The road to Singaraja

Before going to Amed, we took a (long) day trip to Singaraja on the opposite coast. Balinese friends seem to think we are a little crazy to be driving around as we do, but make the most of transport freedom, we say.

The best road is up to Kintamani village on Mount Batur and then to head west. The drive offers a winding and scenic journey that passes the volcanic crater and then traverses a rich spice growing region.

Cloves and cinnamon were spread along the road to dry and flimsy-looking bamboo ladders led up to where vanilla pods were being collected. The Indonesian archipelago was known to Europeans as The Spice Islands, of course, and it was this edible treasure that led to centuries of Dutch colonial rule. The aroma by the side of the road was heady and delectable.

Our reliable glove box companion, Lonely Planet, had informed us about a temple in the village of Kubutambahan, on the road we were travelling. The point of difference from other temples is Pura Made Karang's sculptured panels, notably the one depicting a cyclist. With Eddie's interest in this sport, this became a small quest to find. It wasn't terribly difficult, but it wasn't on our main road either*. The cyclist is believed to be WOJ Nieuwenkamp, a Dutch artist, who it is said to have brought the first bicycle to Bali in 1904.

We always carry a sarong and sash in the car in case of temple visits, so as we prepared in the car park, a gaggle of children appeared, as they so often do in Bali. They led us across to the temple, we paid our donation and (unusually) were asked by one of the children's mothers to sign a book and state the amount, before the children then took us into the temple proper. Their English was quite good, but they delighted in learning the word 'snail' as we passed a particularly impressive specimen.

Snaiiiil

When we reached the famous bicycle panel, they formed a chorus and in unison they rattled off the story in English that they had obviously learned by rote. It was both hilarious and charming. Full of giggles they then asked if we would like to see the 'Kama Sutra' panels, which received the same chorus treatment. Pretty mild, but they enjoyed our feigned shock/horror reaction. These lovely kids then picked some fruit to share, helped us out of our sarongs and folded them for us. Yet another unexpected highlight.

Singaraja is the capital of the Buleleng regency**, and was the Dutch administrative capital for many years, so there remains a colonial charm in its wide, tree-lined streets. The struggle for independence was vigorous here and the waterfront features a huge symbolic statue marking this fight.

Nearby Lovina is the tourist area, and although we had been before, this time it seemed much nicer than we remembered and we will come back for a few days to explore it more.

Completing a circuit back to Ubud involved a winding road, many, many trucks, a huge traffic jam in Bedugul (very pretty place though, and the strawberry capital of Bali) and a heavy shower of rain. An excellent day out, despite these small irritations.

The Mount Batur pic comes from Wikimedia Commons, as it was a bit difficult to pull over for a decent shot.

 *In fact, it's on the main road to Amlapura, and if we'd kept driving across the top of the island from our Amed trip a few days later, we'd have passed this temple again.
** We have realised that we have now visited all but one of Bali's eight regencies, as well as the capital city-regency of Denpasar. The missing one is Jembrana.

Yeh Pulu

It is a week or more since we visited Yeh Pulu in the village of Bedulu, but lack of time has meant that some catch up posts are needed.

Situated just beyond the Elephant Cave at World Heritage listed Goa Gajah on the Gianyar road, Yeh Pulu is not easy to find. We had almost given up when we noticed a fluttering computer printout indicating that it was down a road that looked as if it led nowhere in particular. Later, leaving in another direction, we saw this lovely sign, so it all depends on how you approach.

We had read about the site in Lonely Planet and seen images on the Lempad film that contained historic footage of the artist at the site. A small entrance fee and a sarong is requested, and like so many of these sites, a local guide seeks to offer interpretation of what we are seeing for a small fee. Made spoke excellent English and was very informative.

Yeh Pulu was unearthed in the 1920s and is the site of a 25 metre relief wall that depicts Balinese village life in the 14th century. The short walk down from the carpark is clean and beautifully landscaped, helped by the funds generated at the entrance, and contains a small cafe and just the one seller of artefacts, unlike the hassle you can experience at Goa Gajah.

At the time of discovery Balinese people had things on their mind other than history, so it was not until several decades later, when archaeologists documented the site, that its religious significance was realised. A holy spring flows through the site which includes 14th century bathing areas clearly marked for men and women.

An elderly woman mangku was in attendance, and blessed us as we entered. The feeling is extremely spiritual and its isolation and lack of visitors adds to the atmosphere. Made explained that the woman's father, also a priest, had no sons so she inherited the role. It's unusual for women to be priests, but obviously possible.

Made speculated at what else might lie hidden beneath the sawah. He explained that 10 years ago another site was found about two kilometres away and offered to take us in the cool of one morning. We have his mobile (HP here, for 'hand phone'; 'mobil' means car) number and will contact him to do so. The newest discovery is, according to Made, even more spectacular than Yeh Pulu and consists of four walls of reliefs creating an enclosed area.

 We are glad we persevered with the search.

In the shadow of the volcano

Before starting on a backlog of posts, the most recent happenings first. We are just back in Ubud after spending several days in Amed on the east coast. Our visit in March last year to the Lipah section of the villages (that together are called Amed) was cut short by a cyclone that ripped the roof from our hotel and left everyone without electricity for days. We stuck it out for as long as we could but eventually ended up in Sanur.

This time we were supposed to go last week but Eddie's heatstroke delayed us. Unfortunately, I fell ill - for the first time in the last four months – on the morning that we set off for a second attempt. Is there something about Amed? All the symptoms of flu for me, but an Apotek in Amlapura gave me something that I am sure helped. No way were we deferring again.

Amed, as the area is called, rests in the shadow of Gunung Agung, the holy mountain and still active volcano. Agung last erupted in 1963, killing more than a thousand people and wiping out entire villages. Fifty years later, it could happen again, but daily life goes on as it has for centuries. Eddie checked out trekking opportunities but will go with a guide from Ubud when he does the sunrise climb.

Amed is strung along about 14km of coast, from Jemiluk in the north down to Lipah and beyond. This time we stayed in Jemiluk, probably the busiest village of the sleepy strip. In contrast to the more developed parts of Bali, Amed has flaky electricity, flakier wifi, no ATM within 40km and no street lighting. It's not quite how Bali 'used to be' but it's closer than other parts that attract tourists. Most of the visitors (and there weren't all that many) appeared to be young European travellers, keen on the diving and snorkelling that the area is famous for.

Each of the villages lines a very narrow strip between the beach and the dry hills at the back. Accommodation on the beach side can have flat access, but nothing across the road does, so you need to be prepared for some mountain goating up and down steps. Even on the water side, many small hotels and home stays require a steep walk down to the beach. If you are planning on a visit, it's worth finding out what is involved if this is important.

Fortunately sitting in an air conditioned car is no hardship even for someone sniffling and sneezing, so exploration wasn't out of the question. Eddie snorkelled while I slept off some of the symptoms, and then we headed south down the coast road towards Amlapura, the pretty capital of Karangasem regency. As the last of the development faded away the road became narrower, the villages obviously poorer and we got the glimpse of how Bali probably was before tourism. Not many cars venture that way, we gathered, given the curiosity that the bules engendered.

When this road met the main traffic again it was not long before we came across a spectacular group of buildings which turned out to be the original version at Ujung, of the far more famous Tirta Gangga water palace built by the king of Karangasem. The fading beauty showed just how lovely this must have been when first built in 1901. Since ravaged by the volcanic fallout of 1963 and a later earthquake, the grounds have become a venue for local families and people exercising. The King went on to build Tirta Gangga, where his descendants still spend several months a year as respite from their residence in The Netherlands.

Back in Amed we enjoyed some of the best food we have had in the past few months. Simple and fresh – a winning combination. Can recommend Warung Pantai (right on the beach), Warung Enak (organic and delicious) and The Grill for superbly grilled, freshly caught seafood. All fabulous and all recommended to us by the very helpful Liselotte at Geria Gira Shanti, where we stayed.

The next day, still hugging the coast, but this time going north, we spent a few hours driving across the top of the island towards Singaraja. We were there on Sunday, but I haven't had time to write about that trip yet. An excellent road all the way was shaded by a canopy of trees for nearly all its length. Again, quiet villages, beautiful scenery, including Agung from a different angle,

and little traffic. The quietness could change dramatically if plans to build a second international airport in north Bali are realised. Access to these lovely beaches will be so much easier and perhaps north Bali will become as crowded as the south, with a reproduction of all the problems. As guests in this country, taking advantage of the benefits of tourist infrastructure, we are not in a position to comment except to hope that the Balinese people will become masters of their own future.

Two more highlights on the road home today: the lovely Tirta Gangga Water Palace and Bali Asli. When the King had to leave Ujung, he went bigger and better to create Tirta Gangga, a must on most itineraries, although today it was quiet. In most of these venues you can expect to pay a small admission fee and have a local guide attach himself offering to show you around. We have found them to be both courteous and informative, and realise that they are only trying to make a living, so it's best to be prepared to pay them for their time. Not much to us, a lot to them. The pictures speak for themselves, although for such a famous place we found the signposting to be light on and the entry point unclear, suggesting that most people come with pre-organised transport.

We had heard about Bali Asli, Australian chef Penny Williams' dream restaurant in the hills. Not easy to find, but we did, and it was all that we had been told. Beautiful building, gorgeous views, and when Penny herself arrived, we had a very friendly chat. We only had morning tea, but it was scrumptious Balinese delights with an iced organic coffee. We'll be back, perhaps to do one of Penny's cooking classes.

But it's good to be home, where the welcome is warm and the wifi works. Our deferred trip meant that we missed the temple anniversary celebrations here yesterday but the grounds looked beautiful and the staff were still in temple dress when we got back. And it's only 210 days until it happens again.

Ubud Writers and Readers Festival

With the Festival office very close by, I have been lucky enough to help out a bit in the frantic weeks before program launch. A bit of editing, some reading and doing the occasional presentation about visiting authors at Bar Luna.

We have been to the Festival in previous years, but as observers and listeners. It's a wonderful, intimate event and has been ranked among the top writing festivals in the world. So the opportunity this year to take part in a tiny bit of the process has been especially interesting. We will also be helping over the four days.

The full 2013 program has now been revealed and, as usual, the lineup is eclectic and interesting. Some big names, some relatively unknown ones. All will bring their talents to make four days of stimulating conversation. What I have noted before, and I am sure that it will be the same in 2013, is that even the most famous of names leaves their ego at home. You can get up close and personal with some of the most interesting people in the writing world, and the regional writers from Indonesia, Burma, the Philippines are always fascinating to listen to.

This year marks the 10th anniversary of the Ubud Writers and Readers Festival. It was created as a positive response to the first bombing, an initiative to bring visitors back to an island that was suffering economically. The event has probably grown way beyond Janet de Neefe's imagining.

Check out the program and if you love books and writing, think about joining us in Ubud. If not this year, maybe next. I doubt if you would ever regret it.

Sacred Monkey Forest

The Sacred Monkey Forest in Ubud is a defining tourist attraction. Which is probably, perversely, why we had never gone in despite many visits to Ubud over many years. Oh we had passed by, watched the monkeys on the road in the late afternoon, but had never walked through the forest itself.

Too many tourists;  too much monkey theft of cameras, handbags, sunglasses; stories of mother monkeys biting anyone paying too much attention to their babies; the rabies potential of that last scenario. Nah, all missable.

When we finally did visit, a week or so ago, it wasn't really to see the forest. We had been invited to see the progress of a villa being built by a friend of a friend in the village of Nyuh Kuning. The long way round is by road, and a bit convoluted. The short way is to walk a pretty pathway alongside the Monkey Forest.

The villa is making good progress and we spent a pleasant time with the owners, Eddie being interested in materials, particularly the beautiful polished concrete.

On the return walk we diverted from the path and went into the forest. And it's really lovely. Cool, shady, the village temple in the middle. Monkeys and tourists (to which we added numbers), no hassle.

We were wrong. Again.

Meanwhile, on the outside...

Blessing

More than half a dozen topics are jostling for attention before we head to Amed for a couple of days next week. Rather than cram them into one long post, as I find time I will make a shortish, sharpish commentary for each. So watch this space. And again, thanks to those who do watch this space. I remain astonished and appreciative at the geography of the readership and the frequency of some visitors. Particularly those in California, where I know nobody. So thank you again, all readers - friends and family and those who drop by out of interest.

Only yesterday morning we mentioned that it was probably time to have the car washed again. We have been quite good about it, but not as good as the Balinese, who take huge pride in their sparkling vehicles.

Later in the afternoon, we received a call from Ketut. Could he borrow the car for a few hours on Saturday. It wouldn't inconvenience us as he'd use his spare key to pick it up about 6am and have it back by 9.

Saturday is Saniscara Kliwon Wuku Landep day (also known as Tumpek Landep), the day when Hindus make offerings and pray for safety from Ida Sang Hyang Pasupati, a god who is the owner of all tools made of metal. Including cars.

We did know this, and it had crossed our mind to ask the women here to include our car in their rituals on Saturday morning. But how much better that Ketut take it to his temple and have the car blessed by his priest.

So that is what will happen, and while I write this, Eddie is at the 'cuci mobil' having the car detailed and washed so that it meets Balinese standards of presentation for the ceremony.

And to be honest, we will drive to Amed on Monday, still 'hati hati di jalan'*, but safe in the knowledge that due respect has been paid in accordance with tradition.

The image has been borrowed from the Dasar Bali blog, which also explains more about this ceremony.

* take care on the road

Postscript:

The car was returned bearing offerings, as most cars and motorbikes on the road today did. We'll keep these on, for a while at least.

Yet another parade

Before Independence Day recedes too far into the rear-view mirror, I need to note a rather extraordinary (to our eyes) parade we encountered a week ago.

We had driven to Gianyar to visit the famous night market, but encountered heavy traffic as we drew close to the centre of town. A side street or two later rather surprisingly found us a place to leave the car, and after a short walk we were back at the park that we had visited several weeks earlier. Rather than just a few boys with kites, this day the park was packed with families, balloon and ice-cream sellers, and had a covered, raised viewing area full of very important looking, uniformed spectators. In the surrounding streets were team after team of young marchers. All boys of primary school age, all dressed to the nines, and, to our astonishment, all wearing makeup.

We had happened across the Gianyar Regency's annual schools Independence Day marching display. Forty-three primary schools from across the Regency, including Ubud, were participating, with the girls due to parade the following day.

We had seen the practice parades through the streets earlier in the month but this was the culmination. I imagine it is a great honour to be selected, as there were only about 25 marchers per team, oldest at the front and littlest at the back. A leader, who seemed to be quite young in all the teams, blew the whistle and called the shots. Uniforms varied enormously, although plaid seemed to be popular, but a hat of some description was essential, and most teams had gloves and some, tights.

Precision marching was interspersed with a performance in front of the crowd. Obviously a performance of choice as it was as varied as a traditional kecak to gangnam style. Proud parents followed their boys around the streets - by the time each team completed the circuit they must have marched a couple of kilometers, stopping to do their special thing every 100 meters or so. Poor little boys must have been exhausted by the end, but oh, so proud.

And the makeup? We had noticed it before on male MCs at events, so think that it might be part of a performance persona, just as an actor would prepare for a stage appearance. Unusual to our 'bule' eyes, normal for Indonesian people.

We were the only 'bules' there and were warmly greeted by everyone. Little children delighted in coming up and practising their English.

Isn't it the way that the most memorable times are the unexpected ones? We weren't able to return to see the girls, but can only imagine how much effort went into their appearance. I am finding it difficult to imagine anything more removed from the activities of a typical Australian boy of the same age, but long live our differences.

Cremation day

Sunday's cremations in Ubud - there were five separate villages involved that we were aware of - were probably years in the planning. The Balinese calendar had decreed this to be a particularly auspicious day to send loved ones on their next journey, so what we witnessed would have been happening all over the island.

We walked a short way to the next village of Lungsiakan where 43 families were involved. At one stage we were standing next to an English girl who was asking a lot of questions of a European expat. Her interest and expensive camera made us wonder if she later filed this report for The Daily Mail. Hope the headline wasn't her choice; it's a crude summation of this significant final rite of passage. The number of bodies quoted in the article is correct for the next village, Kedewatan, but it's only a short distance away and she may well have been at both.

We have attended cremations in the past, most recently the spectacular royal event at the Palace. This one, however, was much more intimate, particularly being in the compound with the families before the procession to the cremation ground. Many spectators were unaware that sarong and sash were required dress if they wanted to enter the compound. Several sellers were on hand to make a small profit from their lack of cultural knowledge, and the visitors have also learned something.

We noticed people wearing numbers to identify the mourning parties, quite a few priests and many children. No towers - this was a ceremony for ordinary people. The bulls were relatively small, and some were winged and red.

It must cost a relative fortune to fulfil this essential rite, so often families must wait years before they can pay. We heard of one situation that took 36 years before a cremation could be held.

We are still learning. We don't know why children or young people travel with the bull*, for example, and can only guess at the symbolic releasing of chickens at the cremation ground. We will ask, of course, but haven't yet done so.

The cremation ground, behind the famous Naughty Nuri's warung, was packed and had a festival air with balloon and food sellers. We knew that proceedings would go on for the rest of the day and well into the night, so took our leave. Just as well, as Eddie succumbed to heat stroke shortly after and has spent the last couple of days feeling distinctly unwell.

Last night we watched a borrowed DVD of films made in Bali in the 1930s and 40s. Several had no commentary and the silent-movie text contained Dutch-influenced spelling of names such as Poutou (Putu) and Gousti (Gusti). A cremation however, looked exactly the same (except for the bare breasts) as we had witnessed just a few days before, so despite all the changes, tradition continues. Not a plastic bag in sight in those days though, and it wasn't hard to imagine how exotic Bali must have seemed to those long-ago audiences.

The journey is not quite over. In a few days there will be another procession to take the ashes down to the river where they will flow to the sea. Only then will the spirit be free to return to the next incarnation - as the newest child in the family.

* We have since learned that the youngest child in the family travels with the bull.