Bali I

(First of three blogs about Bali)

Impressions

I know. It’s not America. It wasn’t part of the original plan. And it certainly wasn’t in the budget. But the detour to Bali (on a spiritual excursion guided by two teachers with whom I studied last year) was a “once in a lifetime” opportunity—and I wasn’t going to let the fact that it coincided with this “once in a lifetime” adventure stop me!

So I left the RV in St. Petersburg, Florida on January 13 and flew to Minneapolis, joining Susanne for a departure early the next morning. Roughly 32 hours and 15 time zones later, after stops in Tokyo and Singapore, we landed in Denpasar and were shuttled to Sri Bungalows on Monkey Forest Road in Ubud, Bali—our residence for the next 17 days.

Now that I’m back in the states, the trip retains a dream-like quality. I was told beforehand and reminded several times during the stay that Bali is as much a feeling as a destination. That it would take time to absorb and comprehend. And that I may never fully understand it. In that sense, it’s a microcosm of my yearlong journey through America—and of life itself.

In the native language, Bali is actually “Wwali”—meaning “offering” or “home.” It was both.

The first few days—spent exploring the streets of Ubud within half a mile of our hotel—were somewhat overwhelming. The city was more congested than I expected—with stores, restaurants, and hotels crowded atop each other for blocks on end, and hawkers peddling their wares in the few remaining crevices. Though the roads were supposedly one-way, scooters traveled in both directions and the sidewalks were a shifting carpet of ruts and bumps—so you had to step carefully. The only open area was a scruffy soccer field—mowed with a weed wacker, and occupied alternately by children and dogs.

There actually is a monkey forest on Monkey Forest Road. A large urban jungle with a beautiful temple, it’s full of monkeys, whose territory extends several blocks into the city. Once you get used to the clever critters (who routinely help themselves to jewelry, cameras, and hats), the forest is a peaceful refuge. But it’s also a tourist magnet—as evidenced by our happening upon Paris Hilton, conspicuous in purple gown and gold slippers (and yes, I have photos).

Early on, I gravitated to the Tutmak Café, which, in addition to good coffee, had a distinctly western flavor. Gradually, though, I began venturing beyond Ubud’s tourist-oriented face and finding its essence—which waited patiently in the background.

Our hotel was a perfect example. Its front was a discreet brick driveway, two cars wide by two deep, sandwiched between a restaurant and convenience store. The sign was so small and entry so unassuming that I walked past several times. But once you crossed beyond its open-air registration desk, the place evoked Shangri-La. A series of four-room pagoda villas neatly surrounded a picturesque rice field; two pools, a spa, and dozens of ornamental statues (many robed in native attire) graced the quiet, hidden retreat.

The concrete sculptures are everywhere. You can’t go 20 yards in any city without sighting one. And, in the unapologetically Hindu culture, offerings are made to them daily. Called chanang, each offering is comprised of a stick of incense and a small, palm leaf basket filled with flower pieces. In addition to adorning the statues, these incense-laden flower baskets are found on nearly every residence, business, market booth, and taxi dashboard. No other symbol so eloquently captures the culture’s underlying spirituality. If you didn’t know better, the ritual offerings might seem superstitious. But one soon begins to appreciate how effectively they serve as a reminder of the divine’s encompassing presence.

One evening, a member of our group—referring to the preponderance of statues—asked our maître de at the Café Wayan if he could explain “all the gods.” The man’s response was precious.

“Just one God,” he said with a wry smile. “But many forms. Like me! One man—many roles: husband, papa, worker…”

“It’s that way with all the religions,” he added earnestly. “Same God—different names.”

The contention was neither pretentious nor preachy. It simply illustrated a theological mindset that gently stretches our western, Judeo-Christian conventions.

Bali’s spiritual underpinnings were evident in other ways as well. While the local standard of living is modest and conditions far from pristine, I saw little poverty. Families typically live in compounds, with three and sometimes four generations inhabiting simple dwellings on small plots of land. Groups of 300-500 families unite as “banjars”—civil and spiritual communities, each with its own temple. Most men remain in the same banjar their entire lives; women generally move to their husband’s family compound and banjar.

Mid-way through our stay, we attended a native dance performance called a “Kecak.” The performers—members of a local banjar—acted out a story from the “Mahabharata”—ancient tales (which include the Bhagavad Gita) that attempt to explain the human condition and serve as the theological underpinning of Hinduism. The actors were backed by a 70-man “chorus.” For more than an hour, the group sang and chanted, employing a wide variety of indescribable sounds, creating a trance-like effect. The men ranged in age from about 20 to 80—including, I’m sure, many sets of grandfathers and fathers and sons, each continuing family traditions dating back generations. The sense of community was profound.

I was pleased to hear from several locals that, among tourists, Americans are far and away the most polite and respectful of Balinese customs and culture. And I wasn’t entirely surprised to be told by an energetic healer that, while I’m a “strong captain,” I need to “relax and have more fun.” Less than a minute into our session, just after I had sat down with my back to his legs, the 86-year-old man laughed heartily and pointed to my head. “Think, think, always thinking,” he said of me to the others in our party. Susanne got the biggest chuckle out of that!

Bali’s healing power and other charms continued to evidence themselves daily (and I’m not just alluding to the six lovely massages Susanne and I enjoyed). The weather averaged in the low 80s, fluctuating no more than a few degrees, day or night, rain or shine. Tropical fruit was abundant, tasty, and medicinal. I especially liked three that were previously unfamiliar: Mangosteen, Dragonfruit, and Snake Fruit (or “Salak,” which was recommended for those who suffered the temporary discomfort of “Bali belly”). And the American dollar went a long way. Elegant dinners for two rarely exceeded $25.

Weeks later, Bali remains an enduring, sensory feast.  And I’m sure that everything we experienced—the sights, the sounds, the smells, the tastes—will linger evocatively for years to come.

NEXT: Immersion (temple visits and other exceptional experiences)

(Foley, AL)