Bang Saphan Yai

Oops...the days have slipped sideways.  We've been at Bang Saphan a week now, just a day or two shy, and we've had some rain, some sun, some swimming, a trip to town and many good breakfasts at Palm Gardens.  The quiet is deafening.  The birds are a constant delight and even the dogs have finally gotten used to us.  Palm Gardens has turned out to be exactly what the doctor ordered and my bronchitis is clearing up with only the occasional cough.  This area used to be vast coconut plantations.  It is now slowly changing into Thai vacation homes, as well as homes for ex-pats including the ubiquitous western man/Thai wife combination.  There is a geriatric element to it, but I can't complain.  It's peaceful.  

Coming back from a trip to Roy Tawan, the local beachfront best coffee spot, we ran into the coconut harvesters, two men with monkies on motorbikes.  The monkies have long leashes attached to their collars and they run up the tree trunks, sorting and testing the clustered coconuts until they find a likely one.  Then they twist and twist and yank until the coconut comes free, and they toss it to the ground.  After several tries, one of the monkies shook his leash, causing his little bell to ring, and scampered down the trunk.  He sat right down, looking right and left, until his handler approached with a wide comb and groomed the monkey, combing out his fur, scratching his head all while the monkey sat, complacent and accepting.  We were told these monkies live with these handlers from childhood, and that this is the preferred method of harvest.  Later that day, huge piles of coconuts encircled the bottom of the trees awaiting the funny samlors that haul them off to be processed.

The weather has been, well, odd.  Very windy, to the point where the placid Gulf of Siam kicked up some mighty waves that came clear up into the parking lot of I Talay, the little seafood restaurant on the edge of the beach.  It closed down for a day and the other beachfront eateries were so windy it was hard to tell the rice from the sand.  It's been too rough to swim, even for intrepid Mr. Muzzy, and a couple of days it has been chilly.  We are lucky to have the pool at Palm Gardens, but yesterday it was a little too chill even for that!

Muzzy has been exploring the area on our rented motorbike.  Yesterday we went to the caves near Bang Saphan Yai, Tum Marong.  It is an old temple complex with a good road that leads up the side of an old karst mountain.  At the top is a nice sized Buddha statue and a few steps beyond, a good stairway leads down into the wide narrow entrance. For 20 baht, the nuns at the entrance further down the hill will turn the lights on.  Long strings of wire lead up through the jungle and culminate inside the cave, strung throughout to illuminate the hundreds of Buddha statues, all sizes.  There is even a quite nice Reclining Buddha under a canopy off to the rear of the main entrance.  It is cool and quiet, meditative. Colonies of bats hang from the ceiling, adjusting their wings, chattering and occasionally taking flight to move to another spot.  The walls and floors are a maze of stalagmites and stalactites, worn smooth from centuries of seeping water, multi-colored and sparkling with the limestone bodies of dead corals.  While Mr. Muzzy explored deeper and deeper, I sat out front for some time, enjoying the breeze of a mild day, waiting for butterflies to land on my hand, playing mind games to see just how relaxed I could get. A tall monk with a walking stick, accompanied by a few selected dogs, attempted to have a conversation with me.  We quickly established "mai kao jai passa Thai" (I don't speak Thai) and simply smiled and shrugged at one another as he pointed out a second entrance a few yards down the path.  Other than that, the wat was empty.  Near the entrance are monks quarters and some huts for the caretakers, and packs of abandoned dogs.  On a motorbike or with a stick, they pose no threat, and donations help with the electricity and food for the dogs.  The mountain is riddled with caves, holes in the sides where light pours through and several passages that meander in and about.  On the way down, the dogs bark, wander, and seem restless, but settle down eventually to do what sleeping dogs do.  The clumps of giant timber bamboo on either side of the path moan and clank in the wind, and there is an air of timelessness and peace prevailing, an altogether surprising experience.

Oh No, Stuck in Bangkok Again

It's been cold for Bangkok, really cold, wear my fleece vest cold, Thais in parkas cold.  We are here until we leave for Bang Saphan on Monday, revising our trip to maximize our pleasure seeking boredom at the beach for a full 2 weeks.  The cool weather has given us an opportunity to explore a bit more of Bangkok than we usually do.  We will revisit Thai Home Industries, see the beautiful hand forged cutlery and revisit the temple bells that fascinated us last visit.  In desperation for something to read (2 weeks at the beach is a long time), we ventured into Khaosan to find a bookstore.  We went early in the morning before the hordes of backpackers were up working on their first beer of the day, and with persistent questioning, were directed to a small stall that bought and sold books.  I found 4 books, exhorbitantly priced, but beggars can't be choosers.  I thought I had really scored until I opened up one fat tome and found it was in Swedish.  The good news is that we discovered Shewa, the spa Sarah told us about, an oasis of class amid a sea of street level massage stalls.  The Shewa is truly a gem.  Best pedicure I've ever had.

We found a new noodle shop, probably a Thai chain, Hong Kong Noodles.  They have a limited dim sum menu and lots of noodle soups with wontons.  It seemed a simple and safe solution to some gastro-intestinal issues and who could resist the menus proudly proclaiming "Honk Kong Noodles".  I love Asia.  We also found a small exquisite vintage clothing store tucked into a surviving traditional teak house off an alley that cuts between Pra Atit and Rambuttri Soi.  It's prices were outrageous, but the decor was charming...and we all know how I love charming, right?  It really is one of the essentials of travel for me.

But 10 days in Bangkok is a long long time.  Suffice it to say, we will not be staying this long again.  Monday, February 1st came and despite a slight detour to the floor of the Hualumpong Train Station (I passed out briefly right in front of Black Canyon Coffee...some people will do anything for a seat near a fan) we made it onto the morning train bound for Bang Saphan.  And here we are.  The quiet is deafening.  There is nothing to do, no where to go, nothing to buy.  Palm Gardens is a very short walk from the beach, and if that seems too far, it is a few short steps to the pool, which glitters serenely turquoise in the middle of the...what else...wait for it...palm gardens.  The people here at Palm Gardens are treasures for sure.  We feel welcome, secure and safe, like coming home.  

To say this has been a rough trip would be unfair.  To say I would ever regret coming to this, my happy place, would be unfair, but I think this is finally the vacation.  Sleeping, reading, eating, listening to the birds, listening to small waves lap the sand, contemplating my next swim.  I think all the maladies that got me here have decided to back the f**k off and let me and my long suffering, amazingly patient partner have a break.  It's a toss up who has had the harder duty, but I venture to say, being patient, eternally optimistic, and continually cheerleading deserves a special seat in heaven.  How did I get so lucky to deserve a man like Mr. Muzzy?  He is doing what he does best....off on a motorbike, exploring, foraging, and bringing all his news back to lay at my feet, because I am still, somehow, miraculously, his Princess.  Oh, and if anyone can get a Magnum bar from Bang Saphan Yai to the beach and into the room freezer, still intact, it is this man.  HIs talent runs deep and profound.

There and Back Again

I never thought an icy cold taxi could be so welcome.  Don Muang Airport, the metered taxi stand, and a driver who spoke NO English, not even that confusing kind where we are searching for Thai words and he is trying out his limited English, a pigeon mishmash that leaves everyone smiling and nodding, not sure whether we understood one another, but happy to have communicated.  It took me a few kilometers before I understood he wanted to take the Expressway and needed the toll money.  Thailand seems easy after Bali...3 degrees below the equator, 92 and 85% humidity.  Just walking to the bottom of Jalan Suweta left us drenched in sweat and exhausted.  It was easier to stay at Ketut's amid the garden, the birds, the peaceful quiet and his wonderful friendly family.  Our last night was poignant.  Wayan, Mrs. Ketut, gave us gifts and she and I talked and bonded.  She said Made told her taking me to Tampaksiring reminded her of taking her Auntie, Wayan's sister, who died of breast cancer a few years ago.  Of course, I'd rather not hear the "dying" part, but the sentiment is sweet and heartfelt, that reluctant community of "cancer people" that none of us really want to belong to.

These are holding days.  Days to visit the 7-Eleven and look for bug spray, scissors to replace the ones I had to leave at the Denpassar Airport, and see what chocolate is for sale.  Days for sitting at Ricky's with a cup of American with sweet milk and a bowl of muesli fruit and yogurt, and, of course, a visit to Chatuchak.  We are off to Korat next week, Nakhon Ratchasima, the site of a US airbase during the Vietnam war.  The hotels are all "business" related, whatever that means, but I do want to see Phimai.  It just seems that we need to move slowly, and carefully.

Babi Guling

When we were here in 92, Ketut took us to his favorite warung for babi guling, roast suckling pig.  I remember liking it a lot, but it wasn't something usually found in the restaurants around Ubud then. And, of course, it wasn't served when we were up north in Lovina as those communities are primarily Muslim.  Now there is a relatively famous place for babi guling right at the bottom of Jl Suweta, just before the Ubud palace.  We did not know that Ibu Oka was "on the map" since Anthony Bourdain visited it a couple of years ago.  Ibu Oka, which started as a small warung (a small street eatery with a few stools or a single long bench with very limited menu), is now a lunch "must do" spot for bus loads of day tripping tourists who visit the art center of Ubud.  Ibu Oka has a second warung right on Jl Suweta, but the best spot is still the house where the pigs are slow roasted every morning well before dawn.  It's popularity has prompted a classy new building that backs on to a jungle ravine, open air, sparkling clean, where you can indulge in this luscious delicacy along with hordes of other Balinese.  The "spesial" gets you a plate of rice covered in samples of the various ways the pork is prepared and served.  There are succulent slices, thin leaner samples smothered in special spices, spicy pork sausage, cracklin' skin, a mixture of chilies and finely chopped pork, and a ground mixture that is slightly sweet.

 We walked down in the heat of the day.  They are not open for dinner, and only serve until they run out of pigs, from around 11:00am until 4:00 or 5:00.  So lunch it is.  We turned left just after the temple on Jl Terpa something and kept walking until we saw the sign, a pig with an arrow.  It was well worth the heat and sweat and discomfort and no fan.  There was a nice breeze, though, and surprise surprise, the best iced coffee I've had in Bali.  And the babi guling was so good, we are going back tomorrow, our last day here.

Food is not Bali's forte, although it is possible to get excellent Asian fusion food.  Ubud abounds with health food, health food drinks, magical Jammu, and New Age vegetarian fresh meals, wheat free pizzas and more.  Ibu Rai, an old established eatery on Monkey Forest Road surprised us so much that we returned the next day to try the Coriander Duck again, just to make sure.  It was sublime, comparing well to any 4-5 star restaurant we've eaten in in the US.  Tonight we are trying The Three Monkeys...the menu looked great.  Ordinary everyday fare is less exciting, nasi goreng, mie goreng, respectively rice fried and noodle fried.  These dishes can be very good, but tend to be a little greasy and the noodles for the mie goreng are often dried ramen noodles, not the nice thin egg noodles I remember.  I have never cared for Gado Gado, and what is called curry here is really more of a soup.  Last time we were here we coined the phrase "boring goreng" and while there are more choices available now, it's hard to get excited over the street food after being in Thailand, where I seldom eat western food.

There is one notable exception to Balinese street food and that is the Traditional Balinese Feast at Ketut's Place.  This is a truly notable experience because most of the food you get is Indonesian and geared to Western palates.  The Balinese feast is all traditional Balinese food, prepared by Ketut's staff, supervised by his wife, Wayan, who has a background in the restaurant business.  This is a family affair as well as a cultural experience.  Not to be missed if you are in Bali.

By the way...we did try THe Three Monkeys down near the end of Monkey Forest Road.  It is in a "u" shape with a rice paddy filling the center of the "u".  The ambiance is top notch, the food was definitely  5 star and the bill left us wishing we had discovered it sooner since we leave tomorrow.  

There seems to be two Balis, before "the movie" and after "the movie".  Before the movie is our favorite, but this new Bali, New Agey, yoga wacky, crowded and crazy, is still...well...Bali.  And there is something truly magical about this little island that manages to hold on to its traditions in the midst of modern mayhem.

Pura Tirta Empul

Tampaksiring.  Today was our day for the holy water temple.  It is a Sunday, so a holiday for many Balinese, but also a special day for blessings.  Ketut's daughter Made (Ma-day...the second born.  There are only 4 names in Bali, determined by birth order...Wayang, Made, Nyoman, Ketut, boy or girl, no difference, and then it starts all over) was kind enough to act as our guide and we left early to avoid the crowds.  The drive itself was lovely, up into the hills with picturesque rice fields spilling down the sides of ravines and a breathtaking view of Mt. Gunung.  Made navigated the narrow twisting roads with aplomb.  She is a cautious driver.  The family knew my special wish to bathe in the sacred springs and ask for the blessing of health and wholeness.  We brought sarongs and a change of clothes because when the Balinese say bathe, they mean it.  We had several explanations of the process, but once we arrived to a sparsely filled parking lot and started walking toward the massive, intricately carved stone temple, nothing could have prepared us for the experience.

Like ducklings, we followed Made, who had her hands full with the large basket full of offerings prepared by Ketut's family.  Inside are several small 3-4 inch square basket containers made of palm leaves, filed with flower petals, rice and sometimes candies, and many sticks of incense.  Made made the initial offerings and then directed us to the changing building that houses numbered lockers for which she had secured 2 keys.  Once inside, I noted that not only were there many many Balinese already in process for the ritual, but that we were the only foreigners.  She directed us to strip down...nothing but the sarongs.  I placed the clothes I had brought for after bathing into the locker and proceeded to divest myself of everything else.  I stood in the locker building clad only in the thin sarong Muzzy bought me from the market a few days earlier.  I'm pretty good at fastening these things, the intricate twist and fold that keeps them in place, but with my strange new anatomy I felt particularly vulnerable.  I was NAKED!  And then there was Muzzy.  He struggled out of his clothes and I used the sarong I had brought to wear in the temple to tie around his waist.  It was a humbling and equalizing position for both of us.  Muzzy was concerned about being respectful and wanted to get it right.  He had no man to guide him through this.  When I secured his sarong he looked up and a Balinese man who was holding a modesty sarong up for his wife looked over and said, "You look good!"  Muzzy replied "I look good?"  The man smiled and nodded.  We trooped out of the bath house, already wet as there is water everywhere, and followed the intrepid Made as she made a couple more offerings, and then over the threshold through a cloud of incense smoke and into the bath itself.  

The parking lot may have been empty, but the sacred pool was not.  10 carved stone spouts along a wall pour holy spring water into a pool that is a little over waist deep.  The springs come from high on the volcanos that make up the island of Bali and the water is pure, fresh and holy.  It will cure you, bless you, and renew you.  There are two pools, separated by a stone walkway.  As you finish your ablutions in the first pool, you climb over this walkway and do three more in the next one. There are two spouts at the end of the first row that you don't use. 

We entered the first pool and joined a line that snaked around about 4 people deep.  Ordered chaos with lots of camaraderie, joking, laughing, children splashing, a shared sacred experience without any self-consciousness.  When our turn came to start praying, it took me a couple of spouts to get my rhythm...my silent prayer, 3 splashes of water on my face, and then a duck under the spout to let the water run over my body.  Immersed in prayer and aware of how lucky I am to be in another holy site so far from my home, I focused myself and began the ritual.

Made told me, "you must think of a dream, for good health."  I did.  As I came up from the first spout she said, "you must drink the water", I did.  The pool filled with floating offering baskets that tumbled from the ledge above the spouts spilling flower petals everywhere, and a line of hefty carp competed for possible food debris as we made our way down the line.  Finally, after crawling in a most undignified manner over the wall separating the first and second pools, we finished and emerged, dripping and shivering, despite the heat.  Made filled a gallon container with holy water to bring back to the family shrine, then led us back to the changing house, which by now was sopping wet with men, women and children changing everywhere.  There was a que for the 4 bathrooms at back which afforded a little more privacy.  We took our clothes and joined the line.  There was no order but also no angst.  What impatience there was was shared...we all had to pee after standing in cool water for so long.  Once inside the stall I did the dance of the flip flops, balancing on one foot and the other as I tried not to touch the floor, not to drop anything, not to drop anything into the squat toilet proper, and not to touch the walls.  I was wet and had neither towel or dry sarong, but I managed to get into my clothes and make it out alive, despite dropping my shirt, invoking the 3 minute rule, and trying not to think about it all too much.  At least it wasn't something to eat.

In the end, we all emerged feeling blessed, feeling cleansed and happy.

Ramayana

The sun comes up, the roosters herald the day.  As I was falling asleep, I discovered we have a large gecko in our room...the ones that say their name, (geee-koh in a baritone voice, no doubt dulcet to other geckos) over and over until they sort of fade away as if they have a sore throat.  I was a bit unsettled.  The small ones seem harmless, but the large ones are formidable.  Of course, the large ones eat more...spiders, mosquitos and other crawly things I avoid thinking about in the tropics.  Ahhhh...in the tropics....what a marvelous thought, what a marvelous place to be, where you hang out a wet t shirt and six hours later it's still wet, but warmer.

Muzzy is off on his morning walk, up the road through terraced rice paddies and jungle foliage.  He will be gone an hour.  I am sitting on our porch, sparkly clean, ready for breakfast and more adventures.

Last night we attended the Kecak performance at Ketut's local temple.  All the village families participate and it is held on the apron before the inner temple so anyone can come and you don't have to wear a sarong or scarf.  The kecak is a dance drama depicting a battle from the Ramayana between Rama and the evil Ravenna, who lusts after the beautiful Sita.  Ravenna sends his sidekick to trick Sita into leaving the protective circle where Rama has told Sita to stay.  The sidekick becomes a charming golden deer and lures her into leaving.  Ravenna captures and tries to seduce the faithful Sita.  Hanuman makes an appearance, as does a monkey army, a couple of comic relief characters, and a dragon.  It's a little complicated, so I won't go in to detail, but it is a beloved story.  The kecak refers to the "cak" sound made by the male chorus of 100+ men.  It is performed in a circle with a tall flaming light device in the middle.  The men form a 4-5 person deep circle around a tall iron structure holding many oil lamps, and the characters act out the drama dancing around it while the men chant.  One old man chants out the story, and the basic time is kept by one voice, continuously marking the beat. It was formalized in the 1930s with collaborative effort from Walter Spies, a famous artist who made his home in Bali and sort of put Bali on the map for western tourism.  This performance was done in our Ketut's village and his son was one of the performers...father and son may not participate together, it must be one or the other.  I saw this performed when we were here in '93, but this time was so special.  Sita was lovely, appropriately coy, loving, and tragic.  I love Balinese dance...its ritualized aspect appeals to my sense of creativity within structure.  In the warm Balinese night, with the candlelight flickering and the shadows playing out, it was the perfect scene of good versus evil, with good ultimately triumphing.

Yesterday I tried the pool...magnificent.  How bad can it be to tread water while tropical birds fly too and fro across the ravine?  Ketut's Place is so beautiful.  He has cages with rescued birds, rescued squirrels, pools with lazy turtles, koi, and plants that we see only in arboretums.  I found the frangipani tree, and the plumeria abound, yellow and purple, behind the ears of beautiful Balinese boys and graceful Balinese girls. This must be the place where sailors saw mermaids.  Today we may go someplace...Gunung Kawi or to the silver shop, or the water temple.  Or we may just go back down into the fray and find the shop with the Flores sarongs.  It's hard to leave our peaceful compound.

And we have our new segment for the Bellingham Bean involving kopi luwak, civet cats, Chester, cosmic Flavia and more....the possibilities are endless.

Bali Bliss

Bali...every moving day is a lost day, which promises new adventure at the end.  4 hours on the plane, arrival in Denpasser, no visa charge (I think it is because it's low season), and then finally, out the doors where a handsome young man named, appropriately, Krishna, holds a sign with our names on it.  As soon as we get through the gate, 2 guys grab our bags and Krishna tells us to wait while he goes to get the car.  We are not in Thailand anymore.  As we wait in the parking garage, one of the baggage rustlers whispers to me that we need to tip him and his friend $20.  I am astounded...I paid for pick up service, and don't mind tipping, but $20 to roll a bag a half a block?  These guys were dressed better than we were! The banner painted on the glass airport doors says "Shop Eat Play".  Obviously Bali is not the place it used to be.  I could go on and on and on, and probably will, but my oh my this place has changed, and not necessarily for the better.  Of course, it was another hour+ to Ubud from the airport, and I watched eagerly for some sign of that old Bali held like a small bright turquoise gem in my mind still existed.  There were flashes, but on the whole, it has changed changed changed.

Since we are very near the equator, we have 12 hours of sunlight, 12 of dark, so about 6:00 Bali time, the sun went down.  We came into Ubud in darkness.  Krishna drove us up (or is it down?) Monkey Forest Road where smart new SUVs lined the already too narrow lanes.  Any available parking space was filled in with motorbikes.  All of this in front of vaguely familiar guest houses and cafes, now accompanied by Ralph Lauren and various chi chi shops.  When we got to Bemos Corner, I didn't even recognize the place!  The only way I knew where we were was the old palace standing on the corner.  A slight jog to the left and up Jalan Suwata.  It was filled with shops and whatnot, no more empty spaces, private home compounds or rice fields.  I remember trudging up this road sweating, wet from a sudden downpour, thinking, oh, yes, we're almost there, only to discover one more hill before stumbling along the pocked dirt road, cursing myself for not bringing the torch, and finally spying the sign, Ketut's Place, Your Home in Ubud.

The front steps were crowded with people going out for the night.  We unloaded the bags which were whisked away by a silent young man and I stood amidst the lights and confusion, tired, spaced, wondering what the hell I had done.  I spied a little man in a long white shirt with tufts of greying hair peaking out beneath his baseball cap, and realized this must be Ketut.  I finally went after him as he retreated into the compound and said, "Are you Ketut?  Do you remember me?"  A smile spread across his face and he took my hand, "Yes, I remember.  We are much older now."  Yes, we are.

Ketut's compound is much changed.  It is packed with bungalows, some a full three stories high.  I am tempted to move to one of these so I can see over the rice fields, but I don't want to climb the stairs. There is a pool, and bungalows that fall down the sides of the steep ravine at the rear of his property.  But much is also the same.  It is quiet, serene, even.  Ketut's son Koming is in charge, a handsome young man with an equally lovely personality.  Bromeliads and epiphytes abound, sprouting from the tree trunks.  Birds of paradise bloom, coleus the size of hedges abound, all the house plants we nurture gone jungle.  There are bridges over little waterways, stone arches, weathered stepping stones, so much packed into such a small space.  Ketut is working on Ketut's Place 2 now and is very careful to refer our questions, "You must talk to my son."  It is peaceful here.  I'm a little afraid of walking down the hill to the bustle of this new Bali, the yoga, Jammu, New Age tourist Mecca Bali.  There are still roaches the size of small slippers, and kawa kawa, the large "harmless" spiders that spin their webs between palm trees.  The dogs are still here and our beloved Chichi has been replaced by curly haired Momo and another large brown dog who is not so friendly.  But these are the dogs that keep the evil spirits moving down the road at night.  Morning is still filled with the sound of roosters vying to bring the sun, and doves nesting in the trees.  I am writing on our little patio, waiting for breakfast, which will be delivered here.  Our little bungalow is the one Sarah and Don stayed in when we were here in 1993.  Muzzy still got up this morning and took his walk up into the rice fields above Ketut's Place.  We are much older now, still blessed.
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