Beaches, temples, spas, wood carvings and rice terraces. Many places offer one or more of these: in fact as an Indian, the thought of traveling to another country to see rice terraces and temples seemed a little silly. But roll all of these into one, add good food and friendly people to the mix, and you get the irresistible concoction that is Bali.
We took a late evening Air Asia flight from Singapore to get there. The flight was only three quarters full, and I had three seats to myself to lie down and sleep for a couple of hours: it's a nice feeling when you pay a low cost fare and get business class legroom. The flight landed around midnight: a pick-up was sent by Surya Inn, a small family-run airport hotel I had booked for the night.
Next morning, I woke up to the sight of one of the elderly women of the household knitting clothes. I strolled into the household temple, consisting of half a dozen small shrines within a spacious courtyard. A young girl was performing the morning rituals, making offerings to the various Hindu deities within the temple precinct. I felt lucky in having chosen a hotel where the owner's home was literally the next door, and they had their own Balinese temple!
For breakfast, we were offered Balinese coffee and grilled sandwiches, but instead of tomatoes and cucumbers, the filling consisted of banana slices, chocolate syrup and cheese. As Jyoti was enjoying her morning caffeine fix on the front porch, I casually mentioned to her that Balinese coffee got its distinctive flavor by using beans that were eaten and excreted by the civet cat. She was almost ready to puke when I added that the coffee variety in question was indeed the most expensive in the world, and it was unlikely that a modest inn would serve kopi luwak - two cups of those would probably go for more than the room rent.
Our transport for the next three days, a chauffeur driven Zen Estilo - a bigger version of what is sold in India - was already waiting for us. Our driver introduced himself as Yo-Man: I didn't try to clarify this easy-to-remember name at that point, but figured out later from his card that he meant Vyoman. Our final destination of the day was the inland cultural destination of Ubud, but we would stop en route at places of interest.
The Beach
First up was Kuta beach: love it or hate it, but you cannot ignore it. It felt like Baga or Calangute, with better food and nicer hotels, and the Russians replaced by Australians. However, there was one major difference: the surfers.
In my book, surfing is the king of all sports: you need speed, strength, stamina and skill. You have to balance and to swim. You require strong arms, a tough back and supple legs. You need to understand wind and waves, climate and current: and you better learn that you mess with the forces of nature at your own peril. If you surf, you extricate yourself from the confines of the 50 meter swimming pool and the great oceans become your playground. You also get the sun, the sand and a lot of attention from the opposite sex.
The trouble is, I suck at it. I have enough trouble keeping steady as the 196 bus swerves from Nicoll Highway onto Mountbatten road. Singapore may be the safest of cities, but I am always running the risk of my skull splitting into two by failing to clutch to the handrails tightly when the bus driver brakes suddenly. I’ve made a fool of myself trying to learn skiing and windsurfing: surfing seems like asking for the proverbial moon.
As we relaxed on the beach, I enjoyed a beer and Jyoti bought a couple of cheap bracelets from one of the street vendors. We first haggled on the price for what we bought, and then when we saw that she had left one of the accessories in the sand, we looked around to search for her and return it. It made me wonder: how is it that I think it’s fair to haggle over an amount that’s meaningless to me but might mean something to the old woman, but it is wrong if I get the same amount by accident?
Onwards to The Temples
The next stop was the Tanah Lot temple, sitting invitingly atop a large offshore rock. I had read earlier that the locals believe that the temple is guarded by sea snakes from evil spirits, so I expected some snake charmers to be around. Since Jyoti has a morbid phobia of snakes, my eyes were on red alert. As I saw a woman walk by with a covered basket in hand – she was probably just carrying offerings - I pulled Jyoti to the other side, expecting the worst. As luck would have it, I had missed the actual snake-charmer who was seated on the side I had moved Jyoti over too, and just at that moment, he opened the basket, eliciting a terrified shriek from her. In all the confusion, I did not see the snake at all, while it took a couple of hours for her nerves to calm down.
From Tanah Lot, we headed inland and the next stop was the beautiful Taman Ayum temple, a multi-level complex with many multi-roofed structures. The major temples in Bali were certainly charming: that was expected. However, what made Bali unlike any place I have visited were the thousands of small household / community temples similar to the one at Surya Inn. They were omnipresent like bars are in New York or cafes in Paris: not just a relic of the past, but part of a living, thriving culture.
We visited the Ubud Palace and Monkey Forest in the late afternoon before checking into our hotel, Sri Ratih Cottages, and then headed back to the town center for an evening snack.
Food and Dance
We picked a charming little restaurant on main street, and ordered some alcohol and nachos. The latter were presented in an impressive tower formation: alternating layers of cheese, beans and tortilla chips, with a dollop each of sour cream and guacamole at the top.
Thereafter we attended a performance based on Kecak, one of the numerous Balinese dance-drama forms. About 50 men, all from the local community, sat around a fire wearing a sarong around their waist and a flower behind the ear. They percussively chanted “kecak-kecak-kecak” for almost an hour, while a smaller group of men and women, dressed in ornate period outfits, performed excerpts from the Ramayana. Surprisingly, the roles of Ram and Lakshman were performed by women: it made me remember the Kabuki performance I saw in Japan 10 years ago where the reverse was true (See my blog “Tantalizing Tokyo”).
While on the issue of gender roles, I had read somewhere that Balinese women didn’t cover their breasts until the advent of the Colonial powers, whereby it was made mandatory: European women wanting to sunbathe topless in Bali must be cursing their forefathers.
The Ramayana performance was followed by a trance dance in which a barefoot man was kicking around coconut shells set on fire: in contrast, even the remote possibility of one of the shells flying over the barricade towards me had me concerned.
We had dinner at Nomad, the best restaurant we encountered on the trip. We ordered a selection of Balinese Tapas: tofu, spinach, peanuts, green beans, spring rolls. I was amazed they had 5 different varieties just for vegetarians. The place was buzzing with activity, but we left earlier than we would have liked to - and skipped dessert - when the smoke from the neighboring table became bothersome. Except for the lack of a separate non-smoking zone, the place was awesome.
Handicrafts and More Temples
The next morning, we had a hearty breakfast overlooking the countryside around. To go with the usual coffee, toast and hashbrowns, I tried some Avocado juice. I had never had one before and expected the worst, but it was delicious: no wonder the guacamole the day before was so tasty.
The first stop of the day was the Tegallagang rice terraces. They were pretty, but not spectacular. Moreover, there were so many shops and makeshift restaurants around that a lot of the charm was lost. A few months back, I had cycled for about an hour through rice fields in Vietnam (See page 13 of my IndoChina blog): the fields weren't as pretty, nor were they terraced, but cycling through them in a small group had made the experience memorable.
En route to our next planned stop, we stopped at a collection of non descript handicraft stores run by the craftspeople themselves. To add to our collection of half a dozen Buddhas sculptures, Jyoti bought two masks - I was not so sure the Buddha would approve of such excess, but I looked at the purchases in terms of supporting the local economy a little bit.
Our next stop was the 1000 year old Gunung Kawi temple, the best of those we saw in the trip. What made it a cut above the rest was its location: we had to walk down a few hundred steps to get to this complex surrounded by hills, and split into two parts by a water body. On each side were rock-cut shrines carved into the cliff face. Climbing the 300-odd steps in the heat of noon was a "steep" ask, so we figured, why not stop midway and shop? We bought a coconut carving for a few dollars. Jyoti loved a beautiful ebony wood mask representing Barong, the King of Spirits. However, even after haggling, the vendor wouldn't go below 80 dollars, so we let that one go.
Our next stop, no prizes for guessing, was another temple, the Tirta Empul. Unlike Gunung Kawi, which had only a few tourists visiting, this place was bursting at its seams with locals wanting to take a dip in its holy waters. The temple exit was one long strategic maze through the shopping area: we bought another Buddha piece, this time a plaster relief, and finally, after bargaining at many shops, got the Barong mask for 40 USD.
Another Cloud Covered Volcano
By now, I was beginning to think of Bali as Catholic Costa Rica's twin, seperated at birth, taken halfway around the world, and raised a Hindu. Both small equatorial places, but packing a punch: rain almost everyday, surfing beaches, great food, easygoing locals, endless greenery, and cloud-covered volcanoes. I didn’t have much luck seeing volcanoes in Costa Rica, and it wouldn’t be much different in Bali either. As soon as we reached the viewpoint of the Kintamani volcano and settled down for lunch, a large grey cloud came over and spoilt the scene. Next time around, I am waking up at the requisite 3 am for hiking up to the rim.
Finally a scam
Besides excessive smoking by the locals, things were near perfect so far. Everyone drove relatively safely. Haggling was done respectfully. Temple authorities provided sarongs at no charge to foreigners at the temples. Foood was great. Everyone around was smiling. It was too good to last.
Our next stop was the Besakih “Mother” temple, the biggest one in Bali. Anywhere on the island, you could buy a sarong for a dollar: here we paid the same just to rent one. A makeshift “information” counter demanded to check our tickets, put them aside and then told us that we could not enter the temple unless accompanied by a guide: there was no charge for one and I could “donate” as I wished. I noticed that no entry in the donation book was less than 50 USD, so I insisted I would just walk around the temple. The guys then became aggressive and even coerced us for a donation: I firmly demanded my tickets back and walked away.
A dozen other touts harassed us under the same pretext. There was a sign outside the temple saying “No entry except for worship”: either the crooks running the place had put it up themselves, or maybe it was a genuine ordinance by the authorities, sleazily exploited by the cheats.
An Awesome Spa
Back at the hotel by late afternoon, we enjoyed some Balinese coffee with banana fritters at the snack bar, watching the fishes in the adjacent pond. Thereafter, we headed to the Putra Spa for a Balinese massage. I was getting a little worked up as we were made to wait 45 minutes beyond our appointment. But sweet were the fruits of patience! The moment the masseuse applied the first bout of pressure on my left foot, I realized this therapy would be bliss: there wasn’t one false stroke. This was the best treatment we had ever experienced: all for a mere 10 dollars!
I forget the name of the restaurant where we had dinner – we choose it because of the nice Jazz band playing there. But it was the pesto-sundried tomato-feta cheese pizza that made my evening. I hadn’t had one so good for months.
Having stuffed myself, I would have liked to walk back to the hotel as we did the previous evening. But the path was fraught with another chance encounter with a slithering reptile, so I thought it wise to hail a cab.
Back to the Beach
After a late breakfast and a quick splash in the pool, we checked out of the hotel and headed south. En route we passed through many small towns, one specializing in the made-to-order furniture that Bali is so famous for, another in gemstones, and so on. Soon, the undulating two lane road criss-crossing the green countryside gave way to a 4 lane highway ploughing through the urban sprawl around the capital Denpasar: this was not fun anymore.
Our destination was Sanur beach on the south-eastern shore: it seemed we might have hit the wrong place as it did not seem anywhere as nice as pictures I had seen before. So we headed to the Nusa Dua peninsula, the southernmost part of Bali joined with the main island through a narrow strip of land, and well known for watersports. I expected to have a nice lunch by a beachside restaurant as I watched revelers paraglide in the distance. What a rude shock I was in for! This place was so packed with locals wanting a piece of the banana boat rides, it seemed like an aquatic version of bumping cars at your local entertainment outlet. The restaurants all looked the same and didn’t offer much except fried rice or fried noodles, so we got out as soon as we got in.
We were thus back to where we started from: Kuta Beach. We had lunch, bought some t-shirts, and then made ourselves comfortable on the soft sand, gazing into the horizon and having a quiet chat.
Beware of money changers and cabbies
In the evening, we checked in at the Surya Inn again for the night, and headed back to Kuta. Jyoti liked some shoes at one of the department stores, so I headed out to get some dollars changed into rupiah. I saw a money changer offering more than the market rate, and got greedy. I offered him my hundred dollar bill, he took out a bunch of 50,000 denomination notes and counted them in a suspicious way, while another guy chatted me up. There was a lot of back and forth on the counting and it become a little confrontational, at which point I just took the 100 dollars back and walked out.
I went to another changer offering higher rates, and the experience was exactly the same. Finally I picked up one with market rates, got my change, as well as a receipt, in a matter of seconds. Initially I thought I was reading too much into the modus operandi on the fishy money changers, but further investigation online confirmed that the guys would remove a note or two through sleight of hand while counting.
Anyways, the dollars become rupiahs, and the rupiahs turned, as usually any currency does, into women’s shoes. For dinner, it was pizza again and a delicious Balinese potato-spinach gravy with rice, accompanied by nice cocktails and good live music. It was my birthday the next day, but this dinner was the celebration as we would leave for Singapore the next morning and Jyoti would take a connecting flight to India. She was disappointed we wouldnt be able to celebrate on the actual day, but I couldn't care less (You probably saw this coming in case you have read my profile)
Since it was drizzling, we took a cab back to the hotel. The driver informed us that the minimum fare would be 25,000 Rupiah, and we agreed. When we got there the metered fare was only 10,000 Rupiah. I refused to pay the 25,000 and demanded that he call the company's office: I had read online that Bali Taxi was a reputed company and any passenger could ask to speak to the control center in case of any discrepancy. They heard me out, and to make up to me, they charged us nothing for the ride! I was pleased with myself that I took up such a matter, albeit for less than a couple of dollars, even in a foreign country; and was thrilled to know that the company's actions backed its promises.
Adieu
Needless to say, the flight back to Singapore was not a pleasant affair. As I reflected on the trip, I was struck with one overwhelming feeling: the Balinese version of Hinduism seemed a lot more wholesome compared to what I see back home. I was there for a short time and there is a good chance my understanding is flawed, but I felt that the locals embraced two basic tenets of a sustainable culture: living in harmony with nature, and respecting "The Circle of Life". I just hope that their values remain intact even as they swap their sarongs for denims.
It was a time when Rajshri films demanded that they would release HAHK only if theater owners refurbished the buildings in order to attract crowds, and families thronged to Liberty, decked in their finest clothes, like it was a relative's wedding. If tickets were sold out and you were willing to buy in black, you headed to G7 in Bandra, or Chandan in Juhu. 
There are hundreds of Palladium clones in the world - in Singapore only there seem to be dozens of them - but there is only one Colaba, one Linking Road, one Irla. I remember accompanying mom to Mohammed Ali and Crawford Market where she used to buy masalas and mangoes - the images of weak old men pulling handcarts in Mumbai's sweltering heat; the thousands of small stores, half run by Muslims, half run by Gujjus, selling everything from provisions to hardware to clothes; the Masjids adjacent to Jain temples. 
