Last Stop, Sideman

Last stop, Sideman, a small town ‘way up in the mountains of Bali. The fastboat from Nusa Lembongan left me on a beach in Sanur where my friend and a taxi met me. The driver got lost a time or two trying to find Sideman and blamed it on the fact that he was new to the job. I’m not so sure I believe that. A short distance from town we had a room rented in an establishment that had an infinity pool, not my ideal but not bad on a hot day. We were surrounded by rice paddies, gardens, mountains and exotic wild flowers. That’s more my style.

That afternoon, we wandered into what I think was the village and turned down a pathway that ran along beside walled compounds that smacked of old, old. I was reminded of the castles I visited in other countries and wondered if defense had anything to do with it. Around a turn or two we came across building where people were processing rice and stopped to watch as they poured sacks of it into hoppers. The bran was blown out a window and the rice came out between what seemed like small millstones, nice and white, where an open bag waited. We watched, took a few photos, got suckered out of a few rupiahs, then moved on.

Our little alleyway took us out to the main road with rice fields on both sides. I fell in love on the spot. The paddies were more or less in rectangles, though some were contour to the shape of the slope, and they were in different stages of the growing process.

I’ve been asking people about the growing of rice and it goes a little like this: A field can be harvested three, maybe four times a year and must be replanted after each harvest. In the beginning, the young plants are the most beautiful shade of green, very bright. It’s like a grass and grows pretty tightly together so I imagine weeding isn’t such a big issue. When it starts going to seed, the birds are deterred by all manner of cloth, clothing, even plastic bags tied to bamboo poles. Then the rice grass is cut, bundled, and carried out on the heads or shoulders of workers, on motor scooters, and any other way it can be transported but seldom by automobile, it seems. It is then left out to dry, the seed is knocked off and into the hopper it goes, if one is lucky enough to have one available. I’ve seen people with big piles of rice on blankets turning it over and over with whatever tool is available, once even a cooking pot. After harvest, the plot is burned, then fertilized, the water is let back in and more rice is planted. There are little waterways everywhere, often concrete, and I was told the water comes from springs in the mountains.  I’ve been fascinated with the process since landing in Bali and am grateful to my travel partner for booking us in the midst of it.

The next day we rented a motor scooter and took off without a map with the goal of finding the water temple. Talk about mountain roads! We twisted, wound, up, around and down all day long passing through several little villages on our way. One had large drying mats lining the streets and there we stopped. We talked to a family who tried to tell us what was being dried, something non-leafy that is smoked as well as mats of cloves. They invited us into their compound where one woman was weaving beautiful material. The women converged on me and wrapped me with a sorong, sashes, even a traditional shirt, clearly having a wonderful time. I was positioned for photos, then Eric was dressed like a Balinese man and more photos were taken. I’ve got to admit, it was the highlight of my day.

We did find the water temple, ate lunch there, then turned back. Finding Sideman after all that was a challenge.  Once in a while I’d see something familiar, but mostly I think Eric was just following his nose because there were very few directional signs. As we got close we stopped to ask a lot, got waved on this way, that way, and finally rolled into out villa just before dark.

The next day we toured closer to home, watched someone playing gamelan instruments at a small temple, walked to the river, then had an incredible ice cream desert before taking a taxi to Kuta for a massage, dinner, then to the airport where I boarded a flight for home. I honestly have to say that this is one trip I didn’t want to end, not ever.

Nusa Lembongan

I took the slow boat from Bali to Nusa Lembongen, an island just east of Bali. There might have been twenty-five of us on the boat along with lots of luggage, a large display case and two motor scooters. This is not a large boat, by the way, sort of a longish with wooden benches across it and no aisles. It reminded me of a spider because it had three legs on each side connected by a log that served the purpose of keeping the boat from rolling in that sometimes turbulent sea. On the back were four motorboat motors and we had to wade through the water to climb on. When we landed, six workers, make that six very wet workers, mostly women, carried the scooters over the surf to shore. The only surfers I saw were from this boat and not one of them made it through a wave. I was impressed anyway.

  

The harbor where we landed was nothing but beach, no docks. Once ashore we were accosted by so many people wanting to guide us to a room, a tour, a ride, anything to make a buck. The buildings were smaller here in the older part of town and more rickety than anywhere I'd been before. I managed to find a place with a couple computers down an alleyway, around a temple and to the left on a rough little road. From there I managed to connect with my friends who picked me and my luggage up on scooters and took me to the Dream Beach Resort where we had a cottage overlooking a pounding surf. At their restaurant, I tried a spaghetti made with coconut milk that was the best I've ever eaten. 

 

Libby and I took scooters into town to a beach where people were gathering seaweed. They set low nets between posts well out into the water, then pull the seaweed out and carry it in big baskets on their heads to wherever the next step in the process takes place. One young man working at our hotel said that its a pretty good living and many people on the island work harvesting seaweed, including his wife. He likes his job at the resort and says he appreciates the steady income but misses the high earnings in the months when the seaweed season is in high gear.

Those little dots out there are actually people taking seaweed from the nets.

 

 

 

I went on another snorkeling trip that took us to three different locations but I only went in twice. The coral was not as colorful as the Komodo trip but the shapes were more varied. There were big branch coral, brain coral and lots of colorful fish. I remember two kinds of angel fish in white-yellow-black combinations, a big irridescent blue fish and a gar that looked like a pale eel with a long thin nose. I had a good time chasing them.

 

Best of all was the pounding surf. There are lava cliffs that the waves crash against sending up huge sprays that run off in so many little waterfalls as the water recedes. On the morning we left we walked out to where the rock was terraced. I stood on a rock as close as I dared to the edge and watched the water patterns on the levels below me as each wave came in. One wave actually smashed  onto the terrace below me sending up a huge spray right in front of me. I didn't move, just spread my arms out and got drenched. I was still soaked when I got on the fastboat back to Bali.

 

Hindu Cremation Ceremony

I'd been watching preparations for a big cremation ceremony during my first trip to Ubud. When I found out is was the day I was scheduled to take a shuttle to Sanur but cancelled it and booked two more nights in Ubud. This I couldn't miss.



Mass production of cadang offerings.

The men stripped and split bamboo for weaving.



Building the beasts.

On the day of the event, the owner of the losman and his daughter took me to the starting place on a motorscooter and dropped me off. There were the large ornate animals, bulls, lionfish creatures, boar, I'd seen the day before, set out on bamboo platforms in the street. Small boys were put on the platform, some tied to the animals legs by their parents, and some larger boys rode the backs. When the parade began, each platform was lifted by a group of men carried to the intersection where they turned a few circles before moving on down the street in parade fashion. Then the next was lifted with the requisite weight-lifter grunts and from the reaction of the onlookers, I had the feeling there was some sort of competition going on.



 

The gamelan musicians joined in the procession behind the animal figures, followed by people on foot, then motor scooters, and last of all, automobiles. The gamelan are all percussion, drums in varying sizes, a few gongs and several cymbal players who carried the melody. There were no strings, reeds or brass.

 

The procession turned into a walled temple are where each of the animals was placed on a canopied platform. People mingled, took photos, the musicians set up in a couple places and  there were vendors, and for a while it seemed time to be social. Then came the procession of offerings, cadangs, flowers, linens, foods that even included a roast, spitted piglet. Men came in carrying very decorated empty chairs on bamboo poles, some having photos of the deceased on the back. One chair had a dead chicken hanging from in and a couple times I would see a live chicken with a dead one tied to it tossed into the air by these chair-bearers. This went on for a while before the backs of the animals were removed and the offerings were stuffed in. What didn't fit was put on the platform under the animal.

 

After all the offerings were placed with the proper animal, they were set on fire. I met a woman who told me she had three people represented by one of the bulls, an aunt, grandmother and close neighbor. Its very expensive, she said, too much to be able to afford an animal for each of the deceased. Another person told me that this was a ceremony that was meant to help send the soul on, away from the body and earthly needs. What I am not clear about is what happens to the body between dying and the big ceremonies.

Back to Ubud

I like Ubud. It only made sense to go back for the one day I thought I had between prior arrangements. What started out to be one day turned into three. I did my usual trekking about town, jalon-jalon, as the natives say. I was curious about the route I'd come in on and backtracked on foot. It was a lot less touristy there. There was a large statue at an intersection that I wanted to check out. I found that, found some great street food, also found a stash of huge ornate animals. Asking about the animals led me to stay an extra couple of days in order to see the cremation ceremony they were created for. Stay tuned for that on another post.

I hired a car on my second day to take me to the bat temple, Gua Lawah. I think the biggest reason this temple is such a tourist site is that part of it is in the opening of a cave and full of bats. They are hanging and flying everywhere. There is plenty of bat guano on the shrines in the entryway. Keeping them from getting buried has got to be almost a full time job.

Next we drove to a Tenganan, a walled village that is said to be inhabited by Bali Aga, meaning that they hold to their original traditions. I didn't get any real explanation so I can't swear by it. I was asked to donate at the gate though. There are no hotels or hostels there, but lots of little shops selling ikat, fabrics that are a higher dollar than I can deal with. Set up outside were sellers of wooden egg painters and a split bamboo that folds out to show beautifully intricate drawings, some calendars, others telling a story. I wanted to buy one but didn't have enough money. There were also a lot of fighting roosters under bamboo baskets as well as chickens and a few cattle. This is a lived-in town, not just a tourist destination. I understand that not just anyone can live there. I think there are some lineage requirements.

Pink and yellow fighting cocks.

On the way back to Ubud I noticed the rice fields flagged with laundry so my driver gave me a short lesson on the growing of rice. I will address that later.

Labuhan Bajo, Flores

Flores is a whole different world, at least where I am. It feels like desert after the green, green of Bali. This island is very mountainous, lots of volcanos they say, and everything is covered in golden grass with trees dotting their way up the mountainsides and around the shorelines. Imagine Nevada with beachfront property and palm trees.

Labuhan Bajo, the major town in western Flores, is all about diving and boat tours. They're offered in every other storefront. These are not what we see in the states with glass fronts and orderly appearances but more like a hodge-podge of structures of varying sizes and configurations. Urban planning is not big here and I'm glad.

Sunset view from my cottage.

At one point, a new acquaintance and I were looking for the docks, took a shortcut and found ourselves walking between tiny little tin shacks, a woman washing laundry in buckets, a man lighting a little outside cooking fire, chickens and a stray dog or two. That is the moment I lost my taste for bargaining with the vendors. People seemed so poor, at least by our standards, and yet they seem pretty happy.

Eric rented a motorbike and headed for a beach somewhere while I walked around town gawking, taking photos and greeting everyone I passed. In the late afternoon we met and went for a spin outside of town. Along the road were little clusters of houses built on stilts, many with bamboo woven siding, fairly comfortable living it seemed to me. There were fields with cattle, cattle grazing beside the road, here and there a goat, chickens galore, children playing...it was all very picturesque. At one point I snapped a fly-by photo of a group of small boys who ran out and flagged us down. We stopped because they wanted a photo taken with all their little cool-guy poses. Then others came to get in on the action. After a series of high fives we were on our way again. One more stop was at a new resort with beautiful grounds and a short walk on the beach, then back to LBJ, my last night there.



Leaving Flores.

Labuhan Bajo

I managed to fly from Yogyakarta to Denpasar and book a flight to Labuhan Bajo within a couple hours. In the airport I met another American, Eric from California. We were seated together, shared a taxi to town, and before we parted ways, we'd booked a two day boat trip to Rinca and Komodo Islands along with a French couple, a Brit and a Spaniard. The boat left early the next morning with the six of us under the care of a three Indonesians, one a pretty darned good cook.

Rinca Island was our first stop. This is where the Komodo National Park begins. Komodo dragons are huge lizard-looking creatures and six feet long would be considered a small one. They are seemingly slow moving, lazy creatures but the truth is, they lie in wait, blending into shadows until something meaty should pass too closely. Then they can move and yes, they eat meat. There is a story they like to tell us that a Swiss tourist was devoured, all but his camera, and his skull was later found a distance away. I can't help but wonder if the dragon spit out his passport, too. We learned that a dragon can have up to 30 babies and they eat each other down to maybe three before they leave the nest. We were shown a few holes and told that one is the nest and the other decoys to fool predators. This island was very dry and I noticed a lot of petrified wood and fossilized coral along the trail.

Komodos hanging around the camp kitchen.

A water buffalo that could actually be the next meal, believe it or not.

The skulls of some hapless victims.

After a good Indonesian lunch of rice, fish, tempeh and soup, we headed for a good place to go snorkeling. By the time we got to the reef, I was getting a little queasy from the sea getting choppy and the wakes of other boats headed for the same spot. I donned my gear with the help of Tony from Barcelona, and paddled off to look for the good stuff. At first I found interesting corals, a little muted, but then the water got shallower and warmer and the view below became magnificent. I have no photos but will try to describe it. There were corals covered in grassy-fingerlike things that waved like hair as the tide moved, while, pinkish, mauve. Then there were big round flat plants, I think, that reminded me of lily pads that weren't split in the middle. They were more olive green in color and their edges curled up a little as the currents moved them. Between clumps of coral were many little round circles of an almost lime green color. This alone was awesome, even without the fish. Oh! the fish:stripes of gold and black, day glow blues...it was like swimming around in a huge aquarium. But then my queasiness got worse so I paddled back to the boat and proceeded to have a miserable evening after losing my lunch off the back of the boat.

We arrived at Komodo Island first thing in the morning and took the usual guided trail. Our guide was very young and it was his first trip alone. He carried a forked walking stick that is supposed to deter an aggressive dragon by poking them in the nose with the forked end. We actually saw more dragons here than on Rinca Island which was unexpected. I couldn't help but notice that the island deer hung out awfully close to those dragons without seeming worried about who would be the next meal.

More snorkling, a fruitless search for manta rays, then back to Labuhan Bajo where we ran out of gas, less than fifty feet from the docks. More on LBJ later.