PART III: new airports, bad djs, and good friends

A 30-minute flight from Denpasar and we safely landed at Lombok’s new international airport. So new, in fact, that up until the point we touched down I thought we were flying to the old airport- in a different city- erroneously reassured by the destination printed on our tickets. After a moment of panic as I tried to confirm where we’d actually be meeting the two Nishas and Travis who would be flying in from Surabaya in a few hours, we sat down on the virtually deserted airport floor to pass the time playing cards. Three tall fair-haired girls shuffling and dealing was apparently the most entertaining thing the airport staff had seen in awhile, and in next to no time we were surrounded by an audience of 20+ airport drivers, travel coordinators, and security personnel clad in military garb giving us game advice while simultaneously trying to figure out the rules. Needing a break from cigarette smoke and propositions of matrimony, I scooted to the outskirts of the pack and naturally struck up a conversation with the only two people under the age of 20- two sixth grade boys whose parents were working in the adjacent fields. Before Indonesia I was never the person to approach kids and start up an educational dialogue, but I find myself doing it regularly here; on buses, beaches, and, apparently, airport floors. I can’t pass up the opportunity for a student to modestly show off his/her English skills by diffidently spewing out the numbers 1-10 or passing my colors quiz. I love the unpretentious smiles that cross their faces when they can answer what their name is or what class they’re in. I’m not sure I could be a career teacher, but I’m convinced that there will always be a little piece of me that appreciates an impromptu lesson.

Hanging Out at the Airport While Their Parents Work in the Field

As the sun set on the Bali Sea and all of its island dwellers, we glided over the turbulent waves to the tiny island of Gili Trawangan. Notorious for its party reputation and international SCUBA status, we figured it would be an ideal place to spend the New Year while half of us got dive certified. The days and nights leading up to 2012 were spent lazing about with only minor intervals of physical activity. We rented bikes the first day and journeyed most of the way around the small island until the sand became too wearisome to pedal through. That same evening Ashley and I rode over to the western side of the island to watch the equatorial sun descend behind the infamous Balinese mountain we had conquered just days before. Well, Ashley conquered, I stumbled down. After seeing it across miles of sea, I began to take more pride and express less resentment towards our prior feat- that was a big pile of rocks that we climbed!

Ashley Watching the Sun Set Over Bali

Early Morning Boats and Clouds

Another afternoon was spent snorkeling off a boat in between the other minuscule Gili islands then grabbing a noontime bite to eat on the practically uninhabited Gili Air. On a few occasions we also managed to make our way down to the rocky beach- the result of broken coral washing up on shore due to flawed tourism practices. I’m neither excluding myself, nor claiming to be an ecological expert, but I did try to minimize the impact I was having on the surrounding aquatic environment. Although there are reconstructive measures taking place to help restore the adjoining reefs, there is still a lot of room to educate both tourists and locals about ways to help prevent further devastation of the contiguous coral and marine life.

Waiting for Lunch on Gili Air

Broken Coral Beach

Boats Down at the Beach

And, as happens most years, another 365 days had inconspicuously passed and we found ourselves counting down the hours then the minutes to 2012. While enjoying the last moments of 2011, we were subjected to, unarguably, the worst DJ ever. That didn’t stop my fabulous friends and I from having a blast on the dance floor- a true testament to how amazing the people I surround myself with are. One may wonder why we didn’t leave the appalling music (I’m talking “Ice, Ice Baby” and “U Can’t Touch This”) and I answer with this: the inebriated horde of exceedingly underage locals blocking the street made it nearly impossible to change locales without getting groped and gawked at. I like to think I’m a fairly tolerant person, but even sweet little Nisha was ready to throw down in an attempt to defend her personal space. I’m glad we had our token boys with us, but if truth be told, I’d rather Nisha had my back any day of the week. Even with the temporary off-putting vibes surrounding the mob, New Years Eve 2012 will forever be one for the memory books. Front row, beachside seats to a spectacular fireworks show shimmering back in the waves before us. A post-midnight swim in the warm ocean water. And fully grasping, yet once again, that this is my life and I am one lucky girl.

Our Initial New Years Crew for the Night

Fabulous Friends

Fireworks from the Boats

Midnight Fireworks

*Tune in soon for the final installment of this 4-part series, Adventures in the Bali Sea*

PART II: a royal balinese funeral

Christmas day 2011 started with a scenic bemo ride from Sideman down to the cultural center of Ubud where Ashley and I would ultimately meet up with my PC friend Sarah. Despite a minor altercation with a dishonest bemo driver whilst attempting to commence our journey, we quickly became enchanted with the surrounding landscape and unconcerned about when we would reach the city. Even with our distracted minds, we couldn’t help but notice that we must be getting closer to our final destination as the Indonesian-Tourist ratio steadily inverted so that the local population was soon in the minority. After 2 years in a conservative village, I found myself trying not to gawk at the pale underdressed foreigners as if they were some kind of anomaly. I can now relate to my students’ initial reaction to having a stereotypical American enter the classroom for the first time; I predict some serious reverse culture shock once I’m back stateside. We settled into our gorgeous hotel room with a view (thanks to Sarah’s logic that one’s allowed to splurge during the holidays) and full-heartedly welcomed the realization that this was our life. Reliable internet access for Skyping, a lagoon-like swimming pool, and my first taste of delicious suckling pig- not the worst way to spend my final Christmas in Indonesia. Nothing else extraordinarily noteworthy happened; just mohitos at the Laughing Buddha and enjoying the company of good friends, old and new.

Sunset From Our Hotel Window

Gunung Agung From Afar

Christmas Mohitos

We only spent a few days in Ubud, but my first impression of the cultural hub of Bali was much more positive than that of its overdeveloped neighbor to the South, Kuta. I embraced the traditional art, food, music, and morning yoga of Ubud, while all together savoring my first bite of reasonably authentic Mexican food in over 20 months, ordering a delicious pitcher of sangria and perusing the handicraft shops clearly intended for tourists. Ashley and I also spent a couple of hours walking through the jungle oasis of the Sacred Monkey Forest Sanctuary, taking pictures of the adorable little primates and scoffing at the people trying to feed them ice cream then kicking at the poor macaques when they got too close. I’m not claiming to be an ape expert, but I’m pretty sure that’s not considered appropriate etiquette towards monkeys.

Family of Macaques

The following day we happened upon the funeral procession for a member of the Balinese royal family. The vibrantly adorned funeral tower, or bade, carrying the deceased was making its way from Ubud Palace toward the hallowed Hindu temple Pura Dalem Puri at the heart of the city. Leading the colossal multi-tiered bade was a massive manmade bull ornamented in gold which would later serve as the final cremation vessel. Both creations were being transported atop substantial bamboo frameworks carried on the shoulders of at least 100 men in black and white checkered sarongs and traditional Balinese turbans. As the convoy of family members, locally concerned citizens, and incongruous tourists in tank tops and short shorts (this writer was to some extent more appropriately dressed for an impromptu funeral) made its way to the public Palabon (royal cremation) site, a marching gamelan orchestra gonged along, changing tempos as the route altered. As the throng went uphill or around a corner, the gonging got louder and faster. I discovered afterwards that the increase in tempo and momentary bursts of running or sudden shifting from left to right- all while carrying the giant structures- was an attempt to confuse the evil Balinese demons which are also conveniently deceived by corners; hence the customary wall immediately past the entrance to many Balinese complexes.

Example of Immediate Wall After the Entrance

The Gamelan Gongs Following the Bade...Around a Corner

Once the mob of spectators reached the temple, a set of bamboo stairs was brought over to the newly stationary funerary tower. Porters transferred the corpse from the highest level of the bade to the hollow bull below. Again, the gamelan rhythm increased in intensity as the anticipation of moving the body augmented. Those bearing the recently departed (well, 2 weeks ago departed) under the cover of brightly colored parasols, laughed jovially as camera-wielding tourist snapped away (I’ll plead the Fifth as to whether or not I partook in similar imprudent actions). The body was placed in the bull sarcophagus, feet facing southward so as to walk in the direction of the dead, followed unceremoniously by the departed’s last effects in an unremarkable white plastic bag. Family members walked counterclockwise (the dead always to the left) around the tomb 3 times carrying offerings and a garlanded photo of the deceased as a sign of respect. Female relatives in sarongs and matching emerald green lace tops and silk sashes waited patiently nearby, impressively balancing ornate offerings of fruit, flowers and palm leaves on their heads as priests whispered holy mantra beseeching a safe journey of the soul. The bundled offerings would eventually be relinquished in a seemingly unmethodically manner at the base of the funeral pyre. According to Balinese Hindu belief, the final rites must be carried out quite meticulously otherwise the spirit of the dead could remain a ghost, unable to join his/her ancestors. Tradition also dictates that after the soul ascends into heaven (following cremation) it is eventually reincarnated in another being, usually a future family member, in a never ending life cycle.

Towering Bade on Bamboo Frame

Moving the Body from the Bade

Transferring the Body to the Bull

Carrying the Offerings to the Pyre

A light rain began to mist the funerary backdrop and soon hard drops pelted down. Those dogged enough to witness this unique experience in its entirety huddled under the nearby roof protecting the gong and gamelan ensemble from the natural elements. Family members lit incense and approached the raised bull facing regally towards the North. All at once the previously majestic bull went up in flames, smoke and ash spiraling from all conceivable directions. In order to ensure a speedy cremation, high-powered gasoline pumps were vigorously pushed towards the bull’s underside and the scent of benzene mixed with burnt hair quickly permeated the vicinity. Within minutes the bull’s stomach collapsed and a charred foot dropped out, exposing the skeletal remains. Another result of being immersed in a new culture for 2 years is the capability to observe a cultural event objectively; whereas this might have been a disturbing image prior to Peace Corps life, I was able to watch the scene without feelings of queasiness. That being said, I’m opting not to get into the gory details of the sounds, sights and smells of frying fat, charcoaled bones and roasting flesh. It’s enough to say that the flames bursting from all sides of the imperial bovine pyre were a sure sign of the soul’s inevitable liberation.

Lighting the Incense

Approaching the Bull

And the Liberation Begins

Despite the seemingly somber act of saying goodbye to a loved one, relatives and onlookers alike seemed quite good-humored during the event. After all, the cremation represented the successful execution of a most sacred responsibility: releasing the soul from its earthly body to continue its journey into heaven and beyond.

High-Powered Hoses

After the hours-long process fizzled to an end, the thing that stuck with me the most was the shifting blend of mysticism and modernity. Gasoline pipes instead of traditional wood to feed the fire. Shorter bade than in years past due to the abundance of electrical cables lining the streets. Traditional lace tops and Balinese sarongs next to t-shirts and sunglasses. Incense and cigarette smoke blending together as relatives say their final goodbyes. One can only speculate as to the effects our ever globalizing world will have on the future of Balinese cremation rituals as technology, ostentatious displays and the concept of “quicker is better” become increasingly ubiquitous around the world.

And on that note, so concludes my time in Bali. Next stop: Lombok and Gili Trawangan!

PART I: seasons greetings from the top of bali

I haven’t done an especially great job blogging about my travels outside of Java, but seeing as the prospect of gallivanting around the world was a significant part of why I initially joined Peace Corps, I feel that it’s important to integrate my travel anecdotes into the increasingly uninteresting tales of life at site. Traveling from island to island offers new and wonderful (well, most of the time wonderful) experiences abroad, and I’ve therefore been inspired in Indonesia in ways I never anticipated. This past school holiday I was fortunate enough to travel around Bali-Lombok area for about 2 weeks where I was able to meet up with an old friend from home as well as a few of my favorite PC comrades. And thus begins PART I of my most recent journey…

I’m proud to be a Colorado girl. Born and raised in a state that takes unpretentious gratification in its colorful outdoors and being active year round regardless of the season. So when the prospect of climbing Gunung Agung, the highest peak in Bali, presented itself (even though it’s the rainy season), I was completely onboard. What better place than Bali to hike my first volcano and who better to do it with than a friend visiting from my beloved home state?

Eagerly anticipating the 2 am sunrise hike, we went to bed early- headlamps, warm clothes and provisions neatly tucked away in our backpacks. Our guide picked us up a few hours later and we were soon on our way to the sanctified site. Due to the impenetrable cloud cover coupled with a new moon, this most sacred mountain was completely imperceptible; had it not been for the immediate burning in my calves as we began the alleged 3-hour trek up, I may not have believed that we were actually at the base. Gunung Agung is considered the most holy mountain in Bali, which is the only predominantly Hindu area in all of Southeast Asia. A mere 5 minutes into our ascent and our mandatory guide stopped at the undetectable temple to make the first of 3 periodic offerings to the Hindu gods. Incense-and-floral-infused-banana leaf-basket offered, we continued, knowing that the spirits were on our side. It was a tough hike up, especially in the dark. But the benefit to starting so early was that we didn’t have to see the near perpendicular, jagged terrain we would be climbing. Had I been aware of the sheer incline, I may have been more hesitant to continue. But then again, probably not.

A few hours later we paused again to hydrate and make the second woven leaf offering. Above the cloud barrier the stars were unbelievably clear. No light pollution and just the 3 of us on this divine mass. It was an unbelievable feeling; so removed from the chaos of my Javanese urban village. The mountain, still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness, deceptively gave the illusion that we were almost to the top. But as the first light began to illuminate the rice paddied landscape thousands of meters below, our guide informed us that we still had a very vertical climb above the tree line ahead of us. The obscure trail completely disappeared and we were forced to keep up with our mountain goat guide using our hands and shaky foot holds as he seemingly trotted up the mountain without the slightest hint of fatigue.

But we made it! And with only minor aches and signs of weariness as a result of the arduous climb up. We savored our dry bread and hard boiled egg breakfast as we rested at the crater and tried to catch intermittent glimpses of the scenery below as green fields and coastline fleeted in and out of the clouds. We missed sunrise from the top, but I’m not sure we would’ve had the best view anyway. At the peak we were in a deep fog, but it still felt amazing to be at the top of the Balinese world.

Rockin' my School's Neon Sport Uniform at the Top of Gunung Agung with the Fabulous Ashley Gamble

View Into the Crater

Last Offering Overlooking the Crater

After our final incense offering, we embarked on the downward voyage. One look down and I was suddenly struck with bewilderment as to how we managed to maneuver our way up in the first place. I was completely perplexed as to how we were going to get back down. Our guide, however, had no intention of analyzing the most secure route of descent, and once again trotted down the steep rock as I ungracefully slid my way down failing to keep pace. Several bumps, bruises, scratches and shaky muscles later, we still hadn’t made it to the tree line. I looked desperately to my friend who, despite saying that she was also in pain, was keeping fair stride with our guide. “Please call Peace Corps and have them medevac me off the mountain. My legs don’t seem to work anymore, so I think I’ll just stay here.” Where was my Colorado mentality now that I needed it most? The next 5 hours were full of similar sentiments and I cursed my initial enthusiasm for hiking this ridiculously steep mass of volcanic rock. If lava would only start to steadily stream out so I could float atop a hefty shard of rock over the seemingly infinite vastness to the microscopic temple below! Anything would be preferable to trying to use my legs…even luging down scorching molten rock.

Our Guide Getting Ready to Trot Down the Rugged Rock Face

What we Climbed Up. Then Down.

Again, we persevered and somehow endured the drawn out descent. As we walked past the now visible temple, worshipers steadily started to pour out of the ancient structure and glide by me in unimpressive sandals while simultaneously balancing oversized baskets on their heads. I felt completely incompetent at that point and in my state of hostility, vowed that I would never attempt to hike another volcano again. Those feelings have since faded, but at that point in time, the promise was made in all sincerity. I think I just needed a bit more time for the pain to fade in my memory and for the bliss of being back on a mountain to overshadow the resentful recollections of ineptly tumbling down my first volcano.

Beautiful Balinese Girls at the Temple

Balinese Balancing

We spent the remainder of our time in the Agung area recovering in the remote little village of Sideman. We spent the afternoons walking through terraced rice fields sprinkled with tiny Hindu shrines permeated with the scent of strawberry incense and interacting with the local weaving community. Hand-woven shawls and sarongs start upwards from $100 for just 2 meters of the uniquely patterned cloth, and go into the thousands as the design gets more elaborate. Most pieces take months to weave using the wooden hand looms and are then exported and sold to wealthy foreigners abroad. It was incredible to see how quickly and flawlessly these women worked as they explained the process to us.

Weaving and Talking

Weaving in Sideman Village

*And thus concludes the first part of my Balinese-Lombokian adventure. Stay tuned for future tales of Christmas, New Years, and near death at the waterfalls*