I arrived by bus in the middle of a torrential rain storm. This didn't put me off. I smiled and nodded with the other passengers as we all sheltered in the bus company's office until the rain subsided.
Whilst in Kuta, I discovered that the hostel I had booked in ubud was on the same street as the Perama office, bonus, no need for a taxi!
Easy-peasy, my bag has wheels, no? Well, on the plus side, Hanoman street has pavement, however, it is made up of removal slabs allowing rain water to drainaway. So I'm on my way, feeling confident and capable when first, I encounter a slab that hasn't quite been replaced properley and then several that had not ben put back at all. This left great gaping holes in the middle of the pavement and meant having to walk into oncoming traffic in order to arrive at my destination.
I got there eventually, sweating profusely and somewhat out of breath. Jati Homestay was a typical Balinese losemen, a residential complex centered around a Hindu temple with guest rooms at the back. Given a choice, I chose a room on the top floor overlooking some rice paddies.
I settled in i.e. gave them my laundry and checked out the wifi. Then went out in search of food on the famous Monkey Forest Road. Along the way I saw boutiques, juice bars, antiques shops, craft markets, bars advertising reggae open mic nights and restaurants serving imported obscure Europen beers and Indo-Mediterranean fusion tapas. It was like a giant Moseley Village (Birmingham, UK).
Unperturbed, I decided to stop at the Sagittarius restaurant and induldged in two ginger & lime tonics and a delicious ikan kari -fish curry.
I left there and headed to Kafe near to home. My guidebook recommended it as a good place to meet people. It was a typically Moseley type place serving coffees, organic juices and a menu that featured hummus and feta cheese salad. I sat down and ordered another ginger and lemon based thing. I smiled, I tried to look interesting and approachable. I spotted a few other solo people, a woman who was engrossed in her novel and a man who was concentrating on chewing his dinner. Tomorrow is another day, I thought as I headed home at 21:45.
The next day was spent wandering around, saying "No thankyou" to the incessant offers of transport. When it looked like it might rain I ducked into a cool looking bar with free wifi. I ordered lunch hoping that once it did rain I'd be able to strike up conversation with others who were stranded there too. It didn't rain. I finished my fish burger and coconut juice, and ordered a Bali Hai beer. All I can say is Bali Hai is to Bintang as Chang is to Singha - crap.
After that find a friend plan failed, I hatched another one and scanned the bars for happy hour notices on the way home.
When dinner time came around, I headed to the Kanje bar & restaurant for the last round of happy hour. I could have chosen the Lebong Cafe where along with happy hour they were screening James Cameron's "Avatar". Instead, Kanje was white, minimalist, playing funky R&B, my kind of place, it was also empty.
I ordered a buy 1 get 1 free caiprinha and picked at my plaintain chip/crisp things. Eventually I was joined by a French Asian family, who spent ages ordering wine. My two drinks came and went so I decided to go elsewhere to eat.
Heading towards home, I came across the Laughing Budda restaurant and had a brief nasi goreng and half a pint of Bintang. I may not have spoken to anyone but I was joined by a dog who decided to lie down next to my table, then roll about on the floor.
I gave up and went home, besides, I had an early start the next day as I had booked a motorbike and driver to take me on a trip. Dang, I thought, I should have booked a seat on a bus tour, at least I would have met some other people!
The next day, Ketut picked me up at 09:00, sharp. I donned the provided helmet and climbed on the back of the bike. After driving for around 30 mins we stopped at Batubulan. I paid the 80,000 rupiah entrance fee then settled down to watch a Barong & Kris dance. The story is of the eternal fight between good and evil spirits.
Since I had first arrived in Bali, the constant twinky-twinky music of the gamelan (traditional orchestra) had began to cause me to twitch significantly. However in the proper setting and accompanied by the dance, it was quite hypnotic.
Next we were off to the water temple at Tirta Empul. The Balinese are mainly Hindu with a few Muslims here and there. People take their religion very seriously and huge ceremonies are held weekly, there are mini temples in every shop, bar, restaurant and home and daily offerings are left at the temples, in the middle of the street outside all types of business.
Now, those readers who know me will also be aware that although I have the utmost respect for others people's beliefs, I have a certain contempt for organised religion.
Knowing I was going to visit a temple I had worn culturally appropriate clothing, jeans and a long sleeved top. This meant it was only necessary for me to tie a yellow ribbon around my waist. That was after Ketut had enquired as to whether or not I was menstruating as you are considered unclean and therefore can't enter the temple if you are. "What's the ribbon for?" I asked and was told it was to stop bad things in your guts escaping into the temple.
The temple has a natural spring and devotees go there to bathe in the waters that they believe have magical powers. We rounded a corner to find a group of people giving offerings to the gods and praying with a priest. "Don't you want to take a photo?" asked Ketut. "No" I replied, I felt invasive enough watching, let alone snapping away at what I regarded to be a private moment between them, their Gods and the priest.
Back on the bike, the next stop was a coffee plantation cum botanical garden. Ketut became a little exasperated when I repeatedly replied yes when asked if I'd ever seen a cocoa/vanilla pod, mango/avacado tree. He had already asked me about my family history, professed to know of Jamaica and if I had been there, so what did he expect?
I was encouraged to try snakeskin fruit, once peeled it looked and tasted like an onion to me. Ketut told me everyone else thought it tasted like apple. Then rambutan which I had already eaten in Kuta thinking it was lychee. Also there were the coffees and teas, I gagged on the ginseng coffee but drank down the ginger tea. I was taken to a woman roasting coffee beans, "Take a photo" said Ketut, "Why?" I replied, looking at the old lady who was grinning toothlessly at me.
I did however take a picture of the bats, managed to shake of the saleswoman in the gift shop, "I don't have space in my bag for 2 kilos of snakeskin fruit" and quizzed Ketut about Sharon fruit - they didn't have any.
Back on the bike and off to some functioning rice paddies, unlike the one outside my hostel window.
The view was breathtaking and there was a row of artsy, trinket shops along the road which I would have been inclined to have a mooch in had it no been for non stop barage of postcard and wood carving hawkers. I'd had enough and instructed Ketut to take me back to Ubud.
At "home" I showered as I was covered in exhaust fumes and lord knows what else, then headed out for lunch. I stopped at Bendi a low key place and had a fab off menu fish curry.
On the way back I spotted a sign for reggae night at the CP Lounge featuring a performance by Freddy Marley. Who? I thought, but still it was as good a plan as any for my evening.
For dinner I had an uninspired gado-gado, vegetables and tofu in peanut sauce with rice. I left when the band started a random version of a random Bob Dylan song.
21:30 said the poster for the CP Lounge, I arrived at 21:55, I was the only person there and Freddy and band were only just starting the sound check. Great, I thought but decided to give it a chance and ordered a beer. I got chatting to the owner who invited me to a beer as I was the first and only person there. Once Freddy started up and the place began to get a little livelier, I got chatting to a guy from South Africa and as the show came to an end he offered me a lift on his bike to another hotspot. I, clearly not of but in the end very much of sound mind, said yes.
Thus, I was transported sans helmet on the back of a bike by a partially drunk long haired hippy South African pomologist to Onzigo bar.
There was also a (better) reggae band playing and a group of French youths dancing around like loons. I got talking to one girl, Sophie and will feature in many of her photos from that night but I very much doubt she'll remember me through the Bintang fog.
The pomologist bought me a beer and I vaguely shaked a leg with the French girls, pleased I had finally made a friend although I think he was hoping it might be more. Any romantic inclination he may have had was soon crushed, out on the terrace and out of ciggies he stopped a guy to crash a fag. "I don't have any either" replied the guy in the sort of Spanish accent I have come to know and love.
"De donde eres?" I asked, "España" he replied his brown eyes looking at me incredulosly, "Claro, que parte?" I asked wondering if I had made a terrible mistake and he was feebleminded although good looking. "Madrid" he replied pulling up a chair. No way!
I proceeded to tell him my Madrid story, in Spanish. Turns out he lives in the same neighbourhood. We joked, we laughed about all kinds if Madridleño things. He explained his family were from Brasil, explains the good looks, I thought.
Then he remembered he had a friend and I remembered the South African dude, they were both sitting at the same table.
His friend suggested they find their driver and the pomologist was making homeward bound noises too. Seizing the moment, the Brasileño Madrileño and I exchanged email addresses unable to recall the exact location of our hostels. We later discovered we were staying 5 mins apart on the same street.
Like a true gentleman, the South African dropped me back home and as a valient last attempt gave me his phone number. I skipped back to my room.
My last day in Ubud was spent checking my email, using my now infamous Mystic Meg foresight to pack, spending an age in the bathroom beautifying myself, skipping the banana pancake breakfast at the hotel instead heading to Juice Ja Cafe for a breakfast crepe, crepe filled with scrambled egg with an avocado salsa, the place also had wifi so I could check my email. It started to rain so I popped home to pick up my pack-a-mack and check my email.
I then headed to a salon for a Balinese massage, they use coconut oil which leaves your skin glowing and another French pedicure. I left the salon feeling a little woozy so returned to the Laughing Buddah for a ginger and lemongrass tonic and some wontons and more seafood fried rice. "What?" I said when the waitress told me that their wifi was only available until 18:00, it was now 18:30.
I chowed down and hotfooted it back home to use their painfully slow wifi. Eventually, I got into my email, and there was what I had been waiting for! Brasileño Madrileño (BM) had written inviting me to a reggae concert near to Monkey Forest at 20:30. Dang, it was already past eight!
As quickly as the crap wifi would allow, I replied saying I'd meet him at 21:00. Like superwoman in a phonebooth, I showered and changed in the blink of an eye! I headed out onto the street looking good, feeling great. Then I stopped dead, his email had said near Monkey Forest. Now, in Ubud there is Monkey Forest a forest full of monkeys and Monkey Forest road, the road that eventually leads there full of countless bars and restaurants. Where exactly did he mean? I found a man in the street and told him the WHOLE story, you know that way I do when nervous/overexcited. He looked at me like the clearly love struck fool that I was and clarified that I knew the way to Monkey Forest road and was able to carry my emotinally intoxicated self there.
I turned the corner to take Dewi Sita street down to MF road. Who should be walking up the road none other than the BM himself! "What are the chances of that?!" I said, "Ya, I realised I didn't tell you any place to meet" he replied.
We flitted from bar to bar laughing and joking especially when we decided to try the local liquor, arak, even mixed up in our cocktails, it still tasted like petrol. As places began to close we decided to head back to the Onzigo bar.
Dear, Ubud, why is it that all day long when one is clearly capable of walking one is inundated with offers of transport. Yet now when we wanted it, there was nothing but tumbleweed. Eventually we found a couple of guys to take us up the hill.
The bar was full of the typical Ubud freakies as we called them. For example, the girl with a crucifix tattooed between her eyes and Christ tattooed on her back who always wore an outfit of white hareem pants, white bikini top and white snood, talking inappropriately about sex to barely legal American guys. There were more but you get the idea.
Remember the previous transport issues? It was even worse to get back, eventually, we found one guy, but we were 2 people. The three of us rocketed down the road on the back of the little moped.
The next morning barely awake, BM was lamenting the fact that I was leaving for Padangbai in less than two hours and he would leave Bali the next day. I sighed and then my brain clicked into gear, "Why don't you come with me?" I said.
Padangbai is an hour away on the coast, BM was heading back to Madrid after nearly 6 years of travelling and he wasn't sure when he would see a beach again..... He needed no further persuasion and flew out the door, I'm sure with only one flip flop, as I shouted, I'll meet you at the Perama office at 11:00!
That was that, thanks Ubud.
Next stop Padangbai/Candidasa.
- Posted from my iPhone
1 comment:
Hi! im so inspired by your blog. Im 19 and in ubud right now with my family. I am really hoping i make some darn friends soon so this entry about ubud was just great! cheers.
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