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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