Ubud Monkey Forest, Kecak Fire Dance, Full Moon and The Hustlers – Bali, Indonesia – Photos, Videos, Writing

The bus is hot, stuffy; Coco sleeps on my shoulder. I watch the ‘temple-factories’ fly by the window. Our arrival in Ubud begins with a familiar routine: at a bus terminal, with no hint of a hotel reservation. A thick curtain of rain sweeps the pavement in cadence. Catch a break: there’s working Wifi. Sit on the staggered plastic stools, rain echoing on the tarpaulin above.

After some research and much hesitation, we tiredly pick a cheap lodge nearby with a decent rating. But soon as we click ‘Confirm Booking’, something happens: a deceived customer has just posted an all-too negative review about the same place.

A little ashamed of ourselves, and for lack of any booking fee, we search for another lodge. (The disgruntled manager later leaves us a peeved message. But what’s done is not to be undone, only to be regretted, and even so, only temporarily.)

 the rice fields gleaming in steam fresh from the downpour…

I bargain with a cab, more and more confident of my dance moves (price offer, counteroffer, counter-counteroffer, walk away, calls us back to settle on counteroffer). To the town’s outskirts, past rice fields and rural homes. The clerk puts us at ease, shows us to a royal suite: baldachin bed, mopped tiles, a splurging view of the rice fields gleaming in steam fresh from the downpour…

 …surrounded by other tourists with their hair-down, mellowed by the earthy tones of the walls.

We stay three nights, resting after the frenzy of the road trip, breathing in the slow pace of life, overlooking the sleepy paddies.

The day following our arrival, Coco isn’t feeling too hot. Stays in, reads. We’re granted ‘room service’: mie goreng, again, brought to our room, at a reasonable price (the savvy hotel owner is aware his place is a bit remote, and caters to guests’ needs).

I get used to the walk into town, snapping portraits of just about every resident on the nearby streets. In the evening, we eat at a Vegan-like restaurant, surrounded by other tourists with their hair-down, mellowed by the earthy tones of the walls.

Ubud Monkey Forest Sanctuary: thousands of greedy monkeys pounce on tourists, ripping bananas and snack bars out of their hands. Watch with equal amusement and sadness as one smart monkey, safe in the heights of a tall tree, rips open a bag of Lays chips and eats the junk stealthily.

In the surrounding area, the shops sell penis-shaped bottle openers and keychains. There’s a modern supermarket, air-conditioned (I think that’s why we were there, I don’t recall buying anything). I’m intrigued by the following promotion: two tubes of toothpaste with a free can of Coke.

Kecak Fire Dance: rhythmic drums, circle of foreign by-standers, build up in the night to the finale, a dazed, brazen warrior steps center stage, walks upon and kicks around the glowing coals.

Many visitors miss the crescendo buildup of the chants, stop by in the last few minutes only to see the ceremony’s pinnacle.

Religion is a time-consuming business. Faith, on the other hand, splices time.

Full moon ceremony : this time we get to witness the ceremony first-hand, costume and dance, priest flinging water and rice. Kids sulking at the gates, uninterested. It seems the entire island has been busy attending the festivities this past week. Religion is a time-consuming business. Faith, on the other hand, splices time.

A crowd gathers in the street, walking at brisk pace, carrying a chariot of sorts. They waive their arms in the air, chanting, and already they’re gone. We’ve just seen a public funeral, which will end with a public cremation. We later learn that families go bankrupt, or into years of debt, in order to pay for these events.

Death is thus the more terrifying.

The Hustlers

It’s time to leave the magical grasp of Bali. With about ten more days in Indonesia, this gives us just enough time to cross the island of Java by land coming in from the East, all the way to Jakarta, Northwest.

I try myself at one of the local currency exchange parlors (those same that promise better rates – beware though, I’ve heard that many of these officious exchangers have a quick and slight hand).

The lodge owner, upon hearing our plans, offers to take us to the distant bus station, in exchange for a modest fee. My first intuition is that he wants to make an extra buck, which is true – but we soon discover his offer to be guided by genuine concern for our safety.

The organic coffee shops and massage spas quickly give way to the ‘real’ town, hidden away from the main streets; sprawls of nameless tire shops and shacks.

 The kind hotel owner watches anxiously for the outcome, unable, or unwilling, to intervene.

Soon as the car pulls into the empty lot of the bus terminal, and at the sight of the car the herd of hawkers comes running to our window, people hitting at the door, teeth and faces stuck against the glass, a circle forms as Coco steps out of the car, I shield her as I can from this gang-mugging, countless hands clinging at our sleeves…

The kind hotel owner watches anxiously for the outcome, unable, or unwilling, to intervene.

And then I yelled at the top of my lungs.

Everybody goes quiet (it helps that I stand a foot above most of the people gathered there).

Amazed at the effectiveness of this strategy, now convinced that these people are simply in the business of doing business, with no criminal intent, I then laugh and ask:

“OK… so who has the best price?”

And at that, another roar and show of hands, wads of tickets waved haplessly.

I pick two of the quieter hustlers out of the crowd and retreat with them (and Coco of course) to an empty office in the terminal, where we can hear ourselves bargain.

Strike a deal. The kind lodge owner has remained in his car, watchfully. I wave to reassure him. He speeds off.

As we’re about to board the designated bus, another hawker comes to offer an even better price, pointing to a bus that looks brand new, one might even say luxurious. But even more strikingly, it’s covered in a giant Guns N’ Roses design. I realize with amused amazement it must be a refurbished vehicle from a concert tour.

So we finally get into the Guns N’ Roses tour bus, safely, although shaken up by the ruffle. We’re even offered a meal (a saran-wrapped sandwich and small water bottle) and recline in the leather-y chairs. The bus rumbles in the night – we’re fast asleep as we cross the ocean in a ferry and depart from Bali, on our way to Java.

See more photos from Ubud, read the story, watch the video, view the photos from Kuta and Tanah Lot, and check out the travel tips from our visit and road trip in Bali, Indonesia !