Bali, Indonesia

The last few weeks have been a flurry of making headway and keeping schedule with the itinerary and whirlwind of travel destinations in the Northern Territory of Australia and southern Bali.  I find myself sad to be leaving Bali in my wake so soon. It has earned itself a place in the top five of my destinations in this journey so far. A few days spent there is merely a tantalizing taste of a land of wonderment, beauty, and intrigue.  This place deserves weeks, not days.  In my short time there, though, I managed to cross off a few more things on my bucket list (don't worry-planning on the long haul) and experience the kindness and tranquility of the Balinese people.  I have to admit, before making landfall here -- I was a little concerned for our safety, after all the terrorist bombings of Kuta in 2002 and an adjacent city in 2004 (both near our marina) have left a tarnish upon the hearts of those who have yet to visit the island.  What we experienced in our short time here was so far from the media blips I recall a few years back, I have come away with a very different impression about this island, far removed from the uglier politics of the other isles of Indonesia.  These are a people who abhor the violence that was rained down on them and foreigners visiting their country and have re-built and continued to live as spiritual a life as I have ever been privileged to see and experience. A kinder and poorer people, I have never known.

It was nice to rendezvous with the BEG, as we finished made land-fall just before a torrential downpour soured the day for any sight-seeing.  That was ok as the Skip, Oisin, and I were extremely tired from a harrowing last 12 hours of what was a relatively tranquil trip from Darwin (too tranquil-blazing hot, no wind, and noisy as we only sailed four hours over the course of a week).  However, in the last 12 hours currents rose to 6 knots, our speed over ground dropped to 1.2 knots and waves rose to over 4 meters.  In those kind of conditions, a boat is just about at the mercy of the sea and that's never good.  So, as we topped off the tank and jerry cans with diesel and settled into our slip and new marina, we looked forward to what the original BEG had planned and assured would be a venture into tranquility.

Our driver, a nice Hindu man by the name of Kharti, picked us up the next morning and sped us away from the marina and the boat.  Thank God!  Freedom from the world of  boats and yachties (no offense to either, of course).  As moped after moped careened by us as break-neck speeds and we weaved through intersections with no traffic lights, I was wondering when we would get to that tranquility bit.  We had a morning planned of temple viewing, lunch at a popular restaurant where we would feast on suckling pig, travel through the stone and wood-crafts districts, and then make our way up tho the highlands where yes, the "most delicious of all beverages" (see the movie "The Bucket List") would be consumed: Kopi Luwac coffee (coffee beans ingested by a civet cat, then collected by a dedicated and well, patient worker; and slow-roasted in an iron kettle over open fire).  We watched the majority of that process and looked at a sleeping Luwac in a cage and sat there drinking our coffee at a table overlooking a misty, jungle valley.  How did it taste?  At a whopping three dollars a cup for Bali standards, I'd say it lives up to its reputation.  Best coffee I've ever had.  Not quite sure it's worth the 50 dollars or more a cup it will put you back in other time-zones.

As we made our way around the southern part of the island, stone temples adorned with ornately-carved good and bad spirits were aflock with worshipers and wedding ceremonies.  Every village has three temples and every house is a temple in and of itself.  As we were invited into our driver's open-aired house he explained that houses are ceremonial compounds where extended family live together and multiple offering sites are located magnetically as to their purpose.  In the center, is a room that is used for to worship the souls of deceased family members.  The smell of flower baskets lovingly placed at various places of worship in the compound mixed with burning incense.  All of the afore-mentioned combined with that one cup of Kopi Luwac and I was starting to get into the tranquility mode.

Nightfall found ourselves checking into the former royal palace with pools of lotus flowers leading to the royal temple.  I had never slept in a temple before nor bowed before a Queen.  By the next morning, I could say neither anymore.  We ate a healthy breakfast of fresh fruit and then decided to head to the monkey jungle, a place of reverence for the devilishly cunning macaque monkeys.  Among the banyan trees and a thousand monkeys, I made the mistake of putting the bananas I purchased in the same pocket as my camera and ended up feeling the little hand of a crafty macaque yanking both out of my right pocket.  For a few seconds we played tug-of-war, before he took off with  all the bananas and I managed to hold onto my camera.  Draw.  The Skip learned quickly that once a macaque has stolen your bananas, those bananas are rightfully his or hers.  Any attempt to recover purchased bananas will result in a gaping mouth displaying sharp teeth.  Further attempt will more likely than not result in trip to hospital with one wondering why one fought with a monkey to retrieve bananas meant for a monkey.  I stood there watching dad fight to get his bananas back from the monkey and wisely retreat upon the flash of teeth as people took pictures of the two. I wondered who was smarter.

We are headed to Cocos-Keeling and as always love and miss you all.  Te amo, Merce.

"Brown-Eyed Girl" out...