Bali, Indonesia. Day 1 February 24, 2016

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We are anchored quite far from shore, which means taking the tenders to shore. We need to wait for high tide to get over the sand bar and up the river far enough to reach the dredged-out dock area where we can still float at low tide without grounding out.

This tender thing is not going well.

For some unexplained reason, the captain arranged for a 250-person ferry to be rented for the morning. There was no reason given as to why we could not use our tenders instead, or in addition to, the ferry.

Three loads 45 minutes apart should have easily gotten all ashore who were going ashore. The schedule got instantly snafued, travel time was doubled, tender tickets were not properly distributed, they seemed to favour guests on ship excursions over independents, and thus we lost half a day right away. 14 of us sat and seethed at the pointless delay. We finally made it ashore sometime before noon instead of the scheduled 8:30am.

Fortunately, our driver had endured the unexpected 3+ hour wait, and Gudai (Goo-dai-i - sounds like an Aussie saying g'day) met us outside the terminal. The problems became apparent immediately. A miscommunication had resulted in a nice big van, but no guide, just the driver, who had been told that we had our own agenda and needed no guide, and whose English was not fluent.

Bob, who speaks Chinese, said that Gudai means #1 Son. We gathered from the well-meaning incompetence of the young man as a guide that he was, indeed, the boss's son.

He did his best, and made a few phone calls, but was clearly out of his depth. We wanted to see temples and local art, carvings and batik, beaches and scenery. What we got was tourist crap.

There are over 12,000 temples on the island. We whizzed past 10,000 of them on the way to our first stop, exclaiming at their beauty and voicing disappointment that we were not stopping.

First was a visit to a batik outlet. Out front, women spun thread and yarn the old-fashioned way, and painted designs and pictures on sheets of cotton and silk with lemon ink, which they then passed over a brazier to bring out the patterns, much like the secret writing one may have done as a child. Others, using pedal-powered sewing machines, stitched together shirts and sarongs.

Inside, a vast array of overpriced clothing, paintings and prints were on offer. Salesclerks wandered back and forth, hovering nearby and murmuring encouraging phrases if something was touched or picked up, but generally disinterested. I felt more like a nuisance than a customer as they occasionally raised their eyes from their phone screens to see what I was doing over by the shirts.

In the courtyards, we were more interested in the ornately carved doors and the Hindu demon sculptures guarding the shrines. The most intriguing part of the visit was the discovery of the sleepy bat colony in the tiptop interior of the open peaked roof.

A gregarious, constantly joking American (henceforth known as Beer Boy) and his wife negotiated a stop at a convenience store, ostensibly for access to an ATM but with the clear side goal of stocking up on cold beer for the long ride. An OK dude, fortunately, one of those who puts back a lot of beer but manages to avoid getting sloppy, loud and stupid.

We moved on to a woodcarver's 'studio' (but really a big tourist store with a small worksop attached) stocked with many fascinating, ornate, mythological, religious and occasionally obscene sculptures and carvings. Few of them were distinctively Balinese. The two-foot screaming eagle clutching an AK-47 in its talons failed to convey to me any sense of Indonesia, and while the life-sized couple having sex on the floor, topped by a glass sheet, was an exceptionally well-proportioned coffee table, it gave me little sense of where I was in the world. And of course, what overpriced woodworking shop would be complete without a few dozen oversize wooden erection bottle openers.

To be fair, some of the immense Indonesian-style sculptures were quite stunning in their workmanship and detail, but few were locally made or their materials locally sourced.

We moved on to have lunch. Jane and I regarded the touristy restaurant with little interest. We decided to play hooky, invited Ken, who seemed equally disinterested in tourist food, and told the driver we were going to wander, and would return in an hour. Off we went in search of a taste of the genuine Bali.

Right away we found a little Mom & Pop shop filled with wooden carvings. Mom & Pop proudly showed off the shapes made by the whole family from local woods; this iguana carved by grandpa, this one by #2 nephew, and a whole series of knickknacks. Nothing outstanding, though. They also beckoned us into their other business, where they sold vegetables, fruit, candy and cigarettes, and cold drinks.

We passed what looked to be at first glance an overgrown empty lot with a low creek on one side,but peering into the ravine I saw a man moving about, and pathways and hoses and planter pots. We found an ungated path off the sidewalk and in the spirit of, "Excuse me, sir, you're not supposed to be here," barged on in to see what was there. We discovered a grand plant nursery, koi pond included. The whole place was filled with landscaping trees, exotic fronds and ferns and orchids, and thick bonsai trees and bushes of great age. We spent some time poking about, marveling at the unfamiliar and being surprised by the familiar in this alien location.

Down the road, we found the glass. What lovely, lovely glass. What these artisans do first of all, is find find a stable piece of wood - driftwood or deadwood which they then seal with a varnish. Then they take a piece of glass, a vase or bowl, and heat the base until it is soft and pliable. Then they force it down onto the wood so that the base of the glass piece perfectly takes on the shape of the wood. The result is a truly unique piece, and they do it in centerpiece-sized single pieces all the way up to multi-branched tree trunks. We bought one, and Ken bought one, each piece about US$8.

Ken quite enjoyed our little wander, and on the way back to the restaurant dashed back into the Mom & Pop and came out with cold beers for him and Jane. We went back to the restaurant's parking lot and chatted with the driver and security guard while we waited for the others to finish eating.

Chickens wandered about, eating the food offerings left twice daily at dawn and dusk at the ubiquitous Buddhist and Hindu shrines. Each offering is newly handmade from scratch and in addition to small amounts of food, will contain no more than five flowers, one for each cardinal point of east, west, north, south and center.

A young woman came by with a baby in her arms, intent on begging from the tourists. Mindful of the dangers of giving too much (she might get mugged for it) I dug into my pocket for some coins but the security guard sternly warned her off, unceremoniously escorting her away while surreptitiously slipping her some money from his own pocket.

Chatting with Gudai one-on-three was much more interesting than his occasional and unintentionally comical attempts at narration. He amused us each time he picked up the microphone. As he was the driver, he only grabbed the mike when the van was stationary. He would key the mike and announce, "Hi, it's just me." Then, more often than not, traffic would start moving again before he could deliver his speech and he would drop the mike without saying anything more.

Sipping the cold beers in the parking lot, Jane asked him about the different styles and sizes and complexities of the various temples we passed, seemingly every hundred meters or so. We learned that each territory, village or community must have three temples, one for Brachma, one for Vishnu and one for Sewah. Ganesh is my favourite Hindu god, the elephant-headed Remover of Obstacles, and many legends are woven around his life as a god.

There are family temples, usually part of the land a home sits on. There are a minimum three rooms - one for living, one for praying, and one for the ancestors. There are local temples, shared by the neighbourhood residents who can't fit a repectable temple onto their own plot of land, and village temples, shared by all and the focal point for major festivals. Hindus seem to have a lot of festivals, as we keep running into them everywhere.

Many of the statues have bolts of cloth in many colours and patterns wrapped around them as holy clothing. The clothed statues of mythological, traditional or local flora/fauna figures are guardians, and the colours are representative of qualities of life. White is for purity, yellow for prosperity, red for life, black for mortality, white and black for balance, or yin and yang

After the late lunch and another supply stop for Mr. & Mrs. Beer Boy, Gudai picked up the mike, said, "Hi, it's just me," and suggested a visit to a very popular temple on the west coast. Anyplace along the west coast is a great place for sunsets, and Gudai told is that the Uluwatu Tall Cliff Temple was one of the most dramatic, with sandy coves embraced by high, sharp cliffs, their walls topped with old temples, complex stone walkways, and shrines hidden in almost every corner. We agreed, but we may not have, had we realised it involved a one-hour backtrack to the port area, then another hour north and west up the coast.

It was an interesting drive, though, and the chockablock busyness of downtown near the port soon gave way to occasional greener areas, with more open spaces and less opulent tourist shopping and accommodation. Younger tourists began to appear more frequently between the cheaper eating joints, bars and hotels, and dance halls and surf shops were seen with increasing frequency. This is the "see Bali on $25/Day," section. We passed another improbably named restaurant, a French Mediterranean style place called Métis.

We reached the seaside temple grounds. This is a very popular area, not least for its sunset views. In addition to the beautifully landscaped grounds and the newer amphitheater where they put on music and dance shows for the tourists, the temple and grounds are populated by large macaque monkeys. These beasts are fully in charge, and leave no doubt of that fact as they roam freely along the pathways and walls.

They have no qualms about snatching items from the unwary. Sunglasses, shopping bags, cameras, wallets, hats - all are fair game. Regular PA announcements caution that if you have been mugged by a monkey and need the item back, you must get ahold of a local uniform rather than attempt the recovery yourself. Some of these suckers have four-inch canines, and these teeth are not for peeling bananas, they are designed to rip flesh.

At one of the highest points, I came across two large monkeys, one demolishing a pair of Ray-Bans with fingers and teeth, popping out the lenses and stripping the plastic off the frames. His friend sat on the wall tearing a flip-flop sandal apart with his teeth.

As I took photos and tried to make an effective video, there was a screech from behind. I looked around to see a monkey ambling down the wall with a pair of prescription glasses, their owner, a pretty young woman in a sari and with an expensive-looking camera, reaching out towards the monkey and looking very distraught. The monkey turned and leaned aggressively towards her and bared his formidable fangs, instantly discouraging her from approaching any closer.

She retreated and reconsidered, and seeing the other monkey gnawing happily on a flip-flop, she slipped off one of hers and offered it to the monkey, holding out her other hand for the glasses in exchange and speaking softly in her language. Well, big surprise, the monkey happily took the sandal and kept the glasses clenched firmly between his teeth.

Although several suggested it in several languages, no one took the advice and called for the uniforms to address the situation. Folks settled in to watch the inevitable show. Beer Boy was in the gathering crowd, and fueled by the questionable courage of several lubrications on the long bus ride, acquired and proffered a handful of potato chips. The monkey squatted on the wall, tucked the sandal between his legs, continued to munch on the glasses and grabbed for the chips. BB made a grab for the glasses, thinking the monkey was distracted. The beast snapped at the hand as it neared the glasses and he rapidly retreated, a bit shaken at coming so close to losing a finger, or worse.

The woman approached slowly, holding out her second sandal. The monkey grabbed protectively at the first between his legs then laid down the glasses beside him on the wall and took the second sandal. He skittered down the wall a bit, and with both his hands firmly clutching his prizes, she was able to grab her glasses. Relieved, she spoke to her friends, clearly saying that she can go barefoot in Bali much more easily than she can get around blind.

The entertainment over, the crowd dispersed, tucking extraneous items away securely in pockets and backpacks, and the crowds took positions for the sunset.

This area is not just a tourist draw for westerners. It is an important site for Buddhists and Hindus, and many people from all over SE Asia come to see and to pray and meditate. Costumes ranged from locals in formal Balinese dress to Chinese in unironic Mao jackets, Indians and Indonesians in saris and sarongs, Muslim men in skullcaps and tunics, and women in headscarves and the odd burkha.

Cameras came out on both sides of the cultural divide, and Cyril and Sandy were again objects of fascination, particularly by the groups of young Muslim girls on a field trip, and Indians in formal dress who wanted photos with the Westerners. Cameras were handed back and forth as people jumped in and out of the photos. I spied a shy Indian man snapping pictures of me talking with fellow traveller Al, a Vancouverite of Chinese background, clearly curious as to this exotic and odd cultural juxtaposition.

Beer Boy grabbed another bunch of beers for the ride home, and having had an entertaining time at the temple, the earlier frustrations of the day were set aside as bonding time and we laughed and talked all the way back to the ship.

Someone picked up the improbable tidbit that the name Bali is taken from Sanskrit and when anglicized, stands for Beautiful, Adventurous, Legendary and Inspiring. A good tourist line, in any case.

We had an evening show on board, put on by a local group who had us fascinated by the storytelling dances and haunting gamelin music. Ultra-expressive, heavily made up eyes and very specific finger positions play a huge part in these dances. The ornate costumes glitter in every colour, and the performers posed for photos afterward.

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Comments

[Judy and Richard]

Wonderful recap of a great day in Bali with fellow Rotterdam passengers
Paul & Jane, I thoroughly enjoyed reading your Bali, Day 1 blog because we were on the tour with you! Your recollection of the experience is much better than ours. I regret not keeping a journal of the 89 days we spent on this voyage. Thank you for sharing!