A week in Bali

Answer: an hour and a half, 98 dollars return. Question: what is our flight time and air fare to Bali? Definitely one of the major pros to living within cab distance of the Jakarta airport is where we can go at the drop of a hat.

As the loyal readers of this blog know (all 3 of you, hi mom!), Amy is still living in the land of toques and double doubles, and locked in until the end of the school year. However, March is March Break season, and just enough of a break in the action for Amy to come get a taste of her new home and life in Indonesia. While Bogor is certainly an interesting place (and of special interest to her for obvious reasons), Amy’s real sights were set on the mythical island of Bali.

So the story starts with week-1, and Amy’s midnight arrival in JKT (the coolio way of typing out Jakarta), and my meeting her at the hot and sweaty international arrivals gate. A quick cab ride back to Bogor and Amy was sniffing out her new home-to-be like a puppy fresh from the puppy farm. I was admittedly nervous, given that we are more or less locked into the house for at least a year. If it didn’t pass the Amy test, I really didn’t have a back up. But thankfully, after a good sniff around, it was Amy-Approved, and we were sitting pretty on the front porch enjoying that warm moist night air you only get in the tropics.

The week in Bogor was a great chance for Amy to slam head first into Indo. Bogor is a no-nonsense, no bulai, kind of place, where average Indonesians are going through the motions of daily life. After a whirlwind week of walking every inch of Bogor, and impressing Amy with my command of the 10 or so words of Indonesian I know, week-2 found us in yet another cab heading back to JKT to catch our flight to Bali.  All of a sudden it hit us. Wow, we’re going to Bali…cool!

True to legend and hype, Bali did not disappoint. Our Bali mission started in the town of Ubud, the “cultural center” of Bali, and of course – for you chick-flick fans – the setting for a third of the book/movie Eat, Pray, Love (google it if you have no idea what I’m talking about, which I didn’t, which of course is no surprise to Amy or anyone elseJ).

As our first taste of Bali, Ubud was a quintessential travel experience – part Banff, part Katmandu, part Cuzco, part wherever else you have ever been. It was also a complete culture shock for me. I had entirely accustomed myself to being pretty much the only bulai in a working town of millions of Indonesians. In 180-degree contrast, Ubud is bulai central complete with the finest cappuccino bars, seafood restaurants, spas, yoga retreats, and designer clothing stores money can buy. Looking for that rose-petal massage after your latte and hot yoga? Ubud is for you.

But there is a whole other side. Behind the commercial skin of Ubud is a very cool and very deep core of culture, temples (everywhere!), and Balinese style and grace. The Balinese are known for their love of beauty, which is obvious everywhere you turn. Pools (every accom has a pool) are especially well done, and feel like Roman baths that were put on this earth just for you to enjoy. Speaking of pools, our accom, a 6-room palatial “bungalow” (everything seems to be a called a bungalow in Ubud), could possibly have been the single best 25-dollar a night room we have ever had. It really was put on this earth just for us.

After a few days of soaking in the vibe, hiking through rice paddies, visiting temples, watching monkeys mating, going to Balinese dance shows, and shopping for “I love Bali” tank tops, we were onto phase-2 of the Bali mission: Nusa Lembongan. Nusa (“island”) Lembongan is an island off the southeast coast of Bali, which is considered a mellow version of the big party-beach scene that Bali is known for. Since our usual bedtime is earlier than that of most 10-year-olds we know, that suited us perfectly.

NL (Nusa Lembongan, not Newfoundland and Labrador) is a fun place. It’s got that smallish tropical island feel to it, so that you can rent a motorbike (5 bucks a day! I know, how can that be? But it is) and pretty much scope out every inch of it, yet big enough that there is always something you need to hit next. Upon arrival, Amy, camp councillor and CAP (Chief Activity Planner), put me on notice. We were going to tick off just about everything this place had to offer.

So ya, we rented the motorbike for the week, and went through the list: tour of the island, check, swimming, check, snorkeling, check, surf lessons, check, kayaking through the mangroves, check, paddle boarding, check, sunset dinners with feet in the sand, check, night swims in the ocean, check, walks on the beach, check, wine in the beach lounger, check….I’m sure I’m forgetting a few things. Being a guy, my favourite part was just having a motorbike for a week! Man, there is nothing like the feeling of zipping around a tropical island at night with nothing on but a pair of shorts and flip flops. You know, that moist warm tropical night air thing. Just feels like freedom. No license, no insurance, no helmets, no problem J

An added bonus, is the fact that NL, and the rest of Bali, has the cultural distinction of being an island of Hindu practitioners within the Indonesian sea of Islam. What that means is that 4:15 am comes and goes without nary a blink, i.e., no call to prayer. Nice break. Nice to wake up with the sun and the birds, rather than a 10-year-old’s amplified rendition of the Quran.  

not us obviously

There was one downside though. Upon arrival, CAP Amy wanted to check out the beach, so we went for a wee stroll right around high noon. Literally only a half hour of exposed skin. That was enough to turn my milky-white chest and abdomen (remember, Bogor is Kuta hujan, city of rain) to about the deep hue of a 100-dollar Nova Scotia lobster. WHOA, did that throw my thermostat off. Took me 4 days, and a 500 ml bottle of body lotion to recover. Rookie mistake, won’t happen again.

 

 

 

Home Sweet Home

"Welcome to Bogor"

Kota Hujan, pronounced “uujan”, where Kota = city, hujan = rain. Yes, that translates to “city of rain”. Bogor, Indonesia, home sweet home. It actually isn’t bad at all. Sure, it rains, pretty much every day in the rainy season, which is now. But it’s that tropical rain…warm, torrential, lasts an hour or two, then the sun comes back out. Interestingly, it doesn’t seem like there is any way to predict the weather here. In Canada, we’re all weather experts thanks to Environment Canada’s 7-day forecast, which seems to have the advantage of relatively predictable weather systems. Here, the “weather channel” is about as good as looking at your tea leaves in the morning. “Oh, so in 3 days, there will be an 80% chance of rain in the afternoon, versus today, which is 90%.” Thanks for the info J

I stopped looking at the “forecast” about 2 and a half weeks ago (I’ve been here for 3). Basically, if you leave the house, regardless of the current situation, you need to assume it will rain some time while you are out. Therefore, bring an umbrella, or a waterproof backpack, find a Starbucks, or just be prepared to walk in the rain (my usual scenario).

So I’ve been getting a lot of questions about my “living situation”, i.e., where are you living? In a house? Apartment? Is it nice? What’s the deal? Can you drink the water? Are there geckos?

The short answer is, yes, lots of geckos, and no, you can’t drink the water (drinking water comes in those water cooler things). I live (and Amy will too when she gets here) in a 3-bedroom house in, what I think “they” are calling a “middle-class” neighbourhood called Villa Duta. It’s a nice quiet place (other than the call to prayer, which deserves its own blog…coming), and home to a lot of nice Indonesian families. I am, or at least it seems, the only bulai (white person – I have been misspelling that word) in sight, which is cool.

I believe one would call this a “gated” community. There’s a main entrance with a command post and a gate (that is interestingly always up though), and there are security posts all over the place, with one about 4 houses down from mine. So ya, this is a gated and guarded community. While that could sound a bit weird to the folks back home, I am really loving it. This place is SECURE. Zero issues on the theft, or otherwise, front. I love that. And the security guys are the friendliest dudes on earth. I have no doubt that they are looking out for the new bulai on the block.

I actually just met my neighbour, who said his name is Jerry (however, the guy was born and raised in the jungles of Papua, as in the Indonesian half of the Island of New Guinea, so the chance of his real name being Jerry is pretty much zero, but hey, OK, Jerry it is), and is a sweetheart of a guy. I was madly trying to get my motorbike up and running yesterday morning. I bought a motorbike – everyone has a motorbike here – that I haven’t even thought of putting on the road yet (I use my bike to get to work). So I was trying to get it started, without success (it’s been sitting for 4 months), when he popped his head over the gate and started chatting. Being a motorcycle dude himself (he’s 65, rides a mean scooter), he helped me get the thing running.

my current ride

After about an hour, drenched in sweat, we had it purring. “Let’s go for a ride” he says. “You need to charge up your battery, I will show you around Villa Duta”. Yikes! I was terrified. For one, neither of us had helmets. Two, I’m completely illegal, i.e., no license, no insurance, no nuthin’. Three, and most of all, I don’t have a clue how to ride a motorbike! Especially not in Indonesia! Well, OK, truth be told, I was a motorbike 15-yr-old, with a Yamaha 80, back in the suburbs of Ottawa. But that was off-road, kids stuff. This is on-road Asia! Thankfully Jerry is 65, and not a maniac. We stuck to the back roads, took it nice and slow, and he showed me where the local gas guy is (i.e., the guy selling gas out of discarded 2-litre water bottles), and the local air-compressor guy who will pump up your tires for 20 cents. To top it all off, he took me to his favourite breakfast warung (warung = street food vendor) and we had rice, chicken, eggs, and jackfruit. Nice! Thanks Jerry!

my future ride!

So then there is our staff. Yep, we have staff (AKA a “maid”, but that just has too much baggage). Here in Indo, if you can afford a pembantu (helper), you have one. To be completely honest, there was never a discussion, i.e., “so Rob, do you want a maid?”, for example. That conversation never took place. I was just informed that she comes every day, Monday to Friday, from about 9 to 4. She’ll do whatever we want her to do including dishes, cleaning, laundry, groceries, food prep, whatever. OK, this is weird. Still getting used to that one. Although, I have to admit, it is very nice coming home to a house that is clean, laundry done, dishes washed, clothes folded and put away, and everything in its place…every day. Hmmm, these people are onto something here J

The way it has been explained to me, is that if you can afford to pay people to do things for you, it’s everyone’s way of supporting the local economy. While I could probably refuse to employ Kesi (her name, pronounced K-C), it would be frowned upon. Who am I to upset the apple cart? Oh, and the gardener. We have a gardener who comes once a week too (again, no discussion necessary). And I just paid the security guys for the month. So ya, makes sense. Just keeping the ball rolling here at Villa Duta. Home sweet home.

 

 

Mission 1

 

Given it was my second week in-country, the logistics were a bit daunting to pull together. But, the first weekend R&R mission turned out to be a huge success. The story actually starts back in Canada where I was put onto a group of expats from Jakarta, who go by the handle Java Lava (www.javalava.org), and organize hiking trips all over Indonesia. Looking at their calendar of events, I knew I would be in Indonesia for this weekend, but just barely having arrived 2 weeks ago, it was an interesting feat to pull it all together. Things like “how do I get there?”, and “what do I need?”, and “where can I get hiking snacks?” were all intimidating tasks.

But alas, I arranged for a car and driver to get me there (everyone has a driver here), found snacks, and assembled the gear I thought I might need for a tropical weekend of hiking. Pretty much the same as hiking in Canada, only WAY sweatier (5 litres of water/person minimum). The base for the weekend was the Ocean Queen Resort, a fantastic mid-range “resort” on the ocean, owned by the leader of the crew, and complete with surf, poolside lounge chairs, cold beer, and palm trees. What else do you need?

Getting there though is an “interesting” scenario. The general area, known as Pelabuhan Ratu (or Queen’s Port), is on the southwest coast of the Island of Java. By Canadian standards, the 90 kms or so from Bogor is a stone’s throw away, hardly worth a moment’s consideration (i.e., leave any time, see ya there in an hour). But here in west Java, home to 30+ million Indonesians, and a road infrastructure that, in all likelihood, was never “designed”, but more probably is a system of foot trails from past centuries that were simply paved (that’s my theory anyway), things are different. On a good day, the trip takes 3 to 4 hours. On a bad day, well, more. From Jarkata, where the group is from, we’re talking 6 or 7+ hours if you leave at the “wrong” time.

Traffic (timing thereof) is everything here. Jarkarta was voted by whoever measures these things, as officially having the worse traffic issues on the planet. As such, it was an all-consuming topic of the après-drive beers around the poolside rattan. “What time did you leave? 4!! Are you crazy? OMG, you’re just asking for it.” Once arrived (took us 4.5 hrs), that cold beer could not come fast enough. The next morning I considered myself lucky when I learned that half the group didn’t arrive until after midnight (they left Jakarta after work, silly bules).

After a 5 am breakfast of nasi goreng (fried rice, Indonesia’s national dish) – 5 am to beat the heat, and besides, everyone is wide awake from the Call to Prayer (that’s a whole other blog); fried rice, because that’s what breakfast is in Indo – we shuttled out to the end of the road. The hike, a 9-hr traverse across a roadless, and therefore undeveloped, stretch of coastline took us to another road for pick-up (remember, everyone has drivers so shuttling and getting picked up is easy). Good set-up.

The hike was a fantastic opportunity to see some of Java’s undeveloped beaches and coastline – obviously what all of Java was like before 140 million people decided to call it home. From all accounts, I was seeing something special, and definitely undeserving of my scant 2 weeks in-country. It’s one of those places where people could live their whole lives nearby and never get to (because you have to walk there).

Starting at dawn we hit the coast just as the sun was making an appearance over the Indian Ocean. It was a quintessential rural beach scene complete with villagers attending to boats and fishing gear in the early morning sun. Nice way to start. The route, led by our local guide equipped with the standard steel-shanked flip-flops and machete, was brilliantly varied and strung together a series of isolated beaches that could have been anyone’s paradise for the rest of their lives. While palm-lined beaches are always alluring, especially to us tropical-starved Canadians, and usually steal the headlines, many of the highlights of the day came from cutting up and over headlands that brought us through rice patties and rubber trees, right out of Apocalypse Now.

At one point, it was very cool to be following a trail used by rubber tappers. Akin to a trap line in Canada, the trail snaked through the forest with every rubber tree along the way marked by the distinctive rubber tapper’s spiral incision, ever so gently encouraging the latex (i.e., sap) onto an ingeniously placed leaf-funnel and downwards into a half coconut shell where the latex collects, ready for pickup. The rubber-tappers’ day shelters scattered throughout the forest were an amazing glimpse into their lives.

Rice paddies never fail to impress either, and we hit lots of them. Kind of the classic Southeast Asia scene that just completes “being there”. In Java, like the rest of Indonesia, rice is ubiquitous as air and water. Given the perfect growing medium of warm temps 24/7 year-round, lots of sunshine mixed with heavy rain, and soil born from volcanic ash, it’s no surprise that Indonesia is one of the top three rice producers in the world. The incredible fertility of the soil also explains how Indonesia can sustainably feed one of the highest population densities on earth.

It was a surprisingly hot, sweaty, rigorous day (I drank all 5 litres, plus the fresh coconut water at the end that the local “coconut guy” chopped out of a palm tree), not a drop of rain, and the poolside Bintangs were about as good as it gets. The Sunday morning coffee and swim in the ocean before heading back to the big smoke was perfect. The Indian Ocean has to be the warmest water on the planet. Hmmm, I could live here. Oh wait, I do! J

Reality bites though. Back to work on Monday.