotel, whose family apparently owns the little warung there, like a little convenience store where they sell food, drinks. I had been out with some friends and had some drinks so am by now particularly chatty. He and I joke around for a minute and then I keep walking down the alley to my guesthouse.

He runs up to me, “Where you from? I love America! I have many America friends!”

This is called the instant friend, which is obviously a ploy to eventually get money from you. But again, I’m chatty. I tell him I’m going to the rice paddies tomorrow.

“Oh! I take you! Very nice, beautiful. Promise yes?”

I tell him I have a ride.

“Oh but you give me work, yes? I take you yes?”

I turn and walk away.

He’s up there at 10 the next morning. “We go and I show you my art, I am painter, have gallery, very good quality!” This is what such people do: take you somewhere you want to go, but on the way take you to their brother’s shop, their cousin’s shop, their sister’s shop…so I tell him no, that I don’t feel well. He tries to make me feel bad, he shows me he has only paper in his pockets, and tells me I promised him. I get him to go away, but he is back the next day. Gusti tells me he is a snake so i don’t even take the offer for a ride into town (“No charge for you! I like America!”). He even finds me walking streets a mile from my guesthouse and offers a lift. They have a knack for finding you.

I go to a Legong dance performance. They have lots of Hindu ritual in them and usually tell a Hindu story, but they are mostly for tourists now. That’s okay. They have about 5 a night in various places around Ubud, and while I have no idea what anything means it’s still entertaining. The comic relief comes out — a fat jolly guy, and says, “Hello, hello, welcome to Bali. You need transport?” mimicking the taxi drivers all over town.

I meet this Hawaiian guy who has made a good living on importing teak furniture to the states from Indonesia. We go eat at a place called Naughty Nuri’s, run by a local woman and her husband — a hilarious, cussing guy from Jersey (as all guys from Jersey should be, I guess). It’s here that I have a plate of pork ribs that rival many I’ve had in Texas.

Gusti takes me to the Elephant Cave, a place with some ruins of a Hindu and Buddhist colony. It’s not very big and not very expensive to get in, and a guide walks me around the area. There are some fountains where, if you wash your face three times with the water, you will be young forever. So I do. My guide tells me afterwards that it won’t work for me, though, because one of the fountains toppled over in an earthquake and hasn’t been fixed yet. He says it happened in 1940.

As soon as you get out of the cave area there are tents with the handicrafts everywhere and people asking/telling you to buy. Gusti, however, takes me to a little-visited place out of the tourist areas. One person had visited that day, and it was about 4 pm by now. I walk down a path with rice paddies on either side and get to a carved wall with an old woman sweeping. She’s pointing to the wall and talking for at least a couple minutes, then tells Gusti to tell me what she said. “Is story of kingdom,” he says. Gusti’s English isn’t expansive and that’s about all I could get out of him. But I take a picture with her and she loves seeing her digital image. She leads me to a little fountain in a walled area and tells Gusti what it is. Gusti just says, “She say you can take picture.” I leave an offering and she blesses me (sprinkling holy water on my head several times, pouring it in my hand and getting me to slurp it 3 times, then putting some on my own head) and we leave. Nobody ever comes out there. Fantastic woman. We joked a bit and she really reminds me of Mimi, my grandmother.

Originally published 17 July, 2007