Road Trip: Indonesia (Part 1)

It’s 3 am. I have absolutely no clue what is going on, but Richard, who was just writing love songs on the veranda of our room, is now loudly and viciously yelling in anger at someone in the distance. And Christian, who like me was dead to the world in the bed next to mine, is now running out of the room towards the melee in only his boxer shorts. All hell is breaking loose at this Balinese guesthouse and the only words I understand are the German curse words they taught me earlier on the bus from Mount Bromo. Suddenly awake, I also understand that if Richard is acting out of character in this manner, then something isn’t just bad, it’s very bad.

Shit… What a way to end this road trip.

Let’s start at the beginning…

After arriving in Denpasar and catching taxis to Kuta, everyone who I met on the tour to Mt. Bromo exchanged email addresses and Facebook information and set off on separate paths. I pretty much had an open plan for Bali and I mentioned that I might rent a motor bike and use the next seven days to circle the exterior of the island. “Call us if you do that! We may join you,” said Richard, a musician I met on the trip. I had spent the last day on the bus between him and his friend Christian laughing, talking, singing and snoring, so I felt pretty comfortable with them and agreed. As Tu, a Canadian teacher who I also met on the tour, and I made our way to her hotel, which she had pre booked and offered to share with me for the night, she asked if I was going to contact them. “I don’t know. They are young men and this is Bali. I fear that I may be too old for the hijinks they will get into,” I said to her.  She looked at me like I was I retarded.

Kuta is like Fort Lauderdale during Spring Break, crazy and packed full of drunken tourist. This is the party place in Bali and I actually wasn’t up for it, so I decided to only stay one night. Before leaving, Tu and I had breakfast and I sent a message to Richard via Facebook letting him know my plan and that I was leaving today. He and Christian are two, twenty-eight year old, handsome, European men in Kuta, where the beer and butt flow freely, so I didn’t expect them to want to leave so early. I got up, packed my gear and headed to the motorbike rental place.

Now, I have NEVER even ridden on a motor bike or motorcycle, but my husband said that if I can ride a bike, then I can ride an automatic motor bike.  Cool. The rental place pulled that thing around and I looked at the bike, the pot holes, narrow streets and mash of cars, people and motor bikes lining the streets of Kuta and immediately said, “Ah, hell naw.” I’m up for learning how to do this, but this environment isn’t conducive to learning on the fly. So, I rented a car instead. Indonesians drive on the right side of the car and on the left side of the street, which is completely opposite of American drivers, so getting use to this was going to be a challenge. I was so happy that the side mirrors were flexible; because I must have side swiped a dozen vendors’ tables and scrapped a few cars getting out of Kuta.

The plan was to head to Ubud in the east and then follow the eastern coastline around the island. But, twenty minutes into the trip, I was just trying to avoid traffic, so I wouldn’t wreck these people’s car and in doing that I ended up on the West side of the island. I drove for hours, stopping where I wanted in towns like Batubulan, Tabanan and Antosari and eventually I found the coast at Balian Beach.

The villages through Bali are filled with mom and pop stores, schools, temples and people’s homes. One moment you’re driving along and there’s a wedding or funeral taking place. The next moment you’re caught in the traffic of a traditional ceremony or race and you have the freedom to sit and stare because now you’re part of it as well. Balinese people actually live in these villages and this was a respite from dealing with other tourist. Deliriously happy with my surroundings and with my decision to leave Kuta, I spent the day stopping at places that looked interesting and driving along bopping my head to Balinese music.

There aren’t many, if any, lights on the roads in Bali, so I had made a decision earlier to stop and find lodging once the sun started setting. I was now in Pekutatan, a village in Negara, and the scenery was becoming far less dense. Instead of towns and people, I was looking at miles and miles of rice paddy fields, with a house or stretch of commercial space peppering the path. “I should have made a better plan,” I thought as I searched for a place to stay. There was a sign for Puri Dejuma Cottages and since it was getting dark, I decided that this was where I was going to lay my head for the night. Lesson one when traveling through Asia: If they quote prices in Euro instead of the local currency, then it’s going to be EXPENSIVE!!

My bed... Sigh...

For a backpacker, this place was so far beyond my budget, but I checked in regardless because it was late and I needed a place to sleep. The Puri Dejuma Cottages are on the beach and after taking a long bath in my ensuite spa like tub, I went to bed in a luxurious four poster bed on linens soft enough to make you want to cry. The waves from the ocean rocked me like a lullaby and as I began to fall asleep, I thought about my experiences thus far and started laughing hysterically. This bed, this hotel, this cottage was so surreal and such a far cry from the places I had been staying in Asia thus far. Most have been lovely, but it’s still Asia and you have to contend with the random and unknown.

For example, I stayed at an AWESOME Indonesian guesthouse in Yogyakarta, but in the middle of the night a roach like bug actually crawled up my leg. MY MF-ing LEG!! In a half crazed, half dazed attempt to quell the hysteria taking me over, I picked it up and threw it not remembering that I was in a mosquito net tented bed and it had just bounced back in bed. It’s pitch black, I have no idea where the roach is in my bed, but I swear that you have never seen someone wake the hell up and search for a light and a trash can so fast. That was just a week prior and now I was sleeping at a Conde Nast recommended resort on the beach. REALLY??

The view from my porch

 

The next day I woke and took a walk on the beach. I ended up watching this old man from the village prepping bamboo by scrubbing it in the water and in the best broken English and jacked up Indonesian we could muster, we walked towards the village in polite conversation. At a fork in the road, he pointed me towards a street that would take me back to the Resort and I walked through the village, still shoe less from the beach. There are A LOT of stray dogs in Indonesia and cows can roam in this part of Bali, so the trip back to the resort was scary at times, but Balinese people, being who they are, met me along my walk and shooed the dogs away. One family in particular, welcomed me into their home, offered me drinks and food and attempted to talk to me in the best English they had. I think they were tickled that I was a black American (Indonesians LOVE, LOVE, LOVE Obama!), staying at the Dajuma no less, but walking the streets of their village without shoes just like them.

 

Yoga (on the far left) with his co-workers.

I made it back to the resort, checked out and headed back on the road. About 20 km from the Dajuma, I saw a large Muslim restaurant and store for handicrafts and decided to pull in for lunch. The food was great and the restaurant décor was authentic balinese. The family who owned the restaurant sent Yoga, their waiter with a good command of English, over to take my order and we began talking. He wanted to practice his English and I needed more information. The staff at Dajuma had already given me a map and helped me locate all of the must see places and available lodging, but their idea of “reasonable accommodations” was slanted towards their regular guests.  I needed a local’s opinion. “If you want to see more of the area, then I can take you,” Yoga offered.  Again, in typical Balinese hospitality, his boss encouraged him to show me the city and let him off of work to do it.

Jeggog Music!!

After two minutes in the car with me, reminding me to stay on the left, Yoga suggested that we get someone else who could drive. So he called his cousin and off we went.  They arranged for a private concert from a traditional group that played Jeggog music. They took me to the river to watch the fishermen, they showed me some of the most impressive churches, temples and statues in their city and then we rented ATVS and went barreling across the family adventure park in woods. Evening was settling in again and I kept thinking that I would never finish this trip if I kept engaging Balinese people in conversation. 

Since it was late, Yoga and his cousin recommend a local hotel for me and they helped check me in. “Do you want to go to the disco tonight?” he asked. An Indonesian disco… I have got to see this! “Yes,” I replied and they made plans to pick me up that evening.  They picked me up and after dinner and tea with Yoga’s family, we headed to the disco. Like the town, the club was small and full of friendly locals. It was also smoky as hell because young Balinese people have a tendency to chain smoke. None of this mattered though, because with Melaka, Malaysia still in my system, I danced like a crazy woman until three in the morning!


I needed to cover more ground the following day, so I declined breakfast with Yoga’s family and headed west around West Bali National Park. Before leaving, I checked my email and Facebook account and found a message from Richard. They were in Lovina for the next two days and still wanted to join me if I was interested. Surprised that they didn’t stay in Kuta (“too many drunk Australians”), I decided to pick them up since I was headed towards Lovina. I drove through Melaya, Gilimanuk, stopped at the Pulaki temple east of Pemuteran and then drove through the National Park, dodging monkeys and marveling at the four mountains dominating the backdrop. I made it to Lovina just after 5 p.m, checked into a guest house for the night and eventually connected with Christian and Richard again. 

“I still feel like dancing,” I told Richard and since neither he, nor Christian, have ever been to an Indonesian disco, they agreed and we met for drinks and dancing. Our first stop was at a bar where the live band was great and played requests on demand. Richard joined them on stage, while Christian introduced me to the wonders of Bintang. Once we closed the place down we headed to the Volcano Club. This club is Lovina's major night spot and it doesn't even open until midnight. The male to female ratio in that club, like much of Asia, was 3 to 1 which was awkward at times. But the music was great and we enjoyed ourselves nonetheless. These guys feel like family to me right from the beginning. No lulls in conversation and easy laughter; kindred spirits living life to the fullest. This is shaping out to be the best road trip of my life!

(Far too long for one post. So, to be continued...)