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Biking Bali
Part 2
November, 2006
Starting at the Top
The air is cool. My nostrils flare in the fresh sensation. We have bananas and pancakes for breakfast on a veranda over looking an expansive valley bordered by two volcanoes. The cakes are chewy and the coffee is thick. By nine o'clock the sun is already high overhead. Thin, wisped clouds begin to form across the peaks. Soon we will start our 5 hour descent into the heartland of Bali.
 Jenny and Ann are sisters from Australia. Jenny has been to Bali many times. This is Ann's first visit. Our guides, Gushti, Udin and Adi remove the bikes from the truck and we saddle up. Adi will drive the bike truck, Gushti will take the shuttle and Udin will ride with us. The tour will pass through the scenic Balinese countryside situated on the south east slopes of Gunung Agung volcano and finish in the south near the large artisan community of Ubud. I lift my feet off the pavement and begin to roll. I never get tired of rolling on two wheels. Life slips by at a steady, slow pace on this one lane road.
"Hello! Hello!" ..."Halloo~"
It is Sunday. Hundreds of people are walking to neighboring
villages to visit friends and family. We roll along
past the streaming humanity. "Hello! Hello!"
comes the greeting again and again. Soon it becomes
the anthem from young and old alike smiling and waving
and "Hello! Hello!" from every shop and where
children gather in groups,” Hello! Hello!".
Their greetings are always the same; excited, fresh and pleasantly surprised. I try to match their enthusiasm but laugh every time I hear my pathetic stretched out reply of "Halloo~". The road winds past what seems one endless village of houses, food stands and shops. Delicious satay aromas from roadside stalls, delicate sandalwood scents from ceremonial shrines and doorway offerings and always there is "Hello! Hello!"... "Halloo~".
 Traditional Life
The guides have arranged for us to visit a family compound the day before a big celebration. Tomorrow is the celebration of the man. Several families have come together for the past three days of preparation. The women sit preparing satay and rice wrapped in banana leafs. They share stories and quiet smiles while working together. They ready the fire pits at the back for two small pigs.
The family compound is symbolic of the body, built to very specific detail in layout and orientation. A specialist must be consulted to divine where to build, how to build and even when to build. The rooms must be blessed with holy water. Even beds must be oriented and never with feet to the north.
The Perfect Trap
 We travel on, passing women with baskets on heads, "Hello! Hello!" - "Halloo~", groups of boys playing rag tag soccer, men threshing rice, "Hello! Hello!" - "Halloo~". We descend into villages carved into hillsides. Everywhere there are artisan shops, each one unique in its specialty, tree trunk faces with straggly flowing hair, stone Buddha, giant colorful dragons. The detail and craftsmanship are unimaginable.
 Now the road opens and descends into a vast panorama of terraced rice paddies across the river valley. The white washed shoulder to the road is a perfect place for a photo. I glide to a stop and ready the camera. Then, from out of nowhere a swarm of little girls waving pencils and postcards rushes up to me shouting "Buy this mister, buy this!”
"Where did they come from?" I think in confused exhaustion "All I saw was the photo op."
"Please mister, buy this!" a multitude of ten year old faces shouts. I have to laugh. This is the perfect "Tourist Trap". I raise my camera and suddenly they are quiet as I snap two and three pictures. Then I must pay the admission fee and the chorus begins again.
 There is strength in numbers. The girls are relentless, even ruthless, upping the tempo after I buy postcards from the nearest one. Now I must buy from all. It is a game. They play it well. Only an arriving bus saves me and the girls rush off laughing and shouting and waving their pencils and postcards. I take a breath, smirking, thinking about what's in store for the next person with a camera.
"How long has this ' trap' been here?" I wonder and then realize, probably as many generations as people have been taking photos of the rice paddies.
The sudden end
After five hours or so the shuttle moves in front and Gushti waves me onto a small side road. I am totally surprised when we stop beneath the shade of some trees in a compound. Is this the end? Wow! It’s hot and I’m tired but I could go for another five hours. Gushti directs me into a small, artfully designed villa with an outdoor restaurant facing a pool and beyond that a sweeping vista of the Balinese countryside. After a refreshing swim, some beers and a huge meal I’m off to Ubud.
Ubud
What makes one place special? I mean, what is it about a certain place that makes you feel instantly at home? Sure, the novelty of traveling and first time experiences are always intoxicating but I've been to what should have been “wonderful” places and they were, well, not so wonderful. I know that it is more than the obvious answers of exotic landscapes and personal preferences.
 Balinese culture seems centered on giving thanks for and celebrating life. Many days hold special significance; Tilam, the dark moon and Purnama, the full moon are evenings spent with family sharing food. Intricate offerings of food and flowers in tiny leaf plates guard most doorways of houses and shops. Ornate bamboo fronds arch over the road for several hundred meters announcing preparations for a future wedding. Somewhere across a deep, lush ravine five tones reverberate. The dampened sounds repeat again and again, ascending, descending, always changing but remaining the same. Harmonious discord balanced between river and sky.
 Ubud
is much like that. It seems a chaotic conglomerate of
sight, sound and smell and yet it works. Motos mix with
horse carts, Tamalong gongs and bells blend with Indo-pop,
Nasi Goreng and thick Dutch breads share the same plate.
The people of Ubud have a rich history of shared traditions.
Perhaps it is their gentle nature that transcends boundaries
and unites them as one people. There is a connection
with the past and a sharing of the future.
The Monkey Dance
Hundreds of Balinese men swarm down the temple stairs
to the courtyard quietly chanting "teka teka teka
..." They gather around a large pole-like candelabra
at the center of the courtyard. Oil lamps flicker in
the closing darkness, on the stairs, on the walls and
in the center of the courtyard burn brightly on the
candelabra. Raised arms sway in rhythmic cadence as
the chant rises and falls. Counterpoint rhythms begin
"Chek teka teka tak." Two solo chanters start
a dialogue with each other as they retell the epic Indian
Ramayana in which monkeys help Prince Rama fight the
evil King Rahwana. Lord Rama, Queen Sita, Hanuman the
monkey god, and the Golden Deer all appear in glorious
costumes as the tale unfolds in the wavering light.
Movements are as intricate and precise, learned and
practiced as any classic opera.
The Fire Dance
The second performance is simple by contrast. It is
a trance dance in which a spirit enters a person who
then becomes half man-half horse and rides through burning
coconut husks piled high in the center of the now darkened
courtyard. For the tourist it is an exciting spectacle
with an element of danger as the kicked embers go winging
every which way into the crowd. For the Balinese whose
intense cultural and mythological beliefs permeate and
bind all of their universe together, this is daily life.
In the next and last chapter I find a hidden paradise and dive the W.W.2 Japanese "Liberty Wreck" on Bali.
Previous entry: Biking Bali, Touring Lombok, Cruising to Komodo for Dragons and Diving - Part 1
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