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.