6-1-2007
It is warm at 5 am when we hit the street to catch our shuttle bus to the airport in Darwin. It is not quiet.
There are many young people milling about on the street and about the grounds of our hostel who’ve been up
all night exploring the local culture. Our bus speeds around town picking up other tourists: all young with
backpacks, off to all points of the globe.
Check in at the ticket counter goes well. They will take Bici wrapped in bubble wrap, but we have to sign
a “damage waiver”. They have no boxes anyway. “Could we get one at Quantas?” We leave Bici at the
over-sized baggage door and head to the boarding lounge.
Our flight to Bali is uneventful. The on-board movie is the one where Robin Williams accidently almost
becomes President of the US due to a computer glich – good fun!
Bali! We skim in over the ocean and touch down in a new culture: Asian, practicing Hindu, Buddhism
and Animism combined. The airport terminal resembles a temple with lots of ornamentation: ornate pillars
and friezes, red tiled roofs and lots of use of dark wood, doors and trim all covered with flower carvings.
We arrive at baggage pick up after going through customs and passport/visa booths, grab our bags and
spot Bici leaning against the far wall. We look for a place in baggage to unwrap and build Bici, but are
told to move on outside to the lobby area. We undo Bici’s bubble wrap around the wheels so we can roll
him out. Whoa. As we start across to the exit we discover there is a problem, something is not right. We
are having trouble pushing Bici. Just before the exit door we decide to take a look. Oh no! The down tube
on Bici has been smashed – trashed! We are going nowhere. The bike is unridable. Our hearts are in our feet.
What are we going to do? The security guard walking with us suggests we file a claim with the airlines. Almost
in tears, we push the bike over to the claims area. My, oh my, we are in deep horse pucky. We know we
signed a “damage waiver”, so they are not responsible. But we start to go through the motions. One of the
men speaks English. We point out all the damage: crushed down tube, broken cable adjuster connections
on the head tube, all the scratches, twisted handle bars and torn tape. How in the hell could this happen?
Angry, sad, trying to control our emotions, we work with these men in claims. Everyone comes out to look
ake us there.
On arrival at the shop, we point out the problem of the crushed down tube. A phone call has proceeded us.
The repair man in a tank top and cut offs, cigarette dangling from his mouth, looks over Bici closely. He runs
his hands over the down tube, looks up and chatters. Yes, he can fix it and it will be ready tomorrow. We
are stunned speechless. We are standing in a junk car, repair lot/garage. How is this guy going to fix Bici?
Oh well, we leave Bici in this man’s hands with a wish and a prayer. Our driver head us off to find our hotel.
You would think this an easy task. Not necessarily. He stops to call on his cell phone twice. No answer.
We wander around for what seems like forever, stopping to ask directions and eventually pull off down an
alley to arrive at a lovely place just off the main busy street. Yes, it is more than we expected: a/c, pool,
quiet setting, warm hospitable staff, breakfast included for $22 per night. We spent more on a bare piece
of ground in a campsite in Aussieland. Wow. We are in heaven! Our driver from Garuda Airlines says he
will pick us up tomorrow when the bike is ready. Ok. We spent the rest of our first day wandering up and
down the crowded streets, window shopping and getting the lay of the land. Swim, nap and stroll, then
out to find dinner.
6/2
Up after eight for breakfast on the terrace next to the pool and across from our poolside room. Are we smiling?
Yes! How wonderful after the awful cell-like room we had in the Darwin Hostel! As we were finishing our coffee
and getting ready to leave, our driver from yesterday came up to our table and said our bicyle was ready. It is only
9am. Yes, let’s go. With wonderment we arrive at the open air garage to find Bici tied by twine to a post. Oh my
God: the down tube is perfect, painted to match the other tubes. They are sorry that the CoMotion decal could
not be replaced. We are dumb-founded. Our journey may be back on track. We put the pedals on, raised the
seats, adjusted the handle bars and paid the $25 bill. After saying many thanks, we clipped in and rode into the
heavy traffic. Yes, at least for now Bici is ridable and we wind our way back to our hotel. The highway is filled
with cars, trucks and a thousand motorbikes. Lots and lots of zipping in and out. It all seems to flow around
us like water. They all come very close as they rush by, but somehow this bazaar stream moves us safely onward.
At the hotel we realize that there are other problems with Bici that we had not noticed: loose headset and
broken brake cable adjusters. So after much discussion, we took off to find a bike shop. Up and down
through town asking to no avail. Bali is not a bicycle place, but is home to motor bikes and scooters. Finally,
just as we were about to give up on our quest, across the street we spied a man working on a bike for a child.
“Well, what have we got to lose?” A pile of tools, no supplies other than some tires hanging in the door of the
less than 8’ X 10’ stall. We push the bike and lean it against the wall on the sidewalk and wait our turn. Our
mechanic (?) comes over and we point out the problems. Can he fix? He disappears and comes back with
huge vice gripes, hammer, etc. and our hearts stop. Anything can be fixed with a bigger hammer, we think.
He takes the Chris King head set cap off and the handle bar and stem; greases the fork tube after removing t
he spacer; pounds down on the bearing cap; puts all back together and it is ok. Next he works on the cable
adjusters, replacing one and refitting the other. Using our replacement cables, he installed them with Art’s
help. We pay $10 (we feel he got the better of this deal) and rode home for a dip in the pool and dinner
at the Mexican restaurant across the street ($7 - $8 including two beers). In bed by 8pm, we end up watching
a movie cartoon about a mammoth, a sloth, and a saber tooth tiger who rescue a baby from the wilds and return
him to his father. A tear jerker we both thoroughly enjoyed. Obviously, we are missing movies and the
mindless entertainment that is so often fed to us by American TV and film industry!
6-3
Quiet day: we are off to do errands, hair cut for me, get maps, find an electric coverter so we can continue
to charge our batteries and do a book exchange. Down an alley we find a salon. I get my hair cut, washed
and head massaged. How nice. Judee gets a pedicure and manicure. All this for less than $10.
Later, while exploring further down the alley, we come across a church with English services and enjoy a
free drink of water and are approached by a man who tells us of his project in the hills to help poor people.
Would we like to join the group of church goers next week to visit the village where he is providing cows and
pigs? We decline. It is hard for us because we are back in the environment where the tourists are hit upon as
soon as they step out of their hotel. Hey, you want sun glasses? Hey, you want a massage? No, I am not
trying to sell you anthing, but look at this and on and on it goes. We find that no eye contact and a purposeful
walk helps us get on with our shopping.
6-4
We leave Kuta Beach for Ubud, the arts capital of Bali: sunny, hot and humid as you would expect. We
purchased a large map of the island yesterday, but were warned that maps are often not very accurate.
We are reminded of that, as the road twists and turns. They were right, we were soom off our planned route;
somehow missed our turn and are now on the main road into Denpassar, the capital. No, we don’t want to
go there! Well, we wound our way all over the place, almost going back to our start: North, South, East
West with much discussion and lots of stopping and asking directions. We finally make our way around
Denpassar and over to the coast road. In a few kilometers we turn inland on a small road and head upland,
passing through small villages. We stopped for lunch at a roadside open air stall/restaurant. They had roast
pig with some hot spicy vegies and rice served with sweet ice tea. We will be sick tomorrow? She used her
fingers to put the food on our plates. Where did the water come from? Oh well, the food was good!
The road we are on is painters row: one store or stall after another filled with similar paintings. As we pass
a large compound, we stop to explore. Each room in each building in this turn-of-the-century, rich family
compound is filled with paintings floor to ceiling: eight to ten large buildings of traditional to modern paintings.
You enter each room via what looks like a window complete with ornate carved doors and wood trim.
Lots of carved stone figures are scattered around the courtyards between the thatched roof buildings. All
such family compounds are oriented in a similar way with the “head” building toward the mountain with
all other buildings falling away down both sides of a long courtyard to the sea. The whole place was very
beautiful, peaceful and quiet to boot.
Eight kilometers later we rolled into Ubud and up the main drag: Monkey Forest Road where we looked
for accomodations. We went up a narrow alley to Gusti’s; through a family compound to bungalows hung
on the side of a steep cliff with dense foilage over-looking a pool and river valley. Our place is bright and
has a fan, a large bathroom and a porch for Bici. The bed is good and we sleep well even though it is warm.
temple scenes
1. masks
2. covered in wax
3. carvings
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In the late afternoon, after our swim and showers (Judee lost water just after lathering up. “It will be just a moment
they said and water will return”). The village is filled with other tourists and we joined them at the palace where
we listened to a Balinese group practice music. The musicians were all women dressed in native costumes
(sarongs with sleeved bouses and bright sashes) and directed by a male conductor.
6-6
Around 9am after our pancake and fruit breakfast, we load up Bici to go explore. Judee’s computer pick up is
not working, so we will have to guess our kilometers until we can get it fixed or replaced in another country. We
also seem to have a bump in our back wheel. Oh well, off we go! First a quick stop at the tourist office to get
another map with more detail of the local area, then we enter the flow of scooters. We have decided to do a
loop out to visit some temples, a museum and the elephant cave. In no time we are dripping, clothes soaked.
We wind slowly eastward which means crossing many rivers and streams, each in a deep gully/valley. Our
map has warned us of a particulary steep and dangerous crossing and they were correct. Even unloaded,
the hill is a good effort. We passed another mountain biker walking his bike down and he also warned us
of the steep hill. We made it ok and soon were looking out over rice paddies, hills of green with some
yellows thrown in.
We came around a corner to find a village temple with accompanying roadside food stalls, so we pulled off
and parked Bici. We had purchased sarongs and sashes yesterday in the Ubud market for just such an
occasion: to enter a temple you must be appropriately dressed in sarong with a sash to divide the good
half (upper) from the bad half (lower). So at roadside we struggle to wrap up in our sarongs and sashes.
It is comical, folding, unfolding, tying and rolling these long (8-10’) pieces of brightly colored cloth.
We finish and stumble up the steps and over the threshold and into another world. In the temple grounds
there are many small shrines scattered about, many are being filled with offerings from the local villagers,
mostly women also dressed in bright sarongs. The women chatter among themselves and pay no
attention to us. How nice it is to be able to explore and wander in the midst of all the activity.
On down the toad we are drawn to another temple. We turn off the highway and up a dirt side lane only
to find row upon row of scooters blocking our path. There are lots of men milling around and the sound
of much activity just out of sight. We have run into a cock fight on the temple grounds. We pay our
donation $20,000rp (about $2.US) and push forward to get a glimpse of the action. Judee can’t see
over the heads, so we climb up to a better vantage spot on the temple wall (yes, back into the sarongs).
Lots of shouting; money being waved in the air; bets are taken; the cocks introduced; spurs are on;
handlers ruff up each bird to get it in a fighting mood; the bell sounds and the cocks are thrown together.
The fight begins but after a few minutes no clear winner is apparent, so the cocks are placed under a
small basket where one kills the other in seconds and bets are paid. We are not really taken by this
temple and quickly leave to explore the food offerings below at the fight. The food is local fair food,
eaten with fingers off a banana leaf. Judee chooses some of what she thinks is fish satay but turns out
to be chicken or probably goat. We both eat the rather tough meat slathered in a hot and spicy sauce.
On the road again we visit an archelogical museum just down the way and learn about burial sarcophagus:
huge stone shapes cut in half and tied together and sometimes placed in a larger stone container. All of the
artifacts we viewed were found in 1962 and date from about 300 BC.
Later we found our way to the elephant cave, named after a river, rather than an actual elephant which
are not native to Bali. We decided to use a guide. He toured us around the site, then offered to take us
off grounds on a foot path to visit another site: cliff face carvings we also wanted to see. He quoted us
a price; we said ok and took off across country on a narrow foot path along the side of a river valley.
He pointed out the flora and fauna, showed us some local springs where people come to bathe, and
marched us through the next village. We are saronged, so hiking over hill and dale is challenging.
Passing the village we pay another entrance fee of $12,000rp and march down the sidewalk through
the rice paddies, down through the terraces to the carved cliff wall. Carvings are almost life-size and
push their way out of the grey stone. As we are admiring the 200’ long piece of art, an older woman
goes to the wall to bless it with holy water, then turns to us and comes over to pour water on us and
bless us. When she is finished she motions for us to take a picture with her. We both do, at her insistence,
then find she expects a donation. OK. We ask our guide what amount is appropriate: $5,000rp.
I put five on her offering place. She is upset and points to a $10,000rp note. I say no and we leave the
five. She is put off, but goes about her way. This is a portent of things to come. We head back and upon
our return, the guide stops us just short of the end and requests his $20 US. We are dumb founded.
$20US for an hour’s work! We thought he said $20,000rp about $2 US! We pay him the $20 and
chalk it up to a learning experience. We find that this kind of behavior has become rather common place
around some of the frequently visited tourist sites. We feel stupid and cheated: our pockets picked!
We ride home in a foul mood, but the small pool and relaxing atmosphere of our bungalow cheers us
up, ready for the night’s activity.
1. Art with lady at cliff carvings
2. rice paddies
3. J with our nefarious guide
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We are going to a shadow puppet show. This is a very old form of village entertainment, a precursor
to TV. Our show depicts the struggle of good over evil. With our tickets we were given a print-out
describing the tale. When we arrived, we found the theater to be an open room, roofed, and at one end
a 3’ X 5’ window covered with cloth, back lit by a burning torch. Maybe twelve people in the audience,
so viewing was good. We were introduced to the good and bad characters and told good always triumphs
over evil. Let the show begin. The stick puppets are wonderfully detailed as they are flashed against the
screens, arms waving and mouths moving. Yes, after a long battle, good wins out and we head for bed.
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